I'M SO HAPPY THAT THERE'S A NEW CHAPTER! I Woke Up And Was Going To Go Back To Sleep, But When I Saw

Alexia icons and headers.

reblog or fav if you save it.

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…

OMG IM DYING 😭😭😭

triumph

{virgil van dijk x reader}

in which virgil wins a trophy and celebrates in the best way ✨

warnings: unprotected sex, semi!public fuck with hold the moan vibes. no rhyme or reason except that this man deserved a bit of celebratory love.

To the roar of a blazing crowd, he lifts his first trophy as captain gloriously over his head, and although you know you should be paying attention to that shiny silverware that he and the kids worked so hard for, you’re staring at his biceps instead - the defined, hard line of muscles there, the veins that run across the length of his arms - entirely lickable, biteable even, how they seem to almost stretch out his sleeves.

You cross your legs to repress the ache that grows between them, as his gaze searches the crowd and lands on you - the only one he looks to for approval and love, and you blow him a flirtatious kiss that makes his smile grow wider, his eyes sparkly with the thrill of victory, of being on the receiving end of your love.

He eventually has to hand the trophy over, to your disappointment that his arms are no longer on display. But this sadness immediately vanishes when he runs to you so he can lift you up in his arms now, as if you were the real prize all along. You cup his face and plant a kiss on him that curls your toes, between his whispered gratitude and his hands stroking through your hair. The crowd behind you goes wild at the display of affection, but Virgil doesn’t care. In fact, he doesn’t seem to even notice them. He drags you into the tunnel, away from the roaring chaos, and in this relatively quieter space, you can talk freely now. 

“Later,” he murmurs into your ear, his hand wandering up your back, “I want to celebrate properly.”

You nod, already seeing the glint of excitement in his pretty eyes. Your eyes are drawn to his mouth, and the bead of sweat that trickles over his neck and throat, down to the neckline of his jersey. “How… exactly?”

His gaze locks on yours - intimate, enthralling. “Going to have you strip off all these clothes for me - slowly. I know you’ve got some pretty underwear on, don’t you?”

Your cheeks heat up. “Maybe.”

He grins. “Maybe I’ll take them off with my teeth then. Have you lie there, wrists tied to my bed with my jersey… so I take my time with you and do anything I want.”

“Virg…” you warn, but he just carries on - voice growing lower now.

“Or maybe…” he glances around, trying to evade suspicion. “We don’t even have to wait to go home to celebrate.”

You blink slowly at him, the thought making you want to shiver - it’s too much, too naughty. “I… you want to… now?”

He winks. “If you can be quiet… I don’t see what’s the problem.”

-

It is a problem, actually, when he’s dragging you into an empty room barely a few meters away from his team’s actual celebrations - one kiss blaring out triumphantly. His hands make quick work of your jeans, practically ripping the zip and swearing at how tight they are, groaning with relief and need when he finally touches bare skin instead of denim. You peel his shirt off and indulge yourself with kisses along his neck and collarbone, sucking along the smooth skin until he’s letting out soft moans of his own. His body practically flattens you against the wall, hands already slipping into your underwear - red, lacy, and he groans at the sight of it. Still, he’s impatient to do more than just look - and so his fingers take to stroking and teasing you until they’re soaked, and you’re gripping his bare back, desperate to be filled with him.

“Fuck, I need you,” he groans, and you’re not doing any better, whining and rutting back into his fingers like you’re starved (and you are).

“Please, Cap,” you beg, and it turns him on when you call him that - when he gets to hear how desperate you are for him. 

“Fuck. You want it bad, huh?” He kisses the moan of approval from your mouth, as you cup the impressively thick bulge of his cock, his hips grinding back into your touch. He feels so rock-solid and you’re not able to wait - shoving his shorts down, his underwear, letting him hoist you up with your legs around his hips so you can position his cock perfectly where you need it.

The first press of him against your entrance makes you moan, until he has to cup his hand over your mouth and chuckle (unsteadily), “shhhhh… they’re going to hear you, sweetheart.”

