Think Twice, That’s My Only Advice

He saved your life. He took care of you. When the cops look into your accident, they find it wasn’t an accident at all… Someone sabotaged you.

Warning: car crash, broken bones, stalking, dark!chris evans, manipulation, no smut, angst, fluff, use of drugs to make someone forget, throw up, ending sucks i’m sorry

Summary: He saved your life. He took care of you. You owe him everything, right? But your mind tells you something isn’t right.

Word Count: 5.7k oops

Screech.

Brakes squealing.

Blinding light in your eyes.

You tighten your grip on the steering wheel as you brace for impact, staring at the cement wall in front of you.

You don’t know how you got turned around or why your brakes aren’t working, you don’t even know where you were going.

You do know that you won’t make it out alive.

Crash!

You feel flames envelope your car, the heat grazing against your cheek, the shock of it all causing to fade away.

“Come on, sweetheart! Come back to me,” You hear, feeling the light tap of someone’s hand against your cheek. Your eyelids flutter open, revealing a strange man cradling you in his strong arms. He’s got tears streaming down his face, smoke and ash staining his face. You gasp for air, immediately coughing up dirt and debris.

You’ve never been in so much pain, yet so calm. Relief spreads over the strangers face, using his sweaty palms to wipe away his tears. “The EMT’s are on their way, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay.”

You furrow your eyebrows, trying to piece everything together. You try to focus on what happened earlier tonight, but the pounding headache distracts you. “W-what happened?” You ask, your voice scruff from the heat. You attempt to sit up, to move away from this strange man, but a shooting pain runs through your body, originating from your ribs. You gasp, your hand reaching to cover your body.

“Sh, sh… Just relax, I don’t want you to hurt yourself even more,” He says, covering your hand with his. You stare up at him, your eyes flickering over his strangely familiar face. You’ve seen this man before, but you don’t know when or where. You doubt you’ve even had a conversation with this man before, or you would instantly recognize him.

But you almost swear you’ve seen him lurking around your friends parties.

“We were in an accident. The EMT’s are on their way,” He explains, nodding over to where the accident occured. Your car is sitting in a pile of ashes, barely recognizable. There’s metal and tire rubber spread across the road, blocking anyone from driving.

Thankfully, it’s almost 3 in the morning, so the roads aren’t that busy.

You glance up at the man once again, trying to force yourself to remember this man. You were in the car with him?

Your thoughts are interrupted when the blare of sirens near you, signalling that help is here. “Oh, thank god,” The man mutters, scooping you closer to his chest. He lifts you with no hesitation, carrying you over to the moving ambulance. You relax against his chest, the exhaustion taking your body over. A mix of the pain and adrenaline has left you drained.

You hear the EMT and the stranger converse, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. You can feel your body fading, but you’re too weak to do anything about it. You hear the man shouting, and then you feel a foreign object covering your mouth, breathing air into your lungs. “Man, she’s out of it! Do something!”

You feel the EMT’s poking and prodding, a sharp pain in your wrist following. You know enough about first aid that you know they probably put an IV in you, to give you some pain meds, so your body doesn’t have to fight so hard. You instantly feel better, your head lolling to the side, giving you that well-needed rest.

The beeping of the machines wake you up, disturbing your sleep. You look around the room, frowning when you realize that you’re alone. You’d halfway hoped the stranger was still there, so you could thank him and ask him some more questions, like why were you in the car with him? Where were you going? Where were you coming from?

But part of you is relieved that he’s gone, so you can be alone and rest. You’re sure the hospital has taken care of informing your parents of what happened, so they’ll be on their way soon enough. You’re distracted by the sound of the hospital door opening, revealing one of your nurses. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” She asks, flashing her smile at you.

You smile nervously, sinking into your bed. The small movement causes a sharp pain in your ribs again, but it’s nothing compared to how it felt earlier. You’re sure the pain meds have something to do with that. “I feel a lot better… Just confused, I guess,” You answer, picking at your blanket. It’s a nervous habit you picked up from your brother when you were younger, one you were never able to get rid of.

“Your doctor went over everything with Chris, so I’m sure he can explain everything when he comes back in.” The nurse explains, leaning over and checking your pulse. You watch her carefully, furrowing your eyebrows. Chris? That’s the man’s name? Why doesn’t that name sound familiar?

“Ah, you’re awake!” The man exclaims, smiling at you. You ignore the nurse as she finishes your exam, your eyes dropping to the plate of food in front of you. The man had gone to the cafeteria for you?

You eye the bowl of soup in front of you, along with the grilled cheese. Beside of the grilled cheese, there’s a cookie, one that he grabbed from the vending machine. You chuckle as you open the cookie, your mouth practically watering. You hadn’t had a cookie like this in so long, they were always your favorite growing up. “I hope you like the soup, it’s the only semi-attractive thing they had down there.” The man explains, sitting in the chair beside of your bed.

You dig into the cookie, leaving the soup to cool down. “I guess I should ask you some questions,” You say, crumbs dropping down to your bedsheets. The man leans back in his chair, staring you down. It should be intimidating, there’s something that tells you that you’re safe.

“First of all, thank you for taking care of me,” You say, earning a chuckle from the man. His beard moves with his face, drawing your attention to it. You’ve never been one for facial hair, but you’ll have to admit, it’s nice.

"It’s the least I could do, sweet heart. I wasn’t hurt nearly as bad as you,” He answers. It’s the first time you’ve really paid attention to his voice and his accent. He has a Boston accent, that’s for sure. You’d almost forgotten that he was in the car with you. You certainly couldn’t tell by looking at him— he has no bruises or cuts.

“What happened to me?”

Chris’s smile fades away as he takes a deep breath, dropping his eyes to his lap. You know it had to have been traumatizing to be in a burning car and be alert through it all, but you have to know what happened. You’ve never been in a car accident before, you’ve always been a great driver. You hadn’t been drinking or smoking, you were driving responsibly. You just can’t figure out what went wrong.

“I’m not sure, honestly. We were driving fine, then all of a sudden, you lost control of the wheel. We flipped and I heard you screaming until you finally stopped. I thought… I thought you were gone,” He says, his voice fading. Your heart sinks in your chest, realizing just how lucky you are.

This man is your hero.

You would’ve died if he hadn’t pulled you out. He could’ve gotten himself out and left you there.

“Chris,” You say, sitting up straight in your bed. You reach out and touch his hand, a small smile on your face. “Thank you. For everything. If you hadn’t been there… Well, I wouldn’t be alive,” You say, expressing your gratitude. Chris smiles gently, rubbing his thumb over your bruised hand.

“But, I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay. My parents will be here soon, I’m sure. You probably have better things to worry about than some stranger,” You finish, pulling your hand away. You know he’s probably exhausted and has his own life to live.

Chris chuckles quietly, raising an eyebrow. “Wow, you must’ve really hit your head hard,” He says, reaching over and breaking off a piece of your cookie. You watch as he eats it, furrowing your eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” You ask. Chris wipes his mouth, his smile fading. “We’re not strangers, y/n. I’m your ex-boyfriend. You really don’t remember?“ He explains, his eyes searching yours.

Shit.

Your ex-boyfriend?

The last boyfriend you remember having was three years ago, the one that broke your heart so bad that you swore off dating. You don’t even remotely remember the man sitting in front of you.

Then again, you were in a horrible wreck. Even if you didn’t hit your head, the trauma and shock of it all could’ve confused you.

“I… I don’t remember you at all,” You whisper, your heart breaking. How could you not remember?

Chris clears his throat, his eyes dropping to his lap. “Then I guess I should fill you in,” He says, lifting his eyes again. “We were together for two years. We met at a friend’s party. We’ve been broken up for 6 months,” He explains. You desperately try to force yourself to remember, but nothing is jogging your memory.

“Why did we break up?”

The question seems to throw Chris off guard, as if he wasn’t expecting you to ask. He swallows a lump in his throat, guiltiness washing over his face. “I cheated on you,”

The answer knocks the air out of your lungs, throwing you off guard. Cheated?He cheated?

Despite you not remembering anything about him, you don’t take him for a cheater. He seems too… caring.

Besides, if he had cheated on you, why were you riding in the car with him 6 months after breaking up?

You take a deep breath, relaxing in your bed. “Why were we together if we’re not dating?” You ask, trying to get a clearer picture of everything. Chris eats another piece of your cookie, dusting his hands off on his pants.

“Well, we were at another party and… One thing led to another and we were on our way back to my place,” He answers, his cheeks heating up. Your cheeks heat up once you realize what was happening, your heart fluttering in your chest. You sit in silence, neither one knowing what to say after that.

Chris clears his throat again. “I know this might sound crazy, but you’re more than welcome to stay with me. The doctor said you’ve got a few broke ribs, so you’ll need help doing the basic things. It’s gonna be pretty hard for you to live on your own right now,” He offers.

You want to shut him down immediately, but you have to seriously consider his offer. With a broken rib, it’s going to be hard to shower on your own. It’ll be hard to cook, to walk up and down your stairs, to do anything on your own. But you can’t live with a stranger… That’s like one of the basic things they teach you in elementary school.

Don’t trust strangers.

Then again, you reckon he’s not really a stranger. Just because you don’t remember anything about him doesn’t mean he’s a stranger.

“Uh, are you sure? I mean, we’re not even together, I don’t want to be a burden,” You say, picking at the skin around your nails.

“I wouldn’t have offered unless I meant it,”

“And right here is where you’ll be sleeping,” Chris says, gesturing to the guest room. It’s on the first level, meaning you won’t have to climb up any stairs. The bathroom is in the room, so it’s not too far of a walk. His house is nice– much nicer than yours. The ride home was silent, neither one of you knowing what to say to each other.

You’re relieved he showed you to the guest room. You were worried he’d expect you to sleep in his room with him, since you were dating. You find him attractive, but you just can’t see yourself being comfortable with sleeping in a bed with him right now.

You lean against the doorway, already out of breath from your short walk. “Thanks again, Chris,” You say, doing your best to muster up a smile. You’re thankful for everything he’s doing for you, but you wish you remembered something, anything about him.

“Let me know if you need any help with anything… Anything at all,” Chris offers, turning to walk out of the room. You hesitate to speak up, but you open your mouth before you even know it. “Actually, can you do me a favor?”

Chris turns around, a small smile on his lips. “Sure, anything.” He says.

Your eyes flicker around the room, searching for anything to make your memory come back. “Do you have any pictures of us? Maybe if I see some pictures, it’ll help me remember you,” You say, your voice small.

Chris’s smile falls, replaced by a frown. “I wish I could, y/n, but after we broke up, I deleted everything of you. I was heartbroken.”

Your shoulders fall, along with your smile. Of course, he deleted everything of you. That’s what happens when you break up with people. You glance over your shoulder at the bed, exhaustion sweeping over your body. “I should go to sleep,” You mutter, taking small steps toward the bed. Chris follows you, reaching out a hand to place on the small of your back.

He gently helps you into bed, frowning when you whimper in pain. He fluffs your pillows and tucks you in, taking a step back. “Goodnight, y/n,” He says, his voice soft. You can tell he’s holding himself back, and you feel guilty.

This man loves you. At least, he did love you. You can tell he wants nothing more than to crawl in bed with you and hold you, or at least give you a kiss goodnight, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You appreciate the thought, even if it makes things awkward.

“Goodnight,”

“I’ll pick you up after I finish running errands,” Chris says, opening the office door for you. He’s been super helpful all morning– making sure you don’t move too fast, helping you change your outfit, helping you with anything that might be difficult with a broken rib.

You’re at the insurance office now, preparing to speak with your agent about the accident. You told him you don’t remember much, but he told you anything would help. You look up at Chris, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you,” You repeat, hating the way you sound like a broken record. You must’ve said the phrase a million times in the past 24 hours, but you truly can’t thank him enough.

Chris chuckles and shakes his head, brushing your hair away from your face. “It’s the least I can do, y/n. I promised you I’d always take care of you, no matter what.” He reminds you, your cheeks heating up. You still find it weird to think that you spent two years of your life with this man; that you loved each other.

Your agent walks in the lobby, interrupting the intimate moment. “Ms. Y/L/N, it’s nice to see you. You can follow me, it won’t take long.” He states. Chris gives you one last goodbye, before walking out the door. You slowly follow the man, sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

“First of all, I’m terribly sorry for everything that’s happened. I can’t imagine how traumatic the accident was,” He says, true sympathy laced in his voice. You pick at your nail bed, swallowing the lump in your throat. You feel guilty that you don’t have any trauma surrounding the accident, but thankful at the same time.

“What do you remember about the accident?”

You clear your throat, shifting awkwardly in your seat. You attempt to remember as far back as the hours before the accident, struggling. “I was at a friend’s party. I wasn’t drinking, I was just talking and dancing. I met up with an ex-boyfriend apparently, and we wanted to go back to my place. I don’t remember anyone being in the car but me, but Chris says he was there. I remember driving down the road and that’s all. Chris says something caused me to lose control of the wheel, and we started rolling.” You explain, a headache forming. You’ve been thinking non-stop, trying to force yourself to remember.

Your agent nods as he writes in his notebook, an eyebrow raising. “So you don’t remember anyone else being in the car?”

You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders. “I thought that was weird, but according to Google, it’s a real thing. Retrograde amnesia, I think is what it was called.” You explain.

Your agent stops writing, lifting his head. “Well, yeah, that’s a real problem, but normally it affects memories years before the injury to the brain. You remember everything up until the accident, correct?” He asks. You nod, furrowing your eyebrows.

He flips through the pages on his desk, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “And your hospital records don’t show anything about a brain injury… Just a few broken ribs and a busted lip.”

You stare blankly ahead, trying to come up with any explanation for your memory loss. You know trauma can cause memory loss, but is that really what happened?

Your agent stares at you, his shoulders dropping. “Ms. Y/L/N, I think I want to have an officer formally investigate you. I have a daughter your age, and I hope someone would help her out if she were ever in this position,” He says.

After agreeing to speak with an officer, you recount your story, trying your best to fill in the blanks for him, but you failed. You left the office feeling defeated and confused, ready to go home. You wish you could say going home helped you, but it hurt you even more.

You walked into a home you didn’t recognize, with declarations you don’t remember picking out, and a man you don’t remember meeting. You stare absentmindedly as Chris washes the dishes left over from spaghetti night, hoping for anything to jog your memory. A tattoo… A scar…. A mole… Anything.

You’re left staring at skin you’ve never seen before, a lump forming in your throat. Normally, the image of Chris washing dishes shirtless would be something you’d drool over, but it just breaks your heart.

What would you normally do? Did he normally cook for you, or were you the one in the kitchen? Did you share the responsibility of the dishes, or did you leave them piled up in the sink, hoping for the other to clean them? Would you go up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his back?

Before you can think about what you’re saying, you’re speaking up, watching Chris turn around. “Did I love you?”

Once again, Chris is thrown off guard. His cheeks heat up as he dries the plate, a soft smile on his lips. “Uh, I think so. At least, you told me you did,” He says, adding a chuckle at the end.

“A lot, actually,”

You stare at the shower water running, disappointed with yourself. You’ve been in the bathroom for 20 minutes, trying to get your shirt off without hurting yourself. You don’t want to strain yourself and prolong your healing process, but you also don’t want to give in to the alternative.

The thought of Chris seeing you shirtless makes your skin crawl.

It shouldn’t, though. After all, you were together for two years; you’re positive he saw you naked.

You reach down to unbutton your jeans, slowly pulling them down to your knees. You wiggle as carefully as possible, working the jeans down to your calves. You gently pick up your foot, using it to kick the other pants leg off of your leg. You suck in a sharp breath with every movement, thanking the gods above for pain medicine.

