I’d Imagine This Is What The Dress Looks Like! And Cait!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 Love It

the boston brute series: pt. 6 (don’t give up on me)

The Boston Brute Series: Pt. 6 - Don’t Give Up On Me

Pairing: NHL!Chris Evans x Athletic Trainer!Reader (female character)

Summary: When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your employee contract, you’re drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.

Warnings:  Crude language. Chris is an asshole. Somewhat toxic relationship/situation. Lots of Angst, neglect from the previous part is mentioned in this one, too. (18+, please. Minors will be blocked.) Mentions of violence, Chris being hit. The reader is cornered and made uncomfortable by someone in her hotel room. Forced Proximity with Chris. Please do not read this series if you are not a fan of asshole Chris or fics with a lot of angst.  As always, let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: all I can say is… emotional damage…

W/C: 9.8k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the NHL or with its players. Additionally, I talk about Chris’s family in this fic. Again, work of fiction and is no reflection of his parents or grandparents in real life.

likes, reblogs, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated! ❤

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time-for-a-lullaby masterlist

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*Chris POV*

Thursday Night:

“Bro, what the fuck?!” Connor yelled after Chris, jogging to catch up with him after you’d quite literally shoved him out of your house. His track record for leaving your house peacefully wasn’t looking good. 

Chris didn’t blame you, though. He deserved it. 

But he saw the look on your face when he told you you were beautiful and he panicked. He had been honest with you, though. Chris thought about you constantly. All-day, every day. His thoughts revolved around you, which scared the living fuck out of him. It’s the whole reason he’d kept his distance this week. The two of you didn’t really even know each other that well and the way he felt about you, the protectiveness and the want, scared him. 

It was no secret that he’s gotten around. He’s hooked up with his fair share of women, some more than once. But he’s never felt this desperate for someone before. 

He’s never ached to touch someone like he ached to hold you. 

No one’s smile has even made his stomach flip like yours does. 

It was confusing for him. 

He’d never had an example of what love or healthy relationships should look like and even though he craved that with you, he knew he could never have it. He didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve a relationship that would be doomed from the start. You deserve someone who could treat you like you were meant to be treated. Someone who worshipped you. Not that Chris wouldn’t, per se, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how deeply he could fall, he knew that he would always do something to fuck it up.

“Chris, bro. Stop!” Connor reached out, grabbing Chris’s bicep and pulling him to a stop. “What the fuck happened?”

Keep reading

This chapter @time-for-a-lullaby has all the feelings! You hit it out of the park! Or technically made a goal with this chapter!!!

the boston brute series: pt. 7 (maleficent)

The Boston Brute Series: Pt. 7 - Maleficent

Pairing: NHL!Chris Evans x Athletic Trainer!Reader (female character)

Summary: When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your employee contract, you’re drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.

Warnings:  Crude language. Chris is an asshole. Somewhat toxic relationship/situation. Lots of Angst, neglect from the previous part is mentioned in this one, too. (18+, please. Minors will be blocked.) Mentions of violence. I did write something about the reader not eating very well due to stress. Please do not read this series if you are not a fan of asshole Chris or fics with a lot of angst. As always, let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: I finished this like 2 minutes ago lmao please expect grammatical errors also, shout out to @blizzspeaks​ and @tis-thedamn-season​ for letting me bounce ideas off of you constantly hahaha i love and appreciate you more than you know!

W/C: 7.7k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the NHL or with its players. Additionally, I talk about Chris’s family in this fic. Again, work of fiction and is no reflection of his parents or grandparents in real life.

likes, reblogs, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated! ❤

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time-for-a-lullaby masterlist

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Monday:

It’s been 2 weeks. 

2 weeks since you walked out of Chris’s hotel room, his soft plea echoed through your mind constantly. For 14 days, you’ve heard Chris in your head telling you not to give up on him. You weren’t sleeping well, your appetite was nonexistent. You were taking this harder than your breakup with Dean. 

Thankfully, 2 weeks is also the recommended recovery time for concussions. So while you were traveling with the team for the majority of the 14 days, Chris was home and recovering and you didn’t have to face him every single day. 

Unfortunately, Connor was traveling with the team after being cleared to play. So every day, you were asked with a sad smile how you were feeling and what he could do to help. While you did appreciate it on some level, it was also starting to drive you crazy. 

Which is exactly what got you to where you were now. 

You’d gotten home late last night and promised yourself that the second you landed in Boston, you wouldn’t let Chris bring you down anymore. 

So here you were at 6:30 on a Monday morning, standing in front of your full-length mirror in workout clothes, getting ready to go on a run. It was the first week in October, so you paired your workout leggings with a Bruins dri-fit quarter zip to keep warm, then threw on a pair of tennis shoes, grabbed your phone and AirPods, and headed downstairs. 

Running has always been your favorite way to clear your head. After your break up with Dean, you ran 3 days a week for almost a year. Rain, sleet, snow, heat, or freezing cold. Concentrating on not passing out while you gasp for breath did a pretty good job at distracting you from your thoughts of asshole men who didn’t deserve you. 

You trotted down the stairs, rolling your eyes when you saw Connor standing in the kitchen shirtless. “Jesus, do you live here now?” 

He smirked, standing up from his bent-over position in the fridge and drinking OJ straight out of the container. 

“Gah! Connor!” You walked over and snatched the carton from him. “You’re disgusting.” 

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I am so excited about this new story by Cait!

out of left field - series masterlist

Out of Left Field

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans x Best Friend!Reader (female character)

Summary: After 29 years of friendship with Chris, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. When he finds himself in the midst of a PR nightmare at the same time your ex-boyfriend starts lurking around every corner, you enter into a mutually beneficial, strictly PR relationship to save his career and keep your ex away. But the lines begin to blur and lies get told, both you and Chris realizing you might’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Will you make it out unscathed or will you and Chris be just another PR relationship that ends in heartbreak and humiliation? 

A/N: This series will more than likely have smut, 18+ only please! I’m so excited for you guys to read this series, I just had to make the masterlist! Also, yes, you read it right haha. There is a week gap between Part 3 and 4. We are closing on our house and beginning our move, so I wanted to give myself time in case I happen to fall behind on writing! 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the MLB or with its players or with Chris in real life. 

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

I no longer have a taglist! Please head over to @time-for-a-library​ and turn on notifications!

Part 1 - This Is Bad (Monday, August 1)

Part 2 - I Can’t Do This Without You (Monday, August 8)

Part 3 - Target Practice (Monday, August 15)

Part 4 - Stu (Monday, August 29) 

Part 5 - Now or Never (Monday, September 5)

Part 6 - Jealousy Looks Good On You (Monday, September 12)

(there will be more parts, this is just what I have completed and titled) 

the boston brute series drabble: unchained melody

The Boston Brute Series Drabble: Unchained Melody 

Pairing: NHL!Chris Evans x Athletic Trainer!Reader (female character)

Summary: When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your employee contract, you’re drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.

