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nerdzzone · 3 years ago

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Luckless Romance

Summary: When Whitney Taylor was lucky enough to get the job of a lifetime doing a photoshoot for Marvel Studios, she didn’t expect to come away from the experience with a new friend. Especially not a friend that she quickly fell head over heels for.

Convinced that those feelings were completely one sided, she kept them to herself - until one night changed everything.

Chris Evans x OFC

18+

Prequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy + -More Hearts Than Mine-

Note: While this is set before the other two parts of this story, I would definitely recommend reading the other two first if you haven’t already. I know that might seem odd, but I do think it flows better that way. This is more of an aside than an introduction, I think, but it could just be that I wrote them in this order so that’s how it makes sense to me.

Anyway! Thank you to everyone who has been eagerly awaiting this part of their story. The support has been so motivating and I’m already working on more little snippets of their lives together that should hopefully be posted soon.

Please let me know what you think!

_____

August 2015

Growing up in Los Angeles - especially with a rather well known uncle - I was very aware that celebrities were really just normal people who usually weren't deserving of the obsessive adoration they received from the general public.

That being said, it still felt very surreal when I found myself sitting around a table with some of Hollywood's biggest stars as we celebrated the end of a long and tiring photo shoot in which I was the photographer. Three weeks earlier, I had been slaving away at a department store portrait studio taking boring, uninspired family photos, so the contrast between that and where I was now - sharing drinks with the cast of Marvel's next big movie after wrapping my first real photography gig - would be enough to make anyone feel a tad awestruck.

It didn't help that it had all come together so quickly that I'd hardly had time to wrap my head around it. The photographer that they originally had lined up to do the shoot had some kind of family emergency and had to drop out at the last minute. They were going to postpone the shoot indefinitely, but my family connections with Iron Man provided another solution. My uncle Rob wasted no time in giving Marvel my name and portfolio and less than twenty-four hours later I was signing a contract for the biggest career opportunity I'd ever had.

I was endlessly grateful - the pay was far better than I was getting at the department store and there was plenty of potential for more Marvel related photo shoots in the future - but the pressure was nerve wracking. I'd hardly slept at all in the few days leading up to it and by the time we wrapped, I was exhausted. As the adrenaline faded and the relief that I survived kicked in, I was very much looking forward to crawling into my bed with a nice glass of wine to get a good night's sleep before I started the editing process the next day.

But there was no time for rest with this crowd and it was quickly decided that we were all going out for some kind of unofficial wrap party. The official one had been two weeks before when they'd finished filming in Georgia, but now that they were reunited in L.A., it seemed another celebration was necessary. I'd protested at first and tried to sneak off before they could realize I was gone, but my uncle thwarted my plan and, after a few minutes of heavy guilting about how long it had been since I'd spent any time with him, I reluctantly agreed.

Which was how I found myself sitting at a table in a private room of a popular bar with my uncle - Robert Downey Jr - my Aunt Susan, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Scarlett Johannsen and Paul Rudd. There were other cast members and their friends dotted around the room, some sitting by the bar while others played pool, and I couldn't help but take a moment to be grateful that I'd been given a chance to join this team of incredibly talented people in some small way.

I was also taking a moment to be grateful that my placement in the booth we were sitting in gave me the opportunity to be sandwiched between the wall and Chris Evans - who smelt so good that it should probably be illegal.

There'd been a spark between us all day. He was attractive - I'd known that going in, it was a pretty beautiful cast - but seeing him in person with all his Captain America muscles was really quite a sight.

But it was more than just that.

There was something about the way he looked at me, flashing me those blush inducing smirks along side his teasing comments and the way he was so genuinely kind and polite to me throughout the whole day. I was sure that my uncle had warned them that this was my first high profile shoot, but Chris had been incredibly supportive and he never came across as condescending if he offered me any suggestions. He checked in with me throughout the day to make sure that I wasn't getting too overwhelmed and it was very much appreciated despite the fact that his effortless flirting often left me more distracted than productive.

Sitting next to him now, feeling his thigh pressed against mine due to the tight squeeze needed to fit our whole group around the table, had me very distracted again until my uncle dragged me back into the conversation.

"So, Whitney, how's Trent?"

His question, or more likely the displeasure in his voice when he asked it, captured the attention of the table and all eyes were on me as I shrugged.

"He's great as far as I know, but I haven't talked to him in a while," I admitted. "We broke up a couple of months ago."

"Thank god for that," Robert grinned. "It's about time!"

"Don't be insensitive," Susan scolded him, which probably would have been deserved if I didn't know how accurate of a statement it was. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I think she means 'what horrible thing did he do that finally made you come to your senses'?"

Susan swatted at her husband, but I cringed at the memory.

"It was really bad. I don't even want to tell you."

His jaw tightened at that remark as his glee shifted to something more like concern.

"What did he do? Do I need to assemble my team of Avengers and kick his ass?"

I giggled at the thought of that happening as all the men around the table voiced their willingness to help.

"Thank you, but no, I'd rather you didn't," I assured them. "It wasn't anything horrific, it's just embarrassing that I ever went out with someone as sleezy as he was."

Chris glanced down at me with a smirk on his face.

"Well, in that case, you gotta tell us now..."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement and I, rather foolishly, looked at my uncle for support, but all I received was a shrug and a raise of his eyebrow as if to say 'go on'. So, against my better judgment and with a sigh of shame and regret, I explained.

"He took me out for drinks on my birthday and invited some woman that he met on Tinder to join us," I informed them. "Apparently, without my knowledge, he'd advertised that we were looking for someone to join us for a threesome that night which was his birthday gift to me."

There was a collective widening of eyes and, after approximately two seconds of stunned silence, a howl of laughter came from my uncle. The rest of the group, however, seemed unsure what to say until Paul spoke up.

"Well, was that was you asked for?"

"No!" I shrieked in protest. "I mean, to each their own, but no! Absolutely not!"

My uncle looked like he was about to cry from laughter as the rest of the group joined in with him. All except for Chris, who was biting back a smile with what seemed to be a considerable amount of effort.

"Guys, c'mon, don't laugh at that!" He scolded them. "That's horrible!"

"Oh, don't feel too bad for her," Robert warned him, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "The guy took her to Hooters on their first date and she still agreed to see him again."

It was true and looking back, I had no way to justify such a poor choice. I felt my cheeks heat up as I took a long sip from the gin and tonic in front of me.

"Shut up," I huffed. "He said he just liked the wings there..."

"That's classic," Sebastian smirked. "That's what they all say!"

"Why did you even agree to go out with a man named Trent?" Anthony chimed in. "There's no way someone named Trent isn't going to be a douche bag."

Chris laughed then, throwing his head back as his hand came up to rest on his chest.

"That's true!" He howled and, as embarrassed as I was by the situation, I couldn't help but feel a different kind of flush at the sound of his heartfelt laugh.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Susan chimed in despite the smile on her face as well. "It sounds like poor Whitney has learned her lesson so there's no need to make her feel any worse."

Robert shrugged and gave me a pointed look.

"As long as she promises to make better choices."

I appreciated that he had my best interest at heart, but I rolled my eyes anyway in a show of annoyance.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "I'm swearing off men for a while so there will be no choices made at all, good or bad, for the foreseeable future."

Susan frowned at that information, clearly displeased by my resignation to being alone, but luckily, a distraction arrived at our table and forced a change of subject - a distraction in the form of Jeremy Renner with a very full tray of shots.

Everyone cheered at the sight of him, but my uncle nudged me under the table to draw my attention back towards him.

"This is why I call him the Lord of the Underworld," he warned me. "Be careful..."

"Don't listen to him!" Jeremy insisted, handing out two shots to everyone except my aunt and uncle who weren't drinking. "I just know how to encourage everyone to have a good time."

"Does this group need any encouragement?"

Scarlett's question earned a laugh from the crowd, but Jeremy nodded his head.

"Apparently so or you wouldn't all be sitting in a corner, nursing your first drinks!" He pointed out. "So, drink up!"

He lifted a shot glass in the air and we all copied the action, giving a 'cheers' before tossing back the sharp tequila he'd chosen. The second shot went down almost immediately after and as I felt it burning down my throat, I knew we were in for quite a night.

"So, how are we going to do this?" Chris asked as we stood around a ping pong table with Anthony and Scarlett a bit later in the evening. "Girls against boys?"

"No way, man," Anthony shook his head, putting his arm around Scarlett's shoulders. "I want this one on my team."

"Ouch," Chris smirked. "But whatever, I was just trying to make it fair. If you want to play against the two best players then that's your choice."

"You literally met her today," Scarlett reminded him with a laugh. "How would you know what her ping pong skills are like?"

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but my uncle beat me to it as he chimed in from where he sat at a nearby table.

"She's terrible at almost every sport, but what she lacks in skill, she makes up for with competitive spirit."

"Terrible is harsh!"

My protest did nothing to reassure Chris though as he shook his head.

"Good thing I have enough skill for the both of us then."

"I have skills!" I insisted. "Let's stop messing around and I'll prove it."

Anthony joined in the laughter at my expense as he bounced the ball on the table.

"Alright, do we all know the rules?" He asked. "The ball has to bounce once on your side of the table before you can hit it back."

"First to ten?" Chris suggested. "We'll let you guys go first."

We all agreed and Anthony bounced the ball again as he prepared to serve. He started off slow and gentle, lobbing it over slowly enough that I returned it with no trouble. However, when Scarlett hit it back, Chris made it clear he was here to play as he hit it with enough force that Scarlett had to leap out of the way to avoid being hit.

"Yes!" I cheered, reaching over to high five Chris. "Nice one!"

"Okay, I see how it is," Anthony shook his head as he tossed the ball back to us for our serve. "No holding back now."

Chris smirked as he easily caught the ball. He didn't waste any time before throwing it back with a hard serve, but this time they were ready for it and Anthony hit it back easily. He aimed it at me, which I could only assume was deliberate due to my uncle's doubts of my abilities, but I managed to send it straight back. His surprise at my success was clear as he was unprepared for it to be heading back in his direction and we scored another point.

"Beginners luck!"

Robert's interjection from the sidelines earned him a rude gesture from me, but I knew he was probably right - unless the last couple of drinks had somehow sharpened my reflexes and I seriously doubted that as I was already well on my way past tipsy.

However, the next few rounds showed that my uncle had been wrong and I, apparently, had quite a knack for table tennis. Chris and I worked together like a dream and were absolutely decimating Scarlett and Anthony. The game was almost over as fast as it started, but when we only needed one more point Chris suddenly appeared to give up. He missed shot after shot and we were quickly losing our lead which was making me lose my temper.

"Dammit, Chris," I huffed, trying to suppress my annoyance as he missed a very easy ball. "Get it together over there!"

"Me?!" He gawked. "I thought you were going to get that one!"

"It was clearly on your side!"

"If that's what you think," he started as he picked up the ball and came back to the table. "Then you need to get your eyes tested, sweetheart."

"Don't 'sweetheart' me," I shot back. "Start paying more attention before you make us lose."

"Whatever you say," he smirked at me before adding: "Sweetheart."

I shot him a glare and - without thinking - I swatted his very hard to ignore, perfectly sculpted bum with my paddle. He yelped, catching the ball that he'd just thrown into the air with the intention of serving and stared at me wide-eyed. I was almost as surprised by the action as he was and I opened my mouth to apologize, but I was interrupted before I could.

"Careful there, Whitney," Sebastian warned from where he sat with my uncle at the spectator's table. "That's Marvel property!"

"They're very protective of it too," Anthony joked. "It's one of their best assets."

"Yeah, so show it some respect," Chris demanded, looking cocky despite the slight red tint to his cheeks. "And anyway, if you're trying to get me to focus then I don't think making me think about spanking is a great strategy."

"Ooh," I giggled. "Someone get me the number for TMZ! I've got tomorrow's headline ready for them: 'Chris Evans likes to be spanked'!"

Chris barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he gently served the ball.

"Who said I like to be the one receiving?"

My mouth went dry when I realized what he was implying and several uncalled fantasies flashed through my brain. With that short little sentence, images filled my mind of him using his large hands for something entirely different to what they were currently doing - something that perhaps involved bending me over his lap. I felt a wave of heat wash over me at that thought as my gaze was drawn to him while I wondered if he was aware of the effect that he had on me. I was so pathetically distracted that I didn't even see the ball coming back towards us until it hit me on the side of my head.

Despite my embarrassing blunder, Chris and I managed to get ourselves together quickly enough to still win the game and our victory was promptly celebrated by another round of drinks.

My aunt and uncle left not long after that as they were eager to get home to their young children, but my uncle couldn't go without a few parting words when I hugged them goodbye.

"Chris is a good man," he informed me. "I'm not sure what his stance is on threesomes, but he wouldn't take you to Hooters on a first date, that's for sure."

I could tell what he was implying, but I questioned him anyway. The only answer I could pull out of him was a teasing wink and Susan ushered him out the door with a roll of her eyes and firm instructions for me to call them soon.

I tried to push his comment from my mind because the thought of a man as handsome, funny and intelligent as Chris Evans even considering the idea of taking me on a date seemed like insanity, but I would have been lying if I said it didn't instill a tiny flicker of hope in me. I was fairly certain that he had been flirting with me so maybe it wasn't entirely as far-fetched as my low self-esteem would have me believe.

I tried not to dwell on his words too much through the rest of the evening, but it was hard to shake the idea from my mind. Especially with how tactile he was with me. Whether it was when we moved on to dancing and he pulled me close, whenever we were walking to the bar and kept his arm draped around my waist or when we eventually settled on a pair of bar stools, sitting close enough that my knees were tucked between his.

That was how we were sat, tucked together at the bar, when I finished another drink and realized that the fuzziness in my head and the weight of my eyelids were telling me that it was time to head home. I wasn't eager for the night to end, I wanted to stay in this little flirtatious bubble as long as possible, but I could feel the alcohol induced fatigue hitting me and I knew I needed to leave before I no longer had the energy.

"How are you getting home?" Chris asked when I announced my departure. "Do you want some company while you wait for a cab?"

"Oh, that's okay," I assured him as I slid off the bar stool I'd been sitting on. "I'm just gonna walk."

"Walk?" He raised an eyebrow. "Where do you live?"

"Only about twenty minutes away," I shrugged. "It's no big deal."

I was being purposely vague, but Chris' questions persisted until I finally confessed what neighbourhood I lived in. Once I did, a worried look clouded his face.

"Really? That's not a great area..."

"It's not that bad!" I insisted. "I mean, I'll definitely move once the photography thing picks up and I would appreciate if you don't tell my uncle, but it's not that bad."

"He doesn't know?" Chris raised an eyebrow, giving me a look that could only be interpreted as one of judgment. I nodded in answer to his question and he sighed, tossing back the last of the beer in front of him before standing up as well. "Just let me say goodbye and I'll walk with you."

"No, no, you don't have to do that! Stay with your friends."

"My Ma would kill me if she found out I let a woman walk home alone and I'm guessing Robert would have something to say about it too from what you just said," he insisted, flashing me one of his dazzling smiles. "Besides, I was gonna head out soon anyway."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded in response.

"Absolutely."

I felt bad that he was leaving because of me, but I had a feeling that any arguments would be futile. I followed him around the room, saying goodbye to the few people who were still at the bar before we headed outside. As soon as the fresh air hit me, I really felt the full affects of the several drinks I'd had throughout the night and I was quite grateful for Chris' company on my walk.

"Thanks for doing this. I'm sorry you had to leave early."

Chris had pulled his baseball hat lower on his head, probably in an attempt to hide his identity a bit more, but the people bustling in the streets were too oblivious or drunk to pay much attention.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled down at me. "It was time for me to go anyway. I've had enough wild nights with Renner to know that nothing good happens after midnight."

"Oh, I see how it is," I smirked. "I thought this was a chivalrous gesture, but it's just an act of self-preservation."

Chris laughed, a deep laugh that made my smirk slide into a grin, as he held out his arm for me to take which I happily did.

"Can't it be both?"

"I suppose. I guess you must be pretty chivalrous to take on a role like Captain America." As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt my cheeks heat up. "Sorry, that was dumb. I sound like some shitty interviewer. Like, 'tell me what aspects of the character you see in yourself'."

I'd put on a bad, faux news anchor voice for the last part of that sentence and I felt Chris' arm shake as he chuckled, but he shook his head.

"Nah, it's fine. It's a fair question," he assured me. "I think I've always been pretty chivalrous. I'm close with my mom and two sisters so they made sure I knew how to treat a lady. But that is one bonus of playing a character like Cap, he has such strong morals and such a steady sense of right and wrong, it inspires me to be as much like him as I can be."

Just as he finished his thought, I stumbled over an uneven part of the sidewalk and was only saved from face planting by his grip on my arm. I flushed with embarrassment again, but the alcohol in my system had me dissolving into giggles.

"Sorry, thank you. Wow, I'd say you really do have some Captain America traits." I flashed him a smile. "Was it like a lifelong dream for you? If you don't mind me asking, last question about it, I promise."

"You can ask all the questions you want," he shrugged and it seemed genuine, not just an expected assurance. "But no, it wasn't. I actually turned it down several times."

"Really? You did? Isn't a role like that every actor's dream?"

"Probably," he nodded. "But I did the Marvel thing with Fantastic Four and even that little taste of fame was almost too much for me. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do and I'm so grateful for all the opportunities I've been given, but it can be a lot to deal with."

"Those obsessive fangirls too much for you?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. " I was already having panic attacks, so I wasn't sure that I could handle taking that next step. But it's more just the total lack of privacy that comes with fame. Not just for me either, I knew it would affect my whole family."

"That makes sense," I nodded, knowing from my own experience that he was absolutely right. There'd been a few unfortunate incidents on slow news days where articles about 'Robert Downey Jr.'s niece' had popped up after some of my poorer choices in life. "Are you glad that you went for it now?"

"Absolutely! It was the best thing I've ever done. There are times when I still struggle, I don't do well at the premieres with all the pressure and the people, but the whole cast is like a family so the support is amazing."

"It's really sweet how close you guys all seem to be."

"It makes a big difference," Chris agreed as we turned off the main street in the direction of my neighbourhood. "But what about you? Have you always wanted to be a photographer?"

I paused for a moment as I tried to get my rather tipsy brain to figure out the simplest response to his question.

"Yes and no," I finally answered. "I've always loved photography, but I never really considered it as a career until about two years ago. I actually went to university to study accounting."

"Accounting? Wow, so you're a math wiz?"

"Hardly," I giggled. "It was what my dad wanted me to do to guarantee myself a solid career, but I hated it. I flunked out within a year. I'm not entirely sure that my dad has ever forgiven me for it, he was really disappointed in me."

"But surely he just wants you to be happy, whatever job you have..."

"You would think so," I shrugged. "Doesn't feel like it all the time though. He's very against the whole starving artist thing. He's not a bad person, but he's very practical and just can't understand how suffocating an office job would be for someone who likes to be creative. I get the impression that just being around me these days exasperates him."

I felt another blush cover my cheeks as I realized I was over-sharing. It could easily be blamed on the alcohol, but Chris was a good listener and I found him very easy to talk to.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "That was more information than you probably needed."

"You don't need to apologize so much," Chris assured me. "I wouldn't have asked the question if I didn't want to hear the answer."

"Sor-" I paused. "Bad habit, I guess."

Chris squeezed my arm and shot me a reassuring smile before getting our conversation back on track.

"So, what made you persevere with photography in the end?"

"I just really enjoy doing it. I love capturing those unexpected moments, like the awkward laughter in between poses, the moments when people have their guard down and don't realize how beautiful they look. Then, when I get to share the photos I've taken with people and they see themselves in a different way, the joy it brings them makes it worth any financial struggles." As I finished my explanation, a thought struck me. "I actually got some good ones today, just on my phone when you guys first came in, not doing the planned and posed stuff."

They'd all been so excited to see each other even though it was just a few short weeks since they'd wrapped the film. It was sweet and I hadn't been able to resist capturing their reunion.

"Really? Could I see them?"

"If you give me your phone number, I can send them to you," I smiled up at him. "That would actually be helpful. They're obviously different than the ones I took for the actual shoot, but you can tell me if they're any good or if you think I just got the job because of my connections."

I reached into my bag and handed my phone to Chris so he could type in his number which he did before shooting me a skeptical glance.

"Do you really think your connection to Robert is the only reason you got the job?"

"Well, it was all so last minute. I can't help, but assume it's a mix of desperation and some pulled strings," I admitted. "But I know this is my one shot. Robert really believes in people making their own way in life so if I totally blow this opportunity, I know he won't fight for them to have me back again and I wouldn't want him to."

We turned another corner, taking us just a few blocks from my apartment building as Chris answered.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have gotten you the job if there was any chance that he thought you would fail," Chris assured me. "But he is a good person to have in your corner. I probably wouldn't have taken the Captain America gig at all if it wasn't for him convincing me I could do it. He can be very persuasive."

I smiled at that information. I knew my uncle didn't like to take no for an answer so I could imagine how that conversation went.

"He can be very encouraging when he needs to be," I agreed. "Even if that encouragement sometimes comes out in the form of publicly shaming someone for their taste in men."

Chris let out another deep laugh and shook his head.

"C'mon, you gotta admit you deserved that."

"I did not!"

"He took you to Hooters and you didn't run away as fast as possible," Chris reminded me as if I could have forgotten such an embarrassing decision. "If that's not deserving of some public shaming then I don't know what is."

"Dating is hard these days," I huffed. "Maybe it would be easier if I had giant muscles like you, but it's hard to meet people."

"I think having muscles the size of mine would actually make you less hot."

I couldn't bite back the giggle that slipped from my lips as I looked up at him with a questioning raise of my eyebrows.

"Less hot?" I asked. "That would imply that you think I'm hot now."

"I do," Chris smirked confidently. "I think you're fuckin' gorgeous."

His words instantly made my cheeks heat up again. I'd baited him into the compliment, but I didn't expect his blunt and honest answer. I was stunned into a momentary silence that only made Chris' smirk grow wider until I giggled once again.

"You're just drunk."

"I am not," Chris chuckled. "Well, maybe a little, but that doesn't change the facts."

There was a grin on my face and I felt like a little schoolgirl with a crush. Chris Evans just called me gorgeous. Any woman who said they didn't swoon in that situation was probably lying.

"That's very sweet of you to say," I told him, trying to play it cool. "You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself."

Chris squeezed my arm again as he flashed me a smile.

My apartment building was in sight now, just half a block away, and I was disappointed that our evening was about to end.

I was comfortable with Chris. He was nice and easy to talk to and I'd had more fun and laughs with him in the last few hours than I'd had throughout most of my last relationship. But despite our harmless flirting, I knew he was too good for me. I knew that I didn't stand a chance with him and that when the alcohol wore off and the sun came up, he would see that. As much as I wasn't ready to say goodbye, I could hardly keep us walking in circles around the block without him noticing so I reluctantly slowed to a stop outside my building.

"This is me..."

Chris looked up and nodded slowly.

"It doesn't look so bad."

"Because it's not!" I insisted. "Honestly, this isn't that bad of a neighbourhood."

"Well, it's not that great either, Whitney."

Another giggle slipped from my lips as I pulled my keys out of my purse, reluctantly slipping my arm from his.

