Like, I Constantly Think About His Hair And His Face At This Time

I just want to emphasize how intimidated I feel while I'm reading, the way I feel her pressure and uncertainty about him.

Mission Control 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stand shivering in a towel. The door is open to the damp chill, a grey sky peeking in. He appears again, marching through with a worn canvas knapsack. He drops it on the rug and goes back to shut the door. You hear the gears whirring as it locks on its own. 

He’s all in black again. At least his clothes are clean. The turtleneck has a hole in the elbow and the cargo pants are missing a flap along one pocket, but they don’t smell like iron and mud. His blond hair is still sleek with moisture and droops down his forehead. 

You wrap your arms around yourself and watch him. He lifts the bag over the couch and drops it on the cushions. He points and looks at you. You nod and go where he wants. 

You tuck in the top of the towel. You pull back the zipper. A bundle of clothing pushes the bag wide as it bulges through. You pull out a plaid flannel shirt. It’s thick. You peek up at him and hold it up. He jams his finger towards you. 

“These are for me?” You ask. He lowers his arms and tilts his head. “Thank you.” You look down and lay out the flannel on the next cushion.  

You pull out two pairs of rolled jeans, some tee shirts, and a pullover sweater. Each piece is plain and practical. None of it matches. You won’t complain. Only the last piece is less than utilitarian. 

You drag out the dress and it flows free. The yellow is speckled with green vines and white flowers. You grimace as you note the red splotch on the bodice and the way the trim on the neckline is separated along one side. 

He grunts. You wince and look him in the eye. You blink nervously and turn the dress around for him to see. He frowns and snatches it from you. He touches the bloody stain and exhales deeply. He balls it up. He stares at you again. 

You pick up a tee shirt and give it a sniff. It’s a bit dingy. You can manage. 

“Maybe I’ll do some laundry? You can show me where?” You suggest. 

His eyes narrow. 

“I’ll do yours too. I don’t mind. I’d like to have something to do,” you offer. You’re trying to fill the silence as much as you’re begging to distract yourself from the dread. “If that’s okay with you.” 

His eyes drift. He puts his chin down and examines the dress again. He rents it in two and stomps away. 

You pull the tee shirt on over the towel then slip into the jeans. You loose the towel and button up the flannel. It’s better. 

The door clatters open again. You go to hang the wet towel from the bar in the bathroom and as you return, he carries in a pile of white birch logs. He kicks the door shut and takes them to the fireplace. He lets them roll over the floor. He grabs one and splits it in half with his fingers. You gape. 

“Can I help?” You stay a few feet back as you watch his shoulders. “Are you hungry?” 

He clacks several pieces onto the embers and stokes the fire until it roars. He stacks the rest before he gets up. He faces you and stalks over. You shuffle back frightfully. He points to your stomach then makes a fist. 

“Not all of it makes me sick. I was asking you though.” 

His brows furrow and he snarls. He shakes his head. He’s frustrated but you don’t know why. 

You warily move back to the couch and fold up the leftover clothing. He strides into the kitchen as you place the knapsack and clothes aside. He comes back in with a large metal bucket with handles on the wide brim and a scrubbing board. You only ever saw those in museums. He drops it and it clanges as the board bounces to the other side. 

“Thank you,” you say to conceal your fear. You feel his temper mounting. You want to keep him calm as long as you can. “Will you sit down?” You ask gently. “I wish I could make you some tea. It’s the perfect weather for it.” 

He inclines his head and watches you. His cheek ticks and his eyes flick up as if trying to remember something. He moves towards you and you lurch but don’t back away. He brings his hands to the sides of your face. His thumbs stroke your cheeks and he holds you for just a second before he releases you. 

He brushes close and moves to the couch. He sits with a groan. He doesn’t show the pain but you saw the splotched bruises and the slice along his knee. 

“I’m going to boil some water,” you explain. “Is there a drying rack for me to hang the clothes?” 

He sniffs and stands.  

“You can point and I’ll find it,” you say. “I saw a closet near the kitchen?” 

He blinks and flicks his finger in that direction as he sits back down. You turn and flit towards the door you were too afraid to open. You look inside at the broom; that would have been useful before. 

You drag out a rusting folding rack and bring it to the front room. You put it in front of the fireplace. 

“Is that okay?” You turn to him. 

He waves his hand indifferently. 

You nod and go back to your task. It’s not as terrifying when you have little steps to follow. You find a pot in the cupboard and fill it with water. You put it on to boil then retreat into the bathroom. You gather up his clothes and add them to the heap of the others. 

You take the bar of laundry soap from the bottom of the tub and set it aside. As you wait for the water to boil, you find a cloth and wet it. You wipe the front of his body arm. Black and red mingle on the linen. 

You glance over at him. His eyes are closed. The fire crackles and its glow flickers over him. You put your head down and continue your work. There’s an eeriness to the sudden peace of the cabin. You only then notice how the storm has quieted too. 

I read this here listening to SZA and broke down in tears as I just wanted a smut to read 😭

Just One More/No More

Relationship: Chris Evans x black!reader

Warnings: heartbreak, too many emotions, infidelity/cheating, an affair, graphic language, drinking, cliffhanger, emo smut, oral (fem rec), unprotected sex, crying, angst angst angst…18+

A/N: Angst Queen here…another for the Breakup to Make Up 2K collection. Mmm this is based on a true story…so it was fun to recount lol uh you might cry? I hope you do cuz I’m a monster. Not sorry for the cliffhanger. You won’t be having fun with this one.

