#AFTER FUCKING BOSTON TRICKED HIM INTO HAVING SEX WITH HIM BY SHOWING HIM A TWO YEAR OLD PHOTO HE TOOK OF HIS FRIENDS KISSING LIKE A CREEP

[forcebookish]

has anyone else noticed that almost all, if not all, my meta/"fighting" with other people is just me describing what happens in any given scene

i barely even embellish or speculate. i'll mention recurring themes every once in a while, but for the most part i'm just writing out a play-by-play summary of what the characters actually do, because some people cannot be trusted to use their eyes let alone their brains

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

Charles jealousy smut please!

my own little devil

order up!

hi lovely thanks for the request, i have been dying to write this and i am a charles girl so i may have gone a little feral while writing this, so apologies in advance <3 i did end up picking prompts from my bakery list to go with this just fyi and those prompts will be bolded.

pairing; charles leclerc x female fwb reader

blurb; your devious little plan to make charles jealous and regret leaving you high and dry the previous night goes wrong.

warnings; biting kink, rough sex, a speck of breeding, spit, dirty thoughts, wall sex, google translated french, semi public sex, creampie, hair pulling, dirty talking, oral fem!receiving, possessive behavior, choking, mentions of pregnancy, dom!charles. [let me know if i missed anything!]

chai; biting or hickeys [i picked biting] lemonade; possessive vodka shot; rough sex tea; semi public doppio; wall sex chocolate mousse; "i'm sorry" croissant; "don't you dare" pancake; "no, we can't, not here" sugar pie; "stop wriggling" boston cream pie; "fuck, it's dripping down your legs"

currently playing; jealous by nick jonas "cause you're too fuckin' beautiful and everybody wants a taste, that's why i still get jealous"

it was all his fault, at least thats what you told yourself when you came up with this devious little plan in the first place, that it was charles's fault for up and leaving before you'd been able to cum around his cock last night.

he'd showed up at your place around two in the morning tipsy and in a grump from having lost the race earlier in the day begging you to make him feel better and so naturally since he was the best fuck you'd ever had, you let him have his way with you but his way last night was utter fucking torment.

he enjoyed, no he loved seeing you beg and he was hoping you'd be begging tonight down on your sweet little knees but you had decided that, that was not going to be the case, you wanted to be the one to have him on his fucking knees for a change.

you knew deep down that this dress would do the trick, the red satin hugged your figure, attaching itself to each and every curve of your body and the bra you wore pushed your boobs so far up that they could fall out of your dress with one wrong move, you looked like a sin; that was all charles was capable of thinking the moment he saw you walk into the club, his own personal little devil.

when you brushed past him on your way to the bar, your fingers grazed across his crotch and the slight gasp he let out made you smirk "you are playing a dangerous game douce fille" charles whispered to himself as he watched you go, hips swinging with every step, charles couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight, desperate for a taste.

charles was fine with letting you wander about the club showing off for him but what he didn't like was you showing off for all the other men there as well with your ass practically hanging out the bottom of your dress, you were his and he wasn't gonna let another guy lay a hand on you, so while he let you have your space, he found his eyes traveling over to you every now and then just to make sure you weren't getting into any mischief.

but little did either of you know, mischief was heading your way. when you felt a hand brush across your back so close to your ass as you leaned across the bar to take your drink from the bartender, you smirked thinking it was charles coming to claim his prize for the night but oh how you couldn't have been more wrong.

as you looked behind you, you made eye contact with a man that just radiated fuckboy energy "please don't touch what isn't yours" you mused quietly and he held his hand's up innocently like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar "relax just wanted to get to know ya, i'm brad" you couldn't help but roll your eyes, brad what a classic fuckboy name.

after a thought you decided he was harmless since you had no intention of flirting or going home with him tonight, so you decided to indulge him a little and so you sat across from one another at the bar, slowly sipping at your individual drinks.

charles had only taken his eyes off you for less than two minutes and when his eyes sought you out, he saw red.... seeing you sitting across from a man at the bar, he wasn't happy and despite you deciding to be a little tease with your choice of dress tonight he trusted you like he had never trusted any other girl before and so he let it go until he watched the guy slip his hand onto your thigh, caressing the skin like he owned you but he didn't, charles did and he was going to make sure that this prick fucking knew that.

"let me get you another drink" brad asked, hand still running along your thigh, little did he know that if he didn't remove it soon he would no longer have a hand and if the intimidating presence behind you didn't give away the fact that brad was fucked, the hand that soon wrapped around your throat should have been a dead giveaway, charles tilted your back to look into your eyes "don't you dare" he practically growled.

"you say yes and i will not be gentle with you" brad's hand slipped from your thigh "i didn't know you were taken" brad stated, trying to defend himself "i'm not" you mumbled, still gazing into charles's eyes and as your words hit his ears, he tightened his grip around your throat.

"lets go" he growled, pulling you off the bar stool and into the bathroom of the club, you'd barely made it in the door before charles pressed your back into the cold tile wall, his hand once again wrapping around your throat and holding tight as you struggled against his hold "stop wriggling" he demanded, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed a little tighter causing black spots to form in front of your eyes, as he watched a tear slip from your eye he eased back a little loosening his hold but not completely letting go just yet "your mine so all those guys can fuck off and leave you alone"

"i'm not yours" you reminded him and he gave you a look that told you that you'd picked your words poorly "yeah, well i'm going to fucking make you mine douce fille" and with that he dropped to his knees, hiking your dress up and around your hips, he dragged the fabric of your panties to the side drooling at the sight of your wet little pussy, if you asked charles in a public setting what his favorite thing about you was he would say your eyes but if you asked in private, he wouldn't even give you a verbal answer and instead just drop to his knees in front of you.

"no, we can't, not here" your fingers tangled in his soft locks, pulling at it to try and distract him from his current mission of wanting to eat your pussy until your legs gave out around his head and your whole body was trembling from his touch but your words met deaf ears as he spit into his hand before rubbing his fingers along your folds, grazing your clit with every pass he made.

"your fucking crazy" you whispered as a shiver ran down your spine due to charles's touch on your clit but also at the idea of being caught in such a compromising position in public, oh how you could see the headlines now.

"FERRARI'S GOLDEN BOY CAUGHT IN ROMANTIC TRYST!"

it was only a few seconds before charles's mouth attached to your pussy, licking through your folds to suck up every last drop of the juices you were currently leaking all over his pretty little face like an alcoholic who'd gone far too long without a drink.

his fingers gripped tightly at your thighs making sure to leave little bruises that he could kiss better later. when he slipped his tongue inside, you shuddered above him, hands pulling at his hair but he never ceased, this man was starving and he was going to feast.

you couldn't help but gently rock your hips against his tongue which caused his nose to brush against your clit causing the most gorgeous friction that had you tilting your head back as a low moan slipped past your lips, fingers tugging at his hair as he smiled against your folds continuing to eat your pussy like a man starved.

you were reaching your peak and fast, you always did when charles ate you out like this, you hips began to move faster against his tongue chasing the pleasure he gave you but right as you were on the edge of pure bliss he pulled away and the sight you saw as he gazed up at you was down right erotic, his cheeks, lips, nose and even chin wet with a mix of your juices and his saliva, the perfect mix in his mind.

his pupils were wide and his mouth hung open as he panted, his warm breath hitting your thigh as he gently nibbled at the skin sending even more shock waves zapping up your spine, he scrambled up your body, hands pulling at his belt desperate to get his hard aching cock inside of your tight little cunt.

"why'd you stop" to say you were pissed was an understatement, he was not about to leave you high and dry again "i'm sorry" he rushed out, he knew that if he was to keep lapping at your dripping wet pussy like the feral animal he was any longer that he would cum in his pants right then and there.

"i was going to cum in my pants" he chuckled, connecting his lips to yours for the first time that night, you moaned at the taste of yourself on his tongue, his kiss was sloppy and desperate causing spit to coat both of your faces.

when you pulled away you couldn't help but smile at the sight, charles cheeks were flushed and warm from the heat radiating between your bodies, his eyes wide and your lipstick was smeared across his lips and chin "so fucking pretty" you murmured, thumb running over his bottom lip as he pulled his aching cock from the confines of his jeans.

you squeaked as he picked you up, practically manhandling you as he wrapped your legs around his waist and plunged in without warning causing your head to slam against the wall behind you "fuck" you gasped "be gentle" but he was far from gentle in this moment as he thrusted in and out of you at an unnatural speed that had your head spinning.

if anyone were to walk into the bathroom in that moment and catch you, you'd have looked like a pair of rabbits in heat from the way you were going at it.

you couldn't help but bite as his shoulder, teeth digging into his skin and drool soaking his shirt in an attempt to keep quiet but the sound of his hips slamming against yours would give you away before any moans did, the sound was wet and sticky as your hips slammed together.

a sharp pain hit you as charles fingers threaded through your hair and tugged forcefully so that he could kiss and bite at the delicate skin of your neck, marking you has his own personal fucktoy, no other man would ever fucking touch you again, not on his watch.

"you wanna come inside me joli garçon, you want me to make you a daddy" charles groaned against your shoulder at the words you whispered in his ear, a million fantasies coming to mind in that moment but pushed them all down in order to focus on you and the pleasure he was making you feel.

when he felt your pussy clench around him, his hips came to a halt, body shaking with pleasure as he released ropes and ropes of his sweet hot cum deep into your tight pussy that still clenched around his cock, milking him dry.

charles's lipstick stained swollen lips pressed against yours as you swallowed eachothers moans, his hand snuck down and started to rub at your clit, pace fast and rough, he was desperate to make you cum around him and when you finally did, juices gushing around his cock, he couldn't help but cum again at the feeling.

when it was all over he pulled his head from the crook of your neck as you both panted "holy fuck" he breathed out "that was the best fuck we've ever had" he darkly chuckled.

"i never knew you were a biter" you giggled which caused your pussy to clench around his cock again, a small shot of cum shooting out.

he slowly and gently let you down and as he kneeled down to pull your dress over your butt, he couldn't help but lean forward and lick a stripe up your thigh "fuck, it's dripping down your legs" his tone of voice told he was proud of the work he'd done.

he had fucking bred you and god did he want to do it again and again until it stuck and you were round and pregnant with his baby.

"your fucking mine now you petit diable"

you couldn't help but laugh at his words "little devil huh"

oh yeah, you were his own personal little devil and a fucking hot one at that.

"yeah, my little devil" he chuckled, lips pressing against yours sloppily once more, you both couldn't help but smile against eachothers lips,

"lets get the fuck out of here" he suggested, tangling your fingers with his own "why, you going to breed me again" you joked not knowing how fucking right you actually were.

[puppypeter]

These are all dark fics, READ THE TAGS before reading the fics. It is your responsibility to check whether what you are about to read is something that you can stomach. While most of these fics are based around trauma, recovery etc many feature triggering scenes or flashbacks as well as darker themes. Please be safe and don’t read them if they can be triggering for you! Proceed with caution! Most of them are Hydra Trash, but still not just the ugly bits as I like there to be a plot. Hiding them below the cut:

between scylla and charybdis | 21590 words

Sam Wilson has been witness to a lot of things he wishes he could unsee. Civilian families shot dead in their cars because of miscommunications at checkpoints. Riley’s body spiralling to the ground in a smoke-plumed plummet. His own face in his bathroom mirror after waking up hung-over as hell at two in the afternoon, the day after the anniversary of Riley’s death, year after year after year.

And now, in an abandoned bunker on the outskirts of Boston, a seemingly unremarkable manila folder at the bottom of a filing cabinet.

Berceuse | 10730 words

There are strange, new things Bucky needs from Steve.