There’s no way you’re gonna be able to wiggle out of your shirt. It was easy just throwing the shirt on this morning, but you just knowyou’ll get tangled up in your shirt when you’re trying to get it off.

You sigh, giving in. “Chris?” You call, followed by the sound of someone running down the hallway. You heard a thud on the door, causing you to flinch.

“Is everything okay?”

You giggle quietly at the panicked sound of his voice. “Uh, kinda… I need your help,” You say, blushing for what seems like the millionth time tonight. Chris stays silent, waiting patiently for you to explain what you need help with. You take a deep breath, trying to push the embarrassment down.

“I uh, I can’t get out of my shirt,” You say, only to be met with silence. You don’t hear anything for several seconds, but then, you hear what sounds like light footsteps leading away from the bathroom door. You frown, your heart sinking in your chest. You knew it was an odd request, but you didn’t think he’d just leave you hanging. You accept defeat, sighing as you stare in the mirror, preparing yourself to just suck it up and deal with the pain.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when a voice is at the door, getting your attention. “Can I come in?”

You walk toward the door, opening it. You gasp when you open the door, following it with a fit of giggles. Chris is standing at the doorway, a makeshift blindfold over his eyes. “What is that for?” You ask, your face heating up.

Chris smiles as he blindly enters the bathroom, grabbing your hand in the process. You lead him deeper into the room, shutting the door behind you. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable,” Chris explains, darting his tongue out to lick his lips.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. You lift your fingers to feel the soft fabric of the tie, furrowing your eyebrows when you get a good look. “This tie… It looks familiar!” You say, excitement laced in your voice.

You can see Chris’s face light up, even though his eyes are covered. “Really? I picked this one because you bought it for me before I met your parents.” He explains.

A light bulb goes off in your head as you gasp. “My parents! Maybe they have pictures of us together? Or maybe they could at least help me remember,” You say, watching Chris’s smile fade away. He lifts his hands, fumbling for the bottom of your shirt. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” He says.

You frown, allowing him to slip the shirt over your head. The movement hurts your ribs, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it would’ve if you had done it alone. “Your parents didn’t like me. They uh, they didn’t trust me… They told you the night we met that they didn’t approve, that they thought I was up to something,” He mutters. Your heart breaks for Chris, knowing exactly how your parents are. They’ve always had strong opinions about the people you’ve been with.

You stand there as your shirt falls to the ground. Several silent moments pass, so you clear your throat to fill the silence. “I might need some help in the shower,” You say, your voice quiet. If you can’t lift your shirt over your head, how are you going to wash your own hair?

You watch Chris swallow a lump in his throat as his cheeks heat up again. “Uh, yeah, of course,” He says, standing there awkwardly. You giggle as you start your water, letting it heat up. Once you feel it’s hot enough, you carefully step in. “Okay, you can get in,” You say, nervously.

Chris takes a deep breath, his eyes still covered by the blindfolds. He reaches up to his tie, carefully undoing it. You keep your eyes on his hands, feeling your heart speed up. You know you’ve seen it all before— but you don’t remember it. Maybe seeing his body will jog something in your brain.

Silence fills the room as he throws his tie down, reaching for the buttons. He carefully undos them, peeling his shirt off of his back. Your eyes rake over the multiple tattoos, drinking the image in. You don’t see any you recognize, causing your heart to sink once again.

“I can feel you staring at me,”

Chris’s voice brings you back to reality, causing you to clear your throat. “You wish,” You mutter, not wanting to admit it. You turn so your back is to the water, letting the water soak your hair. You try your best to ignore Chris as you see him take his pants off in the corner of your eye, but it’s harder than you thought it would be. You want to look, but it’s not right.

Chris steps into the shower, taking a deep breath. “Just tell me what to do, and when to do it.”

You nod, only to remember he can’t see you. So, you answer him by handing him your shampoo bottle. “Here, hold out your hands.”

He follows your instructions, waiting for you to squirt the liquid onto his hands. Once you feel like you have enough, he rubs his hands together, lathering it up. You turn your back to him, closing your eyes. Chris tangles his fingers in your hair, massaging and rubbing the liquid in your hair. You hum quietly, feeling your body relax.

“Did we have fun together?”

Chris laughs behind you as he rinses your hair, careful to not let any get in your eyes and ears. “Oh, yeah. Tons of fun.” He says. You smile, reaching for the conditioner bottle. “Doing what?”

Chris blows a raspberry as he thinks, eventually shrugging his shoulders. “Everything. We had fun even when we were just laying in bed together. When we would cook together, drink together, anything,”

“How are you feeling?“ Chris asks, making his way downstairs. His fingers are working on his tie, tightening the knot. You’re sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels of the tv.

“Better. I can finally sneeze without crying,” You say, earning a chuckle from Chris. You’ve been at his house for two weeks, meaning it’s been two weeks since the wreck. Chris has been amazing;answering any questions you might have, making sure you’re taking your medicine, and helping you with daily tasks.

“Heard anything from the insurance company?” He asks, leaning against the doorframe. You shake your head, guilt settling in. You hadn’t told Chris that the insurance company was looking into the accident, and you’re not sure why. It’s not like it’s a bad thing, but you feel uneasy about the whole thing.

Chris sighs, grabbing his keys from off of the hook in the hallway. “Alright, I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” He says, making his way over to you. Without hesitation, he leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tense up, staring up at him. Chris blushes, stuttering. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was just our thing before… Before we broke up. It just felt natural, I shouldn’t have done that.” He explains, panic in his eyes.

You giggle quietly, blushing. “It’s okay… I know this has been hard on you too,” You say. Chris’s nervousness seems to fade, his shoulders dropping. Even though you don’t remember him, part of it felt natural to you too. As much as you hate to admit it, you can feel yourself falling for him— all over again.

Chris awkwardly walks out the door, leaving you alone in the house.

Your eyes are glued to the tv for what seems like forever, until you hear a knock at the door. You groan, leaning your head back against the couch cushion. You hatecompany.

“Police; open up!”

Your eyes shoot up, your head coming up off the back of the couch. Police? What are the police doing here? Panic runs through your body, the adrenaline sending you flying over to the door. You swing open the door, your chest heaving. There are five policemen standing in front of your door, their hands resting on the guns on their hips.

“Ma’am, I need you to come with us,” One of them says, carefully and slowly.

“W-why? What’s going on?” You ask. One of the cops pushes you side gently, walking into the home. “Are you y/n y/l/n?”

You nod, your voice seemingly stuck in your throat.

“We were assigned to your case. We suspect the man you’ve been living with tampered with your breaks the night of the accident,” He explains, your heart sinking into your stomach.

This can’t be right, it can’t be true. Chris? Why would your ex-boyfriend intentionally cause your accident?

“That can’t be true, Chris is a great guy; he’s my ex-boyfriend!” You argue, disbelief laced in your voice.

The cop pulls a picture out of his wallet, holding it up in front of you. “This is you, with your parents, and your realboyfriend,” He explains, passing you the picture. You examine it, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Mr. Evans began micro-dosing you with Midazolam, which is a drug that causes retrograde amnesia. It was a small enough amount to cause you to forget your boyfriend, but not your parents. You’d only been with your boyfriend for three months, so it was easier to erase him from your memory,”

You block everything out, memories flooding through your brain. You had gone to the party with your boyfriend that night. You suddenly remember everything, all the way back to the first time you met him. He was kind, he was generous, he was funny…

“Is Tyler okay?” You ask, your head snapping up. The cops sympathetically frown at you, shaking their heads. “If you come with us, we’ll tell you everything,”

You stare straight ahead, locking eyes with the man you thought you knew. The man you thought you were falling for.

The man you thought had saved your life.

It’s been 6 months since the police escorted you out of his home, 6 months since you returned to your normal life. 6 months since you found out Chris murdered your ex-boyfriend, causing your parents to think you suffered the same fate.

6 months since you were told Chris had been stalking you for years, lurking in the background of your friends’ parties, hiding behind the trees of the parks you ran in, doing anything he could to get close to you.

The judge bangs her gavel, causing you to jump. “Ms. Y/L/N, are you listening?”

You gulp, looking over at her. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?” You ask, watching the disappointment on her face. Even after knowing what you know about Chris, it’s going to be hard to put him away for life. You know he’s a bad man, but he helped you so much. How could a murderer be so gentle with someone? You remember him in the shower with you, delicate touches as he helped you wash your hair.

He never made a bad comment or tried to touch you. He made you feel so safe.

You remember mornings in the kitchen with him, before he went back to work. He’d flip the pancakes, dropping them on the floor. You’d giggle and shake your head as you pulled out a box of cereal instead. You remember late nights on the couch, when you’d accidentally snuggle up to him as you fell asleep. He’d wrap you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your head. He thought you were asleep, but you felt each kiss.

“In your time together, did Mr. Evans ever attempt to harm you?”

Chris stares straight ahead at you, his eyes locked onto yours. You shake your head, a tear falling down your face. “No, quite the opposite,” You say, a dry chuckle falling from your lips.

“Can you elaborate?”

“Chris was great. He was always very gentle and kind, I never had any suspicions that he was a bad man.” You say, watching Chris’s eyes fall to his lap, as if he’s hurt that you called him a bad man.

You see your lawyer shaking his head, disappointed that you didn’t stick to the script. The judge sighs, banging her gavel once again. “Alright. That’s all for today. Court dismissed. The sentencing is scheduled for Friday morning at 10 am,”

You watch everyone get out of their seats, including Chris. His hands are handcuffed behind his back, making him look more dangerous than you believe him to be. Your parents run up to you, helping you off the stand. “Let’s go home, honey. You need to rest,”

You sit on the couch, a bowl of cereal in your hands as you watch the live stream of the sentencing. Your parents are there, but you couldn’t bear to be. You made up some lie about your ribs hurting extra today, but you really couldn’t bear to see Chris be sentenced to life in prison.

You feel guilty, even though you shouldn’t. This man murdered your boyfriend, he messed with your breaks. He tricked you into believing that you had been with him for years.

The head of the jury stands up, his eyes locked onto the paper in front of him. “We, the jury, have found the defendant, Chris Evans, guilty of first degree murder,” He says, knocking the breath out of your lungs. The camera pans to Chris, who can’t even bear to look up.

“We, the jury, have found the defendant, Chris Evans, guilty of tampering with a vehicle,”

“We, the jury, have found the defendant, Chris Evans, guilty of kidnapping,”

The charges keep rolling in, shocking you with every one. The camera pans back to the judge, silencing the crowd. “I am hereby sentencing Mr. Evans to life in prison, with no parole. Court is adjourned,”

The bowl falls into your lap, your hands flying up to your mouth, the bile creeping up your throat.

You did the right thing, so why do you feel so horrible?

Lost Stars

Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Ari has a breeding kink.

Warning: breeding kink, unprotected sex, p in v, fluff?, mention of pregnancy, mention of birth control, language,

A/n: ari has a breeding kink and nobody can tell me differently

Word Count: 1290 words

“Hmph,”

You stir in your sleep, stretching your back out. You hatesleepingonAri’s side of the bed. Your side is much more comfortable, but after a late night last night, you both sprawled out on the bed without thinking about which side you were on.

You yawn, furrowing your eyebrows as you feel Ari’s arm plop across your stomach, pulling you closer. You open your eyes, turning your head to face your husband.

It’s hard to believe some days that you’re married to a man like this. A man who you never could’ve dreamed up. A man you never thought would look at you twice. His big arm is flexing around your body, his beard tickling the left side of your face.

“Ari,” You mutter, elbowing him in the side. You love cuddling in the morning, when the sun is shining through your windows, warming both of your bodies up. But you have to pee and his muscular arm is getting heavy. Ari groans in his sleep, rolling over on his back. You breathe a sigh of relief as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your t-shirt dropping to the top of your thighs.

You make your way into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and relieving yourself. You open the bathroom door, your eyes landing on Ari lying in bed, his sleepy smile drawing you in. His chest is exposed, stretching his arm above his head. “Come here,” He mumbles, making a grabby motion with his hands.

You giggle, making your way to the bed. “You woke up in a good mood,” You say, settling back into bed. Ari pulls you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You inhale the smell of his deodorant, closing your eyes again. The feeling of Ari’s warmth, combined with his scent, almost lulls you back to sleep.

That is, until you feel a hand wandering down your back, fingers dancing above the waistband of your panties. You feel a cold index finger against your skin, slipping under the band. You raise an eyebrow, a small smile on your lips.

“Ari?”

“Hm?”

You giggle quietly, pulling away from his chest. “You have a good dream?” You ask, slightly gasping as his cold hand slips under the fabric, grasping a handful of your ass.

“Mmm, I had a great dream,” He mutters, nuzzling his nose against yours. “We were right here, in this bed… And we heard footsteps, and our door opened… And it was our little girl,”

Your heart swells as you listen to Ari explain his dream, a smile spreading over your face. You and Ari have discussed kids before, but you’ve never decided anything. Something about Ari dreamingabout having kids drives you crazy, earning a soft moan.

“And I was thinking, I can’t wait to knock ya’ up. I can’t wait to bury my cock in your little pussy and fill you up with my hot cum, over and over and over again, until you’re pregnant,”

You gasp, adding a chuckle to the end. You can feel Ari growing against your leg, pushing against you. “That took a quick turn,” You tease, rolling over until you’re on top of Ari. He slides his hands under your shirt, cupping your breasts.

“Is that something you’d want?” Ari asks, his voice soft. You can tell he’s nervous to ask, but he shouldn’t be.

This is all you’ve ever wanted.

“Yes,” You breathe, nodding your head eagerly. Ari grabs your hips, grinding you against him. “Fuck,” He moans, bucking his hips up. You’re still sore from last night, but it adds to the excitement. “Get those fucking boxers off,” You mutter, grabbing at the fabric with your hands.

Ari rolls you over, kicking the boxers off of his feet. He’s left naked, towering over you. He cages your body between his thick arms, his fingers dancing down your body. His thick fingers meet your swollen clit, applying the tiniest bit of pressure. “Mm, you’re always so ready for me… Why is that?” He teases, a smirk growing across his face.

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. Your nipples graze against the rough fabric of the t-shirt, hardening them. You can feel your cunt soaking your thighs, the slick running down to your ass. “‘Cause, I’m all yours,”

You whine, your voice nasally and pitchy. Ari dips his head down to your neck, licking a stripe up your neck, driving you crazy. He slides his fingers through your folds, collecting the sticky substance. He pushes his way into your tight hole, groaning when he feels you clench around his fingers. “So fucking perfect…” He groans, his mouth working over your neck. You close your eyes, enjoying his touch.

Your body completely relaxes, submitting to everything he has to offer. You whimper and moan, feeling powerful— yet, so fragile under his touch. “Mm,” You whine, your chest heaving.

Ari curls his fingers, your legs tightening together. “I know, baby, I know…”

“I… I can’t take it anymore!” You exclaim, your eyes opening. You need him, not his fingers. Your cunt is aching to be filled, your womb aching to have his child.

Ari quickly pulls his fingers away, lifting them to your lips and pushing them between your lips. You lock your eyes onto his as your lips close around his soaked fingers, your tongue twirling around them. He moans, adjusting himself so that he’s hovering over you, his cock lined up with your cunt. You brace yourself, knowing he won’t hold back.

Mosaic Broken Hearts

Summary: Your ex boyfriend barges into Chris’s house, bringing your real feelings out.

Warning: homophobic language, mentions of domestic violence, angst, fluff!!,

A/n: I think there will be one more part to this, but it really depends on how much you guys like this part!!

“Go to bed already,” You groan, throwing a pillow across the bed. Scott catches it before it hits his face, dropping it between his legs. “Noooo, I’m not done,” He groans, throwing his head back.

