#he tells me to book a hotel for a conference they're having ?? and that's not even near what's in my work description??????

[allthelovehes]

Enemies at Nine, Lovers by Five* | Part 2

Summary: Harry and Y/N suddenly need to fly out to Portugal for work and their boss only booked one (twin) room because the hotel was overbooked..

Pairing: Coworker!Harry x reader

Word count: 6.2K

Warnings: Unprotected sex, smut, slight dom if you squint, mentioned being a good girl maybe once, Y/N is a bitch but she likes it rough.

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A/N: I'm still very new to this enemies to loves trope so if its not as good, please don't come for me. Also, let me just tell you once again.. Wrap it before you tap it :')

The next day when Y/N arrives at work, Harry is already seated behind his desk. She doesn't even look at him as she sets her belongings down and settles into her own chair. The silence between them is deafening, and the tension is palpable. It's obvious that they're both thinking about what happened last night, but neither of them is willing to bring it up. It's as if they have silently agreed to pretend that it never happened.

It's a tense morning, but they somehow manage to finish the presentation they had to prepare for the board meeting later that day. After lunch, Y/N is seated in the conference room, anxiously waiting for the meeting to start. Harry is sitting next to her, his posture dominant and confident. He is sitting in the exact chair he pushed aside just hours ago to make room for him to kneel down and eat her out. Y/N swallows hard and forces herself to focus on the matter at hand.

The rest of the board members enter the room, and the meeting begins. Y/N starts the presentation, her voice shaking slightly as she talks about their company's progress. Harry watches her, his eyes glued to her lips. He can't help but imagine her beautiful mouth wrapped around his cock. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, willing himself to stay focused.

Harry gets up and walks over to the large screen, touching the small of Y/N's back in the process. It's the briefest of touches, but it sends a jolt of electricity through her body. She can feel her cheeks flushing, and she prays that no one will notice. Harry takes over the presentation, his voice steady and authoritative. She can't help but admire his confidence and command. She wonders if he feels the same way about her.

After the presentation is over, the board members file out of the room, their voices low and murmuring. Harry and Y/N are left alone once again. They gather their things and make their way to the door. Just before they exit the room, Harry turns to Y/N. He doesn't say anything, but the look in his eyes tells her everything she needs to know. He wants her. And he's not going to stop until he has her.

Y/N swallows hard, her heart racing. She knows she should walk away, but she can't. She wants him too, and he is literally blocking her only way out. Her breath quickens, and she feels her resolve crumbling.

“You did so good.” Is all he says, before he exits the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Y/N has to admit to herself, his praise turns her on. She knows she should not allow this to happen, but she can't help herself. He's all she can think about. She makes her way back to her desk and finds Harry already returned to his own desk in front of hers.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” She asks, trying to act normal. Although this isn't normal for her at all. Y/N isn't the type of colleague to retrieve coffee for her coworkers. She prefers to be the one receiving it, not the one bringing it.

“Sure.” Harry says, his tone is neutral, not betraying any of his emotions. Y/N nods and leaves. The moment between them doesn't go unnoticed by their colleagues, and she can hear them whispering amongst themselves.

Y/N returns with two cups of coffee and hands one to Harry. Their fingers brush, and she feels a shiver run through her body. She hopes he doesn't notice.

“Thank you.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N.”

The way he says her name sends shivers down her spine. She can't help but remember the way he moaned it last night, his voice thick with desire. She bites her lip and turns away, willing herself to calm down.

“You're welcome.” She replies, trying to keep her voice steady. She busies herself with her work, but she can't focus. All she can think about is Harry and what happened between them. The memory of his touch and the way he felt inside her are burned into her mind, and she knows she will never be able to forget it. ***

“Fucking hell.” Y/N curses as she opens an incoming e-mail from their boss.

“What is it?” Harry asks.

“Check your mail.”

Harry does and curses too. The client for which they are currently working was supposed to fly in for their final presentation. Now they have to fly out to the client instead.

“That means we're going on a trip.” Harry says.

“I hate travelling.” Y/N groans.

“Come on, it could be fun.” Harry replies.

“Fun? I can't stand travelling and flying. It's the worst.” Y/N replies.

“Then let me distract you.” Harry whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean Y/N.” Harry says.

Y/N feels her heartbeat speed up, her body instantly reacting to his words. She knows exactly what he means, and the thought of it excites her. But she can't. Not again.

“Don't.” She says, her voice barely audible.

Harry doesn't say anything, just stares at her. His eyes are full of promise, and she can't resist. She knows she shouldn't, but she wants him. And he wants her too.

The e-mail also said how they can drop by their boss' office if they have any questions, he's supposedly available until 5 PM. Y/N and Harry make their way there. Even though they don't have any questions they knock anyway.

“Come in.” Their boss' voice sounds muffled through the closed door. Harry opens the door and Y/N quickly slips through, he swiftly closes the door behind him after he takes a good look at her round ass.

“Hey guys, thanks for stopping by. Let me just finish this e-mail real quick and then we can talk.”

He's sitting at his desk typing away furiously on the keyboard. It gives Y/N and Harry time to sit down on the couch on the other side of the room. Y/N is aware of how close they are, their bodies are nearly touching. She can feel the heat radiating off of him and it's driving her insane.

After a few moments, their boss ends his typing and comes over to sit across from them, facing the couch. He claps his hands together and begins to explain more details about the trip.

“So, we're going to have to fly the two of you out to Faro, Portugal. Your meeting is at the Ocean Mar hotel, which is also where you'll be staying. Unfortunately, they didn't have a lot of room options available so we had to book you a twin room instead of individual rooms. I know it's not ideal but hopefully, you guys will still have a great trip. You can put all food and drinks on the room's tab and they will just add it to the bill at the end of your stay. Do you have any questions so far?”

“Twin room?” Y/N says, almost like a question. She glances over at Harry and tries not to blush at the image of sharing a room with him.

“Yes, that's right. Two queen beds. Now, with the potential hotel mix-up, there is a chance that there may be some other rooms available last minute, so they are keeping an eye out and will try their best to switch you if necessary. But they also had to be upfront about their current room inventory for booking purposes, so I didn't want you to get your hopes up too much.”

“No, that's okay. I understand. Thank you.” Y/N says quietly. The thought of sharing a room with Harry, even a room with two beds, is a lot to process. They might have fucked once, but they aren't really the best of friends.

“You're welcome. You'll be flying out on Friday, so make sure to pack accordingly. You'll have some time to do some sightseeing if you'd like, the hotel is in a pretty nice area, and it's very touristy. And the big meeting is on Monday. Therefore we booked a return flight on Tuesday morning.” Their boss continues.

“Sounds good, thanks so much.” Harry replies, always the professional.

“Of course. I know this all happened last minute but I think you'll have a great time! I'll look forward to hearing all about it when you guys get back.”

“Thanks again!” Y/N says, and she and Harry get up to leave. They walk out of the office and back to their desks to pack up their stuff.

“Looks like we're going on a little vacation Y/N.” Harry says, grinning at her.

“Looks like it.” She replies, returning his smile. She can't deny that she is secretly looking forward to it. ***

Before they know it, it's Friday afternoon and they're heading towards the airport. Their boss arranged a taxi to pick them up and drive them there. Y/N is a wreck because she hates flying. She takes a deep breath as the plane gets ready to take off, gripping her seat and trying to relax.

Harry offers her his hand, which she gratefully accepts. They share a look as the plane takes off, and Y/N feels like maybe this flight won't be so bad after all. As the plane climbs higher into the sky, the tension between them builds. They are holding hands, staring at each other, both of them clearly thinking the same thing.

As the plane is in the air, the captain's voice comes on over the loudspeaker to welcome them.

