#EDIT: apparently she's already been dropped from casting so that's a relief

[flovey-dovey]

BOY HOWDY I sure do love hearing that the Snow White remake is gonna be delayed and BOOOY HOWDY I sure do love that the leading actress is excited as can be about playing a Snow White who ~ain't gonna be saved by no man~ (even though I'm fairly certain it wasn't JUST the prince who helped out in that situation) and doesn't dream about true love. As if. You know. People should just Save Themselves and. Dreaming about true love is. A bad thing. Inherently. For girls to do. For PEOPLE to do. I just can't stop loving how little she also actually knows ABOUT Snow White. Scared of it, only watched it once before working on the movie, hates the ride at Disneyland. That's so much good news I can't even comprehend why this would be a bad idea. I love that she's the leading actress, actually. Everything she says about the character she's meant to portray. Is the absolute best. With all my bleeding heart I love this.

I love it so much I think I'm going to rip up the foundation of my house with my teeth :)

[nerdzzone]

Luckless Romance

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

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

Chris Evans x OFC

18+

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

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

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

Please let me know what you think! 

_____

August 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it was more than just that.

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

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

"So, Whitney, how's Trent?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, was that was you asked for?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robert shrugged and gave me a pointed look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does this group need any encouragement?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Terrible is harsh!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Beginners luck!"

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

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

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

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

"It was clearly on your side!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure?"

He nodded in response.

"Absolutely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can't it be both?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Those obsessive fangirls too much for you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really? Could I see them?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris let out another deep laugh and shook his head.

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

"I did not!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're just drunk."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This is me..."

Chris looked up and nodded slowly.

"It doesn't look so bad."

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

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

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

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

Chris laughed, but shook his head.

"Now who's drunk."

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

"Okay, Winnie, whatever you say."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friends.

Good friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

July 2016

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

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

But we kept things very much friendly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're impossible."

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

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

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

"Hello?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nah, this place is great!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then we'll stay in?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"More pathetic than what? I have friends!"

"Imaginary ones don't count."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sighed and shook my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

I snorted a laugh as I shook my head.

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

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

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

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

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

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? How so?"

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

"And what did he say?"

I scowled at the memory.

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

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

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

"What was this one's job?"

I cringed and took another big swig of my drink.

"A club promoter."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What was it about then?"

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

Chris shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Until now."

"It's not true!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Demonstrate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was now or never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are we really doing this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the anticipation was practically killing me.

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

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

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

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

"Not much of an exhibitionist?"

"Not on the first date."

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

"Alright, that's fair."

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

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

"Are you bulking up for Cap again?"

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

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

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

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

Chris chuckled slightly as he kicked my bedroom door open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now, it's your turn."

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

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

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

I rolled my eyes despite the smile on my face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what you see?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I immediately felt a familiar feeling starting to build.

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

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

"Well?"

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

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

"I'm glad I exceeded expectations."

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

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

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

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

He shifted his hips pulling another gasp from my lips.

"Only because you're huge."

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You heard about that?"

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

"Everyone heard about that," I teased.

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

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

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

"Atta girl, Winnie..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I smiled as I rested my head on his chest.

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

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

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

His question made my own smile widen even more.

"Of course not!"

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn't coming back.

It was a drunken mistake that he clearly regretted.

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

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

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

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

-

Part Two

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

[fishyspots]

the same magic touch

happiest belated birthday to @patrickbrewsky! one day i’ll finish the AU you deserve but for today i can give you this, inspired by a conversation we had a while back ❤️️(ps: it’s also on ao3)

“Why are you throwing that sweater out?”

Patrick looks up from the bin, fabric in hand. He feels caught out somehow, but he’s not sure why. “It has a hole in it?”

David stares him down from his spot by the bathroom door. “Why are you ripping holes in your best sweater?”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Patrick protests. “It was totally innocent.”

“Hand it over.” David crosses Patrick’s apartment, narrowly missing clipping the bed with his knee, limbs akimbo the way they always are this early in the morning. Patrick lets David take the sweater from him, perhaps to say a fond farewell, and turns to start David’s coffee. He didn’t know David liked this sweater best; David’s peeled it off of him more than once, but that’s true of most of his shirts at this point.

For some reason, David folds the sweater and puts it in his bag instead of the trash where it belongs. “What are you going to do with that?”

David looks at him like he’s being difficult. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re trying to clone me, that sweater got ripped in the wash so you’ll want something less fresh.” Patrick grabs for the cocoa powder he keeps in his cupboard and that David still won’t look directly at.

“Why would I clone you before they let me edit out your sense of humor?”

“You love my sense of humor.”

David is scrolling through something on his phone now, clearly past the sweater conversation, but he looks up and smiles when Patrick slides his coffee across the counter. “I have very intentionally never said that.”

“Just like how you’re not saying what you’re going to do with my—”

“The tear is on the seam.” David shrugs and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose in the way that means he tastes the cocoa but will not be commenting on it at this time. “It’ll take, like, five minutes to fix.”

“And you know someone who’s willing to do that? Because the only person I can think of is Jocelyn, and I know you two have that begrudging acceptance thing going but I don’t think it extends to me.”

“She likes you too, you know. She told me last week that you were the best Emcee they could have cast.”

“That’s very sweet.” Patrick tilts his head. “But I don’t know there were any other contenders, so it probably sounds better than it is.” But they’re getting off topic now. “Wait, no. Who’s fixing this sweater?”

“I’m fixing the sweater.” David grabs his bag and sets the mug in the sink. “Should we go? We’re going to open late otherwise.”

David’s concern for keeping normal opening hours more than anything else tells Patrick that he’s missing something. Still: “You’re going to fix it.”

“That is correct.” David sighs. “Can we please go? If you wait much longer I’ll lose all this energy and then you’ll have to open by yourself.”

Patrick rolls his lips in and bites down. “How many sweaters have you mended, exactly? Because you talked for an hour once about all the cashmere sweaters you lost to moths.”

“Cashmere is different. Anyway, I’m not, like, totally helpless,” David says. “I went to art school.”

Patrick privately thinks that the sentence might be an oxymoron, but he can acknowledge his own bias here. He took a pottery class in college as his “understanding art” elective; he and his fellow business majors had a lot to say about the cost of equipment and the annoyance of waiting around for the clay to bake. And then after all of that, his glaze was cracked and uneven. “Do they teach stitching there? Like, a whole class?”

“Mm.” David’s mouth is a thin line. “Right after the Etch-A-Sketch one.”

Patrick may have overshot it. “That didn’t—”

“Go to the store. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Patrick sets the spare key on the counter and elects to retreat.

***

“This is earlier than I was expecting to see you.”

David makes a beeline for the macchiato Patrick set in a prominent place on the counter in a spot near the door. He didn’t want David to miss it. “I said an hour.”

The teasing is right there; Patrick has to consciously push down countless other times where David has wildly miscalculated his arrival time. Instead, he takes a breath and prepares for a real apology. They’re a new thing for the two of them—after his parents came to town, Patrick’s been making communication a priority. It’s mostly his idea, but it was spurred on by some...gentle suggestion from Stevie. He doesn’t want to keep falling back into old habits, and he’s not going to put the burden on David to keep him accountable.

But David has not been exceptionally amenable to this new strategy. “Stop,” he says once he’s taken a drink and turned to look at Patrick. “Enough. Thank you for the coffee.”

He drops a kiss on Patrick’s cheek and continues on to the back room. Patrick entertains the idea of following him, but the bell above the door chimes again and he pushes down the conversation they need to have. Not forever, he tells himself sternly. Just until closing. Or lunch, if he can rig them a break.

But it’s Ronnie crossing the threshold, so maybe they do need to finish their relationship discussion. Maybe close the store for the day, or something.

“Ronnie!” Patrick winces at the enthusiasm he can hear in his own voice. David keeps saying that he’s forcing it, which might be valid. “What are you looking for today?”

Ronnie lifts her chin but doesn’t make eye contact. “David here?”

Still trying too hard, then. “He’s in the back. I’ll get him.”

Apparently he heard them, because David’s already peeking out. “Sorry about that, Ronnie. Back for that cheese or is it something else?”

