Mrs. Evans’ Boys

Mrs. Evans boys cover jan 27 2016.jpg

Mrs. Evans’ Boys

A Mrs. Evans story

*A Chris Evans fan fiction*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Future Chris helps take care when one of the kids is sick and creates a simple solution to a little problem

Warnings: Daddy Chris, fluff, sick kid, breathing treatment

Word count 950

This Mrs. Evans story is told from Chris’s point of view, a change from other stories in the series

Author Note:  I’ve been sick A LOT lately, which accounts for several of my stories lately being about sickness and the healing powers of Mr. Evans.  When I had to get a breathing treatment done, I remembered a family moment from long ago that had slipped my memory…  with author’s license for embellishing a few details, this is really the tale of how my Hubs got Kid to take his breathing treatments.

Through the crack in the door, Chris listens to the cough in the little boy’s chest and it pains him to hear it.  His big Daddy heart just can’t take it when the boys are sick, but he knows it’s even harder on his wife, so he steps up to the plate.

He steps into the room and asks, “Whatchya doin’, Bud?”

He knows she hates that nickname, always telling him the child and the dog cannot have the same nickname.  But it’s too late to get rid of it now.

“Just colorin’, Daddy.  Nonna Lisa brought me a new coloring book this morning.”

“Oh, she did; that was nice, we’ll-”

“Yea, yea, Dad; I already thanked her,” he rolls his blue eyes, already trained well in the art of appreciation from his mother.

Chris holds in his laughter.  “Ok, then.  Hey, son, do you know why your mother sent me up here?”

The little boy throws the covers over his head and snuggles down under the blankets.  “‘Cuz I was bad and it’s time for more medicine.”

Chris’s heart cracks.  He shoves the books to the side and sits on the edge of the bed, setting his package on the floor and pulling back the blanket.  The tiny face staring back at him is like looking through his mother’s old photo albums.  An exact carbon copy of himself at that age.  “You know we don’t say ‘bad.’  You weren’t bad; you just got scared and acted out in a way that’s not okay.”

“Mommy was so mad at me, she was crying,” the tow-headed toddler explains, sitting up and leaning closer to his own personal hero.

Picking the little one up, Chris sets the boy in his lap and wraps the blanket around them both.  “Bud, here’s a secret.  Mommy doesn’t like it when she has to take you to the doctor.  I usually do it, don’t I?”  The little boy nods.  “It makes her sad when she knows you have to get shots and things.  It made her sad today that you didn’t like the breathing treatment.  When you started crying, she was sad with you, not mad at you, and that’s why she was crying too.”

The boy can’t believe what his father says.  His face is incredulous.  “Really?  She wasn’t mad ‘cuz I didn’t wike the medicine?”

Chris chuckles at the use of “wike.”  The little one doesn’t even have a speech impediment but it’s such a part of the family vernacular, he uses it anyway.  Chris kisses the top of his head, and the fever is still raging.  “She was worried about you… I’m worried about you, and your little brother is missing his best friend.  And Dodger is about to go crazy since you can’t run around the yard with him.”

“Daddy, Dodger’s an old man, he doesn’t run and play like he used to,” the boy interjects.

Chris’s heart officially breaks in two.  He chuckles, “Bud, I know, but let’s not say that.  Mommy can’t handle it if I start crying too, and you and Dodger are best buds and the idea… Well. Ok.”

Chris stops himself.  Focus. Kid.  Sick.  Medicine.  Worry about the aging dog later.

Chris changes the subject.   “You know how Mom never lets you watch TV in your room?”  The tired little one snuggles against his chest and tugs on the hairs on his arm.  “Well, this room has TV and I brought you a treat.”

“I don’t wike this room,” he says quietly, coughs shaking his body again.

Rubbing his back, Chris replies.  “I know, Bud, it’s not your room, but you get to stay in the cool guest room for a few days so you don’t get your brother sick.  And I’m gonna stay here with you all night, and I brought a movie you might like.  I watched it with Grandpa Bob when I had to stay home sick when I was a little boy.”  Chris reaches down to the floor, and hands his oldest son the gift bag.

The boy pulls out a movie, Star Wars- Episode IV and a Darth Vader mask- a special one.  Chris took time in the garage to drill a hole through the mask in order to fit the tube for the breathing treatment.  “There’s a guy in the movie and he wears this mask, and he makes a funny breathing sound, just like you do.  And you know since you don’t feel well, you’ve been kinda mean and grumpy?  Well, he is too.  Maybe if he took his breathing treatments, he wouldn’t feel so bad.”

