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storiesforallfandoms · 1 year

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when it’s wrong but it feels right ~ eminem

word count: 2452

request?: yes!

@noah1986 “hi again! I didnt know i had to write the idea for the story sorry!

Can you do Eminem where the reader works for him like as his assistant or housekeeper and he doesnt't interact a lot with her but thinks shes pretty and then he falls in love💓

thank you🧡”

description: in which he falls for his housekeeper, but he doesn’t tell her because he knows it’s wrong

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing, age gap (marshall is 50 reader is late 20s)

masterlist (one, two, three)

Marshall never wanted to become the stereotypical rich celebrity. Coming from nothing made him more determined to stay humble about his sudden celebrity status and wealth. But, with his dedication to his work and his constant need to be away from home, he realized that he needed someone to look after his house. At Hailie’s insistence, he looked into getting a housekeeper for the times when he wasn’t home or too busy to take care of the place.

After a long line of interviews they narrowed it down to one candidate: a young lady named (Y/N). She had plenty of housekeeping experience having grown up the daughter of a housekeeper for famous people, and then her first job being the housekeeper at a hotel in Los Angeles that tended to house celebrities. Hailie figured she would be the safest option as her past with working with celebrities meant that she knew how to keep things a secret and they could trust that she wouldn’t take anything from the house.

On her first day of work, Marshall was in his home studio working on a couple of beats for an artist on his record label. The soundproofing in his studio made him forget she was even there until he came out to get something to eat and saw her putting away the clean dishes from the sink. He said hello, but noticed a wire coming from her back pocket to her ears and realized she was listening to music while she worked. It made sense, but he didn’t want her to think she couldn’t play her music out loud if she wanted to. He may not completely like the music depending on what it was, but he wouldn’t stop her from playing it.

He walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder to get her attention. She shrieked in response, spinning around and, in her state of panic, dropping the plate she was holding. It shattered on the floor, pieces of the broken glass scattering over the floor.

“Shit,” she swore, quickly yanking out her headphones and throwing them onto the counter. “I’m so sorry. I forgot you were even here. I didn’t hear you come up from the studio.”

“It’s okay. I probably could’ve announced my arrival in a better way,” Marshall responded.

He knelt down to start picking up the pieces of the broken plate, but (Y/N) quickly stopped him. “Don’t touch it with your bare hands. You’ll cut yourself. I’ll grab the broom and sweep it up.”

Marshall watched as she swept over the entire kitchen floor, making sure that not a single piece of the plate was left on the floor, before sweeping it into the pan and dumping the broken pieces into the garbage.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I’ll replace it, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Marshall said. “It was just some cheap shit from Walmart that I’ve had for years. It probably would’ve broken if you washed it a little too hard.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I appreciate that. I promise I don’t often break things that belong to my employers. This is the first time I ever have, actually.”

“Well, you can’t exactly blame yourself. I startled you.”

“I shouldn’t have had my headphones in, but again, I forgot you were here.”

“You can play your music out loud, you know. I’m not going to stop you from doing that. I might judge a little bit depending on what type of shit you’re listening to, but I’ll try not to say it to your face too much.”

A small smirk crossed on her face. She unplugged the headphones from her phone and pressed play on the last song she had been listening to. The sound of Marshall’s voice filled the room. He realized it was a song from his most recent album. An amused smile tugged at his lips.

“I haven’t gotten to listen to the entire new album yet,” (Y/N) admitted. “I figured the best place to listen to it would be while I cleaned the house of the man who made it.”

“So you’re a fan.”

She shrugged. “Kind of. My dad always played your music when I was younger and we’d go for long drives. Mom hated it, but he just learned to play it when she wasn’t with us. I guess it just stuck with me ever since.”

They got to talking then. Hours passed and neither of them noticed. (Y/N) told Marshall about herself and her upbringing; her housekeeper mom who had brought her along to some of the higher status houses she cleaned, and her dad who was a well known mechanic in town. She told him that she wanted to be like her mom, so her first job as a teenager was housekeeping for a local hotel, which she ended up working for until she was hired by Marshall.

It wasn’t until the sun went down and the kitchen started to plunge into darkness that (Y/N) realized how much time had passed. A look of panic crossed her face. “Shit. It’s been hours and I haven’t done anything.”

“Hey, it’s fine. You can take the rest of the day off if you want. I’ll still pay you for the whole day and you can start fresh again tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

Marshall nodded. (Y/N) smiled and went to collect her things. “Thanks. I promise I won’t break any dishes tomorrow.”

Marshall chuckled and followed her to the door. They bid each other a goodnight and Marshall watched from the doorway as (Y/N) got into her car and drove off.

Marshall went back to his home studio to keep working, but found it hard to concentrate on what he was doing. His mind kept drifting back to his day with (Y/N). It had been such a long time since he spent hours just getting to know someone and not realizing the time. And it was a genuine conversation. He didn’t once feel like (Y/N) was viewing him like a celebrity. When she first told him she liked his music, he was worried about how things would go between them. Turns out, he didn’t have to worry.

But he also just kept thinking about her in general; the smooth, soothing sound of her voice, the dreamy look she got when she talked about her memories. In fact, just her beautiful face in general. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

It was wrong. It was wrong on so many levels. She worked for him, for a start. As his housekeeper, of all things. He didn’t want to be a rich cliché, and that especially extended to the “rich employer lusting over his young employee” bullshit. Which led to another big issue: her age. She was only a few years older than Hailie, and wasn’t quite Alaina’s age yet. She was quite literally young enough to be his daughter.

It was wrong, but fuck, he couldn’t help but want her.

So he started leaving whenever he came to work. Whether it was to go to work, into his own home studio, or just some excuse to go visit his daughters. Whatever the case, he had the least amount of interaction with (Y/N) as he possibly could. Which was hard when all he wanted to do was see her.

On one of (Y/N)’s off days, Marshall had decided to use the day to relax and catch up on some shows he had been watching. It was early in the day when he heard a knock at the door. Confused, he got up and went to answer. His heart dropped when he opened the door and found (Y/N) stood there.

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. I wasn’t expecting you today. What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, crossing her arms. “I know I don’t really have any place to confront you about this, but it’s been bothering me and I need some answers.”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just busy,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Well, for one the look on your face right now says otherwise.” He looked away, which didn’t help his own argument. “And you told me the other day that you were going over to Hailie’s, but she came here looking for you shortly afterwards.”

Marshall wasn’t sure how to respond. He could’ve easily dismissed the claim and told her to go home. Like she said, she didn’t have any place to question his life. She was just his housekeeper after all, he didn’t owe her any explanation for his personal life.

But his heart wouldn’t let him. Looking at her stood there, concern on her face over the thought of potentially offending him, Marshall knew he couldn't just send her away. It was probably a bad idea, but he figured he couldn’t keep this secret anymore. In fact, it was probably better to tell her now so he could let her go and she could find a better employer.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She stepped into the house that had become almost more familiar than her own. Marshall led her back to his living room and gestured for her to sit down. She sat on one end of the couch while he sat on the other. They were closer than he had meant for them to be, but he didn’t want to change spots now, or ask her to do so.

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry,” (Y/N) said.

Marshall shook his head. “You didn’t do anything. Trust me, this issue is all me.”

He took a deep breath, hesitant at first, but decided to continue, “Since your first day, where we spent all that time talking and getting to know each other, I’ve found myself...thinking a lot...about you.”

(Y/N) looked at him blankly.

There’s no going back now.

“You are a very beautiful woman. I can’t deny that. But then talking to you on that day made me feel more like a person than I have in a while. I really enjoyed just talking for hours, and I would’ve liked to do that again. But...it’s wrong. I know that, and the last thing I’d want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. So, if knowing this changes your mind about wanting to work for me, I understand. I can find someone else, probably even help you find another job too.”

She still wasn’t speaking. She was still just looking at him, still with a blank look on her face. He wanted her to speak. He needed her to say something. Even if it was just to curse him out and call him some names. Any sort of reaction would’ve been better than this silent treatment.

She looked down at her lap and finally asked, “Can I kiss you?”

The question took Marshall back. His body acted before his mind could even process the question; he nodded. In a flash, (Y/N) was leaning across the couch and pressing her lips against his. It was a shock for the both of them. Neither of them really knew how to react. (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she should keep it going, Marshall wasn’t sure if he should kiss back. It was awkward for a moment, until (Y/N) felt Marshall’s lips move against hers, followed by the both of them feeling an exploding feeling in their stomachs - like fireworks.