Ronnie lets David curate a cheese plate for her next Women in Business meeting and suggest some wine pairings; Patrick bites back his own opinions to the best of his ability. Or, he does after Ronnie pointedly sets the chardonnay back on the shelf after he says it’s his favorite.

David rings her up and sees her off, and Patrick opens his mouth again to take advantage of a lull. Then the phone rings.

“Can you take that?” David asks. “I want to figure out what we need for that greeting card workshop next month. Jo likes it when we order with at least three weeks’ notice, and they gave us that frame for the poster last time as a thank you so I don’t want to—”

Patrick waves him off before the phone goes to voicemail. “I got it.”

Fortunately for their stocking schedule, it’s Brenda. They’ve been running low on the moisturizer she’s trying out recently, and they need to get more on the shelf as soon as she has it ready. Unfortunately for him, Brenda called seeking opinions about her new combination skin formula and the essential oil blend. David informed Patrick early on that he had combination skin, but Patrick senses that Brenda will not find this information useful. He bides his time and lets Brenda talk until David catches on to his frantic gestures.

They don't teach this in business school. He lets his eyes drift from David's face (a struggle, sometimes) to the bag at his boyfriend's feet. They don't teach a lot of things in business school.

Patrick passes off the phone and greets the next customers, who thankfully do not have any qualms about his personality. Then he checks the stock spreadsheet. They’re getting low on sweaters and socks after the cold snap last week, so he flags the vendors for David to email and sets about filling in the blank spots on the shelves after a busy morning.

The sound of David’s voice soothes Patrick’s nerves even more than the playlist he and David made together in a process that started adversarial (“Smooth jazz? Why not just get a Muzak?” “People shop in those stores too, David.”) and turned playful after they decided on a one-for-one system. Patrick’s alt-folk mixes surprisingly seamlessly with the Whitneys and Mariahs David added. Even the Counting Crows Patrick put on the list just to be contrary fits, in a way.

“Everything okay with Brenda?” Patrick asks after David drops the phone back into his holder. “Are you going to put a new cleanser in my bathroom soon?”

“I don’t see why those two things are necessarily related,” David says, “but yes to both.”

“Good to know.” They might be able to flip the sign for lunch if they’re quick; clouds are gathering in the sky outside in a way that spells a dreary afternoon. “Want me to pick us up something?”

Patrick heads for the door at David’s nod of assent. Even though they haven’t talked about it, he still feels like he’s making up for something. Hopefully that will change. He’s jumping into this new talking strategy with both feet, and he just hopes that David will catch him.

Silly, he thinks as he crosses the street. David has never once let him fall.

Twyla greets him with a sunny smile and asks if they want their usual. For him, a burger is pretty standard, but David keeps vacillating between different soups, sandwiches, and salads. It’s a caesar salad day today; though Patrick would love to read into David’s mood from his choice, he knows better than that by now. David just does what he wants sometimes. As for Patrick, he’s mostly just happy that David is limiting the chance that he won’t like his food. He worked through the international section of the menu last week and spent three afternoons in a row cranky due to hunger and the continual failure of the café to meet his admittedly unrealistic expectations. He does add a cookie, because communication is great and all but it’s always good to have an insurance policy if things go south.

Back at the store, David’s handing over a Rose Apothecary tote to Roland and he’s not even grimacing. Much. There’s definite relief in his eyes when Patrick holds the door for Roland, though. It’s quickly replaced by confusion when Patrick flips the sign.

“I thought we could eat lunch together?” Patrick resists the urge to kick at the ground like a teenager, but it’s there. “We haven’t had much time to just...see each other. Today.”

“I saw plenty of you this morning.” David raises an eyebrow suggestively.

Patrick fights his easy blush; that’s beside the point. “That’s not—”

“You know I never complain about seeing you,” David continues. “But Roland said Jocelyn is going to stop by later, so we’ll have to keep an eye out.”

Patrick thinks Jocelyn can probably wait, but he keeps that to himself. He waits until they’re settled on the couch with David’s left thigh pressing against his right and David can’t talk past his mouthful of lettuce before he broaches the topic. “I did want to talk about this morning.”

David’s eyes widen as he chews, but he does look a little less frantic than he would months or even a year ago if Patrick said something similar.

While David can’t cut him off, Patrick presses his advantage. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you’re helpless. I don’t think you’re helpless.”

David rolls his eyes, but there’s something tight around his mouth that tells Patrick he has to do a little more here. He swallows, so Patrick hurries to finish his thought.

“I think you’re...you do a lot that I don’t do.”

“And you do a lot I don’t do.”

“I don’t think—no, I know, I know I don’t think about that enough.”

Something suspicious dissipates from David’s face. “Is this your whole talking thing again?”

“I don’t have a whole talking thing,” Patrick protests.

“You’ve had a whole talking thing for weeks now. Do you want me to run through all of my skills, or is it sufficient to just say that we’re okay?”

Patrick definitely had prepared to run through all of David’s skills, but he elects to save that for another time. Maybe tonight, when he has more ability to keep David in one place until he’s finished saying what he wants to say. “It’s enough. For now.”

“Threatening me with conversation.” David shakes his head. But he doesn’t take another bite, so he’s at least somewhat worried that Patrick will drop all of his feelings right this moment.

“You can eat, David.”

David lifts his fork cautiously.

So Patrick has no choice, really. “I love you.”

Patrick wants to frame the look David gives him, cheeks slightly bulging and eyes furious and generally perfect.

They unlock the front door in time to catch Jocelyn, and Patrick finds himself still cataloguing David’s competencies for the rest of the day. That night, Patrick sees his sweater, repaired and neatly folded in the way that David says limits wrinkles, hidden in his drawer under a college sweatshirt. It looks as good as new. “Thanks for the sweater.”

“Well, the cloning people were unhelpful. Said I’d have to keep all of you if I went for a new one, and I don’t have the constitution to be mocked twice as often.”

Patrick can’t let it go without saying something, though. “David. Thank you.” That should cover his whole talking thing for now. David still looks at him like he’s a too-large shipment that won’t fit in the planned display. Back to teasing, then. “You know, I had a thought.” Patrick affects his most guileless expression as he slides into bed next to his boyfriend. David’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Since you’re so good at this, and you went to art school and all, maybe you can help with costumes for Cabaret.”

Patrick enjoys the horrified look that blooms across David’s face probably too much. “I’m suddenly feeling very helpless.”

“Could be worse,” Patrick says. “At least there’s only one of me to deal with.”

[letterboxd]

Human Resources.

Kitty Green talks to our London correspondent Ella Kemp about “putting the audience in the shoes of the youngest woman in a toxic work environment” in her new film, The Assistant.

The long-undervalued job of a Hollywood assistant has come into stark relief thanks to recent events, and the stories that are being told of assistants’ experiences, working conditions and pay rates are jaw-dropping. (Episode 422 of the Scriptnotes podcast is well worth a listen.)

Filmmaker Kitty Green was well ahead of the conversation; her first narrative feature, The Assistant, quietly premiered at the Telluride Film Festival last August (and the Berlinale in February). Dubbed by many as ‘the first post-#MeToo movie’, it is a remarkable portrait of a young woman navigating just another day in the office. Except this is not just another office, and so many things are wrong about this day.

Starring Julia Garner (Grandma, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Electrick Children) as Jane, the assistant to the predatory head of a New York-based film studio, the story zooms in on the details of her routine—the tedious tasks, the belittlement from her colleagues, the oppression from her mostly faceless boss—with such laser-sharp vision that by the end we feel we know Jane deep in our bones.

Green has previously directed the documentary features Ukraine is Not a Brothel (2013) and Casting JonBenét (2017), the latter a meta-documentary that also hones in on the neglect and exploitation of young women, albeit under a different light (it is now streaming on Netflix). While Green’s documentary experience bears fruit in her attention to detail, the narrative form of The Assistant allows for a focus on mundane tasks and micro-reactions that documentary might not have access to.

Various Letterboxd reviews mention the anxiety-inducing way The Assistant allows us to watch Jane “probe her place in the established, tacit system of complacency… knowing that everyone around her is motivated by self-interest to pretend it doesn’t exist” (Josh Lewis). “Green encourages her viewers to pay close attention to what’s really going on beneath the surface,” (KristineJean) in “a horror movie of soul-sickening ambience” (Scott Tobias).

