#like shes literally a theater kid it is not a stretch to say

[saturnniidae]

Claire's codename suggestion of "Queen Death Viper 5000 of the Shadow Realm" really sounds like some variation of a middle school animal jam username

#im an animal jam kid Claire truther #like shes literally a theater kid it is not a stretch to say #she lived out her edgy wolf girl dreams vicariously #through cringey animal jam roleplays #'cringey animal jam roleplays' <- said with the utmost affection #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #claire nuñez #moth.txt #toa headcanon #kind of #btw this is coming from someone whose aj username had 'shadowwolf' in it

[im-dehydrated05]

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4

Aurora stretched, letting out a yawn as she walked down the sidewalk before reaching her destination and sitting down at one of the tables in front of the cafe.

“Hey loser.”

Cassandra looks up at Aurora, processing her words. The diva just gives her a humorless look before looking down at the papers on the table.

Cassandra: “You’re not funny.”

Aurora just grins at this, resting her head on her arms as she watches Cassandra work.

"Oh, I’m sorry.”

Cassandra doesn’t say anything and just continues working. Aurora frowns.

Don’t tell me she’s mad... Well, I have been a little rude to her.

S͟h͟e͟ k͟i͟l͟l͟e͟d͟ y͟o͟u͟.͟

Shut up.

“So… I heard you have a hate club now.”

Cassandra pauses for a moment, looking up at Aurora.

Cassandra: “I do?”

Aurora nods lazily, picking up a piece of paper to get a look at it.

"Yeah, the fuck Cassandra Dimitrescu club or something like that. I think it is led by some gal named Sam. Im not sure to be honest.”

Cassandra laughs at this, literally wiping tears from her eyes from how hard she was laughing. Aurora just looked at her with a smile.

Cassandra: “Are you serious?”

She laughs a little more before a smirk makes its way to her face.

Cassandra: Well, I guess loving me wasn’t enough, uh?

And here we go again.

Aurora rolls her eyes at her.

“Okay, calm down, you overcaffeinated theater kid.”

Cassandra looks overly offended by the remark before lifting up her cup of coffee and dinking from it. Aurora chuckles and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"Oh, come on. You know they're just jealous of your talent and fabulousness."

Cassandra raises an eyebrow, putting her cup down with a mix of amusement and curiosity on her face.

Cassandra: "Really?"

Aurora nods, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she leans closer to Cassandra.

"Absolutely. I mean, who wouldn't be jealous of someone as talented, confident, and stunning as you?"

Cassandra smirks, seemingly enjoying the flattery.

Oh man, this is probably getting to her head.

Cassandra: "Well, I can't blame them. It's not easy being this amazing."

Aurora playfully rolls her eyes again.

"Oh, please. You're not fooling anyone with that modest act."

Cassandra chuckles and goes back to her work, but Aurora can see a hint of satisfaction on her face.

"So, are you going to do anything about this 'hate club'?"

Cassandra shrugs nonchalantly.

Cassandra: "Nah, let them have their fun. It's not like their opinions matter to me."

She moves some papers around, staking them together before putting them away on a binder and inside her bag. She perks up at the sound of the cafe door opening.

Cassandra: “Coffee!”

The Diva exclaims, bouncing on her feet and turning to Aurora.

Cassandra: “I’m going for more coffee. Wanna come with?”

Aurora nods, standing up as they both enter the cafe. She stays behind Cassandra, who walks up to Elena with a smile.

Cassandra: “I’ll have the usual.”

Cassandra turns to Aurora.

Cassandra: “Pick something, whatever; it’s on me.”

Aurora approaches Elena and looks at the menu. The barista gives the both of them a knowing look.

Elena: “Walk of shame?”

"Nah, I don’t want any diseases.”

She continues to look at the menu, ignoring Cassandra, who was choking on her coffee in the background. Elena looks slightly amused, snickering to herself.

Elena: "Well, I haven’t heard that one before.”

Aurora just smiles at her and asks for a latte. Elena nods before heading to the back to make their order. By the time the brunette turns around, she can see Cassandra sitting down on a table with a frown on her face. She makes her way to her, sitting down on the chair in front of her.

“You mad?”

Cassandra: “Asshole.”

Aurora raises an eyebrow at Cassandra's response, a playful smirk on her face.

Aurora: "Oh, come on, Cassie. Can’t take a little teasing from what you called me again. Oh yeah, a feisty girl.

Cassandra sighs and shakes her head, unable to hide the hint of a smile on her lips.

Cassandra: "Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you after all this time."

Aurora pauses for a moment, looking at Cassandra strangely. The Diva looks at her for a moment before she awkwardly sinks into her seat, a flustered look on her face.

Cassandra: Well, you know, I don’t normally do this thing with people, so...

Cassandra tries to find the words, and Aurora just looks at the brunette; her eyes soften at her awkwardness.

“So I’m special.”

Cassandra freezes in place.

Cassandra: “Uh…”

Elena: “Oder for Cassandra!”

Cassandra quickly snapped out of it, standing up to get the two coffees and almost tripping when she stood up from her chair. Aurora looked at her with amusement, and you could hear Elena laugh before Cassandra glared at her. Cassandra grabs the two coffees, staying to talk with Elena for a few minutes. That’s when Aurora hears the door ring, and before she knows it, she has the three Stans in front of her.

“May I help you?”

They don’t answer her; the three just give her nasty looks before Rebecca steps forward with a smirk.

Rebecca: “Hu, you must be the new skank.”

The other two behind her chuckle, and Aurora can’t do anything but just look at them unimpressed.

Bitch, I just got here.

Cassandra finally decided to come back and got beside Aurora.

Cassandra: "Hey, what are you lovely ladies doing?”

The Stans are immediately all over her, and Aurora can see the almost unseen look of discomfort on Cassandra’s face.

Rebecca: “Oh, Cassandra, we were just keeping her some company.”

The blonde looks at Aurora with a smirk.

Rebecca: “She seems lonely.”

No, she didn’t.

Cassandra raises her eyebrow, looking in Aurora’s direction. The brunette just smiles at her before standing up, taking her coffee from Cassandra, and dumping it on Rebecca. The blonde screamed dramatically before noticing that the coffee wasn’t hot anymore but that it still ruined her outfit. The other two behind her just look shock like deer in headlights.

Rebecca: “You bitch!”

Rebecca looked livid and ready to pounce on Aurora. The brunette just grinned before grabbing Cassandra’s hand and sprinting out of the cafe.

The two managed to get a few blocks away and lose the Stans in an alleyway next to the pizzeria.

Cassandra: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cassandra exclaimed out of breath, but with a present smile on her face, Aurora lifted her hand up as she hunched over, still catching her breath. She chuckled.

Aurora: Hey, she deserved it.

Cassandra shakes her head with a pleased look on her face. That’s when Aurora's phone goes off.

“Ah man, I’m late for my theater class.”

Cassandra: “Shit, I’m late too.”

The two look at each other before Aurora smirks and boops Cassandra's nose.

“Race you to the university!”

Aurora laughs mischievously as she sprints away, leaving Cassandra standing there with a mix of confusion and surprise on her face.

Cassandra: Wha… Oh, you little-

She quickly gathers herself and starts running after Aurora, laughing when she sees the brunette trip halfway.

You know when you have the scene in your head but have no idea how to write it? Yeah, this was me right now. I hope I did a good job.

#resident lover #bela dimitrescu #donna beneviento #angie beneviento #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #fanfic #fcd club

[jesus-in-the-womb]

B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets || Steve Harrington<3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: You've been bestfriends with Steve Harrington for years, last summer you finally realized that you were madly in love with the man. Upon meeting his friend Robin, you wallow in the fact that Steve will never be yours. Or will he?

Warnings: Fluffy fluff! Slight angst if you squint, friends to lovers, Steve and !reader are idiots, Robin is literally cupid, pining!

“Stevie, come on!” you whined, following the taller man through the glass doors to his new job.

“Listen, Sweets, all I’m saying is that maybe the kid’s got a thing for you.” Steve casually mentioned this, as if you hadn’t been pining for him the day he beat the living hell out of Billy Hargrove in front of you and the rest of the Scooby gang. You and the Harrington boy had been friends for as long as you can remember, growing closer with the impending doom Hawkins had forced into your life three summers ago. But, up until last summer, you had thought that the feelings you had felt for the boy were simply platonic. Boy, were you wrong.

“Oh my god, Harrington. He’s like 15, I don’t give a shit if he has the hots for me. It’s gross and morally wrong.” You followed him to the counter, watching his arms flex as he hopped over.

He held his hands up in defense, “If y’say so.”He eyed you cautiously, a warmth filling his chest as you scrunched your face up in annoyance, huffing out complaints in a ramble. Steve couldn’t explain it, let alone admit it. But, you did things to him no one else had. Of course, Nancy Wheeler had flipped him upside down and hung him out to dry, but you were different. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to better himself for you, it was just that you made him feel like every part of him was perfect. He didn’t feel the need to be someone else around you, he could wholeheartedly be himself when he was near you.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar bouncy blonde shouting for him in one of the back rooms, “Steve! Get back here and help me sort these weird pornos!” When he didn’t answer, she came bounding out, a stack of adult films threatening to fall from her arms as she bounded towards the pair. “What the hell are you doing? Oh, hi there. I’m Robin, you must be the infamous best friend.” she stretched her arm out towards your form, palm facing you in a friendly gesture.

You couldn’t deny the sharp pinch to your heart, chest pulling tight at her model-like features. It was blatant how beautiful she was; raspy voice, long legs, spazzy personality, and a blinding set of nearly perfect teeth. You were uncomfortable, to say the least. The way Steve’s features light up into a stupid grin as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, not bothering to turn and look at you.You ignored her outstretched hand, instead sending a tight-lipped smile her way before stuffing your hands in your pockets. Robin’s expression faltered, picking up on your discomfort. Before she could ask if she had said something wrong, Steve spoke.

“Oh hey, Robin. Wanna come with me and Y/N tonight? We’re going to the movies! The Goonies!” You froze, heart dropping as he invited her to your ritual movie night. Albeit, this was a more public version; ditching Steve’s comfy couch for itchy theater seats, you couldn’t help but dread her answer, secretly praying she would say no.Not noticing your obvious disputation, she happily agreed, voicing that she’d been wanting to see the movie for quite some time. You couldn’t find the strength to protest that it was a night solely for you and Steve, so you chose to just escape. “I should get going, I have homework,” you spoke quickly, feet moving you out the door to the parking lot. You’d just barely made it out of the store before you hear your best friend calling out to you in suspicion.

“Y/N… It’s summer weirdo.” You ignored him, hoping he’s chalk it up to you not being within hearing distance. Tonight was going to be hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Can I get a small popcorn and soda please?” You asked, pulling the sleeves of your top further down to cover your trembling hands. Steve stood close behind you, his strong cologne seeping into your scent and shooting a flush through your cheeks at the pleasant smell.

“What? We always share a large.” Steve spoke incredulously, as if you ordering singular items was heart-wrenching to hear.“Robin’s coming, I’m not gonna force her to eat on her own while you and I share. That’s weird,” you replied with a shrug. Your shirt slid up just barely, your bare torso put on show by the action. Steve couldn’t help but watch as your smooth skin was exposed, wishing he could place his large palm against your warm skin and squeeze your waist.

“Oh, y-yeah.” He took a step back, standing to the side dejectedly.It didn’t take long for the girl to show up, walking into the theater lobby with a smile on her face and an adorable outfit that honestly may have been better than yours. She marched over to the two of you, pulling Steve into a hug before turning to wave at you. You couldn’t help but replay the embrace in your mind, slowly beginning to grow angry as you remember the way Steve wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, slightly picking her slim form up off the floor.

“You ready to go see the goonies, goonies?” Steve joked, he and Robin walking ahead of you towards the showing room, leaving you to glower from behind. How could your best friend not see the agony you were in, watching him flirt with a girl that was too pretty for her own good.The three of you walked into the dark room, fellow patrons sitting in the seats and filling the majority of the theater room. To your luck there were three seats open, but not in the way you wished. At the end of one aisle, there were two open spots, and one open at the aisle across, causing your heart to drop. Steve sat down first, looking up at Robin and patting the seat next to him, your stomach churning in dread. You said nothing as you moved to the single seat, sitting next to an elderly woman and her husband with a tight smile. With a glance, you looked over to see your best friend goofing off with this new girl. You didn’t know if you could handle watching them flirt, pain pulling at your heart strings. It was bad enough that he wanted her to sit by him and not you. Did he really have to rub it in by flinging his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to tell her a joke. She laughed with her chest, face turning red before she glanced up at you.

“So, Y/N. How do you know the infamous ‘King Steve’?” she smiled brightly at you. It took everything it had in you to be polite, this girl had done nothing to you. Why was it so hard for you to accept her friendly advances? Maybe it was because she was openly flirting with the possible love of your life.“Um, through mutual friends,” you lied through your teeth, both you and Steve confused as to why you chose to fib, “I need to use the restroom, I’ll be back.” You stood abruptly, causing your popcorn to spill, but you could honestly care less. Your brain was moving faster than your feet, thoughts swirling in your mind and plaguing your soul with hurt and suffering. How did you plan to endure this movie, how could you sit and watch as the two would most likely swap spit. You made it into the bathroom, rushing into a stall and locking the door. You ignored the disgust in you as you sat down on the toilet, putting your head into your hands and letting out a quiet sob.

Steve was one of the few people in this small town that made you constantly feel welcome and always made sure to check if you were comfortable in any situation. The second this Robin girl arrived, it was as if he had completely forgotten about you. To be fair, Robin was a sweet girl, and you couldn’t find it within your heart to hate her, nor Steve. You felt like throwing up, the thought of watching them get together and grow as a couple made you nauseous.

You didn’t hear the door to the bathroom open, nor did you hear the soft pads of converse clad feet, “Y/N, are you okay?” You instantly straightend your posture, wiping your tears and looking through the cracks at the bottom of the stall doors to make sure you weren’t losing your mind and talking to a figment of your imagination. You were met with Robin’s shoes, the slightly dirty tips gawking up at you as she knocked her fist softly against the stall door.

“I’m okay, Robin. Thanks for checking up on me.” You stood at that, wiping your tears once more before unlocking the door and slowly pulling it open. The taller girl looked down towards you, her features laced with concern and confusion.

“What happened? Did someone say something to you? Who are they?” you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at her kind words, her serious expression warming your heart a bit before tearing it altogether.

“It’s nothing, we can go back. I’m sure Steve is wondering where you are.” you spoke, catching Robin of guard with your choice of words.

“Actually, Steve’s outside the bathroom door pacing,” you eyebrows pinched together in confusion as she lightly smirked in understanding, “he is so whipped for you Y/N, I’m surprised you can’t see it.”

You shook your head of the thought of Steve reciprocating your feelings, your heart pulling itself back together, “I’m sure Steve is just worried that I might upset you, he really likes you Robin. I can tell.” you could feel the bile rise in your throat, your own thoughts sickening you the second you voiced them aloud.

The blonde girl’s laugh echoed throughout the bathroom, shocking you with how insane she looked as she bent over and wheezed. To say you were confused was an understatement. What the hell was so funny about being liked by Steve harrington? If it were you in her place, you’d be jumping with joy and pumping your fists through the air. She finally calmed down, placing her hands on your shoulders with a giggle. Her bright eyes bore into your own, staring you down with an urgency you could place almost immediately.

“For one, Steve gives me the ick. So, you don’t have to worry about me liking him. If anything he should worry about me trying to snatch you up,” her words caused your eyes to widen, your jaw going slack as the blonde confidently came out to you. She chuckled at your reaction, pulling you into a quick hug in hopes to calm your nerves, “and secondly, I don’t think you relise how head over heels ‘King Steve’ is for you.” at this, you all but fainted.No way in hell did Steve mother f-ing Harrington, like you the way you liked him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around this new information, all though you gladly welcomed it as she all but spoon fed you your fantasies. “He… He like likes me?” your innocent gaze proved to Robin that you had no idea how in love the Harrington boy was, her body going ridgid with your oblviousness.

“Dude, with how much he gushes about you at work; even when we worked at scoops mind you, I’m surprised he hasn’t made me throw up. It’s like a soppy version of 16 candles, and I’m in love with Molly Ringwald.” her unnecessary admission to her crush on the famous redhead caused you to chuckle. “I’m stupid, aren’t I?” you questioned, tears in your eyes as you looked up at the girl. She shook her head, laughing softly at your adorable, yet slightly red cheeks, “No, he’s the idiot. The amount of times that he’s unknowingly told me that he loves you, yet never made a move, proves to me that he’s a dingus.” she pulled your hand into hers, offering a gentle squeeze and walking towards the door, “You have an excuse ready? I’m sure you’ll be receiving an interrogation.” you laughed along with her. Robin wasn’t wrong, the second the door opened, you were nearly tackled by Steve’s much larger form, wrapping your body in a tight hug before pulling away to inspect your features.

“Y/N. What the hell happened? Are you feeling okay? I got you more popcorn since you spilled yours, is that okay? Of course, it’s okay Steve, Jesus.” you giggled softly at his ramble, pushing your body back into his, reveling in the scent of his sweet cologne as you all but smash your face into his chest. A sigh of relief left the taller boy, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, using his other to softly rub your lower back. Robin stood to the side, gawking at how couple-like the two of you had already looked. She immediately took it back, you both were idiots. Once you had lied to Steve, claiming it was girl problems, he had begun to lead the two of you back to the showing room. Your lips pursed as you thought about how you’d have to sit on your own once again, but coming to terms with it after Robin’s honesty. What you didn’t expect, was for Robin to make a beeline for the empty seat. She sent a wink your way, shuffling around her seat to get comfortable. You weren’t the only one to catch the wink, Steve’s cheeks turning bright red and forcing him to turn his back to your front.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me Chunk.” he said with a giggle, immediately rushing to apologize when he looked back at you. You’re jaw was slack, eyes wide, taking in the fact that Steve ‘called you fat’, “w-wait no…. NO, NO NO NO. I- I didn’t mean it like that-, the character. From the movie. His name is chunk.” He was loud with his defense, causing the people around you two to bring their fingers to their lips and send aggressively loud hushes your way.You pushed him by the shoulder into his seat, laughing it off once you understood that he meant no harm by calling you that. That didn’t stop you from leaning over to the boy though, “If you ever call me Chunk again, I will rip your balls off.” At first, Robin realized why you two weren’t together. The two of you are extremely awkward around eachother when things get too intimate, and you both also say stupid shit and then realize what you say a second too late. Now, the girl could easily pick up on your dynamic. Steve was the nervous idiot, saying weird things to fill in the blanks of conversations, then explaining himself with endless apologies afterwords. You on the other hand? You played into his dorkyness, sending jokes back at him, hoping they hit harder than his. It was beyond adorable, she thought. Throughout the movie, you couldn’t stop yourself from taking quick glances at Steve, his face effortlessly handsome. Your eyes traced the moles and freckles that lingered on his neck, staring intensely at his adams apple as it bobbed with a swallow from his drink. Steve could feel your eyes burning into the side of his face, cheeks burning hot with a blush. Although he knew you were staring, he wouldn’t mention it, nor would he attempt to catch you in the act. The thought of you devouring him with your eyes was enough to make him internally squirm. He was practically fangirling over your blatantness.

“You like the movie so far?” he questioned without removing his eyes from the screen. He could feel your body tense, quickly tearing your gaze from him and back to the movie.“Uh, yea. It’s okay.”

“Just okay?” he asked, finally turning to look at you. He sucked in a breath, watching the light from the nearly blinding screen bounce around your features. He wanted to comment on how beautiful you looked, saving that thought for himself as his eyes traced the curve of your nose down to your lips.“I don’t really know what's going on.” you admitted, hoping he wouldn’t realize that it was because you were to busy constantly gawking at him. Steve knew why you didn’t know what was going on, a small smirk finding its way unto his lips. He wasn’t the only one to hear your revelation though, Robin leaning across the open space between you two to make a snarky yet friendly comment, “maybe if you watched the movie instead of Steve, you would know what's going on.” You all but shrank down into your seat, your entire body on fire with her words. Why would she call you out like that? And why the hell was Steve laughing so loud? You turned to glare at him, noticing that you were one of many in the theater to shoot him daggers. He didn’t care though, hunching over to bellow out deep chuckles. Robin joined him, the two tag teaming your pride with obnoxious laughs. It wasn’t even that damn funny. As much as they enjoyed bullying you for gawking at the tall boy, they didn’t want to get kicked out of the theater before to movie could end, so they hushed themselves to quiet whimpers of amusement before they looked back at the screen. Too late.

“I’m going to have to ask you three to leave.” a noisily voice spoke, shining a flashlight in your eyes and switching from blinding you and Steve, to Robin.“But-.” you tried.