“Daddy, that’s dumb.  Not breathing right doesn’t make you mean.  It just makes me sleepy.  Maybe this guy needs a nap.”

Chris laughs heartily at the child’s logic and the little boy bounces off his lap, falling face first onto the bed and he giggles as his Daddy tickles him, stopping when the coughing takes over.  “Alright, come on.  Sit back up.  Let’s do this.  It only takes five minutes, and then Mommy said we could have ice cream later.”

“Fine.  But I won’t wike it,” the feisty blonde claims as his best friend in the whole world places the Darth Vader mask over his face and gets the treatment ready to administer.


Hours later you check back on your boys, and Dodger raises his head as if to say ‘I got this.’ They are sound asleep, curled up next to one another and the Darth Vader mask is on the floor next to the empty ice cream bowls.  Not a peep.  Little one hadn’t fussed once about the breathing treatment when Daddy did it.  Good thing he’s scheduled to be home for the next ten days because you know you can’t do this without him.

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom


Mad for Plaid

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Mad for Plaid

By avenger-nerd-mom

Just picking some things up at the store for a good time…

Word Count: 2039

Warnings: NSFW, language, PLAID, Sex in a Public Place, oral sex, groping, self-stimulation

Pushing the cart loaded with Halloween goodies from the store entrance, I round my favorite corner, just past the row of fashionable boots for winter and fall.  The men’s department.  Fall. Warm colors. Sweaters. Plaid… Yummy.

I’m lost in my thoughts and my eyes focus on a color palette that I can only refer to as “Fuck Me Plaid” as I finger the soft fibers.

His hands come around me tossing a few Henleys into the basket before grasping the red cart handles and bumping his strong thighs against my ass.

“Hey beautiful,” he whispers against my hair, his voice instantly causing a warm flood to my inner core.  “Which ones do you like?  I can try a few on, just for fun.”

“You’ll be my life-size Ken doll?  I can dress you up just how I want?”

“I prefer that you undress me,” he growls pushing against me again this time his cock hard, as an invitation.

I chuckle.  “Down, boy.”  Reaching to throw two shirts in the cart I push him away smiling at his forward behavior.  “Save that thought for home.”

Looking around, this end of the store seems desolate, giving him freedom to do what he wants.  “Now,” he says, more gruffly.  Rough fingers dance down the side of my neck, sliding across my shoulder, pulling the collar of my t-shirt open wider. His soft lips press a wet, open mouthed kiss against the newly exposed skin and I shiver involuntarily pressing back against him.

“In the fitting room?” I retort quietly with shock, not wanting my voice to echo in the store.  I turn to face him.  “You can’t be serious?”

His smile is wicked and the gleam in his eye is purely sinful.  “Deadly.”

His voice rumbles through me as nervous butterflies float through my system.

This man.  This fucking man. Always pushing my buttons, testing my limits and reaching beyond, each time encountering a high greater than the one before.

“It’s on the list,” he reminds me, taking my hand and pulling two more shirts off the shelf and handing them to me.

“It’s on the list.” I state, resigning myself to the inevitable, dropping the Henleys on top of the snacks and holiday gear. He maneuvers me towards the fitting rooms and places the cart along the wall.

Walking behind me, he places his hand on my shoulder, advancing me down the short hallway to the open door at the end.  Looking back behind us, I see no one is around, although I am sure we are on store cameras somewhere.  His cap is pulled low and no one can see his identifiable blue eyes and cut jawline, covered by dark scruff, perfectly trimmed and fashionable.

Entering the room first, I see us in the mirror.  His smile is purely predatory and his eyes grow dark with lust. Closing the door behind him he motions me to sit, handing me the other shirts before placing his ball cap and phone on the ledge.  He runs his fingers through his shorter hair before crossing his arms at his waist to pull off his gray washed out Henley. As he stretches back, the finely toned muscles ripple under his radiant skin.  I can feel myself beginning to ache with need for him as he creates a desire in me to break out of my comfort zone.  To ease my discomfort I cross my feet at my ankles and wiggle my legs back and forth effectively rolling my thighs together in a self-stimulating manner.

I open my mouth to question him but he places a lightly calloused finger across my lips, shaking his head ‘no’ indicating for me to be quiet.  He leans to me placing his hand against my neck, his fingertips teasing along the collar of my v-neck t-shirt again and whispers in my ear, “Shhh… We don’t want anyone to hear us.”