You’re falling in love with him. Didn’t mean for it to happen, but…you’re falling in love with your best friend. Your best friend who you spent everyday with, getting drunk and shooting the shit, confessing every bit of your lives to each other for the past five years. Brought together through a friend of a friend, your relationship with Chris jumped off without an awkward breath, immediately bonding over your love of tattoos and football. Like it was meant to be. Whenever either of you had an idea in mind, you were each other’s first call. Let’s go here. Let’s try this out. Oh you know what would be fun? Hey I need a plus one. You had each other, and never second guessed a single thing about your relationship, even when your friends thought it was so weird that you guys are so close because,

“You’re not even his girlfriend.” Your friend Bri fusses as you two sit at a table on the patio, drinks in hand, while the guys order another round. “You don’t think that’s weird? You two spend all this time together and you don’t even reap the benefits.”

Little does she know…

You take a sip of your beer with a small shrug of your shoulders. “That’s a them problem.” You kinda shout across the table since an annoying 80’s rock ballad blares from the speakers. “Not an us problem. I can’t control Chris. Besides she’s trash fuck her.”

That wasn’t a secret. Chris had been dating the worst girl off and on for as long as you’d known him. She didn’t even seem all that interested in him, and you’d heard that she was out trying to fuck other dudes while being with the perfect guy. But they somehow were into each other? Their dynamic made literally zero sense. You can’t understand why he keeps going back, what fuckin spell she had on him, but she drove everyone crazy with her weirdo personality. With how she smothered Chris when they were together. How he became such a fuckin pussy when she was near. It was disgusting. It made you wanna fist fight her.

“Exactly. So why aren’t you two together?!”

That’s a question you’re tired of hearing. Everyone in your friend group could see it, hell you and Chris could see it for yourselves but clearly he has issues. And so do you, still working on getting over your ex who blew your heart apart. There’s just no need to address it. Where you and Chris exist is exactly what you need: best friends who take care of each other. In every conceivable way. But the feelings, the love, you two have for each other is very loud and very real even your friends picked up on it. Always wondering why. Always throwing their two cents in when neither of you asked. No matter how you felt deep down, this hodgepodge of a relationship worked in its own strange way.

Rolling your head back with a tired huff, you gripe, “Bri it doesn’t matter.” Because he’s never really going to leave her. “I’m fine.” But you aren’t. “We’re good!” For the time being.

Bri just stares at you with the stalest face, ignoring every bullshit word flying from your lips. “Bitch, you’re lying so hard through your teeth right now I wanna get up and leave.”

“What the fuck do you want me to do bro?”

Give him an ultimatum? End your friendship? Stop fucking him? Yeah you hated all those options. And she can’t come up with anything else either, already expecting you to come up with all sorts of excuses as to why you’ll never leave Chris alone.

“I’m just…” Darting her eyes to some dudes playing cornhole, Bri sorrowfully looks away, “I’m tired of seeing you hurting.”

Shit. Why’d she go and bring that up. Sitting your beer down, you smack your lips and sigh. All of that was the last thing on your mind lately. It’s been weeks since you cried about him, and you were no longer in your feelings about them getting back together for the 100th time. You knew not to get your hopes up, but he didn’t help when he whisked you out of town to hit some breweries for the day. Even though he was feeling some type of way most of the trip you guys had fun. Getting drunk and playing games, fucking in the backseat. Not even a week later, he was telling you she was apologizing and begging for him to take her back. And he did. But you knew what it was so you swallowed all that poison back down with a side eye and kept it moving.

Bri was starting to hate him for everything you’d been going through. His image tarnished the more he kept you hanging by this deteriorating thread. You told her to let it go, that this was as much your decision as it was his, but that didn’t matter to her. Chris was fuckin you up on the inside. And you wouldn’t let go because you’re in love with him. But how could you be when he was fucking with your emotions like this. It’s complicated to say the least.

The night’s nearing its end, and everyone’s about ready to call it except for you two. You guys had plans to go back to your place and drink some more, watch a movie or something. Bri’s already shaking her head as you hug her goodbye, yelling with her eyes GO HOME WITHOUT HIM but that’s not happening tonight.

“See you guys later.” Chris drops his heavy arm around your shoulders, turning you down the sidewalk to head to his car. Everyone disperses with laughs and shouts of goodbyes. Cars driving by looking for parking. You take his hand dangling over your shoulder with a smile when you feel his chin resting atop your head. “I’m starving.”

You’d eaten at the taco truck that’s traditionally parked at the bar but he’s a weirdo eater. Not into certain foods. So you guys always have to make a stop at the worst place. “Please don’t say we’re going to Burger King.”

Chris sniffs a laugh pulling you in closer to his side, flexing his muscles around your neck. He knows you hate that place he just loves to get a rise out of you. “Nah I can just eat up all your snacks.”

“You’re the worst,” you jab a sharp elbow in his gut, “but I’d prefer that over the smell of a Whopper.”

