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jj-lynn21 · 3 years

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Stellan interview

"Stellan Skarsgard Is Finally Seizing the Spotlight"

https://www.thedailybeast.com/stellan-skarsgard-is-finally-seizing-the-spotlight

With roles in “Dune,” the Star Wars series “Andor,” and “Hope,” the character actor par excellence has never been more popular. He talks to Marlow Stern about his stellar career.

Few if any actors have built a resume as impressive as that of Stellan Skarsgård.

After achieving teen-idol status in his native Sweden—even releasing a pop single—due to the TV series Bombi Bitt, Skarsgård transitioned to film acting. It was in the mid-’90s, with roles as a sadistic oil rig worker in Breaking the Waves, a fiery abolitionist in Amistad, and a haughty mathematician in Good Will Hunting, that the towering, stone-faced Swede would cross over into America, and establish himself as one of the finest character actors alive.

He’s since maintained a healthy diet of what he calls “experimental films,” including a total of six with Danish auteur Lars von Trier, and Hollywood studio fare, such as the Pirates of the Caribbean and Mamma Mia! films, the Thor and Avengers superhero extravaganzas, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and Cinderella. And right now, at the age of 69, Skarsgård is at his most prolific. There was his Golden Globe-winning turn in HBO’s Chernobyl, the upcoming villain in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, and a main role in the Disney+ Star Wars series Andor, which he’s filming right now in London. Oh, and he’s fathered eight children, including the actors Alexander, Gustaf, Bill, Sam, and Valter.

“There’s no competition, really,” the elder Skarsgård tells me of his talented brood. “There’s some joking competition at the dinner table, but I know they’re better than me, so I’ve given up.”

Skarsgård’s latest is the Norwegian drama Hope. Directed by Maria Sødahl, the wife of his frequent collaborator Hans Petter Moland, it is a heartrending autobiographical film about a long-married couple, Anja (Andrea Bræin Hovig) and her theater-director husband Tomas (Skarsgård), whose atrophying bond is put to the test when Anja develops terminal brain cancer. As they fight for Anja’s survival, the two reevaluate how their relationship went off-course, and why they fell in love in the first place. (The U.S. remake rights were quickly snapped up by Nicole Kidman and Amazon Studios.)

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In a wide-ranging conversation, Skarsgård opened up to The Daily Beast about his many great films, the controversy surrounding pal Lars von Trier, being a nudist, and much more.

How have you been passing the time during the pandemic?

In different ways. The first half of the year I was at our summer house on an island outside of Stockholm, and all my kids—who were also actors, most of them, and they weren’t working either—were all out there in two houses eating dinners together, having a good time, and seeing the spring inch-by-inch, everything grew, which you never get time to do otherwise. But this job I’m doing here now [in London], I was supposed to fly back and forth from Stockholm because I’m shooting this Star Wars series called Andor, and it would have been very convenient because it’s only a two-hour flight, but because of the quarantine I’ve been stuck here. For more than a month I’ve been alone in a hotel room staring into the wall.

Speaking of the Skarsgård household, I read a quote from your son Alexander who said that when he was a teenager, “Dad was always walking around [without clothes] with a glass of red wine in his hand.” Was that your vibe during the pandemic?

Not this time! Is it the wine that worries you? [Laughs]

Did the stress of the pandemic make you feel less… free?

No, I’m still taking off my clothes when I get home very often—and my kids also, some of them do. It’s not a big thing. We’re Swedes! And we have no God that says we can’t show our body parts.

What about it do you just find so liberating? I don’t go the full monty but when I go home, I do tend to take off my pants and let loose a little bit, because it is constricting.

If it’s warm enough you don’t need clothes, right? Unless you’re ashamed of your body—or taught to be ashamed of certain body parts. For me, it’s all upbringing. It’s cultural. Some cultures don’t care about what part of the body you show, and some cultures are very precious, and some cultures the women can’t show their faces.

I’m curious what life was like in the Skarsgård household, because you’ve helped produce so many talented kids. Alexander described it as “bohemian,” similar to what you described during the pandemic, filled with dinner parties and a free-flowing atmosphere.

It’s always been a very open house, and the kids’ friends, it’s been easier to sometimes be in our house than their houses—especially during puberty, when conflicts arise—because we’re very relaxed and non-judgmental in our family. It’s really, truly pleasant. And my kids are more like pals to me. There’s no hierarchical relationship at all. It’s very nice. We just have fun!

It’s a very talented—and frankly, attractive—family. How did this happen?

How did I make kids that look so good? [Laughs]

Is that something you’re particularly proud of?

[Laughs] Well, the looks I don’t care so much about, but I’ve had two beautiful wives—and very smart wives—and that’s helped a lot. I’m not going to take much credit for anything. But what I’m proud of is, when I hear from other people in the business about Gustaf or Sam or Bill or Valter or Alexander, I hear that somebody worked with them and they were really nice on the set and totally cool with everybody, and how no matter what menial job anyone had on the set they were nice to them, then I’m proud. If they win awards it’s secondary to that, because that is a lottery anyway. Awards are sort of like reality shows.

They really are a popularity contest. Let’s talk about Hope. It could have very well been called Grief.

I thought it sounded bland to begin with, but in fact the film is about hope—and about love. It’s not a normal cancer film where it’s all about beating the cancer or fighting against it, but it’s about someone who gets a death sentence in a family situation with a lot of kids, like I have, and everything that was petrified in the relationship floats up again. It’s about how they rejuvenate their relationship, and through those horrible circumstances, find love again.

There’s one very powerful scene in the film that really encapsulates many elements and themes that it explores, and it’s the sex scene between you and your wife. It manages to capture the joy of reconnecting as well as the grief you’re experiencing.

I think it’s a great scene, because it starts beautifully—very gently—and it looks like it’s going to be really nice for both of them, and then her anxiety sets in, and things start to bad. And it does go bad pretty fast.

On another level, I’m an American and we don’t see sex very often in movies. And when we do, we don’t see it in the service of such complicated emotions.

With sex in film, it’s difficult, because sex is something that feels fantastic when you do it, and it looks ridiculous when you watch. Those humping movements like a dog? It’s not sexy at all! So, you can’t do a sex scene that looks like it feels, so they always have to be about something else. The sex scenes I had with Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves, it was about her curiosity, because she discovered her first penis, she discovered sexuality, and it was totally about the relationship. The sex was just there. And in this film, the scene is not really about sex but about something else. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sex scene that looks like it feels, and that can convey that beautiful thing that sex can be.

Really, in America, we get almost no sex scenes in movies. And it’s 2021.

It’s very strange. It’s not as bad as during the Hays Code, when you couldn’t let the lips meet for more than one second.

You just had a train going into a tunnel.

[Laughs] Yes, that very subtle image. But in America, you have a strong, strong tradition of bigotry or fear of sexuality. Only two years ago, in nine states in America, it was still illegal to have sex outside of marriage, and my American friends have told me that when they were growing up, it was even regulated how they could have sex—you couldn’t have oral sex or anal sex—so it is so ingrained in American culture that people’s sexuality is not a private thing, but something that everybody should interfere with.

Hope is also an exploration of mortality. Is that something you think about often?

I’ve never been that interested in it. I’ve always been aware of it. It’s the only thing you know in life—you’re gonna fucking die. But already many years ago, I thought I’d had such a fantastic life that it would only be fair that I died, because I’ve already lived more than most people. So, I don’t feel any injustice in death. And I’m not afraid of death because I’m not religious, so I don’t have to worry about whether I’m going to end up in hell or heaven. But I have small children still, my youngest is 8, and I’m no spring chicken anymore, so I think about how I should stick around for at least another ten years until everything is set.

I read that you’d studied a bunch of religions in the wake of 9/11 and reached the conclusion that it was all sort of bunk.

I grew up with total freedom of religion—my parents weren’t religious, though my grandmother was very religious. It was taught to me without judgment, and it was a very tolerant upbringing I had. But I hadn’t read the Bible. And after 9/11, when I saw George W. Bush standing in front of TV cameras and claiming that God had put him there, I thought maybe it was time to read what they actually believed in. So, I read the Quran and I read the Bible. There are some fantastic stories—as fiction, it’s sometimes brilliant and sometimes boring—but the God in both the Quran and the Bible, there’s only one reason to really worship them, and that is fear. It’s a power that says, “If you don’t worship, you’re going to die—and not only die, but burn in eternity.” It’s a bit autocratic and dictatorial, I would say. It’s very hard for me to worship something under threat.

And if God put George W. Bush in the White House, then God has a very cruel sense of humor.

[Laughs] Yeah, he does. And the latest president said the same thing.

But he doesn’t believe in God. He only believes in himself.

Yeah. I think that if he had more appreciation from the liberals in America, he would have just as well gone populist-liberal.

I think so too. You know, I read that your Dogville co-star Nicole Kidman already picked up the remake rights to Hope for Amazon.

She’s picked up the remake rights, yeah.

Both you and your son Alexander have shared some pretty intense scenes with Nicole. There’s that dramatic scene in Big Little Lies where Nicole hits your son in the dick, and it almost seemed to me like payback for what you put her through in Dogville.

[Laughs] Yeah, I’ve done two films with her and Alexander just finished doing The Northman with her. But she’s lovely. I really like her. She’s so cool.

At least it was a prosthetic and not Alexander’s real thing.

Yeah… coward! [Laughs]

I gotta say, between Chernobyl, Hope, Dune, a Star Wars series, and even a Simpsons cameo as yourself, how does it feel to be at your most prolific at 69?

I’m just working! I’m doing my job and having fun doing it. I’ve been lucky and a lot of good projects have emerged. It goes up and down, you know, throughout life. And I don’t think I could have a better life than I’ve had. I don’t have any regrets. And I don’t have to be the star or be in something very successful, I just have to have fun.

Nice. Do you feel you’re underrated? I think you’re someone who’s so consistently great in everything that it can almost be taken for granted how great you are. I know you won a Golden Globe recently, and that was long overdue, even if it’s mostly bullshit.

I don’t know! I can tell you: it’s much better to be underrated than overrated. So, I’m very comfortable if I am underrated. But I’m a Swede with an accent—or most of the time I have an accent—and for being a Swede with an accent, I have been extremely successful internationally, so I can’t complain. When it comes to the big studio movies, and I’ve been in four or five gigantic franchises that have paid a lot of bills for me, their concerns are financial, and I’m not a ticket-seller. I’m a solid fucking actor, and I’d rather be an actor than a star.

It gives you the mobility.

Exactly. The freedom I have. I can easily do small, experimental films and strange stuff—films that could ruin another actor’s career—so I’m in a good position.

I wanted to ask you about Breaking the Waves, because it’s the 25th anniversary this year and I consider it a masterful film. And it was Emily Watson’s first film, which is just extraordinary. How did you two establish such strong chemistry?

She’s British, which means she comes from a rather prudish society too, and to take on a role with an obscure Danish director—who wasn’t that famous at the time—and to take on a role with such explicit sex and nudity took enormous courage, but she was fantastic. My job was to love her, and that felt easy, but I think that she felt loved, and I think that she felt secure, which is essential for being able to do anything courageous. But she’s such a brilliant, talented, wonderful woman. I finally got to work with her again in Chernobyl. I mean, you just have to look at her and everything comes.

There’s this longstanding debate over whether Breaking the Waves is misogynistic or not, and I personally find it to be a misreading of the film. I’ve always thought of it as a biblical allegory of sorts about a desperate woman navigating a deeply sexist world.

Absolutely. Lars doesn’t have that in him. Those fantastic female roles that he has written, if you want to defend women in film, you’ve really got to take care of him because he writes the best roles for them. Those roles are very much him, and he definitely doesn’t have a negative attitude toward women. He loves them. There’s a plague of labeling people—not for what they’re really saying, but for what they appear to say. He was stamped as a misogynist and then he made a bad joke about Hitler at Cannes, and everyone stamped him as a Nazi, which is the furthest thing from what he is.

Stellan Skarsgard and Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves

You stamp people as a “racist,” a “fascist,” a “communist,” I mean this fucking stamping is as smart as QAnon. It’s frightening. The fantastic thing about mankind is that we’re not one thing. We’re all capable of the most brutal and horrible crimes and we’re all capable of love. We do good things and we do bad things. There are nuances. The way of seeing people as “good” or “bad” guys is forcing something upon humanity that is really dangerous, because when you say someone is the “bad” guy then you’re saying you are the “good” guy, and it’s forcing you to not look at your own flaws.

I’m a huge fan of Lars’ films but I think one thing that’s really colored people’s opinion of him are the allegations that Bjork made against him on Dancer in the Dark. You didn’t have the biggest role in that film, but is it something you witnessed?

I’ve never seen him do anything like that. It’s not him. And if you talk to any of the other women who have worked with him over and over again, you will not get those kinds of accusations. But the Bjork and Lars conflict was enormous during the shoot, and it had very little to do with #MeToo. Lars, like all directors, in the end is a control freak, and Bjork has controlled everything in her career—from the music, to the costumes, to the way she sounds—and if two control freaks try to make a film, there will be conflicts. I got phone calls from Lars during the shoot where he was in tears. She left the set several times, and it had nothing to do with sexuality. She tore up her clothes. They had a very difficult relationship. But you’ve gotta pick your toxic males. You can’t put a “toxic male” label on everybody, otherwise it will be watered down, that label.

I’m so excited for Dune. What can you tell me about it? Denis Villeneuve said that your Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is different from the comics or the David Lynch film in that he’s not as much of a caricature but a calmer, more sinister presence.

The thing about it, and why I’m looking forward to this film as well, is because it’s Denis Villeneuve. Whatever he does, he creates an atmosphere that is dense, that you can touch, and you’re just sucked into it. You’re never bored—even if he does long, slow takes. The atmosphere builds up, and you’re in his universe. I think it will be the same with this one. He’s lovely to work with, and a beautiful man. I did eight or ten days on the movie, so my character doesn’t show up for too much, but his presence will be felt. He’s such a frightening presence where even if he doesn’t say anything, I think you’ll be afraid of him. And I’m extremely fat. I had eight hours in the makeup chair every day. And in some scenes, I look very tall because I levitate. You’re going to have a lot of fun with it.

The whole HBO Max day-and-date thing is weird, and I hope as many people as possible get to see the film on the big screen.

Oh, definitely. I think they made a deal with AT&T—which owns Time Warner, which owns HBO, which owns my phone—that they cut a four-week deal where it’ll be just for the theaters, but I’m not sure. That could change.

I also feel culturally obligated to ask you about Andor, the upcoming Star Wars series you’re in. What’s that about, and who do you play in it?

As you know, they’ll shoot me if I say anything! I can’t even get a proper script. It’s printed on red paper so I can’t make any copies of it, it’s ridiculous! Of course I’ve seen all the Star Wars films, because I’ve had children in the ‘80s, and the ‘90s, and the 2000s, and the 2010s. I’ve had children in five decades, which means you’ve seen all the Star Wars films—and seen all the toys as well. But when I saw Rogue One, it had much more atmosphere and seemed a little more mature—and that was Tony Gilroy, who’s the showrunner on this one. So, hopefully this one will be a little more than little plastic people falling over.

Was a part of the motivation to do Andor to look really cool to your kids?

I do think like that sometimes! I’ll go and do a children’s movie for that reason. But also, I’m not the most mature person myself, so who doesn’t want to go and fly a spaceship?

Plus, now you can give your kids action figures of yourself and say, “Play with me.”

Fuck yeah. Go play with dad. Don’t disturb him! Go play with him! [Laughs]

I’m not the most mature person myself, so who doesn’t want to go and fly a spaceship?

OK, this is kind of a silly question, but do you have a favorite movie death of yours? My favorite has to be in Deep Blue Sea, because in that one you get your arm ripped off by a shark, and then the shark uses your body as a battering ram to destroy this underwater facility.

I would say that is probably, in terms of inventiveness, my favorite one too. It was Renny Harlin. Yeah. I like it! Fortunately, I didn’t have to spend that much time on that stretcher—it was a doll. But it looked really cool! And the sharks weren’t CGI back then. It was mechanical sharks, and they were pretty dangerous. The little boy in me was very excited.

Another movie of yours that I love, for entirely different reasons than some of these other ones we’ve discussed, is Mamma Mia! Is it basically a vacation filming these? I imagine the cast parties are a lot of fun, because it seems like you all are having a ball.

Well, it is. I’m not a singer and I’m not a dancer so I was scared stiff, but the only way to make it work—because it’s not much of a story—is that we had fun doing it, because that joy is contagious to the audience. And we really had fun. It was very relaxed in Greece there on the beaches, and the parties we had there were very good too. It was a nice bunch of people to hang with.

When the cast of Mamma Mia! goes wild in Greece, who is the one that parties the hardest? Who’s the VIP?

It depends what you mean by partying! I usually get pretty drunk. Down there, Colin [Firth] and I were pretty good at it. And at those parties, we also had 50 dancers in their twenties, and they had much more stamina.

I have to ask: Will the gang get back together for a third one?

I don’t know! It took 10 years between number one and number two, so if it takes another ten years, I don’t know. Some of us may just be there in urns, with our ashes!

You released a pop single in the ‘60s, right?

Yes. When I was 16, I became extremely famous in Sweden. We had one TV channel back then and I did this TV series, and it was like being a rock star. But it meant also that all kinds of shady people thought they could make money off me. So, this guy calls me from Stockholm and says, “Stellan, can you sing?” And I said, “No.” And he said, “Well, try it!” And then I hear this guitar on the other end of the line, I go, “Ahh!” and then he goes, “Perfect! Come over to Stockholm.” I went to this very shady studio in the suburbs and we recorded it, and then the guy who was running the project said, “I listened to the tape now, and I think it’s better if I sing and you speak on the record.” So, I don’t sing on the record. But there were very cruel headlines in Sweden. One paper had a headline that read, “Stellan Skarsgård, who we loved on this TV series, we don’t like anymore.”

That’s so mean! In addition to Breaking the Waves, another film that really raised your profile in the United States was Good Will Hunting—which holds up remarkably well. Some of my favorite scenes in that film are the ones where you and Robin Williams are jousting. And I know he’s a wild card, so what was it like shooting those?

He really is a wild card because anything can come out of him, and he can say anything and do anything, and he has this urge to do it because he has these three parallel brains that are constantly working on finding something funny or interesting. Sometimes, even when we would do ten takes and everybody would be happy with them, he’d say, “I have to get something out of my body,” so we would do one extra for that. You didn’t know what you’d experience when the camera would start rolling—you just had to dance with it. And it was fantastic. He was such a lovely man and had no ego. He was just a volcano of creativity and ideas.

Do you ever think about your legacy? You not only have a bunch of talented children but also have amassed such a strong body of work.

The thing is with legacy: you won’t be able to enjoy it, so just forget it. No, I don’t. And it doesn’t matter. If you’re extremely successful, it takes a decade and you’re gone from people’s minds. You can only hope that your children remember you for a couple of years, at least!

Well, they’ll have the Star Wars toys, at least.

They’ll have the toys! That’s right. [Laughs]

#stellan skarsgard

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essenceanddescent · 7 years

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Your "Beautiful" Character Sucks

Or … Why I Avoid Fics with overly "Beautiful" OCs

Or ... What Makes a Mary Sue, Part 2

Pre-rant: I don’t normally write about what people shouldn’t do. I don’t like guidelines. I don’t like standards. I don’t like best practices. I don’t like any rules that are placed on highly subjective and creative art forms. So the point of this isn’t to tell you what you shouldn’t do, because you should write whatever the hell you want to. The point of this mini-rant is to point out something that, I … as a reader of fiction … make it a point to avoid reading and why.

For the most part, I’m going to put "beautiful" in quotes, because “beauty” is supposedly subjective, although that is not, in fact, true. For the purposes of this ramble, I’m going to be referring to the socially accepted standards of “beauty”. I am not talking about the people who are so intriguing that they are attractive in ways that are not conventional. I’m talking about the person that 98% of the people in any given room would agree is “beautiful” without ever speaking to them.

So … Those Kinds of Fics. Yeah, you know the ones.

We’ve all read that fic. The one that starts highly promising. It's got all the right tags: Romance, True Love, the right pairing. It’s even well written, the spacing is perfect, the author’s note and summary before the story actually starts is clever and almost pleasant. It shows INCREDIBLE promise.

We are immediately intrigued and very optimistic. Those little butterflies flutter in our stomachs as we start to read and take in all the glorious words, hoping deep down inside that this is going to be the fic that we’ve been waiting for. This is it. Someone has done it and it that will introduce or fix something that is missing in our broken little fandom hearts and then we get to the line (or one very much like it).

He/She steps into full view and [everyone or anyone] gasps as their jaws drops at his/her jaw-droppingly beautiful eyes, and jaw-droppingly beautiful skin, and jaw-droppingly beautiful hair and jaw-droppingly beautiful body and … and … and … and … beautiful … beautiful … beautiful*. Maybe you don’t understand: BEAUTIFUL.

YES, I know this is a blatant exaggeration, but you get my point. It's love at first site because they were just so goddamn beautiful. They haven’t spoken yet. They haven’t shown they have a single thought behind their beautiful eyes … but it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s beautiful, and that means she’s a good person. And that means we have to love her immediately, because Beauty Equals Goodness in our fucked up superficial society.

No romance, no growth, no nothing. Everyone on the cast wants to fuck your OC because they are simply irresistible. I sniffle because … sadly … this fic is not the one. Rarely reading even another single word, I close the tab and begin my search anew, feeling suckered into reading the beginning of it at all.

Look, I get it. I really do. A lot of fic is wish-fulfillment and a lot of us wish that we were that beautiful, but there’s a cost to that kind of power that authors never take into account when developing their characters into something that could make me care about them.

Beauty really IS a Real World Superpower

Before you write blindly about "beauty", do you really understand it and its effect on those around it? I’m not a “beautiful” person, but I’m not ugly either; I’m like the majority of women out there, stuck in some kind of terrible nebulous middle ground: Unbeautiful Purgatory.

As women, we are taught from birth that our worth, regardless of how intelligent we are, regardless of how talented we are, regardless of any other trait, is placed solely on our appearance and ability to be desirable. Franky, anyone who tells you otherwise is full of shit. "In my household." BAH. It's not just our own families that uphold this stereotype, it’s the media and society itself. It even comes directly from us (even in the fics we write) and our friends. We enable and continue to drive and reinforce these superficial ideals on a daily basis.

But, being a highly intelligent woman, stuck in this strange tortuous middle ground, you get a fascinating view of how real world people react to "beautiful" women. When an incredible “beauty” enters a room, she has a powerful effect on all of those around her, men and women alike. This isn’t a myth or an unfounded stereotype, this is a well documented cognitive bias known as the Halo Effect.

TL;DR: The halo effect works in both positive and negative directions (the horns effect): If the observer likes one aspect of something, they will have a positive predisposition toward everything about it. If the observer dislikes one aspect of something, they will have a negative predisposition toward everything about it.

If you’ve watched 30 Rock, then you might have seen the episode, The Bubble, (see Handsome Bubble for the trope of this) with Jon Hamm that touches on this point quite laughably. Hamm plays an overly attractive doctor who doesn’t even know the heimlich maneuver; he’s a tennis coach who doesn’t even know how to play tennis. While this is obviously an exaggeration for comedic effect, it doesn’t make this phenomena any less true. "Beautiful" people experience life quite differently from the rest of us, whether it be for the better or not. And … “Beautiful” people are BORING.

The Halo Effect … First Hand

This is a personal story, and you can skip it if you wish.

I’ve witnessed this effect first hand and found it actually terrifying. Being internalized and introverted, I tend to observe in social environments more than interact. At a social event, a few years ago, I found myself in a room full of highly intelligent men and women engineers who got flustered immediately when a "beautiful" woman entered the room.

Just a quick note here: I am not talking about just some pretty face. This particular woman’s "beauty" was talked about at the water cooler daily. She could easily have been a model instead of an engineer.

So, I watched, in awe of the situation unfold, as this said person committed various atrocious acts of social crimes: forgetting people’s names, touching people inappropriately, talking over people, not listening to what people were actually saying before replying. She was entirely unable to follow the technical aspects of the conversations currently in play and as such the dialogue was immediately dumbed down to allow her to participate. She immediately became the ultimate center of attention and … everyone loved it. It was like a show was being put on and you were supposed to be enamoured by her, regardless of what she was actually contributing. It was her mere presence that was the drug to them.

Now, I should have been just as enamoured with her and I do not think that I am immune to the Halo Effect, but I was immune to her effect, specifically, because I had been her officemate for over a year a few years prior to this strange social interaction. We shared cubes in the same office for over a year passing each other every day and exchanging nice pleasantries.

I had learned, over several months, that she was entirely incapable of doing her own work and was … in fact … lacking any kind of significant personality. Over the year of sharing the space with her, she progressively became less and less attractive until I found myself standing uniquely outside of her realm of influence. Don’t get me wrong, it is an extremely powerful effect as it took months and months of constant stimulation for me to build up a tolerance to it and see through the thin veil of just her exterior.

So when someone introduced us at this social event, I started to laugh, because … duh, we already know each other and she put her hand out to shake mine because she had no idea who I was. Sure, it’d been a few years and I’d grown up, lost weight, and changed my hair color but …

Wait. What? Are … you … kidding me???

When I spoke to a friend about this, they actually dismissed me. "It's not a big deal. She didn’t mean to be rude. She’s actually a really nice person. You shouldn’t be so sensitive." I really didn’t look that different, but I was confused why this was suddenly socially acceptable. I have a hard enough time dealing with socializing as it was and the entire experience was a big turn off for me going forward putting in effort to socialize with this group of people.

Socializing and interacting is a pretty tricky game as it is, especially for someone who is hyper observant. Extroverts have a one-up on introverts here. Sure. But the game is entirely stacked the other way around when you are playing with an obvious handicap or … in her case … a Game Genie.

I also want to make it clear that this story wasn’t to put down one unlikeable "beautiful" person. No, the purpose of this story was not to point out her as an abnormality or even to call her out as the standard of “beautiful” people. The point was to appreciate the reactions by everyone around her. These were people whom I’d know for years. People who I considered were highly intelligent. People who had earned my friendship over years of interacting. How did a group of people that I had so much respect for fall prey to groupthink so very easily? It’s simple, we’re wired that way.

I learned a lesson that day: Beauty Completely Disrupts Normal Behavior

But "Beautiful" and disruptive means it’s a Mary Sue. Doesn’t it?

You knew I was going to tie this back to Mary Sue-ism, right? Hehehe, of course I was.

I see a lot of talk about a character being so "beautiful" that she overwhelms the characters and plot and therefore, she is a Mary Sue. This definition, as the previous definition of a Mary Sue, is a bad one.