Dreamers Often Lie | 11040 words

As far as Bucky remembers, sex is something that is painful and terrifying if you wake up while it's happening. As the Asset, sleeping through sex was a rare treat. When Steve lets Bucky know he's interested in a sexual relationship, what Steve doesn't know is that they have fundamentally different ideas of what that entails.

despite the threatening sky and the shuddering earth (they remained) | 71532 words

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

Fire And Water For Your Love | 77084 words

When the Avengers investigate an abandoned HYDRA base on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., they unexpectedly encounter a dark-haired man with a torn metal arm, who leads them to an even more shocking discovery deeper inside the base. The Avengers must reconcile what they have found with the lies S.H.I.E.L.D. has been telling for decades.

Give An Inch | 5070 words

The Captain has a warm smile and clear, open eyes. The Soldier knows these are tricks. He's fallen for them before and he won't do it again.

Humans As Gods | 4818 words

"HYDRA's scientists had been delighted to find their serum-reversal procedure had worked. Their jubilation was dampened by the discovery that Steve's smaller self might no longer be Captain America-sized but was still 100% Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers was now mad enough to spit nails. A minor oversight in the design of the containment area meant that smaller-Steve had simply wriggled out of the now ridiculously-oversized restraints like an angry ferret escaping a paper bag, and punched the nearest technician in the nuts.

Chaos ensued."

HYDRA scientists successfully de-serum Captain America, only to discover that they are utterly unprepared for Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier follows his instructions to the letter. This works out just great.

The Only One That Needs To Know | 6571 words

Bucky can't control his body. He can only control what secrets he keeps.

I Was Wearing My Blue Coat | 11503 words

Following exposure of his past as the Winter Soldier, anonymous postings of explicit video footage, 63 charges of murder and the wrath of the Internet, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes finally steps into the limelight and tells his story to Zenat Patel of the New York Times.

Compliance Will Be Rewarded | 4767 words

Someone told him once: "Compliance will be rewarded," and he remembers pressing his head against a man’s leg in open supplication. He remembers hands in his hair, and a gentle grip on the back of his neck. He remembers a man telling him "so good, so good for me aren't you?" And he remembers nodding his head in a desperate attempt to be exactly as good as he was supposed to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bucky Barnes is physically free from Hydra, but the hold on his mind lingers still. All he wants is to go home, and he'll do anything he can to get there.

To Burn Your Kingdom Down | 12370 words

The Avengers go after a Hydra splinter cell with a nasty habit of brutalizing their prisoners. Steve has some ugly history with them, and when a rescue mission gone wrong leaves him and Sam in enemy hands, the situation gets uglier still.

Worth The Wound | 7709 words

The asset knows that maintenance is better than punishment. But with Steve, maintenance becomes more pleasant, soft and gentle and everything he could dream of. It was only natural that he decided to prolong that maintenance a little longer.

The Spaces In-Between | 6971 words | Part 1 of What We Tried So Hard To Hide Away

"Memories are like buckets of water: they weigh on the heart and the brain until the body fails. You're blessed to stay forgetful and young, Soldier."

Sometimes blessings feel like curses.

Illuminate The Scene | 7086 words | Part 2 of What We Tried So Hard To Hide Away

The doctors had wanted to keep the Soldier. Shock him and freeze him until he was fixed, or tear him to scrap if he couldn’t be repaired so that he wouldn’t be an entirely wasted investment. Steve is the only thing stopping them.

When the Soldier can't trust his own body, how can he trust anything?

All These Riots Of Broken Sound | 83790 words | Part 1 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

When Steve and the team return to Avengers tower to find Bucky gone, they must venture into B.A.R.F. to figure out what triggered him to leave and hunt those who wronged him. Trapped in a simulation of Bucky's worst memories with rogue HYDRA agents waiting to strike, 100 years of secrets, lies, pain and love drive the team to their limit and push Steve towards a realisation that is a century in the making.

I Was Lost But Left A Trace | 3585 words | Part 2 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

Disorientated, the Asset reached up to wipe at the moisture on its cheeks and was shocked to find it clear, instead of the crimson it has been expecting. It didn’t understand why this misidentification had caused uproarious laughter from the technicians.

“It is not blood,” the Asset told him, “but it is still a malfunction.”

This sobered the technician a little, and he nodded tightly.

“Yes. It is. But we will fix you.”

I’ll Always Be Blamed For The Sun Going Down | 9907 words | Part 3 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

He knows he’s in the right place. He has heard the guys at the docks laugh and joke about the queers who come out after dark, looking to earn a little extra cash. He has seen the johns, when he’s been out late enough, skulking in the shadows like predators hunting for their next meal, looking for something in particular. Sometimes they look at him.

A small, rusty pen knife that his father had picked up in Europe during the Great War sits heavy in the breast pocket of his jacket. Just in case.

Book Of The Moon | 16019 words | Part 4 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

In 1929, Bucky Barnes falls in love for the first time and resigns himself to never telling a soul, let alone Steve, the object of his affections. In 1943, half a world away from the man he can never have and fighting for his life and his sanity, something new begins to bloom.

Habeas Corpus | 18054 words

An unexpected incident in the field leaves Steve Rogers facing the infiltration of a Hydra base and retrieval of important intelligence, all while pretending to be the Winter Soldier. Unfortunately, there are important aspects of the Soldier's past that Bucky hasn't disclosed, and Steve has no idea what he's really walking into.

Bullies | 14979 words

Written for the MCU trash meme prompt:

I wanna see Steve being messed with by his secretly-HYDRA coworker buddies. I want them generally fucking with him, "accidentally" doing terrible things to him or getting Steve into awful situations, telling jokes that aren't really jokes, gaslighting, performing sexual-assault hazing under the guise that "that's what people do now," pressuring him into other sex shit, anything, just fuck Steve up.

Steve isn't failing to fully catch on because he's dumb or oblivious: it's just that he is Steve, so he wants to believe the best of everybody, and he doesn't want to believe that he could be working for/with bullies and that (as Natasha says) he essentially died for nothing.

Not Unwanted, Not Unloved | 50320 words

They'd resigned themselves to never becoming parents - until Bucky gets pregnant and drops off the grid without even a whisper to his mate about his condition. Steve will still raze the earth to find him, but that doesn't mean he likes what he finds.

The Tones That Tremble Down Your Spine | 13889 words

Tony tells him they’re planning a party for Steve’s birthday. He knows how parties are supposed to go.

Lacuna | 62875 words

The Winter Soldier doesn't remember Steve Rogers, but he needs Rogers' help.

OR: The one where Bucky doesn't remember Steve, but falls in love with him anyway.

Not A Perfect Soldier | 93354 words

In a world where HYDRA was wiped out in the '40s, Steve is found by the Army rather than SHIELD. General Thaddeus Ross wants a perfectly obedient super-soldier at his command, and to that end, he sets out to break Steve to his will. As Steve struggles to come to terms with all he has lost, his life in captivity is only made bearable by the presence of another prisoner-- another super-soldier known only as "Soldat". Then the Avengers strike a deal with Ross to "borrow" him for missions, and Steve is faced with a team who dislikes him, an organization he doesn't trust, and the question of what he's willing to do to escape Ross's clutches.

For Want Of Him | 103174 words

It's the twenty-first century, and Steve Rogers has never been more alone. Everything he knew, everyone he loved, is now gone, and a dark, bitter loneliness claws at him, raking bleeding gashes into his heart. And then there's Brock Rumlow. Rumlow is like salt in his wounds; vicious, and cruel. But his dark brown hair and teasing smirk reminds Steve of someone long dead, and his New York accent sounds like home...He's a soldier like him...he understands. And Steve makes the fatal mistake of trusting him.

The Same Measure | 4943 words

The Winter Soldier was never allowed to stop unless an injury was too grievous.

To Be Unmade | 5114 words | Part 1 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

For the asset, things only ever get worse. The external scars fade quickly enough. The internal ones dig deeper and deeper.

But the internal scars are called love, and doesn't that make them worth the hurt?

Do Not Put In The Icebox | 7143 words | Part 2 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

When the asset malfunctions on a mission, Rumlow and Rollins learn more than they ever wanted to know about Pierce's hobbies.

And then everyone has pancakes.

The Knowing Makes It Worse | 4130 words | Part 3 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

No is a bad word and invites punishment.

Or, Alexander Pierce is a very bad man who delights in manipulating and degrading the asset.

Love Is For Children | 5303 words | Part 4 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

Bucky understands how the game works. He can't understand why it makes Steve cry.

But Natasha and the other Avengers are there to help.

I Just Wanted To Be Sure Of You | 4461 words | Part 5 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

Bucky has Bucky Bear; it's only fair for Natasha to have something of her own.

Visiting a toy store wasn't strictly necessary, but if Tony wants to throw money around, no one's going to complain.

“Till The End Of The Line | 6069 words | Part 6 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

It's hard to take a friendship right back up when so much has changed over seventy years.

Particularly when HYDRA's conditioning resurfaces.

*if you feel that any of these fics shouldn’t be in this list please just send me a message! :) I have read them all but over the past 1+ years so some of them I might not remember all the details of :)

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

[chuckbass-love]

May I request a Ransom x Y/n fic where he goes to a pub after being taken out of the will and he see's y/n at a table crying because she's just been dumped

I love this idea!! 

A/N: Just a heads up, i’m keeping the events of the movie in this where he goes back to the house to switch the medication and then have him go to the pub after that.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad or Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lots of angst, alludes to smut at first and then pure smutty filth. Fingering, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, daddy kink, ass slapping and fluff overload. Heavy alcohol use, swearing and alludes to murder (the plot from the movie).

Word Count: 8,770

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @roooogers go check them out💜

Shoulder To Cry On

“Please, Anthony. Please. Don’t do this” your voice shaking with the fear of losing the one person who you assumed would always be around. Your brain trying to register everything he’s just said as tears drown your vision out causing everything to go blurry. 

Weak body, silent screams and shaky hands. It’s real. But it doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream. Like if someone were to pinch you now then you’d wake up and feel fine. But that’s far from your reality. 

“You’re making a scene Y/N, everyone’s looking” he looks around him, watching on as everyone stares in your direction, enjoying the free show as they dine. 

Is he serious? 

“Me making a scene? You chose to do this here in front of everyone, knowing full well how i’d react” the anger coming out, the need to scream consuming you, so you do. You yell. You pick the food up in front of you and throw it at him. Bread, prawns, even your red wine.

“How could you do this to me? You fucking cheating scumbag” bottom lip trembling at the words leaving your mouth, the sick feeling working its way through your body and eventually settling in the back of your throat but you stop it.

You had plans for a lovely anniversary dinner tonight. Your boyfriend of 4 years Anthony. The man you’ve always seen yourself marrying and tonight, you thought was the night. That he’d finally get down on one knee and propose. But that was soon ripped away from you the moment the starters arrived.

He started his little speech about how he’s had the best time over the last 4 years with you, the memories you’ve made together. 

Then came the moment that everyone dreads. The breakup speech. 

He confessed to not feeling as happy as he once did with you and then he admitted to having a connection with some woman at work. His assistant. Jennifer. 

And as much as he played it off like nothing happened, you’ve known him long enough now to see all of the tell tale signs. The way he rubs his ear lobe, the way he avoids your eyes and most importantly the way he stutters when he’s nervous. 

His face has guilt and cheater written all over it. Your whole world feels like it’s crumbling around you and everything is a mess. Including your mascara. 

You always had your suspicions about Jennifer but he was the perfect liar, a genius at concocting up excuses. The way he’d make your mind do a full 180 with your thoughts and feelings. Just like a magician tricking the audience. He pulled the wool right over your eyes and love enabled that, stopped you from asking all the questions that you should have thought to ask.

It’s like now, everything he ever said to you, all the happy memories and plans you made. They all seem so fake, like he never meant any of it. It’s gut wrenching. Sickening. 

He’s a beautiful liar. He did it so effortlessly. Getting into bed next to you after no doubt being with her, touching her in the places he was only ever supposed to touch you.

But before you can even get to him, the restaurant staff make their way over, trying to remove you from the scene but you don’t even give them the chance.