Warnings: TOOTHACHING SWEETNESS. FLUFF. FLUFFITY FLUFF. Language. (This series still has smut, minors DNI. 18+ Only)

A/N: It’s starttinngggg (as in the drabbles lol)! I had someone write in about dancing with Chris and I knew I just needed to write about it! Sorry it wasn’t the song you suggested, but I just felt like this was perfffff

Link To Song: Unchained Melody - The Righteous Brothers

W/C: 707

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the NHL or with its players. Additionally, I talk about Chris’s family in this fic. Again, work of fiction and is no reflection of his parents or grandparents in real life.

likes, reblogs, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated! ❤

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time-for-a-lullaby masterlist

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Your fingers trailed the soft, worn cardboard of  Chris’s vinyl collection. He never struck you as the kind of person who… collected things. Much less records. But here you stood, in his living room staring at a very impressive collection of classic records. 

Chris stood in the kitchen, a white dish towel slung over his left shoulder as he stirred something in a pot on the stove. “See anything you like?” 

You raised an eyebrow suggestively, knowing he meant the records, but the laugh your stupid joke elicited was worth it. Smiling, you turned back to the shelf. “A few. This is… wow. I mean, Elvis, The Temptations, Etta James, Nat King Cole. I can’t even imagine how much this collection must’ve cost.” 

“A lot of them came from my grandparents. Neither of them wanted them after the divorce… So, I took them. They remind me of my childhood.”

This Chris was your favorite. The real Chris. The one who relaxed and smiled and told you about his childhood. The Chris that made you believe the Boston Brute was just a figment of everyone’s imagination. 

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Safety Captain (1)

lifeguard!Steve Rogers x vacationer!Reader (see series)

Summary: A very sexy man shows up at a very unsexy moment during your vacation.

Warnings for mild language, other guests being as thirsty as Reader, and a vague injury/danger. WC 1945

Written for @bigtreefest's Summer Lovin' 300 follower celebration (I'm very late tho 🥲), using the prompts “it hurts when I ___” “then stop doing that” and pool/resort/hotel. There will be a few small parts to this with eventual smut; this is just the meet-cute sorta.

If you consider drowning a peaceful and relaxing experience, then your trip’s going splendidly.

Water hitting your lungs stings much worse than sunscreen in your eyes, but the shock makes you gasp anyway. Your skin feels pressure everywhere. You don’t know which way is up. The world is bright and blue and shimmering until an arm encircles and yanks you backward by your chest—your bare chest, you realize, since the cups on your bathing suit top flipped when you hit the the pool at such a steep angle.

Once at the surface, a gift and a curse greets you, garbled hum replaced by a solid slap of screaming, the blare of whistles. Light burns, water burns, air burns.

Oh yes, this is going swimmingly.

You struggle to get enough fresh hell anyway, coughing out water, air stinging worse. Your limbs contract to fight the pain, but the wall of muscle behind you is unyielding.

“Out of the way,” a deep voice shouts close to your ear. “Buck, make me some room. Get them back.”

He—whoever he is holding you so firmly and safely—moves you to the shallow end’s stairs with heaving strokes, and just when he releases your body to lift you out of the water, he quickly flicks the front of your suit back into place.

Bless you, kind sir. You’re in love…

…or maybe that’s the hypoxia.

Unceremoniously hauled to solid ground, you continue to sputter.

“It’s alright. I got ya. Breathe for me. That’s good.”

Your sunglasses are gone, so you squint up in his shadow to see nothing but a halo of dripping gold hair. Then your eyes adjust. You see him.

Suddenly, the world is bright and blue and shimmering again, all contained in the stare of your sweet savior.

When he smiles, well, you need even more air to recover.

You’re on your side until he’s sure all the water is out of you, until his hands help you sit up, looky-lous everywhere being herded farther off by two more lifeguards and some resort security.

“The boys…” you rasp out.

“Everyone’s okay,” he rushes, rubbing your back, warm and slick against your wet skin. “You don’t have to talk yet. Take it easy.”

You still feel compelled to explain.

“The—they were teasing him—“ you point to the chubbier kid in your group, the poor thing cowering by your lounge chair headquarters for the morning “—and I tried to stop them.”

“I know, shhh, I saw. Just breathe slowly.”

“Don’t like bullies,” you cough out anyway.

The lifeguard at your side grins from ear to ear, quickly interrupted by a girl shoving your sunglasses in his face.

“I found these,” she announces, elated. “I thought it was important since you were so brave, saving someone who fell in.”

You didn’t fall; you were pushed. There’s a difference.

The lifeguard’s smile turns tight, but he gestures for the girl to hand them over to their rightful owner. She continues to stare with huge, bambi eyes.

Politely, he takes them from her and clears of his throat.

“Thank you. Now step back please.”

Her disappointment is palpable before his blue gaze returns to you. As he asks if you’re ready to move, his palm lands on your lower back and stays there supportively.

The best you can do is shift your legs beneath each other and then hiss, “it hurts when I put weight on this leg. I think I twisted my ankle on the way down.”

“Then stop doing that,” he chuckles, swooping to get his arms under you and carry you to your lounger—the right one, immediately, as if he saw the boys fighting but knew exactly where you were before then, too.

The stout little thirteen-year-old who’d been picked on steps up to you with guilty eyes. He’s one of your charges today while the other adults all drink at the swim-up bar.

“I’m sorry they—“

“It’s fine,” you croak.

“—but they wouldn’t stop, and I told them to—“

“Hey, hey,” your lifeguard whispers, deflating the boy’s panic, “she’s gonna be okay. Just a little banged up, but we got the best of the best coming to help.”

Shamefully, the boy’s eyes turn down. “Sorry they called you a ‘bitch.’”

Great. Yeah. That needed to be repeated.

“Don’t worry about it. Can you go grab your cousin and—“ a brief wheeze overtakes you “—the girls and bring everyone back here so I know where you all are? Just a real quick check-in.”

He nods and runs off, almost plowing into a woman heading straight for you.

“Ah, your nurse has arrived.” The handsome, dripping wet man sitting with a hand still on your knee beams. “The best of the best, as promised.”

The older blonde lady purses her lips and rolls her eyes, ticking her head to the side. “Scoot, Steven. Let me have a look.”

He—Steven, apparently—rambles off what happened and what you mentioned hurt, standing out of the blonde’s way, but leaning over her shoulder, hovering while she manipulates your ankle.

“Thank you, darling.” She looks up pointedly. “I’ve got it from here,” she says, turning back to you. “I’m Sarah, dear. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

“I’m Steve,” your lifeguard interjects as he backs away. “Glad you’re alright, Miss…?”

You introduce yourself in return. “Thanks for…um…” You glance down and tug at the front of your swim suit, remembering that this man might have already seen and touched your breasts. “Thank you,” you finish weakly, voice hoarse.

Steve beams again before Sarah swats him away.

While she wraps your ankle and anchors a bag of ice to it, you scan the guard towers to realize all three of the guys on duty are ripped, but Steve is…well, he’s something else.

“God, he’s gorgeous,” you sigh aloud without realizing.

Sarah snorts, muttering, “he gets that a lot.”

You smile, thinking it’s probably no secret that the cute guy gets around. “Bit of a man whore, is he?” you joke.