"Your accent makes my name sound funny," I teased. "You don't say Whitney, you say Win-ney."

Chris laughed, but shook his head.

"Now who's drunk."

"Oh, definitely me," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"Okay, Winnie, whatever you say."

He said my name wrong on purpose that time, but there was something about it that put a smile on my face. Emboldened by the alcohol and by his flirtatious nature, I decided to take a chance.

"Do you want to come up for a bit?" I asked. "One last drink maybe?"

Chris hesitated, but after a moment of thought, he shook his head.

"Nah, I should probably get home. I think I've had enough drinks for tonight." His solid reasoning eased the blow of rejection slightly, but it still burned me up inside. "Thanks for the invite though, maybe I'll take you up on that offer another time."

"Sure," I nodded, hoping I was masking my disappointment. "That would be nice."

"Great," he grinned before pulling me into a hug. "It was nice to meet you, Winnie. I have a feeling that we're going to be good friends."

Friends.

Good friends.

His words echoed in my head as I agreed and slipped out of his grasp. We said our goodbyes, I thanked him for escorting me home and I watched as he walked back down the street before I went inside.

Friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S.

At least he'd made himself clear and subtly let me down easy before I had chance to form any wrong ideas about what our relationship was or could be. It hurt and I would be lying if I said it didn't feel a bit like a stab in the heart, but I was glad that he'd put me in my place before I made a fool of myself by making a move.

I knew I'd been getting ahead of myself anyway. I knew he was way out of my league, but he'd called me gorgeous and walked me home. He'd even given me a nickname. Maybe I'm just easy to impress, but it felt like he was interested. I guess being a big star in Hollywood requires a certain level of charm though and he was probably just used to being naturally flirtatious with most of the women he encounters.

I sighed as I let myself into my apartment and tossed my bag on the table by the door. I'd felt like the luckiest girl in the world only moments earlier and now I was back to feeling like I was a romantic lost cause. I dragged myself through the motions of getting ready for bed and flopped down on top of the blankets - it was too hot to be under them and I didn't have the luxury of air conditioning.

Perhaps it was for the best that Chris declined my invitation to come upstairs, I thought to myself. This apartment was hardly up to Hollywood standards, it was hardly up to my own standards even if it was all that I could afford.

As my head laid on the pillow and my heart sat heavy in my chest, I told myself that it was fine. If Chris wanted to just be friends then I would be grateful that he even wanted that. I made a mental note to send him those pictures in the morning - because I'd promised to and not because I was curious to see what kind of response I would get when he was sober - and fell into a restless sleep filled with dreams of my new friend.

---

July 2016

And so, we were friends. Good friends, maybe even great friends.

I sent Chris the photos he’d asked for the day after we met and we spent most of that day messaging back and forth. Our friendship only grew from there and, whenever he was in town, we spent as much time together as we possibly could.

But we kept things very much friendly.

There was some flirtatious exchanges, but I respected his wishes and kept the feelings that I'd developed to myself.

My career really took off in the year after we met as well. That first Marvel photo shoot had gone incredibly well which led to several more contracts with them as well as other high profile jobs. It was a long, busy year, but I was grateful and relished in my success.

I'd even managed to move into a new apartment in a much nicer neighbourhood which felt like quite a big achievement and had finally silenced Chris' fretting about my safety. I moved in May, but our busy schedules kept him from seeing my upgraded home for himself until that summer, almost a year after we met. He was returning to L.A. from a trip home to Massachusetts and we hadn't seen each other in months so I was very eager for our reunion. Despite the fact that were still in constant communication, I'd missed him terribly and had been counting down the minutes until he would be arriving at my place.

"So," My friend's voiced echoed through my phone from where it sat on the bathroom counter while I finished curling my hair into beachy waves. "Are you going to finally make a move tonight?"

"No," I scoffed. "Of course not, Hannah. I've not seen him in a while now, I want us to have a good time. I don't want to make him uncomfortable and ruin everything."

"I will bet you a thousand dollars that it wouldn't ruin everything," she insisted. "Honestly, I will give you a thousand dollars if you make a move tonight and it goes badly."

I rolled my eyes as I finished the last curly wave and reached for my hairspray.

"You can't put a price on my friendship with Chris."

"Oh my god," she groaned. "He's told you that he thinks you're gorgeous, he makes time to hang out with you whenever he can and he texts you every single day. He treats you better than any boyfriend you've ever had. How can you think he doesn't have feelings for you?"

I took a moment to spray my hair and give myself one last look over before taking her off speaker and answering the question as I walked towards my kitchen.

"Because he straight up told me that he wants to be friends," I reminded her. "And he's never given me any other signs that he's interested in anything more."

"He doesn't need to give you any signs. When someone looks at you the way that he looks at you that says enough."

"Well, I'm going to need him to say a little more."

Another groan came through the phone as the buzzer to my apartment rang.

"You're impossible."

"I know, I know, and my lack of self-esteem will make me die alone," I said, repeating the words she'd told me a hundred times. "But he's here now, so you're going to have to save your criticisms for another time."

"Just tell him how you feel," she huffed. "I expect a full report in the morning."

The buzzer rang again as I agreed and said my goodbyes to my friend. I took a deep breath and a moment to push Hannah's words from my mind before pressing the button on the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Win, it's me! Let me up."

I pressed the button to unlock the door and felt my lips slide into a cheek aching grin just from the sound of his voice. It had been too long since we'd had a chance to hang out and I was very much looking forward to a nice evening together.

It took him barely a minute to get up to my apartment, knocking twice before letting himself in.

"Hey!" I grinned, rushing towards him as he held his arms open. I threw mine around him as soon as I was close enough and squeezed him tightly. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too," he smiled. "Nice place you got here, someone's doing well for themselves."

"Oh, please," I giggled, slipping out of his arms. "I've seen your house, Mr. Evans. This is a dump compared to where you live."

"Nah, this place is great!"

"It's definitely an improvement," I admitted as I led him towards the kitchen. "Would you like a drink? I bought that beer you like."

"You didn't have to do that. I would have been fine with whatever you have in," he chided me, but I waved him off and assured him it was fine. "What's the plan for tonight anyway?"

I shrugged as I opened the fridge to get a beer out for him and a bottle of wine for myself.

"I don't mind. Do you want to go out for drinks later or just stay here? It is a Saturday so everywhere around here will be packed with women in their early twenties if you'd like your ego stroked a bit."

I was referring to the last time we'd gone out and made the mistake of going to a bar that turned out to be pretty unfriendly to celebrities. A lot of places in L.A. made it easy for celebrities to go under the radar, but the place we'd gone to apparently wasn't one of them. There was a steady stream of beautiful young women trying their luck with Chris all night until we eventually fled and went back to his place just to give him some peace.

Chris laughed, clearly understanding what I was referencing, but he shook his head.

"Honestly? I'd prefer to stay in tonight," he admitted, but a smirk slid onto his face as he very obviously gave me a once over. "But you got all dressed up and it would be a shame to waste an outfit like that on a night in."

"Oh, this old thing?" I glanced down at the short black sundress I was wearing, a blush covering my cheeks from his compliment. "I just put this on in case we did decide to go out, but staying in sounds good to me. I'm well stocked with supplies."

I gestured to the wine and beer on the counter and the few bottles of hard liquor behind them.

"Then we'll stay in?"

"Sure," I nodded as a thought hit me and I gasped with excitement. "Oh, we can sit on my balcony! It over looks the park and I just got a new little couch for it."

"Very fancy," Chris laughed. "You really are doing well for yourself."

"Shut up," I rolled my eyes. "I don’t think Ikea patio furniture is a particularly high aspiration for anyone."

"Don't sell yourself short! You're finally getting recognition for your talent and that's worth celebrating."

I smiled as I led him through the living room and opened the door to my balcony with a flourish. The heat of July in California hit us immediately, but the balcony was shaded which made it a more reasonable temperature.

"This is nice," Chris nodded approvingly. "Well done, Winnie."

He sat on the couch and held his beer up towards me. I gently clinked my glass against it before sitting next to him. I thanked him once I was settled, hiding the width of my grin with my glass as I took a sip.

"So, how was Massachusetts?" I asked, curling my feet underneath me. "Do you have much more time off or are you back at it pretty quick?"

"I've actually got some time off," Chris informed me. "I think I'll probably spend most of it back home. It was great being there the last few weeks. It just feels better than L.A."

"Most places probably feel better than L.A.," I pointed out with a scoff. "This place is exhausting."

"You should come visit some time," Chris suggested before flashing me a smirk. "I feel bad leaving you here when I'm clearly your only friend."

"Excuse me, that is not true!" I protested, my jaw dropping at his insult as he chuckled at his own joke. "I have plenty of friends, thank you very much. All those liquor bottles on the counter are leftover from my very crowded house-warming party."

"Oh, no, Winnie," he laughed, his hand coming up to his chest. "Don't try and provide evidence that you have friends. That makes you seem even more pathetic."

"More pathetic than what? I have friends!"

"Imaginary ones don't count."

I couldn't help, but laugh at that insult as I shook my head.

"You're so rude. I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because you have no one else." He shot me a very over the top look of pity until I swatted his arm and he dissolved into laughter again. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Seriously though, you should come out to Massachusetts sometime. I'll show you around."

"That would be fun," I agreed. "I'm pretty busy with work over the summer, but I think I'm in New York for a shoot in September. I could maybe tie a trip in with that if you're still out there."

"I should be if nothing else comes up," Chris nodded. "And fall is a great time to come. It's gorgeous."

"I bet. It would be nice to experience a season instead of just this sweltering L.A. heat all the time."

I made a face to emphasize my point as I sipped my drink and Chris eyed me suspiciously.

"I can't help, but get the impression that you're not loving it here at the moment..."

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Not really. I thought moving into a better apartment would help, but I'm just kinda tired of it, I guess."

"It can be draining here," he nodded. "Have you thought about moving somewhere else?"

I sighed and shook my head.

"Not really. I'd miss my family too much. I'd have to have a good reason, I think, or know someone wherever I was going."

"Well, you'll always know someone in Massachusetts," he smiled. "And my Ma would love you. I'm sure she'd take you in right away."

"Awe, Mama Evans. I'd love to meet her...Mostly so I could demand an apology for her part in raising such a horrible man."

Chris threw his head back with another chest grab worthy laugh.

"Oh man, I know. My brother is pretty awful."

I snorted a laugh at his comeback, but shook my head.

"Scott was delightful the few times I met him," I informed him. "I was clearly talking about you."

"Me?!" He gasped dramatically. "What are you talking about? I'm a total gentleman."

"Imaginary friends don't count," I repeated his words back to him in a very bad impression of his deep voice and Boston accent. "Yeah, you're such a gentleman."

"It's called a joke, Winnie," he teased. "Try having a sense of humour."

I stuck my tongue out at him in response, but I had to admit that the teasing was nice. I really had missed him while he was away and I was relieved that we fell back together so naturally that it was like we'd never been apart.

Our conversation continued to flow well into the night and so did our drinks. A few hours later and several alcoholic beverages down, the temperature was starting to drop a bit as the sun set, but our conversation was just starting to heat up.

"So," Chris turned to me with a smirk as he sipped the tequila sunrise I'd just made for him. He'd sworn he wouldn't like it, that it would be too sweet, but apparently he was too tipsy to really care. "How's your love life these days? Any more trips to Hooters?"

I snorted a laugh as I shook my head.

"I need more alcohol if we're going to delve into my love life."

Mostly because the biggest detriment to my romantic life was currently sitting on the couch with me, but I wasn't going to volunteer that information. Chris nudged the bottom of the glass in my hand, gently enough not to spill any but firmly enough to lift it slightly.

"Drink up then because I'm curious. Especially after a statement like that."

The irony of someone who was very vocal about how much they hated being constantly interrogated and harassed about their love life trying to do that exact thing to me wasn't lost on me, but I knew he'd keep pestering me until I opened up. I did as Chris suggested and took a large swig of my drink before answering him.

"No, there hasn't been any more dates at Hooters lately," I assured him. "But I did go on a date last week that was disappointing in it's own way."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? How so?"

"He turned out to be a Robert Downey Jr. fanboy," I admitted, rolling my eyes as Chris let out a laugh. "It was going well until I made the mistake of mentioning that he's my uncle. He wouldn't shut up about him - stop laughing! - It was awful. Honestly, he went on and on! I eventually asked him if he'd rather be on a date with my uncle than me."

"And what did he say?"

I scowled at the memory.

"He said yes and asked for his number." That admission drew another howl of laughter from Chris and I couldn't help, but giggle along with him despite my shaking head. "Honestly, Chris, it's not funny. I have the worst luck."

"You have the worst taste in men." He corrected and I wondered briefly if he'd be less confident in that statement if he knew that he was my taste, even more so when he continued. "You're only interested in the douchey guys and then you're always shocked when they act like assholes."

"That is so not true!" I protested. "How am I supposed to know they're going to be douche bags? We talk for like two days on a dating app before we meet up and they always seem normal!"

"What was this one's job?"

I cringed and took another big swig of my drink.

"A club promoter."

"Exactly!" Chris groaned. "And hadn't the one before him quit his job to try and get famous on YouTube?"

"Instagram," I corrected. "But, so what? I struggled for a long time before my career went anywhere. You can't judge people by something like that."

"For the most part, I agree with you," Chris nodded. "But there are some careers that only attract a certain kind of person."

I huffed at his logic, but there was some truth to what he was saying.

"Dating is just hard these days," I insisted. "Besides, from what I've seen online lately, you're one to talk about messy relationships."

Now it was Chris' turn to take a gulp of the drink in his hand as he raised an eyebrow at my claim.

"Everything you read about me is bullshit, you know that. I haven't dated anyone lately, people just like to make things up."

"Oh, what I was reading the other day wasn't really about who you were dating."

That got his attention as he shot me a surprised look.

"What was it about then?"

"I thought it was all bullshit?" I smirked. "Does it matter what it was if it's not true?"

Chris shrugged.

"Even if it's not true, I like to know what people are saying about me."

"And you don't have a team to provide you with that information?"

"I do," he nodded. "But they don't tell me everything so I'd love to know what you read."

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling shy about disclosing what I'd seen. I took a moment to figure out how to say it before telling him.

"I stumbled across an article that claimed an anonymous source, who recently spent the night with you, told them that you are not particularly skilled at going down on a woman."

Chris' jaw dropped and I couldn't help, but laugh again at the outrage on his face.

"That's fuckin' bullshit!" He protested. "Why would anyone believe an anonymous source? It's obviously not true! Why would they even write that?"

I smirked again as I tried to hold back the laughter bubbling up inside me. Of course, I didn't believe an anonymous source and I felt bad for Chris that mean rumours like that were being spread around the internet, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to tease him about it anyway.

"I don't know. She must have had some kind of proof, they wouldn't have published it without fact checking."

"They absolutely would!" Chris laughed incredulously. "They publish anything that gets clicks!"

I shrugged and tried to stifle the giggles still fighting to come out.

"It seemed pretty believable to me. I'm not trying to be mean, but maybe just take the criticism and use it to grow."

"I don't need to use it to grow!" He insisted. "I have plenty of skills in that area, I've never had any complaints."

"Until now."

"It's not true!"

"Unfortunately, I'll never know..."

I froze, hearing my words echo through my head as Chris' eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment before a twinkle appeared. It was a simple statement, but we both picked up on what it implied, especially with the hint of intrigue, almost challenge, in my voice.

Chris tossed back the last of his drink and then shifted, sitting up a bit straighter as the look of annoyance on his face had changed into something almost cocky. I took a sip of my own drink, hoping to drown the nerves that were bubbling in my stomach as the cool evening breeze suddenly did nothing to ease the heat that surrounded us.

"Well, how am I suppose to prove it to you?"

He moved his hand until it was resting on my knee and I had to stifle a gasp at the sensation. We were fairly affectionate and much more touchy with each other than many friends were, but this felt different. There was a tension between us now and I swallowed hard, not wanting the alcohol in my system to make me misinterpret anything.

"I don't know." I bit my lip as he stared me down, a smirk back on his face now. "Why don't you de-describe it?"

Demonstrate.

Demonstrate was the word that I was looking for, the word that was on the tip of my tongue.

Describe was not quite as flirtatious. It was like I'd just set him some kind of essay assignment. I cringed, but Chris was unfazed as he chuckled and nodded his head.

"Alright," he shrugged. "Where should I start?"

Before I even had time to answer, he began his explanation.

His voice was low as he spoke, sparing no detail. He described every kiss, every touch and every little tease. By the time he was describing how much he liked to watch whoever was he was pleasuring, looking up from where his face was buried to see her orgasm roll through her body, I was almost shamelessly panting. His hand was still on my leg, stroking higher and higher on my thigh and I felt more aroused from his words than I had from the last few sexual encounters that I'd had.

He was watching me when he finished speaking, a smirk on his face and his eyes narrowed in a seductive stare as I took a shaky breath.

It was now or never.

Tossing back the last of my drink, I put my glass on the table. Then, I took the glass in his hand and did the same.

He was watching me the whole time, meeting my eyes as I sat back on the couch. My mind was running a mile a minute as the gravity of the situation hit me, but I tried to push all thoughts of doubt from my head as I bit my bottom lip in anticipation. His eyes flicked down to watch the movement and that was all the confirmation I needed.

I darted forward fast enough that I wouldn't have time to change my mind and pressed my lips against his.

There was a brief moment when he froze. I felt his hand tense on my thigh and his body seemed more rigid than it had moments ago, but he recovered quickly and a low growl came from his throat before his hands moved to my waist and effortlessly lifted me into his lap.

I gasped at the movement, momentarily taking my lips away from his, but before I could even mumble out any comments on his strength, he'd pressed our lips together again.

It was a sloppy kiss. Spurred on by our mounting tension and the panic bubbling inside me that any minute now he would change his mind and push me away in disgust, our movements were frantic and desperate. My hands slid around his neck, one moving up to the back of his head as if I needed to hold him in place, but his fingers digging into my waist made me think that he was having the same thought.

Eventually though, the need for air forced us apart and I rested my forehead against his as we fought to catch our breath. The pause in our actions gave my brain time to catch up to my body and I immediately felt the nerves kick in.

Logically, I knew we should slow things down and talk about what this meant. My feelings for Chris went deeper than a drunken hook up and I was setting myself up for heartbreak if he wasn't on the same page. However, there was a more impulsive part of my brain that didn't care. I'd wanted this for so long, surely I deserved a chance to just enjoy it.

As if Chris could read my mind, his deep voice cut through my thoughts.

"Are we really doing this?"

I bit my lip, knowing this was the time to voice any concerns that I had, but as I stared into his eyes, I couldn't make myself jeopardize the moment.

"Yes," I nodded. "I'm in if you are?"

A smirk slid onto Chris' face as he nodded as well.

"I've been waiting almost a whole fuckin' year for this," he admitted. "I'm absolutely in."

I felt my heart flutter at his confession. If he'd been waiting for this as long as I had then that must have meant that we were on the same page. No one waits that long for a meaningless fuck, he would have made a move by now if there wasn't more to it.

In an effort to silence my overactive brain, I pressed my lips back against his which proved to be the perfect distraction. All worries and cares slipped from my mind as his tongue slipped back into my mouth and his hands drifted down to cup my ass. I could practically feel them burning through my thin dress and as they squeezed slightly, pressing my hips closer towards his, I could tell that my panties were already much damper than was probably reasonable.

But the anticipation was practically killing me.

My body felt like it was on fire as every brush of his tongue, every caress of my skin, every sigh that fell from his lips against my mouth, had me writing against him like a cat in heat. Often, when I'd imagined what this moment would be like, I'd assumed it would be slow - we'd take our time and savour every touch - but I hadn't factored in just how desperate we'd both be or how quickly I would be filled with the absolute need for there to be less layers of fabric between us.

Chris sucked in a deep breath as his lips moved from mine, sliding lower to kiss along my jaw. I could feel a bulge growing between us, telling me that he was as overeager as I was so, as shivers tingled down my spine from the trail his mouth was taking, I fought through the distractions to speak.

"Chris," I panted. "Let's go inside."

His lips paused their movement as he nuzzled into my neck.

"Not much of an exhibitionist?"

"Not on the first date."

My words were teasing and a shrug of my shoulders accompanied my response, earning a chuckle from Chris.

"Alright, that's fair."

I nudged his head away from my skin so I could press another soft kiss to his lips.

My intention was to then climb off of his lap and lead him into my apartment, but he had other ideas as his hands slid under my thighs and his grip tightened. With one smooth motion and an impressive show of strength, he stood from the couch and lifted me up with him. I gasped and rushed to wrap my legs around his waist for stability, but the smirk on his face and the bulge of his bicep told me that it probably wasn't necessary. He was incredibly strong and it sent another flush of arousal through me at the thought of the beautifully sculpted physique under his clothes.

"Are you bulking up for Cap again?"

I mumbled the words in an attempt to keep my mind busy and stop myself before I started rubbing myself against his stomach. With the way my legs were positioned there was merely a shirt and my panties between us and it was entirely too tempting.

"Nah, got a month or two before that starts again," he informed me, quirking an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

I pointed him towards the door of my bedroom before answering as I tried to keep the shock out of my voice.

"So, you're like, always this strong?"

Chris chuckled slightly as he kicked my bedroom door open.

"Well, I'm no club promoter," he teased. "But I do tend to stay at a certain level of fitness for when the job does require it."

My jaw dropped at his audacity to bring that up again at a moment like this, but I couldn't stop the snort of laughter that slipped out.

"Shut up," I demanded, letting my thumb stroke against the soft skin on the back of his neck. "Before I come to my senses and ask you to leave."

Now it was Chris' turn to laugh as he gently tossed me onto the bed before crawling over me like a lion stalking it's prey.

"C'mon," he smirked as he hovered over me. "I think we both know that the last thing you want me to do right now is leave."

With that, he pressed his lips back against mine before I had chance to argue. Not that I would have, because he was absolutely right. There was a long list of things I wanted him to do, but leaving was not one of them. In fact, as I let my arms slid over his toned shoulders, I pulled him even closer.

I couldn't get enough of him. I wanted to hear every little grunt and moan, I wanted to feel every inch of his body against mine, I wanted to see his muscles quiver and twitch with pleasure, I wanted him inside me and we'd barely even started. A year of waiting would make anyone desperate and, as much as I was revelling in his talented mouth as it moved against my own, I was eager to see what else he could do with it.

Sliding my hands down along his back, I ran them over his waist until they were at the hem of his shirt and, in an attempt to move things along, I slid them back up over his stomach, bringing his shirt with them. I paused, taking a moment to trace over his abs and he chuckled, moving his lips down to nuzzle them into my neck.

"That tickles," he mumbled against my skin as I smiled.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that these muscles are real."

"They are," he smiled up at me. "Are you impressed?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted with a smile of my own. "I'll be more impressed if you get these clothes out of the way and let me admire you properly."

He chuckled again, but didn't fight as I pulled his shirt over his head. The light in the room was dim and the way we were positioned didn't give me an optimal view, but what I could see was enough to draw a soft gasp from my lips.

I'd seen him shirtless and in even less from a few sneaky Google searches and watching his old movies, but seeing it all right in front of me was quite a treat. I had to double check that I wasn't drooling at the sight as I openly stared, my mouth slightly agape.

