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time-for-a-lullaby · 3 days ago
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better than a facetime
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Chris Evans x  Reader
Summary: Chris comes home in the middle of the night after being gone for a few weeks to you asleep in bed, Captain America playing in the background.
Warnings: language, fluff
A/N: just something short I came up with while watching CATWS lol
W/C: 630
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You sighed, putting your phone on the charger, another unanswered FaceTime to Chris. It’d been about 3 weeks since the last time you saw him and normally, this would’ve been a walk in the park. 3 weeks was nothing compared to 6 months you’d spent apart last year. For some reason, this week was tough. 
You were tossing and turning in bed, unable to get comfortable without him there and it sucked. You desperately wanted a good night of sleep.
 Patting the bed, you waited for Dodger to join you while you scrolled through rentable movies on the TV. That was something new this week, too. Normally, you could kind of sleep soundly without him, it didn’t bother you that much. But this week, you had to sleep with some kind of background noise. A movie, white noise, music, something. Tonight in particular, you wanted to hear his voice. You wanted to talk to him, hear him say your name, but he wasn’t answering his phone, so you assumed he was too busy, which was pretty normal when he was filming. 
Pressing the microphone button on your remote, you muttered, “Chris Evans movies”. If he couldn’t be here and you couldn’t talk to him tonight, a movie with his voice would have to do. You scrolled through the options, eventually deciding on one of your favorite Marvel movies, Captain America: The Winter Soldier. You loved the suit in the beginning, especially the way Chris looked in it. 
You hit play, leaning back into your pillow and relaxing, fast-forwarding through the opening credits and smiling at the first ‘on your left’. Obviously, Chris’s voice was a tad more harsh in the Marvel movies. He was much more relaxed at home, his tone often soft and playful. Even with that being the case, hearing him on the TV now was better than the nothing you were getting beforehand. 
Before you knew it, you drifted off to sleep. 
You woke up about an hour later, the left side of the bed sinking as someone let out a long sigh. You shot up, looking over and seeing Chris, “Jesus, babe! You can’t just jump into bed, wake me up first. You scared me!” 
He chuckled, “Sorry, didn’t wanna interrupt your movie,” he teased, gesturing toward the TV which was still playing Captain America. He held his arms out to you, a small smile on his lips, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your Facetime. I was on the plane.” 
Snuggling into his side, you sighed as the tension left your body, “This is much better than a Facetime.”
He traced circles on your spine, kissing the top of your head, “Do you do this often?” He nodded his head towards the TV, “Watch my movies when I’m gone?”
You shrugged and yawned, “Define often.” 
“How many times have you watched a movie with me in it while I was gone this time?” He let out a small laugh, looking down at you.
You smiled, “Mmm, I’m actually very proud of myself, this is the first time since you’ve left that I’ve indulged.”
“Mmm, interesting.” 
You furrowed your brows, looking up at him, “What?” 
“Nothing,” he chuckled, kissing your head again, “It’s just cute, that’s all.” 
You shrugged again, “I’m sure if I had a movie, you’d watch it when you missed me.” 
You felt him chuckle, “Oh, trust me. I have a movie on my phone in which you are the star. I watch it even when I don't miss you.” 
“Chris!” You reached up, smacking his shoulder, “You better make sure no one gets a hold of that!” 
He pulled you tighter, laughing again, “It’s password protected, don’t worry.” 
“Not that I haven’t missed you, but I’m seriously going to fall asleep any minute. Can we continue this chat in the morning?” 
He kissed your temple, then your cheek, “Of course, Y/N. I love you.” 
“I love you, too. Night, Chris.”
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Taglist: (bold wouldn’t tag):  @chvntelle-99 @ysmmsy @roguediorxoxo @anonymousswritings @superanastasia1981 @melissad1974 @nrmnie @wobblymug @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @anacrcarvalho @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @elrw24 @mjey12 @ilovetheeagles @patzammit @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @faykyrie @spookyqueen @mytbel0st @asdfghjklgggdd @big-deak-energy @a-distantdreamer @melannie77 @hauntedmuffinpersonarascal @thedancingnerdmermaid @avery1996 @bhappiness14 @aslutforchrisevans @cierra-evans715 @fictionslandslanddreams @mylifeasltd8 @n3ssm0nique @unicornblueberry @stephv213 @supraveng @rootcrap @mrspeacem1nusone @fanficworld @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @onceuponahuntersrealm @coldmuffinpartycloud @jadert15 @lou-lou26 @freyathehuntress @ritikahye  @unicornpajamas @clogger101 @ms-betsy-fangirl @lauracontisstuff @kawaiicroissantpastabakery @thummbelina @weaslettesstuff @guilsgotmusic @megannicole4 @chamaevans9 @deepintothenature @croissantbakerylws @hockeychick10 @lharrietg @cevansfans @theashleycom3 @evansrodgerss @itsmytimetoodream @funfickgirl22 @ilovetheeagles @mavrellover91 @mylifeasltd8 @breezykpop @cherry-gemz @allthingschrisevans @ottitt @legallybrunette13 @baby-i-am-fireproof @enchantinghandscroissantvoid @gotbangtan @ysmmsy @kthynes @blizzspeaks @ca-loki @roguediorxoxo @lokistoriesblog @lynnettes-stuff @nostxlgia18 @gitasor @thecellinmybrain @denisemarieangelina
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worksby-d · a day ago
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𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐲
Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader
Summary: Andy catches on to one of your nervous habits.
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Warnings: None!
Word count: ~400
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Hearing you stand up and quietly try to move your beach chair closer to his, he considers helping you for a split second before ultimately deciding to pretend he's dozed off. Beneath the sunglasses, you won't know the difference.
It’s harder to fake though when he feels your hand reach for his, carefully intertwining your fingers with his to pull his arm into your lap.
He figures you don’t even know you do it, but he's used to you grabbing his arm like that. He waits for your fingertips to begin brushing along his forearm and smoothing over his arm hairs. When he's wearing a button up or a sweatshirt, you'll roll up his sleeve first.
He never brings attention to it, but he can't help it this time. “What could you possibly be nervous about?” His sudden teasing voice makes you jump. “We're on vacation, honey.”
“Huh?”
“You're nervous about something.”
“How did you know?”
“You're playing with my arm hair,” he smirks, watching your fingers freeze when he says it. “See.”
“Nuh-uh,” you scoff. “I'm just holding your hand.”
“No,” he chuckles, turning on his side to face you now. “You pet my arm hair when something’s on your mind.”
“It’s soft,” you shrug shyly, moving your hand again. “You condition it or something?”
“Condition it?” He laughs and cringes at the thought. “Is that a thing?”
“Probably,” you giggle. “Sorry, you can have your arm back.”
You let go, but he doesn't move it. “I didn't say stop. Just wanted to know what you're thinking is all.”
Holding back onto him, you sigh and roll over too so you're facing each other. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “You know I will though.”
“Yeah, I know,” you laugh, resting your cheek against his upper arm. “It’s nothing bad. Just don't wanna go home tomorrow.”
“Maybe we shouldn't,” he jokes. “Should just stay here and ignore reality.”
“Yeah right,” you laugh. “Someday.”
“Retirement plans, I guess.”
“Easy for you to say,” you huff. “You're a lot closer to retirement than I am.”
“Ah– Rude,” he mutters, playfully pinching your thigh. “I'm not that much closer.”
“Sure,” you nod slowly, feeling the warm sun begin to put you to sleep. “Keep telling yourself that.”
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Tag list: @chris-butt @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @princess-evans-addict @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @la-cey @turtoix @katiew1973 @harrysthiccthighss @tvckerlance @bluemusickid @rocketrhap3000 @mrspeacem1nusone @flovds @starlightcrystalline @stargazingfangirl18 @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @jason-evans @cevansrogerss @dilfbarber @livstilinski @payperhearts
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slut4buckysarm · a day ago
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You're Who I Actually Want.
MASTERLIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT (orgasm, best friends to lovers, no protection, d in v, degradation kink, humiliation kink), language, a whole lot of angst. Chris and Y/N are toxic in this but oh well I guess.
18+
MY MOTIVATION TO WRITE COMES FROM COMMENTS SO PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK :)
SUMMARY: A date with my best friend, Chris Evans, and his girlfriend, turns into him dumping her. What happens when Chris reveals that it’s me that he really wants?
ALL mistakes are my own.
Do NOT copy, repost, translate or rewrite my fics!!.
I think I’m shadowbanned or something so please comment, reblog, follow, and like :).
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“…and all you want is her”.
“That’s not true, Jenny”.
What did I get myself into? It was Chris’ date and only Jenny was supposed to attend. But when your best friend insists that you join him and his girlfriend, can you really say no?
“You’re my girlfriend. Why would I not want you?“ Chris questions.
That’s my cue. "I should really get going guys,” I mumble getting up from my chair.
“No. I want you to hear this.” Jenny grabs my hand and pulls me back down.
“Jenny, you’re blowing this way out of proportion. I mean, are you even hearing-”
“Then why did you invite Y/N on our date?!” she starts to get loud.
“Because she’s my friend and I’m going to invite her to stuff whether you like it or not!!” Chris exclaims, banging his hand on the table.
The whole restaurant turns its heads in our direction.
I smack Chris on his arm and he knows better than to continue yelling. Jenny starts to tear up and I know that the worst part is still yet to come.
Chris puts his palm on her back to comfort her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled”.
She pushes his hand away and the next few minutes of silence feel like an eternity of hell.
The waiter walks up to us and places our plates on the table.
“Will that be all”?
I wait for one of them to give an answer. Nothing.
“Will that be all?” the young boy asks again.
“Yes, that’s all. Thank you” I reply, wanting to ease the tension.
We all move our food around our plates but don’t eat a piece of it.
I put my hands on the table and look at the woman in front of me.
“This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come.” I speak grabbing my clutch off the table.
As I’m about to make my break, I finally hear Jenny’s voice again.
“Make a choice. Me or her?” Jenny’s voice is low.
“What?” Chris utters, taken aback.
“Me or her?” she repeats.
“Are you- are you serious?” He lets out a sarcastic chuckle.
She looks at him with a straight face and he realizes what’s about to come.
“You go to premieres with her. You go to set with her. Hell, you even go to parties with her. But somehow”. She pauses to let out a laugh. “Somehow, I’m your girlfriend”.
Chris drops his head and closes his eyes.
“Me or her?” she speaks.
“Don’t make me choose”.
“Me. Or. Her?” Jenney’s anger is portrayed in her voice.
“Jenny, don’t make me-”
“Choose dammit!!”
“Y/N! It’s always going to be Y/N! You know that!” Chris yells.
Without another word, Jenny stands up, grabs her coat, and exits the restaurant leaving nothing but deafening silence for the rest of us.
I sit there and wonder. Why? Why would he choose me over someone like Jenny? Why would he ruin a relationship like that for the relationship that I offered? And then without warning tears start to form in my eyes.
“Excuse me,” I whisper, getting up from my seat.
Chris gives me a light nod in response.
I push open the restroom door and stare at myself in front of the mirror. As soon as the woman who is in the stall leaves the washroom, I start crying. Weeping as a matter of fact.
After a few minutes, I realize that there is no point in crying. Chris had made a decision, and though it involved me, it did not necessarily mean that it was my fault. Did it?
I turn the faucet on and splash my face with cold water. Startled, I jump at the sound of the door being swung open. Chris enters and takes a good look at me. He shakes his head slightly and locks the door behind him.
“You okay?” he asks.
I stay silent.
“Really? The silent treatment? I thought we were passed all of that”.
I grab some paper towels out of the dispenser and start to dry my face.
Chris leans against the door and brings his arms up to his mid-chest. He shakes his arm so that his watch is no longer covered by his suit and lets out a faint chuckle. “Well, I can stand here all day and wait for you to answer. I mean we’ve got time”.
“You arrogant dick”.
He gives me a look of offense.
“I mean, are you not fazed? You just dumped someone, who was perfect for you might I add, for me!” I scream walking up to him.
I push his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re ruining your damn life, you idiot!!”
He stays silent.
“Answer me dammit”!!
“You want an answer?” Chris speaks walking forwards, forcing me to back up. “Fine, I fucked up. I shouldn’t have led Jenny on. Especially when she’s not who I really want”.
He doesn’t want Jenny?
“But ‘ruining’ my life?! I’m trying to save my life! I don’t want to wake up every day to the wrong person. I don’t want to have talks every day with the wrong person. I don’t want to live every day knowing I chose the wrong person! Call me selfish if you will. God, I am selfish! I’m selfish for you. For your conversations. For your embrace. For your touch”! He spits, his hands now grabbing my waist.
He takes a breath. And then another. The silence makes the air feel thicker than usual.
“I don’t… I don’t know what to say” I utter, speechless.
Chris trails his hands up to my face and moves a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want you, Y/N. You’re mines”.
“Then have what’s yours”.
Without another word, Chirs’ lips make contact with mines. His tongue swirls inside of my mouth and I can swear that it’s the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had. I fight for dominance, but soon give in knowing that he won’t.
“Chris” I moan into his mouth.
“Tell me what you want, Y/N” he speaks grabbing a fistful of my hair.
I break the kiss and stare at him, his crystal blue eyes piercing through my Y/E/C ones.
“You”.
Chris works his fingers up my thighs and presses the tips onto my cunt. He then moves my lace panties to the side and collects my wetness. He spreads it over my nerves and starts to rub circles around my clit.
“Fuck” is all I manage to get out before Chris slips his index and middle finger into my heat. He pumps in and out of me and rubs circles with his thumb. I buck my hips to his hand to alert him to go faster, which he does.
“Fuck yes. Right there!”.
“Jesus, look at you. Com'n undone, and all I’m using are my fingers.” he laughs.
Feeling the knot in my stomach grow tighter, I tighten my thighs around his hand and arch my back in pleasure.
“Chris, m’close”.
“Shhh. I know darling. I know”.
“Don’t stop. Fuck. Please don’t stop”.
He starts to pump faster and I shut my eyes tight.
“So pretty” Chris mutters, mostly to himself.
That's all I need to release onto his fingers.
My body slams against the sink and Chris takes his fingers out of me.
“Already?” he mocks, licking them clean.
I roll my eyes and move my arms down to his v-line. I take his dress shirt out of his pants and run my right hand over his abs.
“You’re going to have to do better than that darling” Chris chuckles.
“Please” I whisper.
“Speak up”.
“Please,” I repeat taking his blazer off.
He smirks reaching down for his buckle. “Eager. I like it”.
His cock springs out once free, tip covered in a white liquid. He spreads his pre-cum onto the rest of his dick and watches me pull my dress up.
“You won’t be needing this…” he states, completely pulling it off of my body. “…Or this.” he finishes, pulling my panties down my waist.
Chris then lines himself up with my entrance. He moves the tip of his cock up and down my slick and looks up at me, waiting for an answer. I nod my head, desperate to feel him inside of me, and gasp when he does so.
“Fuck Chris. Yes Chris, right there. Don’t stop, Chris” I moan his name like a prayer.
“Hold on to the side of the sink,” he tells me seeing that I’m struggling to find a balance.
He thrusts into me, all while keeping his eyes focused on mines.
“You like that?” Chris chains sloppy kisses up my neck and all I can do is hum in response.
Feeling his vein on my velvet walls, I clench. Hard. So much so, that he lets out a groan.
“Mmm so tight for me,” he mutters just loud enough for me to hear.
His hips slam into mines and I tighten my grip on the sink. My sweaty palms slip but I grab Chris’ collar just in time.
I can feel Chris’ hands dig deeper into my hips. He moves his right one to my mouth and rubs a finger on my lips. He then trails his hand down to my right boob and starts playing with my nipple. He twists, turns, and squeezes the bud, and I throw my head back in pleasure.
He bites his bottom lip to stop the moan caught in his throat from leaving his lips.
“Fuck, Chris!!” I scream his name falling over the edge, him not far behind.
One more thrust and I can feel his cock twitch inside of me. He releases, leaving me smiling at the deep groan, that spills from his lips.
He grabs the base of his cock and slowly takes it out of me, both of us still panting.
REBLOGS HELP MORE THAN LIKES <3 ALSO COMMENT TO MAKE MY DAY LOL
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agentofbarnes · 6 hours ago
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for kinktober, could you do serial killer!steve ? ♡ ♡
dark side ~ steve rogers
pairing ~ serial killer!steve rogers x naive!reader
warnings ~ smut, minors DNI, oral (m receiving) facefucking, it’s yandere steve tbh but i don’t go that into it, soft!dark!steve rogers, reader is blindly in love steve tbh, jealous!steve, possessive!steve, crying kink
notes ~ this is very much dexter-like serial killing 👀 reader is very much in love with him and completely oblivious to his ‘hobby’
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Steve Rogers was a very dangerous man. His darkness was shrouded under the golden persona he radiated and put forth in the modern age. Who wouldn’t trust the former Captain America?
