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#chris evans x reader
aniqua · 2 months ago
When you see “English isn’t my first language…” just know the fic is going to be top-tier. Nonnative English speakers will always give a delicious fanfic.
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angrythingstarlight · 4 months ago
Tell Me What You Want
Summary: Your mob boyfriend, is none other than Steve Rogers and he is willing to get you whatever you wanted, all you have to do is ask.  And be careful what you ask for because he’s going to give it to you over and over again.
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𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Mafia!Steve x Reader, Mafia!Bucky x Reader
𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 3.5K
𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hint of breeding kink, public sex, choking, creampie, oral (m receiving), spanking. power kink, violence (not towards reader). Minors DNI
𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘢’𝘥 by the incredibly talented @whisperlullaby​ but 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯
A/N: Requested. 
𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 (𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵)
Do not copy, rewrite, translate or post my work anywhere. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post any parts of my stories.  
Check out my Masterlist and Taglist! Requests are closed
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Sometimes you get a thought in your head.
And you can’t let it go. 
It simmers there, lurking beneath the surface, a song playing on a loop in the back of your mind. And it won’t stop repeating itself until the urge to act on it consumes. And as you sit on Steve’s lap, watching him talk on the phone, vaguely speaking about some business dealing of his.. You know a few things. 
You have to act on it. 
You want to. 
You need to. 
You will. 
And you may not survive the consequences. 
But when you look over at his large tattooed hand curving around his phone, an image of his hand around your throat flashes behind your eyes and you know you don’t care. In fact, if all goes well, you shouldn’t be walking straight for a week. 
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Your boyfriend is none other than Steven Grant Rogers, head of the Rogers crime family. He took over for the syndicate when he was 16 and has been ruthlessly expanding his empire ever since. He, not only exudes power, he wields it with a firm hand. 
Not that you would know. 
You’ve only seen the softer side of the infamous mobster. His various crimes and nefarious dealings are mere rumors he gently ordered you to ignore. It’s hard to picture him using brute force when he touches you so softly. Always so careful with you. Taking his time with you, his love-making is sensual, slow, and passionate. 
So gentle.
Everything was perfect and you were more than satisfied. 
Until yesterday. 
When you finally saw the other side of your man, the Steve that made grown men flinch when he raised his voice, it awakened a primal need in you. You got a glimpse of the mobster that controls the entire eastern side of the country with his best friend Bucky and you craved more. More of him, like that. Ruthless, violent, and enraged. Masculine. Powerful. Sexy.
 It had been a quiet day at home with Steve, he was about to join you upstairs when he received a call. Giving him a kiss on his bearded cheek, you bounded up the staircase to get ready for the night. 
After a long hot shower, you had dried off and applied your nightly routine. Part of you disappointed he hadn't joined you in the shower, you figured it had to be an important call keeping him away from you. 
You turned off the lights, a soft glow filling the room, murky blues and faded pinks slipping through the spaces in the curtains. You pulled a red silk robe over your body and waited on the luxuriously soft bed. When the soft glow turned to a dusky black, you sat up, curious because he normally would have joined you by now or at least had one of his henchmen tell you he was going to be a while. 
"Steve," you called out. Your voice echoing down the empty hall.  Turning to the open door, you waited but didn’t hear a response.  After a few more minutes of restlessly fidgeting on the bed, you stand up and wander down the stairs. Calling out his name again, more silence. The slow tick of the antique grandfather clock in the living room is all you hear on the lower level. 
Strange. There’s usually at least three guards in the house at all times, yet you’re all alone. 
You pace down another hallway, stumbling to a stop when you hear a strange sound. You hold your breath, waiting to hear it again. Seconds later you hear something, it sounds like a dull thud, then another and another. You follow it until you realize its coming from his office, the thuds followed by low groans. Turning on your heel, you walk to his door, as you're about to knock, when you hear another another grunt. 
And then Steve muttering "-disrespectful piece of shit-"
You take a step back, placing your hand on your chest, listening to more muffled wet grunts between sharp threats. Even through the thick mahogany door, Steve sounds furious and agitated. You've never heard his deep voice thick with rage. This is side of your man, he never lets you see. You know you should walk away but you can’t. 
When he yells again, you can almost feel his deep timbre in your belly, heat unfurling with every muttered curse. You can barely stand it, the way he sounds, nearly feral but still in control. Your stomach tenses at the brief pulsating throb in your pussy when he shouts again. His voice is deep and commanding. He's never sounded sexier.
Needing to see him, you put your hand on the golden doorknob and turn it slowly. Opening it a crack, you peek into the room, clasping your hand over your mouth to stifle your gasp. 
Steve looks magnificent, his dirty blonde locks tousled, his bare tattooed chest splattered with a streak of dried crimson. One black suspender hanging off his broad shoulder,  his tailored navy blue slacks curved around his ass. 
He cards a ringed hand through his hair. "I should be with my girl instead of dealing with this shit," he sighs. Grabbing his glass of bourbon off his desk, he rolls his shoulders back.  Tossing it back, he sets the empty glass back down. 
There’s a heavy silence as he contemplates quietly. You’re practically dripping at this point, when he sneers, his pink lips pulled tight you imagine him bending you over his desk, making you look at him in the mirror while he slams into you. Shaking your head, you listen when he starts speaking again. 
"If you ever come to my home again, I will go to yours and burn it down with you in it,” he warns, He walks over to a chair, you crane your head to follow him, his fist snaps out punching a man across his face with a dull thud. Why do you like that? 
"Understand?" He inquires coldly, shaking the man's head back and forth. It's condensing and you love it. He's so intimidating and in control. Effortlessly turning you on, your thighs clenching so hard they're shaking. 
"Get him out of my sight," he sneers, wiping his hand off on the man's blood-stained shirt.
You step back, closing the door as carefully as you can. Suddenly remembering that he would lose his shit if he knew you saw this.  Before you can flee, the door is opened and you find yourself face to face with Clint. You smile meekly, wincing when he curses, an exasperated fuck me under his breath.
"Boss, your girl is here," 
Steve's places his hand in his pocket, pushing past Clint, he leans on the doorframe, one long leg crossed over the other, "sweetheart" he hums, looking down at you. 
You smile brightly, placing your hands behind your back. "Hi," you chirp, your eyes flickering between his muscular chest and his eyes. 
He runs his large hand down his face with a deep sigh, his chest rising and falling slowly. "Explain yourself." His words slow and deliberate, making sure to keep his tone even, not wanting to scare you. 
You take a step forward placing your hand on his abdomen, he looks down, his blue eyes moving up to your face, his gaze softening when you shrug, "I missed you."
Another deep sigh. He takes your hand, kissing each knuckle, "go back upstairs, I’m going to get cleaned up and you're going to pretend you didn't see or hear anything-” he turns your hand, kissing your palm, before tilting his head down, “understand.” 
It's not a question. You like that, his firm command. Your eyes flit past his shoulder to the man being dragged out of the chair and back to Steve’s calm blue eyes. 
You nod shakily, yelping when he pats your ass, "now."
You practically run up the stairs to your room and flop on the bed, your robe fluttering open as you bounce on the mattress. You spread your legs, the cool air making you aware of how wet your panties are. 
You place your hand on your chest, his voice is in your head, closing your eyes, you see his deep blue eyes dark with rage, the veins in his neck prominent, his chest flushed. Your hand slides down your belly to your pussy.
Steve finds you like that, he heard your soft needy pants before he reached the room. His full pink lips twist up into a smirk as he sheds his clothing. You open your eyes when you feel the bed dip down, he takes your hand, holding it up to stare at your glistening fingers, “couldn’t wait for me, sweetheart,” he chides teasingly. 
He sucks your index finger in his mouth, pulling it out with a soft plop, “god you taste good” he groans, “tell me, sweetheart, you want to finish yourself or would you rather have my tongue?” 
"Tongue, please."
He crawls down your body, twisting your panties in his hand, "all yours sweetheart," he murmurs into your velvety folds.
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All you can think about is the way he looked in his office, granted you don’t want his anger directed at you, but you want his aggression. You want him to manhandle you and take you until you can’t move. 
Over the next few days, you tried to prick his anger, hoping for rough, angry sex. Each attempt met with quiet amusement, he simply patted your ass or kissed the crown of your head. No matter what you did, he gave his signature adoring look and treated you no different than before. .
You can’t be sure but he’s somehow even more gentle with you, his caresses feather-light, last night his strokes moved in and out of you so leisurely, you swore you were being edged. 
So you decided to up the ante. You're going to get fucked one way or the other. 
This morning, you rudely interrupted an international arms deal. Barging in his conference room, demanding his attention, you were confident this would get you what you wanted. 
He stopped mid sentence, his blue eyes darkened, rage blooming beneath the surface. Every man around the large mahogany table was scared for you. 
For a second you were scared for you.
And you liked it.
 But then his eyes cleared and he gave you a wide smile. "Hi, sweetheart, I'm glad you could join us," he said sweetly. 
He patted his knee with his ringed hand and made you sit on his lap. You felt small and foolish when he kissed your lips, asking if everything was okay, what could he do to make you feel better?
How could you say what you really wanted?  Ravish me, spank me until I beg for you to stop, make me choke on your cock till I gag and cry.
Instead, you mumbled out an apology into his shoulder, taking a deep whiff of his Armani cologne. He resumed the meeting, his knowing eyes gazing at your face tucked into his neck. You didn't know it but you almost had him. He carefully shifted you away from his erection, it took all of his willpower to not fuck over the table while making his men watch. 
No, he wants to see how far you'll go. 
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Later that night, he brought you to one of his clubs, a small venue on the east side of town. He mentioned that he had a late meeting with Bucky and didn’t want to be without you for that long.  The private lounge shielded you from the rest of the crowd, you and Steve shared a drink while he listened to you talk about your day. You kept thinking about how he looked at you across the table earlier, like he was going to ruin you and god you want it so bad, you were so sure that was going to work. 
After a while, you excused yourself, needing an excuse to calm yourself down. Between him sitting beside you, legs spread wide with his shirt tight around his chest, ordering people around looking every bit the mob boss you love, you can’t focus. 
You were coming back from the bathroom when two hands grabbed your waist. You spin around at the ‘Hey baby, wanna dance,” drunkenly spewed in your direction. You chuckle dismissively at the man swaying in front of you. 
You’re seconds away from telling the stranger off when you feel a heated gaze on the back of your neck. Glancing over your shoulder, your breath hitches and your stomach plummets.
Steve is glaring down at you from his private lounge. 
Oh, there it is. The spark behind his crystal blues eyes. Similar to early this morning and just like before, you want more. 
Steve knows what you’ve been doing all week, he’s been waiting for you to ask him for what you want.
 He can’t lie, he enjoys making you squirm, the fact that you’re turned on by his aggression is intriguing, he can’t wait to see what else is hiding in your devious mind. 
Your attempts to rile him up have been downright adorable, you have no idea what it takes to enrage him.  
In fact, there is only one thing you can do to upset him and right now you’re dangerously close to doing it. He looks down at you, his hand on the rail. “Don’t.”
He recognizes that mischievous glint in your eyes and his hand tightens around the metal bar. Steve isn’t jealous, no that implies you don’t belong to him. He’s possessive. You belong to him body and soul. It’s only fair considering you hold his heart in the palm of your hand. However, he will fuck that brattiness right out of you.
You bite your bottom lip, giving him a demure look. Then you turn to the redhead with a smile and take his hand, letting him pull you onto the dance floor.
Watching someone else put his hands on you, grinding against your delectable body stirs a deep-seated rage in him. He thought he made it clear to you and the world that no one was supposed to touch you. Only his hands get the pleasure of being on you. 
You wanted aggressive Steve, sweetheart, you’re going to get him. Every last inch, you're going to feel him for days. 
Steve cuts through the crowd, the drunken revelers parting for him until he reaches you. The red-head whisked away before you could blink. “Hey, Ste-,"
He wraps his hand around your throat, the cold metal of his rings pressing into the sides of your neck, he turns you around so your back is against his chest. He squeezes until you gasp, your hands latching onto his wrist, “sweetheart, want to know a secret?” he casually asks.
His other hand traces your collarbone while turning your head to face the crowd ebbing around you. His hand slips under your black dress, rolling your nipple between his rough fingers, “I could bend you over and fuck you right here,” he whispers in your ear. His deep voice caressing your skin. Heat pools in your belly, sinking down to your core, 
“I can fuck you anywhere I want, however I want and no one could stop me” 
“Is that what you want?” He hums, “for me to make you scream my name in front of all these people.”
You swallow, whimpering when he kisses your shoulder, his fingers tugging your nipple. “Who do you belong to?," he demands, his lip pulled into a smirk, "Who owns this pussy?"
“You do” you breathe out, pressing your ass into his crotch moaning when his hand tightens around your throat.
He growls in your ear,  "louder." He pinches your nipple before rubbing his rings across your stiff peaks. Jolts of electricity shooting to your cunt, a deep ache forming with each tug and pinch.
“Steve, you do,” you hoarsely shout. Multiple eyes dart in your direction before looking away. No one wants to get caught staring at Steve's girl.
You’re the center of attention but only for him. The sheer power in that makes your knees weak and nearly buckle. 
Steve places his hand between your legs, "I gotcha, sweetheart," he purrs. His long fingers pushing your soaked thong to the side. "Fucking drenched for me, aren't you?" 
He makes you nod. Forcing your head back while his thumb presses down on your aching bud at the same time his middle finger dips into your core. 
The warmth of his long digit followed by his cool ring makes you squeak. "You're going to cum for me in front of all these people." He's taking you apart in the middle of crowd and fuck if you don't love it. The domination, his commanding presence is enough to make you cum.
He slides another finger in, twisting his wrist and curling his fingers until you shudder. The pads of his fingers hit your spongy spot over and over until you're crying out, "right there, Steve shit baby, don't stop."
Whenever someone stares a second too long, Steve nods at them and one his men removes them from the floor. 
You're in a daze of bliss so overwhelming you don't even notice. He's knuckle deep in your pussy, tracing his name over clit, tightening the knot forming in your belly. "Fuck, Steve," you moan. 
He hums, "that's it, your cum over all my fingers,  give it to me right fucking now." He presses down hard making you scream, the thin shrill sound cutting across the room, your hands digging into his wrists as you rock your hips back and forth. Pleasure spiraling higher and higher until you break. 
You're still in the midst of your high when he tosses you over his shoulder. His large hand smacking you with every languid step to his private lounge. "If you ever let anyone touch you again,  I'm putting you over the bar and spanking in front of the world." 
By the time he reaches his booth your ass is burning. You're on edge again. 
He throws you on the smooth leather seat, he steps in front of you, holding his hands on his hips. “Get me nice and wet," he orders. You shiver at the dark lust in his blue eyes.
"Yes, sir," your breathy compliance makes his cock twitch. 
You unsnap his trousers one button at a time, your mouth watering in anticipation.  When you reach into his boxers, he places your hands on his waist ordering you to not move.
He takes his cock out pumping his shaft slowly, he paints your lips with his precum. "Mmm, so beautiful," he murmurs, your eyes shine at the praise, "you're about to look even better," he says, thrusting into your open mouth.
Normally he eases into fucking your throat, gently working you up until you can take his thick cock all the down. But you wanted to be a brat so you get fucked like one. 
He's warm and heavy on your tongue. His rough thrusts into your wet mouth make you gag with every slide down your throat. "Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so pretty wrapped around my cock," he grunts. "I'm going to keep you full all night, 'M going to ruin that little pussy next." 
Taking your head, he fucks you even faster, the vulgar gagging even louder, tears run down your face. "This is what you wanted huh, sweetheart," he taunts wiping your face off, "you're going to remember who's in charge-"
Bucky strolls in with an amused grin "Steve," 
"Hey, Buck," he groans, "God damn" he spits out when you hollow your cheeks. 
Bucky waves at you before settling on the chair across from you, his long legs spread, taking a small sip of his whiskey. 
"So, you need me to come back, in what 30 seconds," he laughs.
Steve shoots him a glare, "fuck off, you got the Intel on Luciano?" 
Bucky pulls a file out of inner pocket, shrugging off his black suit jacket. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, "hey doll, looking good" he winks at you. He rolls up his sleeves, revealing his tattooed forearms. 
Steve gazes lovingly down at you, "she's beautiful," he pulls his cock out of your mouth, grinning at your whine, "but she's been naughty tonight," 
Bucky leans forward, placing his elbow in his knee, "I heard," he chuckles as Steve bends you over the table, your hands planted firmly on the glass. He reaches out, grabbing your chin in his warm hand, "you know what happens to bad girls, don't you doll?" He teases, wiping your smeared lipstick off your mouth. 
You shake your head no. You keep your eyes on Bucky's slate blues, whimpering when you feel your legs kicked apart. "You're about to learn," he promises. 
The sudden thrust pushes you forward, your nose pressing into Bucky's. Another deep rough thrust makes you mewl. Incredible, intense bursts of pleasure punching through you, soft keens of don't stop fall from your open mouth. 
Each deep stroke harder, faster than the last until he's fucking you senseless. Loud, salacious sounds of skin slapping echo through the thin curtain separating you from the rest of the club. 
Your hot wet walls flutter around Steve's cock, taking each hard inch into your core. "Oh fuck," you gasp into Bucky's mouth. 
Steve groans above you, his hand slapping your ass. The sting makes you clamp down on his length, "so tight, made just for me," he says, watching your cunt take his cock.
Bucky pulls your bottom lip down, "I don't know about that Stevie, bet that pussy would fit around my cock just right, bet I could make you gush over all me, doll" he smirks. 
Steve laughs when you clench down at Bucky's words, "you want that sweetheart, you ask nicely and you can have him too," 
"I do, Steve I-I, fuck," you sob out when his strokes go even deeper. 
"He's all yours, now tell Bucky, how you feel," he demands, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you into his thrusts. 
"Good, so good" you cry out. 
"Mmm, I don't know punk, not sure if I believe her," Bucky says, faux concern in tone as he playfully furrows his brows. 
Oh, fuck, please- your thoughts cut off when Steve puts his foot up on the table, opening you up in even more, his hips snapping into you, thrusts nearly making you collapse, your quivering body is only held up by his hands on your waist and Bucky's grip on your chin. 
"How do you feel now?"
"Oh fuck, I-god" you scream, your eyes rolling back. "Please, please, I can't take it," you sob trying to pull away from his relentless pace.
"Now that's better, you can take it doll, you're doing so good, taking his cock, doll," he praises, wiping off your face gently, "told Steve you could handle him,"
You shake your head. Begging with your eyes, unable to speak as the sensations overtake you. It's so good, too good.  You've never felt like this, you're not going to survive.
Bucky watches your face contort in pleasure, "Oh, doll he's still taking it easy on you," his eyes flicker over your shoulder. "I guess I'll have to teach you what happens when you disobey Steve," he says. 
You clench down at that sinful promise, another incredible wave of pleasure spiraling through you, "goddamn,- I think she wants that" Steve snickers, wiping his forehead off with the back of his hand. 
“Of course she does, look at me", he boasts, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. The tenderness from Bucky is a stark contrast from the rough pounding from Steve and it's enough to push you closer to the edge. "Oh, she's close Steve." 
"She’s gripping me so tight, fuck I can barely move," Steve groans appreciatively, "choke her for me, Bucky"
Your eyes widen when Bucky slides his hand down to your throat, "you want me to doll?" His eyes search yours, waiting until you nod before squeezing so hard you feel lightheaded. Steve winds his hand around to your clit and rubs your tender bud viscously, his thumb pressing small intricate circles that unravel the expanding coil.
Stars bloom behind your eyes, a dull roar in your ears as your orgasm sweeps through every nerve and fiber of your being. All you can feel is them on you, in you, sensations crashing into each other, higher and higher twisting through you.  
Nothing exists outside what they're giving you. And it's all you want, unable to take more but needing it. 
"Cum for me again sweetheart, give me one more," Steve rasps, pushing your back down, making your arch deepen. Your body tensing on command. The second orgasm unfurls before the first ends, you can only gasp Steve's name. He fucks you through another weaker climax until you go limp. 
Bucky supports you, peppering your face with kisses while Steve fills you with thick hot spurts of cum, filling you until it leaks around him. Steve pulls out watching his cum seep out of your cunt, he’s going to keep you like this, full of him until you’re nice and round. He can’t believe he held back thinking you couldn’t handle him, he underestimated you. Never again. 
. "I love you, sweetheart,"  he says, pride and love laced in his voice, warming you even more. 
"Love you, too," you mumble, giving him a lazily smile. 
Both men insist you don’t do anything else, not letting you get up, showering you with praises and handling you with such care you almost cry. They lay you in the booth, cleaning you up while you bask in the small aftershocks of your orgams. Steve makes you take a sip of water before you start to drift off to sleep. 
You hear papers rustling, "Buck, they think they can steal from me," he coldly laughs, "I want his head. Actually, bring him to me, I'll take care of him myself." 
"Can I watch?"
He exchanges a glance with an amused Bucky, "hell yeah sweetheart, you can do whatever you want."
Your smile drops when he tilts your head to face him, "but let another man besides this idiot touch you and I'll rail you so hard you won't be able to walk again." 
Bucky taps your ass, “I was going to do that anyway, trust me doll, I’m not nearly as gentle as Stevie here.” 
“Fuck you, Buc-” 
“Look, all I’m saying is she can still talk, when I’m done she’s going to--,” Bucky mimics raspy gasping. 
You look over to see the dark hair mobster biting his bottom lip, his deep blue eyes studying you, “Doll, I’ve waited a long time for you and I’m going to make sure you always remember me.” 
When he winks and Steve glares at the both of you, you know you’re in trouble but there are worse ways to go. 
Part 2 of this universe
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celestialbarnes · 4 months ago
𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜.𝐞
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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris evans x actress!reader, sebastian stan x actress!reader (𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and chris were best friends, he dated jenny until he didn’t, you stayed to pick up the pieces of his broken heart, falling for him and becoming his lover, only for him to leave you for the woman he once loved. (based on this request)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, nsfw content in some chapters, heartbreak,
𝐚/𝐧: hello!! this is a mini series that i’ve decided to come up with for chris, i’ve been feeling a little down lately, and hopefully some writing will cheer me right up! please don’t let this flop🥺
𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬! 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 (𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐨) / 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝!
𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10 (end) (𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐲)
alternate ending (𝐭𝐛𝐜)
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planetofawe · 3 months ago
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SYNOPSIS: Pretty self explanatory, here are 30 things I think Chris does during sex!
WARNINGS: Smut! [Includes oral and penetrative unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it. Spanking and being tied up!] You do not have permission to steal/copy my work! 18+ only, minors dni!
PAIRING: Chris Evans x Reader
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1. Whilst he’s eating you out, Chris always manages to bring his hands up to hold yours, he then rests them on your stomach to hold you down because he goes hard with devouring you and doesn’t want you squirming away.
2.Chris also holds your hands during missionary, he brings your joined hands up against the pillow as he pounds into your repeatedly, making the intense situation somewhat even more intimate then it already was before.
3. He definitely closes his eyes and hums when his tongue touches your already drenched pussy for the first time that night (yes man has stamina, he can go for round after round)
4. Chris 100% is the type to pull you up and flat against his chest when you’re in doggy just so his hand could trail all over your body. It makes him feel close to you, especially when you rest your head against his shoulder!
5. He likes pinching your nipples and seeing you squirm, especially during foreplay and you could bet he’d have the biggest smirk on his face when he sees the reaction it causes.
6. Chris also likes being in control and watching the effects it has on you (like you squirming and shaking after a particular thrust that hit your g-spot just right)
7. Chris definitely pushes you down flat on the mattress when you’re in doggy, his hand lands at the small of your back when your laying on your stomach so he has more control over his thrusts.
8. He will pretty much fuck you anywhere, got horny whilst shopping? Don’t worry, Chris is already pulling you into the nearest bathroom. In the mood whilst on a drive? Once again, don’t worry because he’s already parking in a dodgy car park so that he could pull you into the backseat to pound the living daylights out of you. In conclusion, he’s always turned on and is always there to help you out.
9. Chris is the type to bite at your shoulders, nibble your ears and suck marks at your neck whenever he’s balls deep inside of you. He likes marking you because after all, you are his territory and he wants everyone to know that.
10. He makes you open your mouth so that he could stick his thumb inside. “Because you won’t shut the fuck up, daddy’s thumb will do the job” Chris growls before he starts to pounds into you.
11. He likes to splay his big, calloused hand on your lower stomach when he’s balls deep inside of you making you gasp and press his hand down further. “Is daddy deep inside of you baby?” “Can you feel me here? In your belly? Speak up brat”
12. Chris likes to throw you over his laps on nights where you’ve been a bad girl so he could spank you. He starts off with rubbing your ass softly before lifting his hand up and slamming it down harshly, making you scream and whine.
13. Chris likes seeing the aftermath of his spanking on you. He definitely licks his lips and kisses you right on the sore spots of your ass, making you flinch because it still stings a little.
14. He’s 100% a dirty talker. He likes expressing how good you’re making him feel and also likes making you speak and communicate how you’re feeling. “So tight around me” “Am I stretching this pretty little pussy out love?”
15. Chris likes it when you tug on his hair, especially when he’s eating you out. You bet he’s be rutting into the mattress so he could receive the sweet pleasure he’s craving whilst you also fall apart under his tongue. You tugging on his hair let’s him know that he’s doing a good job.
16. He definitely gathers your hair and pulls it into a ponytail when you’re sucking him off. His eyes would be hooded but kept on you on your legs infront of him.
17. Sometimes when you’re having some soft sex, probably the sex you have when Chris comes back from filming or something. He drops a pillow/shirt onto the floor for you so you won’t hurt your knees as you suck him off.
18. Chris keeps his hands planted on your ass when you’re riding him, squeezing down and spanking you every so often.
19. He also helps you ride him and sometimes thrusts up into you making your eyes roll back in pleasure and for Chris to grin smugly because he’s doing this to you.
20. Chris always lets you pick out a playlist before sex because he’s not into music like that so when you pick out the dirtiest of songs, Chris is entranced and it turns him on so much knowing his girl listens to music like that.
21. This is a bit of an embarrassing one for Chris because when it was yours and his first time having sex together, he was so nervous that he couldn’t get himself up. But with your help he managed that and showed you the best night of your life.