(Y/N) pulled away just as quickly as she kissed him, sitting back in the spot she had been moments before. They both looked at each other in shock, before mirroring smiled stretched across their faces.

“I really liked talking to you that day, too,” (Y/N) said. “At first, it was just this feeling of happiness that I was getting along so well with my new employer. But then you started leaving all the time or spending your time in the studio, and I felt myself becoming sad at the fact that I couldn’t see you. I knew that was a strange way to feel, but then I had this...” She trailed off, embarrassment written all over her face. Her sudden stop drew Marshall’s curiosity. She sighed and continued, “I had this dream about the two of us.”

Now she definitely had his curiosity.

“I realized that what I was feeling was more than just liking my employer,” she said. “And that realization, plus just generally feeling sad that I wasn’t getting to see you was enough to push me to come here today and confront you about it. I was worried it would go wrong considering I am just your employee and you’re not entitled to tell me stuff about your personal life if you don’t want to, but it was bugging me. I had to know why.”

“And now you know,” Marshall said.

She nodded. “Now I know.”

Silence fell over them for a moment. They didn’t make eye contact. There was a question lingering over them that they both knew had to be asked, but neither of them wanted to ask it.

(Y/N) soft voice broke the silence first, “Am I fired?”

Marshall shook his head. “I’m not going to fire you. That would look bad on your resume. But I do think it’s best for both of us if you start working somewhere else.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

“I can’t date my staff. That’s just a shitty cliché I would never want to fall into.”

She perked up more at this. “Date?”

Marshall couldn’t help but smile. “That’s what two people who like each other do, isn’t it? They go on a date.”

The happiness radiating off of (Y/N) was contagious. She brightened up more at Marshall’s words. She almost looked like she was about to jump his bones right then and there, but he couldn’t let her. No matter how much he wanted her to, there was a matter that had to be dealt with first.

“I’ll help you find another place to work,” he told her. “Until then, we keep this relationship work based. The minute you have another job, I’ll take you out on the best date of your life.”

“That sounds like a deal to me,” (Y/N) said. “Before we shake on it, can I kiss you one more time?”

“Only if you tell me about that dream you had.”

(Y/N) gasped and playfully hit Marshall’s shoulder. He chuckled and grabbed her hand as she was pulling away from him, tugging her towards him so he could kiss her again.

#eminem #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #one shot #request #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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martian-astro · 3 months

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Atmakaraka series - Part 3

Atmakaraka is the planet with the highest degree in the birth chart.

Short note : atmakaraka can give good or bad results depending on the strength of the atmakaraka planet.

Atmakaraka in 3rd House :-

In this life, the person will have to be responsible for their younger sibling and support them in one way or the other. Short distance travel is VERY common with this placement.

Sun atmakaraka in 3rd House - people with this placement can be great writers, youtubers, and can gain a lot of fame from social media, but I'm not talking about any type of content but rather political content. I have seen this placement in people who take interviews of politicians or those who make YouTube videos about their country's political situation. If sun is weak then people will disagree with your opinions and you will be considered as someone who's not "neutral", so you will probably get hate for that. Also, your younger sibling can see you as a role model. (Results will vary depending on if sun forms any conjunctions or not)

Moon atmakaraka in 3rd House - if your moon is strong, then you LOVE your younger sibling, you practically raised them all by yourself. They are the type of people who get really sad when their siblings grow up and start spending time with other people, it can physically hurt them. The type of people who say things like, "they grow up so fast 🥺". BUT if moon is afflicted then... (I know a person with this placement, and his younger brother had severe asthma, and their mom had gone out, and the younger one started having an asthma attack and the older guy did nothing... The young boy died, the older sibling had an afflicted moon). Also, unlike sun, these people express their opinions in a more "silent" manner, they can be a novelist or a blogger, they prefer to write anonymously.

Mercury atmakaraka in 3rd House - this is the ultimate "smooth talker" placement, if saturn is not aspecting it. I have seen that a lot of good stand up comedians have this placement and also actors who seem very witty and smart. I personally feel like if you have this placement you should post reels and make tiktok videos and stuff, do it even if you're shy, like being famous on social media is your soul purpose. They could literally make a video about how they don't want to go to college tomorrow and BAM famous. And the best part is that if mercury is strong then these people won't EVER receive hate, people like them even if they're cringy. (I feel like the pookie guy is a pretty good example of this placement)

Venus atmakaraka in 3rd House - honestly, if you have this placement and if you also have a younger sibling, they WILL wear your clothes, I have noticed this a lot of times, their younger siblings love to use their makeup, perfume, skincare products and all venusian things. These people can be great sculptors, artists and painters. Doing all of these things can make them very happy. They can also have a pretty handwriting if Mars is not aspecting it. OH AND I know a girl with this placement and she writes THE SMUTTIEST SMUT, like I'm a very sexual person and reading her stories makes even me blush. If venus is not afflicted, then you love your siblings and also you are the one who teaches them about hygiene and how to take care of their body.

Mars atmakaraka in 3rd House - okay, a genuine advice for these people, WE CAN HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR WITHOUT YOU SCREAMING AT US. I genuinely feel that their only purpose in life is to be more gentle while communicating, they can also be great at anything that requires them to use their hands. Also, this is extremely specific, but you know those people who write with such pressure that the pages behind also get imprinted on, they remind me of this. And this is literally THE placement of people who write in all caps. These people are the ones who will wrestle with their siblings, the type to lift and slam them, even if their sibling is 5 and they are 15😭😭. (to anyone who has a sibling with this placement, I hope you are okay)

Jupiter atmakaraka in 3rd House - this placement is SO CUTE, literally the type of people who talk to kids like they are adults, they don't think that maturity comes with age, are willing to listen and learn things from those younger than them. If you want a husband who is good with kids, marry someone who has jupiter atmakaraka in 3rd or 5th house. They can be great kindergarten teachers, it's possible that your younger sibling's friends love you. I may be biased, but I love guys with this placement, the type of boyfriend who defends you in public but corrects you in private. If afflicted, they can be strict with their siblings and believe in tough love. This can also happen if saturn is in conjunction with jupiter.

Saturn atmakaraka in 3rd House - hates talking to people, prefers to sit or stand in the corner of the room. They have a fear of public speaking but they will have to do it. They get a lot of assignments where they have to present their ideas in front of people, saturn here wants you to talk or it will force you to do it. I don't know why, but I've seen that these people always get picked out to answer a question in class, the worst part is that they know the answer but forget it when they reach the board 😭😭. I don't have saturn AK but I do have it in 3rd House, so start talking in front of the mirror, in your house, if you watch an anime, movie or series or read a book, then look in the mirror and talk about it, imagine that someone is interviewing you, and then enter the class and do the same thing, but this time with actual people. (I hope this helps you as it helped me) and also your siblings don't hate you.

(all pictures are taken from Pinterest, this is not my art)

#vedic astrology #sidereal astrology #vedic observations #astrology observations #astroblr #atmakaraka #sun atmakaraka #moon atmakaraka #mercury atmakaraka #venus atmakaraka #mars atmakaraka #jupiter atmakaraka #Saturn atmakaraka #astrology #vedic chart #sidereal chart #astro observations

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withlove-amber · 2 months

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Her Accent

gibbs x reader

“What?” (Y/N)’s voice rang through the mostly empty bullpen. She had been watching an interview that was sent in anonymously, and it was said that it would help the current case. Her natural Southern accent, which normally isn’t strong at all, popped out quite abruptly. She was happy Tony wasn’t there in the bullpen, because if he was, he would never let her hear the end of it. The only other person besides her in the bullpen, was Gibbs. Gibbs was a little surprised to hear her accent, because he could tell she had an accent, but it was very soft and would pop out on certain words.

At a certain point in the interview, the person being interviewed misquoted a famous song by Dolly Parton. (Y/N) had been raised on country music from a very young age, so to hear someone misquote a famous song that has been around since the early 70s, hurt a little bit. Which is why she said, “Raven hair? It’s ‘Your beauty is beyond compare, with flaming locks of auburn hair, with ivory skin and eyes of emerald green’ Did you even listen to the song?” She didn’t mean for her accent to come out, but she knows that when she’s mad, her accent likes to make an appearance.