But he didn’t eat up your snacks, just your pussy until you were absolutely begging for him to stop. Always going so hard since his girlfriend didn’t like getting head and Chris had a consistent hunger for something sweet. Why would you ever complain about a man wanting to go down on you. Another pivotal moment you knew that his girlfriend wasn’t shit. Because this man was a beast, using all his mouth to make you cum over and over again. Tonight he’s up to four and you’re too drunk to handle five. Rooms been spinning since he ripped your jeans down your squirming legs. Your squeals are his motivator. Each time you’d climax all over his fluid tongue, you’d curse him for being so ferocious, the way his hooded sapphire gaze would intently watch you lose your mind, the way the corners of his lips perked up behind your messy pussy. You’d curse her for being such a basic bitch, for not releasing him so he could finally really be yours. You’d curse yourself for being such a simp because he didn’t deserve to be inside your heart, your mind, your body like this.

“You’re so weak.” Chris teases as he finally releases your trembling folds, fully licking the juices off his pretty smirking lips. “You know you could have given me another.”

“Asshole.” You’re still trying to catch your breath lifting your ten ton head off the seat of the couch. Combination of alcohol and euphoria weighing you down. Laughing at you struggling, Chris stretches up between your legs to give you a taste, hairs of his beard sticky wet against your chin murmuring,

“Love you too.” Soiled lips dancing across yours just before he kisses you slow, your senses overwhelmed by your essence. Fingers slipping through his soft fluffy hair. Yeah you guys were that comfortable with the “I love yous.” “Mmm you’re so fuckin delicious.”

“Yeah?” A noisy smack of your conjoined lips fills the silence. “Better than her?”

“Hmmm,” Chris suppresses a chuckle, lightly brushing his nose against yours, always loves when you want him to brag about it, “so much better baby…I could eat you out all night if you weren’t such a baby…”

Laughing softly, you guys unlatch your jaws for another filthy kiss, swapping your creamy goodness between greedy mouths. You could kiss Chris for hours, so damn perfect the spark’s electric every single time. The way your lips just molded so perfectly together. Always so sensual and down right erotic each time y’all were attached by the tongue. His jeans already open and falling off his narrow hips, Chris takes ahold of his cock and slaps it over your slit a few times before breaking through your welcoming entrance. Groaning together as he fills you up. No greater feeling in this universe. Maybe to him, your questions sound a little bitter…but for you, it’s just an ounce of gratification you needed to reassure that you’re the piece missing in his life…

“Oh—oh my…feel better than her?”

If only he could realize it…

“God yes baby…”

And actually do something about it…

“Only you make feel this fuckin good fuck.”

But he’s a man, an obedient love sick puppy…

“Fuck me like you love me Chris.”

Who has allegiance to the wrong owner.

“I do…I love you…”

Sure, you look like a dumb bitch, fucking and falling for someone who is off limits. Someone you shouldn’t even consider messing around with if you want to keep such a great friendship in tact. Because he is your best friend. You loved Chris unconditionally. But tell the story to anyone else and they’d all say the same thing: “Are you crazy?!” But in all honesty, you can’t think of the last time you felt sane. As much as you’re a crutch to him, Chris is to you as well, supplying you with just right type of attention to get your shit ex off your mind. You’d found some form of comfort in the midst of chaos. Plus the sex. Good God the sex…since she was hardly into anything, he exerted all that frustrated energy out on you. On top of that, the sexual chemistry between you and Chris was…immaculate. Which wasn’t ever a concern…but such a beautiful discovery the first time you two touched. The fuel to the madness and you guys couldn’t stop it no matter how hard either of you tried. Plenty of fights. Emotional breakdowns. Not speaking to each other for days until one of you caved, desperately running back to each other. Going absolutely nowhere.

But how could you be mad at yourself. So much of it felt completely out of your control. Before you knew it, you were swooning over his every word. Slipping. C’mon…it’s him. Goofy, lovable, good natured, effortlessly funny, fine ass Chris. Your potential demise in sight but you’re too blinded by his…everything.

Drowning. Damaging. So selfish. Immature. Fucked.

So no one else but Bri was aware of how close you were to your next emotional break. Not even Chris, and he’s usually hip to your feelings, which was weird if you think about it. Guess you were getting better at faking it. But there was no hiding your disgust when she was around. She really knew how to suck the excitement out of a room as soon as she walked in. The moment you could hear the collective grumblings from the group, you and Bri’s included, the vibes turned so sour.

“Fuck I thought she wasn’t coming out tonight.” You bitch to your bestie watching them cross the bar to where everyone’s seated. Lil lovesick pup in tow. Oh it’s going to be a long ass night. “Uuuggghhhh…look at them—,”

“We can go.” Bri offered it up quick because she’s been here too many times before. Seen how this night unfolds and she’d rather fucking not. “Please let’s go.”

“Hey girls!” Her shrill voice makes y’all’s skin crawl. Where did she even come from, you both grimace away from her. “Haven’t seen you two in forever.”

“Heeeey…” You and Bri turn to face her with flat smiles, doing your best to fake it but ugh. The hug was short and awkward and you wish you could take it back. But then Chris approaches and gives you one of those half assed, one armed, bullshit pat on the back type hugs, instead of his usual full teddy bear embrace, and it hurts. Couldn’t even look him in the eye as he pulled away, sighing back all the pain you feel. You fuckin hate when he does that shit to you in front of her. Hate it when he flips the little bitch switch.

“Seriously we can go. Right the fuck now.” Bri begs in your ear as the two of you watch them go talk to the others. She wants to save you but no matter how shitty you feel, you refuse to let them run you off.