So, here is the thing with "Extreme Beauty". If you read about the Halo Effect and the physical attractiveness stereotype, then when an insanely attractive person walks into a room, most (it does not have to be all) of your other characters (original or canon) will most likely be enamoured by them and will automagically treat them much differently than other people.

But, you say, the argument that a character is a Mary Sue because they change the characters and plot and story to fit around them is somewhat invalid at this point, isn’t it? Some part of a Mary Sue is all about causing characters to act OOC or act unbelievably. If most people are, in fact, affected by The Halo Effect then it is absolutely IC (In Character) for them to be enamoured with her at first glance and treat her quite a bit differently than they would treat anyone else.

I would even go as far as to say that if you have described your character as infallibly "beautiful" and most of the characters are NOT in the least bit flustered with her beyond reason, that might be OOC (Out of Character). “Most” is an important distinction in that previous statement, as I do think that there are people/characters who are, in fact, immune to the Halo Effect. (This is an extremely important trait for me to find in a hero, btw)

Great! If she’s not a Sue, then I can disrupt with her all I want!!!

Sure. Yes. Yes, you can and yes, in my eyes, she would be a valid character in that sense because absolute "beauty" has a tendency to disrupt absolutely, but why do that? Is it a satire? I might read that then. If not, is that really interesting? Will there be any growth behind her trials or her affect on the characters? Will she provide a lesson learned or just serve as a porn star in the fic to be used and discarded?

Who really wants to read that? Probably some people? I don’t and I won’t. If I’m reading fic about a canon character, chances are I like that canon character and I feel like that canon character deserves my extra attention, so why would I want to read about them and an obvious sex toy with them? I know, I know … that is what smut is, right? No. Smut can be written with real people. Show me real attraction, don’t just tell me about fleeting infatuation driven by the physical features of a vapid bombshell that is supposed to be a husk for reader to assume control of in their minds.

I’m so very tired of being bombarded by the media that makes me feel inadequate as it is. From the issues introduced by problematic tropes to recent Hollywood shenanigans, I actually turn to fanfic specifically to read about realistic characters with which, I always hope on some small level, to be able to relate to and when I find that it's the same regurgitation, I get turned off immediately.

But My Character really is ULTRA UBER Special! LOVE HER!

You: No, no, no. You don’t understand. My ultra "beautiful" character is different. She’s nice, kind, sweet, and she’d never let her beauty get to her head. She’s incredibly smart and playful and lovable and absolutely empathetic and charismatic … She’s JUST SUPER SPECIAL!

Me: ಠ_ಠ

Ok. Here’s the deal …

If you’ve grown up with this "effect" on you for your entire life, there will be parts of your character and personality that are inevitably stunted or just flat out fundamentally different compared to those who didn’t grow up with such … advantages or … (I shudder to use this word) privilege. It’s easy to understand: if you’ve never really used muscles before, then people who have will have stronger ones. Get me? “Beautiful” people are usually gonna be socially stunted and inevitably very, very, very boring.

You: But that’s just the rule. There are exceptions! Extenuating circumstances!

Me: ¯＼(ツ)/¯ Uh … sure? I guess? You just better be goddamn good at SHOWING and SELLING me on it, instead of just TELLING me.

So, the above characters can exist and they can actually be written very well. Absolutely. Who I just described above is … Captain America, handsome Steve Rogers himself. Yup, he is all of those things, but do you know what makes him nearly believable for me? He didn’t grow up like that. He experienced a transformation. He was given this super power after being the complete OPPOSITE of what is considered "beautiful" for a man. He grew up battered and beaten down, learning what it really meant to be empathic and understanding. They SHOWED us that, on so many levels. I related to him. He was introverted and he stood alone in the corner at parties. He went on double dates and was the third wheel that the girls ditched in favor of his best friend. Because of his appearance, he was the outcast.

But, be careful using the Beautiful All Along trope though. Unless you can provide some interesting backstory for said "transformation", then it can be hard to buy. Some people go for the She Is All Grown Up, which isn’t much better IMHO.

All I ask is that you put a little bit of effort into making your character attractive in ways other than physically “beautiful”. It’s tiresome and, honestly, it only perpetuates the problem further.

#it's just a big long hateful ugly rant #rant #fanfiction #fanfic #mary sue #what makes a mary sue #beauty #lazy character development #I'm sorry #if all i cared about was beautiful women i would stick to hollywood and not read fanfic

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zankivich · 4 years

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An Unexpected Romance: Chris Evans x Black! Female Reader Part 1

a/n: *sticks head out* omg hi. It’s been a while. A long while. Somehow I am back writing for another white man, a different one this time. We can only hope he does not disappoint as drastically as the last one does. I genuinely have no idea if this is good? I think it’s kinda cute, and I’ve been feeling very traumatized in regards to blackness lately so I really needed some black and brown women having a good time and being happy. We deserve that tbh. There could obvi be another part to this. Let me know if anyone even cares enough for that lol. Okay bye now.

Part 2 Part 3

There’s an unspoken rule amongst you and your friends. Like a secret code, if you will. If a man hits on you at the bar and you’re not interested, and friends always know when you’re not interested, swarm and diffuse the situation. But? If a man hits on you at the bar and you are interested? Then that is a different story entirely.

It was a Thursday night out with the girls. You were at your favorite bar. It was quiet and quaint but still modern enough to attract a younger crowd. Sometimes there’s nothing better than getting dressed up and sipping on drinks with your girls. No dancing or club hopping or excessive uber rides. Just one bar, shit talk, and a lot of bacardi.

You were all sat directly at the bar in high standing chairs, Your back was turned to the entrance as you listened intently to your friend Tanya complain about her latest Hinge hook up.

“Can you believe I took my fine ass self all the way over to that nigga’s house in satin shorts? Satin! And he had a pizza box on his bedside table and the second he laid me down my back hit a bong. Make it make sense Jesus.”

Tanya was a beautiful Black woman. She was taller than all of you at six feet, and she strutted every step. Her skin was deep espresso and she was almost always rocking a vibrant colored wig that matched a vibrant colored outfit. Tonight’s color was lavender.

“I don’t know how many times we have to tell ya ass to stay away from them white boys.” You snorted, sticking your tongue out in search of your straw.

Your friends, Tanya, Raya, and Jesse all did a collective eye roll in your direction that did not go unnoticed.

“Yes ladies?” You asked with a straightened spine and arched brow.

Jesse was one of them girls you would have hated in high school. Skinny waist, slim thick thighs, and skin so clear that her Puertio Rican skin was only left to dazzle and shine. She had long, tight curls that hung all the way down to her belly button, and she always kept them gelled down and tied back. She, like all of your friends, did not hold back when it came to the group. You were honest, thick as thieves, and frankly a little brutal.

“You don’t even count. Your refusal to go near a white man is excessive and weird.” She cackled. “You're just as bad as Tanya, just on the other end of the spectrum sis.”

“Excuse me? Now Tanya dates boys...I date men. You see the difference? And if I am gone lie in some ivory sheets there’s gonna have to be some extra special attention being paid to me. And trust, there always is.”

You stuck your tongue out lewdly and laughed sending the whole table into a fit of giggles. You all clinked your glasses together and revelled in the atmosphere of melanin, acceptance, and tomfoolery. What a group.

“You tellin’ me that if a fine ass man walked in here right now and checked every box: his own money, his own car, intelligent, funny, etcetera, and he just happened to be of the vanilla variety you wouldn’t bite?” Raya asked.

Raya was the thickest of the group, voluptuous in every sense of the word and also the only one happily married. She just put up with y’all honestly.

You rolled your eyes through with the conversation already.

“I’m saying...he’d have to be pretty fucking special and pretty fucking dedicated. Men are a headache as it is. I don’t need the added layer of some man pulling at my weave like I’m Lilly Ane from his hometown, or asking me to do race play in the bedroom. Now I’m going to the bathroom and when I come back I’d like for us to talk about literally anything else? Okay? Okay.”

You slid out of your seat and headed for the bathroom with the grace and power of a woman in her thirties who had managed the insecurities of her younger self and had decided to only live her life revelling in her own excellence.

If Tayna was the darkest of the group you weren't at all far behind. If she was expresso, you were simply an americano with a dash of cream. And you rocked it with a full head of curls that ranged from nappy to bursting with life and moisture depending on both the day and temperature. It was all set upon the shoulders of a woman with curves and hips and chest. It was your body and you loved it endlessly, a matter quite evident in the way you walked.

That night you were wearing a coral pink jumpsuit with a long, flowy kimono and heels to match. Your kimono billowed behind you and made you feel fierce, even on the walk to the bathroom, which is perhaps why you weren’t paying that much attention. One second you’re strutting in the heels that you only wore when there wouldn’t be too much standing, and the next you’re slipping on some liquid that must have been spilt on the floor. Your whole life flashed before your eyes. The wind flew out of your lungs. This was the end…

And then you were caught by the waist. Not caught, more like gripped. Firmly. And perhaps not the waist so much as the hips. You expected to be lying straight on the floor staring up at the ceiling, and instead you were staring at a chest. A firm chest. No not firm. Chiseled might be a better description. So chiseled that your hands began to wander amongst the suit clad flesh before your mind had caught up with you. Heafer.

“Oh my god. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I can’t believe I--”

You peered up into deep blue eyes and let’s not forget that your fingers were still wandering along that chest. Had a chest ever been so broad? No. Not unless you count Captain America apparently.

“Please, I always like to pull a rescue mission before dinner. Makes me feel like I earned my meal.” He grinned down at you.

Chris Evans. What are even the statistical chances? You wouldn’t know, you were too busy drooling.

His hands were still on your hips. Yours still on his chest. And now you were just plain staring at him. Good look.

A waiter with a towel to clean up the mess broke up the moment by clearing their throat and alerting the two of you that you were way too close to one another still.

“Oh--Oh.” You mumbled idiotically. “You’re…”

He nodded. “Chris. And you are?”

“I’m...I’m…”

The waiter snickered under their breath and you realized just how much you were ruining this moment. You straightened your spine and tried to act like you had some sort of sense.

“I’m y/n. Thank you again for the save. I was actually just on my way to the bathroom so I’ll uh let you get back to your night and try not to fall on you again.” You smiled.

“Yea, we definitely wouldn’t want that would we?” He asked.

But the way his face was looking told you maybe he might not mind it after all. Sheesh.

“Okay well uh you have a nice night, Chris.”

You tapped at his hands on your hips and he quickly stumbled back with an apology. It was the first time he looked even the slightest bit flustered in your interaction with him. You found that you liked it.

“You have a nice night too, y/n.”

You smiled at him one final time before walking to the bathroom as you had intended. But he didn't leave your mind the entire time you were there. And not just because it was Chris Evans, it didn’t feel fair to call it star struck. That was too simple, too miniscule. Instead it was the way his hands had felt on your hips. You had the tendency to lean away from men, didn’t feel comfortable with them when you didn't know who they were. And yet there you had stood, completely at ease in his hold. You couldn’t explain it even to yourself. He had just felt right.

“Of course he felt right, he’s practically a figment of your imagination.” You mumbled to yourself at the sinks.

That was it. He didn’t even count. The only time you ever saw him was on your netflix account, so surely your perception was warped. The reality was that Chris Evans was just another white man who looked good in a sweater. The end.

That’s what you convinced yourself as you walked back to your friend, but not without taking extra precautions against the floor. By the time you arrived back at your table you had done the mental gymnastics needed to completely eliminate him from your system. Good girl.

“Now, I trust you all found something better to talk about while I was away.” You grinned as you slid back into the table.

All of your friends were snickering behind their hands and they wasted no time at all laughing at you.

“Oh did we!” Jesse laughed. “You see we had just moved on to a new topic when a little someone got a drink delivered to the table.”

Your eyes widened as Jesse pushed a glass of what looked like processo closer your way. She then pointed over by the bar leading the entire table to turn that way. Seated by his seat with his arms leaning against the bar, shoulders even broader against the wood, was none other than Chris Evans himself. As if on a Hollywood cue he turned to look at you with a smile that was both innocent and filthy at the same time. He lifted a drink of his own in the air and tilted it in your direction in silent cheers. If you had been ten shades lighter you’da blushed like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous.

“Now...What was that you were saying about white boys sis?” Tanya asked.

You groaned to yourself softly and plopped your head down in your hands in embarrassment. This was only to notice that your sparkling glass of prosecco was perched upon a napkin with his phone number written upon it. Home boy was slick and he was bold. A man confident enough to come put himself out there, and respectful enough to do it in a way that wasn’t disruptive or rude to your friends nor yourself. It was the sort of thing that made you take notice for sure, which explained why your girlfriends were looking at you like cats that had just discovered the canary.

“What? What?! What?” You gasped at the table, clearly annoyed.

Jesse grinned. “What’chu mean ‘what’, mija! You gone get your mans or what?”

They all giggled and looked clearly in his direction, only embarrassing you further.

“Stop it!” You hissed. “He is not ‘my mans’ by any stretch of the imagination. He probably just feels bad for me slipping. I fell and he caught me. Clearly he’s a gentleman, which is nice but that don’t mean nothin.”

“Girl please! This man done sent you prosecco and a phone number. That’s like a rich modern version of a love letter. You better go talk to that man.” Raya snorted.

Women who hype up other women are the world’s greatest treasure. You loved your friends with everything in you, and you valued all of their intellects greatly. However, this was not a regular-degular man. This was literally a superhero. You had confidence for days, but this was simply a different stratosphere. You were just about to silence your friends again when a ghost must have descended because everyone else began to gasp.

“Girl he movin’. Captain America is comin in for the landing.” Raya stage-whispered.

“Oooo you know what? Suddenly I have to pee.” Tanya mumbled.

“Oh me too!” Jesse nodded.

And just like that….your table was empty. The audacity!

“Wow. I sure can clear a room huh?” He chuckled, stepping up beside you. “I hope I don’t offend too much.”

You sighed turning to face him head on.

“You certainly do not offend. In fact, I think my friends are around some corner cackling like the witches they are. They just wanted to give you space to shoot your shot.”

He smiled with a raised eyebrow. “My shot, huh? I better not fuck it up them.”

You shrugged, eyes raking gently over him. Beyond the obvious attraction, it was important for you to search for any warning signs. His body language was good. He had one hand draped over the back of your chair, but he stood two steps back from the table so that he wasn’t over-crowding your space. He seemed to be aware of himself physically, an important marker in your estimation. He was playful enough, but also clearly interested if he’d decided to come up to the table after all that. This did not bode well for you at all. The man was kinda nice.

“I just wanted to see if you were enjoying your drink is all.”

Your fingers flitted with the glass before pulling it to your lips for a sip. The way his eyes seemed to follow the motion had a heat pooling in your gut.

“I do enjoy a good prosecco.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. I didn’t want to be too forward but uh--I think you’re stunning and I was wondering if I could take you out sometime.” He murmured.

Your legs were crossed in your seat, and you bobbed your leg a little, anxiety coursing through you.

“Were you afraid the number on the napkin was too subtle?”

He chuckled softly, eyes falling to the ground in an almost...embarrassed fashion? Lord, please.

“Sorry, I tend to second guess myself. I never know how people are gonna take me with my line of work. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to set up a one night stand or something. Wanted to show you I’m genuinely interested.”

Well that was unnervingly wholesome. Where they get this man from?

You let a small grin form across your mouth, a metaphorical step forward closer to his very inviting energy.

“Well, I do like the sound of stunning.”

“Yea? I think I could say some other stuff you’d like too if you give me a chance. What do you say?”

He licked the edge of his lip and it really was so miniscule but it had your thighs tightening in a way that was unholy. Rude.

You couldn’t say yes just off principle. Ten minutes ago you had just shamed all your friends for their white proclivities and the first one that walks off the street and bats his eyelashes at you causes you to cave? The hypocrisy! But...he was fine. Like capital “F” fine. Fwine with a “w”, fine. And it’s not like he was going to take you home to pizza boxes and lost bongs and then hit you up for gas money later. He was more set in his life than you were. Him being rich wasn’t even for you to utilize; it just felt good to know that he was accomplished and secure for himself. Again you dated men...not boys. And yet still you found yourself in such a conundrum.

“You look hesitant.” He noted, eyes locking onto yours.

You nodded. “I am...Excuse my bluntness but I had just gotten done explaining to my friends that dating white men often comes with more hassle than good. It can be difficult to connect cross-culturally. And quite frankly y’all are usually racist and/or fetishists. I’m not looking to upset your mama, nor am I looking to play slave master in the bedroom.”

Honestly the little speech was usually enough to send weaker men running. You say the r-word to a white man when you’re a black woman and he either calls you the n-word or gets upset and walks away. That had been your experience thus far. Not always, but enough to set precedence. The fact that he bothered to stay at the table further already separates himself from the pack.

“I can understand where you’re coming from.” He nodded, and a crease formed subtly between his eyebrows. “Not that I could ever really understand, just that I understand your hesitancy towards me. And I understand that it’s more complicated for you than it is for me. I really wish it wasn’t that way, but obviously that isn’t exactly something you and I can fix together in this very moment.”

You steadied for yourself for his next words, sure that he was about to leave you with, “have a nice life, I’ve got a spandex fitting in the morning.” There was a feeling in your tummy that felt out of place. You noted absently that it was a flutter of disappointment. And then he kept speaking.

“I don’t want to change your opinions on all white guys. I’d be willing to wager that most of us suck, and you probably should definitely steer clear.”

This caused you to snicker a little bit, a smile coming back to your face. He practically beamed in response, teeth coming together in a megawatt smile.

“However, I’d truly hate to never see that smile again.” He groaned and layed a firm hand against his own chest. “I don’t wanna change your mind about all of us...but maybe I can change your mind about me. I don’t want to feshitize you, I don’t want some weird power play between us. I don’t wanna do anything that would hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I just wanna take a really beautiful woman out if I could, if you’ll have me? Please? And if not, I take no as my answer and I walk away a little wounded, and you’ll still be here, stunning as always.”

Ooof. Boy was good. Real good.

You twisted your lips together and eyed him another time as if you were seeing each other for the very first time. Seemingly good guy. Persistent, not demanding. Willing to have conversations about race? Biceps the size of your head. Damn it was like the devil had crafted him especially for you.

“You know I think my friends have been spying long enough. I should probably meet up with them.” You mumbled.

You reached for the check in front of you adding your tip to your total and squaring out your tab. The way his eyes raked over you did not go unnoticed, unfelt. With the check closed and on the table you reached for one of the cocktail napkins on the table, pen still in hand, and wrote a note of your own. Sliding from your seat, you reached for the prosecco and downed the fizzy beverage before pressing the napkin to his chest with your nail. There was confusion, and perhaps a bit of hurt, in his baby blue eyes. This was gonna be some real trouble for you.

His palm came to rest over yours, trapping your fingers against his chest. There was a warmth there that seemed to leave your fingertips tingling. Definitely trouble.

“You have a nice night Chris.” You grinned.

His hand fell away from yours at the slightest movement on your part. He stood there, seemingly shell shocked, as you reached for your purse and his cocktail napkin. You almost thought he was going to let you get away as you went to step around him, only for his palm to grab gently at your hip.

“Good night y/n.” He whispered and reached to kiss chastly at your cheek.

The warmth of him was more intoxicating up close. He radiated heat like he radiated pheromones. And the smell of him was absolutely ridiculous as well. Was that gucci? Dior maybe?

It was a miracle you made it around the corner.

As to be expected, your awful ass group of friends were all standing by the hostess booth peaking around at you like a couple of dumbasses. They were lucky you loved em. You had an exit to execute though, and for that at least, they were useful.

You resumed your power walk, matched with clicking heels and a teasing pop of your hips, towards them.

“Is he watching?” You asked quietly.

They all nodded in various levels of incredulousness.

“Good. Let’s go.”

And then you walked your ass out that bar only to collapse the first second you cleared the doors. Your girls descended the way only women do, like fucking superheros of their own, and helped you float back to the car.

“Girl if you don’t start spilling A-S-A-P I swear fo’ God!” Raya gasped hands shaking on the steering wheel.

“What happened what happened what happened?!” Jesse screeched.

Your head nestled against the headrest of the car, your breathing having gone unsteady by the little game you’d just played.

“I think I just told him he can take my black ass on a date.” You mumbled in shock.

The tension in the car hit an all time high as everyone went silent...And then they all bursted out laughing as if you’d mentioned the funniest joke in the damn world.

“I KNEW IT BITCH!” Tayna screamed. “OOOOOOO BITCH I KNEW IT!”

“She finna be down with the swirl tonight, y’all!” Raya cackled.

“In the category of white boys y/n will fuck with, this one has a networth of millions and the highest grossing movie of all time.” Jesse spoke in her best game host voice.

“I’ll take Captain America for six hundred, Alex!” Tayna snickered.

And they all continued to laugh.

“I gotta get some new friends.”

TBC?

#Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fandom #chris evans fluff #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x black ofc #chris evans x black woman #chris evans one shot #chris evans blurb #chris evans and reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans writing #chris evans story #chris evans series #alex writes again #maybe

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sunnysidevans · 4 years

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 : 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧

Summary: Everyone goes through stages in life, meeting new people, falling in love, getting married , having children. Some people think it won’t happen to them but maybe fate hadn’t lead you in the right direction.

Warnings: Fluff!! hint of smut but mostly fluff!!! swear words for sure

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

PREVIOUS STAGE | THE STAGES MASTERLIST

Authors note: I am so sorry with how long it has taken me to post this. I hope you enjoy every bit of this as much as i did writing it and only two more stages to go!! what?! Happy Reading everyone!

READERS POINT OF VIEW

They say the honeymoon phase doesn’t last very long, They say at the beginning of every relationship is the honeymoon phase. For you and Chris, you were living your honeymoon phase, only being married a full two weeks of course. “I need that month off Megan, we talked about this already” Chris paced the bedroom as he was on the phone with Megan, his publicist. You sat on the bed as you watched him continue to pace, you continued to fold his boxers as you admired the gold band that sat on his left hand, as it sat perched on his hip, a sign of his frustration. You couldn’t believe you and Chris were going away for a month, It was exciting. You heard a heavy sigh as you looked up and met his tired eyes. You sat up, your wife instincts kicking in quickly and made grabby hands towards the phone, a grin formed on his face as he handed you the phone, already knowing this was not going to end well. “Oh megan, Hi! I know we don’t talk much but hey listen, Chris and I just got married, literally a full two weeks ago, and he is a person too, and by that I mean he is entitled to a honeymoon with his wife” you put the emphasis on wife as you continued “so with that being said, no contacting ANYONE for a public appearance from chris, no zoom meetings nothing, if he decided to work that is on him, now you leave us alone so we can go and enjoy being newlyweds” you hung up the phone, tossing it aside on the bed as you met chris’s grinning face.

You watched his face contort into a grin as you let out a sigh of relief. “Okay that was very hot” he grinned as he climbed on the bed beside you with a smile. “I can’t stand that she is trying to schedule you for a bunch of shit when you literally JUST got married. Hell no am I gonna put up with that” you matched his grin as you leaned over to kiss his lip gently. You continued to fold his clothes into the suitcase with a soft hum “Are you okay with Scott coming over and taking care of the boys while we’re gone?” he asked after a comfortable few minutes of silence, you nodded quickly “oh of course! That's fine I want someone to take care of them, obviously!” you smiled as you turned to meet his eyes, “okay just making sure, I know sometimes the dogs mean more than me” he laughed at the look of daggers you sent his way “ha ha” you replied sarcastically. You watched his face as you continued to laugh “sometimes I think I would be better off marrying them” yo smirk as you turn back to the clothes with a laugh as you saw his face. You set the last shirt in his suitcase and move it off the bed as you lean over to be nose to nose with chris. “Is someone sad” you ask with a slight tease in your voice as soon a grin rose on his face as he tackled you to the bed, hovering over you he grinned “take it back” you laughed shaking your head quickly as he began to tickle your sides.

You squirmed on the bed as you tried to push his hands away from your sides, squealing as you laughed and tried to catch your breath “okay okay!” you yelled “I give I give” you pant as he sits up proudly. “See I knew you would, turd” he sticks his tongue out at you as he kisses your nose and flops down on the bed beside you. You smiled as you laid on the bed, panting trying to catch your breath as you smiled “i love you” you whispered as you looked at the ceiling, feeling his hand beside yours as he interlocked your fingers together “I love you even more baby”. Rolling off the side of the bed you got up to walk towards the closet to begin grabbing your clothes to start packing your bag. Looking over your shoulder you saw him sitting on the edge of the bed with a perplexed look on his face. “You okay handsome?” you asked, walking to stand in front of him. “I’m so excited to go on this vacation with you. I mean not even a vacation, our honeymoon, where we can, start our family and begin our journey even farther in this life” he rested his hand on your waist as you rested your hand on his shoulders, with a smile you kissed the top of his head, “I can’t wait to get started on this life with you, I can’t wait to have little baby evans’s and I can’t wait to be a family with you” you smiled, tilting his chin up leaning down and connecting your lips.

TWO DAYS LATER

Leaning down in front of Dodger and Zeus you give them both kisses to the top of their heads as Chris loaded the car with your bags. Scott stood behind you, shaking his head “you act like you’ll never see them again” you looked over your shoulder with furrowed eyebrows “you sound like your brother, I swear they’re my kids” you stood as you scratched behind their ears, looking back at him with a smile. Scott laughed as Chris came back inside from putting the luggage away “I don’t even wanna know why my wife looks mad at you” he laughed walking by Scott. “I just told her she acts like I’m gonna kill the poor dogs, she acts like she’ll never see them again” Scott replied, as Chris laughed from the kitchen “They are our kids! You need to take care of them!” he laughed as Scott scoffed “Let's get you two out of here”. Climbing into the car you squeezed Chris’s hand as you smiled, “off to paradise” you smiled looking out the window as you watched Massachusetts fall behind and the beginning of your month vacation with your husband.

As the plane lands you grin as you look out the window at the beautiful sunshine. You and Chris decided to go somewhere tropical for your honeymoon, of course you just wanted an excuse so see him out in the open, tattoos and all. You smiled as you looked around the hotel room as you set your bag down. Walking to the windows you looked out at the clear blue water, you looked over your shoulder at Chris as he looked around “Everything looks good, especially the women standing in front of the window” he smirked as he wrapped his arms around you tightly kissing your shoulder slowly, you rested your hand on his as you giggled laying head back “I can’t wait for the next few days” you smiled. You pushed your way past Chris to your suitcase as you dug through for your swimsuit, as you were interrupted “why bother? You do know we're on this side alone baby? No uneven tan lines” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as you laughed, “okay valid point” You grinned as you started to strip down and made your way out to sit beside the water. Chris following suit as you both laid down on the cots provided you traced the dodger tattoo on his peck, with a content sigh as you looked up at him lovingly, leaning up you connected your lips with his. As you adjusted to be closer to Chris he pulled you closed and pulled you into his lap as he deepened the kiss, as you pulled away you mumbled “let's take this inside Mr.Evans” you grinned as he picked you up “I couldn’t agree more”.

