#he wasn't exceptionally kind but he loved me beyond any love i'd ever felt

[jinxpologist]

i wish my grandpa was here

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 20

First time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Explicit content. Some fluffy Bruce Banner lovin'. We know our scientist is a soft dom/service top. 🥺💚 With a Tony twist at the end... Because I am an evil woman. 😏 BRUCE BANNER MONSTERCOCK NATION RISE!

Bruce licked his lips.

Despite the obvious intent to ravish me in the sweetest way possible, Bruce made no move to undress or get physically closer to me.

The man was content to kiss the breath out of me, lightly caressing the side of my face and my neck. With each shared, rushed inhale I slipped deeper into the narrow space between drowsiness and arousal. The scientist's presence had the most peculiar effect on me: all my walls crumbled, paving way to a sense of mellow tranquility.

"Lay down," Bruce whispered, pulling my blanket aside. My skin tingled in the cool air of the room. I had gotten pretty toasty under the covers.

With his palms gently pushing on my shoulders, I had no other way but to oblige. Those very same large hands brushed my neck and slid further under the collar of my shirt, tenderly tracing the lines of my collarbones. I felt delicate in his arms, light-headed.

The quiet thud of Bruce's shoes prepared me for the slight dip in the mattress that followed. With a rustle, the textured fabric of his trousers sweeped and finally settled between my parted legs. He radiated warmth, my body involuntarily arching into it. Bruce's lips found mine, again, meeting in a chaste kiss, moving on to nip and peck my jawline, my throat.

There was something erotic in the slow, sensual yet subdued way the scientist was giving into my desires. He wasn't holding back on purpose, it seemed he was rather fond of taking his time to explore my body, his new playground. It was always hard and fast and easy for me, to just take my pleasure, get it torn out of me with sharp words and clever fingers.

With Bruce it was more of a gradual increase in intensity. He wasn't all over me yet he made it known he was in charge. Our bodies connected only faintly but where they did, it left a sweet, pulling ache. I caught myself leaning into it, following the slow motions with twitches and curves of my own.

"Arms up, Princess," He sounded so calm and steady. There was a new definition to his voice, that low undertone of desire, previously unheard. I marveled at how different my lovers sounded.

My (read: stolen from Tony) t-shirt slid from my shoulders with his help, immediately getting neatly placed next to my pillow. I wore no bra; the regret at not wearing fancier panties had been already lived through by me the moment Bruce's lips first landed on mine. For some reason, I was convinced he wasn't the kind of man to care about the amount or the retail price of the lace on my underwear.

I decided to finally open my eyes.

Bruce sat on his shins in front of me, one intense furious blush the only indicator he was affected by our activities. Seeing his eyes - I had to take that back. Devils danced in his green-ish orbs. The man was enjoying himself, quite a lot.

"Off?" Words and other trivial things I didn't worry about anymore. I tugged on his button-up to indicate my own want to see him, to finally see that firm chest that had inadvertently acted as a pillow for me to cry on more than one occasion recently.

Button by button, Bruce was either teasing or provoking me. Which was fine, for once I was happy to fully relinquish the reigns of the situation to someone else. The man was, and I am not exaggerating, perfect under all those frumpy clothes. Bulky chest with coarse dark hair - I wanted to run my hands through it, all over him.

His shirt landed right next to mine and he came close, mouthing leisurely at the space between my breasts, covering my chest with the warm moisture of his breath. Hot and wet wrapped around my nipple just as my eyes drifted closed again. Arching into the bliss, I moaned softly.

And any other time I'd be embarrassed at how soft and kitten-like was the sound; then, however, I was ready to yowl if that meant he wouldn't stop. One nipple and then the other. Bruce didn't apply anything but gentle pressure. His tongue made a slow, deliberate circle around my navel, dipping into the sensitive spot. I was surprised, my hips twitching. I had no idea it could be so pleasant.

The man's soft chuckles were absorbed by my panties where his breath ghosted over my core. My squirming increased as I was no longer able to contain my excitement, my body remembering on it's own how good Tony was with his tongue, bringing me extasy - he ate me for what felt like hours when he felt I did something exceptionally well. I'd be a rotten liar if I told you that alone wasn't motivation enough to excel at everything.

"I can see you like that, Princess," Bruce observed in quiet joy, moving instead to rub his cheek on the inside of my thigh, the slight stubble producing just enough friction for me to get slightly wetter. Beards were just hot.

