The Boston Brute Series: Pt. 11 - Good Boyfriend Moment (dual Pov)

Tequila Sunrise 1

Warnings: age gap, power dynamics, creep behaviour, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

ft. Cole Turner, older!reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You need this. For all the stress of your life, not to mention the added chaos of planning the getaway, you the week to be decent. No, not just decent. It has to be absolutely amazing. You haven’t spent so much time, money, and energy getting this all together for it to just be acceptable. 

You make yourself stop gritting your teeth, a bad habit your dentist and doctor both reproach you for. There’s also that pesky blood pressure issue and the stress headaches. That’s why you’re desperate for this. It’s not just a girls’ weekend, though none of you are really ‘girls’ anymore, it’s a therapeutic detachment from reality.  

For the next seven days, you are not a manager, you are not an ex-wife, or a middle child. You are on vacation. From all of it, from all of them. 

You’re the first there. That’s typical. Mandy rarely shows up within the first hour of a dinner, Jamila always runs in breathless saying she was somewhere important, Soo cancels more often than she shows, and Elaine is usual right on the dot. 

You made the booking, you have all the confirmations; you’ve checked, doubled-checked, and triple-checked and your early arrival is the very reason. You follow the automated voice of the GPS down the country road, your destination just ahead of you. Jamila found the airBnB online. It had rave reviews and you weren’t into a resort with all the young toned bodies or a beach house with sand blowing in from the beach. 

Maybe it’s age, maybe you’ve always been boring, but the farmhouse getaway sounds about your speed. You trust that you’ve brought enough wine and snacks to see you through a relaxing but rustic reprieve. You steer up to the wooden gate in the farmhouse style, the sort of vintage piece you see in films, and stop. 

You lean forward and tap your phone, leaving it on the dashmount as you flip through the app. The entry instructions... ‘honk’. What? 

You sit back and lay your palm gently on the horn. You don’t think you’ve ever actually used it. You put your weight into it and the blare makes you yipe and retract your arm. You sit there and idle just outside the gate. 

Should you get out and do it yourself? The latch looks easy enough. 

Before you can muster your courage to let yourself in, a voice calls and a man catches your sight with a waving hand. He runs down, his flannel shirt billowing open around a ribbed tank top. A tuft of sandy hair sticks out awkwardly at his crown and his jaw is dusted with heavy stubble. He’s about a decade younger, at least, and shows it. 

“Hey,” he calls out as you roll down your window. 

He unlatches the gate from the inside and lifts it as he pulls it open. He smiles as he steps back and waves you through. You slowly roll forward and stop just beside him. 

“Am I in the right place? I have a booking for a farmstead?” You ask. 

“That’s me,” he grins, his blue eyes sparkling as he bends to look you in the face, “you’re just going to wanna pull all the way down,” he points and looks after his hand, “you’ll be staying in the guest house. It down the other end of the property. Secluded so you don’t need to worry about me.” 

“Oh,” you try not to show your concern. That wasn’t in the listing. It’s supposed to be a girls’ weekend, not a supervised outing. 

“Your family following you up?” 

“Pardon?” You keep your foot on the brake. 

“Yeah, I saw the booking for five. You must have quite the clan.” 

“Uh, no, my friends,” you explain. 

“Oh, well I hope you ladies have a good time. I’ll just grab my truck and follow you down. Straight shot, just keep going down the road. You can’t miss it. I’ll be right behind you to show you around.” 

“Mm, okay,” you agree dully. “Thanks.” 

“Cole,” he offers his name and hand, and says your name in return, “that’s you, right?” 

“Yep,” you answer. Definitely the right place. 

“I’m just around in case there’s any issues. Maintenance or whatever. Swear, you’ll hardly even know I’m here. I’ll be around the main house,” he looks behind him at the large farmhouse, “guest house is way better. Fully updated. Oh and I just redid the bathrooms.” 

“Oh, sounds great, the pictures looked wonderful,” you give a fragile smile, “so, uh, straight ahead?” 

“You got it,” he slaps the top of the car and keeps his hand there. His chest hair peeks out from under the tank as his neck tendons clench, “take it slow. I can’t lose any more chickens.” 

“Oh my,” you grimace. 

“Uh, yeah,” he laughs, “sorry, kinda grim. Well,” he pushes himself straight. His tank is almost transparent with sweat as it clings to his stomach, “I’m sure you’re dying to get settled.” 

“Yeah,” you agree and turn your sights ahead of you. 