But that reminder only turns you on more, and you whimper against his hand over your mouth, as he fucks slowly into you now, rocking his hips into your wet, aching cunt. It’s good - it’s always so good with him - this aching stretch and the way your walls clench around him, possessive almost. But what seals the deal is his mischievous eyes full of excitement and love and everything in between - the grin he makes, the freckles along his pretty cheeks, his hair no longer neatly combed back in a bun but a little unruly, messy even. You struggle away from his hand over your mouth so you can kiss him again, and this time, you suck on his bottom lip, moaning his name, letting him know how wet he makes you, how fucking good his cock is. You feel him pick up the pace, his breaths ragged and intense and you need him closer, so much closer, even though you’re pressed up against him with not an inch of space left. 

He gets so wild, actually, thrusting into you, calling you all sorts of pet names and struggling to stave off his orgasm - but you’re clawing at his back now, making him go guttural, feral, fucking into you with boundless energy. “Virg… I’m going to come,” you gasp, the confession shuddering from your lips. 

He leans his forehead against yours, and you share a breath as your orgasm slams into you, making you clench around him in spasms, and it’s too tight and wet and hot for him to hold off any longer. He makes those final few pumps inside you and moans long and loud into your mouth, and you kiss the sweet surrender from his lips, feeling him spill into you, deep and good.

He laughs in disbelief and delight when letting you down from the wall, sliding past his body and so he can give you one final kiss. He squeezes your bare ass and you giggle into his sweet mouth, “haven’t you had enough?”

“With you?” He smirks, daring to spank you now, “it’s never enough.”

-

oh my god. how insane was yesterday?

wrote this weeks ago with someone else in mind, but it never quite stuck for me. I realised today that this is why - fate had intended for this fic to work out for virg after all.

for my captain’s series! and because a trophy win demands a celebratory fic (it’s tradition).

lots of love, ivy

A year full of amazing Black women part 1.

#BlackGirlMagic #BlackExcellence

I feel like she's trying to have the illusion of control over something, trying to cling to the false hope of being able to control him because now he lets her guide him, but sometimes even I fool myself into thinking that she has a fraction of dominance here.

Mission Control 23

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, 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 let your hands drift down to the soldier’s neck. You’re shaking. Stop thinking. That hasn’t done you any good. It can’t. They say when you’re in life and death moment, your body takes over. That’s what you need to do right now.  

You touch his high collar and feel along the front of his arm. You press your hands flat to his chest. He takes a deep breath as his hands hover around your hips. He toys with the light linen as you trace the straps of his harness. He lets you unbuckle one side, then the other. 

He does stop you. He is entirely still but for the tilt of his head. He watches you strip away the leather harness and then his belt. He doesn’t react as you hand catches the pistol. Even if you were fast, you’re not a marksman and by the scars on his body, it wouldn’t be that effective. 

You set it aside as his arms fall straight. You go back to him and remove his body arm, a piece at a time; shoulders, forearms, chest, thighs, calves. You didn’t realise before how much he layers on. You stack it all then take his hand. You bring him to the couch and have him sit. 

You get down to undo his boots. It’s another task to keep you busy. One piece at a time. That’s it. Like counting. You set his boots aside and peel off his socks. You hiss at the sight of his bruised toe. He doesn’t flinch. 

You tuck the fabric into the top of the boots and turn back to him. You stand and unzip his jacket? Shirt. It’s thick, a layer of mesh over something heavy. The high collar splits and you pull down the tab to reveal his muscled chest. You push the sleeves down and he brings his arms slightly back to help. 

The weight of his gaze drapes over you. You stop and frown, touching the black and blue chafed around his shoulder, a slender gash at the center. You daintily flutter your fingers over the edge. 

“Ouch.” You look at him and he blinks. You’re not sure he can feel even that. 

You finish taking the jacket off. He shifts on the cushion as you lay the fabric over the rest of his things. As you return to him. He stands and tears open the front of his pants. You gulp. He’s bulging to escape. 