22. Chris likes taking your tits into his mouth, as soon as he sees them bouncing up and down infront of him when you’re riding him, he’s heading straight to them, licking and sucking just how you like him to.
23. He grips your waist tight, digging his nails into your sides when he’s hitting it from behind. Something about your pussy being so tight and squeezing down hard on him just gets him going.
24. He 100% has a thing for praise, he likes knowing that it’s only him that could make you feel such euphoric things so he loves getting you to tell him how it’s feeling. “Who’s making you feel this good baby?” “Tell me, who is it? Is it daddy?”
25. Definitely gets cocky when he finds your g-spot “I found the spot didn’t I?” He ask, biting down on his lips as he sees you flutter your eyes shut at the feeling.
26. He loves the sight of you underneath him, so most of the times he’s always on top or dominating. He wants to watch you squirming underneath his touch and to see you squirming is his favourite.
27. Chris likes watching his cum dribble out of you, you’re still trying to catch your breath but you lift your head up regardless and see him eyeing your wrecked pussy and it definitely makes you laugh but he doesn’t care as he reaches for your pussy with his thick fingers so he could push the cum back inside of you. He likes having you stuffed and full.
28. He has some nights where it’s strictly for “love making” as he likes to call it, where he dims the lights, brings out some candles, puts some fresh bedsheets on and scatters rose petals on the bed for you.
29. He also has some nights where he’s the exact opposite, where he brings out his ties/ropes, spanks you with his belt or hand, overstimulates you until you can no longer take it and makes sure you don’t cum.
30. Eventhough you have sex quite often, Chris can’t help but fall even more in love with you each time he sees your face when your cumming. You have such an innocent but gravitating look and he never wants to not be able to see that. He loves you and you can definitely tell by the way he touches you.
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sweetsbfreex · 26 days ago
ways writers can be inclusive 101
“my cheeks turned pink in embarrassment” → “my cheeks heated in embarrassment”
“his hand ran through my hair” → “his hand ran over my head/hair”
“her bright pink pussy” → literally anything else
stop using mood boards of only white couples/children (heavy on this one)
using children names like eveleigh ann (do i need to explain..)
her hair was put in a messy bun/her long silky hair...
Respectfully, I know it’s just fanfiction, but if you’re going to write reader insert fics then do the bare minimum of making sure it’s actually inclusive and not white coded. Many of us shouldn’t read an x reader fic and imagine a white woman every single time. Stop taking criticism from bipocs, saying your writing is not inclusive, as hate. Let go of the mindset that having a bipoc in your writing means they have to go through some racial struggle or you must talk about their culture (a lot of bipocs don’t know their culture/where they came from). It shouldn’t make you uncomfortable to write them in your stories, we’re normal people too. If it does maybe a reflection is meant to be had. Like i said, it’s just fanfiction and it’s supposed to be fun, but some of y’all are purposefully exclusive and still tag your writing wrong.
And if you can’t handle it, tag ur fic as an oc or white!reader. Because it’s not right for writers to attack people asking for inclusivity and playing victim bc they know they can.
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angrythingstarlight · 4 months ago
Laced Around Your Throat
Summary: Your Mob boyfriend knows that the only thing that looks even better than his hand around your throat is his custom made necklace. You're his girl and the world needs to know it. 
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Pairing: Mafia!Steve x Reader, Mafia!Bucky x Reader
Word count: 2.5K 
𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, possessive behavior, exhibitionism, voyeurism,  cockwarming, oral (m receiving), fingering (x 2), choking, very brief daddy kink (mentioned once)
 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘢’𝘥 by the wonderful @whisperlullaby​, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯
𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 (𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵) However no permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post any parts of my stories anywhere (reblogs are great). 
Check out my Masterlist and Taglist! Requests are closed 
A/N: Requested. 
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Steve runs New York with an iron fist, sharing his wealth and power with his best friend Bucky. His legitimate businesses are lucrative fronts for the state’s largest criminal organizations. Rumors run rampant through the boroughs about the golden hair CEO and the mysterious brunet known only to the public as the Winter Soldier, however, no one dares to say anything too loud.
No one is brave enough to risk his wrath. Louder than the rumors of the mob boss are the whispers about what happens to his enemies. 
He has the police in his pocket, the governor on speed dial, and senators begging for a meeting. 
While people know of Steve Rogers, very few know the man behind his meticulously crafted façade. 
Steve has worked hard to keep his name away from his more nefarious dealings, content to let others take credit for his handiwork. It’s easier for him to rule when people are unaware of everything that he owns. His privacy is more important to him than the notoriety that comes with his status. 
There is one thing, one person, he does claim. 
Oh, Steve loves you. You belong to him. His feral need to claim you that grows more powerful each day. He’s not happy until he’s fucked you senseless, so thoroughly and deeply, that you feel him long after he’s slipped out of your tight warm pussy, his passionate lovemaking leaves you wearing his marks all over your soft thighs and chest. 
It’s a vicious cycle, seeing you marked up makes him want to mark you even more. Hearing you scream out his name as he fucks you makes him go harder until you’re wrecked, overstimulated and limp on the bed. A vicious cycle that you can’t get enough of. Neither can he. 
But nothing compares to how his hand curves perfectly around your throat, your skin painted with bruises from his thick fingers, lips, and teeth. Steve knows only one thing will look better around your throat. 
His name. 
He had the necklace designed by a French artist and handcrafted by an Italian jeweler. The black diamonds woven throughout the collar enhanced the colorful crimson rubies, his name etched in the braided tassel that could be split apart and attached to the ends of the necklace, hanging in loops over your collarbone. 
Or it can be left down, dropping between your breasts, his name twisting with each sway of the chain. When Steve saw how perfectly it fit on you, he knew it was worth every penny, he would spend millions to have more commissioned for you. His girl. 
The night he put it on you, seeing his name on against your skin changed something in him. His alpha side reaching new heights. You watched in awe and heady anticipation as he swiftly removed his clothes, ordering you to stay still. 
“Sweetheart, now is not the time to tease me, I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do.” He swore, his voice deepening the longer he stared at you. 
Steve’s hands trembled with the urge to choke you, his desire to be inside you overwhelming his senses, all he could see was you splayed on his gigantic bed, naked and ready for him. The necklace glinting under the lights; the sight fraying his barely there control. When you tugged on it, murmuring his name, he snapped. 
He grabbed you, pushing you on your knees in front of his ceiling to floor mirror, his large warm body behind you, his rough hand moving up your stomach, the other wrapping over the necklace, pressing it into your skin. “Who owns you, sweetheart,” he darkly grunts in your ear. 
You both know the answer, but fuck he loves when you say it, breathless and needy for him. Moaning his name as he eases his thick, long cock into your tight cunt. “You do, Stevie, fuck, only you,” you gasp as his hips slap against your ass, pushing his cock deeper into your body, gliding his swollen head over your sweet spot just right. “Ah, oh fuck Steve, god I’m yours.” 
Steve watches you fall apart in the mirror, his name moving up and down your sweat laced chest with each furious thrust, “You belong to me to me, you’re gonna take every inch of my cock and when I tell you to you’re gonna fucking cum,” he rasps. 
He jerks your head back, licking the exposed skin of your neck. You try to speak but can only brokenly sob out his name between pleas and whimpers. “Right there, god, fuck, Steve.” His thrusts slamming into your soft, fluttering walls sending white-hot waves of pleasure through you. His eyes flickering between your face and his name as you came over and over again, memorizing how great you looked ruined by his cock.
You wear that necklace everywhere. Igniting fresh rumors of Steve’s girl. People giving you even more respect than before. You don’t have to wait in line, people pay for your Starbucks and meals when you dare to venture outside the compound. 
You once mentioned that you thought someone’s dog was cute, and she offered you the pup right there in the middle of the street, much to your chagrin. Of course, Steve thought it was funny and when you mentioned you did like those kinds of dogs, he had two puppies waiting for you the next morning. 
You can’t lie, part of you loves the power that comes with being Steve’s sweetheart. It took some time to get used to, but knowing that you’re protected and loved is incredible. Steve makes sure you know how cherished you are every single day. He’s waiting for the day that you realize you own the mafia boss and that he will do anything and everything you want him to do. Until then, he’s going to keep convincing you of your worth. 
And damn, he so proud to show you off.
You’re no trophy, you’re a fucking goddess.
His goddess. Wearing his chain for the world to see. 
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His favorite memory of that necklace, so far, is the day you came to visit him at work. 
You stood outside the conference room, leaning on the sleek mahogany doors as you adjusted the strap on your black heel. The indigo lingerie peeking through the black trench coat, you looked down with a smirk recalling the last time he saw you in this outfit. You couldn’t walk straight for days. 
You softly knock, twisting the tassel between your fingers. “Steve,” you call out, opening the door before he can respond.
His head snaps up from the file in his hand, a wide smile forming on his pink lips. “Hey sweet-” 
“Who the fuck are you?” John, a new associate of Steve, interrupts, “get the fuck out of here and wait until you’re told you can come in.” He arrogantly looks around the table, “these stupid new secretaries, am I right?” 
A deadly silence falls over the room, the men sitting beside John scoot away. Everyone, but you and Steve, stares at the table or the ceiling. 
Your eyes stay locked on Steve’s, hypnotized by how quickly his sky-blue eyes darken, your lacy panties soaked when the pen shatters in his fist. He slowly tilts his head to the side, cracking his neck, the sharp sound making the men cringe. 
“Repeat that.” He states so calmly it would be easy to think he wasn’t enraged until you looked at his face. “Again and slower this time.” 
John glances around the room, fear erupting in the depths of his stomach.  When his eyes land on you, he pales watching you smile at Steve, pulling your-his necklace over your trench coat, running your finger down his name. 
“Oh shit,” John whispers, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. “Boss, I-I didn’t know-” He stops when Steve slams his fist on the table. Everyone but you startled, you live for this. Your cunt aching at the display of power and strength. 
“Sweetheart, who are you?” Steve asks, folding his hands behind his head. He leans back in his leather chair, licking his bottom lip with a quick dart of his pink tongue. 
You recognize the glint mingled in the rage in his deep blue eyes. Popping open the buttons on your coat, one by one, the soft flicks the only sounds in the large conference room. Sliding the belt through the loops, it falls to your feet with a soft rustle. 
“I’m yours.”  
Steve raises his brow, “Show me.” His deep commanding voice makes your clit throb. You can stop him at any time, but you want him now. You don’t give a fuck about anyone else in this room, the only person who matters is across from you. And the one watching from the shadows. 
You take a step around the table, freezing when he tsks. “Sweetheart, I said show me.” He gestures in front of him. He wants you to show them who you belong to, after today no one is going to mistake you for anything but his. 
You move to the end of the table and place your hands on the cool surface. 
“Good girl,” he praises. His hand drops to his cock, rubbing his swollen bulge through his pants. “Don’t make me repeat myself again, you know what happened last time I had to tell you more than once.” 
A shiver runs down your spine and your core clenches down, oh that night was downright nasty, the things he made you do, you shudder again. You’re going to have to rile him up later. But right now, he’s waiting for you. 
You crawl on the table, moving slowly to your man, your hips swaying as you get closer. Steve shifts in his chair, his bulge pushing against his tailored pants. You look so fucking sexy on your hands and knees, he’s going to fuck you on this table. 
After he makes sure everyone knows who the fuck you are. 
“C’mere baby” he groans when he can finally touch you. His large hand cupping the back of your head bringing you in for a deep, slow kiss, the other moving under the cup of your bra, kneading your nipple between his fingers until you whimper in his mouth. 
“Get on your knees, sweetheart,” he orders. You quickly obey, much to his amusement and pride, you’re always so good to him, he can’t help but be good to you in return.
 “John,” he barks out, twisting your panties to the side. He moans, vulgar and low, seeing your glistening pussy displayed in front of him, deciding to buy a belly chain so his name can hang right over your perfect cunt.  
“Uh, yes, boss,” he says, his eyes watering. Steve smirks at the quiver in the man’s voice. 
He circles your clit with his wide thumb, drawing soft moans from you. His long fingers moving through your soaked folds, gathering your slick. Steve pushes two thick fingers into your core, the sudden intrusion makes you cry out, your hands grabbing his shoulders. 
“You insulted my girl,” he sneers, his eyes observing you, changing his pace with each tell of your body. Sensations wrapping through you as he pumps his fingers slowly until you roll your hips, silently begging for more. “You need more, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice softening.
Steve curls his fingers, “where is it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, steadying his hips with his ringed hand, “tell daddy where it is,” his fingers graze your velvety walls over and over, and oh fuck your stomach tenses, your hands digging into his shoulder as you groan. 
“Is that it?,” he breathes out, rubbing over your soft spongy spot. 
Steve grins up at you, “go on sweetheart, ride ‘em,” Waiting until you circle your hips, your head thrown back, your cunt sucking in his fingers back as he drags his thumb over your clit. Your wanton cries echoing across the room. Steve pulling his eyes away from you to make sure no one is watching you fuck yourself on his hand. 
“Now I’m a nice man, very forgiving,” he lies, pausing when you look down with a short laugh, he twists his wrists, slamming into you with a vulgar squelch that makes you mewl, your walls spasming around him, “but he’s not,” he continues. 
Bucky places his hands on John’s shoulders, the thin blonde jumping in his seat. Looking around for help, trembling when no one meets his frantic eyes. “I’m sorry, sir-,” he begins. 
Bucky leans down, “I’m going to give you a five-minute head start.” He pulls out his chair and motions towards the door. John scrambles to his feet, fleeing down the hall. 
Bucky walks over to you, sitting on the edge of the table. “Hey doll,” he greets you with a grin, pinching your bouncing ass. “When he’s done, you’re wanna ride my face?” he offers. 
You nod out, “yes, yes please.” He’s not sure if it’s because Steve is fucking you within an inch of your life or the prospect of soaking his beard, doesn’t matter, you’re riding him either way. 
The necklace catches his eye when you lean back, rocking your hips shamelessly over Steve’s hand, his rings a blur as they thrust into your core. 
Bucky scoffs, rubbing your back, “really Steve, is this because of the panties, it’s not my fault the tailor forgot to add your name.” 
Steve glares at him from the corner of his eye, “All fifty pairs Buck, not one 'Steve' on any of them,” he grumbles, curling his fingers harder, the coil spiraling in your belly.
“Don-don’t fight,” you moan, dropping your head onto Steve’s shoulder. “M’s so close, please.” 
Bucky reaches over, pushing his ring over the tip of his thumb, rolling the smooth metal over your hot, swollen bud, both men playing with your clit, firm and soft, warm fingers and cool metal taking you higher and higher.
 “She’s mine too, Steven.”
“I don’t see your name on her chest,” Steve quips.
Bucky pushes Steve’s thumb out of the way, tracing B-U-C on your clit, “for now, but it’s going to be my cock splitting her open later.” By the time he reaches the Y, he slides his middle finger between Steve’s thick fingers, increasing the vulgar squelching of your cunt as they work together to fuck you.  
Their bickering ceases when you clamp down on their fingers, your cries getting louder, coils tightening deep within your belly. Hearing them both order you to cum, “go on sweetheart, that’s it doll, be a good girl and cum for us,” pushes you over the edge. Your body wracked with potent sensations, both men watching breathlessly as you gush over their fingers. 
Bucky pops in his thumb in his mouth, waiting until you settle down, “I want you in my office in 10 minutes, sweetheart.” 
Steve places a kiss on your forehead, moving your panties back into place. You glance at him with a bashful grin, “I’m kinda hungry, Bucky.” 
He stands up, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his tatted left arm, “Don’t worry, I have something nice and thick to fill you up,” he winks, “I’m going to go show John the meaning of respect and when I’m done, you better be ready for me.”  
He whistles as he strolls out of the room, “10 minutes.” He slams the door shut behind him. 
Steve grabs your chin, bringing your face over to his, “let him take this chain off and I’m going to punish you, understand?” 
You shrug, biting his bottom lip until he growls. “That’s between you and Bucky,” you tease, letting the plump lip go. 
“He said ten minutes,” you contemplate, staring down at his pants. Hopping off the table, you stretch your back, while Steve pushes away from the table. “Let me thank you,” you say, dropping to your knees.
“Let’s get back to work,” Steve demands after you crawl between his large thighs. You pull out his cock, licking the veiny underside. “Who’s going to take over John’s assignments?” 
He nods in approval as every hand shoots up. You tap his thigh, getting his attention. He glances down at you, laughing when you raise your hand. ‘Oh, no sweetheart, you have much better things to do, like keeping me warm.” 
The meeting continues, everyone but Steve ignoring the wet slurping from under the table.
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20 minutes later, you cautiously open Bucky’s door, looking around, you sigh in relief when you see it’s still dark, a hint of light peeking around the edges of his blinds.. You say a silent thanks; you know better than to keep him waiting. He’s worse than Steve when he gets impatient. You creep in, shutting the door behind you. Tossing your trench coat on his couch, you stroll over to his desk. 
“Hi Doll,” Bucky says, turning his chair around. He smirks at your startled shriek, his hand grabbing your wrist 
You smile nervously at the brooding man, his eyes watching your heaving chest. “Hi,” you squeak out, your heart racing as he rubs the inside of your wrist, his thumb pressing over your pulse. 
“What did I tell you?” He asks, pulling you between his long legs. “Did I or did I not tell you ten minutes?” 
You lick your dry lips, “I tried but Steve needed me,” you offer, wincing when he scowls at you. “I’m sorry.” 
You’re not. And he knows it. 
“You will be.” 
He pushes you back until your thighs hit his desk; you scoot back, spreading your legs while Bucky stands up. He turns on his desk lamp, the dull yellow glow illuminating the area, his white shirt splattered with red droplets. Bucky shrugs it off, putting his suspenders back over his broad shoulders. 
“I want everyone on this floor to hear you, doll.” He states, ripping your panties off. His dark blue eyes raking down your body, “you’re incredible, you know that, we’re so fucking lucky to have you.” His soft lips brush against the inside of your thighs, murmuring praises as his hands guide you down his desk. “You’re going to let him know that you’re mine,” he promises, freeing his thick cock from his pants 
Trailing soft kisses up your body, he places his hands beside your head, his eyes focusing on your necklace. “And this is going in the trash.” 
Your protests cut off when he slams into you, his cock engulfing in your soaked, hot core, filling you so deeply and fully, you sob out his name. He knows you’re unaware of the door opening, Bucky glances up before slamming his hips into you. Pleasure rippling up with each thrust. 
“Who owns this pussy?” He asks, his swift, vigorous strokes making you clench down. He grinds his hips against yours, making you feel so good as he lifts, pushing your thighs apart, angling deeper until you swear you can feel him everywhere. The desk creaking from the force of his thrusts. 
“Bucky,” you scream out, “It’s yours, all yours, Bucky.”  
“I don’t know, I think you like Steve more,” he remarks, his thrusts slowing down, “maybe you should wait for him to make you cum.” He stops, his throbbing cock buried in your pulsating cunt, your walls squeezing him, begging him to move. “I don’t think I can fuck you like he can.” 
“No, fuck, Bucky, please, you’re better, so much better,” you plead, desperately rotating your hips. Grabbing his suspender in one hand, you pull him down for a kiss, mumbling into his mouth, “‘it’s so good, so good, please Bucky, I need you.” 
Bucky deepens the kiss, resuming his pace, hitting your sweet spot with each drag of his cock, swallowing your moans. You feel each vein and ridge as he pounds you into the desk, his chest gliding over yours. His warm hand wraps around your throat, clamping down as you tense up, your orgasm cresting with each slap of his hips.
 “Cum for me, doll,” he urges, “sing for me,” 
Your body submits to his demands, incoherently screaming out his name as he pushes you higher and higher, pleasure sparking through you until your vision fades to black. 
“That’s my good girl,” he praises, “so good for me.” His baritone voice a dull roar in your ears as you shatter around his cock. 
Calloused fingers trail up your belly, the low of hum of a heated conversation pulls you from your slumber. Opening your eyes, you’re startled to see Steve glaring down at you, furrowing your brows, you stroke his bearded cheek with your fingertips. 
 “What’s wrong, Stevie?” you rasp out. 
He taps your necklace with an exasperated sigh; you look down at your chest. It’s bigger now, more jewels in the collar, shades of green replacing crimson reds, even in the dim light, you can make out Bucky’s name entwined in the chain between your breasts. 
“I-Steve,” you stammer, crouching down when he laughs softly. He’s too calm and you know how methodical he gets when he’s calm. 
Bucky’s perched on the edge of his desk, his phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, casually cutting an apple with a serrated knife.
“Steve you know she looks better in my colors,” he remarks, plopping a slice into his mouth, Steve’s irate groan makes you whimper and Bucky chuckle “you look beautiful doll and you’ll look even better in this.”
 He holds up his hand, a thin gold chain dangling between his fingers. “We have the same jeweler, Steve,” he snarks. “You’re not the only one who likes to spoil our girl.”
When Steve sees the belly chain with Soldat engraved on it, he smiles coldly, your heart stuttering when he leans down, placing his forehead on yours, his blue eyes boring into your wide ones.
 “I’m going to fucking wreck you,” he swears, his hand moving around the back of your neck, “I’ll show you who’s better, sweetheart.” 
He kisses you softly, his fingers undoing the clasp while Bucky continues his conversation, laughing when Steve throws your necklace at his head.
”Now bend over and keep your eyes on him,” Steve says, removing his shirt and tie, “I want him to see how you many times I can make you cum tonight.”
Part 1 is here
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bucksfucks · 4 months ago
HC of chris having a very obvious and very big breeding kink??????
𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 ; 𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙨
summary || chris wakes you up in the middle of the night to see if you’ll make his dreams a reality.
warnings || rpf, heavy breeding kink, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight mocking, degradation, cumplay (if you squint) — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI
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chris’ lips on your shoulder was nothing out of the ordinary as you were getting ready for bed, turning the faucet off and drying your face with your small hand towel. “hi baby,” he mumbles making you giggle. “hi, baby.” you mimic, smiling at him through the mirror as he presses a kiss to your jaw. you laugh, squirming as his beard tickles you. “c’mon chris, that’s not fair. you know how much your beard tickles me.” you pout as he shrugs his shoulders. “it doesn’t seem to bother you all that much when i’m between your legs,” he shrugs with a smirk as you hit his chest playfully.
“you’re not between them now, are you?” you chide back as he quirks his head. “i could be,” he retorts making you roll your eyes. “in your dreams.” you tease as he playfully groans and retreats into the bedroom. you’re not sure what chris is planning, but you do know that he’s been working himself to the bone and needs a solid eight hours of sleep. when you slide in beside him, he’s already dozing off; hugging a pillow to him as you press a kiss to his forehead. “mmm’goodnight baby,” he mumbles sleepily as you turn the lights off, getting cozy yourself.
you wake up to chris nudging you gently, “baby?” he whispers, sounding alert and awake. you groan as you snuggle deeper into the covers. “baby,” he whines as you crack your eyes open to meet the digital alarm clock sitting on your bedside table. “chris it’s three in the morning,” you say, voice full of sleep as you turn over to meet his bright eyes. “are you okay?” you ask as you watch him readjust himself. he chews on his lip, “i had a dream about you.” he says and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “i mean,” he takes your hand and places it over his hardened cock, “i had a dream.”
you’re suddenly wide awake as you squeeze him through the boxers he’s wearing making him groan. “fuck, baby,” he hisses, “that’s not fair.” you move over closer to him, your leg over his hip as your core meets his. “wanna tell me about your dream?” you whisper as he slowly rocks his hips against yours. he hums, “mmm, had your face shoved in the sheets, watchin’ my cum leakin’ out of your tight pussy.” he purrs against your lips as you let out a soft moan. “was hopin’ we could recreate it. wanna fill you up, baby.” he groans as he digs his fingers into your hips. you gasp at his words as they leave his mouth, feeling yourself grow wetter through the thin pair of panties you were wearing.
chris’ fingers wander down to the top of their waistband, hovering over your clothed clit. “how’s that sound? you gonna let me breed you tonight?” he growls, applying pressure to your clit that makes you moan and nod your head. you feel his fingers dip below your panties, wandering through your folds as his lips suck at your neck. “look at you, so wet and ready for me already.” he smirks, dipping a single fingers into your entrance. “that’s all you get for now, baby. don’t get greedy now,” he cooes, “be a good girl.” you grip his shirt, trying to discard it before he helps you, tearing yours off in the process.
he’s teasing you with slow pumps of his finger, while his lips explore you. “look at how well you’re doing, sweet.” he praises. “i think you deserve a little more.” before you feel him add another finger. you can feel how wet you are as he curls his fingers inside of you. “i can feel you squeezin’ me, can feel just how close you are,” he whispers in your ear as his palm bumps your clit making your legs shake. you can’t formulate any words, just moan and whimpers as you feel yourself on the brink of an orgasm. “that’s okay, sweetheart. want you to let go, don’t hold back.” he cooes, brushing your sweet spot as you start to see the white exploding before your eyes.
his lips slot over yours, swallowing your sweet moans as he feels his cock twitch. “such a good girl for me, gettin’ nice and ready to take my cock.” he hums as you shudder. “chris, please,” you croak, his fingers in his mouth as he cleans them teasingly. “what is it, baby? you need my cock filling you up, is that what it is?” he mocks as you can’t do anything else but nod. he groans when he wraps his hand around his cock, “move your panties to the side,” he tells you and you do what you’re told.
he slides into you easily, filling and stretching you as the angle of his hips leaves you breathless. “that’s what my good girl needed,” he purrs, “to be filled until she’s just leakin’.” he slowly thrusts, feeling all of you as he tweaks your nipples. “so fuckin’ tight, and all for me.” he grunts with a smirk, his thrusts getting deeper and harder. the bed is creaking, as it hits the wall gently. “gonna milk my cock, yeah? gonna be so full with my cum.” his voice is low and raspy before he’s pulling out quickly and flipping you so you’re on your hands and knees.