“I’m going. Don’t fucking touch me” you hold your hands up, slipping your coat on and grabbing your purse.

“I hope one day you’ll experience how you’ve made me feel tonight” and that’s the last thing you ever said to him, picking your stuff up to leave.

All that anger and hurt eventually brought you here, the bar right round the corner from your house. You couldn’t bare the thought of even going home right away, let alone stepping foot in there. It’s too soon. 

The house that’s jam packed with memories of the two of you. Photographs of you. The bed you’ve slept in every night with him for 2 years. Your skin itches.

That’s when you see someone sit down next to you at the bar but you don’t look. He still notices you though. Ogling you as he sips at his whiskey. The way your dress hugs your figure, the slit up the side, exposing your legs.

You hear his thick Boston accent ordering. Still refusing to turn your head. You really don’t want any bother tonight. You just need to drown him out. Drown out the way he smells, the way he touches you, the feel of his huge hands all over your skin. 

Ransom doesn’t stop though, stealing glances here and there at you, trying to figure out the perfect chat up line to dish out. Then it comes to him, no chat up lines needed.

“What’s brought a beautiful girl like you here tonight then?”

The smirk that appears on his face comes out in his words, you can hear it but you’re really not in the mood so you order another drink, ignoring the stranger. 

But the second you speak up, your voice giving your state away, causing Ransom’s head to shoot up, leaning closer to get a better look and that’s when he sees it. Your eyes that are filled with tears, the way you’re sniffles follow shortly after they fall.

“Wait, are you okay?” Genuine concern in his voice, not wanting to upset you even more by prodding too much. 

“I’m fine” you spit, just wanting to be left alone to wallow. To over evaluate everything that’s gone down tonight. But that’s kind of hard to do with this man talking non stop.

“You don’t look fine”

“That’s because i don’t need nor want anyones pity” ouch.

“Who said i was pitying you?” he rolls his eyes, not even sure on what’s turned you so cold or should he say who. But he tried. Which isn’t usually in his nature. 

See the events that lead Ransom to that little bar are slightly different to yours but nevertheless, he’s here with you so it doesn’t necessarily matter. The story should probably be told anyway though.

All was going so well in his world earlier today, he was happy as Larry, living off of his Grandfather, taking all he could get from him. He had everything. A bachelor pad that puts his friends one to shame, a beamer, scantily clad women at the click of his fingers and invitations to all the best parties in Boston. He was the most notorious playboy, everyone knows him.

The moment he stepped foot into his Grandfathers study, nothing was ever going to be same once he left. And that’s a fact. 

Harlan broke the news about his will. How he changed it recently. Leaving his nurse Marta Cabrera with everything. Every. Last. Dime. 

Meaning Ransom and his family will be pushed out of the mansion and Walt will be kicked to the curb when it came to Harlans publishing company, Blood Like Wine. 

He argued with Harlan for what felt like forever, tried his best to plead his case and he even resulted to taking a threatening tone to his beloved Grandfather. Which of course, didn’t work. Leaving him angry, furious even. His blood was well and truly boiling. He’d had it. He couldn’t hear another word of that bullshit. So he stormed out. Bidding his great nana a swift goodbye in the form of resting his hand over her arm. 

Once in his beamer, he screamed. Smacking the wheel with all of his might before stepping on it, pulling out the space and up the driveway. He had to get out of there and fast. 

But halfway up the drive, he slams on the breaks when an idea begins to form, causing him to turn around. Parking away from the mansion first before creeping his way back in. 

He climbs the wall at the side of it, up to the secret window that he discovered in his childhood. Once he’s in he finds Marta’s medical bag, opening it and switching his grandfathers meds, making sure to take out the one saving grace that could ruin his perfect plan. 

With that secured in his pocket, the bag is zipped back up and placed back where he found it and he’s leaving the same way he came. Back down the side of the house but before he can make a quick run for it, he sees his great nana in the window. Staring at him, without blinking. He waits to see if she’ll speak but she never does, so he turns to leave, making it back to his beamer without a single person catching him. Great nana doesn’t count, there’s a very slim chance that she didn’t even know it was him. After all, she didn’t say a word.

All done now though, the plan is now in full swing. Soon Marta will take Harlan up to bed to give him his medicine. That’s when she’ll give him the overdose on morphine. Or the good stuff as they like to call it. 

And eventually it’ll start to come together. 

Marta will get arrested for Harlan’s murder, the money and all of the assets that were once hers will be stripped away and they shall all be returned to their rightful owners. His family and him of course. One thing that should be made abundantly clear about Ransom is that he’ll only ever help or get involved when there’s something in it for him. However, he’s not always evil, he has a soft side, it rarely comes out but make no mistake, it’s there alright. 

With his evil plan in place, he heads back home but before he even gets there, he passes a quaint little bar at the side of the road. He could really do with a drink right now. Of course a taxi home will be required but with thousands about to grace his bank account, what’s 10 or more dollars on taxi fairs. Exactly, it’s pittance to him. 

The second he enters, all eyes are on him. All but two. Your eyes. You’re sat at the bar, head in your hands and from what he can see, you’re dressed all fancy. Too fancy for this place that’s for sure. So he makes his way over, noticing the disgusted looks out of the corner of his eye. He’s never been here before, so of course he’s the newbie to all of the regulars.

That then leads to now. 

You turn to face him, your sad eyes meeting his dreamy ones. The only way to describe them. You find yourself on the verge of getting lost before you break the gaze. Nodding towards the barman who slides another shot over to you to which you knock back like it’s nothing before continuing to sip Gin.

Just one look from you and he can see that something isn’t right. 

“What’s got you crying all on your lonesome?”

“More like who” you respond, chuckling as more tears fall.

He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off “i had the lovely pleasure of being dumped tonight” you muster up your best fake smile, as if somehow acting like everything is okay will suddenly make it all okay for real. But it’s no use, you still feel torn to pieces. Your heart is still on the floor, it’s been stomped on way too many times for you to count on two hands and you’re life is a complete shambles.

He doesn’t love you, Y/N. He doesn’t love you anymore but then again, did he ever? 

“I’m sorry to hear that and for what it’s worth, the guys a jackass for doing that to you”

His comment has your brows furrowing in question. What does he mean by that? But you don’t even get a chance to ask, he can sense your confusion a mile away.

“I just meant that you’re gorgeous. He’s a fool” his nice side coming out to play, he’s never this nice to a woman unless he plans to sleep with her. But this time, it’s different. You’re different. He can never bring himself to pray on you like one of those other girls. Because he can see it, that you’re drained. You’ve had enough. Your ex made a fool of you enough already so who is he to add to that?

“Yeah right, he cheated so i doubt that very much” you snort, knocking back the rest of your drink.

At this point the bartender doesn’t even need you to ask for another, he’s probably realised by now that he should keep them coming. 

“What an asshole” 

Why does he care? He’s just a stranger. But still, you agree with him.

“Yup”

And just like that, a conversation blossoms. 

Drinks flow as you explain the events of tonight and he doesn’t interrupt you. He just lets you speak, it’s almost like he can sense that you just need someone to listen, like all you need is to let out all of your emotions. Even if it is to a complete stranger. 

Who by the way isn’t bad in the looks department. 

Wait. No. You can’t think that. 

Surely it’s fine to think it, just as long as you don’t act on it. Although, you are available now so there would be no harm.

“So let me get this straight. The man took you to dinner for your 4 year anniversary, let you get all dolled up, makeup, hair, nails. The works. Just to break it off with you and tell you he’s met someone else?” his brows raising and you nod, ashamed of how you’ve been treated because ultimately, you really did look like the idiot tonight.

You bought an expensive dress just for this very occasion and you did look the best you’ve ever looked. Radiant and glowing. Your makeup was on point, as was your hair. But now, you’ve got mascara everywhere and you’re way over the line of tipsy.

“I don’t get it. You’re well, you. I mean look at you and he left this for another woman? It makes no sense. There’s no way i’d ever give you up. No chance. No way” the way you feel your cheeks warm at his obvious compliment. You’re almost certain that he’s sweet talking you now. It took him a total of 2 hours. And he finally gave it a go. But you’re not complaining.

“LAST ORDERS” the bartender pulls you from your thoughts. That’s when you turn to look at him, still not knowing the perfect strangers name.

“Um, i guess i should get going” the very sentence makes that sick feeling come back but just like earlier, you push it away, stopping it before it comes spewing out on the bar. There would have been no time to run to the bathroom. 

“I guess i should too” he smiles softly, shrugging his coat on and standing up. 

That’s when the height difference is clear. He towers over you, making you feel small and dainty. 

He gestures for you to head out first and as you glance back over your shoulder, you see him sliding some money to the bartender. No doubt, he paid for all of those drinks that you forgot to even pay for. Fuck.

These heels are way too high and your vision blurs a little as you stumble out the door but before you can even fall to the ground and face plant, he catches you, lifting you up and walking you over to what looks like a taxi.

“Come on you, let’s get you home. Where’d you live?”

Your mind goes blank as you stare at him before muttering “i don’t want to go home, i can’t go home. He’ll be there. Don’t make”

He cuts you off, pulling you closer to him and giving the cabbie his address instead. Wait. His place?

“I guess i should probably tell you my name being as you’re gonna be in my house soon huh?” he chuckles, spurring your own laughing fit. 

“Do tell, mystery man” 

“Ransom”

“I don’t have any money to pay you, not that i need to anyways, just tell me your name”

“No, no. My name is Ransom” his laughter fills your ears.

Strange name. Strange man.

“Surely not” 

“Sure is. Well technically it’s my middle name. But i really can’t reveal anymore than that”

“Well i’m Y/N by the way and can i just say, you smell amazing” ah, the part where you make an utter show of yourself by leaning closer and closer, until your face is inches from his neck. That’s when you inhale really dramatically. Getting a good whiff of his manly scent. It’s intoxicating.

Luckily for you, he takes it all in good humour, probably because you’re drunk. 

The rest of the ride back to his consists of you getting overly touchy, making random comments and with Ransom being the playboy that he is, it’s a real struggle for him not to fuck you here and now. Even in front of the cabbie. It wouldn’t be the worst place he’s fucked.

Yes you’re drunk but your hands are roaming to places they shouldn’t be and now he can feel a situation forming in the shape of a huge hard on.

Not that you notice, you’re too wrapped up in your own drunken state, blissfully unaware.

He can’t fuck you anyway. You’re too drunk. He’ll have to sober you up first.

The taxi comes to a halt and you look out of the windows, noticing a huge house, too posh for the likes of you but clearly fitting for a man like Ransom. He pays the cabbie before getting out. 

You sit there clueless until you feel him scoop you up in his arms. He kicks the the door shut, walking the both of you to his house. He fiddles around in his pocket, holding you up with one arm so that he can open it and put you down on the couch.

“Is this your place?” 

“It is indeed”

“It’s so big”

He lays you down, pointing his index finger in your face as he warns you “stay here, okay? Don’t move”

The child in you starts to emerge, the pout and puppy dog eyes coming out “yes sir”. You salute him and watch him strut away. 

When he returns, his coat is off and he’s just in his white shirt, grey cardigan and his slacks.

“Here, drink this, it’ll help”

“Ew what is this?” your face screws up, disgusted at the taste “are you trying to poison me?”

“It’s just water, don’t be so dramatic. Drink it”

“What if i wanted another drink” 

He just shakes his head disapprovingly. You’re really having none of it and he can’t fuck you like this. He makes it his mission to make sure all the women he’s with can actually remember what’s going on. Plus he needs your consent first. 

“Drink. I won’t tell you again” his scary side showing just a tad but he soon shuts that off, realising how bossy and intimidating he sounds “wait, sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you”

Shouting and confrontation has always scared you. You’ve always had this natural instinct to cower and hide. 

But this time, all you can really do is back up, to the other end of the couch.