He steps back and you ease onto the gas. As you clear him, he’s running off across the grass. He has a lot of energy. It’s the perfect contrast to your complete lack of. 

You keep your eyes straight ahead and follow the worn and weathered tire tracks. Your car jostles with the lumpy ground and you stay alert for any feathery creatures wandering around. Maybe it isn’t the ranch house paradise you thought but it’s still palatial. You won’t care much once you have some wine in you. 

CAIT!!!!! Sex twice in a chapter!!

arranged: pt. 8 (detained)

arranged - pt. 8 (detained)

mafia!Chris Evans x Female Reader

Series Summary: Living in this life, you’ve never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who  you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you’re dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you’re pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He’s the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.

Warnings: language, alcohol, arranged marriage (chris’s family signs contract with readers family that promises their first born daughter to their first born son), parental abuse mentioned, age gap. Reader is 25, Chris is 35. Guns, violence, blood. Lots of smut (18+ only, minors DNI) and angst. 

A/N: the amount of feedback i’ve been getting on this series is blowing my mind. I love ya’ll, SO MUCH! Special shoutout to @blizzspeaks and @tis-thedamn-season again! This story wouldn’t be the same without your help.

W/C: 10.4k

Italian and Italian translation in italics. Disclaimer - I am not Italian and do not speak Italian, if there is something wrong or something not phrased correctly, PLEASE CORRECT ME! Huge shoutout to @chaelle for helping me with the italian translations :)

likes, reblogs, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated! ❤

series masterlist

time-for-a-lullaby masterlist

JOIN THE TAGLIST HERE (i will not be going through comments or reblogs anymore for tag requests)

Fucking cliches. 

There you were, standing in the rain, black umbrella shielding you as it poured down around you. Your heels were starting to sink into the loose, muddy dirt as you watched your fathers casket being lowered 6 feet into the ground. Of course it was raining at this fucker’s funeral. 

Maybe it was metaphorical. The sky was shedding all of the tears that you couldn’t. The sky cried for the man you couldn’t give two fucks about. A man most people couldn’t give two fucks about. You rolled your eyes at your aunt who wailed as his casket was lowered, trying to remember the last time they even saw each other before his death. It’d been at least 7 years. 

If memory serves correctly, the last words they’d spoken were: “Ah, fuck you, bitch.” and, “You’re a piece of shit, Y/F/N.” Then radio silence. For years. 

Her 6th husband had his arms secured around her waist, holding her up as she feigned grief, making you roll your eyes again. 

Your mother told you at your grandmother’s funeral years ago that rain was ‘the heaven’s way of cleansing and washing away all sins of the deceased’. You hoped she was wrong because this fucker deserved the spot he had reserved for him in Hell. Right next to Satan himself. 

 Shifting on your feet, you pulled the heels out of the mud and let out a sigh of disappointment, “Fucking mud is ruining my shoes,” you whispered, Chris’s arm secured around your waist, keeping you close. 

He smirked, “I’ll buy you a new pair.” 

Your eyes rolled again, “Ruining a perfectly good pair of shoes for no fucking reason.” 

His smirk stayed plastered on his face as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your temple, “I think you’re supposed to be sad, Y/N.” 

“I am,” you deadpan, “About my shoes.” 

Keep reading

OMG! Cait I don’t think we can all wait you need to release the next chapters!

Can we get like... one line of smut sneak peek? Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

OOOF JUST ONE LINE

HOW ABOUT 2?

SMUT(ish) UNDER THE CUT

You gasped softly when he placed a kiss to the mound of your pussy, shivering when you felt his warm breath against your sensitive skin.

“Mia figa,” (my pussy) he mumbled, his large hands gripping the insides of your thighs.

WOW!

arranged: pt. 7 - free

arranged - pt. 7 (free)

mafia!Chris Evans x Female Reader

Series Summary: Living in this life, you’ve never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who  you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you’re dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you’re pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He’s the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.

Warnings: language, alcohol, arranged marriage (chris’s family signs contract with readers family that promises their first born daughter to their first born son), parental abuse mentioned, age gap. Reader is 25, Chris is 35. (18+ only, please) parental death, guns, violence, LOTS OF ANGST. blood, reader going into shock. Chris doin’ some killing. 