Inhaling his scent I bite my lip, nodding my understanding. With him close I reach and tug on the drawstring of his track pants, grazing my hand along his sweet Adonis. Keeping my tone low, I voice my complaint. “I thought you wanted me to undress you?”

He chuckles, nibbling on my ear, replying, “You will, dear, soon enough.”  Pressing his hand over mine, I feel his heat, his blood rushing through the raised vein on his hip. He grasps my hands and places them in my lap. “No touching,” he quietly growls as he steps back.  Placing his firm hands on my thighs, he also silently signals me to stop moving. Damn him.

He takes my favorite plaid from me. I lean back against the mirror just to watch as he teases me.  The grin on my face is infectious and he can’t seem to keep a straight face either as he unbuttons the shirt. I watch as the muscles in his arms roll over one another and I can’t suppress a small giggle. He scowls at me, holding back his own laughter. He turns away and my laughter inside bubbles as his cute ass wiggles when he bounces on the heels of his feet.  He’s  unable to keep still as he pulls his arms through the sleeves, the soft flannel covering his back.

As he begins to pull the fabric tight across his deltoids, connecting the row of buttons across his chest, his tight form takes shape under the clothing. The large expanse is covered with the ruggedly male design and hugs his waist. His shoulders raise as he pulls on the collar and he turns to me, admiring himself in the mirror, ignoring my presence. He runs his hands down his chest, tugging on the tail of the shirt and pulling it into place. For good measure he fluffs his hair. A small grin indicates he likes the feel of the shirt.

I’m a mess.  He’s so fuckin’ beautiful. Suits. Workout clothes. T-shirts and jeans.  Beautiful in all of them. But something about plaid… He can take me hard and fast right here and I don’t even care if anyone knows.  And he knows it too…

The bastard decides to raise it up a notch. As he begins to unbutton the right sleeve, he makes eye contact with me and I’m helpless to stop the whimper that escapes me lips. ‘I hate you,’ I mouth the words, running my middle finger over my lips, licking them in the process.

“You’re too easy,” he laughs, the sound echoing in the small room, rolling up the second sleeve.

I sit forward on the round stool, dumping the other clothes to the floor and I slide forward on the seat just enough to open my legs wide drawing my hands over my thighs, tight in my yoga pants. I have a feeling we won’t make it to the gym after getting dog food. The heat of my covered pussy burns at my palm as I begin to rub myself over my clothing. My cunt tingles and swells at the possibility of our sex. I drop my head back, letting my hands roam. His breathing speeds up as my hands glide over my hard-earned abs, my shirt twisted around me, exposing my tummy.  A flood of wet washes through my sweet space and I grow bold under his guidance.  I tease along the colorful waistband of the pants, my breath steady as a calm surges over me. Slowly rolling my head up I lock eyes with his before plunging my hands down into my panties, beginning to finger myself with no remorse. The slick is welcoming and my walls so soft; I can feel the smirk on my face as I bite my lip, exciting myself as the realization hits me that once we start our play my body is all ready for him.

He steps to me and stops my hands.  “As much as I’d like watching you get yourself off,” he stops as my scent fills the air between us, inhaling deeply. His wicked smile darkens his eyes as he brings my hand to his mouth, savoring the little tease as he caresses his tongue over my fingertip.  “I said no.”

Even with his forceful grip on my wrist, I can still wiggle my fingers to stroke the delicate skin on his inner wrist, the spot he loves for me to bite and kiss and I feel goosebumps form on his skin at my touch. Challenging him, I look deep in his eyes, seeing my own reflection there, teasing, “Oh, not at all? I thought you meant I couldn’t touch you.  Okay, so we are clear on that now.  Good.”

Once again he fights the laughter I see on his face.  “You are a pain in my ass, you know that don’t you?” he whispers.

I simply nod my head yes.  For all his talk of being in control, he truly likes more to be playful and loving, and I like reminding him of that. Any chance I can get.

He drops my hands and quietly commands me to stand. In one quick swish, he pulls my shirt over my head, leaving me in a barely there sports bra and my nipples harden against the friction and the cold air in the store.  “So pretty,” he whispers as he runs his fingertip down my exposed sternum, caressing down to my sensitive belly button.  I inhale quickly and lean to his touch as he runs his hands around the waist of my fitted pants pulling me close to him, crushing my tits across the cozy material and his hard body. He raises my arms and places them over his shoulders, swaying us in time to the music on the store radio.  He looks down between us, my boobs pushed up against him.  “Maybe these should be free?”  With the flick of his finger, the bra falls loose and he pulls it free, the heavenly fabric of his shirt against my skin.