Rolling over in the satin sheets you yawned, rubbing your eyes as your eyes adjusted to the sun peaking through the curtains. You smiled as you saw the man lying beside you, after everything the both of you needed a nap, and as he slept all the memories came running through your head. You smiled as you thought back to the night you met him, having no idea who he was, as you had no idea he was a huge Hollywood name, you smiled as you laid back down beside him, as he yawned. With a mumble he grinned “are you awake?” as you smiled tracing his back slowly whispering “yeah baby” he rolled over to face you as he kissed the top of your head gently. “You look perplexed, what's on your mind?” he mumbled as he plays with a piece of your hair “I just can’t believe this is my life, I can’t believe were married” you shrugged as you looked back up at him “I can’t believe fate brought you to me” you smiled as he grinned “aww is my baby getting sappy on me” you laughed as you pushed his chest gently as he didn’t move. “Oh shut up you big lug” you smiled as you laid back down on the bed, You were content, laying beside your husband on a beautiful island, you were ready for wherever this journey was going to take you, with your husband right beside you.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans x you #chris evans angst #chris evans fluff #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fanfic #chris evans fandom #christopher robert evans #chris evans x y/n

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years

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Hi could you talk more about why youd recommend not watching ww84?

Sure!

warnings for under the cut: spoilers for WW84 and a bit of the first wonder woman; i only saw WW84 once a few days ago + it’s been a hot sec since i saw the original so if i get a few details wrong i apologize

tl;dr with no spoilers: WW84 is a poorly executed movie that insults its viewer with its messy and self-proud plot, bad character/relationship portrayals, and offers a personal slap in the face to a majority of its audience in their various discriminations, generalizations, and plot points.

the first point is the racism, made well by the post i reblogged here, (edit: found a second post that goes more in depth here) so i’d just suggest looking at that for that matter

next is just How they portray wonder woman in this one

i really appreciated the way the first movie portrayed diana because they did very well in keeping true to her Amazonian raising and life while still clearly showing she was a woman

when i say this i mean that a lot of media has a tendency to either make women who are very fem and keep to traditional gender roles or women who more or less shun femininity and attempt to largely fulfill only male gender roles

diana in the original is a warrior, strong and fierce, but still a woman, not trying to shun that or anything. she wears styles that suit her while still being woman’s styles (she doesn’t force her way into a suit), she talks of and addresses her womanhood proudly and without issue, etc

i want to note here i have no issue with female characters who act extremely masc and reject femininity- i love them tbh- but it’s important to remember that it’s not inherently against womanhood or anything to be a strong fighter who doesn’t stick to every stereotypical social gender norm

and the first wonder woman movie shows this very well

WW84... oh boy

first of all, wonder woman’s changing outfits every other scene. even between scenes where it makes no sense! i’m not saying she can only wear one set of clothes but Geez this was too much

not to mention an entire scene dedicated to her helping steve pick a fashion look? i understand this was to highlight the ‘80-ness of the movie, and it would’ve been fine if it seemed diana was helping him pick a period appropriate look, but it was clear she was trying to help him pick a ‘fashionable’ look which. wonder woman? from the island without a sense of popular outfits or fashion? what?

and the amount of focus on her wearing high heels.... ugh

i’m not saying you can’t have a badass woman who also likes social gender norm fem things but it felt clear that wasn’t what they were going for

wonder woman in the first movie liked practical fashion and not only were many of her outfits not that, her high heels? one hundred percent not practical

it didn’t fit her character and felt horribly out of place, clearly just the producers / directors / whoever going ‘oh, wonder woman is a woman how can we show this? fashion! high heels!’ and i hated it

(warning: imma be jumping from thought to thought as they bump into each so uh... enjoy the train-of-thought style of flaw informing)

and starting at the beginning like.... wow that scene had no purpose

wonder woman cheats in a competition and is punished for this by losing it in the end. except. this is stupid for two reasons

as the audience is shown she didn’t cheat on purpose. she made a mistake, lost her horse, and made a strategy to get back into the race despite this. honestly? i thought the story was going to be a lesson in ingenuity in the worst looking situations. but it wasn’t, which is bad storytelling, because the lesson is then based on a point that isn’t even that true

it is literally Never important again later. unless you count what was going on with the wishstone as ‘cheating to victory’ which i dont. that’s not even what the villain did. he wanted to take over the world. there’s no victory there you get without cheating. wtf. why did that message even happen

going into the actual story we meet the cheetah pretty quick, when she’s still whatever-her-civilian-name-is

and the cheetah... she’s such a bad villain

she doesn’t have the same backstory as she does in the comics

in this one, she uses the wishstone- which is a whole ‘nother thing in and of itself- to wish to be like diana, because ig being smart as hell but social awkward as hell too is so bad you need to desperately wish to be someone else? i hate that trope, but onwards-

she gets that, but in exchange for not only diana’s likable personality she also gets her wonder woman powers (and she loses her glasses, because pretty and cool means no glasses, right? /s), she loses her kindness bc of the rules of the wishstone- in exchange for your wish, it takes smth u care about a lot from you; for her, it was her kindness

this makes her villain! just because she lost her kindness. yep. honestly not a good look regarding all those people out there who are low/no empathy and can still be wonderful nice people but i digress

at one point she complains about why she needs to keep her power rather than go back to being just Her and i fucking wanted to scream

she has like. half a dozen degrees, clearly a couple of friends even if she’s awkward, and she’s got a life that was perfectly okay before she made the wish. as someone who is also socially awkward as hell, it infuriated me to here her acting like it was the fucking end of the world she couldn’t be more extroverted or whatever. there are ways to work on that!!! the movie trying to convince the audience she had a legit reason to not un-wish her wish (for the good of the entire world) was stupid and insulting

also her transformation between ‘looks human, wearing cheetah-pattern clothing‘ to ‘humanoid with cheetah fur/skin/appearance’ literally just. happened. for no reason. that was stupid

y’know what else is stupid? the wishstone. it was clearly just a plot device, and a poorly executed one at that. it isn’t even consistent in how it works

and they did a whole side thing with like. how it had the language of the gods written on part of it and it appeared in random locations across history around the time of great tragedies and,,, that was it???

they never explored the divine connection??? who planted it or why??? how it location traveled or anything????

like i said. poor plot device

i move on now to steve

oh boy steve

he’s brought back to life by diana’s wish on the wishstone, but... it causes him to come back in someone else’s body, quantum leap style. this is. weird. and is never ever addressed by him or wonder woman except once in a throw away comment. like. diana and steve kiss and are implied to have sex while steve is in someone else’s body and neither of them seem to care. this is not good!!

and then his relationship with diana? HORRIBLE

in the first movie they were barely starting to fall in love, only barely a couple even if that. more importantly they were friends, and that night he died diana didn’t lose a potential lover so much as she lost her first non-Amazonian friend

but WW84 portrays their relationship as if they were not only already a couple, but one close enough that even after forty years since steve’s death diana is still completely and hopelessly in love with him to the point that she’s literally hanging off his arm as soon as he’s back and making love that very night

it plays again once more into the misrepresentation of wonder woman’s character (how stereotypically hollywood female to fall over herself at the sight of her love interest) and it wrecks their relationship, which had been a lovely friends-who-could-be-more

what they should’ve done was focus on that friendship, build it back up after the long gap for wonder woman, and then started to rebuild that possible romance (and tear it down at the perfect moment... right when steve had to go again... ah that would’ve been lovely)

but they wanted to go in full-haul on the romance and it just felt. wrong and weak to me. diana’s refusal to consider giving up her wish (to get her powers back and save the world) is bc she doesn’t want to let steve go again, which makes more sense in the context of a first and true friend rather than a hastily slapped together love interest

steve’s character was generally good tbh but the way he played into the story? bad

moving on... the main villain of the movie? sucks. he’s just. fucking awful

despite a motivation being given that he wants to have money, he launches into wanting to take over the world for no real reason. he takes advantage of people for this and almost destroys the world he wants to rule for it. the main reason he stops this is for his son, who up until now he largely ignored and didn’t seem to care that much for outside of basic obligations. and the movie dares try to make him sympathetic by throwing in the fact he grew up poor and was bullied and not liked which i HATE

lots of people are/have been poor. lots of people are/have been bullied (myself included). that does NOT justify them DESTROYING THE WORLD TRYING TO TAKE IT OVER. can it be used to show the audience why he does what he does? yes. but to use it and clearly try to make it a reason to hand-wave-away what he did? NO. FUCK NO

also fucking. y’know how wonder woman took down this villain? she talked to him and the world. she gave a stirring speech while she laid slumped against a wall, not injured, just too weak to beat a bit of wind. she talked and she looped her lasso around his leg so she could talk to the world to to convince them to give up their wishes

once again... the mischaracterization

in the first movie, wonder woman gives a stirring speech while fighting Areas. it’s done in her battle, beating the god of war up while reminding him of what she stood for, who she was, why she would keep fighting for a broken world

it was BEAUTIFUL. it was MEANINGFUL. it was BADASS but SINCERE

this was weak. and it clearly wanted to be more than it was

the whole movie wants to be more than it is- it wants to have an important meaningful message like the first movie, about wishes for the self and war and the world and whatever. and it wants it so badly it does it horribly

the message is ham-handed yet messy and unclear and not right. it doesn’t make sense, and it feels poorly plotted. the movie thinks it’s more than it is and that makes it very hard to watch

and to finish my rant off... WW84 lied to its audience

did you see any ads for WW84? i did. they were bright, vibrant, funky music, stunning moments, action and intrigue. i was thrilled for a movie like it

the actual movie isn’t that

it’s not nearly as action filled, it’s not as ‘80s-focused as it leads you to believe, some of the most prominently featured moments barely matter

the lightning swing? pointless, as at that point in the movie wonder woman’s learned how to fly and does it for no reason but the trailers

and that cool suit? introduced in a random myth for no reason halfway through the movie, brought in at random with no explanation, only there for show and the trailers

WW84 is not the movie is lead people to believe it was, and the movie it is is poorly executed and insulting to a variety of peopler/minorities

if you’re gonna watch it, pirate it. i can give you a link. just don’t give dc your money or your legit views for it

#that got long #but what can i say? im passionate about my bad movies #and ww84?#that was a bad movie #if anyone wants clarification on smth let me know #wonder woman 1984 #ww84 #ww84 spoilers #the cryptid speaks #lost in the fray

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dontmesswithnoheroin · 4 years

Text

hey do u know what i cant stand

the hot smart woman trope

yeh that one

i r e f u s e to watch queens gambit because im so sick of this trope. and im gonna elaborate.

some would say im a woman and also smart. i study Conventionally Smart Subject^TM of physics, although - as some of my colleagues would argue - the dumbest kind of physics, which is cross-disciplinary geophysics. not a lot of equations, more like computation, models, looking at graphs and saying “ahhh... i dont get it”.

any STEM student will tell you that a good deal of professors in STEM do not give a flying fuck about what they look like. the amount. of hairy underbelly sticking out of a too small button up shirt i’ve seen in my years as a student... far too much. in my study, about 75% of the professors are men. the women generally have to look neater than the men because Gender Roles, but a good deal of them still don’t give a fuck about what they look like, if it’s presentable, then that’s what it is.

and don’t get me wrong, there are many female scientists that look fantastic and dress beautifully and are really, really Hot. and i’m a big fan of them.

but like. i feel like in movies and tv shows, if a woman is smart and not hot, she will not be taken seriously. it’s the fucking male gaze. i’m so sick of this tired ass, lazy ass trope of “woman too smart for her own good... she has social issues because she is So Smart. Smarter than the other women. Also wears spandex all the time.” like choose one??? if someone is so intelligent that they spend nearly every breathing moment solving complex problems within their field, they’re gonna forget to shower. and don’t even get me started on exercise to reach that Hollywood Skinny.

Hermione is the perfect example of this, especially the way they portray her in the movie. In the book, her transition at the gala is striking, because she generally doesn’t care what she looks like, with hair all over the place and an imposing personality that makes her less Attractive To Men. However, Emma Watson was chosen for this role, arguably one of the most conventionally beautiful women, and additionally they did everything to glam her up. Her entrance at the gala did not have a bit of the impact it meant to have had, because Hermione was already beautiful, styled to be beautiful, and generally a nauseatingly perfect character.

Standard Astronout Outfit:

Literally every woman in the Marvel universe is Like This:

Also that scientist chick from Jurassic World that ran from the dinosaurs in fucking high heels like kill me now:

And look, I don’t mean to dig at these women for being Conventionally Hollywood Attractive. It’s not their fault, right? And I also am aware of the ugly woman scientist trope, and that there are films and media in general which tried to break the stupid stereotype that women can be only either smart or sexy, not both. But I’m just so tired of a portrayal of an intelligent, workaholic woman as a sex bomb, an eye candy for men. You don’t get all of these things at once. Women are imperfect. A lot of women spend most time not wanting to be looked at. A lot of women scientists are unsexy most of the time. That should be fine. Women should be portrayed as human in media.

I have to say, there are also plenty fantastic examples of smart women who are also beautiful and not portrayed in this way. In fact, there is more and more of them. My recent fav is Mary Malone from His Dark Materials:

And don’t get me wrong here, I think Mary is h o t. In fact, I would let Mary raw me all night long. But her looks are nowhere near the center attraction of her character. It’s her intelligence, curiosity and kindness. She looks and dresses like a professor I could see at my campus. Her workaholism is expressed as having no family, spending all the time on her work, instead of strutting around in underwear with a bottle of whiskey. Her smarts ARE truly not good for her sometimes, she gets completely swallowed by her research. But she is never portrayed as a Sexy Woman In The Middle Of A Breakdown. And the best thing about Mary is, when she goes on a journey to a parallel world, she wears fucking hiker gear. HIKER GEAR. I love her sm.

Anyway, perhaps you can see my point why I really dislike the main character of the queens gambit without even seeing the series. Because the (record!) popularity of it reminds me of the fact that in the eyes of the world, a woman still has to be Sexy to be Smart. And I’m tired of it, folks. I’m really bored. Bring something new. I’ve seen a woman in underwear. I see her everyday actually. I want to see more female scientists that don’t give a fuck about male gaze, or anyone’s gaze for that matter.

That has been my TED talk.

#every time i write a long post #i begin without capital letters and punctuation #and end it in an essay form #its the queen of inconsistency #well there you have it #mary malone #hermione granger #the queens gambit #whats the queens gambit name #bethany #i dont know #emma stone #in spiderman #lol what was her name #gwen stacy #sigourney weaver #i dont remember the jurassic park character and i dont care for her #jurassic world #no nuance november

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 23

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i wrote half this chapter listening to taylor swift’s enchanted which i dubbed a christmas song despite it not being a christmas song. i hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

The music was loud, too loud and Y/N could barely hear herself thinking. Between people congratulating Gwen and the overwhelming loud popular music, all Y/N wanted was to spend her birthday locked in her own bedroom reading Jane Austen but whenever she managed to dodge someone, a drunk associate would pat her on the back also congratulating her for her birthday. Darned drunk Daniel and his ‘it’s her birthday too’ sentence. Out of all 365 days in the year, she just had to be born on the same day as the heiress which she initially thought would make her invisible but suddenly everyone wanted to congratulate her too.

Dodging another one of her friend’s father’s drunk associates ready with a hiccupped speech, Y/N quickly climbed up the stairs, happily sighing when she finally got to some sense of quietness where she could read. Opening the red leathered book, Y/N let herself delve into the world of Jane Austen and the swooning love scenarios that came along with it.

With her nose stuck in the book, she started to pave around the floor, dancing around as she imagined the beautiful dance scenes in English regency balls. She could only imagine dancing with your loved one, with the shyness of the sun laying over winter snow, wandering eyes and slow, soft and comfortable dancing. She continued on her mindless dancing which was interrupted by her hitting something.

- Oop ... - Y/N looked up from a book into a pair of the most beautiful light blue eyes she had ever seen in her whole entire life. - I’m so sorry.

- No, I wasn’t watching where I was going. My fault entirely.

- No, I wasn’t paying attention.

- What are you reading there? - he pointed at her book which she had closed over her finger as to not to lose the place of reading. - Jane Austen? A favourite?

- I prefer Emma but Pride and Prejudice is a classic. Are you a fan?

- I’m more of a Charlotte Brontë kind of guy myself. - he gave her that sort of smile that only old Hollywood stars could pull off. The type of smile morphing into a smirk that pulled you in with its sense of effortless coolness and mystique. A dangerous smile if she knew better. - That is if we’re speaking of English writers. My father has a very long personal collection.

- Well, the Forrests aren’t the reading type from what I’ve gathered.

- Say, I’ve never seen you around before. Whose family do you belong to?

- Oh, I ...

- There you are. - a much older man, probably in his early 60s but very dapperly dressed with his hair pushed back and the same blue eyes the unknown man standing in front of her. She guessed they were somehow related by their matching features. - I thought we had discussed being late to meetings before.

- I got distracted, father. - the much younger man shrugged. Y/N stood there, playing with her fingers, fully aware that the atmosphere had shifted into something more awkward than what she preferred. It became even more uncomfortable once the much older man made eye contact with her, making her feel much more smaller than before, head snapping back to her feet. - You sure have a particularly familiar set of eyes there. Have we met before?

- No, I don’t think so. - she played with the ends of her hair, hoping the Earth would open and swallow her.

- What family do you belong to? I’m sure I’ve seen those eyes before.

- BIRDIE! - Y/N turned around to see Dan power walking towards her. - Gwen is waiting for you to cut the cake. Say goodbye, c’mon.

Y/N just stood there, not entirely sure of what to reply to Mr. Williams’ remarks about her. She wasn’t a mistress and she surely wasn’t aiming to be one on the women she had grown accustomed to see coming in and out of the house during her childhood. Sure, she was having some sort of ... affair, if it could be called that, with Sebastian but she wasn’t his mistress. No, she would never be his mistress for that to happen he would have to want to be with her and following last events, he really wasn’t. Besides, she wasn’t like him and she would never be like him.

- I understand your struggle, miss. It must be really hard to see the man you care for not care for you.

- With all due respect, Mr. Williams, I really don’t enjoy your assumptions about me or Mr. Stan. It’s incredibly disrespectful.

- He’s not gonna call you, birdie. I see you checking your phone but trust me. He might not be like his father where it matters but when it comes to women, they’re the same man.

- Don’t call me birdie. - she mumbled, the affectionate nickname given to her by Dan when she was younger losing its innocence as it came out of the associate’s mouth. - I really would like it if you left.

- Don’t be so upset. In this world you have to play dirty to get ahead and you’re surely get to get dirty to get ahead ... You’ll surely have enough money to do whatever you want if you keep going.

- I don’t want any money but I don’t wanna be part of this conversation. - she cleaned her hands against her apron, walking off the kitchen with a decisive step. Ignoring most questioning looks from those at the table, she climbed the stairs back to her bedroom, locking the door behind her.

She was no mistress and she definitely did not want Sebastian’s money and the mere speculation that that was all she cared about made her sick to her stomach. If she were to care about money she would’ve gotten it very much early on. With sadness and heaviness in her heart accompanied by shame of being seen as nothing more than a passing fancy, Y/N sat down against her bed frame, hand moving to grab one of her bedside table books.

Out of all the books she blindly had to pick, out of all novels she had spent her teenage and early adulthood reading, the one she had picked was a particularly old one with a red leather binding and golden title letters. Her fingers softly moved across the cover, feeling the bumps and tears of time over the leather. It used to be her favourite during her early young adulthood years and Y/N was sure she had read it over a thousand times. As she opened the book, it fell onto a slightly crinkly page. She furrowed her brows, not remembering when she had crinkled the page until a polaroid fell onto her legs, photo front down.

Curiously, Y/N closed her book, setting it next to her in the bed before grabbing the polaroid on her legs. She swiftly turned it around, noticing her handwriting on the border ‘18th’. She smiled nostalgically noticing her young face in the sea of people, wearing an oversized babydoll dress which most likely belonged to Gwen, Mary Jane style shoes with the very same necklace nestled between her collarbones and a polite smile. However, what called up for Y/N’s attention was right in the middle of the photo, standing next to Mr. Forrest, was a man probably in his mid to late 20s wearing a dark burgundy suit which made her blink twice, making her pull the photo closer for inspection. His hair was a bit longer and shaggier and his face a bit fuller due to younger age but she could recognise those eyes everywhere. Dan was right, Sebastian had been at Gwen’s 18th and for all that was safe and holy she just couldn’t remember it.

Looking around as if she were afraid of being caught, she jumped off her bed, grabbing her book to stick the polaroid back inside and both of the objects inside one of her suitcase’s pockets, covering by various fabric items. Something told her that she had to question him about that particular event whenever she got the chance. Afterwards, she took her phone from her pocket to check if he had maybe tried to call her back or message her but nothing, only the clock and her lock screen. Two minutes past midnight, Christmas day. It was Christmas and that gave Y/N the excuse to give him another call. As expected by the darkest most negative part of her brain, all she heard was “The number you have dialled is unavailable, leave your message at the end of the tone”.

- Hey Sebastian, it’s Y/N ... you probably know, you have called ID ... - she was rambling and could hear her heart thumping on her throat as if they’d never spoken before. - I just wanted to say ... Merry Christmas.

- Hey Birdie. - Dan opened the door of her bedroom, making her drop her phone onto the floor by surprise. He furrowed his eyebrows at that behaviour. Y/N certainly didn’t use to be this easy to fright. - We’re opening presents, c’mon.

- Yeah, I’m going. - she forced a smile, grabbing her phone to finish the call before following him down the stairs.

Thirty minutes away from the place was she was spending Christmas, back in the Upper East Side, Sebastian was standing inside his office, brandy filled glass as he watched the sights from the large windows and how the snow fell disregarding and uncaring of any other circumstances.

He was much too lost watching various people come out of their houses to celebrate the snow, lost in his own thoughts until the beep of his answering machine removed him from his mind. He shot a look towards the rather old school device as a very familiar voice came through “Hey Sebastian, it’s Y/N ... you probably know, you have called ID ... I just wanted to say ... Merry Christmas.” He placed the glass on this desk, getting closer to the device, finger pressing the rewind button causing the melodic voice to return which wishes of happy holidays. The mob boss smiled at her rambling, how she would go on and on before stopping herself and how sweet she sounded at the end.

- Sir ... - a light knock on his door following by the creaking of the door made him remove his finger from the rewind button. - I’m leaving for tonight. Is there anything you require?

- No Amelia, thank you.

Back at the Forrests, Y/N was cuddled and wrapped with a red blanket, a cup of peppermint tea in hand as she watched Gwen open the large majority of the presents with a child-like enthusiasm along with Dan’s daughter Sophie. With a very soft and absent minded smile, she couldn’t help but get lost in her own fantasies as she watched Sophie’s eyes light up as she showed her father the stuffed bunny she had just unwrapped. All she could see was the Christmas tree back in the penthouse surrounded with various presents wrapped in shades of red and gold as a child showed Sebastian their own presents. Yet, she knew it was only in her mind and that she probably would see that but the child would be Gwen’s.

- Now it’s Y/N’s turn. - Mr. Forrest handed her a card sized present. - Merry Christmas, Y/N.

- Thank you. - she placed her tea cup on the table, carefully opening the present which led to another little box. Removing the lid, it showed a golden key with a matching gold bird keychain all surrounded by white cushioned fabric. - Oh ... thank you. Is it a necklace?

- No. - Dan chuckled. - It’s a house key.

- But I already have the key to this house.

- Well, dad and I have been discussing it and after Mr. Stan and Gwen get married, we thought you might want to start your own life. - Dan had that grin that seemed to appear whenever he was truly proud of himself. - So, we got you an apartment in Paris, like you always wanted. View to the Tower Eiffel and all.

- Oh ... - once again Y/N questioned her full on lack of happiness. She had a place to start her life where she always wanted, she had a house, one she didn’t have to pay for. Forcing a smile, she nodded her head. - Thank you so much, Dan, it’s lovely.

- I can help you make your arrangements after the wedding. - he added and started to ramble on how he knew a great interior designer while Gwen kept questioning her father how come she didn’t have an apartment in France, probably forgetting she had an apartment on almost every single European capital including London, Madrid and so on. She nodded, not really listening to his rambling until her phone vibrated on her jeans’ pocket. Looking down, she noticed a text from her phone company warning her that she had a message in her voicemail box.

- Can you excuse me? - she asked the people surrounding the living room, getting up from her comfortable position. All but one, Mr. Williams, nodded. He instead watched her with hawk like eyes as she removed herself from the living room and paced onto the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

She could feel her body shake, her breathing getting irregular as she dialled the number that led to her voicemail messages. As quick as a second, the voicemail started to play but instead of listening to anyone speaking all she could hear was low breathing mixed with the non existent sound of silence. Her heart sank, this was probably a butt dial. As she was about to turn off her phone a familiar roughed yet laced with sweetness and nervousness came from the speaker.

- Merry Christmas, my angel.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen @nsfwsebbie

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan imagine #mob!sebastian stan #mobster!sebastian stan #mafia boss!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 5 years

Text

Imagine:

Erik sending the Reader vids of him beating his dick and he nuts on the screen

Warnings: SMUT

Okay so the last one was appealed llab. It’s the gif I posted with it which was perfect and tumblr wants to fuck shit up. ANYWAYYSSSSSS enjoy this nasty smutty love that my beautiful friend @goddessofthundathighs wrote up and let me tell you it’s good 😩😩😩😩😩💦

Like, Comment, Reblog 💖

New Moon. Your favorite time of the month because it allowed you to cleanse yourself old old energy and set new goals and manifestations for the weeks to come. This particular new moon fell on your favorite day of the week: Self-Care Sunday. You had already spent the day pampering and treating yourself with a fresh mani/pedi and new weave, now it was time for your spiritual bath. Since you and Erik had just called it quits, you decided to focus on love. You started by saging your bathroom, making sure to focus on the corners and around the doorway. Next, you added 6 drops of jasmine oil and honey to the water; 6 being the number of love. You then added your rose bath salts and rose quartz stones to the bath. You finally lit your jasmine incense and submerged yourself in the water.

On all night // quarter five //

I’d be insane if I let you hit // I need you

Should be here // For my regretful morning

The sweet scent of the Strawberry Pound Cake candle you recently purchased from Bath & Body Works invaded your nostrils along with the jasmine as your body sank down into your bath. You closed your eyes and began visualizing yourself in a loving relationship while placing the rose quartz over your heart. You had your Me & Somebody’s Son playlist on full blast and were currently being serenaded by Ari Lennox when your phone buzzed against the toilet.

“You up?”