A/N: This series is like ripping my heart into shreds 

W/C: 7.1k

ALSO, major S/O again to @tis-thedamn-season and @blizzspeaks like i seriously don’t know what I would do without you guys

Italian and Italian translation in italics. DISCLAIMER: I do not speak italian nor am i italian. If there is something incorrect, please tell me so I can make the proper corrections!!! Thank you to @chaelle for helping me with the translations :)

*CHRIS POV*

It was early. Entirely too early for his phone to be ringing, but still, it did. Chris took a deep breath, careful not to wake you and rolled over to grab his phone from it’s charger, “Yeah?” 

Seb’s voice came through the other end, “Hey, so, I’ve been keeping tabs on Y/N’s mother like you asked and… I think something’s happening.” 

Chris glanced over at you, before climbing out of bed and walking gingerly to the bathroom, closing the door quietly, “What’s going on?” 

“I’m not… really that sure. But he’s been acting weird. Real flighty, jumpy.”

His hand scrubbed down his face, trying to will himself awake, “Alright,” he sighed, “can you tail?” 

“I can if you need me to, I’ve got that… thing with Russo today.” 

Chris had ordered everyone to be as vague as possible over the phones. Mafia business was tough and he couldn’t risk being tapped or exposed over a burner cell. Local cops weren’t an issue, but the FBI wasn’t as easy to bribe. Neither was ATF. 

“Right. Uh– I’ll call Romano. Take care of everything with Russo, I’ll talk to you later,” Chris hung up before Seb got the chance to respond, immediately dialing Romano and putting him on the tail of your father. 

This man was not to be trusted. At all. He’s always been sleazy and conniving, but he almost never let it show. If he was visibly jumpy to Seb, something was off. 

Keep reading

RED, WHITE & TRUE SERIES

a Steve Stays after Endgame AU

After bringing everyone back and returning the stones to their proper spot in the timeline, Steve hands the shield and mantle of Captain America to Sam, and then retreats into a quiet life - not totally off the grid, but certainly retired, and also looking to rest. But after a few years, Pepper Potts proposes it's time for Steve to get back in the business of helping people, pursuing the greater good. She pitches he run for President of the United States of America.

Pepper's got a spot on this political campaign team for you, as well.

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes

Content Warnings: [check individual parts for their respective warnings] politically arranged marriage, slow burn, eventual smut

SERIES: ↠ Prologue: Upstate New York - A New Idea (Steve POV) [1.3k] ↠ chapter 1: Manhattan & Brooklyn - Joining the Team [4k] ↠ chapter 2: Las Vegas & Cleveland - Shifts in Strategy [4k] ↠ chapter 3: Houston - A Presidential Couple [3.4k] ↠ chapter 4: Fort Wayne, Toledo, Detroit - A Key Endorsement [4.2k] ↠ chapter 5: DC, Tampa, Athens - Pressures of the Campaign [6.2k] ↠ chapter 6: Athens to Miami - Revelations [7.5k] ↠ chapter 7: Brooklyn - Pre-Interview [5.8k] ↠ chapter 8: Brooklyn - The Interview [6.1k] ↠ chapter 9: Kansas City - Interview Broadcast Day [7.6k] ↠ chapter 10: Kansas to Tucson - Fallout [6.5k] ↠ chapter 11: Tucson - Refocusing [4.7k] ↠ chapter 12: Tucson & Denver - Important Conversations [6.4k] ↠ chapter 13: Pittsburgh & Harrisburg - October Surprise [9.1k] ↠ chapter 14: Boston & New York - Election Eve [9.1k] ↠ chapter 15: Election Day in New York, pt. 1 [7.2k] ↠ chapter 16: Election Day in New York, pt. 2 [5.3k] ↠ chapter 17: Election Day in New York, pt. 3 [5.8k] ↠ epilogue [2.9k]

EXTRAS: info about VP Candidate Charlie Young info about Campaign Manager Jake commentary on their "honeymoon" after the election

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest Steve Rogers Masterlist

the boston brute series: pt. 13 - bye, princess (sneak peek)

The Boston Brute Series: Pt. 13 - Bye, Princess (Sneak Peek)

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

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

A/N: I just finished pt 13, my brain is fried. that is all. this sneak peek and part are VERY angsty.

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

likes, reblogs, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated! ❤

series masterlist

time-for-a-lullaby masterlist

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He sat on the edge of your bed, looking over at you as you cried. “Don’t do this.”

A sob burst through your mouth as you pulled your knees up to your chest. Why did he have to know you so well?

Chris turned to face you, worry lines etched into his forehead and you longed to run your thumb over them. “Don’t do this, Y/N.”