“If I could have your attention, please. Welcome aboard EasyJet flight 239 to Faro, Portugal. My name is David, and I'll be your captain for today. The weather looks perfect for the trip ahead, and we're anticipating a smooth ride. Please enjoy your flight and thank you for flying EasyJet.” The voice cuts out as the plane stabilizes.

“See? That wasn't so bad.” Harry says. Y/N smiles, but she's not entirely convinced yet.

Harry orders himself a bottle of wine and offers to share it with Y/N. She reluctantly accepts, seeing as they are in fact, on vacation, and she could use a little bit of help to relax. The flight is about three hours long and goes fairly quickly. The wine helps, and they end up making a decent dent in the bottle.

Y/N is feeling relaxed and a bit tipsy by the time the flight ends. The cab pulls up and it's a short drive to their hotel. They check in and go up to their room to drop their bags. As Y/N opens the door and looks around, she finds that her stomach does a little flip. Sure enough, the room contains two beds, but they are quite close together. She swallows and tries to tamp down the feelings of excitement and anticipation growing in the pit of her stomach.

Harry doesn't say anything, but she can feel him watching her. They put their things down, quickly freshen up and head down to the restaurant for some dinner. After dinner, they decide to walk around the city and see some of the sights. It is relatively late at night but the sun is still setting and the sky is beautiful, and the temperature is warm and not too hot.

Y/N can't help but notice how close she and Harry are walking to each other as they make their way along the narrow streets, the sidewalks only big enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder. She tries to ignore the feeling and tells herself it's just because they need to stay close to make room for the other passersby. But the feeling lingers, a flutter of excitement.

It almost feels like they are two completely different people now that they are in a foreign country, with a warm summery breeze blowing through the air, the sound of music and laughter in the distance. Everything seems romantic and fresh, the air itself feels charged with possibilities and tension. It's as if they both subconsciously feel this and it makes it easier for them to navigate their strange new dynamic.

After their little stroll around town, they return to their hotel and head up to their room. They both take turns to use the bathroom and get ready for bed, not sharing a word with each other as the reality of sleeping just inches away from each other starts to set in. Before going to sleep they both sit down on their own bed, on their own respective sides.

Harry and Y/N finally lie down on their own beds in silence, both tired from the day's excitement. As Y/N pulls the blankets up and tries to get comfortable, she can't help but toss and turn, unable to find the perfect position. She sighs loudly and shifts again, her mind racing.

“You okay?” Harry asks, his voice low and deep.

“Yes. No.” She replies.

“What's wrong?”

“I'm fine, I just can't seem to fall asleep.”

“Me neither.” Harry replies. Y/N laughs softly. She can't believe that she and Harry are having this conversation, and can't believe that she's even admitting that she can't fall asleep. She turns around and finds Harry already staring at her, his eyes dark and full of intensity. Her breath hitches as the weight of the moment settles upon them.

“I think it's the plane.” She whispers, half-hoping that he'll leave the subject alone.

“You think?” Harry chuckles, he already knows she's full of shit. It's like he can feel the tension running from her body. “Y/N.”

A jolt goes through her body at the way her name sounds coming out of his mouth, the roughness and almost demanding tone. “W-what?”

“Come here.”

“Harry...”

“Come here.” Harry repeats, raising his voice slightly, letting his tone show how serious he is. And damn her but the dominant edge does something to her. She bites her lip and gets up to join him on his bed. He already has his duvet pushed to the side. When she finally slips underneath, he immediately gathers her up in his arms and buries his face in her neck. She doesn't fight it, instead, she wraps her arms around him and enjoys his warmth.

Luckily both of them had the decency to wear pajamas. Y/N is in a silk shortama set and Harry is wearing a plain white shirt and some sweat shorts. Being this close to him feels dangerous. He smells so good, and the weight of his muscular body pressed against hers is intoxicating.

“Thank you.” Y/N whispers after a few minutes of silence.

“For what?” Harry asks, his voice thick and laced with sleep. She shrugs.

“Just... for understanding. For not being mean to me.” She says.

“Mhm, see, you got that wrong there. I've never been the mean one.” He mumbles against her neck.

“Excuse me?” She replies, sounding as offended as a sleepy person can be.

“You're not a walk in the park, love.” He chuckles as he snuggles her closer to his chest.

“And you are?” She manages to get out, stifling a yawn.

“I guess not. But who cares? We're in Portugal, might as well have fun.”

“Fun.” She repeats softly.

“Yeah. For example, what's it called when you fuck your coworker and then you're sent off on a work trip and end up in the same hotel room?” He says, his lips now grazing the shell of her ear.

“A disaster?” She whispers.

“Or fun.” He hums before a big yawn escapes his mouth, shortly followed by her own.

Both of them stay quiet, with Harry holding her tightly and Y/N enjoying his embrace. Harry doesn't show it, but his heart is hammering in his chest. He knew that inviting her into his bed would make them repeat the past. Even as the distance between them closes, he tries to keep his cool. He fails. Miserably. He plants his soft lips on top of hers and kisses her.

Softly. Innocently.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He says as he disconnects their lips. ***

The next morning Y/N and Harry wake up tangled in each other's limbs. And as if she doesn't remember what happened last night, Y/N freaks out. She throws a handful of curses around and rushes into the bathroom to freshen up.

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” She shouts at Harry through the door.

“Well, for starters it's my bed. You joined me in my bed.” He replies. She can basically hear him smirk. Fucker.

“Whatever.” She says. She opens the bathroom door and comes out with her toothbrush hanging from her mouth. “I'm mad at you.”

“Come back to bed, you're overreacting.”

“You jerk.”

“For the last time, it was your ass that came into my bed. Now, for the love of God, stop being such a bitch or do you need me to boss you around again?” His voice rings like a gentle threat. She smacks her lips together and avoids eye contact.

“No.”

“Jesus Christ, woman. I've been nothing but nice to you and you're...” He scoffs and it feels like she's back home. She can't help but grin. A small grin, but it's there. He notices and scowls at her. “Now you're laughing?”

“Harry, just...”

“Don't make me drag you back to bed so I can fuck a little sense into you because I promise you I will if that's what it takes.”

Y/N walks back into the bathroom to wash her toothbrush. “Get the fuck over yourself Styles.”

“Have it your way.” Harry growls from the bed. The tension in the air changes. He's fully aware of the fact that he basically threatened her but she loves it. Fuck, she even hopes he'll do what he said. Before she knows it, Harry's behind her, holding her in his strong grip, her back to his front.

“Ready to apologize?” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. She closes her eyes and leans back against him, relaxing in his arms. She can feel the press of his hard cock against her lower back, and the knowledge that she turned him on sends a thrill through her body.

“I'd never.” She whispers, teasing him. She knows that Harry loves a good challenge. His hand comes around her throat, long fingers wrapping gently around her neck. She breathes a sigh and stretches her neck, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. Her body is completely surrendered to him, and a light shiver runs through her.

“I wasn't joking, Y/N.” He squeezes her neck slightly. “Do you need a reminder?”

“Of what?”

“Of how much of a good girl you can be. Or how submissive you actually are. How your pussy practically drips when someone touches you exactly the way you need.” His low voice rumbles through her.

“Fuck, Harry.” She gasps, arousal pooling between her thighs as his words send a jolt of desire through her. She can't help but arch her back, exposing her neck and pressing her ass against him even more.

His lips latch onto the exposed skin of her neck, sucking a mark into her flesh. He tightens his grip on her neck slightly, her breath coming in short gasps. Harry growls, mumbling darkly against her skin. She tries her best to stay standing, especially as her knees threaten to buckle under the touch of his hand. “Such a good girl. Undress yourself and go lie on the bed, now.”