Scott has been in your room for hours, going over every detail of his date gone wrong. You’ve been trying to force yourself to forget about the almost kiss, but nothing is distracting you. You can still feel Chris’s breath on your lips, his stare focusing on you.

You even thought about bringing it up to Scott, but you don’t want him to make a big deal out of it. Nothing even happened, why should you mention it?

You yawn, snuggling deep into your bed. “Well, I’m tired. You can tell me more in the morning,” You mumble, your eyelids fluttering closed. Scott sighs, standing up, throwing the pillow back down to you.

“Fine, I’ll go over every detail tomorrow morning,” He says, wiggling his eyebrows. You sleepily watch as he walks out of your room, leaving the door cracked. You sigh deeply, feeling sleep taking over your body.

——-

“Y/n,” Chris whispers, standing over your bed. You toss over in your bed, snuggling deeper into your bed. You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep, but you think you must be dreaming.

It isn’t until Chris places a hand on your shoulder that you realize you’re not dreaming. You open your eyes, jumping slightly when you see Chris standing over you. He’s smiling, looking down at you. He’s shirtless, which you’re still not used to.

“Chris?” You ask, your voice quiet. Your heart is racing from the scare, but your mind hasn’t quite caught up with you. You can barely make out Chris’s face, the lamp light doing a poor job of illuminating it.

Chris sits on the edge of your bed, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. You can tell something is on his mind, but you’re not sure what. Your eyes fall to his lips, wishing you hadn’t been interrupted earlier. You feel sure if you had gone through with the kiss, you would’ve ended up in bed with him, having the night of your life.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Chris admits, his eyes darting down to your lips. He had been thinking about you all night, thinking about how if he never took this chance, he might not ever get it again.

He’s waited long enough.

You roll over on your back, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You smile up at him, your cheeks heating up. You’ve never had a guy be so honest about his feelings, it’s refreshing. “What are you thinking about?”

Chris sucks in a deep breath, leaning forward, his face hovering over yours. If you leaned forward just an inch, you’d have him right where you want him, but you can’t talk yourself into it.

“Thinking about how good your lips would feel,” He mutters, his voice dropping. With every word, his lips brush over yours, your nose swiping his. It’s far more contact than you’ve ever had with him before, but it’s still not enough for you.

There’s something about Chris that just drives you crazy. Your breath hitches in your throat as his lips press against yours, fireworks going off in your head. Time seems to stop, freezing this moment for you so you can go back and replay it. It’s a simple kiss, one that tells you exactly what you need to know.

Chris feels the same way you do.

You try to soak up the kiss, never wanting to forget this moment, when you hear a loud knock at the door. You try your best to ignore it, focusing on Chris’s lips instead. It isn’t long after the kiss started when you hear Scott shouting something, causing both of you to pull away.

“Get out! I’m going to call the cops!” You hear Scott say, causing you to raise your eyebrows. You’ve never heard such… Anger in Scott’s voice. Scott is normally a very happy person. There’s only one person that can get under Scott’s skin like this.

“Shit,” You say, your eyes widening. You glance up at Chris, who’s staring at you with confusion all over his face. You hop out of bed, hurrying down the hallway.

“Where is she?” You hear your ex say. His voice sends a shiver down your spine, grimacing as you remember what your last encounter entailed. Chris is right behind you, his face red with anger. He’s never met your ex boyfriend before, but he doesn’t have to to know that he’s a piece of shit.

You walk into the living room, watching Scott block Tyler’s view of you. “You’re not going anywhere near her, buddy. Get the hell out of my house,”

Tyler looks down at Scott, smirking. “Oh, yeah? What are you going to do if I don’t, twink?”

Anger flashes through your body as you watch him put his hands on Scott, pushing him backward. Scott fights to push him back, but Chris quickly steps in, leaving you exposed. “Hey! Get your hands off of him!” He shouts, stepping in the middle of the boys.

Tyler jerks his head up to see where the voice is coming from, looking Chris up and down. He smirks, taking a step back. “I take it you’re the guy that’s fucking this twink, huh?”

With that, you step up, anger fueling your body. He has no right to come into their house and insult them. You can’t stand Tyler, you want him out.“You need to leave, now, Tyler,” You say, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

It’s hard to look him in the eyes, especially when he’s stared you down while choking you before. You feel your body shaking, but you won’t let him know how he’s affecting you. Chris keeps a careful eye on you, making sure you’re okay.

“Well, well, well… moved on already, have we?” Tyler mocks, darting his eyes between you and Chris. You can see the gears turning in his head, causing your stomach to twist. If Tyler even thinks there’s something going on between you and Chris, he’ll lose it. Tyler still looks at you as his property, property that no one else should touch.

You quickly shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “No, it’s not like that. We’re just friends,” You say, watching Chris out of the corner of your eye. It’s obvious to him what you’re doing, but it shouldn’t be this way.

Maybe you are just friends. Maybe the kiss meant nothing to you. But you shouldn’t be scared to tell your ex-boyfriend that you’ve moved on.

Chris steps up, looking Tyler up and down. “No, we’re not just friends. I think you need to leave now,” He says, darting his eyes over to you. Your heart sinks, a sick feeling settling deep in your stomach.

You don’t need Chris to fight your battles. You can do it on your own. If you don’t want your ex boyfriend to know you’ve moved on, you shouldn’t be forced to tell him.

Tyler rolls his eyes, staring you down. “You’ll come back to me,” He deadpans, letting you know how serious he is. Without another word, he walks out, leaving you three in the living room.

Scott instantly wraps you in his arms, pulling you close. “Are you okay?” He asks, pulling away from you. You nod, unable to find your voice just yet. You turn to look at Chris, anger bubbling in your stomach.

You walk up to him, shoving him back with your hands. “Why the fuck did you do that?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows. Chris stares at you, just as confused as you are. You like Chris, he did the right thing.

So why are you mad?

For once, you just wanted to be your own person. You just wanted to stand up to Tyler once.

And part of you might be scared to actually let go of Tyler. He’s all you’ve ever known. Without him, you don’t have a home. Without him, you don’t have anyone that loves you.

Maybe part of you wanted to hold onto him for just a little longer.

Tears well up in your eyes as your bottom lip trembles, the reality of it all finally hitting you. Chris mouths a quick ‘get out’ to Scott, who’s trying to figure everything out. He rushes into his room, giving you the privacy you need.

“What did I do wrong, y/n? Just tell me,” Chris begs, grabbing your wrists in his hands. You look up at him, sniffling, trying to stop the tears from flowing.

“I’m alone,” You whisper, your heart breaking all over again. Without Tyler, you don’t know who you are. You changed so much just for him to want you, to love you. Who are you if you’re not loved by Tyler?

Chris lets go of your hands, pulling you close to his chest. “You’re not alone, y/n. Scott loves you, you’re his best friend!” He reminds you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You feel him nervously gulp as you snuggle deeper into his chest, the exhaustion from the adrenaline rush finally setting in.

“A-and I know we’ve only really known each other for a couple of weeks, but I really like you. As long as you’re here, you’re never going to be alone,” Chris reassures you, rubbing your back.

You sigh a sigh of relief, letting your guard down.

You might not have Tyler, but you have something even better now.

So Inviting, I Almost Jump In

Frat-boy!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You’ve been best friends with Steve Rogers your whole life… But you hate the way every girl falls on their knees for him.

Warning: over sexualized steve rogers (not by reader), friends to lovers, reader is insecure,

A/n: this is one of my last works in my 1k celebration!

“Oh, Steve, I love you! Oh, baby, I need you,” You tease, your voice high-pitched and nasally. Steve’s cheeks burn, visible even in the dark room. You laugh loudly, throwing your head back.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, pushing your legs off of his lap. Your legs plop against the couch cushions as Steve stands up, walking into your tiny kitchen. “What? Don’t act like you don’t love the attention,” You say.

You watch as Steve shakes his head, his back to you. He rumbles through your cabinets, searching for something to eat. “If I loved the attention, I’d be at a party tonight, instead of hiding out in your apartment,” He says, wiping the smile off of your face.

You roll your eyes, pulling the blanket over your legs. Steve turns around, his amazing pecs staring you right in your face. “And don’t act like you didn’t have a little crush on me in high school,”

Your eyes widen, your lips parting. You most certainly did not! Okay– maybe you did, but that’s none of his business! He shouldn’t know that. You’d been friends for your whole life, who would have blamed you for having a crush on Steve fucking Rogers?

Star of the football team, dumb, goofy, blonde… He was every high school girl’s wet dream. Until they realized how close he was with you. It’s not your fault, you never had a choice in the matter. Your dad’s had been friends all throughout high school, so you were raised together. Steve Rogers helped you learn how to walk, you helped him learn how to read.

You’d understand why his friendship with you was a turnoff for a lot of girls. You were always at every football game, every family gathering, and Steve always ended up at your house after a party. But what made it even worse was who you were.

You were nothing like the people Steve hung out with. He hung out with football stars and cheerleaders. You were neither of those things. You were a quiet girl who sat in the front of the class, who no one even knew was in the class until they needed help on the homework.

But all of that changed when you went to college. Steve went with a full scholarship, thanks to his football skills, and you went with thousands of dollars in loans. You suddenly became the girl that went to parties. Now, let’s not lie to ourselves. The only reason you got into those parties was because Steve was the beloved frat leader who convinced his “brothers” to let you in.

Now, instead of just being the football star, Steve is the football star AND the goofy frat boy. Girls are practically offering him blowjobs as soon as they see him.

“I did not,” You argue, watching as Steve chuckles. He grabs his snack before coming back over to the couch, all 200 lbs of him sitting on your legs. You struggle to move your legs, kicking him in the process.

“Ow,”

“Not everyone has a crush on you, you know?” You say, sitting up in your couch.

“Everyone but you,” He replies, raising his eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, having nothing to say back to that statement. He’s right. Everyone but you has a crush on him.

Your crush faded away as soon as you saw how the girls fell for him. You don’t know why, but it was such a turn off for you. Steve is just a regular guy. You’ve seen him pick his nose. You’ve watched him throw up. You’ve seen him cry. He’s not some super-human boy.

He’s a regular guy.

You don’t want someone that everyone wants. You don’t want someone that everyone can have. You love Steve, but he’s not particularly selective about the women he chooses. If they show an ounce of admiration for him, he’s taking that, spinning it until they hate him, until they want nothing else to do with him.

And you can’t say you blame him. If you were an attractive guy in college, you’d probably fuck everyone you wanted to. But you’re just a girl in college, who has societal consequences for who you choose to fuck.

So, that’s why you could never be with Steve.

He’d never want you anyway.

“Why is that?” Steve asks, his smile dropping. You’re brought out of your thoughts, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“What are you talking about?”

Steve throws his arm up on the back of the couch, scooting closer to you. “Why are you the only one that’s never shown any interest in me?” He asks, his voice quiet.

You scoff, tearing your eyes away from his. “According to you, I had a thing for you in high school,” You mutter. Steve reaches out and lands a hand on your knee, getting your attention again. The air in the apartment has suddenly been sucked out, leaving you breathless.

Okay, maybe your high school crush never went away. Maybe you tried to make it go away, tried to convince yourself that you didn’t want him. But how could you?

Steve is the perfect guy. He always stands up for you, he always makes sure you’re not left alone on the weekends, he always makes room for you. If a girl has a problem with you, he drops them, because he’s always said you were more important than a girl who was around just to get his dick wet.

You remember just last night, when you were alone in your apartment, after turning down Steve’s invitation to go to a party. You felt the bed dip beside of you, awakening you from your sleep. “It’s just me,” Steve whispered, pulling the blankets over his legs. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, despite your back being turned to him.

It’s not unusual for him to end up in your bed after a party, drunk and tired, desperate for someone to cuddle with. That’s what people will never understand about Steve.

He’s got plenty of attention, but it’s not the attention he wants. It’s something you’d never understand, something he’d never want you to understand. He admires the way people love you. They love you unconditionally, without expecting anything from you. Everyone expects him to play good, they expect him to fuck them at the end of the night.

Because that’s who he’s always been.

But the people that want you, they want you because of your mind. Because of the way your nose scrunches when you laugh, the way you’re not afraid to speak your mind, even if it pisses other people off.

You might not get the attention he has, but you have the attention he craves.

Steve wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, inhaling your scent.

“I know better than that, y/n. I know you couldn’t stand me in high school,” Steve says, a smile on his face. You look away, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I didn’t hate you, Steve. I… Might’ve had a slight… Crush on you,” You admit, your face burning up. You never thought you’d admit this, not to yourself, but especially not to him.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, his smile growing bigger. “Yeah?” He asks, earning a laugh out of you. You nod your head, smiling.

“Yeah, I did,”

Steve’s smile fades, his hand still on your knee. “What changed?” He asks, his voice quiet.

His tone takes you by surprise. He’s not teasing you about it, he’s not making fun of you… He’s genuinely asking.

Nothing changed, you want to say. I’m still hopelessly in love with you, but I’m too scared to admit it because I’m not your kind of girl.

Your smile fades as you shake your head, pulling your leg away from his hand. “I grew up,” You say, standing up. You go to the kitchen, cleaning up his mess, trying to get out of this conversation.

You’ve avoided having this conversation for so long, not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings or make anything complicated.

Steve furrows his eyebrows, watching you. “You… Grew up? What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks. You shake your head, not wanting to look at him. “I realized that guys like you should be with sorority girls or cheerleaders… And I belong with no one,”

Steve frowns, standing up. He comes into the kitchen, staring at you. You feel him staring a hole through your back, but you refuse to look at him. You can’t believe you’re actually having this conversation. You promised yourself you’d never tell him how you felt, not wanting to mess your friendship up.

“You really believe that?” He asks, his voice dangerously close to your ear. You feel his breath against your neck, causing you to shiver. You suddenly feel naked, dressed only in your big t shirt and pajama shorts. Normally, you wouldn’t mind. Steve’s seen you in bikinis, he’s seen you in a bra and panties, but suddenly, you feel like you should be in a full body suit.

You feel his chest against your back, his hands snaking around your waist, turning you until you’re facing him. Your eyes are locked onto his chest, not having the courage to look up at him. His hands move up to your cheeks, his thumb stroking your skin. “Fuck,” You mutter, feeling your stomach fill up with butterflies.

“What would you say if I thought the same thing?” Steve asks, his voice gentle. This gets your attention, your head snapping up to him. He thinks he belongs with no one? How could he? Every girl on campus is falling on their knees for him.

“Are you mental? Every girl wants you, Steve, of course you belong with someone,” You argue, watching as he sighs quietly.

“People want me, y/n, but they don’t love me. No one’s ever been head over heels for me, nobody ever felt like they couldn’t live without me. No one’s ever wanted me. Not that way I want you,” He admits, his eyes searching yours.

You suck in a sharp breath, completely taken aback by what you’re hearing. Never in a million years had you thought Steve liked you.

You thought all the deep conversations, all the nights spent in your bed, all the random phone calls were just his way of being a good friend.

“You want me?” You ask, breathlessly. Your heart has stopped racing, slowing to an almost nonexistent beat, preparing yourself for what’s happening.

Steve leans forward, his nose grazing yours, until his lips are on yours. His lips move against yours, your heart racing again. This isn’t how you imagined he’d feel— it’s better. His lips on yours are heavy, but his hands on your body are light, pulling you closer and deeper.

You can’t hear anything, only the drumming of your heart in your eardrums.

Steve’s lips brush against yours gently, unsure of where to take this. Normally, the girl would’ve started pulling at his pants by now, desperate to feel him. But with you, it’s different.