“I think we kinda have to buy this one now,” I giggle.

“I plan to buy them all,” he whispers.  “It’s funny you find them so sexy.”

“I do; just something about you in plaid makes me weak in the knees.”

“Really? Weak you say?” he places his hands atop my shoulders and pushes me down, and before my knees buckle I realize what he wants from me and I drop to my knees in front of him, resting on the pile of other clothes to buy.  I balance myself momentarily with my hands on his hips, brushing the fabric against him before dropping my hands, following the no touching guide.  I wrap my arms behind myself and tug on the braid I can feel hanging down my back. As that action tilts my head back for him, he smiles down on me as he frees his stiff cock from his pants.

On my knees I suck him into my mouth, swallowing as much of him as I can into my warmth, allowing him to fill the empty space. Playing my tongue against the vein on the underside of his beautiful rod, he moans and rocks into me reaching out with one hand to support himself against the full length mirror. Bobbing my head I wash over his length, loving every inch. My cheeks hollow as I prepare to take more and he twists the tail of my braid like a rein around his hand, pulling me on and off his cock.  He breathes in sharply, making me moan around him, gaining confidence and speed as he releases a slow, shaky breath.  “Keep that up and you’re gonna make me come,” he grunts quietly continuing to face fu-

“MOM!  Earth to mother?  What are you doing just standing here looking at plaid shirts? Come on, we’re gonna be late to soccer practice,” my annoyed teenage daughter tugs on my arm, breaking my deliciously sinful daydreams.

I smile, shifting my legs together at my own wicked thoughts.  “Yes, babe. Let’s go,” I comment tossing the shirt in the cart.

“Does Dad really need another plaid shirt?” she complains, rolling her eyes.

Turning the cart around to head to the check out, I simply laugh, “Yes, honey, yes he does.”

Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom


Gas Money

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Gas Money

a Mrs. Evans story

by avenger-nerd-mom

A future Chris and his wife prepare for another active day in the Evans’ household

Warnings: Language, Adult Situations, fluff, NSFW, hand job

Word Count 1389

“Hey, babe! Did you get the cash from the bank yesterday?” you call to him from the bathroom.

“Yea, what are you doing today?” Chris calls back, his voice raspy and damn sexy in the early morning.  “You told me, but I forgot.”

“I have to drive out to the food pantry.  I volunteer today and then it’s my turn to carpool Princess and her friends to dance class.  I have to be back in town by 3:15 to pick them up at school.”

You step through the bathroom door continuing to rub lotion into your cuticles, wondering when you last had a manicure.  Giving up stardom to be a wife and a mom just seemed like a better deal all those years ago.  A few small movie roles, a few television pilots, but Mrs. Evans/SuperMom is your favorite role these days.  The morning light flashes on your wedding ring, drawing attention to your aging hands.  “If I have time, I may go get my nails done.  I haven’t done that in ages,” you admit, wiggling your fingers at him, still reclined in bed, glasses propped up on his nose and a script resting on his sculpted chest as he reads.

You smile when he whistles at you.  “Nice ass, baby.  I’m a lucky man,” he says, his voice dripping with pride.

“You just remember that, Mister,” you reply, putting in your favorite earrings- the ones he gave you for your first Valentine’s Day together. “What have you got planned?” you ask.

His smile shows he’s up to something and his blue eyes hold a devilish charm.  “I’m gonna get the kids to school and then I’m meeting Mackie for 18 holes.”

“Hmmm…  How many drinks will that be?”  You ask, rummaging through the dresser for your favorite pair of jeans.

“Too many,” he guffaws.

“We haven’t had them over for dinner in a while.  Invite his family for a BBQ on Saturday?”

“Whatever you say, boss…  You look beautiful…  don’t go.  That’s why your mom is visiting.  She wants to get the kids ready for school.”

You giggle.  “Honey, you know your daughter will not go anywhere without an Elsa braid and she won’t let anyone else but me do it.  Raincheck?”

“Hell.  Why did I ever let her watch that old movie?  How did she get so spoiled?”  He laughs, watching you shimmy the jeans over your thick thighs, hopping lightly to pull them over your rounded hips.

Dripping with sarcasm, your voice battles back. “Hmmm… I have no idea who dotes on her every whim…”

“She’s just like her mother.  A spoiled brat,” he chuckles, rolling to place his glasses and script on the bedside table.  As he stretches you admire the way his muscles ripple across his back; the taper of his waist.

