Chris Evans One-Shots

Look at You - Smut (Worst Behavior pt. 2)

The one where after Chris fucked you for real while filming a movie together, you're forced to be partners during the press tour

Warnings: rpf, smut, cheating, (reader isn't the one being cheated on), angst, p in v, possessiveness, unprotected sex, choking, rough sex, jealousy, mirror sex, curse words

Chris' P.O.V.

Mom had always told me not to touch what wasn't mine.

I could still remember it so clearly, tagging along when she visited friends or walked inside a porcelain store. I was a reckless kid. I deserved that warning, if not to add them to my personal list of life lessons, at least to give my mother some peace of mind.

And you'd think I had learned from it. Somehow, I always managed to return from those impromptu trips with twitchy fingers that were begging to run over at least the green leaves from the bush next door, the dusty curtains by the window pane, my dog's soft fur.

But here I was, inside of her, and I still didn't own her.

"Let me show you how much it hurt, being away from you." That was the sentence that had reignited this entire abandoned circus, and I was the one who lit the match. I was the one who wanted to appreciate the doomed pyromaniac show, just to satisfy my own broken heart.

Could I really be blamed, though? Who can resist to stand beside the world's most perfect piece of art and not run their fingers along its varnish? Who can go to heaven and resign itself to a life in purgatory?

If there was one thing I'd learned in this press tour, it was that I certainly would never be that person. Although I guess I could honestly say - if she'd showed me heaven, I'd met hell by her hands as well. Because nothing could be worse than sitting by her side each day, answering the same lackluster questions, pretending that I'd never known the way she tasted.

I wanted to hold her hand. I wanted to kiss her cheek, her head, her lips. Shit, I wanted to look at her, just look at her, without the fear of the overwhelming judgment I knew I would face if people even came close to imagining the two of us actually together.

And yet, I couldn't. Couldn't do it in front of the press, but couldn't do it in private either. Because she wasn't mine. She wasn't mine, I had to remind myself, time and time again. And still I kept playing this game of chicken, who would lose first? Touch her and I'd lose. Don't touch her and I'd die.

"Fuck, Chris!" Her choked out moan was easily captured by my hungry mouth, my hips maintaining their rhythmic onslaught against hers, like they'd done so many times before.

How did we end up right here again? I didn't know and I didn't care, not when it meant I could keep on kissing her, touching her, giving her the pleasure I had ached to provide during the time we were apart.

"There you go, sweetheart," I whispered or panted, couldn't really tell, changing the angle so I could hit that particular spot I'd spent so long memorizing. I hadn't lied. I wanted it to hurt, I wanted her to feel me for days - remember this moment forever, just like I replayed every single second I ever had her underneath me.

But I wanted it to be the most pleasurable hurt she'd ever feel. That would be the only way I'd be able to haunt her when she decided to leave me again.

A desperate cry escaped her chest, she threw her arms over her face like she couldn't handle to look me in the eyes anymore. I didn't like that for one bit.

"No." It was all I said when I pushed her hands away, securing them by the side of her head, our gazes connected as she struggled to understand what was happening. "You'll look me in the eye when I fuck you. I want you to know it's my cock inside of you, not his."