You savor his kiss, gasping when you feel his tongue swiping over your bottom lip. You let him in, your hands tangling in his hair. There’s a certain desperation about the kiss, but it’s not sexual.

It’s desperation to let him know that he’s safe with you. He’ll never have to feel unwanted again.

His tongue moves against yours, exploring the deepest depths of you. You feel, in this moment, indestructible. Nothing else matters because,

Steve Rogers is kissing you.

He pulls away, nuzzling his forehead against yours. His lips are pink and swollen, matching the pink tint on his cheeks. You take a deep breath, humming as you open your eyes.

“Does that answer your question?”

➩ (/)

| Trailer Park!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader (2000s Trailer Park AU)

|trailer park neighbours-to-lovers, meet-cute, fluff, AGE GAP, dilf bartender!Ari, Ari Levinson x OCs, reader x OCs (mentioned), innocent!reader, cigarette use, alcohol, 6’7” Ari, beefy hunk!Ari, soft!Ari, dom!Ari, flirting, nicknames, size difference, sugar daddy!Ari, rockstar!Ari, drunk!Natasha is funny, SMUT - minors DNI, accidental voyeurism: protected sex (p in v), dirty talk, daddy kink, degradation, dumbification, spitting, ends with second hand embarrassment (maybe)

| The sun of ‘06 is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole-damn city?

♫ ·ﾟ

/ | 4.67K

/ | and he has arrived !! Yes, there’s cellphones in this “80s” fic, it’s more of a cross between 80s/90s vibes. Get ready for carefree trailer park shenanigans, everyone here is vulgar (except reader) and ofc, major thank you to everyone who sent asks, you’ve all helped me write this fic !! All mistakes are my own. ☼ - ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ & : @- 

˗ˏˋˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ .. & .

It must be following me, you think to yourself and move once again as the sun beams down brutally. You shift to the side, pressing yourself against the filling station, the blueberry popsicle falling victim to the summer heat in your hand.  

Old Ricky’s is one of the many gas stations in the area, but it’s the closest to Flamingo Trailer Park which made it the perfect temporary job, temporary because you doubt you’ll be here next month. 

It’s far better than the last one you worked at—Mary Jane’s had broken windows, a busted air conditioner, and smelt an awful lot like stale coffee. The reputation wasn’t the best either, plenty of the high school kids would steal like it was nothing, and Mrs. Jane didn’t bat an eye. 

You often felt out of place in that dingy station, at least Old Ricky’s was clean, had a television and radio, and a fully functioning air conditioner. Mr. Ricky was a kind man, he didn’t tolerate stealing or even cursing, “I deal with enough of that foul-mouthed attitude at home, don’t need it here too, honeypie.” 

Your heart breaks a little as the blue treat drips down the stick to your hand. Mr. Ricky let you have all the popsicles you wanted, as long as you kept yourself clean and presentable for the customers. At this time of day when the sun is at its highest, the station was drier than a desert, but you didn’t favour sticky hands while working. You feel around your denim shorts for a napkin, but come up empty. 

Tires roll on the concrete, and after a quick peek over your shoulder, you spot a big red Chevrolet truck with thick white stripes on the sides. It’s tall, at least two—maybe more—feet off the ground with rolled-down windows and music blaring from the speakers. 

You fumble with your popsicle, trying to finish it while not making a mess, god, and you really need a napkin. 

The truck stops a few ways away, the door opens and closes as you put your heart-shaped sunglasses over your eyes. 

“You sell smokes in there?” 

You whip around, eyes wide with the cold popsicle between your lips, “Yes, s’hir.” You answer, mouth still full of the sugary treat as a few drops escape from the corners of your lips. “All kinds—I don’t know what you prefer, but I bet Mr. Ricky’s got it!” 

He’s tall, seemingly perfect for his vehicle with his broad shoulders and built stature. His peach flannel is unbuttoned all the way, exposing an off-white tank top and the shiny buckle of his belt. The clean leather is looped in his blue jeans that outline his muscled thighs all the way down to his brown boots. 

He seems a smidge familiar, perhaps you’ve seen him down at the Flamingo. And right now, those clothes do nothing to hide what’s underneath, he’s big, thick, and burly, you know that much and are a little ashamed as your mind teeters on the edge of the gutter. 

He could probably crush you like a bug.

Your eyes flicker back up to his, and he’s already staring at you. His clear blue eyes trail over your face, and down your sweaty neck. 

His dark eyebrows are furrowed from the bright sunshine, and a beard covers half his face but that doesn’t conceal any of his strong, handsome features. Thick eyelashes frame his cerulean eyes, brushing his cheekbones that are only defined by the brown facial hair, complementing his plump pink lips in a way that makes your knees a little weak. 

You don’t realize the popsicle has melted down your face until he holds out a napkin. 

“You’re making a mess, sugar.” 

When he steps closer, your throat tightens. He’s very, very tall, you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze. 

“What’s your name?”

It’s only three words but his voice strums you just right—deep, creamy and confident, with a twang of an accent you can’t identify. 

“P-Pardon?” You manage, 

The man chuckles, his big hand hooks in his belt loops as he cocks his hip, “I asked for your name, sweetheart.”

He drops the ‘r’ when he speaks, and admittedly, it’s got you swooning. Your eyes flicker to the waist of his jeans where the denim meets his tanned skin, but you quickly look away as the hem slips a little further down. This man carries himself with nothing less than self-assurance. 

The air starts feeling a little hotter, and you suspect it isn’t because of the sun. 

You introduce yourself, nervously wiping your chin with the napkin. The white fabric of your shirt is stretched and worn from the blistering heat, and already stained with the last popsicles you had. 

The man runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair, licking his lips. “C’mon, kitty cat, fill ‘er up for me, half a tank.” 

He leans on his truck, lighting a cigarette as you pump the gas. The humid wind brushes along your slick skin, and you plead for it to take away those lingering nerves, but alas, those stupid shys—as Natasha calls them—are stuck to you like glue. 

You can feel his eyes on you, mapping out your features like a fleeting traveller. The last exhale of his cigarette is followed by a low sigh, “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You finish up pumping the gas and step back to the filling station, “I, uh, usually work closer to downtown.” 

He nods and holds out a wad of bills between his ring-clad fingers. His shiny watch catches the light, it doesn’t look like the cheap ones people have tried to sell you, but it does resemble the ones from the pawn shop you used to work at. 

“Oh, sir, this is too much—”

“The rest is for you, and it’d be real impolite to deny a gift.” 

Clutching the cash to your chest, you peer at the station where Mr. Ricky was asleep at the checkout, work boots kicked up on the counter with his baseball cap pulled low over his wrinkled face. “Thank you, sir.”

“You can call me Ari.” He says easily, “Are you going inside any time soon?”

You shake your head, “Mr. Ricky is gonna call me for my break.” 

His blue eyes fall on the station before he starts walking away, his heavy feet thumping on the ground, “Do you like cherries?” He calls over his shoulder. 

“Um, yes?” You shout, fingers knotted in front of you, “wait, why—” but it’s too late, the bell dings before the glass door shuts. 

You’re tending to another customer when Ari returns. As you half-listen to the older lady curse the blazing weather, he nods at you, setting a colourful little packet and a large plastic cup on that wooden bench by the newspaper stand. The woman is talking your ear off, as he hops into his truck, barely struggling with the height off the ground. 

His eyes land on yours before he waves, the ghost of a smile blooming on his pink lips. 

“Oh, sweetie, don’t trust a man who drives a Chevy.” The older woman interrupts, big sunglasses taking up most of her face, “All my ex-husbands had one, those things are cursed.”

What are the chances it’s the vehicle, and not the other constant, which would be herself? 

You silently wish she didn’t tell you that, because knowing your gullible tendencies, you’ll load every one of those preconceived notions on the handsome stranger. You only spoke to him for a few minutes, nothing more, nothing less. 

“You know why they’ve got all that room in the back?” She leans close, bubblegum painted lips in a deep frown, “It’s for the hundreds of hearts they break.”

After what seemed like forever, the older woman finally leaves. She had nearly told you her entire life story, dragging on and on about her ex-husbands and her new, young and fresh fiance living a few miles away. 

Now, with slow, hesitant steps towards the station, you find yourself staring down at a bag of assorted gummies, they’re your favourite fruity flavours and next to it is a cherry cola slurpee with a pink straw. There’s a note under the cup, neat handwriting on the small sticky note: 

‘Ricky said it’s fine for you to sit out front in the shade. Can’t have you overheating, keep cool, sugar.’

You don’t realize he didn’t even buy any cigarettes until he’s long gone. 

“How do you do that?” 

Natasha turns to you with that signature red-lipped smirk, “Easy, I make ‘em think I’m interested. Flirting on a Friday night is a game and you’ve got to be the best player if you wanna get your fill.” She adjusts her breasts in her tight dress, flipping her vibrant hair over her bare shoulder. 

You make a face, anxiously tugging at the hem of your sundress. It was on the shorter side with a cute bow on each of your shoulders, the ditsy floral design made you stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of denim and leather. But you wanted to wear it because you adored the colour since it complemented your skin, and it was fitting in all the right places. Natasha even let you borrow some of her jewelry to complete your outfit, she wanted you to wear heels too, but you were set on your little white sneakers. 

You hadn’t been to this bar before, much preferring the one on 5th Avenue where they had karaoke nights. 

For your first trip to The Den, it was going pleasantly. You found comfortable seats at the bar, the music was a little out of your comfort zone but it was catchy, and Natasha let you have a few sips of her free drinks. 

“C’mon, I’ll teach you. Watch him for a moment.” She points across the bar where another man was leaning close to a woman, a charming grin on his lips as he made her laugh. Then, almost like magic, after he scoots closer and tilts his head, she waves her hand, beckoning the bartender over. 

You gulp, watching him swing an arm around her shoulder and speak into her ear. “Looks like… they’re together.” 

“It just looks that way, but I’ll bet that he’s going home with someone else.” Natasha sips on her cocktail, “Maybe if he wanted her, he would’ve offered her a drink.”

By that logic, buying drinks was a ticket to the bedroom. Which only makes it more surprising when a fresh drink is placed in front of you. The glass lands on the wooden countertop as Natasha playfully nudges your shoulder. 

You blink down at it, shivering at the thought of getting intimate with a stranger tonight. “Excuse me, I-I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house, sugar.” 

The bartender stands before you, those familiar blue eyes twinkle under the light fixtures, the yellow glow outlines the high points of his chiselled face and defines the dips and curves. 

His hair falls over his eyes, “Did you like the cherry cola? Ricky said those treats were your favourites.” 

Andmaybe you pinned the sticky note on your corkboard above your bed, and have spent hours staring at it upside down, daydreaming of the single meeting like it was the beginning of a fairytale. 

Tonight, Ari is dressed in a dark blue flannel with the top buttons undone, exposing his brawny chest dusted with thick hair. Your gaze lingers there for a moment too long, your mouth watering at the sliver of skin. 

The awkwardness washes over you, practically spreading to every inch of the bar, and you fumble for a response. “I-I, yes, I do—”

“Thank you, she means to say.” The redhead rubs your back, whispering under her breath through her wide smile, “Don’t get the stupid shys, or so help me.”

Someone calls his name, “Well, tell her it’s no problem.” 

“Hey, sweetie, the hunky bartender says it’s no problem.” 

You’re a mess under his watchful gaze as he laughs quietly before turning to exchange a few words with a blonde bartender. Trying to get a hold of yourself, you grip the glass and tuck your other hand between your thighs,  “I heard, Nat.” 

She holds up her hands, casually turning to the new woman next to her, her empty glass forgotten on the countertop. Turning on the charm like a switch.  

Ari faces you again, his big hands braced on the smooth dark wood, “How have you been? Keepin’ cool in the heat?” His silver knuckles gleam, the chunky skull ring sitting snug on his middle finger.  

“Good and yes, um, the hours at the candy shop stretch on a little too long sometimes, but it’s inside and I get freebies every shift.” 

“A new job?” He frowns, “you don’t work at Old Ricky’s anymore?” 

You sip the drink, it’s delightfully sweet, the berries exploding on your tongue. There’s a slight burn from the alcohol but nothing too strong. “I never have the same job for long. Left the station a week ago, I think.” 

He cocks a brow, “Don’t tell me you’re one of them irresponsible gals who fuck in the supply closet.”

You quickly shake your head, “N-No! I’ve, I’ll never do that…” 

“Never is a strong word, sugar.”

In the closet? With that old broom and the endless array of tissue paper on the ceiling tall shelves? 

Never, you promise yourself, never with any of those customers at the station—well, except for one, maybe. 

“I get bored easily, and there are so many things to do in the city, lots of fun shops.”  

Ari hums thoughtfully, his shoulders looking broader as he leans forward, “Is everyone kind to you?

Even your old bosses?” 

You happily nod with your lips sealed around the straw, loving the array of flavours, “Yes, they’ll even call me if they need some help in the shop and always give me something for the trouble.”

“Do you still work for them?”

“I-It’s just favours.” You briefly consider your actual life choices, they were peculiar, but they were yours. 

“That you get paid for.” It isn’t a question, more of an amused observation. 

“Not always in money!” You correct, “Sometimes in food, like at that fancy restaurant by the beach, I got free meals for the whole week, or in merchandise. Just last month, Tamera gave me a new kettle after I watched the shop for a few hours!” 

Ari nods, chuckling, “Damn, a new kettle? Maybe I’ll have to apply at Tamera’s soon.” 

You giggle around the straw, not even noticing your drink is empty until your straw makes a noise.  

“Sounds to me that you have jobs all over the city, I’ve always loved women with a work ethic.” 

Is this it? Are you flirting with him, or is it just a conversation? 

The only thing you’re positive of is that he’s definitely flirting, has been since you got here. You stiffen, staring down at the ice cubes in the glass, and clenching your thighs together, was this his ticket into your bed? 

Oh no, you hope he wouldn’t think your floral and lace hemmed sheets were childish, they were your favourite, and they were free after you helped Mr. Brown with his shop a few weekends ago. 

You like Ari, you really like him. 

“Levinson, Danvers! You’re up!”

“Coming!” He replies, taking the empty glass from your hand. When your skin brushes his, an undeniable warmth tingles through your body, making you shiver on the barstool. And this dark, humid bar feels like it’s on the sun instead of some lost and lively city. 

You’re about to speak but Ari cuts you off, “It’s on the house again. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to pay for drinks, ever.” 

“Curtis!” He calls, waving to the man with the buzzcut on the other side of the bar, “anything she wants, it’s free of charge.” 

His friend snorts, smirking as he swings a towel over his shoulder, “it’s coming out of your paycheck, man.” 

“Yes, boss.” Ari rolls his eyes, then trails his gaze over your features, they linger on your parted lips. “I’ve got the cash to spare. Don’t be shy, sugar, order whatever your gentle heart desires, got it?” 

“Not only did you get free drinks and food all night, but for the rest of your fucking life.” Natasha swings you around excitedly. “From the cherry cola guy! You wouldn’t shut up about him that first day, and I can fully understand why.”

You giggle, “isn’t he a dreamboat?”

“Oh, he’s a fantasy on legs, just like you, baby! I’ll admit, I thought the two of you would disappear into the washroom.” She wiggles her eyebrows. 

“Ah—not in public!” 

“Not yet, I know you and you aren’t as vanilla as you let on…” She sings, wrapping you in a tight hug, her sweaty skin against yours as she leans on you for support. “I can’t even take a pinch of credit! You did it all yourself, princess, your mama would be proud of you.” 

She would, and she’d ask for all the details about the prince charming in denim. “I just—I didn’t even do anythin’!” 