You near and he reaches for you, keeping one hand on his fly as he squeezes the back of your neck. You whimper and grasp his wrist, patting his stomach at the same time. You show your teeth in pain. 

“Ow, hurt,” you say. “Soft.” 

You spread your hand over his and he slackens his hold on you. He stretches his fingers across the back of your head instead and you slide your palm up to his chest. You reach for his other hand and move it away from his fly. He resists but lets you take over. 

You tug his pants down little by little. He exhales deeply and you push the fabric past his thick thighs. It catches at his knees. You look down and gently brush along his swollen length. He twitches and clutches your hair even tighter. 

“I’ll be nice if you are,” you say. 

He doesn’t react. Not that you expect a vocal answer. He just stands there, still. You reach to move his hand from your hair and urge him to sit with a careful nudge and finish removing his pants. 

He is rigid and upright. You rub along his chest and shoulders. You feel his heart beating. You lightly push until he leans back. 

“That’s good,” you tell him, “relax.” You meet his eyes again. They cling to you. You trail your hands down and his stomach clench. You hush and coo at him. “I said relax.” 

He tenses then slowly, you feel him easing. You trace along his pelvis and thighs. He flexes but quickly shakes his head and grips the muscle along his legs as if to force them to release. You bring your hand up along his shaft and tickle up his length. 

You’re alight in that moment. Do or die. No thinking. Keep going. 

He goes stiff again. You put your other hand on his shoulder. You tell him again, “relax.” 

His jaw squares as he watches you stroke him. Your gaze falls to the easy motion of your hand. A raspy noise rises in his throat and he pulls his hand back to brace the couch cushions. 

You lean in and lift your knee onto the couch, then the other. You straddle him as you keep yourself above your hand, pumping him as he grunts. He rips his hands from the cushions and grabs the front of your dress. 

He stops himself from tearing it open and instead, plucks the top button carefully. He continues down the front until your chest is exposed. He spreads a large hand over your tit and kneads. His breath rises and falls shallowly. The feel of his rough palm against your nipple plucks at you. 

You balance on your knees and yank up your skirt. He keeps his hand on your chest, fondling eagerly, as his other frames your hip. He urges you down and you lead his tip along your folds. You bite your lip as you push him to your entrance and lower yourself little by little. 

His fingertips dig into you and a strangle sound catches in his throat. You sink down as you drone, your nerves unwinding as you give into instinct. You clasp onto his thick arm as you take him as deep as you can and blow out between your lips. 

You tilt and moan. He’s big and you’re not quite wet enough. You put your hand over his and move it from your hip along your pelvis. You guide his thumb to your clit and wiggle it, letting out a squeak at the flicker of heat. He presses more firmly and you slip your hand up your stomach. 

You rock your hips and push your head back as you let the rhythm coax you. Your eyes roll into your skull and you sigh.

There is nothing but the promise of relief. No unanswered questions, no bloodstains on the floor, no wailing winds or desolate house. There is only that fleeting release that will let you feel anything but horror, if only for a split second. 

Lily Collins & Zac Efron matching icons.

like / reblog if you save.

Natalie Dormer icons 250x250

You smell a m a z i n g.

—Lana, Smallville, “Thirst”

I feel so sorry for her 😭 I feel like she expected to discover more about him when he returned, that he would bring more firewood and warmth with him, but she was surprised by a monster more violent than she could have expected. Will he have the reasoning that this behavior will make her colder with him? Rejecting what he offers? Even animals recognize when their behavior does not please, my dog knows when he did something wrong and tries to "compensate" by making an abandoned face 🫠

Mission Control 11

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 ❤️

A storm falls like a harbinger of his return. Winds batter the siding and the windows rattle with the speckle of cold rain. The chill creeps through the walls as you ration the last few pieces of wood.  

As you quake before the fireplace, the door swings open and hits the frame, adding to the cacophony of nature’s rage. You hardly have a moment to react as his dark figure falls on you like a wraith. You flail your legs as the blanket catches on a lose tile before the crackling flames and he drags you across the floor. 