She didn’t have to look behind her to know that Gibbs was slightly amused. If she had looked behind her in that moment, she would have seen Gibbs smiling. Not just his usual slight smirk. Like a true, bright smile that only appears once in a blue moon at the office, or anytime the two hang out outside of work. Instead, she settled for, “I know you’re smiling Gibbs. I can feel it. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” (Y/N) replied with a smile of her own. Come to think of it, she loves seeing him smile. Because she knows when he smiles, the sun will never be able to outshine it. Maybe she’ll tell him one of these days.

Little did either of them know, Ziva had returned from following a lead, and was standing at her desk the whole time. She saw the whole thing go down. From (Y/N)’s confusion and offense to the incorrect song lyric, to Gibbs smiling with the brightness of the sun on a hot, sunny day in the South, at noontime. Ziva didn’t say anything, she just watched them for a moment before sitting down at her desk. They only realized she had returned when they heard Ziva’s desk drawer slam shut. Ziva only said one thing, “Cute accent, (Y/N). And you have a lovely smile Gibbs.”

Gibbs’ smile started to slowly fade away, but he couldn’t get her accent out of his head. From the passion in which she had spoken with, to the downright adorable way he could just barely make out what she was saying. (Y/N) always thought her feelings for Gibbs were one-sided, but she didn’t see the way he looked at her, and the way he smiled for the next minute. Come to think of it, he loves seeing her smile. Because he knows when she smiles, all the stars in the night sky will never be able to outshine it. Maybe he’ll tell her one of these days.

#ncis #gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ziva david

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after-witch · 2 years

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And the Danger Danger Drawing Near Them [Yandere Tomura Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: And the Danger Danger Drawing Near Them [Yandere Tomura Shigaraki x Reader]

Synopsis: This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening, because this only happens to other people. Not to you.

For Horrorfest request: Shigaraki Tomura + Because you were home.”

Word Count: 1121

notes: yandere themes, kidnapping, wanton destruction of doors

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening, because this only happens to other people. Not to you. It only happens to those unfortunates who show up on the news, people with unassuming smiling faces in older photographs, which look nothing like the shocked and dusty and bloody witnesses and victims interviewed in the aftermath on the news.

No, things like this can only happen to those people, not you, not you, not you--

“I don’t see her. Did she jump out a window?” A low voice, bored, annoyed.

But it is happening. It is happening because you are pressed up against the back of your closet, in the dark, listening to a group of villains rummage through your home. You thought at first that they were trying to rob you, but then… then you heard someone call your name. So you hid. And now you’re here, listening, shaking, hearing them look for you.

And surely, it’s only a matter of time before they get to the bedroom.

To the closet.

To you.

Never before have you loathed the fact that your house is isolated. You used to love it, because it meant you had lots of privacy and no one bothered you, way out of the way as you were. But now? It means no one will hear you if you scream. It means no neighbor is around to see the broken door and call for help.

It means you’re screwed.

“Dunno. You said she was home, right Tomura?.” A giggle. It’s a girl talking. She sounds so young. “Maybe she’s playing hide and seek!”

The way these voices talk so casually, even friendly, as they stalk throughout your home is terrifying and confusing all at once. They’re talking like they’re looking for something at the grocery store, not breaking and entering and… you don’t even want to know what they are planning to do with you.

What would they want with you, anyway? You’re nobody.Your quirk is so mundane that your parents didn’t even try to puff you up with ideals of becoming a Hero or anything adjacent to that line of work. You’re not famous or rich or important. You’re just--

“She’s probably hiding in the bedroom.” A pause. Then, “Stay here. I’ll go get her myself. Be ready to leave.”

It’s this voice that scares you the most. Not only because the words--at those, your fingers grip the fabric of your pajamas so tight, it feels like you might break them--but because… you’ve heard it before. Just once. Earlier today.

You had hopped out of the shower, not bothering to dress, not even bothering to close your bedroom curtains--because it’s not like anyone was around to see, right? You were idly drying your hair with a towel, watching the news, something about another villain attack in the city nearby. The villains weren’t apprehended, and were still at large. It made you a little nervous, sure, but you trusted in the Heroes to track them down soon enough.

And then, just loud enough for you to pick it up as an actual voice and not some jumbled mistake of your tired mind, you heard someone speak.

“You’re pretty.”

It was low and husky and immediately sent chills up your spin. You had turned around, heart thumping, but there was no one there. You even went over to the window, expecting to catch a peeping Tom but… no one. Perhaps the leaves were rustling a bit more outside? But it must have been your imagine.

There was no one there…

Except there was.

And you can hear him coming up the stairs.

Your eyes dart around the darkness of your closet. Looking for something. Anything. A weapon, maybe? You wish, quickly, briefly, awfully, that you had taken up your dad’s offer to buy you a baseball bat--”just in case.”

With shaking hands, you rip a dress from the bar behind you and pull the hanger out. The fabric swishes against your leg as it drops, leaving you with nothing but a velvet hanger and the metal hook, which you grasp with both hands and hold out in front of you protectively.

As if it might actually hurt him--and help you.

The sounds of his steps on the staircase seem punctuated and slow. Is he toying with you? You can hear dim conversation from the others downstairs, but nothing comes clear. It’s as if your mind is slowly being dragged underwater from the fear. Everything it muddled, low, dragging. Except your heart rate, and your body, which thrums and shakes.

Your bedroom door creaks open.

“I know you’re in here.”

You swallow down bile.

There’s a horrible scratching sound, nails dragging along your wall, and you can’t help but jerk at the sudden noise.

“Come out. I don’t want to stay here that long.”

It’s short and simple and a command. You have no intention of obeying. Your hands grip the hanger tighter, and you’re dimly aware of how sweaty you are; all you can think is, if you attack first, as soon as he opens the door, maybe you have a shot. Maybe you can get out of this. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The footsteps on your padded carpet stop in front of the closet door.

Silent tears stream down your cheeks. You wish this wasn’t happening. You wish you lived somewhere else. You wish--

The closet door doesn’t open. Instead, it disintegrates, crumbling into dust. Some if it catches in your eye and your tears come harder as you blink, confused and horrified all in one terrible stomach-churning mixture.

The man standing in front of what used to be your closet door looks familiar. Because, like his voice, you’d seen him earlier that day. On the television, in the report about the latest attack.

But now instead of a somewhat blurry shot of him running away with a group of other villains, he’s here, in front of you. High-definition, surrounded by the swirling dust of the door.

He smiles, all chapped lips, scabs. You don’t know why a villain who just attacked a few city blocks would ever be smiling at you, and finding out seems like the worse outcome in the world.

“Let’s go. “ There’s no teasing in his voice, only practicality and the assumption that you’ll listen. As if you already know that you should do what he says, when he says it. Something about you bristles, but you can’t focus on that, with all the fear choking you down.

He glances down at your hands, which are still shaking and grasping the hanger as if it’s a lifeline.

“Unless you really want to try to stab me with that?”

You don’t move as he reaches out and grips the metal end of the hanger. Your fingers are still tight even as it disintegrates in your hands. You stare down dumbly as the pile of ashes, which landed on your feet, piling on the crumpled fabric of your dress on the floor.

Slowly, you look back up at the man, who is staring at you with some terrible expectations that you don’t want to meet.

You wish you weren’t home.

#yandere shigaraki #yandere bnha #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere #aw horrorfest #afterwitch writes

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asksythe · 1 year

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MXTX Interview with Risa Wataya for Subaru Magazine P.6

Creative Process:

Risa: "Mo Dao Zu Shi" has not only sweet scenes but also painful scenes. After scenes of brutality, violence, and death, the characters might carefreely chat about nothing and everything, or there might be some lovey-dovey scenes. This is like treating readers with alternating pleasure and torture. Did you do this intentionally during your creative process?

Moxiang: If I only write about sad, painful story elements, my readers will inevitably leg it. From the other perspective, joy and happiness are comparatively fleeting emotions. If I only write joyful, happy stuff, I would not be able to touch and move my readers to any significant depth. Therefore, I paid special attention to balancing both sides during my creative process.