As Ari and Danvers performed, you sat at the bar, fully entranced by their essence and hearty tune. His long hair and shaded eyes captivated you in every way, even from his stool behind the blonde woman who sang a popular rock song. Her voice was undoubtedly gifted and paired with his skilled fingers gliding over the guitar as the soothing, everyone was victim to their show. 

People danced to the deep rock ‘n roll that filled The Den, hot touches and heavy kisses exchanged in the booths and on the floor. Between sipping on fruity drinks, and munching on your unlimited supply of french fries and nachos, you couldn’t look away from Ari—at that moment, he was your Mr. Rock ‘n Roll. 

Towards the end of the set, he stood up, his shirt fully unbuttoned and fluttering with each rock of his hips, magical fingers playing a rumbling bass that you could feel in your cells. 

Right now, you can still feel the lingering effects of his godly talent. 

“You feel that?” Your best friend yanks you close, staring down at you with her green eyes. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips as she wraps an arm behind your back, pulling you closer, “Do you feel that?”

You’re trapped and wildly caught off guard, perhaps she had too many free drinks tonight. “Uh, no?”

She leans down, going cross-eyed. “That’s fucking power. And you’re drippin’ with it.” She kisses your forehead before spinning you, drunkenly shouting at the top of her lungs, “My girls finally got a hunky fella to take care of her and I’m gonna fuckin’ cry!”

“What’s this I hear about crying?” A red Chevy pulls up next to you, the driver’s arm hanging out with a burning cigarette pinched between his knuckles. “You two ladies all right?”

A force shoves you forward, and you barely have a chance to stand upright. “Nat!” You scold, “I’m sorry, she’s had too much to drink.” 

“Seems like it.” Ari notes, “You two want a ride?”

Yes, a little voice in your head pleads, but you remember the last time you went out with Natasha, your other friend, Wanda came too and her husband picked you all up from the bar. And, Natasha, buzzing with her endless free drinks vomited all over the backseats, narrowly missing your lap. 

It was probably best that you two didn’t ruin Ari’s nice truck anyway. 

“We’ll walk, it’s only the next block and I think the fresh air will do her good.” You cover your face in embarrassment as Natasha plops on a park bench, neck craned at an angle that can’t be comfortable, she starts singing an off-tune rendition of a Christmas carol.  

“You sure? I don’t know if I can let you two be alone this late at night.” 

He’s right, even this late on a Friday, the streets are as quiet as a library, and the chances of running into someone were low. Ari wasn’t a complete stranger, but you didn’t feel absolutely comfortable when Natasha was drunk out of her mind. He must sense your hesitance. 

Ari ends up giving you his number, whistling low as he types the ten digits into your cute little cellphone. He returns the device and compliments the dangling heart pendant. “I mean it, text me or I’m starting a damn search party.” 

Your heart flutters, “I promise—as long as you let me know too. I wanna know when you get home safe.” 

“Ain’t that sweet,” Ari murmurs lowly, leaning closer with one hand on the wheel, “You this sweet with everyone in the city?”

You shrug, “sometimes… My mama says kindness is what makes the world go ‘round. Then, my cousin said if the world stopped moving, we’d die.”

A loud laugh escapes Ari’s lips, his cigarette smoke wrapping around you like a warm grey blanket. “Sounds like you’ve got a lovely family, sugar. You know what they say about girls from good families?” 

The darkness of the night seeps into Ari’s throat, draping every word in a gravelly, comforting voice that pulls you in like a fish on the line. 

“N-No.”

“Usually, they’re family-orientated, and for the most part, those gals are great mothers.” 

Your toes curl in your sneakers as he takes a final pull from his cigarette, flicking it off to the side. The smoke floats from his lips slow and steady. “Oh, my parents want me married before having kids.” 

“So, I’ve got to marry you first?”

You choke on air, fisting the skirt of your dress. “What?” 

“I’m joking, sugar.” He is, sort of anyway. He watches the pensive expression linger on your face and casually winks. “I think your friend needs your help.” He nods down the street. 

You follow his gaze and gasp, Natasha is lying half on the bench, her arms sprawled over her head and legs hanging off the side. In a dash, you stumble towards her, calling over your shoulder, “Sorry Ari—Nat, get up!”

She’s muttering to herself when you come closer, and with dazed eyes, she makes grabby hands. “There she is, aren’t you glad you came tonight? He’s tall and sexy, plays guitar and sings, I probably should’ve dragged you along sooner—” She hiccups, “You and Ari really hit it off. If that ain’t true love, I don’t know what is.”  

Ari pulls up next to you, sunglasses holding back his long brown hair. “I’ll wait up for your text, sweetheart. You two get home safe.” Then, that red truck passes slowly before speeding up down the street. 

Biting on your lip, you watch him turn a corner and disappear, then heave up Natasha, grunting softly as she hangs off you like dead weight. Her hands pull your head closer, pressing your cheeks together so she can whisper in your ear, “Oh, wait, do you hear that?”

You pant, struggling to see through the dimly lit street. “Huh? No?” 

“It’s fucking wedding bells!” She shakes your shoulders, drunkenly cackling while spinning the two of you around once more. “I’m gonna be a maid of honour!” 

It’s a few days later, the sun is as cruel as ever on the Flamingo Trailer Park. Today, you and Natasha spend the day by the park pool, lounging in the striped chairs until your other friend, Wanda came by with her children. The kids loved the pool, they also loved whenever you brought your floaties. 

You fell victim to their adorable pouts and set off on the short walk back to your trailer to retrieve them. You haven’t been home since the weekend because of these dramatically blazing days. Natasha’s trailer was far bigger than yours and had the best air conditioner, she was always stocked with fizzy cherry colas too. You suspected you’d be spending a lot of time in the ‘Widow’s Web’ this summer. 

There’s a familiar truck is parked next to your trailer. It’s deep red with white stripes, and high off the ground. The for-sale sign is also gone, and a few plants and lounge chairs sit on the small patio. 

As you search for your key, you hear odd noises. Listening closer, you can make out the creaking, slapping skin, moans and groans. Only then do you notice the dull rocking of the trailer—oh goodness. 

Your curiosity drags you to the open window and clutching your towel to your chest, you stand on your tippy-toes. 

A gasp nearly escapes you, but you slap a hand over your mouth as blood rushes to your face, making your knees tremble. 

You can’t see her face because it’s shoved into a pillow, but her skin is glowing. Sticky with sweat and other fluids, the faceless woman is bent over the wide mattress. The sheets are wrinkled and clothes are skewed all over the place, hanging off other furniture.  

The long-haired man ruts into her from behind, her hair tight in his fist as he spits profanities. “Fucking whore, you gonna come again already?You like daddy’s cock in your little cunt, fucking those thoughts from your head?” 

And just like that, you’re absolutely hooked, biting on the side of your finger as he spanks her ass, shoving her further up the bed. 

From this angle, you can’t see much and it almost makes you pout. You can’t catch a glimpse of his cock, but judging from the woman’s breathy moans, it’s got to be hitting all the right places. He’s so big behind her, dripping with glory and dominance as his muscles flex under his taut, tanned skin. 

You watch him suck his thumb before bringing it down, and a moment later, the faceless woman whines, greedily meeting his thrusts. Her other hand slips between her thighs, her moans pouring out like fresh lemonade in a glass. 

He grunts through clenched teeth, “Yeah, you gonna let daddy fuck your ass too? Split that hole open on my fat cock, make you cry like the stupid slut you are.”

And then, your heart stops. Your ears flooded with something red hot, as your bones transform to metal, melting your feet to the burning ground. 

He meets your gaze, groaning deep and heavy. His thrusts get rougher, driving forward with something else—more purpose—and he smirks. 

“You like that, huh?” 

He draws back, his cock bobbing against his lower stomach, the condom is slick and clinging to his girth. You gnaw harder on your finger, desperately wishing to see him bare, memorize—and touch every protruding vein and feel his weight in your palm, the fat, mushroom tip between your fingers, inside of you in every damn hole. Your bikini bottoms are soaked and sticky, your juices dripping down your thighs. 

“That’s it, good girl.” Ari spits down, the saliva lands on his length before he rams forward, sliding deep within the woman while keeping his gaze locked on you, sweet little you. “Knew you were a filthy girl, that innocent little face didn’t fool me. You like that? Tell daddy how much you like that.” 

The woman cries a muffled reply, nodding and reaching for a pillow. 

He squeezes his fist, pressing her into the plush mattress. Ari’s eyes darken like the night sky, and his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, “I wasn’t talking to you.” 

Those words draw you back to the present, and your face erupts in heat, so damn hot you can barely breathe. Your towel flutters to the dirt ground as you drop low, sweeping it up and dashing away. The sound of your flip-flops in sync with that lewd, disgustingly hot sound of slapping skin. 

Later that night, you get a text message: 

I didn’t know this trailer came with a peeping tom, much less you, sugar. 

:and here we go, all aboard the dirty trailer daddy express !!

! Expect the next part soon, but please I don’t have an update schedule, so I’ll just let everyone know the specific date. Please don’t ask !!

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ & : @-

➩

| Trailer Park!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader (2000s Trailer Park AU)

|fluff, trailer park neighbours-to-lovers, AGE GAP, bartender!Ari, dilf!Ari, Ari Levinson x OCs, reader x other Cs (mentioned), innocent!reader, cigarettes, alcohol, beefy 6’8” Ari, soft!/dom!Ari, flirting, nicknames, size difference, manhandling, possessive behaviour, accidental voyeurism, SMUT - minors DNI, daddy kink, size kink, innocence/ruined kink, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, p*ssy slapping, dirty talk, degradation, dumbification, spitting, dacryphilia, breeding kink, squirting, cumplay, creampie(s), specific warnings in each part

| The sun of ‘06 is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole-damn city?

♫ ·ﾟ

/ | 4.67K

/ | he’s here, dirty trailer daddy is here !! from this post. thank you everyone for sending asks, you’ve all helped me write this fic !! bc this is me, there will be cameos from other cevans/sebstan characters. In this version of the 80s, there’s cellphones and a bunch of other things bc I’m me. Inspired by Lana Del Rey songs (complete list here). No gifs/photos belong to me, found the pics on Pinterest, all credits go to the original creators. And I present, another dirty daddy for the books. All mistakes are my own. [smut=*] ☼ - ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ & : @- 

Feel free to send asks about this verse!

˗ˏˋˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ .. & .

: (1/3)

1/3: Old Ricky’s and The Den

2/3: Toothache and Dandy Andy’s Diner— June 10 @ 9pm EST

3/3: Mermaid Motel— June 17 @ 9pm EST

/: (& fave drabbles)

anal and overstimulation*

sitting in Ari’s lap

part one inspo*

laundry day

you lose your voice*

:tags

: #fk drabble

Discussions/Drabbles:fluff|thots

all asks|ideas|spicy videos|pics/videos/tiktoks|art

about|psa

Characters:ari|reader

Take Me Home - Part 9

PAIRING: Dennis Baker x Reader

SUMMARY: It’s been nearly a year since your ex-boyfriend dumped you and left you with a laundry list of insecurities, and you haven’t been able to really put yourself out there since. But when Dennis shows up at the adoption fair you’re running for your job at the animal shelter, there’s just something about him that makes you feel like you’re ready to try again.

WORD COUNT: 4.9K

WARNINGS (more to come): Body Issues (Dennis and Reader), References to Past Animal Abuse, Emotionally Abusive Exes (Dennis and Reader), Mention of Past Domestic Violence (Dennis’s Evil Ex), Dry Humping/Thigh Riding, Two Idiots In Love Making Out In A Car, Oral (M Receiving), Titjob, Cum Play, Fingering. 18+ only, no minors.

TAGLIST:@littlelioncub43,@filthy-gorgeous,@whatinthestyles,@justile,@mazarinqueen,@valhalla-kristin,@elrw24,@janaev4ns,@ysmmsy,@ronearoundblindly,@thornsnvultures, @terry2227

*Taglist is open to 18+ readers (no blank blogs) who comment, reblog, and/or chat with me via asks. If you just want to read lowkey, that’s cool and you do you, but the taglist is reserved for the lovely people who want to interact with me and my story :)

Series Masterlist

Part Nine

The restaurant is bustling for a Sunday night, and as the hostess takes you to your table you look around in awe of the place. It’s sleek and modern without being minimalist, bathed in low warm light with chillout music playing at the perfect volume. The place is lively and sexy and not any place you’d ever have pictured Dennis choosing, but you’re pleasantly surprised to find that, in his Sunday best, with his arm around your waist, he looks totally comfortable. The hostess seats you at a table near the open kitchen, and when she hands Dennis the wine list, he passes it to Mal almost instinctively.

“You drinking tonight?” she asks you.

“Not really,” you reply. “I’ve got work in the morning, and you know more than two and I’m useless the next day.”

She sighs. “Lightweight,” she says, snapping the wine list closed. “Cocktails it is then. I’m not gonna drink a whole bottle by myself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you snark, and she laughs.

“Hey! Don’t make me look like a wino in front of my new friend here.” She turns to Dennis. “So, what’s your poison, Dennis?”

“I’m not much of a drinker either,” he replies, “but feel free to get whatever you want.”

“You might regret saying that,” Mal replies, “but I’ll just stick to my dirty martinis.” 

You turn to Dennis, who is holding the signature cocktail menu, and point at one of the drinks. “I was checking out the menu earlier and I thought you might like this one—it’s like an old fashioned but with fresh peaches and blackberries.”

“That sounds perfect,” he says. “I love peaches.”

“Well you’ve already got the juiciest peach in this place,” Mal quips, and you kick her under the table. “Ow! Fuck.”

“Don’t mind her,” you say, noting the flush rising on Dennis’s cheeks and the tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips. “She’s an idiot.”

Dennis leans over and whispers in your ear, “She’s not wrong,” and the deep timbre of his voice shoots straight to your core.

“Stop it,” you say. “Both of you.”

Mal giggles and gives Dennis a cheeky little wink. It’s gonna be a long night if she keeps this up, but you’re not actually mad. It feels good—easy, comfortable even—being with the two of them, and you can tell Mal already likes him. She wouldn’t bother hiding it if she didn’t.

You already know what you’re going to order. When you weren’t out of your mind on wedding websites earlier in the day, you were studying the menu and making your decision. All of you are ready by the time the waiter arrives to take your drink order but when you see the man’s face you freeze for a moment before looking away. You know him—Tom; he used to work at Brad’s restaurant and he would hang out late night with the chef crew from time to time. You bury your face in the menu, hoping he doesn’t recognize you. If he does, he doesn’t mention it, just takes your table’s order and says he’ll be back swiftly with your drinks.

One slight arch of a perfectly shaped eyebrow tells you Mal knows something’s up, but she’s not about to ask you in front of Dennis. You shake your head at her, almost imperceptibly, telling her to drop it in that secret non-verbal friend language.

“So, Dennis,” she says, and you brace yourself for what’s coming. 

“Here we go… Please be nice, Mal.”

“I’m always nice. I just want to know what your intentions are with my bestie here.”

“Oh my Godddd.” You hide your face in your hands and you hear Dennis chuckle next to you. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s a valid question,” he says. “She’s just looking out for you.”

“Damn right,” Mal says. “So…”

“Well,” Dennis begins, “I don’t know how much she’s told you about me and my divorce-”

“I didn’t say anything,” you interrupt, turning to him. You look into his eyes, needing him to know that you didn’t break his trust. “I didn’t tell her about all that, and you don’t have to either.”