“Out!” the three of you stood, not bothering to laugh quietly as you practically ran out of the building.“I can’t believe we just got kicked out, all because you two don’t know when to shut up.” you spoke, following Robin to her car before making your way back to Steves. “No, we got kicked out because your obviousness is hilarious.” she spoke with a wink, causing a groan to leave your lips as you softly punched at her shoulder.

“Leave her be Rob, think you’ve traumatized the girl enough, huh?” Steve commented jokingly in your defense, choosing to wrap an arm around your waist casually as he leaned against the back door of her car. This had you heating up, body finding itself tucked under Steve’s arm comfortably with a flush. “God, I’m going to vomit. Later dorks!” with that she got into her car, you and Steve stepping away to let her pull out. Setting off towards his car once she was gone.

“So, how do you like Robin?” he asked, not letting you go even as it was just the two of you, glancing down at you.“She’s cool,” you spoke looking up at him through your lashes, face flushing at how close his was to yours, “a lot cooler than you.” He pulled away from you, the loss of contact making your body go rigid in the cold night air of Hawkins. He slapped a hand over his heart mockingly, letting out a scoff before stomping past you with a small grin.

“Can’t believe my best friend likes my friend more than me.” with a shake of your head and a laugh you followed close behind him, hopping onto his back and almost sending the two of you to the concrete with it’s force.“Shut up Stevie, y’know I love you.” his hands dropped your thighs, your body sliding slowly down his back as he turned to you. Oh no, should you not have said that? You two say ‘I love you’ all the time, what was wrong with that now?

“Do you?” he asked, pulling his hands up to cup your burning cheeks, “Do you love me, Y/N?”“Of course, I love you doofus-” he cut you off with a shake of his head, pulling your body closer to his and resting his forehead against yours with open eyes. His heart out on his sleeve for you to devour if you wanted to, which he hoped you would.

“No. Do. You. Love. Me. You know what I mean, Sweets.” he spoke with pauses, hoping its effect would put you on the same wavelength as him. And it worked.“You’re my bestfriend Steve. I don’t want us to ruin anything.” he nodded in slight agreement, sighing softly before choosing to speak again.

“We won’t ruin anything. I swear you were made for me, please let this happen, we’ve been dancing around our feelings for months now. I need you to tell me, Y/N” he thumbed at your cheekbones, sending a shiver down your spind as he pulled away and looked deep into your eyes. It was now or never. You were going to admit your feelings out loud to Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington.“I love you, Steve, I think I always have.” with that, a large grin spread across his features, his eyes flickering down to your lips then back up to yours.

“I love you too, but if you don’t let me kiss you, I might go on a rampage across Hawkins.” he joked, heart warming at the slight giggle you let out.“Wouldn’t want you putting that bat to work before you really needed it, now do we? Yes, you can kiss me Steve.” you all but bounced in your place, belief not finding its way to your mind as he leaned in with a chuckle. You were going to kiss Steve.

“God you’re perfect.” he connected your lips in a soft yet urgent kiss. It was more of a peck than a kiss, pulling back to make sure you were okay.You sent him a smile, face continuing to flush. That was all he needed before he connected your lips once more, deepening the kiss with a hunger that neither you nor he could deny. One hand dropped from your cheek, snaking its way around your waist to pull you as close as he could get you, wishing your bodies could melt into one. Your hands found purchase on the nape of his neck, one sliding down to land on the pecks of his toned chest. You were kissing your best friend. Neither of you would ever admit this, but it felt like a long time coming. Hands rushed around each other's bodies and squeezed, hoping this would last forever. As cheesy as it sounds, the two of you could practically feel the figurative fireworks between your lips, tongues clashing at one point.

Less than ten minutes away, Robin Buckley sped down the streets of Hawkins back to her house. With a happy and soaring heart, she belted out the song playing on her car radio with a large grin for ultimately being a matchmaker.

“Oh, they’re so weird and they’re wonderful! Oh, Bennie, she’s really keen! She's got electric boots, a mohair suit! You know I read it in a magazine, oh!” She slapped her hands against her steering wheel, nodding her head along to the loud beat that flooded her car, “B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets!”

#steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #joe keery #friends to lovers #fluff #slight angst #one shot #steve the hair harrington #robin buckley #steve harrington x fem!reader #fem!reader #fanfic

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 143 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: mowing the lawn.

BASIRA: "Eyes peeled." [PAUSE.] JON: "Was that a joke?" BASIRA: "Yeah." That is exactly my kind of joke! xD Absolutely love it!

BASIRA: "Where is everybody?" MANUELA: (scoffs) "Go to hell!" JON: (overlapping) "Answer her." [BIG, BOOMING STATIC AGAIN.] MANUELA: "They’re dead. Because of you.” So yes, following up on MAG 141 (Jon telling Floyd to take a break, though that seemed to be more hypnotic than compulsive), can Jon just tell people what to do, is that something that was included in the latest compulsion patch? I don't think it happens again... Yeah, Jon tells Manuela (and also Peter in MAG 159) "tell me", but that’s just a follow-up to the question he already asked.

"Three hundred years from the failure that birthed the thing that preached from the depths of Maxwell Rayner." Wait, so is it not Halley in there anymore? Or am I taking it too literally, and it was still him but now one with the Dark.

"It was to be a week of night and horror, culminating in the eclipse that passed over Ny-Ålesund on the 20th of March, 2015" So on the 15th of March/May/whatever it was still the buildup phase of the ritual. Which was convenient for Gertrude, because she didn't have to rely so much on just one specific point in time to get her plan done. (Didn't work out in the end though, but well...) Also coming back to March/May, May for the Hither Green collapse doesn’t make any sense. MAG 11 was in March, in MAG 40 Elias says March. In rl the eclipse in Norway was also on the 20th March 2015, not May. 

"To begin our seven day feast, we slew the still and lightless beast, and drank of its stagnant blood, submerging the first of the sacrifices in the brackish water it had blessed with its stillness." The Lightless Beast was my favorite monster, RIP v.v So sad it ended that way, I wish there would have been more. Whenever it got some screen time, I got goosebumps.

"But I remember her brute of a husband. He fed the beast for us, you know, when first he believed Lynette might still be saved. Then, later, we faithful served as his fuel to banish it." Okay, am I understanding this correctly: First Robert Montauk fed the beast, then he tried to banish the beast. So which one of those two where the hearts for? I'd say banishing it? Because he did that right until he got arrested, so if the banishment came later, that would match. Also in that moment, when he stabbed the heart, the beast vanished (and that blue light - the light also probably being more a sign of banishment than feeding). Also Rayner says “You didn’t think you could kill it for long, did you?" Kill it sounds more like banishing. What was feeding it then? Those victims on the photos with the symbols on their faces?

"That’s the thing about darkness, isn’t it? You try your hardest to eradicate, flood your surroundings with light, but it’s always there at the edges, waiting for the glow to weaken, to return and cover you forever." Hmmm. If I recall correctly, that is what they used in Lights Out, the feature length film to the eponymous short movie it was based on. God, that short film was excellent, the feature length not so much. Some things only work as short stories and trying to stretch it out and add more and more makes it feel forced.

Just quickly pointing out that Manuela is such a theater kid... the drama of her phrasing! xD

This statement is, I think, the closest we ever get to "delusional" rambling of a cult member about their god(s). I very much dislike those, not because they're scary, but because I find them annoying. It’s the reason why I have such a hard time with The Silt Verses and it also annoyed me in Tunnels. It's just not something for me. And yet, while this statement also has the overly dramatic tone and rambling about worshiping and such, it doesn't annoy me. It's not that strong in a way that I have encountered in other stories. But, it's also not something I find particularly engaging for me.

BASIRA: "Ask her how we can destroy it." JON: "I know how. I just need to see it." The Dark is antithetical to the Eye. The Dark Sun, in its ritual purpose, is supposed to erase sight forever. A thing like this being actually seen by someone who is all about sight, who then even lived to tell the tale makes it lose its power. I love how everything makes sense in this goddamn podcast (except for a few timelines xD).

BASIRA: (overlapping) "Look, it’s okay, John. No one else knows it’s here. And if we just leave it, no one will know." JON: "No, I – (inhale) I’m doing this." What is it, that makes Jon want to see it so badly? (Eye-related) curiosity? Self-destructiveness? The wish to actually destroy the Dark Sun so they can be sure that it won't do any further harm? ... A little spider tugging him towards his second to last mark?

JON: “Get out.” [BASIRA LEAVES. THE ARCHIVIST TAKES SEVERAL STEADYING BREATHS, AND THEN OPENS THE DOOR.] [THE DARK SUN SOUNDS MELODIC, LIKE PIPES GROANING HARMONICS INTO THE WIND, LIKE THE MOURNFUL NOTES OF A CREAKING IRON GATE AS IT IS OPENED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YEARS.] [AN ENORMOUS RUSH OF STATIC BEGINS BUILDING; IT IS NOT THE ARCHIVIST’S STATIC, IS MUCH TOO REEDY AND WISPY FOR THAT.] JON: "It’s – It’s beautiful." [THE STATIC OVERTAKES THE AUDIO FIELD; MANUELA GASPS AND SCREAMS –] MANUELA: "No – NO!" [ALL AT ONCE THE STATIC RUSHES AWAY.] BASIRA: "Jon!" Okay this is the scene I probably have the most critique for when it comes to its execution. But first I also wanna say that the "THE ARCHIVIST TAKES SEVERAL STEADYING BREATHS" ist great acting-wise again. Cause while these breaths are steady, they also get kinda trembling then. Like psyching yourself up to do something you're really afraid of and you are getting more and more afraid in anticipation. And there is a lot of emphasis on how afraid Jon is of his marks in this season (MAG 132 - "I'm scared? When does the fear go away?" / MAG 158 - Elias: "Are you scared, Jon?" - Jon: "Yes."). So, I personally think there should have been a biiiit more time between Jon saying "It's beautiful" and everything suddenly stopping and Basira coming back. It kinda loses weight for me here since it's so short, like it was nothing at all. Just a few more seconds to let it build a bit more, that is all. Am I the only one with this? Any opinions? Also did Jon collapse there again after Basira calls out to him? xD There is a "thud" to be heard before he answers. It's in neither the fan transcript nor the official one, but I'd say it's very clear.

[THEN A SOFT STATIC BEGINS TO FUZZ IN THE BACKGROUND. IT IS ONE WE KNOW, ONE WE HAVE HEARD MANY TIMES BEFORE. A DOOR CREAKS OPEN.] JON: "Did you catch her?" HELEN: "Yes." [THE ARCHIVIST GASPS: THIS IS NOT WHO HE HAD BEEN EXPECTING.] This is pretty much prove that no one can hear the staticky or squealing interference the Fears leave upon the tapes. Otherwise Jon would have already known it's Helen (or something else). I've read this a few times to be a little pet peeve for fan fictions and while I agree that I'd say it's not audible for the characters experiencing it live and it only distorts the tape, I do like to read them as a sort of change in atmosphere. Sort of like a gut feeling you get. The Distortion gives you a headache or makes you get a bit nauseous. The Vast gives you vertigo. With the Lonely it gets colder and such. Maybe not necessary every person is receptive to them, be it at all or just certain Fears, but I think it gives it a bit more spookiness.

HELEN: "How was it?" JON: "Hm?" HELEN: "Looking upon the Dark." JON: "I thought I was going to die." HELEN: "You seem to think that a lot. I remember when you thought you were going to die at my threshold." Classic Distortion move... Jon just had a horrific experience and Helen devalues it. And then she reminds him of another horrific experience like "Haha, remember that, good times"... Helen plays that game so much better than Michael did. She says things that really get me thinking for a long time after the scene.

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 143 #tma #tma spoilers

[kiridarling]

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐄

d.kaminari and h.sero | f!reader + corruption + weed/shotguning + praise + threesome + more! minors dni!

— 3.6k words

"I knew I wanted you the second I saw you."

Denki’s addicted to the pre-concert high.

His veins hum with a song that has yet to start, fingers drumming some mixed beat on the body of his electric guitar as he assumes his place on the dark stage. The theater’s dead silent, the room suspended in a titilating anticipation—and the steady rhythm Denki's heart dissapates into chaos when the faint crack of Eijirou's drumsticks bounce off the walls, and the click in his earpiece begins.

Eijirou hits the kick drum once. Twice. Then his hands fly across the set in a flurry, the rolling beat echoing into the packed arena and spurring the crowd to explode, fans flying to their feet to render their vocal cords for the night.

As the other instruments fill the blank space, Denki's hand grips the back of his guitar's neck, on hold for his solo, and by the time the electric blond steps up to the mic, pavlov's theory has already kicked in overdrive.

"Who’s ready to feel good tonight?”

“Dude, I’m on fucking fire!” Denki vibrates, nearly glowing in comparison to his bandmates as they sift through a flurry of fans at a meet and greet. It always seems like Denki and Eijirou are the only ones with energy after a good show—but what can he say? Being on stage lights him up like a live wire.

"You said that last concert, buddy," Hanta snorts, before his a fan ran sacks his attention by shoving a tiara into his hairline.

"And? My point still stan—" Denki cuts himself off with a gasp as a bra slings across his face, followed by a burst of pain when the metal hits him in the cheek. He peels the lacy thing off with an eye on the audience and an eyebrow raised in question, unsure of what to do with the undergarment (other than put it on) until someone screams:

“Sign it!”

Denki shrugs and pops the Sharpie cap with his teeth to sign the crest of both cups before flinging it back into the audience—he can only pray it pinpoints its rightful owner before the meet and greet ends.

Katsuki clicks his tongue (because he hates these events) and as the next round of fans lineup in front of their table, Eijirou stretches like this is a sport, saying, “Guess it’s go-time.”

"Go-time is when we perform," Katsuki grumbles in the seat to Denki’s right. "Go-time is when we're in the studio makin' a goddamn album, not meeting crazy fuckin' fans—no, I’m not gonna marry you, you obsessed fuckin—“

“Oh, you're just salty you're not popular with the ladies~“ Denki gushes, wiggling his eyebrows, and a fan hands him a canvas the size of his upper body. “Un—oh wow, did you make this for me—Unlike me, of course.”

"Okay, pretty boy." Hanta rolls his eyes, before signing a phone case and returning it to an overzealous fan. With a hand covering his mouth, he whispers, “Can you believe this guy? So full of himself, I swear.”

The fan giggles and Hanta meets the blushing cheeks with a satisfied smirk. Denki huffs from the disrespect, crossing both arms over his chest. “Full of myself? It’s not my fault I’m sexy—*an autograph? Of course!"

Katsuki chuckles, scratching under his chin with ink blue fingertips, "Call yourself sexy one more fuckin’ time and I'm projectile vomiti—no, I'm not signing your tits, give me a goddamn paper or somethin—"

"What?” Denki scoffs, chest collapsing with the disbelief that one could make such a lie. “I'm literally the definition of I'm sexy and I kno—"

"Um, excuse me?"

His gesticulations freeze at the passive voice, arms stretched wide and to the sky, and Denki knows he has to look absolutely ridiculous as he blinks down at the next person in-line; who's stood with bambi eyes and such a sweet smile the electric blond thinks it might make him sick.

"I-I'm your biggest fan! Could you—um, please sign this for me?"

She comes alive, shoving a poster into his chest with pink cheeks and shifty irises. Out of all the bras, all the breasts he's been asked to sign today, and here you are, with your pocket-sized poster and your lamb countenance. Denki beams.

"Of course, Sweetness! What's your name?"

"[Y/N]!" you say, giggling, and it's so. Cute. Denki opens the Sharpie and struggles to focus on signing instead of your gorgeous fucking face.

"Anything specific you'd like me to say?"

And he knows there's a rule—there always are when it comes to these things, and it's simple: don't fuck the fans. As tempting as it is, don't invite them back to your hotel room because there are too many uncertainties, and if something leaks to the press that’s possibly career ending, that’s it. So, Denki holds his tongue. For the future of himself and the band.

"Uhm, just write what you want! I...I think I'd like it best if it was authentic and came straight from you, so."

Fuck. Of course she does.

And maybe Denki just can't help it when he leans down to speak, perhaps a little lower, "You want something more authentic, cutie?"

You light up like a kid on Christmas, gasping, "Yes please Mr. Kaminari!"

So eager, too.

"Awe, you can call me Denki if you'd like," he coos, and you nod so quickly he starts to worry about whiplash. "Meet me out back, in the alley behind the venue if you wanna get to know me better. Sound like a deal?”

"O-Okay!" You nod, and when he returns your sign you grip it tight between both hands. "I'll um, see you soon Mr. Kami—I mean, D-Denki!"

You flush from the mix up and bow in apology, and Denki knows he's made the right choice when you light up, indicating you have no idea what he meant at all.

"Row row row your boat, gently down the stream," you hum, sniffling. You’re unsure if your nose is running, it's too frozen to tell, and it has you patting to confirm it’s presence. With your hands stuffed in your pockets and a jacket wrapped tight around your body, you'd think you'd be warm, but no.

The alley is dark. It's dank enough that you can smell it and you're positive what you're dancing in is vomit, but none the matter—today, you met your favorite band. Literally the people you'd die for.

"Merrily, merrily," kicking the loose rocks in the gravel every which way, you enjoy the sound of them scattering against the surrounding brick walls. "Merrily, merrily..."

"Life is but a dream," a voice finishes, a yelp rips from your throat and you jump twenty feet in alarm. But you’d know that voice anywhere; Denki chuckles at your reaction and it has you recoiling with timidity, unprepared for the surprised audience. "You have a lovely voice, Cutie. You should use it more often."

"I..." but you're not exactly sure what to say to that, knowing Denki's heard so many professional voices in his career to last a lifetime, and yet yours is lovely. "T-Thank you."

Denki watches your reaction with a hum and a smile, his visible breath escaping between the slit of his lips and into the cool air.

"Of course, Cutie."

Another voice sighs, shattering the friction that fills your gut when Denki gives you that look. You're not sure what to call it, but it makes you shiver, and that's enough to make you to run and hide.

"...Denki, who's this?"

"Um," the blond places his frozen hands in his pockets and swivels his head around to Hanta, guilty written all over his face. "A fan?"

Hanta sighs again, head tilting to the right in exhausperation, “Denki—"

"I know, I know," the electric blond sighs, waving him off. "But it's fine as long as we don't get caught, right?"

Hanta's black hair threatens to fall into his face so he combs through it, and you try not to drool at the sight of his bicep flexing. "Yeah, until we get caught."

A honk blares and it has you shrieking, to reveal a parked tour bus in the alley once the lights flicker on. Denki points the car keys at the vehicle and the doors swing open. "Awe c'mon, don't be a sour puss. It's a one-time thing, alright?"

Hanta's eyes narrow into slits.

"Seriously, dude! I'm a man of my word! On God."

The noirette's shoulders sag, but he waltzes around both of you to get on the bus. Over his shoulder, he warns, "Denki I swear to fucking god—"

"I'll be careful, I'll be careful~" he singsongs, hopping onto the stairs after the pianist. When Denki notices not you're not moving, he stills at the top step. "You coming, [Y/N]?"

"O-Oh, am I um, am I allowed?" You ask, biting your cheek at the thought of what Hanta just said as you peer around the electric blond’s body. Denki snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, you're allowed," he exits the bus, only to tug you on via your collar. "Now c'mon! Let's have some fun, yeah?"

"Okay!"

Denki steers you through the bus and into a space that looks a bit like a living room, with a couch, tv, and a makeshift kitchen in the corner. Following Denki to the kitchen, you look around.

"Where are Kirishima and Bakugou?"

"Out drinking," Denki tosses, flicking open a RedBull. You wonder if this is always the post-concert routine. Hanta fiddles in with something on the couch, but he still has yet to look you in the eyes tonight, even when you ask him:

"What are you doing?"

It seems he didn't realize you’ve relocated from the kitchen to the couch next to him from the noirette nearly jumps. The green stuff in his fingers crumbles, and you scrunch your nose at the smell.

"It stinks," you add. Denki snorts, jumping onto the cushion to your right. There isn’t a whole lot of room and his addition causes your shoulders to slush between the two of them, but it’s strangely comfortable.

"It's weed," he explains like it's obvious. "You smoke, Cutie?"

"Obviously not," you and Hanta say at the same time. You turn his way, and for the first time that night, Hanta looks you in the eyes—and it's a smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners, but there's...something else. Something else hidden behind the thinnest veil that makes you cower, if ever so slightly.

Something feral.

Denki, unaware of the crushing grip your hand has around your thigh, huffs, and tosses the energy drink down his gullet, "It was a genuine question! Geez."

"What are you doing?" You ask again, and the electric blond whimpers from being ignored.