The nurse looks up at you sternly. “I should hope not! I raised him better than that.”

Shit.

Your face drops, a harsh and painful swallow globs down your throat, and you…just objectified that poor man to his mother who he so sweetly called ‘the best of the best.’

Is drowning totally off the table, or can you revisit that?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I—I just meant—“

She squeezes your hand, putting you out of your misery.

“It’s fine, dear. He is handsome, and I suppose there’s no harm in looking.” She packs away the last of her gear only to catch Steve’s eye across the pool.

He waves in your direction.

Sarah chuckles but doesn’t wave back. You put a quick hand up and mouth ‘thank you’ even though he probably can’t see that part.

“Well,” the nurse adds, “seems you aren’t the only one looking.”

Having one foot twice the size of the other can work. You can make it work. You’ll just camp out on a beach towel farther up the shore, no problem. The whole party is together today, day three of seven, so the good news is that you aren’t responsible for anyone. Also, your foot is only that size due to bandaging and not because it’s that swollen. Still hurts though.

In addition to a wicked limp, you need a relatively hard surface to sit on or stand up from. You end up on the rim of damp sand, wriggling to get comfortable. You try laying on your side, propped up on a bent arm. You try your stomach. You’re about try your back, reaching for one of the kids’ towels to roll up as a pillow when you notice a group playing volleyball.

Must be fun to, like, walk and stuff.

You sigh.

It’s fine. You are lucky enough to be on this trip in the first place, your ticket paid for by all the parents combined (with the agreement you’ll help wrangle the younglings for periods while the moms and dads do adult activities). The ‘job’ is a wildly fair trade since the families only split so far was the pool yesterday.

Is that…is one of the volleyball players waving at you?

You look over your shoulder, but there’s only the rest of your group, splashing and running through the surf. No one is facing you or the game.

As you turn back, starting to raise your hand, you see the golden glow of the player’s hair and think that sure resembles the lifeguard, Steve, from—

The guy waving at you gets hit, hard, by a spiked ball and stumbles back. Some commotion rumbles through the group, but you can’t hear specifics.

Shit, that is definitely Steve, son of Sarah, employee of the pool, jogging toward you. Are your tits covered?

You awkwardly pull yourself upright, shielding your eyes from the partially-overcast, bright sky, and smile.

“Hey,” Steve chirps, “thought that was you.” He is, again, in naught but board shorts and beauty.

“Yup, living the dream.”

He ignores your sarcasm and asks how your ankle feels (“meh”), if it’s messed with your plans so far (“had to bow out of zip lining this morning”), and if he might be welcome to sit with you for a while.

You blink a few times in shock behind dark sunglasses. “Won’t your friends…?”

He shakes his head, hair falling into his face, and drops down to the sand.

“I don’t see why not,” you say after he’s made himself comfortable.

When the littlest girl from your group comes shrieking over, bucket and scoop in her hands, you’re about to apologize for the interruption, but Steve immediately offers to help her build the castle of a lifetime.

He is sure to warn her to be careful around your foot.

This time, when you mouth ‘thank you,’ he sees it and returns another beaming grin.

Alright, perhaps vacation is looking up.

Steve is…very, very good at strategizing the sandcastle. After the first ‘tower’ goes up, the other kids get involved. Before you know it, the parents are all behind you gushing over how good your friend is with them.

"Handsome, too."

"Lots of energy."

"‘Bout your age, isn’t he?"

They aren’t quiet enough to not be heard which is clearly the point once the mother of bucket girl shouts out that Steve should join you all for dinner.

Oh, sweet holy—

“Not sure I wanna dive into your family time, ma’am,” he says politely, encouraging some water be brought up for the moat they’ve just dug.

“Then you should take our lovely girl here out. Show her more of the island.”

You glare daggers at the other woman who just chimed in.

“I can’t walk,” you bite out. “Where am I gonna go?”

Steve clears his throat to get your attention. “They line food trucks over on the west road until late, and…” his lip pinches to the side “…I can carry you.”

One of the dads darkly drawls, “like a fucking princess,” and you hear a sharp slap from his wife in annoyance.

Steve’s gaze remains locked on yours as the parents erupt in obvious innuendo.

“Could be fun,” he admits, only loud enough for you. “How about it? Getting hungry?”

All you manage is a nod before a bucket of water is tossed on Steve, and he chases the culprit down the beach and into the clear blue sea.

You’ll have to wait until the ‘monster’ is vanquished by the ecstatic children jumping to take down the big, strong man you, apparently, have a date with.

[Next Chapter]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Apologies that this isn't the whole dang thing. With how long everything has been taking me to write, I was afraid it wouldn't even be summer anymore, and if there is even a small chance that posting this will light a fire under me to finish, I am willing to try.

Fixer Upper - Mechanic!Curtis AU Masterlist

A/N: Here is the masterlist for the Mechanic!Curtis AU! This won’t be a full series, but a collection of interlinking oneshots, drabbles etc as and when I think of them!

They won’t be posted in chronological order but the Masterlist will be!

If there’s a scene you want to see let me know by sending me an ask!

Warnings will be tagged in each part!

Saving Dougie

Change The Oil

IS THAT AN AXE?!

Open Mic Night

Grow A Pair

F*ck Him

Drinks Maybe?

The First Date

Glowing Review

Titles

Come Closer

The Worst Kind Of People

The Grinch

Fiddling Fingers

Glasses Are Sexy

Newest Crewmate

The End Of The Road

A Long Day

Headcanons/Extras

What does Curtis drive?

Happy Valentine’s Sweetheart

aXe’s & O(rgasm)’s (2/?)

Pairings: collegehockeyplayer!Curtis ‘The Axe’ Everett x female reader

Warnings: dark themes- TRIGGER WARNING- male violence towards female!reader- semi graphic- blood is mentioned but not described in detail, derogatory language towards female!reader, unrequited love interest, enemies to lovers- kinda, bar scene, talk of blood, unrequited sexual advances (male towards female- groping over the clothes), TRIGGER WARNING- dub con-ish - in the form of threatening reader with forced sexual acts, talk of Curtis using physical aggression, Curtis using physical aggression towards a male, angry Curtis, grumpy Curtis, head strong reader, slight size kink- Curtis is 6’4 and strong- no description for reader but she can also be plus size as Curtis is a big strong guy, explicit language, explicit sexual content- smut, non graphic creepy peeping tom, praise kink (must be 18+)

Please let me know if I missed any warnings!

Word Count: 6.4K

A/N: I had a lot of help with this one- from spitballing, hand holding and beta reading I have @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @sconnie-doesnt-know and a dear friend no longer on tumblr to thank! Not sure what I would do without you 3- this one was a true labor of love and I’m not really sure why Curtis’ storyline fights me at every turn! So, thank you for putting up with my crazy writing process or sending you a draft and then sending you another draft… I fought myself on sending a third draft so I wouldn’t get disowned. Thank you ❤️

All mistakes are my own. Also, if this is trash- I don’t want to know!

The Axe x chickadee: hockey AU

Lucky Charms: hockey AU

The door was heavier than you expected, having to exert more force than anticipated to push into the dank and dimly lit bar.