I realized I was probably ogling him a little too long when a faint blush covered his cheeks and he ducked his head back against my neck. He placed another soft kiss against my skin before he spoke.

"Now, it's your turn."

"Okay," I agreed, swallowing hard. "But just keep in mind that I don't look like that."

I ran my hands up and down his sides to emphasize what I was referring to and I felt more than heard him chuckle as he peered up at me once more.

"I'd be disappointed if we had the same upper body," he teased. "I mean, if I'm being honest."

I rolled my eyes despite the smile on my face.

"You know what I mean," I insisted. "I'm not sculpted by the Gods like you are."

His head fell back against my shoulder as he shook with laughter before shaking his head.

"You have nothing to worry about," he assured me. "You're too hard on yourself. You're fuckin' gorgeous."

His words took me back to the first night we met as the sincerity in his voice was the same as it had been back then. And there was something about the confidence with which he spoke that had me believing him.

So, as his hands slid under my dress - teasing the outside of my thighs in a way that had me biting my lip to force back a moan - I pushed any negative thoughts or doubts about myself from my mind. I even felt a hint of pride when my dress was discarded, exposing my lack of bra, and making Chris' eyes darken as they scoured over my body.

"Fuck, Winnie," he groaned as he soaked in the sight of my exposed chest. "You're beautiful."

I felt my heart flutter at the genuine awe in his voice and at his word choice. Gorgeous, hot, sexy - those are all compliments I would have loved to receive from him, but beautiful. It seemed deeper, more romantic. There was a brief reminder from the voice in my head that perhaps the importance of such a simple word was a signal I shouldn't be moving forward with this without having a very serious conversation about feelings first, but I was quick to ignore it as I pulled Chris back to my lips.

It seemed he was as desperate to move things along as I was though as his mouth didn't linger against mine for very long before it was trailing a path down my neck. He paused when he got to my chest, letting out a groan as he nuzzled the skin before sucking it just hard enough to leave a faint mark when he moved back. The sight had me squirming beneath him and he shot me a smirk before moving his lips to my nipple.

Gasping at the sensation, I arched up towards him as he continued to nip and tease me. If his current actions were anything to go by then whoever wrote the article that I read was very sorely mistaken. He appeared to be incredibly talented with his mouth and by the time he moved away from my nipple to continue his path down my body, my chest was heaving and I was sure that I was just one gentle touch away from my peak.

However, I was disappointed when he got to the top of my panties and, after licking along the skin of my lower stomach, pushed himself up and moved off of me to stand at the foot of my bed. I whined in protest, wanting him as close to me as possible, but all I got was a smirk in response.

"Patience," he mumbled as he unbuttoned his jeans.

I wanted to pout, to argue that I'd been patient enough in the last year, but any complaints died on my tongue as he pushed his jeans to the floor. As he stood in front of me, only in his underwear, my sense of urgency was replaced by an appreciation for the chance to admire his chiselled body. I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better view and he chuckled at the look of wonder that I was sure was on my face.

His underwear was the next thing to go and the anticipation turned quickly to shock as my jaw dropped at what he revealed. I could have assumed from the large bulge that he was quite well-endowed, but seeing it confirmed sent a whole new flush of arousal through me. I mumbled out a 'wow' as I bit my lip and tried to take it all in - he truly was a gorgeous man.

"Like what you see?"

His question snapped me out of my daze as he knelt back down on the end of the bed.

"Very much so," I nodded, desperate to feel his body over mine once again. "Come back up here."

"No," Chris grinned as he ducked down to place a kiss on my ankle. "Not yet."

Again, part of me wanted to argue and demand that he return his mouth to mine and get things moving, but before I could even open my mouth, he made his intentions clear - by tracing his fingers up my leg with his lips close behind.

I was quivering under his touch, still leaning up on my elbows when he reached the edge of the panties I was wearing. He glanced up at me as he licked along the lace before he bit into the material and tugged. I lifted my hips to ease his struggle as he yanked my panties down my legs with his teeth. The sight of it had me squeezing my thighs together, desperate for any kind of friction, but as soon as my underwear joined the rest of our clothes on the floor, he was quick to pull my legs apart again.

"Keep 'em open for me," he demanded, that damn smirk still firmly on his face. "I've got something to prove."

I giggled at that statement, but did as he asked. I was still watching his movements, until he dipped his head forehead and pressed his lips against me. That first moment of contact was enough to have my head flopping back against the pillows as my hands shot down to grip his hair. I was vaguely aware of him mumbling something about how wet I was, but my brain was too busy trying to process the pleasure he was giving me to take in his words.

He wasted no time demonstrating everything that he'd described to me earlier that night. His tongue was focused and precise in its movements and, contrary to what I read, he clearly knew what he was doing as he easily narrowed in on my clit. It wasn't enough though. I needed more pressure, more friction, and I pushed up towards him with a moan on my lips to urge him on. He wasn't having any of that as his hands looped under my thighs to settle on my hips, holding me in place, but he increased the pressure as he apparently understood what I needed despite my lack of ability to verbalize it.

I immediately felt a familiar feeling starting to build.

He sucked and licked with an urgency that I very much appreciated, flicking his tongue in just the right spot at just the right speed to have me trembling beneath him. I managed to gasp out a warning 'oh god' as my hands gripped his hair even tighter and I fell apart into a puddle of whimpers and moans. My orgasm hit me more fiercely than I'd imagined in my wildest fantasies of this moment and I arched up against him, his name pouring from my lips like a chant as he continued his efforts with a low groan of his own only adding to my pleasure.

As my breathing started to slow, Chris gently ceased his movements and moved his head back before resting his chin on my thigh. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked up at me.

"Well?"

"I'm going to write my own article," I told him, feeling that wonderful post peak bliss wash over me. "Because someone was obviously very misinformed."

Chris chuckled before pulling his hands from my hips to plant them on the bed and drag himself back over me.

"I'm glad I exceeded expectations."

"Mhmm," I hummed in agreement as his lips hovered above mine. "Now, let's see what else you can do."

Chris flashed me a smile and kissed me briefly before leaning back just enough to reach down and take his cock in his hand. Another moan fell from my lips as he rubbed it against me for a moment before nudging against my entrance and finally pressing inside. He moved slowly, but even so, I winced at the sensation. The slight burn as I stretched around him felt good but there was an undeniable ache as well. Sensing my hesitation, Chris paused and dropped his head for another soft kiss. I waited a moment, until the initial spark of discomfort had passed before pressing my hips up towards him.

He took the hint and continued his slow, almost torturous, movement until he was fully inside. The burning pain returned as it felt like he was taking up every inch of space I had to offer, but it felt incredible.

"Fuck," he breathed against my neck where his head had settled again. "You're tight..."

He shifted his hips pulling another gasp from my lips.

"Only because you're huge."

I felt a puff of laughter before he nipped at my shoulder.

"Thank you."

I would have smacked him for his cocky tone, but he moved then and suddenly my mind was blank of anything other than how good it felt. His movements were slow at first, every thrust dragging every inch of him against every nerve inside me, but his restraint quickly waned as his pace increased.

I let out a moan as my head fell back against the pillows and I hitched my leg higher on his hip. He moved his hand to the back of my thigh to hold it in place as he built a steady rhythm that had us both panting as I fought to match his thrusts. My fingers dug into his shoulders as his short beard rubbed against my skin.

The sensations were overwhelming. It was like he was completely encompassing me, smothering all of my senses and I could feel the pressure building again in the pit of my stomach in a way that it all felt like too much, but not enough all at the same time. I clenched around him, earning a groan of approval from Chris as I swore I could feel him twitch inside me. The pleasure was building quickly and his thrusts got sloppier and more frantic until suddenly he pulled out of me completely.

I felt empty and immediately wanted him back inside of me, my disappointment only growing as he pushed himself up to kneel back on his heels. The only compensation was how good he looked, muscles tight and his cock hard, practically throbbing and shiny from my being drenched in my wetness.

"Turn over," he instructed, his raspy voice bringing me back to the task at hand.

It took a moment for me to process his words, but I giggled as soon as I did.

"What?" He asked, a smile on his face.

"Nothing," I laughed again as I pushed myself up to do as he asked. "You just really are 'clearly' an ass man."

A look of realization crossed his face as he cringed slightly, his hand pausing from where he had reached down to stroke himself. I settled on my knees with my back to him as he answered.

"You heard about that?"

He was referring to the comments that he made on Anna Faris' podcast and I nodded my head.

"Everyone heard about that," I teased.

He chuckled, but didn't deny it as I leaned forward to rest on my hands. The wetness between my legs felt cool from the air in the room and I suddenly felt very exposed, knowing what the view must look like from his position. Again, my worries were brief though as his hands settled on my ass, kneading and squeezing as he let out a low groan.

"With an ass like this though, can you blame me?" He asked, sliding the fingers of one hand down towards the part of me that was practically throbbing with need. My head fell forward as he gently brushed over my clit before sinking two fingers inside me. It wasn't enough, not after the stretch of his cock, but he moved them with almost criminal precision against a spot that made me tense as I moaned with pleasure. "You've been drivin' me wild ever since that night we met. Those black jeans were so tight, it was like you were poured into 'em."

His words were muttered low and quiet and as much as I appreciated the compliment, I was such a puddle of mush from the movement of his fingers that I couldn't string together a sentence in response. He kept talking, whispering words of encouragement and adoration and it only added to my pleasure, but it wasn't until his thumb pressed against my clit that I felt myself start to bubble over. With a cry that I hoped served as a warning of my impending climax, I arched my back to press myself further towards him.

"Atta girl, Winnie..."

His breath was hot against the cheek of my ass and he continued his actions, placing a soft kiss on my skin. I was close, so close, but just not quite there until he did something that surprised me and sank his teeth into the spot his mouth was resting on. It wasn't enough to break the skin, but it was enough to leave a mark and it was definitely enough to send me over the edge. Moaning out his name again as I pressed back towards him, I felt myself quivering around his fingers as the pleasure tore through my body.

My elbows were quaking with effort as they tried to hold me up while he kept his fingers gently working until my orgasm came to an end. I wasn't sure how much more I could take, but I knew I wanted him inside me again so I shot him a look over my shoulder.

"Chris," I panted. "Fuck me, please."

His eyes darkened at my request, but he wasted no time, quickly shifting until he was positioned behind me and sliding himself back inside. He felt even bigger in our new position and his need was made clear as his hands settled on my hips to use them as leverage, thrusting into me at a much more frantic pace than he had before.

The stretch and feel of him deep inside me had me moaning and arching my back once again, but I was doubtful that I would reach another peak - until Chris slid one of his hands from my hip, over my stomach and back down to my clit. The sensation combined with his movements and all the noises pouring from his mouth had a tightness in my stomach forming again with shocking speed. It was just shy of overwhelming as my two previous orgasms had left me feeling rather sensitive already, but when Chris picked up the pace even more, his grunts and groans getting more desperate, I leaned into the sensation. It only took a minute or two more before he finally pressed himself deep inside me, stilling as he let out a low moan and I followed him over the edge once more.

After a few final thrusts through his release, Chris leaned forward to press his chest against my back. I could feel how hard he was breathing and soaked in the moment of bliss until my arms finally gave out underneath me. We landed in a heap face down on the bed, but Chris quickly rolled off of me before pulling me tight against his side.

"Wow," he breathed out. "Winnie, that was...wow."

I smiled as I rested my head on his chest.

"It was," I agreed. "I take back any doubts about your abilities."

He chuckled and placed a soft kiss on the top of my head.

"Thanks," he smiled as I peered up at him until he let a yawn slip out. "Mind if I stay here tonight?"

His question made my own smile widen even more.

"Of course not!"

He breathed out a sigh of relief at my words as I felt a wave of reassurance myself. He wanted to stay. He wasn't about to rush out the door the moment we were done and I filed that information away as more evidence that we were on the same page.

I felt like I should get up - to use the bathroom and offer my guest some water - but our activities had my whole body feeling like jelly. I was vaguely aware of a mumbled 'goodnight' from Chris, but I found myself drifting off to sleep before I could even respond.

The next morning as I slowly woke up, it took me a moment to remember why I was naked and why there was a pleasant, but very noticeable ache between my thighs. As the memory came back to me, a smile slid onto my face, but when I rolled over to find the bed empty, a flicker of worry sparked in the pit of my stomach. Especially when a glance at the clock told me that it was only seven in the morning. We couldn't have fallen asleep much before one so there was no good reason for him to be out of bed already.

I called out his name, hopeful that he would respond, but I wasn't entirely surprised when he didn't. The dread I was feeling intensified at the silence around me and I dragged myself out of bed with the intention of checking if he was in the bathroom or perhaps back out on the balcony. However, the sight of what was on the floor, or more accurately what wasn’t on the floor, made me pause. My dress and panties were laying where they'd been tossed, but his clothes were no where to be seen.

Trying to keep a level head, I quickly pulled on the oversized shirt that I usually slept in and ventured out of my bedroom, but my fears were quickly confirmed. My apartment was empty.

At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt as I desperately tried to rationalize his disappearance. Maybe he woke up early and went out to get us breakfast and coffee? The dull throbbing in my head told me that I could certainly use a good shot of caffeine and it was a pretty safe bet that he was feeling the same. But, when he didn't return after half an hour, I assumed that theory was just an optimistic wish.

After forty-five minutes of sitting on my couch, watching the door - willing it to open and for Chris to appear - I sent him a text. I tried to keep it low key and chill, but after another hour of staring at my phone, the words "Hey, where'd you go?" started to seem more and more desperate.

By ten o'clock with no response and no sign of Chris returning, I accepted the situation for what it was.

He wasn't coming back.

It was a drunken mistake that he clearly regretted.

We'd risked our entire relationship for one night of wonderful, incredible, but meaningless sex and he didn't even have the guts to stick around long enough to talk to me about it.

One stupid night and I'd lost one of my best friends.

The thought brought tears to my eyes and, before I could stop myself, I was blubbering like a baby as I curled up on my couch. I was devastated and heartbroken. I'd let myself believe that maybe he wanted me the same way that I wanted him because we were so close and I never would have imagined that he would let it go that far just to ditch me in the morning without even a goodbye. Surely, after a year of such strong friendship, I deserved more than that.

But no matter how stupid and naive I felt in that moment, nothing would compare to the level of utter foolishness I felt later that day when I was tiding up and realized that there wasn't a condom in sight.

Part Two

Tags: @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fic #chris evans one shot #once bitten/more hearts

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harrisonstories · 4 years ago

Photo

The Beatles and Martha during the Mad Day Out photoshoot (1968)

Q: Give a brief thumbnail sketch of each Beatle as you perceived him.

Ken Mansfield: Paul was the energetic one, the one that seemed like the popular kid in high school. He was the one whom you would cruise main street with your arms hanging over the car door edge, pressing tight to make your muscles look bigger. He would be the guy who would wave at the girls and slow down so they could jump in the back. I never felt a strong personal agenda coming from Paul, and by that I mean that it didn’t feel like you had to figure out who he was or where he was coming from. He was always presenting the next project or place to go. It was the sheer impetus of purpose that put things in motion so what you saw was an idea and a goal, and none of it needed complicated examination. “Here’s what we are about to do and that was exactly what we were about to do.”

To me, Paul was the unabashed leader of the group, the hard-charging one with the ideas and the one that on the surface seemed to be less troubled about things in general. I’ve said it before that he was like a hyper-kinetic kid that never slowed down – the difference being that he was able to harness this energy into his God-given musical talent and just let ‘er rip. In all honesty, he wore me out. It was fun, the times I got to hang with him or work with him, but his tempo was maddening and his energy pool bottomless. I did have an underlying pressure as the US manager of their company so that I couldn’t just totally go with the flow and hang out and party. My responsibilities were always looming in the back of my mind. If we had been high school buddies and there had been no fame, I think Paul would be the kind of person who would be great to hook up with again at class reunions. It would always be good to see him again. He, like the other Beatles, had an admirable sense of loyalty to their old mates. I was with Paul when he brought Ivan Vaughn, an old friend from his Liverpool school days to LA with him to just hang out. Ivan was certainly no one famous or even in the business – just an old friend hanging out with a mate who just happened to be the “cute Beatle.”

George was the one you would have seen in the cafeteria keeping to himself. But he would also be the one to move things aside in order to make room for you when you sat down in the seat next to him. He would welcome the company and share in the moment in an easy manner. He was the kind of guy that a slow, easy friendship would develop with over time and without the fame an everyday George would have probably been the perfect neighbor. He was so gentle and easy to be with. There was thoughtfulness in his responses to things as they were happening whether it was the conversation or the next move. He was the model of a man at peace with what was going on inside and his serenity spilled out into his surroundings. I could talk with him about simple things and was able to forget the Apple stuff because I could tell that the world didn’t begin and end with that for him. He would be more concerned about how I was doing rather than what I was doing. We shared some very personal times together because we were young, happening dudes with new wives who liked each other. I got to be the LA guy with him during his frequent and extended stays. Just because we were in Hollywood didn’t mean we had to be crazy. It was simple and easy being with George – we would go buy jeans together or sit around the house late at night and not say much.

John was the different one. He was the kid who also might be eating his lunch alone but would probably be standing up, leaning against the soda machine looking out across the lunchroom like it was another planet. There was always this sense that he was a bit unapproachable and he would be the one to do the approaching if anything was going to come down on a personal level. I spent less time with him than the others with the main difference being that I never had that alone time away from the band or Yoko – except for the day over at Ringo’s LA home in 1976. That particular event was an accidental encounter and definitely not a bonding moment.

I have written a lot about John over the years and it surprised me how many pages I spent on him after having had so little contact. I believe it was because of the complexity of his nature that it took more words to describe him. He was a brooder. There seemed a distance in place that made me always wonder how our exchanges were being digested and assimilated. I found in time this had more to do with my insecurities than his inaccessibility. He was very focused and intent at times and didn’t have time for niceties. When I finally understood him better I found this to be because he was very straight ahead and honest when it was one on one time. John cared about issues of importance and would get very frustrated when he couldn’t make matters better. He was like many of the great artists I worked with who had the odd ability to be in the extreme corners of life, jumping back and forth from altruism to self-centered madness without ever spending much time in the middle. Gee, I wonder why he was the one everyone was so fascinated with?

Ringo was the long-term guy. He’s the one you would meet the first day at school and just because you ended up in the cloak room at the same time going for the same coat hook, you became friends for the rest of your school years and never really thought much about why. He was the most natural, most accessible and the most down to earth. I remember when I was in London it was his house that I was invited out to for a holiday feast. When we were in LA it was gatherings at our homes that were of the norm. We shared a lot of our lives over the years and it was usually the simple things that stand out when I think back. He was the one I got to know best and the easiest to describe. I never liked the fact that he was relegated to the fourth man down on their totem pole when it came to the band’s pecking order. Besides being the best absolute drummer they could have chosen, he is an exceptional actor in my opinion. It is hard to find someone sharper or funnier in head-to-head dialogue. He brought “Starr” power to the band.

- Daytrippin’ Beatles Magazine (2 Feb. 2013)

#john lennnon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #the beatles #ken mansfield #daytrippin #2013 #i like his extremely specific high school analogies

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thesmokingguns · 4 years ago

Text

Thrift Store

Word Count 1916

Fluff

You rolled your eyes watching the man walk into the thrift shop you owned. The bell had rung drawing your attention to the tall man with teased hair and leather from head to toe.

This was the type of person you were used to seeing duck into the shop on The Strip looking to score some piece of cool clothing for their stage outfit. All of them loved chatting you up about what night their band was going to play and how you should totally check them out because they were going to make it. The only place they were going to make it was to third base with some bottle blonde.

You flipped your magazine, eyes looking up to the man who was dragging the metals hangers to the side looking through the leather jackets. Typical of him to be in that section. He didn’t look like the type to steal so you didn’t really pay that much attention to him until he was right in front of you a few minutes later.

“Excuse me.” You dragged your eyes up looking at him. He was holding up a black jacket you had found at a yard sale last weekend, “This doesn’t have a price on it. Could you tell me how much it is?” The jacket would look good on him and it would definitely fit better than the one he was wearing that didn’t even cover his wrists.

“Ten dollars and the jacket you’re wearing.” You replied to him. You could redo his jacket and sell it for triple the price. He seemed surprised but was tugging off his jacket and sliding the new one on already.

You were right, it did fit him perfectly. It took away the little boy playing dress up and made him look like a man. He looked in the mirror and you watched this small smile, confidence slipping into his face. That’s when you really took him in and appreciated the way he was built. He had a strong jawline and these olive eyes that were the kind that got girls into trouble.

“Listen, I know you’re cutting me a huge deal. Can I buy you a drink tonight? My band is playing at the Whisky at midnight. You can meet me before or if you want to stick around after I’m sure there will be a party at our apartment.” There it was. The line where he invited you out because he needed more chicks in the audience.

“I’m really busy tonight. I’m sorry.” You actually felt sorry when you lied. But there was no way you, you were going to get sucked into going to see some shitty club band when you could stay in bed and not be annoyed with people. You held out your hand taking the crumpled bills he handed you.

“That was a shitty line, wasn’t it?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you watched the leather stretch over his bicep. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t like one of the thin chicken boys who came in. He had muscles and was filled out.

“Look, I’m sure your band is great but I’m not going to go see them because you bought a jacket from me.” He nodded understandingly, “But you do look good in the jacket so at least you have that.” You teased him, loving how he smiled from the corner of his mouth, he had to be older than you by a few years and there was this mystery about him that had you wanting to ask more questions but instead you took the jacket he had been wearing, throwing it on your bag for home and went back to flipping through your magazine.

He was still standing in front of the register as if he hadn’t quite worked out that you weren’t going to go out with him. A sigh escaped your lips as you looked back up at him.

“It’s past lunch time but maybe we can grab a beer and a burger now?” Your eyebrow shot up at his offer. A beer and a burger was much better than seeing a shitty band play. You looked around the shop, it was 1:30pm on a Friday. Soon the place would be mobbed with kids from the Valley looking for new clothes to wear for their weekend nights in Hollywood. This was one of your busy days and you knew that you couldn’t leave.

“I can’t leave. It’s busy here Friday afternoon but if you wear that jacket tonight I’m sure that you’ll find a great girl for beer and burgers on Saturday afternoon.” You smiled. He seemed confused about why you kept turning down your advances.

“Well, if you won’t go out with me can I at least have your name?” You heard the bell ring and looked past him to the two young teens walking in.

“It’s Y/N. Now you need to get out of here because I have customers.” You moved around the counter slightly grazing against him as you moved down the aisles to check on the kids who seemed like they wouldn’t have a problem stuffing things into their bags. You watched the man walk out of the shop, smiling at the whole encounter.

The night was steady. People crammed into the small store and it turned out to be a great day for business. You locked the safe at the end of the night and jumped out of your skin when you heard a knock on the glass door. Your eyes narrowed seeing a man shifting outside and you grabbed the baseball bat next to the register.

It was dark outside but you could hear people laughing as they passed outside, which just heightened your senses as you got closer. It suddenly dawned on you that it was the guy from earlier. He noticed you finally at the door and held up his hands. One hand was holding a six pack and the other a brown paper bag with grease stains on the bottom.