"Rolling a joint," he utters, lifting the paper to his lips to lick the length. You watch, semi-disgusted, as Hanta finally folds over the last bit of paper around the crest of the joint, gluing it together.

"Know what a joint is?" The noirette implores.

"Yeah," you breathe, shifting at the new closeness Denki provides when you feel his chest against your back. "My roommate smokes, so."

Hanta taps it on a tray, or what Denki describes as "packing it down," before twisting the tip and tossing it back onto the tray in conclusion. Denki cheers.

"Aha! The joint-rolling master has blessed us! Everyone say thank you, joint-rolling master."

"Thank you, joint-rolling master!" You giggle when Hanta's face turns a ruddy red. He reaches over to pop Denki upside the head. Denki gasps, before lunging to return the favor, and you squeal from being jostled between two men.

"Okay," when Denki returns to his seat he's panting and so is the noirette. He picks the joint off the tray and though there isn't much room, turns so he's facing you, your legs smushed against his body indian style. "You ready, Cutie?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," you huff, swinging your arms in preparation despite the lack of space. Just in case.

Hanta snorts, holding the joint to your lips, and Denki raises the lighter and raises it to the end until it's hot enough to burn on its own.

“Now suck."

You do, cheeks puffing, and you blow the smoke straight in Denki's face. It's...a lot.

"Not quite," Hanta chuckles, and flips you via the waist so you're facing him. Denki whines from the change but finds solace in hooking his chin over your shoulder. "Suck, and then inhale. Act like it's a big breath—you gotta hold it in your lungs for a sec."

"Okay," you assert with a nod, eyes burning with a new determination. When Hanta holds it to your lips, you suck and inhale, and start coughing your throat raw, in a flurry of smoke and tears, eyes watering and nose burning. You scramble for water, but by the time you get some, the only thing that's left to soothe is a sore throat.

"Here," Denki offers, grabbing the joint before flipping you his way again. "Take smaller hits, like this."

Denki's mouth wraps around the tip and smoke pours from his lips so smoothly you're determined to do the same. With a raised eyebrow, he passes it back to you, and though it takes a moment, you try again.

The back of your throat tingles but the glide is much smoother, and you find that it doesn't burn on your next exhale. So you do it again. And again. And agai—

"Okay," Hanta picks the joint from your fingers with a click of his tongue, before taking a hit himself. You frown, making grabby hands.

"Hey, wai—"

"Nu-uh," he tuts, pushing you down by your forehead. "You'll feel it soon enough, trust me."

You whine, crossing your arms over your chest. Hanta gives you nothing but a raised eyebrow as he takes another hit, and you're convinced it's to taunt you. "I'm not eve—"

But then the world blurs, a bit, and your legs hum in a way they haven't before; it's warm and it's nice, and it has you blinking down at your hands in bewilderment. Whoa.

"And there she goes," Denki announces, and somehow seized the joint from the noirette when you weren't looking. Your mouth drops to say something, but all you can produce is a light giggle before it melts into a guffaw that only comes straight from the gut, your hands trying to soothe your cramping belly. Tears come to your eyes fairly easily, and when Hanta asks if you're okay he sounds like he's underwater, and that's enough to send you flying through another fit of laughs.

"I—y-yeah, I'm just—just fine," you snort behind a hand, chest spasming as you finally gather yourself enough to calm down. "I'm good. Mhm."

"Yep. Totally fine," Hanta says, but something in his tone suggests he doesn't believe you at all.

You nod, biting your bottom lip to avoid another laugh attack with your hands bunching the bottom of your shirt for extra purchase. Hanta narrows his eyes while taking another hit, so you sock him in the shoulder with a huff. "Stop looking at me like that."

The noirette snorts, "Like what?"

"Like..." you start strong, but falter under his eyes. "Like you want to eat me."

Hanta hums at the comment but says nothing, and you're not sure if your mind fabricated the quick look he gives the electric blond sat behind you. Denki speaks first.

"Do you know what shotgunning is, [Y/N]?"

You frown, "Like a shotgun?"

"So no," Hanta answers for you.

"Here," Denki offers, turning you again. Plucking the nub of a joint from the noirette, he takes a big hit before picking your face up by the jaw and hovering your lips over yours. You're not sure what to do, but once your lips connect, smoke fills your lungs, and you don't exhale until Denki pulls away. You blink, a little dazed.

You just kissed Denki Kaminari.

"Feel good?" He asks, never leaving your personal space. You nod, and he grins. "Wanna do it again?"

Your hands fist his shirt, teeth tearing the inside of your cheek due to the amount of embarrassment this question encourages. "I wan—can we do it again but without the um...without the smoke?"

Denki's hands find your hips and it's hard for him to contain a sly smirk, biting his lips to move in on his prey.

"I knew I waned you the second I saw you."

Denki's lips feel much better when he puts a little weight into the kiss, pinning you between him and the noirette. You're not exactly sure what you're doing but he takes the lead, titling his head and kissing harder, rougher, so your lips are pink and swollen by the time he pulls away.

"A-Another," you whimper, tightening your grip around his tee.

Denki hums in contemplation, picking your head up by your chin. "Ask nicely, Cutie."

Flushing deeper, your eyes dart to the coffee table.

“Another, please."

"Good girl," Denki coos, and he's propping you up against Hanta's chest. You shiver at the comment, finding purchase on Hanta's thighs as Denki kisses you on the lips again. "Wanna feel even better?"

"Yes," you nod vehemently. "Yes please."

Denki hums at that, climbing down your body as his hands glide from your waist to the band of your pants. You frown, "What—What are you doing?"

"Eating you out, Cutie," the electric blond says, hands freezing once his thumbs dip under your waistband. "That okay?"

"Oh okay," you breathe, relaxing against Hanta's chest. "Y-Yeah, that's fine."

Denki rips your pants off at that, tossing them towards the corner of the room and ultimately, to a place you'll probably never find them. Pushing your panties to the side, he licks his lips at the sight of your pussy, and flicks your clit with a smirk. You jump.

"H-Hey, that's not—"

He flattens his tongue against your slit and chuckles when you shudder, and after tossing both of your legs over his shoulders. You're not sure what he does after that though, because Hanta picks your face up by the chin and presses his lips to yours.

Denki slides a finger inside and you squeal against Hanta's chapped lips. You hear the electric blond moan, readjusting himself between your thighs, before you finally peel your lips off the noirette's, chest having from lack of oxygen.

"Such a pretty pussy, Baby," Denki gushes before his warm lips fold around your clit and he sucks, humming in surprise when you buck against his mouth. Hanta hooks his chin around your shoulder with a second joint dangling between his lips—and where it came from is beyond you.

Once he exhales, the joint finds its way between your lips and he instructs you to inhale, and the head rush afterwards has you digging your head into his chest.

"You're so wet, holy shit," Denki pulls away, lips strawberry pink and glossed with slick as he trades his both for his thumb and inserting another finger. It crooks just right and that's enough to make your hips buck, nails carving crescents in Hanta's thighs.

“T-There,” you whimper, wiggling your hips again, and Denki grins, thumb pressing into your clit. Your thighs quiver with the strain it takes to hold them back and Hanta’s calloused hands skip to your waist after dropping the burning joint off in the tray.

“Pull his hair,” the noirette commands, but you hesitate, hands glued to his thighs. Hanta sighs, reaching over you to tug for himself.

“Mph—fuck!” Denki’s eyelids flutter as he moans into your pussy with a new passion, his hands wrapping around your thighs to hold you in place. You gasp at his reaction, fingers scrambling under Hanta’s own to thread through his electric blond hair.

“Move your hips—grind against his face, c’mon,” Hanta’s grip tightens around your waist as he offers the suggestion, and you whimper with a nod before your bucking into Denki’s mouth without abandon. As the noirette trails butterfly kisses up the column of your neck, the coil in your gut snaps, and you barely have time to squeak out a warning before you’re flooding Denki’s mouth.

“Good girl...ride it out—there you go,” Hanta coos, biting your ear. You shiver as Denki pulls away with a final (and obscene) slurp, grinning like he didn’t just shatter you to pieces with nothing but his tongue and fingers.

Denki’s lips are on yours in a blink—you moan, legs still buzzing from the afterglow as you weakly grope for the small hairs on the back of his neck.

“Taste good, don’t ya?” He says with a click of a tongue after pulling away.

“I guess so,” you flush, the humiliation from so shamelessly digging your heels into Denki’s back finally settling in. Hanta reaches under your arm for Denki’s chin.

“What? Want a taste too?” The electric blond giggles, wiggling his eyebrows. Hanta snorts.

“If you could be so kind.”

Denki hums at that, placing a hand on your inner thigh for balance as he slams his lips on the noirette’s for the first time that night. He dives straight for the kill, tongue and teeth and everything, and Denki moas when Hanta’s teeth sink into his bottom lip; you find that you like it a lot.

Though eventually you tired of watching, and press the heel of your hand on Hanta’s hard cock through the fabric of his jeans. The pianist hisses, and you grin—you’ve got their attention now.

“Whoa Sweetheart, what are y—“

“I...I want more,” you assert despite the tremor in your voice. Hanta raises an eyebrow in question which has you pressing harder in hopes he’ll cave just as easily as before. Just in case, you add, “Please.”

Denki redirects your attention by squishing your cheeks until you’re looking him in the eyes. With dark eyes, he says, “You sure you want more, Cutie?”

You nod despite the restriction, “Wanna...wanna get to know you better.”

You watch Denki’s pupils dialate at that, and he can’t even hold back a groan when he says:

“Gods, Baby. We’re going to ruin you.”

unpopular opinion: bakugou's the bassist and kirishima's the drummer. fight me.

not me projecting 12yo sun's fantasy of getting railed in the tour bus by 5sos um—

#— 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 #kaminari smut #sero smut #kaminari x reader #sero x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

[proud-mama-joyce]

Another look at a strangerwriters picture tweet

What to make of this old tweet from the official writers’ account from 2020?

These are all taken from S3:E7, “The Bite.” To review (with some added context for anyone not in the US):

Joyce and Hopper run inside the Gravitron ride at the Hawkins Fun Fair in order to ask Karen where the kids are. Hopper tries to stop the ride, but is unsuccessful and they are forced to ride it. They share this look as the ride starts spinning faster. (The Gravitron is a ride that works by spinning so quickly that the people inside get plastered against the walls and lifted upward by the centrifugal force. As you might imagine, it would get shut down frequently for the interior to be cleaned.)

In the grocery store, El is working to find Dustin’s location with her powers. Nearby, Lucas starts drinking a New Coke and the others, particularly Mike, express disgust. Mike says, “How do you even drink that?” (New Coke was an updated formula of Coke in 1985 that was so widely despised that the old version was re-introduced after just 3 months.)

Robin and Steve, loopy from Russian drugs, stop for some water outside the movie theater while Robin tries to make sense of the plot of Back to the Future, to Steve’s confusion (“I’m pretty sure that mom was trying to bang her son”).

Mike and El sit in the grocery store, tending to El’s leg wound from the Mind Flayer. Mike awkwardly struggles with his words as he tries to make amends, not quite able to say “I love you” to her (the “blank makes you crazy” scene).

I see a common theme in the first three: “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Joyce & Hopper: “I think I’m gonna be sick, but guess we have no choice now.”

Mike & co. to Lucas: “I think I’m gonna be sick, how could anyone actually *like* that?”

Steve: “I think I’m gonna be sick, and that incestual relationship talk is confusing.”

I think the connection here is driven home by the fact that Steve literally gets sick right after his exchange.

So, Mike, what’s up?

 Mike: “I think I’m gonna be sick, but (???)”

 Is the tweet hinting that Mike’s feelings in the fourth picture are similar to the other three? Mike’s usually confident with his words, unlike here where he’s fumbling. The idea of nausea/revulsion is more explicitly tied to the context in the first three pictures, suggesting that it’s lingering under the surface for Mike in the fourth picture.

You could try to see this through a M*leven lens, with Mike thinking along the lines of, “I think I’m gonna be sick, but I have to power through the nerves because I love her.” If we relate this to the other pictures, we might interpret the commonalities as:

The solidarity with someone you care about from Joyce and Hopper’s scene (El tries to help Mike through the conversation; or, Mike trusts El even though he’s nervous)

The disbelief from Lucas’s scene (Mike gets exasperated by his attempts to communicate)

The confusion from Steve’s scene (Mike is confused about navigating a relationship due to his inexperience)

Okay, so that could mostly work. The first one might be a stretch, since the picture itself focuses on Joyce and Hopper’s “oh God, here we go” faces rather than their linked hands a few seconds later, and El trips up Mike even more in the conversation.

 But…

 Through a Byler lens, there are some pretty specific comparisons to be made:

Like Joyce and Hopper on their ride, Mike feels trapped and resigned to going through with a predictable, but unpleasant, experience by telling El that he loves her (because that’s what “normal” boyfriends do)

Like Mike’s own reaction to Lucas, Mike has a hard time understanding the perspective of people who like something he doesn’t, when he feels repulsed by it (read: he’s gay and doesn’t know how to make himself like girls)

Like Steve, Mike’s feeling blurry, confused, and vaguely incestuous about the idea of being with El (because she’s important to him—in a familial way, like Marty McFly’s mom—but he doesn’t feel romantic about her)

In other words, “I think I’m gonna be sick, but I have to try to be normal.”

 Inexperience and nerves, or gay crisis short-circuiting? (Both? Both.)

 This interpretation of the tweet’s intent could, of course, be wrong. But if they do intend us to compare Mike’s state of mind in the fourth picture to the other three, then it seems to me that we’d have to think much more generally about the connections in order for the M*leven version to fit.

 And the only character depicted who’s not actively participating in the communication of the exchanges is Will, who’s just looking on quietly and patiently…interesting.

#byler #byler is canon #stranger things #stranger things analysis #mike wheeler is gay

[hbalto]

Girl Talk and Toxic Boys

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS A VERY BRIEF SCENE INVOLVING SA, THOSE WHO ARE SENSITIVE TO THE SUBJECT ARE ADVISED TO NOT READ THIS STORY

Rated T for what is mentioned above, hints of other sexual situations, and the act of women talking about their men.

(NOTE: This takes place before the events of Sing 2)

“Alright, gang, great job on tonight! See you tomorrow!” Buster said as he clapped his hand together with his usual optimistic attitude.

“Finally,” Ash groaned. The teenage porcupine felt twice her age as she stretched her arms and legs out of exhaustion. As she put her guitar back in its case, Ash wondered just how exactly she was going to get home tonight. Call an Uber? Nah, too expensive. Walk? Nah, too far. Ask a friend? Well, maybe but-

“Hey, Ash! Great job today, sweetie!”

Ash turned to see the smiling face of Rosita, the mother pig with the voice of an angel. 

“Thanks, Rosita, you did good, too.” Ash smiled back.

Ash, much like everyone at the New Moon Theater, saw Rosita as the mom of the group (both figuratively and literally) and had all grown close to her, and her family. Ash, Johnny, and Meena had all found themselves being the babysitters for all 25 of Rositas piglets on more than one occasion. But that was alright, Ash was pretty okay with kids, and quite a few of the piglets loved to hear her shred on the guitar. 

Out of all the people in the theater group, Ash and Johnny were the ones who felt the most close to Rosita. Johnny’s mother had died before he could even have memories of her, and Rosita was usually the one who comforted Johnny whenever he felt inadequate, nervous about an upcoming performance, or just felt as though he needed a mothers touch. All of Rosita’s piglets labeled Johnny as their “Big Brother.”

Ash’s mother was still alive, well, that’s what the young porcupine thought, anyway. Ash hadn’t heard from her mother in about a year and a half, the teenage porcupine’s last contact with her mother mostly consisting of phrases like “disappointed,” "disappointment,” "foolish dreams,” “give up” etc. Needless to say, Ash’s parents had never approved of her goal of becoming a rockstar, and were furious with her decision to move out at young age to pursue her dream with her now ex-boyfriend Lance.

Speaking of Lance, ever since the outdoor show, the cheating dinkelshplat had been calling Ash for weeks, begging her to come back to him while giving her empty apologies. Ash was just annoyed at first, but after the tenth call, she decided to block his number in order to avoid further contact. Rosita was proud of Ash for her decision to try and officially kick Lance out of her life.

“Do you need a ride home, honey?”

“Huh?” Ash asked, Rosita’s question snapping the young rocker out of her thoughts.

“Do you need a ride?” Rosita asked, her voice ridden with motherly love, as always.

“No, Rosita, I’m fine, besides I wouldn’t want to keep you-”

"Oh, no, please, it’s fine! Norman can handle the kids for another few minutes.” Rosita insisted.

Ash knew better than to say no to a mother’s kindness. “Okay, sure.” Ash relented.

“Great!” Rosita exclaimed. “Just follow me to my car.”

Ash grabbed her guitar and followed the mother out to her family van.  

Ash climbed inside and got comfortable as Rosita and climbed in right after and started the car.

“Hey, safety first.” Rosita stated, after seeing that Ash had yet to put her seatbelt on.

“Yeah, okay.” Ash groaned, rolling her eyes.

“You may be a rebel Ash Johannsen, but when you’re with me you’ll at least be safe.” Rosita stated in a stern tone.

“Understood, ma’am.” Ash replied, half-jokingly.

There were a few moments of silence as Rosita drove Ash toward her home. Rosita didn't really want the ride to be so quiet, so she decided to make conversation.

“So,” Rosita started “how’s life been?”

“It’s been alright, I guess.” Ash stated, her paw on her chin as she stared out the car window at the buildings they passed.

“Has Lance tried to contact you recently?” Rosita asked, wanting to make the conversation interesting.

Ash turned to Rosita. “Believe it or not, yes. And not in a way that I’m okay with. Well, in a way that I’m even more not okay with.”

Rosita became concerned. “What do you mean?”

Ash went on. “First, it started off with constant e-mails, all of them saying the exact same thing: ‘I’m sorry, babe; I left her, babe; please take me, babe.”’ Ash described, imitating Lance in a way that made Rosita chuckle.

“And so, I blocked him on there. Then, he decides to use actual mail. Who even uses actual mail to talk to somebody anymore? And once again, it’s the same schtick: ‘I’m sorry, babe; you sing better than her, babe; I really regret it, babe.”’

Again Rosita chuckled at Ash’s imitation of Lance.

Ash’s face got serious as she went on. “but now that he’s realized that won’t work either, now he’s doing something else...”

Rosita looked at Ash, her face riddled with concern. “What’s he doing now?”

Ash continued. “He doesn’t do it often, but now what Lance is doing is that he occasionally, probably like a few times a month, will knock my door, constantly, saying that he just wants to talk and begs me to let him in.”

Rosita was now very concerned. “He does what!? Have you called the police about this?”

“Yeah, but Lance has his ways. He knows how to dodge the law when he’s near it.” Ash said sadly.

Rosita pulled up to Ash’s apartment complex and put the car in park before turning the young porcupine. “Do you know how to file a restraining order?” Rosita asked.

“Not really.” Ash answered. 

“Don’t worry, tomorrow, you and I are going straight to the police station and filling one out so that we can make sure that Lance never even comes near you again.” Rosita stated in a determinant fashion.

Ash was touched. “You’d really do that for me?”

Rosita embraced Ash “Of course, sweetie, you’re like a daughter to me and I would do anything to protect you.” Rosita said sweetly.

The touched Ash embraced Rosita back, happy to be feeling the warm embrace of a mother, the feeling that she had been missing for so long.

When they both let go, Rosita dove into the side of her car door to look her something before pulling out a can of mace. “Here, use this in case Lance tries to get too close to you.”

Ash took the can of mace before asking “Why would you have this?”

Rosita chuckled before answering. ”I honestly didn’t think I would need it after I got married; but with Buster’s outdoor show, that skintight black suit, and this,” she slapped the side of her butt. “I’ve noticed that I’ve been getting ogled at wherever I go. I can’t count the number of scenes Norman has caused whenever he catches somebody looking. ‘STOP STARING AT MY WIFES BUTT!’’ Rosita yelled, imitating her husband before she and Ash shared a laugh.

“Awesome.” Ash said after she finished laughing. “Anyway, thanks for the ride, Rosita. I’ll see you next rehearsal.” Ash said as she climbed out of Rositas van.

“Sure! Bye sweetie!” Rosita said cheerfully.

“Bye.” Ash replied before slamming the van door shut.

After watching Rosita pull away and drive off, Ash turned walked into her apartment, wanting nothing more than to rest after a long day of rehearsing.

*DING!* went the elevator is it stopped at Ashs floor. Ash tried to laugh as she remembered just how hard and time-cosuming it was to haul groceries up to her home. It wasn't until she got off the elevator that she saw that someone was standing outside her door, loudly knocking on it.