You stared at the words that accompanied the lewd video before rolling your eyes in annoyance. Of course Satan Incarnate would text you some shit like this while you were trying to relax. Jackass.

Though you were no longer an item, he knew how much watching him jerk off turned you on. You loved the way his face scrunched up in pleasure, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth sent a chill straight to your core. Damn him! You had half a mind to ignore the message and roll back over until those 3 dots appeared again.

“If you gone ignore a nigga, at least turn ya read receipts off, y/n.”

“Nigga fuck you!” Your fingers fired back before they found their way between your legs.

Up late, again // Head on my chest, hand on my ass //

Up late, again // Back it up on you, breathing fast //

Oh, up late again, yeah // Tell me how it is when back it up there // It up there (mmh)

“That’s what I want you to do,” he responds with the grinning devil emoji followed by another video. You hesitantly clicked play, only to find him stroking himself faster and now moaning your name.

“This dick misses you, y/n. Daddy misses the way them walls hug mah shit when you ridin’ and the way that fat ass bounce up and down.”

You were really turned on, now. He was completely naked except the thick Cuban link choker around his neck and the gold pinky rings you got him last Christmas. He had been back home so his accent was heavy on his words. It made your pussy throb. His tongue passed over his bottom grill as his hand squeezed his thick shaft. Your mouth watered as you watched the beads of pre-cum ooze from his tip. That was the last straw before you stood from the bath and took a seat on the side of the tub. You grabbed the shower head, turning it to the massage setting before placing it between your legs. You mewled as the water pulsed against your already throbbing clit and were just finding your groove before your phone buzzed again. Another message accompanied by another video.

“You playin’ wit mah pussy, y/n? You know you can’t do dat without Daddy’s permission.”

“You ain’t my Daddy no more..”

“I’m always Daddy, you just stubborn.”

Erik was always unnecessarily arrogant. You loved and hated that about him. He was one of those niggas that knew he was fine and had no problems flaunting his good looks. It was the one thing you two argued about the most. You hated the way women fawned over him and how he ate up the attention. He always dismissed your claims, accusing you of being insecure. He was a certified asshole, but he was yours and you missed him.

Make your easy to North Hollywood // Target lingerie //

Kissing your lips // Dipped in Backwood tips

I been crushing on you // We can fake watch the news, if you like

You watched the videos on a constant loop, allowing the shower head to bring you closer and closer to your peak. You were almost there when another message came through.

“Come see me..”

You stopped. Although you wanted him to break your back like a glow stick, you knew how things would eventually end. You and Erik were a never ending cycle of toxicity and although the dick was bomb, you didn’t want to bring that into this next phase of your life. You placed the shower head back in it’s holster before stepping out of the shower. Your inner freak was cursing your entire existence, but you knew you had made the right decision. You wrapped a towel around yourself before grabbing your homemade Shea Butter to moisturize your skin. He sent more videos, but you ignored them as you got ready for bed. You were about to power it off for the night when a final message caught your attention.

“This could’ve been you, but you playin’..” You clicked play on the video only to be met with ropes of his cum shooting towards your face. His moan was deep, animalistic almost as he finished himself off. He smirked devilishly at the screen, revealing his fronts before speaking again.

“Wanna lick it off? I know you want to, ma. I know that mouth is drooling right now. Damn, girl, you just love being stubborn when you could have been on your knees catching all my nut in that pretty little mouth. Got me cumming on my phone.” Erik thumbed some cum from his phone screen, rubbing it along the tip of his dick slowly. “You see that? That’s your mess to clean up. Keep playing with me if you want to. Watch how you come running to Daddy.”

You wanted to resist, but your inner freak couldn’t be sated by your fingers and vibrator alone. Erik had permanently ruined sex for you, his arrogance and nastiness were in a league of their own. He was the only man that had ever made you cum just from talking. You quickly slipped into your favorite Fashion Nova lingerie set and grabbed your keys from the nightstand. He FaceTimed you as you slid behind the wheel of your pearl white Porsche Panamera, the only one of its kind in the garage of your apartment building.

“Yes Daddy?” You answered sweetly.

“Thought I wasn’t Daddy no more,” he replied with a smug grin that made you roll your eyes.

“You want me to come through or nah? Cuz I can get back in my bed,” you snap.

“Get back in the bed, then, y/n. I ain’t the one that wanna cum right now.”

You shot a piercing glare to your phone screen, which made his grin even more smug.

“Yeeah, that lil pussy throbbin’ ain’t she? She wanna feel this thick ass tongue sliding up and down, fuckin’ that lil hole like I would wit my dick, don’t she? Yeah. You want Daddy’s face all in it, my beard soakin’ wet wit ya juices. Don’t be shy, you can tell Daddy what you want.”

You bit your lip, staring at the phone with pleading eyes as he spoke.

“You want this dick, pretty girl? Just say the word and I’ll be on my way. I know how much you miss ridin’ this dick in my G Wagon.”

You whimpered uncontrollably at the thought of the last time he fucked you in the back of his truck. He had your legs on his shoulders, digging out your pussy like he was searching for a buried treasure. Even when you came, his powerful thrusts didn’t stop.

“Spread dem legs fa me.”

Without hesitation you did as you were told, reclining your seat back so that he had an unobstructed view of your dripping wet center.

“You gone make dat pussy cum fa Daddy? You gone make a mess in ya front seat like I did in this chair?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned as you drove 3 of your fingers into your entrance. Under his commands you flicked and fucked yourself until you squirted all over your front seat and phone screen. You were so caught up in your pleasure that you didn’t realize he had left his place until you heard 3 raps on your window. You readjusted your clothes before rolling the window down, only to be met with his fat, throbbing dick.

“Give Daddy’s dick a kiss, pretty girl.”

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @rent-emspoons @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @munteanhore @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara @honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta

#killmonger imagine #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

Text

Love’s in the Little Things - SherryBaby14′s Prompt Challenge

Prompt: Steve and a musician. Like she plays the piano and writes her own music; does small gigs here and there. They meet while he’s at one of her gigs, would bond over music. Sex on he Piano. Something intimate, soothing and musical.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader

Summary: A little story following the progression of Steve and a musician falling in love. With a little added extra at the end!

Warnings: Smut, Love-making, FLUFF! A tiny dash of Angst, Mentions of death

Words: 6.3k

Author’s Note: Thank you @sherrybaby14 for this lovely prompt. I got the opportunity to join my two passions together - writing and music. Stick around till the end of the fic for a little bonus tidbit (written and performed by yours truly)!

Also - I switched the timeline around involving some character deaths to suit my own person story needs.

***

“You realize this is the fifth time he’s been in here this month. If you don’t make a move now, he may never come back,” said Roxy, pouring you your pre-performance liquid courage.

“Oh please, Rox. He’s just here with his friends. I highly doubt he’s here to see me,” you scoffed, knocking back the shot. The alcohol burned as it trickled down your throat, the effects immediately going to your head, giving you a light, fuzzy feeling. In reality, the shot wouldn’t hit your blood stream for at least a few minutes, but the placebo effect also did wonders for your confidence.

It didn’t matter how many times you did this – got up on stage in front of people and performed for them – it was still nerve wracking. Older musicians always advised you that it would get easier with time. One day you’d feel more comfortable on stage than you did off. Well, five years and you were still waiting for that day. Therefore, the last thing you needed was the ridiculous notion that Captain America was coming to a little dive bar to hear you perform. It was too much pressure.

“I’d consider that true if it weren’t for the fact that he only ever comes in here when you’re here.” Roxy, one of your closest friends and the bartender at your regular paying gig location, eyed you and then the group of gargantuan superheroes in the far corner. There were three of them tonight. Sometimes there’d be more, a few more guys and the occasional girl, but no matter what, it was always those three. You were pretty sure you knew who they were – it was hard not to. There was Sam (The Falcon); he was usually the chattiest out of the three, flirting with women and loudly cracking jokes. Then there was the moody one, Bucky you thought his name was; he was quiet but seemed good-humored and kind behind the eyes. Lastly, there was Steve. He was somewhere in the middle. Livelier than Bucky, but not nearly as attention seeking as Sam. And, for lack of trying you couldn’t help but notice the way he watched you with rapt attention every time you performed. You figured it was just him being a polite audience member. Or at least that’s what you told yourself. What could Captain America possibly want with a dive bar musician?

“Coincidence at best. Besides, how could he possibly know what nights I’m performing? They line-up isn’t posted,” you reasoned, checking your makeup in the mirror behind the bar.

“True, but who’s to say he didn’t come up to the bar one night and ask for the monthly line-up? And who’s to say I didn’t give him a copy with all your performance nights highlighted?” Roxy proposed, looking away from you to polish a glass and place it on the shelf behind her.

“What? You didn’t!” you exclaimed, chancing a glance at the super soldier to see his eyes trained on you, before looking away bashfully to his friends, who immediately began to give him a hard time. Or at least you assumed that’s what they were doing based on the teasing punches and boyish looks they gave you and then him. Your gut flipped. Maybe Roxy was lying to get on your nerves. That had to be the only plausible option.

“Alright—” began the DJ, Matthew, stopping the music and bringing everyone’s attention to the stage “—tonight we have a regular to the stage. If you’re an alcoholic then you’ve seen her here plenty of times, and if this is your first time joining us, welcome but what took you so long?” A smattering of laughter flitted across the bar. Looking back over, you found Steve smiling politely at the joke. God he was handsome…

“Give it up for (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!”

Applause filled the air as you walked to the stage, exchanging niceties with Matthew before sitting down to the piano. You breathed deeply, trying to quell your nerves, but that night they seemed to be on overdrive. Heart rate elevated, the alcohol in your stomach burned. Closing your eyes, you placed your fingers to the keys and let the familiarity of them calm you. You could do this. Going into a simple chord progression, you began the intro to your first song. It was a simple little number, nothing too controversial, too fast, or too slow. Just enough of a pep to grab the people’s attention, without being assaulting to the ears. It was fun and you always found it livened the room up nicely. By the time it was over, your nerves had cooled a bit, but your hands still possessed a subtle tremor. So, diverting from the normal path, you did a cover for your second song. A tried and true rendition of Falling in Love with Love by Fred Astaire. The chords and words were familiar like a childhood blanket, the song bringing you back to watching your mom and dance in the kitchen as a child. It was when you moved into your original work again, a sweet little thing about sunny mornings and fresh spring mountains, that your eyes caught Steve’s as you looked out into the crowd. The dim fluorescents of the bar lights illuminated him like a spotlight, swirls of dust floating around his figure in the musty bar air. Illuminated in hazy golden light, he looked as though the heavens had opened up to present him just for you. Flaxen haired and clear, blue eyes, he looked reminiscent of another time. And you guessed, he technically was. But he looked at you like a man seeing a beautiful piece of artwork for the first time – his gaze so intense, so openly earnest and honest, you couldn’t help but stare back.

You didn’t look away the whole time.

After your set, you found yourself sticking around – something you almost never did. But you knew you couldn’t just flee from the establishment like normal. Not when you performed for one person and one person only that night. After about twenty minutes you began to wonder if you had been wrong. Maybe the connection had been in your head. No, it definitely wasn’t in your head. Maybe you should just go up to him? After all, this was the 21st century. Women approached men all the time. But then again, he was from a different time. What if he found it insulting? Or too forward? You were still debating the pros and cons of the situation when a tap on your shoulder brought you out of your musings.

Looking up and expecting to see Roxy or maybe even Steve, you were surprised to see his friend.

“Hey, I’m Bucky. I just have to say, great performance tonight,” he said casually, extending a hand.

You took it tentatively, shaking his hand. Confused as to why he was talking to you but not wanting to be rude you gave him a small smile, “Thanks. I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you Bucky.”

“Listen, I’m gonna cut straight to the point. I need a favor from you (Y/N).” Bucky proposed, running a hand through his slicked brown hair.

Intrigued, you leaned against the bar top behind you, “Okay, I’ll bite. What can I do for you?”

“You see my friend over there?” He pointed across the bar to Steve, who was currently looking anywhere but at the two of you. “Well, I’ve got a bit of a problem, because he keeps dragging us to this bar every weekend and as much as I like it here, I just want a quiet Saturday night in, ya know? Now, he’d never admit that he told me this, but he thinks you’re pretty much the coolest thing since sliced bread – which is a high compliment as he was actually there for the invention of sliced bread.”

“Is that so?” you asked, trying to suppress the wave of giddiness his words created.

“Yea, he looks great for his age, right?”

“So, what’s the favor then?”

“Well—” he began, drawing his face into an exaggerated eyeroll “—for some reason, while the man is completely unfazed by jumping out of exploding buildings, he can’t build up the courage to come and talk to you. So, your favor to me, would be to just look over there and wave him over so that I can go home and watch The Great British Bake Off.”

“The Great British Bake Off? Really?”

Bucky shrugged, “It’s heartwarming and educational.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to him. But what about your other friend? Mister Tall, Dark, and Goofy?” you asked, looking to Sam who was currently attempting to tell your golden-haired man some kind of story that required an enormous amount of arm movement. The comment earned you a guffaw from Bucky.

“Him? He’ll be fine. He’s already got the bartender’s number. I think they’re leaving together after her shift is over.”

Jaw dropping in shock, you looked to Roxy and pointed to Sam in question. She shrugged, an excited smile on her face as she turned back to her customers.

“Alright,” you agreed, shaking your head. “Go enjoy Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood. I’ll take good care of your friend.”

***

“What?! That can’t possibly be true. I feel like you’re lying to me right now.”

“No, it’s the honest to God truth. Bing Crosby came right up to me and shook my hand,” said Steve, large hands wrapped around his beer bottle as he told you probably the coolest story you’d ever heard.

Sitting back in your chair heavily, you let out a huff of air, “Wow…I mean…wow. I guess being a war hero really does come with some perks.”

“I don’t know if I would call myself a war hero…”

“Oh, so he’s modest too. Tell me, is there anything you’re bad at?” you asked, teasingly.

“There’s plenty of things I’m bad at,” scoffed Steve.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, name some. What is the great Captain America bad at?” You lifted an eyebrow in challenge, unable to keep the smile from your face as you looked at the man in front of you.

“Well, for one thing, I can’t flirt with a pretty dame without help from my friend—”

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job of it yourself right now,” you interrupted, giving him a wry grin from across the small bar table.

Cheeks tinging a light shade of pink, Steve took a moment to drink from the bottle in his hand before continuing, “I can’t dance. Seriously, all I do is sway. I have trouble tying a tie. It always comes out crooked, no matter how many times I do it. Oh! And I’m a horrible singer. Couldn’t carry a tune to save my life – unlike some people.”

It was your turn to feel the heat form on your face, “I’m sure you’re not that bad.”

“Well, I’d show you, but I doubt anyone else here would appreciate it,” said Steve. At his comment the two of your looked around the bar to realize there wasn’t anyone else there to bother with his singing.

“What?” you asked incredulously. “What time is it?”

Checking his watch, Steve’s eyebrows lifted almost all the way to his hairline, “Three in the morning. Doesn’t this place close at two?”

“Yea, it does. I can’t believe Roxy didn’t kick us out.” Pulling out your phone you found a text from the woman in question.

Roxy:

You seemed a little too patriotic to interrupt. Have fun and lock the door on your way out. ;)

“I guess we should probably get out of here, huh?” you suggested, standing and grabbing your purse from the back of the chair. Steve stood too, taking his bottle and your glass to the bar and disposing of them appropriately. Walking across the stage, you went to turn out the lights on the far wall when you stopped. Looking at the piano in front of you, you turned back to Steve.

“While we’re here, do you want a free concert?”

“Depends…what are you playing?” asked Steve, rounding the bar and coming to sit on the bench next to you.

“Anything you want. I’m open for requests,” you announced, brushing your fingers across the keys and playing out a small arpeggio.

“How about one of yours?” Steve suggested, surprising you.

“Really? Out of all the music in the world, you wanna’ listen to mine?”

“Of course, it’s my favorite. Haven’t missed a show all month.”

***

Too early. It was absolutely too early for your phone to be ringing. But there it was, laying on the mattress next to you annoyingly loud. You contemplated throwing it across the expanse of your small loft, but ultimately decided that you were in no way financially able to afford a new phone. So instead, you swiped your thumb across the screen and held it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Steve’s chipper voice rang through the line, bringing you out of your sleepy stupor.

“Steve, hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying not to sound like you just woke up. Unfortunately, you were unable to suppress the yawn that escaped the back of your throat.

“Oh jeez, I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You could already hear the apology on the tip of his tongue.

“No, no. I’m always up at this time. It’s—” you looked over to the clock on the wall “—Five thirty. Five thirty?!”

“Sorry. I’ve been up for hours. I guess I didn’t realize it was still so early,” Steve apologized. You could hear the distant bustle of city life behind him; why was everyone in D.C. such early risers?

Sighing internally, you concluded it was probably better you get up now. You were due at your day job soon anyway. Sitting up and swinging your legs out of the warm cocoon of blankets, you stretched out, bringing life to your body, “It’s fine. Really. You get to hear me make coffee though. I desperately need coffee.”

The soft, nervous laugh on the other end of the phone made you smile as you padded barefoot to your small kitchen. “I will gladly listen to you make coffee, if it makes up for the fact that I woke you up,” said Steve, his words causing butterflies to form in the pit of your stomach. You had to stop for a moment, hand paused on your kettle as you tried to keep your head. When you failed to respond right away, Steve went on, “Anyway, I just called to tell you, that I had a really great time the other night.”

“Me too,” you replied, placing the kettle on the stove and turning it on, before grabbing the coffee from the cupboard.

“I was wondering if you wanted to do it again. Preferably sometime soon?”

“I don’t think the manager will let us stay so late after closing again. Even if I do technically work there,” you teased, grabbing the French press and filling it with a few spoonfuls of coffee.

“I don’t know, I bet you could convince them to let us stay. You seem like you’d be able to talk any man into doing just about anything,” Steve teased back.

“Really, is that so?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe not any man – maybe just me.”

***

It was a nice, sunny spring day. Summer was just around the corner and midafternoons were beginning to warm up considerably. You were on your lunch break, iced lemonade in hand as you walked through President’s Park with Steve. Tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear in response to the light breeze, you glanced down to make sure that the skirt of your sundress was still in place. The last thing you needed to do was accidentally flash him on your first official date.

“Obviously performing at the bar isn’t your only job if this is your lunch break. Tell me about your day job,” said Steve, walking idly next to you, hands in the pockets of his khakis.

“I’m actually a music teacher,” you answered, taking a sip of your lemonade.

“Really?” asked Steve, a hint of pleasant surprise in his voice.

“Yea, I guess you could say music pervades every part of my life,” you answer with a laugh.

“Do you like it?”

“I really do. Enough to do it for the rest of my life at least. I mean – performing is fun, but I don’t know if I could do it for a living. I’m much happier teaching kids how to read music or play an instrument.” The two of you came to a small park bench and sat down under the shade of a large tree.

“So, no dreams of being big and famous?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, “No. Absolutely not. I don’t think I could handle the pressure.”

“Yea, it definitely isn’t easy,” Steve sighed, looking down at the ground between his spread legs. At his comment, you realized how insensitive you must have sounded. For a second you had completely forgotten than he was Captain America – a famous household name. To you, he was just Steve Rogers, the man with a warm smile and a genuine aura that emanated throughout and around him.

“I think it was my music teacher in high school that really made me want to be a teacher,” you said, changing the subject. “She was always encouraging me to pursue my music and creativity. Which was great to hear when no one else in my life seemed to care much at the time. Who was your favorite teacher growing up?”

Steve seemed to perk up at your question, looking out into the expanse of the park as he pondered his answer, “Probably my art teacher. I always liked to doodle and draw, but he was the first person to tell me I had talent. After that, I actually took a few classes at the local college. Nothing too fancy, but I learned a lot about techniques and different mediums.”

“So, you’re an artist?”

“Well, I don’t know if I would call myself an artist…”

“There you go again being modest. Tell me, do you make art? Do you put pencil to paper or paint to canvas and makesomething with it?” you asked in a guiding manner.

“Yea, I guess—”

“Then you’re an artist! I bet you have a pencil and sketch pad on you right now. Am I wrong?”

Steve looked at you in bewilderment, before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small notebook, “How did you know?”

“Because, you’re an artist! And, I may have seen the outline of it earlier when we were walking,” you admitted.

“Were you checking out my ass?”

The question caught you off guard, leaving you gawking at the surprisingly forward question. Steve laughed at you, indicating that he was obviously teasing, and you slapped him playfully on the arm.

“Maybe I was. It’s a nice ass,” you teased back. “Now show me some of your drawings. You’ve seen all of my creative genius; I want to see yours.”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t I draw something now and you can be the judge of whether it’s accurate or not?”

“Okay—” you looked around, trying to determine what would be the best thing for him to sketch “—that’s even better. How about that flower bed over there?”

“Nah, I think I see something much prettier,” responded Steve. Looking back at him, you found him already sketching away, pencil to the paper of his notebook as he glanced between it and you. He was drawing you. “No, no. Look back over that way,” he instructed. “The light was catching you perfectly.”

You did as he said, directing your gaze back towards the flower bed, the soft sound of pencil scratches mixing with the chirping of birds, and murmur of people walking by. Stealing glances at him out of the corner of your eye, you watched as he worked. Brow knitted in concentration, jaw relaxed, and soft pink lips parted, long, straight lashes brushing his cheekbones every time he blinked; it was in that moment you came to realization that you could watch him like this forever.

“Hey, no peaking,” he pouted, catching you staring when he looked back up at you for reference. You looked away, training your eye on a couple of squirrels chasing each other across the lawn. Perfectly content, you sat listening to him work until his voice broke the silence.

“Okay, all done.”

Turning back towards him, you scooted down the bench till you were hip to hip, peering into his lap to view his hard work. The sight took your breath away, a soft gasp moving past your lips as you stared at yourself in graceful strokes of graphite. He was right. The lighting had been perfect. Somehow, he managed to capture the rays of sun catching the side of your face, illuminating you like you glowed from the inside out. You held a small smile at the corner of your mouth and your eyes held a wistful romance to them as little tendrils of hair danced around your face. He even sketched some of your sundress – scribbling the lace and little pattern of peaches at the neckline. You were beautiful. He had made you beautiful.

Speechless, you stared at the sketch and then back up at Steve who looked down at you with an apprehensive expression. You beamed at him before gushing, “It’s amazing Steve. Thank you.”

Maybe it was a bit too soon. Maybe you should have waited till the third date, or even the second, but something just felt so right in that moment. Lifting up, you pressed your lips to his, the soft warmth of his mouth comfortable and exciting all at the same time. Brushing your lips against his softly, your heart fluttered when he did the same, kissing you back tentatively. When his large hand came to cup your face, you melted into him craving the feel of his firm hand against your soft skin. Surprisingly gentle for his size, but not for his demeanor, he kissed you like you were a flower and he a gentle breeze, caressing your petals with a tender confidence.

Pulling away, you found a softness in his eyes and in his smile that made your heart clench. It felt so strange to be already so enamored by a person you had just met. But you couldn’t help the lightness that coursed through your body when it came to him.

***

“You know, you really don’t have to keep coming to all of my gigs. You’ve already got the girl,” you half-joked to Steve as he swung your guitar over his shoulder and lifted your heavy amp with ease. Two months. That’s how long you’d been sharing early morning phone calls and lunch-time walks through the city. Peppering in the occasional dinner date, Saturday matinees at the theatre, and him attending every single one of your gigs, things were really beginning to click. However, you couldn’t help but shake the familiar monster of apprehension and doubt.

You knew perfectly well where your feelings stood with Steve, but did he feel the same way?

You’d been hurt in the past. Partners that left you guessing and clawing for any type of validation and affirmation that you were important to them. Countless hours spent worrying and wishing that they’d just show up like they said they would, and without complaint or snide remarks. Therefore, when Steve actually showed up, it felt obligatory – like he was doing everything right not because he wanted to, but because he felt like he had to.

“Do you not want me to come?” Steve asked as the two of you left the bar and headed down the street to your building.

“No—yes—I mean, of course I want you to be there. I just mean, it can’t be very fun for you to be in a smoky bar listening to me play the same ten songs over and over again. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be there when you don’t want to be.” You couldn’t believe how stupid and insecure you sounded as you said the words, but at the same time you needed to say it. At the very least it would be an out for him to take, no matter how sad it made you seem.

“Hey.” Steve stopped you, grabbing you by the wrist and turning you towards him. “I’d listen to you play a rendition of Pop Goes the Weasel over and over again for the rest of my life, if that’s what you were passionate about. I love your music and I love listening to you play it. You’re my girl. I’m gonna’ be there to support my girl.”

Moving your hand, you intertwined your fingers with his. Unable to find the words to express to him how much his proclamation had meant to you, you simply nodded as tears of relief and happiness began to well in your eyes. Silently, he disentangled his hand from yours and reached up, thread his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulled you into him, bending down to kiss you sweetly, but firmly. His kiss was a promise and a reassurance that he was there, and he wasn’t going anywhere. The flutter of your eyelashes as they closed pushed a single tear down the side of your cheek, the warm wetness of it rolling until it reached the line of your jaw. Steve pulled away from you, using his thumb to wipe the stray tear from your face.

“Stay the night with me tonight?” you asked, the words leaving you like a physical need.

Steve’s eyes widened in response, before searching your face for any sign that you didn’t mean what you said. But you did.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

The room was lit by only moonlight as you slowly undressed. Each article of clothing removed, revealing more of your body and more of your soul to the man in front of you. Reverently he sat at the edge of your bed, shirt and shoes already removed, as he watched you bare yourself to him. Once completely free of your clothes, you were overtaken by a wave of insecurity, wanting nothing more than to cover yourself, but the sound of Steve’s voice broke you of the urge.

“Come here,” he whispered, eyes shining in the darkness.

Tentatively you stepped towards him, toes digging into the plush rug sat under your bed. He guided you onto his lap, his hands ghosting over the skin at your sides as he took you in. Steve looked at you the way he looked at you the first night you spoke – like a man seeing a beautiful piece of artwork for the first time. The heat of his gaze made you both unbearably aroused and unbearably uncomfortable. Wrapping your arms around his neck you kissed him, a mesh of lips and tongues that left you breathless and wanting. Moving your hands down his chest, you felt the unyielding muscle under warm skin. Like a Greek god, sculpted by the greatest minds of the renaissance, he was gorgeous. The feeling of his mouth connecting with one of your nipples stole the breath from your lungs, making you keen with desire as you arched into him.