In all honesty, you'd never been here before, but since your dress- freshly pressed and stain free-showed up on the front desk of the Boys and Girls Club with no sign of Curtis the entire week, here you were... Schydes.

It never dawned on you that Curtis would skip his community service hours for the week. Could he even do that?

But foolishly, you never got Curtis' number and the thought of calling his family's gym made your stomach knot and your skin run cold.

When your anxiety finally got the better of you by midweek, you reluctantly asked your supervisor for Curtis' number. She had been kind enough, not giving you a hard time as she flashed you that all knowing look. But In the end she reminded you gently that she couldn't divulge his personal information without his consent.

So you started with his family's boxing gym after your late shift ended over an hour ago. Curtis' Mom greeted you with a smile when you found her at the front desk. Jane tried to encourage you to come back another day, but you wouldn't listen- and as much as Jane didn't want to admit it- part of her loved you for that.

"Curtis is busy, sweetheart" Jane smiled at you, "he's running errands for his old man."

But something about the way she was avoiding eye contact and busying herself with rearranging membership pamphlets made you think she wasn't telling you the truth.

When you perched yourself on an old dusty loveseat at the front of the gym, smoothing your clean white dress into place and picking up a dog eared magazine, Jane knew that you didn't plan on going anywhere until you saw her son.

Schydes- known to most as "that biker bar across the tracks"- was a place most wouldn't dare to go. Especially not a sweet thing like you. But when Jane let it slip that Curtis was at the bar, you thanked her with a smile you couldn't hide and promptly left.

Getting your first glimpse as you pushed into the bar, you swallowed hard around the lump in your throat, trying to appear confident while your heart hammered wildly in your chest.

The bouncer at the door lazily glanced in your direction, never really carding anyone since the regulars were the biker gang and a handful of old locals that dared frequenting the place.

But when the bouncer noticed you -definitely not a regular in your crisp white dress- his lips curled into a sneer. His gaze racked over you in your sweet little fluttery number- more suited for frolicking in a field of flowers then patron-ing a bar that hadn't been cleaned properly since god-knows-when. This was gonna be fun.

You ignored the bouncer's whistling for the bartender's attention, focusing solely on your mission- to find Curtis. All eyes were on you, the ill-fitting stranger, as you scanned a handful of mean faces glaring back at you. Taking a deep breath, you slowly made your way further into the lion's den- a place you had no business being.

"H-hi... I'm looking for..." you started, but your words trailed off when the bartender took one look at you before turning back to another patron at the bar. The bartender proceeded to ignore you, refusing to give you the time of day but grunting in your direction so his friend could turn and mean mug you.

You weren't wanted here.

"Hi, sugar" a voice crooned in your ear, so close his breath made goose flesh prickle across your skin.

Spinning on your heels you saw the frame of a large man looming over you, his build muscular in his tight short sleeve button up with a vintage looking geometric pattern. He sneered down at you with long stringy hair and glasses too large for his face. His mustache was outdated and porn-industry-esqe and he smelled of something reminiscent of your Grandpa... cloves, maybe?

"You lost, sugar?" the man clicked his tongue against his teeth, letting his gaze drop as he drank in every soft curve of your body with a filthy and audible groan, "you definitely don't belong here..." his voice was deep, tone patronizing and his eyes blazed with something sinister as he took a step towards you. You mirrored his step backwards, chirping when you accidentally bumped into someone behind you.

You gasped when you looked up to see an equally menacing character, a cigarette hanging from his lips. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a deep scar across his face and he was wearing a worn leather jacket. In the dark bar you couldn't quite make out the patch sewn into the chest of his jacket as your heart kicked against your ribcage.

"Who's this?" leather jacket snarled, almost spitting when he talked before looking up at the man standing behind you, "we don't do business at the bar... she can find a dealer on campus... get her the fuck outta here..."

"You hear that, sugar tits" the man with stringy hair laughed, "he doesn't got what you're looking for... but I got all you need right here..." your mouth went dry when he grabbed the bulge in his pants making a vulgar show of his girth.

"I'm not..." you hiccuped, "I'm looking for a friend" you frowned, surprised that you somehow manage to keep from gagging as his vulgarity made your stomach churn.

"A friend?" stringy hair barked a mean laugh as leather jacket glowered down at you. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat while looking around. You noticed that half the bar's customers were still watching you intently.

"Get the fuck outta here" leather jacket grunted, snubbing out his cigarette and turning to walk away.

"M-my friend..." you persisted, "I'm supposed to meet him here... he's ahhhh..." you looked around, desperately searching for Curtis but coming up short.

"I'll be your friend, sugar tits" someone hollered and the bar filled with snickers as a bead of sweat rolled down between your shoulder blades, stick uncomfortably to your dress in the unseasonable heat.

The man with stringy hair took another suffocating step towards you as a wave of nausea lapped at your stomach. Your hand shot up, palm pressed firmly into his chest to keep him at bay when you started feeling a little light headed. Your flight-or-fight response prickling to life.

With your mind racing towards full blown panic, you were pulled back to the present when a sliver of light at the back of bar caught  your eye. You shielded your face, eyes unable to adjust to the bright light before it was gone again, jumping when the back exit slammed shut.

You wheezed out the shaky breath you had been holding, tension bleeding from your shoulders when you that signature knit beanie atop his tall frame rounded the corner. Curtis Everett wearing a flannel and heavy boots, his knuckles were covered in blood.

You watched as Curtis took a handkerchief from the pocket of his black jeans, cleaning his hands up before shoving the scrap back in his pants. He was having a heated conversation with the man next to him who was wearing a leather jacket that matched the scared menace at the bar.

"Curtis" you sang out, relief blooming in your chest as butterflies filling your stomach. Your hand shot up, trying to get Curtis' attention attention, but stringing hair grabbed it, twisting it harshly as you yipped in pain.

"Curtis?" he sneered with a mixture of intrigue and malicious delight. The look he gave you had you suppressing a shudder as he continued squeezing your hand. This man made your skin crawl.

"Let go" your voice suddenly sounded so small.

"Let go" he mocked with a sickening laugh.

"Hey... Axe" stringy hair blew out a sharp whistle, keeping his eyes glued to you as you tried pulling your hand free, his grasp only tightening the longer you struggled. Your breath catching in your throat when you finally heard Curtis speak.

"That's it, Mack" Curtis insisted, flexing and un-flexing his fists, looking down at his hands with a frown, "Coach said I'd be done for tonight..."

Curtis and Mack stopped when they got to the bar top at the opposite end of where you were being held against your will. The bartender poured a shot and slid it across the counter to Curtis, the brute caught it, bringing it to his lips and taking it in one burning gulp before sliding it back and nodding for another.

"Not how it works, kid... coach don't call the shots off the ice... the boss will tell ya when you're done" spat the man Curtis called Mack just as another sharp whistle broke through the stale air.

"Axe..." the stringy haired man called again, "this pretty little thing says she's yours..."

When your captor finally stepped out of the way, relaxing his hold on your hand, Curtis nearing choked on his whiskey. His eyes went wide with emotion for only a fraction of a second before he recovered.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Curtis growled, crossing the room to you and frowning when he noticed stringy hair was still holding your hand. Curtis' eyes flickered around the bar, scanning the big open space as his mind raced.