Your heels bounce futilely on the rug as the rain blows through the open door. The man once known as a hero, the man lost to the ice all those centuries ago, take you into the bedroom and flings you like a rag doll. Like a thing. 

You hit the food of the bed and land on the floor with a crash. You groan as your bones ache, not only with the impact but from the endless tension. As you writhe, he steps over you, smearing blood onto your night gown as he grabs the tinged fabric. 

He hauls you up so you stand on your toes. You smell the iron stained into his body armor. You look up at the mask that hides him. You try to imagine those blue eyes but you only see a monster. He is only the indomitable villain that plucked you out of your own life. 

He hurls you across the bed and you gasp as you land on your side. You roll onto your stomach and crawl up the mattress. He catches your ankle and tears you back as the frame dips with his weight. You rip the sheets into a wrinkle as you fight to escape him. 

This isn’t the man that left. This isn’t the docile stranger trapped in indecision. You sense in him a furor worse than that wailing outside the cabin.  

He flips you onto your back and grabs the front of the linen nightgown. He rents the fabric down the middle and exposes your body. You bat at his hands without effect as you wriggle. He pushes a knee between both of yours, splaying you wide. 

He grips your hips and hauls your closer. You squeak and reach up, clawing desperately for any escape. There’s nothing by the flat pillows and the top of the rumpled sheets. He pushes a hand up your body and stretches it around your neck. 

You still and whimper as you put your hand on his wrist. You flick the tears with your lashes and whine. Terror swells in your chest and floods through your veins like icy water. You can’t fight him. Not physically. 

“Please, don’t,” you beg as you touch his knuckles. “Please, you don’t have to--” You wheezes as his hand squeezes tighter. “You don’t have to do this. Please, please, I’m scared. I’m scared...” you croak between willowy heaves, “it hurts. Please don’t hurt me anymore.” You trail your hand up his arm, feeling the rough fabric, dirty dusting off beneath your graze, “Captain... Steve Rogers--” 

His hand nearly crushes your throat and cuts off your next plea. Your head pounds and your tears trickle out unchecked. No, no, that was wrong. You shouldn’t have said any of that. You’re just so scared. 

You close your eyes as your skull pulse and you choke for a breath, clasping onto his thick forearm as you try to ease his hold on you. His other hand pushes away the night gown so it splays around you. He shoves his hands between your legs, rough as he pokes at your folds. 

He wiggles his fingertips impatiently and rams into you without warning. You smack his bicep desperately as he jerks you with hard thrusts. You whimper and your eyes snap open as his hand slips just enough for you to gulp in a breath. 

He rips his hand away and shifts on his knees. He struggles to undo his fly, growing more impatient as the sheaths and weapons get in his way. You try not to look at him as you know what he means to do. 

All that hope, that sliver of hope that you had before, that he might be gentle, that he might be appeased, is gone. You latch onto his arm as you brace himself. You jostle on the mattress with his movement. He leans weight on your neck as he looms over you. 

He pushes his knees wider and pushes along your cunt once more. You can tell it’s him; not his fingers, but that other part of him. His blunt tip strains against you as your body tries to resist the intrusion. He grunts and bucks his hips. As he breaks through you gurgle and dig your nails into his sleeve. 

He snarls as he curls his hand around your hip and jerks again. He thrusts deeper and your eyes roll back as your body locks up in agony. He dips his hand around your neck and lifts you, bringing you into his lap as he tilts again. 

He bottoms out as he hooks his thick arm around you and cradles your head with his hand. You hang off him limply as you suck in air. Tendrils of pain entwine you and have you paralysed and prone. If you fight, it will only be worse. 

He rocks you in his lap. He growls and hangs his head down next to yours. He moves your head to the side and presses his cowl against your next. You babble and snivel each time he sinks into you.  

The storm has swept away the calm at last and you’re lost to the dark clouds.