She nods, his hand dropping from her throat as she moves toward the bed. Harry's eyes never leave her, watching as she strips down to her underwear. She settles on the bed, unsure of where to position herself. Without another word, Harry walks towards her, a dangerous glint in his eyes. She swallows hard as he grabs the neck of his shirt to pull it over his head.

“Let me make myself clear.” Harry's voice rasps. “You're going to be nice to me from now on. Especially here in Portugal. Do I make myself clear? I don't feel like wasting my time here when it could be so, so sweet.”

Y/N stares up at him, transfixed. Her lips part, her eyes wide as he slowly starts pulling down his sweat shorts. The realization of what is about to happen sinking in. Harry was on the rougher side with her the first time they fucked, but she didn't know he could be this dominant, this aggressive, and god did it turn her on.

Without another word, Harry stalks over to her and grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head. He presses his hips down against hers, his naked body flush against her almost-naked one. His lips claim hers in a rough kiss, and Y/N can't help but moan into his mouth. “You like that, don't you?”

Y/N nods, whispering a soft yes.

Harry trails his lips down her jaw, peppering open-mouthed kisses along her neck. He finds his spot below her ear and starts to suck a dark mark there. He doesn't care about the visibility of the marks as their meeting with the client isn't until Monday. Y/N's breath comes in sharp pants as she tries to stay still, her mind going fuzzy with desire. Harry lets her wrists go but the fear of punishment makes her not move them away from their position.

“Mmm.” He hums, obviously pleased with her obedience. Harry grazes his lips over the top of her chest, reaching around to unhook her bra and slide it off. Her body arches up into his, craving his touch. He continues his trail of kisses, leaving a wet path as his mouth finds one of her sensitive nipples.

He swirls his tongue around the hardening peak, kissing and biting gently. He shifts his hips slightly, sliding one of his legs between hers. He glances up at her, her eyes already closed in pleasure as he moves his hands to pinch at her other nipple.

Harry's hand trails down, fingers fiddling with the hem of her panties. Slowly he removes them, revealing her already wet cunt. Harry smiles and sits up to admire her exposed body. “Turn around.”

She immediately rolls over onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. Without warning, Harry spanks her, causing her to yelp and lift her head from the pillow. “Fuck.” She moans, the burn of his hand on her skin spreading a wave of pleasure straight through her.

He growls, unable to tear his eyes from her perfect ass. Y/N moves her hands to grip her fingers in the soft blankets beneath her, as Harry suddenly pushes his middle finger into her dripping centre. Her hips jerk against the bed involuntarily, seeking more contact.

“You're soaking, baby.”

“Fuck, Harry, please.” She whispers, beyond turned on. He starts a torturously slow rhythm, sliding his finger in and out of her warm cunt. She buries her face back into the pillow again and braces herself for a second spank that never comes.

“It's pathetic how wet you get from basically nothing. Just let me play with your nipples and you're gone.” He grabs her ass, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh. “But you like that, don't you?” He finishes by giving a firm smack to her asscheek, causing a whimper to escape her lips.

“I want to hear you. Lift your face, love.” Harry whispers. She lifts her head, propping her chin on the edge of the pillow. Harry raises his body up on his knees, one hand still dipping his fingers in and out of her pussy while the other hand comes around to cover her mouth.

As Y/N tries to silence her whimpers, Harry easily slips another finger inside her slick entrance. She moans louder now, the vibrations reverberating through Harry's palm and urging him to go deeper, faster. He dips his head down to lightly bite her shoulder, earning him another deep moan as his rock-hard cock presses into her buttcheek.

“Let the neighbours know how much you enjoy getting fingered. Make sure they hear just how much you love my touch.”

“Fuck, Harry. You feel so fucking good. Oh!” She cries out as Harry increases his pace, moving his free hand down to her hip, gripping her roughly. He quickly removes his fingers from her sloppy pussy and Y/N whines at the loss.

“Did I ask you to complain?” He asks as he grabs her hips with both hands and juts her upward. Her ass now up in the air with her chest still pressed into the sheets. It feels submissive, her ass being up as if she is presenting her pussy to him. Not like he needs her to, he knows exactly where her pussy is.

“N-no.” She manages to answer.

“Good.” Harry grabs his cock, already leaking pre-cum and lines himself up. Without any warning, he thrusts into her, moving his hands from her hips to her waist, thrusting in and out at an ever-increasing speed. The lewd sound of skin slapping skin echoes in their hotel room and her eyes squeeze shut, as Harry does not hold back, pounding her into the mattress.

Y/N lets out a loud groan, burying her face in the pillows again to muffle her cries. But Harry's having none of it. He collects her hair and wraps it around his left hand, firmly yanking her head upwards, forcing her to keep her head up. A gasp escapes her lips, and her hands scratch at the blankets.

“Mmm, fuck!” She whines, her eyes tearing up from the feeling. Pleasure flows through her. She doesn't think he's ever fucked her this hard, and damn is she enjoying it. He's hitting deep spots inside her cunt she didn't even know existed, and the bruises he is sure to leave later are absolutely welcome.

Harry's thrusts continue, showing absolutely no signs of slowing. His cock pounds in and out of her, eliciting a high-pitched whine from her with each thrust. He pulls on her hair harder, angling her head so he can see her face as she's struggling to keep quiet. She keeps her eyes tightly shut, trying desperately to mask her groans of pleasure.

“Tell me how much you like taking my cock.” Harry says, his voice strained. “Tell me how badly you needed this. Tell me how much you love being my little slut.”

Y/N's body heats up at his words, her toes curling, and she silently curses him for making her talk. “I-I needed- ah- this so badly.”

“Shit, baby, yes. Say it again.”

“God, Harry, I need you- s-so fucking bad. Fuck.” She writhes beneath him, trying to escape the delicious torture. His pace is unforgiving, and his force hits her in just the right spots. His thrusts jerk her whole body, the loud smacking of their sweaty bodies colliding the only sound filling the room.

“Oh God!” She moans loudly, as Harry wraps one arm around her torso and pulls her up, his hand resting dangerously low on her throat.

“You need this, huh? This little cunt needs to be filled up?”

“Ah! Fuck, Harry.” She murmurs before a broken moan falls out of her. Her right hand holds onto his wrist tightly and her head falls back against his shoulder, her jaw slack in pleasure. She can feel her orgasm building within her, as this new position allows his dick to hit her G-spot repeatedly, shooting pure euphoria through her.

“Mhm, do you feel it? Right here?” He asks, one of his hands slipping down her body and pushing down on her lower stomach. She gasps, tears pooling in her eyes at the sensations he creates. Harry's hand slips further down her body, eventually reaching her most sensitive bundle of nerves and pushing gently against it.

“Ah!” A choked cry leaves her mouth and she freezes in his arms. She tries to catch her breath but all she feels is pleasure. Before she can stop herself, her head starts rolling against his shoulders, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream.

“That's it, baby. Come for me, wet my cock.” He groans in her ear as her hips start jerking, and her loud moans fill the room. “C'mon, scream for me.”

Y/N thrashes her head, eyes squeezing shut. A harsh cry leaves her as his rhythm continues, but her movements lose the rhythm, becoming uncoordinated. White light fills her vision, and an earth-shattering climax hits her, rolling over her and stealing her breath. Her orgasm floods her veins, every nerve ending lit up in ecstasy.

“Ooh fuck. Har... Shit!” Her hoarse voice bounces off the walls, the strength quickly leaving her body. Harry's arm stays tight around her, preventing her body from falling down onto the bed.

Harry removes his fingers from her clit, and Y/N relaxes into his embrace, humming happily as she catches her breath. Harry takes the opportunity to let her fall back down onto the mattress, his hands holding her hips steady as he slowly keeps thrusting into her.