"So she's not your friend?" stringy hair's lip twitched into a smile that had all the hairs spiking at the back of your neck. His smile quickly quickly dropped to a frown when you finally managed to yank your hand free of his hold.

Curtis felt his chest bloom at your small victory. Fuck... how the hell was he gonna get you out of this?

"No" Curtis glared at you, running his hand through his bread and clearing his throat with a grunt as he surveyed the room again, "she's not my friend..." he shook his head, glancing back at you with a frown.

"Didn't think so... she's not your usual kinda friend..." stringy hair hummed, licking his lips as he not-so-subtly checked you out, "this pretty little dress sure is white, isn't it?" stringy smirked, dancing his long fingers along the thin strap of your dress as you jerked away from his touch with a growl.

"Could be a good time..." stringy shrugged, unabashedly adjusting his growing bulge and licking his lips suggestively. He barked another dark laugh at your clear discomfort.

"Coach" Curtis interjected, his fists balled tightly at his sides as he tried to contain the rage that was building in the pit of his stomach, "forget this desperate cunt... we got get to the next stop..." Curtis' vile words made your breath catch for a moment in your throat.

Curtis' Coach narrowed his eyes at you as he mulled over Curtis' words.

"Desperate cunt?" your voice was shaking when it finally returned.

Just as the words left your mouth a large hand gripped your face, stealing the breath from your lungs as you gasped at the intrusion. Coach's hands pinching harshly at your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

You cried out in shock and pain, hands going instinctively to his thick wrist, but you soon realized struggling only made his grip on you more painful. Your entire body froze in fear, tears burning just behind your eyes.

"Watch that pretty little mouth of yours, sugar tits" stringy snarled, "sluts like you should be seen and not heard."

"Tommy wanted me to throw her out... but I kinda wanna see what's under this pretty little dress of her's..." Coach's grip on your chin tightened as you started struggling again.

"Sh-she's a fucking clingy princess bitch..." Curtis rushed, "gave her a sparing lesson the other day and now I can't get rid of her..." he continued as you shook your face free from stringy hair's grasp, seething.

“So… she wants it… bad?” stringy asked, even in the dim light you could see his pupils dilating as you shuddered with a mixture of disgust and anger.

Your heart was racing, you were seeing red and you swear you felt smoke billowing from your ears.

"Thought about getting my dick wet..." Curtis continued, feigning nonchalance with a tight shrug, "but I heard she gets around... now the cunt won't leave me alone... go home, sweetheart" Curtis snarled the last half at you, his eyes boring into yours with unspoken words.

"Curtis Everett does Jane know you talk to woman that..." but before you could finish white hot pain seared across your face, zipping up your jaw and you heard a ringing in your ear as your world shifted on its axis. Your vision went blurry when your eyes and nose stung with tears.

"Coach" Curtis huffed, taking a step towards you but froze when he recognized that crazy look in his coach's eyes. Coach was practically panting in delight at your pain.

"You keep that whore mouth shut" the man Curtis call coach spat, "you need a dick to wet... I can help you with that... but you don't come around here like some cunt in heat sniffing around where you don't belong... never seen you at MU... must go to that fancy school across town... bitches there thinkin' they should be heard..."

You heard a new round of laughter coming from behind you, even the bartender was leaning over his counter, watching the free show.

"I just..." but you lost your words as humiliated tears broke like a damn spilling down your face. Your hand was on your cheek, the heat radiating as you looked to Curtis, but he wouldn't make eye contact with you.

"You just what, sugar tits?" Coach cooed mockingly, "you can tell me..." he closed the space between you, crowding you in and pressing your back painfully against the bar as you felt the bulge in his pants lay heavy against you.

You could hardly breath, brain going fuzzy as your instinct to fight took over. You brought your knee up swiftly, aiming for his groin but only making slight contact. Coach stringy cursed, stumbling back enough for you to scramble away, tears streaking down your face. But you didn't get far, crying out in pain when a thick hand gripped your arm, yanking you back to him.

"Well that just wasn't very nice" Coach rasped, his eyes burning with anger as his free hand cracked across your face again. This time his ring caught your lip and slip it open.

Your head was spinning as you fought to hold your tears back- getting a sick sense that the bastard would get off on your cries. A metallic taste flooded your senses as you twisted in his painful grasp.

"Coach... stop" Curtis yelled.

"Might have to teach this cunt a lesson..." Coach snarled, ignoring his athlete , "you're real pretty when you cry..." he sneered at you, "bet you'd be even prettier crying on your knees" his large hand moved up your arm, gripping your shoulder and pinching at a pressure point. It dropped you straight to the floor in a heartbeat.

"Shit" you hissed when your bare knees hit the filthy floor, bile twisting in your stomach as your vision started to white out.

"Let's see what else that filthy mouth of yours can do... huh, sugar?" Coach hummed, as you heard the jingling of his belt buckle.

"No" you screeched, panic and adrenaline coursing through your veins as you surged forward.

"What the fuck" Coach yelled in shock and surprise when you lunged at him.

The breath was all but punched from your lungs when Curtis tackled you against the bar top and rushing you out of the establishment as Coach roared, furious and spitting behind him.

You stole a glimpse of the feral man as your big brute pushed you out the front door. You had left a scratch down stringy's face- just under his eye to the corner of his mouth. Your stomach flipped with sickening delight as you heard Coach screaming something about killing you before the door to Schyde's slammed shut. 

"Ouch!" you managed to find your voice once the fresh air hit your lungs, "you're hurting me!"

"Good" Curtis bellowed, speeding up his pace as you almost lost your footing. You stumbled a few times before starting to jog to keep up with him.

Curtis didn't stop until you were a good 6 blocks away- in the direction of the decent part of town. That's when he rounded on you, pulling you into an ally against a whitewashed brick building and looked over his shoulder before speaking again.

"What the fuck were you thinking, y/n?" Curtis spat, nearly shaking with his unspent rage. He snarled when he didn't get an answer, turning opposite you and beginning to pace as energy thrummed through him like a live wire.

There was a long angry silence between you two before he spoke again.

"Are you OK?" he grunted, the anger bleeding slightly from his tone as he walked back towards you, surveying your lip and face before crouching to get a better look at your legs.

You watched him drop to the ground, gingerly inspecting the broken skin at your knees while leaning against the brick wall to catch your breath.

What the hell had Curtis gotten himself involved in?

You leaned over, bracing yourself against the wall before capturing his larger hand in both of yours. He turned to look up at you, his long lashes fluttering at his cheeks as he squinted, ocean blue eyes adjusting to the light from the street lamp.

Your brow furrowed when your thumb ghosted over his knuckles, cracked and dried with blood. Curtis tried to pull his hand away but you held on, narrowing your eyes at him before you spoke.

"What are you doing?" you frowned down at him as he shifted uncomfortably on the ground, his free hand brushing over the back of your calf, making your skin tingle as butterflies bloomed to life in your belly.

"I'm looking at your knees" he shook his hand out of your hold, "you need to clean these... that floor is filthy..."