"Mhmm," I agreed with him, raking a gentle hand through his unruly mop of curls. Bruce groaned and I continued to steadily part his hair, loving the muted noises coming from the scientist, enjoying his breath returning to elicit shivers all over my lower body.

The gusset of my underwear was promptly moved aside, exposing me to his eyes. I've never felt an ounce of shyness with a man but it seemed that day was one of firsts for me. It was the most exposed and vulnerable I'd ever felt; like a door pried open, my inner world for anyone to see. The urge to close my legs and hide under the blankets overcame me.

"Such a pretty pussy, Princess," Bruce's voice was even rougher now, scratching.

An open-mouthed smooch was placed on my lower lips, a nimble tongue slowly stroking experimental lines through my folds. The man purposely avoided the clit, I was sure. He dove down multiple times to my entrance, lapping up my juices with an obscene noise. A lewd moan followed every time. My hips met his mouth with every movement.

My shameful freak-out was abruptly cut short by the devotion Bruce radiated. His hands firmly gripped my thighs securing his meal in the right place. And eating he was; like a starved man, the scientist followed the noises leaving my mouth to find each and every nook and cranny that made me feel closer to Eden. There was no finesse, only slippery, sloppy movements as I reached my first peak with his name leaving my lips in a strangled moan.

I was boneless, weightless. Bruce pushed me more, delving straight back into the oversensitive folds of my cunt like he hadn't just made me see stars and galaxies. Floating in time in space, not a coherent thought in my skull, my last functioning brain cell on it's long overdue vacation.

"How do you feel?" He asked me once he deemed me sufficiently removed from this plane of existence and deposited me somewhere on another world where everything was light and easy.

"Mm-Brucie," I tried to articulate my thoughts. He must've been painfully aroused himself yet he made no move to be intimate any further. The idea of him holding back and refusing his own gratification nagged at me unpleasantly, invoking a primal hunger deep in my belly. "C'mere, want you."

He climbed over on top of me slowly, stretching his limbs, caging me in the sweet trap of his arms. His pants were gone; I felt the hardness, very sizeable hardness budge against my hip. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him with unseeing eyes and my mouth hanging open slightly.

We kissed lazily for a while, me finally having the chance to roam my hands on his body. He was almost as warm as Bucky - a perk of his own knock-off serum, I supposed. Reasonably toned with a healthy layer of fat, Bruce certainly wasn't ripped or even built like Tony. Banner's body screamed comfort and safety where Tony was all strength and durability. Once again, I marveled at the difference between the two men, finding them both equally appealing and beautiful in their own ways.

Bruce's boxers went to hell and beyond. He was easily the biggest partner I've ever had; both long and thick, my insides clenched involuntarily at the weight of it in my hand, the engorged veins all over the shaft. No time like the present - hiking a leg over his hip, I insistently pressed the leaking tip of his cock against me, swiping it through my folds for extra lubrication beforehand.

The scientist twitched, growling quietly, low and dangerous. "Princess," Bruce hissed, momentarily dropping his forehead onto my shoulder.

"Brucie," I replied breathily, feeling him shudder as the tip breached my entrance. The sting was slightly south of pleasurable, just enough to give me an edge and return to reality. "You're so big," I gasped. The very room I and Bruce were (what felt like) making love. Such a foreign concept. "For the love of both God and Satan, move."

"That's my girl." Giving a watery chuckle, the man obliged, sheathing himself fully within me. I was unprepared for the surge of pleasure - it felt like he was everywhere at the same time. It was unlike everything I'd felt, the burn of the stretch becoming a source of new heights of pleasure.

Bruce's shallow thrusts increased in speed and amplitude as soon as I arched my back, presenting all of myself at his mercy. His movements weren't pounding yet he shook me with every single shift of his hips. "Fuck, so good, my sweet girl," He kept muttering, barely audible. "So tight, so hot, oh God."

The praise only made me clench tighter around him, my orgasm rapidly approaching and finally crashing into both of us with a firm, steady force. His cock throbbed inside me, releasing the seed with force I swear I felt in my guts. I took it all, milking every single drop, there was so much of it. Bruce's release - this one - belonged to me and to me only.

Ever mindful of himself, Bruce rolled over, pressing as close to me as possible, throwing an arm over his eyes. I immediately relocated to make a nest on his chest, idly running my hand through his chest hair. Fascinating.