No one, if they truly knew him. The world didn’t know the service he was actually providing when he cleansed the earth of the scoundrels and heathens. He had given up the shield for this, so that he could take care of the real bad guys, the ones that hurt people daily.
Though, it wasn’t all blood and punishment. No, Steve had to play the celebrity everywhere he went. He had moved into this suburb, to a place he honestly would call home (though, his secluded cabin was a close second) and a year later, he had you.
He had made himself a promise a long time ago. If he ever found love again, he would never let it go. He would never let you go. Within one interaction, Steve Rogers knew you were the one he had been looking for. You were everything he had sworn to protect, so utterly good and kind. Hope still shined in those pretty eyes and he wanted to protect that.
He had been scoping out his target, a very terrible man who had been taking advantage of drunk women he took on dates. The man had been circling around your floral shop for three days when Steve had caught him.
Even after he had rid the earth of the scum, his curiosity got the better of him. He had been watching you for days to keep you safe, from a distance so that no one could connect him to the missing man. Yet, he had been lured in by your infectious smile and Steve found himself pushing in the door to meet you.
It was love at first sight, as people say. You fell so fast, his beautiful, shy girl that just got so flustered any time he complimented you. You were held in the highest regards to him, his princess and his love. If anyone even dared to think of touching you, he would break their hands.
You had moved into his home within six months of meeting him. Sure, it had been early in the relationship, but he had convinced you.
“I’d just feel safer with you here, baby, with me, where you belong,”Steve had confessed to you, large hands caressing your face so gently.”You want to be with me, don’t you?”
“More than anything,”You admitted in a soft whisper.
“Then move in with me. Be with me,”Steve nearly begged and he never begged. In fact, you had never seen Steve so vulnerable. He usually exuded power and dominance over you, often manhandling you in the bedroom and taking care of you in every way.”We’re all the matters. We go at our own time, and I…I love you, I’m never letting you go.”
The decision had been easy to make. You were so deep in love with him, you never questioned him. Not even when he returned home late at night or took multiple trips without you. You trusted him completely.
One thing that did change with your presence in the house was his involvement with the neighborhood. You were quite popular among the residents and often were invited to dinners by single dads and different suburban moms who just thought you were precious.
It was good. It was amazing, actually, because you were thriving and Steve had cover now. People saw him and loved him. They’d never suspect he was taking the lives of rotten men and women.
Except now, the single dads seemed to think he traveled a lot and that gave some sort of opportunity to steal you away.
Steve glared at the three men that crowded you by the drinks at the barbecue one of them were hosting. His grip was iron tight around the neck of his beer bottle, but Steve was imagining it was one of the men’s. The glass shattered under his strength, making multiple people jump.
You gasped, immediately running over to your boyfriend to check him for injuries while he played it off as “oh, sometimes i forget my own strength”
“You gotta be more careful, Steven,”You pouted at him, his full names slipping through your lips when you were worried or upset.
“I’m okay now, baby,”He assured you, breath hitching when you kneel down in front of him to clean up the glass. Steve swallowed thickly, trying to push the thought of what you could be doing on your knees. He wanted nothing more than to feel your tight throat squeezing his cock, choking on his massive shaft as you try desperately to take him just so he’ll praise you. Just the thought of the fat tears running down your cheeks made his cock fatten in his trousers.
“Are you sure?” You asked, tilting your head to look up at him with such kind eyes. Steve sucked in a breath at the sight of you gazing up at him.”Did you cut your hand?”
“It’s okay, baby, really. I just need wrap it for an hour or so, it will heal quickly,”Steve assured you, but you shook your head as you rose to your feet.
“Let me bandage now, let’s go to the bathroom, I think the Johnsons keep their first aid in there.”
Steve nodded, throwing a glare towards the single men that had been crowding you before letting you lead him away.
“You know I hate when you talk to them,”Steve told you with a huff.
“They know I’m in a relationship, Stevie,”You assured him casually, not thinking much of Steve’s jealously.
“What are you supposed to do when men flirt with you, baby?”Steve asked with a raised brow as you both slip into the main bathroom. He shut the door behind you,”You didn’t follow the rules.”
“I…I know,”You frowned, opening the cabinet to retrieve the first aid kit.”I was trying to get them to stop, I swear, but they don’t take me seriously.”
“I’ll take care of it,”Steve told you before lifting you chin up to look at him.”You’re mine, you understand? I don’t like when you forget that.”
“I know who I belong with,”You told him.
“Do you?”He asked, not even flinching when you wipe the blood from his minor wound and cleaned it.
“Yes,”You promised,”I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Good girl,”He praised, his mind wondering to all the things he wished he could do those men who think they can take what’s his. His chest was still filled with jealously, desperately wanting to make some sort of claim on you.
Maybe he should mark you up more and make sure everyone knows who you belong to.
“See, now you’re all bandaged up,”You told him with a soft smile, kissing his knuckles gently.”Is there anything else I can do?”
Steve’s lips turned up into a smirk, brushing his fingers over your jaw.”Actually, there is, why don’t get back on those knees and show me what a good girl you are? Because I think my precious dove needs a reminder on who she belongs to, or did you think I wouldn’t notice how much you like the attention?”
His words knock the breath from your lungs, heat creeping into your cheeks at the thought of sucking Steve off in the bathroom of your friends’ house. “What if someone finds out?”
“Then they’ll know what a little slut you are for me,”Steve stepped closer, dipping his head down to brush his lips over your ear,”You are my little slut, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,”You purred back at him, his hands slipping over your side and up to your shoulders before pushing you down to your knees.
You sank down, knees hitting the small soft rug on the bathroom tile. You flick your tongue across your lips, hands hesitantly coming up to the buckle of his jeans. You undo his belt with a small clink before unzipping and freeing his impressive cock from the fabric of his boxers.
You whimpered at the mere sight of his length, the fat cock slapping against his stomach with pre-cum leaking from the swollen head. Your mouth watered, eyeing the pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft.
Steve let out a deep groan when your hot tongue dragged from the bottom of his cock to the very tip. You were delighted by the hand caressing your face as you licked around his cock to get it nice and wet. You wrapped your hand around Steve’s shaft, stroking the impressive length just to feel him pulse in your hand.
“Suck.” Steve demanded, his cheeks turning a soft pink as you teased the head of his cock with your tongue. You were quick to follow his command, sticking your tongue out for your man to thrust into your warm mouth.
Slowly, Steve inched his cock into your mouth, a moan of relief echoing as his cock gliding over your tongue. You looked up at him, watching how his head fell back in bliss.
“That’s it, baby girl,” Steve grunted, running his hand over your hair before resting his hand on the back of your neck. You choke on his cock, throat constricting around him in such a pleasing way. He held you in place before pulling you off.
Your lips glisten with spit, heaving your chest at first before he was pushing his cock back into your mouth. He thrusted into your mouth, lips stretching around him as he uses your mouth as a fuck hole.
Drool pooled from the sides of your mouth, his cock prodding at back of your throat with each buck of his hips. He was a mess of moans, admiring how you slobbered ok his cock all messy like. Tears brimmed your waterline, threatening to spill and that only made him throb against your tongue. With one hard thrust, he held your bread in place. His cock was sheathed in the heat of your mouth as you gargled around his fat cock. You remember to breath through your nose as you choke so desperately around him. The tears spilled over, running down your pretty face before he yanked you off.
You whined at the loss, gazing up at him through your lashes with glossed over eyes. Your lips are swollen, jaw sore, and he’s still not done with you.
Steve rubbed his salvia coated cock against your lips, smear your drool over your chin and mouth.”Such a messy little slut. Just can’t help it, can you? So innocent, but I know the truth, you like this. You like being used and fucked like a whore.”
“Only for you….”You whispered, smiling up at him before holding your tongue for him to fuck your mouth like the good little slut you are.
“Atta girl. So desperate to please, my pathetic girl,”Steve cooed, slapping the head of his cock against your tongue. The lewd sounds of him shoving his cock down your throat echoed in the small bathroom, his hands firm on the back of your neck to control your movements.
You shifted on your knees, pussy dripping all over the fabric of your panties as Steve used your mouth as his personal fleshlight. His heavy balls smacked against your chin as he pounded into you. You didn’t even care how sore your jaw was or how raw your throat was becoming. All you wanted was for Steve to cum, you wanted to hear that praise after he coated you in his seed, it fueled your movement as you braved yourself by gripping his thighs so he wouldn’t knock you down with his harsh thrusts.
His eyes never left yours, admiring how wrecked you looked with mascara now running just a little bit down your cheeks. Something about you crying on his cock made his balls tighten and his dick throb.
Steve threw his head back in completely bliss, holding you still with your nose pressed against his abdomen. He relished in the tightness of your throat and how it constricted around him as he impaled you on his cock.
“What a fucking good girl,”Steve moaned your name, not even trying to keep quiet. No, he wanted all the men out in that party to hear how good his girl was servicing him.”That’s it, fuck!”
Steve coated throat in cum, spilling into you with a loud groan. He caressed your face, pulling out slowly and leaned down to kiss you. He can taste what remain of his cum on your lips, but he doesn’t care. Steve’s lips smashed against yours, playfully biting at your bottom lip before melting into the kiss with you.
“What do you say, baby?”Steve whispered, wiping the mascara and tears from your face as you chased his lips. He denied you another kiss until you gave the proper response.
“Thank you.”
Steve pulled you up from your knees, his arms around around your waist and you collided against his chest. You surged up to kiss him passionately, eager to feel his lips against yours. You wanted to get lost in him, always craving his touch. Steve was more than willingly to give you the affection you so desperately craved.
“You’re my best girl, you know that? I’d do anything for you,”Steve whispered against your soft lips.
“Anything?”You teased, gently grazing your fingers over his jaw.”Surely, there’s a few things you wouldn’t do for me.”
Oh, but how wrong you were because you were everything to him and he would burn the world for you if you asked, but what you didn’t know wouldn’t kill you. It’s best to leave the killing to him.
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sstan-hoe · a day ago
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𝑃𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑘 — 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠
𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 — Steve Rogers x Fem!reader
𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 — NO SMUT, praise kink, slight Daddy kink, dd/gl dynamic if you squint
𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 — for this one I was going for a way to show it also goes non sexual and we're actually at the point at how I wanted to make the Kinktober with short little fics and no big ass long books haha, *not my gif, reblog and comment!
• KINKTOBER
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„Good girl.“ Steve smirked as you drank the full glass of medicine. A cough left you’re your mouth caused by the disgusting taste of the medicine.
“That tastes like an old shoe!” You complained as you crouched your nose. “And it smells like it.” You added, Steve chuckled at your reaction. Like a little child getting a cold.
“You’re doing so good for me sweetheart.” He told with a kind smile, taking your hand in his hand his thumb caressed the knuckles.
A few day back Steve took you on a walk around the central park, it was a cold day and he told you to put on something with more warmth than the lazy red sweater he gifted you to Christmas.
“Stop the sweet talk. Its’s your fault I’m sick!” You accused him with pointed finger. Steve raised his eyebrows in warning manner which you did not even realise he had until meeting his gaze that held proving glint in them.
“My fault…?” He trailed of his grip on your hand tightening. “Say that again.” Demanding laced in his voice.
“Sorry daddy, you’re right it was my fault I wouldn’t listen.” You mumbled not having the confidence to meet his eyes as he still had the proving look that hid the disapointment perfectly.
“That’s right you are at fault, and you know good girls only tell the truth.” Steve finger slipped under your chin raising it up. “I am sorry daddy.” The apology rolled over your tounge as easy a sharp knife cutting paper.
“Good girl, you were doing so good for me. You don’t want to disappoint me again do you love?” Steve softly questioned and you instantly shook your head. “No, of course not daddy.”
“Good, you’re gonna be such a good perfectly girl for me because you listen to me so well.”
𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑠 —
@adventurer1789 @slut-for-bucky-barnes @thehuntresswolf @wandalosthervision @til-my-feet-are-wet @tomhoelland01 @kaiparker-avengerssmut @cyeh1123 @evans-cavill @emmygrey21 @disappointmentofthefam @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @buckyxxrogers @anythingandeverything97 @wydtrina @buckysbabydolldude @poetic-heart @iambeeee @browneyedgirl365 @satzukim @xealia @patzammit @jeeperky @everything-burns-down @liz-owl @honeyyxashes @bluemoonyumi @slutforchrisjamalevans @buckysbae @lewisjada03 @queenofthepouges @harrysthiccthighss @melissad1974 @znylxcevans @iwannabekilledtwice @thats-a-little-fruity @hallecarey1 @maybe-a-bi-witch @nostxlgia18 @slutforchrisjamalevans @multixfandomwriter @sunflowerfive @bunnyrecs @wednesdayaddamsmood @idfkgabby @miniaturesuitcasevoidstudent @yourssincerelytae @ambrosia-bloom @oliviabelova
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rodrikstark · 2 days ago
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careful days (3/6)
frank adler x f!reader (fluff)
summary: you go to frank's place after work.
word count: 1.6k
warnings: literally like two seconds of nudity / implied sex, swearing
(part 1) (part 2) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)
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 “Why is your apartment always so cold?”
 “To be fair," Frank starts, dropping the cool, heavy blanket on top of you, "you spend a lot of time here not wearing clothes.”
 “I bet you prefer me that way.”
 His veiny hands grip the elastic of his blue boxers as he smiles and gets dressed. Briefly, you contemplate grabbing his wrist and yanking until he’s underneath with you—warming you up faster—but you feel too good to move.
 He scrubs his forehead after donning a gray t-shirt. “You want pizza?”
 Your stomach rumbles envisioning the greasy food. Pressing your cheeks to the soft cotton, you mumble, “Can we get what we got last time?”
 “You hungry? Let’s get a large.”
 You sigh happily. “Yeah.”
 Rubbing your eyelashes, you slap his coffee table and find your phone, rolling over to scroll through social media while luxuriating at the crisp fabric brushing your bare legs.
 In your peripheral vision, Frank stretches his shoulders and walks to his small dining table to open his laptop.
 After a couple minutes, he announces, “Thirty minutes.”
 You flip to your other side, your eyes drifting shut while you slowly recount your day: lecturing all morning, researching all afternoon, attending utterly useless meetings in between.
 By early evening, you’d simply texted him a ?, and he sent a 👍. He drove to his apartment, while you took the bus, a dual effort to avoid suspicious students.
 You should have stopped for food on the way. Your lunch break consisted of shoving a free bagel from the faculty lounge into your mouth, dodging Frank’s amused look as he refilled his coffee mug.
 "Did you get a large?" you ask, half a yawn.
 "Mm-hmm."
 Thirty minutes is probably long enough for a nap, yet short enough that he wouldn’t notice you asleep on his sofa.
 Your eyelids drift open when you hear Frank groan through gritted teeth, followed by several taps on a keyboard. You giggle knowingly, drowsily. “Somebody’s grading.”
 “It’s remarkable how smart you can sound without saying a goddamn thing.”
 “Toss in enough big words and you can fool anybody.” You lift your arms above your head, stretching like a cat before sitting upright. You survey the room, locating the clothes you and Frank had carelessly discarded, then put them on in sequence.
 “Is that how you got to be where you are today?” he challenges, watching you.
 “Oh, definitely.” You locate your bag to retrieve your computer, cracking it open once you’re surrounded by the comfy duvet again. “Fake it ‘til you make it.”
 “They're not fooling me,” he mutters, his eyes narrowing at the double-spaced, likely bullshitted essay.
 “Not the great Frank Adler,” you echo mockingly, closing the research tabs in your browser.
 After a moment, he diverts his attention back to you. “What are you working on?”
 “Job applications,” you say proudly. You had submitted your Cambridge a week ago. A hail Mary, but you had applied to plenty of other universities.
 “You wanna work here?” He kicks the chair opposite him. “There’s room.”
 “I’m fine.”
 “On that sweaty couch?” he teases.
 Blinking twice, you cringe, shrugging off the blanket. You carry your laptop and backpack to his table, shivering in disgust. “I don’t wanna think about how many girls you’ve slept with on that couch.”
 Together, you sit in silence, not unlike working at separate tables inside the lounge. This time, though, you shove your foot into Frank’s lap to annoy him. He strokes your ankle absentmindedly, slowly digesting his irritation with his students. You lean forward, trying to devote your attention to your work and not his stupidly adorable frown.
 “A normal amount of girls, I think,” he murmurs, many minutes later.
 It takes you a second.
 “With that broody charm?” you ask, disbelieving. “The whole philosophy professor thing you’ve got going on? No fucking way.”
 He laughs, clicking his trackpad. “Yeah, that’s why I started studying philosophy. All the women I’d get to bed.”
 “Ew.” You wrinkle your nose. Gently poke his stomach with your foot. “Why did you start studying philosophy?”