“sorry baby,” he smirks, “i couldn’t resist gettin’ a better view of my cock inside your pussy.” before he slamming back into you. the force causes you to stumble as your face gets lost in the pillows; along with your moans. “such a good girl, gonna get so full.” he grunts, fingernails digging into the flesh that your panties used to cover. you yelp when he smacks your ass, the voice echoing through the room as he fucks you into the mattress. “nuh uh,” he grunts when you try to stabilize yourself. “stay down pretty girl, you’re gonna take my cock like this.” he growls and places a hand between your shoulder blades.
the dominance in his voice and actions causes your walls to flutter around him as you pant out moans. “good,” his thrusts are deeper than before. “girl.” he’s panting slightly, a low rasp in his voice. “lettin’ me fill you up.” your toes are curling as you feel yourself on the brink of another orgasm. “oh baby, that’s it. come all over my cock, milk me.” he grunts before you’re giving into the feeling once more until your body feels weightless. his hips stutter before his body folds over yours, painting your walls. you shudder at the feeling of him twitch inside of you before he’s pulling out with a groan.
“fuck,” he mumbles under his breath. “look at you.” he’s talking mostly to himself as he has your ass up. you feel a dip in the bed before he’s cleaning you up and making sure you’re okay. “thanks for makin’ my dreams come true, baby.” he chuckles as you both climb back into bed, exhausted and spent.
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punani · 2 months ago
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Requested: Yes
Summary: The divorce process with Chris is messy, seemingly never ending, and ultimately: heartbreaking. You had to be strong for your son, yourself, and eventually you wanted someone else to be strong for you, so, it seemed only natural that you would venture into the arms of another. However, sometimes the line between something officially ending or simply taking a break blurs when you’ve known someone for longer than you can remember. 
Pairing(s): Chris Evans x Black!Reader (former/eventual)
Word Count: 16.3k 
Warnings: michael b. jordan x reader (temporary/minor), angst, divorce/separation allusions, fighting (verbal), cursing, insults, insecurity, jealousy, toxic relationship allusions (cyclical), NSFW smut: oral (f/m receiving), edging, face sitting, throat fucking, squirting orgasm(s), slapping/spanking (tits, face, ass, etc.), spit kink, breeding kink, degradation kink, hair pulling, chain kink, possessive marking, sex w/o a condom (remember to be responsible), slight dub-con (i’m putting this just in case; unintentional), overall filth, disclaimer: the sex is very rough at one point, so please proceed with caution! 
a/n: big, big thank you to @saint-bvcky​ who helped me climb over the multiple writing walls that i hit while writing this. genuinely, this was probably one of my most challenging fics to write, and i hope you all enjoy it as much at the highest of your extents! 
It’s always ironic. 
How when everything seems to finally fit together—life falling into a rhythm of peace and satisfaction. When things feel nearly complete–the ground never fails to cave underneath your feet; no matter how early you notice, it always feels like it’s too late.  
You don’t know where it started: the damage to what once was a solid, seemingly unbreakable foundation between you and Chris. Furthermore, you don’t even know how it initially started, and you don’t know when it initially started.
Perhaps, if you knew the answers to these simple questions, then things would be different. 
You wouldn’t have to wake up with an ache in your chest every morning, rolling over to be met with cold sheets and a pillow that barely smells like him anymore. You wouldn’t have to make a schedule, practically tossing your son into car after car–rendering your five year old to metaphorical whiplash. You wouldn’t have to engage in that difficult conversation: why Mommy and Daddy are not sleeping in the same house anymore, and why it isn’t your fault because our love for you hasn’t changed. 
Perhaps if you knew where things began to split, sparking an evident division between you and Chris, then the pain of seeing him–of being in his presence–wouldn’t exist. 
It wouldn’t exist, because, like all things and problems, you would’ve nipped the beginnings of a split right in the bud. You would’ve smothered the growing need to fight–claw, scrape, bite.
You would’ve smothered that need to fight, because there would’ve been no need. 
The two of you used to be so in sync–a well oiled and loved machine. One unit. A team. Now, though? Now it felt as if the two of you were toeing the line of acquaintances who happened to have a kid together. 
Chris moved out months ago, but he didn’t go far. 
The entirety of your combined families live less than a ten minute drive from one another, a testament to wanting to keep a tight-knit circle. 
You and Chris always shared that fundamental value: the importance of family. 
It was one of the many things that made you fall in love with him. The way he would speak about his siblings, his mother–it never failed to make something inside of you swell, because you valued family so highly. 
Even now, with the divide in your little family, you value it to the same extent. Perhaps that’s why it hurts so deeply. 
“Can we just–“
“Just what, [Y/N]? What is it this time?”
God, you hate fighting him. You’ve always hated fighting him. 
You hate the way the frustration, the anger, the sadness buries itself in your belly before finding its way to your tongue. 
You hate fighting him, and the irony is that he hates fighting you too. So, why are you here? Why are you here once again–fighting?
“Can we just talk? Like adults?” You keep your voice leveled, but the uneasy feeling crawling up your stomach doesn’t go away. 
If you’re honest, it never seems to go away these days. 
Chris scoffs at first, but he’s quick to close his open drawer and turn to look at you. Even now, with the tension and anger, a piece of you wants to simply walk up to him and hold him. You want to feel his arms wrap around you, solidifying the apology that’s always supposed to come before bed. 
“What is there to talk about? I already explained why I couldn’t be there,” Crossing his arms over his chest, you take in the way his brows furrow and his eyes narrow. He looks at you as if you’re dumb, incapable of comprehending anything in this moment. 
The problem is, you understand full well. You understand what he’s saying, you just don’t understand why he can’t seem to hear you in this conversation. It’s as if you’re merely talking to a wall; only this time, the wall looms over you and speaks freely–no regard for your contribution to the discussion. 
Inhaling deeply, you shift from one heeled foot to another; a dull ache resides in the balls of your feet, but it’s nothing compared to the ache expanding in your chest from this conversation. 
“You can’t be serious, Chris. You’re going to stick with that excuse? You’re going to stand here and act like you missing the banquet–an important dinner for me, for Barry, for our family–is no big deal? What? Because you had a half-assed excuse that you couldn’t make it last minute?” Your throat feels dry, and you want to chalk it up to all of the moisture in your body threatening to spill from your eyes. 
It’s January, the weather so cold, so distant, so...brutal. The kind of cold that settles in your bones. Yet, standing in this master bedroom–a smattering of feet away from the love of your life? A part of you believes it’d be easier to stand outside.
“What do you want me to say? I already apologized, and I told you that I would make it up to you. You’re beating a dead horse for the hell of it at this point,” Chris sighs out, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as his back leans up against the desk in the corner of the room. 
You move to remove your statement earrings from your ears, a sense of fatigue starting to creep into your limbs. You want out of this dress you wore tonight, you want out of these heels you wore tonight, and at this moment? You want out of this room that feels too big yet suffocating at the same time. 
It’s funny: how this room has only felt big whenever he was away filming, but now? It feels as though he’s miles away.
“The dead horse is your inability to show up for me, honey. For our son. Let’s not get it twisted,” The bite creeps into your tone, and you cross your arms in return. 
You hate fighting him, you’ve always hated fighting him–but you’ll be damned if you sit here and let him treat you like some unreasonable fool. 
“Get it twisted? Me?” Your heart lurches as you watch him throw his head back, a small scoff of a laugh falling from his lips as he does so. In this moment, you’re feeling like the love of your life is a bastard. “Baby, you knew what you were signing up for when this–“ he uncrosses one of his arms, motioning between the two of you with a mocking frustration, “became a full-time commitment.”
Your eyes widen, and all you can think is: this man must have lost his mind.
“Now, what the fuck do you mean by this?” You snarl in return, imitating the motion he just made whilst in pure disbelief. “Do you know just how many times you’ve gone on and on about wanting a family? Wanting someone to come home to–unconditional love? And now that you finally fucking receive those things–you don’t even want to be around me? Around us? Well, news flash, Christopher, some of us don’t have the fucking luxury of being a part-time parent.”
You’re beyond thankful that your voice didn’t crack. You’re beyond thankful that you didn’t let him attempt to bulldoze or belittle you. It’s all bullshit–this conversation is bullshit, and you’re more than certain that he knows it. He has to know that he’s in the wrong. 
The inkling that Chris would even feel remotely ashamed of being seen with you and Barry strikes him to the depths of his core. It’s his turn to feel disbelief because, well, how could you ever insinuate that he’d feel an ounce of shame about your relationship–let alone your little family? 
Did you simply miss the way he’d light up and sing his family’s praises whenever he got the chance? Had you glossed over him getting teased and ragged on for showing off pictures of the three of you, to anyone who’d care to look? Did you just not see how absolutely, irrevocably in love with you he is? How thankful he is that you gave him a son who lights up this world more than anyone else?
His eyes verge on dark and too dangerous as he stalks towards you, not stopping until you’re effectively cornered between him and the accent wall behind you. 
You inhale to calm your breathing, effectively taking in the scent of his faded cologne and the mint that lingers from the mouthwash he used not too long ago. God, even when you’re mad at him, your body wants him all the same; you can practically feel the heat building in between your legs.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. Say that shit again.”
He’s daring you–silently begging for you to say it again. He wants to feed into this–wants to make sure that he actually heard you correctly.
Both of you breathe in a way that heightens the tension, locked gazes narrowing as a pregnant pause enters the room. 
This would be a moment where you’d rephrase what you said–taking it back because you didn’t mean it. However, he’s been an asshole tonight, and your stubbornness decided to take a seat at the table. 
“Don’t tell me you’ve gone deaf,” You smirk as you say it, a thin layer of sarcastic teasing lingering in your tone as you hold eye contact. 
Had you not been paying such close attention to him, you definitely would’ve missed the corners of his mouth briefly quirking at your slight dig. Had you not been paying such close attention to him, you would’ve missed the hard to decipher expression that flashes in his blue eyes. Had you not been paying such close attention, you wouldn’t have been able to brace yourself for his lips slotting against yours in a searing kiss. 
Almost immediately, you’re melting into him, moaning at the way his mouth feels against yours before he’s bunching up the fabric of your dress–hoisting you up into his arms; he takes you away from the wall, tongue prodding yours as you root your fingers into his hair.  
Chris has always had this power of being a distracting kisser, making you forget nearly everything else the moment his lips are on yours. This time is no exception when your back meets the soft, California king-sized bed. 
“C-Chris,” Your heart stutters in your chest when he starts pressing open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck. As he does so, his hands continue to creep underneath and push up the white fabric of your dress, warm fingers finding the nice gift of you forgoing underwear tonight. 
He lets out a small hum; was it of surprise, content, a regretfulness for being an absolute dick and now knowing you were bare underneath this pretty little thing? You aren’t sure. 
You are sure of the way your back slightly arches when his teeth start to nip at the exposed swell of your breasts. 
Down, down, down—
“You’re such a brat, you know that?” He murmurs against your inner thigh, head finding its rightful place between your legs. Already, you can feel his rough fingers start to take a firm hold of your body, keeping you open for him to the point where he could let his gaze flicker up at you without losing his positioning. However, his comment has you glaring at him, muscles tightening briefly–only to be met with him giving you a harsh squeeze. “But I deserve it don’t I, hmm? Gotta apologize to my bratty, little wife for being an asshole.”
Your lashes flutter when he finishes his statement by licking a bold stripe from your already quivering hole to your clit. 
“Yeah, you are an asshole,” You whisper back, only for your words to trail off into a moan at the feeling of him generously tasting you once again.
You’ve been in this position numerous times–not just with his head between your legs, but him being there to apologize. 
Of course, he’s used a variety of tactics to earn his way back into your good graces.
Your favorite dinner–homemade sometimes.
Heartfelt letters.
Breakfast in bed.
Talking it out until both of your hotheads cooled down.
You name it, and it’s more than likely been used. You’ve never believed in the ideology that healthy couples don’t fight, because you and Chris? You two never failed to challenge each other, and it was one of the things that you found admirable about your relationship with him.
That being said, him using that skillful tongue and those deft fingers on you is undeniably your favourite way to receive an apology. This tactic always thrust him into a mindset where he ate you out like had something to prove; in this case–he did. 
His apology this time is no different–no exception. 
“Shit–I’m gonna–” You’re squeaking the words out, breath hitching in the back of your throat when your first orgasm finally hits you. 
It’s deliciously unfair at times: how easy it is for him to play your body like a fiddle, knowing what makes you tick to the point of giving you too little, just enough, too much, and more. 
“Do you forgive me, baby?” His words vibrate against your core, and you have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering. Ever so stubborn, you decide that you’re not going to give in that easily. 
As it should be.
“You must’ve lost your touch if you can only make me cum once, honey,” You snip, gaze finding his blues staring up at you from between your legs. 
There’s a glint there, as if he’s amused; it makes you want to tighten your legs around his head and briefly suffocate him. You won’t, of course–in fact, you don’t even get the chance because Chris soon mumbles something along the lines of your pending regret in saying that before he’s putting that smart mouth of his to work again. 
The aftershocks of your original orgasm have subsided at this point, but it doesn’t mean your chest isn’t starting to fall and rise heavily from the way your beloved husband feasts on you. 
His middle finger and thumb part your folds, index rubbing tight circles into the little bundle of nerves that causes your leg to jump. You mewl at the feeling of him stiffening his tongue, prodding your entrance teasingly for a few moments before he’s delving inside of you. 
You blame the aftermath of pregnancy for making you so sensitive, so pliable, so easy to manipulate underneath the touch of a man who has known you–known your body for a long enough time to draw a map from memory. You blame this for how quickly he’s able to bring you to the precipice, mischievous eyes looking up at you when you cry out.
The stubbornness stays though. It stays within you despite the original anger slipping away from your body the longer he stays between your soft thighs. 
“I’m so sorry,” He mumbles against your folds again, not giving you a moment to come down from your high as he slips two fingers into your sopping cunt. Your walls suckle his digits in greedily, and that’s when your fingers thread into his hair, tugging on the dark strands to push him closer to where you need him most.
“Stop fucking talking, and show me you’re sorry.”
You’re meant to say the words firmly–exuding a shrivel of dominance and prove that you’re not in the mood to hear him speak. You’ve heard him speak enough for tonight. 
That was the emotion you wanted to convey…but feeling him pull the hood of your clit back? Feeling him spit on it and continue to tongue down your pussy as he curled his fingers within you? Feeling him groan into you as you tugged on his roots just shy of too hard? 
It causes the words to slip out pathetically. 
Your back arches when he brings you to a third orgasm, and you have to use your free hand to cover your mouth. You were bound to wake up your son despite him being on a different floor. That’s how well Chris was toying with your body at the moment. 
“Uh-huh, come on, baby–won’t you accept my apology?” He’s made his way up your body, beard beyond slick with your arousal as he kisses your neck and whispers in your ear. His fingers still work inside of you, giving you no reprieve as the pads drag against that spongy spot over and over and over and over–
“You know I would’ve been there if I could, right?” He asks huskily, and you whimper as your legs fall open wider. You can hear how wet you are, juices spreading across your inner thighs and starting to run down the crack of your ass. 
“I’m sorry,” He whispers again, and you choke when his free hand pulls down the top of your dress, exposing your breast so that he could play with your nipples. His ability to multitask so well has you trying to stifle the moans that so desperately want to escape the back of your throat.
“You’re so fucking wet, you wanna cum again? I can make you cum again, just forgive me, honey.”
Your mind starts descending into a haze, his words falling into the background as you try so desperately to ground yourself. 
You don’t know if you want him closer to you or farther away. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or continue clawing at his shirt covered shoulder. 
You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.
What you do know is that your legs are trembling, and he’s maneuvered himself in a way so you can’t escape his ministrations. You can’t escape, and your eyes are watering as you look at him.
“Pl-Please, I can’t,” You choke out, the heat in the pit of your stomach verging on painful as it builds and builds and builds. 
“Can’t what, sweetheart? Can’t cum again? Can’t forgive me?” His tone is near mocking as his blue eyes hold yours. You must look dumbfounded–like his pretty little baby. You must look that way because of how he smirks and starts fingering you in a way that lets you know he was teasing you before. 
“Which one is it? ‘Cause I think you can do both,'' He drawls out, and all you can do is nod. 
You nod and he nods along with you with a faux pout, it’s all too much. It’s all too much, but it’s not enough. 
Not even when he traps one of your nipples in his mouth. Not even when he kisses down your body again. Not even when his fingers twist and scissor you open. 
None of it is enough because he’s keeping you on the edge. 
The truth is, you can come again, but you know that he won’t let you until you forgive him. 
It’s cruel, it’s so cruel, but damn does it set you ablaze. He’s gifted you not one, not two, but three orgasms already–and he’s willing to give you more…Just say those magic words. Let him back into your good graces and he’ll have you seeing stars for the rest of the night; if that is what you wish, of course. 
“I-I-I,” You stutter, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as he takes your clit into your mouth, barely sucking. 
He’s a bastard.
“Come on, baby–forgive me?” He grunts, proceeding to press a chaste kiss to your throbbing clit. Then another, then another, then another, then another, then–
“Yes, yes, yesss! Ok? I-I forgive you,” You sound so pathetic and breathless, but you don’t care. You don’t care because he’s taking your clit into his mouth again, but this time? This time he’s suckling on the bundle of nerves as if a man parched, your body his only means of hydration. 
You spasm, and the orgasm you were barred from for too long causes your ears to ring. You vaguely hear the sound of your release. Can feel it leave you in spurts that have you near barreling into a fifth orgasm–one that he would gladly give you after those sweet, little words left your tongue.
Words incoherent, dress an absolute mess, heeled shoes digging into expensive bedding, husband continuing to eat your pussy like you deserve–
It’s a wonder you didn’t just pass out. 
“Look at you making a mess...That’s my girl.”
If only all of your fights ended like this.
You scoff at the vivid memory, hands gripping the steering wheel as you look out of the windshield. 
“Bleth you!” 
Barrett Scott Evans. Barry. Your darling, five year old son calls from the backseat, dinosaur in his hand as he waves when making eye contact with you through the rearview. 
You can’t help the small laugh that comes out, his ignorance to your thoughts appearing as nothing but endearing. 
Lately, you’ve been running on some sort of auto-pilot. It’s as if the numbness, the beginnings of a prolonged hollowness, has begun to seep into you. Some days are worse than others, of course, some days are worse than others. Yet, you’re not allowed to simply wallow and crumble down in bed. You don’t give yourself that luxury–that privilege, because you have to be strong for your son. You want to be strong for your son, your pride and joy, the holder of your heart who sits in his car seat happily. 
He smiles at you, showing you his missing front tooth that’s caused a lisp to form in his speech. That smile is more than enough to give you the bravery to keep on going despite a large branch of your life tree dying. 
“Ha, thank you, Pooh Bear, but I didn’t sneeze,” You tease him softly, but his two favourite toys have caught his attention once again. 
The quick change of focus reminds you of him, but you squash the thought before it could fully form. 
It’s the only way you could bring yourself out of the car.
A piece of you thinks this is pathetic: it’s been months since the separation started, months since he moved out, months since the coparenting relationship began, and yet–you still feel a wave of anxiety at the thought of having to see him during family Sundays.
Family Sundays.
Where his family–brother, sisters, niece, nephews, and mother–and your family–your parents–plus Barry of course, all got together at one of the roots of the family tree’s homes. Better explained: family Sundays took place at either Lisa’s home or your parents’ home. At one point, you loved the unity, the tradition, the security in knowing that the importance of family was ingrained in everyone…At one point, you loved it all. You loved it because growing up as an only child, your parents were your world (they still are), and you always held quality time as a high level of showing affection. 
He fucking knew that and still acted like you weren’t making sense. 
Shaking your head, you unbuckle Barry from his car seat, helping him out before grabbing the bag that held the necessary items for a pool day and a five year old boy.
August was never kind in Massachusetts. Not only was it hot, but the humidity at times made it feel like you wanted to peel off a layer of skin just to feel some cool relief. 
Already, whilst grabbing Barry’s hand, you can feel a sheen layer of sweat start to form on the exposed parts of your body that your modest, off the shoulder sundress doesn’t cover. Truthfully, you want to chalk your growing warmth up to the August heat, but you know better. You know better, but it’s so much easier to lie to yourself than–
“Ah, you made it!” Lisa’s kind smile greets you as soon as she swings the door open. It’s her week to host, and you’re thankful that Barry’s at your side.
It’s so much harder when you have to walk into Family Sundays alone; you briefly wonder if Chris ever got that sinking feeling as well. 
“Of course, you know we’d never miss it–“
“Hi grandma!” 
Barry cuts you off by releasing your hand, his arms wounding around Lisa tightly as he buries his face into her stomach and embraces her tightly. She lets out a small gasp from the jolting contact, but her hand finds his defined curls as she greets him joyfully in return. 
You’re glad that some things will remain the same, at least. 
You’re glad that they’re still your family–that this situation hasn’t changed the way they viewed you. Honestly, you don’t even know why that idea would even cross your mind: Chris’ family resenting you for the separation. 
You gave it everything you had.
You tried.
You fought for the idea of for better or for worse.
You weren’t the one who served the fucking papers.
Yet, you still felt an anxiousness–as if you were suddenly an outsider to the Evans family. 
Though it couldn’t be farther from the truth, you’re still thankful that you have your parents to keep you sane through it all. Your parents and your best girlfriends–the real ones, not the ones that you put up with for the sake of upholding some image that seems irrelevant now. 
“Barry, come here for more sunscreen, baby!”
It’s already been about two hours since you’ve arrived, and you can guarantee that you’ve fallen into your auto-pilot tendencies. 
Laugh when prompted. Sometimes it was genuine–especially with Scott and Carly.
Engage with your family–both blood and linked.
Reassure your loving parents that you’re holding up just fine–more than fine. Ironically, you always have to put forth an extra effort with convincing your dad as opposed to your mom.
Check to make sure Barry was alright.
Be civil with Chris.
God, you had to laugh at that: be civil with a man you once believed was your forever. 
Foolishly, you still believe–
“It’th okay, Mama! You don’t have to–Dad told me he could do it,” Barry’s near breathless as he quickly pads over to you after getting out of Lisa’s pool. He’s glowing: hair a messy, untamed mop of curls from the water he’s practically been living in with his cousins since the two of you arrived. 
However, his comment has your gaze flickering over to Chris for a moment. 
He’s too busy opening a new beer for himself whilst in the pool, pressed up against the wall with furrowed brows and a subconscious need to shake some wet strands of hair from his eyes. You watch as he manages to take a single swig before his nephew, Miles, decides to make an attempt of jumping on his back. 
“Oh, alright, my love,” You say softly, giving Barry a small smile as you shift your positioning on one of the pool side chairs you’re currently seated on underneath the expansive umbrella. 
For a five year old, Barry’s always been observant–his perception ability way too mature for a kid his age. You’ll admit that it’s both a blessing and a curse, but lately it’s definitely more of the latter because-
“But I can tell dad that you should do it instead? Or maybe you can help too like…like Dithney World?”
You have to hold back a laugh at the reference, remembering the time you and Chris practically overdid Barry’s sunscreen in the blistering heat last year.
“No, no–it’s really alright! Go and use this with your dad, hmm?” 
You’re reaching for the black bottle of sunscreen by your side, proceeding to wink and hand it to your pride and joy who accepts it into his small hands. 
“Yeah, Mama,” Barry beams at you again, nodding quickly before turning around to do as he was told. However, he pauses after taking no more than three steps away before turning back and coming up to you again. 
Your brow quirks at him in curiosity, but you can’t stop your smile at what he asks of you.
You’re quick to take his baby face into your warm hands, raining a series of kisses over his wet skin with adoration and ease. 
If there’s one thing you’ll never do–it’s love your son on auto-pilot.
Time seemed to pass by in a flurry after that, the coolness of a Summer breeze creeping up as the day pressed forward. 
Truthfully, everything was fine until the evening was coming to a close, and time was running out. 
You had to talk to him–alone. 
“Hey, you got a minute?” His back faces you when you first ask the question, head bowed as his focus remains on the last of the dishes in the large, stainless steel sink. Your nerves start to bubble in the pit of your stomach, a fear of potential rejection. 
“Hey, ba-[Y/N],” Briefly looking over his shoulder, you catch the hints of a smile. “Sure, just give me a second to finish up here.”
You quietly nod and move to lean up against the kitchen island. 
The silence isn’t…awkward, per se–but it is evident. 
The water runs, the dishes clank, you ignore the urge to look him over, and he refrains from stealing glances at you through the window’s reflection above the sink. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s evident because this current dynamic is different. It’s different, it’s uncomfortable, and you find yourself missing the privilege of snaking your arms around his waist before pressing a kiss to his back. 
Does he miss it too?
Chris eventually grabs the hand towel tucked into the oven’s handle, and, in his mind, he can’t doubt the warmth that kisses his cheeks when he feels your eyes follow his movements. He’s always been so...aware...of everything you do; however, now–rather than a honeymoon feeling–he feels a combination of anxiousness and embarrassment underneath your gaze. Embarrassed of what exactly? 
Everything surrounding his hand in all of this. 
“Want one?” 
It’s a habit: Chris’ need to distract himself with an idle task when he feels like confrontation is coming his way. This time was no different. 
So, that’s why he went to his mother’s expansive fridge, grabbing a beer bottle before making a gesture towards you and asking the simple question. It’s like an olive branch–his way of asking you as to whether or not peace was an option. Yet, his heart beats a little harder when the space between your brows creases, your body positioning remaining a tad closed off as you shake your head, wave him off, and politely decline his offer.
God, is he going to need more than one of these for this conversation? 
He nods, letting the fridge shut behind him as he easily pops off the bottle cap. It rattles, rattles, rattles against the countertop, filling in some of the quiet gaps between the two of you. 
It’s not enough though, and Chris knows he’s more to blame for that than you. 
“So,” Chris starts, moving to take his previous place by the sink; effectively standing across from you in a kitchen that’s generously sized, a piece of him still feels caged in from your inability to look at him at first. “What’d y’wanna talk about?”
“I’m gonna need you to swing by earlier on Friday when picking up Barry,” You sigh the words out, bare shoulders lifting as you look at him. Chris wasn’t opposed to the request, but his brow quirks, hoping for more information as he takes a long swig from his bottle. 
“Did something come up?” He asked, waiting for you to continue. 
Now, the two of you have known each other for a long–long time. So, at the sight of you crossing your arms over your chest, readjusting your posture a bit in response to his question? Chris knew that he was starting to toe a line...that you were–
“Yeah, I have a date.”