"Feel good?" And finally he sounded slightly winded. Wow, I couldn't help but wonder what could make him really lose it. What would make him go feral for me. What could trap his breath in his lungs and attach him to me forever.

"Mmm, amazing. You're good at this," My usual snark and sass was returning; I gently teased him. Lovingly.

"That's good to know, it's been a while," He snorted. Must've felt my confusion, too, because the next sentence threw me for a loop: "It's been, uh, years."

Years? For this man?! The universe was unfair. Depriving the entirety of female sex of this man? Abhorrent. "You have quite some things to catch up on," I whispered coyly. "Humbly do I offer my services."

His chest began shaking: Bruce was laughing, no trace of shame, just good-natured relief and happiness in his features. "This is exactly why we love you, Princess. You say the weirdest shit but somehow it all makes perfect sense."

I chuckled, the words spreading warmth - not the physical one - throughout my body and lulling me into a sense of sated exhaustion. I let my eyes fall shut on their own and for the first time in ages, I fell asleep with a calm heart.

Bruce's soft snores kept the bad dreams at bay.

Tony's callous hands roused me tenderly, coaxing the sleep from my brain with grace although there was very little grace about the situation; first thing I noticed upon waking was the sticky puddle between my legs and the sharp smell of sex in the room. Bruce's slightly spicy sweat mixed with the warm vanilla of my perfume. The messed up bedsheets and the warm but empty space next to me.

"Had fun, baby girl?" If Tony's lopsided grin was any indication, I had at least committed some sort of scientific breakthrough. "You know, I had a bet running on when Bruce was going to break his celibacy. If you had waited until next year, which is technically in a few months..." The engineer trailed off teasingly, looking not at all worried about the fact that his best friend had blown my brains out a... Few hours ago.

I cleared my throat. "So, who won?" It seemed only appropriate I ask.

Tony's face immediately fell. "Merlin."

My eyebrows rose. "Didn't take him for the gambling kind." I sat up in bed, stretching the stiffness out of my joints, clearing the sleep from my head with Tony's gaze firmly glued to my naked tits. Some things never change.

"You called him old. That does things to a man's ego," Tony answered dismissively. It was easy to see the obvious pleasure he held for that particular conversation: the billionaire greatly enjoyed it when people gave into his antics and indulged his sometimes childish vices. One of those vices happened to include annoying the resident wizard.

I decided to test the waters. Biting my lip, I gave him an appreciative once-over. "How are you on sloppy seconds?"

He clicked his tongue, eyes sparkling, obviously having expected this question. "I'll join you in the shower. We have thirty minutes before Clint sends Nat down here to retrieve us deviants."

I pranced in the direction of the bathroom, putting an extra wiggle in my walk.

Turns out, Tony had absolutely no problems with sloppy seconds. He was as eager to hold me by my hair, viciously pumping his cock out of me, whispering utter filth into my ear.

His honeyed voice rough, telling me how dirty I was. "You little tart, parading around, making old men drool over you. Fuck, you make me feel like a dirty old man."

I let the sassy remark to be drowned in the sound of his hips slapping against my ass. "I love dirty old men," I moaned. "Want me to get down on my knees for you, daddy?"

"Fuck," Tony's hand tightened in my hair but he made no move to cease the assault on my pussy with his cock. It was steel-hard, deliciously thick and hit all the right places without much effort.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XIII — masterlist

concept: a celebratory trip to the hamptons results in an altercation the first night you're there. the slowest of slow burns. part fourteen of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader // chris evans x respect women juice

word count: 2,8k

warnings: tw:sexual harrassment (drunken creeps are creepy), homophobic slurs (they're also assholes), angst

author's note: this one goes out to @fangirlovestuff as promised :) the next part will be coming shortly! we on some double upload weirdness, to make up for my disappearance basically the whole of yesterday

"Um, no... Really, I couldn't."

Lily pouted. Even when she pouted, she was beautiful. "Why not?"

"I don't want to intrude, really, you guys go and have fun. It's the Hamptons after all."

"But everyone's coming! Please?"

"I don't know..."

"For Chris? Would you do it for Chris?"

You cast a tentative glance to the man in question, currently in the midst of a tug-of-war with Dodger, barely paying your conversation any attention. If only they knew you'd do anything for Chris. "He is the worst bargaining chip you could've ever even thought of using."