 He cradles your calf, stroking the contours of your muscles. “I like thinking.”
 You raise your eyebrows, stunned by the utter Frank-ness of his answer. “That’s hilarious.”
 “It’s true.” His gaze lifts to connect with yours, his irises electric blue as they reflect the light of the screen. “Everybody in my family, always thinking.”
 “About math.”
 “It’s one of the most fascinating things we do,” he says, an unmistakable fondness folded within his words. "C'mon, you haven't learned anything from these dinners?"
 "Nope," you say proudly.
 “My mother and sister have dedicated their whole lives to thinking about abstractions and theorems, like... hypothetical spaces. It's not even tangible. But it's important."
 You had assumed, at least in the beginning, that Frank resented math. Maybe he never shined the same way his sister did early on, or he associated it too closely with Evelyn. Yet, now that you hear it—and now that you know him better—it makes sense that he’d consider math a beautiful thing. Growing to appreciate the field, how it represents humanity’s deep-seated desire to solve problems.
 The only string keeping his fragile family together.
 “Did you always want to be a philosopher?”
 He hooks his hand over the edge of his screen, tilting it down and crossing his arms. "Astronaut.”
 “You’re adorable.”
 “You ever been to the Adler Planetarium?”
 You’ve heard of it. Chicago. “No.”
 “It felt like a calling, the first time I went.”
 You can see it. A smaller version Frank, wearing that cute schoolboy uniform in your imagination. He probably stared in awe at the artificial stars dotting the ceiling of the theater, dreamt of being so far from Earth that its gravity would gently let him go.
 For a long time, as he grew up around his genius mother and sister, it must have felt possible. To study hard enough that he could get away. Escape into space.
 You bet that he begged his mother for a souvenir from that incredible place, which she flatly denied.
 As you watch his expression soften, your throat closes. In that moment, you wish you could swap places with him. What kind of calling had you ever heard?
 “What happened?”
 “I’m not good at science.” He tilts his head at you, the back of his knuckle tickling your ankle bone.
 “I don’t believe you.” You wrinkle your nose. “You’re so smart, and your mom has such a big stick up her ass, I bet you got straight A’s.”
 He chuckles. "Diane did."
 That doesn't surprise you. In fact, someone who attended the Adler family dinners would probably assume that Frank wasn’t much of anything, not compared to his sister.
  When you attended your third monthly dinner in October, you found it astonishing just how easily he faded into the background, especially with your attendance being old news by that point. Evelyn dedicated the night to grilling Diane about progress in her research, offering far more criticism than praise.
 “You have to reframe your approach, Diane.” She sighed. “If you’re not agile with your mindset, you’ll get stuck.”
 “I understand.”
 “Clearly, you don’t.”
 Frank’s jaw tightened every passing minute, yet he didn’t speak up. You would’ve defended her yourself, if you had the slightest idea what they were discussing.
 Instead, you did what you would’ve done for any visibly distressed friend: “Diane, I’m headed to the bathroom. Do you want to come with?”
 Frank pulsed your hand before you left to walk her to the back of the restaurant.
 “Thanks,” she muttered, leaning against a stone sink and dropping the tension lining her shoulders. “Jesus, sometimes I just need room to breathe.”
 You spotted a bottle of lavender-scented lotion sitting on the counter, showing the label to her and pumping some onto her slender palms. “Why do you guys still go to these, if it’s this awful?”
 Diane offered you a bitter smile, wringing her hands. “Because she’s our mother.”
 Sometimes, you hated these nights with the Adlers. The choked atmosphere. The irrational pressure you felt to buy a new, nice dress each month to impress Evelyn. You despised the way she ridiculed Diane, ignored Frank, dismissed you.
 Still, you kept going. To break the tide of her relentless wave of criticism. To bring a smile to Frank and Diane’s faces the minute you escaped her presence.
 The three of you always fell into an easy stride, laughing at the increasingly intricate web of lies you and Frank spun in the spaces between Evelyn's ridicule. Things that she frowned at but didn’t care enough to question: spending next weekend in New York, contemplating adopting a cat, planning a vacation for your two-year dating anniversary.
 And you decided, a while ago: you'll keep going. Until the day Frank stops inviting you.
 “Y'know that doesn’t mean I’d automatically be a good scientist,” he laughs. “They have to think a certain way.”
 “So you admit that you got straight—” A loud buzz surprises you both, your leg dropping to the ground with a dull thunk.
 “Pizza.” He stands, scrambling to find his pants.
 While he stumbles, you dig around your bag to retrieve a crumpled bill. “Here. The tip.”
 He shakes his head from across the room, patting a front pocket to ensure his wallet is there before unsteadily yanking on his pants.
 You toss the money at him like he’s a reverse stripper. “Frank, I know your ass is just as broke as mine.”
 He waves you off, grabbing his cellphone lying by the computer. “Keep it.”
 You groan. “I’ll get it next time, then.”
 Before heading downstairs, he kisses your cheek, smiling a little. "Okay."
 When the door shuts, you swallow, opening a blank document to write another cover letter, ignoring the flames licking at your face.
— — —
masterlist
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isimpoveryou · a day ago
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𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥
chris evans x fem!reader
fc: son chaeyoung
request are closed
꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂
yourinstagram ✔︎
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Liked by chrisevans and 3,092,210 others
yourinstagram todays evening look
view all 88,839 comments
y/nfan19 she looks just like a dream the prettiest girl i've ever seen
chrisfan25 i understand why chris i completly do
chrisevans beautiful ❤
yourinstagram thank you love
y/nfan60 where are you going
yourinstagram i actually dont know...
chrisfan91 @randomuser i bet chris is proposing her
randomuser bet
chrisevans ✔︎
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Liked by yourinstagram and 8,829,110 others
chrisevans i asked my girlfriend of 2 years to marry me and she said yes
tagged-yourinstagram
view all 150,289 comments
chrisfan60 @randomuser BITCH ASS GIVE ME MY 200
randomuser fuckkkk
y/nfan71 I JUST WOKE UP CHILL PLS
brielarson congrats to you guyssss i hope my gift are arrived
yourinstagram they are thank youuu brie
chrisfan100 i just had a heart attack
yourdadsinstagram 💕💕
yourinstagram ✔︎
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Liked by arianagrande and 8,009,920 others
yourinstagram 15//10//2021
view all 910 comments
yoursistersinstagram AHHHHHHH FACE TIME YOU FUCKER
yourinstagram good luck with that
yourbestfriendinstagram WHAT THE FAWK Y/N
yourinstagram suprise??
arianagrande CALL ME YOU ASS
emmawatson HE DID IT
anthonymackie evans finally had the balls to do it huh
chrisevans i do have the balls to do it
imsebastianstan and we have groupchat with proof
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plentyoffandoms · a day ago
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All I Want is You (Part 3)
Chris Evans x f/Reader
Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.
Gifs & photos do not belong to me.
Warning: swearing.
Main Masterlist ♡ Chris Evans Masterlist ♡ All I Want is You Masterlist
Summary: f/Reader is the girlfriend of Chris & involved in a car accident.
Chris Evans POV:
I am just finishing wrapping up filming the movie here in Scotland. Been gone for almost six months now and it had been brutal being away from Y/N.
She surprised me at Christmas by showing up and she stayed until almost the middle of January. I can truly say that was the best Christmas I ever had.
But when she returned back to Massachusetts, I almost begged her to quit and stay with me, but that wouldn't be fair for her.
So we went back to what we were doing before. Plenty of phone calls, video chats and messages.
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But I do know she has been spending alot of time with my Mom and Dad. The first time I saw the photo of the 'mystery woman out to dinner with Chris Evans parents.' I knew it was time to tell my fans because people were wondering who she was and kept asking me.
So after a long talk Y/N agreed that it was time for us to tell the world, but before that happened I had her make all her social media accounts private because I know once the news broke out, they will all be flocking to her accounts.
Even still to this day it is odd to see photos of my parents and sisters all over social media.
My favourite is probably a few where Y/N was out with Scott and he flipped them off. You can see Y/N trying not to laugh at his antics.
But soon it will be photos of the two of us as I am going home as soon as I can and taking a much needed vacation.
Just the thought of finally being with Y/N had a huge smile on my face. Finally being home with her and Dodger is where I need to be.
I plan on asking her to move in with Dodger and I. I hope she says yes.
I went to bed dreaming of my love like I do every night. Knowing how lucky I am to have found her.
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I woke up the next morning and called room service for breakfast. I turned on the TV for background noise as I went to the bathroom and got ready for the day.
"This just in, Y/N L/N, girlfriend of Chris Evans was involved in a car accident early this morning."
I ran out of the bathroom and watched the news. They showed the car, which made me almost sick when I saw it. It was completely ruined and up against a guardrail.
Then they showed my sisters and parents walking into the hospital. I looked at my phone then and saw the missed calls, the voicemails and the messages from everyone.
I called my Mom right away.
"Chris!"
"Mom, what is going on? Is she okay?"
"Oh Chris, Y/N is in the ICU. Baby, her right leg is broken and her left arm..." I zoned out after that.
I gotta get home. That is the only thought I have right now.
"Mom, I'll be home as soon as I can." We said our goodbyes and I started to pack up my belongings as I made the phone calls.
First I called my manager and told them. They got me a plane ticket and a airport taxi that will be coming shortly.
I called the director and the producers and told them. At first they were upset but then they realised that we shot so much already that they can just fix it and I am done filming.
My food came and I ate it as fast as I could and then I checked out of the hotel. My taxi came and I was on my way to the airport.
Word must of got out somehow that I was heading home and the paparazzi were there, screaming and asking me questions and taking my photo.
I ignored them all and did what I had to do to get on that plane.
Almost 11 hours on the planes but I finally made it back home to the States.
Shanna came to pick me up from the airport. Thankfully she was there waiting for me because once again the paparazzi were there.
I kept my head down the whole way to her car and my seatbelt was barely on as she drove off.
"How is she doing Shanna?" I asked her as I rubbed my face, trying to keep myself awake.
"Chris, Y/N is...I don't know how to say this."
"What is it?" I begged.
"They had to put her in a induced coma. She had swelling around the brain from the airbag."
All the tears that have been holding back finally fell. Shanna pulled over and hugged me and I lost it.
My body was practically shaking as I cried. My sister was trying soothe me as best as she could. She was rubbing my back and rocking me back and forth.
"Y/N is strong Chris. She hasn't given up. The Doctors only put her in a coma to help her heal."
I took some deep breaths, just trying to relax and calm myself down and we finally started driving to the hospital.
As to be expected, the paparazzi were there, taking pictures and asking stupid questions.
We went to a floor that wasn't the ICU and I was confused and asked Shanna why?
"The hospital staff had to put her somewhere alone and with security outside the her room because those people out there kept trying to get in."
We finally got to her room and I noticed that Shanna was right and that there was security outside her room.
I walked into the hospital room, which was packed with flowers, cards and gifts and to the horrible sounds of the machines.
And there she was, the love of my life laying in her hospital bed. Her beautiful face had some cuts and casts on her leg and arm.
"Chris." My Dad noticed me first and gave me a hug. My Mom was there as well and gave me a hug.
"How is she doing?" I chocked out between tears.
"She is doing good Chris. She has the best care here." I nodded my head in understanding.
The Doctor came in not that long after I arrived and explained to me what is going on with Y/N.
When I got told she should be waking up in a few days, I was thrilled.
I also made arrangements with the hospital to sleep in the same room as her as I was not going home.
Did I use my celebrity status to get what I wanted? Yes I did.
Did I promise to visit the children's ward dressed as Captain America? Yes.
I would do anything for Y/N.
Day in and day out it was the same thing. Nurses and Doctors came and went as did my family and our friends.
I was there when Y/N started to slowly wake up and I could of cried when I saw her beautiful eyes looking at me.
"Oh I feel terrible." Y/N groaned with a hoarseness in her voice.
"Baby. I'll get the Doctor. Don't talk love. It's been a bit since you have talked." I gave her a kiss on the cheek and went to go tell them she was awake.
We waited for the Doctor to come and talk to Y/N and when he did and told her what happened to her and what surgeries she had, I knew she was in some type of shock.
I could feel her hand squeezing mine weakly of course but I could tell.
"When will I get to go home?"
"It will be awhile until that happens and you will need care at home as well." She was told.
The Doctor left and the nurses came into to check her over and they left as well.
"Y/N, come home with me. You know you will have the best care including Nurse Dodger." The thought of Dodger brought a smile to her face.
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"I'll think on it Chris but I think I am gonna go for a nap." I gave her a kiss and whispered to her that I will be here when she wakes up.
I watched the woman I love sleep, finally able to relax somewhat.
We have a long way to go for her recovery but I am going to be there with her every step of the way.
I know she would be there for me and that is how I know Y/N is the one for me.
Part 4 (coming soon)
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Tag List: if you would like to be added, please let me know. @deepintothenature
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loryevrg · 2 days ago
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Andy Barber / Defending Jacob - 2020 (1x05)
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funfickgirl22 · 4 hours ago
Note
Reader walking around it one of Chris Evans jumpers or plaid shirts teasing him 😈❤️
His favorite jumper.
Chris Evans x Reader
Warning: implied smut
It was this part of the year when the extra layer of clothing was very much needed. On one Saturday afternoon, you were feeling a bit under the weather, so you decided to steal one of your boyfriend's cable-knit sweaters. As Chris was at work, doing interviews for his political project, you wanted to tease him and send him a selfie with a caption - I wish you were here. After a few minutes, you have received the text back.
Chris: Miss you too, is that my sweater? Give it back.
It was your ongoing battle, who wore it better (in your opinion it was Chris.)
Since that day, you liked to tease Chris by wearing his favorite sweaters around the house. Chris of course didn’t mind that however, it was difficult for him to be productive, seeing you in the sweater only, suggestively bending over next to him.
Just before Thanksgiving, your boyfriend needed to finalize some paperwork for his upcoming movie. You were upset that he spends so much time in front of his laptop. You needed attention. You came down from your shared bathroom wearing his oversized sweater with nothing underneath. Chris hasn’t realized what are you up to until you decided to clean up the floor on your fours, using a simple cloth, forgetting the mop. Your plan had worked, you could hear Chris growling under his breath. You both could hear the phone ringing in the other room. You got up, and were on your way, to answer it, but Chris quickly stopped you. Grabbing you and placing you across his lap, he started to tickle you.
“You are such a tease, Y/N !”
“I can’t see you complaining, Chris, please let me go!”
“That’s too late for that. Go to the bedroom, now.’’ Chris wanted to act angry, but he was very turned on by the idea of chasing you.
“Catch me if you can, loser!” You quickly run away from him, but Chris catches you again. This time his hold was much stronger. He was closer to you, ready to give you a kiss.
“Who is the loser now? Now could you please give my sweater back? His whisper was causing shivers down your spine.
“Take it off me, please”
For the rest of the afternoon, the sweater was long forgotten. It was Chris who kept you warm.
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time-for-a-lullaby · a day ago
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saturday nights - pt. 2 (A Walk To The Park)
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Saturday Nights - Pt. 2 (A Walk To The Park)
Chris Evans x Female Reader
Summary: You and Chris dated throughout high school and college, separating when the things you desire out of life just don’t align anymore. You stayed in Sudbury while Chris moved away and on with his life. He shows up to your job one day while he’s back in Massachusetts and everyone’s world is turned upside down. 
Warnings: Language, Alcohol, alcohol abuse, parental death,  weed, angst, fluff,  pregnancy
A/N: Man, this one... just ugh. I say that like I didn’t write it lmao
italics = flashbacks
bold = texts
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“I don’t know, Maddie, I mean he just left. I-- What was I supposed to do? Follow him?” 
She sighed, “What are you going to do?” 
You shrugged. Hell if you knew. Chris found out about Eli and fled the scene, you weren’t exactly sure how to read that reaction. You knew he was going to be upset if he ever found out, but you’d never thought this far in advance. Chris hated Sudbury. You never even thought he would find out. 
“I honestly don’t know, I mean, I don’t even have his number anymore,” you sighed, “I guess I can go over to Lisa’s tomorrow?” 
She nodded, “I think--”
You both looked over at your door and then got back to each other, neither of you knowing who was knocking, “Is it him?” 
“I don’t know, Maddie. I mean-- I- I don’t know.” You checked your watch, it was 11:30pm. Walking over to the door, you looked through the peephole. You turned quickly, “It is.” 
She stood, gathering her stuff, “I’m out, obviously you guys have some shit to hash out.” 
You turned back towards the door, pulling it open slowly, “Hey…” your face fell when the porch light illuminated his, “Chris…” His face was red and tearstained, eyes and lips puffy from crying. You pulled the door open, “Come in.” 
He sniffled and walked through the door, stepping aside and letting Maddie through. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” She smiled awkwardly at Chris as she made her way outside. 