'Not again,' Ash groaned internally as she walked up to Lance, still pounding loudly at at his ex-girlfriends door.

"Will you stop that!?" Ash demanded. "You'll wake the neighbors."

Lance turned to face Ash, and it didn't take a genius to notice that he had been drinking heavily. "Heyyyyy, baby." The male porcupine slurred.

Ash's brow furrowed. "I'm not your baby," she deadpanned, having this scenario and conversation almost down to a routine. The only difference being that Lance was absolutely wasted.

"Sssure you are *hic* that Becky girl don't mean a thing to me anymore." Lance slurred, leaning up against the door frame to maintain balance.

"Oh, really? I think you should go to back to her." Ash stated assertively as she shoved Lance out of the way in order to unlock her apartment door.

Lance followed Ash into her apartment as he replied "Nah, baby, she cant compare *hic* to yoouuuuuuu." Lance slurred, his drunken state almost making him fall over as he finished his sentence.

Ash looked at Lance incredulously. "Look at you, you're drunk! And you're only 19! How did you even get into a bar?"

"Ha haaaaa! Oh, you know me, baby. I a know a guy." Lance replied, doing a drunken impression of a stereotypical Italian-American.

Ash stood firm. "You're drunk, Lance. Get out!" The young porcupine rocker stated firmly as she pointed toward her door.

Lance ignored Ash, continuing to move closer to her. "Naaaahhhh, I think I'll stay here. That way, I can make it *hic* up to you for what I diiiid." Lance slurred as he continued to move closer and closer to Ash, invading her personal space.

Ash was getting nervous, and honestly scared. "You had your chance, Lance, and you blew it. Get out! We're over!"

Before Ash could say anything else, Lance grabbed on to her lower hips, towards her skirt and growled "I'll tell you when we're over, bitch."

Lance then lunged at Ash, knocking them both on to the floor.

Since Lance was now on top of Ash, he took this opportunity to start ripping at Ashs clothes as she screamed.

Lance leaned into the frightened Ashs ear and whispered "Nobodys gonna hear you, baby. We *hic* soundproofed this place, remember?"

Ash knew that Lance was right. Back when they were living together, in order to avoid complaints from the neighbors, Lance and Ash had used money they saved up for a special occasion to have a carpenter soundproof the apartment for them. Nevertheless, Ash kept on screaming as Lance tore off her skirt and raised up her shirt, exposing her bra.

Lance was just about to unbutton Ashs pants when, in her state of panic, Ash suddenly remembered that she put the can of mace that Rosita had given her inside one of her pockets. With that, she quickly took advantage of Lance being distracted by the task of unbuttoning her jeans as she reached into her pocket, pulled out the can, aimed for Lance's eyes, and fired.

It was a direct hit.

"AHHHHHHHH!!!" Lance let out a shrill scream as the mace burned his eyes, causing him get off of Ash and stand up, rubbing his eyes with pain. Ash then took this opportunity to angrily do some extra damage by kicking Lance in the nuts, causing him to once again cry out in extreme pain.

Although partially blind due to to the mace, Lance was still able to run his way put of Ash's apartment.

"AND STAY OUT!" Ash screamed angrily after him before slamming her apartment door shut.

Ash breathed a sigh of relief; even if she didn't put out a restraining order, there was no way that Lance was coming back to her after that.

Still, it was obvious that she felt like absolute crap. Ash couldn't believe that Lance really had done something like that to her. Ash needed to talk to someone, someone who would really listen to her, someone who wouldn't judge her, someone who loved her, someone like....

a mother.

Rosita and Norman had finally tucked all 25 of their piglets into bed, and were just about to go to bed themselves, when Rosita heard the text message alert sound on her phone. The mother pig checked her phone and found that the message was from Ash, it read "Come over to my place, please now? Apartment 22."

Without hesitation, Rosita picked up her purse, turned to Norman and said "Honey, I'll be right back. Ash needs me, and it sounds like an emergency."

Norman looked disappointed. "Are you sure you cant at least put on a show in that suit for me before you go?"

Rosita huffed, while her "Shake it Off" performance had helped her and Norman renew their commitment to one another, her skintight black suit improved their sex life even more, almost to the point where Rosita was starting to think that Norman loved the suit more than her.

"Maybe tomorrow night, honey. I really gotta go." Rosita said.

"Oh, okay." Norman groaned as he lay down, feeling defeated.

Rosita rushed down to Ash's apartment complex, feeling nothing but worry for the porcupine who was like another daughter to her.

When Rosita got to Ash's door, she knocked and Ash almost immediately opened the door to let the mother pig in with a defeated look on her face.

"What happened, Ash sweetie?" Rosita asked, her voice filled with motherly concern as they both sat down on Ash's sofa.

"Well, when I got to my apartment door, Lance was here, he pretty much pushed his way in, and then he tried to..." Ash trailed off as her eyes went wide.

It had finally set in on what horrific event had almost befallen Ash not 30 minutes ago. Ash had almost been violated, brutally violated. Violated by a man she used to trust, a man she used to trust intimately, a man who, despite his cheating, never took advantage of her sexually. Ash had been betrayed, again.

"Then he what, Ash?" Rosita asked.

"H-h-he..." Ash stammered as a lump began to form in her throat, and tears began to form in her eyes.

"He tried to what, baby?" Rosita asked, moving closer to Ash and putting her hands gently on the porcupines shoulders.

"He t-tried to r-r-r-r..."

Rosita's eyes went wide as realization kicked in. Lance had tried to sexually assault Ash, she was falling apart, and now it was Rositas job to put her back together.

Rosita gently put a finger to Ashs lips and gently said "It's okay, honey, you dont have to finish that sentence."

That's what made the dam break.

Ash then wailed as she sunk into Rositas arms and cried harder than she'd ever cried before. Rosita then to work, calming her, shh-ing, whispering sweet words into Ashs ear, and telling her that everything was going to be okay.

"I promise, Ash, I'll make sure he never touches you again."

#sing ash #sing rosita #sing 2 #sing 2021 #sing 2016 #sing movie

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

#chris evans #cevans #Details Magazine #2012 #interview

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— US AGAINST THE WORLD ; PART 4 / ?

( credits to @animusrox for this gif )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2247 hot diggy dog

SUMMARY: You have a heart-to-heart conversation with one of your students before the play and you're hit with the realization that your love for Bruce may be more than meets the eye. hence, you’re starting to wonder if it was a mistake you can never fix.

A/N: This one’s long and kinda depressing. I’m in an angsty mood now whoops. Nevertheless, thank you for reading this series, the bagels will make its appearance and enjoy this one folks.

WARNINGS: Anxiety, depressing thoughts.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

The night of the show arrived quicker than you anticipated. The flurry of theatre kids rushing about backstage is quite the sight, feeling the incredible sense of pride of a mother for her children. Yet in prayer, you ask Mrs. Wilson for the gift of strength and ability to manage a bunch of highly-strung teenagers. It’s only Shakespeare after all but you knew that wasn’t the genuine nature behind their stage jitters. With all tickets sold out within a week, it has easily become the biggest event of the year aside from homecoming. It may be a little pretentious for a high school production of an over-performed Shakspeare play to emerge as the highlight of the year, but you know it will help with some of the students’ portfolios for acting school.

The clock ticks—thirty minutes before showtime and panic starts to creep.

Your fingertips dance along the selvage of the extensive drapery of the stage as lighting queues are being run through for the last time. The urge of curiosity lets you crack open the curtain as you peeked at the rest of the theatre. The bustling crowd made up of mostly teenagers with seats rapidly being filled, it’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Amongst the settling audience, you spot Bruce, seated between Mr. Walken, the principal, and Mr. Huckleberry, the vice-principal, likely being shamelessly asked for donations. He looks engaged, but his posture and the gaze of his eyes tell a very different story—Bruce is barely listening to a word they’re saying.

He then turns in the direction of your hiding spot and despite the distance, he catches your eye, immediately recognizing it’s you spying from behind the curtains. You watch the curve of his lips turn up into more of a smirk, swiftly sending a wink your way. You instantly disappear behind the curtains, cheeks burning.

You sometimes find it hard to believe you’re sleeping with the man with no strings attached because you’re incredibly attracted to him.

Someday, you’ll burst out into an exaggerated love confession, and you know it’s going to be ugly. It’s a reality check and right now, it’s the last thing you want. Running away from your problems is more of a habit than a choice as you would rather live in the world your mind has created, where miracles are made and defects cease to exist. Anyone would trade the cruelties of reality for a perfect one yet getting too caught up in a daydream will eventually evolve into toxicity. Bruce orbits the very core of your problems and daydreams. You want to run away from him and allow yourself to be engulfed by his presence at the same time.

You just need...to breathe. Hence, the second dressing room has a weird stench to it. It’s a mess but it’s empty. Yet, it seems you aren’t the only one in need of space, away from everyone else. Shaniqua is seated at the far corner of the room on a crooked metal chair, dressed in a somewhat modernized version of an Elizabethan era dress. Very elaborate and theatrical. Despite her introverted character, she was constantly bright-eyed and keen during your classes. She had a drive like no other. Hell, she miraculously memorized all her lines in two days.

You’ve never seen a furrow of the girl’s brows, until now, and it worries you. Even her glitter-covered eyes could not conceal the dismay they portray with prominence. Gingerly, you made your way to her as she stared at her fidgeting hands. It was only when you settled on the opposite dusty old chair when she finally noticed your presence.

“Stage fright, huh?” you casually asked, resting your arm on the dressing table. She mirrors your posture, heaving a deep sigh, and shakes her head. “No, it’s just,” A pause, her gaze finds yours. You nod, flashing her a smile. It’s a simple gesture that you’re here to listen. “It’s about Oscar...” You catch a hint of a smile as she trailed off and in an instant, your brow raises with curiosity. Oh? Another beat of silence, her eyes dart around the room. You sit quietly with patience because you knew she had more to say.

“It’s just that doing this play has got me thinking a lot about my feelings. I mean, if Romeo and Juliet could be lovers, despite their feuding families, then it must be easy enough for me to admit that I like Oscar.”

“You have a point.” You chuckle, eyes crinkling with amusement. Sometimes she thinks too much for her own good. She reminds you of Bruce. Shaniqua flashes you a faint smile, lips pressed with doubt. “But why am I finding it so hard to just tell him that?”

You stayed silent for a moment or two, mind deep in thought. The chair creaks as you shift in your seat. “Well, could it be that you aren’t sure if he likes you back?”

A hum in response, shrugging coyly as she mumbled a ‘maybe’. Although it was clear as day to you that Oscar liked her back, you wondered if her doubts emerged due to their differences in character. The familiarity of the situation is beginning to feel a lot like deja vu.

“How do you know that someone is the one?” Her sudden question catches you off guard because, in all honesty, you aren’t confident if you knew the answer. A straightforward question, commonly seen in the pages of teenage magazines, written for innocent eyes. You knew its true nature and it terrifies you. The image of Bruce charges through your thoughts like rushing water, memories of times when the two of you were younger clouding your mind. You forcefully push back your university days, buried back deep into your conscience.

“I don’t exactly know the answer to that but in my opinion, it’s—it’s the feeling of completeness when you love them and know they love you. They may be different from you, but it doesn’t make you love them any less. There’s no conflict or strife; it’s just the two of you against the world.”

Those words were raw and genuine, carefully crafted directly from the heart. You weren’t surprised by your words because you’ve thought about it a lot, especially on nights you slept on Bruce’s bed. Maybe, you do love him, and that's a huge ass problem. It’s amazing how unexpected situations tend to encourage apprehension on large issues you never knew existed in the first place. Perhaps it was your astonishing lack of discernment when it came to matters that could potentially alter your life.

Tonight, a sixteen-year-old girl did just that.

Amid your growing anxiety, you manage to catch sight of the wall clock, hung on the other side of the room. It’s now eight minutes until showtime. Your eyes are now wide as you sprung up from your seat in the sudden realization that everyone should be at their respective positions two minutes ago. “Oh God, we’re running late. Shaniqua, word of advice—don’t end up regretting something you didn’t do,” You shoot her a pointed look, index finger stretching towards her. “Now, you really need to go, or we’ll have to delay and you know Mr. Walken hates waiting.”

-

It’s a quarter to nine, and the theatre is empty. Outside, the foyer and the hallways are buzzing with the remaining audience, lingering and sharing inane conversations as others wait for a car to take them home. You had only just finished rearranging the costumes in the wardrobe of the dressing room. You tried to sweep the scatter of glitter all over the floor but it deemed a task as impossible; you’ll deal with it next week.

You’re sitting in the seat at the front row, nearest to the aisle with a large box filled with props on your lap. Alone in transcendental silence, feeling as empty as the theatre itself. It was partly the conversation you had with Shaniqua that hit you with the reminder of all the mistakes you made that have led you to this unchanging world of a blur that takes the blame for the wretched feeling in your chest. Yet, as the show progressed, hearing the words of affection from two lovers had sent your mind reeling. You were desperate to head home, crawl into bed and potentially cry yourself to sleep but the growing anxiety forbids it, you don’t even think you could drive home.

So, you stillness of the theatre reminds you of Edward Hopper’s painting, Solitary Figure in a Theater. With eyes shut, you pretend you are the figure in the painting, sheathed in black, sitting alone in the cavernous dark.

You hear the door of the theatre squeak, swinging open followed by the shuffling of feet. You don’t look at first, too tired anyway. You’d assume someone had either forgotten something or it was the janitor that you’re sure is going to be upset over the glitter massacre in the dressing room. It looked like a crime scene, except it was the murder of a literal unicorn. You made a mental note to send an apology sandwich of some sorts next week.

It was the familiarity in the whiff of cologne that made you snap your eyes wide open, looking over your shoulder to meet with the sight of Bruce, ambling down the aisle towards you. He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “What are you still doing here?” He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “I could ask you the same question.” He settles in the seat next to you, elbow brushing against yours. Your head tilts, gesturing to the box. Bruce merely hums and nods thoughtfully.

“So, how was the play? Does it get a Wayne seal of approval?” There’s a hint of teasing in the curve of your lips as his eyes drift to the stage. “I liked it. The kids have talent.” Your eyes glint with amusement, your smile growing wider. “I never knew you were a fan of romance.” His laugh comes out more like a huff of air, crinkled eyes meeting yours, and nudges you lightly. “Well, now you know.”

He recognizes the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes and the way you’re fussing with the edges of the box on your lap. Something is bothering you and he knows it. He nudges you once more. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You blink once. Then twice, face wincing instinctively. You keep forgetting how well Bruce can read people, especially you. You exhale slowly as he watches you struggle to pick the right words.

“It’s really nothing. It’s just-” you say after a long minute, cutting yourself short. Then, you turn to Bruce. “I’m growing older, and I’ve spent my entire life in a fog with so much fear for reality, I’m afraid it’s too late to fix all my mistakes and regrets.” Your voice dwindles with every word that escaped your lips. You were young, naïve with the notion that time was extensive to make decisions without thinking it through. To know that you could never take back the things you did. Saturn’s rising, it’s a wake-up call now that you’re older and the fear that you would never change creeps onto you with every passing birthday.

Bruce defines the epitome of the sinking feeling in your chest whenever you lay in bed at night and let your mind reel about your existence. Yet, it isn’t as simple as you want it to be. The boy you met at university has grown into a far more complex and entangled mess of the grief of his parents, the responsibility he held over this city and the drive to just...keep moving on. For the longest time, it was him against the world, and a part of you wants to believe that it doesn’t have to be that way. That maybe, you could be enough for him.

He glanced away from you, trying to hide the despondency in his eyes. He holds back a sigh as he speaks, “Do you regret us doing this?” As vague as his question is, you know what he exactly means. He remembers the time the two of you used to exchange senseless conversations and laughter so vividly that it scares him. Juvenile friends, lacking the knowledge to know what love really was. Hence, the agreement—it was just two friends, messing around. Nothing could go wrong. Now, the hole has been dug in too deep, with no way of getting out.

“I don’t,” you reply and with just two simple words, his chest feels like fire. It was the way you had said it, with so much confidence and assurance, despite the intricacy of this relationship. For the first time in a long time, you were extremely sure about an answer. You could never regret Bruce. Never.

It’s almost hesitant in the way his hand finds yours, but it represents his care for you, even if you may not know it. The warmth of his hand feels like fire. Hell, your chest feels like it’s on fire, heart burning for the man beside you. “I’ll drive you home,” he whispers with a squeeze of your hand. You flash him a grateful smile as the two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Silence so eloquent that you don’t feel so empty anymore. No longer a solitary figure trapped in a painting but now two, hand in hand, against the world.

TAGLIST

@raineeace

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman #batman x reader #justice league #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #pining bagels repeat

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set

VARIETY: Neither Elizabeth Olsen nor Jurnee Smollett are strangers to having to really stretch their imaginations to dive into complex characters and even more complicated worlds.

Both have superhero films on their résumés: Smollett portrayed Black Canary in DC’s “Birds of Prey,” while Olsen stepped into Wanda Maximoff aka the Scarlet Witch’s shoes for Marvel’s “Avengers” franchise and then some — including Disney Plus’ first Marvel series, “WandaVision.” They are both now Emmy-nominated for projects that tasked them with jumping through time, blending genres and telling epic love stories (Olsen with “WandaVision,” Smollett with HBO’s “Lovecraft Country”). And, even though they are up in different categories (Olsen in lead limited series/TV movie actress; Smollett in lead drama actress), both of these shows are one-season wonders, leaving the performers and their audiences wanting more.

Olsen and Smollett dissected all that of when Variety brought them together post-nominations to talk about their celebrated roles and surreal playgrounds.

You both had a lot of magical or otherwise surreal elements to interact with on your shows. What did you actually have in front of you to react to on set?

Jurnee Smollett: We were very fortunate on “Lovecraft Country” because the whole VFX team worked so hard to create an atmosphere that was also practical in our space. I remember on Episode 3, the exorcism scene, we shot it over a course of three days and, while there was not a man in real life with a baby head on him, you’ve got the wind machines and the pictures are blowing and all the special effects makeup is being touched up. Atticus [Jonathan Majors] has pretty much turned into a rabid dog and I’m doing this spell with my ancestors and whether they were shooting behind us or shooting the elements, we were at our max capacity regardless because that’s just how we approach the craft. It was such a big sequence to shoot that that’s when the actor in you has to advocate for your instrument. I did go to the director and say, “Can you jump in and cross shoot Jonathan and I?” As an actor it is our job to shoot however many takes, however many angles you need, but then it is also our job to advocate for yourselves. And I love playing in this space because you get to use your imagination you get to go to crazy places. Because even while the practical elements are there; you get to go to crazy places. But I was grateful for the practical elements because it’s just so much easier.

Elizabeth Olsen: Did they have pre-viz so you knew what some of the supernatural elements looked like?

Smollett: With the Shoggoths they not only had a pre-viz for us, but for some of the scenes they had massive sculptures, like a dude standing there in a green suit with a Shoggoth head. The pilot we didn’t have this puppet, but by Episode 8, maybe we got more of a budget or something, but eventually we did get a puppet — which was really cool because you could see, “This is the moment his mouth is opening.” But also, Misha [Green], our showrunner, she just wants more blood, more dirt. She’d try to get them to blow spittle at us.

Olsen: That’s so gross!

Smollett: This concoction of Shoggoth spit, throwing it in front of this wind machine. I find the more practical stuff we have to work with, it just helps so much. And then there were the moments where it’s like, “No it’s just a green tennis ball and an X, and go.” How about you?

Olsen: For all those little things in the air and stuff in the ’50s, it was really important to our director [Matt Shakman] that we did everything ala “Bewitched.” It was all camera tricks, it was all wires. Our head of special effects had a lineage of a father who [did] special effects before him, and so puppetry and wire work and stuff like that were things that were already in his vocabulary, but we would have our special effect guys who are used to blowing things up and putting things on fire just balancing and making sure things aren’t swinging but they have to move. Even in the ’70s when she’s pregnant and everything’s in chaos, we really had a picture on the wall going in circles; they just figured out things with magnets.