Stewing, shooting daggers into Chris’s fit back, you slam back the rest of your beer and shake your head no as Bri groans in agony. She was hopeful…but she knew what was up.

“You’re on the clock.” She snaps her fingers to break your murderous stare off the spectacle. “We leave within the hour. Got it?”

Like an hour was going to save you. Anything can happen within an hour.

Beer after beer, you watch him treat you like the invisible man, and give her every ounce of his fake ass adoration. What’s it like living a double life? What’s it like pretending? Even his smile is falling, exhausted from pretending, but his brave face is strong. Your friends’ eyes exchange awkward glances the more she yakked on about absolutely nothing. Fuck she’s so boring, and phony. Phony ass couple. Each time you slammed down an empty bottle, another, full and uncapped, gets slammed down right behind it. Go on. Drink. Unravel because none of this shit matters. By the end of this charade, he’ll be texting you, asking if he can come spend the night with you. Not her.

“Hey can I talk to you for a bit?”

Jumping up in your seat, startled, she caught you completely lost in your thoughts, looking back at her with a confused brow.

“Sure?” You blink but unmoved so she takes an empty seat beside you with this unnerving smirk you’d love to slap off her stupid face.

“Look, I really just want to thank you for taking care of Chris.” She starts, almost placing her hand on your shoulder but your angered brow advised her against that. “You know, being there for him through everything. You’re a really good friend. I think you should know that.”

Of course you know that! And you didn’t need her bitch ass to tell you that! Clearing the animosity from your knotted throat, you shoot her a stale grin and choke, “my pleasure.” Because what the actual fuck are you supposed to say to any of that. She can go, her validation is hardly needed. Unfortunately for you, that’s not the end of her speech.

“We’re both really grateful to have you in his life.” Your brow pinches. “You keep him…occupied when I can’t. And I love you for that.”

Bri and Chris observe you two from their respected corners, wondering what she’s saying to have you frowned up like that. Ready to run interference just in case she jumps stupid or something.

You almost fix your mouth to ask her what she means by all that bullshit she just spouted off but you reconsider. She loves you for what exactly? Keeping him occupied? Like you’re his fuckin baby sitter or something? Is she serious? You really wanted to ask but you also didn’t want to have an actual conversation with her. You have no clue what to say…so she takes your dumbfounded silence as an opportunity to expand. Totally blindsiding you.

“I know y’all are hooking up.” The noise of the bar fades away. “I mean…I sorta encouraged it, ya know?” No you didn’t fuckin know! Your skin’s aflame with embarrassment and rage. “Sometimes I just need him from underneath me. So thank you.”

Her smile’s so joyful, like she really meant her gratitude towards you but in the back of your mind, she’s lowkey mocking you? Is this bitch mocking you?! No words. No thoughts. Stupefied. Is your hour up yet because you’ve got to get the fuck up out of here. Dropping your bottle back on the table, you’re up on your feet and booking it, unsure of where you’re going. You just had to get the fuck away from her stupid happy face. Chris stops Bri from getting up as he chases you out to the back patio, calling out to you when you’re both safe in the warm night air.

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on? What did she say?”

Spinning around to face him, you almost collide into his broad chest but you hold steady, pointing a sharp finger up at his nose. “What’d she say?! Are you fuckin kidding me right now?!” You snatch your hand out of his face, pivoting to turn away but you stop yourself, “Did you know that was going to happen? Did you two plan to ambush me?!”

Chris is thrown by that word. “Ambush you?! What?! No I’d never do that to you. What’s going on. What did she say.”

“How does she know about us Chris?”

The question slaps him upside the head, slaps all the words right off his drying tongue. Face falling with the reality of what was happening, he can’t even process what you just asked. Why would she…

“She…she doesn’t…” Chris blinks but that’s uncertain. “She…she shouldn’t…” He looks just as stuck as you, trying to playback any memory where he may have let it slip but nothing. He wouldn’t just come out and tell her something like this, right?

“She pretty much just told me she does!” You didn’t know what to do with your hands flailing all around your head. Really you wanted to hit him but it’d be pointless with all that muscle. Maybe you should go back inside and fuckin hit her! Because seriously, what the hell was that?! You don’t know what to make of this fuck shit. Chris didn’t know what to say, really hates to see you so upset so he goes to give you a hug but you push yourself out of his reach. You don’t want his comfort. “I’m—I’m so…I don’t know…embarrassed? Pissed off…like…what the actual fuck dude?!” You’re so mad you pace, not to be near him.

“I’m so sorry baby…” Sorry? Really? “I had no clue, seriously, I’m just as shocked as you are…”

How the fuck could he not have known that his girlfriend was going to drop this atomic bomb in your fuckin lap?! There’s no way that’s possible; they have had to talked about you and him before, had to have been asking questions because there’s no way this bitch was just holding onto a secret like this for so long. But then again she’s weird enough come up with a plan like this. And with the way he’d been acting all night? Something was up.

“Then why the fuck have you been treating me like shit?!” You shout with every ounce of negative energy brewing in the pit of your stomach, blowing Chris absolutely away with the sheer volume of your voice.

Thankfully the patio is empty. You and Chris shouting back and forth like this would definitely draw a crowd. Glaring each other down, huffing frustrated breaths into each other’s faces. Teetering between wanting to punch him or kiss him. This is what it’s like every time you guys fight.

“You know what I have to do to keep her in the dark.” His tone has dropped substantially, some of the fire extinguishing in the center of his beautiful eyes. “She was never supposed to find out.”