“Thanks, Mads.” You closed the door behind her, turning to look at Chris. Not sure what to do, you walked to the couch and took a seat, “You wanna sit?” 
He nodded, taking a seat at the opposite end, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at you, “Can you tell me about him?” 
You smiled softly, “Yeah, I would love to,” you sat back and took a deep breath, “He uh-- he’s amazing, Chris. His birthday is June 10th, so he’ll be 10 in just a couple of months. Elijah Christopher, that’s his full name. He just goes by Eli, though.” 
He choked back a small sob when you mentioned his full name, his eyes filling with tears, “You named him after me?” 
“Of course..” you chewed on the inside of your cheek for a second before continuing, “He uh-- he loves theater. He was The Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland earlier this year. He did so good, you would’ve been proud, Chris.” 
He looked at you for a second, his voice cracking, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 
You scooted towards him, hesitating for a second before placing your hands over his, “Chris… I know that I should’ve told you, but my mom… I mean, you know what she was like.. And she kept telling me that you deserved better and I-- I agreed. You do. I knew that you wouldn’t take another part if I told you that I was pregnant--”
“That wasn’t your decision to make, Y/N,” he argued, pulling his hands away from you. 
You put your hands in your lap, “I know, Chris. I know that. Okay? But I already knew I was gonna be stuck here. My dad left, my mom was a drunk, where was I gonna go? What could I have done with my life besides this? Unwed and pregnant at 23. I knew I couldn't leave, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t.” You bit your cheek, looking at your hands as your eyes filled with tears, “look, i know this isn’t about me and i know i hurt you. I’m sorry, Chris. I— i— can’t ever make it up to you, I know that.”
He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts, “I loved you, Y/N. I mean, I would’ve-- I could’ve helped.”
“You were already gone, Chris. We broke up. I couldn’t-- I didn’t wanna do that. I didn’t want to force you back into a relationship that you left because of him. I didn’t wanna force you back to a town that you hated because I got pregnant,” you reasoned, trying to make him see your perspective. It might not seem like it to him, but you tried to do what you thought was right.  “I almost told you. And then you got the part of Captain America and I knew how it would look. I knew I would just look like a money hungry waitress from a small town and I just-- I couldn’t.” 
He shook his head, “But Y/N, I know you. I know that you would’ve never done something like that. I mean, hell, you wouldn’t even let me pay for your dinner when we went on dates.” 
You smiled, “Yeah, I was pretty stubborn.”
He sniffed again, wiping his eyes with his t-shirt, “That’s an understatement.” He smiled for a second before his expression hardened again, “can i see him?” 
“He’s asleep… but sure.” 
You stood up, walking him toward Eli’s bedroom. 
“Is he in your old room?” Chris asked, a small smile on his face. 
You nodded, “yeah. Mom left the house to me when she died, so I put him in here when we moved back in.” You opened the door slowly, a sliver of light from the hallway landing on Eli in bed. 
Chris leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. You watched Chris as he watched Eli, wondering what was going through his mind. His expression softened the longer you stood there, “he looks like me.” 
You smiled, “he is you, Chris,” you teased, with a hushed voice, elbowing him gently, “the way he talks, the way he jokes, it’s all you. The only thing he got from me was—“
“Your eyes.” 
You looked up at Chris, “yeah, my eyes.” 
He smiled, his eyes still locked on Eli. 
“Chris…” you reached up, placing your hand on his forearm, “i am so sorry.” 
“I know,” he replied, softly. 
You knew he wouldn’t stay mad at you. He never could. Even after all these years, especially now that Eli was in the picture. 
“Come on, let’s let him sleep.” You tugged on his shirt sleeve, gesturing for him to follow. You made your way back to the living room, “wanna drink?”
He cleared his throat, “yeah, sure.” He took a seat on the couch, leaning back and taking a deep breath.
You grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and took a seat next to him, “do you… have any questions?” You let out a small laugh, “I don't really know like… how to go about this.” 
He chuckled, running his fingers through his hair, “me either,” he paused taking a swig of his beer, “do you have any pictures? Like from when he was a baby?” 
You smiled, “I do,” you stood and walked to the bookshelf, grabbing a few different albums, “God, I haven't looked at these in a minute.” You sat next to him, opening the oldest one and starting with the hospital pictures. 
A couple of hours later, you were laughing while flipping through the last one.
“Oh god, this was last year. He wanted to be a piece of toast for Halloween, Chris. A piece of toast.” 
Chris laughed, looking closer at the picture, “well, that’s one damn good costume, Y/N.” 
You smiled, “oh, thanks,” finishing off your drink, you stood to grab another, “one more?” 
He nodded, “yeah, sure.” You didn’t notice, but while you were grabbing another drink, Chris made his way over to the bookshelf, smiling to himself when he recognized a book.
“Oh.” You let out a small, awkward laugh as Chris flipped through your sketchbook, “that old thing.”
He smiled, “You still drawing?” 
You shook your head, setting his beer down on a coaster, “no, not really.” 
“Did you ever go to art school?” 
You bit your bottom lip, peeling at the label of your beer, “no,” you paused, taking a drink, “i uh- couldn’t afford it when i got pregnant.”
He nodded, smiling when he got to a picture you drew of him around 12 years ago, “god, this picture got me in trouble with your mom.” 
You smiled, “yeah it did. I never thanked you for that.” 
“No thanks needed. You’re an amazing artist, Y/N. I just wanted her to see it, too.”
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“Mom, please! Just hear me out.” You followed her through the house, sketch book in hand, “just look,” you extended the sketchbook toward her, “please.”
She sighed, taking a drag of her cigarette, “fine.” She reached out, snatching the sketch book from your hands and flipping through it. 
Neither of you heard Chris come in through the front door.
She sighed again, flipping through the pages, “the problem is Chris, Y/N. You’re 21 years old. You need to pull your head out of your ass and get a big girl job. He encourages you to do this shit, when you’re not even good.”
Your shoulders fell, tears forming in your eyes, “you don’t think I’m good? I mean, the professor at the community college said I had good potential.” 
She took another drag of her cigarette, exhaling slowly, “that’s just what they tell you when you’re not good and they don’t wanna hurt your feelings.” 
You bit the inside of your cheek, taking your sketchbook back from her, “okay. Sorry I asked.”
Your head whipped over when Chris walked into the room, “that’s a lie and you know it. Y/N’s an amazing artist, you’re just too drunk to see it. And too lazy to get off your ass and pay your own bills so the money she makes at the diner goes towards something she’d like to do instead of paying your fucking bills.”
You stared back and forth from your mom to Chris.
“You listen here, boy. You’re not gonna come into my house and insult me—“
“Your house??? YOUR house? Who pays your bills? Who pays the mortgage? Because I know it’s not you.” He yelled, wrapping an arm around your waist, “Y/N is an amazing artist and an amazing person and you’d rather down a glass of vodka than give her the recognition that she deserves.”
“OUT!” She stood up, walking towards Chris, “I don't wanna see you back in my house, ever again! OUT!”
You turned to Chris, lowering your voice, “I’ll be out in a minute, just go.”
He rolled his eyes, “one day you’ll regret treating her like this,” he turned, walking towards the front door. 
“He’s no good for you, Y/N.”
You shook your head, “he’s too good for me, mom.” 
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“Well, still. You stood up for me. It meant… a lot,” you smiled at him for a second before taking another sip of your beer. 
You chatted for a few more minutes while you finished your beers, he loved getting to hear about Eli. After a few more pictures, Chris checked his watch, “I should probably head out, get out of your hair.”
You hadn’t even realized what time it was, “oh, jeez. I had no idea it was so late!” You laughed and walked him to the door, “Chris… I’m so sorry. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I am. So sorry.”
He stepped outside, turning to look at you, “I know. I— I understand why you didn’t tell me. And I know you think you had everyone’s best intentions in mind, it’s just… a lot to process.” 
“I know. And I know you can never get back the 9 years that have passed, but… I know he’d love you and I don’t want you to miss anything else. We normally go to the park on Saturdays.. wanna come?”
He smiled, “yeah, I’d love to.”
“Wanna swing by here around 11?”
He nodded, pulling his keys from his pocket, “I’ll see you then.”
The next morning, you got Eli ready to go. You almost instantly regretted staying up so late because of course, he was up and jumping on your bed around 6:30am. 
You yawned, fixing his shirt, “Alright buddy, let’s go sit on the couch. I wanna talk to you about something, okay?” 
He scrunched his little face up, looking at you, “Am I in trouble?” 
“No, bub,” you smiled, raking your fingers through his hair. You took a seat next to him, turning slightly to look him in the eyes, “So remember that man that was at the diner yesterday? He helped you with your homework while mom made a milkshake?” 
He nodded, “Yeah, he was nice.” 
“He was really nice wasn’t he?” You smiled, “So he’s gonna come to the park today, is that okay? He would like to get to know you.” 
His face lit up, “Do you think he’ll swing with me?” 
“I think he will,” your smile grew wider, “He’s an.. old friend of mine and he thinks you’re a pretty cool kid and he wants to spend some time with you.” 
He shrugged, “Okay.” 
“Okay,” you chuckled, god he was so cute. You weren’t exactly sure how you were going to go about this. Eli was a smart kid, he always asked about who his father was and why he wasn’t around but he was young, so you never really gave a clear answer. Now, you were going to have to give a clear answer. If Chris wanted to be all in, you wanted that, too, “He’s gonna be here soon, so why don’t you go grab your shoes?” Right on cue, Chris knocked on the door, “Come in!” You shouted, ushering Eli to grab his shoes. 
He walked through the front door, two coffees balanced in his left hand as he made his way over to you, “I thought you would need this,” he smiled softly, handing you one. 
You smiled, “Thanks… Yeah, someone was ready to go at 6:30 this morning. He’s an early bird, like you.” You took a sip of the coffee, a surprised look on your face, “You remembered?” 
He laughed, “I’m pretty sure you drilled it into my brain, Y/N. 3 pumps of caramel, 2 pumps of vanilla, extra shot of espresso,” he responded, his voice monotone as he repeated your order.
“I was kind of a coffee nut back then, huh?” 
He let out a playful scoff, “You could say that.” 
You smiled at him for a second, “Hey, I don’t wanna like, throw the heavy on you right off the bat, but he needs to be eased into this, okay?” 
Chris nodded, “Of course.” 
“Obviously, I want him to know who you are, but I think for a little bit, we just… take it slow and let him get to know you as a friend first and then we’ll go from there.” 
“Agreed,” Chris nodded again as Eli walked back into the room.
“Hey mommy-- Oh, hey, you’re that guy from the diner,” he said casually, sitting on the couch to put his shoes on.
You chuckled with Chris, “His name is Chris, bub.” 
He tied his tennis shoes, then stood up and walked to Chris, his hand extended, “Hi Chris, I’m Eli.” 
Chris smiled, shaking his hand, “Hi, Eli. It’s nice to meet you.” Chris looked over at you and smiled, bringing tears to your eyes. He’s only known about Eli for like 48 hours and the love in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. That was one thing about Chris that you absolutely never got over. How deeply and unconditionally he loved. You never understood it but you loved it.
You cleared your throat, standing up, “Okay. Park?” 
Eli nodded, “Can we walk?” 
“Sure thing.” You gestured for him to lead the way, exiting the house and making your way to the park. 
It was a quick walk, only about 10 minutes and Eli rambled the entire time, Chris soaking it all in. His favorite dinosaur, which was a Carcharodontosaurus. How a 9 year old could say that was beyond you. His favorite TV show, his favorite kind of music, his favorite movie, favorite superhero (which wasn’t Captain America, making Chris laugh).
When you got to the park, Eli ran ahead, leaving you and Chris on a park bench a couple of yards away. 
“He’s... “ 
“A talker,” you laughed, turning to look at Chris. 
“He’s incredible,” he smiled, watching him roam around the playground with another child around his age, “I mean,” he exhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks, “what? 10 minutes together and he’s already wrapped around my finger.” 
You wanted to smile, but it just broke your heart. This was your fault and you knew it wasn’t about you and you had no right to feel so broken up about this because Chris was the one who was cheated after all, but you couldn’t help the guilt that enveloped you like a storm cloud. 
“Hey,” Chris interrupted your thoughts, bumping you gently with his knee, “It’s okay.” 
You avoided his eyes, keeping them trained on Eli, “It’s not, Chris. I know you’re only saying that to make me feel better and you don’t have to do that.”
You saw him shrug out of the corner of your eye, “I know. I know I don’t. I just-- I’ve done a lot of thinking-”
You smiled, looking over at him, “Did you sleep at all last night?” 
“No, I don’t think so,” he chuckled, “But I understand why you did what you did. Your mom--” he sighed, “your mom never encouraged you to follow your dreams and that’s all you wanted for me.” 
You bit the inside of your cheek, “I know now that it wasn’t the right choice, but at the time, I swear... I thought I was doing the right thing.” 
He reached over, placing a hand on your knee and squeezing gently, “I know.” 
You smiled, looking back over at Eli. There was only ever one fight that you and Chris couldn’t move past and it was the one that drove you apart for good. The both of you were always very open with your feelings and very open with each other, forgiving each other maybe when the other didn’t deserve it, but understanding it was for the greater good. Even now, all these years later, that still proved to be true. Eli being the greater good. 
For the most part,  you sat in silence for the rest of the afternoon. Chris was completely mesmerized by Eli. He watched his every move, even getting up to check on him when he fell off of the monkey bars. You tried to ignore any negative feelings, knowing that the goal was to move past it and have Chris involved in Eli’s life from here on out. 
Eli ran over to join you on the bench, “Hey, Mom?” 
You wiped the sweat from his forehead, “Yes?” 
“Can Chris come to lunch with us?” 
You looked over at Chris, raising an eyebrow, “If he doesn’t have anything else going on?” 
“I don’t. Let’s get lunch,” he answered, smiling at you. 
Eli begged to go to the diner, he was a sucker for the burger and fries there, but Chris suggested  a local pizza place that you’d once spent many weekends cuddled up in a corner booth. 
You walked through the door, the chime of the bell and familiar smell of slightly burnt pizza crust making you smile, “I haven’t been here in a long time.” 
“Why does it still smell the same?” Chris laughed, as you took a seat at a table. 
“This town never changes, Chris,” you noted, smiling. 
He looked at Eli then back to you, chuckling slightly, a playful smile on his lips, “I am not finding that to be the case.” 
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Taglist: (bold wouldn’t tag):  @chvntelle-99 @ysmmsy @roguediorxoxo @anonymousswritings @superanastasia1981 @melissad1974 @nrmnie @wobblymug @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @anacrcarvalho @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @elrw24 @mjey12 @ilovetheeagles @patzammit @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @faykyrie @spookyqueen @mytbel0st @asdfghjklgggdd @big-deak-energy @a-distantdreamer @melannie77 @hauntedmuffinpersonarascal @thedancingnerdmermaid @avery1996 @bhappiness14 @aslutforchrisevans @cierra-evans715 @fictionslandslanddreams @mylifeasltd8 @n3ssm0nique @unicornblueberry @stephv213 @supraveng @rootcrap @mrspeacem1nusone @fanficworld @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @onceuponahuntersrealm @coldmuffinpartycloud @jadert15 @lou-lou26 @freyathehuntress @ritikahye  @unicornpajamas @clogger101 @ms-betsy-fangirl @lauracontisstuff @kawaiicroissantpastabakery @thummbelina @weaslettesstuff @guilsgotmusic @megannicole4 @chamaevans9 @deepintothenature @croissantbakerylws @hockeychick10 @lharrietg @cevansfans @theashleycom3 @evansrodgerss @itsmytimetoodream @funfickgirl22 @ilovetheeagles @mavrellover91 @mylifeasltd8 @breezykpop @cherry-gemz @allthingschrisevans @ottitt @legallybrunette13 @baby-i-am-fireproof @enchantinghandscroissantvoid @gotbangtan @ysmmsy @kthynes @blizzspeaks @ca-loki @roguediorxoxo @lokistoriesblog @lynnettes-stuff @nostxlgia18 @gitasor @thecellinmybrain @denisemarieangelina
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slut4buckysarm · a day ago
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Help Me Relax.
Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT (ORAL M RECEIVING, orgasm, overstimulation, EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL) roommates to fuck buddies, language, a bit of fluff at the start 18+
MASTERLIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MY MOTIVATION TO WRITE COMES FROM COMMENTS SO PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK :)
ALL mistakes are my own.
Do NOT copy, repost, translate or rewrite my fics!!.
I think I’m shadowbanned or something so please comment, reblog, follow, and like :).
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“Oh hey. When’d you get back?”.
“About 5 minutes ago,” Chris mumbles.
I walk out of the bathroom and towards the bed. Chris sits on the edge watching the ground, deep in thought. I kneel behind him and place both my hands on his shoulders.