He continued to lavish your chest, switching between breasts as he kissed, licked, sucked, and nipped. Within no time, you were putty in his hands, a garbled mess of pleasure and want. When you thought you couldn’t take any more, he flipped you over, placing you gently onto the mattress and pulling away to remove the last of his clothing. Standing in front of you, stripped and vulnerable, you had the lucid thought that you had never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

Climbing over you, he kissed his way up your body, leaving little bites and marks from your hip bone to your neck. You felt the hot, weight of him at your center, causing your hips to buck in response. A small whimper escaped you as he slid his length up and down your folds, grinding into you as bit down on your lower lip. Hot and wet and hard, he eased into you slowly, watching your face as he did. Eyes endlessly light blue, he stared into your soul as he panted heavily at the tight feel of you around him. Impossibly full of him and only him, you took deep breaths as you adjusted to it. Pulling your arms from around his back, he pinned your hands to the pillows behind your head, threading his fingers with yours as he pulled out of you slowly and pushed back in. The sweet friction was enough to make you sing.

Steadily, his pace picked up speed as he rocked in and out of you. And while neither of you had said the words, he made love to you like they had been uttered a thousand times before. Your sweat-slicked bodies glided over each other as he fucked into with a devotion unlike any other. And you did the same, your hands and lips amorously worshipping his body as he brought you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Fingers plucking and hands strumming, it was as if the two of you were making music of your own, playing each other like instruments in the moon-soaked bedroom. The sweet sound built and built, an orchestration of harmonious balance rising higher and higher until you both reached the peak of your crescendo, only to fall blissfully from it in a lilting melody.

Laying in the aftermath of your song, you couldn’t help but think the words: I love this man.

***

“You really should eat something,” you said once again, pointing to the tray of untouched room service breakfast.

“I told you. I’m not hungry,” Steve snapped, moving in front of the mirror to tie his tie.

You sighed quietly to yourself. It had been a hard week. For both of you. This was not the first time Steve had been short with you today and you expected it would not be the last. Then of course, you couldn’t blame him. You were going to a funeral after all. Grabbing your cup of coffee from the tray, you wordlessly excused yourself to the bathroom to finish your makeup. Once in the crippling silence of the surrounding white tile, you braced yourself against the bathroom counter and took deep, calming breaths. You could do this. You had to be able to do this. For you. For your relationship. But most importantly, for Steve.

And you were trying, really you were, but nothing had prepared you for this. Although, you doubted anything really could. Supporting your boyfriend through the death of a past love was not an everyday scenario. He was trying to keep it together; you knew he was. You could see the sadness in his eyes and on his face when he thought you weren’t looking. But you were always looking. It was not easy watching him mourn the loss of another woman. It brought up all the ugly insecurities you tried to mask and move past. In no way did you blame him either. Peggy was an important part of his life – a part that you would never fully understand – and he had loved her. You respected that, but it didn’t stop the evil thoughts that crept into your mind. The ones that whispered things like he would never love you like he loved her, that this loss would make him realize that you were nothing but second best, that he would realize that you weren’t good enough. Shaking the nagging voices away, you unzipped your makeup bag and began pulling out the items you needed.

Steve cared for you; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have asked you to be here with him. He wouldn’t have flown you all the way to London with him for this funeral. He wouldn’t be depending on you for support and companionship. All of this you knew, but every jab and harsh word left you feeling more and more doubt. Of course, this was not Steve’s fault. He was grieving and if that meant you had to be strong for the both of you, then so be it. You would put your hurt aside and put on a brave face so that Steve could be the weak one. He deserved, at the very least, that.

Brushing on a bit of mascara and pulling out a sensible lip color, the sound of a light knock brought your attention to the exit of the bathroom. Steve, in black suit and tie, stood in the doorway, hair neatly jelled and tie crooked. He pointed to the askew item of clothing in utter defeat, a hopeless expression on his face. You set your lipstick down and crossed the room to him, reaching for his tie and undoing it before going through the familiar routine.

“I’m sorry.”

Too engrossed with the movement of your hands, you didn’t look up when you answered, keeping your voice light and casual, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” You finished the knot, straightening it snuggly against his Adams Apple and giving the length of the tie a little pat. He caught your hands before you could bring them down to your sides, holding them in his own and bringing them up to lightly kiss your fingers.

“Thank you for being here with me. I don’t think I could have done this without you.” His words were honest and sincere and meant the world to you. The fact that even when he was falling apart at the seams, he still cared enough to keep your emotions in mind, held more weight than any cynical thought your brain could create.

Standing on tiptoes, you held his face in your hands and looked into the depths of his blue eyes, “Today is going to absolutely suck. It really is. And I’m so sorry that it has to happen. But I’m right here. Anything you need, I’m right here. I promise.”

Steve nodded, his eyes becoming misty and red. Silently, the two of you exited the bathroom and grabbed your things. You, a coat and purse; him, a coat and a slice of toast.

You were just out the door, Steve following behind when you felt the soft brush of his fingers as he tucked in the tag of your blouse. The act though small and seemingly insignificant, was like a whispered proclamation on your skin. A murmured promise of I love you.

***

A year and a half and blissfully content, you lounged in your bed, staring at the expanse of Steve’s naked back as he stood in front of the kitchen sink. Muscles rolling and flexing, he scrubbed at the dishes from dinner.

“How is it, that I always end up doing all the cooking and cleaning when this is your apartment?” Steve asked teasingly over his shoulder as you stretched out in satisfaction across the bed, sheets still wrinkled and twisted from your after dinner ‘dessert’.

You laughed, rolling over and smiling lazily in his direction, “Because you’re a much better cook and you love me.”

Steve chuckled, a short, barking sound you had come to know as sarcastic, “I don’t know what me loving you has to do with getting stuck doing the dishes every night.”

“Shall I play you a song to make the job easier?” you asked, reaching over the foot of the bed and pulling up your guitar from its careless place on the ground. You pushed yourself into a sitting position against the headboard and began to strum a series of chords.

“Mmmm, I guess that’s a fair payment,” Steve responded warmly.

“I knew you’d say that!” you exclaimed happily, starting into one of Steve’s personal favorites.

A half hour later, dishes done, and Steve now laid on the bed with his head propped up on your outstretched legs, you were still playing. Languidly, you plucked and strummed through all the songs you knew until you found yourself playing something you hadn’t planned on showing him yet. He picked up immediately on the unfamiliar progression, turning his head to look at you.

“I haven’t heard that one before, what is it?” he asked, running his fingertips tenderly up and down your bare calf.

“Just something new I’ve been working on,” you answered sheepishly, continuing to repeat the first few chords.

“Something new? What’s it about?”

“You.”

Your profession took him by surprise, a delighted smile spreading across his face as he looked up at you, “You wrote a song about me?”

“Maybe,” you answered, nudging his far shoulder with your toes.

“Is it a sad song?” he asked playfully as he turned his head to stare up at the ceiling.

“No, it’s not a sad song.”

“Oh no, is it an angry song?”

You giggled, “Definitely not.”

“A happy song?” he questioned once more, knowing full well that that was the answer all along.

“Yes. It’s a happy song. A very happy song,” you stated, looking down at him and wondering how in the world you got so lucky. “The happiest song, actually.”

“Well then, play away.”

And you did. You played, pouring every ounce of love and adoration into the melody and lyrics, as Steve listened quietly, looking at you like the world began and ended with that one song. You played knowing that you had never been happier than in that moment, and you played knowing that life could only get better from there on out.

To listen to the song written for Steve, please follow this link: https://soundcloud.com/user-144129307/steves-song

Marvel Taglist:

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

@grincheveryday

#lemons #fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #fluff #love #angst #music

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offbeatcappuccino · 4 years

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It’s Okay To Not Be Okay Review

Its Okay to Not Be Okay (2020) Cast: Kim Soo Hyun, Seo Ye Ji, and Oh Jung-Se

Streaming Platform : Netflix

Trigger Warnings (in the show) : Fear, Violence, Abuse, Suicide, and Workplace Harassment* (I’ve decided to include trigger warnings in this review in order to emphasize their importance and hopefully encourage their use especially in entertainment since we only tend to rate movies and tv shows based on their maturity level, but fail to provide a disclaimer for trigger warnings)

Background:

It’s Okay to Not Be Okay stars Kim Soo Hyun (KSH) , Seo Ye Ji (SYJ), and Oh Jung Se, as well as a plethora of supporting characters, who honestly all did an amazing job with their roles. Kim Soo Hyun is one of the biggest stars in Korean entertainment. He’s had a successful career in both movies and tv shows. Some of his other well known shows are Moon Embracing the Sun, Love From Another Star, and Dream High. I’ve watched some of KSH’s dramas before and one notable aspect is that he’s one of the few mainstream Hallyu actors that I’ve seen who play characters that show who frequently challenge the norms of masculinity that are often exhibited by stereotypical male lead roles in other K-dramas ( e.g. Producers). I think SYJ’s previous roles (Lawless Lawyer, Save Me) also really challenge the gender roles imposed on women and the characters she plays are bold, confident, and intelligent women not afraid to challenge systems of oppression. Synopsis:

It’s Okay to Not Be Okay really is another drama that shows these two actors pushing themselves to once again play challenging and unconventional characters. Its Okay to Not Be Okay is advertised as a healing drama and its a touching tale that revolves around the lived of Moon Gang-Tae, Moon Sang-Tae, and Ko Sun Yeong. Sang-Tae ( Oh Jeung Sae) is a thirty five year old man with autism, and Gang-Tae (KSH) is his younger brother and primary caregiver. Gang Tae also works as a nursing assistant for psychiatric hospitals. Because of a traumatic event that occurred in the past, Sang Tae suffers from PTSD and has an intense fear of butterflies. Due to this, the brothers are forced to move every spring to a new city, which has often come at the cost of happiness for both brothers as they struggle to settle down and live peaceful lives. Ko Mun Yeong ( SYJ) is a successful children’s book author with anti-social personality disorder, who has also had a traumatic childhood and also suffers from PTSD like symptoms on a daily basis. How these three characters meet and how they open the door for healing and choose to move on from their past experiences is what forms the crux of the story Pros: Depiction of Mental Health : I really want to applaud this show for bringing issues like co-dependency and normalizing the importance of self care for those who are often the primary caregivers for their loved ones. I also loved how the writers of the show also challenged many of the ableist narratives that our society puts forth about disabled individuals through the character of Sang -Tae. Seeing Sang Tae not only be a crucial main character for the show, but also showing his own journey of self empowerment and healing is refreshing to watch. Also, kudos to the show for destigmatizing many of the mental illnesses that Hollywood has unfortunately misrepresented like manic disorder, anti-social personality disorder, substance abuse, and multiple personality disorder.

Storybook Themes & Cinematography : Every episode on the show is named after a fairy tale and the ending and sometimes the beginning uses really creative animation and narration that beautifully convey the theme of every episode. Also, the show really employs this really beautiful contrast of dark and light throughout each episode and also has some really outstanding “gothic” architecture that I found to be really pleasant to watch.

Character Development: Many K-dramas tend to be plot focused rather than character focused, which means that many of the characters are flat in that you don’t really see them grow and change into different versions of themselves. I really like how this drama really focused more on character and you could really see the growth in some of these characters and get to know them as though they were real people beyond simply being a medium through which a plot line is carried out and fulfilled.

CHEMISTRY!!! : The chemistry between Ko Mun Yeong and Gang-Tae in this show ( more towards the middle-end) literally gave me goosebumps. These two have more chemistry than the actual field of chemistry. The attraction between these two is stronger than an ionic bond y’all ( sorry for the chem references). I’ve never seen two people act more in love with each other than these two. Its so convincing that thousands of fans worldwide ship these two together and I swear if these two ever end up getting married in real life, I would not be surprised. Their relationship is so wholesome and amazing and ahh!!! Cons: Depiction of Harassment: Mun Yeong’s interactions with Gang Tae come off as extremely problematic in the beginning of the show because a lot of her behavior could be classified as harassment. This is was especially pronounced in one scene in Episode 3 that was kind of a hot mess and that particular episode actually ended up with over 50 complaints sent to the Korean broadcasting regulatory committee.

Mun Yeong initially does come off as problematic, but many individuals have argued that her character was exhibiting usual characteristics of someone with ASPD, as ASPD affected individuals do struggle with understanding concepts like consent. While I don’t think this completely justifies her behavior and I don’t think the show is trying to justify it either, I think that particular scene could have been shot in a better way and that the show could have benefitted from a disclaimer in the beginning of the episode clarifying that the creators don’t condone this behavior. This scene definitely did throw me off first, but I really think seeing Mun Yeong work through her toxicity and trying to be a better person is worth sticking to the show. Depiction of Therapy: For a show that talks about mental illness, I would have loved to see more scenes showing the characters (especially Mun Yeong) talking to the psychiatrist ( one of the main supporting characters) on the show. I understand that the creators wanted to focus on the romance fluff, but I think it was important for them to show that healing involves not only having a strong support network of family and friends, but also licensed mental health professionals.

Slow Pace: Because the show is more character focused than plot focused, the first few episodes, your not really sure where you’re heading because while there is a mystery element in the show, the main focus of the show isn’t to solve the mystery or fulfill a certain adventure. However, I did not mind there not really being a clear plot in the show as I felt the acting, humor, and seeing the characters experience different aspects of life was really entertaining. Also, this issue resolves itself towards the end.

#kdramas #kim soo hyun #seo yeaji #seo ye ji #its okay to not be okay #netflix #hallyustar #hallyu wave

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mockingjayne12 · 5 years

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Take Me Home

(Jamie x Claire / Outlander Fic)

CHAPTER ONE:

Toes wiggle further underneath the blanket, chipped black varnish sinking her deeper into the darkness she sits in. Pale freckles against even paler skin, hip bones jutting out through the sliver of space exposed in the stolen, oversized shirt she drowns in. Half truths burn on her lips, screaming loudly in the settled wine at the bottom of her stomach. Bound coffee stained words rest in her lap, speaking to a universal yearning for something she can’t utter but felt she’d grasped once before, fleetingly slipping through her gold ringed fingers. Grown out, curly, dark fringe lays a veil over pools of blue, blearily leaving an image of what once was, the swirling memory of regret that continues to grow.

“You are my home,” she’d whispered to him, tears having threatened to mix with the beauty disguised as chaos, a breath away from ending them both.

For somewhere, once, she thought she had been truly seen, but found she was soon forgotten.

xxxxx

ONE YEAR EARLIER

Claire sets the plate back down, blowing her curly tendrils away from her forehead, an exasperated sigh escaping along with her patience with this day.

“What’s wrong this time?” She hears Rupert ask, bending to see her through the metal of soon to be waiting dishes, the heat lamp setting off a warmth that only leaves her feeling sweaty, her curls threatening to throw a tantrum along with the customers.

“They want the inside of the bread taken out…’too many calories’,” she says, momentarily ditching her English accent to put on her best impersonation of what she knew to be the typical toned voice that frequented the establishment, with a roll of her eyes, letting Rupert know she thought it was just as ridiculous as the raised eyebrows staring back at her.

She doesn’t miss his murmuring curse, and fights back a laugh - Rupert being one of the few friendly faces that has been around as long as she, working the trenches of customer service day in, day out.

Turning to wait for the remade food, she rests against the counter. It’s a relatively slow day at the restaurant, the lunch crowd having subsided, only the few stragglers, straddling a meal at a time of day that made little sense, but allowing her more time to make a mental list of things she needed to do when she got off. At the top of the list, stop and get cat food before Adso decided to lay claws to the walls in protest of his lack of sustenance.

“I just had a guy tell me he wished I had more Daddy issues so I’d work at a strip club,” Claire’s coworker, Gillian, says with a flourish of her hands.

Claire makes a grimace, her face scrunching up in disgust.

“Not even the worst thing I’ve heard this week,” Gillian says with a shrug, blowing off the comment along with all the others that were meant to go in one ear and out the other, an endless cycle of demeaning words thrown at them, expected to be swallowed with a smile all in the name of “customer service.”

Claire traces the silver line indented on her hand, as the plate of remade food makes its appearance once more, ready to be served.

“Thanks, Rupert,” she tosses over her shoulder at the grisly man, Gillian staying behind, waiting for her.

“So are you doing the catering job tonight,” Gillian throws back at her, as Claire comes back to the cutlery station, meticulously folding forks and knives into linen napkins.

“I don’t think so,” she shrugs, blowing her fringe out of her face once more. An errant curl refusing to submit to her frustration, dangling over her eyes, bouncing with the movement of her head.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Gillian hits Claire’s hip with her side, their heights significantly varied. A raised brow and a quirk of her mouth suggesting there was no way that this party would be fun in the slightest.

“A bunch of rich, entitled people…” Claire starts, only to be interrupted.

“Eating out of the palms of our hands…literally,” Gillian says with a wink.

“I hope not literally,” Claire teases, sticking out her flat tongue.

“Think of the extra money…and you know, if you happen to meet a rich guy that can give you a good fuck,” she says a bit louder than intended, a customer looking up from their meal.

Claire shoots a knowing glance at her friend.

Flashing a smile at the appalled woman, Gillian throws her head back.

“I’m gonna pay for that one,” she says with a shake of her head. “See, now we have to pick it up, because I’m not getting a tip from that prude,” she gestures towards the woman.

“She’s your table, not mine,” Claire says with a smirk. “I’m going to pass,” she says, putting the linen bundles into their bin. “I’ve got a new book and I…don’t do actors,” she says with a huff.

“Come on, I’ll drive, it’ll be…”

“If you say, ‘fun’ I’m definitely not doing it,” Claire warns.

“Fine, it’ll be…monetarily beneficial,” she grins.

xxxxx

The flutes of champagne balance precariously on the serving tray Claire carries with her, her hands attempting not to shake enough that she send the gold liquid onto anyone, but as she scans the room of men who think they hold more power than they do, congratulating themselves on being masters of their craft,women lapping up the chance to be in their presence, she can’t help but picture a slip of the hand that’s not so accidental.

Glancing back, she sees the event coordinator motioning for her to smile, and she turns back, her eyes threatening to roll all the way back into her head.

It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re wearing this uniform, you’re invisible, Beauchamp.

The thought echoing a sentiment that had taken root in her for some time, yanking on a thread that could potentially unravel her ever so carefully constructed shield, whose protection she’d shrouded herself in before facing the day, for without it would leave her bare to the thoughts that would surely leave her with nothing but the ugly truth.

Her finger rubs at her hand, her eyes darting around at the extravagant decor of flowers and crystal jewels, only the biggest and best for, whoever this celebration was for. Another Hollywood party that mattered very little, a host of people begging for the attention that would make a connection, garner them a return for the years of hustle they’d put in. Exhausting. The smiles on their faces were likely as fake as the one she now had plastered to her own face, looking more like a grimace than anything close to resembling happiness, as she offered up more alcohol to people that surely didn’t need anymore courage to make bad decisions.

“Whiskey on the rocks, sweetheart,” she hears behind her, turning around to find a balding man with a graying beard and a sinister grin on his face, suggesting he was a man who always got what he wanted, and as his eyes did a slow once over her, catching on the open button of her shirt, she finds herself wanting to shrink into herself, her hand running over her palm, the bloom of panic tingling, before rising to her full height, which isn’t much shorter than this man, biting her tongue at the urge to tell him to go fuck himself.

“Right away,” she says with a grit of her teeth, quickly turning to head to the bar to grab the request. Giving the bartender the order, the woman looks as irritated as the rest of them, but throws a knowing grin her way.

“Fucking Americans and their ice,” she mutters under her breath.

“Careful, Sassenach, they might hear ye,” the soft bur of an accent sends a jolt through her, causing her to hit the tray, sending the remaining few glasses of champagne everywhere. The shattering of glass attracting the attention of the guests only briefly, a stray comment thrown out about clumsy help hitting its target, before they go back to ignoring her.

“Fuck,” she says under her breath.

Turning quickly, she fumbles to pick up the broken glass, a rise of red lighting her cheeks on fire, incensed with anger and frustration.

Reaching for a piece of glass, she sees the tray in question appear before her, an offering to gather the mess she’d created. Looking up, she sees the man with the voice that had sent her reeling, a mop of curly red hair, looking like it had been attempted to be tamed, but had given up and decided instead to hang in perfect disarray.

“You don’t have to—“ she tries to get out, but he’s already gathered most of the remaining bits of glass onto the tray, peeking at her through his curls she sees a glimpse of blue that seem to pierce her, a flicker of something close to recognition passes through the sea like a wave, gone just as quickly, paired with a grin of understanding bristled in a stubble that begs to prick her finger and break the spell that seems to surround them.

“It’s the least I can do, seeing as it’s my fault,” he shrugs, the grin only growing wider, as he lifts his head, his bent stance has the kilt he’s wearing rucked up to where the muscles in his legs tease her, and she quickly averts her eyes, catching the raise of his eyebrows at having seemingly caught her glance.

“You’re right, it is your fault,” she says, straightening to a stand, and he peers up at her for a second, making her shift nervously from foot to foot before he stands, her eyes catching the glint of a scar contouring his cheekbone in the light. An imperfection that grounds him in reality. She moves to push her hair back from her face, having a hard time reconciling what she must look like next to this man.

She hears his gruff laugh, and swears it vibrates through her chest.

“I uhh, didn’t get you, did I?” She asks, her flustered mind only kicking itself at the excuse to roam over the expanse of his chest, slightly soaked, she immediately turns to grab a napkin on the bar, moving to blot his shirt, pressing gently on his chest, only having it dawn on her that she’s touching him when his hand comes to gently grab her wrist. Her breath momentarily stilted, his fingers warm on her pulse - simultaneously skittering her heart to beat faster while leaving her with a sense of peace, like being held too close to the sun, a tranquil warmth threatening to burst her into flames, she pulls back on reflex, and he lets go, freeing her, instead of keeping hold.

“’Tis alright, Sassenach, a wee bit of spilled alcohol never hurt anyone,” the breath of his words washing over her, and she steps back with the napkin. Her nose scrunching at the derogatory word he kept using like it was an endearment. His smile rises at her blowing a stray curl out of her face. “Especially when it’s champagne, “ he playfully grimaces, clearly not a fan of the bubbly.

“Too true,” she shrugs, turning to grab the whiskey she’d all but forgotten in her haste to completely drown this charming man in her work. Her usual response to flee begins to rise in her - the calm she’d felt in his presence shifting, as the man whose whiskey she held approached the makeshift stage with a microphone. “Ugh, here we go,” she rolls her eyes.

“Not a fan?” He asks, looking amused by her clear disdain.

“The only thing worse than actors are the people in charge of them,” she says, before catching the eye of Gillian, a curious smirk on her face, making her way towards Claire. “Anyway, I hope I didn’t keep you from…whatever it is you’re doing here,” she looks down at his kilt again. “Are you the entertainment?”

His eyes widen at the suggestion before biting back a laugh.

“Something like that,” he says with what she swears is a twinkle in his eye.

“And now help me in introducing the reason we’re all here, actor James Fraser…”

The applause of the entire party seems to grow exponentially around her. Glancing around, she tries to find where the man in question is hiding, until she feels the words whispered in her ear.

“At least I’m not the worst…”

The curly mop of red making his way towards the stage, shirt soaked, kilt swaying with every step, and a smile that keeps glancing back at her.

Bloody Hell, Beauchamp.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #claire fraser #jamie x claire

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raspberrymaple · 4 years

Text

Midnight Down Town

Chapter One: Lucky Tapes

Summary:

"A nonconventional belief in poker is everyone has an ability that allows them to stand their ground. Whether it be wit, luck, or the ability to bluff, the idea of staying in the game manifests the nickname of a ‘Stand’. A user of a ‘Stand’ is typically defined by their own strategies, therefore creating their own self-reflection in the game. The belief is so popular amongst professional and amateur card players, they even give their ‘Stands’ names.

Joseph Joestar is a casino owner in Los Angeles, California, 1989. With a reputable name such as “The Stardust Casino”, he gains popularity downtown. But he faces problems when another casino opens across the street: “The World”, owned by one Dio Brando. It’s formidable staff and popularity poise a challenge. However, the “Stardust Crusaders” the nickname given by Joseph for the employees, were ready for anything."

“Jotaro! Aren’t you going to have dinner?” Came the sweet voice of Holly Kujo, calling out to her son as he passed by the kitchen. Jotaro Kujo looked over his mother's shoulder and saw she had prepared a meatloaf for them. The aromantic smell of the meat made Jotaro pause and salivate at it. His mother made the best meals. “Your father won't be home until later but you can at least see him. Do you have to be at work on time, Jotaro? Your grandpa won't mind.”

Her son shuffled away, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. He wore a large, dark coat that exposed his light shirt under and rippled about his legs. Accompanying it was a hat that blended into his black hair, a red coke bottle cap, and the letter 'J' pinned on the front.

"I gotta pick up Kakyoin. Can I get a couple of slices for later, mom?” He asked, opening the fridge. The boy pulled out a couple of cold glass bottles of Coke, slipping them into his jacket pocket. He spun a pair of shining keys on his finger.

Holly Kujo placed her hands on her hips, adamant toward this, but nodded. She turned to take off a couple of slices of the meatloaf, placing them in a small plastic container. Jotaro took it from her hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It seemed to brighten her up, but he had turned away a second later to adjust his hat. It made his mother sigh.

“I still don't know why you wear that coat in summer, JoJo. And put on your helmet! Tell Kakyoin I said hi!” She called after him, but he didn't listen. His mother slumped against the counter as he walked out of the door, hiding the container in his coat pocket just like the bottles.

Jotaro was hit with the afternoon sun as he stepped out of the house. It was a large, two-story home, painted white. The front lane extended out far, the front of the house lined with red roses. To the left was the garage. As he stepped off the porch, his eyes trailed on the city. It was beautiful. He didn't expect anything else from it.

Jotaro's grandfather owned a casino. He found his grandfather annoying, but he was offered a job there and took it. Jotaro and his mom were typically alone, as his dad was a musician and traveled often, so Jotaro wanted to get out of the house. He never liked it when Sadao Kujo came home. His father would try to be friendly, but his absence annoyed Jotaro.

The teenager stepped into the open garage, his eyes landing on his motorcycle. It was only about four years old, but Jotaro had snagged it only last year. It was a Kawasaki Ninja 600R, one of the best in the brand. It was red and black, great colors for Jotaro. As he settled into its seat, he took off his hat and put his helmet on. He had two, typically, one for him, the other for Kakyoin.

Noriaki Kakyoin had been his friend for a few years now, and he knew him for five. They met in eighth grade and went to the same high school. Kakyoin's personality wasn't very similar to Jotaro's, but they felt they had to stick together. They even gave each other nicknames that they used privately: Kakyoin was Nori, and Jotaro was JoJo. Even though everyone called him JoJo, Kakyoin was the only one he cared about enough to give a nickname to. Jotaro was half Japanese, and Kakyoin was full Japanese. Jotaro had lived in America all of his life, but Kakyoin said he moved here when he was eleven from Japan. His friend did admit it was a cultural shock, so Jotaro acted like a crutch to help him learn.