Kuohao: If you keep the same kind of tone throughout the story, the evocative effect will inevitably decrease. Readers will eventually become bored of it. But if you time it right, readers (listeners in the case of audio drama)'s emotions will go up and down along with the flow of the story. The pacing and structure of "Mo Dao Zu Shi" are incredibly well-timed. As a result, the audio drama script was not changed in any significant way and stayed loyal to the source materials' strength.

Risa: Do you feel pain when you write sad parts, and joy when you write happy parts?

Moxiang: In the case of "Mo Dao Zu Shi", I put myself in the position of an observer when writing sad parts, and focus on the development of the narrative. In the happy parts, I put myself among the characters and indulge in their shared joy.

Risa: That's so clever of you. There are so many 'torturous' (*) parts in the novel, so I thought perhaps it was very difficult. When reading "Mo Dao Zu Shi," I feel that there's a vast world populated by many people in Ms. Moxiang's mind. Where does Ms. Moxiang's immense imagination come from?

(*: literally 'reverse/mistreat/torture.' It's a modern Chinese slang denoting sad story elements designed to 'emotionally damage' the readers. Please check the note for the same word in part 3 of this translation)

Moxiang: If we are speaking of imagination, I feel that it's important to visit many places and meet vastly different people. In other words, step out of the house a bit more. But in terms of building characters, observing people is of great importance, even more important is... to dig deep into your own heart.

Before, when I was a young child, I read stories by Alexandre Dumas, Hugo, Balzac, and other world-famous authors. A writer staying in his room alone, talking to himself, laughing, and crying. A friend visiting him saw him in this state and became worried: "Is your mind alright?" But when the friend was about to leave, the author said: "Don't worry about me. I'm just writing a story."

Risa: The excitement of unraveling mysteries starting from the introduction of the story is a pleasure when reading Ms. Moxiang's novel. The introduction carries details that, sometimes later on, become a key point in the second half of the story in unimaginable ways. There's also a feeling of picking up hints and information purposefully left behind by the author. Is this a careful deliberation on your part during the writing process?

Moxiang: As I said, I only start to truly write once I have completed the outline of the story. About 80% of the story is planned. 20% is inspiration that came up during the writing. I think that the story structure is immensely important.

Translator’s Note: In this part is a section concerning the audio drama by Mimi. Risa talked mostly to Kuohao. Moxiang only chimed in at the last bit to say the production quality was very high and she was very happy with it. So, for now, I’m not including that part here. Once I have completed the translation, I will reorganize everything into a single file, proofread, edit, and host it on google drive so that it can be shared with the community.

Before writing "Mo Dao Zu Shi"

Risa: Ms. Moxiang, please tell us how you started writing stories. What kind of stories did you write when you first started?

Moxiang: The first time I started writing stories was probably while I was in elementary school. Along the way to my school was a bookstore selling books as big as a hand. I love buying the ghost story magazines there. Because of this influence, I remember writing lots of horror stories while in elementary school. Although most of them were just short parts and scenes and weren't complete stories. The first story I completed was 'Tian Shi' (lit. Celestial Master), a schoolyard romance story, during my secondary school. Even though it was just a WIP draft, it still got some of my classmates really riled up. "I also want to be a character in this story." "I want to be in the same team as this heroine." I got a lot of requests like this.

Risa: Woa, I so want to read that story!

Moxiang: the heroine, the heroine's childhood male friend (let's call him A), and a male classmate that suddenly appears (let's call him B). This story is about these three. The thing I remember most about this story is: when I asked my classmates, who were my first readers, for their opinions (I still keep the draft now. Even though now it's old and yellow); around that time, I wrote a romance between the heroine and B, but the result from all of my readers was: everyone liked A instead! I was so shocked! Everyone commented: "B's love is so whatever! (*) We want to see A and heroine together!" (laugh). I could not understand it at the time, but now that I think about it, A certainly does have a charm of his own. Even though I wrote without any kind of plans or forethought at the time, after that, I started to realize: "The main character must be a person I love the most and has the most charm." At the time, I looked at my classmates' excitement and admiration for my story and felt so happy. As a result, my old notes are filled with old, incomplete stories. If I have a chance in the future, I would like to complete them.

(*: Northeastern Mandarin slang 爱咋样咋样. A combination of Heibei-Shandong and Jiao-Liao Mandarin. It means 'whatever' / 'don't care'/ 'indifferent')

Risa: To be honest, I have the same experience as Ms. Moxiang. I drew manga while in secondary school. My classmate said after reading: "I hope you can continue to draw." I was overjoyed. Perhaps it is because of this kind of experience that I became a novelist.

Moxiang: Me too. From the start, I also wanted to become a Manhua artist! Perhaps this is normal for people who want to become novelists. Because I never had the chance to learn how to draw, the result is that I chose to become a novelist.

Risa: A, I feel the same! Ms. Moxiang, where do you get your ideas?

Moxiang: To put it simply, it starts from 'fulfilling a personal desire.' For example, if it's a detective or mystery story, then I want to fulfill my curiosity and solve puzzles. If it's a romance story, then I want to love and be loved. If it's a survival story, then I want to see survival in extreme conditions. To fulfill these desires, I think of how to best tell stories. To write a great story, one must have a foundation of intense desire. Of course, the amalgamation of multiple desires also works. In fact, 'desire' is a 'thread.' The story is the pursuit of this 'thread' to the very end. Once you have found a strong desire, disregard everything else, the story starts there.

Risa: So that's how it is.

Moxiang: I think that each author has different ideas. I personally build the characters first. Their personality, their destiny, and their emotions. Once a character with irresistible charisma appears and makes people fall in love with him (her), then they will surely love his (her) story too. Therefore, build the characters first, then weave the story. That is my process. Until now, I've only produced three novels. So I still find the process of structuring a story to be complicated. In terms of the structure and pacing of stories, I strongly recommend Robert McKee's "Story"! You can learn the theory of writing craft.

To Be Continued

Translator: Sythe / NPD Khanh

#mxtx #mdzs #interview #translation

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haee-elia · 6 months

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spence-tober: day 18 - archaeologist

pairing: archaeologist!spencer reid x fem!actress!reader

summary: in which you open up during an interview to promote your movie about your boyfriend, whom you met on set.

word count: 1950

warnings: fluff, not much if any dialogue between you and spencer, mostly story telling through descriptive narratives

spence-tober masterlist

From where you’re sitting on the famous Graham Norton’s couch, you can’t really see the stage audience, not with all the bright studio lights surrounding you on the set. But you don’t mind, it wasn’t like it was your first rodeo being on a talk show.

After all, you were a highly decorated actress having made your start when you were just a teen in indie films and then graduating to a TV show that ran for several seasons and then starring in blockbuster after blockbuster.

You’ve loved acting ever since your first theater class in high school and decided to try your shot right after you graduated. Since then, you’ve starred and dabbled in a lot of shows, movies, and other. It was only a few years ago when you had decided to accept a lot less roles than you usually would and be more picky, wanting to get an online degree and enjoy your young adult life.

Since your small break from acting, you’ve completed an online degree, learned some new hobbies, and did some small renovations on your house. You were already well off from box office backpoints, residuals, and contractual salaries and under your belt already you had a Tony, an Oscar, and two Emmy’s. You cooled down your ambition and worked on yourself.

Until that is, you got an interesting email in your inbox one day coming from one of the first directors that gave you a chance in the industry. In the indie film you had worked on together, both the director and you had risen to a small level of stardom and had been able to take on a lot more work after the film had released. You had bumped into each other a few times in the rest of your careers, but this time, they was reaching out for a role they thought you were perfect for and might be interested in.

It was a role to play an archaeologist in a historical film loosely based on a true story. You accepted the role and officially ended your small break in your acting career. Although you had taken on a few more roles here and there since finishing the shooting for the film, this was your first time back on a talk show to promote something you worked on.

“How is everyone feeling tonight?” Graham said, greeting all of you on the couch.

It was the director, yourself, and a few of your castmates. In your small break from acting, you found yourself valuing comfort over fashion more and more and so you sit dressed in a comfortable lose fit dress. It’s still designer and very expensive, but you’ve paired it with a sensible pair of black wedge heels and simple jewelry from your own personal collection.

The rest of the couch gives their answers first before Graham looks to you, “I’m really good, thanks.” You say.

To you, it seems like a generic answer and in fact, if it was anyone other than you, Graham would move on, but he gets a sly playful smile on his face and you just know what he’s going to do.