“Your hairs wet. Did you just take a shower?” Chris questions feeling my locks on his neck.
I nod my head in response and run my hands up and down his collarbones.
“Long day huh?” I whisper into his neck while massaging with my hands.
Chris and I have been best friends since forever. Although that friendship has always been hard to explain to others because of how close we were able to physically get to each other, it didn’t bother him nor did it bother me.
“Mhmm” he hums, leaning into my touch.
“Wanna talk about it”?
“Oh you know, typical day. Set was just a bit much today”.
“I can see.” I chuckle, eyeing his oil-stained clothes.
“Wanna help me relax?” Chris speaks in a low voice, throwing a smirk on his face.
I smack the back of his head and jump on both feet, ready for what’s coming. Chris follows doing the same and grabs a pillow. He swings it at me but I dodge it just in time.
“That the best you got?” I laugh at his aim.
Chris brings his arms over and wraps his arms around my body.
“Chris!! No!” I try to escape his grasp.
“Come’re” he laughs, one hand still around me and the other messing with my hair.
“Chris!” I whine. “I just took a shower”!
“Guess you can take one with me now” he throws a smile my way while walking into the bathroom.
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Hearing the water run, a sudden boost of confidence arises from my depths.
I make my way over to the room and look down at the closed door, steam pouring out the bottom like a graveyard. I turn open the doorknob and the click alerts Chris of my presence.
He peaks out from behind the black shower curtain and gives me a look of complete confusion.
I close the door behind me and stare at him while padding up to him. Reaching the tub, I pull the curtain back a little more and step in. The warm water leaks through Chris’ hair causing his brown locks to fall over his face and god does he look hot.
I eye Chris’ body and try to remember the last time I saw someone like him but I can’t.
“See something ya'like”? Chris chuckles.
“Maybe I do,” I whisper, slowly working my hand over his chest.
His expression drops as he stares me dead in my eyes, “Don’t play around with me Y/N”.
“Who says I’m playing?” I speak hovering over his lips while palming his erection.
Chris opens his mouth but soon closes it speechless. I kneel in front of him and look back up with a smirk.
“God, Y/N you have no clue what you’re doing to me”.
All I do is giggle in response and give his cock a few pumps.
“Fuck”. Chris’ whines sound like prayers when he’s vulnerable like this. Prayers for more.
I place a kiss on his swollen red tip and his pre-cum strings off of his slit and onto my lips while I pull away.
“You’re so beautiful” he mutters aloud although I know that it was meant to be to himself.
I look up at him, waiting for an answer.
“Please” he nods his head and that’s all I need to place my lips around his cock.
I can feel his vein on the side of my cheek when pushing my head into his hips. After a few thrusts, I feel Chris grab ahold of my soaked hair and pull it into a high ponytail.
“Shit sweetheart” he whimpers throwing his head back.
I look up to Chris with innocent eyes and he moans making eye contact.
“You keep looking at me like that, nd’ it won’t take long for me to come all over that pretty mouth of yours” he smirks down at me.
I hum with him still in my mouth and his dick twitches inside of my mouth causing his hips to buck up to my face.
Chris pushes my head further down his cock and snaps his eyes shut in pleasure.
“Fu-Y/N, gonna make me come” Him being unable to provide a coherent sentence motivates me to push him over the edge.
I move my hands under his shaft and roll his balls in my hand.
With a few more strokes, Chris pulls out of me.
“Open,” he demands and I do as told.
He moves the tip of his cock up and down my tongue and releases, his back smacking against the wall tiles out of exhaustion. His white fluid trials in my mouth and I swallow with a smile.
I take my hand and press it onto his sensitive tip.
Chris chuckles down at me, knowing what’s coming.
I rub hard circles using my palm and Chris whimpers out his moans.
“Fuck Y/N!!”
I giggle at him and he cups my jaw with his hand.
He pulls me up to my feet and places a kiss on my lips.
“Oh, you’re so paying for that” he chuckles, tearing my shirt off my body.
REBLOGS HELP MORE THAN LIKES <3
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angrythingstarlight · 2 months ago
Text
Where He Belongs/Don't f*ck with the Queen
Summary: It's not often someone challenges your place as Steve's queen but they only make that mistake once. And Steve knows better than to let anyone think they can take your place.
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Pairing: Beefy Biker!Steve Rogers x Reader
Word Count: 2.5K
Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, 18+only, possessive behavior (Steve and reader), exhibitionism, mild implied violence (not towards reader) pussy slapping, choking, belly bulge, size kink, power kink, mirror sex, praise kink.
A/N: This got away from me. Still calling it a sinday drabble. Don't copy, repost, rewrite or translate my work. I love comments, likes and reblogs. Beta'd by the amazing @wakingbeauty but all mistakes are my own.
Biker Masterlist
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There are perks to being Steve's queen. The town fears him and respects you. You haven't had to open a car door or carry anything heavier than a loaf of bread since you started dating him.
And you get to ride him whenever you want.
So many perks.
The only downside is the parties you have to attend whenever they come home from a run or have an event to celebrate.
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You’re bored, waiting for the latest clubhouse party to die down so you can go home. The things you put up with for your man.
Thick clouds of smoke linger in the air mingling with the fragrant scents of barbeque, music blasting from somewhere in the corner. The sharp clatter of pool balls and cue sticks ring out under the loud raucous conversations filling the room.
Steve’s across the room, lounging in one of the tall armchairs. He's a masculine display of power and strength as he surveys the room. His long legs splayed open, his ringed covered fingers tapping the side of his beer as he listens to Bucky and Torres argue over who won some stupid bet last week.
You nurse your own beer, cringing at the taste of the now warm alcohol, wondering if you have the energy to get up and find a fresh cold one. You glance over at the fridge behind the bar and decide you don't.
Instead, you lazily watch a few girls dance in the middle of the room, they're practically crawling over each other to get someone's attention. You almost roll your eyes at their antics wavering between finding it cute and desperate. Every party, they show up trying to snag a biker for themselves, wanting that patch on their jackets, like the one you’re wearing, that symbolizes that they belong to one of the guys.
They never bothered you until now. You don’t care if they run through every guy in the club trying to snag one of them as their own as long as they stay away from Steve. Because everyone knows that Steve Rogers is off-limits.
The club president is your man. And no one touches your man. Except for the redheaded chick, Maddie, Macie, something you honestly don’t give a fuck what her name is, currently running her cheap press on nails down your man’s chest. She knows better, they all do.
You can’t hear him over the loud thump of the music, but you see his plump lips form a firm no as he pushes her hand away. That’s right, baby. You settle back in your chair, a smug grin creeping across your lips.
It quickly falls away when she presses both hands to his chest, her lips going to his ear as she pushes her tits into his face. Steve shakes his head, pulling away, but she follows his movements, almost in his lap at this point.
No. One. Touches. Your. Man. The thought ticks off in your brain as rage clouds your vision.
You toss your beer over her head, the dark green glass exploding when it hits the wall. The music cuts off sharply, leaving the room in rapt silence.
All eyes on you as you stand up.
The slow click of your heels resounding in the thick silence as you saunter to your biker, hips swaying with each step. Steve chuckles under his breath, his eyes bouncing between you and Mia. Torres scoots back while Bucky discreetly pulls out his phone, hitting record.
You stop in front of her and shrug off your jacket. She cocks her head back and with an audacity that part of you can’t help but admire, smiles up at you. “Look, honey-“
A darkly amused giggle falls from your lips as you wind her greasy hair around your fist so quickly her words cut off in a startled gasp.
“Do not speak to my man.” Yanking her back, she flies off his lap and lands in a pile of limbs at your feet, you bend your elbow, keeping her neck at an awkward angle. “Do not touch my man,” you snarl, snapping her head back. She struggles to get up, her arms swinging wildly. You twist your wrist, tightening your grip on her stringy hair. “Do not look at my man.” Raising your fist, you pause when you hear your name.
Tilting your head at Steve, you narrow your gaze at him. “Rogers,” you spit between your clenched teeth. He puts his hands up, the deep-seated pride shimmering in his smokey blue eyes sending a jolt straight to your clit.
“Darlin’,” he starts, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “She was being friendly-“
You know exactly what’s he’s doing, the smug bastard. His eyebrow quirking as he tamps down his grin.
You scoff, pulling harder on her hair. “Did I say you could speak?”
Steve leans back, both brows lift in astonishment. Only you dare to talk to him like that, the sheer disrespect in your tone takes him off guard. There’s a reason he made you his queen. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, fuck he likes when you get aggressive.
Bucky snorts, his laugh spluttering to a fake cough when you glare at him. Turning your attention back to Steve. “I’m going to deal with you in a minute,” you promise. Steve lets out a shuddery breath, mumbling yes, you will.
You lean over the simpering woman and slowly whisper in her ear everything you’ll do to her if she even breathes in his direction again, her eyes slowly widening with each blatant threat, by the time you get to all the ways you’re going to maim her, she’s trembling in your grasp. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve palming his crotch as he listens to you.
Dropping her on the ground, you wait until she scampers away before standing between Steve’s legs. You grab the collar of his jacket, balling the leather in your fist, pulling him upward until his lips are below yours. “You’re mine Rogers.”
Steve was hard the second you threw the bottle across the room, his dick twitching as it breezed by his head close enough to ruffle his hair. But this display of possessiveness has him about to cum in his pants. “All yours darlin’,” he swears, his large hands gripping your waist.
“Then prove it,” you retort, biting down on his bottom lip, watching his pupils dilate as your teeth sink into his skin.
Shoving him back into his seat, you stroll away. “You better hurry before I find a man who doesn’t forget his place, be a shame to have to break a new one in.” A litany of oohs and you better get her follows you out of the room.
Your heart skips a beat when you hear the heavy thud of his boots behind you. You can feel the lust-tinged anger rolling off him with each loud stomp, getting closer and closer to you. He's hunting you down. You feel his breath on your neck and you shiver when he growls your name. A confident smirk curls your lips up when his hand wraps around your waist and you’re shoved into the bathroom.
“And where is my place, Darlin?’” Steve challenges. You take a step back, placing your hands on your hips. The door slams shut as he glares down at you with a withering look that would have grown men flinching.
He may be 6’4” of pure tatted muscle, carved like a Greek statue with hands that can rip a man’s throat out, but you’ve never let him intimidate you before and you’re not about to start today.
“Your place-” you start, ripping open his jacket, pulling at his shirt until he yanks it over his head, you place your hands on his warm, solid pecs and shove him into the wall with a loud thud. You scrape your nails down his abs. “-is in me.”
There’s a pause.
All you hear is his slow, even breathing as the sounds of the party fade away. His dark gaze scours over your body, the heat in his blue eyes sears your skin.
Steve grabs the nape of your neck and tugs it back, his lips attaching to the skin below your ear, sucking a deep bruise on your throat. He walks you back to the sink, the edge of the marble biting into your ass as he leaves more wet bruises on your skin. He pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Steve lowers himself to the ground, kneeling before you. The look in his eyes has your heart hammering in your chest. Without saying a word he lets you know how much you mean to him, how gorgeous you are. Gazing up at you, he hooks his thumbs into the band of your shorts and pulls them down over your legs. Your panties following, tossed on the tiled floor.
“Damn you have a pretty pussy, swear she was made just for my cock,” he mutters reverently as he slides a finger through your soft, drenched folds, his cold ring on your heated flesh making you shiver.
Steve spins you around, the unexpected movement has you squealing as you try to balance yourself. Your hands clutch the end of the counter, he slides his hands up and down your calves before grabbing your heel. He lifts your leg up as he rises, pushing it on the counter. It’s obscene the way he has you opened up before him. You feel more slick drip out of you at the sound of his belt clanking and his jeans falling to his feet with a soft rustle.
The only warning you get is when he winks at you in the mirror seconds before he slams into your pussy with one smooth thrust, the sharp sting as he stretches your walls with his thick veiny cock is breathtaking.
Your hands hit the mirror as you keen, god you love that first thrust, you’ll never get used to it. He slowly drags his cock out of you, making sure you feel each inch until only his swollen tip is resting in your aching core. “Why don’t you remind me where I belong,” he smirks.
Your eyes flicker up to his, and you match his expression. This is your cock, every last inch of it belongs to you.
You push back on his thick length, making him grunt out a low fuck Darlin, that’s it. You flatten your hands on the mirror, bracing yourself as you fuck yourself on his cock, heady sensations swirling in you. The door slips open and you meet a set of familiar eyes. The nerve of this bitch. You don’t stop, let her see what she’ll never have you think.
Steve glances over, sneering at Mia. “Is this mine?” he grunts, his voice deepening to a near growl. He slaps your pussy, making you cry out over the wet sticky sound filling the room, your mouth going slack as pleasure sparks through you.
You’re taking too long to answer, his impatience bleeding through as he strikes your swollen bud with his palm. He wants you and her to know that your pussy is the only one he wants to stretch out.
“Is. It. Mine.?” he demands, three more sharp slaps to your clit has you screaming out yesyesyes Steve fuck yes. You don’t even know what you’re saying yes to, you only know that you’ll give him whatever he wants if he keeps fucking you like this.
She squeaks when he smacks you again, pulling you against his chest, he slaps his slick coated hand on your belly, smearing your juices across your skin as his long fingers push into you.
“Do I belong in here?" His lips move over the shell of your ear. Oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck yes-
“So deep in your tight little cunt, fuck I can feel me right here.” He angles his hips up, going deeper inside you, the head of his cock stroking your soft spongy spot so good you wail, hitting your fist on the glass. “You feel me, Darlin?”
“God yes I can feel you, I feel you, Steve,” you chant, almost whimpering, you feel yourself losing control, god it’s good, your hand sliding down the mirror, leaving streaks as you brace yourself.
There’s just one thing you have to do before you can succumb to the pleasure cresting inside you.
You lock eyes with the redhead, mouthing ‘mine bitch’ as you clench down on Steve’s cock, his pace faltering as you grip his length with your drenched velvety walls. You feel him throb inside you and you clench down again, harder this time until Steve struggles to pull out of your pussy.
He’s using all his willpower to not cum inside you, pleasure wrapping around his cock as you circle your hips. He tilts his head to the side, baring his teeth as he grunts your name. Damn, you feel powerful knowing you can make him feral and needy for you. You smirk at her, the jealousy in her eyes making you grind harder.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his hands moving to your hips. “Can’t believe she thought I was going to risk your perfect tight pussy for some random bitch.” You preen at his praise, smiling brightly at her. “Your pretty pussy doing so good for me, making me feel so good.”
“Best. Pussy. I-fuck” Steve snaps into you so hard your elbows buckle and your face almost hits the glass. Neither of you notices the door clicking shut. Sensation after sensation pulsing through you in heady waves, his face becoming flushed with each deep thrust. His cock pistons in and out of you, vulgar wet sucking sounds of your cunt resonating in the room.
You drop your head down, crying out as the pleasure surges in your belly, the knot unraveling as your walls flutter around him. “Oh, no you don’t,” he chides, his fingers wrapping around your throat, he drags your head back. “You look at me when you cum on my cock, wanna see your face when you make a mess of my cock. ”
His filthy praise has you dripping around him. “Steve,” you mewl, you grab his wrist, digging your nails into his tatted skin. “Please, I’m gonna-”
He applies pressure to your throat, his rings pressing into your skin. His deep blue eyes capture your glossy ones in the reflection, he drops his head to your shoulder, nipping your skin. “Go on, cum for me wanna feel you cum, pretty girl, go on Darlin’” he encourages, his fingers rolling your clit as you clamp down.
“There ya go,” he half laughs, half groans in your ear. “That’s it, cum for me.”
It’s as if he’s speaking right to your pussy, ripping the knot apart with his next thrust. And you sob his name. Pleasure pulsing through in waves as he fucks you harder and deeper, lifting your leg off the counter to bury himself in your cunt.
Fuckfuckfuck, you rasp out as he hits every sweet spot inside you. Sultry white-hot pleasure burns through as you fall apart, your slick dripping down his cock as your walls spasm. Your orgasm spiraling higher and higher through your body until you feel it in your fingertips, sensations curling down your spine, your back arching painfully as his strokes become erratic.
You slump down, breathing heavily through your mouth, his arm winding around your stomach to keep you from hitting the floor. “That’s my girl,” he sighs, pressing a kiss on your skin.
He takes your chin in his fingers, turning your face up, his soft lips brushing over yours. “But you know I have to punish you for disrespecting me in front of my men, right?” His hard cock twitching inside your sensitive pussy as he repeats himself. "Right?"
Blinking slowly you ponder his words. Sounds like you need to remind him why you’re his queen.
You take a deep breath in, gazing into his deep blue eyes, they widen as you suddenly fist your hand in his hair, viciously yanking his head down to you, kissing him passionately, your tongue sweeping across his as you deepen the kiss until he moans in your mouth.