“You’re just really drunk and it’s not doing you any good. Especially with everything that you’ve gone through tonight” wow. He’s even surprised himself with that one. 

It’s not that he doesn’t care about you or your feelings because he most certainly does. He’s liked being there for you tonight, even if you did start out as two strangers at a bar. It distracted him from his own drama filled life. But your freaky side was showing on the taxi ride over and it awakened something inside of him.

Not in the way that some may think. Sure he’d love nothing more than to fuck you senseless, make you forget everything even if it’s just for the night but most importantly. He felt something more than just lust when you were touching him. 

And as strange as that is to admit, it felt amazing. Like fucking you wouldn’t just be for the sake of it. You wouldn’t just be another notch on his bed post. It’s almost like his heart knows something that his brain doesn’t know yet.

Eventually he gets you to slowly sip at the water until half of it is gone and then the whole thing. You’re still tipsy but a little better than you were before the water.

“Did you want any food? I could order in? It might help?”

“I mean i did sort of throw my prawn starter at my ex” 

He can’t contain his laughter, leaning back on the couch and throwing a hand over his left boob. You really are hilarious to him. He’s so amused by you and he doesn’t ever want this night to end. Even if it doesn’t end in sex, which it will. He’d be satisfied. 

Something that Ransom Drysdale would never ever think or say. 

“So food then?”

You nod before shaking your head aggressively.

“Actually no. No food. I already feel like i’m going to hurl. Food will just make that worse” 

He seconds that, taking your empty glass from your hands and disappearing to refill it before returning it to you.

“You best drink up then if you aren’t planning to eat”

So you do as he says, stopping after a couple of sips due to your eyes noticing more and more about him that you never noticed before. Like his slicked back hair, his broad shoulders and oh shit. Is that a boner?

It’s gotta be right. 

Your still tipsy self hands him the water for him to place on the coffee table for you and that’s when you do the unexpected. You make your way over to him, sitting way too close. Your bare arms rubbing against the soft and thin material of his cardigan. 

“You alright?” 

The way he acts like he cares, which, he does. It’s soothing, the gentle tone in his voice. The way he’s treating you like you’re glass and he doesn’t want to break you. And he’d be right, because you are delicate. Not your body of course but your heart, your soul, your mind. Not that there’s much left of your heart after Anthony broke it.

“I’m okay, i’ll be better after i get this dress off though” the flirty side of you starts to make an appearance. You look down, twiddling your thumbs as he clears his throat, clearly didn’t expect a comment like that. 

“I guess i could fetch some of my clothes for you to wear?” his suggestion, whilst very cute and gentleman like, isn’t what you were after. And he’s far from a gentleman. You can just tell.

“I don’t think you understood” you turn around, back facing him “i need some help. Please” eyelashes batting as you quickly look over your shoulder at him and seconds later, you feel his hand move your hair to the side. 

The zipper glides down with ease causing the straps to fall down your arms and soon enough. You stand up, letting it fall into a puddle on the floor. Leaving you in nothing but your matching blue laced, bra and panties set. Along with your heels of course. It’s the set that you bought for tonight too. For the sex you never ended up getting.

For the first time ever, Ransom is rendering on speechless, his mouth waters at the most incredible sight in front of him and he can tell from that look in your eyes that you want him. 

Something he never expected to happen so fast. That’s when you sit back down next to him, resting your hand on his thigh.

“You know i should really thank you for tonight”

“Honestly, it was nothing” his words are aimed at you whilst his eyes are fixated on your body, not even trying to hide it from you but you just lap it up. You could use some attention right now. After all, your confidence was knocked with your ex boyfriend’s revelation.

“No, really. It was nice. You’ve been amazing. So let me thank you” but before your lips can touch his, he pulls back. Looking at you as his hand caresses your cheek, staring into your eyes like he’s looking into your soul and you feel close to naked in more ways than one.

That’s when his lips crash to yours in an intense and very heated kiss. As his hands roam around your half naked figure, you position them at the back of your bra, signalling to him that you want him to remove it. Which of course, he does. 

He pulls away for a couple of seconds, taking a moment to look at your breasts. And the way he cups them with his large hands before using his thumb and index fingers to pinch at your now hard nipples, has you moaning into the kiss. Leaving your lips parted just enough for his tongue to slip in, adding to the build up. 

The battle for dominance begins and it goes back and forth between you both, your hunger is very much profound. As is Ransom’s. The moans he’s eliciting are almost porn star like and he’s barely even touched you. But that’s the beauty of it, it feels so good that you’re keening for more. Which earns a low and raspy chuckle.

It doesn’t take long before you’re straddling him, legs either side with your hands cupping his face. His hands rested on your waist, squeezing slightly, almost like he’s making sure you don’t go anywhere. And after the day he’s had. He needs someone, whether he admits it or not. He does. 

But that’s all he’s ever wanted. Is someone. Someone to talk to, someone who will listen and be there. He can’t complain about how that’s not the case though, he’s brought it all on himself. The loneliness, it’s killing him but he chooses to push everyone away. 

His family though, that’s all them. They made him this way. A scheming, money grabbing playboy. It doesn’t mean the facade doesn’t drop once he’s all alone though.

However, it never drops around others. So why is it dropping around you?

“God, i needed this” he pants, in between his kisses that he’s peppering from your lips to your jawline and then your neck. It takes him next to no time at all to find the one spot that drives you insane and when he notices the way your whole body shivers. He smirks, sucking and biting it along with the equal amount of wet kisses.

“Me too. Fuck, right there” you mewl, back arching in his hands as they splay across it before moving down to settle on your panties. His finger traces the top of them, following them as it dips into your ass before giving your ass cheeks a hard smack. 

God if this is how incredible you feel just kissing and touching the man then sex must be a real first place prize.

Just the way he’s handling your body alone is enough to send you over that sweet cliff but you stop it, holding back by pushing his face away from your skin, interrupting the hickey he was clearly in the middle of making.

“I wasn’t done with you, come back here” 

You stop him again “i need you” you whisper frantically, both of your chests rising and falling. Your heart is beating like crazy.

“Patience baby” he winks, standing up with you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist and your arms holding onto his broad shoulders for support as he carries you up the stairs and into what looks like his room. 

Before you even have time to pause for so much as a second, he throws you to the bed. 

“I wanna take my sweet little time with you” he starts, the bed dips as he gets on it, hovering above you “gonna worship every inch of your body” he lowers himself so that he can kiss your lips, then your jawline, then your neck and then eventually, the valley between your breasts.

“Gonna show you what your worth baby, prove to you that you’re better than that scum who didn’t treat you the way you deserve” also something that’s unlike Ransom. But if there’s one thing he’s a pro at, it’s pleasuring a woman. He knows what the fuck he’s doing. He can talk the talk and walk the walk. Which he’s about to prove to you right now. 

He lowers himself down to your sex, the way the pool is growing more and more is obvious, he can smell it and even see it, the way the light blue material has darkened around your tight hole.

You spread your legs open wider, your way of inviting him in. Of course he accepts. He starts off by pressing a thumb down onto your clit, moving it around in circles and causing you to jolt. You’ve been craving someone, anyone at this point to touch you there. Maybe that should have been a sign that things were doomed with you and Anthony since he’s not touched you in months. Maybe that was a sign you should have seen, a red flag that you were too blind to notice.

“Look at you, so flustered already. God i can’t wait to fuck you” 

“Please” you beg, pathetically.

“Nuh uh baby, i told you i wanna take my time, starting with this pretty little pussy” he hooks his fingers into the hem, using that to pull them down and off of your legs before throwing them behind him, not caring where they land. 

“My oh my, it is a pretty little pussy, isn’t it. God you’re soaked baby, all this for me?”

“All for you” your confirmation leads him to lick his lips before pressing a couple of open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs.

“That man is an idiot. But i guess his loss is my gain. Ain’t that right baby” he winks as his kisses get closer and closer to your arousal covered hole. 

“Ransom, plea- OH FUCK” his mouth latches onto your clit, sucking as his tongue flicks across it rapidly. A sensation you’ve never felt before that makes your breathing hitch, your hands run through his locks, no doubt messing them up, not that he’s showing any signs of caring.

All that Ransom cares about right now is making you feel good, making you cum.

“Like this baby? Like my mouth all over you?” his eyes meet yours as he uses his fingers to spread you open so that he can really get a good eyeful “you’re dripping” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself and not to you. He slowly slides one finger in before resuming his attention on your folds and your bundle of nerves. 

“More, i need more. I need you” as flattered as he is by your desperation and need to feel every inch of his thick cock, he has to prepare you. Most of the women he’s been with have never had someone as big as him before, so he always likes to get them ready and you are no exception. 

“Patience baby, you’ll have me. All in good time” 

His raspy voice has you melting alone and the way he’s working you over, slipping a second digit in, should be criminal. How can a man like this be single and alone? It makes no sense. Plus it doesn’t hurt that he’s loaded too. 

It’s a mystery that you’ll be sure to get to the bottom of once you’re done here. 

A third finger is added and he’s curling them all more and more each time he bottoms out, your back arches again, your grip on his hair gets tighter. But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop. Not even for a second. He’s a man on a mission right now.

The way he’s sucking on your clit, the way his fingers are filling you up and the way he’s slurping at you like a drink is something you’ll never and could never compare to anything you’ve ever experienced. He’s a literal god and he has your walls fluttering around him, your clit pulsating in his mouth.

“Feel the way your squeezing me baby, you gonna cum? Huh? Gonna cum all over my fingers” the pure filth that he’s spewing, is what has you coming face to face with stars. And Ransom can feel the way your hips bucks up into his face, the way your hands keep him locked there until they are pushing him away due to how sensitive you are. He doesn’t budge though.

He just laps at your sex again and again before finally withdrawing his fingers, noticing your slick coating them and dripping down his hand.

“Jesus, looks like somebody made a mess”

You can’t help the way your cheeks warm in embarrassment which he soon puts to bed by stuffing his fingers in his mouth to clean them off. Every last drop. 

That’s when he takes it upon himself to drink directly from you, sticking his tongue into the honey pot, taking everything you have to offer “god so fucking sweet. I can’t get enough baby, tastes so fucking good” 

A flirtatious giggle escapes, your hands covering your mouth but he rips them away.

“Don’t ever feel embarrassed or shy around me” 

“Are you gonna fuck me now?” your teeth bite at your bottom lip as you shiver with the anticipation of what’s to come from him. His silence is deadly but exciting.

“Indeed i am” 

He can most likely hear your heart race as he pulls away, getting off of the bed to undress himself. Starting with his cardigan and shirt. Once it’s off, his abs are revealed, his biceps are huge. You have the biggest urge to kiss him all over that chiseled body, sculpted by some kind of god. He’s gotta be a fantasy.

“But first baby” he trails off, pulling his slacks down and stepping out of them “you’re gonna suck my cock, get it nice and hard with that mouth of yours before i ram it into that tight little cunt” he pulls his boxers down, stepping out of them too and kicking both to the side before stalking closer.

You gulp, your eyes widen... he’s huge. Really huge. Thick too. Does he even need your mouth?

“What’s the matter baby? Is someone intimidated?”

“No” your denial, whilst very cute, isn’t believable. But he’s still going to let you have a go at wrapping that mouth around it.

You scoot off of the bed and fall to your knees, feeling even more dainty than you did before when he was towering over you like a giant. 

“Don’t be shy baby, get to work” 

Your hand wraps around him with your thumb swiping the pre cum that’s oozed out of the slit and you immediately pop your thumb into your mouth. You just want a small taste and as soon as the salty-sweet droplet hits your tongue. You all of a sudden crave more of it.

“Nice?” he asks, cocking a brow up “delicious” you smile, adding to his already blown up ego.

You gradually welcome him into your mouth, opening wider as each inch passes your lips until he’s almost bottomed out. That’s when you open wider and his tip hits the back of your throat making you gag, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“You look so good taking all of me in that mouth, bet you’ll look even better when you’re taking me in that cunt”

Is he trying to kill you with his dirty talk? Most likely.