Y/N cranes her neck around, her face flushed and expression smug. Harry tightens his grip, as he forcefully pushes his dick into her once more, her head falling forward at the feeling. Before he pulls out, slapping her ass once more before he roughly pushes her onto her back.

She is positioned with her shoulders on the edge of the comfortable bed, causing her head to hang slightly. She groans, her arms reach back to grab a hold of the blankets beneath her. Just as her grip tightens, Harry grabs her knees, pulling them apart and position her feet on either side of him, spreading her thighs apart.

He lines himself up with her wet entrance and pushes back into her, the new angle causing his dick to brush her sweet spot over and over again. She throws her head back, as her breasts bounce on her chest and she lets out a loud groan. Harry raises her leg up, her calf on his shoulder, foot resting on his collar bone.

“Holy shit.” He breathes, eyes firmly locked on her chest, and how erotic she looks. Her eyes meet his in surprise. She cries out in pleasure as Harry thrusts into her deeply. “You're so fucking perfect.”

She closes her eyes again, unable to handle the intensity in Harry's face as he whispers words of praise, calling her perfect, telling her how good her pussy feels around his dick. Harry grunts and the sound mixed with her pants, curses, and moans fills the room.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” She moans as his thrusts quicken, his brows furrowed and eyes closed tightly in concentration, and then moans spill from his lips.

“I-Oh my god-fuck baby, you feel so fucking good...”

“H-Harry.” She whines, voice uneven. She closes her eyes, feeling her inner walls flutter around Harry's thick cock. Harry readjusts his grip on her hips, pulling her closer. He moves one of his legs, widening his stance to give himself better leverage. To allow his thrusts to grow faster and stronger, Y/N's quiet noises change. They turn into loud moans and choked whimpers.

“T-too- Oh, too much.”

“You can handle this.” He croons, his voice strained and heavy. She nods, and Harry quickens his pace even more, angling his dick so he constantly rubs against that one spot. “God, your tits look so fucking good with how much they move. Drives me crazy.”

Her nipples are hard, grazing her skin and sending white-hot pleasure coursing through her. Harry reaches down and cups one of her breasts, her hand coming up to join him. She moans and writhes beneath him, throwing her head back when his thumb moves over her nipple, teasing it.

She whimpers, pussy clenching around his cock, suddenly overwhelmed by Harry's assault of pleasure. As soon as Y/N realizes what's happening, she brings her hand to her clit. She slips her hand between her thighs and starts circling her clit in a continuous pattern. She moans weakly, feeling herself clench down on Harry, letting him know how much his actions were working.

“Did you ask if you could do that?” Harry grits out, his hips pounding into her relentlessly. Y/N shakes her head but refuses to stop. Her fingers never break their movement.

“You're about to come again, aren't you? Holy shit- oh my fucking... Fuck, you little slut.” He whispers harshly, but he couldn't care less about her getting herself off at this point. She would if he'd stopped her, but it was undeniable that it turned him on, even more, knowing how eager she was to be stimulated while he took what was his.

“P-please, H.”

“Mhm.” His hips stutter slightly, as his focus wavers for a split second. “Do it.”

She whimpers, as she continues rubbing. Her hand moves in time with his movements as Harry gives himself completely over to lust. He slams his hips into hers, burying himself to the hilt on every thrust. He swears loudly, breath heavy and panting. He can hear her fingers on her clit rubbing incessantly, making it harder for him to hold back.

“Jesus Christ! It's... Fuck... Baby. Let go.”

A long, high-pitched moan falls from her lips as she throws her head back, cunt clenching around Harry's throbbing cock as she rides out her second orgasm of the day. Her right hand flies away from her clit as Harry sets a quick, punishing pace. She knows he is almost there, just needs a little more.

“Harry. C'mon. Come inside me.”

“Fuck, Y/N. You know I can't.” His mind is frantic, her words bring him one step closer to tipping over the edge. “That little mouth of yours will have to do it.”

It takes her a couple of seconds to realize what he means. She slides off the bed, a pleasurable shiver running through her, straight to her core as her feet touch the cold floor. It doesn't help her overheated body at all. She slowly gets down onto her knees. Her gaze meets his and the world stops for a second as their eyes meet, the tension running high between them.

Y/N is completely in his element now, not just doing what he wants but giving herself over fully. Harry reaches down, wiping a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear before grasping the back of her head. He runs his thumb over her lips, caressing her skin before pushing her lips apart. She slowly licks her tongue over his thumb.

“Good girl.” He quickly pushes his length into her mouth, straight to the back of her throat. His eyes roll back as he struggles to control himself. Y/N gags, her eyes watering up. Harry reluctantly pulls back just far enough to let her breathe through her nose.

The taste of her essence combined with the salty taste of Harry's pre-cum fills her mouth. She eagerly hollows her cheeks as Harry pumps his hips against her, not allowing her much time to think or move. She rolls her eyes back into her head, and she loses herself to her pleasure as he chases his own climax.

“Oh fuck. I-shit...” His thrusts are growing slightly uneven and without warning, he thrusts all the way into her mouth and pushes down on the back of her head, forcing her to take his entire length. His warm cum spills into her, thick and sweet on her tongue. Y/N eagerly swallows him down, looking up at him with teary eyes.

Harry shudders at the feel of her throat against his sensitive tip. His breathing slows slightly. “Ah.” He winces, letting go of her head and sliding out of her warm mouth. Causing a string of saliva mixed with cum to connect the tip of his dick to her mouth.

She sits down on the hotel room floor on her knees, panting for breath and her head spinning as she attempts to collect herself. Harry slides his finger over her chin, collecting some of his semen which is still dripping down her chin and sliding it onto her lips. She eagerly licks her mouth clean and the sight makes his blood surge through his veins, his heart thudding away in his chest.

“Good girl.” He presses lightly against her lower lip, but his eyes remain trained on hers. Y/N's expression softens, and as Harry removes his finger from her mouth, she lets her head drop down as if she can't even stand looking at him anymore. But the slightest tinge of pink on her face betrays her.

“Looks like you actually enjoy doing what I say.”

Y/N chuckles as her mind begins to race again. Suddenly she doesn't mind one bit that she has to share this room with Harry for the next couple of days.

Taglist: @justmystyles @bitchybabyharry @harrysslut7 @swiftmendeshoran @lucasandharold

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#harry styles #allthelovehes #harry #styles #harry smut #fanfic #smut #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #harrystylesfanfiction #harryxreader #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry x you #harryxyou #harry x yn #harryxyn #writing #hot #coworkers #coworker!harry #colleague!harry #hotel #boss #work #ceorry #ceo!harry

[httpiastri]

#im about to FREAK OUT bcs of my boss #like yes i'm so thankful and happy to be employed. really. #but my boss is so #it feels like he's never doing anything.... he's only in the office max 2 days per week and idk #hes just very strange #but the worst thing is that he just takes his own work and dumps it on me #which is fine in some ways! like i sometimes just sit around with no work to do #so then it's good to have something to do #but today... not only did i already have a shit ton of work to do but #he tells me to book a hotel for a conference they're having ?? and that's not even near what's in my work description?????? #(i basically just do numbers rn. i sit with spreadsheets and move numbers around and stuff like that) #and the worst part is that he told me i cant email them... i must call........ #and i get that this sounds super silly to those who don't have a fear of speaking on the phone but #it makes me freak the f out #i cant even talk on the phone with my parents. or my brother. or a friend. like genuinely just no i cant #it brings out so so much anxiety in me #i get dizzy just thinking about it #and again this is really really not even similar to anything in my job description ???? i wouldn't have signed up if i knew i had to do thi #and when i have things that i need to do but i physically cant then my brain just goes into pause mode and i don't do anything at all #instead of doing one of the many things i *could* do (like write an email anyway) #there's just no way im gonna be able to call but idk what my boss is gonna think if i mail.... because he specifically said that i must cal #rrGGG im just so frustrated!!!!! #and i needed to get this out.... soz for the rant #i just think i would cry (genuinely) if i were to make that call #alSO BECAUSE THE INSTRUCTION IS SO UNCLEAR LIKE ALWAYS WITH THIS GUY #I DONT EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT IM SUPPOSED TO DO #gonna go drink a lot of water so i dont cry now 👍 sorry bye

[danpuff-ao3]

Self Rec List: Kinktober & Kinkuary

A list of fics I've written for Kinktober & Kinkuary!