Breaking away, you stare him in his eyes. “Like to see you try, Rogers.”
And then you clench down making him stutter.
Don't fuck with the queen.
4K notes · View notes
ramp-it-up · 26 days ago
Text
Don’t Touch My Hair
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Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader
Summary: Even though he’s your celebrity crush, sometimes Chris runs off at the mouth.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. SMUT! Read at your own risk. SMUT, angst, crushes, innuendo, sexual tension, hair kink, word kink, fingering, oral (m/f receiving) unprotected sex (wrap it up!) spit play, stair sex, spanking, Not Beta’d. All errors my own.
A/N: No one requested this. But here we are. Let me know if it’s any good. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.
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You were deep in Chris Evans’ refrigerator, looking for a space to put the jello shots that you’d made. It was full of beer and party food. The cool air raised goosebumps on your skin.
When you closed the door, there he was. Or rather, there his chest was.
It felt as if the air was sucked out of the room. You opened your mouth to get more oxygen and to not hyperventilate. Chris Evans, one of your celebrity crushes, was two feet away from you.
You stared at his white smedium henley, top button undone allowing you a peek of the tips of the feathers on one tattoo, and the words ‘When you lose…’ on the other. They both flanked his St. Christopher medallion.
You dragged your eyes up past his bearded chin and red lips up to the prettiest blue eyes you’d ever seen. He looked surprised to see you in his kitchen.
“Hello?”
Chris was surprised that you were in his kitchen, but more worried at his own reaction. You must have thought him rude. His heart was beating a mile a minute.
He took in your form, your beautiful skin tone highlighted by the blue tee you were wearing. Chris looked back up at your face and lost his breath. Your eyes were everything.
And then you smiled at him.
“Oh, hello, Chris?”
As if you didn’t know who he was.
“I’m…”
Did you really just forget your own name?
Chris quickly recovered and spoke.
“Yeah! You’re Shanna’s friend…”
He’d seen you in the periphery of Shanna’s home gatherings, but had never had the chance to talk to you. And he had wanted to. You were so cute. Shanna worked with you and said you were witty and fun to be around. You had him curious.
You laughed, unintentionally cutting him off,
“Yeah, that’s me.” You motioned to the fridge. “I brought some jello shots, I didn’t mean to, to rifle through…”
Oh god. You sounded like an idiot. This is why you’d never accepted any of Shanna’s invites over here. In fact, when you found out who her brother was, you almost cut off contact. If he happened to show up at her place while you were there, you left, poste haste.
Because you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself.
Chris chuckled at you and then moved around, not too close, but you could feel his heat. He opened the fridge back up and took out a beer. He could tell you were nervous, but he wasn’t going to call you out. Hell, he was too.
“No worries. You’re welcome to anything I have.” He offered you a beverage. “Want one?”
You couldn’t help but smile and take one. When your fingers touched around the bottle, there was a spark.
Chris pulled his fingers back, shook them, and put two in his mouth. You almost melted on the floor right there.
“Must be static.”
“Static, electricity. Yes.”
You heard yourself, ducked your head and hurried out to the family room. Chris stood and looked at you, enjoying the sight of you retreating. Damn. That ass.
He shook his head and got a beer.
Chris’s eyes followed you all night. He had questions.
How star struck were you?
Why did you sit next to his brother on the couch when the movie was on and why did you jump and hide your face in Scott’s shirt during a mildly scary part?
Most importantly, why was he jealous of his brother who had a boyfriend at home?
After the movie, Chris decided to make you talk to him. You had to get over this.
You were talking about how many products were on your bathroom vanities at home, showing each other selfies you’d taken that had inadvertently captured the array.
Chris was looking over your shoulder, peeping what was in your camera roll and taking the opportunity to stare at you legitimately. You thought it was kinda cute until you got on the subject of hair.
It was at that point that Chris blew away all the mystique you’d built around him.
“I’d love to just like, touch your hair...”
He cringed internally as soon as he heard himself say it.
You heard a record scratch and stared at him.
“Oh shit bro. Good luck.”
Scott shook his head as he walked away.
Chris knew you were annoyed. And it was hot.
“Would you ask to touch any woman’s hair, or just hair like mine? Did you touch your sisters’ hair growing up?”
Your tone became clipped, your voice precise. You were about to give him the business. Any nervousness or idealization of him was gone.
Chris could tell and he loved it. At least you were talking to him. A small surge of adrenaline ran through him at the engagement between you.
But he calmly took a sip of his beer, acting skills on deck.
“As a matter of fact, they taught me how to braid their hair.” Chris smiled at the women he grew up with.
You melted a bit, getting a little soft thinking of Chris as a dad, braiding his daughter’s hair. How was he so soft, yet so oblivious?
“My sisters aside,” he smiled and cocked his eyebrow. “I love the texture, the feel of hair in my hands. When people touch mine. It’s sensuous. I think it’s a… thing of mine”
Now you raised your eyebrow at what he was saying.
“And yours looks so soft. Like a cloud.”
Your hair was soft, but that was none of his business.
“A… thing?”
You looked innocent, but the tone of your voice was definitely not. You had an attitude. Fuck, that turned him on.
“Well, what if I just randomly touched your hair for no reason?”
You were going toe to toe with someone you were nervous to say two words to just a couple of hours before. And you didn’t care one bit. He was going to get all of this attitude.
“Go for it.”
He would welcome that. Then it would be game on. Chris smirked around the neck of the beer bottle as he took a drink.
You just got more heated. You were more upset with yourself and your reaction to this conversation than with him.
Before tonight he had just been pretty to look at, now he was challenging you with his humanity and adorkableness, along with his infuriating ability to get a rise out of you.
“Nah, not in the mood,” was your only response. And that was a lie. You took a sip of your drink as you tore your eyes away from his.
“Well, just let me know when you’re in the mood. I’ll arrange a session when you can get up close and personal with my… hair.”
You gave him a nasty look and looked around the room, trying to find a way out of this conversation. For your own good.
Chris smiled again, and took another swig of beer, licking his lips when he was done. It was so annoying. He was even sexier once you got to know him. And you wanted to know more.
“Did you mean…a fetish?”
You couldn’t help it. You could have kicked yourself for continuing down this road.
Chris grinned at your question. He really liked you. Even though you were hot at him, you grounded him, made him calm, made him in tune with his feelings. And right now he was feeling you.
“You really wanna go there? We just met.”
He shot his eyebrow up as if he knew that was a thing that sent you down this lust spiral.
You just stared at him insolently. He contemplated wiping that look off your face. And how best to do that.
“No.. a fetish is something that is needed so one can perform sexually. I don’t any need help in that department.”
He winked at you as he finished his beer.
Your mouth dropped open as you contemplated what he just said. You weren’t drinking your beer, so Chris grabbed yours and finished it off. The nerve. You gesticulated at his audacity.
“You want another?”
Chris said it to you over his shoulder as he headed toward the kitchen. You followed him instinctively, your fight instinct activated.
He went to the refrigerator and pulled out two more beers, opened one and handed it to you. You took a sip while staring at him as he opened his.
“So what did you mean by ‘thing’ if you didn’t mean fetish?”
“It’s probably more like...a kink.”
Chris leaned back on the counter. Your eyes swept down his long, lean form, and back up to see him checking you out too. You looked him straight in the eyes. Beer was making you bold.
There was an unstated vibe between you. A tension that felt a little like crack. You wanted more, quickly getting addicted.
Chris was feening the moment you got mad at him. How he wanted to calm you down. He wanted to calm you down hard.
“I meant something that gets my dick hard, but not necessary for performance.”
You swallowed your beverage with a gulp.
“Oh really?”
You were caught up. And there was no way out.
Another sip. Another smirk.
“Yes. If I was to be with a woman in that way…Hair would be a big part of what goes down.”
“If you ‘were’ to be with a woman in that way. You mean to try to tell me you’re a virgin?”
He stood up straight and moved closer.
“Oh honey, I am SO not a virgin…”
Chris didn’t mean to tease you, but the electricity between you two was the shit. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything like this.
You cleared your throat and stepped back, warm beyond comfort. Was this really happening?
Chris decided against pursuing you physically and leaned back on the counter. He shrugged.
“I wanted to keep the conversation vague, non-specific…”
He finished off another bottle, then moved to get another.
“But, let’s get real. We’re friends. Right?”
Chris was looking at you over his shoulder as he was in the refrigerator again. He smirked as he caught you checking out America’s ass.
You raised your bottle in a secret toast to his ass.
“Like you said. We just met, but why not?”
Chris opened another bottle and handed it to you. His hands. Lord. You bit your lip. Chris barreled on.
“Just for the sake of argument. If it was me and you, going for it, about to embark on a six hour sex adventure… pulling my hair while I’m eating you out would send me into overdrive.”
He took a sip, eyes twinkling as he watched you.
“Hypothetically.”
You stood there and drank your beer. Six hours? Eating you out? Holy shit. You wanted to fan yourself.
“I mean, I’d definitely pull yours while I was hitting it from behind. Love that shit.”
You defensively crossed your arms and legs. Your body was betraying you.
Chris cleared his throat when he saw your wide eyes. Maybe he’d gone too far. He shook his head and smiled.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I’ve never said this to someone I haven’t known for 24 hours before...”
You cut him off.
“I’m not a virgin either Chris. Plus I have a bit of a dirty mind. But you’re right. This is purely hypothetical. Go on.”
You were waiting to hear more with baited breath as he regarded you. He stopped talking, taking in the lust in your eyes and slightly parted lips.
Chris had just discovered your kink. Words paired with your dirty mind. Jackpot.
He put his bottle down and gripped the counter behind him with both hands. He needed to do something with them.
Chris looked at you, heated at him and the power of his words, beautiful with want. In that moment he made a decision.
“Your hair? It's in my hands as I pull your head back while you ride me, or surrounding my fingers as I press your head down on my…”
You were staring at his lips and he could have sworn that he saw your eyes flicker down to his crotch. He gave you a small smile.
“You feel me?”
Was that a question or invitation? In this moment, you would accept it, let him take you upstairs and fuck you while his family was playing games in his den.
“But enough about me. What gets you wet?” And then he wet his bottom lip and released it, plump and red on his damn beautiful face.
He guessed that what he was saying right now was doing the trick. He wasn’t wrong. Your heart was playing a staccato beat and your panties were indeed ruined.
You were about to reply that he got you wet when you heard your name being called from the other room.
Scott showed up in the kitchen, giving both of you a look as he saw you staring each other down.
“We’re about to play Guesstures…”
Chris straightened up, used to Scott inadvertently cock blocking him through the years.
“Wouldn’t want to miss it. Let me grab these…”
One more time the fridge door opened and he took out the jello shots. The cold air pebbled your nipples against your t-shirt and made you shiver, along with the electricity between you and Chris as he handed you a tray for the shots.
You helped him put the shots on the tray, hands occasionally touching and glances occasionally exchanged.
As Chris walked out of the room, Scott stared at you with his mouth open.
“What is up with THAT?”
You looked at him as if you didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What? I’m chillin’.”
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Three hours later, the night was over. You were helping Scott and Chris to clean up, because Shanna had to go get her kids. Scott’s phone started buzzing.
“Shit, I gotta go.” Scott held up his phone. “He’s got me on a curfew.” He grinned and didn’t look too upset.
“Man, you’re whipped.”
“And you’re jealous.”
Chris smiled at his brother. “Kinda.”
They hugged and Scott turned to you.
“Will you be alright here with him?”
Chris gasped as you nodded.
“Hey! I’m your brother!”
Scott looked at Chris and then back at you.
“Are you sure?” You laughed and nodded again.
You went back to stacking the dishwasher.
Chris walked Scott out.
“I’ll kick your superhero ass if you hurt her Chris.”
“What?”
“She’s a nice girl.”
“What are you talking about? I'm not an animal.”
“Okay. You’re both grown.” Scott left shaking his head.
Chris walked back in the kitchen and you were wiping down the counter and drinking some water. You were tipsy, not too much, but you had to drive home soon.
“Can I ask you a question?”
You looked up at him warily.
“Sure.”
“What is it with you and Scott?”
You looked at Chris closely. Was he jealous? And of what? Of who?
“Ummm, we’re friends, we hang out?”
Chris shot his eyebrow up at you again. It was so sexy, but you kept it together.
“Really? How come we’ve never hung out?”
You got warm and flustered. “Well… I…. Uh….”
“Oh I get it.” His voice was everything. And so earnest. “You think I’m an asshole.” He looked concerned.
“Well, after that hair comment a little bit of one? But that’s not why we haven’t hung out.”
You looked around the kitchen to avoid his eyes.
“Well, why not?” Chris was looking at you like he really wanted to know.
You still had some liquid courage in you. So you vomited your words all over him.
“Because you were one of my celebrity crushes. Even before I met Shanna. And I didn’t want you to think I was trying to get next to you. And I felt awkward. But that’s over now.”
Chris smiled at you, then frowned.
“‘Were?’ Oh. So I blew it. You don’t have a crush anymore?”
“I don’t have a celebrity crush now because I guess I don’t think of you as a celebrity anymore? I guess?”
You were trying to figure yourself out.
“So I’m just a regular shmegular asshole?”
He moved a bit closer to you and you didn’t move back. This was progress.
But you squinted at him, crossing your arms and jutting your hip out, getting flustered again. And it made Chris hard.
“Yes. Yes you are.”
“That’s good. So you’re over me being a celebrity?”
His deep voice echoed off the kitchen walls subtly, vibrating in your core.
Chris was getting closer to you and there was nowhere to go if you wanted; the counter was behind you.
You rolled your eyes. “So very over it. Could care less.”
“So I guess you’re ready to leave my house? Yeah?”
Chris’s body was almost pressed against yours now, head leaned down to look at your upturned face. And at that moment, a lock of his brown hair fell into his eyes.
You couldn’t help yourself from pressing forward against his body, standing on tiptoe, and sweeping it out of his bluer than blue eyes.
They grew dark as you touched him and his hands went to the counter on either side of you as you wobbled against him. You were trapped. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
After you fixed his hair, he stared at you and you at him for a solid 30 seconds before his lips came crashing down on yours and your hands entwined into his hair, tugging it as you kissed him back.
“Shit. I shouldn’t have told you all that. Now you have me wanting to fuck you on my kitchen counter.”
Chris was whispering in your ear as you huffed into his, body electrified by the kiss. He pressed his crotch against you and you felt how hard he was.
“Chris…”
You had his shirt grasped in your hands now, trying to control yourself. You saw Chris trying to do the same, his jaw clenching as he held himself back.
“I… want…”
“Tell me. What do you want?”
Chris was staring at your lips. He wanted them again. So he took them.
You moaned against him, because he didn’t give you a chance to respond. You looked down and licked your lips when he released you, and then back up under your lashes.
“You.”
“Holy shit, yes.”
Chris lifted you onto the counter, hands on your waist crawling up under your shirt. He expertly reached behind you and unfastened your bra, which you quickly pulled of through your shirtsleeves and threw on the floor.
Chris took his shirt off while you did that and you grinned at his naked torso.
He grinned back.
”I’ve been wanting this all night.”
He came toward you.
“Can I touch your hair?”
One hand was kneading one of your breasts while the other was inching up your neck.
You giggled and nodded and then you felt a tug at your nape pulling your head back while his mouth tugged at your nipple.
You stared at the ceiling while you felt your panties flood anew, your hands stationed on his broad shoulders. You sighed in pleasure.
“Fuck that feels good. You’re getting me wet.”
Chris looked up at you. “Am I?”
His hand went down to your crotch, finding, and tracing your pussy lips through the denim.
“So fucking hot.”
You didn’t know if Chris was talking about you or your pussy, because she was hot and pulsing for him.
“I mean, you’re beautiful all the time, but especially when you’re turned on. Makes me wanna…”
Chris unbuttoned your jeans and shoved his thick fingers down your panties. He smiled when he felt the hair there.
“Oh, you’re Baby now.”
You blushed at what he must have felt.
Chris felt you wonderfully slick for him, your viscous liquid coating his fingers and your cunt. He played in it, spreading it up and down as much of your slit as he could reach with your pants on and you sitting on the counter.
He groaned and closed his eyes as you let your eyes roam his chest and you played with his nipples.
Chris reached up under your shirt again and languidly rolled and pulled your nipple with his free hand, causing your pussy to clench under his hand.
He opened his eyes, blazing steel blue now, and looked at you.
“How are you so fucking wet? What made you so?”
“Talking to you. Kissing you.”
And you leaned up to kiss him again, just as Chris was registering what your voice did to him. Shit, he was in deep. When you came up for air, you spoke again.
“Imagining sucking your cock.”
Your hands were on his jeans now, holding his gaze as you slowly unbuttoned his pants. He kept himself from squirming, the anticipation of you having your hands on him making him high. Yeah, this was addictive.