“It doesn’t seem busy now.” he yelled through the door. The way he was standing there made you shake your head, turning the lock as you opened up and let him inside the shop. His eyes took in the bat you were holding as you locked up the door, “Are you in a late night baseball league?” You roll your eyes, locking the door up.

“I thought you had a show.” He tosses you a beer and you’re taking him in wondering what angle this man is trying to come at you from.

“We play at midnight. I have an hour to have burgers and beers with you, Y/N.” The crinkle of the bag makes you watch his movements, “There’s this little hole in the wall joint that makes the best burgers around the corner from here.” The stranger is handing you a wrapped red and white checkered burger.

“I don’t know your name and you expect me to just have dinner with you.” The suspicious nature you have makes it hard to tell if this guy is usually this spontaneous or if he wants something from you. Knowing how the men in this area are, you're sure that he is going to try and get something.

“I’m Nikki Sixx.” The name makes your eyes roll. Another boy with a fake stage name and dreams of being a rock and roll superstar but he brought beer and burgers so you can’t just kick him out.

It’s a quick hour and after the initial eye rolling over his name and the slight boredom when he talks about his band you find yourself listening to him talk. Actually listening and caring about what he says. The way he describes his dreams isn’t with the youthful nativity you have come across from your time in Hollywood. No, Nikki has a plan to achieve his dream and it includes a lot of hard work. He isn’t afraid to work for his dreams because he knows that is how he will get them.

He’s easy to talk to and you find yourself laughing so hard you’re covering your mouth at the stories he tells you. From the way his band does maniac things to funny stories of schemes he’s done to survive. You don’t know why it’s so easy to laugh with him. But what you like the most about him is how he asks questions about you that would get lost with other people. He doesn’t make the hour you have together all about his rockstar dreams but he turns the conversation to what your goals are. His eyes are thoughtful, watching you as you speak about fashion design and how the store is a stepping stone for you. He even gets you to show him some of the things you altered and designed. The usual embarrassment you might feel void because of how comfortable he makes you feel.

Eyes keep darting to the clock and you know he’s stayed past the hour he had told you he had before his show. Until finally he’s pushed his time back as far as he could and he’s getting up to leave, knowing that he’s going to have to run from the store right onto stage..

“I’m glad that you let me in tonight. I had a great time getting to know you, Y/N. The band doesn't play tomorrow night so if you’re around Sunday I’d like to tag along to your yard sales you were talking about.” He’s saying it because he wants to spend time with you and the fact he’s willing to hang out on a Sunday afternoon to see something you like has you softening to his charms. He is a lot different from the usual clientele of the store with a self centered nature and a rock n roll attitude without the fame.

“Well, you know where I work. My apartment’s above here. If you’re serious, meet me at 11am Sunday and we can go explore together.” Nikki nods at your words and you wish he’d invite you to the show again but even in the short time you’ve talked to him you know he won’t. He doesn’t want to be rejected twice for something that he cares about. But he has shown such a sincere interest in your passions and you find that you want to see him play. “Do you mind if I walk to the Whisky with you to see the show? I heard there’s a pretty good band playing tonight.” His eyes flash up and it’s nice to see you’ve surprised him by changing your mind. He doesn’t seem like the type that is surprised too often

As you’re walking, chattering nonstop with the stranger you met in the shop this morning your mind wanders to the leather jacket he’s wearing. That jacket was made for him to wear. As soon as you saw him holding it you knew that he was going to go home with it. If he hadn’t come looking for that jacket your day would have been a lot different. Now you were with the bassist of a band going to the Whisky to see another band try to make it off the Strip and into the stars. But the usual apathetic feeling you had about these bands were gone and you were thinking that this person would really make it. And you were rooting for him.

#Douglas Booth! Nikki Sixx #The Dirt imagine #The Dirt headcanon #Dougas Booth imagine #Douglas Booth headcanon #Douglas Booth Fanfic #Douglas Booth! Nikki Sixx headcanon #nikki sixx x you #Nikki Sixx YOu

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cherriesfineline · 4 years ago

Text

Au Pair – Chapter I

It's finally here – I'm sorry this took so long, this past few weeks have been a mess but here it is, our first chapter for the Au Pair series; I kinda hate this, ngl- I always hate first chapters, a lot of introductory info and bla bla but yeah.

In the weird case you happen to enjoy this and want to be added into the taglist (starting next chapter) you can request it here.

Feedback, likes or reblogs are so, so appreciated! I'm very much new to the whole writing world so yeah it'd be really helpful to hear your thoughts about this <3

Love you all, have a wonderful week beauties!

Warnings: none specifically for this chapter – age gap.

WC: 6.6k

Masterlist

Y/N was tired, to say the least.

And it wasn’t the tiredness she used to feel after a long work shift at her previous job -where her boss was an old, grumpy lady with horrible manners- or the exhaustion felt after spending hours crying due to a fight with her mother. No, this was different. It was a tiredness she couldn’t get rid of; a tiredness no lavender smelling bath or hours upon hours of sleep could amend.

She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment her brain shifted in such a drastic way. Y/N could easily recognize and admit her life had never been an exciting one; a memorable one. Ever since she was a little girl it all seemed to fly by; graduations, birthdays, friendships – nothing ever seemed to leave an impact and nothing ever seemed as exciting as everyone else put it to be. She knew she struggled with allowing herself to enjoy things, but this far her life had been pretty average.

Maybe it was the fact that she was 22 years old and never been in a real relationship what skyrocketed her fear of dying alone. Now, she knew it might seem exaggerated – 22 years wasn’t a long life at all, but the pungent emptiness she’d been feeling felt like her inevitable destiny – like that’s how life was supposed to be for her.

England felt different, though. But in all honesty, her emotions hadn’t had switched into completely different ones like she’d expected to happen when she applied for this job as an Au Pair all the way back in February.

With a steaming hot cup of coffee between her cold hands, she sat down next to Coco (a very soft grey Scottish Fold) on the giant couch of her new home, scratching in between his tiny ears earning a low purr in response. Coco had become one of her closest friends so far, along with Anya, a three year old girl with cute blonde locks and a laugh so contagious it made the muscles on your cheeks ache after a long playdate.

Maybe moving away wasn’t the smartest choice. It actually might be one of the stupidest choices she had ever made, actually – moving all the way across the globe when she cried herself to sleep most nights due to her loneliness overcoming her (almost inexistent) self-awareness. Y/N liked to believe she had a wide understanding of her emotions, but it was a blatant lie.

At least she was distracted for most of the day – taking care of two kids and looking after a teenager wasn’t an easy task. It required a lot of mental presence; but by the time she was in bed at night, it all hit back again. She thought maybe this is how life is supposed to be for her, lonely – maybe it was not her brain playing her tricks but her brain making her see how her life truly was.

It’d been two weeks since the Lockehold family picked Y/N up from the airport, and on one side getting physically adjusted to this new life hadn't been as rough as she thought it’d be. She did have it easy, if she had to admit – a big room in a giant, beautiful home and a car to her disposal. Emotionally, on the other side, life was still the same.

She knew the moment she heard heels hitting the cold marble staircase Bella was on her way down with Ivy, the eldest of the three sisters, following close behind, complaining about a hangout she was apparently going to miss because they “are expecting a guest” as Bella announced, meaning neither of her parents could drive her. That’s how Y/N found herself sitting in her (borrowed) blue Jeep Renegade driving Ivy to her friend Lily’s house – who lived in the same rich, over-the-top neighborhood as her guest family, which meant the ride to and back was no longer than twenty minutes. During those minutes together, though, Y/N could physically feel the irritation running through Ivy’s blood because first, she still wasn’t too fond of Y/N because she is 16 and doesn’t need a babysitter -her words, not Y/N’s- and second, Y/N is still not accustomed to driving on the other side of the road.

Technically, Y/N had the weekends off. Living with the same people who employed her gladly didn’t mean working 24/7, but she hoped she could earn a couple of points in her favor if she took her free time to drive her around.

After a short conversation between the two (where Ivy refused to save Y/N’s number in case an emergency came up because she could always call her dad), Y/N dropped her off and drove back to the Lockehold’s. What caught her off guard, was the sight of someone in the driveway at the house next door getting suitcases out of the trunk of a black cab – there hadn’t been any movement in the old Victorian mansion since she’d moved in next door. A man, definitely very tall, dressed in a dark suit is all Y/N could decipher since it was already dark outside and she had to strictly concentrate on not switching to the opposite side of the road out of habit.

Alex was coming down the stairs when Y/N locked the front door – Bella’s husband was a very handsome man for his age, probably anyone could admit it. He was kind of scary sometimes, but was a true sweetheart on the inside; he’s in his mid-40’s and it was clear as day his family meant everything to him, he even treated Y/N like his own daughter, always making sure she’s comfortable and inviting her to most family hangouts – even though Y/N declined pretty often to allow them to have quality time as a family (and because being too socially involved drained her, but they needn’t have to know that)

“You wanna join us for dinner? We have a guest tonight. A family friend.”

“Oh, no, I'm good, you guys enjoy yourselves. I’ll say hello, though.” Y/N replied with a smile; and as before mentioned, even though she had the weekends to herself, they still loved to insist on her joining them for fancy dinners and whatnot. The Lockehold’s loved being hostesses, loved having people around (from what Y/N learned this past two weeks) but she really wanted -and needed- some time for herself after being with them the entire week, and even though she loved hanging out with them, she just wasn’t in the mood tonight.

“You sure? Bella made homemade pasta, from scratch. Her specialty.” Mouthwatering, Y/N thought. Bella was such an amazing cook, and even though she worked hours upon hours every day, she still came to her husband and kids in time to make dinner every night, not missing a single day.

“Sounds delicious, but I think I’ll pass, I’m just really tired.” And before anyone could make another comment, the loud bell ringing through the main floor of the house startled Y/N as it’s louder than ordinary – and sounded kind of old and creepy, in her opinion. By the time the constant thud in her chest lowered to a normal speed, she could recognize Bella’s voice in the foyer, meaning she was the one who received their guest, with a deep voice following after saying 'thank you for having me'.

"He's here!" Alex clasped his hands together, a wide smile appearing in his face. Y/N followed him into the living room where Bella was already chatting animatedly with a man; tall and with broad shoulders (but not excessively; just the right amount) his figure was leaning slightly forward as he listened to Bella rambling about all the 'good things he had missed while he was away'. His hands were clasped on his back and when he lifted his head, he made direct eye contact with Y/N without even having to search for her eyes. His brown curls were perfectly placed on top of his head looking extremely soft, and when he ran his hand through it Y/N couldn’t help but swallow harshly. He undoubtedly looked like someone who belonged in Hollywood next to a young Leo DiCaprio and he was definitely older than Y/N – probably already in his 30's, she guessed, but ageing like the finest wine. He had the softest looking wrinkles in the corners of his eyes – those eyes, forest green; reminded Y/N of what used to be home for her. His intense gaze held a lot of emotion, a lot of thought, unlike his face, that appeared stiff and cold, with a slight crease between his brows. His pink, heart-shaped lips were pressed in a line, a cute mole adorning one side of his chin.

"Harry! It's so good to see you, we've missed you." Alex's excitement forced him to drift his gaze away from Y/N, leaving her like a heated teenager salivating for him. Y/N honestly thought he might had left her speechless and most likely with increasing probabilities to make a fool out of herself if someone needed her to talk, as she was certain she wouldn't be able to formulate any coherent sentences.

Harry. It totally suited him, Y/N repeated his name a couple of times inside her head to check on its pronunciation. Alex reached him and pulled him in a big hug, patting each other's back, and Harry's lips broke into a huge smile making a line of pearly white teeth appear. And dimples. God, he had dimples.

This is how I die, Y/N thought.

"So good to see you, Alex." If sex was a sound, his voice would definitely be it.

"Your skin is glowing, Harry. Italy always does you wonders." Bella gushed. And she was right – his skin had this beautiful golden undertone, but it looked natural and radiant, almost like the sun itself kissed and caressed his skin with the softest touches. Alex snapped Y/N into reality when he turned to face her and grabbed her hand to pull her closer to them, starting a long introduction no one was paying much attention to, explaining how he’d missed her arrival, like he even cared, and how she was the Au Pair they’d all been talking about ever since February. It wasn’t until Alex mentioned something about Y/N and Harry probably seeing each other a lot she was suddenly interested in what was actually going on.

“He owns the school the girl’s attend.” Alex directed towards her. Now, Y/N assumed the moment she laid eyes on him he was probably rich – who wears a suit to a Sunday dinner with friends? Rich people are weird, that’s something we can all agree on; but owning a school which’s monthly fees per kid were worth three of her salaries? That was quite unexpected.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry." Y/N offered him her hand, trying to sound as casual as possible, even if her skin felt like it was burning under his intense gaze and her eyes were definitely betraying her.

"The pleasure’s all mine, Y/N." He shook her hand. His strong hold sent shivers down her spine; the cold rings making a big contrast against the heat his hand radiated and she couldn't help but fantasize about how his touch would feel in some other places.

The sudden embarrassment feeling hot against her cheeks made her turn around impossibly faster, feeling guilty at the dirty thoughts consuming her brain while around her bosses – and in front of him. Making a beeline straight to her room, announcing she was calling it a night, she sent Harry a quick -but quite charming- smile, and couldn’t help but soften at the sound of Anya running down the stairs yelling an excited ‘Harryyyy’ once she was past the kitchen.

She knew she got lucky with her commodities – an entire studio-like apartment past the main kitchen of the house, where the servant’s area used to be located a handful of decades ago; but she cussed in a whisper when she remembered half way through her making of a sandwich (four hours after she’d retreated to her bedroom and because she decided on skipping dinner that night, not having enough energy to cook) that her lazy ass still hadn’t bought mayonnaise. Her small kitchen had enough space to hold her snacks, along with some ingredients to make a few meals, since she only had to worry about food on the weekends. Reluctantly, she took the small plate holding her sandwich and made her way towards the main kitchen. There was no way in hell she’d eat a sandwich with no mayo – never in a million years, too dry to go down her throat.

I guess they won't mind if I grab just enough to put on my sandwich, she thought. The house was quiet, everyone probably already in bed, therefore she almost pissed herself when she found Harry sitting in one of the kitchen stools, looking down at his phone with an annoyed expression adorning his face. Almost as if he could sense someone was in the same room, he looked up to find Y/N standing at the kitchen threshold, his face abandoning any sort of emotion.

"Hey."

"Hi." Y/N walked towards the fridge on the far right of the kitchen, opposite from where she came in. "Sorry, I thought no one was here."

"Don't worry, just waiting for Bella and Alex to come back down to have some tea, they're putting the girls to sleep. Would you like to join us?" He offered. And honestly, she'd love to say yes and just listen to him talk with that deep, melodic voice, but her stomach was really hating her right now.

"I'm good, just grabbing some mayo. Thank you, though." She declined with a small smile.

"Next time." He sounded more demanding than suggesting, which slightly baffled Y/N. "Can I ask where you are from?" He asked respectfully.

"A small town in the Argentine Patagonia." Y/N replied with her back facing him as she busied herself with the mayonnaise container.

"Never been to Argentina. Or anywhere in South America, actually." And when Y/N turned around, sandwich in hand ready to go back to her room, their eyes met across the kitchen and she felt the heat creeping up her neck for the second time that night. Y/N wondered how his gaze was always this intense – she wasn’t a fan of how they’d barely exchanged a few words and somehow she felt so exposed.

"You should. It's beautiful." She almost, almost, choked on her own words and when she looked down at her fuzzy pink socks and back to him to try and calm her growing nerves down, he surprised her when she caught him looking up and down her body – in any other case she definitely would’ve felt creeped out, but there was something about him, the fact that he definitely didn’t do it with the intention of her catching him (she noticed how he shifted uncomfortably on his seat after the exchange) and how he simply added a “I’m sure it is," afterwards, she knew she was fucked right then and there – she wanted him looking at her. Was that something bad?

But then – then she remembered how she was wearing her soft cotton pajamas, and she began wondering if he was just laughing internally at her outfit instead of checking her out like she initially thought. And just like a save from heaven, Bella and Alex appeared in the kitchen discussing who was picking Ivy up from her friend's house. "Hi Y/N, still awake?"

"Yeah, got hungry. Stole a bit of mayo, hope you don't mind." She shyly held the plate up.

"Please, this is your house too." Alex waved her off.

"Thanks. Gonna go back now." Y/N pointed towards the small hallway that led to her room. "Goodnight." Turning her body to walk away, she caught Harry's eyes, again, still staring at her, but decided on simply walking away, breaking eye contact, making that small interaction their last one for the night.

The following week consisted of Anya and Y/N playing lots of fun games, trying to get a word out of Charlie and Ivy ignoring her for the most part. Her relationship with each of them was completely different, each trusting her at their own peace, getting used to having a stranger around. Anya seemed the only one openly excited to hang out with Y/N every day, and even though she could tell Charlie didn't exactly mind her presence, she still hadn't talked to her as much as she'd like her to.

"What are you up to, Charlie?" Y/N asked the seven year old as she sat next to her in the big playroom they had on the main floor. Charlie kept her gaze locked on her drawing with a handful of crayons on her right hand as she drew with her left. "You're left handed? That's so cool!" Bella had mentioned some time ago that Charlie had a really hard time letting people in, Y/N knew it'd take some time for her to see her as a friend -like she wanted her to- rather than someone who gets paid to hang out with her, but Bella confessed Charlie was actually really excited to meet Y/N, which felt like a small relief, knowing she actually wanted her there – unlike Ivy. Charlie spoke only when necessary and struggled with making friends but her psych pedagogue said she's just really shy and that ‘once she breaks out of her shell, she's unstoppable’. "I love the birds you drew here." Y/N pointed at some small birds sitting in a tree branch.

"Bluebirds." She murmured.

Getting a single word from her was considered progress, in Y/N’s opinion, but that’s all she got for the entire afternoon – even after constantly sending comments her way while playing with Anya so Charlie wouldn’t feel left out, not a single word came out of her mouth. Anya mentioned Harry at some point while talking about her favorite doll (which Harry had gifted her for her 3rd birthday) and the flash of captivating green eyes almost blinded her internally (she couldn’t deny she’d thought about Harry every once in a while this past week)

And it wasn’t until later that same day, after spending a long while sitting alone in a nearby park, she got the chance to see him again – even if he had scared her (almost) to death, she couldn’t help but feel an annoying flutter in her stomach.

She would like to say she loved her long walks during the most unreasonable times at night, but her reasoning behind her late night needs of distraction didn’t exactly thrill her. It was during the quietest and most peaceful times of the day when her mind seemed to speed faster than ever before; the sleepless nights and brain-wrecking thinking of how alone and empty she actually felt, along with the laziness and reluctance when it came to things that used to make her happy weighed her down like carrying a sack of potatoes on her back.

As she was walking past her neighbor's house (the one where she had seen that man with the suitcases last week) she noticed someone sitting on the large porch. Weird, she thought. She hadn't noticed any movement in the house since that night a week ago, to the point she even considered it being empty again. The silhouette seemed oddly familiar though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

"Y/N." She slightly jumped as she heard them call for her, in a strong and deep accent. Was that...

"Harry?" She asked befuddled. Did he live there? She watched as he stood up from his sitting position on the outdoor couch and walked across his front yard to take a closer look at him stopping at the bottom of the short staircase that leads to the porch. "What are you doing up so late?" And then something clicked in her brain – he was probably the man she saw that night, with his suitcases. It made sense, how he probably got home from vacation the same day he had dinner at the Lockehold's – the same day Bella mentioned something about him being in Italy

"Can't sleep." He simply replied, with a small sigh. He then nodded to the seat behind him, and Y/N could physically feel her brain going a thousand miles per minute. She sat on the far left of the couch as he retook his seat on the right, "what are you doing up so late?" He repeated her question.

And Y/N repeated his answer. "Can't sleep."

So they sat in silence, what felt like hours barely being a few seconds. "Didn't know you lived next door." Y/N took the time to take in his side profile - sharp and long nose, the tip curving slightly downwards when he spoke the next line.

"Never mentioned it." He replied apathetically. The unexpected switch in his tone made her immediately shut up, and even though it confused Y/N as to why he would want her joining him if he didn't want to talk, she was dreading going back to her room alone to drown in her thoughts again. She'd take uncomfortable company over being alone when her head got like this, it helped her get distracted; overthinking this situation instead of the same scenarios that constantly lived in her head.

They again sat in silence for a while, this time for longer than a few minutes, and even though it was slightly uncomfortable, there was an unspoken understanding between them. He just wanted company, and so did she. This time, however, it was him who tried for conversation. "Why did you choose England for your Au Pair program?"

"I was actually convinced I was going to choose France," Y/N shared with a soft tone, "but when I met the girls in one of my interviews I just knew I had to come here. Anya was so excited about meeting me, she thought it was already settled." She ended with a small smile on her lips. The memory of Anya smiling happily at her through the computer screen even when she hadn't had met her yet warming her heart.

It was true, the fact that she’d chosen England because of the girls. She wanted to learn French – she knew her way around the English language pretty well; but the French family whom interviewed her didn’t come close to the Lockehold’s at all – she thought maybe the experience of living in a whole different continent with a wonderful family was better than choosing a place because of the language – the experience was being experienced either way.

"Anya is a very special kid. They all are." Harry declared, the left corner of his mouth turning upwards in a small half smile.

Y/N nodded slowly before asking, "How long have you known them?" She could recall Alex saying he was a family friend – but she had no other information about him besides that.

"A while." The small conversation went for a long while, he shared the real reason as to why he was awake so late, explaining how he has struggled with falling asleep ever since he was young, but besides that comment, he kept his life very private; not sharing much information about himself during their chat, and every time Y/N reciprocated a question, he would either answer vaguely or didn't answer at all, changing the subject with another question. "It's really late" He commented, Y/N’s phone reading 1:08am.

"Yeah, I should probably go to bed." She lifted her head to look at him, who was already searching for her eyes. Y/N cleared her throat when a few moments passed by, again, with no one speaking a word. She wondered what could possibly be going through his head at the time, but he nodded, got up and said, "I'll see you around, Y/N." Her name flowed so nicely out of his lips it made her knees get weak. Locking herself in her bedroom (after entering it by the door at the side of the house – which leaded straight to her room) she laid in bed trying to understand why they’d just hang out in his front porch way past midnight when they clearly didn’t know each other very well – or at all, better said.

First day of classes came by in a heartbeat. The first Monday of September Y/N found herself getting up earlier than she was accustomed to, since the girl's sleeping schedule was different during the summer. 6:15am read her alarm when she lazily threw the soft covers off her body. A quick shower and minimal makeup application later, she stood naked next to her bed checking the weather app, as to know how to prepare the girl's clothes.

After putting a soft pink sweater on and a pair of flared jeans, Y/N left the warmth of her room to wake the girls up. Going for Charlie first (since she didn't need any help changing into her uniform and Ivy used her own alarm) she didn't give Y/N any work at all, waking up immediately after softly calling her name once. Picking her uniform from her closet and leaving it for her to change, Y/N left Charlie’s room to walk towards the next door.