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes and staring at the comforter on your bed. “Maybe we were stupid to think it could ever work,” you whispered.

He scrubbed a hand over his beard, “You don’t mean that.”

“Chris… Maybe it’s just… Not in the cards.” Every word that came out of your mouth was like a knife to the heart.

He stood, pacing the floor by the foot of your bed. “You don’t mean that, Y/N.” He said again, his voice stern. Chris came over, kneeling by your bed, his blue eyes glossy with tears. “Look at me.”

You shook your head, your eyes filling with tears. “Chris…”

“Look at me, Y/N.”

After taking a deep breath, you turned your head slightly, finally meeting his gaze.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll go. If it’s what you want, I’ll walk away right now. You look me dead in the eyes right now and tell me you don’t love me and you don’t want to make it work, I’ll leave. But you have to look me in the eyes and tell me this, Y/N.”

Fixer Upper - Mechanic!Curtis AU Masterlist

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

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

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

Warnings will be tagged in each part!

Saving Dougie

Change The Oil

IS THAT AN AXE?!

Open Mic Night

Grow A Pair

F*ck Him

Drinks Maybe?

The First Date

Glowing Review

Titles

Come Closer

The Worst Kind Of People

The Grinch

Fiddling Fingers

Glasses Are Sexy

Newest Crewmate

The End Of The Road

A Long Day

Headcanons/Extras

What does Curtis drive?

Happy Valentine’s Sweetheart

Safety Captain (1)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh yes, this is going swimmingly.

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

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

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

Bless you, kind sir. You’re in love…

…or maybe that’s the hypoxia.

Unceremoniously hauled to solid ground, you continue to sputter.

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

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

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

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

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

“The boys…” you rasp out.

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

You still feel compelled to explain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you. Now step back please.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry they—“

“It’s fine,” you croak.

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

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

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

Great. Yeah. That needed to be repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve beams again before Sarah swats him away.

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

He waves in your direction.

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

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

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

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

Must be fun to, like, walk and stuff.

You sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup, living the dream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alright, perhaps vacation is looking up.

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

"Handsome, too."

"Lots of energy."

"‘Bout your age, isn’t he?"

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

Oh, sweet holy—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Next Chapter]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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

DUN DUN DUN……..Cliffhanger!

the boston brute series: pt. 12 - welcome to sudbury (dual pov)

The Boston Brute Series: Part 12 - Welcome To Sudbury (Dual POV)

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

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

Warnings: Crude language. Chris’s asshole father mentioned, parental abuse mentioned. There’s a police officer in this fic, too lol. Idk if that’s a trigger, but just to be safe. Lots of fluff and soft Chris. Please do not read this series if you are not a fan of asshole Chris or fics with a lot of angst. As always, let me know if I missed anything!

W/C: 9.3k

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

likes, reblogs, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated! ❤

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Chris POV

Chris’s grip on the steering wheel tightened every time he drove past a mile marker, signaling you guys were one mile closer to Sudbury. His knuckles were way past the point of turning white and his fingers started to ache from the hold he had. 

He’d kept the itinerary to himself for almost the entire drive, finally passing it over when you’d asked what the plans were and for some reason, he was more worried about your reaction to a meticulously planned out Christmas than facing his family. 

His stomach turned when your eyes widened. 

“There’s an itinerary?” You asked, looking over at him with raised eyebrows. If he wasn’t so fucking nervous about how this weekend was going to go, he might’ve given himself a second to appreciate just how much he loved the way your feelings were so easily displayed through your expressions. 

Christmas had always been a big deal to Lisa and he’d mentioned it in passing a few times, but Chris failed to inform you just how seriously she took it. Itinerary and all. 

Your eyes narrowed at Chris. “Did you wait until we got on the road to tell me so I wouldn’t back out?” 

His eyes flickered from you to the road nervously, trying to gauge your reaction. Busted. He should’ve known better. “No…” He lied, his voice unconvincing, even to himself. 

“Christopher!” You scoffed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you.” 

He could tell by your tone that you were teasing and not actually upset with him, but he still felt bad. You told him you didn’t celebrate Christmas and that this would be the first time you’d spent any sort of holiday around a family and here he was basically throwing you to the wolves. 

Chris reached over and squeezed your thigh gently. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” He peeked over at you, smiling at the fake grin you had on your face. You were trying so hard not to show him just how worried you were because you also knew how worried he was about being around his family. 

Which was stupid. 

It’s his family. 

He can spend a few days with his family. No big deal. 

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