Five words. Five, measly words cause him to choke on his drink. Call it the wrong pipe, call it careless consumption, call it whatever–either way, Chris couldn’t hold back the coughs as he squeezed his eyes shut and hit a balled fist against his chest one, two, three times. Heart beating in a now, inconsistent pattern, he watches the brief look of concern leave your face as quickly as it left. 
Unlike you, he’s never been a fan of the cold. Not in this way. 
Those words held no warmth–like you were simply...He can’t even put a finger on it. Those words were nails against the chalkboard, the needle scratching a record, a leap into a trench with no oxygen tank. He needs to keep his head above water. He needs to fight the acidic bile wanting to rise out of his throat, making the pressure between his ears grow worse and worse. He needs to keep himself from turning to the sink and letting his beer greet the world again. 
Who was he fooling at this point? Himself? Because it sure as hell isn’t you. Although, he can’t blame you–he has no right to blame you, even if a selfish side of him wanted to. 
He may be aging, but he’s not blind. He’s not blind, and whoever had the balls to step up and ask you out on a date wasn’t blind either. You held–still hold the torch of the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; it wasn’t even based on knowing you for the better part of two decades and having a son together–it was his truth. 
“A-uh-ahem...A date?” Chris wheezes, throat burning a bit from the coughing fit he just experienced in front of you. “With who?”
Your eyes narrow at the question, and Chris would chalk this up to his second strike in less than two minutes. For a lover of the sport, he sucks at baseball. 
He knows he has no right. He has no right, even in the depths of hell, to feel this wave of jealousy and possessiveness spring up his spine. He has no right.
You weren’t his property, you weren’t his territory–you were the mother of his child, and that’s all. He made it that way, so he has no right. Your disposition emphasizes that he has no right, but he can’t help it. He can’t help it, because it felt like some stranger was taking shears to his little, family picture. It felt like some stranger was infringing on his ability to love you, to hold you, to have you be his just as much as he is yours. It felt like someone was forcing him to open up, to make his family into something it’s not. 
This was too much, too soon. 
Yet, you don’t know this, for he drew his mouth into a line and held back from expressing it. 
He has no right, because this–most of it? It’s on his shoulders. 
“If it’s a problem then–”
“No, fine. It’s fine,” He all but growls, looking away from you to inhale deeply and attempt to calm his nerves. “Carly’s boys ‘ave been beggin’ for a sleepover, so, Barry can go.”
“Great, thanks,” You hum, brown eyes finding his blue ones easily when he looks at you once again. 
“Yeah, don’t mention it.”
There’s a double meaning in there–literally and figuratively. 
It’s ugly: the part of Chris that wishes you never mentioned it all. The part of him wanting to believe you were telling a cruel, messed up joke, and that deep down, you missed him. It’s ugly, and it’s hypocritical because he prompted your reply. 
He prompted your reply, and it now seems as though the likelihood of you missing him, even a fraction of the amount that he misses you, is dead and gone. 
However, that was the thing about you, you were never the begging type. 
Begging was reserved for the times the two of you used to have sex, make love, and fuck. It was reserved for the times that seemed like eons ago, faded vignettes collecting dust in a compartmentalized box. 
Begging, beyond those moments, was foreign to your nature. You don’t beg for a goddamn thing–especially not from him. 
Honestly, a part of Chris wishes that the lifelong anxiety he’s been dealing with–the one that made him 
magnanimously and erroneously believe that divorce was what you wanted–was a real person. He wanted to strangle it, watch the life drain from its eyes as revenge for making him act so rashly. 
Throwing back a generous amount of beer, Chris almost wishes he picked something stronger. 
When he looks at you again, it’s as though he’s finally taking in your appearance. 
Your sundress is golden yellow, off the shoulder and cascading down the expanse of your body. He doesn’t even realize he’s absentmindedly undressing you with his eyes, gaze lingering on the slit revealing your moisturized leg and white pedicure. He doesn’t realize he’s truly taking all of you in until you clear your throat and lock eyes with him once again. 
An apology rests at the tip of his tongue until he notices the small shifts in your demeanor. You’re taking him in too. 
It was quick–the way your eyes flickered up and down his form. He’s clad in a hunter green henley and dark grey sweatpants, hair still wet from the quick shower he must’ve taken not too long ago. 
Even though it’s been months, neither of you can deny the physical attraction that still lingers between the two of you. 
The kitchen is big, courtesy of Chris wanting to give back to his mom, but standing across from him? Both of you looking each other over–silently undressing with eyes that verge on hungry? The kitchen is big, but it’s not big enough. 
Is it wrong that you want him? Is it wrong that a piece of you wants him to want you? Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because you’re chalking this building warmth and tension within you to your dry spell since that night months and months ago. 
You haven’t been with anyone since then, and you don’t even want to know if that’s the same reality for him. 
Tonight was different.
It’s as if no space is big enough for the both of you. 
“Do you even try to see things from my point of view, or is your narcissism rotting your brain again?”
As you spew the words, you’re beyond thankful that Barry’s at your parents’ for the night. You’re so fed up that you can’t even look at him right now. So, logically, you busy yourself with trying to finish your night routine. 
The master bedroom’s adjacent door is wide open, meaning you can hear Chris’ voice loud and clear in response to your comment. 
“Oh, I know you’re not talking. Little Ms. The Only Thing Bigger Than My Head Is My Damn, Unjustified and Entitled Ego.”
His words have you halting the action of brushing your teeth. 
Things have been on a downward spiral for months, but lately? Lately it’s as though the destruction of Pompeii is right around the corner, waiting for the moment to ruin years of a carefully constructed empire. 
Funny how things, important things, take a gradual, drastic turn, and the parties involved never truly notice until it’s too late. 
He wants to play? The two of you can fucking play. 
Spitting out the toothpaste and turning off the electronic toothbrush–you will yourself to bite your tongue not wanting your temper get the best of you. 
“What, nothing to say now?” He calls out sarcastically in response to your silence, and you hear the distant sound of a drawer slamming shut; you deduce that he must be in the walk-in perfect. 
Rinsing your mouth out, you’re quick to move to the bedroom; crossing the space easily, you step into the threshold of the generous walk-in. He’s busying himself with slipping an older shirt on, his profile facing you.
“Oh, trust me, I have a lot to say, but I’d hate to hurt your teenage boy feelings, baby.”
You watch him inhale deeply through his nose, lashes fluttering as he smooths out his shirt. Out of the two of you, you’ve always been more level-headed. You’ve always been the one who reasons, who tries to find common ground. However, you’ve had enough. 
The high road isn’t what you’re taking tonight, and you feel justified in saying that when he decides to open his mouth once again.
“‘Christ, you’re fucking impossible,” He mutters under his breath, turning to look at you with annoyed eyes. 
His shoulder bumps yours as he passes you, walking into the bedroom as if he was over this conversation. 
“Oh, so I’m the impossible one for being rightfully upset that we have to have this conversation again–”
“We don’t have to do anything,” He turns around, pointing an accusatory finger your way. “You’re the one who wants to keep on making me some kind of villain when I don’t even start shit with you.”
At that, your eyes widen and a new wave of anger courses through you like water from a broken dam. Stepping into the room, your steps are careful as you attempt to keep your voice level. 
Pompeii is coming. 
“You’re not the victim–“
“Yeah? Well, you aren’t either–“
“Yes I am, Evans!” 
This is the turning point. 
The decibel of your voice is at a whole new level, and you just know this is where things are going to implode if you don’t stop. 
You can’t. 
Chris seems stunned at your outburst, but you don’t give him a chance to say something. He’s said enough.
“Do you know what it’s like? Having to repeat myself over and over again with you? Having to run this cyclical conversation through my head over and over again? I mean, hell–“ You’re cutting yourself off as you throw your hands in the air, looking around the room as if there were an audience who was relating to your frustration. “It’s like you could give less than a fuck about how I feel–“
“That’s not true–“
“Yes it is.” Your voice is hard, and your expression is even harder as you look at him. 
Pompeii. Pompeii. Pompeii. 
“You say that you hear me, Chris…but your actions say something else. You say ‘sweetheart, I’m so sorry’ and that you’ll do better. You say that you love me more than anyone else in this world besides Barry. You say these things to just…pacify me, but you don’t change.”
You move over to your vanity, wanting to be more than just idle as you continue to dig, dig, dig, dig. 
“See? This is what I mean when I say you paint me as some villain when–“
“You are the fucking villain then. Your ability to easily disregard what I’m saying and make it about yourself is so immature–“
“And you starting a fight with me any chance you get, isn’t immature?” Chris’ voice is just as loud as yours and evidently incredulous, another scoff leaving his mouth with your back facing him. 
“If you tried to be better–if you gave an ounce of a shit? Then–“ You cut yourself off, hands near shaking as you try to gain some semblance of composure back. Rein it in, for the love of everything–
“Then what? Huh, [Y/N]? Because, the way I see it? You consistently point out everything I do wrong. I stay out too late. I don’t spend enough time with you. I act like I don’t give a shit about anyone but myself–which we both know is utter bullshit. You wanna act like some angel, innocent and without faults...but I think we both know the skeletons buried in your closet say otherwise. So, what exactly are we arguing about this time–“
“I’m tired, Chris.”
Pompeii is here. 
The walls are starting to cave in, the words cut through your frustrated breaths, and items land on the vanity after you haphazardly throw them down. 
You wonder if his wedding ring burns as much as yours does. 
He’s silent, but you know he’s fuming. You’re both fuming, and when you turn around to look at him? You realize that you need to speak your truth.
“I’m tired of having to miss you,” You start out, the path toward the root of your frustration growing clearer with every word you say. 
“I’m tired of fighting you. I’m tired of being in this by myself.”
You lament the words by gesturing in between the two, and you can feel the thin layer of calmness dissipate the more that you realize this is the problem. His lack of care for why you’re bringing this up again and again. 
“I mean, it’s bad enough that I have to be Mom and Dad while you’re away, but the fact that you’re here and I’m still pulling the weight of two parents?”
It’s then that he begins striding toward you, bare feet crossing the room so quickly that you let out a small gasp when you’re bumping into your vanity after stepping back. 
“So, now it’s my fatherhood that’s the probl–“
“I’m not done, Chris–“
“No, I believe you are. Where’s this all coming from, huh? M’not giving this body enough attention?” He cocks his head to the side, a small smirk playing across his lips as he looks down at you. 
You know what he’s insinuating–where he wants this conversation to go. You know that this is his way of stepping up to apologize, but you’re not in the mood to simply be pacified and underneath him. You have too much pent up anger to remain complacent, to accept an apology that will lead to nowhere. 
“Is that your way of rectifying everything? Eating me out?” You narrow your eyes as you look at him, ignoring the way your heart starts to pound harder at how close he is to you now. 
“So, you’re telling me you don’t like it? That if I were to stick my hand down those cute like shorts of yours…the ones that I bought you–that pussy’s not gonna be wet for me? That’s what you’re telling me, sweetheart?”
His voice is cool, calm, and daring. It’s as if he was unfazed by you looking at him with a hostile defiance, as if you weren’t running on a ticking time bomb of hot-bloodedness. 
Your thoughts are solidified when he presses himself against you, palms moving to rest on the vanity desktop and effectively cage you in. You’re now realizing that he was the destruction of Pompeii, and you were merely the temple that never stood a chance.
“Well, aren’t you going to answer me, slut?” His nose drags along your neck, waiting for your answer. 
It’s when he places an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point that you finally react.
Your fingers are quick to thread into his hair, but they’re even quicker to tug on the roots hard enough to elicit an involuntary, small whimper. 
“Don’t fucking call me that,” You nearly growl out, locking eyes with him as his head remains slightly cocked in your grasp. Instead of backing down, he enables; always the instigator, never the mediator. 
His smirk is slow, creeping up like the action of falling asleep. 
“Oh...I see...Now you have a problem with it?”
The kiss is searing: mouths colliding against each other as you’re backed further into the vanity. You can feel the jostling of the mirror hitting the wall, and you can hear the sound of some of your items clattering to the floor. 
You don’t give a shit about either. 
Your grip on his hair tightens, and you can’t stifle the moan that slips out when his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist. Chris doesn’t back down from the heat of your kiss, if anything–he tries to one up you by pushing you up onto the desk of the vanity and slotting himself between your legs. 
Nothing about this will be soft, nothing about this will be gentle, nothing about this will be kind.
His hand easily bypasses the fabric of your shorts, deft fingers finding the space between your folds: hot, slippery, and oh so predictable. He pulls back to say something–more than likely a snide, prideful comment–but you’re fast enough to match his energy.
He’s hot and heavy in your hand, the band of his sweatpants causing you to press your palm up against him more as you play the same game as him. 
As you said before–if he wants to play, then the two of you can play. 
There’s still a thick tension in the air, but as the both of you look at each other with dilated pupils? Barely touching one another in one of the most intimate ways? It seems as though a mutual understanding of where this night might end bleeds through the heated eye contact. 
This is the only sense of permission and consent the two of you will grant one another.
The room is too small for both of your destructive personalities, but it doesn’t matter anymore. 
Nothing matters as you’re pushing him away from you, letting him stand in the center of the room before you’re moving without even thinking about it. 
Dropping to your knees in front of him, you don’t even look at him as you yank the waistline of his sweatpants down; this is not for him, this is for you. 
“Fuck, yes,” Chris quietly sighs out at the feeling of you initially wrapping your lips around him. You’re not in the mood to tease, you’re not in the mood to beat around the bush. 
So, that’s why you don’t hesitate to take him down your throat, drool spilling from the corners of your lips as you pump the rest that doesn’t automatically fit with your right hand. 
Chris believes you did this on purpose: putting him in a position where he has nothing near him to hold onto as you suck him off. 
Your tongue runs along the underside of his dick, tracing the vein before pressing open mouthed kisses alongside the length of him. You won’t deny the fact that you’ve always found it to be so pretty, worthy of your devout worship. This time, however, you refrain from complimenting him as you tap him against your tongue a few times, proceeding to salivate and take him into your hot mouth once again. 
There’s no mercy in the way that you continue to blow him, you want him to concede. You want him to realize that you’re not going to merely back down. You want to win, and that’s what leads to you fondling his balls with your left hand. You roll them while continuing to hollow out your cheeks and attempt to take him down even farther. 
Your plan was working, but the upper hand you held didn’t last for long. 
When his knees buckle from a particularly sinful trick of your tongue, Chris decides that’s enough. Reaching down, he lets a rough hand pull you off of him as he glares down at you.
“That’s how you wanna do this, sweetheart? Fine.”
The tables turn, and his need to exude dominance comes at the forefront of his actions. 
There’s been a handful of times where Chris’ lost himself in the moment of being in your mouth, fucking into it absentmindedly. However, this time? This time it’s deliberate. 
This time, he’s ignoring the sound of you choking around him as he presses you down, down, down until your nose is flush against the tuft patch of hair at the base. If your eyes weren’t watering before, they were now as you try to focus on breathing through your nose. 
Chris groans above you, rutting his hips to get impossibly farther down your throat. It causes you to whimper around him, and the vibrations do nothing but spur him to fuck your mouth even harder.
“Yeah, fucking suck it.”
“No, move your hands–move. your. fucking. hands.”
“This is where I belong huh? Nice and deep in your throat.”
It should be vile, make you feel all kinds of wrong—but it ignites something within you as your wide, tearful eyes look up at him. 
Every single time he pulls out, you barely get a full gasp in before he’s pushing into your mouth again. Your throat burns, but you can’t back down–you fucking refuse. 
Though adamant, you wouldn’t have to worry about backing down because it seems like he’s had enough anyway. Whether that was from the feeling of him twitching within your mouth, or his want to see you finally concede? It doesn’t matter, because you’re swallowing and looking up at him with the same fiery look in your eyes. 
“What? Can’t handle it?” Your voice sounds just as your throat feels: fucked. Inwardly, you cringe, but outwardly you’re devilishly smiling at the way that Chris looks at you with nothing but disdain and anger.
For better or for worse, right?
“Let’s see if you’re still saying that when I’m done with you.”
It’s not a threat, but a promise that this game will end with only one winner. 
You can feel it in the way that he pulls your clothing off of you, both of you ending up on the bed as your tongues and teeth clash against one another.
Pompeii and the temples. 
“You know, I normally love opening you up for me,” Chris’ breath is hot against your ear, and you audibly cry out when his teeth find the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His fingers toy with your clit, practically slipping against the bundle of nerves from how worked up you are already. “But I think you want me to fuck you like this, huh? You want me to be the villain, right, baby?”
Your eyes are wild as you look at him, and his dilated blues nearly distract you from the wet weight of him on your inner thigh. Nearly.
You don’t say anything at first, merely look at him before reaching between the two of you and taking him into your hand. Both of his hands now press into the mattress around your head, and you can visibly see him try not to shiver at the feeling of you dragging him along the expanse of your soaked pussy. 
“Only thing I want is for you to be a man for once.”
There’s a bite to your tone, and just like you did him–he’s quiet. He searches your face with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but you have no time to analyze. You have no time, because when the tip of his dick catches your quivering hole?
He’s sliding home in one thrust that has your back bowing. 
It feels like the air is knocked out of you, the stretch of him burning beyond the point of being simply delicious. It hurts–this whole situation hurts, but you’re still going to take from him. You’re going to feel some kind of good if it’s the last thing you do.
Meanwhile, Chris takes no time to let you adjust. In fact, his rough hands find the back of your thighs, forcing your legs to bend as he opens you up even farther for him to invade your canal over and over again. 
You claw at him, relishing in the way you can see red lines forming underneath the hair on his chest. 
It’s then that you realize you want to hurt him. You want him to feel what you’ve been feeling for months: the pain of the person you’re meant to love the most, hurting you without remorse. 
“This pussy’s always so good to me,” Chris grunts out, pressing your legs together and putting them over one shoulder and leaning down to fold you in half and reach a new depth. You’re both breathing heavily, and you find yourself holding back tears from how good he feels.
How could something feel so good, yet hurt so badly?
The answer to that question still goes unanswered when your first orgasm passes and he maneuvers to then fuck you face down ass up. He’s so deep that you can’t help but let a tear slip. 
“Fucking, asshole,” You grunt out into the mattress, hands gripping the sheets as if they were a life line. 
Fuck him.
Fuck him. 
“Sorry, what was that, whore? Speak up.”
You’re letting out a loud gasp when he pulls you up, wrapping his right arm around your throat as his left hand holds the back of your head: a chokehold. His rhythm doesn’t falter as he keeps on fucking up into you, the squelching sound of your pussy falling into background noise as his gruff voice grunts into your ear between unsolicited moans. 
Your hands claw at his forearm–whether it was to have him release you or choke you harder? You don’t know. 
What you do know is that conceding isn’t an option, and you make sure he hears you.
“I. Fucking. Hate. You.”
You spit out the words, letting them fill in the gaps like venom. 
“Oh, you hate me so much? Then why are you cumming on my cock, huh?” He glides his tongue against the shell of your ear, only to let his teeth graze against the lobe. 
You shudder as another, involuntary orgasm runs through your body. 
It’s all too much, but not enough. It’s not enough, because you want him to feel it–the anger and resentment you’ve swallowed for so long. 
So, perhaps that’s why you flip your body positioning–effectively putting him on his back and immediately climbing to straddle him. Despite the way your body quivers at the feeling of his girth filling you up again, you don’t let him relish in the way your walls suckle in him greedily. 
“You don’t deserve me,” You snap at him, loving the way his chest heaves as you purposefully clench around him while fully seating yourself on him in one full swoop one, two, three, four times. The pride of having him so vulnerable only heightens when you take his chain into your hand, tugging on it so that his head falls back and his neck raises.
Is he the temple at this moment, or are you merely trying to stand tall as the lava eats everything in its path?
“Oh, and who does?” He asks, hands finding your ass to help you guide yourself up and down his length. In response, you twist the chain in your hand, smirking at the way his breath hitches when his air supply is slightly impeded. 
“Someone who gives a shit about my feelings.”
The response is immediate: him reaching one hand up to wrap around your throat and pull your face right over his. His heels press into the mattress and he fucks up into you while simultaneously slapping your ass. Your flesh burns, your breath mingles with his, and you don’t regret the way he groans at the feeling of your nails digging into his bare shoulder. 
Rather than simply take his thrusts, you return to fucking yourself back down on him; your own hand finds his chin, and you make sure he knows you have the upper hand in this moment–not him. 
“Open your fucking mouth.”
It’s not a request, and you could laugh at how his brows furrow. You could laugh, but his lack of immediate compliance has you pressing your nails into his beard and pulling; it seems as though his brain finally catches up with his body, and you don’t hesitate to spit down his throat as soon as his lips fully part. 
You moan the command out when you feel your pussy quiver around his length, the tip of him brushing against the softest part inside of you. 
Watching him swallow has you cumming again, but you don’t care at this point. You don’t care, because you’re the one that’s winning. At what cost? Doesn’t matter at the moment. 
Chris cares though. He cares because it’s like whiplash: you ending up on your back once again and him splitting your embarrassingly wet pussy open. 
“You little bitch.”
Both of your wrists are in one of his large hands, your legs wrapped around him like a vice. He ruts into you primitively, but his balls slapping against you isn’t what gets you. That isn’t the nail in the coffin that causes your body to spasm, no. 
What gets you is him slapping your tits, a smirk forming on his face as he hears you whimper and plead for more. What gets you is him telling you that–
“This cunt is mine, isn’t it? Say it.”
“Fuck. You. Chris.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing? Fucking you?”
You don’t get a chance to respond because he’s suddenly pulling out of you, hand leaving your wrists to rub tight circles into your sore and swollen clit. You’re right there, right there, right there–
“Oh my god!” You wantonly scream out, thighs visibly shaking when he slaps your clit and watches as you can't stop yourself from cumming all over him and the bed–not that you’d want to. 
“And you wanna say you’re not a slut?” He grunts to himself before sliding home once again. 
The lines you leave on his back are harsh and angry, drawing blood is a distant goal. 
“Maybe I should fuck a baby into you again–make you feel what I can do to this pretty, little body. Ruin you over and over and leave proof that I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like the little whore you are. Remind you of your fucking place: underneath me.”
After him saying that? Neither of you can last that much longer, and you shiver when his warmth blooms in the deepest parts of you.
The weight of him on top of you doesn’t leave until both of your breaths find an even rhythm, and you’re now left in the aftermath of one of the greatest tragedies. 
As always, you’re going to the bathroom as soon as he’s pulling himself out of you and humming at the sight of your abused cunt leaking with the mark of him. 
You then let him clean the two of you up, it’s the least that he can do after the night the both of you have had with one another. 
Auto-pilot bleeds into the space, masking the reality that needs to be confronted. The reality that hints at something needing to be mourned from here on out. 
However, it isn’t until the comforter is pushed down the bed, the blanket underneath covering the both of you, that you break the silence suffocating the room. 
“Chris, we can’t keep on doing this. I can’t keep doing this.”
Your voice cracks, and quiet tears slip from your eyes. 
He doesn’t reply. In fact, he was silent for the rest of the night, and the next morning? The next morning he’s packing his bags, and you’re too tired to fight him when it’s clear he’s done fighting for you. 
Pompeii destroyed everything, but what happens when the ash settles and there’s nothing left to be buried?
Neither of you were winners in the end. 
You’re still looking at him, the silence within the room growing heavier and heavier. It’s getting late, and, at this point, you’re ready to take Barry home. More than likely, he’s sleeping on the couch, tuckered out from rough housing with his cousins in the pool today. 
Chris is the one to break the pregnant pause first, his hands grabbing the lip of the counter behind him as he clears his throat.
“Well, I hope you have know, either way.”
Truthfully, he tried to sound genuine, but his eyes betrayed him without remorse. You could always tell when his heart didn’t align with his words–at least, you thought you could always tell. Either way, to save both of you the trouble of a terse conversation, you purposefully ignore it and press forward.
“Yeah, thanks, I guess.”
You’ve always been about fairness, wanting all parties–if possible–to reach a level of contentment that would dwindle the likelihood of grudges forming. You wish there was a fair approach to this, but at the same time–fuck that. 
Chris wasn’t fair that last night.
Chris wasn’t fair that next morning. 
He wasn’t fair, and you had to take the brunt of that injustice. 
So, your bitterness, intentional or not, shadows your words. 
In another world, perhaps you would’ve felt guilty. You never wanted to be a bitter woman, the stereotype a ridiculous hindrance on your success. However, you were entitled to some of it now. 
Weren’t you? You had to be. You deserve to be bitter–to resent him for his actions. 
If he had qualms about it? You didn’t want to hear it–too little, too late. 
He didn’t spare your feelings–your son’s feelings, and a part of you refuses to constantly be the bigger person. 
“I should get going–s’getting late,” You sigh out, half-heartedly gazing at your watch. Chris hums in agreement, offering to help with carrying a sleeping Barry to the car.
“Uh–you know, could you,” Chris starts, arm bending so that he could scratch behind his neck as he looks at you through the open window of the car. You’re buckling yourself up before your eyes dart to the rearview mirror, wanting to check on your son though there’s no doubt in your body that Chris always buckled him in correctly. At the sound of his babbling, you quirk a brow and look at him: he’s standing not even a full foot away from the window, and you can see a flush adorn his body underneath the street lamppost. 
“Could you let me know when you get home?”
Isn’t that such an odd word now...Home. 
You used to think home was wherever the three of you were together, but like a lot of things lately–you were sorely mistaken. 
Swallowing the beginnings of a lump in your throat, you give him a closed mouth smile and hope that your eyes still hold a soft expression. 
“Of course, hon–Chris. Goodnight.”
With that, you’re starting the car, rolling the window up, and willing yourself to not cry until you get back to your bedroom. God, the sole thought that it’s yours now–that you don’t share it with him anymore is more than enough to make you clear your throat again and roll your shoulders. Now is not the time with him standing right there. 
Chris stands outside until your tail lights disappear after turning onto the main road. 
The irony isn’t lost on him: the way that he feels jitters, nerves, and a layer of the unknown all bubble in the pit of his stomach–as if he’s about to go on a first date that’s going to mean way more than he could ever comprehend. Here he was, standing at the familiar, navy blue painted front door, bouncing on the balls of his feet to try and relieve some of this pent up energy; this is so damn ironic because, well, he wasn’t the one taking you out tonight. 
Yet, he spent time figuring out what to wear. He made sure his hair wasn’t it’s previously, flopped mess. He even sprayed himself with the cologne you got for him last Christmas. 
It’s ironic that he’s done all of this in hopes of impressing you, a selfish part of him wanting you to regret ever agreeing to go out with whomever this lucky person was. 
It’s ironic that he’s making the effort now when he should’ve made it earlier.
It’s ironic. It’s ironic. It’s all too ironic. 
He’s early–showed up much too early for anyone’s liking, and the thought flashes in the back of his mind as he moves to ring the doorbell. 
Maybe he could convince you to not go out tonight. Maybe he could convince you to stay in–with or without him is another story...or, maybe, just maybe? He should convince himself to learn to let you go and make life without–
“Dad!” Barry’s eyes are bright as he swings the door open, smiling wide and small hands reaching out in a gesture to be picked up. 
Just as Chris is greeting him in return, strong hands hoisting him up in the air as if it were nothing–the sound of anxious feet quickly padding across the hardwood floors catches his attention.
“Barrett Scott Evans you cannot just open the door like tha–....oh.”
You’re sure that you resemble a deer caught in headlights at the sight of Chris holding a giddy Barry in his arms.
At that moment, everything seems to slow down. Your heart jumps in your chest, as if caught red-handed in something that you weren’t meant to do. You see the shift in Chris’ expression: the falter in his smile, the momentary crease between his brows, the way he lets Barry slide out of his arms slowly, and those eyes? God, those eyes let you know that his heart must’ve fallen to his stomach.
He was never good at hiding his emotions from you–well, for the most part. You don’t get to dwell on it, not that you’d want to because–
“Sorry, mama,” Barry’s small voice captures your attention, his hands tugging on the fabric of your dress before he’s hiding his face in the softness of you. 
It’s like he knows exactly what to do to quell your frustration with him; so, you ruffle his curls just a bit before firmly telling him not to do it again. Yet, when the moment passes, you remember that Chris still stands in the threshold of the front door.
“Uh, Barry–why don’t you go and grab your bag for the weekend, huh?” You ask your son sweetly, patting his back a bit to get him going along.
The sooner the two of them leave, the better. 
As soon as Barry’s bounded up the first flight of stairs, you’re turning back to Chris. His eyes haven’t left you since you came into view, and you don’t know if the warmth blossoming in your chest is from discomfort or...something else. 
Either way, you watch as his brain seems to catch up with his body and he finally steps inside. Taking that as your cue to finish getting ready, you’re turning away from him to find your shoes that you left out for tonight specifically. 
Meanwhile, as Chris closes the door behind him, he desperately tries to stop his heart from dropping out of his ass when he notices what you were wearing. That dress–a garnet red, fitting and flaring in all of the right places while simultaneously showing the expanse of your legs due to its shorter cut. Those earrings–they’re statement earrings, at least, that’s what he remembers you telling him; they were a gift from your father. Your hair was out, framing your face like some kind of halo. It’s not a reach to him–the comparison. 
Yet, the part that gets him? The part that makes his hands, that are now in his pockets, clench and exude a new level of clamminess? The part that truly gets him is when he notices the silver necklace still dangling from your neck as you begin putting on your heels, sitting on the long, cushioned bench by the door.  
To anyone else, the dress you were wearing, the jewelry you were wearing, the shoes–the materialism more than likely wouldn’t have mattered. However, to him? They meant everything. 
For your second year anniversary together, he bought you that necklace. 
He wonders if you thought about it when you picked out your outfit: the sentiment behind it all–the way the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off of one another that celebratory night. 
The universe must truly hate him. The universe must hate him, and karma is the biggest bitch because this must be the cruelest joke he’s ever received. 
Your outfit was taunting him, mocking him, laughing right in his face; it was screaming at him that he has to be the biggest fool on the planet to go and do such a ridiculous thing–leave without fighting tooth and nail for you. 
Chris wonders if the nerves–the good kinda anxiousness, the giddiness–will disappear at some point. 
He has known you for years; the two of you were thicker than thieves for so long that it seemed near inevitable you’d end up together. Inevitable came exactly two years ago, and it felt as if forever with you had always been a no brainer, formalities be damned. 
Identifying as a hopeless romantic, Chris always wanted to provide when possible; this subsequently meant he had an intention of wanting things to be perfect. So, when it came down to your second year anniversary as a couple? This was no different. 
As cliché as it sounds, Chris believed that every single day you spent with him was monumental. You had been his rock, his better conscience, his biggest fan–his person–since day one, before he was anyone that the whole world wanted to know and get a piece of no matter the costs. You were everything to him, and he sometimes kicks himself for not realizing that sooner. 
However, you were always quick to say something witty and keep him from beating himself up.
“Hey, everyone said that we would look good together–not that we were the brightest in the bunch.”
“At least you’re not dancing this little tango alone.”
“Good things take time, handsome, and loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Honestly, you always find a way to ground him–stopping the flighty spiraling of his anxiety before it can fully bloom. 
The idea genuinely scares Chris sometimes: just how much he wants you–needs you. He feels as though ‘co-dependency’ isn’t the right word, because it would require both parties engaging like that–leaning on each other to the point of melting into one person. 
It’s his own insecurity that sometimes causes him to believe that you don’t need him–that it would be easy for you to walk away from this if you so desired. It scares him because–
“Where’d you go, honey? Seems like I’m losing you again,” Your voice is soft, hand softer as you reach out and let your fingers trace over his own hand. Wine glass now resting on the glass table by the two of you, you shift to your knees and cup his cheek with your free hand to get him to look at you. 
There you go again, bringing him back down to reality. 
Chris’ smile is natural as he lets his gaze fully focus on you: your eyes hold such...adoration. It’s no wonder that his heart leaps in his chest, and he’s grasping and giving your hand a gentle squeeze before lifting it to his lips; he doesn’t break eye contact as he kisses the back of your hand, and his stomach flutters at the way a grin breaks out on your face. You brush your fingers against his beard before letting it fall to your lap once again. 
If he’s 100% frank with himself, after seeing you come out of the bathroom earlier tonight, head tilted as you put the back of your other earring appreciative look over and he was fully prepared to cancel the reservation. However, your teasing scolding, telling him to behave himself and he can have all he wants later on tonight, had him reluctantly pressing the ‘end’ button for the call he was making to the restaurant. 
But now, looking at you as the night’s coming to a close (at least, before he has you in that overly comfortable bed), he’s happy that he listened to your voice of reason. Why? Because he had more time to appreciate you: the deep red dress that complimented you perfectly, the heels that somehow made your legs look just a tad longer, and the perfume you wore? God, he swears that you were trying to kill him slowly but surely. 
What a way to go though, right?
“I have something for you.”
It’s been burning a hole in his jacket pocket since he slipped it in there before the two of you left for dinner tonight. At the sound of those five words, Chris watches the way your smile dips a bit and how a line of tension forms between your brows. As if knowing what you’re going to say, he cuts you off just as you open your mouth. 
“I know, I know, I know...We said that we weren’t gonna get anything for each other, but...Just hear me out alright?” 
The nerves are coming up again, that feeling of possible rejection starting to spark anxious ticks within him: tongue drying, throat feeling itchy, ears starting to experience a low whine, and his hand exuding a new wave of clamminess. Despite all of that, you don’t pull away from him. In fact, you give his hand a gentle squeeze of encouragement, silently telling him to continue and that he has your full attention. 
You’re here with him–always. 
“I don’t think it’s a secret, you know? How in love with you I am,” He chuckles more so to himself, gaze lowering to focus on your interlocked hands. “I mean, you’re my entire world and I don’t know what I would do–where I’d be without you in my life. You’re my sun, my moon, and my stars and I know that you could do so much better than me, but I’m much too selfish and arrogant to give you up.”
That causes you to let out a small laugh, and there are tears that are starting to prick waterlines.
“We–you have been my best friend since...god, I don’t even know when...but I feel like it would be stupid of me to say that I’ve been in love with you since the very beginning...We both know that neither of us expected this when we first started out...but I’m so fucking happy that we’re here now.”
He looks at you then, and it’s as if he’s looking at you for the first time. 
It’s as if there’s no space, no room, no place that could hold the amount of love and affection coursing through the two of you. You both want all of it–need all of it, and even then? It probably wouldn’t be enough. 
Your breath hitches as you watch him reach into his pocket, but a wave of relief washes over you when you notice the long, navy blue box. 
Oh, darling–a ring may be too soon now, but not impossible in the future. 
“I wanted to–I don’t know–I just...I know that I can’t always be with you physically–I know that it’s hard being with me because I’m gone so often, and it’ll only get worse the more projects I take on in the future–” Chris clears his throat, eyes looking down at both the box and then your intertwined hands again. You’re quiet, but you’re not idle; mimicking the same action he did before, you lift your interlocked hands to press your lips against the back of his and your other hand makes sure to wrap around his wrist. Chris can feel his heart stutter his chest when you run your thumb against his knuckles and keep looking at him softly. 
You’re here with him, and he’s here with you. This is real. 
“I know we agreed on no gifts, but this is more for me than it is for you,” Chris breathes out, and he gestures for you to take the box from him. With reluctance, you’re letting go of his hand and taking the box into your hands. It’s light, but that’s no surprise to you. 
What surprises you, has you gasping, has you darting your eyes to look up at the man who holds your entire heart within his hands as if he was born to be the sole keeper of your greatest affections...What surprises you is what’s inside. 
“Chris…” You trail off softly, and you notice the blush that’s already creeping up his neck. You notice everything, so that’s why you’re quick to pull the piece of jewelry out of the box and turn around. Looking over your shoulder, you’re handing it to him; it’s adorable how he seems confused at first. “Well, come on, handsome–help a girl out, and put this on me?”
Your small smirk is teasing, but the love that’s pouring out of your eyes overshadows everything. 
His fingers are warm against your neck, and you can’t hide the shiver down your spine nor the goosebumps that appear on your skin after he presses a chaste kiss to the back of your neck after clasping the necklace.  
Immediately, your fingers run over the silver chain that adorns two loops interlocked. When you turn around to face him again, you remain just as close as before and you can tell that he has something else to say; you can tell by the way his hands run up your sides and his eyes search your face, as if waiting for you to disappear if he blinks for a moment too long.
“Go ahead, honey,” You encourage gently, your own fingers starting to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck; a ghost of a smile graces your lips when you feel some of the tension leave him. 
“I just thought that, maybe I could–I could make it so that even though I’m not with you...I’m still with you? Uh– know...I know sometimes I’m an asshole and an idiot, but if you...If you wear this then, deep down, we would be fine...That, in the end, we would be alright...If-If that makes sense…” 
He trails off, but you don’t give him the opportunity to slightly spiral and look away from you. No, you’re taking his face into your hands and kissing him deeply. It starts off so sweet, so gentle, so...indescribably affectionate, but you don’t mind the way that he’s pulling you to straddle his lap on the apartment’s living room floor. You don’t mind, yet you want to clarify something so you pull away and smile when you see his pouty lips absentmindedly chase your own for more. 
“I love it, my love. Better yet, I love you.”
Chris’ face fully flushes, but there’s a new hunger in his eyes: it’s one that has your core growing warm and an ache forming in the pit of your stomach. 
“Tell you what,” You start off, voice low as you lean in and start pressing kisses to cheek, down his neck, and back up to whisper in his ear. “I think you should fuck me with just this new gift on.”
You say, and when you pull back just a bit, Chris’ grip tightens on you. 
“I can do that, sweetheart–but only if you keep these on for me,” You’re letting out a small sigh when his left hand reaches down to press his thumb and pointer finger against your ankle; his other digits run over the strap of your heel. 
“I’m always willing to compromise.”
That was all you had to say before Chris decided that he was going to take you apart and build you back up again tonight. 
It started with him telling you to sit that pretty, little pussy on his face. You were more than happy to oblige, but fucking hell–the fact that he wanted you to do with with your dress still on? It shouldn’t have turned you on that much, but you have no shame in how hot you get from how desperate he is to get his hands, mouth, and anything on you at the drop of a hat. 
“Oh, b-baby,” Your hands find your breasts, the sleeves of your dress pulled down enough for you to easily free your tits and play with your nipples. 
You ride his tongue, relishing in the way his nose bumps against your throbbing clit and he groans into your slippery folds. He always eats you out as if it would be the last time–never leaving a piece of you unexplored. So, it’s no surprise that you thread your fingers into his dark strands and absolutely shudder at the feeling of one of his strong hands slapping your ass.
“Yes, keep eating my pussy like that...S-S-So fucking good, so fucking good.”
Vaguely, you can hear him telling you to cum in his mouth. He’s always hungry for you, always hungry for you to flood his tongue and let him keep on eating you out until your legs start to shake. Tonight wasn’t an exception, and you can’t even be mad.
You can’t be mad because it made it that much easier for him to slide right home into you after he peels off of your clothes and you peel off his. 
It’s overwhelming: how good it feels to have him inside of you, invading the most important parts of you as you moan and tell him to not stop. You love how he stretches you, how his fingers know just how to push you over the edge, how he moans into your ear, how he praises you, how he gently slaps your face to make sure you stay in the moment, how he moves against you–you love it all. 
He kept his promise and you kept yours: you got fucked in the necklace that rested over your heartbeat and he got to feel your heels dig into his back as he marked you from the inside out. 
“You look nice,” His words are genuine, and you don’t doubt that for a second. However, it’s the way that he says it that causes you to look up after you’ve fastened the buckle on your second shoe. 
He lets out a breath–subtle and shaky, as if trying to swallow an emotion that he doesn’t want you to see. 
“Thanks,” You say gently in return, trying to ignore the second wave of warmth that floods within you as at the way he looks at you. There’s a softness in his gaze, and it makes your heart lurch.
You’re supposed to have a good time tonight, so why did it suddenly feel like having to walk out that door with someone else was going to be a hard thing to achieve?
Chris opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by an overly energetic Barry barreling down the stairs with his dinosaur backpack bouncing in his small hand. 
“Hey, bud–got everything?” Chris asks, looking down at Barry with a smile that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. 
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Barry nods quickly, handing the bag over to Chris who takes it and slings it on his shoulder. 
A part of him, albeit small and waning with every breath taken, thought that he could be okay with this: the idea of you going out on a date. Yet, he finds himself having to force an extra wave of enthusiasm–whether it’s for himself or Barry? Chris doesn’t know. 
What he does know is that his heart flips at the sight of you kissing all over Barry’s face, the five year old giggling and half-heartedly pushing your affections away while simultaneously wanting more. 
Honestly, everything was….fine until the next flurry of moments transpired. 
Barry’s giving you one last kiss to the cheek before he’s burying his face into the crook of your shoulder, small arms wrapping around your neck as you remain squatted at his height level. You hold onto your son just as tightly, rubbing his back comfortingly as you whisper that you love him and joke that he needs to be good or else he can kiss dinosaur nuggets goodbye for a week. 
Everything was fine–Chris was going to be cordial and wish you luck for your date (not that you would need it).
Everything was fine–he was going to swallow his pride and walk out the door with a dinosaur backpack on one shoulder.
Everything was fine–it would’ve been fine.
But, like father like son–Barry went and opened his mouth, successfully shoving whomever’s foot into it. 
“Have fun with Uncle Mikey, Mama!”
Uncle Mikey. Mikey. Mike. Michael…Michael B. Jordan.
For an accomplished actor, Chris knows that his poker face is absolute shit. 
He can’t stop the frown that sets on his mouth. He can’t stop the sea of emotions igniting in his eyes–coursing through his now, hot blooded veins. He can’t stop the way his hand grips the strap of the dinosaur backpack tighter. He can’t stop his reaction, and he doesn’t even think he could’ve willed himself to do so in the first place anyway. 
Ever so observant, you notice the shift in the atmosphere of the foyer. You now stand at your full height plus the heels, giving Barry a small smile while saying thank you in response to his comment. 
Purposefully, you take your time with letting your eyes lock with Chris’ because you know where this is about to go. You just know, and honestly? You can admit that there are a lot of factors that make this situation unfair.
“Michael? You’re going on a date with–” Chris cuts himself off with a scoff, head jerking slightly as he sarcastically smiles at you. In your own chest, you can feel your heart start to beat a tad harder. 
Don’t fight in front of Barry. Don’t–
“It was Lupita’s idea,” You shrug simply while mentioning your lifelong friend’s name, trying to remain nonchalant as you turn to tend to your bag; whether you did it to try and walk away from this conversation or to genuinely make sure you had everything for tonight? Doesn’t matter because, at this moment, Chris chooses to be persistent. 
“Right...the same Lupita who’s always had something to say about our relationship–”
“The same Lupita that’s been team Michael since introducing the two of you years ago–”
“Chris, you know that’s not true–”
“Oh, sorry. Let me refocus then,” Chris’ voice is weirdly calm and even as he follows you down the hallway, leaving Barry to his own devices for the time being after absentmindedly handing his phone over to him so he could play with as he pursues this conversation. You don’t face him, letting your hands remain busy as you check the items in your purse; there’s no need to do that–you know that you have everything, but you don’t like how unpredictable this conversation is. You don’t like–
“You’re about to go on a date with the same Michael–the same guy, you constantly told me not to worry about.”
There it is. There it fucking is: the sentence that makes your façade of resolve disappear and causes you to sharply turn your head toward him. 
He’s so close to you–close enough that your arm could brush up against the warmth of his broad chest. Close enough that you could count his lashes if you cared enough. Close enough that you can see the small inflections of green in his eyes. Close enough, that even in the dim lighting–you can see the ghosting of his freckles. Close enough that you’re sure you could mimic his lines of anger if you tried hard enough. Close enough that your frustrations, your tensions, your mountains of things left unsaid bleed into one another like some sick, twisted attempt of spilled ink trying to present as useful for an unfinished love letter.
He’s so close to you, and in another time? You could confidently say that the old you would’ve kissed him, letting him melt his uneasiness into your touch as your high-strung nature dissolves into the softness of his lips and the firmness of his body. 
Yet, you weren’t the old you, and he wasn’t the old him. 
So, your eyes narrow and you set your bag down on the refurbished, vintage table pressed up against the wall a little too deliberately. 
“I’m not doing this with you, Evans,” Your voice is at a low decibel; it’s a small attempt to not alert Barry to the cleavage between his parents that seems to grow by the week. “You don’t get to do this.”
“Do what, sweetheart? Call out the bullshit I’m seeing?” 
“Are you fucking joking?” You let out an amused scoff, your brows furrowing as your frown deepens. “Only bullshit here is you having the audacity to initiate this conversation, completely inappr–”
“No. What’s inappropriate is you bringing that man around my son.”
It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and it leaves you speechless. 
You find yourself taking a step back away from him, then another, and then another. Physically, you can feel your body deflate as your lips part in shock, brown eyes swimming in disbelief. 
How dare he question your motherhood like that. How dare he imply that you would just bring anyone around your son like that. How dare he suggest that Barry’s safety wasn’t your number one priority. How dare he have the gall to say something so disrespectful. How dare he–
“You’re an absolute cunt, Christopher.”
At the sound of your deathly calm voice, twinged with an extra emotion he can’t decipher, saying his given name–Chris’ brain seems to finally catch up with him. His eyes widen, hand reaching out to touch you, but he sluggishly recoils when you flinch away from him. 
He’s opening his mouth to say: “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re the best mother to my son. I would never question that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I am still in love with you, and I’m sorry.”
But, you never let him get that far. The damage was already done, and you raise your hand to stop him before he can even finish inhaling to let the word vomit pour out. The damage was already done and you let your lashes flutter, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. 
“This conversation is over, and here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to walk out of that door with our son. You’re going to make sure he has an amazing time having a sleepover with his cousins. You will not fucking bring this up again. I will be calling later on tonight to say goodnight to Barry–I expect you to be a fucking adult and answer.”
There’s no room for discussion, and all Chris can do is nod. He nods, and that’s when you step close to him. 
One manicured nail firmly pokes at his chest, making sure his focus was all on you as you finished laying into him:
“I used to think green looked good on you when we were together, but if you ever fucking question my parenting again–I will not hesitate to call my lawyers up and draft a custody agreement that makes you regret ever meeting me. Understand?”
Once again, no room for discussion. There’s no room for discussion, and when you turn away from him, moving to grab your bag, you let out a shaky breath. 
“Mamaaaa, someone’s at the door!” Barry’s voice calls out in a long whine from the front of the house, more than likely annoyed that the doorbell ringing was distracting him from whatever game he was playing or video he was watching on Chris’ phone. 
It’s then, the sound of Barry, that causes the bubble between the two of you to burst. 
Chris doesn’t hesitate to let you walk ahead of him, your strides confident and your anger seeming to wash away at the sight of Barry sitting on the long bench and kicking his little legs. 
“Thank you for being such a prince, my little Pooh Bear,” You say softly, kissing the crown of Barry’s head before ruffling his messy curls once again and proceeding to go to the door. 
At this point, Chris feels awkward. He feels awkward in the home he used to call his and yours. He feels awkward, and that feeling only intensifies when you open the door and the man who has the privilege of taking you out tonight stands at the threshold. 
“Uncle Mikey!” Barry all but yells, tossing Chris’ phone on the bench haphazardly to go and give the man of the hour a big high five. 
“Hey, little man,” Michael smiles, dimples deep as ever while he laughs at Barry’s antics. 
Chris takes in the way you smile at the interaction, leaning your head against the open door as you watch Michael pretend that Barry’s high five hurt him. Chris takes in the way that you give an almost shy wave to Michael when he finally looks your way, holding out a bouquet of white lilies. Chris takes in the way you smell them and say thank you. Chris takes it all in, and it feels like something’s clawing at his throat.
It’s like he’s not even there anymore. 
The thought scares him to the depths of his soul, and it’s what causes him to move swiftly. He grabs his phone, makes sure he’s got a good grip on Barry’s backpack, and proceeds to start ushering himself and Barry out the door.
“Hey, bud–why don’t we get out of their hair, huh?” Chris puts a hand on Barry’s head, causing the boy to look up at him with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Chris smiles in return, and he’s thankful that Barry isn’t intuitive enough yet to notice the way that it doesn’t reach his eyes. At least, he hopes his son isn’t intuitive enough. 
“Ok, dad! Bye-Bye, Uncle Mikey. Bye-Bye, Mama!” You steal one last kiss from him as both you and Michael say goodbye to the boy who seems to light up the world without even thinking about it. 
“Alright, have a good one, man,” Chris hopes that his façade of sincerity works as he gives a half-hearted dap to Michael who nods once in return; the firmness of the interaction isn’t lost on either of them, but it does no good to point it out. 
Chris then says your name, and the two of you lock eyes for a moment. 
There’s so much that needs to be said, but you keep it simple. You refuse to grovel–to beg. 
“Have a good night, Chris.”
coalescence i: midnight
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afeb · 3 months ago
Chris Evans - Noted
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I gasped into Chris’ mouth as our innocent morning kiss began to turn into something else. His hand travelled down between my thighs and cupped me, squeezing tightly.
“Please,” Chris begged against my lips. “I couldn’t have you yesterday, please let me have you today,”
“N-No,” I said. “I’m already late,”
Chris whined. “Please, I’m desperate,”
I’d be lying if I said his state of desperation didn’t turn me on. The idea of a strong man whining and begging for me sending me into a whirlpool of fantasies.
His fingers flexed against me and I let out a small squeak, Chris rolling his hips and rubbing his achingly hard cock against my thigh.
“Chris!” I gasped.
“I’ll be quick,” he bargained. “Just a few pumps inside you and I’ll stop,”
“But you won’t,” I giggled.
Chris wiggled his fingers into the band of my underwear, feeling over the small patch of hair that grew there. He let out a groan as his fingers slowly dipped into me.
“I will,” he said. “I promise baby, just lemme feel you,”
My back arched as his fingers skimmed over my bundle of nerves. I gazed over at the clock, brows furrowing as I thought over my choices. With my head straining to my right, Chris took the opportunity to bite down on my neck, sucking deep purple marks into the skin. I hummed out a moan as Chris circled his fingers.
“Okay,” I conceded with a squeak.
Chris groaned into my neck. “Fuck, thank you, thank you baby,”
He quickly pulled my underwear off, cock already free. Chris propped himself up to gaze down at me, eyes hooded and dark as his tongue licked over his lips. His tip ran up and down me, a shudder creeping up my spine.
Our moans seemed to harmonise as he eased into me gently, a small sting itching its way to my nerves as he stretched me out. My hands pawed at his chest, nails biting his skin as I gasped. Chris’ teeth sank into his lip as he finally felt me around him.
“Pussy’s so good,” he sighed, voice cracking. “I’ve wanted you for so long,”
“Y-You had me a few days a-ago,” I noted in broken gasps.
“Not enough honey,” he dropped down onto his forearms, caging me in. “Could be in you - fuck - all day and it - ah- it wouldn’t be enough,”
His hips snapped against mine at an increasing pace. Chris’ knees sunk into the mattress a little as he seemed to anchor down and increase his speed again. My body rocked against his, headboard banging against the wall.
Chris’ right hand came up to my chest and squeezed the skin tightly, head dipping down to capture my nipple between his teeth and tug. My hands flew to his hair as I pulled, a moan tumbling past his lips. Another pull and his teeth sunk into my skin, I mewled in discomfort.
“So fucking warm,” he growled. “Touched myself like a damn kid yesterday while you worked,”
“Really?” My eyes widened.
Chris lifted his head, eyes catching mine as a small smile graced his lips. “Stroked my cock till I came twice honey,” he gave a hard thrust. “Squeezed my balls tight like you do,”
“Chris!” His filthy words sent bolts of lightening down to my core. “Oh-“
“Cum,” he ordered. “Cum thinking of my hand stroking my own cock,”
My arms looped tightly around his neck as I tugged him down, lips meshed against mine. Our lips parted and our tongues glided against each other’s, Chris swallowing my moans.
I came with a cry, almost a sob, as my legs contracted around his hips. My body tightened impossibly around him as Chris moaned into my mouth and came with a few stammered thrusts. He came longer than usual, filling me to the brim.
We panted against each other, eyes boring into our souls. A smile graced my lips as I softly giggled, Chris laughing along as he moved away. He flopped down onto the bed, chest heaving as a light sheen of sweat covered his chest.
“Needed that,” was all he uttered.
I looked at the clock again and sighed. “Let’s hope my boss doesn’t ask why I’m late,” I joked.
“Tell her that your boyfriend was whining to be inside you,” I hit his chest as he snorted out a laugh.
“Quite liked seeing you beg,” I cocked a brow as I rolled onto my stomach and looked at him.
Chris reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah? Deprive me another week and you’ll see what begging is,”
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angrythingstarlight · 11 days ago
oh i wanna give him a ride so bad 🤤
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But can we talk about how Steve loves to see you ride him
Word count: drabble
Warnings:  kinda NSFW thots below. Soooo mild. Also smut, begging kink, crying kink, overstimulation kink, marking kink and creampie kink. Hint o’ cockwarming. Mild ya’ll. No minors. 18+only. 
A/N: Super early sinday drabble. Written on my phone, unbeta’d. As always don't copy, translate or repost my work. I love comments, likes and reblogs!!!
The feel of your snug pussy wrapped around him so damn tight makes his eyes wanna roll back in his head. That thought has distracted him all damn day because he can only think about how warm and slick and tight you are for him, always so fucking tight, and all he wants to do is bury his cock deep inside you and stay there.
Feel you clench and throb around him until you cum. Hear those breathy little moans in his ear, his name strangled on your tongue when you shatter.
You’re fucking distracting him, and you’re not even home yet. So when you finally stroll in the house looking so pretty and sweet, he strips you naked before your bag hits the floor. Steve knows he won’t make it to the bedroom, he barely makes it to the dining room, blindly grabbing a chair as he kisses you. Your sweet taste exploding on his tongue as he deepens the kiss. He pushes down his sweatpants as his lips slot over yours. 
You straddle his thick hair covered thighs, grab his shoulders. An air of needy desperation passes between you. He has one large hand on your waist and the other gripping his cock and he’s saying a silent prayer that he doesn’t bust the second he slides into your warm wet pussy.
He glances down and fuck sweetheart, you’re dripping all over him, your slick coating the inside of your soft thighs, yeah he makes another silent prayer that you cum quick because he’s not going to last long.
He’ll tease you, tapping his cock on your clit until you’re crying, needing real friction on your bundle of nerves, but it’s only to hide how fucking desperate he is for you.
Hoping you don’t hear the tremble in his voice when he asks if you’re earned it, if you’ve been good enough because only good girls get his cock.
And the way you nod has his heart racing and his cock throbbing against his palms as he watches the tears streak down your pretty face, your glossy eyes focused on his lips as you beg him.
Cries of please Steve, please, you’ve been so good for him, please Sir is enough to set him off, unleashing his possessive nature. Because fuck you are his good girl, his-all his. You belong to him. It may be possessive and only fashioned, but he doesn’t care, he’ll mark every inch of your body because you belong to him and everyone needs to know it.
He takes his cock and pushes it through your silky folds until he finds your slit and fuck he can feel the way you’re pulsating and clenching down, your pussy needs to be stretched and filled by him.
His fingers dig into your waist, a bruising grip that’ll leave marks tomorrow, and he thrusts up, up, up into your tight wet heat. You both gasp as he pushes into your cunt, that first stretch always makes your stomach tighten, your walls fluttering around his swollen tip.
Any other time he would ease into you inch by inch, letting you adjust but Steve has to be inside you now, right fucking now he growls subconsciously as he pulls you down over his thick, long cock, he twitches in you, precum spilling out over your velvety walls as another gasp, so breathy, gravelly, and loud it’s almost a moan, rushes past his lips and you keen at the sound of him moaning because of you. 
And damn, this is just what he needed. 
He grabs your waist, his thumbs pressing into your belly and he cants his back, his hooded eyes drinking in you. “Show me how bad you want it, sweetheart.” 
He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, fighting the urge to rail you senseless when you circle your hips, your tight walls sliding over his cock as you find your rhythm. Fuck, fuck, sweetheart mumbled under his breath, that’s my girl.
You clutch his broad shoulders and you snap your hips down, taking him deep in you, pleasure bursting in you, intense sultry heat building as you grind down, taking each veiny thick ridge inside you. It feels so incredible your mouth falls open in a wordless scream, you can’t take it but you can’t stop, you can’t, not with you getting closer to the edge of bliss, just a little more, you need a little more. Your hands slip over his sweat-slicked shoulder as you bounce on him, your nails rake down his muscular back. 
Steve keeps his grip on your waist, telling you the filthiest things he’s going to do to your body if you come before he says you can. You don’t know how badly he wants you to disobey because he just needs a reason to ruin your tight little holes. Go on sweetheart, I dare you.
Before you can open your mouth to beg him to let you cum, his thumb is rolling over your clit, back and forth, over and over and you clench down so hard he can't pull out, your Please can I ends on a choked wail as you jerk in his hold, your orgasm slamming into you, powerful and abrupt, your toes curl and a searing white heat floods your body as you cum. 
Steve grits his teeth, holding back his climax, he thought he wanted you to shatter quickly so he could fill you with his cum but with your pussy milking his cock and you chanting his name, he’s changed his mind.
He wants you to cum again.
He needs to feel your walls spasm around his cock as he splits you in two. He needs more than he needs his own release. And you're such a good girl that you're going to give him what he needs.
Before you can take a breath, he’s holding you in place and fucking up into your sensitive cunt. Oh god, oh god, you can’t but Steve assures you can and you will, his breathless laughter in your ear as he shifts his hips back. “You will, sweetheart.” 
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sob into his shoulder as he hits something in you that has your back arching and you snap, a dull roar ringing in your ears as pleasure curls through your veins until you bite down on his salt-tinged skin with a broken cry. 
Steve doesn’t stop even when you go limp, your hoarse grunts in response to his “just one more, there you go sweetheart, give me one more” as he fucks your swollen cunt driving him on until you can only whimper, your head lolling on his chest with each deep thrust. 
Now, this, you cockdrunk and fucked senseless, this is what he needed. He grabs your ass grinding so deep his pelvis brushes over your clit and his ego implodes when he feels you spasm again."Thatta girl," kissed on your swollen lip.
The chair bowing and creaking under the force of his thrusts, his balls tightening as he finally lets himself go, ropes of hot cum filling your sore cunt, warmth spreading in your belly.
 “Good girl,” groaned in your ears as frantic his pace slows to languid thrusts. “Did so good for me, ‘m so proud of you, sweetheart.” 
He chuckles at your incoherent response, your eyes fluttering shut. Steve kisses your forehead, standing up, carrying you as if you weigh nothing, and walks into the living room, settling on the couch, adjusting your body over his, a possessive hand tapping your ass lightly as you sleep. 
Steve smiles up at the ceiling, his mind finally at ease now that he has you where you belong. 
 And he contemplates your ‘punishment’ for coming without his permission. 
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bucksfucks · 5 days ago
  just friends
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abstract ; you & chris are just friends, right?
pairing ; chris evans x actress!reader
word count ; 1,521 words
content warnings ; RPF, lots of feelings, lots of teasing, fingering, mirror sex, bathroom sex, dirty talk, praise kink, dumbification, unprotected sex, chris evans is an ass man, pet names [baby & sweetheart], ruined kink, breeding kink, after care — 18+ ONLY • MINORS DNI
a note ; chris evans use me challenge
What started out as an innocent friends with benefits arrangement during the shooting of your movie turned into something a little more…unexpected.
It turned into Chris coming over four boxes of pizza and a pack of beer as he hopped onto your couch with outstretched arms as he waited for you to jump into them.
It also turned into you babysitting Dodger.
Which led to Chris coming home and finding the two of you snuggled on the couch absolutely passed the fuck out and how could he not take a picture of the moment?
That picture would soon become his new lockscreen. Glancing at it multiple times a day as a warmth spread through his chest.
He was a hopeless romantic, can you blame the guy?
But, it never turned into anything more. And it didn’t need to, because you and Chris were more than happy where you were.
It was the fans that were begging, thirsting, for more content.
Twitter, Instagram, and the occasional scroll through Tumblr would leave you laughing at your phone screen.
There were fan edits, to which you were always amazed at the quality. Theories and leaked pictures that circulated Twitter. And of course, comments all over Instagram.
Chris wasn’t bothered, in fact, he found it rather amusing.
It was like your own little game that you got to play. Knowing how much people wanted an answer, but you would always give the same one.
We’re just friends.
Flying into Boston to stay with Chris, however, had become a routine. It seemed like your schedules lined up perfectly; both of you free from shooting.
And rumour has it, the next movie you’re shooting co-stars a certain Evan’s.
“Baby,” Chris whispered as he rounded the corner of the bathroom and walked into where you were finishing up your nightly skincare routine.
You knew what was coming, playfully rolling your eyes as he wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his chin on your shoulder.
“Are you done yet?” He whined, sighing a warm breath against the side of your neck as you chuckled.
“Almost,” you hummed, patting under your eyes as he watched you through the mirror.
He wasn’t content with your answer, squeezing you tighter before pressing his lips to your neck.
That’s the thing about friends, they know your weaknesses and your secrets.
Unfortunately for you, Chris was going to use the fact that he had found your sweet spot against you.
Lips right below your ear, pressing soft kisses as you tried your best to focus on moisturizing and not at the growing bulge against your ass.
Still, you hum, pretending like you’re not aware at why Chris was being so needy. A little teasing never hurt anyone.
“Don’t play games with me,” he groans. “‘M already so hard.”
You have to suck in a harsh breath at his words, his soft breath and the subtle rutting of his hips against your ass.
“Plus,” you feel his smirk curl against your skin, “you owe me from the way you palmed me as I drove us to dinner.”
You recalled the memory from just a few hours ago. Maybe it was evil, but having Chris at your mercy, knowing you were the one in control, it was too good to pass up.
You shrug your shoulders, “owe you?” Before you quickly turn around and place your hands on his shoulders.
“Since when do friends owe each other anything?” You quirk an eyebrow, making sure to emphasize friend as you watch Chris’ eyes grow darker.
He cocks his head to the side, “oh?” He kicks your feet apart, “is that what we are?”
You’re pressed tighter against the counter, your heart skipping a beat as he leans his face down closer to you.
“Just friends?” It’s a rhetorical question as he places his thick thigh between your legs.
You don’t mean to gasp, but when he curls his fingers into your hips and presses you down onto his thigh.
He chuckles, low and deep. “I don’t think friends do what we do, baby.”
No matter how hard you try to take control, Chris know you far too well and right now? He’s turning your brain to mush.
You think he’s going in for a kiss, leaning his head down before stopping just mere millimetres from your lips.
“Friends don’t bury themselves ball deep ‘side your sweet pussy, sweetheart. I hate to break it to you, but I also don’t think that friends cum over each other’s faces.”
A shiver runs down your spine, feeling his warm fingertips indenting your cheeks before he’s finally pressing his lips to yours.
“And since we’re friends,” he presses his crotch harder against your hip. “‘M gonna take you in front of the mirror so you remember what just friends looks like.”
You yelp, giggling as he flips you around again and bends you over to give you two playful spanks.
“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ ‘bout your ass,” he grins, eyes meeting yours in the mirror.
“S’gonna be so hot watchin’ it bounce,” he kneads at the supple fresh before slowly dropping your panties and the shirt you were wearing.
Of course it was his shirt.
The cool tile of his expensive counter meets your skin and sends goosebumps all over you — nipples hard under you.
He’s getting a kick out of watching you squirm, running his large hands up and down your back.
“Good girl,” he winks through the mirror. “Mmm, you’re practically dripping.”
He swipes his fingers through your folds, a soft whimper leaving your lips as he slowly circles your clit.
“Baby,” he mockingly scolds you. “Keep those hips still.”
You whine in response, feeling the way he stretches you with a single finger; slowly and teasingly so he can gauge your absolute desperation.
“You want more?” He purrs, bending his body over yours as you nod your head.
“Well you gotta use your big girl words, then.” He grins, squeezing your ass while your walls flutter around him greedily.
“Please,” you croak. “No teasing.”
You’re not one to beg, usually. But with Chris? He won’t give it to you that easy.
He doesn’t say anything, just plants a hand between your shoulder blade to keep you pinned as he adds a second finger.
And it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting for. Moaning, only for the sound to echo off of the bathroom walls.
He’s curling his fingers, getting you ready and stretched out.
“Look at you,” he praises. “Look how pretty you look takin’ my fingers.”
You look ruined already; parted lips and heavy eyes as you watch Chris’ eyes through the mirror.
He bends down again, stilling his fingers knuckle deep inside of you before his husky whisper fills your ear.
“Bet you’d look even prettier stuffed full with my cock, though.”
It’s the tipping point. Boxers around his ankles because even he’s had enough of his own teasing.
“Look at yourself, baby.” He grabs you by your hair, forcing you to look at yourself.
“Watch yourself take my cock,” he smirks, slowly sliding into you. Making sure to take his time.
Chris drops his head, “fuck.”
His eyes are closed, shut tightly and lip between his teeth as you watch him shudder at the way you swallow him.
“God,” he groans. “Feel s’fuckin’ good. Warm,” he thrusts. “Tight.” Another deep thrust. “Wet.”
You’re unable to form any coherent thoughts, watching the way Chris buries himself deep in you with a cocky smirk.
That’s when he’s tugging you up; back flush against his chest as he snakes an arm to hold you up.
When his fingers connect with your clit, you let out a high pitched whine and dig crescent shapes into his forearm.
“That’s my girl,” he praises. “Gonna make a mess over my cock, yeah?”
The phrase that comes from your lips isn’t English, not even close. A string of whimpers and whines as Chris chuckles lowly into your ear.
“Well go ahead, baby,” he’s taunting you. “‘Cause that’s what friends are for, right?”
You’re on the edge, teetering over that cliff.
“Chris,” you mewl. But he just slows his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Friends don’t let friends cream all over their cocks.” He growls, squeezing your tits before you’re catapulted and vaulted into your peak.
It leaves you shaking, shuddering as Chris watches you fall apart through the mirror until his legs start to shake.
He clutches onto you, teeth biting down on your shoulder with your name on his lips as he fills you up.
You’re panting, collecting yourself as Chris pulls out only to watch his cum leaking down your legs and he curses under his breath.
“Holy fuck, sweetheart.” You giggle tiredly in response.
Kisses are peppered to your shoulder as he holds your face in his hands, “you okay?”
You nod, smiling as he kisses your nose and lips sweetly.
“So,” he smirks. “Friends do that?”
You shake your head, playfully rolling your eyes.
“Special friends do that.”
Because maybe you and Chris just weren’t ready to face the reality of what you had become.
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jurassicbarnes · 2 months ago
sundress season
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pairing: Andy Barber x Reader (Defending Jacob)
summary: In which all it takes is a pretty little dress to break his resolve.
warnings: sex (18+), rough sex, ex-spouses, innuendos, sexual tension, teasing, possessiveness, face OR thigh riding idk, female masturbation, slight angst & fluff
author’s note: y’all better get nice and comfy, this is a big one (that’s what she said lol) it ain’t the first time a single gif has inspired me to write a long ass fic. enjoy this monster. [wc: ~10k]
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You knew moving back to Newton wouldn’t be a good idea.
You don’t have enough fingers to count on all the things that are adverse about this particular suburban area.
But the one thing that’s worse than anything is that your ex-husband lives here too.
Andy Barber asked you to move back here after he realised he’s been neglecting his only child. So much that when he visited your previous home, she didn’t even bother to spend time with him. She was mad, as mad as a five-year-old can be. Threw a tantrum and there was some hitting—on her part when he tried to hug her to express how sorry he is. He really hurt her. He deserved it.
Andy didn’t want their relationship to fall through like his and yours did. He wanted to make an effort. So, he suggested you move back to Newton, get a new job, a new house—as far away from his, as the neighbourhood limits allow.
It was too much, he was asking you to uproot your and your daughter’s life. But Andy had his practice going on. His law firm was finally getting on track after all these years, after all that hard work—the kind of hard work and sacrifice that led to your marriage’s untimely demise—if anyone’s asking you. That’s why Andy moving to Seattle was next to impossible.
You didn’t want to be the understanding one in the relationship. But everything he went through to get where he is—the divorce, losing you and his daughter, the exhaustion of it all—you didn’t want it to go in vain.
Of course, you didn’t exactly like the idea of moving. And it took a lot of convincing on Andy’s part because of course, it would. The man tried to make an effort for the first time in a long, long time and you wanted your daughter to have the constant presence of her father in her life.
So, you said yes. The decision to move was your Christmas gift to Andy and he was very happy with it.
Before the move was set in place, you applied for a job at one of Newton’s real estate firms, The White Stone Properties. It wasn’t that difficult to get hired, you were good at what you did.
Andy helped with everything, he was being attentive, like he was in the early years of your relationship and marriage. When you could tell you were his whole world. You knew it was a picture-perfect dream, it could shatter any time. So, you didn’t expect anything else other than the help he willingly provided.
It’s been four months since the move. Newton is exactly how it was before you left all those years ago.
The neighbours are always up in each other’s business. The group of moms and the trophy wives are always up and at it since the early morning hours, with their power walking, and the bake sales and HOA meetings. And the mind-numbing gossip that should probably rot their brains but it only makes their tongues sharper. And people are far too judgmental, especially of a divorced, single mother.
Men, married men are trashy, perverts who chance a look at your ass every time you walk past them in the grocery store, it ain’t nothing new. At least they do it discreetly, keeping in mind the fear they have of their wives.
Oh and what else? Right, the summers are too fucking hot.
But hey, Newton’s a great place to raise kids.
It’s Andy’s weekend to spend time with your daughter. You’d made plans with your only one good friend in the neighbourhood—Amelia. She lives just down a few houses with her partner.
The reason you both bonded so well? Your mutual hatred for the suburban moms around you. All it took was one jibe thrown by your new BFF at the pretentious Vice President of the HOA Counsel and it was a done deal. You laughed at her joke, while everyone else gasped in offence. The two of you’ve been inseparable since then. Hang out whenever you can find the time.
You had created your own book club—two members only, where you exclusively read horror novels and watched trashy daily soaps when the books got boring and the wine made your senses tingly. She was baffled when you told her the reasons for your move. But didn’t pass judgement, only tried to be a good friend because you needed one more than anything.
She was good company.
It had been a while since you’d hung out, with both of your jobs and families keeping you busy. So as soon as Andy messaged you that he had cleared his schedule for the weekend, you fired up a text to Amelia, telling her book club night was on.
This particular Saturday was hot. The kind of hot where the sweat would make your clothes stick to your body. The kind of hot where you wanted to stick your head in the freezer. The kinda hot that makes you wanna take off all your clothes and lay down on the cool marble floors.
So imagine his surprise, when Andy arrives sharp at 9 am to pick up your daughter, when he sees you wearing nothing but a cotton white sundress with little green flowers when you greet him at the door, nursing a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
He’s plenty surprised, he assured you with a simple once over. Cerulean eyes racking up your body, staring a little longer at your chest—nipples pebbled under the thin material—before his eyes meet with yours.
He pursed his lips as you stepped aside to let him in.
“Hey,” His deep voice close to your ear. Andy greets you in half-a-hug, palm lingering at your lower back, lips pressed delicately on your cheek. A small smile on his pink lips set between his beard, “You smell nice.”
“I do?” You ask rhetorically with a perfect smirk on your perfect lips. Running a hand down his bicep, eyeing the loose orange cotton button he wore. You leave his embrace keeping some distance.
This kind of greeting isn’t completely unusual, you always have that comfortable energy around each other. It took a long way to reach where you are after the divorce and the fighting and the partial hatred towards each other during the initial stages—like any other couple, you were constantly at each other’s throats.
But your little girl brought you together as a team. You were still parents, still had responsibilities that you both needed to uphold. So, with time and patience, you developed a sense of mutual respect—for her sake.
“I guess my birthday gift to you finally came out of that drawer of yours?” He asks, a bit intrigued as he follows you into the living room, pocketing his hands in his khaki pants.
Since the divorce, you’ve never used the gifts he gives you. That’s the one immature thing you’ve allowed yourself to keep. It’s something between a woman and her ex-husband. You know it’s petty. But the fact that he never stopped gifting you expensive artifacts on your birthday kind of warms your heart.
“You gifted that perfume to me?” Another question he didn’t need an answer to, he knows you know. “I don’t remember. I just ran out of my bottle.”
“Well, it suits you.” Ever the gentleman, he doesn’t call you out. A knowing smile on his face and he juts his chin to your coffee mug. “You got more of that?”
“Yeah, help yourself.”
“Woke up late, didn’t have the time to get the pot going this morning. Avery and I have got a big day planned ahead of us.”
“Well, you’re gonna need more than just coffee, then. I made danishes.”
Andy sighs, grateful for your generosity. Grabs you at arm’s length and presses a noisy kiss on your cheek, “You’re God sent!”
You sigh in relief, watching him disappear around the corner.
The only thing this whole ‘respecting each other’ ordeal does is blur the lines between both your personal boundaries, especially since you moved here. The two of you have gotten too comfortable with each other. You don’t let yourself dwell on it too much. But then he has to look at you a certain way. Be all touchy, feely. Kiss you on the cheek and smile all bright and beaming.
Bringing up your past like that when he got a whiff of your perfume? Make you wonder if he just flirted with you?
Yeah, you try not to think too much.
You dust it off, as you’re about to head over to the laundry room to get started on your chores when the doorbell rings. Walking over to the entrance, you open the door to reveal a delivery man—a rather handsome one at that.
He greets you with a charming smile, while he hands a package to you. It’s the last bit of your belongings that you’d left with your mother before the big move. She’d finally gotten the time to mail it to you.
“That’s a pretty big package.”
“Excuse me?” You nearly drop the box as you bend down to place it next to the door.
“I—I’m sorry didn’t mean it like that… I’ve never seen you around,” he fails miserably to cover up his innuendo.
“Oh?” you ask, feigning surprise, “Must’ve been ‘cause I just moved here.”
“Should have known, a pretty woman like you moves to town.” Is this how men in Newton flirt? You wanted to roll your eyes but you gave him a fake smile instead.
“Is there some sort of an alert system they have for this kind of thing at the postal office?”
He chuckles at your silly joke, takes the signing sheet from you. “I guess I just wanted an excuse to call you pretty.”
“I’m very flattered, thank y—”
Words die on your tongue when you feel a hand around your waist. You blink up, astonished. Andy’s by your side, a coffee cup in his hand, a little crumb of the pastry stuck to his beard. You can’t resist the urge to wipe it away, so you do. But you notice he’s glaring at the guy standing out the door. Pulling you closer into his body.
He pins him down, jaw set tight, you could tell, even with the thick beard covering it.
“They pay you to flirt with married women on the job?” Andy snarks, chin jutting up, nostrils flaring slightly, fucking definition of Alpha Male. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, wiggling in his grip you jab him in the stomach lightly.
“Andy,” it’s a light scolding tone.
“‘Cause I don’t think so.” Andy doesn’t budge, keeps himself rooted to the entryway, “One phone call to your office supervisor about customer harassment and you’ll be fired.”
“I—I was just talking,” The man fumbles, taking a step back.
“You really think I give a shit?”
“Oh, god.” You mumble, shaking your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. You remove Andy’s grip on your waist, “Leave him alone.” Click the door shut. Shouldering past his body, you walk to the other side of the room.
“What was that?” The amusement in your question and your smile makes him pull back.
“You had to wear that, didn’t you?” His voice cuts through your own, as he pumps his eyebrows, giving your attire another glance.
“It’s like a hundred degrees outside if you didn’t notice.” You scoff, “What is the matter with you, Andy?”
“What is the matter with me?” He retorts, as annoyed with you as he is, you still notice a hint of a smile, “What is the matter with you?”
“Andy, he was harmless. You didn’t have to go and threaten the man’s job.” You reasoned with him, “And I didn’t like what you said to him. I’m not a married woman. I’m not your wife.”
“I know,” He sighs, rolls his shoulder and takes a few steps to close the gap between you two, “But when I see another man flirting with you right in front of me? I gotta do something about it, honey.”
“Don’t be like that,” You stop him where he is with a hand on his chest.
“Like what?”
“Jealous, when I’m not yours to be jealous over.” Your eyes twinkle with so much light, he can’t help but try to get inside your head.
“You prance around the neighbourhood in these kinda dresses, too?” His question is paired with a raised eyebrow, fingers teasing the soft material at the hem that lies on the top of your thighs.
“Hmm, wouldn’t you like to know?” A troublesome smile on your lips; you don’t make a move to step away. Eyes on his arm, on the protruding veins under the pale skin and light dusting of hair.
“I would,” A condescending nod of his head, “That’s why I’m asking.”
“I’ll wear what I want.” Doesn’t answer his question but he decides not to pursue it.
“You wearing anything underneath this thing right now?”
It was a dangerous game he was playing and for some reason you let him—maybe ‘cause this is the only action you got in months. Maybe ‘cause his fingers skim up the skin of your bare thigh, reaching just under the hem of your skirt. Maybe ‘cause you were ready to throw caution to the window. Almost ready.
You meet his eyes finally, finding he was observing you this whole time.
A smirk on your lips, “I don’t think you reserve the right to know.”
Schooled him, used the lawyer jargon, butchering them completely and yet it brings a chuckle up his throat.
Just then, you hear soft footsteps walking down the stairs. Andy respectfully steps away and turns to face Avery.
“Hey, peanut.” The change in tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. It’s amusing how that deep voice pulls something low in your belly. And yet the next moment, that softness he uses for your daughter makes it flutter all the same. Such a fucking contrast—you clear your throat and shake yourself out of your thoughts.
Andy meets her halfway up the stairs, gathering her small figure in his arms. “Are you ready to have a fun day with daddy?”
“Yes!” Her own arms go around his neck, as he carries her down.
“I’ll drop her off tomorrow, I guess?”
You pick the overnight bag resting on the couch and hand it over to Andy. His eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary before you nod and walk over to the door.
“No extension for bedtime,” You warn Andy, “No matter how much this little monster pouts. I know how you can give in very easily.” You lightly pinch your daughter’s nose, bringing her down to kiss her cheek.
Andy clicks his lips, a mocking tone in his words, “What can I say? I like to spoil my girls.”
“Go.” You deadpan, shaking your head.
“Have fun, baby!” You wave a hand as Andy opens the door of his car, strapping her in the car seat along with placing her bag in the back, too.
“We will!” He yells back.
“I was talking to her!” You hear Avery’s giggles as she waves a hand at you, you press a kiss to your hand sending it her way.
One last look at you as Andy opens the door of the car and you wiggle your fingers, saying bye to him before you shut your door.
The wood is suddenly cold against your skin as your back meets the door. Sighing you close your eyes and the only image that flashes in your mind is the look Andy gave you. Dark eyes, pools of coral blue. Like he wanted to swallow you whole, then and there.
Like he was staring right through your little dress and into your soul. Ready to devour you.
You tried not to give it much thought. What good would it cause, thinking of your ex-husband like that? But goddamn him and those bedroom eyes he kept making at you. And the way he possessively held you close. Made you crave him in a way you hadn’t in a long time.
But it’s not just today—albeit the circumstances and the choice of outfit. Ever since moving, seeing him on a regular basis was your new normal. And he’s seen you being a mess around the house. And yet he always looked at you like he was seconds away from pouncing on you. Even for those countless times when you didn’t give a shit about your appearances.
The heat was crippling, you needed to get out of this fucking dress and take a cold shower to freeze your nerves. Clothes piled in the middle of the bathroom, you step under the shower, turning on the tap.
You don’t even wait for the water to get started. The whole point is to fight off the heat. You shiver at the first onslaught of the cold, biting spray. A steady pressure building on your blazing skin to numb it completely. Pushing your hair away from your forehead, you face the showerhead hoping the water washes off your thoughts. But it’s when you rub your thighs together you feel the sticky warmth coating the insides—the heat started right there; right when Andy arrived at your door.
Your hands slip down your neck, past your breasts. A shudder passing through when your fingers skim over your sensitive nipple, following the rivulets of water cascading down your body.
You whimper softly when you reach your mound. God, you don’t know why you’re fighting this. If you could just drive him away from your mind, you’d be happy to touch yourself, relieve the storm building in your guts. But you can’t.
You don’t want to think about Andy. You don’t want to think how he used to make you feel. How he touched you, how he held you. How he—
You don’t want to go down that rabbit hole.
But the shower didn’t help with getting rid of Andy and the thoughts that tagged along with him. Maybe, if you busy yourself with some chores? There’s a week’s worth of laundry and you could clean out the backyard. Shop online for some home decor items. Drown him out with music, watch trashy TV shows and get caught up on the most recent novel. Go grocery shopping for some snacks for your book club with Amelia.
Except all you did during this whole time was think about him.
Your friend arrives around 7 pm, her enthusiastic attitude and a toothy smile greeting you. You two of you catch up on your week, while wine is being poured and snacks are shuffled in large bowls. Settling on the couch, you both get to reading. Sitting on opposite ends, her feet nudging your calves.
You’re trying to concentrate on the printed words, but you’ve been on page 67 ever since you opened the book. And Amelia noticed that.
“What’s wrong with you? You haven’t mentioned anything about how much the book sucks in twenty minutes.”
“I—nothing’s wrong with me.”
“Girl,” She kicks your calf, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
One perfectly arched auburn brow and it means get straight to the point. You know better than to beat around the bush when you’re with Amelia.
“It’s Andy.”
“What did he do now?”
“Nothing! He did nothing. I don’t know what he’s playing at but every time I see him, I just wanna—”
"Stick a knife in his throat?” Reading too much horror has gone into her head.
“What? No!” You exclaimed, “I just wanna jump his bones.”
“Are you saying that you wanna get back together with him?”
“No, this is just physical. Nothing inherently emotional.”
“So, you just wanna get laid?” She shrugged, “There are plenty of straight, eligible men in Newton for that.”
“I don’t think anyone would cut it.”
“C'mon Andy can’t be that good. It’s just some plain ol’ hetero sex.” She chortled.
“Andy is… good.” You clear your throat in an attempt to let this conversation pass.
“How good?”
You should know better, Amelia likes to prod.
“Pretty good.” You bite the inside of your cheek, stealing a sip of your pink wine. Your cheeks heat up from the sudden rush. The images that flash in your mind were far from just pretty good.
How would you even begin to explain sex with Andy?
“He was—is incredible in bed.” All you needed was a little liquor courage. “Always, always treated me like I was some goddess. God, the foreplay was an experience with him. He didn’t half-ass anything. All he had to do was give me one look and I’d feel my insides melting. We just had this great chemistry from the beginning. It was never enough with him. God, the countless parties we left because one of us just drove the other insane like we just had to have each other. And I don’t even wanna get started on his—” you point a finger at your crotch.
“Oh god,” She shakes her head, chuckling, then she joins her hands together, “Tell me when—” And she starts increasing the distance between them.
You run a hand over your face, blushing madly. Grabbing a pillow you smack her straight in the face until she stops that action.
“Unbelievable.” You giggle.
"Okay, babe, jokes aside.” She straightens up, “I gotta be honest with you, it’s a bad idea.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
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After Amelia leaves, you continue watching the movie you’d put on for a while but soon decide to go to bed. It’s around 11 pm when you’re done with your nighttime routine. When you head over to your dresser to get something to wear you stop right in your tracks. Glare at your empty bed.
Something about it frustrates you. Tells you sleep isn’t going to come easy tonight when all you want to do is shut down the world. Shut down your brain and fall into a blissful sleep.
Bliss, that’s what you need.
You groan and untie the rob you wore. Dropping it on the floor, you climb onto the bed. Falling face first you muffle a scream into the pillow, it’s more like a whine. Irritated one, at that.
Andy’s face flashing in your mind, and you don’t even try to block him out at this point. You’re tired of trying to come out of that trance.
When you close your eyes, all you remember are the times he took you apart. You miss it, the fucking. The manhandling, the bruises he left every time. The way he touched you, ate you like it was his last time. The way he whispered dirty secrets when he was buried deep inside you.
A weak moan and you’re shuffling to sit in a comfortable position. Back resting on the plush headboard and the pillows. Your warm hand immediately settles on your breast, pulling and pinching at the soft flesh, nipples hardening in seconds. While the other hand snakes down your body, skin scorching hot under your fingertips. And it makes you wonder.
When was the last time you did this?
The fact that you don’t even remember is enough to make you forget everything. You’ve been hot and bothered since morning, a little relief couldn’t hurt anyone. And if you’re thinking about your ex-husband, then no one has to know.
You spread your legs, digits centimetres away from where you want them most. A soft sigh parting your lips when you tweak your nipple and finally dip between your folds.
And you’re wet. Goddamn, you’re wet.
And you wish it were Andy who was touching you. His fingers that, were spreading your wetness all over your cunt. His fingers, that were circling your nub. Thick and expert digits that were entering your throbbing heat.
You mumble a soft plea, and it disappears into the dimly lit room. No one to heed it but you.
Your stomach clenches when you start pumping your fingers in and out, slow and steady. Your head drops back and you moan his name. God, you’re so desperate for a release. So lost in thought. It makes you sob, fingers brush over that delicate spot inside you. Walls fluttering around them, eyes pinching shut, more broken moans spending out of your lips. Suddenly, you turn around, flip yourself over. You grab a pillow and nestle it between your thighs, fisting it. While your other hand grips the headboard hard enough to tear through the soft material.
And then you start grinding, curses spilling from your mouth. Head thrown back as you find yourself willingly losing a battle to the pleasure building inside you. There’s a wet patch on the pillow, growing bigger and bigger, the more your arousal seeps out. Your clit catches the soft fabric of the pillow, making you moan louder than before. Enough to wake up the whole neighbourhood.
You’re such a mess, tears burning behind your eyelids, lip trapped between your teeth, hips unrelenting as you chase your high. You’re right there, right on the precipice.
Soft whispers of “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon—”
That’s when your phone rings, bringing you out of your reverie.
“Oh, come on!” You scream, probably popping a vein in your neck. Part of you wants to ignore it but a much bigger part of you thinks—what if it’s an emergency? Panting you scramble to pick up the device from the nightstand. Swiping hard to pick up when you see it’s Amelia’s wife.
“Hi?” You hope you don’t sound as breathless as you feel.
It’s your friend’s voice that greets you, “Hey, I think I forgot my phone at your place. I’ll get there in a few minutes to get it. Hope you weren’t sleeping.”
No, I wasn’t. But I was busy taking care of some business.
Sighing heavily, you respond, “Yeah, I’ll be at the door.” You end the call and fall back on your bed, bouncing a few times with the spring. You close your eyes and try not to think of how close you were to your impending orgasm. Try to collect yourself before getting up to put on some clothes.
Yeah, sleep is definitely not coming easy tonight.
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“Now you’re doing this just to spite me, honey.”
That’s what Andy greets you with when you open the door for him. Your daughter is asleep, cheek pressed to his shoulder as he walks past you. You take her bag from his hand to help him unload some of the weight. You laugh inwardly, closing the door as you stare at his back.
“Doing what?” You ask, feigning surprise. A sort of innocence on your face that doesn’t go unnoticed when he looks at you over his shoulder.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t wear that on purpose.” He says, eyes racking over your figure, clad in another one of your sundresses. A blue one, with little white butterflies.
“It’s still hot,” you roll your eyes, padding over to him. Your lousy excuse makes him chuckle. Both of you fall in step as you make your way up to your daughter’s room. Andy kneels to lay her down on the bed, tucking her in while you wait at the door. Shoulder resting on the frame, arms across your chest.
There’s something so precious about watching these two. A smile pulls up at your lips. Your move to be closer to Andy has definitely made him an attentive father. He really stepped up when it came to her. And you’re happy he’s been living up to his promise. That’s the only way this whole arrangement can be justified.
A feather-light touch removes the hair from her face and Andy leans down to kiss her forehead. Rubbing soothing circles there, whispering, “Goodnight, peanut. Love you.”
He walks over to you, a heartwarming smile on his lips. “She is out like a light.”
“Yeah,” he nods, as the two of you step outside. “She had a busy day.”
“What did you two do?”
You’re both walking down the stairs. For some reason, your heart is jumping up to your throat with each descend. He takes a lead, and he’s already at the foot of the steps. While you’re a few steps up, an arm and hip resting on the railing.
“Oh, you know, took her fishing.”
You knew what their plans were. What kind of parent would you be if you didn’t? Andy had informed you about it. He had rented his colleague’s cabin for the weekend since Avery had been insisting on going fishing.
“Finally!” You pat a hand on your thigh, rolling your eyes. The exaggerated gesture made him chuckle.
“Yeah, she was very excited. Caught us some dinner. Today we went exploring in the woods. Just so you know, she has a big batch of pinecones in her backpack.” He said, “Then we watched Disney movies, not past curfew. We made a fine weekend out of it.”
“I’m glad you both had fun.” You smiled at him, taking a step down.
And it seemed like you were in some sort of a staring contest. Breath bated, gaze un-bated. When he licks his lip though, your eyes tail the movement. You unconsciously bite your own bottom lip.
Before you know it you’re talking—
“Would you like to stay for a drink?”
A sudden intake of a long breath on his part tells you he wasn’t expecting you to say that. It felt like aeons had passed before he nodded, pocketing the car keys you now noticed were already fiddling in his hands.
When you’re off the stairs and your back is to him, that’s when you release the breath you’d been holding. He follows you into the kitchen, close on your tail. Your small wine shelf is filled with expensive bottles, all thanks to your job—clients get very generous when you help them find their dream homes. You pick a good one for the two of you. Andy is standing near the sink, a rather respectful space between the two of you. Sadly, you’re going to have to close it since the wine glasses are on the cupboard next to him.
You hand him the bottle and a corkscrew, silently asking him to open it. While he does that, you open the doors of the cabinet and raise to your toe to grab the glasses.
And well, your dress manoeuvres a couple of inches up your legs. Andy can’t not notice it. The bottle nearly slips from his grip and he exhales a scoff that also sounds like a chuckle.
“What’s under that dress, sweetheart?”
Your eyes slightly widen, thankful that you’re not facing him.
A smile curls at your lips, “Just a little bit of sunshine.”
Andy’s hearty laugh plays out evoking a bunch of butterflies in your belly while you still try to reach up, failing when you barely brush over the foot of the glassware.
“God fucking damnit!” You hear a small clink sound when he places the bottle on the counter.
“Can’t reach the glasses?” He asks teasingly. You roll your eyes and make a move to step aside when you feel him turn, a hand goes around your waist while the other one rises up to get two glasses. “There.”
“Thanks,” You mutter, backing up.
“How do you normally reach ‘em?” Blue gaze dancing across your features, tone still mocking you. Though it’s all light-hearted.
“I use a stool, although I can’t find it, right now.”
Of course. The words are right on the tip of his tongue, but he holds them back. Not wanting to embarrass you further.
“Why don’t you settle down on the couch?” You suggest, “I’ll be right back.”
In the bathroom, you clasp the edge of the counter, staring at your reflection in disbelief. Shake your head at what you’re about to do.
“Am I really doing this?” You ask yourself, “This will not turn out well. Amelia will say ‘I told you so’. But do I really care?”
The dilation of your eyes gave you the answer. You splash some cold water on your face, to tame the heat a little bit. Wipe it with a towel and just as you squeeze the knob to open the door you stop.
“I am doing this.” Then you reach under your skirt and slip out of your underwear. They land right in the laundry basket.
There he is, sitting on your couch looking so fucking good in a pair of jeans stretching amazingly around his thighs and a grey henley taut around his broad chest and shoulders, defining his abs. Legs spread like he’s inviting you to sit on his thighs, one arm around the back of the couch, the other holding a glass of wine.
As you approach to sit at the far end of the sofa, he shifts closer to hand you the same glass. If there’s ever a question of who came onto who, what would be the answer?
Is it you? Because you asked him to stay for an innocent little drink.
Or is it him? Because he sat just a little closer when you meant to keep your distance.
“Thank you,” you take the delicate glass from his grasp, surprised that your hands weren’t shaking as they were when you walked into the living room. “And thanks again for taking her out this weekend.”
“You have to stop saying that, honey.” His smile is lazy as he takes a sip. “I’m her father, I’m supposed to be a co-parent.”
“I know, I just wanted to let you know that I’m glad to have you in our lives again.” You admitted, sitting comfortably with one of your legs folded under you, “I’m not going to lie, Andy, I was really scared about the move. About your commitment. But you haven’t given me a reason to be disappointed.”
“Honey, I promise, I’ll never disappoint either of you ever again.” He’d made this promise before, on that Christmas visit, and he made it now, too. Holding your gaze in a way that told you he’s sincere. “Are you still scared?”
I am, of what you’re doing to me. You bite that thought and kill it then and there. Swallowing it down with the wine.
“No, not anymore.” You purse your lips, “Newton’s beginning to feel like home again.”
“I’m glad.” He said, then pats his knuckles on your thigh—it’s innocent, he doesn’t linger. “Hey, you remember our first home here?”
“Oh, God, that shitty apartment!” You recall, a grin automatically pulling at your lips.
“Oh, man. We made some good memories there.”
“It was a nightmare, Andy! What are you talking about?” You laugh, “There was a shortage of water. Somehow all the lights used to switch off if we touched even on fucking button. Oh, the shouting neighbours! And did you forget about the raccoon problem?”
“Still, those were the best years of our relationship.” Those eyes, smiling, showing age. But all you could see was the younger version of him. “Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, they were.” You clear your throat.
Conversation flows and so does the wine. You don’t keep a count of it, you don’t think he is either. Somehow, you’re sitting even closer to him than before. Faces smiling and laughing, hearts thrumming with a pleasant buzz the wine provides. The two of you reminisce about the past—the good and happy memories.
And it’s so familiar. To be with him like this.
“I’ve missed this,” he says after retelling another funny story. The laughter has died down, only comfortable silence in the atmosphere. His pinky finger tickles yours to grab your attention, “I’ve missed you.”
“Me too,” you give the faintest of smiles, cheeks positively glowing with the effects of alcohol rushing to your face.
“Really?” There’s an edge to his voice, deep and you think, sad even.
“Yeah,” you rest your palm on the back of his, a gentle squeeze to assure him.
“Then how come you barely called me back when you were in Seattle?”
“Shit, no. We’re having a good time.” He shakes his head, lowers his eyes. It tugs at your heart that you can’t provide him with an answer. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry.”
“I did miss you, Andy.” It’s better when the words are said rather than agreeing with them. You’re earnest and honest. “Some days were just too hard to go by without you. I missed you every day… but there were days when I needed you, really.”
“—And I looked for you in our little angel’s face, in her eyes and it made me feel better.”
God, you’re making him fall in love with you all over again. Not that he ever stopped loving you. Fuck no. The reason why you separated wasn’t the fact that you fell out of love with each other. That’s what broke your hearts in the first place. Love never fizzled out.
Hand engulfed in yours, Andy tugs you a little closer, a little more. An emotion in his eyes that reminded you of all those times he looked at you with nothing but lust swimming in them.
“C’mere,” You almost don’t catch it but the next thing you know, his hand is on your waist, the other curling around your thigh helping you get up to straddle him. Lips meeting in a sudden kiss, hot and moulding perfectly. Fingers disappearing into his hair, soft brown locks that you longed to touch. Softer lips you were dying to kiss. He understands the urgency, because he felt it, too.
“What are we doing?” He chuckles into the kiss.
“I don’t know,” You pant, “Just let it happen, please, Andy.”
Tongue swiping into his mouth to taste the remnants of the wine. Easy moans muffled by each other. He holds you closer, tilts his head up to kiss you even deeper. But you don’t dare to sit on his thighs—hyper-aware of your bareness that will definitely rub on his crotch as soon as you make contact.
What if he pulls away? What if he decides he’s had too much wine? What if he regrets this kiss? As much as it hurts to think about it, it’s a possibility. You don’t want to embarrass yourself further by leaving a wet patch on him.
But then his hands slide down to your ass, grabbing your flesh through the dress, moaning when he realises nothing else lies beneath to cover you.
“Now I’m pretty sure you’re not wearing any panties, honey.” The hitch in your breath has him twitching in his jeans.
“Touch me and find out.” A hurried whisper, you take his hand, licking your lips, and guide it under the skirt. But he stops with a squeeze on your waist.
Oh, no. Here comes the rejection. You’ve made a fool of yourself—
“Honey, how drunk are you?”
“Drunk enough to know that I want this,” You cup his cheek, caressing his scruffy cheek with your thumb.
“I just don’t want you to regret this.”
“I won’t, I swear.” You seal it with a kiss and he lets you show the way—to your pussy, to his heaven. “Touch me, please.”
“Christ,” he clenched his jaw at the first contact, forehead pressed onto yours as he relishes your slick folds, sticky and warm and God, it feels like he’s dreaming this entire thing. “You’re so wet, you’re soaking.”
You could only whimper in response, head falling onto his shoulder as he kept dragging his digits over your folds, coating them thoroughly with your wetness.
A deep chuckle resonates from his chest, “I wonder what made you so wet, honey?”
The fist that had his shirt in your grab came down in his chest a little forcefully. He laughs at your expense, pressing a kiss to your head.
“Andy…” you sob, “Don’t tease me, please.”
“Alright, I won’t tease ya.” He makes you look at him with a gentle hand on your cheek, bringing your lips down to meet him in a slow kiss—and it’s dizzying, your heart brimming. He kisses you like you were his all this time. Tongue once again prying your mouth open, touching the roof of it, runs along with your teeth, your tongue. Noses pressed uncomfortably, barely able to breathe but he can’t stop.
The idea of parting from you—it fucking scares him.
But then he’s sliding his fingers into your heat and you part away with a gasp. Your jaw hangs open, hand squeezing the back of his neck. The intrusion is familiar like he’s been doing this all this time. But he senses the tension in your thighs as you struggle to move.
“Relax for me, baby.” A reassuring squeeze to your ass from his hand under your dress. That’s all it takes.
He kisses you some more, pumping his fingers in and out. Knuckles dragging and stroking your walls. Your moans sound like his favourite song.
He groans at the wet noises your pussy makes, “Fuck, the number of times I thought about you, honey.” You mewl, add a slow roll of your hip, “Touched myself when I missed you too much.”
A soft sigh of his name, head tilting back and exposing your smooth neck. He sinks his teeth over the jumping vein there, plants sloppy, hot kisses up to the curvature of your jaw.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks, beard grazing the sensitive skin raw and red. Continues his job to fuck you with his fingers. You mindlessly nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “When was the last time you got off?”
“I don’t remember…” You swivel your hips, unaware of the words slipping out of you. It’s all your hindbrain, it takes over your tongue for you. “Long time ago.”
“Last time you touched yourself?”
“Last night…” again, it’s your hindbrain that responds.
It’s when his movements stop and his fingers leave your soaping cunt that you come to your senses and realise what you just said. Groaning into his neck, you’re ashamed to meet his eyes. You don’t know why.
“Who’d you think of?”
“Who did you think of?”
Oh, God, he’s making you face him again.
“You, okay? I thought of you.” And somehow his pupils dilate even further. Pitch black and you want them to consume you.
It all escalates from there. He growls, low and feral, grabs you by the back of your neck. Mouths clash once again, and this time it’s frenzied. Lips tearing each other apart, teeth knocking, breath sucking. His hands travel up your bare back. The warmth seeping into your flaming hot skin. Deft fingers undo the tie at the base to rid you of your dress. God, this fucking dress. You may be innocent of your crimes of wearing it yesterday, but you knew what you were doing tonight.
The way it left nothing to his imagination. He couldn’t drive that thought away until he left your house.
The dress pool around your waist, nothing barring him from your body. But he sits back, as mesmerizing as your breasts to his hungry eyes are, he remains put. Though he won’t stop staring at them. Nipples hardened, chest heaving as the sudden cool air washes over them.
“You were needy, weren’t you?” He asks with a patronizing hum. Gaze meeting your own, “Touching yourself, moaning my name? Did you come?”
“I couldn't—” you shake your head. Goosebumps erupting on your skin when he placed a warm palm on your breast, pinched your nipple. “Andy…”
“Poor baby,” Again with that condescending tone.
This is the Andy you were hoping he brings out. The one who teases you with his words alone. The one who tells you how much of a needy little thing your cunt could be—fuck, yes, she’s needy. You’re not going to be discreet about it.
“How did you do it?” His question makes you blink in confusion, “Use your pretty little fingers? Or did you use a toy?”
“I don’t have a toy.” He smirks, waiting for you to tell him. Heat crawls up your neck, all the way to your cheeks, you timidly mumble, “I used a pillow.”
“A pillow?” A bigger, coquettish smile set amongst his beard, he licks his kiss bitten lips. Lifts one of your legs to slot the hard muscle of his jeans-clad thigh between yours and makes you sit on it. “Better than a pillow?”
A rushed breath later you start grinding, “God, yes!”
So much better than your soft pillows. The worn-out material is still rough against your aching core as you give it all you have. Rolling your hips with a conviction you’ve never felt before. All you think of is how you couldn’t come the other night. Crying out when your clit met the fabric. Burying your face into his neck.
“You’re gonna make a mess, sweetheart?” You hiccup in response.
“Gotta work harder,” He says, and then you hear a ripping sound of cloth—it makes you stop. Looking down, you see your dress lying in shreds around him. “Sorry, it was far too sexy on you.”
“Andy!” With a sharp smack on your ass, he has you gasping and grinding once again. Like a fucking machine that has an on and off switch.
Pulling you closer, he leans down to capture your breast in his mouth, warm and inviting. His beard, coarse and biting. Rubbing your tender flesh raw all the while laving his tongue over it, soothing the burn. The other one meets the unyielding roughness of his palm, squeezing hard, fingers digging into the supple flesh, and tweaking the nipple almost to the point of pain.
But you’ll take it. You’ll accept the pain because it comes with pleasure, too.
You missed him so much. And it’s so good to be wanted again by him when no one else has been able to make you feel the way he does.
It doesn’t take much after that, you roll your hips a few more times. Grind the bundle of nerves. Your walls clenching and unclenching around nothing—and you’re coming within seconds. Removing his face away from your chest, you kiss him again to muffle the loud moan just about to escape you. Andy makes you shift back, hands on your hips and eyes on the mess you made on his thigh.
“Perfect.” You’re probably far from it, but his heated gaze on your naked expanse forces you to agree with him.
You get off his lap to stand on shaky legs, thighs burning with exhaustion.
“We’re far from done, Mr Barber.” He takes the hand you offered. Although he knows you can’t physically pull him, he gets up on his own.
A smile on his lips as he trails behind you. He grabs your waist, steals a few kisses on your neck and shoulder. The delightful giggle that bubbles up to your lips makes his heart burst with joy. How he missed that sound. How he missed making you laugh.
You’re halfway to your bedroom when Andy stops.
“I don’t have protection.”
You smirk at him over your shoulder, a sexy bite of your lip, “Don’t worry about that.”
“If you say so, honey.”
Soon, you’re in your bed while he’s still standing at the foot of it. There’s something deeply exciting about the fact that you’re completely naked, while all his clothes are intact. But he should hurry up and get out of them.
“Strip, now.” The commanding tone is such a turn on, he grunts while palming the tent in the confines of his jeans.
While discarding his shirt, Andy asks, “What’s something that you always wanted to try in bed?”
“That we never did?”
He nods. His question makes you ponder as you rise on your elbows. There are a lot of things you and Andy have done in bed and well, in public, too. It really makes you work your brain when you get to thinking while he’s getting out of his jeans and boxers.
Your eyes land on his cock, and it looks achingly hard, flushed pretty pink at the tip. Veins adorning it. The head is leaking and he touches himself for the first time tonight, lips parting in a languid moan because he’s throbbing and sensitive.
God, you missed that cock. Wondrous, thick and just big enough for you.
A knowing smile shot at you that says gotcha.
“Huh?” You were staring. “Right!”
Eyes roaming around his face instead of focusing on his cock and then it clicks. There actually is something you’ve never tried with Andy.
“Lie down,” You said, getting up. “On your back.”
He doesn’t question you, just goes with it. He sighs when the soft sheets meet his back, settling amongst the mountain of pillows. You straddle his waist once again, dropping yourself on his dick to grind down on him. He curses under his breath, holding you to stop your movements. If you’re ever going to finish what you’re about to say, then you shouldn’t tease him like this. But you remove his hands and place them above his head. Biceps flexing as you do so.
“Don’t move ‘em.”
A dangerously low chuckle that makes your insides tingle, “Yes, ma’am.”
You continue rubbing yourself, coating him in your wetness. He jerks his hips to meet yours but you pin with a look. Some things never change, he thinks to himself.
Eyes roaming the stretch of his broad chest, covered in a coarse dusting of neat hair. Specks of red blanketing him in a flush all the way up to his neck and under his beard. The flimsy silver chain he wears lies between the hollow of his collarbones. Your hands tracing the muscles, the hard ridges; anticipation is driving him crazy. But he waits.
You lean down to what he thinks is to kiss him, but instead your hot breath fans over his ear, teeth playfully biting the shell.
“I wanna ride your face,” Andy sighs as soon as the words come out of your mouth. Eyes closed, repeating them in his head one more time. When you straighten up to gauge his reaction, you’re met with such a wide smile.
“By all means,” Hands resting under his head, the cock-sure grin never leaving him. You roll your eyes playfully, dragging your knees up and up and up until your cunt is hovering right above his face.
“You’ll tell me if I’m suffocating you?” Doubt fizzling your muddled thoughts, now that you are where you want to be.
“Just sit on my face, honey.” He runs his smart mouth.
Oh well, you’re about to shut him up.
The first swipe of his tongue, the first kiss of his lips on your heated pussy, leaves you gasping. From there on, you grab the frame of the headboard in one hand, the other clutching at his hair and then once again, you’re grinding your heat—only this time on his face. Your thighs are aching from before but when Andy readily heeds your request, you can’t say no.
His gorgeous face was meant to be sat on. You don’t know how the two of you didn’t think of doing this before. His beard chafes the tender skin of your inner thighs, burning so good—you sob between your ragged breaths.
“That feel good, honey?”
Otherworldly, spectacular, fan-fucking-tastic.
But all you can manage is a whimper, stomach pulling and fluttering as you barely meet his lips. His tongue grazes over your folds, you’re suddenly very squirmish. Shy, even.
Andy smirks under you, hands grabbing your ass, moulding the globes before he fimrly pulls you down on his mouth. Tongue flattening to lick a broad strip between your folds. A scream of his name, head thrown back in ecstasy. Pink lips sucking at your clit, pink tongue rolling it teasingly. He’s always been good at that, always been generous when it comes to giving you earth-shattering orgasms with his mouth alone.
Groaning against you as a new wave of slick coats his taste buds, Andy slowly shakes his head, side to side, making your thighs clench around his face. Sucks your clit, flicking it, too. Spanks your ass to really get you going. You shamelessly rock your cunt on his face, like a kitten high on catnip. No room for inhibitions.
Soft grunts emitted from his end, needy whimpers from yours. Andy opens his eyes, which he never realised when he closed them, to look at you. Parted lips and a delicate frown between your eyebrows—all your focus on seeking yet another high.
When Andy asked what’s something you wanted to try, what he didn’t catch was the “we never did” end of your response.
You have sat on a face before. Back in Seattle with a one night stand. The man had blonde hair and blue eyes, physic as closely as your partly drunken mind could compare to Andy. However, he was missing the beard.
That man was the best sex you’d had in years after separating from Andy. So, the fact that you couldn’t remember his name was kinda eating at you. Even while you were rubbing yourself on your gorgeous ex-husband right now.
You feel yourself edging closer, your overworked thighs shaking and ready to give out. Forehead resting on the headboard, you cry out when he asks if you’re close. His nose nudges the hood of your clit before he catches it between his lips, sucking wildly. The added nip hurtling you straight towards another release.
Then something flashes in your memory. And the moment it does, a strange name is tumbling out of your mouth before you could bite your tongue—
Like a light bulb went off above your head. Your eyes widen, palm clamping your mouth shut with a gasp.
When a name other than his graces his ears, Andy pulls away. He pushes you to sit on his torso. The tip of his flushed nose, his mouth and beard glistening with your arousal. He’s quick to move under you. Flips the two of you over. Dark, glimmering eyes tracing your entire face.
“Did you just moan another man’s name?” His eyes narrowed slits, as he settles over you.
The dark room masks your tiny smirk but he can tell you’re not sorry for what you just did.
“So what if I did?”
Oh, you’re such a minx.
“What would you do if I’d said another woman’s name?”
“I’ll be very mad. Ask you to leave.” Curt. Straightforward. Confident.
“Shouldn’t I leave since you just did that?” He backs away from you, thighs spreading, cock hard and resting on his torso, his body high and mighty casting a shadow upon you.
“It’s really up to you, Andy.” Look who’s condescending now.
You giggled, moving your palms tantalizingly from your knees to your inner thighs, as you opened them wide. His eyes follow. God, you’re wet and dripping down there. Invitingly, so. Like a moth to a flame, he wants to bury his face between your legs once again. “Do you wanna leave?”
Does he really care about his ego?
He answers his own question when he growls lowly. Partly annoyed with himself, partly with you. But he’s wholly devoted to this night.
He’s pushing your legs further apart, fingers dig into the muscles of your thighs marking them no doubt before his face is flushed against your heat. Eating you with a newfound fervour. Like he wants to wipe the existence of any other man who’s ever been here. Between your thighs. Hands, mouth, dick. Everything.
Every trace is gone as he makes you scream and cry and moan. Wrecks your body from the inside out. Back arching and hips thrashing against the sheets. Moving away when he sucks your cunt in his mouth ravenously. You close your thighs around his head but he growls like an animal in heat. His hard, broad shoulders keeping your legs apart, giving your muscles a painful stretch—it fucking hurts but so does his pride. So you let him have his way. It only costs you when he rips his mouth from you right before you are about to come apart.
His hard stare is enough to shut you up before you even try to voice your complaint. He quickly separates from your pussy, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then he’s switching positions once again, handling you in a way that has both of you kneeling. You’re facing the wall opposite the bed, back to his chest. Arms behind, locked at your elbows as he lodges an arm between your back and hands. Chest pushed out. The stretch is uncomfortable but you awakened that dominant side in him when you said someone else’s name in bed.
“You’ve really hurt my feelings, honey.” Cock rubbing between your ass. He holds the base of it, bites down on your shoulders.
“I don’t think begging for my cock is enough,” he grumbles, lining himself with your soaking folds, running it along them.
“But I should fuck you until you pass out,” he cups your jaw, turning your face to lick inside your mouth. The thick head of his cock is entering your heat. And he’s sliding home in one fluid motion.
Fuck, your cunt feel like his homecoming.
Gripping him so tight he feels himself swelling impossibly hard inside you. Swallowing him again and again as he picks up a steady rhythm. He’s fucking you longingly. Grunting right next to your ears, touching and grabbing everywhere his free hand can reach.
And then he’s fucking you hard and fast. You’re left to take the brunt of his hips meeting your ass at a punishing pace. Thick thighs rapidly slapping against the back of yours. The only sound in the room apart from your sighs.
“What’s my name?”
A resounded chuckle leaves your lips at that, Andy slows down suddenly, plunging deep, punching the air out of your lungs with each thrust. It’s slow and hard, now. Slow and so fucking hard—there’s no way you could utter a single word, throat choked up every time he bottoms out.
“Whats my fuckin’ name, honey?” He pops open your jaw with one hand, mouth parting. Fingers rubbing your clit in a way that contrasts his pace, fast and slippery, bringing you right towards the edge and you’re about to go hurtling headfirst—
He stops, you scream, “Andy!”
“That’s right.” He pants, “I expect you to say my name when I’m balls deep inside your pussy.” He begins pumping once again, more like grinding his hips against your ass, coarse chest hair, damp and rubbing over the smooth plains of your back, he pulls you taut against his body, moulding you together.
“I expect you to be screaming it so loud your next-door neighbours should think you’re in real danger, sweetheart,” he grunts, a single sound of skin clapping against skin rings around. His hot breath near the shell of your ears brings a shiver down your body when he speaks, voice deep, relaxed. “Now, will you do that? Or do I have to school you again?”
Your thighs shake, a single sob stealing out of your trembling mouth as you nod your head but it’s not quite what he wants. He squeezes one of your breasts, pinches the nipple rather punishingly, tuts mockingly.
“Yes, I will. I will.”
“Good girl.”
Andy doesn’t stop until you’re quite literally screaming his name like he wanted you to. He pulls orgasms after orgasms from your quivering cunt even after you beg you can’t come anymore.
Wetness trickling down either side of your thighs as his fingers on your clit never cease their movements. You come once again for the fifth time, or was it the sixth? Clenching down on his cock like a vice, he follows you too. Releasing inside you with a deep groan muffled into the junction of your neck. His hips stutter a moment longer than necessary and you’re almost afraid he’s ready to go again. You try to pull away from his hold.
“We’re done, baby, we’re done.” He assures you, removes the hair that mats your forehead due to sweat beading there. Soothingly runs a hand down your side.
A gruff laugh from him, as your body sags against his. An unexpected flutter of your walls when his fingers collect the stickiness drooling down your legs. Once again, he forcibly opens your mouth and shoves his fingers in.
A tired muddled moan around his digits at the salty taste. Your head feels dizzy, and your body feels like it’s made of jelly. When he pulls out, he catches you before you fall headfirst into the mattress. You chuckle lightly at your predicament, sweaty back meeting the cool sheets. More of your combined releases seep out of your cunt. But neither of you bother cleaning up. Too sated to move as the two of you settle against each other, limbs lazily tangling and sprawled.
“Hey, so, I think I drank a little too much of that wine.” Andy says. You turn your head to look at him, see if he has a point.
“Do you mind if I stay over?”
You roll your eyes and smack his chest. That answers his silly little question. And the last thing you hear before you fall into a blissful sleep is his hearty laugh echoing around the room.
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if you’ve made it this far, debate: who came onto whom? lol
i hope you enjoyed reading! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! :)
2K notes · View notes
sweeterthanthis · 3 months ago
Look, Don’t Touch
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Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise kink, vaginal sex, public sex (they’re in a sex club), slight bicep choking, masturbation. This is literal porn without plot. 18+.
A/N: Written for @whisperlullaby’s 700 follower challenge!
I have to thank @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for helping me with the kinks for this one! I hope you like it Becca! I’ve gifted you with three of our fictional daddies for this one. Even though two of them only play a small role. I wonder if you can figure out who they are 👀
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“Look at them. Can’t keep their eyes off that little pussy swallowing up my dick.” He purred, catching the shell of your ear between his teeth, your knees trembling as you tried to remain upright on his lap. “Bet they’d do anything to switch places with me right now, do anything to have such a pretty little slut at their mercy.”
You watched as they stroked their cocks, the hunger they felt for you obvious in the way that they stared. They were fixated as they looked you over, your cunt clenching around Andy’s girth, letting him know just how much you were enjoying yourself. Your eyes glazed over, the blur of the two bodies standing just feet away from you fading slightly.
“Do you think they’ve ever had a girl as precious as you, Sweetheart?” He didn’t want an answer, you knew that. And you couldn’t have given one if you tried, garbled whimpers catching in your throat as he rutted up into your soaking wet heat. “I bet they haven’t. Wanna know how I know?”
All you could do was nod your head before letting it fall back on his shoulder, his open mouth breathing against your cheek.
“I know they haven’t, because my girl is one of a kind. So fuckin’ sexy, body to die for. And this right here,” he reached his arm around your waist, snaking it down over your belly and between your thighs, “this pussy is the sweetest little hole I’ve ever fucked.”
“Andy, fuck.”
He’d always been full of praise for you. In and out of the bedroom. But this? This was something entirely new.
When he’d suggested bringing you to the most prominent sex club in Boston, you hadn’t for a second thought it’d end up like this. The black, velvet couch he leant back into while he fucked you was a far cry from the soft, cotton sheets of your bed.
You had no idea that you liked being watched, liked having him show you off like you were his favourite possession. Yet here you were, grinding down on his perfect length while the two mysterious strangers in front of you enjoyed every second of it.
You watched through half-lidded eyes as the brunette ran the tip of his thumb across his slit, collecting up the pearly drops that glinted in the low light and smearing them down his erection; his steely blue eyes searing into you.
“And these,” Andy reached with both hands to cup your breasts, rolling your nipples around in his fingertips and releasing them with a soft pinch, “I just know wanna get their mouth on these, Sweetheart.”
Your feet braced against his knees, warmth filling your belly, you rose up, sliding back down onto him and winding your hips from side to side. You wanted to put on a show, you wanted them to want you. Knowing you were safe in Andy’s arms, that nobody was going to touch you without his express permission - and he’d never give it - was liberating.
“That’s it,” he encouraged proudly, “show them just how much you love riding my dick. Show them how you work that body.”
You settled your hands on his shoulders behind you, his lips brushing against the top of your spine, fucking down onto him over and over; desperate cries ringing out over the music gently thrumming from the speakers.
Your eyes flitted to the blonde, his muscular biceps straining beneath the confines of his short sleeved, black t-shirt. You could see by the look on his face that he was trying to remain composed, holding himself back from speaking by biting down on his bottom lip. You kept your eyes locked to his sapphire blues, rolling your hips back and forth, Andy’s cock dragging delightfully against your slick, pulsing walls.
“Look at my pretty girl, showing herself off like this. Fuck, that’s it. Show ‘em what’s mine. You wanna talk to ‘em, Sweetheart? Go on, tell them how stretched out you are for me.”
You hesitated, your movements halting for a moment, heart pounding in your chest at the situation unfolding around you.
Bringing your hands forward to rest them on Andy’s knees, you arched your back, smirking slightly at the satisfied grunt that vibrated against your skin as Andy chased it with his mouth.
“He fuckin’ you good, Honey?”
Your heart stuttered, butterflies erupting in your stomach as the blonde spoke. In your new position, you took in the sight of his thick girth, the way his sun kissed hand wrapped around it and tugged slowly. You couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your skin. They looked rough, calloused like working man’s hands, marred with the evidence of manual labour.
Andy’s hips jutted up into you, cock nudging at your g-spot and eliciting a deep moan from your lips. “Answer him, Sweetheart.”
“Y-yes. So good. Always fucks me so good.”
Bouncing back against Andy’s cock, the new angle causing him to hit all the deepest spots inside you, you looked to the brunette.
The way his cheeks reddened made you smile, he was cute. One gloved hand tucked into his jean pocket, and the other lazily stroking himself. He was shy, and it made you want to hear his voice; made you want to tease him.
“Do you like watching me, Sir?”
His hand stilled, pink lips parting a little, and his eyes pupils swallowing the mesmerising blue of his iris’.
You kept your movements slow, enjoying the way his stare travelled, neck craning slightly to take in the sight of your ass backing up on Andy’s lap.
“Y-yes. Don’t stop, Doll.”
It wasn’t a lot, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of praise that your boyfriend was worshipping you with, but the way he looked utterly enraptured by you filled you with exhilaration. You were at the height of pleasure, completely overwhelmed by the tension between the four of you as you took Andy deep inside over and over.
“God, just look at them. Lookin’ like they wanna eat you, Sweetheart.” The mere thought of it had your eyes rolling back, a deep, desperate cry flying from your throat at the image his words conjured in your head. Andy’s fingers pinched at your waist, pulling you from the sordid fantasy swirling in your mind. “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas now, I don’t share.”
One firm bicep wrapped itself around your neck, yanking you back against his chest. One hand rubbing at your clit and forcing you to stay in place while he fucked your squelching cunt with such ferocity, you could barely breathe.
“Come for me, pretty girl. Show them how good I make you feel.” Andy rasped, his breaths ragged as he pounded into you. “Squeeze my dick with that perfect, little cunt. C’mon.”
A sharp slap to your clit had you squirming, bursting at the seams as you chased your release, a tidal wave of ecstasy crashing over your fucked out body -- toes curling, every muscle in your body tensing up and revelling in the bliss that he pulled from you.
“Fuck, that’s good pussy. My pussy. Gonna fill it up, make it all messy. Be dripping down those soft thighs all night, won’t it?”
Andy didn’t relent, continuing his insistent pace, bringing you to the brink of another orgasm in no time. The two pairs of eyes on you grew wilder, their own movements nearing them to the edge of their own climax. Lustful grunts rang out, reverberating through your body, pushing you closer and closer to heaven.
“Keep those eyes open for me.” He breathed, kissing the column of your throat possessively, another show of ownership. “Look what you do to them, about to come all over themselves just from watching you fall apart on my lap.”
Obeying him, his bicep fixing your gaze in their direction, you marvelled at them; cocks swollen and leaking, balls drawing up as they whimpered and grunted through their pleasure. You’d never felt so desired, so utterly coveted.
You couldn’t hide your glee when they erupted. The blonde panting and shooting his load into his palm, chest heaving and a heavy growl emitting from him. You licked your lips at the sight of the pearly liquid in his hand, eyes flitting to the brunette and pussy fluttering at the sight of him; teeth clenched, high-pitched whimpers making your knees quiver.
“Fuck, got all three of us coming for you. Aren’t you a lucky girl?” Andy smirked, his thrusts staggering, one guttural growl letting you know he was right there, filling you up and painting the walls of your overworked pussy with his hot, sticky come.
Your eyes flutter closed, your body collapsing against the soft planes of his chest; allowing him to use your cunt to milk himself dry until he was spent.
You let the atmosphere in the room soothe you, the faint smell of sex heavy in the air, limbs twitching as you came down from your euphoric high. When you opened your eyes again, the two men were gone; leaving you to revel in the afterglow of your obscene acts with Andy.
“So proud of you, Sweetheart. My precious, sweet thing.” He praised, stroking a stray tendril of hair away from your sweat-slicked forehead. He peppered your temple with sweet kisses, hands caressing your ribcage tenderly. “Gonna have to show you off more often.”
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A/N: Did you guess them? 👀 Love you Becca! 🖤
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angrythingstarlight · 2 months ago
With an ass like this, I just want to grab hold of it as he's wrecking me to pull him in deeper. I think he'd like that 😏
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Pairing: Biker!Steve Rogers x brat!Reader
Word count: Drabble
Warnings: Dom/sub, smut, 18+, semi public sex, rough sex, teasing
Minors DNI.As always do not copy, translate, rewrite or reuse any of my works. Even if you credit me.
Steve ordered the men out of the clubhouse when you arrived wearing his favorite sundress and strappy heels. They shuffled out the door exchanging knowing yet relieved glances as you traipsed past the small bar to the pool table.
Steve has been insufferable all day. And when Steve is frustrated, everyone suffers. Except you.
You hopped on the fuzzy green surface, letting your legs swing back and forth as you waited for him.
"You wearin' panties?" He asks gruffly, his deep tone letting you know how foul his mood is and your core aches in response. The worse his mood, the rougher he gets.
Leaning back on your elbows, you spread your thighs. His broken, needy grunt breaks the still air, the scents of leather and smoky cedar surrounding you. He walks around the table, his heavy boots dully hitting the ground until he stands in front of you.
"Don't remember." You respond coyly, tugging your dress up to your waist.
Steve's eyes darken as they rake over your glistening pussy, his lips turned into a pained sneer. "Keep playing with me and see what happens."
Your brain says you shouldn't piss off the angry six-foot tattooed golden-haired biker but your pussy says you should.
You shrug. "You're right. I should behave." His eyes narrow warily as he takes a step towards you. "In fact, I'll go home right now-" you quip softly, crossing your ankles, "-and I'll be on my best behavior."
You fight to hide your smile when he says your name through gritted teeth, his larges hands grabbing your thighs and pushing them apart.
Falling back on the table, his belt clinks as he pulls down his pants, not even waiting for them to fall past his knees before his thick long cock is stretching your pussy.
You gasp at the sharp stinging burn, hands scrambling over the surface of the table. He pulls out, inch by inch until the very tip is resting inside of you.
"Say something else." He warns, his hands gripping your thighs so tight you can feel the bruising forming.
You lean on your elbow, reaching out to grab his t-shirt in your fist. Pulling yourself up, you wrap your hands around his torso and grab his ass with both hands. "You know if you fucked me better, maybe I wouldn't have such a smart mouth."
Steve blinks slowly, processing your words. The veins in his neck popping out as he silently repeats them to himself. His quiet rage rolling off of him in powerful waves, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to respond.
He looks down at you, sliding his hands up your sides to your throat. "I'm going to teach this tight pussy a lesson you'll never forget." He applies pressure to your throat, enough to let you know his strength. "Then I'm going to fuck your throat until you learn some fucking manners."
He slams his cock back into your pussy, stretching you so good you scream out, your body shuddering under the force of his thrusts. His rough, steady pace sends pleasure through your core, burning you from the inside out. His lips by your ear whispering utter filth, telling you if you had just been a good fucking girl you could have been fucked like one.
He's fucking you so good, you're almost delirious, the coil fraying with each snap of his hips.
You know if you don't do something, he's going to bring you to the brink of pure bliss and stop, his favorite punishment is edging you but you want to cum so bad.
You dig your hands into his plump ass pulling him deeper inside you. You meet his blue eyes, your wheezed moans coming out harsher, and harsher as he constricts your air. "Still not fucking me-."
"Fucking brat." Steve grabs your throat with both hands and thrusts up into you so hard you almost lift off the table.
oh god oh my god shit, fuck, fu-
His cock striking your spot so hard you see stars behind your eyes, your walls clenching down over his length, the coil twisting and snapping as you cum, your swollen, pulsating cunt spasming with each rough stroke. It hits you so hard, tears form in your eyes as waves of pleasure course through you.
Steve looks at your dazed face with pride, listening to you chant his name between frantic sobs. "You were saying?" He taunts, circling his hips. "Let me hear it, sweetheart?"
He pushes your limp body back and slides your hips down to the edge of the table. Steve smirks when you whimper his name. "No, that wasn't it." He snaps his hips into yours, savoring the vulgar squelch of your cunt. "Try again."
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buckyhoney-library · 2 months ago
❥ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: if a link isn't working, please inbox @buckyhoney
𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝: July 22, 2021
-𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬- secret girlfriend volume control, smut drive with caution, smut worst behavior, smut ** innocent till proven guilty, smut ** wake up, smut ** morning routine, smut ** the bar rules, smut ** the family lunch, smut 5:32am northern wind
-𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬- golden boy, smut **
-𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬- munchies sick day sweet creature ** bath & body, smut ** pathetic, smut a little sensitive, smut ** july the only one, smut consequences, smut
-𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧- pretty girl, smut
-𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞- attagirl, smut
-𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫- pent up, smut
𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
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bucksfucks · a month ago
ooo pls write about sucking chris dick while he watches football
⟶ beer, football, & blowjobs ; chris evans
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WORD COUNT || 646 words
WARNINGS || drinking, messy blowjobs, swearing, finishing in readers mouth, football ???, ruined kink — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI
NOTES || ask me if this is my kink and i’ll say yes
 “Can you get me another beer, babe?” Chris calls from the couch, eyes trained on the screen as you mumble back a yeah.
     He had been sat on the couch for some time now, cheering, yelling, and swearing at the men on the screen.
     You loved him, Chris enjoying a football game was nothing out of the ordinary.
     But you had different plans today.
     “Here you are, hun,” you say, standing in front of him as he grabs for the glass bottle with a smile, “thanks, babe.”
     It’s like he’s on autopilot, turning his head, “you’re blockin’ the game, c’mon.” He teases as you playfully roll your eyes and chuckle.
     “You’re obsessed, you know?” You joke, plopping onto the couch behind him.
     He scoffs, shaking his head, “am not.”
     A disgruntled groan comes from him as he takes a sip of the cold beer and throws his head back at the opposing team scoring a…touchdown?
     A touchdown.
     “I could be sucking your dick and you’d still be more focused on your game.”
     That gets his attention.
    A smirk tugs on the edge of his lips, “you offerin’?”
     You feel your stomach jump, leaning forward as he adjusts himself on the couch, cock twitching in his pants.
     “I don’t know, you seem perfectly fine watching the Pats.” You shrug, turning your head to the TV, having no idea what’s going on.
     “Oh c’mon, babe. You can’t jus’ say that,” he groans, reaching for your hand, “feel how hard I am already?”
     You squeeze him through his joggers and he lets out a low groan, eyes fluttering closed for a second.
     “I think s’only fair you finish what you started,” he nearly whines and you crack your neck to the side before sliding onto your knees and between his legs.
     Chris’ eyes are wide, like he doesn’t really believe what’s happening, but he isn’t protesting.
     “Oh fuck,” he whispers to himself, the beer is still between his fingers but he’s gripping it significantly tighter now.
     “What’s the score?” You ask, hands on his upper thighs as you’re massaging them, watching his dick grow in his pants.
     “I don’t care anymore,” he groans, head lolling back as you pull his cock out with his help.
     He hisses when you squeeze him, taking him into your mouth and he’s got nowhere to go as he bucks his hips.
     “Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, “not goin’ slow today, are ya?”
     Absolutely fucking not.
     With your hands on his thick thighs, you’re making a mess as he tries his best to pay attention to the game before deciding fuck it.
     He’s not holding back anymore, freely moving his hips up into your mouth as you hollow your cheeks.
     You know your makeup is smudged and running, but you also know how much he loves it—seeing the smirk on his face as he sees how ruined you are.
     There’s a whistle on the screen, Chris’ eyes slowly fluttering open before he shakes his head, “fuck, do that again.”
     You twist your hands around him, taking him further as you feel him twitch against your tongue.
     “Gonna make me cum, baby. Fuck gonna make me cum so fuckin’ hard.” He pants, whining almost, as you drink in the sight of him absolutely quivering under you.
     When he cums, his abdomen tenses, so do his thighs as his eyebrows furrow before you feel him shoot down your throat.
     It’s then when he relaxes, mouth falling and a deep, throaty groan echoing through the living room and suddenly the football game doesn’t even exist.
     He pries his eyes open, heavy and tired, but satisfied as he pulls you up.
     “You look almost as ruined as I do, sweetheart,” he purrs, nose brushing yours as you straddle him.
     You lick your lips, giggling as he holds your face in his hands.
     “Now let’s ruin you some more.”
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