“Really good?” Graham repeats, “That wouldn’t have to do with who’s here tonight with you, would it?”

You blush under the teasing gazes of your castmates and Graham.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You say unconvincingly.

He grins and then gestures his hand to behind him, pointing at a random wall of the set, “Are you sure? Because I could have sworn there was someone waiting for you back in the green room.”

You smile and shake your head, you just knew Graham was going to pull something like this. How could he not? It was the leading story of gossip sites, twitter, and tumblr for days on end when the news broke.

“Oh, do you mean my boyfriend?” A cheshire-like grin grows on your face and your face burns even more when the studio audience cheers at your last word.

Graham nods, loving the applause and cheers, “Didn’t you meet him on set?”

Before you can answer, your director/friend decides to pipe in, “I hired him to work on set and then I come to find out he’s actually slacking off with her!” He jokes, pointing your way.

You scoff with a smile on your face, “Oh please, you played matchmaker all the time!” Your castmates nod in agreement.

What Graham has decided to bring up is your newly public relationship which bloomed when you were filming on set for the movie. Because of the large historical and archaeological background of many of the characters and how it caters to the main plot of the movie, several consultants were hired to bring some validity and realism.

One of those was Dr. Spencer Reid, a professor on a short sabbatical from teaching archaeology. His job was to consult on the actions of the characters and help teach some of the actors and actresses who’s characters have a background in archaeology some tips and how to be more natural in the motions.

Your character has a large archaeological background and had the most scenes where you were seemingly handling fossils or excavating them.

That’s how you met Spencer and after spending months together, working together, seeing each other every single day on location, crushes on both sides formed.

“Guilty!” Your director exclaimed, holding his hands up as if he was caught.

The room laughs again. “But you admit you were distracting him from his job?” Graham prods, playfully.

You shrug, a smirk on your face, “You could say he was distracting me from mine.” You counter.

“Okay, okay.” Graham says, jokingly backing down.

He moves onto your other classmates with fun anecdotes about them for most of the rest of the interview. But then, as the interview goes to close out and nothing too eventful has happened, you knew he was saving that Graham Norton mischief just for you.

“Circling back,” Graham says, making direct eye contact with you.

You groan in fake annoyance, a knowing smile on your lips.

“Oh come on,” Graham replies with a chuckle, “You didn’t think I was going to let you off that easily, did you?”

Shaking your head, you wait for Graham to go on.

“Well, I thought that we shouldn’t waste this opportunity, so I asked your dear boyfriend to join us during the break.”

He turns to the camera, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s make some room on the couch for Spencer Reid!”

You can’t help but correct him, “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Dr. Spencer Reid!” He remedies.

With this cue, your cute professor boyfriend walks out on the stage. He’s squinting because of the bright lights and even brings up a hand to block some of the blinding studio spotlights.

He isn’t wearing anything too fancy, though he would argue that he was wearing his good slacks and a new button up. To be honest, any clothes that didn’t have any dirt or various sediment on it was good enough for you.

Spencer’s eyes, framed by his glasses, quickly find you on the couch and you’ve already scooted down to make some room for him. His hands hang awkwardly by his side and you know he’s fighting the urge to wipe his sweaty, anxious palms on his pants.

When he reaches you on the couch, you guide him down with your hands taking his. You also give his hands a small squeeze of assurance and comfort.

Frankly, you’re not sure why he’s agreed to such a situation in the first place.

Spencer didn’t naturally get nervous by famous people like you thought he did when you first met him. In that particular situation, Spencer was really just nervous because his massive crush on you was growing each and every day. If only he knew it was the same for you.

Spencer, however, did get nervous in situations with lots of people or when the attention would primarily be on him. This made being a professor as a first career quite confusing for you to wrap your head around, but Spencer relaxed a lot when he was talking about something he’s passionate about.

“So, Dr. Reid-”

Spencer interrupts Graham, “Please, just call me Spencer.”

Graham smiles at him, “Alright,” He continues on, “So, Spencer, have the two of you realized how viral you’ve gone?” He asks first.

You and Spencer exchange a look.

How could you have not realized? When you had accidentally leaked your relationship on an actress-friend’s podcast, you first panicked. But was assured by your friend that it could be edited out if wanted. After a long discussion between you and Spencer, you decided it was time to soft-launch your relationship and was prepared for the news to break.

What you didn’t expect was how the world freaked out. You knew a few sites would report on the announcement, after all, you were a well known actress who’s fans were often loyal and you hadn’t been in a serious or noteworthy relationship in a while.

A few days after you went public, edits were being made of your boyfriend’s interviews, people not even in the major were signing up for his upcoming classes, and the world fell in love with him as did you. You two were proclaimed the new ‘it’ couple and the flame was fanned with pictures you two shared to your social medias.

You had once asked Spencer if it was bothering him that he was getting so much attention, but he answered with a peck on your temple, then nose, then lips and a sweet phrase on how the only attention that mattered to him was yours.

He remedied with a followup to say he also hopes his students pay attention to him. At which you laughed and kissed him back.

“No, at least, not at first,” Spencer answers honestly, “It has calmed down from that initial wave and we’ve learned to deal with it for the most part.”

You look at him by his profile and smile, proud of him. He has done interviews, but none with the main focus being your relationship.

“And how would you say did your relationship progress off set and when filming wrapped?”

“Well, it was a lot less sand.” Spencer jokes, making the crowd laugh. “That and we grew to know each other beyond our jobs. There’s more to both of us than our occupations and that was an important step in dating for us.”

“No sand certainly is a bonus.” Graham confirms, gaining a laugh as well.

“Now, Spencer, you’re a professor in archaeology?”

With the short remainder of the interview, Spencer’s anxiousness and tense body language melts as he gets to talk about what he knows best. The audience, and Graham, love him and eat up his responses. You already know your castmates love him as well judging by the way when they extend an invite out to you, they ask you to bring Spencer if he’s available.

Although you’re rather proud of your boyfriend being so comfortable in the spotlight, you do ask out of curiosity how he was able to overcome his anxiousness later that night after you had gone back to your shared hotel room to unwind for the night.

With you leaning against his frame, both propped up in a sitting position in the bed, he would simply smile down on you and ask if you didn’t remember.

He’s able to relax when he talks about something he’s passionate about.

When you ask him what he means, Spencer simply presses a quick kiss to the top of your head and answer.

“You, of course.”

a/n: i didn't mean for this one to be so long but i got carried away... i can definitely see myself writing more about this pairing because i think so much can be expanded upon it. i also really like the style i did this one as writing domestic fluff or meet cutes over and over can be a little draining, especially doing it everyday

#criminalminds #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #dr. spencer reid #criminal minds fic #dr. spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid au #dr. spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid x you #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid x actress!reader

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hopefulromances · 11 months

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Long Time Coming - Prolouge

Summary: Being hired as the first female assistant coach in the league was a challenge in of itself. Being a football protigy and University Football Legend was easy enough. Coaching Jamie Tartt was a challenge all on its own.

Word Count: 1090

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, no knowledge of how football works? First person. Minimal y/n use. Based on an OC fic I'm currently posting on AO3 so

A/N: Am I joining tumblr again to write Jamie Tartt fanfiction? Now that's an interesing question. Hope you enjoy.

I didn’t know quite what to expect when I started at Richmond. I was coming on as the first female assistant coach in the league. Something of a prodigy myself, I graduated from university early after leading our women’s football team to the championship three times. I worked as a kitman (or kit woman) for some teams in the Championship league until I saw the opening at Richmond and decided to throw my hat in the ring. Never in a million years did I actually think I would get an interview, much less a job offer.

But somehow, I ended up walking up the stairs to Rebecca Welton’s office, bright and early for my first day. I stood outside the closed door and too a breath, centering myself, before reaching for the handle. To my surprise, the door opened before I could touch it. The door opened to reveal Ted Lasso, the head manager of Richmond.

“Oh! Hello there!” He greeted with an inviting smile.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry, I’m here to see- “

“Rebecca Welton,” the woman emerged from behind Ted, bearing her own polite smile. “And you must be (Y/N), our new Assistant Coach.”

I gave her my own polite smile and reached out to shake her hand. “That’s me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Welton.”