Though The Assistant’s film festival run was cut short, and the closure of cinemas around the world hurts for a lot of us, there’s something about the claustrophobia of social distancing and the intimacy of the small screen that maybe suits this picture. Nevertheless, seeing the film in a cinema in ‘the before time’ highlighted for Alyssa Heflin the ocean of different opinions that can come from misunderstood subtext: “Watching this in a room where you can hear people snickering at the girl and asking what the point of all this is adds a certain extra… incendiary level to an already deeply angry viewing experience.” Indeed, discomfort and crossed wires seem to define the messages at the core of The Assistant.

Kitty Green talks to Ella Kemp about the influence of Chantal Akerman, the infinite watchability of Julia Garner, and the oddness of growing up with a Nazi-free edit of The Sound of Music.

Jane (Julia Garner) takes another call from the boss in ‘The Assistant’.

The Assistant is your first fiction feature. The subject matter feels so immediate—what made you choose to not make a documentary of this, given your track record in that realm? Kitty Green: I went to fiction film school, and I made fiction short films. I then found work in documentary, so I made two feature-length docs. With this one, I was looking at exploring the micro-aggressions, the tiny moments, gestures, looks, glances, behaviors that often go overlooked when covering the #MeToo movement. We often talk about the bad men and the misconduct, but this is more about a cultural, structural problem. So I was hoping to amplify the more quietly insidious behavior that we need to address if we really want things to improve. A fiction film allowed me to hone in on details—close up—and the way you can take an annoyance through the emotional experience, putting the audience in the shoes of the youngest woman in a toxic work environment.

How did you decide to keep the timeframe to just one day in Jane’s life rather than fleshing it out over a longer period? The lead character is in such a complicated position. It’s such a difficult set of circumstances, the machinery that this predator has created around himself. I wanted to untick that, to discuss how difficult it is to be a young woman in that environment. So the day, the routine, was really important. What she was experiencing, how she was experiencing it; every task she did I gave equal weight to. Whether she was photocopying, binding something suspicious, you experience it as you would if you were in her shoes. That was important to me.

I had my fists clenched the whole time, when she’d be eating cereal, or washing up mugs, waiting for something awful to happen. Totally. It’s exploring misconduct, but it’s also looking at a whole spectrum, from gendered work environments, toxic work environments, through all these environments that support predatory behavior. I was interested in what the entry points are, without conflating those issues and being able to explore all the cultural systemic things we need to unpick to move forward.

The film is so focused on Jane, played by Julia Garner. How did you choose her? The script is pretty bare when it describes who she is, she’s just Jane. I didn’t have anyone in mind, really. I told my casting agent that we’re watching this character do the most mundane tasks, so it was important that she was striking. I said I needed someone infinitely watchable. I had seen Julia in The Americans and I remembered being struck by her, so I immediately wanted to meet her. She really understood the script, it worked out beautifully. We got to create the character together, we had a month of rehearsals where we really went through where she was emotionally at any given point, and Julia is wonderful so it was great.

Matthew Macfadyen and Kitty Green discuss a scene in ‘The Assistant’. / Photo: Ty Johnson

And Matthew Macfadyen—his character feels so crucial and his performance so pivotal, even in just one scene. What were you looking for when casting him? I’ve been a fan of his for forever, but I hadn’t seen Succession. Apparently the character has some similarities? I’ve only watched Succession in the past week… Somebody had to send me a clip to prove he could do an American accent! Matthew really brought something to that character and took it to another level. It’s so insidious what he does. He and Julia worked so beautifully together, it just got better and better every time.

How did you feel watching Succession now and seeing Matthew as Tom Wambsgans? Tom still feels different somehow. But I’ve had a good time watching it, he’s so great. There are parallels for sure!

The language you use in the film is so careful, so much is in the subtext. How do you build tension from these empty spaces? We had a great visual team who were lighting it in an interesting way. There was a lot of oppressive fluorescent lights. The sound was also very important—we had an amazing sound designer, Leslie Schatz, who does a lot of Todd Haynes’ stuff and Gus Van Sant’s. He’d done Elephant, which I thought was phenomenally sound designed. He sent out a team to record every kind of buzz, hum, whir, and we created a lot of tension in that soundscape. It heightens these moments when you can really feel the hum of the fluorescent lights or the alarm of the copier. Things like that are authentic to the world, so it doesn’t feel like you’re manipulating an audience, but they do add a dramatic tension.

During The Assistant’s various film festival screenings so far, audience reactions have been quite varied. Some people find it uncomfortable, some have found it funny. What would you hope an audience member would take from it? Who found it funny…? That’s a strange reaction, and a little terrifying. I think it makes some men uncomfortable and maybe their reaction is to laugh as a way to hide that discomfort. I get a lot of men come up to me afterwards and say, “There are things in that film that maybe I have done.” Those conversations are really important. There’s a scene where the men lean over Jane’s chair and correct her email, little things like that which can be quite patronising even if a lot of men think are helpful. But there’s a point where they cross a line, where maybe it isn’t helpful anymore and it’s a little insulting. I’ve had a few people who are bosses with their own assistants who have watched the film and have said they’re going to treat them a little better, and that maybe they’re wrestling with their own guilt. I think those conversations are great.

Julia Garner prepares for a take on the set of ‘The Assistant’. / Photo: Ty Johnson

What is your favorite one-woman-show performance, where one female actor entirely carries the film? A big influence on The Assistant was Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. It’s just one woman going about her housework. I remember seeing that in film school and being bowled over by it, I’d never seen anything like it.

Do you have a favorite scene that has ever taken place in an office environment? Offices… I mean, I love The Office? I watched it in preparation for this, even though there’s seemingly nothing in common except for the ways of the photocopier…

It’s important to inhale that kind of comedy while working on something more intense, right? For sure, that helps.

What is your favorite on-screen argument? I watched a lot of them to prepare for the HR scene, as it’s a confrontation between two characters. There’s a scene in Steve McQueen’s Hunger, which is a seventeen-minute dialogue. It’s an incredible scene. It’s not an argument but still some sort of confrontation. I was interested in scenes like that which are really long and stand out from the rest of the movie. James Schamus, one of my producers, made a film called Indignation, which has a confrontation between two characters, which also influenced the structure of what I was doing. I also just watched the latest episode of Better Call Saul in which there’s a sixteen-minute confrontation, which I thought was pretty remarkable.

What was the first film that made you want to be a filmmaker? To be honest I’m not sure. I got a video camera when I was eleven, and I started playing with it in our backyard, making little movies. It wasn’t that I saw a film and tried to replicate it necessarily. But I do have a strange story…

I had a copy of The Sound of Music in which my father had edited out the Nazis, because he was worried I’d be scared of them as a kid. So I have this strange 40-minute version of the film that ends at the wedding scene… And I always thought that was The Sound of Music, and then in high school I figured out there’s this whole other storyline I never knew existed. I guess that taught me the power of editing! I had to go back and rewatch what I’d seen, and it definitely made me think of the craft more as a viewer.

‘The Assistant’ is available to watch on VOD platforms (including Hulu) as of late July.

[ordinaryoddness]

“OH, DROKK THIS!”

Anyone that knows me will be aware of my love for 2000AD, a sci-fi anthology comic that’s been going for longer than I have been on this earth. Since its inception in 1977, 2000AD has featured thousands of stories, giving birth to some of the greatest comic characters of all time. 

One of which is, Judge Joseph Dredd, a hard-hearted, law enforcement officer in a far flung American future. Judge Dredd featured a cynical new world, where cops (Judges) could execute on the spot and throw people in the slammer for the pettiest of crimes. 

Mega City One, is a mass of ‘Blocs’, entire towns condensed into gigantic, rocket-shaped apartment buildings, usually named after minor British celebrities (There is a ‘Sue Perkins Bloc’ for example) or politicians. This world saw humans, mutants and droids live side-by-side, mostly at odds with each other, or the various (sometimes surreal) criminal elements that threatened an already shaky and paranoid city.

 Judge Dredd is not a hero, not in the conventional sense. He is a mostly cold, blank slate of a man whose sole purpose is to uphold the law and literally nothing else.

 Dredd has killed MILLIONS of people in the years he has been active. In one story, Dredd dropped a nuclear weapon on Russia, ending a war but killing millions of innocent people in the process. He is a machine of little sympathy and patience. Dredd is so infused with the law, and the upholding thereof, that he NEVER TAKES HIS HELMET OFF (Please, remember this) and he literally has no time for friendships or human things like emotion. Judges are sworn to not have romantic relationships and Dredd is above all of that. He doesn’t even think about it. Love is for creeps. 

In the comics, Dredd may as well be a robot, or a Robocop. (Dredd inspired that classic film) but, unlike Alex Murphy, Joe Dredd has no family (Well, not in the conventional sense but we’ll get to that in a wee while)

 Basically, Judge Dredd is awesome. I advise you to dig out the books and throw yourself into a world I’ve been enjoying since I was 8. Also, check out the 2012 film adaption called ‘Dredd’ because it NAILS the comic, the world and the character (with loads of cool references for longtime fans). It also features Judge Anderson, my absolute favourite female comic book character. 2000AD has, for the most part, featured strong female characters and the Dredd universe is no exception. 

1995 then. ‘Stallone IS Dredd’

Sly Stallone. Is. Dredd. Judge Dredd. A unfeeling, facially unknown, killer for the law. A character to be booed as well as cheered.

I was 15 when Judge Dredd came out. I was pretty excited. Didn’t last.

In less than ten minutes in, Judge Dredd takes his helmet off and by the end, he’s smooching Judge Hershey.

I get why fans get annoyed when films mess up their characters. Sometimes, it’s a little off kilter. I care not for changing the race of a character. Who cares as long as they embody that person? I would have taken a non-white Dredd. All the actor had to do was live by the code of the character, to be best representation of the man on the big screen. (Yes, Dredd has to be male. It kind of doesn’t work if he isn’t)

Stallone was not that man. The only thing that made him remotely qualified to be Dredd was that they both have distinguishable chins. 

Judge Dredd: The Movie was a cynical cash grab for a character that was kind of niche. Dredd wasn’t huge in America, even when he fought Batman. He was cult, through and through. It was a film that needed to be made by people that KNEW the material, that honoured the little/big things. Karl Urban, who played ‘The One True Dredd’ was a fan of the character and you can tell he was having a blast bringing him to life. When you watch Sly, you can see that one eye is on the scene, and the other is on the sack of money in the corner. 

The film, to delve into the travesty, is mostly harmless to those that just want to watch Sly wobble about like he does. For fans (I’d go as far to say that I’m a ‘super fan’, I’ve paid my dues) it’s like watching a shit cover of a great song on ‘X-Factor’. It’s soulless, lifeless and so lazy. No one wins in this, even 2000AD who, after it came out, could barely hide their dislike for it. 

It takes an old story and adds a few things to it. To give the film one single positive point, it looks the business. Chris Cunningham did a great job of the special effects, The Angel Gang and Hammerstein look awesome. THERE was the love and passion, all around people that couldn’t care less.

Judge Dredd: 1995 Edition worst crime is that it’s boring. It’s really, really boring. It tries to be funny, even drafting in Deuce Bigelow in as ‘comic relief’, again playing a character that’s completely different to the original material. Judge Anderson isn’t in it, which is a blessing. They would have probably re-imagined this cool, smart and female hero into a ditzy, blonde bimbo who keeps going all ga-ga over Rambo. 

They would have cast  Pamela Anderson, wouldn’t they? 

Diane Lane is in there, playing an equally iconic female character, Judge Hershey. She does, indeed, go ga-ga over Rambo and they have a kiss at the end. No real reason why. It doesn’t even make sense in the film and in the comic, they would never do that for about a million reasons. 

While they do use the famous ‘I AM THE LAW’ catchphrase, they also give the helmet-free, happy-go-lucky Dredd a new motto. In the film, he keeps saying “I knew you’d say that”, which is like something a sales manager would say, not an action hero. They really try to ram it home during the film. I bet Sly thought it was great, probably because when he says “Law” it sounds like he’s about to shit himself. 

When Armand Assante (playing Dredd’s ‘brother’ Rico) says ‘LAAAAAAAAAAAW’ to mock Dredd, it sounds like he’s reached a climax. Maybe he was channelling hopeless directer Danny Cannon who was hoping that this shit show would be that years ‘The Fifth Element’ (The film seems to take more cues from that movie than it does the comics)

Films are just fluff though, aren’t they? It’s kind of pointless to get all wound up about what is ultimately fleeting. I feel bad for feeling anything towards it. It’s probably the last time I was ‘angry’ at a film. Although, that being said, I saw ‘Batman Forever’ not long after and watched another favourite character be reduced to a dancing bear. Embarrassingly, I came out and, annoyed about a two-punch combo of crappy comic movies, I booted a cardboard cutout of ‘Batman Forever’ and declared, overly loudly, that I would never go to the cinema again. I did, about a year later but by then I was getting into indie-films and just wanted to watch people talking for 90 minutes.

Judge Dredd is a bad film, whether you love the source material or not. I’m more annoyed at it for tarnishing the later, superior Dredd film. A sequel and a series is so long overdue and it bothers me that the best representation of Judge Dredd and his universe is ‘I knew you’d say that’

As a little caveat, I did manage to get a measure of ‘revenge’ (probably too strong a word but there you go) with regards to JD 1995, In 2006, I ended up working on a film (didn’t come out) with a producer that knew Danny ‘Judge Dredd’ Cannon. He had actually tried to get his friend involved, giving him a copy of the film I wrote. In one of my many, many phone calls from sunny L.A to shady Quarry Bank, I was picked up on an exchange within in the film, where the two main characters, briefly take about Judge Dredd being terrible. There was a line (I won’t repeat it here) that, apparently, Danny Cannon was very offended by and I was asked to remove it. I was 26 at the time, sat on the stairs of my shared house, and it felt like a one in the eye for Hollywood. I am the law, thank you very much.

[lifeofgroffsauce]

Subject: Life Update (AKA Jon Spills His Soul)

June 25th, 2018. *Email contains TWs*

Today was the Mondayest of all Mondays. I got sunburned yesterday at Pride (super fun by the way, always recommend. Pride, not the scorched skin.) Really wasn't planning on going anywhere today. Our flight got in at 2 this morning, which was pretty rough. Probably should’ve planned that spontaneous trip to Cali better, but then it wouldn’t have been spontaneous now would it. Uh, I slept in until 8, if you could, on any level, call that sleeping in. Something I overheard yesterday kind of stuck with me in a negative way. I ran into (okay, more like eavesdropped onto) a group of gay men conversing about bisexual men. They were super insistent that there’s no satisfying a bisexual man because they always crave women. I know you know where this is going so yeah, bare with me. It’s so stupid; it even sounds just idiotic, because how can you shame an entire sexuality for the wrongs of a few people. I know it’s not logical. I know, I know, I know. It triggered this... I’m not even sure what to call it. Insecurity maybe? Naturally, the smallest of shit just exacerbated it. I got into a disagreement with my boyfriend over lube. Aloe as lube (which has a consistency akin to vaginal fluids (I’m sorry, even more sorry for brackets in brackets) so that just, BAD ). Specifically, him using it when he topped (dominated, if you’re not familiar) me. He didn’t want to and it fucking spiraled into this even bigger thing where my brain did that awesome cute thing of not shutting the fuck up. I didn’t even want him to touch me. How is that possible? How does it make sense? It’s so frustrating because I know it doesn’t. He started getting moody (I think) and for some reason that made me want to fuck him but- let’s put it this way: I’m finally seeing those side effects of Lexapro. As if I don’t already feel comfortable with my body, the one aspect I’ve never complained about doesn’t work. To top all of it off, I received an email from my agent that says filming for one of my projects has been moved up to August. The producers were talking about pushing this out until November, now it’s August? That’s less than six weeks away. I’m so fucking worried. I’m unfathomably worried that this is too soon to leave my boyfriend. I already know I’m going to miss so much: he’s having another baby in a few months (I can already imagine the new-baby-bonding with his not-even-ex wife he’s going to do), his third to accompany his two other small sons, one of which is still basically a newborn too. I’m going to miss out on these big stepping stones (there’s a better phrase out there, I’m adamant about it but don’t care enough to seek it; jk we both know I’ll get to the end of this and be anxious and not send this email if I don’t find it). WAIT, milestones! That’s the word. Including my commentary because I know how much you enjoy my psyche’s crisis. Um, yeah. I’m going to miss everything; I’ll be continents away in an entirely different time zone, filming a depressing fucking tv show, all alone; with the exception of my ex-boyfriend (who has been weirdly appropriate with me. Are you tired of all my notes in brackets yet?) Everything in my head is screaming it’s a bad idea: leaving. I can’t stay though; like, I can’t back out of this project. Papers have already been signed, the cast is locked in, and I’ve already removed myself from two other projects. It won’t look good on my theatre sheet/‘filmography’ to have that little *incomplete* red mark. To add (lol didn’t I already say thing or something? Fuck it, let’s keep rolling): Jesus Christ, my niece Camden has been so salty lately. She’s feeling so left out since I moved, but it’s not like I’m ten minutes away anymore and I can just easily pick her up. That little girl is my heart and soul; I’d never intentionally hurt her yet, here she is. Declining to spend the night or even hang out because she doesn’t get “all of me”. You have a daughter; what would you do with that one? Right, can’t make it personal. Sorry. Which, I think it super ironic when you think about how your patients (clients?) spill their motherfucking guts out on the ugly commercial carpet of your office (sorry if you chose it, so sorry!) and you’re not supposed to share much in return. My pop texted me to see if I was still coming to my parents’ wedding anniversary party, with my boyfriend. This will be the first time he’s meeting my dad, and the first time any significant other of mine will be meeting the rest of my PA family/friends. I don’t worry about Lin at all- he’s fucking amazing with people, and so, so charming. Jesus, does he have a way with words. Before this turns into a weird, unfulfilling love letter to him, let’s refocus. I don’t want to think about the way my father is going to look at me, at us, as a couple, together. Me, with another man. I’m still reeling over the last glance that seemed to scream, “ew, my son’s gay.” You know how people say things like, “Your parents love you unconditionally; they would never change a thing about you”? That’s definitely not true in my case, and I can feel it every time we’re alone. When we’re joking or talking, it’s cool, but then... then, there’s a silence that sets my teeth on edge and he acknowledges we’re not the same. Not that we were ever supposed to be but, I don’t even think I’m explaining this right, now. When I was a teenager (I know I’ve told you about this), a story came out on the local news about two homosexual men being wrongly jailed for a crime they didn’t commit. While awaiting trial, they were raped and beaten by a gaggle of bigger prison guys. Apparently it was so brutal they required stitching, to which the inmates tore out and repeated the first occurrence. Awesome, right. It’s forever burned in my mind what he said, because I know he wasn’t meaning to be cruel or callous but the words just came out. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone but if anyone would like it, God knows it would be those sissies. That’s what they all want anyway.” Followed by, “Sodomy is sodomy; they shouldn’t complain.” Every time I’m at my parents house, my brother Dave is amazing at swooping in to provide this phenomenal (majorly liberal) support system. He really pushes to educate my parents and not leave an older generation in the dark. I have to admit, he’s worked wonders with them, on so many different topics. That one though. I just think he looks at me and wishes so badly I was hetero. He’d sell his soul just to watch me marry Lea, I’m sure. Wow, my “just” count is insane but, no editing. Rolling with it; thoughts as they come. TLDR; I just feel like I’m disappointing everyone, or if I haven’t already, I’m going to. I fucking shouldn’t, I know that I’m thirty-three and still waiting for my parents approval is so goddamn old. It doesn’t mean anything though. Regardless, I’m waiting for the ball to drop, and I’m not sure the meds are helping. I haven’t been hyperventilating or had an actual attack but I still feel the anxiety. It feels like a harsh hand around my throat that makes it hard to breathe but I always somehow manage to catch my breath; that must be the drugs. I’m shocked I haven’t once mentioned how huge and disproportionate my thighs looked in every pair of baggy sweatpants and basketball shorts I tried on today. There’s one. It’s so exhausting to even try to talk about, or convey through here. You know the drill: thought about it for hours, picked at my food, maaaay have googled ‘things to eat for slim thighs’. Definitely did. At this point in life... I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Between typing out sentences of this email, I stopped to try to get hard (you’re getting the explicit, uncut version, sorry; also hi, wishful thinking) but all porn does is annoy me. I feel so wound up, anxious, and almost angry. Low-key (this is new generation talk for like, “kinda”, I think) want to just... cry. In conclusion: Jonathan feels all the things and I haven’t even told you half of it... believe it or not. I have a headache and this couch is hurting my neck. This is all you’re getting. Relief, right? You’re like, “Thank fucking god, Jon, you already sent me a Harry Potter novel. Let me respond then you may continue rattling on about your not-even-bad life you’re complaining about.” It really ISN’T bad, for the record. It’s not, at all. I’m just in my feelings and at the peak of frustration. Okay, done ranting. I think I feel better? I might not even send this. Let’s play russian roulette with the enter key. If you get this, thumbs up. If you don’t... I guess I won’t expect a reply. Thank you, always, for dealing with me. I’m sorry these thoughts couldn’t wait... three days. Face palm.

[Sent]

[azaleablueme]

Searching for one particular post in my archives, I realised I never published the edited version of my Romione Secret Santa ‘16 story that I wrote for @wildegreenlight   here on Tumblr. Since the story was submitted while I had very little to no power backup, it wasn’t as polished as I had wanted her gift to be. So here it goes.  Jodi, thanks for being such a darling and ignoring all those typos in your Christmas present! 

Read on FFN

NSFW under the Keep Reading link.

A CHRISTMAS WISH

Let's go,' he whispered in Hermione's ears as they sat along with the ever growing Weasley clan in the Burrow's living room.

'Not yet, Ron!' she muttered back quickly and laughed along with the little group she was chatting with. 

Ron wondered if she even knew what she was laughing at. For the past few blissful minutes, he had been busy caressing her back, his large palm snuggled inside her warm blouse and tracing random patterns on her soft skin. On hindsight, he was glad about the crowd and was happy that the shadows cast by the many family members gathered in the room overpowered the light emitted by the fire in the fireplace. That he sat on the old, rickety couch next to her, and hidden in the shadows while taking casually to his brothers and best mate only made it easier. No one would suspect anything. Well, no one apart from his noisy little sister who, he was sure was taking note of his and Hermione's reactions. But not even Ginny could bother him today: he was way too excited to care.

Ron enjoyed these little stolen moments with Hermione. It reminded him of the time when they had begun dating just after the war. Hermione was particularly conscious when it came to displays of affection in front of his parents, and he often resorted to sneaking around to get a snog just to annoy her. It was also his way of dealing with all the war scars, but whatever be the reason, he loved those moments. He would always regret that he had waited and wasted all those school years which could have been so much better with stolen kisses behind tapestries and dark corridors (and yes, the library, of course).

He pulled himself out of the blissful dreams and shook his head trying to get back to whatever George was saying.

"Um, no?" he said hoping with all his might that it was a correct response.

"No?! So you are not taking Hermione to Greece this summer?"

He paled. Pulling out his hand, he scratched his neck.

"Of course I am! She is had been waiting for that trip all her life," he provided quickly. "I just thought you asked if we were leaving the kids behind."

All his brothers and that git he called brother-in-law cum best mate stared at him like he had grown an extra pair of heads.

"Five Galleons on Ron," declared Charlie and George shook his head.

"Too late, the results are almost obvious now. Told you Percy was a wrong bet."

"You guys are betting on me, again?" he asked incredulously, and they ignored him, bickering about rebidding amongst themselves.He huffed, annoyed, and after a while, leant a little on his wife who stretched resting her back on his chest. With all irritation from a moment ago dissolving easily, he went back to his thoughts.

He specifically cherished the way she blushed profusely after those hidden escapades. His wife was more comfortable now of course, but she still refrained from snogging him in front of their parents or most of their friends, for that matter. And while at home, two curious and adorable interrupting brats kept them occupied most of the time. Needless to say, he had fallen into his old habit of stealing moments with her easily and eagerly.

That was also the precise reason why he wanted to get home tonight. His mum had started this new ritual when Victorie had been five, and since then, every Christmas Eve, she would have all her grandchildren at the Burrow to kip for the night. The rest of the family came down next morning to open all their presents together under the giant Christmas tree they set up in the living room. They all knew it was her way of filling up the gaping hole left behind by Fred, one that could never be filled.

Ron thought, he now realised quite well the sigh of relief and eagerness shared by his eldest brother and his wife the first time his Mum had expressed her wish. Being the parents of two toddlers had effectively cut down his snuggling time. A cuddle with Hermione often turned into a family tumble on the couch. He loved it, obviously, but he did miss those lazy afternoons which he used to spend with her. And as far as shagging was concerned, he was worried that soon he might even forget all the 'how to's of the act. Hermione, however, had had a laughing fit when he had confessed his fears. Once she had settled down, she had assured him (while wiping off her tears of mirth) that no matter how many things he forgot in life, lovemaking would never be one of them. He had let out a huge sigh of relief.

But five-year-old Rose and three-year-old Hugo seemed to be hell bent on testing him. He was sure that the kids, especially his son, had some sort of Seer vision: one that enabled him to cut all further claims on his parents' affections at the root. So, most if not all his attempts of shagging his wife were adorably interrupted by a cherubic face and big round teary eyes. How could Hermione ever ignore that face? Heck, how could he ignore that face?!

But today would be his day, more specifically his night. He didn't care that his brothers were all betting on him to leave before everyone else.

He casually wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist before inconspicuously sneaking it inside her blouse once more. With the Weasley jumper and jacket, she wore over it, not to forget the darkness, no one would notice.

“Please," he whispered hoarsely at her nape while gently flicking the bra strap underneath her cups and grinned to himself as she drew in a sharp breath and hid it with a small cough.

Her response, or rather the usual admonishment he expected from her, didn't follow and he knew he was getting close to winning. To make things even more in his favour, he lowered his hand and casually placed his fingers at the waistband of her jeans. Hermione squirmed in her seat and he laughed along with Harry, to what, he wasn't very sure. The dinner was already over and he couldn't wait to get home and get his wife to himself.

Hugo, now three, had been too young for a night away from his Mum so far, but this year, he was eager to be a part of the comparatively new Weasley tradition. Ron, though he would never accept it in front of Hermione, couldn't wait to have the house to himself. This was the Christmas gift he was looking forward to the most. And, he couldn't wait to see her in the little black thing he had brought for her. It was his turn to squirm as he imagined her in that negligee. His pants grew a little tight at the image and he pushed those delicious thoughts away, albeit a little grudgingly.

He glanced around at his brothers and their families. It was a known fact that each pair was eager to go home and start their own little celebration, but no one wanted to be the first to leave and be the butt of the jokes during their Christmas dinner. They even placed bets on it, buggers. He never did. For once, he agreed with his wife. As Hermione said, it was too immature. It was just a dumb coincidence that they were usually the first to leave anyway, followed by Harry and Ginny. But that was before Rose had been born, he thought with a sigh.

He had to admit it used to be fun when Harry would make stupid excuses till Ginny simply pulled him away. And last year, Percy gave the dumbest possible reason - 'to work on some official papers' he had said. It was priceless. They had nicknamed shagging as 'working on official papers' for the better part of the year. For the last five years, Charlie and even Percy had been more reliable bets, better than him.

He looked around just in time to notice Harry and George share a smirk. The two buggers were waiting for him to get up first.

Wait! Was he that fucking obvious?!

He looked at Hermione and that was the precise moment when she casually placed her hand on his thighs.

Fuck. To hell with the stupid bet, he was leaving.

He picked himself up almost casually and stretched while stifling a pretend yawn. Harry snickered next to him, not even bothering to hide it. He glared at his best mate and noticed with utter surprise as Percy looked at him exasperatedly over his glasses, shook his head, and then, flipped out a few Sickles and passed them on to George. He chose to get back to this later.

"Hermione?" he called softly. She looked at him, and after only a second's hesitation left her seat. He smiled to himself as he watched her. Well, for those blissful moments were soon to follow he was ready to take all the teasing that would come tomorrow.

"Rose, Hugo?" she called, and the two left the games they were playing to run promptly towards them. She hugged and kissed them both goodnight and he did the same. He really adored their kids. For a minute, when two little pairs of arms held him around his neck and those beautiful faces pressed into his chest, he almost felt guilty for wanting that alone time with Hermione.

"Come on, love, we've got the story time coming," called his Mum, and the two sprinted away from him. It was a quick set of goodbyes before he grabbed their travelling cloaks and pulled Hermione out of the door, amidst a lot of money changing hands, he knew for sure.

There was no point putting on an extra pair of clothing when all would be discarded soon. So, without bothering to pull on their travelling cloaks, he simply wrapped a firm hand around his wife's waist drawing her into his warmth. He eagerly Apparated them away from the snow cover grounds into the warmth of their flat.

…...

His lips were on hers as soon as their feet hit the floor and her eyes fluttered shut at the long-awaited bliss. The cloaks dropped off Ron's hand to pool at their feet and they lost their jackets even without conscious thought as they fumbled to get their footing, unwilling still to break the kiss.

Ron had pulled her closer (was that was even possible?), and her arms easily went around his neck mentally thanking the heels that added a few necessary inches to her height to match his. His hands were back inside her jumper and her top reclaiming their position which they had occupied for the better part of the evening, and she pressed deeper into the kiss, threading her fingers into his hair and cherishing the soft moan that escaped his lips.

"Kitchen?" she grinned when they finally broke apart for air.

"And why not?" he replied in a husky whisper. That voice still rendered her weak at her knees like it did years ago. She smiled and his eyes glittered with joy and a terrifying amount of lust that lit a fire in her core.Ron didn't waste precious time with further words, thankfully. He flipped her over and pressed her against the counter before tenderly guiding her hair to her left shoulder and pulling down the neck of her jumper. He let out a small sound of frustration on meeting another obstruction in the form of her blouse, but that too was deftly pulled away (quite possibly ripping a button or two) before his lips found their way to her nape. She moaned and grabbed the marble countertop for support, angling her neck to give him better access.

"Of course," she managed weakly, not even sure what she was answering to as he pressed his body onto hers, his arousal pressing onto her bum. He sucked at her nape, one of her pulse-points, before placing his large hands on her waist, under her clothes, of course.

"I-" she began, but her words were cut short by his fingers that gripped on her sides.

"Shhh," he murmured in her ears softly, and she shuddered at the way his words washed over her while he nibbled at her earlobe before pressing a kiss behind her ear.

Another pleasure point; Sweet Merlin, he remembered, she thought as a fresh bolt of pleasure ran down her spine.

And boy was he taking it slow, and torturously so.

But she couldn't blame him. Their lovemaking had come down to quick shags since the birth of their kids. And even those were rare and far in between. They still used to find some time for themselves until Rose turned one. But ever since their daughter learnt how to get out of the crib by herself, lovemaking had almost become a luxury. Hermione always marvelled how the kids precisely and inadvertently always knew when their parents were up to something, especially Hugo.

Hermione almost didn't notice that Ron had stopped, but then he turned her over gently by the shoulder and lifted her up to sit on the kitchen counter, bringing them at eye level. He placed himself between her legs and lifted her chin up to meet her eyes.

"Anything wrong?" he asked while he tenderly tucking a loose tendril behind her ear. She met those blue eyes that still made her fall in love with him a little more each time and shook her head. As Hermione continued to look at him, watching the face she loved beyond all, she realised that she was almost subconsciously waiting for the miniature version of him to pop out from somewhere.

"They'll be fine you know," he said caressing her cheeks with his thumb, and she placed her palms on his arms.

"I know," she replied softly. "Just that- it's kind of strange, not being interrupted, you know?" she grinned which was cut short as she watched his eyes lingering on her lips.

"Well, tell me about it!" he snickered, rubbing his neck with his hand. "I'm almost waiting for them to pop out from somewhere."

"Me too!" she laughed."Am I too selfish for wanting you all to myself tonight, Hermione? I have been counting days for this one night," he said in a quiet voice as if he was conflicted and a tad bit ashamed as well. It was her turn to pull him close and press her lips on his this time. His fingers tangled in the curls at her neck with practised ease.

"Maybe," she smiled against his lips, "depends on what you want tonight," she teased and noticed the lopsided grin that assured her that her husband had accepted the challenge. 

It had been a while since they had played this game which usually kept them busy for hours in their pre-parenthood days.

"I think you got a teaser already, Granger," he replied mischievously, and before she knew, his palms were inside her shirt. 

The hooks of her bra came off easily and she gripped the wool at his chest as he pressed those warm hands over her breasts, cupped them and casually rubbed his thumb over the sensitive nubs while watching her closely for her reaction. She could not hold back the sharp intake of breath and he grinned again.

"Score, wifey."

Hermione moaned and arched her body further into his hands as he played almost casually with the sensitive nipples. He was winning and she had to level the scores. She removed her jumper in a flash and then flipped open the buttons on her blouse slowly, all the while with his hands still under them.The lust that flashed in his eyes as he watched her naked skin come into view with his hands playing with her nipples was worth the slow teasing that was driving her insane as well.

"Score levelled, husband?" 

She could not wait to rip her clothes off, or his for that matter, but it was a battle of wills, a game they used to play. In this game, both of them tried to tease the other to the point where the slow pace got way too much to bear. The wild lovemaking that followed those torturously unhurried foreplay sessions were always worth it. But it had been long since they had had the time to indulge in their favourite pastime, until today.

"See something you like, Ronald?" she challenged as all the buttons came undone. 

Her bra straps hung loosely over her shoulders, his fingers working a bit more aggressively than before.Hermione smiled. Her pregnancy had done a wonderful work on her breasts and she secretly loved it. And, it had been a while since Ron had looked at her like that in a brightly lit room. Most of their lovemaking nowadays was restricted to the darkest hours of the night and with as much quiet as they could manage lest they woke the kids up. Even with the Silencing Charms, the little ones always managed to find the most inappropriate moment to disturb them. So much so, that after months of high and dry episodes, they had auto-tuned themselves to be satisfied with quickies. She missed those slow nights and knew Ron missed them too.She looked at her husband and was happy to note that he was trying hard to steady his breathing but failing miserably. Her heart gave a whoop, not just because she was winning but also because she couldn't wait for this game to end and feel his skin on hers.

 But he was quick to turn the table on her as his mouth took in what his right hand had been enjoying and she gasped aloud, arching her body further into his mouth, wrapping her legs around his waist and threading her fingers through his hair to pull him closer.He grinned against her skin (the prat!) while sucking deliriously slowly, and then bit softly before running his tongue over the nub and she moaned louder, pressing herself more into him, feeling his hard member against her clothed core.

To hell with winning, she wanted him.

"Someone seems to like what I am doing to her, isn't she?" Ron grinned against the hollow of her throat even as his hands pressed over her bum and squeezed. 

Ron could pretend to be in control all he wanted, but she could hear the want in his voice.Hermione was quick to pull out his shirt from the grasp of his jeans and used her small nails to scratch his back. He growled aloud in response and thrust against her involuntarily. She knew he would: he loved when she scratched him.She tugged on his jumper and he allowed her to pull it off along with his shirt. He wasn't wearing an undershirt and she couldn't be gladder. 

Hermione placed a palm on his bare chest and placed her free hand over his arousal that was creating quite a bulge in his jeans. Ron moaned aloud and pulled her to him, crashing his lips on hers. She continued to caress him over his jeans, playfully running her fingers over his length as his mouth got insistent over hers. She knew he was close to losing the game by the way he sucked on her lower lip and pulled it between his before deepening the kiss further. Eager to get to the main act, she fumbled with his buckle as he thrust into her hand again.

"Hermione, fuck the game, I c-cant-" he mumbled breathlessly against her lips before picking her up easily in his arms and striding away towards the bedroom.

…...

"I wanted you to unwrap the gift and wear it for me tonight, but perhaps we'll get to that in round two," he told her while pulling down her jeans, enjoying the sight of her knickers coming into view in the brightly lit room. 

Her heels had fallen off somewhere in the kitchen and she now stood clad in an open shirt, an unhooked bra, knickers and those pale thigh-length stocking she wore. She could wear a rag and he would still be hot for her.She got to work on his pants and he kicked off his shoes quickly, gasping aloud as her palms found his erect member over his boxers. Bloody fucking hell, he had not been this aroused in a while.

"Touch me, please," he managed, placing his arms on her shoulder and pressing his lips at her nape. He shook involuntarily as she slipped her hand inside the waistband.

"FUCK!" he yelled gripping her harder, concentrating with all his might not to spill.She pulled him to the bed and he collapsed on her easily allowing her to take the lead as she pulled his boxers off.

DING!

Ron couldn't believe his luck (or fucking rotten luck to be more precise). Who the fuck could be calling in through the floo at this hour?!

He watched with shock and disbelief at his wife who still had her fingers wrapped around his hard member. She was listening hard. 

Good, yes, perhaps they had heard it wrong? Perhaps whoever was calling would leave if they pretended to not have heard?

DING! chimed the floo again.

"I've got to see who it is, Ron!" she sighed, pushing him to escape from under him.

"I'm sure it's a prank by either George or Harry, Hermione!" he begged as she managed to wriggle out and pulled out the dresser drawer.

She paused and looked conflictingly between him and the open door."What if it's important? Only the family can call in now," she reasoned, a little torn before she quickly made a decision. 

Unbuttoning her shirt and throwing it down, she pulled out one of his large t-shirts and slipped it on.

"It'll take me just a minute to check," she called before bending down and patting his still rock hard manhood lovingly. 

"Wait for me, okay?”

"Not bloody fair!" he cried as she left him and ran past the door.

"KILL HARRY FOR ME IF THIS IS HIS IDEA OF A JOKE!" he yelled after her and heard her laugh.

Alone in their room, Ron focussed on the image of his wife as he watched their discarded clothes scattered around. He couldn't wait for her to return to his arms and resume what they had been doing. Soft voices were floating in, but Hermione had pulled the door on her way out and he couldn't decipher much of what was being said. Nor did he care. His focus was on what he wanted to do to her. Seeing her in that shirt of his had only added to his arousal. How could it not? It was an old Chudley Cannon jersey. What was a normal sized shirt for him, reached her almost till her thighs. And the neck was so big on her petite shoulders that it was easy to pull down from the sides.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted once more as a bright light swam in through the gap in the door.

"WHAT THE-"

….

Hermione couldn't believe it.

 She had unlocked the floo, and within a minute, Fleur was standing in front of her holding Hugo in her arms. She watched the tear stained face of her son hugging his favourite soft toy in his arms, and the first thought that came to her mind was that he had been hurt.Fleur was quick to put that concern to rest. 

"He is fine, just wanted his mum. And terribly so."

Obviously, she thought with a mixed sigh of relief and annoyance.

On hindsight, it was foolish of her to assume that Molly would send the child back if he was hurt. She was more apt at dealing with cuts and bruises that Hermione would probably ever be. 

However, Hugo had inherited his mother's stubbornness to the core. Apparently, after a relatively good start, the little one had become increasingly teary and insistent on getting back home. Molly had even tried putting him to sleep next to her but in vain. He knew whom he wanted -his Mum.

"Sorry, Hermione," said Fleur apologetically, obviously not missing her state of undress as Hermione picked up Hugo in her arms. The little devil was quick to wrap his tiny arms around her neck, pressing his face into her chest.

Waving goodbye to her sister-in-law, Hermione closed the floo before hugging her son closer. She perched them down on the couch and tenderly arranged his auburn fringe from his eyes.

"Didn't you say you were a big boy, Hugo? Big boys can stay at their Gramma's without mum, you know?"

"Hugo is a big boy!" he told her seriously, "but Hugo loves Mum," he reasoned as if that was the perfect closing statement. 

Hermione sighed. How on earth, was she even supposed to be angry after that statement?!

"Alright. Come, let's put you to bed, I see you brought Snuggy," she said lifting the kid up and perching him on her hip while he tightened his hold on his toy jack terrier.

"No!" he declared, gripping her firmly with his chubby hands. Her heart sunk a little.

"But why love? You are home, and it's bedtime already!"

"Hugo sleeps with Mumma," he announced happily and pecked her on the cheek. 

Hermione looked at the happy face of her son and thought of her poor husband who was unaware of the whole new drama that was unfolding in their living space. He was still waiting for their own celebrations.

"Hugo, you are a big boy, aren't you? Big boys sleep in their room," she tried patiently, which was not an easy thing to do. Their activities from moments ago had caused her knickers to be in quite an uncomfortable mess.She tried keeping her face straight and displayed no eagerness to finish tucking him in. Her past few years as a mum had taught her that the kids were never to know how eagerly their parents awaited their nap time. The moment they saw the gleam of joy in their parents' eyes, they always dropped all plans right away.

"But Hugo is Mumma's little baby! Hugo sleep with Mumma!" he announced cheerfully. Hermione decided that dramatics would be the field the tyke would excel at.

"No, honey. Mum and Daddy sleep in Mum's room, Hugo sleeps in his."

Little lips pouted and tears sprang instantly in those bright blue eyes and her heart twisted painfully.

"But Hugo want Mumma!" he cried softly while snuggling deeper into her chest. 

Defeated, she lifted her wand and a silvery otter swiftly floated away to their bedroom. At least Ron needed a fair warning.

"When will Hugo grow up?" she asked while untying his footwear and dropping them off at the shoe rack giving Ron some time to sort matters.

"Sattuday!" Her little one replied promptly.

…

'Hugo is back. He is adamant about sleeping with us tonight.'

Ron couldn't believe the words that had come out of his wife's Patronus. He blinked like an idiot as the otter disappeared before springing up and looking around for his wand.

Fuck. It was inside his jacket in the kitchen.

As he heard soft voices approaching, he flipped open his bedside drawer and pulling out his Deluminator, clicked it once. The light from the lamp flew into it shrouding the room in darkness. Next, he slid inside the cover, turned sideways and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, his erection still throbbed painfully.The door opened, and the light that entered the room from the passageway fell sharply over his eyes. He opened them an inch to find Hermione walking in with their little troublemaker.

"Daddy!" Hugo squealed happily, fraying his little arms. He met his wife's eyes and shook his head vigorously. He was certainly in no condition to have his son jump on him in this state. 

Ron wracked his brains for a spell that could undo arousal but none came to mind. He tried thinking of appalling things but Hermione was busy tucking Hugo in and he could almost see her cleavage. It didn't help matters in the least.

"Now, I don't want you to make a noise. Close your eyes and sleep. We won't be able to visit Gramma's tomorrow if you don't," she instructed before casting another warming charm around them. The door closed with one squish of her wand and the room was dark again.

"Goonight!" came his son's cheerful voice as Hermione squeezed in between him and their son, her back to him. 

Ron barely managed to cut out his groan as her bum pressed in between his legs. He pressed his lips on her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist. She snuggled deeper into his body causing his manhood to harden and press into her.

Merlin, what a barmy situation to be caught in, he thought miserably.

He jerked, rubbing himself against her again, and then, without much conscious thought, lifted her shirt up pulling her knickers down.

"Ron!" she admonished softly although her voice quivered.

"Hold Hugo, Mumma!" interrupted Hugo from the side and he promptly removed his hands from where they lay between her legs.

'Would it be too horrible to feed the tyke a little Sleeping Potion?' he murmured to himself helplessly, hating himself for it immediately. 

Fuck, parenthood was not easy.

Perhaps a cold shower was all that he was destined for. Wanking himself in the bathroom felt way too unappealing after all that he had planned for the night.

"Just a while, Ron," Hermione whispered next to him. 

Ron had no clue how she could be so confident about Hugo falling asleep. And he would definitely wake up if they tried shifting him to his room. He didn't even know what Hermione had in mind, but realising that he could do with anything that would help him out of his 'situation', he decided to trust her and wait. Her hand had managed to find him and was stroking him slowly. It helped to keep his hopes alive.It possibly was a good five minutes before Hermione shook him.

"Let's go," she whispered in his ears.

"Hugo?" he asked apprehensively.

"Sleeping."

"Where to?" he asked in the darkness, feeling rather than seeing her leave the bed.She held his hand and pulled him to the attached bath and was quick to cast a Silencing Charm after locking the door.

"Bathroom at last?" he asked watching as she pulled off the t-shirt and shook her head, that insanely curly mass of hair tumbling down her back.

"And why not?" she asked with a smile and perched herself on the counter after swiping away all their toiletries aside. Her hand was quick to resume its previous task of stroking him, and he placed his hands on the mirror behind her to hold himself straight just as she began peppering kisses on his chest.Unable to hold himself further (or subconsciously worried about his little one interrupting again, perhaps) he quickly spread her legs apart, caressing the soft skin at her core. She whimpered and he pulled her face to his. She left her work on him to grasp his shoulders as his finger entered her and Ron was sure another set of scratches was marked on his back.

"I love you, Hermione," he breathed against her lips as he entered her deftly and her legs wrapped around him, ankles pressing into him, pulling him in closer. It had been a long wait, and he thrust into her with reckless abandon watching her falling apart in the light that shone overhead. Her teeth bit at his shoulders to cut out the normally loud sounds she made during sex, and her body shook as he bit onto her lips in return. His fingers were wrapped in her hair at the nape angling her face to him while the other hand rubbed her pert little bud between the fingers. 

Ron forced to keep his eyes open, to watch as his Hermione came undone as he made love to her. He watched as her eyes fluttered shut, noticed as her hands wrapped around his neck, heard her little whimpers and moans and felt the burn of her nails raking his skin. And only after he felt her muscles clamp around him did he allow himself to come, marvelling at his own control

.…...

"Hey," she smiled and handed him a mug of hot chocolate.

 Ron would have preferred a shot of Firewhiskey but he took what she offered him.

"Last night didn't go as planned, did it?" she asked softly, sipping on her cup, and he was surprised that she would bring it out now while they were at the Burrow.

"I had plans for the whole night, but I'm not complaining." He sipped on his hot chocolate relishing the warmth and smacking his lips. 

"Maybe next Christmas?" he added hopefully.

She seemed to ponder over his words but Ron could see the lingering smile in her eyes. He dusted away the piles of wrapping papers his nieces, nephews and kids had piled on him and pulled her in closer.

"Why do I feel I am missing something?" he asked looking around.

 The children were still unwrapping theirs hauls and busy chattering away. Ginny and Angelina were piling some more on the table. These, he knew, were for the adults.

"Do you know what I finally got for our parents?"

"No?" he replied confused.

"I got them something my parents always wanted. A holiday with their grandchildren."

He stared at her wondering where this was going.

"I got Disneyland tickets for our parents and our kids. A three day- two nights package." She smiled and he grinned slowly as comprehension kicked in.

"Muggle amusement park! Dad will go mental!" he smirked nodding his head.

"And Mum and Dad will be there to show him around, so we need not worry. Hugo and Rose always wanted to visit it anyway," she beamed. "So, it might be a little belated, but you will get your Christmas wish, husband."

He felt like a kid at who had been given a pouch full of galleons and set free at Honeydukes.

"Wait," he called, something striking him suddenly. 

"You're sure Hugo will manage?"

"Your Mum already asked me to drop him off here once in a while so that he gets used to the idea of staying away from us," she provided. 

Well, his brilliant wife seemed to have thought it all out.

"Remind me to get her a nice dress robe, will you?" he replied grinning from ear to ear this time. 

Hermione smiled and sipped on her cup.

"By the way, Ron, where is the gift you got me? I didn't find it in the morning," she asked turning around.

Ron thought of the little black piece that was wrapped and hidden inside his desk at home.

"One is there on the table," he pointed at the pile, "but I'll keep the other one safe. You can unwrap it when we get to our actual celebrations," he grinned in her hair.