"How about for me?" She jokingly batted her long, long lashes, an enchanting smile gracing her lips. "I won't take no for an answer, and Sebastian will be there."

"Sebastian?" You rolled your eyes at the suggestive arch of her brows. They were under the impression you and Sebastian were involved, somehow. You picked subconsciously at the scars on the palm of your hand, entirely healed and almost faded into nothing now.

"It would mean so much to us. You're such a big part of Chris' life, one of his best friends, and–"

"Alright!" You snapped. Quickly masking your irritation with a laugh, you repeated yourself, softer this time. "Alright, I'll come."

She clapped happily, giving no indication of having been taken aback or even mildly offended at you having practically yelled at her. Guilt pitted yourself in your stomach. You wanted to dislike her, but not only was she exceptionally beautiful, she was also incredibly nice. Beyond nice. Serial killers weren't even that nice. And it wasn't her fault that she was basically Jesus trapped in the body of a supermodel, and it wasn't her fault for Chris loving her – because honestly, it wasn't hard loving her – it was just that it was so fucking difficult at times when people kept calling you his friend. Chris' friend.

It would be so much easier to hate someone deserving of it, but you just couldn't. Because both of them were so beautiful and... nice.

Perfectly matched in every way you and Chris were not.

So you decided to go to the Hamptons beach house because why not?

What's the worse that could happen?

———————

This was the worse that could happen.

You had arrived at beach house Anthony had rented a little later that day, when the sun was making it's slow decent to kiss the horizon.

And the frenzy to all get ready to go out was nothing short of chaotic.

You were tired from the plane, and irritated from having been sat – with little to no form of escape – in the same row as Chris and Lily. It wasn't necessarily a long flight, but a second felt like hours when you put yourself through that kind of agony.

But you'd made up your mind after the gala to get over this little crush on Chris. Nothing good was going to come of it, and you tried to spare yourself further heartache and broken glass.

Easier said than done.

Anthony and Sebastian did not mirror your mood. On the contrary, they were still riding the high of finally wrapping the filming on Falcon and The Winter Soldier, and this was their celebration weekend. And they were going all out for it.

The house was lavish, no expense spared. And when you'd arrived, Anthony had opened his suitcase right in the kitchen, and began stocking the fridge with the champagne he'd packed in there, cushioned by his clothes.

You had briefly wondered why he had brought such a large suitcase for such a short trip, but as you watched the fifth bottle disappear into the icebox, your questions were answered.

"Why the long face?"

Anthony didn't even have to look at you to know you were standing there, bags having been dropped off in your room before joining him.

"Do I really have to come out tonight?" You whined. You hated how bratty you sounded, but you would much rather stay in the house alone for the night than go out with Chrily. You knew Sebastian and Anthony would be there too – Scarlett was also supposed to come, but she had other duties to attend to, being a mother – but you knew no matter how great they were at making you feel better, you would spend most of the night moody and brooding. And you didn't want to ruin their night with your personal issues.

You were being selfless for selfish reasons.

"Is that even a question?" Anthony was mid-stock with the final bottle of champagne when he looked at you. The inside of the fridge looked like a Moët & Chandon ad, with Anthony Mackie as the ambassador. "You're coming out if it kills me."

"But why?" You groaned.

"Because everything is more fun with you there, and besides... It wouldn't feel like a celebration without our best girl."

"Fine. I'll come," you rolled your eyes, turning to head out. "Need to shower first."

And then you heard the champagne bottle shake, the cork popping and suddenly, you were drenched in a spray of Moët. Over the sound of frothing bubbles, Anthony called out to you. "No need!"

And that was why – despite scrubbing your skin almost raw and lathering your hair to the point of chemical burn – you sat there, on the barstool, smelling faintly like expensive alcohol.

"I hate you," you muttered under your breath to Anthony as you and him had taken it upon yourselves to get the next round of drinks for the table.

He chuckled, struggling to grab a bartender's attention. "No, you don't."

"You're right, I don't. I'll always love you. But that doesn't mean I have to like you right now."

"Love me, huh?" Anthony arched a brow. "Now, was that so hard to say?"

"What?"

"It's not me you should be saying that to. You know that."

You knew what he meant, and a heavy sigh vacated your lungs. "You know it's not the same. You're family. With him... It's different."