As he twisted the grip to lightly apply the throttle, Jotaro kicked up the center stand. With a secondary helmet resting on his lap, he drove out of the garage and onto the street. The wind whistled along his body, thrashing about the end of his coat.

He had been working at this job since the beginning of the year. It was early summer break now, but he continues to work in the afternoon. The casino was open all hours, however, it was busy later in the day. Los Angeles wasn't known for its casinos, but The Stardust was one of the most popular. Hundreds of men and women frequented it weekly.

Jotaro could ride forever. The sun was on the horizon as he rode down Beverly Hills to the city outlined by its gold rays. The golden city. Kakyoin lived closer to the city, but his parents were also traveling agents and had money. He lived well off, and typically alone from his parent’s trips. Kakyoin used to go on trips with them, but after he got a job he said he didn’t want to anymore. They had their arguments but ultimately agreed since he was close to becoming an adult.

He came to a screeching halt in front of a blue one-story home. It had a long stretch of the lawn as well, but it was gated and surrounded by dark green hedges. Flowers and vines snaked through the hedges. Sitting on the step of the sidewalk, his legs extended out, was Kakyoin. Jotaro pulled off his helmet, his short black hair poking out over his forehead. He looked down at Kakyoin with blue-green eyes.

“Hey, Nori. Ready to go?” He asked the other teenager. Kakyoin looked up from the game in his hands. It was a Zelda & Watch game, a Nintendo brand, Jotaro assumed from the logo on the back. Kakyoin was a redhead, with a long, twisting curl poking out from his head hanging as a bang. His hair was short and straight in the back, pointing down as spikes. His eyes were a striking shade of violet against his pale skin, and dark circles lined under his long eyelashes.

Kakyoin gave Jotaro a broad smile, sliding the game into his jacket pocket as he bounced to his feet. He wore a dark blue jacket, with a large stripe of green across the chest, and another stripe of white on his shoulders. Kakyoin adapted to the fashion quickly, and his pale, slightly defined stomach showed in a white crop top. His high waisted pants were cinched snugly around his waist with a gold belt. His white Adidas shoes scuffed against the ground as he got up.

“Sure, JoJo! Where's my helmet?” Kakyoin asked, sliding in the space behind Jotaro. The teenager checked his watch, noticing the time was five pm. Their shift began at five-thirty.

Jotaro took the helmet from his lap, handing it back to Kakyoin over his shoulder. They had matching black helmets with a red stripe down the sides. When Kakyoin clipped it in, his red bangs poking out, Jotaro started up the motorcycle again.

“Hey, JoJo we better get there on time so—WOAH!” Kakyoin wrapped his arms tightly about Jotaro when they took off, a puff of smoke from the screech of the wheels rising up behind them. Kakyoin frowned, pressing his cheek against his back. "You could have warned me!"

Jotaro glanced over his shoulder. Even if he was a serious person, he was still a dumb kid. He grinned lightly. “It's more fun this way, Nori.”

As they left the suburban scene and drove into the city, the noises and lights increased. The roar of cars, the flashes of music, all drowned out Kakyoin's thoughts. Splotches of color danced across Kakyoin's vision as Jotaro sped along, their bodies pressed close to the vehicle. Every time he cranked the engine, it purred beautifully in response. Jotaro fed off the thrill of its speed, and since Kakyoin rode so frequently with Jotaro, so did he. And Jotaro rode fast because he didn't care about the rules.

But he did care about getting a ticket. Kakyoin exhaled softly when they came to a slow halt in front of a bright, red stoplight. For some reason, he was out of breath, but the warmth of his friend was relaxing. Jotaro looked back at him again.

“We're almost there.” He stated quietly, then fired up again. Kakyoin gripped tightly to his jacket. Jotaro was a lot taller than him. He stood about six foot five, while Kakyoin was just a couple inches off of six feet. Jotaro had a wider frame than him as well, dwarfing Kakyoin when they stood next to each other. He did admit he was jealous of Jotaro. He could fight just about anyone and win—and he did fight. Typically he didn't pick the fights, they came to him. Jotaro was like that.

The casino was on the outskirts of the main business center in Los Angeles and in Hollywood. It was as grand as the Joestar name. Joseph Joestar had begun as a realtor, and he adopted money from a family friend who passed away. It left him with the Speedwagon Foundation, who donated mainly to charity in Robert E.O Speedwagon’s name. Speedwagon was a close family friend, who struck rich in America. But he passed away in a heart attack, giving his money to Joseph.

Joseph Joestar could be in the least, to Kakyoin, ‘charming’. During his venture in real estate, he decided to invest in a casino. It took several years, but he owned the casino in 1979. Ten years later, it was still going just as strong. The "Stardust" casino was famous for attracting rich people in Hollywood and tourists.

“Hey, we're here,” Jotaro said, swinging his leg to get over the bike. They were behind the casino, where all of the staff parked. He flipped out the center stand, then pulled off his helmet. Kakyoin followed, setting his helmet down. As he did he noticed something engraved at the base in the back of the helmet. Why hadn't he seen this before? 'Nori', it read. He smiled.

“Did you do this? It's cute. It makes me feel like that's my helmet.” Kakyoin said, observing the scratches in lettering. It may be a bit crude but still worth the effort. Jotaro rolled his eyes and picked up the helmet to settle it in its usual spot, on the motorcycle's handlebars. The staff parking lot was usually gated, so he didn't have much to worry about. And with their nicknames on the helmets, he could find the guy and beat him up.

“Well yeah, 'cause it is your helmet. I don't let anyone else ride with me, Nori.” Jotaro muttered, taking a seat on the sidewalk. “There are ten minutes before we gotta change. I brought some drinks. Have you eaten?”

Kakyoin took a seat next to him, shaking his head lightly. He pulled out the small console again, flipping it open. Jotaro pulled out the bottles of Coke, then the plastic container. Kakyoin peeked around his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s that?” He asked as Jotaro cracked open the tinted green glass bottles, handing one out to Kakyoin. He sipped it, enjoying the refreshing taste of a cool drink.

��Just some meatloaf my mom made. Do you want a slice?” Jotaro asked, offering the still warm food to Kakyoin. Kakyoin shook his head again, though his stomach rumbled in response. Jotaro raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, you love my mom’s cooking.”

His friend sighed, wrapping his arms around his body and slouching forward.

“Don’t feel like eating.” Came a null response from Kakyoin. He was rather skinny, but Jotaro knew he could eat a lot. Jotaro rolled his eyes, picking off a chunk of the meatloaf and holding it out to Kakyoin’s nose. The boy sniffed the food tentatively, but even he couldn’t ignore the delicious smell of Holly’s cooking.

Jotaro’s mouth quirked at the corner when Kakyoin took the piece, nibbling it quietly. He was smiling now, always happy to accept food. Especially from Jotaro’s mom. When Jotaro offered him the rest of the slice, he took it like a feral beast, eating away and washing it down with the Coke. When he was done, he still felt hungry, but it was bearable.

“Wow, I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I did shower, though. A gamer has to at least stay clean!” Kakyoin declared, his bottle clinking to the concrete. Jotaro pulled out a pack of camels and a lighter, his lips curled in a frown.

“How long have your parents been out on the trip?” He asked, placing a cigarette between his teeth. Jotaro flicked the lighter to life, lighting the end of the fag. As he stuffed the lighter away, he heard Kakyoin sigh slowly. Kakyoin looked down at his hands and began to count his slender, pale fingers.

“Maybe a week and a couple of days. So nine days. They go on trips this often anyways. What day is it again?” He asked, his eyes following a curling trail of white smoke as Jotaro exhaled. He took out the cigarette, pinching it between his fingers to think.

“Today is the 27th of July. Why—” Jotaro turned to see Kakyoin tense up, his fingers curling on his knees. His wide mouth formed a frown, his purple eyes shifting to his feet. Realization struck. “Oh. It’s your birthday tomorrow. Sorry, Nori.”

Kakyoin stood up, shuffling his hands in his coat pockets. He began to pace along the edge of the sidewalk, his eyes focused on the path before his feet. He spoke in a quiet, almost defeated voice.

“It’s ok. I mean, they’ve missed my birthday before. It just sucks because it’s my eighteenth birthday. I at least thought they would stay for this. Well, I make my own money. I can buy myself some uh…cupcakes or some shit, maybe. Hey, can I have a smoke?” Jotaro blinked when he asked out of the blue, but the cigarette was plucked from his mouth. Kakyoin pressed it between his lips, inhaling slowly, then exhaling the smoke to the sky. He watched it disappear into the air slowly.

“Hey, I could have lit one for you,” Jotaro grumbled, but his friend only laughed.

“Doesn’t matter, we’ve known each other for five years. We finished high school together, Jotaro. We shared drinks and food before. But hey, I can leave my family, can’t I? Will they even notice I’m gone?” Kakyoin wondered aloud, breathing out more of that white smoke. It glinted with orange in the sunset. Jotaro rolled his eyes.

“Nori. Come on. They just forgot, or their flight was delayed. Gimme the damn cigarette. You’re gonna regret smoking.” Jotaro warned, setting down his Coke bottle. When he stood he was much taller than Kakyoin. The fellow teenager was grinning, a sort of fake smile plastered on his face. He wasn’t happy. Jotaro gritted his teeth. “Nori, are you even fuckin’ listening? Here, after our shift, we can go to a 7-11 and buy you some cheap shit.”

Jotaro flinched when Kakyoin set the cigarette back in his mouth, his face brought close to Jotaro’s. His purple eyes were dark, almost unreadable as he stared at him, his face slacked into a passive state. Jotaro had to remind himself sometimes of how batshit crazy Kakyoin could be. He wasn’t violent in the slightest, but his actions could be considered unorthodox. His ideas were more sinister—Jotaro just punched people. If Kakyoin wanted to genuinely hurt someone, Jotaro didn’t doubt it would be in the worst psychological way possible. He was clever enough to. And even then he couldn’t detach himself from Kakyoin, even with that personality clash.

Kakyoin turned back around, bending down to get his Coke bottle and Watch game. When he stood up, he pocketed the small game. Jotaro observed the Coke bottle bounce between his hands, then lift above his head and with the jerk of an arm, fly across the parking lot. It shattered on impact with the asphalt, green glass soaring in every direction. The cap rolled in a smooth circle before clattering against the ground.

Jotaro watched Kakyoin’s shoulders sag, that hollow look on his face returning to a red shade of guilt along his cheeks. Kakyoin pressed his hand to his eyes, distress visible on his face with how he grit his white teeth. His lips were chapped and red from the number of times he bit them.

“Fucking hell. God, Jotaro, I’m sorry. It’s just…a lot. I don’t know how you deal with your dad always being gone.” Kakyoin muttered, looking over at Jotaro. The slight clench in Jotaro’s jaw made him pause. “Right. You don’t. I’m sorry. Fuck. Aw shit, look at the time.”

Jotaro glanced at his own watch with the comment. They only had a couple of minutes left. He sighed, jerking his thumb over to the backdoor. Inside they could hear the pump of music, maybe even a laugh or two. It was never quiet here, not with an accommodated hotel and several restaurants. The fact they snagged jobs here was phenomenal.

“We’ll talk about this later. C’mon, let’s go, Nori.” Jotaro pats his shoulder, letting his hand linger there. When he turned to walk away, Kakyoin stood there for a moment. In the sunlight, the orange warmth across his face highlighted his tired, dark eyes. He nodded and followed Jotaro, a slight scuff to his step.

The back rooms weren’t as grand as the actual hotel. They were completely fine, but to put it simply, they were boring. The locker room was for them to get changed and put their stuff away, and assigned by gender. There were faculty bathrooms as well, and even showers. What was nice was the break room, where everyone could eat and take a break. It was generously stocked with food, and even had a couch and television.

When they punched in, the pair headed to the locker room. Neither of them really decorated their lockers—they did that at school already, and they were done with high school. Jotaro was already eighteen, having his birthday on February 3rd already. He got used to Sadao Kujo not being there, but his family, Kakyoin, and a couple of other friends from the casino were.

The bang of Kakyoin’s locker door hitting the other lockers arose Jotaro from his thoughts. The other boy had pulled his jacket off, the console tucked inside. Folded on the bench was his work clothes. Kakyoin was a waiter and a golden tag with his first name rested on the pile. As he slipped his crop top over his head, he picked up a white undershirt. Jotaro’s eyes hesitantly lingered on his arms, but he pulled his gaze away.

“You can look. I haven’t tried since they left, by the way. I told you I wouldn’t. None of these are fresh…” Kakyoin’s quiet voice rose up again when he finished tugging his undershirt over his head. Jotaro felt the warmth of a body next to him, and Kakyoin’s arm filled his gaze. Typically, the boy wore sweaters or thin long-sleeved shirts. His left arm was the victim of his pain. Each scar was at the top of his forearm, dark against his light skin. Little red hairs dotted his arm. Jotaro sighed.

“Good. Don’t do that shit again. I don’t want to remember the last time…” He frowned, pushing aside Kakyoin’s arm and standing up. Jotaro typically wore what was considered a traditional Japanese school uniform because of the coat. But under it was a red rock band shirt and a pair of ripped black jeans. Jotaro realized wearing shoes with platforms made him uncomfortably taller, so he stuck with simple black high tops.

“I won’t, I promise. I…I’m really sorry you had to see that.” Kakyoin responded softly, then turned away. They got dressed. Jotaro wore a white collared shirt with a light blue tie under it. Slipped onto this were a blue dress jacket and equal blue pants. A belt with a silver star-shaped buckle kept the pants to his body. His grandfather let him keep his hat.

“Why do they make you wear gloves again?” Jotaro asked his friend, looking into the mirror Kakyoin put inside his locker. Two gold studs glinted from his ears. Kakyoin, who had finished getting ready, slipped on the gloves. He also wore a white collared shirt and black pants, but a shiny green vest over it and a green tie. His belt was gold.

“Just for sanitary reasons. Didn’t they give you gloves too? Aren’t the slot machines unsanitary?” Kakyoin replied with a question, patting his body over for everything. Jotaro shrugged.

“They didn’t fit me.”

“What? Really? You never told me. I guess that makes sense.” Kakyoin pursed his lips, tapping his finger to them. When he was sure he had everything, he closed his locker, pressing his forehead to it. He almost seemed adamant to go out. “Well, time to put on a happy face and suck up to middle-aged white people. I wonder how many times I’ll get called exotic.”

Jotaro chuckled, shutting his locker in return. He held out his arm to Kakyoin, letting himself grin slightly. “Really? Let’s count today. I’m taller, and my eyes are blue, but I don’t look white and I have a Japanese name. I’ll get more.”

Kakyoin grinned, gripping Jotaro’s extended hand, their elbows bumping together. “Yeah but I’m full Japanese and a natural redhead. My eyes are even purple, JoJo. But I’ll be counting—and winning.”

With another quiet laugh between them, the feelings of regret and sadness slowly melted away. Kakyoin’s fingers lingered in the spaces between Jotaro’s, though he could barely feel the warmth of his skin. The smile they shared lasted for a beat too long, but Jotaro pulled away.

“Okay,” He said, his voice dropping to a pressing tone, “Let’s go.”

“Noriaki, was it? You look so tired for such a cute young man, hun.” The woman he was serving said, taking a sip of her margarita. He flashed his white smile, setting down a couple of other drinks to the rest of the people at the table. This woman was in her mid to late forties, and she donned a necklace of pretty pearls that she fondled lovingly.

God, he was sick of this shit already. Suckering up to the guests was annoying enough, but the ones who flirted with him, man or woman, were revolting. Especially since they all found him so ‘exotic.’

“Well, to be frank ma'am…serving customers was so tiring, until I met you, of course. Say, what's your name, young lady?” Kakyoin asked politely, pressing his platter to his chest and taking her hand. He lightly grazed his red lips against the wrinkling skin on the back of her hand, his eyes glimmering with a charming playfulness. The woman put her hand to her mouth to laugh into it, her face turning rosy. Her husband fumed.

“Oh my, you're quite the exotic little flirt, dearie. My name is Margeret. How old are you, honey?” She asked, but Kakyoin pulled back to press his finger to his red lips. If he wasn’t so good at acting, he might have screamed.

“That's my little secret, Miss Margaret, but you’re free to guess. Enjoy your drinks!" Kakyoin winked, turning to snake between the poker tables. The woman watched him go, murmuring something to her husband, who was grumbling quietly about how wives shouldn’t flirt in front of their husbands.

Well, he could certainly catch someone’s eye. With the confident way he walked and the bounce of his vibrant hair, almost anyone he passed by did a double-take. Kakyoin did have a rather feminine face, his cheekbones set high and his lips a light red, which begged the opinion he was a woman. But he was too tall, his voice too deep, and the bags under his eyes showed he didn’t take care of himself.

“Hey, Kakyoin!” Another chipper voice penetrated the chatter of gambling men and women, causing Kakyoin to turn his head. He was greeted with one of the other casino employees, a pit boss named Muhammed Avdol. The man wore a black suit, a pendant of the casino's colorful logo on his exposed front. His gold medallion earrings glinted in from the lights above. His dark hair was smoothed back and pulled into a low ponytail. Wise, amber eyes, and a big smile shone against his darker skin.

"Oh, hi Avdol. How are the tables?" Kakyoin questioned, smiling at him. Avdol crossed his arms, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were focused on a specific silver-haired dealer who was laughing with his table.

"Well, they're…good. But I just wanted to tell you that your break is in five minutes, so you can take the time off now. Its Jotaro's too, so tell him. By the way, how is Jotaro?" Avdol answered, his nails tapping lightly against his forearms. Kakyoin shrugged, tucking back a strand of loose red hair. He looked around, wondering if in this crowd he could even spot his friend.

"We aren't really near each other since you're not allowed to have food and drink at the slot machines, so I wouldn’t know. He is well, though. I'll go tell him, ok?" Kakyoin bowed quickly to Avdol, though his face burned when he did. Avdol was maybe five or six years older than him, and he was used to saying bye to older people that way. Avdol chuckled, though he didn't mind.

"Alright. Happy birthday, by the way, Kakyoin!" Avdol called after Kakyoin as he hurried away, smiling to himself. At least Avdol remembered. It had been a couple of hours now, meaning it was break time. He had a thirty-minute break period from seven-thirty to eight. And then he worked for three more hours.

After setting down his tray in the kitchen, Kakyoin set off to find Jotaro. There were three slot machine rooms, and Jotaro worked at the last one. It wasn’t terribly far from Kakyoin, but he didn’t interact with Jotaro often. Maybe it was for the best. They had a habit of goofing off together, even if they were young adults.

It took awhile for Kakyoin to find him. He knew where Jotaro was stationed, but there were also a lot of people on the slot machines. He weaved through a group of young women, whose eyes followed Kakyoin as he walked away. He was a tall teenager, so it was no wonder he was looked at so often. And he was a Japanese redhead. That was something.

When he found Jotaro, he remembered the bet. A total of twenty men and women had called him exotic or unusual. A man had even told him he liked them special, which only made him want to punch the guy. If there was anyone that wanted to have him, well…

“Jotaro! There you are!” Kakyoin exclaimed, hurrying up to his friend. Jotaro was standing alone, his back against one of the slot machines and arms crossed. He looked down at Kakyoin, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are you here?” He asked sharply, his eyes focused on Kakyoin from below his wide-brimmed hat. Kakyoin rolled his eyes.

“Just look at the time. Break starts in a couple of minutes. Avdol said we could just go now. I think he’s too easy on us, frankly. Just because we’re barely adults. Or, you are at least. Let’s go!” Kakyoin insisted, taking Jotaro’s arm and tugging him away. The older teen sighed but followed after him.

Despite the arguments, Jotaro had been Kakyoin’s first kiss. They had been playing a game with a couple of ‘friends’ once, and their mistake was letting girls join the party. Girls obsessed over Jotaro, and even Kakyoin. They were both popular, but when they were at school they didn’t really talk to anyone but each other. But one of the girls had come up with a game of truth or dare, and Kakyoin was dared to kiss his friend.

Well, he thought, it was typically the girls that kissed each other that was wanted, wasn’t it? He had laughed and shaken his head, explaining how strange that would be, but to Jotaro he guessed not. Because Jotaro had kissed him square on the mouth. It wasn’t a big deal, right? The girls had laughed, the other guys said ew, whatever. This was their sophomore year of high school.

But Kakyoin thought about kissing Jotaro again. And he did. He kissed Jotaro a few times, actually. None of them were accidents, but each time he tried to brush it off by saying he was just feeling lonely. Kakyoin was always lonely. There was no excuse, even if he tried to rub it off as one. But right now he was too annoyed to care, and he was way too attracted to him.

So as Kakyoin pulled his friend into the empty breakroom, he did it again. His hands were gripping the front of Jotaro’s suit jacket, pulling him down so he could slam their lips together. Jotaro tensed up, but that feeling of want after Kakyoin had simply ignored his past actions, was too much to bear. He pulled him closer, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist as his head spun, dizzy with the feeling of warmth. Jotaro reached to slam the door shut, pressing Kakyoin to it as their lips stayed locked.

When his friend pulled away, panting quietly, he wiped his lips. “God, you’re a bad kisser,” Kakyoin muttered sourly, gaining a rile from Jotaro that made him grin. The other teen narrowed his eyes, flicking Kakyoin on the nose. It made the redhead wince and grab his nose, rubbing it lightly.

“Whatever. Why now? Aren’t we just friends?” Jotaro replied in a bitter tone, letting go of Kakyoin to walk to the fridge. The breakroom had an additional kitchen to it. As Jotaro pulled out a couple of cans of soda, he genuinely wondered if Kakyoin was crazy. The guy spent weeks, maybe even months, not kissing Jotaro, and then decided one day he wanted to. It was almost unbearable. Even then, it was for the best. Jotaro was an adult, and Kakyoin was still a teenager. He suddenly regretted kissing him.

Kakyoin laughed, leaning against the wall next to the door. He had his arms crossed, his heels planted firmly to the ground.

“Well not after that, no. And why now? I want to. Do you have a problem with that?” He taunted, tilting his hip out to the side. Jotaro sighed. Ok, maybe he wasn’t crazy, just an asshole sometimes. As much as Jotaro wanted to punch his clever ass, he was still Kakyoin’s friend. Or, well, closer than that. He didn’t know half the time because half of the time Kakyoin was just insane.

Jotaro turned to him, glaring from beneath his hat. He stalked up to Kakyoin, shoving the can in front of his face. Kakyoin tilted his head away, gritting his teeth at the coolness pressed on his cheek. “You’re not eighteen. That’s my problem, Nori. I don’t like it. So you’re just going to have to wait for a few hours.”

Kakyoin scoffed in return. He yanked the can from Jotaro, cracking it open and walking past him. With a heavy sigh, he plopped down on the couch, mansplaining. His heel tapped erratically on the ground as he took a sip of the soda.

“Aren’t we just a happy pair of fags…” The redhead grumbled, letting his eyes dart around the room anywhere but Jotaro. Jotaro rolled his eyes, taking a seat at the small table in the kitchen. They were already a dysfunctional pair, something like romantic feelings would just make it worse. Jotaro set the can down and rubbed his tired eyes. Why did he take this job?

The breakroom door opened, and a laughing pair of men walked in. He recognized those individual laughs; one was loud and boisterous, the other watered down and hearty. He lifted his head to see who it was.

Jean-Pierre Polnareff was even more annoying than Kakyoin. He was a tall Frenchman with a big smile and too blue eyes. His silver hair was shaped like a cylinder, piling high above his head. Two earrings, each shaped like half a broken red heart piece, bounced along with his movements. He wore a black button-up, a silver vest fit snugly over his body. His laugh was infectious, but it ticked Jotaro off.

“Hey, Jotaro!” Polnareff yelled, even though Jotaro was only a few meters away. He exhaled quietly, waving a hand to say hi, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. There was a small ‘tsk’ and the pack was pulled from his hands by Polnareff’s boyfriend, Avdol. Avdol was the pit boss, meaning he controlled everything at the poker tables, or ‘pits’. It was from what Jotaro remembered since he didn’t normally see any of these three.

“Jotaro, what did Mr. Joestar say about smoking indoors?” Avdol tutored, resting a hand upon his hip. From the couch, Kakyoin snickered and sunk into the comfort of the cushions. Jotaro whipped around to flip off the gremlin. He then glanced at Avdol, grumbling quietly to himself.

“Shut up, I’ll smoke outside. Give me those.” Jotaro swiped the camels from Avdol, rising to his feet. At the end of the day, Jotaro was still taller than the rest of them. He wasn’t as muscled as Polnareff, but he was less stout than Avdol. Even then, he wasn’t as lanky as Kakyoin, who was too busy stretching out on the couch like a noodle. Avdol watched him shrug past, dipping his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Kakyoin! Aren’t you two friends? Don’t leave him alone!” Polnareff complained, taking a seat at the table. Avdol walked over to the fridge, taking out two glasses of chilled beer. When he returned to the table, Polnareff’s face lit up and he happily took one. “Mon dieu! Merci, my flame, your kindness is impeccable.”

With a slight chuckle from Avdol, Kakyoin groaned and got up.

“Why don’t you two go bother him?”

“Because I want alone time with Jean, obviously,” Avdol stated, taking a mouthful of beer. Polnareff grinned lightly, taking his partner’s hand and twining their fingers together.

“Is that so? Because I know a good storage room next to the bathrooms—”

The abrupt slam of the door behind Kakyoin made the two flinch, Polnareff looking over his shoulder in a slight surprise as he was interrupted. Well, at least he was gone now. Avdol looked at his boyfriend and elevated an eyebrow.

“Did they fight?”

Kakyoin walked out to see Jotaro kicking rocks, a cigarette between his lips. He stood by the door for a little, watching him rear his leg back and send the stones flying from the force of his shoe. The moon cast a silver light upon Jotaro’s face, the slight red spark of the cigarette butt the only warm light outside. When Jotaro was done, he turned and flinched at the sight of Kakyoin.

“What the fuck—you scared the shit out of me, Nori. Why are you out here?” He questioned, facing away from his companion. Kakyoin watched white smoke billow out around his figure and follow a path into the sky. In the distance, he could hear the roar of the freeway, a sound he would never adjust to.

“They wanted alone time…” He mumbled, crossing his arms and dipping his head down. There was some dejected feeling in his chest, maybe it was from being refused. Or maybe it was because it was cold. “Hey, JoJo? It’s freezing. We should go inside before the break ends.”

Jotaro turned around again, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. He nodded, heading back to the door. He looked down at Kakyoin, then bent forward. Jotaro could hear Kakyoin’s breath catch as he brought his face close. Their lips could almost brush, just barely, if he leaned any closer.

