Situations with Chris Evans (and characters)!
[ CHRISEVANSXFEM!READER SMUT/FLUFF ]
* mild language and explicit depictions of sexuality (other trigger warnings stated at the beginning of the chapter). 18+ or else...
requests are [open but no guaran...
A/N: not me obsessed with Nick from Push like he can pUsH me up against a wall iykwim :) this is loosely based on a poem by Tony Hoagland with the same title Summary: Stitched back together in a matter of time just to be ripped apart again. Steve's only out of hiding long enough to remind you what keeps your mind so occupied. 4.2k words Warnings: smut, mildly angry i-missed-you sex, more than a pinch of angst, character death, subtle choking
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Lace sweeps along mid-thigh, rippling in the ragged breeze of sometime just past a thundering two. The moon creeps lower, inching down between fogged up valleys, but she's a mere silhouette behind inky, yet fruitful cumulonimbi.
"Back so soon?" you call into the weeping night, delicacy of your nightgown near soaked under a chilly drizzle. And the steel toes of your heavy-duty boots are anything but clean, dunked in a thick mud from where you stand on your porch, arms tucked over your chest to keep a black cardigan shut.
"Sooner than I'd've liked." A stranger, really. You hadn't met this man yet. This wayfaring bastard of a hero turns up on your doorstep, not quite weary of his dripping locks of hair and the stark contrast they bring to your ivory carpeting. It makes you grab his arm and usher him to leave his boots outside with yours, abandoned next to a prickly welcome mat.
"I don't recall inviting you in." And yet, you follow him. You let him barge in because Lord knows one word from you and he'd be out of sight. Gone with the wind. Years ago, you saw this man, somewhere in East Asia, but you let him slip. Even when all you wanted was to be safe in his arms once more. To bask in his warmth like summer sunshine dousing your skin golden, only this time, you know he'll be leaving.
"Didn't have to. Couch?" A wayward glance over his shoulder is all you need to deny him the satisfaction of avoiding you. And maybe that's where you went wrong. Knowing the deepest parts of each other unapologetically. Sharing an everlasting bond, a thread stretched and twisted between the two of you. Perhaps intimacy, the one thing he longed for, was the very thing that led to your demise.
"Got plenty of room in the bed. You're welcome to join." Your thin sweater is tossed over an armchair, and he slumps after you, past brittle frames, some encasing the likeness of him beside you. When he still donned red, white, and blue with a proud grin.