“Well! What a surprise, it’s great to meet my new partner in crime, I’m Ted Lasso, nice to meet you.” He took my outstretched hand in a firm handshake.

I had read up on Ted Lasso. The American Football coach who was flying in all the way from Kansas to teach football in the Premiere League. Yet somehow, all that research could not have prepared me for what I was meeting.

“Coach Lasso! Yes, it’s great to meet you. I look forward to working with you.” I maintained my level of professionalism, but he waved me off.

“Please, call me Ted. My father was Coach Lasso,” he told me.

“Was he really?” I asked, surprised.

“No, but that would have been a great coincidence if he was,” he joked, with a smile.

I stared at him, not quite sure how to respond.

“We were just heading on a tour,” Rebecca broke the silence, “would you like to join us?”

And that was how I ended up on a tour of the facility with Ted and Rebecca. She took us through the halls of history of the club, passing the faces of the team. Including, one, Jamie Tartt. Jamie Tartt was all the football industry could talk about of late. The young star who couldn’t seem to miss, and who stole the hearts of all those who watched him. Yeah, he was fit. And as much as I tried not to, I couldn’t help but let him steal mine as well.

I wanted to hate him. I really did. He was everything I was. Young, talented, eager. But because he was a man, he was able to get fame and fortune because of it. That kind of thing just didn’t happen for women. The women’s league didn’t get nearly the same notoriety as the men’s did and even if I scored twice as many goals as Jamie Tartt, I would never leave the same legacy he did.

So yeah, I wanted to hate him just because he was famous. But I couldn’t. Something about his stupid cocky smirk, and the way he seemed to understand the balls every move before he could even touch the ball. It was impressive. Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed to me that he was dating Keely Jones. A gorgeous model, just like all the other women he’d been seen with. He wouldn’t look twice at me. You were staring at his face for so long you didn’t realize that Ted and Rebecca were staring at you, expectantly.

“Oh, sorry, what?”

Ted’s eyes danced quickly between Jamie’s photo and you. But if he suspected anything, he didn’t dare to comment as he brought you back into the conversation.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

The rest of the day went by rather quickly. After the tour, Rebecca led you and Ted to a disastrous press conference that ended early, much to my own gratitude. I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk to press yet. I wasn’t ready to be a poster woman for my gender across the league. I just wanted to coach football. But luckily, after the press conference we were allowed to go watch practice.

That was what I was excited for. To watch the lads, play football. I had watched football for as long as I could remember. I grew up in Richmond. My family could never afford to go to games, but we watched every single match, good or bad. Now here I was, going to coach the team that I grew up loving. It was almost unreal.

“So! Where are you from?” Ted asked as we made our way to the pitch.

“I actually grew up here,” I told him with a smile. “I’ve been a greyhound’s fan since I was a girl. My dad loved the game.”

“Well, I’ll be!” Ted exclaimed. “He must be mighty proud of you then.”

“Yeah, he was!” I responded, my smile fading slightly.

We made it onto the pitch just as the boys were scrimmaging. My eyes were immediately drawn to the legendary, Roy Kent. He was a legend for sure, and the way he commanded the field certainly lived up to said legend. But eventually my eyes landed on Jamie Tartt just as he was doing a trick shot to hit the ball off the top of the goal. God, he was amazing.

As Ted and Coach Beard headed back inside, I decided to greet the boys as they came back inside. As Jamie approached, I stepped forward, wanting to introduce myself. He was good, very good, but I knew that he could be even better. With a bit of teamwork, I was certain that he could become the best in the league.

“Hi, Jamie. I’m (Y/N) and I just wanted to say that-"

He brushed right past me, shoving his water bottle into my hands.

“Thanks,” he dismissed, not even turning around.

I stood there, water bottle in my hands, mouth agape. Maybe hating him would be easier than I thought.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #enemies to lovers #angst #eventual fluff #ted lasso tv #ted lasso show #ted lasso

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astranva · 1 year

Text

Oprah Winfrey Interview

Word Count: 7k

Category: angst, fluff

Warning: Mentions of parental abuse, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, brief mentions of drug use.

Summary: As one of the most famous actresses in the world, fans watch Y/N Y/L/N-Evans’ tell-all interview with Oprah Winfrey which Chris joins.

Planet Evans Masterlist

Fans all over the world never expected it.

While everyone knew your name from the youngest age to the oldest from all across the globe, it was a rare sighting for you to be seen in an interview and people gathered as much with all their favorite A-list celebrities being lowkey about that sort of media and marketing. Instead, they usually basked in all the content they could get from press junkets from your movies or the very few premieres you attended, or the big, prestigious award shows you went to–and none was the case for the longest time after you had hit the 4th month mark on your pregnancy, and all the way until you had your baby, River.

So when an hour-long episode from Oprah dropped where you gave a tell-all, and with Chris, people freaked out before even watching it.

Sure, seeing you in interviews was rare, but seeing you and Chris in the same interview? That had never been done before except for your Actors on Actors one.

Even though Chris always loved to praise you and tell some cute, funny stories about you that always started with “my wife”, you were still a very private couple whose smallest interaction on social media or the blurriest pap photo sent the world into a frenzy.

It was especially exciting that the episode was aired after you had given birth to your first baby, River, and while fans wondered if they would ever see his face, they knew that the chances were slim.

“And the Oscar goes to Y/N Y/L/N!” The episode began with the 2011 Oscars, showing a clip of a younger you, tearful eyes looking up in shock as everyone around you stood up with applause.

“The Oscar for best actress goes to,” pause, “Y/N Y/L/N!” Again, with a reverbed sound and another clip of you again, eyes closed with a smile and a hand to your heart as again, everyone was on their feet with applause.

“This year’s Oscar goes to,” a beat, “Y/N Y/L/N for Promising Young Woman!” But that time, you were shown as you smiled and stood up, instantly turning as your husband, Chris, pressed his lips to yours while your hands cupped his cheeks.

“And I tell them, Y/N Y/L/N is the youngest and highest-paid actress in the world right now, she’s unstoppable,” a voice said over a clip of you at 15 years old, smiling as you stood on a red carpet.

“She’s an enigma,” another said, “She’s truly this generation’s icon,” was said over another clip of you at

“This kid does a little bit of everything. She’s going to be the biggest actress in the world and I just know it.”

“Y/N Y/L/N’s dad came forward with some serious accusations,” a host’s voice was heard as it showed paparazzi pictures of your head hidden in Chris’s chest, and although your face wasn’t shown, it was obvious that you were crying, especially from Chris’s hold on you and deep frown on his face.

“Who is Y/N Y/L/N’s father and why do we not know much about him?”

A clip of you at Emmy’s was then shown, holding the award in your hand, “This is to all the women in my family line. I’m right here because of you. I’m right here for you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

The screen faded into black before it showed Oprah standing, vast greenery behind and around her as she stood by a chair in yours and Chris’s farmhouse’s garden.

A smile was on her face as she had her arms opened, looking to the side before you came in view.

Your hair was naturally down, the front of it loosely held by a tiny hair clip at the back. Clad in a short-sleeved, brown, soft shirt that was tucked into beige pants where a black belt shone with its gold buckle and black Gucci mules on your feet.

“You look so beautiful,” Oprah said as you hugged.

“You do,” you said, softly rubbing her back before pulling away, a smile on your face, “It’s been so long.”

“Too long,” she said, “What? 8 years?”

“Right?” You chuckled a little with a shake of your head, leaning forward to give her a hug again.

“Thank you for doing this with me,” Oprah said.

You adjusted your gold herringbone necklace around your neck that Chris had gotten you years ago before you motioned towards the comfortable chair for Oprah, before you sat on the couch.

“I know you normally don’t do interviews,” she said.

You chuckled with a slight nod, “Yeah, yeah, it’s been long. There’s the occasional talks with Jimmy Fallon.”

“He makes everyone feel comfortable, doesn’t he?”

“Jimmy is incredible,” you nodded, “Never has any pressuring questions, never puts you in the spot, he’s just—he’s very humane,” you put a hand to your heart.

“He truly is,” Oprah agreed, “I’m flattered that you trust me with this, Y/N,” she said, “You trust me with your story, your house—your house is so beautiful,” she enunciated, “Is it all your doing?”

You shook your head, “No, Chris and I were both so involved. It’s ours,” you laughed lightly, “There’s him in every corner, there’s me in every corner. It’s just so us.”