"I think this is the first time you've ever admitted it out loud."

And it dawned on you that he was right. You had never let yourself properly admit it, even inwardly. The words had maybe flowed from the tip of your pen onto the pale pages of your journal – the only catharsis you found lately – but you never read those entries back, abandoning them to be lost in a sea of random thoughts, forgotten.

It didn't give you a sense of relief, saying the words. Not even slightly. If anything, they filled you up with dread.

"Don't," you rolled your eyes. "I'm over it. Or at least I'm getting there."

"Hey," he shrugged in placation. "Relax. It's not my confession to make."

Being an ex-cocktail waitress had its perks as you made your way back to the table, slipping easily past people with the tray of shots you had retrieved. You were speedy and efficient, even in your heels.

Anthony, on the other hand...

Beer bottles slotted between each finger, he was having much more difficulty getting by. And once you'd set the shots down at the table, not a drop spilled, Anthony's shirt was spattered with beer, hands slick with it.

As you plopped into the seat beside Sebastian, making him shift over in the booth to make more room for Anthony, he gave you a strained smile.

"I don't know how the fuck you put up with them," Seb whispered to you. "They're so lovey-dovey, it's unbearable."

"Just grin and bear it," you whispered back.

"What are you two giggling about over there?" Chris grinned from across the booth. It wasn't a very convincing grin, but you didn't dwell on it. No more allowing Christopher Robert Evans to occupy your mind.

"Just how Mackie would make a terrible waiter," you shrugged, sending the man in question a quick cheeky smirk.

"Oh, haha, very funny," he flicked some beer at you from his soaked fingertips. "I'd make a fabulous waitress and you know that."

You shied away from the alcohol droplets, laughing. "No! Not again!"

Chris took in his appearance. "Jesus, Ant. Is there even any beer left for us? Or are you wearing it all?"

"Wow, you're all hilarious," he rolled his eyes, finally dropping into the booth. "I didn't know I was out with a bunch of comedians tonight. Did I walk onto a sitcom set? Is this a sketch? Whose turn is it next? Seb? Lily?"

You all took turns making jokes and taking jibes at Anthony's lacklustre bottle service, which was only put to rest once the Falcon actor huffed and proclaimed that "you could all go get your own damned drinks."

As the night wore on, you found yourself gravitating towards the dancefloor. Honestly, you just couldn't be in the booth anymore. You knew getting over him was going to be a slow process, but some part of you had hoped that it would be an immediate and simple thing: just falling out of your pathetic little crush.

But it really wasn't, and so you were on the dancefloor. Regrettably alone. Chris and Lily were still in the booth, and the other couple – Anthony and Seb – were absolutely enthralled by a vintage pinball machine lurking in the back of the bar.

Every now and then, you would hear one whoop for joy as they beat the other's high score, only for the competitive nature of their activity to take over for another redemption round.

As you lost yourself in the music, it wasn't long before you attracted the attention of a drunken creep. You didn't use that term lightly, but this one was truly deserving.

You had felt eyes on you, and immediately found who they belonged to. Just to be polite, you had smiled at him, before continuing your dancing.

And then, taking it as an invitation, he sidled up to you, and clammy hands slithered over your waist, pulling your back to him with a strong, commanding grip. Your stomach lurched, uncomfortable with the fast rising intensity of the situation.

"You look so fuckin' good tonight, baby," he slurred into your ear, swaying on his feet. Alcohol was thick on his breath, and it filled your head with nausea. "Just wanna take you home and fuck you better than anyone ever has..."

You turned around to tell him to fuck off, and that was when that strong slithering grip was in your hair, tugging you to slimy liquored lips in a teeth clashing kiss. Your stomach roiled at the taste, and while he was distracted, you shoved him away from you with as much strength as he could muster.

He stumbled back a few steps, but he had returned to his senses long enough to right himself and soon he was stalking towards you again.

You knew his type. If his clothes and accessories were any indication, he was an arrogant rich kid – the tan telling you he was a Hamptons regular. He was your age, and every bit as entitled as his wealth would suggest.

"Get away from me." It wasn't a request, it was a command.

And he didn't like it. His hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you to him. You struggled against him, desperately clawing for your freedom. Panic was slowly rising.

"You little bitch," he spat.

"Is there a problem here?"

It was Chris. He had seen the unravelling altercation from the booth, and had promptly come to your aid.