"Curtis" you ignored his lecture on injury maintenance, "what are you doing there? Does your Mom know?" your last question was whispered- like you were worried, if you spoke any louder, Jane would hear you.

"Does my Ma know what?" he scowled up at you before moving to stand, closing the space between you and bracing his forearm on the brick wall just above your head. You couldn't drag your eyes from his as you felt the heat radiating off his body.

"They looked like..." you started in a hushed tone.

"Don't fucking say it..." he hissed, pushing off the wall and rising to his full height, the frown still etched on his face, "what the fuck were you thinking comin' to Schydes?" his anger was building again, "you trying to get yourself hurt?"

"No" you glared up at him, pushing yourself off the brick wall, but he used one hand to press your shoulder until your back hit the brick with a soft thud.

"You're Mom said..." you started again with a petulant huff.

"My Ma knows better then to send you there...." Curtis cut you off, "no fucking way she sent you there..."

You blew out a stubborn exhale, your heated gaze dropping to the ground as you squirmed against the touch of his hand holding you in place.

"What did she say?" the growl in Curtis' tone almost made your knees go weak.

You looked away, refusing to answer him.

"Y/N..." he warned. 

"She told me to come back tomorrow.... That you were running some errands... I told her I'd wait... and after about an hour she let it slip that you were at Schydes" you yelled, trying to roll out of his hold with no luck.

"She told you to come back and like the little brat you are... you didn't listen?" Curtis hissed through gritted teeth as he dropped his hold from your shoulder, raking his fingers through his beard, "you know she's probably worried sick about you?"

"I was trying to thank you for getting my dress back to me, you dick..." you snarled, moving to push off the brick wall, but his hand met you half way again, pressing you back, halting any forward progress you were making.

"Why would your Mom care about where I go?" you huffed.

"Cause you don't belong there" he snapped, taking his handkerchief from his back pocket, finding a clean corner and gingerly taking your chin in his hand to wipe at your cut lip.

"Neither do you!" you snapped, wincing away from his touch.

"You don't go there" he snarled, shoving his handkerchief in his pants, "you hear me?"

You narrowed your gaze at him, trying like hell not to break first, but your eyes suddenly filled with tears as all the awful things he said rushed back to you. You blinked away, but your glossy eyes twinkled in the street light- giving you away.

Curtis' demeanor softened for a second, reaching to cup your jaw in his palm as the pad of his thumb brushed over your cheek. You jolted away, wincing when you felt pain radiate from where you had been slapped. Your skin feeling hot and swollen.

Curtis' jaw ticked with a hiss as his hand came up slamming the brick -just above your head- with the meat of his closed fist.

"I could kill him" he snarled. But his eyes immediately went soft again when they met yours.

He leaned into you, his body wash or cologne smelling woodsy and making you dizzy with desire. Then Curtis did something completely unexpected- brushing his lips feather light over your swollen cheek. You gasped when his eyes locked with yours, parted mouths inches apart as you shared the same breath, panting at a standstill.

"You're driving me crazy, chickadee" his whispered, the pet name making you swoon.

"I just... can't stop thinking of you and your pretty dresses... wanna be buried so deep inside you" his groaned confession making you gasp as his eyes screwed shut.

And that's when you lost all common sense, wrapping your arms around his neck and crashing your lips into him.

Curtis lifted you clear off the concrete, your back hitting the brick as the air was punched from your lungs with a soft groan. He gripped the back of your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his narrow waist while he swallowed your pretty moans. You felt your cunt clench around nothing, your panties well on their way to ruin.

"You did so good back there, baby" Curtis hummed against your lips, "so fucking good...

And then, as quickly as it had started, Curtis broke the kiss, untangling your legs from around him and dropped you gently, but abruptly, back to the ground.

"We gotta go... I gotta get you home... where's your place?" he asked, "just promise me you won't go back to Schydes" his exhale was heavy, "you got it?"

"What? I'm not going anywhere with you" you huffed, fire burning in your eyes.

Curtis' chest was heaving as his blown eyes glowered down at you. The sexual whiplash making you dizzy.

"God... I swear I don't fucking understand you, Curtis..." you panted, equal parts lust and frustration, "just....fuck... leave me alone" you hissed, shoving your hands into the unmoving wall of muscle that was his chest.

You swear you saw his lip curl slightly at the corner before his jaw clicked. He took a possessive step forward, caging you against the wall and digging his hand into your hip. A growl rumbled low in his chest and the fire in his eyes nearly melted your panties on the spot.

An electrically charged silence hung in the air, his gaze dropping to your lips as he licked his, leaning in to trace his nose just behind your ear as the fingers at your hip danced under your dress and over your panties. You gasped when his calloused fingertips expertly found your clit, rubbing circles into the ruined fabric.

"Curtis" you whimpered, "please..." your entire body was trembling when he took your wrists in his hand, spinning you around and pinning them against the wall above your head. It all happened so fast - the feel of Curtis' beard scratching over the back of your neck when he asked you if this was what you wanted.

You nodded, managing to moan a please when he made you use your words as he slipped your ruined panties down your legs and off your body. He stuffed the ruined scrap of fabric in his back pocket for safe keeping.

Curtis toed your shoes apart with his large dark leather boots as he used his free hand to work his belt and pants open, pulling his hard length out and stroking it a few times before running the weeping thick head up the back of your bare leg.

You shivered when you felt his pre cum hot against your bare skin as he trailed his heavy length up your body.

Curtis dropped your wrists, his large hands moving to your soft curves to angle your ass up the way he liked it. You moaned, pressing a palm against the rough brick wall as you rucked your dress up to your waist for him. Curtis groaned when he got a good view of the curve of your ass.

"So wet for me, chickadee" he whispered, lewdly pulling your cheeks apart and humming with appreciation when the dim streetlight made the slick glitter up the cut of you.

"Please, Curtis" you whined, clawing at the brick as you shivered.

"You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?" he goaded, running the tip of him through your folds, "I'll take care of you... I'll always take care of you..."

Reaching behind you, you frantically grabbed for him, trying to ground yourself as he caught at your entrance, slowly sinking every hot inch of his length into you with a groan.

"Fuck, chickadee... ya feel like heaven... " he groaned, "but you're gonna bring hellfire down on me" he dropped his forehead to the back of your crown with a shudder when he bottomed out.

You moaned, tucking your arms against the brick and resting your face on your forearm as you watched him. Curtis looked god-like in the moonlight as his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones- giving you a moment to adjust to the stretch of his thick length.

You shimmied your feet farther apart with a whimper, dropping the angle of your hips and swallowing more of him before he pulled out, dragging every veiny inch slowly through your folds before slamming back into you with a grunt.

Curtis held you by the curve of your hips as he pounded feverishly into you, only picking up his feral pace when he ripped your first trembling orgasm from you.

"Please, Curtis..." you sobbed, your thighs shaking as he wrapped an arm just under your bouncing breasts, pulling your back against his front as he fucked up into your squelching hole.

"Doing so good for me, chickadee" he grunted, your walls fluttering around him as you felt pressure building, embarrassingly quick, deep in your belly.