When you got him unbuttoned, you reached and toyed with the wide band of his black underwear, running your fingers under it along his v cut and pelvis and making him shiver. You fingered the small trail of hair on his belly and smiled down at it, pulling the waistband open to see the wide, thick red mushroom tip of his dick staring at you.
The expression on your face must have been one of shock, because Chris exclaimed “Boo!” and jutted his hips up toward you, and you squealed. You jumped down from the counter and walked away, embarrassed that he’d scared you with his dick.
Chris was dying laughing as he quickly caught up with you, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the couch in the living room. You followed his naked and well-muscled back as he led you, pants unbuttoned and waistband of his jeans peaking out. Sex on legs.
“I’m sorry. Dick move?”
He looked forlorn that maybe you were mad at him. You weren’t, you just wanted to catch your breath and evaluate if this was what you really wanted. And if he really wanted you.
Chris held your hand in his as he searched your eyes.
“I kinda ruined the vibe. Do you still want this? Still want me?” He was hoping beyond hope.
You couldn't help but smile at him.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
You saw Chris visibly relax, and the look of lust return to his face.
“It would be a dream come true if I could be with you tonight.”
Chris’ look was dead serious hot, ruby red lips open as his eyes swept up and down your form.
“You see, I’ve had a crush on you too. Ever since I saw you at Shanna’s brunch last summer.”
You just shook your head and smiled. You didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t realized that he noticed you.
“Really?”
“Scout’s Honor.”
Chris raised the fingers that had been in your panties a few minutes ago. Then he looked at them and placed them in his mouth, furrowing his brow as he slowly sucked on them.
“Dee-fucking-licious.”
You were outright panting now.
“Taste.”
Chris brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, rubbed your lips and then slowly slid them over your tongue. You tasted Chris and yourself and you closed your eyes and moaned as you fellated his fingers, sucking and pulling them deeper into your mouth.
“Gat damn. How I want you.”
Chris pushed you back on to the couch, causing you to sink into the cushions as he pressed himself over you, the pleasant sensation of being overwhelmed by him oddly calming.
He pulled your shirt up and almost instantaneously began lapping at your nipple, pulling it between his lips and scraping it with his teeth. You opened your legs as wide as your jeans would allow and grinded against his hardness. He looked up at you, pulling your nipple and releasing it with a pop, and taking note of your reaction.
“I could just have my mouth on you all night.”
You were thinking the same thing as Chris leaned up, grabbed your jeans and pulled them down your body, taking your wet panties with them. The scratches his short nails left on your thighs felt on fire. You pulled your shirt off, and you were naked on Chris Evans couch.
Chris ran his hands, lightly scratching with his fingernails again, up and down your body from your shoulder to your hip. It made all your nerve endings feel alive. You didn’t feel exposed, just sexy under his gaze.
“Let me see you,” you murmured sexily, making Chris obey your command.
He stood up, and pulled his jeans down, stepped out of them, and then placed his thumbs at the waistband of his underwear, gazing down at you.
“You sure?”
“I’m naked on your couch Chris. We should be matching.”
He smiled and pulled his underwear down, pleased at your reaction, which was to lick your lips and reach out grabby hands.
“Gimme.”
He chuckled as he stepped closer to you and allowed you to close both hands around his thick shaft. He watched as you sat up on the couch, positioning your knees under you, and opened your mouth.
You then guided his thick, warm, pounding head against the rough texture of your wicked tongue. You slid his cock against your tongue and then into your mouth, batting your eyes up at him.
When you hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue over his head to taste his pre cum is when his balls drew up. You sensed the movement out of the corner of your eye and brought your hand up to gently roll and massage them. At that moment, it was all over for Chris.
He brought his hands up to your head, tentatively at first, massaging your scalp as you sucked him off, getting sloppy and drooling all down your chin onto the floor.
“So fucking pretty like this.”
Chris leaned his head to the side and watched you, his eyes meeting yours when you opened them.
“You’re such a fucking good girl.”
You moaned around his cock when he said that, and it caused you to take him down your throat and gag. You pulled off, coughing and spluttering.
“Fuck, yeah.”
Chris grabbed your head and guided you toward his cock.
“Show me some more.”
The need in his voice did you in and you opened your mouth, greedily taking him down your airway again. This time, Chris held you to the base of his cock as you tried to breathe through your nose and relax.
You tapped his thigh when you thought you could take no more and he just held you there.
“Not yet, need a few more seconds of this mouth.” Chris pulled your hair a little harder to keep you in place.
Just when you thought you would pass out, he let you go, and you pulled out, a flood of saliva pouring from your mouth. Chris wiped your chin with his thumb.
“I can tell you wanna be a good girl for me.”
You nodded at his smiling face, proud of yourself.
“Yeah?”
He asked you what must have been a purely rhetorical question, giving you time to catch your breath.
You reached for his cock again and he let you have it, and you went to town, deep throating him thoroughly and briskly.
“If you’re trying to get me to shoot down your throat, you’re doing a very good job, but I need to cum in that pussy. “
He looked down on you slobbering all over his cock for a few more seconds, and then around the room as he moaned, knowing he was close. You were near the couch, but that was too soft for what he was thinking. The piano was right there, but almost too hard. Then he saw the stairs, which were carpeted. Perfect.
He pulled away from you and you released him with a pop, smiling up at him again. He turned and walked to the stairs, reclining on them.
“C’mere.”
You walked over to him, slick running down your thighs and your chest. Chris took your hand and led you up the stairs until your pussy was above him, and all he had to do was lean back to have the best view in town.
“Shit. You’re fucking perfect,” he sighed as he reclined his head back and gazed up at your puffy lips, clit peeking out between them. He grabbed your thighs and moved his hands up to your apex, which he cour easily reach with his long arms, but his tongue was a different story.
“Kneel down for me Baby.”
You looked behind you, as you were six feet up the stairs at his head.
“Don’t worry. I got you.”
You held onto the handrail and knelt, legs shaky with arousal and anticipation. When you knelt, it was perfect. You sat on his face and he held you up with his strong hands on your ass and back. He pulled you down so you were seated firmly on his mouth, nose also buried in your cunt. He was in heaven.
You leaned up, wanting to give him room to breathe. He growled at you, his breath on your cunt making you tremble.
“Smother me with this shit, I can take it,”and then he stuck his tongue out and slammed you back down on his face.
Chris’s mouth was working you good, his tongue doing things to you to make you see stars. You leaned forward in the stairs, the rough texture of the carpet giving more stimulation to your nipples. You started moaning and talking to him.
“Yesssss. Right there, don’t, don’t stop.”
Chris pulled you up a bit so that he could get his thumb at your clit and his nose free for a little air.
You looked down to see him grinning at you with his eyes. You reached down and pulled his hair, bringing him even closer to you. Chris groaned, face deep in your pussy. You started moving your hips, feeling your clit grow and pulse at the coming explosion.
That’s when Chris’s grip on you tightened as he moaned into you again. He could tell you were close too, and wanted to get it all.
When you realized that is when the almost unbearable pressure inside you snapped, and you released all over his face. You could feel Chris lapping you up as you trembled on the stairs.
“I love that pussy. Best thing I’ve eaten in a while.”
Chris’s grin was evil as you looked back at him and noticed his hard cock swaying with his movements.
You were leaving on the stairs with your ass in the air, trying to get your bearings. Chris put those two fingers in your cunt, scissoring them to get you ready.
“So fucking wet.”
You whimpered at his thick digits deep inside you. Chris looked down at you splayed out for him and locked his lips, tasting you all over him.
“Stay right there. All spread out for me.”
You looked back again at Chris stroking himself and lining up.
“Such a good fucking girl.”
Chris grunted as he pushed his tip into you and glided inside. He stretched you out, and there was a tiny bit of pain which was quickly replaced by pleasure.
“Oh, Chrisssssss.”
Chris started fucking into you.
“You better stay the fuck right there. Stay right fucking there.”
Chris was demanding as he pulled your hair, brutally fucking into you as you screamed and moaned.
“Yes! that pretty ass spread open for me. Don’t fucking move.”
But you had to disobey him. It felt so good that you had to throw it back on him.
“Oh shit, Baby. You’re being bad.”
Chris pulled out and spanked each of your cheeks about three times and then pushed back inside you, impossibly even bigger. You didn’t care and started moving again.
Chris wasn’t really mad.
“That’s right. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
You were colliding, Chris spearing his hips into you as you slammed back on him.
“Shit. Fffffffuck. Feels so damn good. I’m gonna. I’m gonna cummmm in this pussy.”
“Give it to meeee.”
“Fuuuuuuuuccckkk!”
Chris grunted as he emptied himself inside you. You collapsed on the steps, Chris on top of you.
He rolled off and watched you looking around, seemingly shocked as to where you were. He started laughing.
You looked over to him and started laughing too.
“Well. Thank you for the invite to game and movie night.”
Chris raised his eyebrow.
“Any time. I hope you’re not leaving so soon.”
“Um… are there more games and movies…?”
Chris looked at his watch.
“There’s at least five more hours on our sex adventure. There could be. Let’s take a shower.”
He sat up and motioned for your hand, which you took and rose to follow him up the stairs.
“Ok. But I’m not getting my hair wet.”
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punani · 4 months ago
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Severance
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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.
Flowers.
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. 
Smile.
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. 
Okay. 
“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.
“Sugar?”
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. 
“Sh-Shit!” 
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. 
Fuck–
“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. 
“Swallow.”
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 fun...you 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?”
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 on...one 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–that...you 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–”
“Chris.”
“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. 
Unbelievable. 
“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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isimpoveryou · a day ago
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short instagram au
chris evans x reader
fc: bensu soral
request are closed
꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂
chrisevans ✔︎
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chrisevans happy anniversary to me and my fiancè, y/n. its been a rough year for us since our wedding was canceled last year due to the pandemic. but its always exciting spending my quaratine with you and dodger. I cant even say thank you on how much amount of love and support you have through our 3 years of dating and 1 year for being my fiancè. I love you so much and i hope we actually set our wedding date since both of our family and friends are wayyyy excited than us. Love you lots
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robertdowneyjr happy anniversary for you two
anthonymackie happy anniversary for you two man cant wait for the wedding tho
yourinstagram I LOVE YOUUU MORE
jaedenwesley happy anniversary to you guys! and pls all credits to me since i was the one who set you guys up
youringstagram it was your mom jaeden 🤨🤨🤨
chrisevans whatever makes you sleep at night
dualipa im- this is just to cute im gonna cry
brielarson i can hear the wedding bells ringing
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yourinstagram ✔︎
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yourinstagram its our anniversary!!! still through the years i cant believe i met you. spending 4 years with you seems so fast. i just want to say thank for chris to help me as a rising actress backthen since i have zero talent with acting but somehow marvel wants me to play y/c/n and thank youuu so so so so much for loving me and taking care of me when i cant. im so lucky to meet you chris and i cant wait to call you my husband soon. i love you so much xx
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꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂
im sorry this story was so short since i still have like 7 request i have to do. so i have to make it short. but i hope you enjoy todays update.
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starry-eyed-romantics · 21 days ago
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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🥲🥲🥲
"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?" she lets out, "Thanks again, bye!"
"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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sstan-hoe · a month ago
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𝙈𝙮 𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙈𝙖𝙢𝙖 | 𝘾.𝙀
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — Chris Evans x Fem!wife!reader
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 — reader being pregnant and chris just being so in love with reader‘s body and the fact that she‘s carrying their little one?
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 — Pregnancy if that is a warning, emotions
𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 — This is short and sweet, follow @sstan-library if you don't want to be tagged. The owner of the request I excluded the smut because I for one am not a fan if sex while the reader is pregnant hope you understand! Feeling Like making a part two!
𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨 — Masterlist | Taglist
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“Chris?” You whispered into the dark as you felt a hand caress your belly and prepping it with little kisses.
“Yes babe?” His voice sounded innocent.
“What are you doing?”
“Worshiping your body with our little one.” If it wasn’t for your tiredness, you would have melted away on the spot.
“Baby it’s two o’clock in the morning.” Chris lifted his head propping it on your belly with puppy eyes. “Go to bed.” You told him as you caressed his cheek gently.
“But babe….” He whined.
“Nope, sleep.” Chris grumbled something that sounded like ‘yes mama’ before he got of your belly and laid his head on your chest but not without putting his hand on your baby belly.
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You really loved being pregnant but not being able to do the simplest things and there were those awfully annoying hormones.
You sat on the floor trying to put on your socks – your favourite pair of socks – but you couldn’t reach your feet.
“No!” A cry left your lips as you gave up, Chris who was in the living room heard you through the house and promptly stood up to check on you.
He climbed the stairs already hearing muffled cries through the bedroom door.
“Everything okay sweetheart?” He asked once opening the door, you sat there on the floor with Captain America socks in your hands while your eyes were filled with tears. “I’m fat and can’t even put on socks! Socks fucking socks! And they were my favourite, I was so excited to wear them.”
Chris eyes softened and he sat down next to you taking the socks from you he put the over your feet.
“There now you can wear them.” You sniffled as your husband spoke.
“And you are not fat, you are beautiful and glowing. You are going to bring life into this world, our little baby.” He stroked your tears away.
Your tears stopped and you tried to give Chris a hug, but your belly stopped you. Chris saw tears well up in your eyes again. “No, no, no I can hug you.” He proposed and didn’t waste any time in scooping closer to you and wrapping his arms around you.
“I’m so sensitive.” You began complaining Chris however shook his head. “No you’re lovely and I love every bit of it.” He promised.
A head cocked into the room that belonged to Dodger, he had heard you crying only that Chris told him to stay put, but now he had to look himself given that Chris didn’t came back. Dodger strutted into the room and sat down infront of you and Chris.
“Hey bubba.” Chris greeted him as he scratched his ears, Dodgers nudged your belly before putting his paw on the side of you stomache, suddenly he pulled his paw back you could see his confusen, knowing what caused it you giggled. “What?” Chris questioned you when Dodger put his paw down.
“Dodger just felt our baby kick.” You smiled at him with pure happiness, Chris eyes lit up at your statement. He put his hand on the exact same spot as Dodger and again the baby kicked.
Chris looked at your belly with adoration, you put your hand on his gripping it tightly. “That’s our baby Chris and your little sibling Dodger.”
Chris himself teared up now out of happiness, that was what he always wanted his own family.
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“Babe?” You called through the house in search for your beloved husband.
You had been cooking lunch when he suddenly vanished in fin air telling you he be back any minute.
“Babe!” Nothing.
Sighing you went looking for him and where did you find him? In the nursing room searching for something. “Babe watcha looking for?” You rised an eyebrow at him.
Chris seeming to have found what he was looking for turned around with a little white box in his hands with a red bow on the top, Chris gave you a cute smile before handing you the gift.
“Thank you.” You said amazed and took the gift from his hands. It was a white romper with a font printed on it: ‘I have the best Mama’ and to that there was a photo of a little child and his mother, your mouth fell open at the clothing it was the cutest thing you have ever seen.
“Aww Chris that is so cute.” You told him while walking up to him, you grasped his neck to pull him into kiss.
“I can’t wait for our little baby and you’re gonna be the best mama.” He mumbled against your lips.
He kissed you again when you felt something wet in your sweat pants. “Uh Chris?” “Yeah babe?” He whispered kissing down your neck.
“I think my water just broke…” Chris teared his eyes open. “Oh my god!”
𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨 — [reminder the Kinktober taglist morphs with my normal one, there is a question at the top of the form, if you want off and only kinktober tell me!]
@adventurer1789 @slut-for-bucky-barnes @thehuntresswolf @wandalosthervision @til-my-feet-are-wet @tomhoelland01 @starbuckycoffee @sebastianstanonedirectionchris @tommyboyxxxx @kaiparker-avengerssmut @cyeh1123 @evans-cavill @doihavetoidontwanna @emmygrey21 @tanyam93 @hrryflvoured @disappointmentofthefam @excellentbecca @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @ambinxe @buckyxxrogers @anythingandeverything97 @wydtrina @buckysbabydolldude @poetic-heart @taysiasworld @iambeeee @browneyedgirl365 @satzukim @innocent-ones @xealia @patzammit @jeeperky @shmaptian-ashmerica @marvelfan2300 @h-evans @hq6667754 @anonymousswritings @liz-owl @honeyyxashes @maybe-a-bi-witch @bluemoonyumi @cevans-wife @slutforchrisjamalevans @buckysbae @sunflowerfive @lewisjada03 @keendinosaurballoon @cottoncandycoyo
Sorry to the people I can't tag, hope it gets fixed
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nsfwsebbie · 2 months ago
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he’s tired of it all.
summary. | Is he on edge? Stressed? Fed up? Or is he simply just tired of it all?
warnings. | Smut, fluff, vaginal penetration, rough sex, cockwarming, stress relief, begging, dirty talk, degradation, praise, choking, creampie, step dad/step daughter relationship, Daddy kink, bratty!reader, age gap, arguments, cheating (chris and reader), mentions of manhandling and masturbation, reader has mild dom vibes at the end, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
word count. | 3.6k
pairings. | Step Father!Chris Evans x Step Daughter!Reader.
author’s note. | happy early birthday @buckysthot! thank you so much for everything, i’m so grateful to have met you! i love you! please enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know.