"Morning, Anya." She whispered as she brushed some of her hair out of her face. Anya’s little nose scrunched up and a soft whimper left her mouth as she switched positions, now laying on her side, "gotta wake up, love." Y/N shook her arm softly, and she finally opened her eyes, a tired smile creeping up her face as she noticed it was Y/N sitting next to her. Y/N left her to rub the tiredness off her eyes while she picked her clothes (since her daycare was at the same school her older sister's attended -Harry's school, Y/N couldn't help but think- her uniform consisted of only a white t-shirt with the school logo along with any pair of bottoms she chose for the day.

After picking up her cute small rain boots and help her get dressed up, Y/N did a cute hairstyle on her with the small butterfly hair clips she chose, and went back to Charlie's room to do her hair, Anya coming along.

They arrived at their school; a big, period-like brick building with hundreds of students roaming around and a beautiful fountain at the front – which actually made Y/N’s childhood look like a big joke; the school she had attended was located in the middle of the mountains in a remote field.

"I'll be here at two thirty. Good luck, girls, I'll see you later." Ivy walked away sending a 'mhm' her way to let her know she heard her, and Charlie offered a small smile along with a wave and walked away like her sister. Y/N took Anya off her car seat and helped her get out of the car, her tiny backpack sitting on Y/N’s right shoulder as she grabbed the hand Anya offered her.

"Mommy said I have the penguins' classroom!" She said with excitement as they walked through the doors at the right wing of the building.

"That's so cool! I love penguins, let's search for the door which has penguins on it, shall we?" Y/N suggested even though she could clearly see their door at the end of the hallway.

"Yes! This one has elephants," she pointed at the door they were passing, "look, butterflies!"

"Like your hairclips!" Y/N exclaimed, and she giggled nodding her head. "Ah! Look what we found..." Y/N pointed at the next door.

"Penguins!" She skipped towards the door, dragging Y/N along. They entered the big and colorful classroom where they found some kids crying in their parent’s arms, others being as excited as Anya.

"Hi there! Anya, am I correct?" A woman who appeared to be around Y/N’s age came up to them, scrunching down to be on Anya’s eye level. She nodded frantically, excitement dripping from her smile. "My name is Miss Pia, I'm going to be your teacher this year." She introduced herself, Anya gave her an even bigger smile and slyly asked if she could go meet her classmates, to which Miss Pia agreed, asking her to first hang her small backpack in the rack at the back of the room, taking it from my hands and running excitedly to do it.

"You must be Y/N, then?" Miss Pia asked, getting back up to her feet. She was short with blonde curly hair sitting high in a ponytail, rosy cheeks and a cute teacher apron on top of her regular clothes.

"I am." Y/N offered her hand.

"The administration office said we would be having an Au Pair this year, they always give us a heads up with situations like these." She explained, and Y/N nodded as she continued, "we have the parents, nannies or in this case, Au Pairs," they both laughed," stay for the introduction, you can leave afterwards."

"Perfect, I'll sit at the back with the rest of the parents." Y/N ended up staying for about half an hour, smiling at Anya every time she turned to search for her when something exciting seemed to be happening. She won't be needing any adaptation, as Miss Pia said, and she was dismissed right before they had their first trip to the playground outside, taking advantage of the fact that it hadn't started raining yet.

Right when Y/N was walking out of the building, she spotted Harry at the main entrance, reading something on his phone. He was wearing a navy blue suit with a white shirt underneath, and he looked even more handsome in the daylight. She made her way towards him, walking up the marble stairs (marble stairs! In a school?), and when he noticed her, he put his phone away and slowly (and trying to be as discrete as possible – which he failed to, again) looked up and down her body. Something about him giving her his full attention made her insides burn, and she couldn’t help but bit her bottom lip to suppress a smile.

"Hi." She stopped in front of him, taking a moment to look at his eyes; they definitely looked a lot lighter now that there was natural light surrounding them.

"Hi." He repeated, "Dropped the girl's off?" He motioned towards the building with his head.

"Yes, just left Anya’s classroom." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Miss Pia?" He asked, squinting his eyes.

"Yes. She's nice, looks like she knows what she's doing." Y/N shrugged. She didn't exactly know her enough to have a conversation about her – and she most definitely couldn’t be one to talk, since she herself didn’t know what she was doing half of the time. “How’s the first day back been so far?” He got cut off from his next comment by his phone, and the small crease between his eyebrows grew deeper, which didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N. "I'll leave you to it." She announced, but his eyes found hers again, and it was almost like he was asking for her to not leave him to it, but Y/N didn’t trust her instincts, not with him – not when he made her so nervous her brain couldn’t process things around him, and she was scared of misreading his expressions; he was hard to read. Not like she was expert at reading people but he was frustratingly confusing.

They didn't see each other again until a week later on a Tuesday evening – the same day Charlie, Anya and her decided to go for a walk and treat themselves with ice cream from a cute shop across from (what had come to be) her favorite park, Harry and Y/N found each other's eyes across his front garden, just like that night, but this time it was easy for her to recognize him as she could see his face clear and glowing from the sunset shine. His eyes were glued to her until the fence that divided their houses blocked his view, and again, Y/N wondered what could be going through his head.

It wasn’t until after dinner, past her work hours, she decided to leave the house through the door on her room with the sparking curiosity to test if she would run into Harry. Stopping on the sidewalk in front of his house, she noticed he was not sitting outside, and even though that's exactly what she had expected -he was not going to sit there for hours and hours, right?- There still was a small feeling of disappointment that rushed through her, and when she snapped back into reality, it was too late to stop herself as she knocked on his front door.

And Y/N didn’t know where to hide – not like hiding would be less embarrassing but God she did hate herself that moment. The embarrassment running through her veins was painful and made her lightheaded – she knew she had trouble sometimes with not thinking things through, but this was beyond her. He barely knew her. And suddenly his door was wide open.

"Y/N?" Of course she was not lucky enough for him to be asleep and not hearing her knock – life would’ve been too in her favor for that to happen. Of course he was very awake with a half drank cup of tea in his hand and the softest looking pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. "Are you ok? You look really pale." His voice was calm, probably the softest it'd ever been in her presence. At least he doesn't sound mad, Y/N thought.

Harry wanted to be confused, but he was more curious than anything else. For some reason, he felt very intrigued by Y/N – how she seemed confident but insanely insecure at the same time; it reminded him of himself, if he had to be honest. He just learned how to hide the latter.

"Uh, yeah- um, I was-" she nervously turned around halfway to look behind her and back at him again. He raised his eyebrows in curiosity and Y/N really tried her hardest not to step over her words. "I was about to go for a walk, uh, I was wondering if you'd like to join me?" Stupid. So, so stupid, Y/N thought.

"No, I'm good." He replied, finding oh-so-amusing the way her eyes gave her embarrassment away – he was having fun, watching her like a lost puppy trying to think through her next words.

Her mind was, of course, over speeding. She now felt even more embarrassed. Of course he doesn't want to go for a walk, Y/N conscience spoke to her, it's a Tuesday night and he's probably tired and I'm his friends' Au Pair – he probably thinks I'm this young and annoying girl who has a stupid crush and- "would you like to join me?" He interrupted her self-beating up raising his cup and she noticed the half smile adorning his face, almost like he could tell the wheels in her brain were fast-moving.

"Wouldn't want to interrupt-"

"You're not. I wouldn't have invited you in if you were. C'mon in, now. It's kinda cold out here." He disappeared inside of his house, leaving her on his porch with an open mouth and a blank brain. After closing the door behind her and taking her black vans off, she turned on her left as she guessed that was the way Harry went – and she knew she’d guessed correctly when she stepped into a big open-plan concept living room with a giant kitchen on the far back, Harry standing with his back towards her preparing her tea, "sugar?"

"No, thank you." She sat in one of the stools at the kitchen island as she took the scene in front of her. Her very cute (and much older), very hot neighbor Harry, in sweatpants and a very thin white shirt, a small patch of skin showing on his hip, making her tea. His shoulders were broad and she could see his back muscles moving as he poured steaming hot water into the cup, the little curls on his neck so inviting, if only she could run her hand through his soft looking hair just once-

"There you go. Cardamom." He snapped her out of her (probably inappropriate) thoughts, and she thanked him as she grabbed the cup from where he placed it; he stayed in his position standing in front of her on the other side of the island, with his forearms against the cold marble, sipping on his own mug, thinking about how strange it felt to have someone he wasn’t close with sitting in his kitchen after so long. "Why are you up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"I figured. I couldn't either, looks like we both have a bit of sleeping issues, huh?" He sounded playful, but tired. Y/N knew exactly how it felt, being so tired but not being able to peacefully go to bed and get some needed rest.

"I remember you mentioning it before, I figured I'd check if you were up. Walking helps me relax, thought maybe you'd enjoy it too." OK, that wasn't entirely true but her reasoning to be there was quite similar – to check if he was up so they could, maybe, share a quiet night like that one a few weeks ago. None of them understood why they found such comfort in each other’s company – none of them felt like they needed to try too hard.

At some point during their conversation they moved to the couch, where they laid with a wide gap between their bodies. "Elton John's was definitely an interesting read. Lots of crazy anecdotes, you should read it."

"Probably not as good as Keith's, but I'll give it a go." He let a dimpled smile creep into his face, turning his head to look at her from across the couch and the annoying turn her stomach made obliged her to return it, just as bright as his. Finding out their music taste was quite similar made Y/N’s insides all warm and fuzzy, he showed her his vinyl collection (which was quite large) and ranted about how the modern industry was missing a rock star with some of that unexplainable essence old rock bands have – to which she respond saying maybe that something that makes them special was the fact that they were old bands... added to the fact that even though she was an old music lover, modern pop was her guilty pleasure.

Their third teacups were long forgotten on the modern coffee table by the time he noticed Y/N’s eyes were slowly beginning to close and he, as last time, said, "it's really late." And Y/N only nodded and tiredly got up from her position, with him following close behind.

"Goodnight, Harry. Thank you for having me even though I came unannounced." She shyly said, her actions still making her embarrassed even though it had already been a couple of hours.

"My pleasure. We should- do this again," He coughed into his hand, and uncomfortably continued, "I enjoy your company." That sentence alone made her heart explode with a thousand emotions, because even though they barely knew each other and it clearly pained him to admit he enjoyed having her around, his presence made her calm but anxious in a peculiar mixture of emotions. All she did in return was gift him a big smile, face hot of embarrassment (a nice kind of embarrassment, that feeling when you just want to smile really big and tightly hug whoever is making you feel that way) and slowly pushed herself up on her tiptoes to give him a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Bye." He said lastly, and closed his front door with red cheeks and dimples on display.

- Joey.

#AP #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #age!gap harry #my writing

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onlydylanobrien · 4 years ago

Text

Dylan O'Brien - NME Magazine Interview

Dylan O’Brien: “I was in this transitional phase – close to a quarter-life crisis”

From YA heartthrob to legitimate leading man – how the 'Maze Runner' star hit his stride after a whirlwind decade

Definitely!” hoots Dylan O’Brien when NME asks if he still has to audition. “I’m not Tom fucking Hanks, bro.” He’s clearly amused by our question, but forgive us for thinking the 29-year-old actor gets cast on reputation alone. A decade into his career, and he’s making an impressive transition from teen TV star and YA franchise hero to charismatic leading man.

New York-born O’Brien cut his teeth on MTV’s hit Teen Wolf series, before landing the lead in the Maze Runner film trilogy based on James Dashner’s hugely popular novels. Leading a band of bright young things that included ex-Skins tearaway Kaya Scodelario, Game Of Thrones’ Thomas Brodie-Sangster and Will Poulter, he honed his craft while racking up nearly a billion dollars at the box office. “My career is a constant acting class,” says O’Brien. “To be able to do the Maze Runner movies simultaneously with Teen Wolf was amazing in terms of getting in reps and working my [acting] muscle.”

Now for the sometimes tricky bit. Many actors struggle with the post-breakout period, but O’Brien is making it look easy so far. This year’s Netflix hit Love and Monsters proved he can carry an old-school family adventure, and new film Flashback (out next week) reveals an appetite for weirder, more cerebral work. He stars as Fred Fitzell, a young man reluctant to buckle down to life as a nine-to-fiver with a boring corporate job and a long-term girlfriend (Mindhunter‘s Hannah Gross). When he runs into a freaky-looking acquaintance from his teenage years, Fred becomes obsessed with finding an old high-school friend he used to drop a mind-bending experimental drug called Mercury with. It’s difficult to say any more without entering spoiler territory, but Flashback is a wild ride underpinned by the idea that we can exist in several realities at once. Even if you follow every plot twist, you might not fully understand the end. “Oh, it’s definitely a headfuck,” O’Brien agrees. “There’s not totally an answer to figure out. There’s a lot of different things that people can take from it.”

Speaking over Zoom from his LA home, O’Brien is bright, thoughtful and really good fun to talk to, especially when he relaxes into the interview, but he clearly knows where his line between public and private lies. When he first read the Flashback script, written by the film’s director Christopher MacBride, his “mind was blown” by just how much he related to Fred. “I felt like I was in this transitional phase of my life that was, you know, sort of close to a quarter-life crisis type thing,” he says. “For whatever reason, it was like me and this script were meant to be. I remember reading it and thinking: ‘I am this guy right now.'”

“There were a lot of things in my personal life that were neglected for a while”

When we ask why O’Brien felt as though he had reached a “transitional phase”, he gives an answer that’s vague but not exactly evasive. For understandable reasons, he doesn’t mention the incredibly traumatic motorcycle accident he sustained while shooting the final Maze Runner film in March 2016. O’Brien suffered severe trauma to the brain and said in 2017 that he underwent extensive facial reconstructive surgery after the accident “broke most of the right side of my face”. Tellingly, he’s never really revealed what happened on set or how it affected him.

Today, O’Brien dances around the details of the accident and other issues he was dealing with at the time, but doesn’t shy away from discussing his inner conflict. “You know, it was a lot of personal things combined with at-a-point-in-my-career things,” he says after a brief pause. He says he’d have been going through some of this stuff anyway, simply because of his age, but it sounds as though success intensified it all. “It was like this whole fucking storm of shit,” he continues. “I was simultaneously so fulfilled and happy about these, like, otherworldly and surreal things that I had experienced in terms of where my career had brought me. I had all this confidence and fulfilment and beautiful people [in my life] – such amazing things to experience at a young age. But at the same time, there were a lot of things in my personal life that were unchecked and sort of neglected for a while.”

O’Brien says that in time, he realised he had to “stop for a second” and “re-explore how I wanted my life to look going forward”. In fairness, you can see why he needed a breather: his career took off while he was still a teenager. After his family moved from New Jersey to Los Angeles County when he was 12, O’Brien contemplated a career as a sports broadcaster – his Twitter bio still bills him as a “no longer suffering Mets fan” – then began posting YouTube videos as moviekidd826. A funny, slickly edited skit titled ‘How to Prepare for the SAT in 45 seconds’, shared when he was just 17, shows he was a born performer and storyteller. YouTube success led to him getting a manager, but his breakthrough role in Teen Wolf still came out of the blue. At the time, he was treading water at a local community college and taking auditions on the side.

Still, he has since taken a rather fatalistic view of this career-making moment. “It’s totally weird because, when I think about it now, I don’t see how it could have happened any other way. I can’t picture myself doing anything else now,” he told Collider in 2011. “It was really sudden and a little random, and not provoked by anything. It was just out of nowhere. It wasn’t my intentional doing.” Today, O’Brien summarises his skyscraper career trajectory succinctly. “I guess I just graduated high school and started acting,” he says. “And then I felt like I was just flying by the seat of my pants and never got a chance to stop.” Thankfully, straight-out-the-blocks Hollywood success hasn’t taken away his sense of perspective. When I say how easy social media makes it to compare yourself unfavourably to others, O’Brien jumps in: “Yeah, that’s very true. I was watching the Billie Eilish doc the other day, and I was like, I’ve done nothing. I’m not an artist at all!”

“No one thought ‘Love and Monsters’ was going to be good!”

O’Brien is also self-deprecating when he talks about being cast in Flashback, suggesting it happened because he had such an intense connection with Fred. “I was honestly like, ‘Who is watching me right now?’ That is the best way I can describe how I was feeling when I came across this script,” he says. “Chris [MacBride, director] and I had this conversation that went so well in terms of [my] understanding this script that I think he’d sent around a lot and [that] very commonly wasn’t understood. I think Chris has even said that the night before shooting, he suddenly had this thought, like, ‘Wait, do I even think he’s a good actor?'”

Though O’Brien has firmly ring-fenced elements of his private life, he’s actually pretty frank about his acting vehicles. He readily admits he was expecting a snobbish response to Love and Monsters, a CGI-heavy hybrid of post-apocalyptic action and romcom that dropped on Netflix in April and topped the streamer’s daily most-watched list. “It means so much that Love and Monsters has gotten the response that it’s gotten,” O’Brien says. “No one thought this movie was going to be good.” His blunt honesty makes me laugh out loud. “No one did though!” he says in response. “And so, fuck that. You know, most of the people who say something to me about the movie, they’re like: ‘I watched Love and Monsters, and it was… good?’ And honestly, that just cracks me up.” For obvious reasons, we hastily decide not to share our response to the film – namely, that it was a whole lot better than expected.

In Love and Monsters, O’Brien plays Joel, a survivor of a so-called “monsterpocalypse” that has bumped humans to the bottom of the food chain. Though he’s known in his colony as a bit of a coward, Joel sets off on a treacherous 80-mile journey to find his high school sweetheart Aimee (Iron Fist‘s Jessica Henwick), which means evading the hungry clutches of various supersize grizzlies including a giant monster-frog hiding in a suburban pond. It’s a simple but pretty out-there premise that wouldn’t work if O’Brien’s performance was even slightly condescending. Instead, his unselfconscious sincerity really sells a film that has as much in common with the family-oriented Robin Williams movie Night at the Museum as darker fare like The Walking Dead.

His obvious affection for the project really comes across during our interview today. “When I read the script, I just thought it was so sweet and funny and smart and unique, but at the same time reminiscent of all these movies that don’t really get made any more,” he says. That’s a fair point: Love and Monsters is neither a fail-safe superhero movie nor a slice of classy Oscar bait. “And when they were talking about how to market this movie, it was so funny hearing all these conversations like, ‘How do we actually get people to watch it?'” he adds. “But that’s a big part of the reason I wanted to do this movie: because it felt like something I missed seeing.”

“I’m lucky to be surrounded by people who want to make something out of love”

So in a way, Love and Monsters was a risk for an actor seeking to establish himself outside of a bankable movie franchise and a hit TV show. O’Brien has only made four films since his final Maze Runner outing in 2018, and insists he hasn’t been tactical with his choices. “I don’t have anyone saying, ‘We need to get you in an Oscar vehicle’, or any of that kind of shit,” he says. “I’m really lucky to be surrounded by people who think like me: that you should do what you’re drawn to, and make something out of love.”

He’s recently finished shooting a mysterious crime thriller called The Outfit in London with Mark Rylance. Directed and co-written by Graham Moore, who won an Oscar for his screenplay to Alan Turing biopic The Imitation Game, O’Brien calls it “quite possibly one of the most special pieces of writing I’ve ever experienced”. He first read the script on a plane and says he “actually stood up and clapped” when he got to the end. Considering O’Brien probably wasn’t flying Ryanair, this reaction presumably attracted a few baffled glances.

Anyway, it must be pretty intimidating walking onto set with Rylance, a multi-award-winning actor revered by his peers – Al Pacino once said he “speaks Shakespeare as if it was written for him the night before” – but it sounds as though O’Brien took it all in stride. He says he’s confident in his abilities, but admits to having a slight wobble whenever he begins a new project. “I’m always sort of re-questioning everything – like, ‘Can I even act?'” he says. “But I think there’s something very natural about that. I think even Rylance could relate to that feeling. Acting is like starting a new year at school every single time.”

At this point in his career, O’Brien has made peace with the fact that some people will have preconceptions about him based on what he’s known for: Maze Runner and Teen Wolf. “People will put you in a box no matter what,” he says. “There was definitely a time when that would get to me, especially when it felt like somebody had a perspective on me that in my soul, I just felt wasn’t accurate.” Still, there’s no doubt he wants to show us what’s really in his soul with more films like Flashback. “If anything,” he adds bullishly, “it just makes me think: ‘Right, I’m really gonna show them now’.”

‘Flashback’ is out on digital platforms from June 4

#dylan o'brien #love and monsters press #flashback press #the outfit press

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dailylangdon · 4 years ago

Text

If I Die, I Die // Xavier Plympton

Warnings: Oral sex (fem receiving), face sitting, blow job (implied), mommy kink (Very lightly implied)

Word Count: 1.6k

“Babe, hurry! My scene’s about to start!”

You pulled another can of Diet Coke out of the fridge and hurried back to the living room. Xavier beamed at you from the couch and outstretched an arm. You snuggled into his chest and popped open your soda.

Xavier was a struggling actor and your boyfriend of 3 months. Sometimes he was picky about his roles. But other times, he knew he had to go for whatever was available. He worked at an aerobics studio to pay the bills and hopefully save up enough to get an agent.

It was a fickle career, and of course you had concerns. Not with Xavier. He was very talented and passionate. You worried sometimes that the fact that he wasn’t shooting to the top immediately was discouraging him. But you saw his excitement when he talked about acting. He was born to do it, and you believed in him.

It was your idea to make such a big deal out of his bit part on the new “Facts of Life” episode. Xavier sheepishly told you he was nothing more than a featured extra. But you assured him that any work is better than no work. And you were gonna help him celebrate any victory he made. No matter how small.

Your roommates were on vacation, so you invited him to your place. You popped popcorn and had plenty of sodas. The two of you huddled up on the couch in your pajamas. The only light in the living room was the glow of the television. You wanted to make an event of it, and you’d succeeded.

“Okay, here it is!” he said.

As he’d told you, he was barely in the scene at all. He was in the background of a shot in the park. But you could see his face for three whole seconds. You squeezed his thigh and gave him an encouraging smile.

The episode finished. Xavier turned off the TV and you clicked on the lamp beside the couch. When you looked up at him, you noticed a frown. But he plastered on a smile a millisecond later when his eyes met yours.

“Hey. What’s wrong?” You poked the side of his face.

He shrugged and grabbed your hand, kissing your palm. “Nothing, babe.”

“Xav, you seem totally bummed out.”

“(Y/N), do you think I’m actually meant to be an actor?”

“Of course you are. Why? Are you worried? Babe, you were just on an episode of a primetime TV show!”

He frowned. “Yeah, for like half a second. What if that’s all I ever get?”

You took his face in your hands, thumbs rubbing down the planes of his gorgeous cheekbones. “Everyone has to start somewhere, babe. You’re putting in the hard work, and it’s gonna lead to something great.”

“You really think so?” A small grin played at his full lips.

You planted a soft kiss on his mouth. “I know so.”

The two of you sat in silence, just looking at each moment before Xavier piped up again.

“But what if I get too old before I get my big break and I lose my good looks? Like when I’m...40?”

You laughed at the way he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the prospect of turning 40.

“You’re so much more than your good looks, Xav. You’re so talented. And caring. And you’ve got great instincts,” you leaned your forehead to his. “But between you and me, I don’t think you’re ever gonna grow out of your looks. You’re just gonna get sexier and sexier.”

The tenderness and compliments really struck a chord with him. He closed the gap between you, his lips caressing yours. He coaxed your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The kiss, as always, was warm and electrifying. The boy was so good at kissing. The first time you’d kissed, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You could honestly spend hours kissing him.