Kinktober 2021

Teardrop in Your Palm

Scarry. Rated E. 2k. Prompt: Amortentia. Rape. Underage. Angst. Student/teacher.

Scorpius never meant to use the Amortentia.

Lover Boy at Play

Snarry. Rated E. 4k. Prompt: Parseltongue. Ambiguous age. Harry/others. Virginity loss. Bottom!Snape. Student/teacher.

The sex is bad. Yet Severus wants.

A Little Taste of Wasting Time

Fleurmione. Rated M. 1k. Prompt: Magic Sex Toys.

“One cannot learn all from books, ‘ermione.”.

The Alchymist

Snarry. Drapery. Rated E. 4k. Prompt: Threesome. Jealousy. Bad communication.

Harry wants a third for the night, and Snape...Well. He would do anything for Harry.

Honeymoon

Snarry. Rated E. 1k. Prompt: Tattoos. Fluff & smut. Body worship. Bottom!Snape.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day and the beach is waiting, but Harry doesn’t plan on leaving bed (or Severus) anytime soon.

Play Me the Classics

Kingco. Rated E. 4k. Prompt: Lingerie. Sweet & sexy. Consent porn.

Draco and Kingsley spend their wedding night in Paris.

Clandestine Meetings & Stolen Stares

Snarry. Rated M. 2k. Prompt: Your Choice. UST. Student/headmaster.

How bad does one have to be to earn detention with the headmaster? …As bad as one has to be, when one wants to be there. 

Kinkuary 2022

The Alchymist II

Snarry. Kingco. Snarry+Kingco. Rated E. 4k. Prompt: Double Penetration. Married couples. Foursome. Jealousy. Size kink.

2 married couples, 1 hotel room = a lot of fun and a lot of trouble.

Obscene

Snarry. Rated E. 1k. Prompt: A/B/O. Omega!Snape. Shame. Body issues.

Never has Severus been so wet outside of heat. It’s humiliating; obscene.

Kinktober 2022

Red All Over

Gwenevera. Rated E. 1k. Prompt: Menophilia. Quidditch players. Post-game sex. Consensual infidelity. Minor Hinny.

It’s that time of the month. You know. The time for sex. OR: Gwenog & Ginny celebrate the Harpies' latest win the best way they know how.

Blue Velvet

Snarry. Scarry. Snarrylus. Rated E. 3k. Prompt: double penetration (2 holes.) Married Snarry. Threesome. Jealousy. Virginity loss.

Scorpius wants Harry. Harry wants Scorpius. All Severus wants is for Harry to be happy (damn him.)

A Chain Reaction of Countermoves

Snarry. Rated E. 2k. Prompt: Frottage. Prompt: Intercrural. Resolved Sexual Tension. First Time.

Harry’s had enough detentions with Headmaster Snape, hasn’t he? Now he has to meet him after graduation, too? Or: Graduation doesn’t come soon enough, but come it does.

Sequel to: Clandestine Meetings & Stolen Stares.

Kinkuary 2023

Lovestruck

Snarry. Rated E. 1k. Prompt: Possessiveness. Thunderstorms, scars, secret relationship, ceraunophilia.

It’s only Harry and Severus in all the world, or so it seems. OR: It's Valentine's Day, and they're in Germany for a potions conference, but alone in the hotel while a storm rages outside, they might be anyone, anywhere.

Gray Eyes (Tell No Lies)

Drarius. Rated E. 3k. Underage. Cousin incest. Size kink. Small penis. Praise kink.

Draco is trapped with Sirius at Number Twelve, the summer between fifth and sixth year. He's a shiny new toy Sirius can't resist.

Hatefuck

Snarry. Rated E. 1k. Hate sex. Rough sex. Love/hate. Implied/references cheating.

Loathing is the easy part.

The Perfect Shade of Purple

Riddledore. Rated E. 1k. Underage. Ambiguous age. Student/teacher. Manipulation.

Who's using who?

Allure

Snarry. Rated E. 1k. A/B/O. Omega Snape. Alpha Harry.

Never has Harry been able to pin Severus down. Mystery is part of the allure.

Kinktober 2023

Hyacinth Wild

Snarry. Rated E. 5k. Sex pollen. Dubcon. Student/teacher. Open ending.

Neville brings sex pollen to a inter-House party, and Harry wakes up in Professor Snape's bed.

#self recs #danpuff fics #kinktober & kinkuary #snarry #drapery #kingco #fleurmione #gwenevera #scarry #snarryus #drarius

[breelandwalker]

Bruce Campbell, specifically the Evil Dead movies. They're objectively ridiculous, but at the same time, Campbell's acting is impressive, particularly in the second film. I mean, he carries the movie all by himself for a solid thirty minutes or more without it getting boring. (You can't really count Dead Linda as a character; she's a stop-motion puppet who gets chainsawed to bits early on.)

I'll tell you one thing: I'll never have a taxidermied animal in my home after watching that thing. That scene where the dead animals start laughing at him freaks me out every time. I can't stand to look at a trophy anymore.

I love the original Evil Dead movies so goddamn much. 😂

They're terrifying, innovative, groundbreaking for their time, and so gloriously campy that I don't think there will ever be anything to equal them. The impact of Sam Raimi's early work on the horror genre cannot be overstated. The man practically invented the "haunted cabin in the woods" trope as we know it singlehanded. And then in comes a then-unknown actor who carries this gory low-budget romp so flawlessly that it creates a genre and a franchise.

To this day, I squeal and point whenever I see Bruce Campbell in a movie. I will never get tired of watching that man stooge-fight monster puppets. His book discussing the long and gory history of his work in the film industry (the gloriously-titled "If Chins Could Kill") is one of the few autobiographies in my personal library. I gleefully binged the entirety of Ash vs the Evil Dead while holed up in a hotel room during a business conference. I still measure the wit of certain companions by how quickly they can recognize and respond to key lines from Army of Darkness.

You will pry my adoration for this wisecracking, shotgun-toting, chainsaw-handed grungy bastard from my cold Deadite hands.

Hail to the King, baby.