He’s a different man to the guys you normally go for. Maybe that’s where you’ve gone wrong. You’ve let yourself settle for mediocre sex, mediocre relationships and maybe that’s why you’ve never been truly happy, like happy to your very core. You’ve never fully believed that you deserve the world. Never known your worth.

He grips the sides of your head, stilling your movements so his can begin and he doesn’t go easy. His thrusts have you making an even bigger mess, more saliva dripping down from your face to the floor. He’s loving every second of it though. But soon enough, just as quick as he started, he stops. Pulling out and looking at you, content with what he sees. 

“God you’re fucking beautiful like this, on your knees for me like a good girl. Get on the bed baby” you do as you’re told, sprawling out on the bed and waiting for him to join which of course he does. As soon as he gets a condom out, taking it from the wrapper and sliding it down his shaft. Size XL. You spy before he tosses the wrapper into the bin. 

“You ready?” he asks, resting his tip between your legs and lowering his body so that he can slide his arms underneath your shoulder blades. His face inches from yours. 

“Please, i need you now” and with that he slides home, not stopping to let you adjust to every inch as it comes. You can feel your pussy stretching, the way it stings slightly but it also feels incredible. It’s bliss. 

“S’tight baby and s’warm. Feel that pussy stretching around my cock” 

Your eyes roll back as your head lolls to the side, presenting your neck to him and giving him the opportunity to finish what he started earlier, which of course he does. 

And the second is lips are on your skin, his pace picks up and the pain turns to pleasure. You feel him so deep inside of you that you just know if he were to pull out that you’d feel emptier than ever.

“God, yes. Ransom. Fuck” your legs wrap tight around his waist, forcing him in even deeper if that’s possible at all but still you do it. Wanting nothing more than to feel as much of him as physically possible.

So you wrap your arms around him, your fingers tracing shapes on his back, causing him to shiver and growl loudly “fucking take this cock baby, take it like a good girl” he starts, adjusting his pace from fast and rough to slow and hard. Ramming in each time he speaks “such a good girl” thrust “loving every inch of this cock huh?” thrust “god this pussy” thrust “is gonna have me cumming way too quick” thrust.

“I can’t have that now can i?” that’s when he shocks you, flipping you over so that you’re on top “ride me baby, show daddy what you got” the nickname he uses for himself has your walls spasming, catching his attention.

“Oh you like that huh? Such a dirty girl for daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes daddy” despite never using that in the bedroom before, it feels weirdly satisfying, having him refer to himself as daddy and seeing how he gets when you call him that too, the way his mouth hangs open, the way his cock twitches. 

It’s something you’ll never forget.

You start off by collapsing onto his chest, your breasts pushed up against his pecs as you slowly lift your ass up before sinking back down onto him, earning a hiss. 

“Yeah just like that, make daddy proud baby” so you do, you go again. And again. And again. Getting quicker each time until you’re a pro at it. You then sit up, continuing to bounce up and down, grinding as he bottoms out, with his initial instructions of course. He guides you through it and before he even tries to help a second time, he takes his hands away, noticing how you’re doing it all by yourself.

Grinding like the whore he’s turned you into. You can’t help the confidence beaming off of you as you go to work, slamming yourself down on his cock eagerly. You need that sweet release now more than ever, as does he.

“That’s it baby, make yourself cum” 

The best pout and puppy dog eyes make a return “fuck me. Please daddy” and who is he to say no to you?

“You’re gonna be the death of me i swear” he flips you over again, keeping himself seated deep inside of you as his pace turns animalistic. 

“Mhmm, give it to me, i’m gonna cum” you plead, not that he’d ever deny you a mind blowing orgasm in the first place as it’s clear you’ve never had one like the one he’s about to give you.

“Bet he could never fuck like this huh? Make you moan like a fucking porn star for him. Gonna have your legs shaking baby, hold on to me” 

So you do. 

Your grip tightens around his neck. 

With every hit to your g-spot, he nudges you closer until yet again, stars cloud your vision and your toes curl. Your back arches up so that you’re chest to chest and you cum with a shaky and satisfied cry. He doesn’t stop though, plowing into you to chase his own release. Your legs are most definitely shaking.

Your walls continue to clamp down on him, spurring it on. 

“God i’m gonna cum”

“Cum for me daddy” is all he needed to hear to go crazy and that’s when he spasms himself. His thick seed filling the condom and his thrusts get slower and harder. Riding both of your highs out. 

Your breathing is heavy, your heart beat is out of control but you feel complete. 

You’ve never experienced anything like that before. 

He pulls out, disposing of the condom and rushing into the en suit for a second before returning with a wash cloth. He uses it to clean you up, taking his time and making sure to be extra careful with you. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow but struggle due to him fully ruining your body.

“Just relax baby, let me take care of everything” he presses a couple of kisses to your thighs and then your stomach, pausing to throw the wash cloth into the hamper before making his way back up to your lips.

He lays down next to you, pulling you into his side and draping an arm around your body so you lay your head down on his chest.

“So” you both say at the same time, causing a laughing fit to erupt.

“That was certainly an experience” 

“I told you that i was gonna worship you and i think you can agree i delivered” 

“You did more than just deliver Ransom”

“Please do tell me more” he laughs, stroking your hair.

“How on earth are you single?” the question that’s been on your mind since you and him got talking at the bar. He’s acted in a way that not many men do these days, it’s hard to believe no ladies are lining up to be with him.

Plus his dick and head game is A-1.

“I’m single more by choice than anything else”

“How come?” you feel bad for asking but surely if you were over stepping the line then he’d say.

“I mean, my family life hasn’t always been the best. I’ve learnt to not trust anyone that i’m related to and growing up with parents that just chucked money at stuff to solve it. If i was upset then it was always take this money, go shopping. Or if i needed my mother for girl advice it always lead to my dad telling me i should never trust women which is rich seeing as he cheats on my mom all the time”

It’s quite sad actually, a man that seems to have it all together, is clearly broken inside.

“I’m sorry, that’s awful. I’m guessing that’s why you’re single then, why you choose to keep away from dating”

“Yup. I prefer to just fuck with no strings attached. It’s easier, I don’t have to do anything other than make them cum. I’m not filled with pressure to be the perfect boyfriend. I can just relax but sometimes it gets lonely”

“How’d you mean? Sorry if i’m prying” you rest your head on your hands as you look up at him, his finger tracing shapes on your back now.

“It’s fine honestly, don’t sweat it. I guess the best way to explain it is that i can have all this money from my grandfather, all the cars, girls and friends in the world but i can’t trust any of them enough to let them see me when i’m laying in bed at night. The times when i just want someone to hold, someone to hold me, tell them about my day, hear about theirs. Someone to wake up next to and fall asleep next to. But whenever a woman gets even remotely close to me in a way that is too deep. I back off, i give her the cold shoulder and just ghost. I get freaked out because to me, there’s nothing scarier than someone seeing all of me, the good, the bad and the ugly”

It takes you just a second to realise, he’s just bared his soul to you. After saying that he backs off whenever a woman gets too close. After saying that he struggles to trust. That he’s scared of being himself around someone. He’s just been himself around you. And you have no doubt that he feels comfortable enough with you to do that so that’s gotta count for something, surely.

“I get it. It’s hard. Loving someone is easy but allowing them to love you, that’s the scary part. Because ultimately when you let someone in enough to let them love you whole heartedly it opens you up to the chance of heartbreak i mean, look at my life”

You both laugh a little “It’s not even just regular heartbreak, it’s the fear of being cheated on, having my trust shattered. Having someone use me for my family’s money”

“Well, for what it’s worth. I think you need to just bite the bullet, let that guard down. How do you ever expect to find what you want and need if you’re not willing to open yourself up to it. It’s a risk that is worth it sometimes, that eventually, all the heartaches will lead to something greater or someone. Someone that will accept every flaw you have and be there regardless of how messy things can get”

Ransom is just so relaxed right now, he feels at peace, at ease with you. The way you’re listening. Your head rested on his chest, letting him hold you and giving him proper responses, it shows you’re paying attention, you want to be there for him. He’s completely taken back by you. How could anyone want to cheat and leave you, it’ll always remain a mystery to him.

You’re like this ray of light, that came into his life tonight out of the blue. Someone who’s hurting too but somehow you amazing him with the sunshine you provide. You’re everything he’s always wanted in a girlfriend but he’s spent years pushing girls just like you to the side due to fear. Only difference is, he’s able to be himself with you. With them, he could never.

His body lets go as he turns on his side, turning you with him so that he’s cuddling you from behind.

“You’re right. I’ll get there eventually. I just, i need time”

Your silent for a while, taking his words in before you speak.

“Seems like you don’t need any time at all”

That’s when you hear quiet snores from behind you, he’s dozing. And after a couple of minutes, you decide that it’s probably time you see yourself out, you never wanna over stay your welcome and right now with him asleep, you already have.

But before you can even get off the bed, you need to remove his hand from around your frame. Which isn’t going to be easy considering you have to try not to wake him up.

You succeed, finally managing to scoot over to the edge of the bed. But that’s when you hear his tired groans, followed by a hand to your wrist.

“Don’t leave me” his voice is laced with worry

“What?”

“Everyone leaves me” his words break your heart all over again, you’ve been left before and you’re not about to do this to him. Besides, it’s not like you wanted to, you just didn’t think he was the type to want you here all night.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to be here when you woke up”

“Well, you thought wrong. Come back and cuddle, don’t leave like everyone else does”

It doesn’t take much more to convince you to crawl back into his arms. He presses a couple of kisses to your shoulder as you get under the covers with him. Then the kisses move to your cheek and eventually, your lips.

“I’m here to stay then i guess”

“Good”

You feel warm and happy somehow in his arms, like everything has gone away, even if it’s just temporarily.

“Goodnight” 

“Goodnight Ransom. sweet dreams” something you’ve always said throughout your whole life. It’s a nice thing to say and it has him smiling into one last kiss before he closes his eyes for the night.

---------------------------

General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferouss @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @rockyrogers 

Just Chris & His Characters Tags: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina 

[captaincvans]

Chapter Two: Mind Made of Stone

10/18/19

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 1807+

Warnings: Language! Sad!Chris

Series Masterpost

A/N: Sorry I kinda disappeared!! I basically re-wrote this entire series in the past week because i had a bunch of ideas for it, and didn’t like where it was heading. I hope you guys like this chapter~ Lemme know what you think 😊

Christopher Robert Evans was raised to be humble, and his mother taught him not to have his money or fame get the best of him. This was one of the main reasons he found himself doing his own taxes once he turned of age. It got a bit more difficult as he received more income, but he thought he did well. The IRS never came after him, so he assumed he was doing everything correctly. Almost a year ago, he had a few reunion with his college buddies, and he got the chance to catch up with his Jason Kwon, known in college for his drunken dart skills, now an accountant with a husband and two golden retrievers. Chris shared his struggles with his taxes, and Jason was quick to offer his help. Unfortunately, Jason had only bad news for him. According to his previous pay stubs and contracts, there should have been a lot more money in his account. 

Chris’s POV

I was finally heading home, filming had wrapped up late November, and I could finally enjoy December in Boston without worrying about my projects. Not that I had any lined up, I discretely took a break from it all since the investigation. The past few months were the most stressful time of my life. I was beaten down and exhausted, and I wanted nothing more than this whole ordeal to end already.  Jason insisted that I went through every role and contract I had, as well any royalties that was made in the last ten years. He wanted to do this as soon as possible to make sure that everything was resolved before I had to file my taxes. It was soon pretty evident that the middle-man was the cause of the whole issue. The middle man being my manager, Daniel Kolb. He was in charge of most of my finances, as in, he controlled the account that the money was going into. I still had my personal account, but most of my money sat in that account that he had control over. 