“Midnight.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll kiss you at midnight. You’ll be eighteen then, right? Then it should be fine for me to kiss you.” Jotaro stated, flicking his eyes around Kakyoin’s face to observe the changes in his expression. The other teenager sucked in a soft breath, biting the inside of his cheeks. He nodded, looking away. His cheeks glowed.

“Yeah. Fine.” Kakyoin confirmed, then peeled himself off the wall. He glanced at Jotaro, who was as stone-cold as ever, and his lips mashed together in a weird, nervous smile. Jotaro only dropped the cigarette he was holding to smash it under his heel. He noticed Kakyoin lingering by the door and raised an eyebrow.

“What? It’s not like we’re having sex. It’s just a kiss.” He said, kicking away the squished cigarette. Kakyoin chuckled. God, what a strange smile. It's as if Kakyoin was trying his best to hold back all of his gushy feelings and failing.

“Of ‘course not, JoJo! Unless you want to—”

“Shut up.”

----

Haha I posted this on AO3 around a month ago, and my friend (@arrivederciroque , follow her) suggested I put it here. Hope you enjoyed.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo fanfic #jotakak #jotaro x kakyoin #avdol x polnareff

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give-me-back-my-rhodey · 4 years

Text

Here We Are, Born to be Kings - AUgust Day 9

Title: Here We Are, Born to be Kings

Author: Purple_ducky00

Rating: Teen

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: Rhodey/Tony

Square Filled: G2 Dramatic Proposal

Link: Read on AO3

Summary: Prince James is in love with Lord Tony Stark, a childhood friend. However, the Starks have been disgraced due to embezzlement charges. Can they overcome this?

++++++++++

“Your Highness. Lord Stark is here to see you.” Quentin Beck holds up his nose.

Prince James Rhodes rolls his eyes. It’s not like Beck should judge. He was only hired because his family was in serious debt. Tony is working out of his.

Tony walks in a few minutes later, hair askew. “Wow, Rhodey, your servants hate me. I call it an achievement.”

“They just think it’s ok to judge since their scandals happened long ago enough for people to forget. You don’t deserve this.”

“I probably do.” Tony shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me. Actually, it gives me the chance to ditch my politeness because they already dislike me.”

“Oh for that luxury,” Rhodey sighs. He hates the protocol he must go through. Maybe that’s why he finds Tony so refreshing.

They first met at a football match. Tony was on the other team, and he told the young prince, “We’re not playing any easier because you’re the prince. So, be ready for that.”

Rhodey laughed and started playing. Tony’s team was clearly better, and they defeated Rhodey's team easily. After the game, Tony invited him to grab some lunch. They have been fast friends ever since.

Now, Rhodey is 22 and Tony is 21. Tony’s father died last year, and Tony inherited his estate. After going over the numbers, Tony’s godfather, Obadiah Stane informed him that Howard had been falsifying records and was basically bankrupt.

Dazed and reeling from his parents' sudden death, Tony doesn’t know what to do with this information. He reaches out for help, but as Howard had been stealing money from his peers, everyone refuses to help him. Rhodey offers to bail him out completely. Tony won’t let him. He decides he will work to pay off his father's debts.

Tony was always incredibly smart. His patented inventions were used worldwide. He decides to start his own company, Stark Enterprises, where he builds and sells hi-tech machinery and entertainment devices. As his company quickly grows, he branches out into clean energy and satellites. Not even a full year after starting his company, Tony is very successful. With only Stane and his PA, Pepper Potts, at his right hand, Tony makes sure that he himself takes care of the books. Every entry is painstakingly entered and checked by the big boss himself.

Rhodey is very proud of his friend, but it seems that his family is the only one in the kingdom that is. King Terrance and Queen Roberta love the young man as a son, but they often wonder if he is taking on too much, causing his sleepless nights and unhealthy eating habits. Tony waves them off saying he had had those problems before his parents had died.

Prince James’ PR agent tells him that finding someone to date might be a good look for him. Everyone is looking for news of the royal family, and they will only assume the worst if they don’t hear from each member. Queen Roberta’s cooking classes and bingo games are televised. The king does a podcast twice a month. Jeannie plays tennis professionally. James is the only one without a big public profile, and he prefers that. However, there are some people who think that James is being pushed out of the spotlight or being abused in some kind. To quell any quickly rising rumors, Rhodey agrees to attend sports matches and talk to the press for a few minutes each time. When Tony’s not working his ass off, he often accompanies Tony.

What Rhodey doesn’t tell his PR agent is the reason he doesn’t date. He is hopelessly in love with Tony and admitting that would be bad for a few reasons. 1.) Everyone in the country is against Tony. They would slander his name even more if they thought he had got his “money-grubbing claws” in the prince. 2.) Tony is straight. He had never told Rhodey otherwise, and he has only dated women as far as Rhodey knows. 3.) He doesn’t want any reason to make Tony uncomfortable in the only place he is welcome other than his home. So, he skirts the topic because fake dating is not his idea of fun.

Now, Tony’s here and Rhodey knows he’s giving Tony heart eyes. “So, you’ve got a day off from me. What’s the plan, Rhodey?”

“You pick today. I’m up for anything.” Rhodey trusts that Tony won’t do anything Rhodey can’t.

Tony sits on the chair beside Rhodey. “I need to sit. I don’t think I’ve stopped moving for a week.”

“So, what you’re saying is you need sleep.” Rhodey retorts.

“No, I need to spend time with my Rhodeybear. We never did that Star Wars marathon after Rise of Skywalker came out, did we?” Tony pokes him. “We can order like tons of pizza and greasy foods and bro it out like the old times.”

Stuck in a theatre room with only Tony and highly unhealthy food? “Sounds like a great day. Let’s queue up the movies. I’ll have |Miss Cabe order our food. The usual?” Tony nods and heads off to the theater.

Rhodey pulls out his phone and texts a maid, Bethany Cabe, to place an order for the following: an extra-large bacon pizza, two orders of cheesy curly fries, mozzarella sticks, and onion rings. Rhodey has cases of Tony’s favorite beer, so they did not need to worry about drinks.

As they settle in to watch the movies, Tony tells him, “Wake me up if I fall asleep. I don’t want to miss Episode Six again.”

“Come on Tones, Return of the Jedi isn’t the best.” Rhodey smirks.

Tony glares at him. “It’s my favorite. Leave me alone. Go ahead and like Empire or whatever one you like the best. Geez.”

“You know mine is Episode Three. The tragedy, the pain, the John Williams’ scores? A masterpiece.”

“Anakin deserved better.” Tony mumbles as he eats a bite of pizza. Rhodey sighs. He’s heard this rant many times, and he’ll probably hear it again tonight. Tony really gets into these movies.

Tony falls asleep at the end of A New Hope, his head falling on Rhodey’s shoulder. He looks so exhausted so Rhodey lets him sleep through Empire since Tony thinks it’s overhyped or something. Rhodey likes it. When Return of the Jedi starts, Rhodey nudges Tony awake. “Episode 6? Honeybear, you are an angel.” Tony kisses his cheek.

By the time The Last Jedi comes on, both of the men are sleeping. Jeannette comes in to check on them and snaps a picture of Tony lying on top of Rhodey, both snoring away.

Rhodey wakes up a few hours later and freezes. Tony is sleeping peacefully on him, his head on Rhodey’s chest. He doesn’t dare move in fear of waking Tony up. He slowly reaches for his phone and scrolls through Instagram and other social media apps until Tony wakes up.

Tony wakes up slowly, but when he’s fully awake he jumps up and goes. “I’ve got to get to work!”

“Hey Tony. It’s Sunday. We were going to spend Saturday and Sunday together, right?”

“Oh. Oh. Whew. I thought.” Tony slumps. “Probably hallucinating from all that grease.”

“Maybe we should get a little more sleep in a real bed.” Rhodey suggests. Tony nods, and they walk up to Rhodey’s room. Since they were kids, Tony always slept in Rhodey’s bed with him. They only ever slept and/or cuddled, and Rhodey has a king bed in case either of them needed their own space.

They go to Jeannie’s tennis match then accompany her to an expensive Italian restaurant for dinner. The next morning, there are pictures splashed across the tabloids. Stark trying to get in with the Royal Family? Read more on page 3! One says. The Apple Doesn’t Fall far from the Tree – Another Gold-Digging Stark! Rhodey shakes his head. He was afraid this would happen. He calls his PR agent, Maria Hill.

She answers with a “Now do you see why having a partner would be good?”

“Yes. Do you have any candidates who would be willing to date with no sex and/or strings attached? For public only?”

“You don’t know how many celebrities only hope for that. Let me see which ones I can get. I’ll send you over a packet when I get them.”

When he gets the packet, Rhodey isn’t surprised to find that 75% of them are women. Skipping through them, he tells Maria to reach out to an A-list actress Natasha Romanov. She is a beautiful woman, and they seem to have a lot of the same likes and dislikes. She agrees to meet with Rhodey at a small café near the palace. He introduces himself as Rhodey, then corrects it to “James or Jim” when Romanov gives him an odd look. “I’m sorry. My best friend always calls me Rhodey. It’s just what I expect now. I mean, if you want to call me that in private, it’s fine. Maria thinks it’s better if you call me James or Jim when talking with the press.”

“Tell me about this best friend.” Natasha leans forward. “He sounds like a nice guy.”

Rhodey launches into a detailed description of Tony: his strengths, his flaws, his quirks, etc. When he’s done, she asks, “And you’re dating me because you can’t date him?”

“How did you…?”

“You’re in love with him. Just look at your face. It’s ok. I won’t tell the press. I have almost the same problem. I’m in a poly relationship with a different celebrity couple. However, since Hollywood, even with its sex scandals, still looks down on poly relationships. I need a beard to keep our activity on the downlow. Is that acceptable for you?”

Rhodey nods. “Of course. And you’re right. I love Tony, but I need to keep the press out of his life. His father put him through a lot, and he’s trying to make up for Howard’s sins. He doesn’t need the extra press coverage. Also, I don’t know if he likes me like that. I’ve never seen him date a guy.”

“Well, I’d like to meet him.”

+++++++ Natasha and Tony eventually meet. Tony is happy to meet her, but Rhodey feels that Tony is wearing one of his many masks. |When they kiss goodnight, Natasha tells him, “Rhodey, he likes you.”

“Not that I want to doubt you, but I’m highly doubtful on this one here.”

A few months pass, and Natasha and Prince James are photographed at red carpet events, at sports games, and at galas. Rumors are spreading that Prince James might propose soon. Natasha shows up at the palace for a surprise visit. “Hey, can we talk?” She pulls James from his family dinner.

She tells him how the couple that she is dating are planning on coming out to the press as poly with her because they know some younger people who are receiving hate for their relationships. They want to be allies for such people. And they want her there when they come out. “Can we say we amicably split? I’d love to keep in contact with you.”

“That sounds good.” His phone pings. He has a google alert set up for Tony because the press likes to come up to him for hostile interviews at the most inopportune times. James does his best to save him. “Listen Nat, I will talk to my publicist, but I have to go.”

The press has trapped Tony on the palace driveway. “What do you think of Prince James marrying Ms. Romanov?” One reporter asks.

“I didn’t know they got engaged, but I think they are an excellent match. Well-suited for each other.” Rhodey can see Tony is keeping his press face on but was not ready for the sudden press conference.

Another reporter sneers. “We know you were trying to get a piece of the royalty. Will you try for the princess now that the prince is spoken for?”

“Excuse me?” Tony reels. “What are you talking about?”

“They’ll never have you. You’re just a charity case to them. What do you think of that? Did you think Prince James really liked you? Especially after what your father did?” Another reporter shoves a microphone in his face.

Tony loses his mask. “Do I think Rho- Prince James really liked me? I have known the prince since we were young teenagers. I know he likes me… as a friend. But anything more? No. He never did, never will. I know what my father did; I know what I have to do to fix it. My father and Prince James have no correlation. What are you even trying to say here?” Rhodey can see the pain in Tony’s eyes. They flash when he says that Rhodey will never like him as anything more as a friend.

“Excuse me.” Rhodey steps forward. “Can you step away from him, please?”

The press apologizes and steps away. “Now, I want to say this once more and hopefully never again. Lord Stark is not his father. Lord Stark is paying his father’s investors back as quickly as he can. He started up his business on his own with his trust fund from his maternal grandmother. Howard never saw or added to a penny of that fund. What is the point of hating a man for the sins of his father? Keep rolling. I am talking to the country as a whole. Leave him alone, please. I want to say one more thing. Tony Stark, you are the love of my life. The reason I have not dated is because the only person I have ever loved was you. Yes, Natasha and I dated, but we did to keep other things hidden. I’m sure she will let you know at some point. It’s not my job. Tony, again, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and perhaps rule with you. I do not have a ring yet because I had not planned to propose to you in front of live TV today, yet here I am. Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“You’re serious?” Tony gasps.

“Completely.”

“Then Rhodey, my Honeybear, my Platypus, my Sourpatch, I will marry you in a heartbeat.” Tony smiles widely, and Rhodey kisses him deeply, in front of the cameras. As they turn to the palace, Tony turns back to the cameras, lifts his middle finger, and says, “Fuck you” whilst smiling sweetly.

++++++ The country is so shocked at Prince James’ dramatic proposal. People wonder if Tony is a good fit for the prince due to his blatant disregard for protocol. Princess Jeannie posts the picture she took of them sleeping in the theatre room on Instagram, the caption “I knew it.” She broke the internet with the most likes on an Instagram post.

Tony goes through his numbers and his father’s numbers again to make sure everyone is paid off. While looking at his father’s records again, he notices some discrepancies from Obadiah’s report. The truth comes out – Howard had not done anything wrong; it was Obadiah. He falsified documents, records, and even bills to give him much more money. Obadiah is fired and imprisoned. Tony’s name is cleared. Anthony Stark marries Prince James Rhodes a happy man.

#ironhusbands #royalty au #tony stark doesn't give a care #ironhusbands bingo 2020 #ironhusbands bingo #au_gust_2020 #i write!

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gershwinn · 5 years

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GLAMOUR’s November coverstar Lili Reinhart: A powerful interview on anxiety, depression, therapy and body image.

“Depression has affected me in so many ways. It’s something that never goes away,” Lili Reinhart confides to me over the phone. She’s in Vancouver, I’m in LA, but the distance doesn’t stop us having one of the most open and honest interviews of my career.

Many interviews with Lili seek to get the lowdown on her relationship with her Riverdale co-star, Cole Sprouse, who she’s been officially dating since 2018. Indeed, after much talk of a break-up over the summer, Lili notably uploaded a series of photobooth PDA shots with Cole, leading to an internet meltdown and more than seven million Instagram likes. But it’s the conversation around her other, more long-term relationship – with anxiety and depression – that she wants to talk about today.

“I’ve experienced depression and anxiety. Not constantly, but I’m still experiencing it,” she shares. “I have spells of time where I feel completely unmotivated, I don’t want to do anything and I question myself. I don’t know how to handle stress very well. I find that talking about it and sharing my experience with other people, and reminding myself that I’m not alone has been incredibly therapeutic.” At 23 years old, she has found an open and honest voice on social media, sharing everything from body image to her acne with her 20.8 million Instagram followers. It’s an outlet that has no doubt empowered others, but has also helped herself -no wonder Lili was just named as one of Time Magazine's 100.

Speaking openly is something Lili believes strongly in, since attending therapy in her teens. “When I first started going to therapy, it was out of my incredible social anxiety. I was having trouble going to school every day. I was crying before school. I would fake being sick so my mom would let me stay home. When you hear the term ‘crippling anxiety’, that’s what I had when I was 14 years old.

“Seeing the therapist allowed me to be understood. The goal for me has been to always leave therapy feeling a couple of inches taller. Feeling like I’ve alleviated myself of a problem by learning how to solve it. Not everything has a straight answer – it’s not just going to take one session – but I start to think, ‘I’ve grown, I’ve done this, I’ve figured this out, now can I go off into the world and try to put what I’ve learned into action.’ That’s how I look at therapy. I am not crazy, and I am not problematic. I am just a human who’s feeling something in a different way than some other people would.”

Having battled with anxiety for nearly a decade and actively seeking help for it, I wonder what Lili’s relationship with anxiety is like now? “Frustrating. It’s something that I’ve accepted, but I don’t understand it,” she sighs.

“Sometimes I wake up and I’m like, ‘OK, I have anxiety today.’ I’m not really sure why, I’m more irritable than usual. It’s like an undercurrent that lives within me, and certain social situations can obviously trigger my anxiety. I work a lot of hours, sometimes I don’t get a lot of sleep, and that makes me anxious. I’ve found a way to talk myself down when I’m getting super anxious.”

The small act of writing a list to help rationalise her big issues has helped. “I will take a pen to paper and write out a list of everything that I’m feeling anxious about, then when I step back and look at my list of things I’m like, ‘That’s really not that much to be worried about and there’s really no need for it to be causing you this much turmoil.’ That’s how I’ve learned to put things into perspective.”

When Lili isn’t hustling to deal with her mental health, she’s negotiating the greasy pole of Hollywood, which is apt given her recent big screen role in strip club drama Hustlers, alongside Jennifer Lopez. Jenny from the Block herself has taught Lili a lot about the power of hustling. “Jennifer Lopez has said about herself, ‘I’m always the hardest worker in the room and I never stop,’” says Lili. “I admire that and that’s what I’ve been doing. At least this past year has been trying to take advantage of where I am in my life. I don’t have kids, I’m young, in my 20s – I can take the time and energy to put into my career.”

Lili is booked and busy. Aside from Riverdale, she has just landed a coveted CoverGirl beauty campaign, finished her first producing role on the Amazon movie Chemical Hearts, and recently put the final touches to her book of poetry, Swimming Lessons, both of which will drop in 2020.

She says poetry has helped her to understand herself. “It’s therapeutic,” she adds. “I would rather feel too much, than feel nothing at all. Poetry gives me that feeling that my feelings are normal, justified. That other people have felt heartache and grief. I know that the things I’ve written are what 99% of human beings have felt, when they read my book.”

It’s this knowledge of struggle that meant playing strip club worker Annabelle in Hustlers really spoke to her. “I love how Annabelle doesn’t have her sh*t together, because that’s very real. There’s been a large amount of times in my life – like when I first moved to LA, away from my parents’ house and living on my own for the first time, I almost felt like a baby bird jumping out of a nest. You’re just told to fly, without being taught how to fly. You can learn how to balance your cheque book in school, learn how to pay taxes, but no one teaches you how to live on your own, how to take care of yourself, and how to be an adult. It’s very much a trial by fire.”

Meanwhile, alongside her rise to fame, Lili was managing her well documented issue with body dysmorphia – something Lili attributes to acne and to social media, which both contributed to it, but also helped her to manage it by connecting her to a like-minded community of people.

“Even today, I see myself in the mirror and think, this doesn’t look the way the world tells me it should. I don’t have a cinched, minuscule waist. I do have curves, I have cellulite, my arms aren't stick thin,” she says. “This is my body and we’re told that it should fit certain proportions. There’s such a disgusting problem right now with people photoshopping their bodies. Obviously, there’s a reason why people do it, they’re insecure, they feel like they’re not good enough, and that’s incredibly sad. When I see someone who’s authentically themselves, like models Charli Howard or Ashley Graham, who promote healthy, real body images, I think that is so refreshing and important. Our community values need to reflect that.”

She adds: “Charli’s messaging talks to me on social media. She makes me feel like my body doesn’t need to fit these impossible standards, and she’s a model, my body will never look like that. It just won’t, and 90% of women’s bodies will never look like that, but we are still only used to seeing one body on the runway and in magazines. It’s an incredibly stupid and confusing thing for that to be shoved down young men and women’s throats. Being told: ‘This is what beautiful is.’ And it’s often unachievable to regular people.”

Lili has equally been very vocal about airbrushing – having once taken a magazine to task after they photoshopped her waist. “I would love to see a world where people who are already thin don’t need to photoshop their waist even more, to make young girls, like me, when I was 14 or 16 years old go, ‘I thought I was skinny, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I need to have an eating disorder to make my body look like that.’ Life is not a FaceTune app.” Can we get an amen up in here?

One body insecurity Lili has been conditioned into dealing with and won’t tolerate any longer is “this idea of cellulite”, as she angrily put it. “It really pisses me off. It’s this weird thing where people think that it’s unnatural or a symbol of being fat. It’s so f*cked up because cellulite is just a part of the human body. It’s just genetic, it’s like having freckles on your face. It’s something that is there, you’re born with it, and it’s become this disgusting thing. We’re told: ‘We need to laser this away, no one wants to see that.’ There's nothing more beautiful than when I see stretch marks, or cellulite, and people’s real skin.”

Taking a new healthy mindset into the gym has also helped Lili overcome her body insecurities. “I’ve started to go to the gym out of the want to feel strong. I’m not going into the gym thinking, ‘I want to be skinny, or I need to lose 10 pounds, or I need to not have cellulite, or my arms need to be thinner.’ There’s so much power in feeling strong and physically healthy. It’s badass to be strong.”

Having overcome so many self-confidence issues while simultaneously rising to fame, I wonder what message she would want to give to that insecure girl who was sleeping on a mattress only three years ago. Without hesitating, Lili replies, “You’ve done good! But also, the struggle that you’re going through right now only makes your success so much more profound. There are people who have been given fame and fortune on a silver platter, but I don’t think there’s anything inspirational about those people.

“I was from a small town in Ohio, from a middle-class family, I knew no one in the acting business. I didn’t have a baton passed down to me from an actor in my family. I did it on my own from sheer passion and knowing that this is what I was good at, and this is what I wanted to do. There truly is a lot of power in struggle and survival, and that’s what makes you a strong person,” she finishes, defiantly.

People don’t come much stronger or more honest than Lili Reinhart. As we hang up the phone so she can fly to LA – the place where, she says, “I want to settle down and have a home” – I only hope she finds a happy ever after with her own mind.

Source: Glamour

#I know this is long okay #BUT #I really LOVED this entire interview #So GOOD #just from the topics to her eloquent as always views to everything!#so yeah #y'all getting long lmao #only cut a little bit of side info stuff #lr #lr glamour

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harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

Complicit // 1

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, me writing Niall’s accent

WC: 6.7k

-----------

“So… are we talking like, full on whips and chains and nipple clamps and shit?”

Shawn’s eyebrows are lost somewhere in his hairline, but at least it’s more life in his eyes than Niall’s seen in a while. Niall tries not to go pink at Shawn’s assumption, but he’s still not that good at talking about all this.

“No, no, mate. I mean, some of ‘em do that. I think, I mean, based on what you pay for it, they’ll do whatever you want.”

Both guys go quiet and squirm a little uncomfortably. They’re sitting in Shawn’s living room in his $3 million bachelor pad, furnished very tastefully and expensively, talking about hiring sex workers. It doesn’t look or feel great.

Niall sighs. “It’s not like Pretty Woman. These girls don’t even charge by the hour. They’re escorts, not hookers. They’re educated and articulate and the kind o’ woman you could have on your arm at any industry schmoozing event and no one would bat an eye. That’s the whole point.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. He’s heard of agencies like this, obviously. He’s been around the industry long enough to know guys like him, and producers and managers and agents and other high-powered men, aren’t driving down Hollywood Boulevard looking for $200 an hour streetwalkers. But that doesn’t mean Shawn’s ever remotely considered utilizing a service like this.

“But… they’re dominatrixes?”

Niall tips his head back and forth, squinting as he looks for the words. “They’re dommes. ‘S a bit different. La Splendeur is the name o’ the agency. They hire women that boss you around a bit, in some form or an udder. I mean, have you ever tried that?”

Shawn flushes a little and scrolls through his relatively short sexual history. “... sort of? Like, she’s on top?”

Niall sighs and closes his eyes with a wise smile. He has much to learn.

“‘S just a suggestion. La Splendeur is the best of the best. Super discreet. Beautiful. Interesting girls. And it’s better stress relief than I’ve found anywhere else.”

“Including golf?” Shawn quips.

Niall barks a laugh. “Including golf. I’ll leave you the number and you can decide. I really like Karina, but it might be weird knowin’ we’ve both had our hands in that cookie jar. Up to you, mate. Totally up to you.”

Shawn has never been so anxious about a phone call in his life. He goes through his phone and turns off location services first, suddenly paranoid that they could somehow track his device and be able to broadcast this for the whole internet. Plus, he’s busy with pre-festival run promo, so he’s forced to make the call in the middle of the day.

He goes to great lengths not to be heard, very publicly excusing himself to the bathroom and then running off to a quiet conference room down a hallway that was deserted. He shuts himself inside, stands in the corner by the window and dials, hands shaking.

The voice on the phone is smooth and easy, probably used to dealing with nervous wrecks like him all the time. She explains how it works -- the rates, the wire transfer, the security, the booking. Selecting his date comes down to an emailed photo portfolio, password encrypted and accompanied by a very stern warning not to share it with anyone, even potential referrals. Shawn supposes that makes sense -- they don’t want these photos getting passed around without the safety net of knowing that in return, the agency has the client’s private email address.

He’s twitchy all day before he can get home to his laptop, kick off his Saint Laurent chelsea boots, and pick his date.

‘Date’ is how he’s trying to think about it. Niall encouraged that, too. Shawn texted to let him know that he’d made the call (less than 24 hours after Niall had made the suggestion). Niall was over the moon, reminding him that it’s supposed to be fun and he shouldn’t feel weird about calling. It’s like a guaranteed great first date, just… a really expensive one.

Shawn opens the email to a PDF of professional and truly stunning photos. Each girl has a short bio and a series of shots that really don’t feel at all like advertisement for sex. He takes note of Karina, Niall’s favorite, a short and curvy Filipino girl who apparently excels at tennis, loves to sail and has an MBA. Her photos are gorgeous -- her on a beach wearing a tasteful cover-up and a flower in her hair with just enough cleavage to catch a guy’s attention, standing beside a tall window in a snug dress and heels, and grinning on a tennis court, a cute candid.

In total, there are about 25 women on La Splendeur’s roster of sorts, more than Shawn expected. They’re incredibly diverse in terms of race, shape and size, all accomplished and learned and surprisingly non-threatening, given the niche service they provide. Only one had him scrolling back up to look at her again and again.

Penny, 26, has a master’s degree in criminal psychology, is fluent in four languages, is an excellent skier and has a German shepherd named Pamela. Her photos show her lying barefoot in a cocktail dress on a lounge chair with a look in her eyes that says she already knows everything about you, looking over her shoulder to laugh at the camera during golden hour from above the Hollywood sign, and his personal favorite, a black and white close up headshot. She doesn’t look to be wearing a stitch of makeup. Her hair is wet and slung over and around her face like it’s in the wind. Her lips are parted, her eyes are dark, and Shawn has to meet her immediately.

Penny. Penny. Penny.

God, he can’t fucking wait. He’s so keyed up he actually grins at the change he gets from a barista at Commissary because she gives him back two cents.