You wondered how long he'd been there for, what he'd overheard. His next words gave you your answer.

"I think the lady said to leave her alone."

The guy didn't even look at him, instead keeping his slabbering gaze on you. "Stay out of this."

Chris wasn't having it. Having eyed up the situation – that whiteknuckled grip on you – Chris clapped a strong – if not a little threatening – hand on the stranger's shoulder. He ripped the guy off of you, and with his other hand, he pulled you behind him protectively.

Your relief, however, was shortlived at the bite of Chris' next suggestion. "Look, buddy, maybe you should take a hint."

"Don't touch me, faggot," he slapped Chris' arm away. "I took the hint. She looked at me, she smiled at me. Look at what she's wearing! She's practically begging to be fucked."

That was the last straw for Chris.

Not only had he made the unforgivable transgression of groping you – and not just you, specifically, but any woman – but this man had crossed the line with the homophobic slur. To do that in front of Chris, being who he was, was tantamount to a death sentence.

And you could feel it as he seethed, fury boiling in his blood.

"You're lookin' at me, now. I'm smilin'." And he was, but it wasn't one you'd ever seen before. It was tight, and it was malicious. "Oh, look at what you're wearin'. Gets me a bit hard, if I'm being honest. Do you like that? Do you like me telling you how hard I'm gonna fuck you with this big cock? No? Then keep your fuckin' hands to yourself and well away from her before I break them."

You knew Chris well enough to know the threat was empty. He was a pacifist – regularly attending lessons in Buddhist teachings when he could. But the other guy didn't know that, and the throb of the muscle in the grit of Chris' jaw was very convincing. So convincing, in fact, you were even a little scared of him in that moment.

The guy tilted his head to address you, trying to make himself seem bigger. "Who even is this joker, your boyfriend?"

"Don't speak to her," Chris snarled. "You're speaking to me now. And as a matter of fact, I am. So fuck off."

What the guy did next shouldn't have been surprising. He was clearly not thinking straight. And if he hadn't done it, Chris effectively calling you his girlfriend might've had more of an impact.

But he took a swing at Chris – and although Chris never started fights, he sure as fuck ended them.

Easily blocking the attack, and in three quick movements, Chris had the other guy's arms locked behind his back. You knew, if he wanted, Chris could pop both of this guy's arms out of their sockets. And if Chris was anyone else, he might have. He was angry enough to do it.

"Let it go," came his scathing whisper.

Of course the other guy struggled. He struggled and yelled out curses, slurs, anything his alcohol addled mind could come up with.

It was enough to draw the attention of the owner of the establishment.

"Oi," she yelled. A severe no-shit type woman had come out of the back room to brace her arms against the bar, fixing you all with a withering look. "The three of you. Out."

The commotion had also been enough to draw the attention of the others, and you were on your way out – still protectively clutched to Chris' side by his musclebound arm – when they'd made it to you.

"What happened?" Seb panted.

"Just some asshole picking a fight," Chris explained, rage still colouring his voice. "Could you guys do me a favour?"

"Sure, man," Anthony said. "Whatever you need."

"I'm going to take {your name} back. Could you tell Lily when she gets out of the bathroom that we got kicked out and I'll be waiting for her at home?"

"If you just wait for her, we can all go home together," Seb suggested, already backing up a little to get his jacket from the booth.

Chris shook his head. "I need time to cool off. I don't want her seeing me like this."

"I'm really sorry for ruining your night, guys," you said, your voice small.

They were quick to assure you you hadn't. It didn't lessen the guilt, though.

"You guys enjoy," Chris said as you both hovered by the door. "We'll make up for tonight at the beach tomorrow."

———————

"I can fight my own battles."

It was the first words either of you had spoken since you'd gotten back to the house. The drive was done in deafening silence, and you felt compelled to finally break it.

"I know you can," Chris sighed. He hadn't been expecting a thanks, but he'd at least been expecting something more than that admonishment. "Better than anyone. But you shouldn't have to."

"I had it handled."

"My point is, you shouldn't have to handle this shit. No one should."

He had come with you all the way to your bedroom door, and you both stood, divided by the frame.

His brow was furrowed, thinking. And then: "Are you angry with me?"

"No," you smiled sadly.

The double meaning laced with your next words would serve to haunt both of you the remainder of the night.

"I just want you to know that you don't have to fight for me. I'm fine on my own."