"Fuck... give me another, pretty girl" he groaned, his palm slamming against the wall to keep you both upright, "touch yourself for me" he instructed.

Your soft fingers immediately found your clit, dipping to gather slick where he was pressed to the hilt, almost coming again when you felt his cock moving inside you.

"You like that?" he grunted with a smug smile, "so fucking good for me, baby" his hips began to falter when your fingers circled your bundle of nerves, his name a whisper on your lips.

"So fucking tight" he groaned, "sing for me, chickadee... such a good fucking girl" stilling his hips on one final deep thrust, his cock twitched, hot and heavy.

Curtis took hold of your jaw, turning you back to him and capturing your lips in a searing kiss that had you tipping over the edge again, pleasure coursing through your veins as he swallowed your pretty song.

You hummed blissfully, floating back down to Earth as an aftershock zipped down your spine and curled your toes. You whimpered when Curtis pulled out, pressing a kiss to your dewy crown as he moved to tuck his cock back into his pants.

"Curtis?" you whispered, turning into him and wrapping your fist around his still throbbing length. He groaned when you pulled him into a slow and searing kiss, taking your time to explore his mouth as your fist pumped slowly over the length of his cock.

"Christ... just like that, baby" Curtis grunted, his chest heaving as his forehead pressed to yours, "fuck..." he groaned bucking his hips into your soft hand just as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Goddamnit" he snarled, pulling away from you to take out his phone. He frowned down at the screen before shoving the phone back in his pocket, unanswered.

"I gotta get you home" he blew out a frustrated exhale while tucking himself gently back into his pants with a hiss.

"Do you have to go?" you asked, voice soft as you smoothed your dress back into place, feeling too shy to ask him for your panties, "stay with me..." you reached for his chest but he caught your wrist in his hand.

"I can't" his clipped words and signature frown made your heart sink. The soft glimpses of Curtis that managed to sneak past his usual grumpy exterior weren't enough. You wanted more.

"Why did you say that stuff about me?" your snarled, feeling self conscious again and childishly ready to pick a fight.

"What stuff?" he asked, feeding his belt back through the loop in his pants before glaring up at you.

"All that awful stuff... to your... coach?" your voice warbled with emotion.

"Had to get him off your scent" Curtis said matter-of-factly, "my coach isn't a good guy... an' he's involved with a lotta bad shit."

"He's fucking horrible" you confirmed, "but what you said..." you felt tears prickle at the corners of your eyes again, "it was... awful, Curtis" your words became angry and watery.

"I didn't mean it" he went to reach for your arm, but you swatted him away, taking a step back.

"Yeah, right..." you snapped, the panicked feelings of being used making your stomach knot.

"Chickadee... I swear... I had to get you outta there... I had to protect you..." his tone was soft but insistent.

"And how exactly did your dick protect me?" the strangled rage sob bubbled up your throat as Curtis' eyes went wide, "you used me..."

"What?" his brows furrowed under his beanie, before he yanked the cap from his head, running his hands through his short hair, "god, chickadee" his voice broke, "you don't really think that... do you?"

"No" you snapped, "I... I don't know... why did we even do that?” your voice cracked, "I'm so fucking stupid" you snarled to yourself, "you don't even like me" you sniffled, your shoulders rolling in as you made yourself smaller.

"It's not like that, y/n... not with you..." he ran a hand over his beard as your vision went blurry, blinking back tears that were threatening to spill.

"Bullshit" you snapped, "why isn't it like that with me? I've seen the types of girls that come asking for you at the Boys and Girls Club... Why'm I not good enough?" you spat, feeling the bitter taste of jealousy rise up your throat.

"I never said that..." he corrected you, "I... we can't..." he blew out a heavy exhale, frowning at you.

"Well we just did” you snarled, "so what now?"

"Chickadee... this would never work" he tried to reason with you.

"You shoulda thought about that before you put my panties in your back pocket" you snapped, wiping an angry tear from your cheek as you turned, stomping past him and attempting to leave.

When you rounded the corner of the alley back onto the sidewalk you ran straight into a slight man with beady eyes in a leather jacket- the same jackets from the bar and you swear you recognized those beady eyes sneering at you from a corner booth back at Schydes.

You chirped in surprise, taking a step backwards and running into Curtis who had been hot on your heels.

"Little Bobby?... what the fuck are you doing here?" Curtis snarled, gripping your arm as he pulled you back into his chest.

"Stepping into a lover's quarrel apparently" he smirked from you to Curtis, "Mack needs you" Bobby hissed.

"Yeah, I got it... I just gotta take her home" Curtis sniffed, trying to seem indifferent.

"Looks like you were doing a little more than takin' her home" the smirk Bobby gave you made your stomach retch.

"You fucking perv" Curtis growled, sweeping you behind him as he took an intimidating step towards the man.

"Watch yourself, Axe" the smaller man snarled, lifting his jacket to reveal the shiny butt of a handgun tucked in his waistband.

You whined against Curtis' side as he held his hands up in a non threatening manner, letting Bobby know he understood.

"Just lemme take her home, Bobby" Curtis tried to reason with the man, "an' I'll be right back."

"Why don't you let me take her home" Bobby sneered suggestively.

"You're not gonna fucking touch her..." Curtis roared as you clung to his flannel.

"What do ya think the boss will have to say about this?" Bobby's menacing gaze flickered to you, trembling at Curtis' side, "Axe's pretty little bitch from that good school, right? What's that I heard him call you, when you were singing so pretty? Chickadee?

You squeaked, face flushing with embarrassment as you buried your face further into Curtis' side, refusing to acknowledge the man as Curtis' rage burned white hot.

"Fuck off, Bobby..." Curtis snarled, "Ain't nobody there gonna give a shit... I get my work done..."

"Maybe not" Bobby shrugged indifferently, "but I think Sky's gonna care..."

You felt Curtis' entire body tense for only a second before a snarl ripped though his chest and he lunged at the man, knocking him out in one punch. The man tumbled to the ground, out cold.

After Curtis dragged Little Bobby’s unconscious body into the alley you both hurried back to your place, taking a few random turns until Curtis was satisfied that you weren't being followed by anyone else.

"Am I in danger?" you finally had the nerve to ask once your apartment door was locked and double bolted.

"Nah" Curtis brushed it off until his gaze met yours and he blew out a deep sigh, "I don't think so... Couch definitely doesn't like you" he frowned.

"Feeling's mutual" you tutted and Curtis couldn't fight the small smile that tugged at his lips.

"If you could lay low for a few days... that'd be good..." he sighed, running his hand over his beard.

Curtis made his way to the tiny kitchen of your shoebox one bedroom apartment, opening your freezer and finding a freezer burned bag of vegetables in the back. He grabbed the hand towel hanging from your oven and wrapped it around the block of frozen vegetables.

"How's your face?" he asked, concern laced in his frown as he assessed your injury.

You chirped when he place the ice gently against the offending cheek. Hissing when the ice melted the heat still radiating from your skin.

"Lay low?" you asked, "what the hell does that even mean? And what did you get yourself into?" you huffed, "what college hockey player also moonlights as a mobster? I feel like I'm in a bad gangster movie" you babbled as Curtis' lip curled up into a smirk.