#moiracolleenodell #horror #horror movies #The Evil Dead #Bree answers your inquiries #spooky season

[the-firebird69]

We have plenty of these in tons of these now granted we are mixed labor theres us Max and other races, but he won't see any morlok around, as employees we trying to turn most away we try and stay their repulsive. They've been off to leave and try to live in the woods and they get killed mostly by each other and that's what they live like and we don't want a part of it. There's a huge number of these hotels and motels coming online from us today we are changing management everywhere because the more like don't do anything and they don't have any power and pretty soon they don't have any areas and the 1/3 of the population is now 1/8 and shrinking rapidly and here in punta Gorda they are kicked out quite often and arrested quite often and they will not be here and yeah the same lady answered the phone and made and Mac put it in his appointment book. You hear the call and he went over and he got the date and the time put it on the calendar in his office and his phone and saw in the computer. And said what are you doing is I want to have a blowout here not at me so you're the one generating the problem. She said you're not going to work it out and he said this you're fired. She got up took her stuff and left. And she said good luck to him that's all I say. She left angry was saying stuff that was wrong, and he had her arrested. And as she was leaving she says I know you're Sully and he says back now I am not you nincumpoop. She leaves hard and says then what are you that the enemy says spewing stuff and then she says I got on the appointment that's my job I don't have to sit here and look at you. She got arrested and she was arrested for trespassing and the first thing to work well no she's arrested for threats and he didn't tell her not to come back to work. It's very uncomfortable morning. He came in and said hello and she was hello and he goes who are you it goes in his office hoping she'd just leave he's just sat there I know who she is she's a stupid person and then he left. So is that laughing he was going to sit there cuz you're stupid. Just watching on the camera Caesar get up get water she's screwed around with something so it's eating it's blabbing on the phone just when he's about to call her in you called up it's like she was told about it..... And our son says it's deadly stuff and he goes oh, yes it says there's definite patterns and start looking they found all sorts of times they're doing stuff like that and they're getting warrants together fresh ones.

So the sun says might as well make use of you getting some fat pie together

The macs get it but they still have to do stuff. I was wondering how long it's going to take and we figured out something not much longer and the morllock are emptying out into the South and trying to do the mining and they're fighting with Max and clones and slows it down, I didn't want them out they want them out and they're going out and they are all three and leaving all over the Gulf and inside about 70% and upper Midwest is a great lakes in the rivers and the rivers down are beginning to drop no but there 80% the Saint Laurent was aforesaid and the Great lakes are at 70% and the Three Rivers are at 60% and falling now that whole middle area is pressurized conference a depressurize it has to flow into the tunnels and out and the diamonds removed from below in the tunnels Victor removed from eventually go into the Gulf and they're unplugged well that's another thing how does it work and our friend says he thinks that they're unplugged into the river and that's what it is for some reason they go up into the river and so they're flowing and the river is flowing faster and it's being pushed from the soil and it's draining into the tunnels and it's forcing the water upwards into the rivers and the rivers are flowing right now the Mississippi had 100 miles per hour and evacuation of the corridor the completion is beginning and right now although most the areas that are 5 mi beyond the river are evacuated and right now the river area is evacuating so you woke up to a torrent of current from those Rivers it is just deafening the sound from the water. As it flows by you can see people that are stranded in the river and houses and boats yelling and screaming for help and you'll see a helicopter now and then trying to grab them and they can't it's way too fast and they know that they're doomed some people try and swim and it's like a mile forget about 20 ft and they are consumed with fear because this objects in the river and they're going by very fast and their fish and they're killed so that's what's in store for them and it's a thank you for all of their hard work and being huge jerks every single thing they do they get some sort of threat or insulting and they try and skim is terrible they're much a perverted parasites so you see the boats go by and some of them are still afloat that are a little larger and they're trying to motor over to the edge and eventually the fish see them and they trying to eat them by capsizing. And you'll see you like 20 or 30 months then to the edge and they run out and the fish can't get them for the most part sometimes they jump out of the water 50 to 80 ft away and I've seen eating people on shore and waddle their way back into the water and we know that they have ships that can go in 100 mph water pretty easily but they refuse to because the water speed could pick up any moment and that's true because it is and most of the people in the water will be dead momentarily it's not the place to go and those fish are so damn deadly it would get rid of tons of them and the sun says usually it'll do anything but go down here and eat each other. So there's a huge number of people bothering him and just now harassing him. The river speed is picked up it's around 200 miles an hour shortly it will be a lot faster as the areas decompress and you're looking at the middle area decompressing and once that happens it will be an ugly scene. Right now there's some dumpling in the middle area and that is increasing the rate of speed of the rivers both of them the Missouri and the Mississippi are increasing in speed and ferocity and we're ripping stuff out fast we're pulling stuff out of there very fast huge bunkers are coming out they have tons of stuff in them they're moving them carefully some people can see them and they're amazed and don't say anything literally they're like hundred and they're a couple hundred miles away looking at it and not saying anything it's just moving more later but it's going to be a living hell for you people

Thor Freya

[darkmarkets]

The Horrors of the Writer Advice Machine

Writers are like grass. They are the soft, nutritious layer of plant material layered over the floor of the entertainment industry forest. Writers support and nourish thousands of media species from books to movies to pop music while, at the same time, they're stepped on and taken for granted. Then, like grass, writers are occasionally mowed down in a grinding cacophony of bladed terror; their remains are then tossed to the curb, bundled up in black plastic, and left to rot and fester under an unforgiving sun.

Okay, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic.

My point is that writers do a lot and often go unappreciated—until someone wants our money. There is an entire industry out there dedicated to sucking the green cash-blood out of writers' veins, and it's called the Writing Advice Machine. (Or, at least, I call it that.) There are thousands of outlets out there, happy to offer writers kindly advice as to how to go out and make Stephen King millions—for the low-low price of $59.99! There are workshops and conferences and scores of how-to books just thrilled for the chance to make us better authors (plus shipping and handling.) What a deal, right? Stevie McPumpernickle is speaking at the Spiffydome for one day only and, even though he only wrote one mid-list thriller back in the 80's, he still knows The Secret to Publishing Success! And it can be yours for just 10 low monthly payments!

Obviously, when a reputable name in publishing speaks at a venue or writes a book, it can be a good decision to take a look at that product. But, the savvy writer will steer clear of workshops and seminars hosted by no-name or small time authors for ridiculous piles of money. And yes, while I myself happen to be small time, you'll note that I'm not asking for that juicy jugular vein of yours from which I may suck your precious monetary funds. I write this blog because I love you. I looove you, my precious...

Ahem, anyway, the Writing Advice Machine is an industry in and of itself. It is built on the audience of hopeful writers. If all those workshops and books actually made every customer the author millionaires they said they could, then there would be no amateur writers left. (Nor would there be any Expert Hobbyists like myself.) And the sad thing is, there just isn't enough room in publishing for all the professionals they claim to be able to make. Of course, the machine does contain some of good information for some fresh-out-of-the-box writers; if it's your First Submission Ever, do glance at a library copy of Writer's Market. You'll find some good stuff. If you're about to enter grad school, please accept my condolences and pick up a copy of Poets & Writers. Worship at the loving feet of Duotrope. But, apart from those notable exceptions, paying for Writing Advice is largely useless—and your wallet might get mowed down.

So, if you find you've signed up for a subscription or a conference that gives you the same information I'm giving you, then get your money back. And don't eat the complimentary buffet; hotel food is awful. Come, sit down next to me, and I'll be happy to tell you what an abysmal path it is you've chosen for yourself, free of charge.

And I'll always be happy to tell you about the mid-list thriller I wrote back in the 80's. All you have to do is ask.

Lorna D Keach

#The Horrors of Horror Writing

[girlucifer]

so i got lucifer's 25 heart call a few weeks back and um...? "allow me to reschedule our shopping outing to a later date." if you be petty and say "nevermind the entire thing!" he does this little "eh? i... i wasn't expecting that. i thought you were more reasonable..." anyway i think mc would have the right to be upset if this was like third, fourth, fifth time he rescheduled... so let's imagine this:

*lucifer & mc had planned a couples trip months ago- they were always so frazzled with ambassador/advisor work that asmodeus was like: !! go out somewhere together! have a mini-vacation at a fancy hotel- enjoy yourselves! the two planned a beachside trip complete with a strict itinerary lucifer was so focused on [he's like ok so we get there in the afternoon, which gives us seven and a half minutes to change into beachwear and head to the beach by the hotel, in which we will start out with sunbathing for forty-five minutes, then engage with a romantic walk towards the tide pool, where we will find sea shells as a souvenir. why are you laughing.] the point is, the two had spent a lot of time and thought into planning this outing- and they were equally as excited!