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Your head is thrown back, and your neck is stretched, too. You’ve got a slight ache there, possibly from the odd position you fell asleep in last night. You tossed, and you turned, not one moment of peace as you tangled your legs between the sheets. It’s why your eyes are so heavy and your movements so lethargic. You’re not a fan of naps, and you’re not a fan of sleeping in, either. Once you’re awake, you’re awake. And until the clock hits ten in the night, you’ll stay awake as always. You shut your eyes, and you let the dark only consume a piece of you.
It only ever wants a part, not the whole.
The phone rings, and he curses. Your lids don’t flutter open, but your ears perk up, and your heart beats wildly from the scare. “Hello?” he greets, a sort of abrasiveness in his voice that only grows by the day. You’re not the only one who’s tired. You shift just as bit, and his hand lands on your thigh. He squeezes you harshly, and Chris stifles a moan. A smirk splays itself on your face, and your wickedness doesn’t seem to have a retiring hour. “I can’t hear you, speak up,” he demands through the phone, and you look up.
Is he on edge? Stressed? Fed up? Or is he simply just tired of it all?
“Are you at the hotel?” he questions, and you let out an ‘oh.’ You’re a bit displeased because you know who’s on the other end. “Is that Mom?” you ask him, and he nods his head. You crane your face towards him, not caring about the pain that takes over your muscles. It’s nothing an Aspirin can’t fix. You can’t hear what she’s saying, and you’re not sure if it’s because the volume isn’t high enough or if your brain has decided that maybe you should be spared just this once.
“What do you mean you’re not there? Are you at the airport?” Chris interrogates, and his hand tightens up even more. You try to wiggle out of his grip, but you do more harm than good. The tip of his cock presses against your g-spot, and you find yourself letting out a gasp that gets cut off by your Step-Father. He mouths something along the lines of ‘behave yourself,’ and even though you’re a good girl, you like to get a rise out of him every now and then.
Your Mother explains something, twisting her words and actions in such a way you think she’d make a great writer yet a horrible storyteller. “So you’re in Arizona, but you didn’t get on the flight? That doesn’t make sense. How did you get there?” Chris further presses, like a doctor who’s trying to find out what’s wrong with their patient. He’ll push, and he’ll prod until it hurts, and even then, he’ll continue until they’re crying out for him to stop.
You’d know. He’s done it to you before.
“She probably took a bus or something like that… Don’t worry about it. If she’s safe and in Arizona, it’s fine,” you mumble to him, and Chris pinches your skin. “Ouch! What was that for? I’m just trying to calm you down. And plus, she’ll probably say it herself!” you protest, upset and yet a bit glad that you’ve gotten a reaction out of him. You play him like a fiddle, and he does the same to you, too. Except he’s more rough and handsy than you are.
He places the phone on his shoulder as your Mom puts him on mute, saying that she’ll be right back. “Keep quiet, and keep my cock warm. Oh, and don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that. I felt your stupid cunt get wet,” Chris spits, and you’re left dumbfounded. His words make you needier, and you curl your toes just a bit. Your pussy hugs him tightly, and he grins at you. “Be good for me. I’d hate to leave you empty and desperate,” he finishes before bringing the phone back to his ear.
But you’re rigid and hard to win, so you choose to disobey him.
“Back to what I was saying, why didn’t you take the flight?” Chris asks once again, and you roll your eyes. “Didn’t you just ask that? You’re such an old man. So forgetful,” you snicker, arching your back against his chest just a tiny bit. Your exhaustion and tiredness have disappeared, ceased to exist, and you’re ready to cause a ruckus. Your Mother starts to ramble and stutter, trying her hardest to fight the nerves that keep her from explaining her trip. Chris mutes his microphone, and his lips are suddenly right next to your ear.
“Shut the fuck up. Aren’t you the one who constantly begs this old man of yours to fuck you? To stuff that pussy full? To put you in your place? Hm? Exactly. Do your job, don’t make me leave you here with just your hands to satisfy you. But even then, you and I both know that you’d be crawling back to me in just a few seconds,” he growls, and you know he’s more than correct. Such a bright, brilliant man. It’s no wonder you’re so enraptured by him. “Hello?” your Mother calls through the phone, and she wonders why she can’t hear Chris.
He unmutes himself, and he opens his mouth to lie straight through his pearly teeth. “Sorry? I can’t hear you. You’re really quiet,” he tells her, and you can hear her groaning in frustration. “I said that I met an old friend at the airport, and they offered to give me a ride!” she explains, and you place your hand on Chris’s. His veins pop out just a bit from his stress, and you wish you could calm him down. Though his anger sends shivers down your spine in the best way possible, you don’t want him to be anything but relaxed.
“Pretend that she’s breaking up or that someone else is calling you. Maybe your agent, or maybe your sister. Just come up with an excuse. You shouldn’t be getting this mad. It’s not good for you,” you whisper, trying your hardest to sway him. But he’s as sturdy as a statue, and he just won’t budge at all. “C’mon… You’d have much more fun using me as a toy, wouldn’t you?” you tempt, with sultriness in your voice and a sort of dark, mischievous look on your face. Chris looks at you from the side, and you bite down on your bottom lip just a tiny bit.
It’s one of his most significant weaknesses, and you’re so intent on using it until he snaps. “You know that’s not safe. And plus, you lost money from the trip, didn’t you?” he questions, and you roll your eyes. “Hm, maybe I should just get up and leave you alone. I can take care of myself much better than you are right now,” you ponder out loud, even though your threat is empty. His jaw clenches, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “Yes, airlines keep your money if you don’t show up. But it’s fine! I’m here either way, okay, honey?” she reassures, and Chris is fed up with both of your antics.
You place your hands on the arms of the chair that holds you and Chris, and you lock your elbows. Pushing upwards, you stand up, and his cock slowly slips out of your pussy. A hand on your waist quickly brings you back to where you belong, and you let out a gasp as he bottoms out in you once again. “We’ll talk about this later,” he grumbles before hanging up the phone. You can hear your Mother’s voice being cut off suddenly, and it puts the most wicked of smiles on your face.
“Is that what you wanted? Hm? Is that what you wanted, you little brat?” Chris presses, staring at you intensely. “Well, yes, but I expected it to be a bit more satisfying,” you explain to him, and he lets out a groan. “Shut your stupid mouth up. Quit acting like such a smartass because I know as soon as I start to fuck you, you’re gonna turn into a slut,” he spits through gritted teeth, and suddenly you’ve lost all confidence.
You’re silent. Absolutely silent, and it’s laughable. “Nothing to say now? Aw, poor baby, just wanted to get your brains fucked out, right?” he asks, and you nod. “Oh, I know, sweetie, I know you’re just desperate for my cock,” Chris coos, and your pussy clenches around him tightly from his words. He lets out a chuckle, and you let out a pathetic whine. “Just fuck me, please? I know you want to! You can take all of your anger out on me. I won’t mind. You know I don’t,” you exclaim, grasping at whatever pieces left of your ego that he always manages to deflate.
Chris is tight-lipped, and you are as well. The sounds of your chests rising and falling fill the room, and you’re waiting for him to do something. Anything. “You know, you’re a smart girl. But, you can be a little dumb sometimes,” he says after a while, and you furrow your eyebrows in insult. He doesn’t take a long pause because he knows you’re quick-witted. “Maybe it’s because my cock is inside you. But who the fuck do you think you are to give me permission to fuck you however I like? This is my little pussy. It belongs to me. Therefore, I can do whatever I like with it,” he informs, and you nod your head.
“For the last time, shut that mouth of yours, and know your place,” he grumbles, and your jaw falls slack in shock. You quickly close it, though. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, not even realizing what your words do to him. You’re suddenly lifted up, and the shift leaves you disoriented. “What?” you mumble in shock as you’re carried to the bed that is only a few steps away. Your limbs fan out against the soft mattress as he lays you down, and you hum from the comfort. Chris’s cock stays locked inside you, and he’s hovering above you.
A strand of his hair slips from the matted mess that rests upon his head. It dangles and swings a little bit, and it brushes against the skin of his forehead lightly. You fight the urge to put it back between his other pieces. You both stare at each other just a bit before Chris charmingly smiles at you. His hands come up against the back of your thighs. The space of skin between his thumbs and forefingers finds a home behind your knees.
You hum, and he pushes your legs as far back as they can go. As soon as you wince in pain, he stops, and he apologizes. “It’s fine. I’m okay, just not used to it after sitting for so long. Don’t worry about me,” you reassure, straining your head to look up at him. He nods, and he looks down to where you’re both connected. Chris’s thick cock stretches your cunt out, and you hug him tightly. He’s slick with your wetness, and your poor clit throbs with desire.
“Pretty, pretty pussy… Can’t wait to ruin it,” he snickers, and butterflies of excitement fill you up. Chris’s hips slowly move backwards, and his cock drags against your sensitive walls. His fat tip no longer touches your g-spot, yet it remains inside of you still. The sudden feeling of emptiness has you whining, and he quickly reassures you by shushing. “Shh…” he repeats, and your head falls back against the bed. You stare up at the ceiling, and your bottom lip rests between your teeth.
“Going a bit slow there? What? Are you tired or something?” you question impatiently, just to rile him up. Chris rolls his eyes at your words, and he thrusts his hips forward. He sheaths his entire length inside you, and you let out a loud moan. “Fuck!” you cry out, not caring about how much noise you’re making. Chris ignores you, and he begins to fuck into you roughly. His eyes are dark, and so are yours. “Yeah, you like that?” he questions even though he knows the answer is ‘yes.’
You squeeze your eyes shut, and he pounds into you without relent. You can sense the anger and stress seeping out of his pores, and inside, you feel accomplished. Each thrust is rougher than the next, and you take it all like the good girl you are. A big hand crawls up your body, and it belongs to Chris. It reaches for your neck, and it suddenly wraps around your throat. You’re shocked at first, but you don’t hate it at all. Your right hand grabs onto his wrist, and your left hand goes for the bedsheets that have been ruined more than once.
Chris’s pelvis rubs against your swollen clit with his thrusts, and he even kisses your sweet spot with his swollen head every now and then. “Daddy, oh my God,” you whisper as pleasure takes over your body. “Look at you, so sensitive and slutty. Taking my cock like a fucking whore and a good girl. Like you were made for it, made for me to use you as I please,” Chris says, and you nod your head in agreement even though you’re focusing on the way he’s ruining you.
“Bet none of those young college boys can fuck you this good. They don’t know how you need me all the Goddamn time,” Chris chuckles, swiping his tongue against his lips to wet them. You do the same, and a smile claims you before you can do anything else. “Y- Yeah, only you can fuck me this good, Daddy,” you breathlessly tell him, and his ego grows immensely. “I know, baby, I know,” he mumbles, loving the feeling of your pussy being wrapped around him.
You’re a perfect fit. Practically tailored just for him.
His short nails dig into the soft skin of your thighs just a bit, but he’s too caught up in the pleasure to apologize. “You like getting used like this, whore?” Chris questions, leaning down and placing his knee on the bed. His lips connect with your chest, and he leaves sloppy kisses all over you. Your Step Father’s scruffy beard tickles you lightly, and it only melts your brain even more. The tickling turns into an empty sensation, and you’ve gotten used to it.
“I love it when you use my pussy like this. I love it so much. I’m just your little fleshlight for you to ruin,” you moan out through clenched teeth and labour breathing. Your words make Chris’s hips stutter, and his movements suddenly halt. Chris’s throbbing cock simply rests inside of you, and he raises his head from your body. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he swears, even though he’s got a St. Christopher pendant dangling from his neck. It’s silver, and you love to play around with it whenever you’re sitting on his lap.
Suddenly, his lips slot against yours in a passionate, sensual kiss. You keep up with him as best as you can, and he decides to adjust his slightly uncomfortable position. The hand on your thigh leaves you, and the one on your throat unwraps itself. They move upwards as if he’s reaching for the sky, and they cage your head into one spot. Your legs involuntarily wrap around Chris’s muscular waist, and your feet lock at your ankles right above his butt. He stops kissing you, though he doesn’t pull away too far to create a significant distance from you.
“Please fuck me, Daddy, I need you to make me come,” you beg him, and he playfully knits his eyebrows in an overly dramatic state of confusion. Ever the theatre freak, you never fail to make him want to get up and overexert his talents. “What happened to me using you until I’m satisfied? Oh, well, I guess once a selfish little girl, always a selfish little girl,” Chris husks, and he begins to fuck into you once again.
You let out a whine that gets cut off by a pathetic, pornstar-like moan. It’s all music to Chris’s ears, along with the slapping sounds of skin on skin. It’s a nice rhythm, and maybe it needs a drum’s beat or a guitar’s strum playing lightly in the background. Your sweet spot is repeatedly pummeled on, and each time has you seeing stars. Through your panting that resembles a bitch in heat, you try to argue with Chris. “I’m not selfish!” you cry out, not even having a justification.
He ignores you, and he takes in the way your body jerks with his harshness. “Oh, I think I’m gonna come,” you whisper to him, feeling that lovely tightness inside you beginning to build up. Your skin is so scalding, and your heart blooms in pleasure. Like a new rose in a garden, ready to stay for the few months that are bright and sunny until the coldness of September comes and ends it all.
Your noises grow higher in pitch, and your mouth is wide open from the building intensity in your body. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse, digging your nails into his arms. Chris swears from the small amounts of pain, yet he powers through it and brings you to your climax. “Daddy!” you wail, your back arching off the bed as your pussy clamps down on his thick cock.
Your juices coat him until he’s shining. Your cum drips down to his balls and even to the bedsheets. Your eyes roll back into your head, and your ears burn until you can barely hear anything. “Shit, you look so fucking gorgeous when you’re coming,” Chris groans, revelling in the way you’re gripping him. His thrusts are now much slower, yet they keep the same brutality that he started with. He fucks you through your orgasm, and the feeling is absolutely euphoric. “Feels so so good,” you croak out, curling your toes at the same time.
“Your cock is so fucking amazing, Daddy. I love the way it makes me feel,” you whisper to him, even though you’re still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. They make your legs twitch, and your skin slickens up. “You’re so good to me. You treat me so well. Nobody can fuck me the way you do, Daddy,” you tell him, slowly regaining your strength. You have the sudden urge to help him get closer to the edge because it’s what Chris deserves. That, and even more.
He blushes vibrantly from your words, and you decide to keep going. “I always think of you ruining my pussy whenever I touch myself. I think about how you’d throw me around and bounce me on your cock until I’m coming so hard,” you admit to him, and Chris moans softly. His thrusts are sloppy, and he can feel his balls beginning to tighten up. “I- I think about you too, baby. You know, I’m even thinkin’ about you right now,” he chuckles, with his heart thrumming wildly.
“Really?” you question and your head tilts to the side even though your pussy is being pummeled by him. “Yeah, I’m thinking about filling this cunt with my cum and watching it leak out. I love seeing you full of my seed, baby, and I know you love it, too,” Chris whispers, and suddenly the elastic inside him breaks. Before you can even say anything in return, he’s groaning loudly and trying to get a hold of himself. His eyes squeeze shut, and he shoves his still hips as forwards as they’ll go.
His full balls are snug against your ass, and you can feel each drop of his cum coating your walls. You stare at his pretty, glowing face. Chris’s features are scrunched up in pleasure, and yours are wide in awe. “Fuck,” you mumble, already feeling some of his cum leaking past the sides of his cock. It drips down your butt cheeks and onto the bedsheets. It mixes with your juices, and you know for a fact that you’ll have to put them in the washing machine as soon as possible.
“God, that was amazing,” he sighs, resting his head on your shoulder. His nose tickles your neck just a bit, and you let out a giggle. “I know… I loved it so much. And you, of course,” you profess, and Chris lifts his head back up. “I love you, too,” he replies, and he simply just admires you. It’s a quiet, awkward moment, yet it’s so lovely and memorable. You wish you could remain this way forever, but you know it’s not possible.
Suddenly, a loud sound breaks the silence. It makes both of you jump in fear until you realize it’s his phone that’s at fault. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “It’s her,” you tell him, and he sadly nods his head. “…Are you going to answer it?” you follow up, hoping for a morally incorrect and petty answer. “Nope. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I just want to stay like this,” Chris says as the ringing continues, and you smile up at him. You keep your lips pressed in a bright line, and his cock remains deep inside you.
Seems like he’s not tired of it all just yet.
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afeb · 6 months ago
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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,”
“Noted.”
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