But you had him all to yourself tonight. You wanted to do more than kiss. You pulled away long enough to straddle him on the couch. His blue eyes widened in bewilderment and awe before you kissed him again. His hairsprayed and teased hair was soft beneath your fingers. (Luckily it was nighttime, or he would have whined about you messing it up).

He pulled away, gasping for air. “You are so hot, babe.”

Your face warmed. You rode the high of his admiration by peeling your pajama shirt off. You were left in your sports bra. You felt a bit insecure for not having on something cuter, but Xavier’s dumbstruck face assured you all was well.

You took his shirt off for him. His muscles were creamy and flawless in the lowlight of the lamp. His neck was soft beneath your lips. You nipped and sucked right above his chest. One of your hands reached for his sweatpants to feel his growing bulge in your palm.

A moan broke from his throat and you grinned.

“H-hey, babe?” he asked.

His nervous tone made you halt your movements and pull away. Had you done something wrong? “Yeah?”

He must have sensed your apprehension. He grabbed your hand and held it to his heart. “I wanted to know if we could try something...different.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to sit on my face.”

You blinked. His bluntness and lack of shame when it came to sex was refreshing but could take you aback at times. You still were reeling from the time you were out to dinner with friends when he said during the appetizers that he wanted to fuck you in the bathroom before the main course arrived.

“What?”

He smirked. “You heard me. I’ve wanted it for a while. But I really want it now.”

The idea made wetness pool in your panties. It was tantalizing, to say the least.

“I don’t know. What if I hurt you?”

“How would you hurt me?” He seemed truly perplexed.

“Shit, I don’t know, Xav. You’re pretty good with your tongue,” you chuckled. “What if you get me going so much that I break your nose?”

His eyes widened for a moment, but he shook his head. “Still would be worth it.”

“What if my thighs, like….Smother you to death,” you half-joked. Insecurity could get the best of you.

“Babe,” he murmured. His hands slid down to the aforementioned thighs that were straddling his lap. “It would be an honor to be killed by these babies.”

You laughed and playfully shoved his shoulder. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

His arms went around your waist, pulling you closer. His lips tickled the shell of your ear. “What do you say, babe? You gonna smother me with those thighs, or what?”

You shuddered as he nipped your earlobe with his teeth. It was hard to say no to that man. Even if you wanted to. But you never wanted to.

“Fuck, Xav, okay,” you gasped. “Let’s do it.”

He kissed you hard on the mouth. “You won’t regret it.”

You hopped off of him to let him get situated. He laid down on the powder blue carpet in front of the couch. He gestured for you with his fingers.

He put on an awful English accent, “Your throne awaits, madame.”

You laughed, nerves easing immediately. You stepped out of your sweatpants and panties. You straddled his torso first and put your hands on the couch cushions to brace yourself.

“Come on, babe,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Crawling up, you put your knees on either side of his head. Xavier’s hands went to your hips and he pulled you down to meet his face. His breath was hot on your dripping cunt.

He licked a broad stripe over your entire slit.

You moaned loudly, gripping the couch. God, you were thankful to have something to hold onto.

Xavier pulled away enough so he could speak. “Does it feel good, Mama?”

“Fuck yeah, it does, baby,” You said breathlessly.

“Good,” he said and got back to work.

His tongue explored inside of you, lapping up your juices. Savoring every inch of you. Then he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking like it was a piece of candy.

One hand remained on your hip, holding you in place. The other snuck between your legs. His middle and ring fingers slid inside you easily as he flicked your clit with his tongue.

“Xav-Xavier, I’m gonna--” you stammered.

He thrust his fingers at an even pace, curling them deep inside you, and that was all it took. You cried out, thighs shaking. You nearly collapsed, but he held you up. He gripped your hips then, continuing to lick and suck, sending you into complete overstimulation. By orgasm four or five, you had to tap out.

He released his hold and crawled down so you could face him. Your juices covered his chin. You’d feel embarrassed if you weren’t so completely fucked out. He pulled you in for a kiss and you tasted yourself on his tongue.

“That was even better than I thought it would be, babe,” he said against your mouth.

“Had a pretty good time myself,” you said. You laid your head on his chest, hearing his thundering heartbeat.

His hand rubbed absentminded circles on your back. “You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had, you know? And not just because you let me eat that amazing pussy of yours.”

You chuckled. “Thanks, baby.”

“I mean it. My exes never believed in me like you do. You’re amazing.”

“You’re definitely worth believing in, Xav.” You kissed his chest before pushing yourself up.

He looked at you, softness and adoration in his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “But, listen. Don’t get sleepy on me now.”

You crawled down, pulling at the waistband of his pants, and winked up at him. “I’m gonna give you the Hollywood treatment.”

He smiled down, and you knew that he’d always feel like a star when he was with you.

---------‐-‐-----------------------------

Taglist: @jimmlangdon @thewarriorprincessxo @prophecy-is-inevitable @sluttyyrose @michael-langdon-appreciation @bloodcoatedeclipse @matildaofoz @bigwolfjudgeshepherd @bowerskitten @blueboi-345

#xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton #ahs 1984 #ahs fanfiction #american horror story #my fics #mine

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years ago

Note

Hey lovey! Can I request some mutual pinning between tom and his athletic trainer (someone who handles sports related injuries like ankle sprains) or EMT or something pretty please 🧡🧡

Tear In My Heart

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

“You’re back.” You smiled as Tom entered your office. He was sweaty from his work out and a tired smile crossed his face. Whenever he needed to get in shape for a film, he trained at the gym where you worked as an athletic trainer. Ever since 2016, he was a frequent visitor to your office. And ever since 2016, you had an ongoing crush on the actor. You’d treated a dozen of his sprained ankles, pulled muscles, sore joints, and whatever other injury he could fake just to have an excuse to see you. It took him a while to work up the courage to ask you to hangout outside of the gym, but once he did, your friendship took off. You kept in touch when we was filming, and he always came back to your gym when he had to train.

“Sprained ankle.” He said and pointed to his left ankle. You snuck a glance at it and didn’t see any swelling, but he had come in limping. In Toms defense, you couldn’t fake a swollen ankle but you can always fake a limp.

“Hop up on the bed. Let me have a look.” You patted the bed you had in your office before going to get some supplies to treat him. He watched you fondly as you gathered everything you needed to take care of him, appreciating how you knew exactly what to get.

“You got it.” Tom obliged and hopped up on the table. You returned to him with an ice pack and a brace.

“Leg up.” You instructed. Tom lifted his leg and you held on to his foot, resting it against your thigh. You hummed along to the song coming out of your speaker as you took his sneaker and sock off.

“I hate this song.” Tom teased you as you began to inspect his foot.

“It’s a good song. Unfortunately it’s out of my element to cure you of terrible taste.” You retorted. Tom chuckled, his chest pressing against his tight athletic shirt as he laughed. Your face heated up a little so you kept your head down, trying to focus on his injury.

“I like to think my taste is pretty good.” He commented, his gaze never leaving you.

“And I like to think this ankle is perfectly fine.” You determined. “Are you sure you sprained it?”

“Oh, uh, it was actually my shoulder that I hurt.” He said sheepishly and you rolled your eyes. You rested your hands on his thighs, looking him sternly in the eyes. He gave you an innocent look that made you crack a smile.

“You’re cute.” You said sarcastically and grabbed the ice. “You wouldn’t hurt your shoulder if you fixed your form. Your hands have to be directly under your shoulders if you’re in any sort of planking position. And I see you in that position a lot.”

“Do you like that position? Or is there another one you prefer?” Tom asked with a cheeky smile, wincing a little as you placed the ice pack on his shoulder.

“Don’t get fresh with me, Holland. I’m the one taking care of you.” You reminded him, though you didn’t mind his flirtations.

“Sorry.” He smiled, always loving to get a rise out of you. “What are you doing tonight? Would you be willing to help me run lines?”

“As fun as that sounds, I have plans.” You reluctantly declined his offer. You didn’t get to see him year round and you hated having to pass up an opportunity to spend time with him.

“Doing what? Watching Love, Rosie and crying?” Tom poked fun at your love of romantic comedies. You’d roped him into watching a few, and he never let you live it down.

“No.” You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling shy. “I have a date, actually.”

You looked up at Tom, nervous of his reaction. The smile that preciously dawned his face faded into a look of hurt, to anger, to confusion. Tom felt white hot anger course through his body, all the way to his scalp.

“A date? With who?” He said a little too quickly. While he had never officially made a move, he thought you at least liked him enough to not go out with anyone else. After 4 years of never hearing you mention a boyfriend, Tom figured he still had time to make you his. He was always waiting for the right time when he didn’t have to leave for filming, but that time never came. He tried to mask his disappointment as he listened to you.

“You don’t know him. I met him here.” You told him. When a trainer at the gym asked you on a date, you decided it was time to stop waiting for Tom to ask you out. The pining after him had gone on long enough and you weren’t willing to wait forever.

“What’s he like one of those scrawny little guys you treat who pull a muscle lifting a cup of water? You wouldn’t date a trainee.” He laughed at his own joke out of insecurity. “Would you?” He asked seriously when his laughter died down.

“If I liked him I would.” You shrugged. “But no, he’s one of the trainers. His name is Atticus.”

“I’m gonna be polite right now and not make fun of that name.” Tom let out a breath as he restrained himself. “What’s he look like? Is he bigger than me?”

“He’s probably the biggest guy I’ve ever seen. I think he said he was 6’3 or something.” You laughed and shook your head. Tom chewed his lip, knowing he was often found on “Shortest Men in Hollywood” lists. “And his arms are like the size of my head. I honestly want him to bench press me.” You joked and Tom faked a laugh. He genuinely wanted to be happy for you, but every word that you said was a dagger in him. The thought of someone bigger and stronger than him whisking you away was hurting him more than any injury he’d come to you to treat.

“What’s he like? Sounds like a real meathead.” Tom swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“No, no he’s sweet.” You smiled shyly and for the first time, your smile pained Tom to see. “He’s blonde and he likes to take walks. And he’s so friendly to everyone he meets. He can walk up to a stranger and become their best friend in seconds.”

“You’re describing a golden retriever.” Tom said dryly.

“Which just so happens to be my favorite dog.” You quipped and Tom balled his fist out of your sight.

“How well do you know this guy, though? What if this is a ploy to kidnap you and chop you into little pieces?” Tom asked and you laughed. He chuckled lightly, but he wasn’t joking.

“Now why would he do that?” You humored him.

“To make soup out of you? I don’t know.” He protested. “I’m not him, Y/n. I don’t turn women into soup.”

“Well I don’t think he’s gonna do that.” You chuckled. “And I don’t really know anything about him but that’s what this date is for. This is good for me. I haven’t gone a date in a really long time. This could be the start of something really amazing.” You hoped. “Or he could be a jackass and I have to avoid eye contact when I see him at work for the rest of my life. Who knows? Endless possibilities.”

“Why haven’t you been out on any dates for a while? Have you not found anyone you like?” Tom tried to change the subject to something that didn’t make him want to stick your medical scissors in his eyes.

“No, it’s not that. Definitely not that.” You sighed, remembering why you were going on the date on the first place. “I tend to fall for people who don’t return the favor. There have been boys who I would’ve liked to go out with but, I don’t know. Maybe there’s just something about me that they didn’t like.” You laughed shortly and shrugged it off.

“I doubt it.” Tom stated, a cold chill going through his body at the thought of even more boys having turned your head.

“Thanks. This is good for me. This is going to be good.” You nodded to yourself.

“You said that already.” Tom said, a little more bitterly than he would’ve liked.

“Sorry. I’m just a little nervous.” You tucked some hair behind your ear. His heart fell again as he watched himself losing you in real time. “I’ve been trying to get over someone for the longest time and I’m hoping this date does the trick.”

“So now there’s another boy? An ex?” He said, pursing his lips to keep from showing his anger.

“No. Just a crush.” You shook your head and finally got back to his injury. “Arm up.”

“Does he go here too?” Tom asked as he lifted his arm for you so you could wrap his shoulder. He had come into your office with a fake injury and was gonna leave with a broken heart.

“He might.” You looked around him through your lashes, but he was looking away. “Look that way.” You nodded towards the mirror. He turned his head and sighed.

“Have I seen him?” He asked, digging himself deeper into his hole of self pity. You glanced at him staring at himself in the mirror and chuckled.

“Yeah. You have.” You said honestly.

“That’s weird. I don’t remember seeing any total idiots around here.” Tom grumbled, making you laugh. He didn’t find it funny that anyone made you feel unwanted. He was too busy beating himself over letting you slip away to notice the way you were looking at him.

“He’s not an idiot.” You defended, smiling over Tom unknowingly insulting himself. “He’s the smartest guy I know.”

“He’s smart but he didn’t want you?” Tom scoffed. “I don’t know about that, darling. He sounds a bit like a dunce to me.”

“Well he is.” You insisted. “And who uses the word dunce anymore?”

“I do, when I’m stressed.” Tom sighed and looked you over, taking in everything he was about to lose to another man. “You really think Atticus will help you get over this clown?”

“I hope.” You told him as you finished wrapping his shoulder. “And he’s not a clown. I just need to move on.”

“Yeah.” Tom nodded and gave you a tight lipped smile. “Maybe I do too.”

At home that night, Tom tried to busy himself with whatever he could to keep his mind off your date. He tried to read through his script but couldn’t get past the first page. His mind wandered to you and what you and Atticus were doing. He wondered what dress you were wearing and how pretty you probably looked. Tom had only ever seen you in athletic wear or sweats, and you looked heavenly enough in that. The thought of you with another guy drive him crazy until he hit a wall. He punched his bedroom wall out of anger, immediately regretting it as he cradled his throbbing fist. He flopped on his bed and let out a groan, staying there until he fell asleep.

The next day, Tom went to your office immediately to get his fist checked out. He’d bruised his knuckles before, he knew you’d have the right tools to take care of him. He took a deep breathe before knocking on your door. He saw you smile through the glass as you walked to the door the let him in, and all he could give you was a nod.

“Hey.” He said sheepishly, feeling awkward around you for the first time.

“Hey Tom.” You smiled small, happy to see him but thrown off by his sheepish posture. “Ankle again?”

“No, uh, my hand.” He held up his right hand and this time, you could actually see his injury. His red knuckles looked raw against his pale skin. You took his hand and examined it, already seeing the purple bruises forming.

“What happened? Did the punching bag say something you didn’t like?” You joked, despite being genuinely worried about his injury.

“Something like that.” He smiled shyly. Even if your chances of being together were gone, at least he could count on your friendship. You silently tugged him towards the table and went to get a wrap as he jumped up. Neither of you were blind to the silence that was filling the room, taking the place of your usual banter. You wrapped Toms hand gently as you stood between his legs, holding it close to you to ensure it was tight. Tom watched you as you worked, taking in how close you were. He swallowed, wishing he could be the only one close enough to see you breathe. Even with the throb in his hand, all he could think about was how your date went. He couldn’t help but to analyze you, see if there were any marks left by Atticus or if you were acting happier than usual. To Toms surprise, you seemed somber and reserved today. He wondered if that had anything to do with your date.

“You okay?” You asked suddenly, making Tom snap out of his daze.

“Fine.” He nodded curtly. You finished wrapping his hand and held a bag of ice to his knuckles, leaving yours hands wrapped around his to keep the ice in place. He could’ve held the ice there himself, but you didn’t want him to.

“You can talk to me, you know.” You looked deeply into his eyes, pleading with him to be honest with you. “I know I’m your athletic trainer, but I like to think we’re friends too.”

“It’s nothing. And we are friends.” Tom squeezed your hand with his other hand to assure you. He scanned your face before asking what had been on his mind since the day before. “How was your date?”

“It was really nice, actually.” You said softly. “He took me to an Italian restaurant because he remembered that I said I wanted to go to Italy one day. He opened the car door for me when we got there, pulled my chair out for me when we sat down, and asked me all about my self. He didn’t interrupt me once. He actually seemed interested in what I had to say.” You laughed lightly. Tom clenched his other fist to contain his anger. Those were all things you should be doing with him, not Atticus. He tried to assuage the jealousy by reminding himself that you were practically holding his hand right now.

“He sounds perfect.” Tom tried to keep his voice level. You looked at Tom and pursed your lips before shaking your head.

“He wasn’t.” You said definitively and Toms head snapped up.

“Why not?” He asked, trying to bite back the smile that was dying to break through. You looked at Tom and took your hands off his, laughing to yourself and shaking your head.

“He isn’t you.” You shrugged one should as you leaned your arms on either sides in Toms knees.

“What?” He searched your face for any signs to prove you were messing with him. He’d never seen you look so serious than this moment. You even looked a little tearful as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Atticus was a perfect gentlemen. He likes the same music as me -the same music you hate might I add- and wants to travel to the same places. He likes all my favorite movies -those romantic comedies you can’t stand- and made a list of the ones he hadn’t seen so he could watch them later. We shared the same views, similar childhoods.” You laughed nervously. “We even ordered the same thing. If we had any more in common, I’d think he was a mind reader.”

“So what’s the problem?” Tom began to mindlessly play with the bottom of your shirt as he impatiently waiting for an answer.

“My problem is that I spent the entire date thinking of you.” You laughed sadly and backed away from the table, keeping your back to Tom. “All I could think about was what you were doing or how you were feeling. Do you know how many times I wished I had said yes to your plans?” You looked at him over your shoulder. “I was on this amazing date with an incredible guy, and I kept wishing I was in your room helping you read through a script. And when he dropped me off at my house and walked me to my door -because of course he did- and tried to kiss me, I backed away. I gave him a hug and a tight smile and told him I’d see him at work. And you know what he said to me?”

“What?” Tom got off the table and approached your carefully, placing a gentle hand on your hip.

“It’s Tom, isn’t it?” You repeated Atticus’s words as you turned around to face Tom. “That’s when I really started thinking he was a mind reader. He knew I couldn’t kiss him because of whatever I have going on with you. He knew.”

“Oh.” Tom said quietly, even closer to you now than he was before. Closer than ever.

“I tried to get over you. I tried to go on this date and get you out of my mind but I just can’t, Tom. You got me. That boy I said I couldn’t get over? That was you. And it’s still you.” You shoved him slightly and he smiled. “I don’t know what this is between us, and I definitely don’t know what it is to you. But my favorite time of the day for the past 4 years has been 2 pm because that’s when I get to see you.”

“Y/n-“ He tried to cut in.

“I like you, Tom. I like you.” You finally admitted. He stood there in happy shock as you went over to the table and sat down on it. Tom collected himself and turned around to face you.

“I’ve never sprained my ankle.” He admitted, making you look up at him.

“Wait, what?” You asked, knowing you’d treated him for a sprained ankle numerous times since he started at your gym.

“I know my form is off. And I know exactly how to fix it too. It doesn’t actually hurt my shoulder but it gives me an excuse to come see you.” He took at step closer with every sentence until he was standing before you.

“That’s sweet but you could also seriously hurt-“ You tried to tell him about the dangers of what he was doing but he held a finger to your lips, making you laugh.

“My turn to talk.” He said playfully as he took a seat beside you on the table. “I couldn’t handle the thought of you on a date with another guy, especially not after I’ve been pining over you since I started coming here. I think about you all the time. The movie I’m training for right now? It’s animated! I’m voicing a character, I don’t even need to get into shape.” Tom exclaimed and you laughed, urging him to continue. He tilted your face towards his with his pinky. “But I do it because I miss you every day I don’t see you.”

“I miss you too.” You breathed.

“You have any cures for a broken heart in that bag?” Tom nodded towards your medical bag, the one he’d seen you dig around in a thousand times.

“Yeah.” You climbed onto his lap and straddled his hips. “I do.”

You pressed a kiss to Toms lips, causing a squeak to emit from the back of his throat. He rested his hands on your waist as you tugged the curls on the back of his neck. You pulled away and rested your forehead against his.

“Are we gonna do this for real?” He whispered, looking up at you.

“I want to.” You confirmed. “Do you?”

“Of course I do. But it’s not going to be easy.” He told you, knowing dating him came with a lot of unexpected hardships.

“I’ve never been a fan of easy.” You smirked, making him smile and squeeze your hip.

“What if you came with me? I could hire you as my personal athletic trainer. I promise I’ll actually sprain my ankle this time.” His eyes lit up as he offered you a job. You laughed at his proposal and slid off his lap.

“You don’t have to go that far.” You chuckled. “But if you’ll have me, I’d love to come with you. I wanna go where you go.”

Tom smiled at your acceptance and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“And wherever I am, I want you there too.”

Tag List 🏷

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x yn #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #mutual pining #tom holland x athletic!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #tom holland jealous #marvel #spiderman

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formeandmyfics · 3 years ago

Text

Jugenea Fan Fiction

NEVER FORGET

For being on two different chapters in the book of life, they’re on the same page

(photo credit @ohmygarlands)

1943

Judy watched him.

In the bright sunshine, across from her trailer, Judy sat in the passenger seat of her personal studio golf-cart, waiting for Mickey. As she did so, she became mesmerized at the scene in front of her: Gene roughhousing with a bunch of studio kids. They all laughed and ran around him, even jumping on his back. It made Judy smile.

As she watched him, images of last night took over her mind, as she disappeared into a daydream. Back from filming Girl, Crazy in Palm Springs, it was their first time back together. They ended up spending the night in his trailer, as hers would be too suspicious. She was watched like a hawk. They planned on dinner at her house and catching up but didn't quite make it that far. Judy giggled to herself. Her amusement soon spread into butterflies as her body now remembered last night as well. Ecstasy was the only word that came to mind. Encounters with Gene were always amazing and fully satisfying, fun and sexy, but last night Gene acted somewhat different. Intense.

There he was, in front of her, playing with a bunch of children, like a big kid himself, when last night he kept making her come over and over. He did something beyond explanation to her body. There were times he'd go from devouring her like candy, to scanning his eyes around every part of her like she were a Monet painting, to fucking her so ardently her voice skipped, then tracing her skin with his finger like it was a delicate rose. Judy's cheeks warmed. She tried to focus but again, her mind wandered to early this morning as well.

She sat up in the small day bed at the back of his trailer, her hair tousled, hugging her knees to her bare chest. He hadn't noticed her awake yet as he stood by the small window looking out as he sipped his coffee just in his shorts. The amber glow of the morning sun hit his muscles like shadows, so much definition she could feel still feel them on her finger tips. His arms especially, looking so strong. He handled her so well. God, he looked so damn sexy, and he didn't even know it. She had bit her bottom lip, smiling bashfully. When he turned his head to her, she lowered her face behind her knees, her penetrating eyes only visible, telling him of her thoughts. When he smiled mischievously, that was it. He never did finish that cup of coffee.

"Judy!"