When we were filming the finale, it was during COVID, during the fires last summer, and we shot Kathryn [Hahn’s] side at the beginning of the episode when she has my boys with her magic — we had to shoot them out because you always have to shoot the side with the kid out and also Kathryn was doing wires for the first time and of course it was with a corset and it was really hot and really bad air quality and so she had to be sent home by the medic at the end of the day. And so, on my side we were running out of days, and I think we had 35 minutes to shoot my side and my reactions to all of that, and there’s quite a bit of back and forth and throwing myself to the ground and hitting a different mark that will then stitch with the stunt double being pulled. I did a weird one-woman show sans kids, sans Kathryn. Our stand-ins were such a huge part of our show and I was so grateful to have them they’re reading lines with me, and our director, Matt Shakman, was like, “If you feel like you can’t do this, we’ll just do this tomorrow.” That gave an adrenaline rush to me and it just became, “I’m just going to do it.” There’s a lot of fear when you’re like, “Oh I don’t have the elements and I am on my own, literally.” But I’ve had to do this before and I’m just scared to do it because I feel stupid. But I already look kind of stupid — I’m shooting things out of my hands — so why don’t I just lean into it as full as possible and just do it and find it in some core, guttural space of desperation? That day was bizarre, but I was actually very happy that I didn’t put it off. I feel like sometimes as actors when there are things that make us nervous it’s like, “Oh we don’t have enough time to explore so let’s do it the next day if we can,” and then you’re in your head all night about it. And so, it’s nice to just do it, even if it feels silly.

Smollett: I’d imagine surrendering and using the fear and all that that you were feeling probably served you so well in it.

Olsen: And don’t you feel that, though? When you feel unsupported you just want to break down in tears and you’re not supposed to break down in tears or you’re not supposed to have those it’s those feelings in the moment, but there are other times where it is really useful and there’s something freeing about channeling it in some way.

Smollett: Yeah and it’s that word you just used: freeing. Being able to surrender — leap and the net will appear. And you’re right, if you would have gone home, you probably would have come back the next day and you would have overthought it. There’s something about using the adrenaline in that moment that I don’t think you can really teach an actor to do; it’s just experience. Because we go and we prep and we do all these things, and then you get to the set and there’s one distraction, two distractions, and those are the elements that just through experience you’ve learned to use.

But I have to say, when I was little, I used to go to sleep every night watching Nick at Nite and “Bewitched” was one of my favorite shows. I did not expect you guys, at all, to go to land of “Bewitched.”

Olsen: I didn’t either. I’m so grateful to it. I felt like I like forgot my body as an actor. You’re a very physical actor, so I feel like you probably don’t have that experience because you just seem so connected and free whether it’s on stage or doing action. And I really felt disconnected from my body until “WandaVision.” I was like, “Right, I have posture; I can walk; I have legs — all of these things are going to be telling the story and it’s period and so I get to move differently.” It’s been a while since I needed to create quite a different character, and it felt so good to wake up my body to the full character work.

Just watching you in the first episode on stage, I was like, “God damn, I want to feel that free on stage with a song and with an audience.” I’m a self-conscious actor when it comes to extras and things like that. There’s something about it where the crew’s the family, and with extras, I feel so vulnerable. And you seemed so at ease and in control and confident. It made you understand her fierceness and how fearless she was.

Smollett: Thank you so much! It’s so interesting that you point that out because, for me, singing in front of people terrifies me. It truly is one of the things that terrifies me the most. The thing about Misha’s writing is, she finds a way to teach you so much about a character in such a small amount of time. And in that first sequence we learn so much about Leti, from that fearlessness you talk about, the ease that she has in herself and in her person, but then you learn so much about her hypocrisy and the contrasting ideas that are at play inside. She’s a very complex one. In the scene with her sister where she’s talking about having dreams of pioneering into an all-white neighborhood in 1955, but she can’t afford to may for socks. [Laughs.] She didn’t come to her mother’s funeral, and yet she’s here yearning for some sort of family connection. And so, I just remember reading that and feeling so drawn to her and feeling like it’s a side of myself that I needed to unearth — there’s a Leti in me that I desired to actually be, but sometimes am not. And it’s interesting because through Leti, she really forced me to do so many things that I hadn’t done before and really become more fearless, become more unbound. It was just such a very cathartic experience for me.

Olsen: I felt that way with getting to do this sitcom comedy part. I felt like I was touching my childhood version of myself who was a ham doing children’s musical theater, who just who just like played for the laughs or whatever — that part that I don’t access at all, really, when filming. And Kathryn Hahn was such a force and Paul Bettany raised to the challenge, as well, of these comedic performances that were really physically funny. I started to get more comfortable — in the ’60s, ’70s, really got comfortable — and it was so much fun to touch that child that maybe was told too many times, “Oh, you’re such a ham” or you just felt like your big personality as a kid was not OK or wasn’t as appropriate. And so, getting to play with that was really freeing and very fun. As you were saying, there’s a release I needed to have, and through the comedy I was able to have it.

How did this sense of empowerment affect how you carried your own characters’ power? Was there something your character that inspired you to advocate for yourself or did advocating behind-the-scenes inform in-world behavior?

Olsen: I felt very lucky coming into this, because this is a world I know. And so, where my voice of advocacy came in was for actors who are coming into the world — like Teyonah [Parris], wanting to make sure that she had everything that she needed to understand where her character was going because this was a character that’s going to continue [and] if she had everything she needed for stunts. And then similarly with Kathryn, she didn’t realize there was someone who she could use to teach her hand gestures for her magic. And so, she was feeling nervous and lost, like, “How do I do this thing?” And I was like, “Oh, how do you not have that information!?” And then having a conversation with whom you need to on the crew up top and figure out how to keep everyone else feeling like they had everything they needed. And luckily, because this was a show with characters that Paul and I had before, the pieces came together and it was a situation where your voice is welcomed and heard.

From “Sorry For Your Loss,” the TV show I did with Facebook, I now have a producer voice that I can’t shut up. I now just need to talk to ADs a lot, and I need to talk to line producers a lot. I realize that I like having — especially if I’m No. 1 on the call sheet; if I’m a primary part — all of the information so I can understand why decisions that seem weird are happening, or else I’m going to get in my head about, “Why are we doing this this way? I just let people know that off the bat now because it makes me less of a control freak, having information. And it is a team effort and I think the actor’s value has changed in that in that respect. There’s a lot more opportunity for women to be vocal now, and so I’m just really seizing that opportunity.

Smollett: It was a very personal growing experience for me. It was time of transition [and] I’m still going through that transition in my life. In order to truly surrender and do the text justice, there was so much I had to bring to the altar every day to sacrifice. I remember talking to Jonathan about that, and he would refer to it as allowing your heart to break and hoping that the Holy Spirit would put it back together. She was essentially a woman trying to navigate her womanhood but she was never actually allowed to have a childhood. She was habitually abandoned by her mother and didn’t know her father and there’s something in that parental-daughter split that I found myself really relating to. Oddly enough like Leti, I was estranged from my father for years. He eventually passed away, really before there was that healing and so, oh man, it brought up so much shit with Leti. How does she see the world? She sees the world through the eyes of an abandoned child. With Leti, that made her overcompensate; with Jurnee, it made me shrink a lot. When you talk about that artist child, those of us who have been in this business for so long, you take on all the sensors. And I found myself just trying to love her a little more. One of the things I admired so much about Leti is this desire to love herself — this real desire to own herself unapologetically in a world that told her she was too Black and female, to exist in her entirety. It’s still a transition that I’m in, but I definitely feel so grateful to have been able to walk through some of that and navigate through some of that with Leti. But that’s, I think, the blessing and the curse of being an artist. You’ve got to be willing to bring your whole mind, body and spirit to it; nothing’s off limits.

Jurnee, the last time you spoke with Variety we were all assuming you’d get to return to this character, but now that HBO has said it’s not being renewed, do you have unfinished business with her?

Smollett: It’s no secret I’m heartbroken. I loved Leti and of course would have loved to continue playing her. But I am so incredibly proud of the work that we all created together — it feels so special and unique — and I am finding peace in that. We’re artists and there’s an endless well that dwells inside us— and there’s so much that’s out of our control. And I think I’ve done this long enough and I’ve experienced enough heartbreaks to know you don’t get attached to the results too much; you just try to stay in a moment. And I feel just so proud and blessed to have been chosen to go on this ride with these collaborators, so I am more so in the place of gratitude than loss.

On the other end of the spectrum, “WandaVision” was a limited series but Wanda Maximoff is a character you have been coming back to for years, Elizabeth. How do you approach that longevity — the changes in her, the changes in you and the interest in revisiting her at all?

Olsen: I’m 32 and I was 25 — so seven years ago — when I did the first one. There’s so much change that I’ve had, even as an actor and how I approach work and, I think, honor work so much more in the last five years, four years of my life. [Jurnee’s film] “Birds of Prey” feels like such a female-empowered thing, so I feel there’s a really incredible energy to beginning it, but then with me you hear people make comments about Marvel movies and it affects your own process. “WandaVision” really shook that up for me and made me reinvest.

Smollett: I so want to know your process with that because the comic book space was new for me. I’d been a fan; I’d seen all your movies and the other movies. How did you navigate all of those voices? Because they can be very loud.

Olsen: Luckily and also frustratingly my character was always this emotional anchor to a piece of the story. It was like the heart, if there’s a heart. Paul and I were the only romance that was really fleshed out in those movies. And so I just treated it like I would anything. And then, we have a really fun time filming “Avengers” And so it’s really goofy and the Russos are great. And so we, it feels light-hearted, and it feels like we have the last laugh at the end of the day. But when it comes to the reinvesting, that’s the whole mind game, right? Because you just hope that it continues to have this quality control, but the more the more things get made, you’re worried about that. Especially because I did a show on Facebook that was scripted, and I didn’t love the way they handled it. And it was hard. And so second season, we went back and we literally, as a team of producers, had meetings with people who ran Facebook Watch about where we thought they could improve. We had a whole presentation for them. And then eventually, they were like, “We’re not doing scripted anymore.” And so I didn’t have the greatest experience being a part of the launch of another streaming service. And so, the Disney Plus part made me nervous and then bringing these characters that are so big to television made me nervous. But Kevin Fiege explained to us that that they were not going to cut corners, and they’re going to try and create the same attention to detail, and they did. And I think it was really important for them to have that care for these first three shows that they were putting out because it was defining a new thing for them. And so, we were taken care of.

I think more for me with this with the reinvestment moving forward, I never had a six-movie or nine-movie thing; it was always two or three at a time — those were my contracts. And so, it’s always a really conscious decision. I wrapped “WandaVision” on a Wednesday and flew to London on a Friday to continue playing this part [in “Doctor Strange 2”]. I could have used getting out of the mindset, though, because they were totally different utilizations of the character and people would have had more time to understand “WandaVision” had we not just wrapped. And so there’s just a lot of, “We covered this in ‘WandaVision…’” It’s bigger than me, there’s lots of threads that are continuing on after me that I’m not aware of, and so it’s always about, “What can I get from this journey with this character that maybe I haven’t tapped into yet with her?” That’s where I keep approaching things from, so that I feel like I have some sort of strap-hang — that I can know that there’s going to be growth of some kind, even though it all maybe looks the same to other people. There is that conscious decision to learn a new element of this woman, or even of myself as an actor — something that I want to explore that I can bring to it.

Your passion for acting is apparent and you both produce as well. What about directing?

Smollett: I would love to one day. I find myself currently being incredibly excited about producing and ushering new voices and excited voices. I don’t know that I would want to direct myself — that’s a whole other skill. I remember watching Denzel Washington, who directed me in “Great Debaters” but he was also in it, and at that point he had such a command of his instrument that he was able to do that. But it’s a lot. And I remember him telling me, before directing himself, he went and made himself watch all his films just so that he could stomach this idea of watching himself in the editing room. And so, I love the idea of storytelling; I’m obsessed with just telling stories, but I don’t know that I would self-direct.

Olsen: I find myself still loving producing so much because I love asking questions and poking holes and thinking about reorganizing of storylines, things that I feel maybe need more structure. I loved writing essays in school so much; it was like something that I found creative because it was about putting so many different sources into a braid that could maybe create this larger conversation or thought at the end. And so, that’s how I look at scripts. That’s really satisfying enough for me, to play that role. I think one day I’ll think about it more honestly, what it what it would mean to be a director. I fear that if I were to do it anytime soon, I wouldn’t have the tools that I would want. I do ask lots of lens-y questions because I’ve really only been working for 11 years and only recently have I tried to really understand the art of what lenses to choose and why and what it makes an audience feel based on what you’re choosing. I want to have a better, more holistic understanding of [that] before attempting [directing] because I do think it’s such an art and just because I understand the structuring of a story or how a set works, I want to be able to provide the the image in my head. I don’t know if I have that skill yet, but I am curious about feeding it and nurturing that.

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

#Elizabeth Olsen #WandaVision #Avengers #Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #Sorry For Your Loss #Avengers Infinity War #Avengers Age of Ultron #Captain America Civil War #Ingrid Goes West #Godzilla #Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness #Marvel #MCU #Candy Montgomery #Love and Death #Avengers Endgame

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Love on the Line - Part 6

A/N: It’s finally here!!!

MASTERLIST      P1         P2           P3          P4          P5

Henry Cavill x Reader

If I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: heartache, language, angst, a pinch of lovey dovey fluff, cliffhanger 

*****************************

“Ohhh myy god…it’s official. This is the best burger of my life, hands down.”

What could easily be perceived as orgasmic music delightfully made its way to his ears. Seb chuckled studying the beautiful girl across from him admiring her combination of burger grease, ketchup, and mustard staining her chin. Y/N was too lost in the delicious meal to notice Seb gleefully watching her. In an instant his hand wiped away the condiment catching Y/N by surprise. She smiled bashfully blushing.

“Told you I knew a place.”

She sighed genuinely happy in them moment; “I could die a happy girl tomorrow because of this sweet, juicy perfection of a burger. All thanks to you.”

“What can I say? I have good taste.”

“And how did you run across this wonderous joint? Kinda feels off the beaten path.”

“Well, when you fly as much as me you learn to ask around. I never trust the internet when it comes to what I put in my body. I like to know what and where the locals scavenge for a tasty meal.”

“You continue to surprise me …I admire your style, Seb. Original, classy, and you no doubt just about charm the pants off any person who walks your way.”

“Is it working now?” He flashed his most flirtatious smile devouring another sweet potato fry.

Quick on her feet, she shot back with wit and attitude; “Should it be?”

“I gotta say Y/N, I’ve never been happier to wake someone up on a plane until I met you.”

“Damn, you’re suave, Seb. Fucking suave.”

Her eyes bulged from their sockets at her crude choice of words; “Shit, I’m sorry. Ah, fuck.”

His laugh flew through the air like wind on a crisp fall evening; her cheeks flushed.

“I’m not usually such a sailor. Guess you bring out the best in me.”

“I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I kinda like that I fluster you if I’m being honest.”

“So smooth. Are you sure you’re not from LA?  I get the sense that’s a requirement in these parts?”

He shook his head in stark disagreement; “Nope, sorry to disappoint you. Just a common foreigner.”

“And a handsome one at that.”

Shocked at her boldness, Y/N stared down at the remnants of food moving her fries as a distraction from his adorable gaze.

“I haven’t felt this at ease in …well I can’t remember. It’s nice.”

“Couldn’t agree more. I never actually asked what brings you here?”

Seb nervously scratched the back of his head; “Uh, work. Like I said, I travel pretty frequently. Hollywood is a hub of sorts for me. What brings you here?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll take the hint and pry later. Well, I’m a writer and some big exec wants to discuss the rights to my book series. So, yeah.”

“Y/N, that’s amazing! Are you secretly a super hero, part of the Avengers maybe?”

“Hahah, flattery will certainly get you far. No doubts there.”

“You’re too kind, Y/N. I’m definitely far from perfect.”

“Good. Perfection is overrated. Flaws are attractively imperfect. I mean at the end of the day we’re only human.”

“Consider me intrigued. I’ve gotta stop by a bookstore and check you out now!”

“Oh, hush! If you must know, I try to keep a low profile. So, uh, how long are you here for?”

“A couple days. I’ve got a bit of free time after my meeting tomorrow and thinking of hitting some trails while I’m here. Don’t get me wrong, LA is cool and all, but kinda suffocating. I try and maintain my distance if possible.”

“Oh, you’re preaching to the choir. The hustle and bustle of London is the literal definition of overwhelming. Countryside getaways were my one true savior. Sometimes London feels like an overpacked sardine can just waiting to explode.”

“So why did you stay?”

Y/N bit her lip trying to keep quiet. She hadn’t once though of Henry since meeting Seb. The lump in her throat appeared by just the mere mention of her subconscious. A part of her wasn’t ready to reveal the ache left beneath her exterior.

“Friends and family. What else ties a person to one place?”

“Love? A relationship?”

His coyness was flattering. She gave into his curiosity.  

“Are you asking if I’m single?” Her feigned expression was enough to send him into a fit of harmonious laughter.

“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on your answer, I guess. Part of me believes you’re too good to be true which usually means taken.”

“HA, no. Relationships and I are not on speaking terms at the moment.”

“Ah, sounds like heartbreak hotel is just around the corner….”

“I recently got out of a long-term relationship. So, to answer your question; Yes, I’m single and so not ready to mingle.”

“Are you assuming I’m hitting on you?” His shocked appearance made her question their entire encounter and if she’d been reading the signs wrong all along.

“Well, good thing I’m only here for the coffee and platonic company, hm?”

Seb raised his mug in salute as her stress magically melted away; “Break-ups suck. But allow for a real opportunity to see who you really are. Pain can be a bitter reminder of sadness and strength.”

“Wow, philosophizing so soon into our newly found friendship? A man after my own heart!”

Y/N playfully placed her hand over her heart, smiling for particular reason.

“How about if you’re interested and only 100% positive you aren’t sick of my company; we do dinner or even drinks? Whichever the lady chooses.”

Seb motioned in jest. Y/N tried to remember the last time she’d felt so carefree unable to pin down an exact memory. For far to long Y/N trapped herself in a fog allowing Henry to rule over her even when he wasn’t physically there. It had to stop, she had to quit placing him on a pedestal if she had any luck of moving on from their failed love affair. One torturous long minute passed as Seb’s nerved ramped up.

“Shit, I’m that weird dude, now. Forget I asked and let’s chalk it up to an amazing afternoon as strangers who leave this diner and head back to our own separate lives without consequence?”

Again, Y/N was speechless contemplating what she truly wanted to do next.

“First things first, stop blubbering, you seriously are ungodly handsome. And on second note, our chance meeting was unexpected but kinda sorta awesome. I’d love to see you again. I can’t recall the last time I’ve felt so free…and don’t even get me started on the belly aches due to your comedic skills.”

“Damn, a woman that speaks her mind. Are you sure you’re not in politics?”

“Nope, never, no thank you. Sooo, it’s a date?”

Seb furrowed his eyebrow in pleasant surprise; “You said it, not me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes; “Yeah, yeah. What do the kids say nowadays…. YOLO?”

“Yes, and please never say that again.”

A napkin holder was placed strategically resting against the window sill. Seb signaled to their middle-aged waitress; “Pardon me, do you have a pen handy?”

“Course, darling. Anything for ya.” She winked dropping the pen on the edge of the checkered table leaving them to privacy. He scribbled his number on the grainy piece of paper and slid it her way.

“I’ll leave the ball in your court and pass the privilege of reaching out to confirm details.”

“Wow, and they say chivalry is dead? Obviously not in Romania.”

“What fine establishment do they have you shacking up in?”

“Chateau Marmont. Long story short, my publisher fully embraces and understands my introverted nature and love of historical hotels. Call me an oddball.”

“Oddball.”

They snickered like school children slowly understanding their time was coming to a close. A power, a force of sorts gravitated Y/N towards him. He felt the same way.

“I happen to think women who especially history buffs are so incredibly magnificent. I haven’t met many as beautiful as you.

Their flirtation skyrocketed like flicks of fire firing between them.

“Knowledge is like your super power…. also, intelligent women are a complete turn on.”

She swatted his arm smiling like a kid in a candy shop.

“Come on, let’s get outta here. I’ll drop you off.”

He offered his hand helping Y/N to her feet. She lingered a second too long. With Seb a couple steps behind her, she missed the clinch of his fists and Seb’s reddened cheeks.

---The Next Day---

No luxury was forgotten as Y/N observed her decadent hotel room, but no matter how comfortable the memory foam or high thread count sheets, Y/N tossed restlessly the whole night. Her anxieties attacking her mind at every possible angle. Worry engulfed her clutching on her own insecurities. Her fear? 

That she’d walk into David Fincher’s office and leave very humiliated and very far from home. Henry’s ghost loitered just out of reach. A ghost can be many a thing; a memory, a daydream, a secret, but most times, a wish. Old or new. But that was the past, memories she must let go of.

Y/N stared at the ceiling wishing her bed to open up and swallow her whole finally dozing off to her temporary dreamland. But sunlight painted the walls like a colorful painting. She stretched and moaned at the sensations of her waking bones.

Making her way to the bathroom, Y/N’s phone chimed forcing her to circle back towards the obnoxious device.

Seb: Buna dimineata prietene! (Good Morning, friend)

Y/N: Romanian? So early in the morning. How dare you sir?