“Oh really?  Just for that, I’m NOT staying here to play with you, I’m going to help Mom.  You know the boys will be wound up for their swim lessons after school.  She’s getting to old for all that noise and nonsense.”

As you start to leave for the door, Chris calls out to you, “Hey, Mrs. Evans?  Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Rolling your eyes, you walk back to the bed and give him a quick kiss, knowing he’s going to pull you on top of him.  He does and you giggle, settling in by his side.  “I know you always build 10 minutes extra in the morning schedule.  Stay here.  Besides, I thought you needed cash for the gas station?”

He throws back the sheet and a $50 bill is sticking out of the waistband of his black Calvins.

“God, that’s why money is so dirty,” you laugh.

“Eww,” he groans in disgust.

“You know honey, you don’t have to pay me,” you drop your voice, running your nails under the waist of his pants, as his pulse quickens, “I’d play with you for free.”

“Aw, fuck,” he hisses out as you reach down his pants and grasp his firm cock. “Damn your hands are cold.”

“Let me warm them up,” you suggest, tenderly caressing his balls, rolling them gently between your fingers as he toys with your hair.  His sweet moan of delight fills your ears as you help him prepare for his day in the most loving way possible.

You glide your hands up over his soft skin, running your fingertips gently over the veiny ridges that grace his cock.   He twitches and jerks under your dainty caress.  You extract your hand from his warmth and pull down on the waistband allowing him freedom.  With loving care, you wiggle down the bed, resting your head at the start of his V.  Age has only made this man more beautiful to you and you respect his desire to stay in shape.  You wrap your fingertips around his shaft, tugging up and smile to yourself at his sharp inhale as he winds his fingers in your hair.  You pull him towards you and delicately kiss the tip of his head, wrapping your tongue around him for just a brief moment and collecting the sweet drop of precum he expels.

“Shit, only ten minutes?” he complains gruffly.

His voice adds to your building desire and your pussy squeezes repeatedly.  You slide your denim clad leg over his, each movement pushing the seam of your tight jeans between your folds.  His free hand cups under your ass and caresses between your legs.

You flick your tongue across his slit and return your hands to their task.  “I tried to wake you up for a shower, but you wouldn’t have it.”  Your left arm is somewhat trapped under you, but you position that hand to continue massaging his sac while your other hand grasps around his girth.  Teasing him with light strokes, you use the roll of his own skin to guide you up and down.  You sigh contently as he expands and grows stiff under your manipulation.  Slowly, you build to your natural pace; a rhythm you’ve known for years.  The strokes are exactly what he needs, pulling up slowly, just under his tip and twisting to push back down hard against his base.  The repeated tugs are his undoing and you can hear the smack of his lips as they part and release a quiet moan.

As he starts to buck beside you, you turn your head slightly and kiss the protruding vein on his Adonis, applying pressure with your tongue before adding your teeth.  Branding him with your mark for the day as he comes in your hands, spilling his seed across his chest, before halting his rise in the comfort of your warm bed together.

You roll back and smile at your work, licking your finger for a drop of his sweetness.  “Goood morning!” he chuckles, wrapping the sheet over his mess and pulling you up to his mouth.  “You’re worth every penny,” he teases as he kisses your plump, needy lips.

You both groan at the knock on the door, but smile at the innocent little voice asking to have her hair fixed.  “Mommy will be out in a minute, sweetie.  Go tell the boys to be ready!”

You kiss your charming husband again, his beard showing more gray these days, scratching against your cheek.  Your tongue lingers inside his mouth and pulls out with a flick of your tongue against his teeth.  “Well, Mr. Evans, once again, you’ve made us late!  You have five minutes to get ready, get the kids in the car, and head to school.”

As you rise from the bed, Chris squeezes your hip. “I love you, Mrs. Evans. There’s another $50 in the top drawer. I’ll take the girls to dance, you go get your nails done.  Your hands were so good to me I think they deserve special treatment.”  He takes your hand, kissing the palm.  “For that, I’ll give you gas money any day!”

Grabbing the money from the bed, you bounce to the dresser, announcing, “I still would have done it for free.”

He pulls on his jeans, laughing.  “And that’s how you earned the title ‘Mrs. Evans.’”

You roll your eyes at him and playfully toss him a t-shirt as you exit the room, yelling at the kids to get moving.  “Hurry up, gang, Daddy made us late. Again!”

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Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom