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zepskies · 8 months ago

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Lost on You - Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Here we go, the end of the ride. 💚

Song Inspo: “Lost on You” by Cubaneros

Word Count: 1.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, but mostly fluff, and an ending…

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Epilogue: As Good As It Gets

Arthur was still lying low in Belize, but he was able to do you one last favor. A wire of money allowed you, John, and Ben to travel across the Atlantic—to Medellin, Colombia. There Ben took you to one of his old vacation houses.

It was a large, beautiful Spanish style house. Best of all, it was in a remote location on the cusp of a mountainside, complete with a scenic waterfall. It was like something out of Vought Geographic. You needed to take a helicopter just to get to this place.

It was the best security Ben could think of.

He had plans to renovate and beef up the surveillance of the property itself. Then you would be able to have your brother Chris and his family visit. You hadn't been able to see him or your nephew before leaving the U.S. again, but you had called Chris from the airport to let him know you were alive and well, and that you would see him soon, when it was safe.

But before all of that, there was one very important item of business you and Ben were handling together in the living room, while John was outside swimming laps in the pool.

A phone dock rested on the coffee table. The call was on speaker.

“That child represents a multi-million-dollar investment,” said Stan Edgar.

“You should’ve thought about that before you shipped us off to motherfucking Siberia,” Ben snapped. “Hell, before you decided to steal my goddamn DNA. But guess fucking what. He’s my son. He belongs with me.”

You gave him a look of pride, resting a hand on his thigh in support. He glanced at you and grabbed your hand.

“You’re not leaving me with much recourse here, Soldier Boy,” Stan replied.

Ben leaned forward. He took that as a very real threat.

“If you come after me or my family, I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen,” he said. “First off, you’re going to lose. Fucking miserably. Next, I’m going to make my way back States’ side, and I’m coming for you, Stan. You and your whole fucking world, down to the family dog. Then I’ll burn Vought to the ground and piss on whatever’s left. And then the whole world can know that I’m alive, and just who lied to them for a damn decade.”

You were uneasy with that threat, but you knew he meant it.

The other line was silent.

“Or, you can unfreeze my bank accounts and put them back in my name,” said Ben. “I’ll do you the giant fucking favor of staying where I’m at, and I never have to hear from any of you cocksuckers again.”

After another long moment, an exhale of breath came from the speaker.

“You’ll have access to your accounts by end of business today,” Stan said.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Ben said, his tone infused with both anger and sarcasm.

He hung up the phone with a mild slam, and he leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his mouth and beard. You smiled and managed to get up off the comfy couch, just to settle yourself into a more comfortable seat across his lap. Ben welcomed you with a supportive hand molding to your lower back, and another running up your thigh. You cupped his cheek.

“Look at my man, all protective and clever at negotiations,” you teased. You leaned in to kiss the other cheek. Ben smiled reluctantly.

“Yeah, well, I think he got the idea.”

“Mhmm,” you agreed. Your lips moved over his, and you treated him with progressively dirtier kisses. When you slowly pulled away to speak, your voice was husky, laden with sensuous teasing. “Now we can go on a proper honeymoon.”

Ben chuckled against your lips. “Already want to spend my money, huh?”

“It’s our money now,” you playfully retorted. (But you were serious.)

He scoffed, though he thumbed at the shining ring on your finger. You two got married the very night you set foot in Colombia.

“Besides, if you can’t spoil your pregnant wife, who can you spoil?” you said, with a sly smile.

Ben eyed you wryly. “So that’s why you said yes.”

You framed his face in your hands. Now you were serious.

“I would’ve married you even if you never had another dime to your name,” you said. “Even if we had to spend the rest of our lives in hiding.”

When he searched your eyes, he eventually found whatever he was looking for. He guided you down for a real kiss, hungry and claiming. His hands began to move down your body with purpose.

A whoosh of air preceded a pair of smallish feet landing in front of the couch. You and Ben parted, seeing John standing there all wet from the pool.

“Why’re there so many brown people here?” he asked. “I can see them in the town down there.”

You and Ben shared a perturbed look. You were the first to recover, turning to John.

“Well, we’re in South America. You’re going to see people of all shades and skin tones, and different races too.”

John seemed to process that information for a few seconds. Then he shrugged.

“Okay,” he said. “Hey, can we have hot dogs for dinner?”

“It might be hard to get that here, but uh, I’ll have someone look into it,” Ben said. “Hey, grab a towel before you get the rug all wet.”

The man was getting impatient at being interrupted, you sensed. You soothed a hand over his chest.

John zipped out in flight, and came back with a fuzzy towel to wrap himself in.

“This place is so big!” he said, bouncing on his feet. His excited smile was endearing. “And all the rooms are big. And all of them have a TV. Can we watch another movie tonight?”

You smiled indulgently. “Sure. Which one do you want to watch next?”

“Jurassic Park! The dinosaurs look so real, like they’re really eating people. Ooh, no, let’s watch Scarface. The cover looked cool.”

Ben was ready to agree to Scarface, but you vetoed.

“Uh, no, we’re not doing Scarface just yet. Jurassic Park is okay,” you said. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll have lunch.”

John nodded. He half ran, half flew up the stairs to his room. You shook your head with a sigh.

“That kid’s going to need all kinds of therapy,” you said.

Ben shot you a stern look. “My son doesn’t need a fucking shrink. He’s not crazy.”

“Well, he’s not normal either,” you argued. “Who knows how else they brainwashed him. For his whole life, ten years. It’s different even from what you and I went through…and I’m still not okay.”

Ben’s tight expression faded somewhat. He swept a thumb across your cheek.

“But are you happy here?” he said.

“What?” you asked. Not because you didn’t understand him, but because his question genuinely surprised you, and even more when he doubled down, staring into your eyes with a weight in his own.

“Are you?” he pressed. “Is this really what you want?”

You read the conflict in him, the flash of uncertainty behind his otherwise stoic face. It was something you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. You smiled, as tears welled up in your eyes.

“It’s exactly what I want,” you said.

He gradually smiled back, albeit more reserved. “All right.”

“And you?” you prodded. “Are you okay with…you know, early retirement?”

Ben let out a long breath. “Look, I started with Vought in 1944. That’s 50 years since. A goddamn lifetime,” he said. “I’ve made more money than the fucking Beatles. Drugs, booze, women, fame. Everyone in the world knew my name. I had everything…and a lotta jack squat.”

He moved his hand over yours, resting on your stomach. It took him a moment, but he dropped another confession.

“Before you, I would’ve always had nothing.”

Emotion tightened in your throat. Tears slipped down your cheeks, no matter how quickly you swept them away.

“So you’re saying thank you,” you said cheekily. He smirked.

“I suppose I am,” he said, staring into your eyes. “Thank you.”

Your emotions continued to bubble over as you read the sincerity in his. You leaned in to steal a kiss, but first, you whispered near his lips.

“You stole my line.”

AN: and there we have it! Another rocky road to a happy ending. 🥹

I hope you enjoyed the 80s and 90s vibes, the canon divergences, the character development, and all the twists! I'd love to know what you think. 💚

I'm also working on another shorter Soldier Boy x POC!Reader series called Unravel Me, but I don't have a release date on that one yet. It's still in development. 😉 Until then, I hope you had fun with this series. In some ways, it was even more of a challenge than Break Me Down!

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phie04 · 9 months ago

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Hey can I do a request about ChrisMD please?

With the prompt ¹¹⁵⁾ “you’re drunk, honey.”

why of course you can :)

ChrisMD x female!reader

pure drunk Chris fluff enjoy x

Chris was clingy when he was drunk. Like, insanely clingy. He’d always insist that he wasn’t, drunk or clingy for that matter, but when you’d point out the fact that he was currently cuddling you upside down on the sofa whilst being force fed sips of water.

For you, it was a quiet Saturday night, staying in to work on your Master’s thesis. My clever girl, Chris would always say, encircling you in his arms as he hugs you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head, his eyes trying to make sense of the paragraphs and paragraphs of words that you had carefully crafted. You’d smile, glancing up at him, reminding him that you hadn’t graduated yet. He’d roll his eyes, kiss the top of your head, and murmur, of course you’re going to graduate you idiot.

Though, for Chris, it was another interesting night out with George and the two Arthur’s.

“Baby…” he coos, comically creeping into the apartment. You chuckle softly, pushing yourself off of the couch, your work long abandoned for the night, swapping it for a warm fuzzy blanket and your favourite autumnal movie.

“Evening darling.” You murmur, chuckling to yourself as Chris wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. You can’t help but smile at the rumble of contentment that erupted from him as he gently swung you from side to side. The gentle scratch of his beard tickled your temple as he lovingly nuzzled his head against yours. As much as that man acted like a golden retriever, damn did he act like a cat sometimes.

“You…me…the bedroom…” Chris mumbles, grabbing your hands gently to lead you across your flat. You giggle, shaking your head softly. “You’re drunk, honey.” You murmur, pressing a tender kiss to his nose.

“You missed-“ He whines, pouting softly as you allow him to lead you into the bedroom. “And you need to sleep.” You say quietly, helping pull his shirt off over his head. Disappearing into the bathroom to wash your face, Chris whines and materialises behind you, his hands slowly snaking from your waist to pull you tightly against his chest, his head resting on your shoulder.

“You okay baby?”

Chris nods sleepily, pressing gentle kisses along your jawline and cheekbone. “I love you.” He mumbles, his hands caressing lazy circles on your stomach.

“I love you too honey.” You reply, you hand going up to cup his jaw, letting your hand run over the stubble of his beard, your thumb gently brushing his cheekbone.

Chris eventually manages to pull you back into the bedroom, drunkenly grinning at you, his visor still tainted with the rose tinted drunk glasses. He stands at the foot of your bed, chuckling to himself as he watches you curl up in the warm sheets. “You comfy doll?”

You nod, letting the sheets pool around you as he climbs onto the bed, slowly crawling towards you. You grin, taking his head in your hands as you kiss him gently, allowing him to pull your body flush to his, the warmth of his chest seeping through your thin pyjamas.

“Love you so much…” He mumbles softly, groaning as your hands thread through his hair, playing and toying with the curls.

“Love you more.” You hum quietly, pressing a kiss to Chris’ forehead.

“My clever girl.” He murmurs, pulling you closer under the covers. His hands settled on your back, tracing patterns in the silk of your vest top. You smile softly, nuzzling into him as you both slip into sleep.

#chris dixon #chris md #youtube #football #chrismd #fluff #request #reqs open

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invisibleicewands · 10 months ago

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‘I wanted to be seen as the greatest actor of all time. Then I realised that was nonsense’: Michael Sheen on pride, parenting and paying it forward

He’s the feted star who cracked Hollywood, but it was only when he swapped LA for his home town in Wales that he was able to do his most meaningful work yet

By Simon Hattenstone

Michael Sheen has been fabulous in so many TV dramas and movies, it’s hard to know where to start. But perhaps his most memorable appearance came earlier this year in a TV show that didn’t require him to do any acting at all. The Assembly was a Q&A session in which he took questions from a group of young neurodiverse people. Sheen didn’t have a clue what would be asked, and no subject was off limits. It made for life-affirming telly. The 55-year-old Welsh actor was so natural, warm and encouraging as he answered a series of nosy, surprising and inspired questions. I watched it thinking what a brilliant community worker Sheen would be. And, in a way, that’s what he has become in recent years.

“The Assembly’s had more response than anything else I’ve ever done,” Sheen tells me. “Almost every day someone will come up to me and mention it, particularly people who have children with autism. They say it was just so lovely to see something where the interviewers were empowered. I had a fantastic time.” He replays some of his favourite moments: the young man Leo who took an age to start talking, and then delivered the most beautifully phrased question about the influence of Dylan Thomas on Sheen’s life; the woman who asked what it was like to be married to a woman only five years older than his daughter; and the question that came at the end: “What’s your name, again?” He smiles: “And Harry with the trilby on. Just the nicest man ever.” You came across as an incredibly nice man, too, I say. “Aw well, it’s hard not to be when you’re among all those amazing people, innit.”

Today we meet in London, ostensibly to talk about A Very Royal Scandal, a gripping mini-series about Prince Andrew’s infamous Newsnight interview with Emily Maitlis – the disastrous attempt to defend his honour that sealed his fall from grace. But we don’t get to the show till it’s almost going home time. Sheen’s too busy discussing all the other stuff that matters to him, away from business.

Six years ago, he swapped life in Los Angeles for Port Talbot, the steel town where he grew up. These days he calls himself a not-for-profit actor – a term he happily admits he’s invented. “It means that I try to use as much of the money I earn as I can to go towards developing projects and supporting various things. Having had some experiences of not-for-profit organisations and social enterprises, I realised that’s what I want to do with my business. And my business is me.” He grins. There was a suggestion that he might stop acting in order to do good works, but he says that never made sense; only by getting decent gigs can he earn money to put back into the community.

It has to be said he’s got the air of a not-for-profit actor today – scruffy black top, sloppy black pants, black trainers. With a bird’s-nest beard and a thicket of greying curls, he looks nicely crumpled. But give him a shave and a trim, allow him a flash of that electric smile, and he could still pass as a thirtysomething superstar.

Sheen is best known for transforming into household names – Brian Clough in The Damned United; Chris Tarrant in Quiz; David Frost in Frost/Nixon; a trio of films as Tony Blair (The Deal, The Queen, and The Special Relationship); Kenneth Williams in Fantabulosa. His Prince Andrew is compelling; by turns petulant, pathetic, monstrous and poignant. He has a gift for inhabiting famous people – voice, body, soul, the works. He’s equally adept as a regular character actor – the dapper angel Aziraphale in Good Omens, pale and pinched as spurned suitor William Boldwood in the 2015 film of Far From the Madding Crowd, the tortured father of a daughter with muscular dystrophy in last year’s BBC drama Best Interests. He even plays a winning version of himself alongside David Tennant (and their respective partners Anna Lundberg and Georgia Tennant) in the lockdown hit TV series Staged.

But the work that changed his life was his 2011 epic three-day reimagining of The Passion on the streets of Port Talbot, involving more than 1,000 people from the local community. It was years in the making, and during that time he decided he would leave Los Angeles to come home. Initially, home just meant Britain, probably London. But the longer he spent with his people, the more it became apparent to him that home could only mean one thing – returning to Port Talbot, and helping the disadvantaged town in whatever way he could.

He admits that for many years he didn’t have a clue about the reality of life in Port Talbot. He had always lived in one bubble or another. His parents were hardly flush, but they had decent jobs – his mother was a secretary, his father a personnel manager at British Steel, and both were active in amateur dramatics. Sheen was academically gifted (he considered studying English at Oxford University before winning a place at Rada), a talented footballer (he had trials with Cardiff and Swansea) and an exceptional young actor. Then came the bubble of Rada and London, followed by the bubble of LA.

It was only when he started to work on The Passion that he began to understand his home town. One day he was rehearsing with a group in a community hall when he was approached by a woman. “She told me she was the mother of this boy who’d been in my class at school called Nigel. When I was 11, he fell off a cliff in an accident and died. It was the first time I’d known someone to die. She said, ‘I’ve started up a grief counselling group here. I have a little bit of money from the council because there is no grief counselling in this area.’” She’d had no counselling when Nigel died, nor in the 31 years since. “And all these years later, she’d set up a little grief counselling thing with a bit of money, so that was extraordinary to hear.” Next time he returned he discovered that the group no longer existed because of council cuts.

Every time he went back he discovered something new. He met a group that supported young carers. Sheen doesn’t try to disguise how ignorant he was. “I said, ‘All right, what are young carers?’ And they said, ‘They’re children who are supporting a family member.’ And I’m like, ‘OK, this is a profession, they get paid, right?’ And I was told, ‘No, they don’t get paid and our little organisation gives them a bit of respite – once a week we take them bowling or to the cinema.’ I went bowling with them one night and there were eight-year-old kids looking after their mother and bringing up the younger kids. This one organisation was trying to take these kids bowling one night a week, and then that went. No funding for that, either. That kind of stuff was shocking.”

As a child, SHEEN says he was oblivious to struggle because he was so driven by his own dreams. First, it was football. By his mid-teens it was acting. West Glamorgan Youth Theatre, which he calls “one of the best youth theatres in the world”, was on his doorstep. “The miners’ strike was on when I was 15 in Port Talbot and I wasn’t really aware of it at the time. That’s how blinkered I was, because I was so obsessed by acting at that point.” Acting wasn’t regarded as a lofty fantasy in Port Talbot as it may have been in many working-class communities. After all, the town had produced Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins.

In his late teens, heading off for Rada, Sheen feared he would be surrounded by giant talents who would dwarf his. When he discovered that wasn’t the case, he suffered delusions of grandeur. “I wanted to be recognised as the greatest actor in the world,” he says bluntly. In the second year, the students did their first public production: Oedipus Rex. “I thought, well obviously I’ll be cast as Oedipus, then we’ll perform Oedipus to the public and when the world sees me for the first time I’ll be carried shoulder-high through the streets of London and hailed as the greatest actor of all time.” I look for an ironic wink or nod, but none is forthcoming.

Sure enough, he was cast in the lead role. “We did our first public production and I thought I was brilliant.” But nothing changed. It didn’t bring him instant acclaim. By the third night, he could barely get through the performance.

Were you a bit of a cock back then, I ask. He shakes his head. “No, I was having a breakdown. I was crying most of the time. I just fell apart. I spoke to the principal of Rada and I said, ‘I can’t continue at drama school, I have to leave.’ And he said just take some time off, which I did, and two or three weeks later I slowly came back and then completely changed the way I acted.”

Until then he believed acting was just about what he did. “I thought you just worked out how to say the lines as cleverly as you could; it had nothing to do with responding to other people or being in the moment. It was showing off, essentially. And there’s a ceiling to where you can get with that. That breakdown I had was because I’d reached the ceiling and didn’t know how to go any further. That’s why I fell apart.”

He gradually put himself and his technique back together. Was he left with the same ambition? “No. The idea of being considered the best actor of all time becomes nonsense.” In 1991, Sheen left Rada early, because he’d been offered a job he couldn’t turn down. He made his professional debut opposite Vanessa Redgrave in a West End production of Martin Sherman’s When She Danced. Theatre was Sheen’s first love, and his rise was meteoric. From the off, he was cast as the lead in the classics (Romeo and Juliet, Peer Gynt, Henry V, The Seagull) and the 20th-century masterpieces (Norman in The Dresser, Salieri and Mozart in Amadeus, Jimmy Porter in Look Back In Anger).

Sheen was doing exceptionally well when he and his then partner Kate Beckinsale moved to LA for her work in the early 2000s. She was four years younger than him, and already a movie star. Their daughter Lily, now an actor, was a toddler. He assumed that his transition to stardom in LA would be as seamless as it had been in Britain. But it wasn’t. His theatrical acclaim counted for nothing. In 2003, he and Beckinsale split up, but he stayed in LA to be close to Lily.

The first few years, he says, were so lonely and dispiriting. “I found myself living in Los Angeles, there to be with my daughter but just seeing her once a week. I had no career there – it was essentially like starting again. I had no friends and spent a lot of time on my own. It was tough. Slowly I realised how it was affecting me.” In what way? “I remember coming out of an audition for Alien vs Predator, to play a tech geek computer guy with five lines and really caring about it, and then thinking: ‘I can be playing fucking Hamlet at home, what am I doing, what’s this all about?’” He says he’d been so lucky – always working, never having to audition, getting the prize jobs. And suddenly in LA he was an outsider; a nobody.

He and Beckinsale are often cited as role models for joint parenting by ex-couples. In 2016, Beckinsale, Lily and Sheen staged a hilarious photo for James Corden’s The Late, Late Show, recreating the moment of giving birth 17 years earlier. Beckinsale reclines on a kitchen table with Lily sitting between her legs, as an alarmed-looking Sheen stands to the side. Have they always got on well since splitting up? “We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re very important in each other’s lives. It would be really sad if we weren’t – like cutting off a whole part of your life. I’m not saying it doesn’t have its challenges, and I’m sure it’s been harder for her than for me.” Why? “Because … ” He pauses and smiles. “Because I’m more of a twat!” In what way? Another smile. “I’m not going to tell you that, am I?”

Sheen’s break in America came when he was spotted by a casting director who told him he would be perfect for a new project. Ironically, it was to play former British prime minister Tony Blair in a British TV drama called The Deal, directed by British film-maker Stephen Frears and shot in Britain. The Deal led to Frears’s The Queen, about Elizabeth II’s frigid response to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales leading to a crisis for the monarchy. Again he played Blair, this time riding to the rescue of the royals. The movie was nominated for six Oscars (Helen Mirren won best actress) and he never struggled in America again.

The longer he lived in LA, however, the more rooted he felt to Port Talbot. And the further he travelled, around the world or just in Britain, the better he understood how disadvantaged it was. “If you’re in Port Talbot one day and then the next you’re in a little town in Oxfordshire where David Cameron is the MP, it’s fairly obvious there are very different setups there. And that was connected to a political awakening.” He started to read up on Welsh history. In 2017, he returned his OBE because he thought it would be hypocritical to hold on to an honour celebrating empire when he was giving a Raymond Williams lecture on the “tortured history” of the relationship between Wales and the British state.

He began to reassess his past. “I became more aware of the opportunity I’d had in an area where there wasn’t much opportunity. At a certain point you go, Oh, people are having to volunteer to make that youth theatre happen that I’m a product of.” You’d taken it for granted? “Completely. I was happy to think everything I was doing was because of my own talent and I was making my own opportunities, and as I got older I thought maybe that’s not the whole story.”

In 2016, the long-running American TV series Masters of Sex, in which Sheen starred as the pioneering sex researcher William Masters, came to an end. Lily was now 17 and preparing for college. “I suddenly thought, Oh, I can go home now.” And six years ago he finally did – to Baglan, a village adjoining Port Talbot. Since then he has been involved in loads of community projects.

He mentions a few in passing, but he doesn’t tell me he sold his two homes (one in America, the other in Wales) to ensure the 2019 Homeless World Cup went ahead as planned in Cardiff. Nor does he mention that a couple of years ago he started Mab Gwalia (translating to “Son of Wales”), which proudly labels itself a “resistance movement”. On its website, it states: “Mab Gwalia believes that opportunity should not only be available to those who can afford it. The ambition is to build a movement that makes change.” Its projects have supported homeless people, veterans, preschool children on the autism spectrum, kids in care, victims of high-cost credit, and local journalism, which is a particular passion. “In the early 1970s in Port Talbot, there was something like 12 different newspapers. There are none now. None. Communities don’t feel represented, don’t feel their voice is heard and don’t know if the information they’re getting about what’s going on in the community is correct or not. Those are terrifying things, and without local journalism that’s what happens.”

Perhaps surprisingly, he’s even found time for the day job. Earlier this year, he played Nye Bevan in Tim Pryce’s new play about the founding father of the NHS. He also made his directing debut with The Way, a dystopian, and prophetic, three-part TV drama about the closure of the Port Talbot steelworks that results in local riots spreading across the country. How does he feel about the rioting that has scarred the country in recent weeks? “I feel the same way I think most people do. It was awful and terrifying. I worry about how much a hard-right agenda that has been growing for a long time has moved further and further into the mainstream and has clearly got more connected. It’s frightening.” Does he think the new Labour government can deliver the positive change it promises? “Pppfft.”He exhales heavily. “More optimistic than the Conservatives being in power.” Who did he vote for? “That’s my God-given right to remain a secret, isn’t it? It wasn’t the Tories!”

I ask if he’s in favour of Welsh independence. “I don’t know how I feel about it one way or the other, but I would like there to be an open discussion about everything that entails. The problem is when it gets shut down and you don’t get to talk about it.”

Would he ever go into politics? He looks appalled at the idea. “Oh God, no. No! I’d beawful.”Why?“Because I don’t want to say what other people are telling me to say if I don’t agree with it. Look at all those people who voted against the two-child benefit cap and had the whip taken away from them. That’s bollocks. People say I should go into politics because I’m passionate about things and I speak my mind. But then you get into politics and you’re not allowed to do that any more. I’ve got far more of a platform as myself. I can say what I want to say.”

Fair enough. I’ve got another idea. A couple of years ago he gave an inspired motivational speech for the Wales football team before the 2022 men’s World Cup, on the TV show A League of Their Own. Would he take the job as Wales manager if offered it? He looks just as horrified as the idea of a life in politics. “No!” Why not? “Because it’s a completely different profession. You need to know about football. I played football when I was younger, but I wouldn’t have a clue. Wouldn’t. Have. A. Clue. Just because you can make a speech doesn’t mean you’d be any good at that sort of stuff.” He says he was embarrassed about the speech initially, but now feels proud of it. “Schools get in touch and say, ‘We’ve been studying it with the class.’ I put hidden things in. There are rabbit holes you can go down.” He quotes the line, “You sons of Speed” and tells me that’s a reference to the idolised former manager and player Gary Speed who took his life in 2011. You can hear the emotion in his voice.

I’ve been waiting for Sheen to mention the new TV drama about Prince Andrew. Most actors direct you to the project they’re promoting as soon as you sit down with them. Let’s talk about the new show, I eventually say.

This is already the second drama about the Andrew interview. Did he know that Scoop, which came out earlier this year, was already in the works? “Yes, I knew before I agreed to do this.” Was it a race to see which would get out first? “There was no race, no. We always knew ours would come out after.” What would he say to people who think it’s pointless watching another film on the same subject? “Ours is a three-part story, so it’s able to breathe a lot more. There’s a lot more to it. In our story, Andrew and Emily are the main characters whereas they were very much the supporting ones in the other one.”

Did it change his opinion of Andrew? “No. It showed the dangers of being in a bubble, having talked about being in a bubble myself! The dangers of privilege.” He talks with sensitivity about Andrew’s downfall. “The thing that really struck me was when Andrew came back from the Falklands there was no one more revered, in a way. I didn’t realise his job was to fly helicopters to draw enemy fire away from the ships. I couldn’t believe they would put a royal in that position, so he was genuinely courageous. He was good-looking, a prince, and had everything going for him. Since then everything has just gone down and down and down.” He’s had so little control over his life, Sheen says. Take his relationships. “He was told he couldn’t be with [American actor] Koo Stark any more because of the controversy. He was essentially told he had to divorce Sarah Ferguson because the royal family, particularly Philip allegedly, was concerned that she would bring the family into disrepute.”

Did he end up feeling more empathetic towards him? “No!” he says sharply. Then he softens slightly. “Well, empathy? I felt I understood a bit more – because that’s my job – about what was going on. But he’s incredibly privileged and has exploited that. It seems like he has a lot taken away from him but probably rightfully so.”

A Very Royal Scandal is like The Crown in that it’s great drama but you’re never sure what’s real. Are Andrew’s lines simply made up? “It’s a combination of research and stories out there, and little snippets and invention.” While Emily Maitlis is an executive producer, Andrew most certainly is not. “Well, that’s the real difficulty for our story,” Sheen says. “On the one hand, you’ve got Emily as an exec, so you know everything to do with her is coming from the horse’s mouth. But everything to do with Andrew, not only is it really difficult to get the actual stuff, also we don’t know what he did.” He pauses. “Or didn’t do.” He’s talking about Virginia Giuffre’s allegation that Andrew raped her, which he denied. In the end, Giuffre’s civil case was dropped after an out-of-court settlement was reached on no admission of liability by Prince Andrew, with Giuffre reportedly paid around £12m.

I had assumed Sheen would be a staunch republican, but he doesn’t feel strongly either way. “There are lots of positives about royals, and lots of negatives.” His bugbear is that the heir to the throne gets to be Prince of Wales. “Personally, I would want the title of Prince of Wales to be given back to Wales to decide what to do with it, and I definitely think there’s a lot of wealth that could be used better.”

The biggest change for Sheen since returning to Wales is his family life. In 2019, he revealed that he had a new partner, the Swedish actor Anna Lundberg, that she was 25 years younger than him, and that she was pregnant. They now have two daughters – Lyra who is coming up to five, and two-year-old Mabli. As well as Staged, the couple have also appeared together on Gogglebox. They look so happy, nestling into each other, laughing at the same funnies, tearing up over the same heartbreakers. She also seems naturally funny. Given that two of his former partners (Sarah Silverman and Aisling Bea) are comedians, have all his exes had a good sense of humour? He thinks about it. “Yes. Yeah, you’ve got to have a laugh, haven’t you?” And he’s always got on well with them after splitting up? “Yeah, pretty much.”

When asked about the age difference between Lundberg and him on The Assembly, he acknowledged that they were surprised when they got together. “We were both aware it would be difficult and challenging. Ultimately, we felt it was worth it because of how we felt about each other, and now we have two beautiful children together.” He also said that being an older father worried him at times. “It makes me sad, thinking about the time I won’t have with them.”

Does being a dad of such tiny kids make him feel young or old? “Both,” he says. “My body feels very old. But everything else feels much younger. I’m 55 and it’s knackering running around after little kids. Just physically, it’s very demanding. And I’m at a point in my life where I’m aware of my physical limitations now. But in other ways it’s completely liberating, and I’m able to appreciate it more now.”

Has he learned about fatherhood from the first time round? “Yeah, I think so. I’m around more now. That’s a big part of it. When Lily was young, I was in my early 30s and doing films for the first time, so Kate would stay in Los Angeles with Lily and I would go off and do whatever.” Did Beckinsale resent that? “I don’t know that she resented it. Kate was doing better than me in terms of profile at the time, so it was different. Given that we then split up and I saw Lily even less, I very much regretted being away as much. So this time I wanted to make sure that wasn’t the case. That’s partly why I’ve set up a Welsh production company. I don’t want to work away from them as much.”

Talking of which, he says, what’s the time? “I’ve got to get back to my kids.”

On his way out, I ask what advice he would give his younger self. He says he was asked that recently and gave a glib answer. “I said buy stock in Apple.” What should he have said? He thinks about it, and finally says he’d have no advice for his younger self. He’d rather reverse the question, and think what his younger self would say to him if he tried to advise him.

“I saw an amazing clip of Stephen Colbert saying your life is an accumulation of every bad choice you’ve made and every good choice you’ve made, and the great challenge of life is to say yes to it. To say, ‘I love living, I embrace living.’ And in order to do that you have to embrace all the pain, all the grief, all the sadness, all the fucking mistakes because without that you don’t have all the other stuff.” He’s on a roll now, louder and more passionate by the word. “And I’d hate it if someone came and went, ‘Don’t do this, no do that.’ Then you just sail through your life. It would be death, wouldn’t it? So I’d tell my older self to go fuck himself.”

#Michael Sheen #The Guardian #Interview #Kate Beckinsale #regrets

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patscorner · 1 year ago

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FAMILY DINNER PART 4 (FINALE)

Summary: Chris joins your family for dinner for the first time and it does not go as planned

Tw: Swearing, narcissistic dad, verbal arguing, panic attack mentions of alcohol use, mentions of ed(NO DETAIL), lmk if I missed something

wc: 3.5k

a/n: so sorry this one took so long. I've been swamped with schoolwork and writers block. here's the long-awaited finale. feel free to leave ur thoughts in my inbox

______________________________

You turn around at the voice, as you recognize it, but can’t put your finger on it. You turn around to look at Nick, whose head is also turned to look in the direction of the voice. “Who’s that?” Nick asked, letting you go and moving so you could see the figure clearly.

You don’t recognize the person at first, but based on his familiar figure and his almost distinguishable voice, the dots connect in a moment's time.

You gasp, your hands covering your mouth as your heart jumps in your chest. Your eyes meet the familiar eyes of your older brother, Cam. He looks much different from the last time you saw him, his ginger hair grown past his ears, and he’s started growing a beard.

You don’t say a word before walking up to him. You reach up and touch his face to make sure he’s real, and you're not seeing things; something you wouldn’t put past yourself, as this entire night seems like some long, tragic, nightmare.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispers, pulling you into a much needed warm embrace. You bury your head in the crook of his neck as tears, ones that you thought you’d run out of, fall from your eyes and onto his shirt. “Missed you, too.” Your voice comes out muffled by his shirt.

You pull away and look at the stain on his shirt. “Oops.” You say, smiling, remembering how Cam used to complain about the tear stains on his shirt when you were younger, but you both knew it never really bothered him too much. “Damn it. It’s been like 20 seconds, and you’ve already got my shirt wet. Like you're doing it on purpose at this point.” he laughs. You slap his chest and laugh lightly.

The laughing dies down and you guys are met with awkward silence. “So, what the fuck happened around here?” he asked, breaking the silence. You look at him sadly, before your eyes drop to your shoes. “Oh, you know, just a good ole family dinner.” You glance up at Cam, whose lip curls upwards for a second, before dropping. “What happened?” he asked, softer this time, looking for more of an answer.

“Dad met my boyfriend.” You say. “I sent yo-” you cut yourself off as your eyes widened. “Wait, why’d you come, you never come.” You haven’t seen your brother in more than 5 years, and all the sudden he randomly shows up to a family dinner? You’ve sent him countless invites to the family gatherings, all were left unanswered.

“Well, I couldn’t miss another boyfriend meeting. Not after the last one. Plus, I didn’t get an invite last year or the year before, so I was really confused. I thought you guys finally realized how nothing ever changes.” His voice was calm, like it usually was, even when talking about something so emotional. You nodded, eyes lighting up once again, as you remember Nick is standing behind you. “That reminds me. Nick! Come here!” You raise your voice slightly at Nick, who is no more than ten feet away on his phone, probably texting Marylou and Jimmy about their situation.

Nick turns around and smiles, making his way to you both. “This is Chris’s brother, Nick. Nick, this is my older brother, Cam.” The men exchange greetings and Cam turns to you. “Where is your boyfriend, anyway?”

“Currently? Probably getting processed into the county jail.” Nick speaks bluntly. You and Cam look over at him, Cam more shocked than I am. “Seriously?” Cam’s eyes shoot to yours. You nod. “Holy, fuck, this is worse than last time.” he rubs his head, as you nod once again.

“What happened last time?” Nick asks, looking between you and Cam. Cam shakes his head, “Story for another time, but let’s just say he did not stay for dessert.” You laugh at the reference, shaking your head at the memory. Nick rolls his eyes. “How are we gonna get my brother out of jail?” he reminds you.

You sigh, “I don’t know if we can. Where the fuck are we gonna get sixty grand? I-I mean, we could make a go fund me, I’m certain your fans would be more than willing…” You truly have no other ideas, and as much as you didn’t want to use their fans for money, you were desperate. You could see Nick hesitate at the idea, knowing his PR team was gonna have a field day.

“Let me help.” Cam offers, shrugging it off. You and Nick both look at him. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” You say, shaking your head.

“You didn’t ask, I offered.” he shrugged again. “Let me help.” he repeated, this time more sternly, as if every other suggestion was out of the question. You look at Nick who raises his eyebrows. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Nick responds, quickly embracing Cam.

Cam’s eyes widened, hesitating for a moment before hugging him back. You smile, knowing Cam was never the type to enjoy hugs or any sort of physical touch. “Alright, alright, if you hug me any tighter, you’ll pop my lungs.” he strained out.

Nick pulled away, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry.” He nervously shoved his hands in his pocket. You chuckle at Nick’s actions, before embracing Cam as well, yours a lot more heartfelt. “I’m so happy you’re back.” you mumble into his shoulder. He squeezes you tighter. “Happy to be back.”

_____

Cam now sat on the couch, checkbook open. You’d told your siblings he was back, and tears were shed. You had no idea where your mom was, nor did you care. She and your father were the least of your concerns, you just wanted your boyfriend. Even though it’s only been a couple hours, you were so worried about Chris.

You knew how much he liked to talk, and that scared the fuck outta you, but Matt assured you he knew how to shut the fuck up when he absolutely needed. If it came to his or his family’s safety, Chris would never speak again.

“Okay, okay, so I can get 2000 dollars from Mom and Dad, out of their retirement fund.” Nick spoke out, typing quickly on his phone. He had convinced Cam not to pay for it all because it was his brother, not Cam’s. Cam reluctantly agreed. Cam nodded at Nick’s words.

“I can give you guys 52 grand, I just won’t be able to get starbucks in the morning anymore.” He shrugged. You had learned that Cam was the CEO of a very prestigious clothing company, ‘Cam’s Clothing’, (very creative), which is where he got all this money from. “So with 52 grand, Peter’s grand, my two grand, and Nick’s 2 grand, it’s only 57,000 dollars.” You sigh.

“Yeah, but the officer only said it was an estimate. It may not be that much.” Matt chimed in, rubbing Maya’s back. She had refused to go upstairs again, and opted for sleeping on Matt’s lap. He didn’t mind, and you were too tired to fight it. Plus, you understood, Matt had been the closest thing to a father figure tonight, and Maya needed that.

The rest of the night consisted of you being held by Cam as he told you, your siblings, and Nick and Matt, stories about his life since he’d been gone. You were so happy he was back, and you let him distract you and your family from the tasks that were to come.

_____

The next week was spent sitting down with Chris’s lawyer, the triplets PR team, figuring out how to get him out of jail, and how to do so quietly. None of you cared if the internet knew, it was moreso the onslaught of opinions that would pop up from people who had no fucking idea what was going on. It’s been a week, and none of the triplets had posted anything, except for Nick posting on the group account that something came up and there wouldn’t be a video for a while.

And that alone was enough to send the fans into a spiral. All hell broke loose as theories and conspiracies flew towards the Sturniolos left and right. Some say Matt was sent to a mental institution, that one of the triplets was dying, that Chris and you broke up. It was chaos, causing you and the triplets to delete social media. You’d all be back, but you were already stressed as is, and you didn’t need to add dumbass rumors to the mix.

Tensions had already boiled over, when you went off on Matt because he blamed you for Chris going to jail in the first place.

“I can’t fucking believe your father put my brother in jail.” Matt scoffed. You both had been going back and forth playfully, until you made a joke Matt didn’t like, causing him to overstep. It had been a long day, as he hadn’t been sleeping and social media was getting in his head. You were just as stressed as Matt so of course the argument escalated.

“That’s got nothing to do with me, Matt! I told you all what was going to happen if we went! And if I remember correctly, youall said it was going to be fine! This isn’t fucking on me.” You spit out. You were glad your younger siblings weren’t home. They didn’t need to hate Matt, because you didn’t even if you were arguing with him.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know your bitchass dad was going to try and kill him?! This isn’t on anyone but you and your fucked up family!” he shouts. At that moment, you were also glad Peter and Cam weren’t home, because if they were, there would be a Sturniolo in the hospital, and a couple more charges on Peter.

“Matthew Bernard! What the fuck is your problem?!” Nick scolded. He’d been watching the argument unfold, not wanting to intervene, although now he wished he had. “Have you lost your fucking mind?!” Nick shouted at Matt, who looked at his shoes. You felt the hot tears roll down your face as you stared at Matt.

Your heart stung at his words, sure, but you always had a way of understanding when any of the triplets were overwhelmed. So, instead of shouting back at him, you walked up to him and took him into a tight embrace. He immediately broke down in your arms, his tears staining your shirt. His knees went weak and you slowly lowered both of you to the ground. Nick joined you shortly after, and the three of you spent the rest of that night crying in each other's arms.

So it’s safe to say social media had to go. That was a no brainer. So all of you deleted the apps, making sure the accounts stayed.

Now if someone were to ask you how you were doing, you would burst into tears. You missed your boyfriend and you worried about him constantly. Despite having talked to him everyday through the jail phone, updating him on progress, and him assuring you he was fine, you couldn’t help but hold the heavy weight of anxiety on your chest.

Your nails were bitten down to the nub from the chewing and you had rashes on your arms from scratching your skin as you thought about your boyfriend. Nick had to talk you out of driving to the jailhouse and demanding them to release your boyfriend, and Matt had to calm you down from multiple panic attacks you had just doing things that reminded you of him.

But finally, the day had come. Your dad and Chris in the courtroom, both in orange jumpers and handcuffs on their wrists, your dads arms behind his back, your boyfriends in front of him. Chris looked exhausted, and you assumed it’s because he never slept well by himself. His hair was unkempt and his stubble had started growing in, due to him not being able to shave. His bruises had mostly healed, except for the cut above his eyebrow you must’ve missed when he was in the cop car.

Your dad on the other hand, had 2 officers on each side of him, and his face was fucked up. He had a bruise along his jaw, along with a black eye and a bloody nose. You almost feel bad, but then remember he’s the whole reason you’re in this mess.

There’s no jury, so it’s just you, Nick, Matt, Cam, and Peter sitting in the courtroom. When Chris locks eyes with you, his face lights up and his eyes immediately fill with tears. Not only has he missed you, but he’s missed his brothers, his freedom, and his privacy.

The trial goes smoothly, the judge asks your dad to stop talking twice. Other than that, the trial continued without issues, both lawyers articulating their words carefully for the best outcome for their clients. The judge did not seem to bite the bait your dad’s lawyer laid out, seeing right through the fancy words to distract him from what was truly being implied.

You could tell by the way he looked unimpressed at your dad, even more so when he found out about his not so pretty criminal history. However, when it came down to it, Chris attacked him, despite the valid reasoning. The judge did recognize Chris’s clean record, not even having a parking ticket, which isn’t surprising considering the man didn’t have his license. Chris and his lawyer had their story down to a tee, while your dad and his lawyer struggled to cover up the holes forming in their version.

The judge noticed, of course, and he didn’t let them get away with it either. After what felt like years, the judge came to a conclusion.

“In the case of David, you’ll be sentenced to 3 years in the county penitentiary, with bail being posted at eighty-five thou-”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! He hit me! Why the fuck would I go to prison?!” Your dad cuts him off, ignoring his lawyer’s pleas. He had stood up, causing the officers around him to be on high alert.

“Sir, stop talking. If you find it hard to do so, you will be removed from the courtroom.” the judge deadpanned. Your dad grumbled under his breath before sitting back down reluctantly.

“Thank you.” he clears his throat. “Where was I-? Oh, okay. Bail will be posted at eighty five thousand dollars, with a year and a half of probation.” he sighs as he directs his attention to Chris.

“In the case of Chris, you will not have to go to prison.” You let out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding, clinging to Nick’s side, squeezing his bicep in anticipation. “However.”

Your heart dropped.

“You will be on probation for six months, because you did assault an officer. I understand you have two places of residence, so you can choose what state you’d like to be as you will not be able to leave.

The judge stacked his papers up before looking at the plaintiff. “Get him in a transport van. And get Mr. Sturniolo out of those handcuffs.” The plaintiff nods as he starts towards Chris. The judge smacked the gavel on the table.

“Case dismissed.”

You stand at the stove, stirring the steaming pot of spaghetti, humming to Right Here by Chase Atlantic. It’s been a month since Chris and your dad’s trial, and things have been… rocky to say the least. After getting a mouthful from your mother, she left the house without telling anyone her destination. You figured she just left to cool off, as she had before, but after a day, you began growing worried.

The second your call went to voicemail for the 45th time, you decided to file a missing persons report. Of course, they claimed they couldn’t do anything, especially after you slipped up and told them it’s happened before, they no longer took you seriously, despite you informing them that it’s never lasted this long before.

That following weeks, you decided that she probably wasn’t coming back, so you got temporary custody of your younger siblings. That’s the reason you're still in your hometown, cooking dinner for 9. You knew the boys would be hungry when they got back from James’s football game, and since they had already got takeout twice that week, you told Matt to just bring them home.

Jules and Maya went to a friend's house for a playdate, although Julia insisted it was a hangout. So that left you at home alone, which you didn’t mind considering you live with 9 people temporarily. But your peace is interrupted by the door unlocking, followed by lots of yelling.

You roll your eyes and turn your music off, as you know you won’t be able to hear it anyway. James is the first up the stairs with a giant smile on his face, running up to you. “I won the first game! I got the winning touchdown, and even though some bitch fucked up my shoulder, I was able to catch the ball!”

Your eyes widen as you look at Nick. “Why the fuck is my brother swearing like a sailor?!” You exclaim. “You told me you’d watch your mouth.” You point at Nick after turning the heat down on the stove.

“Why’d you assume it was me?! Matt spends more time with him!?” Nick raised his hands in defense. “Matt knows how to watch his mouth, unlike you!” you laugh.

“She’s got a point.” Matt spoke. Nick rolls his eyes and James looks at you with giant puppy eyes. “What?”

“I scored the winning touchdown!” he announced. You laughed, and engulfed him in a big hug, grimacing at his sweaty body. “Congratulations, kid. I’m proud of you. Now go shower, you stink.” you say pulling away.

“Thank you.” he looked up at you before sprinting up the stairs. You smile as you direct your attention to the rest of the boys that had walked in. Cam, Peter, and Nick got comfy on the couch, while Matt made his way to his room.

You smile at the last standing brunette, your beautiful boyfriend, taking his shoes off. “Hi, baby.” he says as he approaches you, resting his hands around your waist. You nuzzle your head into his chest, humming as you breathe in his scent. Ever since Chris got back, you’d be clinging to him like a koala.

“What’re you making?” he asks softly, guiding you both to the stove, curiously peering into the pot. “Chicken alfredo.” you reply, taking the boiling water off the hot eye. Noticing the sudden silence, you turn around to see all eyes on you.

“What?” you question, looking down at yourself, checking that you didn’t spill anything on your clothes. When you find nothing, you look back up. “What?” you repeat.

“Chris if you don’t fucking marry her, I will.” Nick finally says, causing Cam to laugh. You smile as you look at Chris, who practically has hearts in eyes. “Nah, bro, she’s all mine.” he smiles, approaching you and cupping your jaw with both hands, before kissing you passionately. You hesitate out of shock, before melting into the kiss.

You swear you could feel every word Chris wanted to say, in that one moment. You could feel every word of admiration, every word laced with love, all communicated to you through one kiss.

“Alright, alright, get a room.” Peter grimaces, turning back to the TV.

Chris pulls away, rolling his eyes. “With pleasure.” he said, grabbing your hand, pulling you behind him as he started towards the stairs.

“Ew!” Nick exclaimed.

“I should’ve shut my mouth.” Peter laughs, shaking his head. “Use protection!” Cam called after you, causing you to laugh out loud.

“Chris, what about dinner?” you ask as he tugs you up the stairs into the guest bedroom where you and him reside. “They can get takeout.” he muttered, closing the door as he pulled you into another loving kiss. You roll your eyes but sigh into the kiss anyway.

He leads you to the bed, pushing you down so he can hover over you. “You’re so fucking pretty.” he whispers before wrapping his lips around your neck. You whine as he sucks the spot on your neck.

“Chris..”

“Hm.”

“I love you.” He pulls away, placing a kiss on your lips. “I love you so much more, sweetheart.” he whispers as he rubs circles on your hips with his right hand. “Now, stay still.”

You latch your lips onto his, continuing the passionate make out Chris had started downstairs. His tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you open your mouth a little, as a battle for dominance ensues. You lose, as usual.

You both are interrupted by your phone buzzing, and you pull away as Chris whines. “Baby…”

“I know, hang on.” You open your phone and see a message from Cam.

|‘Dont be silly, wrap the willy’|

|‘No but fr, that mf better pull out, theres already to many kids’|

You laugh and show Chris the phone, and he smiles before rolling his eyes playfully. “Fine, now can we continue?”

You smile. “Yes, sir.” kissing Chris as he groans.

______________________________

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fandomfluffandfuck · 7 months ago

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I can't stop fucking thinking about premature ejaculation today, literally, I've been so distracted from everything, and it's probably definitely K's (@howdoyousleep3 's) fault with this fucking post (plus her broader, totally understandable, fixation with it 👀) that will haunt me for the rest of my days. So. Evanstan filth.

Chris was slotting his key card into his hotel room door but he isn't anymore and he doesn't know, honest to god, how he got from standing outside the room to lying flat on his fucking back on the plush, tightly made bed of that same room without remembering even a single rushed step but he is, he is, it's not even been a full minute, he swears, and ohhh--

Sebastian is here.

He's not supposed to be is the thing, though, he's got a thousand other places he's all but contracted to be right now; their schedules have been hell the last few months between their competing, demanding press tours for movies with such laugably different tones. Sebastian is doing two fucking press tours at once for Christ's sake, he doesn't have time for even a quickie. Chris feels like they've hardly heard each other's voices, seen each other's faces--they've not been calling, certainly not FaceTime-ing, just texting back and forth between the circuses of their limelight lives, just trying to keep it together while the world spins too fast around them.

Chris' head is spinning off his shoulders now. He's slammed his head back into the overstuffed pillows, his hair fanning out around him with a strand of it sticking to his forehead, sweating when, shit, he can't have been in the room for more than a minute or two, tops. He doesn't know if he pushed or Seb pulled--who led who to the bed? How'd they get here? How'd it become this?

Not that he can complain, he doesn't know and he doesn't fucking care how they ended up on top of each other, tangled together, knotted and beyond coming apart easily. He can't care because he's not even fully out of his shirt--it's half unbuttoned, pulled apart and pulled down to expose the upper half of his chest, flushed, normally pale skin and dark ink and a forest of hair, his necklace left astray, heated to his feverish body temperature and sizzling where it rests in the pit of his neck. That's not all, though. His shirt is rucked up to display even more of the scattered art across his skin, his abs clenching tight. He lost his slacks somewhere. Shoes, too. He was wearing shoes when he got in here, right? He had to be. Definitely. He wouldn't've--

It doesn't matter.

A moan comes tumbling out of Chris' mouth, and it doesn't fucking matter. His toes curl without even half of a muttled thought spared to investigating the sensation to rediscover if he's still wearing socks or not. And, oops, his boxer briefs are gone, too, now. Sebastian is stripping him of them impatiently, his hands frantic, greedy, as they slide down over his skin.

Bared, his cock hits his exposed stomach and Chris makes a sound that doesn't even make sense.

His mouth is open, somehow both too dry and wet with spit--almost drool. His bearded jaw has dropped so fucking wide it would be embarrassing if he could comprehend such a concept as embarrassment at a time like this.

This--

One leg bent at the knee, foot flat against the mattress, and the other leg curled indecently over his lover's shoulder as Sebastian's lips glide, slick and hot and unfairly erotic, against his cock, he's so hard so fast--responding to Seb's mouth like a subject of Pavlov, a damn dirty dog--that he's not even sure he was ever soft. How could he be soft when Sebastian is tilting his whole head into it? Getting fucking into it.

Woof.

He's merciless, mouthing at his dick, moaning like he fucking missed it. The weight. The taste. The mouthful. He must've missed it bad with how he's going at it, licking, dragging his tongue over it broadly, outrageously, then resting it heavily on his tongue, mouth open, sloppy, letting the tip slide against the soaked velvet inside of his cheek, bulging out pornographically, moaning, sucking on the tip, letting it slide deep shiveringly, impressively quickly. He's hungry--starved even.

And Chris' entire body clenches, uncontrollably, his muscles tight, helpless to not be swallowed up by it all. Then, just as involuntarily, Chris' hips buck up jaggedly.

Sebastian lets them, only groaning messily as Chris is enveloped deep in that lush mouth, deeper into that wicked throat.

Seb hardly even gags.

Fuuck.

Chris' neck arches harder, fighting and losing the battle against the flood of pleasure, feeling the sweet, hurting pull in his muscles and tendons past their usual use. Gasping, he can't get in enough oxygen to feed the bonfire Sebastian has sparked from just a match but grew impatient with, dumping gasoline on the whole fucking thing instead. Lighting. him. up.

Shit.

God, fuckin'--

It feels sofuckinggood.

His mouth.

Chris missed his mouth desperately, he missed him so badly, he was going crazy without him, now he's here and Chris can't understand it, did he take a plane? Did he drive from whatever fucking stop he was on with press? When? How long do they have? How is Chris supposed to think, to ask, when he can't even shut his fucking mouth. Groaning and gasping, then moaning. Endless. It's pure adrenalin and shock. Pleasure coursing through him so suddenly that it fractures him into a million tiny pieces.

Guh.

Sebastian is going to fucking suck his soul out of his body, going at him like that. It's not just the way he slurps and swallows and moans on his cock, though, it's how he's bobbing his head, taking it gorgeously, an inescapable, dire rush to every action, gagging, choking a little with his recklessness. He's filthy. He's gorgeous. He's--

"Oh. Oh," Chris can't stop any of the embarrassing sounds that are, just, coming out of him, spilling over, dripping down his chin, making a mess of his throat and chest. He's wet. Sweating. Spit. Dripping. "Wait," he's panting, moaning sharply, Sebastian's mouth is leaving scorching kisses down his shaft, his tongue flicking out to lewdly trace the throbbing veins, prominent on him visibly and psychologically, Chris' heart throbs in his chest, its beat pounding through his dick and rushing in his ears.

And Seb's just going, going, going--plunging deeper, getting to the base of his cock, slurping at his balls gluttonously, grazing them with his lips and teeth, sending tingling danger rushing through Chris like static.

"Baby-!"

He just keeps getting lower, using every weakness Chris has without even thinking about it, he knows his body too well, it's too, too good, so much, pulsing, rushing, boiling over.

"Baby, nno," he scrambles, his hands finding their way to Sebastian's gorgeous hair, pulling until he shivers and groans at the scalp-pin-prick pain, debauched, "I'm gonna," Chris struggles to use his mouth for something understandable, "oh, no, no-nnnghh, ugh, oh, I'm, w-we just st-AH-started! Wait!" He whines, "if you--'m gonna--"

His words turn from whining words to something entirely useless for communication, incoherent sounds of pleasure too good to not be afraid of it, razor-sharp around the edges, treacherous, all-consuming as Sebastian doesn't heed his strangled attempts at warning, burying his fucking face in him. He feels so fucking close to him that he might as well be inside him--reaching up through his gut to his chest to squeeze his racing heart--his nose pressed right up against that hypersensitive, intimate place behind his balls while his lips and tongue ravish his hole. He has no hesitation. No shame. He just--

Eats him.

He eats him out so fucking good, ravenous with that wet-dream mouth, that there's nothing Chris can do to stop it, even with his fist flying to the base of his dick to squeeze and choke off his embarrassingly early orgasm--it's all in vain. He can't stop it.

He's fucking cumming.

Spilling hard over his quivering stomach in all-consuming pumps that crash over him like storm-charged waves against the shore. His hips are pushed up so far--fighting it, squirming, trying to get away and get closer, and, shit, he doesn't even know what his body is doing as it's ripped out of him--that he nearly makes it to his bearded chin with his own release. It's wet and hot over his stomach, his chest, and his collarbones, almost his throat.

Christ.

With his chest fucking heaving, his lungs rasping, audibly struggling to get each breath out of his throat, Chris quakes through the aftershocks. Barely able to keep his eyes open enough to see Sebastian, buried between his legs, shuddering, and, oh fuck, thoughtlessly squirming against the bed, rubbing himself off against it, caught up in the same indulgent mood.

After another short, blurry, fast-motion moment, when Chris whines--again from too much pleasure, wishing for it to stop so he isn't so mortified, except for that last part, the mortification has already come, spreading itself out over his face like a proud, deep sunburn, then--Sebastian pulls away. His lips are swollen. Puffy, wet, and red. He looks as wrecked as Chris feels. Chris feels fucking scrambled. He's still half-humping the bed, whispering, heady, "Chris, Chr--" his voice catches in his throat "--Chris, Jesus," he spreads his legs wider, getting more friction, making Chris' sensitive cock jolt painfully at the obscene picture he makes, "you're so hot."

Chris feels hot. The blushing and embarrassed and squirming kind of hot, though. He kind of wants to fucking melt into the bed, it's been fucking years since he's cum with that little action and he usually prides himself on how he goddamn pleasures his partners first, then takes his, sometimes not even his own, he loves making others feel good and he's fucking good at doing it, bringing them to their knees, he's not like this, not normally; but, also, he really wants to surge forward, wrestle Seb flat onto his belly and get him back to tear into him. Right now, the best he can do, though, still recovering from the quick and dirty intensity of his shattering orgasm, is mumble, "your mouth," his face must be swollen with all the blood rushing into his tingling cheeks, "can't fuckin' help it, you drive me crazy," he excuses himself, shaky.

"Cr-crazy, nngh, yeahh," Seb echoes, losing it, melting from cocky and confident and in control to plain needy with all that good friction to his dick.

God, what a fucking sight he is, down there, between his legs, frenzied.

#fandomfluffandfuck #chris evans #sebastian stan #evanstan #rpf #real person fanfiction

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 1 year ago

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Can u give me a short drabble of CE smut? Anything I'd like but damn I am in need of him right now it's killing me 😩

10 Minutes » Chris Evans

Pairings: Boyfriend!Chris Evans x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Y/N visits Chris on set which results in a quickie.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, praise kink, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @cevansbaby-dove 🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

You and Chris were all over each other the second the door to his trailer closed. Clothes were taken off and thrown in different directions. Chris picked you up and gently laid you on the couch. He hovered over you, leaning down to kiss along your collarbones and chest, his teeth nipping at your skin to leave some hickeys behind.

“Chris…” You breathed. “We only have 10 minutes.” You say, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of his beard scratching across your skin.

“We have enough time, baby. Remember the times I made you to cum in 5 minutes? I’m gonna do it again.” Chris says, smirking against your chest.

Chris’s hand found it’s way to your pussy that was practically dripping. You gasped when his fingers rubbed in between your folds. You involuntarily spread your legs wider.

“Chris, please!” You whined. “Fuck me!” You begged.

Chris chuckles at your neediness. He lined his hard cock at your tight entrance, sliding it inside of you, making the both of you moan. His thrusts started off slow, but quickened. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back. Usually Chris would take his time with you, but you two only had 10 minutes before he had to go back to work so he did what he had to do. Fucking you fast which you love.

“Chris…” You moaned, digging your nails in his back.

Your moans was like music to his ears and encouraged him to move faster. One of his hands found it’s way to your clit, rubbing it in fast circles causing your cunt to clench around his cock.

“Fuck…” Chris moans.

His other hand tightened it’s grip on your hip. A loud moan of his name left your lips when his cock hit your sweet spot. You two could care less if anyone outside of the trailer heard you guys.

“That’s it, baby. Moan my name. Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.” He says huskily.

Your orgasm began to build up the more his cock hit your sweet spot and his fingers rubbed your clit. You arched your back in pleasure, your chest touching his.

“Chris, I- oh fuck!” You moaned, your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head.

“I know you’re close, sweetheart. Give it to me.” He says panting.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a loud moan left your lips as you came. Chris wasn’t too far behind you. After a few thrusts, he came inside of you. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He laid on top of you, being careful not to crush you. He kissed you hungrily before grabbing his phone to check the time.

“Not that I keep track, but we beat a record. We have 5 minutes to spare.” Chris says smirking.

You couldn’t help but laugh. You two kissed one more time before he pulled out of you and got dressed.

“Are you coming to my hotel room tonight?” You asked, putting your shirt on.

“You already know the answer to that, sweetheart.” Chris says, kissing you.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

#chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans smut #chris evans one shot #chris evans imagine #chris evans drabble

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georgiapeach30513 · 21 hours ago

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So…….let’s begin shall we.

Fashion Moodboard for “Honey Don’t

New eyeglass frames for Chris

Leather something…. pants?

Bring his full on sexy back…. Not that it ever truly left. 😉

Outfit color

Outfit movie theme

Shoe Brand?

Hair color and style ideas?

Accessories (watch/bracelets/necklace)

Beard (yes, don’t touch)

August weather (type of attire)

Random unicorn/my little pony rainbow socks he’s previously worn on Jimmy Kimmel or one of the many Marvel press junkets, can’t remember.

There, I think this is a decent start. 🤣 I love this blog. It’s all fun and games most definitely, but hey if a certain stylist sees and goes …. Hmmm 🤔 that’s a damn good idea, we won’t be mad. 🤷‍♀️😏

Okay, this was a lot, but I think I got something I really like. In fact when looking for leather accessories for men, I found the most perfect thing! It incorporates the leather amazingly! I want these shape of glasses for Chris ☝🏻 stop playing with me. I would like his hair a little longer, but we’ll see. I’d like to see another return to an IWC watch.

Now!! Look at that body belt 😮‍💨 this is perfect, and I love it. I love that shirt. But lose the bowtie, and unbutton about three buttons minimum. The socks 🤭 I’m sorry, these are adorable. You probably wouldn’t see them, so maybe he could wear some fun socks during the press junket and not the premeire.

#dress Chris #Chris Evans #👀 we’re watching 👀

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internetaddict104 · 11 months ago

Text

My live thoughts on Deadpool and Wolverine

* I’m torn between wanting to fangirl over the fight scene and wanting to sing and dance to *NSYNC

* Also I’m crying at the shots of DP doing the Bye Bye Bye choreo cut into the fight 😂

* The Iron Man helmet covering Tom in the photo with RDJ 😂

* Hearing Matthew Macfayden’s natural British accent is so jarring after watching Succession

* Wait I’m so confused on how Wade was interviewing for an Avengers position with Happy on Earth 616 and then it cuts to 6 years later on Earth 10005

* Wambsgans being the villain is insane

* This movie takes place within 3 days?

* DID THEY JUST REFERENCE THE OSCAR SLAP

* The little cgi Logan is so jarring

* *turns around* “I’m Marvel Jesus you dull creature and I-“ *gets bitch slapped by the Hulk and dies*

* HENRY CAVILL WOLVERINE VARIANT HOLY SHIT

* CHRIS EVANS?!?!?!?!?!

* IT IS CHRIS I’M FUCKING CRYING I LEGIT JUST STARTED SMILING

* JOHNNY STORM CHRIS EVEN FUCKING BETTER

* Did he just die

* I knew Wolverine was gonna just slice Sabretooth’s head off but I’m still sad there wasn’t any real fight

* Oh thank God Johnny is still alive

* Wait where’s the rest of the og FF? Where is my Ioan Gruffudd, Jessica Alba, and Michael Chiklis???

* Fuck she killed Chris 😭 I knew it was coming but it still hurts

* Why do I lowkey feel like whatever this Logan did to fuck up his world is gonna be something jokey and/or stupid

* Lady in Red playing during Dogpool’s intro 😂

* Also I did not know Dogpool was a girl

* The intro to The Greatest Show on the radio 😂

* There’s a lot of random music in this movie and idk if I’m really feeling it

* I saw a Scarlet Witch statue… 👀

* Oh shit Garner Elektra

* WESLEY SNIPES?!?!?!?! IS HE REAL OR CGI

* CHANNING TATUM GAMBIT ❤️❤️❤️

* My jaw literally dropped for these 3 I’m dead serious

* Oh this is where X23 comes in

* Wait is this Laura the same one from Logan or is she a variant

* So he’s the worst Logan because he went to a bar and the rest of the XMen got killed by humans? That’s so stupid he wasn’t even there like he didn’t lead the humans to them or run away

* Should I know who the purple girl with Cassandra is bc I feel like I should they keep focusing on her

* Should I know the bearded guy in the striped tank top bc they keep focusing on him too and I don’t recognize him

* Wait so Logan did run away when the XMen were attacked?

* Wait Logan betrayed the XMen?

* Huh so the portal was just white anyway it wasn’t an editing trick to hide anything in the trailer

* I know I should know who Pyro is but I don’t 😭

* Did they digitally elongate Emma Corrin’s fingers bc they look way too long

* Cassandra without the coat looks so sickly idk why the coat made her look fuller

* Logan’s disgusted look when Wade and Dogpool reunite 😂

* Oh I was wondering when Ladypool would show up

* I need to know if any famous actor is in the Deadpool Corps

* Logan holding Dogpool as far away from him as possible like a dirty dishrag 😂 he’s so disgusted by this dog

* WAIT LADYPOOL SOUNDS LIKE BLAKE

* Why is Kidpool a girl

* Cowboy Deadpool sounds familiar too who is he

* THE COWL 😭❤️

* I can’t make out what Blind Al says during the Deadpool fight and I really wanna know what she says 😭

* PETERPOOL

* So Logan is gonna sacrifice himself isn’t he

* Yeah I knew Wade would go in Logan’s place over the heartfelt speeches began

* And Wade isn’t gonna die he can’t he’s too popular

* Oh they both went

* Logan’s top disintegrating 😂

* “You look damn good in that suit” “I’m so sorry” I love Peter

* Wait that’s so cute they’re all in the main universe now (or Wade’s universe idk if they’re the same yet or not)

* I need to find the post credits scenes apparently they were leaked online but I can’t find them anywhere please I wanna watch them I read what they are but I still wanna see them myself

#seriously if anyone has the post credits scenes please let me know I really wanna see them #I literally just finished this movie I watched it on a 🏴‍☠️ site shoutout to the guy who uploaded it #The movie wasn’t even out yet in my country when I started watching it but since I went past midnight it is now 😂#Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers #spoilers #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #deadpool #deadpool 3 #Marvel #mcu

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 months ago

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Relocation, Stage 1

*gasp* a multi-chapter fic??? in this series??? yep here we go

Read on Ao3

Warnings: chris has ptsd and self-esteem issues

Pairings: none yet

Word Count: 1203

Like every operation, this one has to be done with patience, diligence, and enough people to cover his ass should it go sideways. But this has been in the works for long enough. It's time to actually buckle down and get shit done. Or, several people Chris talks to, and the only people it actually matters for.

A few weeks before Leon meets Rose for the first time, Chris sits down with Dr. O'Shaughnessy.

"Chris," the man says, adjusting his cardigan as the door shuts, "good to see you. You need a drink?"

"Yes, but I'm pretty sure therapists aren't supposed to offer their patients alcohol."

Dr. O'Shaughnessy chuckles, reaching into a small mini fridge under his desk and tossing Chris a small bottle of water. He manages a grunt of thanks and twists off the top. It nearly crumples under his fist as he drains half of it. The doctor just watches him awith thinly-veiled amusement before settling back into his chair.

"So, talk to me. What's been going on?"

Chris grunts. "Life. Missions. Trying to…be a parent, I guess."

"Is it any easier the second time around?"

"No."

"Mm. And how are you?"

"I'm fine."

Dr. O'Shaughnessy doesn't even dignify him with a response. He just waits, thumbs tapping together idly in his lap, eyes on Chris like he's a caged zoo animal that just got the prompt to do something and he knows he's going to do it, he just has to be a little patient. And that analogy he'd just crafted in his head does relate to the thing that's been pissing him off lately, so…

Damn. If you'd told him a few years ago—scratch that, a few months ago that he'd be willingly talking about his emotions with a therapist, he'd have laughed in your face. He has a sneaking suspicion he knows what's at fault here.

"I think I'm—" he cuts himself off. Scratches his beard. Tries again. "I don't know if—"

Cuts himself off again. Muffles the urge to curse. Tries not to throw the plastic bottle against the wall or crumple it to bits.

"Is Rose okay?"

"I can't disclose another patient's sessions," Dr. O'Shaughnessy says quietly, somehow managing to walk the line of firm and regretful without pissing Chris off—which is an accomplishment all on its own— "but I can tell you that her nightmares have been lessening."

"Good. That's…that's good."

The shitty fan in the ceiling buzzes. A light bulb flickers.

"I'm…worried about her."

"Worried?"

"She's—fuck, Doc, she's just a kid. I don't—what the fuck am I supposed to do about it?" He scrubs a hand over his face. "There's nothing—I'm not the right person for this. You know I'm not, I know I'm not, and I'm pretty sure Rose knows I'm not either."

"Right person for what?"

"Any of this! Fuck, it's taken us what, how long to get me to even say something like 'I'm worried about her?' And I'm supposed to—" he cuts himself off again, pinching the bridge of his nose. The water bottle creaks dangerously. "She's just a kid."

"So were you, when it started."

"I was a grown ass man with military service under my belt and a damn police officer and this isn't about me."

"It is about you," he corrects, again somehow walking that line. "You raised your sister, you raised yourself, and I think we both know that 25 is still young."

Chris falls silent, staring at the shitty mountain painting over Dr. O'Shaughnessy's shoulder. "I…I asked for it, though. I was a part of S.T.A.R.S., I knew the risks—"

"No one could have anticipated what happened in Raccoon City, Chris, or in the Spencer Mansion."

"This isn't about my guilt," he grits out, the old argument flaring back to painful life. "It's about Rose. I'm not—we're not the same. This isn't about that."

"Then what is it about?"

"She's a fucking kid forced to live in a cage where people treat her like she's a fucking bomb waiting to go off! She's a traumatized child who lost her father and her mother and the only person she's got is me, and I—"

A lump grows in his throat. The buzzing in the ceiling gets louder.

"Say it," Dr. O'Shaughnessy prompts when he can't get another word out, "say it, Chris."

"I killed her father," he manages, "and now I'm—now I have to try and make up for it."

"Do you think Rose blames you for Ethan's death?"

Chris's gut clenches, the same way it does when anyone but Rose mentions Ethan's name. "She should."

"But do you think she does?"

Chris falls silent. He looks down at the now-crumpled water bottle and fumbles with the cap. The plastic creaks and crackles as the bottle re-inflates. He takes another drink. He thinks about the churning feeling in his gut whenever he looks at Rose for too long. He thinks about the way he almost threw up when those gold letters showed up on Mia's dining room table. He thinks about how he had to watch Rose get dragged away by armed soldiers as that fucking asshole Rick tried to convince him to have her 'contained.' He thinks about Rose sobbing in his arms as Ethan wrote how much he loved her over and over.

He thinks about—

He shakes himself.

"No," he mumbles, "she…she doesn't."

The words hang in the air for long moments. He throws the mangled plastic into the small bin near the end of the couch. Without missing a beat, Dr. O'Shaughnessy tosses him another one.

"Thanks."

He nods. "What's the ideal solution for you?"

"Huh?"

"Paint me a picture. Ideal world: anything's possible. What would you want to see?"

Chris huffs. "Don't get me started on that road, Doc, it won't end well."

"I'm not asking for you to say that you wish none of this had ever happened in the first place—"

"Thought you said 'ideal.'"

"—I'm asking about now. You're worried about Rose. You don't think you have the means to properly address her needs. What would you need?"

For it to not be me, he thinks, but then something weird happens. A cord in his gut snaps taut and he suddenly has a vision of Rose being taken away, led away by a squad of armed soldiers again but this time she's walking with them, only glancing back over her shoulder to look at him and something in his chest just aches at the thought of it and—

No. Like it or not, Chris is fucking in this. He's not gonna leave a kid on their own, no matter how fucked up they both are, and Rose is—fuck, Rose is such a good kid.

Even in the confines of a psychiatrist's office, though, Chris's brain isn't brave enough to put the words to that feeling. Not yet.

So. It's gotta be him. But he sure as hell can't do it on his own—but the only other person he can stomach thinking about right now is—

"Ethan."

"Say more?"

"Ethan…Ethan back. I'd—Rose deserves to have her father back. They both—a chance at a normal life. Even if it's still under—even if they need to have someone watch them, they can't—" he swallows— "they both deserve better than being locked up in this damn place."

Dr. O'Shaughnessy looks at him for a long moment. Then he sighs, sits forward, and laces his hands together. "I think there's something you have in mind already, isn't there?"

Chris smiles grimly. "I'm gonna need your help."

"What can I do?"

#dragonbabbles #fic #resident evil #chris redfield

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