“This is where you come for solitude?”

You nodded, “This is where we feel like—like everything’s okay, or will be. It’s quiet, it’s like a breather. It was actually especially useful during quarantine.”

“You had your quarantine here?”

You nodded, “We stayed in Boston for some time but then decided to come out here for a while then ended up staying months,” you said, “It’s when we grew most of our fruits and vegetables,” you beamed.

“You-That’s amazing,” Oprah mused, “What fruits and vegetables have you managed to grow? Because they can be quite the hassle these things. It’s not all easy.”

“We grew bell peppers first then blueberries, tomatoes, strawberries, tangerines, lettuce, radishes,” you listed, “A lot of things-we grew a lot of things,” you laughed.

“That’s such an amazing hobby. It’s a healthy hobby,” she pointed with a small laugh, “Oh my God,” she put a hand to her head before moving it to her heart, “God, I’m so sorry, how could I not start by congratulating you on your baby?”

You laughed shyly, “No, you’re good.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, her motherly eyes staring at you, “River.”

“River,” you repeated with a nod and a soft smile.

“That’s such a beautiful name. River Jude Evans, is it?”

You nodded, “Yeah, yeah, right.”

“Of course I have to ask about the story. A lot of people have been saying you named him after the late-the incredible, River Jude Phoenix. Did you, really?”

You nodded, “Yeah,” you confirmed, “Chris and I are all about nature. So we knew we wanted a name that impersonated that, that gave life to our connection like that because we knew that our baby is just-that’s the product of so many years of love, of similarities, and-just, the flowing of our relationship,” you said, “So we were talking one night, we were coming up with names and coincidentally Stand By Me was playing, the movie,” you smiled, recalling the memory, “So we were talking, choosing, excluding, then it was during that part where Gordie was asking Chris in the movie if he was weird,”

“Chris was River Phoenix,” Oprah smiled.

“Chris was River Phoenix,” you pointed with a nod, “And he was like ‘yeah, you’re weird. Everyone’s weird’ and my husband and I were just giggling and smiling at that part because it’s one of our favorites,” you said, “Then it just,” you snapped your fingers, “Clicked. Suddenly naming our baby River really clicked because I have had this indescribable connection to River Phoenix ever since I was just a kid,” you pointed at yourself, “My mom absolutely adored him, to the point where you’d think he was my brother and it was-it was especially heartbreaking when he passed. So in a way, I felt like-we felt like we wanted to do this for him and for us,” you smiled slightly, “So we met up with Joaquin and we told him about it and it was-it was such an emotional day.”

“I love that you decided to take Joaquin’s consent,” Oprah said, “That you thought about him before making the decision.”

You nodded, “It was important to us. He was very supportive of it, and he was-he’s been very lovely with River.”

“They met?”

“He met River, yeah,” you nodded, “Just recently actually. He’s an extraordinary man.”

Oprah nodded, a smile on her face as she listened to you talk, “How did your mother take the news?”

“The pregnancy?”

“And the name choice.”

“Oh Gosh, my mom was a wreck,” you laughed, “She still is. She can’t believe she’s a grandma.”

“Can imagine. It’s a big feeling.”

“It is, it is. She’s just-she was so emotional. I think-I think having a grandson was something her mind didn’t allow her to even think about.”

“Why’s that?”

You sucked in a breath, “In a way, it feels like-like someone shaking your shoulders. Or it’s like someone telling you that this is now your reality. This is your life. Your daughter found love, she built a home, she’s having a family, and that’s all because you made it out of a tiresome, and an absolutely dark place.”

Oprah nodded, her pointer against her temple.

“My mom has her moments of surprise still because she endured so much,” you said, “And I think that it’s not just River that is now a reminder that she endured so much for me to reach that part of my life, but I think it’s Chris too.”

Oprah hummed, eyes soft, “Seeing you in love, with your own family.”

You nodded, “Exactly.”

“How was that like? How was life like back then for her? For you with your father?”

You took a breath in, looking up for less than a second, “It was rough,” you muttered, “I remember the first time I realized that the relationship I saw as a kid, back at home, wasn’t normal was in school. I think I was six years old,” you frowned, “And I mentioned something in front of a teacher about how it was normal for dads to hit their wives and daughters because to me, that was normal. That was the usual. I didn’t know that you shouldn’t fear your fathers like that, that-that the relationship you have with your dad shouldn’t be built on whether or not you’re going to get pushed,” you said, “But I grew up hearing my mom cry out more than, maybe sing and that-I thought that was normal.”

“Was he both physically and emotionally abusive?”

“And everything in between,” you said, “In my entire life, I’ve only really talked about it all twice. Once with a therapist when I was, maybe twelve years old and then another to Chris. It’s hard to think about sometimes so I just-the words get stuck. I’ve seen-I’ve seen things I wish can erase, heard things I wish I never did.”

Oprah nodded sympathetically, “Was it always like that?”

“In a way, yes. Um, it was scary at first because they loved each other at first. He was Mom’s neighbor, she fell for that-that bad boy next-door neighbor then they got married. It wasn’t always physical but it got physical when he first cheated on her,” you told, “And my mom was pregnant with me at the time and they had moved away from the city. She was-she was so in love with him, had the whole ‘I can fix him’ mindset and decided to stay because she wanted me to have a present father in my life. She felt like if she left, she’d be the reason behind me not having a normal home,” you said, “So it got physical with pushing, shoving, but it didn’t escalate until I was maybe one year old, or two. And that’s-that was beside the things she had to listen to, the shouting, everything.”

The screen changed to a picture of you and your Mom from when you were four years old, sitting on her lap as you grinned to the camera as she sat on grass, soft eyes looking at you with a smile.

“What about your family? Did she not tell anyone?”

The screen then went back to you and Oprah.

You shook your head, “He didn’t allow my Mom to see her family.”

“Oh my God.”

You nodded, “And we were away from them so it wasn’t the easiest when it came to visits but she was so scared when they did that they thought it was her who wanted to cut ties with them and they were so heartbroken,” you said, “They tried to help a few times. Ask if he had anything to do with it but my Mom just denied every time.”

Oprah nodded, “She had no one.”

“No one,” you nodded, “He made her feel so small, so-so weak. I always get so defensive and just-so angry and emotional when there’s a conversation about a toxic relationship, or an abusive relationship and someone’s like “Well, why can’t she just leave?”” You said, “Because it’s never that easy.”

The screen changed to wedding picture of your Mom and Dad, her in a dress with a happy smile while he smirked, his hands on her waist as she held on to her bouquet of flowers.

“So many layers.”

It then changed back to you.

You nodded, “You hold on to things that aren’t there and your self-esteem is nonexistent. He made her feel like she wouldn’t survive a day without him.”

“But she did,” Oprah smiled softly, leaning forward to rest her hand on yours.

You nodded, a small smile on your face.

“When did it stop? When did she decide that enough was enough?”

“I was about eight years old and I started getting into theatre,” you said, “My Mom used to help sneak me out and to the theatre, come up with lies and excuses because he never wanted me-he never wanted anybody to do something that he didn’t like. I had this theatre instructor, Mrs. Lowe, that became friends with my Mom and she was her only friend. At some point, she knew about how things were at home and she tried convincing my Mom that she’d call the cops for her and all but my Mom was scared,” you moved your hand as you talked, looking at Oprah, “So there was this opportunity to play Annie in New York and Mrs. Lowe was travelling there because she got an opportunity there. She reached out to my Mom and-to this day, I don’t know how she managed to convince her but the next thing I know is that my clothes and my Mom’s clothes are in a duffel bag and we’re travelling with Mrs. Lowe.”

“Without telling him.”

“Without telling him,” you confirmed, “We just-we ran away. Mom had no contact with anyone from our family for so long, but she knew he was going crazy. I remember that-if I wasn’t waking up to the sound of her screaming from a nightmare, it was her waking me up because I had a nightmare,” you said, “I got the role as Annie and stayed with Mrs. Lowe for a year before my Mom got to afford this one-bedroom apartment, then the theatre decided to extend the broadway for two more years and they offered to pay for my education at this public school where some of the theatre kids went.”

The screen showed a picture of you as a kid on stage, mid-singing in your Annie costume before it changed to another one of you standing in line with a lot of other kids and people, the picture zooming to your beaming, childish face.