Shit maybe she was. Maybe this is what you needed to get the fuck out of this situationship because now it’s just creepy. She encouraged it? She loves you for it? The fuck kind of shit is that to say to someone who is fucking your boyfriend on the regular?! Behind all the beers and the overanalyzing you can’t think straight. You’re so done. Just…fuck this.

“Well you know what Chris, looks like you don’t have to do that anymore.” Hearing your exhausted tone has Chris panicked, afraid he’s about to hear exactly what he should expect after what she did. He’s starting to wonder if she did it on purpose. You refuse to look at him, just so upset with yourself for being so foolish. “And quite frankly, I don’t have to do this anymore either.”

Chris tuts with an annoyed brow. “No, c’mon, don’t do this.”

But you got to. For real this time. “She knows Chris…” How were you supposed to carry on with this knowledge. “We can’t. I fuckin can’t.”

It really should have hurt to say the words but you’re too numb, too fucked up to feel anything other than utter confusion. You’re officially out of time. This hour has to be up. Fuck how he feels, hitting you with them wide sad eyes you can’t look into because he’ll win if you do. You are legit completely crumbling internally and you’d rather him or his dumbass girlfriend not be a witness to this breakdown.

“Please…please don’t…” You have to ignore him as you head for the exit, snatching your hand and arm away from his reach. “Don’t end us like this.”

“Handle your shit Chris…” You toss a dismissive hand back over your shoulder, refusing to look back. You need to be strong this time around. You have to be, no matter how bad walking away is tearing you up inside. Already sniffling, blinking back tears of frustration and heartbreak, you pull out your phone to text Bri that you’re done. Done for the night and done with Chris’s bullshit.

But it’s not that easy. He never let’s it be easy for you to be done with him. Doesn’t even text or call, just appears at your door a few hours later with those glossy dazzling blue eyes, red and puffy, asking you to let him in. Yours, just as red and swollen, avoids looking directly at him, still trying to keep up the act that you’re done. But you can’t help but love that he came crawling back to you anyways. Sick little ego trip.

“Why are you here?” You hold tightens around the doorknob as you keep your gaze down at your bare feet.

Chris sniffles his pink nose, “I had to come see you…”

You can’t tell if that twinge in your chest is from ache or want, asking with a sad shrug, “For what.”

All he wanted was for you to look at him. “To make sure we’re okay.”

A weak smirk twitches over your frowned lips. “We’re so far from okay Chris. You know that…”

He’s trying to wait for you to invite him in, but when he sees a tear fall down your cheek, he shoves his way in, gathering you up in his big arms as he swings the door close. Holding you so close to his chest, your feeble cries are muffled into his shirt, slipping your trembling hands across his upper back. You can’t help it, and it’s the reason why you’ve been avoiding his touch anyway. He feels too good, too secure even when he’s the source of all your pain and confusion.

“Don’t cry. I hate when you cry.”

You hate how concerned he sounds. You bury your crying eyes deeper into his shirt, transferring your hot tears to his skin through the cotton. You hated how much you wanted him. Even right now…there’s no one else in the world you want to console you.

“Then stop making me cry.”

You both squeeze at each other, your soft sobs and his sniffles sound in the quiet space of your entry. Chris nuzzles his cheek against the side of your hair, working to suppress his own tears but it’s hard to hear you be so upset. Your heartbreaking whimpers shred his heart up but this is all his fault.

“I’m not trying to. I…I’m just as confused as you are baby trust me…”

“But…” you wipe your nose on his shirt before you lift your chin to show him all the pain you feel right now, how all the tears flow from your puffy eyelids, “this isn’t fair Chris…”

Brushing away a tear that slides down the slope of your nose, he agrees, shedding a few tears of his own. “Yeah. Yeah I know it’s just…”

Y’all can’t let each other go.

But you really had to try this time. For your sanity.

Closing your eyes, you breathe through a quake of emotions rattling in you heaving chest. Chris’s firm hold on your burning flesh makes you want to cry harder, his heavy shaky sighs—god this is too fuckin much. His twitchy thumb wipes away your drying salty trails. Chris is always so fuckin sweet and attentive in everything he does, but it was worse in the way he could just touch you. Made you so fuckin weak. Made you hurt even more.

“We have to. I can’t…it hurts too much…” your hand cradles his still clutching your quivering jaw. “This hurts too much Chris. I love you too hard and I just can’t—,” You take a big bite of your tingling bottom lip, your vision of his piercing sad eyes blurring, “I can’t carry on like this. This is fuckin torture.”

You can’t hold back this bout of oncoming tears if you tried. Just reflecting back on all the years you’ve been stuck in the exact same position with him…

“It’s not easy for me either baby please stop…”

Chris holds your wet cheeks with both big hands now, your fingers locked around his pulsing wrists. He’s do anything to take your pain away, to make you feel anything other than this. Fuck, the more you cry into his palms already soaked, the more Chris wanted to rip his own heart out and just hand it over. Let’s be real, you owned it, and you have for a long time but. Tired of seeing you such a blubbering mess, willing to do anything to get you to stop, he softly hushes you behind small kisses all over your damp face.

“Chris.” You huff, wishing you had the power to fight him off but you love the feeling behind each one. Suddenly your stumbling over your bare feet as Chris backs you up against the nearest wall, accomplishing what he set out to do. Your breath hitches for a different reason now. Hitting the wall with his extended arm first, his hips securely press you into the cool flat surface.