I felt relief that the press still haven’t caught whiff of the situation, with so many moving parts in the investigation I was worried that it would leak before I had the chance to clear things up. Right before I went home for the holidays, I was informed that Daniel made a deal with the police. He would say who else was in on the scam, and he would be sentenced to a lesser degree. I hated it, but I had to know who else would betray me like this. He only said one name, and it was the one I never would have thought. 

Y/N L/N. 

My guard was up the minute I came home. She betrayed my trust. I shared with her my fear of being taken advantage of, and my reservation for dating people outside of the industry. She knew that. Hell, she was the first one to bring up her discomfort with dating someone famous. It was something we were both insecure about. She felt like whatever she did would never be good enough financially, and I felt like if not my partner, the people around them could easily take advantage of my money and fame. 

I was picking up fights with her, I knew that and she knew that. I just wanted her to confess that she was taking money from me. I wanted her to tell it to my face. Whatever I did, she wouldn’t budge. She acted like nothing was wrong, and she was confused whenever I brought up our finances. We kept our accounts separate, something she said would give her comfort in knowing that she can still provide for herself and me. I kept pushing it until the breaking point. 

In reality I finished her decoy Christmas gift three months ago, and her real Christmas gift eight months ago. The chunky wool blanket I made her sitting patiently in the closet of my office where I knew she would never go into, and the beautiful cathedral setting engagement ring I hand-made sat in the locked drawer of my office table. Two items that I knew would never see the light of day. I wanted to burn them at the thought of her betrayal, clenching my teeth so hard, my jaw ached. I didn’t bother putting up a front with my family at Christmas, my disdain at its peak when once again she brought up splitting the cost for the gifts she bought my nieces and nephew. The truth would come out in a few weeks time, I just had to wait for the warrant to be approved before they could start investigating her accounts. When we finally got home, I wanted nothing more than to snuggled in to my bed. Y/N moved to the guest bedroom a week ago, and it’s been nice to have the whole bed to myself again. I was just about to make it to the stairs when I heard her voice. 

“Chris, can we talk?” I could hear the uneasiness in her tone, and wanted to scoff at her fake innocence. 

“About what?” I barked, my hand automatically going to my hip. 

“It was just really awkward today…” she trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip. 

I rolled my eyes. “Just because I didn’t get you a gift one time?!”

“No, no! It’s not like that- I don’t care that you didn’t get me anything. It’s just… I bought those Disney World passes for us… Daniel said you would be doing the last month of your filming in California so I figured I could take some time off and we can go together after you’re done.” 

“So you’re upset that I wasn’t more excited for it? Jesus, you know I hate it when you make plans without considering my plans. What if I don’t want to stay in California after filming? You know I only leave Boston when I have to.”“I know, but I thought it would be easier for you to stay in California for an extra month, instead of coming back here and having to spend money on another flight there.”

I scoffed, my arms folded in front of me. This is how manipulative she could get, I realized. She was trying to turn this around, as if she was doing me a favour. Before, I would’ve eaten this up, cooing at how kind and thoughtful she was, but now I know better. “It’s always about money with you, isn’t it?”

“What?! What do you mean?” She had the audacity to look confused and upset, but I can see through her. 

“You’re always talking about money- telling me that I should save here and save there when I want something, but when you want something you don’t care about my savings anymore.”

“Chris, I never asked you to-“ 

“We both know you’re only with me for my money anyways,” I spat, saying the words I’ve been wanting to say to her these past months. 

““Chris, what the fuck?! You know that’s not true-” she exclaimed, but I could only scoff.. “Chris, I love you for you- I don’t-”

I finally snapped when she said those three words. How dare she manipulate me, hurt me, and then tell me that she loved me. A burst of fury filled my heart as I spat out a couple of words strung together that I knew would end our relationship. “You love my money. You love being spoiled. Honestly, don’t know why I bothered with you- I basically was just paying you to hang out and have sex with me.” I was on a tirade, and I couldn’t stop. The words just coming out of my mouth like hot lava, and I could see her shrink away with every word, and that just made me angrier. “I should’ve just gone with a prostitute- they’re probably cheaper and at least they keep themselves in shape. You just look like you’ve really let yourself go- honestly, how much weight did you gain while you were fattening yourself up with my money?”

I could see the moment she knew this wasn’t just a small fight that I would eventually fix. This was huge, and I was pissed. “I think we should break up,” she said, her voice small. I raised my eyebrow, thinking she would put more of a fight into the argument, afterall she was with me for my money, but I guess the jig was up. She knew she was caught. I watched her pack everything, making sure she took only what she bought. She turned to look at me again, her fingers playing with the scarf she was packing. “Um- I’m not sure how you want to go about this, but I think you should know anyways, and if you want to call me after you’ve calmed down a bit so we can discuss this-”

“Discuss what?” I asked, my patience wearing thin at her hesitance. 

“I’m pregnant, Chris.”

I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head. Was she serious? She was just gonna try to pull the oldest trick in the book on me. Does she think I was stupid? But I guess she was desperate. “Really? You’re gonna pull that one on me? I’ve had my share of sluts pretending to be pregnant with my baby. Stop lying to try to tie me down to you. It ain’t gonna work. You’re not getting any more money from me.”

“I’m serious, Chris. I could show-”

“Well, I don’t believe you. You probably got knocked up by someone else.”

“I never-”

“Just get out. I’ll leave your stuff with the concierge downstairs.” With that I opened the door for her, making sure she was heading out before closing the door. I felt relief wash over me as I removed that last toxic part of my life. Through all the anger, the emotion I felt the most was betrayal. I trusted her and loved her so much, and she went around to hurt me like this. I could finally feel the dam breaking as tears made my way down my face, my head falling to my hands as I continue to sob at the loss of everything I knew to be real. The family I trusted outside of my own family, and they all deceived me. I was at a loss on what to do, but at least there was one person I knew I could always count on. I called my mom. 

<– (Chapter 1)        (Chapter 3) –>

- Tag List - 

@lost-in-t-h-e-abyss​ @vogueworthy-barnes​ @hista-girl​ @tfandtws​ @aletteredaffair​ @traceyaudette​ @lupine-princess​ @songforhema​ @stella2445​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @qrndevans​ @straightforwardly​ @cesarofangirl78​ @buckybarneslove76​ @kaithezaftig​  @evanstush​ @ownerofthebastard​ @jadedhillon​ @ka-x-in​ @lili-ann-love​ @bulldozed88 @dolan-mendes​ @jeleners1430​ @yougurt-con-avena​ @fandomoneshots-imagines​ @patzammit​ @ramblingsnfandom​ @beanthedoggo​ @luckylightfiction​ @luckyfiction17​ @hautejily​ @chrisevanssleeping​ @snave-sirhc​ @gemgemswift​ @firstangeldragonranch​ @hiddlesbitch1​ @virtualmemmecollector​ @heladoom @crimeshowtrash​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @peach-acid​ @uneniffler​ @cloudyskylines​ @simmisblog​ @shikshinkwon​ @queenkronk @aubageddon91​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous​ @the-soulofdevil

[restlesstheoryqfab]

text | LivQuinn

Liv: I was just looking back in my camera roll and found a picture of us in the dungeon :sweat smile emoji: :sweat smile emoji:

Quinn: oh God

Liv: We looked so rough LOL

Quinn: I'm sure we did

Liv: How are you?

Liv: Did I see somewhere your tour ended?

Liv: You going back to California?

Quinn: m'fine

Quinn: That it did.

Quinn: Nah. Headed back to Boston.

Liv: Oh! So I’ll get to see you then??

Liv: When will you be around?

Liv: It’s been ages

Quinn: Yup

Quinn: Got plans Monday, presumably I'll be required to make an appearance at Fran's on Tuesday, but I could probably do sometime on Tuesday?

Quinn: That it has.

Liv: That’s so far

Quinn: It's Tuesday or you wait even more.

Liv: Ugh the worst

Liv: why can’t you be around nowwwwwww

Quinn: Because I'm not

Liv: I’ll wait

Liv: Since I have to

Quinn: believe me, I'd prefer to be around

Liv: Are you close enough for me to drive to you?

Liv: The pictures were so hot!

Quinn: I'm busy.

Liv: Oh, okay. No worries

Quinn: Post tour shit is a bitch

Liv: I mean, I imagine so. So much physical and emotional work. When I was on tour it felt like we never went to bed.

Quinn: I love being on tour. I hate coming off it.

Liv: Sounds like you ate too many edibles

Quinn: I wish.

Liv: Do you want some?

Quinn: God no. Fran would kill me.

Liv: So? Edibles are basically good for you

Liv: Plus they just help you sleep

Quinn: You convince miss high and mighty of that.

Liv: Maybe she just cares about you?

Liv: Well, if you decide you want some lemme know.

Quinn: She does, but she's also anti-everything fun

Liv: Fun is relative. Different for everyone.

Liv: sounds like you need fun, grumpy

Quinn: But weed is nearly always fun, and Frannie turns up her nose at it.

Quinn: I need a fucking break is what I need.

Liv: plus how do you know Frannie hasn’t made edibles before? She definitely has.

Liv: You’re literally on break

Quinn: Is my withdrawal brain reading shit wrong or did you just say that Frannie, Francine Grace Fabray MADE edibles?!

Liv: She did! On Sunday.

Quinn: The fuck?

Liv: It’s why I have them

Quinn: You made edibles with my sister?

Quinn: god this feels like a hallucination

Liv: I did!

Liv: They’re so yummy too

Quinn: What fucking world did I faze into that my sister is making edibles?

Liv: Why does it matter?

Liv: It just means she doesn’t care if you let me bring you some

Quinn: She'll still fuckin kill me

Liv: I just wanna chill with you Fabray

Quinn: I'm probably the last fucker in Boston you really wanna hang out with.

Liv: Hey now, don’t put words in my mouth :frowning emoji:

Quinn: I'm not good company right now.

Liv: That’s okay. I can just drop cookies off?

Quinn: No. It'd be a bad idea. I don't know what adding that onto everything else would do. Would like to at least give Fran the chance to kill me.

Liv: Okay. I’ll bring some Tuesday then. How’s that?

Quinn: Sounds great. And tell whichever of the women in that house you're talking to that I know what I'm doing.

Liv: You sure about that?

Quinn: Yeah, this isn't my first rodeo.

Liv: Well they love you

Quinn: Doesn't always feel like like it. Fucking snitch.

Liv: Rather be a snitch then lose you

Quinn: I was talking about Bea. Though you're not much better.

Liv: What did she do?

Quinn: Tattled to Frannie

Liv: she is the baby

Quinn: And I told her I was fine.

Liv: Yeah, I mean drugs usually don’t equate to fine. But it’s fine.

Liv: What do you have going on Monday?

Quinn: I'm detoxing. It's fine.

Quinn: high school reunion of the horny variety, apparently

Liv: But why stop if you wanna do them so bad?

Liv: Ooooooh

Liv: Gross

Quinn: Frannie. And I only trust one guy to supply me, though after this my trust is wavering.

Quinn: Pretty little brat that I'm inclined to believe is as good with her mouth as she says.

Liv: So you stopped enough to trick her?

Liv: Hopefully she’s not lying

Quinn: If she thought I wasn't using she didn't worry.

Quinn: Pretty little song bird who also doesn't know how to shut up. So if that woman doesn't know how to put that mouth of hers to good use, well, she knows what I'll do to her.

Liv: Looks like you’re spots been blown up unfortunately

Liv: What now?

Liv: Hopefully she shuts up enough to use her mouth

Quinn: Fuck if I know.

Quinn: She likes being put in her place, I'm sure I can that mouth to do what I want it to.

Liv: Cool

Liv: sounds funnnn

Quinn: I should ask if she's gotten rid of her reindeer sweater...

Liv: LOL u joking?

Quinn: This girl wore short fucking skirts, knee high socks, and sweaters so fucking often. And no matter how much teasing and bullying occurred she wouldn't change. Even her so-called friends tried to get her to toss the fucking reindeer sweater and she just wouldn't.