His instructions are clear and concise. He is to get himself to the Chateau Marmont and head into the bar, where he will give his name. Someone will escort him up to his suite for the evening, where he will be greeted by security, who will confirm the receipt of the wire transfer and wait until his date arrives. Check out time is 11:30am the next morning.

The big guy who lets him into the room seems friendly enough, but Shawn is sure his every move is being watched by a hawk. Even with rich and famous clientele, agencies can’t afford to take risks with their employees. At least he doesn’t feel like a nervous kid being scrutinized by his prom date’s dad while he waits. In fact, the guy, Gus, he says, sees him shaking like a leaf and murmurs that the mini bar is fully stocked. He excuses himself to wait outside.

Shawn pours himself a glass of bourbon on the rocks and looks around. He’s never been in a room at the Chateau. It’s a bit odd -- almost too comfortable to be a hotel. There’s a full kitchen and vintage furniture that looks like it belongs in a warm, comfortable apartment rather than the stoic uniformity of a hotel.

He’s rattling ice in his glass anxiously and staring out at the lights of West Hollywood when the door opens. He’s just distracted enough not to stand immediately when she walks in, and he realizes a little late that it’s rude, so he scrambles to be upright and almost drops his fucking crystal glass.

She’s smiling warmly at him like they’re old family friends. It’s not clinical or superficial or forced. It’s a real smile, and it’s so beautiful. She’s so beautiful.

I mean, wow.

She’s medium height, 5’7” probably, but taller in her spiky heels. Her hair is lighter than he saw in the pictures, probably from the summer sun. Her olive skin is gorgeously bronzed. Her brown eyes are darker than his, like espresso. Her eyes are wide set and framed by well tamed thick brows. Her lips are full and European. Italian, he’d guess.

So why is her name Penny?

Shawn almost rolls his eyes at himself. He doesn’t know why that’s sticking in his head now, of all moments. Gus gives her a nod and shuts the door. As she approaches, graceful and quiet even in her heels, Shawn blinks, staring at the door.

“Is… uh, does he stand outside the whole time?”

Penny smiles again and cocks her head, shaking it. “No, no. He’s my driver, not my guard dog.”

Shawn gives a weak chuckle and it sounds pathetic to his own ears. At the mention of dogs, his mind springs to Pamela the German shepherd. He wonders if she’s real or a line in a bio to make Penny sound quirky and likeable. He watches her lift her sheath of thick hair over one shoulder and reach for the glass of bourbon in his hand to take a sip. He decides he doesn’t care.

“Please, have a seat,” she suggests, gesturing to the sofa. He blinks too much and plunks himself down, clearing his throat.

She lowers herself beside him, facing him with her arm stretched along the back of the couch toward him. She folds her ankles and for a second Shawn thinks about the scene in The Princess Diaries when Mia falls out of her chair trying to pull the same move. Penny emulates Queen Clarisse instead. Shawn tenses against his own will. He can feel himself shutting down.

Penny takes another sip of his drink and eyes him carefully from over the glass. She’s been doing this long enough to know when a guy is locking up in front of her eyes.

It’s like Operation. You have to move slow and careful, or you get zapped. He could be the kind of guy that would respond well to her dropping her hand to his knee while they talk, or it could send him springing across the room. Penny follows her instincts and instead flicks her heels until her multi-thousand dollar shoes clunk onto the hardwood below her. She curls up her feet beside her and tilts her head to rest against her fist.

“How long are you in LA for?”

It’s one of her favorite safe questions. It offers potential to discuss work if he wants to go there, but is vague enough to offer him an out if he wants it.

“Uh, for another couple weeks. I’ve got some meetings and events and stuff and then I think I’m bouncing around. New York, maybe. I don’t know my schedule as well as I probably should.”

Well, at least he’s talking. She hands him back his glass with a wink.

“Schedule schmedule.”

Shawn smiles. It’s tentative still, but sweet. She made the right move by taking off a layer of the untouchable glamour.

It’s her move again. She considers the board, eyes her options, keeps her fingers delicate on the tweezers.

“I listened to your music this week.”

It’s a risky shot, like going for the funny bone. She already knows, can tell by the way he carries himself, that he’s here to work something out of his system. This appointment isn’t about satisfying a rakish curiosity or an ego thing, or worse, a sex addiction. He needs something from her -- comfort, release. If it’s his music that’s driving him to need her, mentioning it off the bat like this could do some damage to the trust she’s working to build. She holds her breath.

He lights up.

“Oh, cool. All of it?”

She wiggles her naturally shaped eyebrows. “Right down to “Something Big.””

Shawn winces playfully and laughs. It sounds real this time. “Yikes.”

“No, it was cute,” she insists, her fingers stretching out along the back of the couch to nudge at his very solid arm. He goes a little pink.

“Do you have a favorite?”

Shawn doesn’t mean to put her on the spot. For all he knows, she just googled his albums to have something to say. But he asks anyway, despite himself, because he’d like to know which, if any, of his songs caught the attention of a woman like her.

“I like “Particular Taste.” It came on in my car the other day while I was on Mulholland. It’s a damn good car song.”

Shawn feels himself get a little smug. “Thanks. I like that one, too.”

They’re watching each other quietly, feeling the tension build. Penny wets her lips and leans in, getting ready to speak again.

“So how long have you been doing this?” Shawn blurts. His eyes go a little comically wide before he course corrects and inspects his nearly empty glass.

Penny is startled, but tucks some hair behind her ear and regroups. “Almost five years.”

“Wow. That’s… wow.”

Penny shares a wise sort of smile that reminds Shawn uncomfortably of Emily. “It’s nice work if you can get it.”

“Right,” Shawn croaks, glancing away.

Penny feels the gentle sting of having nicked the board just a bit with her tweezers. She reaches out the arm against the couch and lets her fingertips skim his lush curls. His chest shudders and his eyes dart toward the window. He raises his shaky hand with the empty glass to his lips for something to do.

Penny drops her other hand to his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey,” she murmurs, all honey, “Would you like me to refill that?”

Shawn looks down at his drink and shakes his head. “N-no, that’s ok.”

Penny swipes her tongue over the front of her teeth and decides to toss her playbook aside the way she does on rare occasions.

She scoots in, cups his cheek in her hand and focuses his eyes on hers. His jaw twitches under her fingers.

“What do you want, Shawn?”

He blinks quickly, startled that she said something, confronted him with the actual situation they’re dealing with.

“I’m… I don’t know. Can… can we just talk for a while?”

She eases back a little, drops her hands in her lap. “Of course. About anything in particular?”

Shawn bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “How did you get into… escorting?”

He emphasizes the last word as a question, unsure if he’s using the right terminology. She nods reassuringly.

“Well, around the time I was graduating from college, I met a girl at a party who recruited me, for lack of a better term. She told me about the money, the tips, the security, the gifts. Sounded pretty good to a 20-year-old without a post-grad plan.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift. “You graduated college at 20?”

She shrugs. “I skipped the 4th grade and AP tested out of most of my freshman year.”

He’s impressed. And intimidated. He fights the instinct to curl him up into himself. He doesn’t want to feel small beside her. He wants to feel impressive, too.

“That’s pretty cool. Do you do this full time?”

Penny laughs. It’s light and airy and maybe just a little… restrained somehow.

“Yes. You’re very curious about my line of work.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be-- I mean, I just… Sorry--”

She stops him from stumbling all over himself by planting a hand around his wrist.

“It’s ok. I’m just not used to being asked. Most people… they don’t want to be reminded that they’re paying for it.”

As soon as she says it, she hears the mistake in her words. Fucking amateur bullshit, she scolds herself, watching him cave in. His eyes drop to his feet and his chest rises and falls a little harder.

“Hey,” she prompts gently, keeping her hands off this time for fear of sending him flying, “Don’t shut down on me.”

He looks back at her blankly. “Don’t…?”

She presses her tongue out to smooth along her lower lip. “I’m here to help make you feel good, Shawn. I’m excellent at knowing how best to do that, but I think I’m gonna need an assist from you this time. So just… don’t think, don’t act, don’t react, just feel it. And tell me what you want.”

“I want to cuddle.”

He says it so suddenly he surprises himself. Without missing a beat, Penny nods, formulating a new gameplan in her head. She bites her lip and reaches for his twitchy hand in his lap.

“Ok. I can do that. I just want to get comfy first, ok?”

Before he can wonder out loud what she’s going to change into and how she got clothes in here without him seeing, she leans in and presses her lips to his delicately. His frazzled brain lights up like the 4th of July, sending thoughts flying like out of control fireworks. He kisses back after a second or two, firm but chaste. He murmurs subtly into her mouth.

Small victories.

When Penny walks out of the bathroom five minutes later, her makeup is wiped clean, leaving her face a little shiny and flushed. She’s in touchably soft clingy leggings and a Lululemon hoodie, looking like an athleisure ad. She’s still barefoot, her white painted toes winking up at him before she drops onto the bed and waves him over. He makes to climb up next to her and she hisses, gesturing to him with a wave of her hand.

“I took off my armor, Mendes, you need to do the same.”

Shawn swallows and smiles shyly. He kicks off his shoes, balls up his socks and drops his jeans into a heap by the bed. In his taut navy t-shirt and custom printed Calvin Klein boxer briefs, he settles in beside her, mirroring her position on his side.

“Ok, cards on the table, I think. Bad breakup? Tour anxiety? Voice struggles?”

Shawn’s chest rises and falls heavily with a deep, unrestrained sigh. There’s no reason to hide from her. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t have expectations. She’s a safe space.

He stares down at the curve of her hip as he speaks. He tells the story from what he thinks is the beginning -- Emily’s first mention of the idea of the PR relationship with Bex. He explains the strategy and the trajectory, that they expect to be in and out of the public eye throughout the summer festival run and will not-so-quietly break up just around the time his album releases in the fall and Bex heads out on tour for her brand new EP.

Penny nods along while he speaks, pursing her lips and shifting slightly closer to him. She’s not working consciously, not timing the seconds between movements like she sometimes does, like she did even just on the couch a few minutes ago. But as he talks, she feels the tension start to drip off him and release to the point where she has no hesitation in slipping her fingers into the tight, short curls at the back of his neck while she runs her toes up and down the back of his calf.

He seems comforted by being able to touch her, too. He rests a hand in the dip of her waist and it wanders slightly up her ribcage and upper arm, twisting his long pale fingers in her hair. He watches it curl and bend for him. He can’t remember the last time he played with a woman’s hair like this.

When his cursory explanation ends, he closes his eyes and rests his head on his folded arm. Penny’s fingers tug gently at the nape of his neck for his attention.

“Sounds like a lot.”

Shawn’s chest stutters. His eyes well. He turns his face into the pillow, embarrassed by the hair trigger of his emotional reaction.

“S-sorry, I just… fuck. I don’t know why I’m--”

He cuts himself off with a final unintended whimper of defeat, a nice bookend on a chunk of shame he can hang onto and revisit in his head when he needs it the least.

His eyes are snapped shut. The tears on his lashes start to wick into the expensive fabric of the pillowcase beneath his head. He’s waiting for her -- he doesn’t know what for. He’s waiting for her to leave him there to cry it out, get back in her expensive shoes and clack away from his misery. He’s waiting for her to shove a hand down his boxers and give him what she thinks he paid for. He’s waiting for her to hate him like he hates himself right now.

Slowly, timidly, he opens his eyes. She’s there, blinking at him, face as placid and reassuring as he’s seen since she got here. She doesn’t look ready to run. She doesn’t look at him like the pitiful creature he’s acting like. She slides her long fingers up further to cradle the back of his head and make his wet eyes flutter.

“Would you like to hear what I think?”

Shawn pauses, then nods.

Penny wets her lips. “I think maybe you’re not very good at compartmentalizing yet.”

Shawn frowns slightly and starts turning circles on her lower back with the pad of his thumb, nodding at her to continue.

“This relationship stunt doesn’t define you as a man or as an artist. It’s publicity, the same way appearing on GMA is publicity. It’s not as honest, maybe. I can see that’s part of what bothers you. I can understand that. But this is a means to an end. You’re not using Bex; she’s aware of what she’s involved in. She benefits, too.

“So instead of letting this become something that bothers you in quiet moments, makes you question what this makes you look like or even who this means you’re becoming, you need to accept that this is a part of your job and it’s not who you are.”

Shawn blinks dumbly. He’s been trying to convince himself of this for a while, but he’s never come close to sounding as soothing and confident as she does right now. This woman listened to him yammer for seven minutes about his stupid pop star problems without rolling her eyes or waving off his concerns.

Thank god he’s paying her to be here or he swears he’d already be half in love with her.

Shawn closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against the pillow. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes you may.”

He opens his eyes and watches her, settled by the distinct sensation that she’s allowing him to proceed as he’s comfortable. At the same time, he’s deliciously unnerved by something lurking behind her eyes, like she’s deciding how long to give him before she takes over. He hopes it won’t be long.

Shawn cups a large palm around her cheek, marveling at the silkiness of her hair in his fingers as he leans in, brushing his lips over hers. He hears himself murmur gently at the slick warmth of her lip balm. It tastes like rose water and coconut.

He eases back after a moment, his head spinning.

“Jesus Christ, that’s incredible.”

Her long, dark lashes lift and lower lazily, casting shadows on her cheeks in the lamplight. “Kissing me?”

He shakes his head, marveling with a gentle groan, “Yes. Why does kissing you feel like the best thing that’s happened to me in months?”

“It’s simple. It’s stable. It’s honest.”

She says it like she didn’t have to think about it. She’s unwavering and direct and he knows she’s probably really good at all this because of who she is and what she does but he doesn’t think he cares right now if it’s not genuine. It feels too fucking good.

He smirks. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

Her full lips spread in a lazy grin. “Yes.”

“Thank god,” Shawn mutters just before pressing his lips back to hers.

Shawn has no idea what to expect. It’s been what’s had him on a knife’s edge since he booked this appointment. His curiosity has been his friend while zoning out in meetings, standing in security lines at airports, stripped down to his boxers in front of a team of people while trying on show clothes. An experience like this to look forward to was an intense enough distraction from his anxiety.

And now, lying in a bed next to her with her perfect tongue tangled with his and her soft hands roaming his body hungrily, but with purpose, his mind races -- what will this be like? What will this feel like? Is it really as good as Niall says?

She pulls back suddenly, her lips leaving his with a wet smack. His hips rut against her stomach in response.

“Time for you to stop thinking,” she rasps. Shawn squirms at the fucked-out quality of her voice. Is it at all possible that he’s got her as worked up as she has him? He’s already throbbing for her in his briefs, which he knows she can feel against her thigh.

He brushes his nose against hers a little desperately, silently begging for more. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell she’s smiling when she cups his cheek and rolls their bodies so she’s lying slotted up against him in every way that makes him crazy.

“You like kissing, huh?” she breathes. It’s not teasing, not really. It’s curious and gentle. He can feel the way she takes note of the things that have him panting a little harder, pressing into her more insistently. It makes him feel important and a little bashful. He nods anyway, lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good kisser, Shawn,” she sighs into his mouth, dropping her weight into her hips and sliding her hands up his chest to rest over his pecs.

If her tongue wasn’t teasing his lower lip, he’d be grinning like an asshole.

His hands are growing frantic. They can’t decide where they like better -- her supernaturally soft hair, coursing up and down her spine, or resting on the toned swell of her ass. So they wander, getting grabbier as they go, until she pulls away again with a long lick of her wet lips.

“What are you going to do to me?”

He hears himself ask it over the rushing of blood in his ears. He can tell by the way she smiles down at him that he looks horrified at his own question. She pushes some curls off his forehead and looks him over, slowly, carefully, admiringly. Shawn is on fire beneath her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

As if in slow motion, she tucks a hand under his neck. The motion fixes his manic, desperate eyes on hers. His breathing slows. His heart drops into his gut. His jaw tightens.

“Anything I want.”

Her voice is hot and sharp. Shawn’s face screws up like his body is physically overwhelmed by the idea of all the pleasure she can offer him. His eyes snap shut and the groan he releases is inhumanly loud.

When he can force himself to look back up at her, Penny has straddled his hips and works on lifting her hoodie up and over a black bra that he’s sure only a woman like Penny could wear… like that.

Her breasts are full and soft, as evenly tanned as the rest of her, from what he can see, which is not enough. He gets a flash of a vision of her lying on the chaise on the balcony outside their Chateau suite without a stitch on her, sipping a mimosa and smiling when she catches him admiring her. He grunts and reaches for her, needing to take and touch and taste.

His hands are pinned beside his head before he gets far. He gasps. His eyes blur with her quick movement until they can refocus and realize she’s holding him down, her breasts a breath away from his mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

“Listen to me.”

It’s clear and stable and calm like a beacon in a storm. Shawn juts his chin up defiantly, licking his lips.

“You don’t touch me until I tell you to. If you do, you don’t touch me at all, not for the rest of the night. Do you understand?”

Shawn’s fingers curl into fists beside his head. His body aches, straining for the control she’s sapping from him. He’s not used to willingly giving it up, not anywhere, not for anyone.

“Take a deep breath,” she advises, feeling him struggle with the release of it, of the reins he’s held for so long his hands are fucking raw. His whole body feels raw looking up at her.

He does as he’s told. Her eyes are nearly black in the low light. He feels his shoulders soften and the squeezing of his heart start to slow, just a bit.

“You’re gonna have to walk me through this,” he grunts, shaking his head, “I-- I’m… for so…”

“I know,” she soothes, not to placate him, not to baby him. She wants him to know she understands. He feels it in the way she looks at him, the way she massages her fingers around his wrists.

He’s ok. He’s safe. He’s safe with her. It hits him all at once like a brick over the head. He swallows.

“I’m here to take care of you. I want to make you feel as good as I possibly can.”

He nods again.

She moves slowly, gracefully, like a lithe and dangerous predator. She pushes her leggings down her hips, sliding them off her feet until they’re forgotten in a pool at the end of the bed. His shirt and boxers join them, leaving his cock aching and leaking from the tip on his lower belly. He lies beside her, as instructed, with his arms over his head, grasping a pillow in his needy fingers.

She just… touches him.

He thought at first she was just going for a slow tease, would wrap her warm fingers around his cock after thirty seconds or so to get him somewhere, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan. He’s flat beside her, legs slightly spread, tensing and relaxing with each brush of her fingertips.

Before long, he realizes what she’s doing and it stuns him into holding his breath for so long that the gasp he releases when he remembers he needs oxygen makes her jump a little.

She’s studying him. She wants to know every inch of his body, wants to see how every subtle touch affects him. She is reading him like an instruction manual. Her eyes flicker, narrowing and darting and taking it all in. She can see every goosebump, every subtle lift of his hips, every intake of breath, every clench of muscle and little smile when she finds somewhere ticklish. By the time her scan seems complete, he’s panting, shaking, vibrating with need, and he knows she knows his body better than he does now.

And she gets to decide what to do with it.

From beside him, keeping her eyes on his, Penny reaches back and unclasps her architecturally stunning bra, draws the straps down her arms, and drops it off the side of the bed, revealing what Shawn had suspected to be the most perfect pair of breasts of all time. He was right.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he hisses, pressing his head back into the pillow to keep from lunging at her stiff brown nipples. He’s rewarded for his compliment with a sweeping hand down his stomach, her fingertips just skimming the line of pubic hair that reaches down from his navel. His hips roll up in response.

Penny turns. Shawn watches her hair swing low against her back like a pendulum, entranced before he realizes she’s standing and bending over to shed her black lace cheeky panties. He remains still, his head turned toward her as she bares herself, until she turns back and faces him and he chokes on air.

He’s seen beautiful women naked. Plenty of them. Really, he has. He knows somewhere in his addled mind that it’s the performance of it that has him so fucking high strung that he almost coughs up a lung when he sees Penny without clothes, that he really, legitimately feels like he’s going to have a heart attack just from looking at her.

But he’s never been so goddamn hard in his life.

She takes a step toward the bed and lifts her leg to climb up next to him. He realizes with a jolt as he watches her legs separate that she’s soaking fucking wet. The insides of her thighs are slick. Shawn presses his heels into the bed to ground himself.

You can’t fake that.

Without a word, she positions herself on top of him, her strong legs on either side of his hips, her hands sunken between pillows by his head. Their eyes are locked. Shawn’s cock shifts against his stomach impatiently. Penny lifts a corner of her soft wet mouth. Shawn chokes on a whimpering sound he’s never heard himself make before. She drops her hips and he hears himself gasp.

“Oh!” he cries, throwing his head back as his hips thrust up to meet her. He vaguely feels the warmth of her lips on his chest, but he’s busy trying to fight back his orgasm that, with just the pressure, warmth and wetness of her pussy resting against his length, is roaring up in his abdomen.

“J-jesus… fuck…” he hisses, rolling his head to the side, sure if he looks down at her pretty face he’ll be coming like a freight train before she even has the chance to really do anything.

“You’ve never felt anything like this before,” she tells him smoothly. It doesn’t smack of arrogance or condescension. It’s simple fact. They both know it.

He shakes his head no, panting breath into the pillowcase.

“You never knew it could be like this.”

Again, he’s agreeing.

“I want you to remember this, what this feels like with me in your lap, wet for you, showing you how this can feel with me. I want you to look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me, Shawn.”

Another purring whimper escapes his throat. Slowly, he peels his sweaty cheek from the pillow and blinks down at her. There’s something feral that’s taken the place of what he saw in her before -- the white painted toes, the cozy hoodie, the gentle giggles. This part he sees now is going to swallow him whole. He’s going to let it, with pleasure.

Penny rolls her hips from left to right, swinging back again easily, with the rhythm of a dancer. The sound their bodies make is absolutely obscene. He grits his teeth through a hiss, watching her eyes flutter.

“You feel… incredible,” she pants slightly, establishing a slow, aching pace that makes Shawn’s brows draw together and his knuckles whiten against the pillow.

“I don’t know how long I can--”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you when you can come.”

She says it easily, like he’s in no danger of losing his fucking mind and spurting all over her stomach in probably only a few seconds. He realizes with a shiver it’s because she knows, for certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that he won’t come until she tells him.

“You’re so nice and hard for me, fuck. Touching you got me so wet. Can you hear us?”

Shawn is quaking, clinging to sanity, as her slick folds hug his cock, grinding harder with each pass of her hips. He doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore. He has no idea what could come out of his mouth at this point. He just nods eagerly, begging his eyes to stay open so he can obey her.

“Can you feel the way the head of your cock is rubbing my clit?” she nearly squeaks, sounding genuinely as close to orgasm as he is. His eyes go wide. His stupid mouth opens.

“Are-- are you gonna come like this?”

Holding her quick rocking pace, Penny springs up, snapping at his lower lip like a snake. He freezes, whining, and very nearly loses control of his tensed arms.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” she moans, and it’s the only warning he gets before her whole body goes tight atop him and she gushes all over his cock and thighs.

“Holy fuck, holy fucking shit,” Shawn gasps, rolling his hips to cradle her as she stutters through it, mewling and humming against his chest. He watches her eyes squeeze shut and open again slowly, looking up at him like she forgot he was there.

In the stillness, the room is so quiet, it’s loud. Shawn feels every cell in his body screaming, begging.

Penny licks her lips and shifts, getting ready to bear down. “You can come now.”

His hips take off at a sprint with her permission. She keeps up easily, using her weight in her knees to drive herself back against his every stroke, egged on by the wet slap of their skin and the glazed look in his eyes.

“Penny, I’m coming,” he warns her, because he feels like he should and he doesn’t know quite why other than he thinks she craves her permission for everything now. She squeezes her swollen lower lip under her row of straight white teeth and watches curiously, doubling down on the stroking of her hips.

“Shit! Oh fuck!” Shawn screams, hips roiling and rioting beneath hers as he comes hard, spurting against her swollen folds and between their clenching stomachs. His vision goes white. He can’t hear himself if he keeps talking, or yelling, and he can’t hear her if she’s trying to soothe him through it. It’s several seconds before he crash lands to feel her peeling her body off his and sees her shifting back over his thighs.

He doesn’t have time, or the mental capacity, to speak before she reaches between her legs and swipes a hand through her wetness and his. Her palm is slick, glistening in the low light. She reaches for his tired cock and gives it a squeeze.

“I want one more.”

His eyes bulge. “What?”

“One more, Shawn. Come again for me. You’ve been waiting for this for a week, I know you have it in you. Now fuck my fist and come for me.”

Shawn’s jaw drops as she pulses her fingers again. Despite everything he thought he knew about his own body, he feels himself already starting to harden in her palm again. He groans loudly, pulls his shaky legs so his feet plant below him, and starts lifting his hips.

“Ohmygod. Oh… oh my god,” he pants, eyes wild as they fix on her in disbelief. How did she know? How does she have this much power over him already? How does he make sure she never gives it back?

“Yes,” she praises, looking ravenous as his hips pick up speed and he grows fully hard in the clench of her fist, “Fuck, you’re so fucking good for me.”

His head tips back. He mewls a noise of overwhelmed pleasure and fucks his hips up even harder.

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna fucking come again!” he shouts, pupils blowing out as he comes up on his forearms and bucks his entire lower body, quaking as he hurtles toward a second orgasm.

Penny lurches forward, swallowing the scream she knows is building in his chest with a searing kiss. His abdomen clenches as he bursts for her again, drenching her fist and his belly. It’s shorter and rockier than the first orgasm, sending him falling back to the bed totally limp and sated in only a few seconds. Penny mercifully releases him from her fist, using her other hand to smooth through his hair.

She’s concerned for a minute that she broke him. He just keeps staring at her, blinking too slowly, not speaking. She presses little kisses over his face, partially to encourage him, and maybe a little bit to distract herself from trying to make him come again because holy shit, she loved that.

“Never done that before,” he mumbles finally, his eyes sliding shut, like he’s finally secure enough to close them and believe she’ll still be sitting there when he does.

She nods, though he can’t see her. On her own wiggly legs, she manages to stand and get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. When she returns to wipe him off, he’s blinking at her curiously.

“Can I touch you now?”

She grins. “Yes you may.”

Shawn smiles gently. His eyes slide shut. He lifts a heavy palm to her thigh, rubbing her soft bronzed skin in a tender gesture of thanks.

Penny tosses the cloth aside and folds up against him, manipulating his arm around her as she lies against his chest.

“Wanna see you again,” he whispers. She bobs her head.

“Anytime you want.”

He presses his face into her hair, inhaling expensive salon shampoo and exhaling at least three months’ worth of stress. He’s asleep in under ten minutes. She decides to let him rest and behaves herself enough not to wake him up for round two (or three, technically) for at least an hour.

----------

This is gonna be a wild one, guys. If you’re so inclined, the link to buy me a Ko-fi is in my bio!

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