“No baby,” he whispers, lifting your chin so you can taste your tears off his pretty pink lips, “not yet…” A small sigh of relief leaves you as your lips lock with his, licking away your sadness just as he breaks away to say, “let me love you okay?”

Within a second, your legs are wrapped around his hips and his tongue is down your throat with a desperate whine. He can’t help but feel like…like this could be the last time he’d ever be this close to you so he had to feel you, taste you, hear you passionately yell out his name. Kissing so hard but slow, gripping your thighs with all his might. Your fingers slot all through his fluffy strands. The ache still so present in your chest but the more Chris pushes your lower back into the wall with those little hungry moans, the more it dulls. Just for a moment but you’ll take it. This is the problem. The addiction. It’s the passion, the raw emotions. This is the why.

“Fuck,” you whimper into his open mouth, trying to regain your senses after such a make out but you’re fading. “Don’t say that…”

“What.” His hand fiddles between your midsections, working to unsheathe himself, staring intently into your eyes still red but soften a little by lust. Reading the heartache, neither of you spoke a word, just listen to the movement of Chris manipulating his cock out and aiming the tip at the crotch of your shorts already moved to the side. Upon initial contact, your slit salivates anticipating his weight for she’s just as addicted to him as the rest of you. Just as you feel the tip slip its way inside, you bite back a rough groan, tightening your hold around his broad shoulders. It’s too easy, too perfect, the way he fills you up.

“Don’t say that you love me.” You’re gasping for air, fighting your eyes trying to roll back into your head once he’s all the way in. Keep your focus on his conflicted stare. His cock wildly throbbing against your walls spasming all around him pumping you. Using his mighty hold on your ass, he bounces you up and down his girth. Whimsically gazing up at you moan with each stroke. Really trying to etch this image into his memory because you’re so damn beautiful when he’s fuckin you.

“But I do…” but you reject him with a shake of your head, “I do love you baby. Hey.” You pop your burning lids back open. Breath completely stolen by his glossy baby blue eyes cutting you open. “You feel me yeah? Feel how much I love you?”

Chris can feel how much you love him. In the way you intently watch him, the way fist the neck of his shirt, the way your persistently dripping all down his cock.

“Yeah,” a sharp gasp interrupts; his dick aggressively nudges up against your spot, “yeah Chris I feel you.”

He kisses your chin, still effortlessly fucking his feelings inside your clenched walls. “Then you know…you know it’s you…”

But it’s not you, and that breaks you even further, pursing back a sob as the tears flow again. If it was you, this wouldn’t be so horribly sad. This wouldn’t feel like a fuckin breakup.

“You’re full shit.” You sputter behind a combination of moans and sobs, a brutal shudder quakes down your spine. How is it you when he’s never chosen you. “You’re lying.”

He can’t take another damning word, or how your tears pool on the edge of your pretty lashes so he takes your salty lips again. Frenching back all of your cries, digging his fingerprints further into your flesh, Chris grinds and rolls his hips, determined to prove himself to you. But it doesn’t matter how hard he fucks you or makes you cum. When he leaves here, he’s not breaking up with her. You know it. He knows it. His fluffy hair completely disfigured from your hands pulling his hair at the roots, loudly grunting into each other as he picks up the pace. Your locked legs shaking you’re so close and you’re thankful. God you love the shit out of him but you hate him for making you feel this fucked up. It really doesn’t matter. None of this. Grabbing two fistfuls of his hair you tear him away and sorrowfully shake your head. No more.

“Okay baby.” His words inflicted with his heartbreak Chris licks his pouty pink lips, clears the cries climbing up his throat. “Okay…”

You’re gonna miss him.

“I’m…I’m so sorry baby.” Chris kisses his favorite spot on your neck goodbye, lingering there because he loves your fragrance, loves the way you sigh his name each time. He’s going to miss your warmth. You’re so much warmer than her.

You hug him so close, smell his hair, his cologne. A chill prickles your skin. “Me too love. Fuck.” You’re so fuckin wet, ready to fall apart for him for the last time. The twister of memories and emotions spins your brain all around, absolute chaos intertwined with the euphoric bliss that’s about to take over your wrecked body. Tears of relief.

Chris can’t decipher what aches more: his heart or his cock that’s about to combust. It shouldn’t happen this way but he’ll take this depressing fuck over fighting with you. He’ll take whatever he can get because he deserves nothing. Doesn’t deserve you but deep down, he’s thankful that he did.

“Oh! Aw fuck…shit…I love…”

Just one more…

“Good god…Chris…I love you…”

Just one more moment…

when she says she doesn’t send nudes

Yes, Clark. I'll marry you.

—Lana Lang, Smallville, "Reckoning" (Erased Timeline)

Ana de Armas & Chris Evans gifs

Natalie Dormer icons 250x250

SAM REID as  Father Ignatius in Lambs of God (2019)

for @aemondtargeryen

Thank God she now has Sarah and Calliope or she would be easily swallowed, even the queen is distilling poison against her. Waiting for Sarah to highlight this jewel for her only son 🤭

upon his grace 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: friday!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You are summoned to the queen’s chambers shortly after your arrival. You come together with the other young ladies from courtyard in the corridor just before a set of painted doors. Within, Queen Margaret keeps court with her ladies, of whom you are to be one of. The thought alone has you devilishly unnerved. 