Liv: Well, stubborn can be fun. I think.

Liv: My brother always wears funny bow ties. People don’t appreciate them but he does it anyways.

Quinn: Bowties I can appreciate. Unflattering sweaters with reindeer I cannot

Liv: They were unflattering even with the knee socks?

Quinn: From ankle to waist she was perfect. Great legs, an amazing ass. And then BOOM reindeer

Liv: LOL you’ll have to let me know what she wears cause I’m big curious

Quinn: Hopefully not much. But yeah, I'll let you know

Liv: She shows up naked. Could you imagine :laughing cat emoji:

Quinn: If she wasn't meeting in public first I am not entirely sure I'd complain.

Liv: Why public if you know each other?

Quinn: Because it's been 11 years since high school and I'm not stupid enough to give someone I barely know my address?

Liv: Did she know your address back then? :winking emoji:

Quinn: No. My father would have had a conniption if I even entertained the idea of being acquainted with her.

Liv: Ohhhhhh

Liv: Romeo and Juliet vibes :laughing cat emoji: :laughing cat emoji: laughing cat emoji:

Quinn: I wanted nothing to do with her back then. Except when I could get her angry enough to storm off so I could watch her go.

Liv: So you kinda wanted something to do with her

Quinn: I wanted less to do with her than she wanted to do with me.

Liv: Omg was she in love with you

Quinn: She wanted me to fuck her in the locker room. Apparently on multiple occasions.

Liv: Jesus

Liv: that’s hot

Quinn: Spanking included

Liv: Well then

Quinn: Mmhmm

Liv: Well hopefully she’s just horny for you and not obsessed with you

Quinn: I've had worse people obsessed with me

Liv: Fair enough.

Liv: So what are you going to make her do?

Quinn: Haven't decided yet.

Liv: No fair

Quinn: I mean, she's given me so many ideas. Definitely like the idea of spanking her, getting her on her knees, not letting her up until I'm satisfied."

Liv: you could kill her between your legs and she probably wouldn’t care

Quinn: Probably

Liv: That’s a sacrifice I’d probably take too

Quinn: Is that so?

Liv: For sure

Quinn: Interesting.

Quinn: So, you and Frannie?

Liv: We’re friends because of Arin! Love that woman

Quinn: Okay, but like how are you two JUST NOW connecting? I mean, you and the queen of darkness have known each other for a while, right?

Liv: It just sort of happened, idk

Liv: the same way you spent your summers with my Blaine

Quinn: Excuse me what?

Liv: Blaine Anderson | Liv Anderson

Quinn: Bruh.

Liv: Tell me about it. I could have gotten into so many pants way sooner.

Quinn: So like, why weren't you?

Liv: You know, dads suck!

Quinn: Mood

Liv: I punched him in the face and he shipped me off to boarding school :sunglasses emoji:

Quinn: Damn, I wish

Quinn: I just write songs about mine

Liv: Mine doesn’t exist to me anymore so no songs need to be written

Liv: At least they are good!!!

Quinn: I'm sure I don't exist to him but that doesn't make the trauma and shit nonexistent

Liv: Neither does the drugs

Quinn: The drugs have very little to do with THAT bastard

Liv: Okay. My apologies.

Liv: They still don’t help trauma

Quinn: They stop the memories way more than you'd think

Liv: Doesn’t make it the way

Quinn: Yeah, well they work.

Liv: I know

Quinn: and that's the part that matters.

Quinn: so like how did you get her to make edibles?

Liv: I asked her

Quinn: What the ever loving fuck have I missed the last 9 months?

Liv: I don’t know LOL

Quinn: Neither do I.

Liv: The world just got smaller mostly.

Liv: and everyone is horny and kinky

Liv: Or both

Quinn: Both, definitely both.

Liv: Specially them Fabray girls

Quinn: Not all of us.

Liv: All of you dude

Quinn: Last a checked my not-so-closeted older sister is still in fact a sex free bitch. And as much as even I know kink isn't always sexual, Frannie might have an interested, but that definitely doesn't result in actually being willing.

Liv: An interest is enough for me to label you all kinky. That’s all.

Quinn: Okay then

Liv: And you are horny I’m sure

Quinn: nah, withdrawal sucks that shit right outta ya. Hoping I don't have to cancel Monday, honestly

Liv: omg that’d break her heart probably

Quinn: Probably

Liv: such power

Quinn: Mmhmm

Liv: if you cancel on her let’s hang out

Quinn: If I cancel on her it will be because I still feel like death

Liv: and I can’t take care of you?

Quinn: Why would you want to?

Liv: Friends take care of friends

Liv: I messaged you because I was hoping you’d let me come over to help you. It just also meant I could let Frannie know you are okay

Quinn: I'm fine, Liv, really. Just some extra shit I wasn't expecting to deal with.

Liv: You guys are so fucking frustrating holy shit

Liv: Okay. I get it. But I want to help. And I’m here for you. That’s all. You can believe it and I hope you would but I won’t force you.

Quinn: I know I am. Bea, if you know her is too. But what's frustrating about Frannie? Like, from a you perspective?

Quinn: I just don't need the help right now, okay? Go be a brat to someone who can handle it

Liv: She doesn’t take a single compliment.

Liv: I’m not being a brat I’m trying to be a friend

Quinn: Is there a reason you're trying that hard to compliment my sister?

Quinn: You're being a bratty friend.

Liv: It’s easy to?

Quinn: ... You like her don't you

Liv: We’re friends. Obviously I like her.

Quinn: Bitch, you know what I mean

Liv: I haven’t thought about it like that tbh

Liv: Maybe I do

Liv: That’s fun

Quinn: Does she know? Does she like you back? I need details bitch

Liv: You think she knows when I didn’t know?

Quinn: I don't know. Maybe? Like does she like you?

Liv: I mean she likes hanging out with me and made edibles with me

Quinn: Mmhm. And?

Liv: What do you mean and? We just chill a lot

Liv: And laugh a lot lol

Quinn: Okay. That's something. But also you're terrible at this. I'm gonna have to ask Arin. Arin knows these things.

Liv: Arin knows everything

Liv: I also don’t know anything right now outside the fact that I’m seconds from exploding

Quinn: Except how to fall in love with someone who WON'T cheat on her.

Quinn: Getting relief, I hope?

Liv: low blow

Liv: Maybe she can date Bea. Bea doesn’t know anyone but us.

Liv: Yes sooooon

Quinn: But the truth.

Quinn: Don't know how I feel about that. Though, pretty sure she had a crush on Arin when we were younger.

Quinn: oooh

Liv: I mean who didn’t have a crush on Arin? LOL

Liv: oooooh

Quinn: Frannie. And presumably Blaine.

Quinn: Who???

Liv: Wonder if Sugar did. She’s worse than anyone I know when it comes to realizing feelings LOL

Liv: Arin

Quinn: Sugar had it BAD. Like, literally got her ass beat multiple times with a book cos she refused to leave Arin alone. Now she just pretends to hate her for it.

Quinn: enjoy the queen of darkness, you both probbaly need it though like... does Frannie know?

Liv: LOLOLOLOLOLOl

Liv: Yeah, I think she knows. I mean I don’t know how she wouldn’t know.

Quinn: uh huh. and do you know if she reacted to this?

Liv: What do you mean?

Liv: I don’t know.

Liv: she said she didn’t need Arin

Quinn: I mean how did she react. Was it normal. Was it short. Did it take longer or faster than it should have.

Liv: She gets short a lot. I didn’t really note it as different

Liv: This is so much

Quinn: Well, when you have a chance, compare what everytime she's gotten short with you has in common and met me know

Liv: Quinn, I really like sex and she doesn’t

Liv: I don’t think we could ever work

Liv: it’s not that serious

Quinn: Look, I can't say why she's repulsed lord knows that's her story to tell, but she's on that site for a reason. A reason that I pray means what I think it does. Don't count her out because of her history.

Liv: I’m not counting her out. I just think you’ve got it all wrong.

Quinn: I don't think I do. But Arin will know more and I will get my answer. Just think over why she gets short with you.

Liv: Stubborn :sweat emoji:

Quinn: Fabray genetics. Running away, being attractive, a desire to be right.

Liv: can you like wait to bug arin until I’m done with her?

Quinn: You mean til she's done with you, but yeah, I'm gonna go pass out

Liv: goodnight Quinn :winking emoji:

Quinn: enjoy the queen of darkness

[ontherockswithsalt]

A Made Man

/1/ /2/ /3/ /4/ /5/ /6/ /7/ /8/ /9/ /10/ /11/ /12/

A/N: So much revealed and confessed in this chapter. Poker playing makes for good bonding. Also I had fun actually coming up with the cards in play on this round of poker so that I could figure out who would win. Read on to see!

Chapter 13.

“So when's the last time you had sex?”

His question makes my thoughts stall a moment and I just look at him in confusion. “When's the last time you did?”  I have to laugh at the sort of lazy chuckle he lets out as he peers down at the deck of cards he’s shuffling. His idiot smile makes my face feel hot.

“Present company excluded,” he clarifies. “When was it?”

“Oh my god,” I mutter before downing another swallow of my beer and killing time reaching for a piece of cheese. “Uh…” Then I shake my head venturing a guess because I can barely remember that law school unofficial five year reunion in Boston, even though it was just a few months ago. “This past summer some time,” I tell him.

“Some time?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I don't know. I'm just curious,” he insists. “Who was it?”

I laugh at him. “Why do you want to know?”

“Was it a girlfriend?”

“Not really. No,” I tell him. “I was back in Cambridge to visit some old friends from law school. A girl from my class I sort of had a thing with when we were 1Ls--” Then I shrug, figuring that was a good enough explanation of the easy hook-up with Dana I had chalked up to for old time’s sake.

“Wait, where did you go to law school?” He questions.

My gaze narrows and I regret that I used the dead giveaway city name. Dammit. I tip my bottle all the way until my head falls back and I finish my beer, then I breathe out. “Boston Community College.”

He lets out this rumbling chuckle. “No, tell me.”

“What's with the interrogation?”

“Did you go to Harvard?”

“Yeah.”

His head arches back and he cackles this loud laugh up to the ceiling. “What the fuck?”

“It's not a big deal. Don't be one of these people who thinks it's a big deal.”

“Okay it's not a big deal.” He concedes with this tic at the corner if his lips. He cuts the deck and shuffles one more time.

Easing my chair back, I head to the kitchen. “I’m getting another beer. Want anything?”

“Yes,” he answers. “There’s a lot I want from you. Now let’s play, so I can get it.”

****

“Why would you do that?” Noble mutters. With loose fingers, he fidgets with a stack of his blue chips.

Settling back, I narrow my gaze. “Do what?”

“Call on the flop and then raise big on the turn.”

I glance between us at the stacks of chips that don’t actually hold any monetary value, they’re just a placeholder to determine who’s winning. “Because I felt like raising.”

“You just told me you have an Ace.”

I laugh. “I didn’t tell you shit.”

“The way you bet tells me.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” My flippant smugness amuses him. “But there’s a hundred dollars right there so if you wanna call, then call. But if you’re too scared, I guess you’ll never know.”

He sputters a hard laugh, a grin pulling at his cheeks and he leans back to assess his chips. The stacks he has so clearly outweigh mine. But I’ll still talk shit.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. With he edge of his thumb, he lifts the corner of his cards again and checks them against the ones on the table. “You have weak Aces. But it’s cute that you think I’d be scared.”

“You don’t know what I have.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“What are weak Aces?”

“You have an Ace,” he assumes. “And a six.”

I hold still, unwavering, but I feel the slightest twitch at my lip.

He exhales a soft laugh, plucks a black chip from his stack and carelessly flicks it in the pot. “Fine. I’ll call, Ace-six.”

“It’s not like it’s real money,” I remind him.