*the time slowly dwindled down until there was only one week away from the trip. lucifer had a million-and-one things to take care of- he was so busy with devildom work that the trip had slipped his mind- including asking lord diavolo for a few vacation days. when barbatos went over the month's major events, lucifer was set for a week's trip to some remote area outside of the devildom for a conference about foreign affairs. he agreed, albeit hesitantly. he felt like he was forgetting something...

*lucifer comes home to find mc packing a suitcase. his heart goes ! and he is like: please mc don't leave me i know i've been out a lot because of work but please don't leaveeee and they're like "huh? i'm packing for tomorrow!" to which lucifer's like, well where are you going? mc stops packing, giving their signature side eye to which lucifer is like: ok i think i'm in trouble.

*lucifer apologizes profusely over and over again like: mc i understand you are very upset- but please? just understand this is a very busy time for the devildom- mc doesn't say a word to lucifer's surprise- he always thought of them as mature & level-headed- why are they acting a bit petty? [<- not understanding that this is a huge deal] the two sleep back to back, mc waking up to give a wordless kiss to lucifer as he sets out for his week's trip.

*after a few days lucifer's conference is over and he rushes back to the house of lamentation to find mc missing. he corners mammon like: tell me where my mf wife is!!! to which mammon's like: >:D they left you for being so cold! asmodeus is like: huh? they went to the trip you two were planning! just because you couldn't go doesn't mean they couldn't!

*lucifer books a flight immediately to where mc is. he's searching all over trying to re-create their steps until he stumbles upon a sleeping mc by the hotel pool. everyone is already staring like: omg... is that the morning star? what is he doing here in this small quaint island! and then imagine their surprise when he kneels to the ground taking mc's hand waking them up begging please mc pleaseeeeee do not hate me pleaseeeeeeee i'm crying see i'm crying and i'm contrite pleaseee forgive me my love my everything

*mc is like ?? just waking up from the most pleasant of naps... lucifer is on his knees all teary-eyed and they burst into laughter. 'oh come here ya dork!' enveloping him in a hug. lucifer whispers dirty words into their ear & asks mc to take him back to their hotel room and they're like- you think i'm here all by myself? cue solomon showing up in his little wetsuit & snorkel headgear like: mc you will NOT believe the benefits of being a marine biologist

*lucifer's face drops with horror as he remembers that they specifically chose the luxurious romantic deal with the valentines' suite & couples' massages & booked candlelight dinners at the town's fanciest restaurants. he's grabbing solomon by the neck like: did you fuck my spouse, solomon?? did you?? did you fuck my spouse??? while he's got a shit-eating grin on his face

*the night ends with the three sharing a bed because lucifer refused to leave mc alone with solomon while solomon's just havin the time of his life

#sorry for all the lucifer headcanons lately i am just SO depressed and do not want to be like... HERE ANYMORE LMAOOOOO #ive got the worst exam ever this friday. you would assume i would just study #but i cant. bc i have an in-person meeting at 6:30 today and that completely threw me off my entire everything. why is it so late #thats like. my bedtime. why couldn't it be an email? a zoom meeting if compeltely necessary? fuck me #anyway. lucifer bend over #obey me lucifer #obey me solomon #obey me mc #headcanons

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

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

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

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

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

Chris: Looooong time.

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

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

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

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

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

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

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

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

Chris: Looooong time.

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

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

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

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

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

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 8

Welcome to the Hotel On-The-Floor, Yeah

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, the party identified the culprit behind the murders in Barley and Wheat, but... well, it's complicated. The culprit was apparently being coerced by a dragon, and they managed to talk him down rather than fight. If they want that to stick, though, they'll need some kind of plan to get rid of that dragon. And... is it really worth bailing this guy out, anyway?

Saelhen, Oyobi, and Vayen all start discussing their plans in Elvish, which it doesn't seem like Arnie understands. Oyobi advocates for just killing the guy, but is a little less keen on the idea once Vayen advocates for the same. Saelhen would rather give the guy a chance, and points out that there's not much point to killing him as long as the dragon is still around- they'll need an answer for that, and the answer to a dragon is probably just as good an answer to Arnie.

Looseleaf, oblivious to their Elvish chatter, describes the basic plan to Arnie.

Arnie: "So you're, what... you're gonna get the church involved somehow? What're you gonna tell 'em?" Looseleaf: "Well, probably also Deathseekers," Looseleaf thinks, out loud. "We'll tell them there's a dragon conducting sacrificial rituals at the site of an altar to the god of pain. We'll get the church involved by virtue of proving to them that there's a dragon fucking around with divine shit, and we'll get the deathseekers involved by convincing them that there's a dragon stacked to the gills with cool magic items, which we'll prove by bringing them one of said items." "The important thing is to get going as soon as possible, right? There's a time-limit here measured in, uh... human... corpses..." Arnie: "Wait, how are you gonna get one of its magic items?" Looseleaf: "How do you think, mister 'I work for the dragon so he gave me a bunch of magic items to serve his dread will'?" "We'll bring the deathseekers that magic cloak you said you had." Arnie: "Uh, that's..." "Mine, though."

Eventually, after a persuasion roll or two, Arnie agrees to loan them the cloak, as long as it comes back in one piece. He also tells them how to safely retrieve it from the laundry room- as long as they exchange some dirty laundry for the clean cloak, they'll be happy and won't attack. He's got plenty lying around downstairs, which he heads down to grab.

While he's downstairs, the party confers, and decides to all go together to the nearest city- Cauterdale- to ask the local Deathseekers for aid. They figure Arnie's not a flight risk, since he doesn't have anywhere to run and a draconic boss who'll hunt him down if he tries.

(As they prepare to leave, a natural 20 on a perception roll alerts Looseleaf that Vayen has ransacked Lumiere's personal library, stealing- specifically- Lumiere's books on gods and divine magic, for some reason. She doesn't make any objection to this, though- Vayen's a creep, but it's not like they weren't all on board with looting the dead guy's tower.)

With Arnie's bloodstained laundry in hand, Looseleaf heads upstairs and retrieves the cloak without incident. She tries it out, and...

The result of her crit failing her Wisdom saving throw on the magic item is... nothing, apparently. That's always good to hear! The cloak appears to work exactly as intended! She's wearing a very fancy outfit.

Further experimentation reveals a few limitations- first, the cloak's shape is illusory, so it can't become armor or anything with particular utility. Second, it can get overly literal if you ask it to copy an outfit outright- you have to use your imagination properly. Third, it seems to get tired the more you ask it to change, so there's some limit on how often you can update your wardrobe. Those appear to be the only drawbacks!

So, with Arnie temporarily kept from murdering people, the party gets back on the road.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: For caution's sake, Saelhen calligraphs a piece of paper to say WE HAVE NOT BEEN TORTURED TO DEATH, and sticks it on the door on the way out.

As they make their way northeast, they make some Animal Handling checks to keep hold of their giraffes, as something seems to spook them. Looseleaf gets a critical success and is able to calm her giraffe right away... but the party ranger, who is proficient in neither Animal Handling nor Nature nor even Survival, because what kind of monster hunter needs to know that boring crap, has no idea how to handle an overexcited giraffe and is thrown from her mount with a critical failure.