Blinking dots ran across the screen as Y/N waited impatiently for his witty response.

Seb: Never too early for greatness. As they say in the theater, break a leg! But not an actual leg because I might be looking forward to our date. Okay, good luck with the meeting!

Y/N: Thanks for the good juju. Same to you! Call you later.

She unconsciously rubbed at the tender swell in her chest, the fluttering in her belly kicking wildly. Butterflies. It’d been ages since she’d been this excited and it surprised Y/N. Maybe she was ready for something more…Y/N shook her head ridding herself of such silly thoughts. She knew better than to rush full steam ahead.

    ---Later that day---

The fourteenth floor was decorated to architectural perfection. Every space had its purpose and the décor elegantly stylish.  There she stood in the presence of cinematic greatness! As Y/N was about to pinch herself, she heard an echo of a name. Looking up, she searched for the unknown voice before landing on an enthusiastic figure waving her direction.

“Y/N! So nice to finally see you in person. I’m Meg.”

“Meg, so glad to put a face to a name. Thank you for having me.”

Both women walked down a hallway lined of glass walls smiling at those who looked up.

“David has talked nonstop about your series. So much so that I ended up devouring your books in three days. You’re freaking brilliant!”

“You really think so? I worked my ass off to get it through any publishing house. I was on the verge of chucking my ideas in the trash and getting an actual job that paid real money if it wasn’t for a last-ditch effort.”

“I’ve blocked off a thirty-minute window before his next meeting begins. He’s booked back-to-back today but by no means feel rushed. He hates when I push him. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Her head bobbed nonchalantly taking notice of the stunning scenery from the 17th level.

“Alright, here goes nothing.”

“Best of luck, Y/N.”

Meg knocked; “Come in!”

“David, this is Y/N.”

“Thanks, Meg. Close the door behind ya, we’ve got loads to discuss.”

David extended his hand towards Y/N’s shaking firmly. Y/N reminded herself to breath and to quickly find her manners.

She stuttered trying to remember common speech causing David to laugh aloud.

“Ms. Y/N, you okay?”

“Yyess—just a tad shell shocked. I mean, I can’t believe I’m standing in a room with the David Fincher. Unbelievable, really. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“I should be the one thanking you. You wrote one hell of a series that I trust can be transferred stunningly over to the silver screen where it can be fully appreciated. I’ve never seen someone mold together so many genres with such ease yet adding a layer of complexity. You, young lady, kept me guessing every twist and turn. That doesn’t happen too often if you catch my drift.”

“I-I, it’s just nice all those late-night writing sessions and waiting tables paid off. I’ll have you know I was on the verge of giving it all up and going back to school.”

“So, let’s get down to details. My team and I have come up with an offer that is totally open for negotiations.”

David slid a piece of paper into view. Y/N stared at the parchment gob smacked. Her jaw fell open at the written proposal.

“Holy shit.” Her eyes snapped up at her vulgar language; “Shit! I don’t mean to be impolite.”

“Ha, it’s a bit flabbergasting upon first glance but I promise you I want to do everything in my power to make this work for both parties.”

“Am I…am I reading this correctly?”

“Indeed, $10 million for the first two films, advancing to an additional $13, $15, $17 million for the last three. Of course, aiding us in the writer’s room to make sure we bring your story to live through your eyes. This will undoubtfully increase book sales across the board, I’d say upwards of $60 million if all goes accordingly. Also, I didn’t forget about making you an executive producer.”

“You’re kidding me, riight? Am I dreaming?”

“You’re gonna be a big deal once the tabloids get their sticky fingers on this. I mean this is going to skyrocket you to the likes of Stephenie Meyer and Suzanne Collins status. I mean, I had to outbid Peter Jackson just for a chance at directing this masterpiece. Darling, you’re all Hollywood can talk about right now.”

“Wow, I’m, uh, seriously grateful. I guess I’ve been shacking up in London far too long. I don’t really read celeb gossip so needless to say I’ve been in my own bubble.”

“A huge thank you goes out to Henry Cavill for pitching the initial idea. He helped get the recognition you deserve. Nice fellow, that one.”

Momentary shock came over her face, mouth still agape; “He—Henry had a hand in this?”

“Most certainly. He was the one who brought it to my attention. Of course, he mentioned the desire to work with me was motivation enough, but genuinely, he seemed passionate about the project.”

“I-I had no idea.” Switching gears as fast as possible Y/N trotted forth; “So realistically, when can we get the ball rolling?”

“Once the proper documents are signed and stamped, we’re good to go. If negotiations aren’t necessary, I’d say within the next month or so we can start casting calls, booking air fare, figuring out destination shoots, getting a manuscript going. It comes together faster than people think. How about this; you mull it over, call whoever you need, and get back at me in the next couple of days. Sound good?”

“Sounds more than good! I think I’ll be forever be in your debt, Mr. Fincher.”

“Please, call me David. We have a long road ahead of us that has truly stoked a fire in me, all thanks to you.”

Her nerves triumphed pushing Henry to the back of her mind. Y/N had bigger fish to fry.

“May I be frank with you, David?”

“By all means.”

“As you probably know Henry’s my ex-fiancée. Is it true you’re possibly considering him for the lead role?”

David looked around quizzically composing himself.

“I figured we’d have to address the elephant in the office. Yes, I was aware and I didn’t consider him to be malicious. He’s a genius actor and I figured it was worth a chat. But if you’re worried about anything, just say the word.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize his successes. I agree, he’s an untapped actor full of surprising talent. I’ll be okay.”

“You promise?”

“Yep.”

“Great! Rest assured he isn’t even in the country. Believe he’s still galivanting about London.”

Silently pleading to change the subject, Y/N snapped out of it as quickly as she flew in to.

“This is a dream come true. I’m really looking forward to working with you and bringing my story to life.”

The squeaky hinge of the door alerted her to Meg’s foreboding presence. Taking a cue, Y/N stood up shaking David’s hand beaming like a child on Christmas Eve.

“I’ll be in touch, Y/N. Until then, enjoy your stay. Venture out. You’ll find LA isn’t all plastic and bullshit.”

“Oh, thank god. For a second I was getting nervous.”

“Haha! Meg, next appointment here?”

“Yes, he’s right around the cor--.”

“Y/N?”

She searched for the familiar voice unable to pin it down.

“Seb!? Wha...what are you doing here? I thought you had that big meeting today?”

“Uh, I do. That’s why I’m here.”

Sebastian nervously scratched his neck. Bewildered and thoroughly confused Y/N pushed on; “Wait a minute…. Are you an ...?”

“Actor, yes.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa. Wait.”

“Holy shit. You’re Shirley Lovecraft. Catchy pseudo name. So, you’re the brains behind this witty madness. What an interesting turn of events if I do say so myself, a happy one.”

“Agreed. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. Kinda embarrassing.”

“Don’t. A perfect afternoon with someone who wasn’t using me for fame or money? Did I mention you look breathtaking today?”

Her cheeks fumed with heat stirring her butterflies back to life. Seb’s hand stilled on her waist unwilling to let go as they continued gazing at the other.

“Earth to Seb?

Seb broke eye contact first glancing over at David. Y/N was too busy memorizing the glimmer of his cobalt blue eyes.

“Yes, ah! So rude of me. Hello there, so great of you to squeeze me in. I appreciate it.”

He directed his attention towards Y/N once more leaning close to the shell of her ear; “Still on for drinks later?”

“Definitely.”

His wink sparked a jolt to her core leaving her weak in the knees. Somehow, some way, Y/N mustered enough confidence to walk without tripping. She glowed the whole walk to the elevator. Y/N pressed the button too lost in thought to hear the quiet ding of arrival strolling straight into a hard chest. Enormous hands grasped her shoulders; “Oh! Apologies Ms.”

“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying atten—oh shit.”

Only one particularly charming British accent that could send a chill down her spine, one very distinguishable voice indeed. 

“Y/N?”

Time froze icily still.

“What the fuck? Henry??”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:  @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed  @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast  @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira  @cap-barnes @henryfanfics101  @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos  @justaboringadult @peakygroupie  @nalathefirefly @vikingsbifrost @bloodyinspiredfuck @moderapoppins @cooldiva1234 @icedcoffeeismythang @titty-teetee @summersong69 @kaatelyyynn @missursulacalmet @michelehansel @iloveyouyen @shyshu @star017 @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83 @starrynite7114  @wheretheriversrunintothesea @i-love-scott-mccall  @darkbooksarwin @ellieseymour70 @designerwriterchic @studywithrosie01 @dangerouslovefanfic @lebguardians @crazybutconfidentaf @hen-cavill  @cavill-sass @oh-for-fic-sake @icedbottles @buckysgoldenheart @brexrif @gryffindorwriter @laketaj24 @foxyjwls007 @lawsofthejungle @henrycavillfanpage @kaboogie21 @fangirl199812 @gothicninibalor @qualitynightkoala @strictlybuckybarnes @toomanyfandomsshreya @hersilencescreams-blog​ @viking-raider​ @sesamepancakes​  @madbaddic7ed​ @fuckoffbard​ @funfickgirl22​ @inlovewithhisblueeyes​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @hoeforhenry​ @henrycavills-babe​ @abschaffer2​ @loving-this​ @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs​ @lovelycavills​ @beck07990​ @bokillylovesloki​ @michelehansel​

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry x y/n #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #my writing #henry cavill fluff #love on the line #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill oneshot #fanfic

[not-close-to-straight]

I turned 21 in September & spent the weekend in San Diego. I think it depends on your mood if you’re in a Vegas mood or not 🤣 I’m always down for sitting at home & the party life if not for me so I’m team stay home buuuut sometimes staying in a fancy hotel is nice too especially when they have a big tub & you got a good deal for it. I was trying to stick the second job out bc they have tuition reimbursement after being there for 6 months but honestly I hate it & they pay so little. I did my FAFSA for the first time & it was so stressful holy shit. My mom isn’t helping either. She refuses to give me her info for it & I can’t file as an independent so that’s fun. I’m finding the older I get the more nasty her attitude is & she blames it on her depression & doesn’t take accountability for anything. It’s really frustrating & I’ve been thinking about taking a break from her for some time idk. I had to put my 14 y/o black lab down in May & whew I still cry when I see videos of her. I’m watching Hawkeye mostly for Hailee Steinfeld I love her to death. Oh oh I got ticket to see Spider-Man on the 17th & I am so hyped bc I love watching Zendaya on the big screen. I’m taking off work so I can see it during the day when it’s not busy bc crowded theaters are a no no. Yes & I’m still not over Tom Holland & Zendaya dating they are so cute with their height difference 🤣

You know, I thought 22 sounded a little too old when I typed it but it was close enough lolol

Re: Family things-- the best thing (healthiest thing) I ever did when I was about your age (20ish) was completely cut my mom out of my life for a period of time. I literally up and moved states, changed my phone number and blocked her on every form of media I could think of and just lived my life. We have been back in light contact for years now but one thing the cut-off really did was establish some extremely firm boundaries with a woman who didn't think I had a right to any boundaries.

Don't take this as me saying "cut her off!" but take it as me saying, needing to go no contact or even extremely low contact for a while could be very beneficial both for you and for her to maybe force her to see you as a separate, grown person? I think alot of times in mother-daughter situations, even in relatively healthy relationships, the moms can have a hard time as seeing their daughter as separate than them and then conversely, as ever "grown" especially if the daughter isn't married/having kids of her own yet and if there is a mental health issue there, mom/daughter pairs can really turn towards co-dependence and emotional immaturity and that can be really difficult especially as we the daughters are trying to stretch our wings and move on. My relationship with my mom was never great, but when I turned about 16 and was suddenly old enough to drive/work/be independent it turned super toxic and it only got worse when i turned 18 and moved out, it was like the older and more independent I got the more she felt she had to control everything about me and it was crazy. i went no contact for a while, then ONLY text messages and i would only respond to specific ones and I was probably... 26? before we even talked on the phone again? I'm not saying it needs to be that drastic with your mom or anything, but i AM saying that if you need to step away you don't need to let anyone make you feel guilty for it. Your mental health is just as important as hers (and honestly MORE important, because its your own health vs someone else's health, so you should take care of you first, then others).

LISTEN. I care very little about Tom Holland and Zendaya but I will fully admit they are sort of ridiculously adorable. From what I've seen with interviews and social media, just ridiculously adorable. Good for them. Also that height difference has me cackling, I love to see it

[prettyboyreid]

can you read to me? (I)

part two

Even after a silly fight, the reader can’t seem to go to sleep without Matthew next to her.

College!Matthew Gray Gubler x Reader

Warnings: language, angst

Word Count: 2,884

It had been four hours.  Four, gruesome, long, tiring hours since you first opened the Statistics book to study for your final.  While you were almost sure you were going to pass, an anxious feeling still overwhelmed you  that you weren’t going to.  It made you feel sick.

You picked up your phone and checked the time.  1:54 AM.  You let out a soft groan, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands before deciding to pack everything up for the night.  You closed all of your books, bookmarked your notes on Google Docs, and made sure all of your pens were closed before pushing yourself out of the uncomfortable chair New York University provided for each dorm.  You made your way to the bed covered in a heavy duvet and a weighted blanket before trying to let yourself fall asleep.  

You closed your eyes, you cuddled up to one of your pillows, and even tried counting backwards from one hundred.

Yet you were still wide awake. 

You checked the time again out of frustration as you felt your mind running a mile a minute, letting out a huff as the neon red letters of your alarm clock read 2:28.  You chewed on the inside of your cheek as a thought - a terrible one at that - ran through your mind, grabbing your phone and slipping on a pair of socks before scurrying out of the quiet dorm. 

The dorm halls seemed to stretch out much longer than you’d like, feeling like you were walking down a highway for hours.  You could’ve been convinced easily you walked the entire length of the campus. 

But eventually, you reached a room on the other end of the hall.  A banal door with nothing but the numbers 628 printed on them.  It seemed foreign to you, like you had lost all memory of the dorm since you last stepped into it two weeks ago.

“Jesus Christ, Matthew, I was studying with him!  Jack’s top of the class and I needed some help!” you whisper-shouted at him.  His roommate, thankfully, went home for the weekend, but you didn’t want to risk any of his neighbors waking up at the ungodly hour of three in the morning. 

“It is a big deal whenever he’s practically pulling you into his lap, Y/N,” he said, his hands running back through his messy curls.  You could tell he hadn’t showered or styled his hair that day from how messy it was, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t one of your favorite looks on him.

You huffed in annoyance and folded your arms across your chest, sitting on his bed as you listened to him voice his grievances.  “Do you not trust me enough to even study with a friend?  How many times do I have to remind you that I love you? Not him, not anyone else, only you,” you preached to him, but given your tone of voice, you could see on his face that he didn’t believe you.  He probably thought you saying it sounded more like a chore than a feeling. 

“Besides, you didn’t see me getting all pissed off when you hung out with Lydia at that party last week.  She was practically hanging off of you, and I never said a thing,” you reminded him, which just earned you an eye roll from the tall boy as he leaned against his desk, his palm pressed into the cheap wood.

“That was different.  She was drunk and I didn’t want her to fall over or have some guy she doesn’t know take her home,” he defended himself, watching his carotid pulse in his forehead as he tried to keep his voice down.  You scoffed at his excuses, raising your eyebrows slightly as if to ask if he had anything else to say.

“She literally ogles you every time you walk past her!  She told her friends that she couldn’t wait for you to break up with me so she could have her turn!”

“She was drunk and she’s been my friend since freshman year, Y/N!  People say things they don’t mean when they’re drunk,” he groaned, holding his hands behind his neck as he let out a heavy sigh.  You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he carefully picked out his next sentences word by word. 

“This isn’t about me, it’s about that jackass who keeps trying to hit on you when I’m not around,” he said, folding his arms across his chest as he paced in front of you.  You watched as his bones pressed against his skin out of anger, painting his knuckles white as they gripped onto his upper arms.  “How do you think I felt when my friends texted me to tell me you were out with him instead of you telling me?” he asked, his voice dropping from angry to hurt.  

“I only didn’t tell you because I knew you’d freak!  Just like you are right now!” you exclaimed, standing up from your place on the bed.  “And I don’t know how you felt, because I’m not you.  But I can tell you how I felt when your ‘best friend since freshman year’ was clinging off of you like her life depended on it, and you can tell me how close I am,” you remarked, standing in front of him as if to challenge him.  If it weren’t for your significant height difference, you probably wouldn’t feel so inferior at that moment. 

He let out a huff and sat back on the bed where you were moments before, letting his hands sink into the firm mattress behind him.  His expressions dropped to something unreadable.  “So tell me then.”

You let your eyebrows knit together, your arms still folded across your chest as you barely looked down at him.  “I felt like she was going to drag you off to some trashy room of the frat house and sleep with you, and you’d forget who I was for fifteen minutes.  I felt like you were more interested in her than me, and that I wasn’t enough for you right then,” you spoke honestly, not letting your emotions affect your facial expressions.  You couldn’t seem weak, not right now. 

You could tell he was holding back on a scoff or an eye roll, but you decided to let it go for now and just let him talk.  “You know I’d never sleep with her, Y/N,” he said firmly.  You couldn’t even hold back your own eye roll, picking your jacket up from the hook by his door, slightly annoyed that that was the part he had picked to remark on. 

“I’d never sleep with Jack, either,” you said, watching him quickly scramble up from his seat the second he realized I was about to leave. 

“Wait, wait, wait, Y/N-” he started, but the longer you watched and waited for him to finish whatever thought he had, the more you realized he didn’t have anything to say.  He just wanted you to stay. 

You wished that you could.

“Matthew, I can’t stay around with you if you can’t trust me the way I trust you,” you told him.  You made your way to the door, opening it before leaving and slamming it behind you.

For a split second, you saw his face.  His beautiful, pained face, tears pooling in his bright hazel eyes.

 And it broke your heart. 

You knocked softly in a pattern Matthew had taught you, Morse code for “EAP.”  He wanted to have a secret code for just the two of you so he knew whether or not to answer the door, so he settled on the abbreviation for one of his favorite authors in the world - Edgar Allan Poe. 

You could see the light from his room seeping beneath the crack at the bottom of the door, and you hoped it was him and not his roommate.  After a few minutes of silence, you knocked in the distinct pattern again, running a hand back through your slightly knotted hair as you waited patiently.  

You heard the soft pitter-patter of large socked feet of the hardwood flooring coming from the room, and then the unlocking of the heavy locks that were newly installed in the dorms last year.  You let out a soft sigh as the door opened for you, taking in the sight you’ve missed for two weeks - for fourteen days, three hundred thirty six hours. 

Matthew didn’t look great.  Far from it, if you were being honest with yourself.  You wanted to believe it was because of the stress of finals, but you knew that it probably wasn’t true.  His eyes that were normally accompanied by dark circles were worse than normal, the beautiful brown color you loved glazed over and dull.  His hair was messy and unkempt, and despite being over six feet tall, he seemed shrunken into himself, smaller than someone of his stature would be.  You highly doubted that he had gotten much sleep, knowing how hard and personal he usually took these matters.

“Are you okay?” was the first thing he asked.  He didn’t scold you for knocking on his door in the middle of the night. He didn’t spit at you and tell you to leave him alone or go fuck yourself and the smart kid one floor up.  He wanted to make sure you were alright.  

It gave you a warm feeling in your chest that you hadn’t felt since you slammed this same boring door in his face.

“I… I, uh, can’t sleep,” you mustered out, your words slightly slurred from the lack of sleep you’d gotten the past few days.  You wound the hem of your loose t-shirt around your fingers, waiting for some sort of response from him before he opened his door just a bit more to allow you in. 

“What do you need me to do?”  he asked, closing the door behind you once you were inside.  You couldn’t help but notice his roommate’s side was cleared out, so it was just the two of you in the cold, surprisingly clean room.  You let out a soft sigh of relief, grateful that he had packed up and left sometime before now.  Selfishly, you just wanted him all to yourself right now.

“Can you read to me?” you asked in a hushed voice, chewing on the inside of your cheek.  

Matthew had the best reading voice.  You assumed it was from all of his years in theater, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he had practiced elaborating on voices in his spare time.  Every time you spent the night in his room or he spent the night in yours, he would tell you a story to help you fall asleep.  Most of the time, he made the stories up on the fly, and they could be so ridiculous that you laughed too much to get any sleep.  But your favorite times were when he recited Edgar Allan Poe stories to you.  He tried to make them sound spooky and scary, but his voice was so soothing that it lulled you to sleep every single time. 

“I know it’s probably weird to ask that of you right now, and it might be really awkward too. I can just head back-”

He cut me off with a silent nod, getting into his bed and turning off the lamp before patting the space beside him.  