“It’s ok.” He places his hand on your thigh under the table and gives it a gentle squeeze before turning back to Mal. “I was in a bad situation for a really long time. My ex-wife is… not a nice person. When we finally got divorced, I thought it was enough to just be away from her, that I could just be happy on my own without having to deal with… all that.” He turns to you and the adoration in his eyes makes your stomach flip. “But then I met you, and I knew I could never be happy alone knowing you were out there.” He turns back to Mal. “I never thought she’d go out with me. Couldn’t even get up the courage to ask her. She had to ask me. But I’m so happy she did. So, uh, I guess my intentions are to make her happy for as long as she lets me.”

You can see from the way Mal’s face softens as he talks that he’s already won her over, and she confirms it when she says, “OK, that’s the cutest shit I’ve ever heard. I might puke actually.”

You turn to Dennis. “Do you mean that?”

“Every word,” he replies, and you lean over and cup his face with one hand and plant a gentle kiss on his lips as Mal fakes gagging sounds in the background.

A voice rings out, and it’s one you never wanted to hear again. “Get a room.”

Your hand drops to Dennis’s shoulder and you grip it tight, staying stock-still as your body runs cold and your heart pounds in your chest. Dennis looks up and over your shoulder, glaring at the source of the interruption with his eyebrows scrunched together, but you don’t turn around—you can’t, because you know exactly who is behind you and he’s the last person on earth you want to see.

You hear Mal’s voice but it’s like you’re underwater. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she snaps.

“Iwork here, Mallory,” Brad says. “Tommy said you all were here and I figured I’d bring you your drinks… on the house, of course.”

“We don’t want shit from you. Just fuck off, will you?”

“Aww, not even gonna turn around, babe?” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Come on. That’s no way to treat an old friend.”

“She’s not your fucking friend and you need to leave,” Mal says, practically growling. “Now.”

“Well considering I’m the sous chef here, I’m pretty sure I can be wherever I’d like.”

You hate that you’re frozen in place, unable to turn around and face Brad and unable to look Dennis in the eye. You can feel Dennis’s eyes on you as you try to keep your breathing steady and swallow what feels like a golf ball lodged in your throat. You’ve got your head down, staring at the patch of chest hair poking out the top of Dennis’s dress shirt, when you feel him grab your hand under the table and squeeze.

He leans in and asks low in your ear, “That him?” and you nod.

Dennis clears his throat and you can tell he’s about to say something but you don’t want him involved. You can’t hide from this; you need to be the one to put an end to it. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you turn around and see Brad sneering at you in his chef’s whites.

“There she is,” he says. “Been a while.”

“Not long enough,” you reply.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend here?” Brad asks.

“Wasn’t planning on it, no.”

Before you even know what’s happening, Dennis is up out of his seat and walking over to Brad, stopping a reasonable distance from him but still towering over him. “Dennis,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m her boyfriend. And I’m assuming you’re Brad?”

Dennis absolutely dwarfs him and you know that Brad notices. He was always self-conscious about his height and has the Napoleon complex to prove it. You see the way he puffs his chest up and tries to stand a little taller as he shakes Dennis’s hand.

“She told you about me, huh?” he asks, wincing almost imperceptibly as Dennis gives him what must be a very strong handshake. 

“She did,” Dennis replies, “and from what I’ve heard, I think it’d be best if you went back to work now.”

Mal is wearing the biggest shit-eating grin on her face as she looks back and forth between Dennis and Brad, but you can’t take your eyes off of Dennis—the strong posture, the tilt of his head, and the steely-eyed stare that doesn’t match the smile on his face. The tension in the air is thick because you know Brad is angry. He doesn’t like being challenged. He doesn’t like it when he’s not the one in charge. His nostrils flare and you think for a second he might keep going—say something to try to embarrass you or make you feel small—but he doesn’t. He can’t, because Dennis is a customer and he’d never make a scene at his own restaurant. He’s a dick, sure, but he’s always been professional.

“Well,” he says, backing away with his hands clasped in front of him. “I hope you all enjoy the food.” He looks you dead in the eye and you can see the hostility when he says, “You have a nice night, hon.”

Dennis is back in his seat with his arm around your shoulders, and the gentle way his fingertips are brushing your bare arm is steadying your heart rate a bit. Still, you need a moment alone to get your shit together because you feel like you could scream. You can hear that “hon” echoing in your head, dripping with malice. You hate that he still thinks he can call you that, and you hate that he had the audacity to do it in front of Dennis.

“You good?” Mal asks, and you nod.

“We don’t have to stay,” Dennis says, but you place your hand on top of his where it rests on your upper arm and smile at him, though you can tell it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m ok,” you say. “Just gonna go to the ladies’ room real quick.”

Mal offers to accompany you but you tell her to stay. You need a few minutes alone.

***

Dennis watches you walk determinedly towards the bathroom with a pit in his stomach. Things were going so well, but of fucking course he had to pick the restaurant where your asshole ex works.

“She’ll be fine,” Mal says, taking a sip of her martini. “Just give her a few minutes.”

Dennis takes a sip of his drink, which is annoyingly good because he wants to hate everything about this place now that he knows that Brad is involved in it. “Well,” he says, “I sure fucked this up.”

“No you didn’t,” Mal replies. “None of us knew he worked here. You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, I think you handled it perfectly. I mean, did you see the look on that asshole’s face?”

Dennis did, in fact, see the look on Brad’s face when he approached him—like he was ready for a fight only to find his opponent was in a higher weight class. 

“Yeah,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “What the hell was he trying to accomplish with that anyway? I mean, I know they ended on bad terms.”

Mal snort laughs and leans in toward Dennis. “You can say that again. Brad is maybe the biggest asshole I have ever met, and I know a lot of assholes. And he wanted the same thing he always wanted, which is to embarrass her and make her feel like shit. He’s lucky you got up because I was about two seconds from slugging him.”

“Maybe we should go,” Dennis says, because he wants to get you as far away from Brad as possible and he can’t imagine you’d really want to stay now—you’re probably just saying that to make him feel better about making the worst possible restaurant choice. 

“Fuck that. We’re not going anywhere. He doesn’t get to win.” Mal checks over Dennis’s shoulder to make sure you’re not on your way back before continuing. “How much did she tell you about him?”

“Enough,” Dennis replies, his jaw clenching as he thinks about all the things you’d shared with him. “I know he made her feel bad about herself, like she wasn’t good enough for him and like being with her was some sort of… like… charity, which—now that I’m seeing this guy—is even more insane than I already thought it was.”

Mal pauses, and Dennis can tell that she’s unsure how much to share. “It’s more than that,” she says. “It’s not really my place to say and she wouldn’t want me to, but… well… he made her feel ugly in a lot of different ways.”

“She mentioned that, yeah. She wouldn’t go into detail. She didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t press. I mean, it’s absolutely ridiculous to begin with because she’s fucking gorgeous, so I don’t need to know what that idiot said. It’s all bullshit anyway.”

Mal smiles before popping the stick of olives in her mouth. She doesn’t finish chewing before she starts talking again. “Look,” she says, “she doesn’t need a lot. She doesn’t care about money or fancy shit or any of that. All you have to do is make her feel loved and make her feel beautiful. That’s literally it, and if you can do that, she will be yours forever. I’ve never met someone sweeter or more loyal than her, and it pisses me the fuck off that she thinks she’s anything but a total catch in every possible way.”

“Me too,” Dennis says. “You have no idea how fucking infuriating it is to hear that. I just want to make her happy. What… I mean… is there anything you think I should do, like, specifically, or…”

“You already make her happy,” Mal replies. “It’s kind of breaking girl code to say this but whatever… I can tell you’re a good guy and you’re totally obsessed with her so I’ll say it. She really really likes you. All you have to do is make sure she knows that you really really like her, too.”

“I love her,” Dennis says. The words fly out before he even knows he’s saying them and he starts to panic once he realizes what he’s done. “Shit… I mean… Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I haven’t even told her that. Please don’t say anything.”

Mal smiles as she polishes off her first martini. “Your secret’s safe with me, but you should tell her that,” she says. “Seriously.”

“It’s too soon,” Dennis says, shaking his head. He’s sweating now and he wipes his brow with the cloth napkin from his lap. “It’d just freak her out.”

“I can guarantee you that is not what would happen, but I’m not going to force you. I won’t say a word, just know that she’s not the type to be scared off by that. She deserves to be loved out loud, Dennis.”

“I know she does,” he says, and he takes a swig of his drink.

When he looks up at Mal, she’s looking past him, over his shoulder, and he knows you’re on your way back to the table. He would have liked another few minutes to try and squeeze some more advice out of your best friend but he’s happy to have you back.

“All good?” she asks you.

“Yeah,” you say, sliding into the seat next to him. Dennis searches your face for signs that you’ve been crying, but you look completely pulled together—somehow even more beautiful and radiant than you were before. “So, what were you guys talking about so intently?”

Dennis looks at Mal, panic in his eyes, but she just curves her lip and cocks her head. “Oh, nothing,” she replies. “Just making sure Dennis here knows how lovable you are.”

Mal winks at him and he can feel his ears burning red. You just roll your eyes and wave off her comment. Dennis notices, as he always does, how you can’t take a compliment—the way you get flustered and look away and try to change the subject. It’s so fucking cute he can barely stand it and all he wants to do is tell you every single thing he loves about you, force you to look him in the eye when he says it, and make you believe every word of it is true. He gets it, though. He feels the same way every time you tell him he’s handsome or sexy, and especially those times when you tell him how good he makes you feel when he kisses you or touches you. Looking at you now, sexy as hell in that tight red dress that shows off everything he’s dying to get his hands and his mouth on, all he wants to do is take you home and strip you down to nothing and make you feel good, inside and out.

He knows he can’t—you’ve got work in the morning and he has to get home to Jax pretty soon after dinner—but it’s all he can think about as the three of you make your way through your meal. Dennis does his best to keep his hands to himself, occupying them with silverware as he eats, but occasionally he’ll let his hand wander over to your bare thigh or drape his arm over the back of your chair. He can feel you lean into his touch—your thighs clenching together when he touches your knee, your head lolling back slightly against his bicep—and every so often, when your eyes meet his, you bite that oh-so-kissable bottom lip of yours and smile.

It feels so fucking good to be wanted—to have his touch be welcomed and desired—that Dennis almost forgets how their dinner started out. He hopes that you’ve forgotten about it, too, though he doubts you have. At least he can see that all that tension is gone from your face and your body. You’re laughing as Mal tells a story about some nightmare Tinder date and your giggles sound like the most beautiful music to him. He pretends to listen to Mal, to be engaged in conversation, but he’s only got eyes and his ears for you. It’s ok, though, because even if Mal notices, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t mind.

Fuck, he can’t believe he told her he loves you, but is it really the worst thing? He’s absolutely terrified to say it and might have gone too long without telling you, but now there a ticking clock on it. He only half believes that Mal won’t tell you what he said—she is your best friend, after all, and he wouldn’t blame her for spilling the beans after a few martinis—so now he has to do it and soon if he wants you to hear it from him first. He wants to believe Mal when she says that you would want him to say it, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He feels like he felt years ago, when he went cliff jumping in Oahu on his honeymoon—just hovering at the precipice, trying to decide if the reward was worth the risk. Of course, Karen had pushed him over and called him a pussy for taking too long. He knows you would never do that, though—you’d never rush him into anything—and as he looks at your smiling face, he realizes he’s ready to jump.

***

You’d told yourself during your little self-pep talk in the bathroom that you weren’t going to let Brad ruin your night. You were just going to go back to the table, put him out of your mind, and focus on having a good time with your best friend and your handsome new man. And fuck does Dennis look good tonight. He always looks good to you, but something about him in a suit with his shirt is unbuttoned just enough for that thick neck and chest hair to be on display, the sleeves rolled up to show off those forearms with the veins you just want to lick. Dennis is lightyears more attractive than Brad and he wants you, so why are you letting Brad get to you? Part of you does want to leave, but you’d decided that would be letting him win, giving him what he wants, which is to ruin your date, to make you look pathetic in front of your man, to make you feel worthless and weak.

Fuck him. You’re not going anywhere.

As you, Mal, and Dennis make your way through your courses, you find you’re able to relax a little. You wish you weren’t sitting quite so close to the open kitchen—that you didn’t feel Brad’s eyes burning holes in the side of your face the entire time, whether he was actually looking or not—but you tell yourself, let him look. Let him watch your big, sexy man wrap his arm around you and toy with the strap of your dress. Let him watch your face light up as you laugh with your whole chest at something your best friend said. Let him see the way your boyfriend looks at you like you’re the most precious thing on earth one second and like he wants to throw you on the table and eat you alive the next.

Fuck him. Let him look.

“So,” Mal says, “we getting dessert?”

“I can’t eat a whole dessert,” you reply, “but I’ll have a bite if you’re getting something.”

“Oh, I’m getting something,” she says, and there’s a mischievous glint in her eye that should probably worry you except that Dennis has his hand on your knee and all you can think about is how you want to grab it and push it up under your dress.

“Let’s get the peach tarte tatin,” she says. “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom real quick.” She stands up and tosses her napkin on her chair, grabbing her purse off the seat next to her. “Try not to feel each other up too much while I’m gone, yeah?”

Dennis lowers his head and chuckles into his chest and you shoot her a playful scowl. “That obvious?” you ask.

“Oh yeah,” she replies. “But it’s cute. Very PG-13, but let’s keep it that way. At least until he gets you home…”

You giggle and let your head fall onto Dennis’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says, “I just can’t keep my hands off you in that dress. You’re so fucking gorgeous.” You feel his hand slide up the side of your thigh and you shiver as he speaks low in your ear. “My sweet, juicy peach.”

You let out a whispered “fuck” and grab his hand before it can make it’s way any higher. “You’re being a very bad boy right now,” you say.

“Can’t help it,” he replies. “You look too good. Don’t be mad.”

You cock your head at him and he’s got the sweetest little smile on his face and his eyebrows raised enough to crinkle his forehead. God, you just want to crawl into his lap and kiss him all over his face and his neck but you have to keep your shit together.

“Hands to yourself for the rest of dinner and I’ll let you put them wherever you want later. Deal?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ll take that deal.”

“Good boy,” you say, and over the music you think you hear him let out a little moan as he adjusts the napkin on his lap.

Interesting… noted.

By the time Mal returns, the two of you have managed to return to your own spheres of personal space and ordered the dessert.

“So some good news,” she says. “I’m going to meet up with Carl after dinner so the two of you can have some quality time.”

You already knew Mal was going to come up with some excuse to give the two of you the apartment for a while, and you’re happy to hear that things are still going well with Mr. Hipster.

“You gonna have a sleepover this time?” you ask.

“We’ll see,” she replies. “I don’t have to work tomorrow so I’m just going to see where the evening takes me.”

You turn to Dennis. “Mal has a new boyfriend who she refuses to admit is her boyfriend.”

“And why is that?” Dennis asks.

“So you’re grilling menow?”

“Maybe,” he says. “So what’s the story?”

Mal sighs. “I don’t like labels,” she says. “I just… you know… ‘boyfriend’ sounds so serious.”

“And you’re not serious about him?”

You are absolutely loving the way that Dennis’s perfectly logical and normal questions are making Mal squirm. It’s the same conversation you’ve had with her already, but it’s truly delightful to watch her try to rationalize her bullshit in front of another person. 

“It’s not that,” she says. “I like him. A lot. I just don’t do boyfriends.”

“And does he do girlfriends?” Dennis asks, but Mal is saved by the arrival of dessert.

Tom places the tarte tatin in the middle of the table and Dennis thanks him and asks for the check. You’re just about to grab your fork for a bite when Mal stills your hand with hers.

“Wait,” she says.

She looks around the table, surveying the scene quickly, and she gets up and walks around to Dennis. When she leans over like she’s about to whisper something in his ear, you say, “What the fuck, Mal?” and then you see her snatch a piece of Dennis’s hair out.