Benedict I. (GM):There's a small sign by the road, heading off west towards what appears to be an actual forest. The prairie is giving way to a somewhat hillier and more forested terrain here, but the forest is thicker than anything you've seen on your way there. And as you're approaching the crossroads marked by that sign, your giraffes all try to bolt for it. Looseleaf is able to realize that they've been forced to graze on grass for miles, and when they see the trees, they get overexcited. Vayen and Oyobi get completely thrown from their mounts, and you have to follow them down the road a bit to catch up with them and rein them in. Looseleaf: Haha, oh, well, hopefully they don't try and spend the rest of the whole day grazing a pit-stop is within tolerances but we really do have to make it to Cauterdale sooner rather than later. Many lives are on the line! Saelhen du Fishercrown: Good thing Looseleaf can radiate peace at them! Benedict I. (GM): Looseleaf is able to beckon them back before they completely get out of reach, and pretty soon you've got them calmed down- but you've lost some time. There's a choice to make here, now: continue on to Cauterdale, but make the last hour or so of the journey in the dark- or rest at the location marked on the map near here.

On the map, where the sign marked "Umbrella Village" points (shut up, I don't even play Resident Evil, don't worry about it), is simply a warning that reads "EVIL WITCHES- AVOID!!!"

Oyobi and Orluthe inform the others that "witches" usually means "druids"- and Zero cashes in something from character creation. Looseleaf's background as an academic provided her with a book on some historical topic, which was never allocated because at character creation he didn't know enough about the world to decide on something interesting. Here he declares it's a book on the history of druids!

Benedict I. (GM): Druids, from what you've read, are sort of like clerics. They channel a divinity of some sort- which is typically revered as Mother Nature, or Gaia, or... every druid you meet is going to have a different name for it, because while it needs to have a thing to call it by, it is emphatically not a god. Druids have a complicated relationship with Ccorde, who's ostensibly the goddess of environmentalism and hippy communing with nature type stuff- but most druidic traditions regard this as a false claim on a divine domain. Nature is untamed and wild and exists on its own terms, a vital force that is not to be tamed with rules- people must forge their own relationships with Nature. The author of the tome you acquired was herself a cleric of Ccorde, and the tone of the book is defensive on that subject. The author's curiosity outweighed that defensiveness, though, and there's a long section dedicated to the theoretical differences between the channeling of Nature and the channeling of Ccorde- in particular, there's no common dispositional element with druids. Whatever Nature is, it's willing to act through anyone who puts in the effort. The author didn't seem to know anything about animism, but you suspect druidic practice might be related in some way- that their nature-spirit-channeling abilities may be a form of animism. The book is unfortunately light on the practical details of druidcraft, as the author prefers that the reader eschew the practice in favor of fealty to Ccorde.

Okay! So, they head down the road to stay at the druid village for the night- and notice something odd on the way, after some Nature checks. They notice that the dirt road they're going down seems to divide the forest in two- between a sparse, ivy-choked pine forest to the northeast, and a dense, healthy-looking deciduous forest to the southwest. You usually don't get such a sharp delineation between forests like that.

And Looseleaf notices... that their map doesn't show a forest on the southwest side of the road. The road is supposed to just go along the edge of the pine forest. Also, Looseleaf can see the trees' spirits there, and there's something... not quite right.

Benedict I. (GM):The left side of the woods- there does seem to be some ambient magic. Your Sight Unseen ability doesn't exactly detect magic, so much as it lets you see spirits, including the spirits of spells- but what's going on here isn't a spell effect. It's just that the spirits of these healthy-looking deciduous trees don't quite match their physical forms. Their spirits seem... sickly? Frail? Like they're not full trees, not trees that grew in their places from fallen seeds. There's something false about them.

Looseleaf: When you said 'the left side of the road is full of healthy-looking deciduous trees and the right side is full of misshaped thorny things' you know what the first thing i thought was it was, 'the left side is the dangerous side.' i didn't say it out loud but i was totally thinking that, and i am glad to have been vindicated.

The weird forest doesn't seem to be attacking them, though, so they head onward towards Umbrella Village, which seems to be built entirely on the pine side of the road. It's kind of cool-looking- every inch of available space, on the lawns, roofs, and walls, is covered in fruiting vines and various plants. The whole village is a carefully-cultivated ecosystem.

The villagers seem surprised to have visitors- apparently it's not a common occurrence. They seem normal enough, though- while they don't have an inn, they direct the party to visit the village elder, who might know where the best place for them to spend the night is.

(Oyobi once again crit-fails her Animal Handling check, and is unable to prevent her giraffe from ripping a tomato plant off the side of someone's house, which gets her scolded. Why are you a ranger, Oyobi?)

They head down to the village elder's house, which is unique in not being overgrown with crops- and knock on the door.

The door is answered by a little lizardfolk girl, who doesn't have any idea what she's supposed to do about there being... people... here? People she's never seen before? Who don't live in the village? What???

Benedict I. (GM): "...Who...?" "GRANDMAAAAA," she calls back into the room. Which she didn't really need to do so loudly, because there's an elderly lizardfolk woman sitting right there next to a small fire.

Looseleaf: Oh, and Looseleaf was about to ask if the little girl was the elder. Never let external appearances color your preconceptions, and all that. Benedict I. (GM): "Eh?" "Gramma there's Mysterious People!" "They don't exist!" The old woman gets up. "Who's... oh, visitors?" The little girl looks confused. "Vizza-what?" Looseleaf:"Indeed, we are emissaries from the Faraway Phantom Lands of Nonexistence," Looseleaf says in deadpan to the girl. "Behold as my incorporeal voice from out of the thin air astonishes you!" To the old lady, Looseleaf says. "Excuse us. You must be the elder?"

They inquire about a place to stay for the night, and the elder... checks the weather. Looseleaf, who has Druidcraft as a racial ability, also checks the weather, using a fancy little snowglobe spell!

Looseleaf: "I'unno, does this help?" Benedict I. (GM): "Oh, goodness. I thought you were from outside- do they..." "That's very well-done, really, and you smell delicious, but..." Saelhen du Fishercrown: uh Benedict I. (GM): "Well, it ought to be fine." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...hmm," says Saelhen. Benedict I. (GM): "Just put your bedrolls out anywhere- we're not doing rain tonight." "Well, anywhere in town, anyway." "You shouldn't set foot in the Mysterious Woods." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Ma'am, rest assured that we have less than no interest in Mysterious Woods."

So the party beds down in some soft pine needles, making use of Looseleaf's recently-acquired Extremely Comfy Pillow and a few bedrolls. They have a druid elder's assurance that the elements won't be a problem, so... nothing wrong with camping!

And as they're going to bed, Looseleaf rolls a 21 on Perception.

Luckily, Looseleaf fails her unarmed strike roll, which would do no damage even if it hit because her strength mod is -1. So she does not do any damage to...

Benedict I. (GM): So, you kick out at the mouth full of sharp teeth. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Fwff, goes Looseleaf's puffy moth footsie. Benedict I. (GM): The mouth full of sharp teeth goes "Eeek!" and recoils before you make impact, and you see the little lizardfolk girl scamper away into the darkness. Looseleaf: "What." "Wh- how dare you bite me! I am an emissary of the Phantom Lands and all that or whatever." "Come back here and explain yourself to My Imperial Nonexistingness!"

The little girl, affronted, explains that if she's not real, then it's not bad if she bites her!

Vayen: Vayen stirs. "...Shouldn't kill a child," he mumbles. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...this is a new dream," remarks Saelhen. "Better than the dreams about dad." "Vayen's even deciding not to kill someone. This is super neat, subconscious, keep going."

Saelhen argues that maybe Gramma doesn't know what things taste good, because sometimes grammas think things that taste bad taste good, like bell peppers! The child has no defense against this devastating logic bomb, and scampers off into the darkness, indignant.

Next time: the journey to Cauterdale, and the menace of the bobbledragon.

#twofaced jewel #tfj log