You were hesitant at first, despite it being the entire reason you came down here, before crawling in next to him.  His arms immediately went around you, his touch being as light as a feather since he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.  When you rested your head on his chest and held him tightly, he let his grip tighten around you in a more protective manner.

“What do you wanna hear, angel?” he asked softly, his voice faltering at the nickname like he had just swore in front of his parents.  

The last thing he wanted to do was make you uneasy, and despite you coming to his room in the middle of the night and cuddling up to him like you were about to lose him at sea, he didn’t want to do anything to make you leave. 

He couldn’t let himself make that mistake again. 

“Can you read me Annabel Lee?” you asked quietly, barely above a whisper.  He leaned his head back against the bed frame, letting out a soft sigh as he nodded.  You heard him take a quiet, deep breath before he slowly began. 

“It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me…”

 His voice was slow and steady, dramatizing each word when necessary while keeping the same pace and tone.  His voice was melodic, and had almost put you to sleep as you listened.  You relished in the trace-like state his voice drew you to, your grip instinctively tightening around him to keep him close.

 “I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

 “And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.”

You looked up at him carefully, trying not to disturb him as best as possible so he didn’t lose his place.  Despite him having the story memorized by heart, he seemed to frequently get distracted too easily.  You noticed that he was focused on something in the corner, and you couldn’t quite tell what it was.  You let your head fall back to his chest, your hand resting just beneath the hem of his gray t-shirt as he continued.

 “The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

 “But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;”

  Your gaze finally adjusted to the dark room as you found what he was looking at finally; it was a framed picture of the two of you, one you don’t think you’ve ever seen before.  You were kissing his cheek and he had his arms wrapped tightly around you, similar to how you were right now, wearing a smile brighter than any star you’ve ever seen.  Someone else had taken it, on the steps of the main NYU building.  It looked like your last day of junior year, before you spent the summer with him in Vegas.  

That was, without a doubt, one of the best times of your life.

 For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea—

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

  You felt your heart shatter all over again as you heard his voice begin to break at the final stanza, feeling one single drop fall onto your hand that rested high on his chest.  

You both pretended that you didn’t notice it.  

You let your eyes flutter shut, replaying the sound of his voice in your head over and over again as it lulled you to sleep.  

As you felt yourself finally overcome with relaxation and drowsiness, you let your eyes squeeze shut tightly as he pulled the blankets over you, making sure you had just enough to be comfortable but not too many to be hot.  

You couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of your heart swelling in your chest at how much he cared to make you comfortable.  You felt his soft, plump lips press to your head moments before your well-deserved rest overcame you, hearing one last thing from the voice so soft and sweet that lulled you to sleep countless times before.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, sniffling as quietly as possible to do his best not to wake you.  You wanted to say something to him, but you could barely even keep your eyes open.  Just before you felt yourself slip into the abyss of slumber, you heard him whisper something - mostly for himself, but you knew exactly who it was meant for.

“Please don’t leave me.”

#matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gubler #matthew gubler fanfiction #matthew gubler fic #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler x y/n #matthew gubler x reader #matthew gubler x you #matthew gubler x y/n #college!mgg #college!matthew gray gubler #college!matthew gubler #mgg fanfiction #mgg fic #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg x you #mgg x y/n #college!mgg fanfiction #college!mgg fanfic #college!mgg x reader #college!mgg x you #college!mgg x y/n

[fivefeetfear]

Chapter one

This takes place a year into the future.

......................................

"Spinel please be careful while you are down on Earth." White says worriedly as she kneels before the pink gem. Blue nods in agreement as she joins White on the floor.

"And don't forget to call us whenever you have the time." The cool colored diamond chimes in a soft smile gracing her features.

"And please bathe everyday so you don't get the stench of that disgusting planet onto your clothes." Yellow advise with a scowl on her face. She really hated the smell when they last visited, and she doubts much has changed. The two other diamonds roll their eyes at Yellow whom only shrugged. They knew she was right.

All three of the diamonds then shifted their attention back to the beloved gem before them wary for the journey ahead of her. Spinel smiles nervously at the over baring women as she rubs the back of her neck. Though she lived with them for a year, the pink gem was not the biggest fan of the diamonds overprotective nature. It could be quite exhausting and honestly a bit embarrassing. Most days she felt like their child when she was not being their best friend. Even so, Spinel loves them dearly, but this trip is necessary for the sake of her sanity. Just the thought of sleeping in without entertaining anyone sounded amazing to her. Spinel never knew she would miss having her own space, at least this time she gets to choose when she wants to be alone.

Spinel steps onto the warp padded preparing herself to leave the palace.

"Don't worry about me my diamonds; you won't even notice that I'm gone." She says teasingly trying to bring some light to the situation. Though the diamonds didn't find it amusing. Yellow's eyes sharpen as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Was that self-deprecation?" Yellow questions making Spinel straightening up her posture at her tone. Crap. Blue eyes widen as she lowers herself closer to Spinel with concerned in her hues. Blue gently strokes the top of Spinel's head as she spoke tenderly.

"Of course we will notice you are gone, we love you Spinel." Blue says softly making the small gem feel guilty at her poor choice of words. In her defense she didn't mean for it to come out as self deprecation, they just took it that way as usual. Yellow then glances over at White as she "mutters" to her.

"Do you think she is ready to be on her own? Should we send one of our pearls with her?" Yellow asks White, who seems to be considering the thought. Maybe she still needed more supervision.

Spinel felt panic swell in her chest as she gazed up at her diamonds with pleading magenta eyes.

"I'm ready! I promise no more self-deprecating jokes!" She says. Spinel appreciates that her diamonds had spent all their time helping her build up her confidence. It was not by much, a year barely made a dent to the damage of six thousand years caused, but it was a start. She was able to keep her abandonment issues under control since she literally spends every single day with them, but she had some minor setbacks. Spinel thanked the stars that Steven was able to convince them that she is ready to go back to Earth for a mini-vacation and to take a break from diamond duties. There was no way she was going to let this opportunity pass her by. Spinel clasped her hands together and enlarged them as she gave the diamonds her best doe eyes.

"Please." She mutters meekly instantly making White and Blue melt under her glossy eyes.

"Ok, ok, just be safe and you can come home whenever you like!" White concedes childishly, how could she say no to that face! Yellow scoffs as she rolls her eyes agitated at how easily she gave in. This is Pink all over again.

Spinel smiles widely as she nods her head. She quickly waves at her family as a bright light shined from beneath her.

"See you soon my diamonds, bye!" And just like that she had vanished from their sight. In a blink of an eye Spinel was in the middle of Little Homeworld. It was bustling with different types of gems and a few humans here and there. The building also varies in sizes and colors, her eyes shined at the beautifully crafted town. The atmosphere here felt warm and cheery, the sky is bright blue with birds flocking above. It was nothing like the dark cold space at Homeworld. Releasing a heavy breath her shoulders slouches low to the ground, her arms spiral to the floor feeling at ease.

"SPINEL!" Someone cried out making said gem whip around behind her. Her smile softens as she spotted the main Crystal Gems. Steven was waving animatedly as he rushes over to her with Pearl, Garnet, and Amethyst behind him. Spinel nerves began to take over as they grew closer, she still felt a large amount of guilt for what she did to them. Even though they reassured her multiple times that all is forgiven during their visits to Homeworld. Nevertheless, she still felt a shred of doubt, but she pushed that aside as Steven yanks her into a hug giggling happily as always.

"It's so good to finally meet up again! This is going to be a fun summer with you around!" he says enthusiastically. The gems smirked at his upbeat energy, they were all grateful that even though Steven is getting older, he was still the go lucky kid they all love. Spinel hums contently as she pulled away, physical contact still made her anxious. Spinel waves at the rest of the Crystal Gems, each of them giving her their own unique warm welcome. The pink gem clears her throat as she looked around Little Homeworld, her orbs then looked over to the hilltop where her injector used to be planted. It was no longer a toxic cesspool, but a beautiful greenie that added to the scenery of this peaceful town. In addition, if she looked hard enough, the first crater her injector left was in the shape of a upside down heart much like her gem. It seems so long ago now, so much as changed but yet at the same time everything still feels the same. At least to her.

Spinel glances at her friends and their new outfits, then she looks down at herself. Maybe thats why she feels the same. Her appearance did not change much; she still has her spiky pigtails and the three lines running down her cheeks. The only differences are she exchanged her puffy shorts and her large pointy shoes for something more casual and comfortable. She also stretched herself a few inches taller, experimenting with her height. Her eyes sadden, as she looks back at Steven, who is now seventeen years old.

"Can't believe it's been a year since I've been here, this place is beautiful" She muses still remembering when the small town was only 83.7 percent complete. OR in her case 56.2 percent complete since she did destroy most of it trying to help Steven get Garnets memories back. She really did track disaster everywhere she went?

"Yeah remind me to dispose of the pizza cutter." Peridot voice chimes in as she, Lapis, and Bismuth approached the team. The three gems gave the pink gem either a small smile or a shy wave. She returned their greetings with a wave of her own. It will take some time for her to adjust being around them all at once again.

"Hey, guys ready for the show?" Steven asked the three breaking the awkward silence that fell upon them.

"Yeah, let's start heading over so we can get good seats." Bismuth suggested as she began to lead the way. The Crystal Gem's follow close behind as Spinel and Steven walked behind the pack.

Spinel stood close to Steven, still feeling a bit awkward with the rest of the gems.

"Show?" she asks him, Steven nods.

"Yeah, one of the gems created a Broadway theater so gems and humans can sing, dance, act and she is a really good friend of ours. I'm sure you'll like her!" Steven said positively, his smile never faltering. Spinel smiles ever so softly as she held her arms closed to her body.

"Ok sounds like fun." She mutters.

#spinel #spinel x reader #fanfic #su #steven universe #spinel steven universe #love #cute #story

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you have any tan lines? Nope. Have you ever wished you could stop time? Yes. I’ve also wished I could speed it up. Is there any pictures on the wall you're in? Yeah, there’s several. Who was the last person who called you? My mom. Did you make any money today? No.

Have you ever fallen and twisted your ankle? No. What was the highest place you've ever jumped from? I haven’t jumped from anywhere. Have you ever gone swimming in a river? No. Ever been so unfortunate to slip on wet rocks? Nope. When was the last time you got completely soaked by rain? It’s been a long time. One of the times that comes to mind is when my mom, aunt, a former friend, and I were at an outdoor festival and we got caught in an unexpected rain storm. It just started pouring down hard and we were not prepared at all. We had to run back to our car, which was parked a good distance away and yeah we were absolutely soaked. 

Is there something you really want to buy at the moment? I’d love to be able to book a beach vacation getaway. Would you ever consider culinary school? No. I’m not a cook and have no interest in trying to become one. Do you ever watch the clouds, to see if they look like objects/animals etc? I did when I was a kid sometimes. When was the last time you didn't want to get out of bed? That’s me everyday. It’s a real struggle. Are you excited for anything coming up in the near future? No. My foreseeable future consists of more doctors and appointments and struggles and spending most of my time in bed. Speaking of dancing, do you know any real dance moves? I know them, but I can’t do them. Do you save cards from your birthday/x-mas, etc? Yes. What was the last souvenir someone got you? A shirt. Do you have a favorite remix of a song? One of my favorite covers is Adele’s cover of George Michael’s “Fast Love” that she preformed at an award show in honor of him after he died. I can only describe it as hauntingly beautiful. I really wish she would have released a studio version of it. When was the last time you printed something off? I don’t recall; it’s been awhile. Are you one of those people who can learn music/songs by ear? No, I wish. There was a guy in my piano class I took my senior year in high school that could do that. It was really cool. Has the power gone out recently? No, but I have a feeling it will happen soon. It always does when we have a lot of triple digit degree weather, which is what this week has consisted of. Do you like driving at night? I don’t drive, but I like nighttime drives. Like, whenever I travel I love leaving really early when it’s still dark out. It’s a different experience. Does seeing roadkill make you sad, or just grossed out? Both. Does wearing heels make you feel sexier? I don’t wear heels. What do you think is the most saddest sounding instrument? The piano can sound that way. What day do you go back to school (if you're in school)? I’m forever done with school. When was the last time you've gone shopping with a friend? It’s been a few years. Do you ever go out to dinner with your Mom? We haven’t physically gone out to eat for dinner in quite a long time.  What is your favorite kind of salad dressing? Ranch. Have you ever bought fireworks? Not me personlly, but my dad and brother do every 4th of July. Do you really pay attention to the ratings on movies? Sometimes, but I ultimately decide if I want to see it or not. Have you ever snuck in to a theater/dance/bar etc? No. If given the chance, would you go to Ireland? Sure. Who was the last person/website to send you an email? I don’t feel like checking. Has your phone ever rang and scared you? Yeah. I’m such a jumpy person anyway. If you have a cat, does it ever "converse" with you? I don’t have a cat. If given the chance, would you ever fly in a fighter plane like the F-16? No. Are you afraid of standing on the edge of hills/skyscrapers/cliffs etc? Uh, YES. Do you have a favorite species of wild cat (tiger/lion/cougar etc)? No. Do you support the funds designed to protect endangered animals? (Like WWF). I haven’t done much myself to support them, but I’m glad they exist. What type of a drunk are you? (Obnoxious, calm, emotional, violent, etc) I was a chatty drunk. I feel like I was annoying, ha. I was also the sad drunk. Do you have an absolute favorite name (boy or girl)? I love the name Alexander. Are you good at pronouncing foreign words? Uhh, depends. If you're not already, when do you plan on getting married? I don’t want to get married. Can you tolerate the smell of cigarette smoke? Nooo. It honestly makes me sick, like I get lightheaded and dizzy, I get nauseous, and I get a really bad headache. When listening to music, do you usually tap your foot etc to the beat? I sometimes tap my fingers and hands. Have you ever literally cried on a friend's shoulder? No. Was there something that "made your day" today? It literally just turned midnight, so today is just now starting. Do you have a favorite kind of chocolate bar? White chocolate. Are you happy that it's summer? Ugh, no. It’s hot and miserable. Is there anything that you should be doing right now? I’m about to make my nightly bowl of ramen.  Has anyone had expectations that you just couldn't live up to? (finishing this a couple hours later...) That’s how I’ve been feeling. Are you currently in a relationship? If so, how long have you been dating? Nope. Would you ever consider being a DJ at a party if you were paid? Nah. Have you ever tried those electric toothbrushes? Wow, this question makes it seem like they’re so futuristic and rare lol. Yes, I use electric toothbrushes. Are you or anyone you know devoted to "being green"? Not overly so, no. When it comes election time, do you vote (if you're old enough)? Yes. What was the last movie you watched that was on TV? I watched Fear 1994 on Netflix recently if that counts. How long have you had an account on bzoink? I don’t have an account on bzoink. Do strapless bras work for you? I don’t like them. I only wear them if I have to, like with a dress. Do you have a favorite hair elastic that you use almost always? No. Has anyone told you that they wanted to marry you/ were planning on it/etc? No. When you were younger, did you have a yoyo? I did. I couldn’t do any tricks, though. What was the last video game you played, if any? Animal Crossing: New Horizons. Has anyone ever called you nerdy? Yeah. Have you ever had to call 911? Yes. Has there ever been a tornado near where you live? No, fortunately. Are you a rollercoaster addict? Noo. I’m a big scardy cat. Do you feel comfortable enough to wear short shorts? No. I’m very self-conscious about my legs. About my body in general, really. If you have iTunes, do you find the Genius recommendations helpful? I don’t even recall what that is; I haven’t used iTunes in almost 10 years. Are you quick at looking up numbers in phonebooks/ words in dictionaries? Phonebooks, wow.  I haven’t used a phonebook or actual dictionary in yearsssss thanks to the Internet/Google.  Have a favorite actor/actress from Old Hollywood? (Marilyn Munroe, etc) Lucille Ball. Out of Biology, Chemistry and Physics, which are you the best at? None of those. Is there a friend you can always talk to about anything? I don’t have any friends. Can you stand spicy foods? Not anymore. :( It’s gotta have like barely anything like McDonald’s or Taco Bell mild hot sauce type of stuff. It’s wild because I used to be obSESSED with spicy food. I put hot sauce on everything and had a high spicy tolerance. Then a few years ago I developed a sensitivity and I can’t even have red pepper flakes now. It sucks. What's your opinion on people who stretch their ears? Hey, do what you want. I’ll admit the really stretched out lobes freak me out, though. Do you think tattoos are expressive art or unattractive? To me they can be either one, it just depends. What is your school mascot? -- Do you find black and white photos to be pretty? Yeah. Food you make doesn't taste as good as food made by others, true? Sometimes. Especially foods like sandwiches for some reason. I think they’re way better when my mom or a deli makes them.  Is there a certain color that doesn't look good on you? I don’t think I look good in anything, so. Have you ever heard anything interesting about Nova Scotia, Canada? Not that I can recall. Have you ever seen a bear in the wild? No, thankfully. Do you know when you will get to see your significant other next? I’m single. What's the book you're currently reading? ”Such a Good Girl” by Willow Rose. Is your room currently a disaster? No. If going to a concert, do you prefer it to be outside or in a stadium? Definitely in a stadium.

Do you have a case for your camera? I use the camera on my phone, which I do have a case for. Can your cellphone take a beating? I’ve dropped it a few times and so far so good. Is there a month you prefer over others? October and December. Do you ever buy lottery tickets? Just a couple of times. Can you recall the most disturbing movie you've ever seen? A Clockwork Orange is one. Are you more of a tape or a glue person? Tape. Of course, it does depend on what I’m doing. In some cases, glue is the better option.  Has anyone you know gotten mono? Not that I know of. What is/or was your graduating year? I graduated UC in 2015. Have you had a weird dream lately? All my dreams are weird. Have you ever gotten an autograph from someone famous? Yes. Do you own a pair of slippers? No. Do you ever watch VHS movies anymore? No. I don’t even recall the last time. Has your computer ever decided to completely erase itself? No, but I’ve lost stuff because of viruses back in the day. :(

Only when the power goes out do we realize how much we rely on it, true? It definitely becomes quite apparent quite quickly. Have you ever picked an apple off the tree and eaten it? No. Can you say yes / no in different languages? ”Si” and “No”, ha. Are you good at styling your own hair? No. Especially not anymore since I just don’t have the motivation or energy to do anything with my hair, which is why it was always up in a bun. I finally just cut it really short and have been wearing a cute wig if I go somewhere cause that’s all I can to do right now. I am sad, though. It was so long.   Out of the traditional superheroes, which one is your favorite? The Scarlett Witch and Iron Man. What color is the shirt you're wearing right now? Black. Have you ever been lost? Physically and figuratively, yes.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

[babyleclerc]

Tequila Sunrise

Pairings: Chris Evans x Fem Reader

Style: One-Shot

Request?: No, but 100% inspired by that stupid Shawn Mendes/Camila Cabello song I will never get out of my head

Warnings: Language. Smut. Unprotected sex (woops, wrap it before you tap it, kids). NSFW. Slight dom!Chris.

Word count: 4.5K 

Summary: You’ve known Chris since you were twelve. He’s always been a constant for you, never a romantic interest. But will the summer heatwave, humidity and pool time get to your head and change the way you feel about each other? Includes Anthony Mackie!

A/N: Holy shit, you guys. I’ve been working on this one all week. I won’t lie, I’m attached to this one and really hope you guys like it. :3 I’m considering doing a series tied to this -- more of what happens with Reader/Chris & potentially with Ava (bc I love her personality and modeled her off Blake Lively, if you couldn’t tell). If you liked this/would be interested in reading more in this world please comment and let me know!! Your support helps me write :))

This story truly feels like my baby so please do leave it some love/review if you liked it. Sorry if the smut sucked I hate writing it but felt like it was essential to the story jfdlakflds;akf;dsaf. Don’t hate me. ALSO, huge thank you to my #1 @deartomhardy. She helped me through this in so many ways. Hyped me up when parts of this fic made me sweaty, yelled at me when I whined about the smut. Supported me literally through it all. I love u my baby angel. <3 (Gif not mine!)

You say we’re just friends,

But friends don’t know the way you taste.

‘Cause you know it’s been a long time coming,

Don’t you let me fall.

It was hotter than all hell, and you were starting to get sick of the dry heat that was coursing it’s way through the city the past few days. Your hometown used to be so enjoyable; better weather, less traffic, less people, less lines, less noise. Now, everything was popular - and not in a cute way. The donut shop down the street you had been going to since you were five was now considered a collectible. You saw tourists at the airport with the stupid blue boxes everywhere. The quaint coffee shop that was next to a questionable Chinese restaurant had now multiplied where you could find one on almost every street corner. Even down to the people - one in particular - who used to just be a regular Joe Schmoe was now a celebrity in his (also your) hometown. Wild.