The guards in their livery greet you with dull eyes. The groom announces your purpose and receives little in return aside from the one soldier’s lazy reach to tap upon the door. He lifts the lever and eases a space between the wood. 

“Your highness, you’ve some ladies requesting an audience,” he drones through. 

There is some movement from within. A lady servant appears in her white cap and beckons you inward. You are further intimidated by the formality of it all. Marcia and Marigold rush ahead to be first and the three earls’ daughters from the White Plans take up their train. You glance over at Calliope and trail after her. 

The doors shut at your back and the lady maid retreats, her soles scuffing amid the murmur around you. You look around the skirts of the other debuts and see women in recline, others perched upon cushions and stools, all at leisure with needle, book, or frame. There is another at the window, sat between two ladies on the bench, the late afternoon breeze stirring the long waves that hang around her face, the rest of her chestnut hair twisted up behind her hood.  

The lady maid stands at the wall in deference, “your highness.” 

The brunette raises her chin and her eyes narrow at the lot of you. You can barely see much past the shoulders of the twins and the other ladies clustered closely in shared apprehension. Still, the twins stand tall and the other ladies hardly seem as wrought as you in the ceremony of it all. 

“The twins of...Mawsley, is it?” The queen declares, “yes, your father proved himself a valuable asset, didn’t he?” 

“Your highness,” the twins recite in unison and bow, “Marcia,” the first introduces herself, “Marigold, the second adds. 

“How keen,” the queen chimes, “you look as the same person. How amusing.” 

“Thank you, your highness,” the sisters chirp. 

“And those gowns, wonderful. I may have to ask after your tailor,” Queen Margaret preens, “and where is the Countess’ daughter? I recall I met you once when you were still a child.” 

Calliope steps dutifully, “my mother sends her regards.” 

“Oh, yes, that poor widow,” the queen bemoans, “she is ever steadfast despite her plight.” She takes pause as you sway to see her, “and the rest of you, forgive me, these last days have been a whirlwind and I’ve heard an endless slew of names one after another. 

“Lady Selene,” the very lady proclaims. 

“Lady Ameri,” she bows in quick succession. 

“Lady Dorida,” the last shows her courtesy in an elegant bend. 

As you come forward, the twins push their arms together as if to block you out with their sleeves. You sidle side to side and sweep around their skirts with an ungraceful stumble, “your highness,” you greet as if you have something stuck in your throat. You swallow before you can muster your own name and title. 

“Woodsdam,” the queen tilts her head and looks from the lady at her left shoulder to the one on her right, “I’ve never heard of it.” 

“Neither have I,” the leftmost agrees. 

“Farmland,” the right says. 

“Yes, your highness, my father is a farmer, but an earl as well,” you supply. 

“Mm,” the queen looks down her nose as her lips thin, “it appears the Woodsdam style is much... defined. I don’t think I’ve seen that style gown since my grandmother was still on earth.” 

You look down at your modest cotton. The square cut of your bodice is much different than the other ladies’ rounded collars. Your mother crafted the dress from pieces and the seams are tidy, yet it does lack a similar flair to the others around the chamber. You raise your eyes and keep your composure as best you can. 

“Many thanks, your highness.” 

The queen scoffs, “quaint, indeed.” She sits straighter though her posture is already unyieldingly staunch, “ladies, please acquaint yourself. And be certain to pay heed to these ladies who know well the ways of court. For all that’s changed in these past years, we will retain as ever our elegance and our etiquette.” 

You peer around, uncertain what comes next. A lady stands and calls to Calliope, “Lady, it is me, Gwendolyn, of the Spades. Near Clovers, you will know it?” 

Calliope accepts the initiation and there is a swift storm of voices swirling around the lot of you. You flutter hopefully that someone might think of Woodsdam or might’ve been to the waterfall near Aquil, not far from your father’s hold. The twins confer still with the queen and her ladies, trilling and giggling, as Serena and Dorida marvel over another ladies’ sewing frame, and Ameri is overly familiar with a lady swollen with child. 

You drift away from the centre of the chamber, trying not to draw unwarranted attention. It would do little for any to note your insignificance. You’ve all to soon faded into obscurity. No one cares for a farmer’s daughter. 

“Eh, do you read?” The question startles you and has you spinning to face its speaker. She looks as she sounds; squawkish. Birdlike. Her blond waves are woven with strands of silver and her hooked nose is not unbecoming. 

“Yes, lady, I do,” you answer, uncertain if she is genuine or she means it as jab. 

“Have you read Corswin? He wrote a fair tale about a shepherdess.” 

“I’ve not heard of him,” you recover your confidence at her interest. It is clear she humours you, that she is speaking to only keep you from floundering. 

“I must lend you a book or two,” she insists, “come sit with me. These old hens grow tiresome.” 

“Many thanks, my lady,” you accept and claim the stool next to her, shifting it closer. 

“Sarah,” she gives her name, “Woodsdam. I’ve never been. I hate the swamps.” 

“Oh,” you nod, “yes, it isn’t very swampy. Only in the rainy seasons but we get the sun.” 

“Mm, still, I’ve been down Ashton and I hated the place. My horses caught some sickness there,” she gripes, “perhaps though, your home is more pleasant. A woman old as me, though, I don’t venture far as it is.” She tuts and taps her oval nails on the book in her lap, “if my son wasn’t so foolish as to take up his sword, I’d still be in my library, hidden away from these chits.” 

You clasp your hands together and smile. She’s amicable and you wouldn’t want to bother too much. She flutters the pages of her book and huffs. You look around, sensing some intrigue from the other ladies though they do their best not to let their flitting eyes be caught. 

“All these birds know how to do is cloister themselves up like nuns,” she bemoans, “I’d as soon be out in the sunlight. If I were home, I’d be in my courtyard with a better book than this,” she wags the volume in agitation, “and you, lady? What is it you do on the farmstead? Chase hens?” 

“We have geese,” you say, “though they aren’t truly kept. They sort’ve linger around. And some cattle.” 

“It does sound rather bucolic, this must be all so drab to you, castle walls and dusty tapestries.” 

“Oh, it’s all so wonderful,” you expound. 

“It is?” She drawls tritely, “aren’t these ladies of ours so polite? The way they whisper about our hems and our titles. Don’t let yourself be fooled, though I suppose that should be as good a warning against myself. Ladies of the court are like crows; the like shiny things and the hold grudges, and sometimes, they needn’t even a reason to peck your eyes out.” 

You close your lips and swallow. Her tidings only underline the unwelcome forged in the queen’s introduction. All you might forgive is at least she seems genuine in her girding. You look down at your skirts and run your fingers down a crease. 

“The dress is not so hideous,” she assures gently, “some of the ladies do forget we did just fight a war. There are those without silks and without food in their bellies. They should weigh their fortune that they are still alive and well.” 

Your eyes meet and she looks a little less stony. She turns her head to the window and her gaze drifts into the distance. You follow them with a sense of solemnity. Again, you snare a few glances from the others. Many men died, women and children too. It wouldn’t do to care so much for what people think of your wardrobe. 

👑

Your first day at the castle ends in a fine supper of freshly baked bread, beef with gravy, and seasoned scallions, onions, and sweet herbs. It is not so hearty as your mother’s stew which you share as often with the servants nor so delicious. It’s a different sort of taste but not unpleasant. 

You retire at the queen’s behest. She declares she must see to her husband and several of the other ladies claim the same of their own. You rise and wait courteously to tail after other ladies, not wanting to get underfoot as you so often did on the farm. As you stand aside, Lady Sarah swats you with her book. 

Skirts swish against the rows of chairs and benches that line the long table. The dining chamber is set with the portrait of peregrine and similarly hawkish depictions woven into tapestry and tablecloth alike. Despite the uniform decor, the furniture is mismatched and the hews of wood and metal alternate with each piece. 

“Don’t fear the stampede, little calf, run with it,” she chides, “ah, I’ve decades upon these sows and they plod like heifers.” 

He uncouth words draw your surprise. She laughs at the look you send her and waves you off with the hardcover. She shoulders past you without pause. 

“One day you will see, it is better to speak the truth than let it shred up your soul,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Ah, naivete, how entertaining you are.” 

Her voice carries and you notice how the other women shy away from her. There’s a glint of deference to the tilt in their chins as they part for her like a like drawn in the sand with a stick. You wonder how she can be so bold and why the other might tolerate it. As Queen Margaret girded, you are to maintain propriety. Sarah seems to carry the same manners as any farmhand you’d known. 

You hurry to meet Calliope near the door as she departs. She seems the tamest of the lot thus far. Sharp-witted but not needlessly cruel. She turns her head slightly in acknowledgement of your presence. 

“There you are,” she mutters. 

“Did you enjoy the afternoon?” You ask brightly. 

“Enjoy? I tempered it,” she retorts, “I’ve the measure of most ladies.” 

“The measure? They were all quite friendly.” 

“You are too friendly,” she admonishes, “this is court, you cannot be so simple. Each lady is attached to a lord, thus they work upon his purposes. Her ears are always listening, eyes always seeing.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You represent your father and though mine may be in the ground, I carry his mantle all the same. We are our houses, not ourselves here,” she keeps her voice low and slows markedly to keep away from the others, “you should count yourself fortunate for my wise counsel, lady, for no other would give it.” 

You chew on her words, tasting their bitterness, “so why do you, Lady Calliope?” 

“For I despise those twins and I know they aren’t so keen on you,” she sighs, “and I saw you as any other did with the dowager.” 

“The dowager?” You echo. 

“The king’s mother, Lady Sarah,” she sends you a sharp look, “don’t tell me you didn’t realise?” 

“Oh? No? She spoke of books and her gardens, she didn’t mention...” you peter off and snap your mouth shut. But she had, she did say her son ran off to war. “Oh!” 

“Oh! Indeed,” Calliope mocks and shakes her head. “Look, I’ve not the patience for these women, but you’re not so bad. You don’t speak without meaning. Shall we be companions?” 

“Pardon?” You let your surprise bleed through. 

“I need at least one person I might stomach, how about you? I don’t think the others are so eager to be friends. Marcia did say how you look like a peasant.” 

“She did?” You frown. 

“Hm, you need me,” she insists, “you can’t let yourself be so whimsical. Never mind what they say or think. What do they care so much for anyhow? They are a duke’s daughters, they will do well enough.” 

You carry on next to her. You feel as if you’re being pulled in all different directions though all tell you just the same. Be wary 

Captain Marvel, dir. Anna Boden, Ryan Fleck // 2019