“Ow! Jesus. What the hell?”

“Shh,” she says. “Just wait,” and she returns to her seat and places the hair on top of the glazed peaches with an impish smile on her face.

“Mal, don’t,” you say, but it’s too late because she’s already exclaiming quite loudly, “Is that a HAIR?!? Oh my God, GROSS!”

God, she’s so evil sometimes, and you love her so fucking much. You drop your head and put one hand across your brow, trying to stave off the giggles as you grip Dennis’s thigh with the other.

“Is she doing what I think she’s doing?” he asks.

“She sure is.”

The surrounding tables have taken notice of Mal’s little charade and Tom hurries over to the table as she details the problem.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Tom says. “I’ll get you another one.”

“I think just the check,” Dennis chimes in.

“Well, uh, let us at least comp.. uh… your drinks?” Tom stutters.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Brad in the kitchen absolutely fuming. You feel a little bad because you know he’ll take it out Tom or on the poor pastry chef, but your satisfaction at the flaming red hue of his face outweighs any guilt you might feel.

“That’s alright. I’m happy to pay for everything,” Dennis says, and he hands Tom his credit card without even looking at the bill. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll be back right away. And sorry again.”

“Don’t you fucking laugh,” Mal hisses at you as Tom scurries away from the table. “Keep your shit together.”

“I’m trying,” you say, and it’s really taking everything you’ve got not to explode into a giggle fit. You’ve got a death grip on Dennis’s thigh and you can feel his muscles flexing under your fingers, and when you look up at him, he’s got a half smile on his face that’s making the dimple on his cheek pop.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’re gonna leave a bruise, sweetheart.”

“You should be so lucky,” Mal says. “Anyway, speaking of leaving bruises, Carl just texted me. You two mind if I take off? I think I may be on the verge of overstaying my welcome.”

“Go ahead,” you say. “Go get your man.”

“He’snot my man.”

“Sure he’s not,” Dennis says.

“Don’t you fucking start, too. Jesus. Now there’s two of you? I can’t.” Mal stands up and grabs her purse. “But seriously, it was so nice to meet you Dennis, and thank you for dinner. You’ve officially passed the bestie test.”

Dennis smiles. “Glad to hear it. Have a wonderful rest of your evening, and hey, maybe you and your not-boyfriend could come over to my place for a barbecue next weekend.” He turns to you. “I was thinking of maybe doing something for the 4th… I mean, if you want to.”

“I’d love to.”

“Me too,” Mal says. “I need to see this big fancy house of yours. And if Carl is still around by next weekend, maybe I’ll invite him.”

You roll your eyes. “Just go.”

You stand up to give her a hug goodbye. Dennis stands as well, and you think he’s going to be awkward about it but he isn’t; he gives Mal a quick hug goodbye like they’ve known each other forever and it warms your heart to see it. She whispers something to him as she pulls away that you don’t quite hear but you do hear his response.

“I will,” he says. “I promise.”

PART TEN >>>

ellerosie2332:

These are the fics that I recommend and Love for Chris Evans and his Characters. Minors DNI

Chris Evans:

• Desperate Affairsby@georgiapeach30513 - Multiple Chris Evans Characters x Fem!Reader
• Fading Sparkby@alisonsfics - Chris Evans x Wife!Reader
• Futileby@rocketrhap3000 - Chris Evans x Fem!Reader
• Well Shitby@falcqns - Chris Evans x Reader
• Gentlemanby@lexiawrittings - Chris Evans x Reader
• Bostonby@secretswiftymarvelfan - Chris Evans x Reader
• Fixing the Brokenby@maemelany - Chris Evans x Reader

Keep reading

Thank you so much for including me on this list along with all these incredibly talented writers.

Y/N: So are we flirting right now?

Steve: I AM LITERALLY PINNING YOU DOWN RIGHT NOW

Y/N: That doesn’t answer my question.

Y/N: No one’s perfect.

Steve:Hmm…

Y/N: …what!? Tell me ONE person who’s perfect.

Steve:You.

Steve: You’re perfect for me.

Y/N: …..shuddup you sap.

Brothers In Arms

Part 5: I Guess I Like It Like That

Co-written/beta by @spectre-posts

Summary: Following his beating from Ari, Ransom tries to go about his business as normal. But when someone close to you both is injured, your paths cross again. And the reunion doesn’t go quite as well as he hoped.

Warnings: Bad language words. Talks of blood and injury. NSFW 18+. Contains Dark themes which may or may not be triggers.

Pairing: MOB Ransom Drysdale x Reader/ MOB DARK Steve Rogers x Reader.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

W/C: 5.3k

Brothers In Arms Masterlist//Main Masterlist

Part 4: Put Yourself In My Place

The day after Ari had come to see him, Ransom had sent your car over with Carter and a box of your personal things. It broke him to watch it go, but he knew he had no choice. Nearly a week after the spy’s visit, Ransom was leaving with his own tail between his legs and his head hung low for you to come collect the rest of your belongings.

When he returned to your once shared home later that evening, he wasn’t surprised to see you’d taken the bare minimum. Whilst you had loved the finer things, allowed him to buy you expensive dresses, shoes and jewelry, you’d always insisted you didn’t need them. Instead you had taken a few outfits for work, jeans, sweaters, trainers, your books and some trinkets. The diamonds, gold, Jimmy Choos and Louboutins, the Gucci, Dolce and Armani remained in what had been your shared walk in closet.

Looking around at the room in its lack of disarray bothered him. He expected haste and dropped items, opened drawers and shuffled neatness. He headed for the en-suite and found nothing had been touched. He picked up the vase of Pampas from the counter and hurled it towards the tub, the glass smattering against the marble.

“Boss?” A soft voice spoke from the doorway and Ransom turned to look at Carter.

“Whatever she hasn’t taken, box up and get rid of it.” He spoke simply as he swept from the room, heading down to his study.

“Yes, sir,” Carter nodded.

In his study, Ransom skipped the glass and went straight to the bottle of scotch as he stood, leaning against the fireplace. His eyes stung against the healing green bruise on his face, the smattered and reset lining of his nose burned with emotion and the gash on his lip was threatening to split back open if he bit it any harder.

It wasn’t his ribs, still broken, that ached and bit at his insides, it was reality that had finally hit home. He’d lost the best thing to ever happen to him, you. The girl who had seen through his bullshit and wormed her way into his life so seamlessly, it was as if he had known you since the day he had been born.

A long, long pull of the bottle gave him a burn as if it were forming an ulcer down his throat. Thoughts and images flooded his mind and if he closed his eyes, all he could see was the pain on your face as he left you there in your shared bed, destroyed and un-engaged.

He had done exactly what he had sworn never to do; hurt you. He had refused to listen to your explanation, instead he’d reacted in a way that now shamed him. And he wasn’t used to feeling that. He didn’t like it. Shame equaled guilt, guilt equaled weakness. But that’s what you were to him, a crack in his armour.

Carter’s second, Blanc, asserted himself in the doorway with a clearing of his throat. “Sorry, boss,” he started, “but we need to get going. You have that meeting uptown with Chi and his crew.”

“Right…” Ransom took another large pull from the bottle before he placed it on the table, “Stark meeting us there?”

“So I’m told.” The man nodded.

Ransom made a noise of understanding, before he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his pistol. Checking it was loaded, he clicked the safety on and tucked it into the waistband of his blue tweed slacks. He picked up his camel coat, scarf, and then gave Blanc a jerk of his head. “Let’s go.”

With his mind occupied with business, you sat still in the forefront, shrouded by a dark shade. This meeting was important, only set to further cement his dealings with Stark, thereby keeping his brother at bay. Chi was to help enforce muscle at the docks.

But half way through the meeting, he was forced to push you from his mind as Chi said something that had his blood boiling.

“What do you mean, your price has doubled?”

“Exactly what I said,” the man leaned back, exhaling his cigar smoke into the air of the conference room. “It was three million, now it’s six.”

“Eat shit,” Ransom scoffed.

“Take it or leave it.”

“Then we’ll leave it, get someone else.” Stark shrugged.

“Good luck with that,” Chi smirked, “from what I hear, we’re the only option you have left seeing as Rogers has been very vocal with his intentions to get the Maximoffs on board.”

“What did you just say?” Ransom growled.

“Your dearest brother is making moves to partner with the Maximoffs and people are seeing it as a direct challenge to you,” Chi arched a brow, “you surely can’t be telling me you didn’t know.”

“Course I knew, I’ve got Stark, so he has a gap to plug, I just fail to see your point?” Ransom snapped.

“My point is, if he succeeds, ain’t nobody this side of the country that will get in the middle of that feud, well, except me. For the right price.”

“Listen here you cum stain trash, you take the three million or I’m going to make sure every fucking container you expected with your name on it goes right back from where it came, no matter the cost.”

It was a real threat, given Chi’s dealings were in trafficking of ‘fragile’ goods that could 'expire’ in timely fashion.

“Five, final offer.” Chi took a sip from his glass that lay on the table, “and I’ll forget your little threat.”

“Four.” Stark deadpanned.

“Done,” Chi nodded.

“Just like that?” Ransom scoffed, “my brother can’t be that much of a threat…”

“The look on your face tells me otherwise.” Chi snorted, “truth be told, I was happy to do it for three, but…I’m a business man after all. That said, you’d do well to heed my warning. If he does get the Maximoff twins on board, you’ll have a hard task convincing anyone else to go up against them.”

And just like that the meet was through. Chi and his men vacated the office leaving one guard, Stark, his man “Happy”, Langley and Ransom.

Langley, who’d been quiet until now looked at his boss. “The threat’s credible. And you can’t afford to be going toe to toe with Rogers and the Maximoffs, boss.”

“Fuck them and fuck him.” Ransom snapped. “Wire Chi the money. We’re done.“

Langley pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and walked out of the room. Ransom and Stark were next, Happy in protection formation as they went.

Ransom climbed into the waiting car and sank back into the leather seat, his hand running down his face.

"Fucking shit show. Who the fuck does Chi think he is? Six million, fucking shit stain.”

“He’s right about one thing,” Langley snorted.

Ransom glared, “Well, don’t leave my dick wet.”

“Well, as you pointed out, you aligning with Stark has taken Steve’s prime ‘logistics’ partner off the table.” Langley shrugged, “and by hiring the Maximoffs, he’s making a straight shot across the bow, that he doesn’t give a fuck who he partners with as long as it makes life hard for you. I mean, Pieter and Wanda did him dirty over that drugs deal in Sokovia, really ripped him off. But, by getting into bed with them, well, he’s letting it be known that he means business, and woe betide anyone who gets in his way. I’ll give Rogers credit. He knows how to fuck with you.”

The last line echoed round Ransom’s head, and with a snarl he gripped Langley round the throat and slammed him into the side of the car door. “That supposed to be funny?”

Langley gagged for air, “no.”

Ransom felt the nerve in his jaw tick, and then a soft voice spoke from the front.

“Boss, he didn’t mean anything by it, let him go.”Carter’s words were clear as he looked over his shoulder at him. Blanc sat stoic behind the wheel.

Ransom let go of Langley and slunk back into his seat.

“Home, boss?” Carter wondered.

“No.”

“Okay, where?”

“Just drive.”

“Right you are.” Blanc nodded.

Blanc circled the city limits for nearly an hour, the holiday season lights taunting Ransom, a reminder of how much you loved it all. Never one really to understand the fuss, he’d embraced it because you had. Now, it loomed before him, a reminder of what he had lost, and he took a deep breath. You’d both agreed to spend Thanksgiving this year in Boston, but now, well he wanted nothing but to cancel his flight the next evening and wallow in his own pity with a bottle of scotch. Eventually, Ransom instructed Blanc to turn back toward home.

He barely spoke a word to anyone as he headed back inside, retreating once more to his scotch and memories and bitter anger at how he fucked everything up, just how everyone had expected him to.

“You want dinner, boss?” Carter wondered as he poked his head into the room.

Ransom raised his tumbler and shook it, “got it right here.”

Carter opened his mouth to say something but closed it and shook his head with a sigh before he left.

Ransom sat, miserable and pouting, thinking. He thought about you and wondered how you were. He thought about Ari and as his wounds started to hurt just at the notion of your brother, what he heard were those words, “I’m going to kill him.” Words that he himself had spoken, ones he intended to keep.

The question was, how? Since you’d left, he’d been racking his brains, trying to figure out a way to get past his Steve’s security detail. And apparently, so was your brother. But he’d heard nothing from Ari, and the problem was, Steve’s guard was as tight as his own. How Rumlow had managed to pull off the botched hit that killed Peggy, Ransom had no idea. And he couldn’t simply ask the hitman, as he was dead.

“Carter…” He shouted.

Carter appeared once more in the doorway he had vacated fifteen minutes or so before hand. “Boss?”

“I need a chat with our special agent,” he grimaced. “And find out from Stark on when I can pay a visit to his office.”

“You didn’t ask Stark before?” Carter looked at him.

Ransom glared. “No.”

“Alright,” Carter nodded. “I’ll make the calls.”

“Ask Levinson if he’s made any headway, he’s been trying to find a way in…if he’s half the agent he brags about being then he should have one by now.”

“On it,” Carter nodded and disappeared.

Ransom watched him go, before he reached for the scotch, poured himself another glass and then leaned back in his chair, once more losing himself to his brooding.

*****

You sat in the small restaurant, pushing your food around your plate. You’d weren’t hungry, not in the slightest, but Ellie had insisted on bringing you for dinner.

“So how long is Mr Not-so-tall, but reasonably dark and handsome gonna be watching your ever move for? You gonna be setting a place for him for Christmas?” Your friend jerked her head towards the man sat a few tables away, nursing a coffee and a burger.

“Until he’s asked not to,” you sighed. “And he joined us for thanksgiving so…”

“Right…”

“Look, Ellie, it’s complicated.”

Ellie popped a shoulder, “whatever, I’m not asking. I don’t wanna know…”

“It’s better that way.”

“So, have you heard from him?”

“No. Ari told me when I could get my stuff, so that’s what I did. That was a few weeks ago now.”

“And…are you okay with that? I mean, I don’t particularly like the guy but…”

"I don’t know.”

Ellie looked at you for a moment, before she took a deep breath. “Is it definitely beyond repair?”

Your eyes misted over, “I..I think so, yeah.”

Truth be told, despite the fact you understood Ransom’s anger, you didn’t think you would be able to forgive him. Not simply for the physical way he had hurt you, but the way in which he had refused to listen. He’d dismissed your explanation, had reverted to that cold and callous business persona that had never breached your personal relationship before. And that hurt you the most.

“Y/N…what happened? You keep dodging it when I ask.” She reached over the table for your hand, giving it a squeeze, “I’m your best friend, you can tell me.”

You swallowed. “Ellie, I know. But for once, it’s better you don’t.”

“Okay.” She fell silent and then cocked her head to the side, “you wanna watch a movie or something after this?”

“Erm,” you glanced over towards Sammy, one of your brother’s colleagues from the CIA and you popped a shoulder, “Ari should be home when we get back but, sure, we can use the den.”

“Where’s he been?”

“I dunno,” you said, and it wasn’t a complete lie. It had been a week or so ago when he had taken a call from someone whilst you had sat eating dinner and when he came back, he had waved away your question. You could tell he was keeping something from you, and you had a horrible feeling it was to do with Steve and Ransom.

The next morning, he’d told you he was going to be on business for a while, and that was the last you’d seen of him whilst he’d left you with a twenty-four hour armed babysitter.