"What?" you huffed, not finding any of this amusing.

"My Ma warned me about you..." his laugh was affectionate as he shook his head, smiling at you.

"Warned you about me?" you squeaked, "about me?" your laugh was dry, "she shoulda warned me about you..." you scowled up at him, gasping when he closed the space between you and took your lips by surprise. The makeshift ice pack dropping to the floor with a thunk.

Curtis' expert lips didn't break the kiss as his large calloused hands roamed down your sides, kneading every curve he came across as he walked you backwards, further into your apartment. But just as he was pressing you back into the dimly lit hallway that lead to your bedroom his phone buzzed to life from his pocket.

He didn't break the kiss until he had fished the phone from his pants, looking at the screen briefly before rolling his eyes and answering the call.

"Yeah?" he grunted into the phone, turning and walking back down the hallway as he left you there in the dark.

You hesitated -for a moment- to follow him, unable to make out the person's voice on the other end of the call.

"Who called you?" Curtis insisted. There was a pause as he listened intently.

"No... it was Little Bobby" he snarled the man's name, blowing out a frustrated sigh, "does it matter?" Curtis asked harshly, turning back around and finding you standing behind him in your living room. He frowned as he started pacing the small space.

"No... Sky wasn't there" Curtis swore.

Who was this Sky?

"It doesn't matter..." he insisted with another sigh, "no, it doesn't... I knocked him out, he probably won't even remember it..."

Curtis paused to listen again.

"Nah... that's all you need to know... Mack isn't going to care" he tried to reason, "no" he huffed, "cause... we weren't exactly dancing, Ma..."Curtis blurted.

"Oh, my god... Curtis!" you yipped, burying your face in your hands as you sank to your couch, completely mortified.

The hockey dividers were made by the lovely and talented @firefly-graphics ❤️

As always, thank you for all the love and support. Please check out my archive blog where I only post new fics @drabblewithfrannybarnesfics ❤️

And so it begins….

out of left field series: pt. 1 - this is bad (chris pov)

Out Of Left Field Series: Part 1 - This Is Bad (Chris POV)

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans x Best Friend!Reader (female character)

Summary: After 29 years of friendship with Chris, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. When he finds himself amid a PR nightmare at the same time your ex-boyfriend starts lurking around every corner, you enter into a mutually beneficial, strictly PR relationship to save his career and keep your ex away. But the lines begin to blur and lies get told, both you and Chris realizing you might’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Will you make it out unscathed or will you and Chris be just another PR relationship that ends in heartbreak and humiliation?

A/N: SURPRISE BITCHES. I am one impatient motherfucker and I needed to post it. SO I BEYONCE’D YOU (not that I’m comparing myself to the queen… but you get it). ENJOY THE FIRST PART OF THIS SERIES I’M SO EXCITED!

I would be remiss if i didn’t give a huge mfin shout out to @tis-thedamn-season. Like this fic/series would not be where it is without you. Love you bb.

Warnings: Drugs, language, allusions to smut, reader has an abusive/controlling ex, reader and chris are both 29 years of age (this is what you guys voted on!)

W/C: 6.9k

Out of Left Field Series Masterlist 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the MLB or with its players or with Chris in real life. Additionally, the reader’s family gets introduced in this series and are all OFC made by me. If you don’t like that, please don’t read this series.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

I no longer have a taglist! Please head over to @time-for-a-library​ and turn on notifications!

He heard your shoes before he saw you.

The harsh clack of your stilettos on the concrete floor sent a wave of relief through his system that was almost immediately washed away and replaced by nerves.

Chris hated disappointing you. He could already picture the resigned look on your face while you crossed your arms and let out a defeated sigh.

Any other time, it probably would’ve bothered him more. But the pounding headache combined with the fact that he was still coming down from a coke-induced high, made it a little hard to focus on anything other than the fact that the room was spinning.

He tried to ground himself, focusing his attention on a scuff that marked the concrete wall across the room instead of the way the room seemed to circle around him despite his ass planted on this extremely uncomfortable mattress.

“He’s in here.”

Chris sat up on the metal ‘bed’, swinging his legs over the side and taking a deep, slow breath. His elbows rested on his knees, face buried in his hands while he waited.

“Thanks, Stu.” The softness of your voice floated through the air, bringing a welcome warmth and familiarity to the chill of his cell.

The sound of your heels got closer, scraping to a stop when you’d reached him.

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I agree! She is an amazing writer!

I just need everyone to know that @blizzspeaks is a QUEEN and amazing person. That is all.

PS: go read her work!!!!

Your not crying I am!

the boston brute series: pt. 14 - is this enough for you?

The Boston Brute Series: Pt. 14 - Is This Enough For You?

Pairing: NHL!Chris Evans x Athletic Trainer!Reader (female character)

Summary: When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your employee contract, you’re drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.

Warnings: Crude language. Lots and lots of angst. Crying. Mention of smut, but nothing like graphic (still 18+ only). Communication issues. Fluff. Brief mention of the reader not eating/losing appetite. Please do not read this series if you are not a fan of asshole Chris or fics with a lot of angst. As always, let me know if I missed anything!

W/C: 7.2k

A/N: you guys. i was not ready for this series to end. the amount of support and love i’ve gotten in the past few months has been mindblowing and while this series is over, i have a lot of great fics coming your way! And a 2 part epilogue for this series coming soon. Thank you so much for following along with this series, i love you guys to the ends of the earth and back. 

Additionally, i would be remiss if i didn’t give a shout out to the two people who have constantly been there to bounce ideas off of and have provided the best support. @blizzspeaks and @tis-thedamn-season. I don’t tell you guys enough, but i love you forever and always ♥️

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the NHL or with its players. Additionally, I talk about Chris’s family in this fic. Again, work of fiction and is no reflection of his parents or grandparents in real life.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

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Chris: What are you wearing?

You snorted out a laugh, bringing the crumpled-up tissue in your hand up to wipe your nose. Ever since your move, Chris has the tendency to text you the wrong thing at the wrong time. 

A suggestive text while you were still at work, some sarcastic remark, or a poor excuse of a joke while you were in a meeting. If you were in Boston, the texts would’ve come through while you were home after work, but given the 3 hour time difference, Chris was home for the night while you were still stretching and handing out ice packs to sweaty men. 

Tonight it wasn’t an inappropriate text for your location, per se, you were laying in bed after all. But the tearstained pillowcases and a small mountain of crumpled-up tissues on your bed didn’t exactly have you in the best mood for a ‘what are you wearing’ text.

Your face was puffy, your nose somehow stuffed up and runny at the same time, the reality of being across the country from the only family you’ve ever really had was weighing heavy on your chest tonight and as soon as you got home from the game, you threw on a pair of Chris’s sweats. You set a timer and gave yourself one hour to sulk, cry, and be angry at the world, and then you would suck it up, shower, and call Chris. 

It’d been two weeks since you made your move to Los Angeles and started your job with the LA Kings and Chris kept promising that would get easier, but you weren’t finding that to be the case. 

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