“We agreed, though, that we’d play as if it’s real money. The strategy is in the betting, not the cards.”

“Fine, let’s see the river, then.”

He shakes his head and reaches to flip over a card from the deck. “You better hope it’s a six.” He turns over a Queen and lays it on the table.

I watch his face, unchanged but it’s difficult to tell how hard he’s trying to mess with me.

Glancing down at his chips, he leads off with the bet. He considers it, then picks up a hundred dollar black chip before he looks at me once more. Then he picks up another one, challenging me with a two hundred dollar bet as he tosses the chips in the middle.

“Dammit,” I whisper.

“You can fold.”

“No, I want your money. You’re trying to get me to fold.”

He merely shrugs.

“You’re bluffing with that two hundred dollar bet.”

Another shrug. “And you have a pair of Aces, which is fairly solid.”

“Stop guessing my cards!”

“You’re a cop.” He reaches for his beer, the amusement evident on his face. “Aren’t you supposed to know whether or not I’m bluffing?”

“My judgment is skewed with you.”

“Do you even have two hundred in chips over there?” Angling forward, he peers at my dwindling chip count.

“Shut up. Damn.” I sigh. “Okay, hypothetically, let’s say I have a pair of Aces--”

Noble props his chin in his hand on the table and offers a meaningful nod.

“Would it beat whatever you have?”

He doesn’t look anywhere else but me as he lets out a quiet laugh. “Is this your strategy? To be so cute that I just tell you my cards?”

“I don’t know how else to do it.”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“What can you tell me?” I attempt.

“I can tell you that it looks like the only one getting fucked here tonight is you.”

My brows pull together as my mouth falls open. “Asshole.”

He chuckles. “Hey, I’m sad about it. I was hoping you’d win.”

“Game’s not over,” I mutter, peering down to study my cards once again. “I’m not surrendering that ass just yet.”

“I have questions about that, by the way.”

“About what?”

His brows shift as if I should know what. “I know you're just good at everything, so I guess that's how. But. I mean--” He pauses with a pensive glance away. “Is the trick to just relax, and then it's--”

“I'm good at it?” I laugh. “I'm good at being your bottom?”

“Hell yeah you're good.”

“Well you're good too.”

“But I, you know -- I'm… interested.”

“Interested in mixing things up?”

“Every now and then. Maybe.” He smirks. “I probably have to work up to it huh?”

“I had some help. I did my homework.”

His eyes flash with curiosity when one eyebrow jumps. “I had a feeling you’d been up to something. What kind of help?”

“I practiced.”

“With like a butt plug?”

I nearly choke on my beer with a laugh and set it down hard on the table. “I'll send you a link.”

“Wait, really?”

“Dude you're big. You think I could just sit on it and take it like it's no big deal?”

Noble sputters a surprised laugh so hard he keels over in his chair. “I-- oh my god,” he sighs the words in a weary breath. “I really really like you. God damn.”

“You really really like me?” I eye him underneath an arched brow as I tap my stack of red chips on the table.

“Mm-hm.” He works to tame a smile as he glances down to look at his cards once more. “Well looks like I have some homework to do once I get back to Miami.”

“Or maybe you'll just get a crash course tonight once I win this pot.”

“Oh-ho, look at that.” He smirks. “You're feeling pretty confident about those Aces.”

“Alright, that's enough out of you.”

“Can you call my two hundred?” He gestures to the chips in the pot. “Or do you fold?”

“You never answered the question about the last person you slept with.”

Averting his gaze as if he has to mentally search his memory, he stalls a moment. “Uh-- Nobody serious.”

“Okay so--?”

“You'll judge me.”

“Probably.”

“It was before… you came back into the picture. Well--” He pauses and glances up to reconsider. “Sort of.”

I have to laugh even though a part of me feels a tug of jealousy that I know is unwarranted but I can't help.

“It was a girl I would run into here now and then. But with her it was just a one-time… bad idea.”

“Was it the girl from the pool party?” When I ask I'm mostly joking but he makes this face that tells me I guessed right. “The one who told me her dad owns this hotel?”

“Yeah,” he admits.

I groan, glancing back toward his bedroom.

“It wasn't here,” he clarifies. “It was her room.”

My forehead creases with my critical gaze. “Really?”

“Dude, I'm not proud of it. I was in a weird place that night after seeing you and… I don't know,” he trails off.

“Oh, I had something to do with it? I doubt that,” I say. “I'm sure I was easily forgotten once she got you upstairs.”

“Never,” he murmurs.

“I thought you said she was nineteen.”

“Man--” He starts with a shake of his head and I can't help giving him a hard time. “Don't-- I regret asking this question.”

“Sick pervert,” I mutter the tease.

“My brain wasn't functioning,” he explains. “I had just seen you for the first time in a year. And I couldn't figure out why I was seriously aroused seeing you in that uniform.”

“I don't want to hear it.” My lips twist to deny a grin but it breaks through anyway when he looks at me like he's trying to convince me of his innocence.

Glancing down, I manage to gather together two hundred dollars out of all the blue and green chips I have left and push them into the center. “I'll call, player.”

He glances up at me, intrigued, then picks up his two cards to show them on the table.

My brow wrinkles as I study the ten and Jack that he has. “What's that?”

“A straight.”

“Fucker,” I mutter as I push my chair back before I flick my cards to the table. “There's your goddamn Ace-six--”

“Ha!”

“How'd you know?” I cry. “Did you see them?”

“No, your face!” He chuckles. “And the way you play. That's how.”

Picking up my beer, I prop it against my lips and manage a heavy gulp before I land it hard on the table. Then I turn and stalk off to the bedroom.

“You played pretty good though,” he calls out from the dining room. “If it weren't for that last Queen, you would have won.”

After I fish my off duty handcuffs out of my backpack, I make my way back. “Whatever, don't patronize me,” I tell him. “Get up. Put your hands on the table.”

Noble's eyes light up as his mouth opens in a hopeful smile. “Really?”

“You won didn't you?”

He glances down at himself, then at the handcuffs I’m holding. “Don’t you want them behind my back?”

I look at him, the coy shine in his eyes when he smirks at me and assumes I’ll let him run this game. But fuck that, the one he’s good at is over. “I need to search you,” I tell him.

He breathes out a low, amused exhale and lifts his gaze to me. “Oh yeah?”

“I’ll ask the questions, alright?” I warn him, with a meaningful pull of my brow but I can feel the playful flicker in my eyes anyway. “Get up.”

Letting his head fall back, he cackles a loud laugh at the ceiling. “Holy shit.” Then he clears his throat and slides his chair back to stand up. “Absolutely, officer.” As he turns to face the table, he glances back at me over his shoulder. “Wait, if I resist, what happens?”

“Try me.”

He eagerly drags his teeth along his bottom lip, then breathes out a whispered, “Fuck.” He drops his palms hard on the table, spread wide and hangs his head. “You know I will. I can't behave.”

With one leg, I knock him closer against the table and follow in behind, my hip pressed against him.

He lets out a gravelly exhale when my weight traps him and I run my hands down his sides.

“Why don't you tell me about this girl?” I start. “Is that what you want?”

“No. There's nothing to tell.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hardly remember-- mmh…” He tilts back, a sharp breath hitching in his chest when I stroke my palm up the front of his pants. “You're all I remember from that night.”

“What do you remember?”

“That I got hard just seeing you there.” He stops as a hot exhale escapes him and he pushes himself into my hand. “And it wasn't the first time.”

I feel one eyebrow jump as I lean in and touch my mouth to the back of his neck. “Is that right?” With one hand, I unbutton his pants and begin to ease the zipper down.

“Yes,” he manages.

“Thought you didn't have feelings for Jimmy Riordan.”

A soft laugh escapes him as he rocks back, the curve of his ass seeking friction against my growing hard-on. “I don't know what I felt but if you think I wouldn't have sucked your dick in the bathroom of that bar after I met you, you're wrong.”

I breathe out hard, slipping my hand into the open waist of his pants for a firm grope of his shaft that strains against his boxers. “Yeah you looked hot that night. There may have been a window of like, three seconds where I forgot I was a cop.”

He merely manages another lazy groan in his chest, slowly rocking himself into my hand.

“Until you basically fell out in the middle of the floor--”

“Dammit!”

I have to laugh as I push my other hand up his back, under his t-shirt and down the firm plane of his side.

“Why do you have to bring up that part?”

“I was hoping it was about to be the best party we've ever been to,” I remind him of his own promise. “But it didn't turn out that way.”

“Well I'm not that stupid anymore. So we can make that party happen tonight, Officer.”

I push his shirt up his body and lean into him. “Are you attempting to bribe me?”

“Yes.” He moves his arms and ducks his head to help me but quickly returns to his position as soon as I toss the shirt to the floor.

“With an illegal substance?”

“No, with my mouth.”

I hum a low laugh behind his back and ease my hand once more in and out of his pants prompting his apparent frustration. “It’s tempting,” I tell him. Then, gripping his forearm, I guide his arm behind his back. “But we’re not finished.”

He groans in a hot breath as I tug the other arm back and grasp the cuffs I had tucked into the edge of my pocket.

“You wanna change your mind?” I question him.

He glances over his shoulder and offers this helpless quirk of a smile at his lips. Squinting one eye, he answers, “Kinda?”

But I close one of the handcuffs around his wrist anyway. “What?”

“Oh my god,” he sort of moans and laughs at the same time.

Once I secure the other one, I hold onto the bend in his elbow and pull him back to me. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he answers, almost arrogantly.

“Good hurt, or bad hurt?” I wonder.

He clears his throat and tries to adjust his arms. “Good hurt.”

I laugh softly and turn him in the direction of the hallway. “Yeah? Let’s go see how good it hurts in the bedroom.”

[forcebookish]

cut scene(s!! i'm sure!!!!!) aside, here are some other thoughts so i can remember that there were at least two things that i liked in this episode lmao

first of all, of course i was right about boeing going after mew and his being sand's ex. of course, of course. ("i did this with another ex" yeah sand lol we get it)

uhhhhh lol??? so when boston actually tricks top into sleeping with him no one in the series cares but when atom LIES about being tricked suddenly everyone cares??? like that's why the lie is easy to believe but of course tricking someone into sleeping with him only matters when it's a "straight" guy FUCK that is annoying. i'm so pissed at mew about that AND the writers. the way that mew has handled top being coerced by boston has truly been where the writing has actually failed us

yeah just filthy enough to make them think their boyfriend is cheating on them. not that mew cares, apparently. (side-note: lol they didn't get the negatives??)

speaking of the writing failing us, what the fuck is up with mew in this episode? is it really so hard for him to remember all of top's good qualities or realize that boston had WAY more to do with top sleeping with him than top being a "cheater?" especially after the scene above? if he's still so angry, then why wasn't he that pissed in the previous episode? blah blah people aren't consistent blah blah THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY CHARACTERS HAVE ARCS AND WE HAVE ONLY TWO EPISODES LEFT why are we drawing this out when we don't have to? it's not good drama, it's just mewray all over again except it makes even less sense because boeing is OBVIOUSLY A BAD GUY. and now we have top hiding something from mew again, since he's not admitting that boeing was with sand when they started dating. he should WARN mew that boeing is going to try to go after him!!!!!! what the fuck!!!

besides actually going to rehab (which i barely paid attention to because i was so distracted by the fact that the episode was going to end without the fucking rage room), ray finally did one (1) good thing lol and that was interrupt sand from telling his dad who he was because WHAAAAAT the fuck he shouldn't have made him do that in the first place, but at least he actually got it by then. he did one thing that i actually liked. congrats, ray.

i did kind of like the nickboston reconciliation. pissed that they had to have sex about it tbh but i liked the thing with the lockscreen, i think it made sense for their characters. i am kind of rooting for them, but some kind of shit show is going to go down with atom i'm sure.

just!!!! ugh!!!!!!!! what an annoying episode!!!