“Find any hotties out there?” You turned your head to the edge of the pool to peer through your circular sunglasses at the voice. Mackie was leaned against the cool tiles surrounding the edge of the pool, the bottom of his body enveloped in water. He turned to look at Chris who had just entered the gated pool area.

“I just went to get some beers, Mack. Chill.” Chris replied, and you couldn’t help the small smile that formed on your lips at his response.

Local-theatre-geek-turned-celebrity did have its perks, though. For one, you were able to enjoy a private pool on a 97 degree day, well, privately. Chris’s summer home was nothing short of a resort; food at any and all hours of the day, a pool, hot tub, and theater room. The best part about the pool was that there were no kids screaming and running around, wreaking havoc. You had a barbecue all to yourself, you could blast music and no one would complain. Plus, you found yourself suddenly surrounded by far better and more interesting company.

You and Chris had always been close. That was clear to everyone around you. You went to his premieres, supported him on Broadway, stayed up with him late into the night over the phone when his anxiety got the best of him, and he was a full Country away from you. Assured him that he would have the family he’s always wanted one day. And he supported you through all your endeavors. Helped you pay your way through grad school (I have so much money, Y/N, I literally don’t know what to do with it. Let me do something good for you, just this once he’d said to you late that night on the floor of your college dorm). Listened to you when you ranted about your parents and how the planet alignment was throwing off your mood. Was a shoulder to cry on when you went through breakups. There were no secrets between you, and there was no drama.

You knew this was because the only rule you had with Chris was the one that had stood the test of time: no sex. Period. No matter how drunk you got in the college dorms or at Marvel premieres. Even if you didn’t have someone to kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Even if you were vulnerable, heart aching for some affection and non-romantic sex after your ex cheated on you. Even if you were just plain horny. No. Sex. Your 20+ year friendship had lasted this long because one person in the relationship had always stood that ground no matter the circumstances. And for that, you were so thankful. Thankful for the lack of complications and strings; thankful you had someone in your life you could be you around. It was a rarity these days.

“Beer?” Said friend asked you, sunglasses adorned his tanning face. You looked up from Mackie and nodded, stretching out a hand to reach for the refreshing drink Chris was offering your way.

“Please,” You respond, waiting for Chris to pad his way over to you across the massive outdoor patio.

Had Chris not had his sunglasses on, you would have noticed the way he was eyeing your outstretched body, clad only in a thin, navy blue bikini on the poolside chair. Your bottoms hugged your hips as if made just for you; your tousled hair touching just beneath your shoulders; stray strands innocently snuggled beneath your breasts.

He took a breath, willing himself to look away as he handed you the cool drink. You noticed the way his obliques twitched with his arm movement, and how massive his biceps were after coming off of Endgame. You had, of course, noticed your best friend’s looks before - you weren’t blind - but the heat was making you see him in a different light. You took a swig of your beer, hoping the distraction would take you away from the way a bead of sweat was falling just along his torso towards the top of his swim trunks...

“I’d love one, Chris, thanks for asking.” Your best friend, Ava, spoke out next to you.

“Did you have to bring her?” Chris teased, grabbing another beer and gently tossing it towards Ava, who lay sprawled out on a lounge chair next to you in a stunning red one piece that hugged her cleavage just right.

Ava was the quintessential best friend whose kindness and selflessness made up for the fact that any woman next to her would otherwise feel inadequate.

She had long, slender legs, carved after years of soccer, tennis, biking, and basically any sport she could get her hands on. The constant need for an adrenaline rush made her tanned skin stay year-round, which was accompanied by a moderate four pack, large natural breasts, and wavy, thick blonde hair that always fell just right. Add her bright emerald eyes and a contagious laugh that lit up any room, and she was a heartbreaker to any man that was lucky enough to be in the same room as her.

But Ava didn’t care about that stuff, and that’s what made her so special. She was selfless. She put everyone else’s needs above her own, and had kindness oozing out of her, no matter the circumstances. She went to Mexico on a UNICEF trip on a whim after reading an article about children in need on a random Tuesday morning. She put her younger brother through medical school when both of her parents passed away unexpectedly (still a mystery to everyone else how she ever managed it). She was a perfect blend of compassion and enthusiasm that attracted men who wanted to get in bed with her and women who wanted to be associated with her. And it was effortless; as if it came to her like breathing.

“They’re kind of a package deal, those two.” Mackie piped up from the pool, grinning as he unashamedly drank Ava in. He had been trying to get with her all summer, but Ava stood her ground. She wasn’t one for summer flings.

But Chris knew this already; in fact it was Ava and Chris’s friendship that had gotten you to know Chris to begin with. Your mom had forced you into 6th grade soccer (hoping you would show some sort of athletic talent in your childhood) where you had met Ava on the very first day. Chris had been on the boys team at your middle school, and Ava being, well, Ava, had already made friends with the entire team within days. Your practices were on separate fields, separated only by a goal post but always ended at the same time. You would frequently all walk home together after practice, stopping for a smoothie, donuts, or ice cream along the way depending on the weather and talking about everything under the sun. Those walks were the reason you stuck with soccer for all those years (sorry, Mom).

“I already know what you’re going to say,” Ava started, lowering her voice and leaning towards you so the boys couldn’t hear. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say a certain someone was checking you out today.”

You rolled your eyes, but felt your heart skip a beat at the insinuation. “Don’t go starting shit, Ave. He’s seen me in a bikini a million times.”

“Yeah, and you’ve seen him shirtless a million times, too, and yet here you are gawking at him like he’s some Sports Illustrated model.”

“Am not!” You laughed, taking a drink of your beer. You noticed the way Chris’s eyebrows raised at the sound of you from across the patio; he was always in tune with you even from a thousand miles away.

“Prove it.” Ava deadpanned, swinging her legs over her chair to sit up and face you.

“What?” You asked, exhausted by your best friend’s antics.

“Prove it.” She repeated, setting her beer down on the cement. “If it’s no big deal, and you feel the same way about him you always have and nothing’s changed-” She used air quotations, referring to the thousands of conversations you’d had about Chris since you were both back visiting your hometown and hanging out with Ava, “-then swimming and playing around in the pool should be no big deal. Just another swim with your best buds.”

She had a wicked grin on her face, and you knew you were in trouble. When Ava set her mind to something, she always saw it through. No matter what.

“Please don’t do this.” You pouted, though your best friend was already standing, waiting to make her move. The pitied look on your face didn’t fool her, and you found she was ignoring you as she dramatically fanned herself, heading towards the pool.

“It’s getting a bit toasty. I think I’ll take a dip to cool off.” She announced, “Y/N, you coming?”

“I think I’m good, thanks.” You glared at her, unamused. She shot you a wink in response.

“Man, I was really hoping we could chicken fight. Evans!” Chris jumped at the sudden inclusion from the loud blonde. “You in?”

He looked up from the edge of the pool where he had been leaning against one of the railings. Him and Mackie had been discussing some latest sports announcement at length, since you had been too bored earlier to listen out at lunch.

“Mhm?” Chris asked, clearly not paying attention to Ava’s antics and shooting a look over to the both of you. You noticed the beer in his hand was nearly empty.

“Chicken fight!” Ava said enthusiastically, “Me ‘n Mack vs you two losers.”

“Alright!” Mackie shouted happily, “Now things are getting interesting. Finally.”

Chris sighed, not near excited for the fight as the other two. “You in, partner?”

“I guess.” You groaned, knowing you had no way out of both Anthony and Ava’s persistence. You pulled yourself up off the chair and stood, stretching and rolling your neck, which had been stiff from the CrossFit class Ava had forced you to earlier in the week. Your muscles still ached from the fifty minute torture session you cursed your best friend all the way through, and though you’d never admit it - a dip in the pool sounded so refreshing after nearly 45 minutes in the heat.

Chris’s eyes never left you, or the way your body was glistening in the sunlight. The summer heat was leaving your cheeks just flushed, and he noticed how the thin swim material hugged your plump ass seductively. You were oblivious. Oblivious to the beauty and perfection Chris saw in you, how your right dimple surfaced when you laughed, and your eyelashes fluttered when you slept deeply. He felt a small pang of jealousy in his gut at the thought of all the guys who had seen you that way, and wondered if they noticed all those things about you that he did.

Throughout high school and through adulthood, people had always assumed Chris was dating Ava. Whether it was friends, family, or tabloids - people always gushed over what a “beautiful couple” he and Ava made. Maybe it was because of the stark blond hair, or maybe that she was almost taller than Chris, and they appeared to be “perfectly matched”. To Chris, she was just Ava. A close, and dear friend, but no one he would ever be romantically interested in. 

She wasn’t you.

--- 

Much to your annoyance (and to Ava’s pleasure), chicken fighting with Chris had been just as awkward as you had expected. You were acutely aware of every touch - the way his strong hands gripped your thighs when you were straddled on top of his shoulders, desperately trying to shove your best friend off Anthony’s. She was stronger than you; that much was obvious. But having Chris at the base gave you an edge, and you ended up winning more than the other pair thanks to his cheating swipes at Mackie from under the water.

While the game was innocent enough, you heart drummed loudly in your chest every time his skin made contact with yours. Several times as you fell, shoved off by Ava’s very aggressive pushes, you’d feel Chris’s strong arms envelope you, laughing and crashing into the water with you. His arm stayed wrapped around your torso, holding you easily against his hip as you pushed up for air. Water droplets danced along your shoulders as you laughed, easily wrapping your legs around Chris as an excuse for support.

Finally, after several hours of Marco/Polo, ring tossing, and shark and minnows, Anthony and Ava had tired themselves out and retired to their respective homes. You and Chris had moved to the hot tub, tucked deep into the corner of the house, where you could still see the stars. The heatwave had finally burnt off, and you felt a cool breeze rolling through the property, sending a slight shiver down your spine. You leaned your head back onto the cool, diamond tiles that lined the tub, your legs peacefully resting on Chris’s lap across from you as the jets made water bubbles all around you. You sighed, blissfully happy - nothing was better than a long, warm day at the pool with your best friends.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” Chris asked softly. His fingers danced across your legs like a whisper, his warm blues matching the color of the water just beneath his sturdy chest. 

“I’ve just missed this,” You reply, raising your eyes to meet his. “Life should always be this simple.”

“It can be.” Chris retaliated, thumb now making small circles just above your ankle. You smiled softly.

“Sometimes. But other times I remember that there’s reality, and we have to work and pay bills and like... be an adult.” You sighed again, “It’s just not the same as...” You trailed off, not having the balls to finish your sentence. You awkwardly broke eye contact with him, looking down at your hands in the water.

“Not the same as what?” He pressed, hand now gripping your ankle gently. He tugged just enough to force you to make eye contact with him again. 

“Real life just isn’t the same as being here with you,” You finished out awkwardly. This was uncharted territory - you’d never talked about this kind of stuff with Chris. You were always just friends, and that was the extent of it. Nothing more; and there was never really an opportunity to be more than that because both of you had never let it. 

But now... now he was here. And he was so... perfect. And caring. And kind. And he listened to your ideas, beyond just wanting to get into your pants. And he knew you so intimately, it was hard to think about being with anyone else. It made you wonder if all of your past relationships had failed for a reason, maybe there was someone else you were supposed to be with, and he had been right in front of you this entire time?

Chris tugged on your leg, a little stronger this time, willing you towards him as the water bounced between you guys softly. He was closing the gap between the both of you, but the pace in which he was taking was painfully slow. You felt every second, as if it had been slowed down five times, as you inched towards him slowly.

“Chris, I...” You whispered, as his hands enveloped you, gripping your waist and maneuvering you so that you straddled his lap.

“What?” He asked breathlessly, drunk on your smell, and the way your ass was settling on his groin. His eyes still haven’t left yours, he’s testing you - daring you to be the one to pull away first. 

“I don’t trust myself right now.” You reply, eyes boring into his. Your face was millimeters away from his, and you so desperately wanted to reach out and taste him; know what it would feel like to kiss those soft, pink lips. 

“Just one kiss.” He breathed. His tone was more of a request than it was statement, he was begging you to give in just this once. You lifted your hands and rested them on the sides of his face, feeling his slight stubble against the palms of your hands.In the decades of knowing him, you had never been this close. You breathed in deeply, taking in his scent. You felt as though you were home. And although it was likely only seconds that passed by, it felt like it had been a million minutes all smashed into one, and you finally leaned in, closing the fraction of space between your lips.

And suddenly, you were falling. Falling so deep into Chris and your feelings it was indescribable. He tasted like a perfect blend of vanilla, honey and strawberries; likely from the massive bowl he had eaten just hours before. 

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you as close into him as he could. This was more than just one kiss, and both of you knew it. There was no going back now.

After a few breathy moments, Chris pulled back for air, immediately relocating his lips onto the crook of your neck, kissing every inch of your skin from your jawline down to your shoulder. Your skin felt as though it was on fire, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. You leaned into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as you let your eyes flutter closed. His hands roamed up your spine, tugging at the spandex material that was barricading him from access to your breasts.

“Not here,” You murmured, letting your head fall against his shoulder. As warm and sexy as the hot tub was, you weren’t interested in your first time with Chris being messy and wet in his outdoor hot tub. Plus, the cool breeze was starting to give you goosebumps.

He pulled away from the hickey he was working on just above your right breast. “Hold onto my neck.” He said against your skin. Wrapping your legs around his waist he easily stood, carefully maneuvering the both of you out of the hot tub and towards one of the guest bedrooms just a few feet from the hot tub. All the while his lips continued his assault on any part of you that he could, stumbling in the dark towards the massive queen bed that was enveloped in snow white sheets.

A small giggle escaped from your lips as he tripped slightly, dropping you backwards and onto the soft mattress.

“Think that’s funny?” He asked, grinning as he took in the sight of you; eyes sparkling and hair wet and wild, soaking the cotton sheets beneath you. Nothing separated him from you other than your skimpy bikini, which he was determined to pull off within minutes of having you on the bed.

“I mean, it was a little dramatic,” You teased, reaching out to grab his left arm, and interlacing your fingers easily as he leaned over, hovering over top of you. No part of you were touching just yet, other than his hand in yours. “I do have working legs, ya know.”

“Well, yes, but where’s the fun in that?” He teased, allowing himself to settle on top of you easily. He was grinning from ear to ear, and you weren’t sure if it was your ego or the heat of the moment - but you could have sown you’d never seen him this happy.

“Are we really gonna do this?” You asked softly, reaching your hand to stroke the side of his face, your eyes searching his.

“Do you want to?” He asked, ever the gentleman. Your heart was ringing in your ears, aware of the hard erection Chris was sporting through his swim trunks. It pressed against your right thigh gently. You squirmed beneath him.

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.” You murmured, and that was the final confirmation Chris needed to close the gap between you two once more.

And this time was different from the hot tub. In the water you were slow, deliberate, wanting every nerve in your body to feel him against you. This was different; he was hungry for you. His hands made quick work of your bikini top, tossing it onto the floor as your lips parted to make room for his tongue.

His right hand massaged your left breast, pinching and flicking your nipple every so often. The sensation made you moan, and you arched your back in response. You could feel your pussy throbbing for him, begging him to please you, touch you.

Needing air, you pulled away from him, placing kisses along his chin and down his jawline.

“Chris,” You moaned into his ear, slightly tugging on his long, wet hair as his thumb padded your tout nipple.

“Mhm,” You were quickly realizing that Chris was going to make you beg him for this one. After years and years of waiting, he wanted to hear exactly what you wanted him to do to you. He wasn’t going to give you an easy out. Not tonight anyway.

“Please,” You begged, as his right hand moved slowly, torturously from your breast and across your tummy, running a finger along your slit over top your bottoms.

“What do you want?” He asked, nose nuzzling your neck before biting you gently.

You groaned, annoyed at the teasing. “We’ve had twenty years of foreplay, Evans. You know what I want.”

He chuckled against your skin, palming your pussy in response.

“Don’t be a smartass.” He bit your earlobe gently, running his tongue along your neck. “All you have to do is ask.”

You weren’t used to such a dominant side of Chris, but the rate in which it was turning you on was unbelievable. He was confident and sexy in the bedroom - a side of him you weren’t used to seeing. It was a relief to feel like you were being taken care of, and that your needs were coming before his. Even if he was making you beg.

Deciding that being blunt was the only way to get what you want you pushed him away from your neck gently, meeting his warm blues. There was a quick beat.

“I want you to fuck me, Chris.” It was so vulgar you felt your cheeks go warm. But if Chris was turned on before, it was nothing like the look of desperation and hunger he had in his eyes now.

He shoved  his swim trunks off, freeing his cock that was standing at attention. You craned your neck to get a look, mouth practically watering at the sight. Chris yanked off your bottoms next and paused for a minute, drinking you in.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He breathed, his hands running down your sides. His hand stopped just above your folds, locating your wild eyes and watching your face as he slipped in one, two, then three fingers, testing your readiness.

You hissed, writhing at the feeling and pulled at the sheets in a death grip. After a few pumps he pulled out of you, but not after sliding his index finger once across your clit. The feeling made you shutter, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He aligned himself, pausing to soak you in. After all these years of wondering, wishing, hoping; you were all his. He didn’t have to worry about anybody or anything else. You were here, and this was perfect.

Your eyes fluttered open, wondering what the hesitation was. You knew immediately he was silently asking for permission one more time. Once you crossed this line, there was no going back. Your hand found his and you intertwined your fingers once more.

“I want this.” You whispered reassuringly.

That was the confirmation Chris needed to settle himself above you, and slide into your pussy slowly. Inch by inch you felt yourself filled up by his impressive length, and you squeezed his hand, moaning loudly.

“Jesus,” He moaned, allowing your body to adjust before beginning to fuck you slowly. “So wet.”

His mouth latched onto one your breasts, licking and nipping at your sensitive nipple as he began slamming into you with more speed. His thumb was still making fast work of your clit, and the triple combination was making it hard for you to not cum quickly.

“Chris,” You breathed, reveling in the way his cock felt inside of you. You bucked your hips hoping to allow him to penetrate you deeper.

“So absolutely perfect.” Chris kept murmuring against your skin, over and over as he kissed, licked, and squeezed every inch of you he could. He picked up the pace, feeling your walls tightening around his cock. You were dangerously close to release.

You tried to form words but couldn’t think coherently. Everything was a blur, and every nerve was on edge as you felt yourself inching quickly toward orgasm. One more thrust from Chris and you let go, crying out as your walls clenched down on his cock without mercy.

Squeezing your breast, he found your mouth and kissed you as if his life depended on it. After a few more thrusts, he, too, let out a loud groan as you felt him finish inside you.

Still seeing stars you blinked a few times, your brain trying to catch up to the scene unfolding in front of you. You had just had sex with Chris Evans. Best friend of over 20 years. Man you shared every intimate secret with. He’s seen you naked. Touched you everywhere. Came inside you. Holy shit.

Chris was still lost in his orgasm, panting slightly. He pulled out of you, rolling over to his side.

“Wow,” He breathed. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “That was…”

“Amazing?” You offered, snuggling into his chest and letting a hand dance along his skin. Your heart still hadn’t recovered from the previous cardio session, and you could feel Chris’s still racing also.

“I was gonna say mind blowing.” His chest rippled in your hand from a laugh. “But amazing works too.”

Fin.

---

Permanent Tag list: @markusstraya, @punkin-pie-mofo, @hazohazahazbro, @irishprincess9, @jedionironthrone, @aclutteredheadspace, @proud-of-being-me, @disneymarina, @dolangram, @nightcrawler0213, @thejemersoninferno, @xlemon-limex, @sadsmilesforstyles, @sleepylunarwolf, @tomssweetbouquet, @thehotstrangeryoullneverseeagain. @unfortunatelyymuggle, @knockbeforeyouspeak, @jordysgirl87, @fluasch, @tumultuous-love, @sadsmilesforstyles, @taeeemin, @taylorsreputationn, @queenmira29, @esoltis280, @dottirose, @captainrogerrsbeard, @xolilyxo, @cannonindeez, @castellandiangelo, @swimmingnacholover, @ssweet-empowerment, @notmyfault404, @taylorsreputationn, @queenmira29, @esoltis280, @dottirose, @milkshakeslou, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @patzammit, @captainrogerrsbeard, @notmyfault404,  @coffeebooksandfandom, @laufeysonprince.

Please send me an ask directly if you’d like to be added or removed. If you comment on the fic to be added, I likely won’t see it, and you won’t be notified. Sorry, it’s too hard to keep track!

#Chris Evans #Chris Evans Smut #Chris Evans x Reader #Chris Evans x You #Reader Insert #Fanfiction #Fic #Fanfic #Chris Evans imagine #imagine #RPF #Chris fic mine #anthony mackie #Chris Evans fic #Chris Evans fanfic #Real Person Fiction