Judy flinched a bit as she was brought back to reality, but smiled wide at a friend walking on by. She waved back and then caught eyes with Gene. He was looking at her indifferently, the kids still playing around him. She kneaded her eyebrows a moment, haven't seen him look at her like that before, when a little boy jumped on the back of his back again interrupting their moment. Gene laughed and ran, the boy going piggy back. Judy didn't know why, but thoughts of Gene's family entered Judy's mind. When she was away, she had kept up with the entertainment section of Hollywood. Gene and Betsy had gone to a lot of parties and premieres together, and looked very happy. There was even a picture of Betsy looking at Gene adoringly as he held his daughter in his arms outside their house. Their marriage had been rocky there for a while, like hers had been with Dave, but it seemed anything but right now. Judy knew one thing: she was in-love with a man who was not willing to leave his family, and here she was, separated, living alone and ready to have fun. They were just not on the same page anymore. She didn't want to distance herself form him, but it was the healthiest thing to do. But, then here he was, her best friend, best lover, making her feel things no one else could again. It was frustrating.

"Why the long face," Mickey asked as he got into the driver's side.

"Just some things on my mind. Let's go."

"Hold on. Gene!"

Judy watched as Gene put his finger up to Mickey signaling a minute.

"What are you doing?"

"I invited Gene to tag along and watch us do the 'Can You Use Me' retakes."

"Why," Judy asked a little anxious now.

"Because he said his recording got re-scheduled. And he was already here. What's the problem?"

"No problem," Judy forced a cheery voice as Gene came strutting over.

"Hop on, buddy," Mickey said and Gene hopped onto the seat behind them, "Here we go."

"Don't you two look cute," Gene teased at their costumes.

"Brooks Brothers," Mickey teased back as they rolled through the lot.

"And yours," Gene asked Judy.

"Chanel," she said monotoned but obviously being sarcastic.

"She wears a lot of pants in this film. I think it's a disgrace."

"Why, because we filmed in 112 degrees," she commented.

"No, 'cause you got a hellava pair of stems on ya, honey. I think you should show 'em, right Gene?"

"You know me, Mick, I'm a leg man, myself. And Judy's got the best pair I've ever seen."

"Can we please stop talking about my legs?"

"Why? What's got into you," Mickey asked a little concerned. He knew she loved her own legs, her greatest asset other than her voice, and found it confusing that she actually sounded annoyed.

"I'm just tired," she said softly, dusting invisible lint off her costume pants.

"I wonder why," Gene said in more of a statement than a question. Mickey didn't detect any difference in Gene's voice but Judy did, and she looked at him slyly over her shoulder.

The disdain of her look at him made Gene's smile quickly go away and he was the one furrowing his brow now.

"So, uh, how was filming in Palm Springs," he asked changing the subject.

"Hot as hell."

"You're the one that wanted to have a filming 'vacation', darling."

"Well, I didn't know it would be the devil's layer. We had sandstorms too."

"Did you really?"

"Yeah, we had to shut production down for a few days. Judy took advantage of that, didn't ya, Judes," he said elbowing her flirtatiously.

"Be quiet, Mickey," Judy warned.

"What, you're single now. This one ran off with her new boyfriend."

Judy quickly looked at Gene, who looked unfazed, and then placed her hand up to her head embarrassed.

"She missed the first day back. You know who was PISSED, but she said it was worth it, if ya know what I mean," he laughed, "Can't blame her. She needs to have some fun again, right Gene?"

"Right," he simply stated.

"I can't speak any differently. When Ava and I started going together, I missed some days, too. Shit happens."

Judy was silent the rest of the ride.

"And CUT! That was amazing, guys. Print that. Judy, honey, Mick, take a break while we set up the camera for a different angle," replacement Director, Norman Tourag, shouted from a distance.

Judy plopped into her director chair and her assistant handed her a glass of water with a straw.

"That's a fun scene," Gene commented as he pulled up his seat next to her.

"You're still here," she giggled before taking a sip of water.

"Nothing better to do. Besides, I like watching you work. It's much easier to do when I don't have to be in the scene."

"What do you think?"

"I think it's fun. You sure look like you're having fun."

"I really am."

They were both silent a long moment when Judy started feeling antsy. There was tension energy between them and she didn't like it.

"Gene, what Mickey said earlier about..."

"Joe," he interjected. She looked over at him wide-eyed and he went on, "I know."

"How do you know?"

"Word travels fast around here...even from Palm Springs." Suddenly, Judy's face looked like she had many questions, but before she could speak, he took her hand, "Let's talk. But not here."

He looked completely calm and unfazed which baffled her, but also made her relax, "Okay. Um, I'm going to Ciro's with a few friends tonight to see Lena sing."

"What time are you going?"

"10."

"I'm doing pool with some fella's tonight. I'll just meet you at your place after. What time do you think you'll be back?"

"I'll come home around 1:30 or so."

"Sounds good," he said and patted her leg before getting up, "Tell Mick I said bye and thanks for the invite. You look beautiful by the way."

As Judy watched him walk away, she smiled. With just a simple comment like that from him, her confidence boosted ten-fold which she knew would radiate on screen. It always did.

Gene was absolutely content. He was laying in Judy's hammock in her backyard. It softly swayed with the summer evening wind, her rose bushes filled his nostrils as crickets chirped and the water from her small fountain pond added to the ambience. It all reminded him of her. He wanted to stay there forever but knew that couldn't be done.

"There you are," he suddenly heard her voice above him.

"Here I am," he spoke before opening his eyes.

"How long have you been here?"

"Oh, about twenty minutes. Pool ended early. You know how much I love it out here. Thought I'd catch some sleep before you returned."

"Sorry to cut your nap short," she replied as she carefully got onto the hammock with him. He adjusted to accommodate her and she immediately snuggled into his side.

Gene checked his watch, "It's only midnight. Why are you back so early? Weren't having fun?"

"I was...until the Trifecta walked in."

"No," he said shocked.

Everyone involved in the studio system in Hollywood knew the 'Trifecta' referred to the three Presidents of the three most popular studios: Louis B. Mayer, of MGM, Darryl Zanuck of Twentieth Century-Fox and of J. Cowdin of Universal.

"Yeah."

"Since when the hell does Mayer go out to nightclubs?"

Judy nodded, "That's what I was thinking, too."

"And since when the hell do all three of those men get together? They're like sworn enemies."

"Gene, you should have seen everybody. It was hysterical. They practically emptied the joint. Everyone left."

"They probably planned that so all their players would go home to sleep so they're not late to film the next day."

"It was very strange to see them walk in together, all chummy."

"Well, maybe they're planning on taking over the world."

Together, they swayed gently, enjoying each other's warmth and comfort. Gene suddenly regretted that he invited himself over so they could talk, as he was enjoying the silence, but then she spoke.

"Are you angry about me spending time with Joe?"

Oh, she wanted to talk, too.

"Did I give you that reaction?"

"That's not an answer."

Gene opened his eyes to find her head lifted, looking at him nervously.

"No, I'm not angry. I don't have the authority to be."

"What do you mean?"

"We're not exclusive. I'm a married man. You're single. So, you had another summer rendezvous. It is what it is."

"Are you jealous?"

Gene couldn't help but chuckle. He knew she wanted him to be, but she also knew he was, "Of course. I'm very protective of you honey."

"Is that why you were the way you were last night, because you heard about me spending time with another man?"

"No, but the way I was how?"

"Just...intense and almost desperate," judging by his confound expression she went on, "I enjoyed it so much, I don't have to tell you that, but it felt different. It was almost like it was the last time."

Gene just stared at her a moment before licking his bottom lip anxiously as he sat them up.

"That's because it kind of was," he didn't dare look at her, "I mean, in the months we've been apart, Bets and I have been getting along better. It's almost like how we were in New York. And we're enjoying each other with our daughter. I've seen you go and enjoy yourself with another man, as you should. It's your God-given right as a soon-to-be divorced woman. I just thought, you know maybe it was a good time for us to distance ourselves from each other ...um, physically right now."

Judy knew this was a serious conversation, but how nervous he was made her nerves instantly disappear. She actually giggled. Her giggle alerted him though, and he finally looked up at her with wide eyes as if she were about to start a fight.

"You know, darling," she giggled again, "For two people who are in different chapters of life, we're on the same page. Throughout the summer, I saw pictures of you and Betsy out and about in magazines, and with your beautiful baby, and even though we hadn't talked, I knew things were better for you. And I felt happy for you. I actually couldn't believe it. I thought, my marriage ended and now yours is getting better. I should have been jealous. But then Joe came around again, and I've been having a lot of fun with him. It was then that I thought maybe since we are in different circumstances now, that maybe we should focus on our own futures apart...for now at least. I don't really want you to go away."

"I'm not going anywhere. As a friend, and companion, you're it for me baby. And as a lover...well it's never off the table. There's something between us, some type of connection, I can't quite explain, but I know it's a lifetime worth."

Judy smiled and leaned over kissing him, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, "Last night, I gotta confess, I also wanted to make you never forget how I made you feel."

Judy's eyes reflected off the moonlight as she looked at him impishly as she stood up. She held her hand out for him and he took it, standing up.

"Where are we going?"

"You got your last time last night, now it's my turn."

He stopped yanking her hand abut. She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, her chin raised as she smiled up at him. His crows feet deepened as he smiled wickedly, "What are you going to do?"

"Make you never forget how I made you feel."

She raised up on her tippy toes and have him a peck on the lips before walking towards her patio door. Gene stood there a sec, completely transfixed, and aroused, by the sultry voice and implication she used.

Turning around, noticing he wasn't following, she looked at him with raised eyebrow, "Come on, let's go."

When she disappeared through the door, Gene felt his erection harden, and he let out a naughty chuckle before following her inside.

#judy garland #judygarland #gene kelly #jugenea #jgfans #fan fiction

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buckley-diassz · 4 years ago

Text

b r o k e n h o m e

So, I have had an obsession with this goddamn song and these boys and I finally wrote a fic rec. It’s a l i t t l e angsty and I apologise but they have a cuddle pile so that makes it a littleee better.

t.w. mentions of abuse / mentions of homophobia / mentions of anger (if i forgot any please don’t be afraid to tell me and I’ll add it)

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated (: - Eli x

Link to AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/30240900

b r o k e n h o m e

When the boys first heard Broken Home, the emotions were fleeting not really hearing what the lyrics were saying, too distracted with catching up on twenty-five years of music and exploring different genres and vibes.

So the second time they heard it, they heard it. Alex, Luke and Reggie were sat in the studio, flicking between albums when the opening notes rung out.

They would yell, they would scream, they were fighting it out. They would hope they would pray, they were waiting it out.

It struck a nerve with Reggie, remembering all the nights he’d be curled up on his windowsill in his room, head between his knees willing, praying, hoping it would stop. The three of them were miserable and his parents were dancing around the word divorce. It was like they got a kick out of fighting, throwing the nearest object at each other, the wall, the floor and hell even Reggie if he got in the way. It was exhausting.

Holding onto a dream whilst they’re watching these walls fall down.

Reggie scoffed to himself, it’s ironic really. What was his dream? The band succeeding was his dream but also his parents finally acknowledging that they need out? Him finally getting his out, packing his bag and running and feeling at peace? Reggie just wanted a safe haven of his own, the boys made him feel safe of course they did, they were his family in every way but blood (despite Luke’s insistence on becoming blood brothers). His own bedroom just made him feel trapped, suffocated and alone. He found no comfort in a place that should have been strictly his own.

Sharp words like knives, they were cutting them down. Shattered glass like the past it’s a memory now.

Alex. Alex was taken right back to the moment he blurted out he was gay. That night he had had enough. School was ramming up the pressure with exams nearing, the band was practicing relentlessly and then his parents were on his back about brining home a nice girl and he, quite simply, snapped. The silence that followed was deafening. His mother’s fork clattered against the porcelain plate and she looked at him like he was a stranger. Alex’s dad, well, he’d never seen his father look so angry. The grip on his glass of whisky tight, the whites of his knuckles a stark contrast against his flushed skin. His eyes no longer had a warmth to them, they were stone cold and unfamiliar. The moment broke when his father smashed his glass against the freshly polished table and stood abruptly from his chair sneering at Alex. Now Alex wasn’t delusional, he knew that him coming out wasn’t going to be a fairy tale moment but he would’ve never expected it to be like this. His father cursing him, calling him every slur he knew whilst clutching onto the gold cross hanging from his neck. His mother not moving a muscle but her face was a picture of a thousand words. Her red lined lips agape, blue eyes glistening with tears, and an incredulous expression etched on her features. His father’s fist slammed on the table “Look at me when I’m talking to you Alexander,” a gulp, “there will be no more talk of what happened here tonight, you will finish your dinner, you will help your mother clean up and we will be going to church first thing in the morning.” It’s safe to say, Alex did finish his dinner, he did help his mother but he did not stick around to go to church the next morning.

Holding onto a dream. Whilst they’re watching these walls fall down.

Whilst the chorus rung out, the boys wordlessly gravitated towards one another seeking comfort, touch, familiarity. It’s quite something. They didn’t have it good but listening to this song, right here, in this moment solidified that they were never alone. Never.

Wrote it down on the walls, they were screaming it out.

From the moment Luke could hold a pen he was scribbling on walls – the lounge, the kitchen, the bathroom. Emily wasn’t amused but he was just a child and who could resist those big doe eyes, even then. But as he got older, there’d be notes pinned to the fridge or his bedroom door. There’d be pieces of screwed up paper littered around the house with chord progressions or lyrics. And his bedroom wall was covered in records, lyrics and posters of his favourite artists. Music was streaming through his veins. So this line really hit Luke. His parents regretted buying him that guitar because there was a constant reminder that they could have prevented this. They could have stopped this nonsense. The sheets of paper everywhere with words scribbled on them, the late night strumming when Luke should have definitely been asleep and, ultimately, Luke running away and never coming back. Music was Luke’s reason to live (and the boys), every fibre of his being screamed it he put every ounce of himself into each lyric he wrote, song he sung and chord he played. But Mitch and Emily. They didn’t understand.

Made it clear, they’re still here, are you listening now? Just a ghost in the halls. Feeling empty, they’re vacant now.

Luke felt light he’d just been sucker punched straight in the stomach. Unsaid Emily. When Julie took that to his parents, for the first time, he was heard. He was valid and it was clear. It was laughable really, stood with Julie, pouring every emotion into that song but they couldn’t hear him. Just a ghost in the halls.

All the battles, all the wars, all the times that you’ve fought. They’re the scar, they’re the bruises, they’re the pain that you brought.

Those lyrics echoed in Reggie’s mind. He remembers what his grandma told him before she passed about how his parents were never in a good place and believed that by having Reggie, it would help. So that no, it wasn’t Reggie’s fault that his parents were the way they were. Reggie could count on both hands how many nights through high school his parents either didn’t fight or didn’t know if they fought because he wasn’t home. They’re the scar – Reggie is a constant reminder that having him wasn’t going to fix anything, it wasn’t going to make any anger or resentment fade away. They’re the bruises – temporary but painful to touch and look at. Another synonym for Reggie’s relationship with his parents as he got older. They’re the pain that you brought – the pain of their marriage falling apart at the seams day by day and hoping a child would somehow fix that. Except now Reggie is all of that pain.

There was life, there was love. Like a light and it’s fading out.

When Reggie was younger he was loved differently. His every need was doted on and when his parents fought, he wasn’t around for it, his grandma would swoop in and take him or ice cream or to make sandcastles on the beach. But as he got older, he became more independent. When things got tense, he’d take himself out for ice cream and a walk along the beach. He’d lock himself in his bedroom with his journal and a box full of memories of his time with his grandma. As Reggie got older, the love faded. It was there, but the love wasn’t the same.

Hey mom, hey dad. When did this end? Where did you lose your happiness?

Reggie’s parents were never happy, not truly. Their happiness was lost way before Reggie came along.

Luke’s parents, on the contrary, were happy. They didn’t lose their happiness with one another but, instead, they lost it with Luke and his ‘unambitious and silly little dreams’.

Alex’s parents, they were a little more complex. Were they happy? Perhaps. Where did they lose their happiness, the night Alex came out as gay.

I’m here alone inside of this broken home.

And they were. None of them had siblings that they knew about. When they parted ways after school or band rehearsal they’d be on their own, inside of their broken homes.

Who’s right, who’s wrong. Who really cares? The fault, the blame, the pain’s still there.

In Luke’s mind it was so messed up. He thought about his family and how’d they wanted better for him, better than ‘some rockstar Luke, you know what it’s like the drugs, the drink, who knows what you could get messed up in’. He thought of Reggie’s parents, who fought about anything and everything just because. And he thought of Alex, Alex who never really had a relationship with his parents after that night.

I’m here alone inside of this broken home.

The boys clutched to each other tighter. Tears were falling, sniffles could be heard, and shoulders were shaking. They knew in an instant that any one of them could reach for the remote and just turn it off and stop this entire thing. But none of them wanted to. It was strangely cathartic and almost necessary. All of these emotions were raw and to them it hadn’t been twenty-five years since they went off to Hollywood to chase their dreams, it was mere weeks. They’d never actually spoken properly about these things. There was the fleeting comment or remark but nothing substantial. Nothing like this. Not for a long time.

You’ve gotta let it go, you’re losing all your hope. Nothing left to hold, locked out in the cold. You painted memories then washed out all the scenes. I’m stuck in between a nightmare and lost dreams.

And that was it wasn’t it. They’d been holding onto these toxic and damaging thoughts for years. Alex had to leave behind the fact that he couldn’t hide himself anymore that even though his own parents didn’t accept him, his brothers did. Luke had to just accept his family were never going to realise that this wasn’t just some silly little dream, this was his choice and he thanked Julie every day that she was able to give his parents a piece of that. And Reggie, Reggie had to let go that it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t a burden but he was loved and cherished more than he’ll ever know or understand. A nightmare and lost dreams. Maybe at one point their lives felt like a nightmare they could never wake up from and that maybe they were never going to get their ‘big break’. But it was temporary, just like the scars, bruises and pain – it’d fade eventually, and they got their time.

Alex, Luke and Reggie sung the last chorus the best they could with their hoarse and scratchy voices – they poured every emotion they felt into that final chorus. The three of them huddled together on the armchair together. It took a long time for them to realise that home wasn’t a physical place but a feeling. And although their ‘physical home’ was broken. When they were together, that was home and it was far from broken, it was their constant. They could do anything because they were Sunset Curve. Tell your friends.

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fic #jatp fic #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex jatp #luke jatp #reggie jatp #julie molina #its sad #im sorry

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ladyreapermc · 5 years ago

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Fic: Play to Win (Keanu x F!Reader)

Summary: you make a bet with Keanu. Whover loses has to get naked. The only problem? You had no clue on how to play pool.

Pairing: Keanu x F!Reader

Author’s notes: this one came to me after seeing those gifs of baby Keanu playing pool in a interview. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Wordcount: 2108

Warnings: alcohol; smut (unprotected sex)

This had to be one of the worst ideas you had ever had in a very long time. Challenging Keanu to strip pool? How could that ever end well? Especially when you barely knew how to play. You used to watch your dad play when you were little. All your knowledge came from there. It definitely didn’t give you any ability to pull this off.

You could blame the alcohol and the building sexual tension that you had been trying very hard to ignore whenever Keanu came over. He was friends with the owner so he would hang at the bar, talking to Owen while you served tables. Whenever you took a break, he would buy you a beer, chatting you up.

You didn’t usually do clients, but it was really hard to resist that boyish smile, warm brown eyes, and dark hair that kept falling over his face. Plus, he was the perfect gentleman, sweet and funny. It was hard to resist.

So here you were after the bar was closed and Owen went home, playing pool against Keanu and losing shamefully. You could barely stay standing without swaying from side to side. The world seemed to be spinning because you just had three shots of tequila. One for each lost match. One for each piece of clothing that left your body.

First your boots. Then your belt and your button-up. Keanu had lost one – probably out of pity – and had ditched his own boots, but that was all.

“Your turn.” He flashed a smirk, taking a step back from the table after sinking three balls at once. You stumbled forward, setting the cue on your shaky hand, your vision blurry as you tried to aim your play.

“Here, let me help.”

Your body was engulfed by the heat of Keanu’s as he draped over your back, large, strong hands covering yours, steading them, his cheek pressed against yours and you could smell the sweetness of the agave in his lips.

He guided your arm, pulling it back and hitting the white ball with perfect strength for it to roll smoothly over the green felt until it hit ball five, sinking it in the right corner pocket. Keanu’s small, victorious chuckle vibrated all through your back and you felt the loss of his heat the second he pulled away.

“Let’s make this more interesting,” you said moving to the table and pouring yourself another shot. Liquid courage for what you were about to propose. “Loser takes off all.”

“Alright,” Keanu agreed with a smug smile, stealing the shot before you could take it and swallowing in one go, barely making a face. “Winner gets to pick the song the loser has to strip to it.”

“Deal.”

“Still your turn.”

Setting the bottle aside, you moved back to the pool table, evaluating your shot despite the dizziness fogging your brain. You had to come up with the perfect angle to get the white ball at least in the vicinity of the sixth ball, but it was a shot you couldn’t make it sober, let alone half-drunk. Might as well throw the shot.

You lined your cue, hitting the white ball and watching as it missed the right ball by several inches and you groaned, standing back and letting Keanu make his play. You watched as he bent over the table and couldn’t help but tilt your head to get a better glimpse of the perfectly shaped ass and the muscled legs clad in tight jeans.

The noise of a ball hitting the pocket made you snap to attention, gaze returning to the game just as Keanu straightened up, cue in hand, one eyebrow arched at you. He had just sunk the ninth ball.

“Ops,” he said almost as an afterthought, putting his cue away, hands coming to the buttons of his shirt “Guess I lost this one. Wanna pick the song?”

“This one is fine,” you said, hanging your cue too, lower lip caught between your teeth as you watched glorious golden skin being exposed inch by inch at every button undone.

Keanu was taking a step towards you with each motion until he had you cornered against the pool table as his shirt hung open framing strong, chiseled chest, marked by a vertical sunken scar on his middle.

You let your hands slide up the plains of his torso, until their reached his shoulders, pushing the fabric down his arms and to the floor as Keanu bent down to kiss you, mouth hot and demanding, tasting sweet and sour as his tongue tangled with yours, his long, nimble fingers coming to the hem of your top, tugging up slightly.

“Nops!” you pulled away from the kiss with a smirk, stilling his hands. “You get naked and then I get naked. Maybe.”

“Pretty sure you will.” He smirked too, taking a step back from you and kicking his socks off.

“I wouldn’t be so cocky,” you commented as Keanu undid his jeans, making you nearly choke when he pulled it down and showed he wasn’t really wearing anything underneath.

Your eyes landed on his large erection, nestled among dark hairs, standing proud and heavy, despite being only semi-hard and it enough to make your mouth water and arousal pool between your legs.

“You were saying something about being cocky…” he teased smugly, and your glare lacked any real heat because all you wanted was to have his dick in your mouth. “Now you.”

You couldn’t help the shyness that overtook you as you reached for the hem of your top, hesitating slightly. Here you were, standing in front of a real Hollywood hunk and what exactly did you have to offer?

Maybe Keanu sensed you sudden uncertainty because he closed the distance between the two of you, his palms closing over yours and when you tilted your head up to look at him, his mouth found yours for a deep kiss that chased away all thoughts from your head as he undid your jeans and shoved down your legs.

You were still lost in the heaven of his mouth as you kicked the garment aside, your arms coming around his neck as Keanu pulled your closer to his body, kneading your ass, making you moan against his lips at the feel of his hard cock pressed against your belly. You only broke the kiss when he tugged your top off, pausing to look at you on your underwear, his lips drawing into a smile, his eyes softening.