You eyed Sammy answer his phone and listen to the other line. He twitched a little, spoke lowly and then hung up. He then glanced in your direction, and you could see from his expression something was wrong. Sammy stood from his table and immediately came to yours, he leaned down in your ear and whispered, “we gotta go.”

“We’ve not finished!” Ellie glared at him.

“It’s an emergency, Eloise,” Sammy snorted. “The bill is covered.”

“This…I…oh, whatever.” Ellie scoffed.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke softly, your heart heavy as you stood up. “I’ll call you…”

“Yeah…. if I answer.” She sighed.

Sadness filling your chest, you went as Sammy took you outside by your elbow. The car pulled around, Kabede at the wheel. He opened the door for you and you slid in, Sammy coming round to the driver’s side back door and slid in next to you.

“What’s going on?” You demanded.

“Ari’s in trouble.”

You swallowed, “what…what sort of trouble? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Sammy replied. “He’s at St. Vincent’s.”

At that, your blood ran cold. “He’s…at the hospital?”

“Look, I need you to calm down, y/n. All I know is what I know. He’s in trouble and they took him to St. Vincent’s.”

“Who told you? Where’s he been? What’s going on, Sam? I have the right to know.”

“Jake and Max. They were…”

Before Sammy could finish his answer, you heard your phone in your bag. Scrabbling for it, wondering if it was the hospital you paused as a number you shouldn’t remember but did flashed on your screen.

“Who is it?” Sammy asked.

“Him…” you whispered, your hands shaking. “It’s…”

“Rogers?”

You nodded.

“Answer it, put it on speaker.” Kabede instructed from the driver’s seat.

“Hello?”

“You know, Doll, for a supposed secret agent, your brother has all the subtlety of a panzer.” Came the drawl on the other end and you swallowed, your eyes brimming with tears.

“What did you do to him?”

“My hands are clean, Buck’s however…”

You glanced at Sammy who was clenching his teeth.

“Likes to play with knives, does Bucky, bad habit“, Steve continued. “People get hurt. Badly. Sometimes, they die…”

You went pale and a cold sweat formed at your brow. “Is he…did Barnes kill him?”

At that, Steve chuckled, “not as far as I know, don’t think he went deep enough to hit any vital organs but…if he didn’t make it to the hospital in time, who knows.”

“What do you want, Steve? This has gone too far.” You held back a sob.

“You had your chance to finish this, you blew it.” Steve replied, his voice calm as he spoke, “but you know what I want. You. And I always get what I want, one way or another. The question is, how many more people are you willing to sacrifice before that happens, because I can do this all day, sweetheart.”

The line went dead and you swallowed before shouting at Kabede to pull over. He barely had the car to a stall when you threw your door open and let go of what little was in your stomach. Sammy was by your side in a flash, eyes scanning around your surroundings.

With a groan, you shakily stood up straight, tears in your eyes as you looked at Sammy. “Let’s get you to the hospital,” he spoke softly, “then we can find out how he is.”

St. Vincent’s was busy, more than usual for the time of day, so, Kabede headed around the back where Max and Jake met you. Jake was covered in blood as was Max and immediately Sammy scolded them both.

“What are ya thinking? You couldn’t have changed your god damn shirt.” He scowled. “Get in there, get her up to see him and keep her close.”

“We got a problem,” Max looked at him. “Police are sniffing all over this, one of the nurses called them.”

“Fuck.” Sammy hissed.

“We can call base,” Jake said, “get them to have the cops cool off but…look, I don’t know what he was doing but I know it’s off book so-“

“No, don’t…” you pressed the heel of your palm to your forehead as you swallowed, and pulled Sammy to one side, “call Tony, he and…he and Ransom have half the police force in their pockets. He’ll know what to do.”

Frankly you couldn’t have given a shit if the entire NYPD came swarming in, but what you did care about was this going any further. Who knows what Steve would do if the authorities started sniffing around him too much, not to mention the shit storm that would hit Ari.

If he survived…

“I just wanna see him,” you sniffed, “please.”

Sam nodded, “Stark it is.” He passed you off to Jake, “take her up.”

Wordlessly, you followed Jake into the hospital and through to the elevator. Your mind was racing, your heart thudding. You couldn’t lose your brother, he was the only thing you had left.

“He’s in surgery, but we wait here, he’ll be out soon.” Jake explained. “He’ll pull through, he always does.”

“What the hell happened, Jake?”

Jake shook his head, “I don’t honestly know. He was working on something, off radar, but he called saying he needed to speak to us, he’d found something and he wanted us to check it out but when we arrived to meet him at the house, well, he was on the doorstep covered in blood.”

“This is all my fault,” you sobbed as you fell into a chair, your head in your hands.

“Look, I don’t…I don’t know what’s going on, not sure I want to.” Jake sighed, “but Ari is a law unto himself, you know this.”

“Mr. Morano,” a middle-aged blonde woman with Eastern features appeared. “I’m Dr. Reiter. It’s my understanding you’re here for Mr. Thomas?”

“I’m his sister…” you immediately stood.

“Ms. Thomas, I’m so sorry for us to meet under these circumstances. You brother, Mr. Thomas, is being moved into recovery. He’s in a bad way.“

“How bad?”

"Well, he’s quite lucky. There’s no denying that one quick movement in the opposite direction, he’d have bled out. It was almost as if his attacker knew exactly where to hit and what to miss.”

You swallowed, your conversation with Steve running back through your head and you took a deep breath.

“He always has been a lucky bastard,” Jake mumbled.

"Will he live?”

“He lost a lot of blood and we had to remove his spleen.” The Doctor sighed, “he also had three broken ribs but there were no complications in surgery. He’s not completely out of the woods but…well, we’ll know more over the next twenty four hours or so.”

“Thank you, Dr. Reiter.” Jake nodded. “When can we see him?”

“Ten minutes, I’ll have a nurse come for you.”

You nodded and sank back into the chair, your head in your hands. This had gone too far, just way too far. You knew Steve was ruthless, absolutely despicable compared to his brother, but what was left for you to do? Could you turn back? Fall into Steve’s embrace? Would it stop, even then? Ransom was through with you.

Lost in your thoughts, it took a gentle squeeze on your shoulder from Jake to jerk you from them. As you glanced up through your tears, you barely heard the nurse speak to you. You followed her on auto pilot to the room where Ari was and stepped inside.

He was led up in bed, an O2 tube down this throat and his veins being pumped full of blood and fluids that hung from bags on hooks. A steady beep came from the machine that monitored all his activity. The inhale and exhale of air from the machine hissed in the dim space.

You let out a loud sob as you stumbled into the chair by his bed, reaching for one of his hands. Gripping him tightly you cried into the blanket tucked in around him. You squeezed his hand as you sobbed apologies and whispers of shortcomings. You kept on like a broken record that his state was all your fault and you were to blame. You were sorry, so very sorry. You never meant to put him in this situation.

As the sun set outside, the room was illuminated by the soft fluorescent overhead lighting and you sat, numb, watching your brother for any sign that he could hear you. Then, after half an hour, there was a commotion outside that made your head whip round so fast you were sure you’d given yourself whiplash.

“You can’t go in there…”

“Eat shit.”

Sammy stood quickly to block your view of your incoming ex. You stood there behind him, uneasy and very aware of how your whole body shook in that moment. Fear, worry, pain and guilt all settled inside you and you again felt sick but stood tall, despite your unease and waited.

“Get the fuck back, Drysdale.” Sammy declared.

Ransom scoffed, but his eyes then fell on you and you saw his face flicker with a look that you couldn’t quite place. He seemed to slide through several emotions in that split second your eyes connected; remorse, care, worry, compassion, an undercurrent of anger.

“Sam, it’s okay.” Your voice was croaky as you sniffed, “let him in.”

“You sure?” Sammy asked. “Cause if he’s gonna be a problem…”

“You’re right outside.” you nodded, the turned to Ransom, “whatever you’re carrying, leave it outside.”

He held his hands up, “I got nothing.”

You stared at him, those crystal blue eyes looked right back and you took a deep breath, you believed him.

“Fine.” You popped a shoulder and returned to your seat.You waited for him to speak, but of course he had nothing. “Well, you’re here, for what I do not know. Clearly, you need something.” You spat.

“Stark told me what happened.” He spoke after a moments pause. “The police have been handled.”

“That’s it?” You shook your head, not bothering to look over your shoulder to where he stood still by the door, “that’s why you came, to tell me the police had been handled? You’re so full of shit, Ransom, why don’t you tell me the truth.”

At that, he scoffed, “like you told me the truth about you and my brother you mean?”

“You son of a bitch,” you stood so quick, you dizzied. “How dare you compare the two?”

Ransom stood still, his eyes on you as you advanced towards him. “Y/N…”

You cut him off with a stinging slap to his left cheek. His head snapped to the side, and then you lost it.

“This is all your fault!” You sobbed, your hands pounding at his chest as you hit blow after blow, “you and your brother and your stupid, stupid feud and shitty, shady dealings. I hate you, you asshole…you fucking asshole.”

Ransom stood there and took it, each blow as you gave it. You beat on him until your fists ached and your head grew woozy and you felt yourself falling as heavy arms caught you.

“Shit, here…sit…” he gently guided you to the chair, helping you awkwardly to sit down.

“Don’t touch me…” you feebly pushed him away.

He stepped back, hands raised in surrender as you pressed the heels of your palms into your eye sockets.

The door to the room opened and Sammy and Carter both stepped in.

“Y/N?”

“I need some water.”

“She needs a doctor.”

“Fuck off, you don’t get to tell me what I need.” You spat, looking at Ransom, “If I didn’t see a doctor after you raped me I don’t want to see one now.”

The room went silent as all eyes were on the two of you.

Ransom swallowed, his eyes fixed on yours before his head bowed, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re too late.”

“I know, but…” he shrugged, “I just wanted you to know.”

You licked your lips as your nostrils flared. Sammy slid your glass of water between you and your apologetic former other half. You downed the clear liquid quickly and with a shaking hand, handed it back to Sammy.

“I think you should go,” he spoke to Ransom.

“Y/N…..” he whispered.

“Just go.” You whispered.

Ransom took a deep breath, “you can’t go back to Ari’s. It’s not safe. I’ll have Stark find you somewhere.”

“I’ll stay at the tower.” You stated.

With that he nodded, and headed for the door. He paused, turned back to look at you, but whatever it was died on his tongue as his head dropped. He took a deep breath, and then he left.

Neither Sammy nor Jake said a word as the air thickened around the room. Ari was still out cold and Max was just outside the door. You sighed and carefully stood, “Send Kabede home to his family. There’s plenty of you here to babysit me.”

“Okay,” Sammy nodded, “erm, do you want one of us to fetch you some things from the house?”

“Sure. I guess, I don’t know.” You sighed. “I don’t plan on leaving here any time soon.”

Neither of them argued, or tried to convince you otherwise.

“I’ll grab a bag anyway, least you’ll have a change of clothes.” Max stated, his voice soft.

“I want a sweep and report back as soon as you’re done. Anything out of place, and I mean anything as small as a blade of grass, I wanna know.” Sammy stated, his finger in Max’s face and his hand over his shoulder.

Max nodded as he left. Once he was gone, Sammy closed the door once more leaving you alone with your brother.

“What did you do?” You cried as you again were crouched over his bed, his cold, limp hand between your two warm ones. “I’m nothing to go to war over, Ari…..”

Of course he didn’t answer, there was nothing in response but the steady beeping of the machinery. You lay your cheek on your arms, looking up at your brother, your eyes growing as heavy as your heart.

****

Steve tossed his jacket down on the back of the sofa, making his way to the drinks trolley which stood by the huge window of his Brooklyn penthouse. But, as he reached for the decanter, he found it empty.

“What the…”

“You could have gotten the decent stuff,” a familiar voice spoke and he whipped around to see his grandfather sat in the chair in the shadows of the room.

“I prefer that one.” Steve replied flatly.

“You always did have questionable taste,” Harlan sighed, as he clicked on the lamp to his left, “goes with your questionable judgment. Stabbing Levinson? Seriously? You stupid little shit.”

“He’s a threat. I don’t like threats.” Steve raised a brow. “And I don’t like it when unwelcome guests take my things.”

“Like you took your brother’s fiancée you mean? Jesus Christ, Steven, you always have been a self-entitled little fucker but this…”

“Look, if you didn’t want me to hurt him, why did you tell me he was tailing me?”

“To stop you doing something stupid!” Harlan snapped, “because despite what you think, I don’t want to see you or Ransom dead or in jail. You’re my flesh and blood, both of you. But I swear to God, if Levinson dies, I’ll bury you myself. You’ll have lost me my security, the person that kept the authorities off our back.” Steve’s nostrils flared as his grandfather stood up, “Ari had every right to be pissed, what you did to that poor girl, it’s unforgivable, all to get at your brother. Your mother would be disgusted in you, and I sure as hell am.”

“He killed Peggy…I want him to suffer!”

“No, he didn’t, Steve.” Harlan shook his head, “he didn’t order that hit.”

“Ha, please,” Steve scoffed. “There you go, always covering for him. Your precious Ransom, your pride and joy.”

“Oh listen to yourself!” Harlan slowly walked towards him, “you sound like your father, he was a paranoid, woman beating piece of shit too. I should have had him killed long before he managed to do it to himself.”

“Why are you here old man?”

“You know, I had high hopes for both of you. When your mom came home, I was overjoyed. My family, back together but then…she died,” Harlan bowed his head, “and Linda and Richard took you both in but it just wasn’t enough. Not for you. I failed you, clearly, so I was trying to right a wrong. Ari wasn’t just tailing you, he was digging. Digging into who exactly ordered that hit. And he’d found something. Only your attack dog managed to shank him before he could tell me. So I repeat what I said before, he best pull through. Because if he doesn’t, the answers you need and want die with him.”

"Are you done?” Steve seethed as Harlan stared down at him.

“For now.” He said simply and walked on. “Oh, there is one last thing…” he paused in the doorway and turned back to look at Steve.

Steve’s hands fell to his hips in anticipation, bored anticipation at that.

“I want you in Boston tomorrow afternoon. You come alone.”

“You do realise that Thanksgiving was last week…”

“I’m well aware of that.” Harlan snapped. “Stop being a facetious asshole, Steve. It doesn’t suit you.”

Silence fell, as Steve stared at the unwavering face of his Grandfather, before he sighed and shook his head. “You understand this ends one way, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to see either of you dead, but if this carries on it’s inevitable.” Harlan stated, a resigned tone to his voice. “That said, I’m going to try one last time. It’s in both your interests to find out who ordered Rumlow to kill you. If I can get you to both see that, maybe you can work together. And whilst Ransom is never going to forgive you for what you did to his fiancée, maybe you can find a sliver of that brotherly love you once had growing up, if not for each other but the memory of your mother.”

Steve swallowed, the nerve in his jaw ticking.

“Boston, tomorrow.” Harlan instructed, “and stay the fuck away from Y/N. She’s suffered enough at the hands of both of you. You so much as send her a message, I’ll hand Ransom the fucking gun and watch.”

With a final quirk of his eyebrow, Harlan turned and left Steve staring at the empty space where he had stood.

Chris Evans / “Lightyear” UK Premiere, London (2022)

Chris Evans / “Lightyear” UK Premiere, London (2022)

Holy fuck Chris answered one of my questions I submitted in the Twitter Movies Q&A. I’m not kidding.

FRIDAY CONFIRMED!!!

This was floating around Twitter…

Miss Rona finally got me this week.

Who’s got some Chris/Characters taking care of you while you’re sick fics?

Or just Chris looking like an absolute daddy?

Or Chris giving me a hug, and snuggling me & in this strange universe, he’s physically unable to get COVID

Or Chris. Just Chris.

Thanks frens

He’s in the parks now…