“So, fucking beautiful!” he whispered, before claiming your mouth again, hoisting you up until you were seated on the edge of the pool table and Keanu stood between your legs.

“You know I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you?” his mouth was hot and harsh against your neck and chest, biting and sucking, leaving marks all over your skin.

“Why didn’t you say something?” you asked, leaning back to give him more room to work, his teeth scraping over your belly, making you jolt and giggle.

“Because Owen said you didn’t date customers,” he mumbled against your center, his hot breath against the soaked fabric of your panties making you shiver.

“I usually don’t,” you replied, your hand coming to his dark mane, tugging just enough to get Keanu to look up at you, meet your gaze and see your smirk. “Not unless they are Johnny fucking Utah.”

And how did he managed to sound adorable with that embarrassed little laugh when he was about to eat you out, you didn’t know. One of the many wonders of Keanu, you guessed.

“Besides, this isn’t dating,” you said as you laid back and he pulled the cotton of your panties aside to expose your folds to his hungry gaze and wandering digits. “This is fucking.”

That last word dragged out like a curse at the first touch of his tongue against the heat between your legs. Keanu dragged his tongue over your slit, the broad muscle gathering your juices like it was the sweetest treat, before coming to flick on your clit.

Should you be surprised he was this good? Not really, from what you heard, Keanu was great at everything he put his mind to it and right now he seemed keen in bringing you to the brink as fast as possible because he was working your pussy like a starved man faced with his last meal.

Rivulets of pleasure gathered at your center, building up like a dam ready to burst; You could feel the surge starting to overtake you, you just need a little more, a little harder. You needed to be filled and stretched and taken for all that you were worth.

“Fuck me,” you gasped, tugging on his black locks so you could meet the darkened eyes. “Right now. Please.”

“Turn around,” he commanded, voice throaty, eyes hooded as he manhandled you in position, your chest pressed against the green felt, your ass in the air as Keanu pressed two fingers inside you, making you moan. “Damn! You so fucking tight.”

“Ke, I don’t want your fingers, I want…”

“I know, darling,” he cut you off, lips pressing against your back as he fingered you hard and fast, once again chasing away coherent thought. “But I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Your body responded for you, moving back against his fingers, trying to chase the high that they offered. You could feel the small cracks eating away your self-control, leaving you at Keanu’s mercy.

A pathetic little whine fell from your mouth when Keanu pulled his fingers away, but before you could muster the will to complain, you felt the head of his cock finding its way between your folds, pushing inside and you had to bite down your arm to muffle the loud cry threatening to leave your mouth.

You felt speared in half, his thick length pulsing and twitching against your walls as you tried to acclimate to the intrusion. It hurt a little, but the good kind of ache that you welcomed and signaled the beginning of bliss.

Pushing back against him, you babbled pleas for Keanu to move and when he finally did, all of your senses were reduced to the feel of him, fucking you, his pace slow and steady at first. His strong arms pulling you against his chest, one hand coming to caress your throat, teasing you with the possibilities of what it could do to you, the other moving south, swirling your clit as Keanu started to thrust faster, harder. He panted, cursed and grunted against your ear, his hips slapping and slamming against your ass, his digits rubbing fast, slick with your wetness.

There it was it again, the surge, wavelike, building and growing. All you could focus on was it. On the way it spread through you, making your body tense and shake, tearing a breathless cry from your lips as it swallowed you, blinding and deafening you to everything else.

“Yes! Just like that…” Keanu growled, mouthing your jaw, his voice sounding distant in the depths of your orgasm. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck!”

You were barely aware of the way he sped up, pushing you down again, one hand on your back, the other on your hip as he fucked you hard and fast, chasing his release against the pulsing walls of your pussy. You were still too lost in your own bliss that seemed to stretch and evolve, building all over again, even faster this time.

Keanu cursed harshly as he stilled and spilled inside you with a long groan, his cock pulsing and twitching inside you as he kept working your clit, flickering and swirling.

“Come on darling,” he asked breathlessly. “Give me one more.”

And like your body was just waiting for that request, another orgasm rushed through, making you cry out and your fingers dig into the hard surface of the table as your pussy throbbed around him and Keanu groaned and chuckled against your sweaty back.

“That’s it,” he sighed. “You feel so fucking good.”

He pressed soft kisses against your spine as both of you tried to recover from your high. You were thankful he was holding you down because, your knees were weak, and you were pretty sure you would slide to the floor if Keanu let you go.

“We should play pool more often,” he mumbled against your back, making you giggle and turn your head to try and look at him.

“Are you gonna let me win again?”

“If it’s in my best interest…” he smirked, resting his chin on your spine. “Probably. Yeah.”

xxx

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#keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #fanfic #smut fanfic #oneshot

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eeveedel · 5 years ago

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chubby actor louis (pt 1)

Hi all, as you might be able to tell from the non-title, this is just a little fic I whipped together based on an au we’ve been discussing on my blog this week! I do want to eventually do more parts, but I want to see how people react to this part first.

please note this fic deal with weight gain kink/fetish. it is heavy on food and weight talk. if any of that content bothers or triggers you, this will not be the story for you.

this is criminally under-edited, so I apologize lol. but uhhhh enjoy!

“Remind me what this is for, exactly.”

Harry was standing in the living room, swinging his car keys around one finger, and watching Louis as he laid on the couch, belly on the cushions, feet in the air, and enough In N Out to feed three people spread out on their coffee table.

“I told you last week,” Louis sighed, “This is for work.”

He was currently holding a double cheese burger, the thing already half-eaten, and there was pink sauce at the corner of his mouth.

Harry had seen Louis prep for plenty of TV and movie roles in the decade they had known each other, but none of his prep work had ever looked like this.

“How, again?” Harry asked as he watched Louis take another generous bite of his food. The other man chewed and swallowed, and then spoke, although his eyes were still on the food rather than Harry.

“I’m playing some Edwardian noble or something, and like, I have to look rich for that era, and everyone rich was kind of fat,” Louis said, “So. I have to gain twenty pounds.”

Harry stopped swinging his keys, instead catching and holding them in his palm.

“Twenty pounds,” Harry repeated.

“Well. Twenty to thirty. We’re aiming low to start. But I start prep today, so, yeah. Burgers!” Louis said. He took another bite of his burger, groaning, “God, that’s good. I forgot how good these are.”

He uncrossed and re-crossed his ankles behind him, kicking his feet a bit as he ate more of his burger. He looked up at Harry, sauce still on his mouth and his mouth full, like a chipmunk.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re cute,” Harrys supplied, offering him a small smile, “It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Louis smiled, “I kind of forget how good food can be when it’s not all quinoa, you know? I think this’ll be fun.”

He kept munching on his burger, and Harry glanced over at the pile of food on the table. Something in his stomach stirred – not hunger, not envy for the food, but something else he couldn’t pinpoint.

“Well, just pace yourself,” he offered. It was weak advice, and Louis laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Harry just nodded, still fixated on his boyfriend eating.

Louis was small, he had always been small, and he was in amazing shape. Even now, laid flat on the couch, Harry could see the definition of his muscles in his arms, legs, and along the exposed edges of his stomach where his shirt had rucked up. Harry couldn’t even picture what he would look like with twenty extra pounds. It seemed more fathomable for Louis to sprout a pair of wings than to gain that much weight.

“Do you want take out for dinner?” he asked, “I was going to cook but maybe that’ll be easier, so you can get whatever you want.”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Louis said, “Can we get Chinese? I want dumplings. And crab meat ragoon. And lo mein. Oh, and eggrolls. So many fucking eggrolls.”

“Are you still going to have room?” Harry asked, “You ordered three burgers and three helpings of cheese fries.”

“And I have a milkshake in the freezer!” Louis said cheerfully, “And honestly, I didn’t realize how fucking hungry I was until I ate this stuff. I think I’ve been starving for the last decade, holy shit.”

“Well,” Harry said, “It’s good you’re happy.”

Louis just hummed and nodded. He had polished off his burger, and he eagerly reached for the next one, unwrapping the silver foil on the burger like he was a child and this was his most anticipated Christmas present.

“I’m going to do some work upstairs,” Harry said, “Just let me know when you want dinner, okay?”

“Kay,” Louis mumbled around the burger in his mouth, “Love you!”

Harry nodded and then came over, giving Louis a quick kiss on the head before he left the room, heading for the main staircase.

He still had a weird feeling in his stomach, but that he could figure out later.

Harry noticed Louis’s – and by extension, his -- daily routine changing a bit quicker than he had anticipated.

For the last several years, they had each woken up at the same time to work out together and later have breakfast – shared veggie juices and granola, usually – the backyard together. It had been one of their things. He remember once a couple years ago some gossip rag had profiled them as one of Hollywood’s fit power couples. He had found that funny, because he always knew that Louis didn’t love working out. He just liked routine, and he liked that they had something to do together.

But now that Louis was on his new assignment, Harry woke up and worked out alone while Louis slept in. Then, usually, by the time Harry had worked out, made breakfast, cleaned up the dishes, and sat down to answer his emails, Louis would roll out of bed and sit down next to him to eat a giant bowl of one of the many sugary cereals that had appeared in their cabinet.

“Morning, babe,” Harry would always say, “Did you sleep okay?”

“So fucking well,” Louis would agree through a mouthful of food. After he was done eating he would give Harry a kiss and then go to the living room to watch TV or read his lines. Harry would find them sprawled there for hours in just his sweatpants, sometimes napping, or having a snack, or just lazily watching the TV. Louis was a “go, go, go” type of person, Harry knew that. He liked having tasks, and he never gave himself a break.

“I’m glad you’re getting time to relax,” Harry said one afternoon while watching Louis unwrap the two fried chicken sandwiches he had ordered for lunch.

“Thanks, baby,” Louis had given him a smile and then focused on his food.

Maybe, Harry realized that week, Louis was fully relaxing. This was just another one of his goals. He was dedicating himself to a part, as well, and this part involved him pushing his body in different ways.

A week into Louis’s role preparation, Harry found him on the couch, as usual. There was some sort of HBO documentary playing, and he was eating orange chicken straight out of the carton, using chopstick skills Harry didn’t know he had.

He was also fiddling on his phone as he ate, his eyes still occasionally flickering to the TV.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Just placing another order,” Louis said, and then promptly deposited more chicken into his mouth.

“Another order?” Harry asked, lifting his brows in spite of himself.

“Yeah, this documentary is about McDonald’s, like, the business side of it or whatever – did you hear about this Monopoly thing that happened in the nineties, it’s fucked – but anyways, it put me in the mood for a burger.”

“You want a burger?” Harry parroted.

“And fries, obviously. Oh, maybe a milkshake. Do you want an iced coffee or something?”

“How are you still hungry?” Harry asked. In addition to the orange chicken carton in Louis’s lap, there was also a a bag of eggrolls on the table, and Harry had seen a big container of wonton soup in the fridge.

“Well, I’ll just have a few more bites of this chicken and then when the food comes I’ll be hungry again,” Louis said, still flicking through his phone. “Oh, man, haven’t had an apple pie from there in years. If I order two will you have one? There’s a sale.”

Harry didn’t answer at first, instead he just looked at Louis. He was dressed in his sweatpants, as usual, and no shirt. He had been going at this for a week now, not exercising and barely getting up from the couch and stuffing his face with whatever fatty or sugary thing he wanted. He liked nearly the same, unless Harry really paid attention. And he was paying attention now. Louis was still small, he had been so trim before that he was probably a little bit underweight. His stomach was still flat but it looked soft now, compared to his usual ripped definition. His face also looked a bit bloated, but that might just have been have the sodium. But Harry kept feeling like his eyes were playing tricks on him, that there was new weight and curves on Louis’s body that hadn’t been there days before.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Lou?” Harry asked cautiously, “With how much you’re having?”

“It’s temporary,” Louis huffed, “Come on, I told you this. Now leave me alone, I’m working.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, “You’ll let me know, though, if you need something?”

“Sure,” Louis said, “Now. You want coffee? Apple pie? What? I’m ordering now.”

“I’m okay, baby,” Harry allowed, “But have whatever you want. You deserve it.”

Louis shot him a bright smile – were his cheeks rounder than usual? – and then went back to his phone.

An hour later Harry found Louis sleeping on the couch, a hand over his belly and the coffee table scattering with burger wrappers, fries and pie containers, and milkshake cups.

Harry quietly cleaned it up and went into the next room, trying to collect his thoughts that were far more racing for his liking.

“Harry,” Louis proudly declared the next week, “Guess what.”

They were sitting at the dinner table, Harry with a kale and pine nut salad and Louis with a silver container of take out pasta that the menu said could feed three people.

“What, babe?” Harry asked.

“I’m 152!” Louis exclaimed, “I gained seven pounds! So I’m, like, a third of the way done.”

Harry tried very hard not to let his face give away too much, as there was now heat growing in his belly. It had decided to arrive every time Louis talked about his weight or food now, and had become a confusing if not entirely unwelcome presence in Harry’s life.

“That’s great, baby,” Harry said, “It’s been, what, about two weeks?”

“Yeah, a pound every two days,” Louis grinned, “Isn’t that good? I’m making such good progress.”

“You are,” Harry agreed. He was keeping his voice neutral, like a long-lost relative was telling him about their son’s sudden interest in baseball. Louis seemed to pick up on this, and pouted a little.

“Are you still worried about this?” Louis sighed, “That this isn’t good for me or whatever?”

“I’m not worried,” Harry said. And he wasn’t. Quite the opposite, really. And he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that yet.

“Because I talked to the doctor and everything, he says it’s fine,” Louis said. He heaped more pasta – cheesy penne dripping in fatty looking red sauce and chunks of beef – onto his fork and waved it around. “Well, he said it was fine if I took it slow and ate balanced meals, like still having lots of vegetables and lean protein and stuff.”

He stuffed the pasta into his mouth, and then looked into the tin of noodles.

“Hm,” he said, “Maybe I should work on that a little more. Like, the balanced stuff.”

“I can make you some stuff,” Harry offered, “Like that salmon you like. Or ratatouille. I can just give you a bigger portion.”

“Oh, that would be good,” Louis nodded, “Might take you up on that.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice light again, “I mean, you’ve been having a lot of take out, and I’d love to cook something for you.”

Louis laughed, shaking his head.

“You’d have to make two versions,” Louis said, “Make mine with butter and salt and stuff.”

Harry swallowed, his throat a bit dry. He had maybe been thinking about that a bit too much. Easy dinners where he could swap out veggies and whole grains for himself and put more processed calories into Louis’s.

For Louis’s job, of course, just for that.

“I could up with something,” Harry said.

Louis offered him a smile and then reached out a hand, prodding at where Harry’s own hand was folded next to his plate.

“Thanks, babe,” Louis said, “And hey, I appreciate you being supportive of all this. I know it’s a little weird.”

“No problem,” Harry said softly.

Louis’s hand left his own, and the other man tucked back into his meal.

Harry was staring again, calculating, observing. Louis was wearing a shirt now, and his loose, around-the-house jeans, so he couldn’t see all of his body. But his face was dusted with softness, and there was a small, barely noticeable curve behind the fabric of his shirt that had never been there before.

As Louis tucked into more and more of pasta, his face became a bit pinched, though he kept eating. And then, slowly, Louis reached down, pushed up the hem of his shirt, and unbuttoned his jeans.

His face lightened as he did, an appreciative little breathe leaving his lips, and then he kept going with his feast, his other hand still cradling his bloated stomach as he ate.

Harry had to figure out an excuse to leave the table before that warm feeling in his stomach traveled any further south, and he would have a lot of explaining to do.

The weeks wore on, and Harry grew to admit to himself that he very much liked Louis’s assignment.

One night, when Louis was in bed with a tub of ice cream and a Netflix drama, Harry had been doing work in the living room, looking up some fabric prices for a new project at the studio, and his focus had shifted. He started doing some googling, and that lead to some reading, a few embarrassing quizzes, and one or two pornos, and by the time Harry had climbed into bed with a dozing, sticky-mouthed Louis, he had come to accept that he had a full on fetish for his boyfriend getting fatter.

He didn’t really want to admit it. After all, even though Louis seemed to be having fun, as far as Harry knew this was still just a job for him. He didn’t Louis to think he was weird; they had been together for so long, it would really suck for Louis to kick him out over a recently discovered fat kink. They had plenty of other bedroom thrills he could occupy himself that didn’t have to be…this.

So Harry stayed quiet, and just observed.

But that was getting harder, because Louis was getting rapidly and noticeably bigger.

He had gained ten pounds now, and it showed. He had a healthy curve to his belly and some fat on his cheeks. His collarbones looked less sharp, his hips were curvier, and his ass looked impressively delicious, a nice, happy hill that sat thick in his sweatpants. He was closer to an average weight for his height, but in contrast to the Louis Harry had known for years, who had a set of abs and toned arms and got asked about his exercise regime on the red carpet, it was a sudden shift.

Louis hadn’t asked Harry to cook for him yet, so Harry carried on with his meal plans of roasted vegetables and roasted fish and grains for himself while Louis kept indulging in whatever he wanted. They had a system that worked, even if it involved Harry trying to push down his real feelings.

Until, of course, Louis made it harder.

“Babe?” Louis called one afternoon. He was in the master bedroom, and Harry was stitching together a muslin design in his office. His usual sewing playlist was on and he was in his zone, so he was annoyed for a moment, but then melted back until his usual, unrelenting fondness for his boy.

“Yeah?” he returned.

“I need your help!” Louis called.

“Alright, one second,” Harry replied. He stood up, taking off his glasses, and went down the hall to their room. He didn’t know what he expected, exactly, but when he walked in, he was greeted by Louis, shirtless, and struggling to button his skinny jeans.

Harry stood in the doorway for a second, just watching, until Louis lifted his head and offering a sheepish smile.

“These are kind of tight,” Louis said, “I shouldn’t have bought them this close cut, anyways.”

“Oh?” Harry choked out. He couldn’t stop looking at how the crease of Louis’s belly pushed out against the flaps he was forcing together.

“Yeah,” Louis sighed, “Come help me.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Harry said. He was babbling a little, he knew that, but he still came around to Louis.

“Hold onto the back of my jeans and pull,” Louis instructed. Harry did so, grabbing the loops of Louis’s jeans. He gave them a tug, which got them a little higher over Louis’s hips. The other man struggled with the button. Louis was huffing a bit, trying to get his new belly, as small as it was, into his old jeans that had been tight even on his old body.

Harry tried to tug again, and Louis groaned and yanked at the tabs again. He seemed close to getting them to close, but when he moved to pull the button into the loops, the tabs flew apart. Louis huffed, relaxing his body, his stomach puffing out.

“One more time?” he asked Harry, his voice high.

“Okay,” Harry managed. He felt hot all over, watching Louis wriggle and struggle with his jeans, and he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

He grabbed the jeans in a different spot, at the hem rather than by the loops, and pulled a bit harder. He heard Louis take in a loud breath and then move fast, quickly buttoning up the jeans. He exhaled and then went to do up the zipper, fully getting the jeans on. But his breath out sounded labored, like his jeans were still holding him hostage.

“Thanks, baby,” Louis said, and turned around to give Harry a kiss.

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, “Call me if you need anything else.”

He touched Louis’s side, his skin soft and warm, and then quickly left the room, back to his study where he could calm down with Sufjan Stevens and his sewing machine.

When Louis came back a few hours later, Harry noticed he was wearing a different pair jeans than the ones he had shoved on earlier. But he decided not to ask him about it.

By the time Louis was fifteen pounds heavier than when he had started, Harry was starting to lose it a little.

Every night he laid next to his boyfriend, and they were still having sex and showering together and enjoying their usual fun, but it was becoming harder for Harry to keep his eyes and hands off Louis’s jiggling belly and thighs, or to not spend his afternoon kissing Louis’s rounding cheeks.

His boyfriend was more stunning than ever, and Harry was too much of a coward to tell him that.

On one particular afternoon, Harry was staying home doing some spring cleaning while Louis was out at a meeting with the director and some of the main cast members for the movie he was prepping for. Usually Louis found these meetings boring but enjoyable enough, so Harry expectedly him to be an alright mood when he came back.

Instead, Louis slammed the front door closed, his teeth set straight as he walked in.

“God, fuck,” Louis cursed loudly.

Harry was cleaning in the kitchen, and he froze, rag in one hand and spray bottle in the other.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Harry asked.

“The fucking director said he’s not happy with my look,” Louis said, throwing up his hands to make air quotes at the last words, “I told him I’m not done gaining weight yet but he said that twenty pounds isn’t going to work anymore. He wants at least thirty. So I have to gain another fifteen pounds in the next few months.”

He brought his hands down, settling them on his noticeably plusher hips. He really was looking so good these days. And this news was music to Harry’s kinky ears, but it was clearly upsetting to Louis.

“Well that shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Harry said, “You gained fifteen pounds in just over a month. Surely you can do the last half, too.”

“I’m hitting a plateau,” Louis groaned, “I gained only a pound this week and I’ve been eating just like a normally have.”

He settled his hands as he said this, manhandling the softness, and groaned.

“God, I didn’t think getting fat would be this hard,” he sighed.

Harry blinked, something clicking together smoothly in his brain at hearing Louis say that little three letter word.

“You know, honey,” Harry said slowly, “I think I could help.”

“No, I can do it myself,” Louis said quickly, “It’s my body and my job, I can – “

“Louis,” Harry cut in. Louis seemed surprised at the interruption, and Harry realized that his voice had been a bit strong. “I’m – I should tell you something.”

“What?”

Harry nervous scrubbed at a patch of the countertop that was already gleaming.

“So, um, I was doing some research…”

“Oh, god, Harry,” Louis huffed, “What did you do now?”

Harry was quiet, and tapped his fingers over top of the rag on the counter.

“Okay, so, I think I have a fetish. A fetish for you gaining weight.”

Louis just looked at him, and Harry rushed on.

“Like, I didn’t realize, but I’ve been really – turned on seeing you do all this in the last month. And I think you look so fucking good, and I – I’d like to be a part of it, I think.”

He took a long breath when he was done, and Louis was still just staring at him.

Eventually, the other man spoke.

“Well,” Louis said slowly, “That’s. Convenient.”

He laughed, then, not malicious, but light and happy, and it made the tension in Harry’s body unspool.

“I mean, listen, I don’t know if I’m into this,” Louis said, gesturing to his stomach, “I’m doing this for a job and I’ve only really thought about it that way. But…if you’re into it, maybe…maybe you can help the process go a bit smoother.”

“I’d like that,” Harry said, “Seriously, I can cook for you, and weight and measure you and make sure you’re on track with what the director wants, and maybe we could…experiment a bit. And if you don’t like it then we never do this again after you finish your job.”

He paused for a minute, and looked at Louis hopefully.

“What do you think?” Harry said, and he hated how breathless he sounded.

Louis was quiet for a minute, and Harry’s anxious brain spun a thousand and one scenarios in that silence – that Louis was going to slap him in the face, pack a bag, quit this movie and lose the weight just to personally spite Harry.

But instead, Louis came around to the other side of the counter and gave Harry a long kiss. Harry kissed back, a bit confused but happy for the touch.

When Louis pulled back, he was grinning, and his eyes were glinting.

“So,” Louis said, “What are you making me for dinner?”

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