“And what about food? Clothes? Everyday necessities?”

“I got very little pay, but my Mom would still try to save up from it for my college and she gave me the rest to spend because she wanted me to be responsible with the money, so she always monitored that.”

It then went back to you.

“What did you end up getting with your money?”

“It wasn’t much, I always ended up getting us canned soup and crackers, really,” you chuckled, “Clothes were Mom’s doing. She learned to knit and sew, so my entire wardrobe was just all her doing.”

“God, Y/N,” Oprah breathed out, “When did she reach out to your family?”

“Right after I finished Annie in nineteen ninety-nine. She sent them a letter with Mrs. Lowe because she was going back to work on some papers, but she was terrified of going back with her,” you said, “At that point my Dad went all out. They rescued him a few times from overdosing, he lost all his money to drinking and drugs, all of which he had already began doing when I was two years old, but it just-it got worse. But my grandparents flew out to New York after Mrs. Lowe gave them the letter and they helped us out a lot.”

“Your Grandpa was there?”

You nodded, a small smile on your face, “Gramps was there, he was alive. My Grandma says it’s the heartbreak of what my Mom and I went through that just-because it was only six months after we reconnected that he-that he passed away.”

Oprah hummed, eyebrows furrowed, “And did it get better after that? Were your conditions better?”

“We got by,” you said, “It wasn’t until I was about twelve years old that my Mom didn’t really skip meals because she used to do that all the time–just to make sure we had enough food. But she works as a vet and it took her some time to be on her own and everything, but before that she had two jobs as an assistant nurse and would usually make these pretty dresses and sell them for kids,” you smiled slightly.

“Was it you that took your family to another place? Did you feel like you needed to act to get the money?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I never really thought much about where I’ll get with acting. I mean, I just knew I liked doing it and my Mom was always proud of the fact that I had that getaway with theatre, but she was very nervous and just–she wasn’t entirely okay with me pursuing acting because she knew the amount of pressure that is put on you, especially when you’re a child actor.”

“But was she supportive of it when you got your first role? It was for Spy Kids, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, “It was, yeah, and Mom was very supportive, just very protective and I think–I’m very thankful for her because whenever it felt like too much, she’d always pull me aside and just tell me that I can just leave if I want to and that nothing and no one is forcing me to do it. She’s always been laser-focused on my comfort.”

“Your Mom is a hero.”

“She is,” you sighed, “She really is.”

“How did you feel when she remarried? You were still young when she met your stepdad, right?”

“I was eighteen when they met, nineteen when they got married,” you nodded, “And–I felt scared for some time because I knew well what my Mom went through, and a huge part of me thought that nobody deserved her. She’s just–Like, she’s just too good for anyone, but Pops was–he’s an incredible man.”

The screen changed to a picture of you and your stepdad, Marshall, when you were older, looking twenty, as he was sitting on a bench, you standing behind him with your arms around his shoulder and head beside his while his hands held on to your arms as you grinned while he laughed.

“You call him Pops,” Oprah noted with a smile.

“He’s the closest I got to an actual father,” you said before the screen went back to you, “I called him by his name, Marshall, for some time then I remember one day–I think it was about two or three years later, I just called him Pops and it just–it stuck with us, with me,” you pointed at yourself, “Because it made so much sense.”

“How did that make him feel?”

“God,” you chuckled, looking up in thought, feeling your eyes grow tearful, “He cried like crazy,” you said, “We were all crying, really.”

Oprah’s soft smile was on her face, “Why did you never call him Dad? Why Pops?”

“I didn’t–I don’t have pleasant memories attached to the term,” you said, “It’s not like I can’t say it, or that I don’t want my kids calling Chris ‘Dad’, but I couldn’t use it myself. In some way, it felt like–Like, you know what? Let’s start over. You don’t need to be my Dad because I know how that one is like, you’re going to be my father but I’ll just call you Pops.”

Oprah hummed, “Was your family welcoming to Chris?” She asked, “I can imagine with a protective mom and father, and given the background, I just–I can’t imagine it was easy.”

“They were welcoming,” you nodded, “But they were so intimidating,” you chuckled slightly, “Chris didn’t meet my family right away. I think he met them like five or six months into the relationship and everyone was polite, they were friendly, but my Mom was just sitting there observing him, looking for the red flags,” you laughed, “And Pops was trying so hard to look all tough and scary, and–God, even my little sister, Madelyn, she was maybe seven years old or six, and she just interrogated him,” you laughed.

“Seven!”

The screen changed to a picture of you and your little half-sister, Madelyn, from when she was only a newborn as you cradled her in your arms when you were twenty-one years old before it changed to another recent picture as she stood in her swimming attire, a gold medal around her neck as you kissed her cheek before it went back to you.

You nodded, “Chris was sitting on the couch back home and she was in this big chair and she was just like “What are your intentions with my sister?””

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” you laughed, “And I remember later that night, Chris was telling me about how it was Maddie he was worried from. It took her some time to warm up to him.”

“You’re like a family of protective women,” Oprah said, “It’s passed down.”

“Oh definitely,” you nodded, “We’re very protective of one another, of our family.”

“But I think Chris has that reputation about him, too, doesn’t he? That he’s so protective over you, especially when you were pregnant?”

A picture of you and Chris was then shown from years ago, your head to his chest as hugged him while his lips were on your head, eyes closed as he held onto you, before another picture from the Los Angeles premiere of The Gray Man was shown; you were both standing on the carpet, his hand on your big bump as he smiled at you while you smiled for the cameras.

The screen then changed to you.

“Oh, definitely. Definitely,” you nodded, “He’s overprotective and he was–he watched over me like a hawk during the pregnancy,” you chuckled, “But he was just so nervous and he’s–he’s quite the worrier, really. I did snap at him for it a few times too much, but I knew it only stemmed from a good place because–Chris has the biggest heart ever, he’s just constantly looking out for those around him.”

“You know it gave people some headlines,” Oprah said, looking at her iPad, “Chris Evans can’t trust wife Y/N Y/L/N with the baby,” she read, “Chris Evans attacked for constraining actress and wife Y/N Y/L/N.”

“We always think it’s funny when people get offended on our behalf,” you said, “You have a new father who’s actually just very attentive, very worried like all new dads, and you think he’s limiting me,” you shook your head, “It has nothing to do with trust. I know I trust Chris with my life and I know he does so, too,” you pointed at yourself.

“So you know about the articles?”

“We do, yeah,” you nodded, “There have always been questionable articles. At the end of the day, we just decide to move on and do what suits us best.”

“I’m proud of you,” Oprah said, “Well, we’ll go on a break then Chris will be joining us after.”

It wasn’t long before the interview was back on, Chris sitting beside you on the couch, the three of you having fresh pomegranate juice.

“I’ll just begin by saying this is the best juice I have ever had in my entire life,” she said as she pointed at the glass, “You made that?” She asked you.

You nodded, “It’s mostly the pomegranate that’s good. We take pride in it,” you put a hand on Chris’s arm.

“Organic and homemade,” he boasted before laughing.

Oprah hummed in contentment as she took a sip, “Sooo,” she dragged, looking at Chris, “Thanks for joining us.”

Chris smiled, “Thanks for having me,” he said, rubbing his hands on his thighs before sitting comfortably.

“You’ve been watching us from the side,” Oprah said.

Chris chuckled, nodding, “Yeah, yeah just lurking a bit.”

“First of all, congratulations,” Oprah beamed, “On the newest addition to your family. Y/N was telling me all about naming River earlier.”

“Yeah, thank you, thank you,” Chris smiled as he glanced at you, “Let’s hope he stays asleep for some time,” he joked, looking at the baby monitor on the table.

“How did you feel knowing that your baby is a boy? How was that like when you were looking at the ultrasound?”

“We actually decided to wait. We didn’t know he was a boy until Y/N was in labor,” Chris said, “To be honest, it felt–I don’t know, I mean, I still would’ve cried the same if we had a girl because it just didn’t matter to me. All I was asking for was a healthy baby, and a painless delivery for Y/N which wasn’t–it wasn’t exactly the case,” they all chuckled slightly, “And yeah–yeah, I was just so overwhelmed.”

“Did-Oh! Your dog is here,” Oprah clapped as Dodger appeared, instantly going to your side, “Dodger?”

“Yeah,” Chris beamed, “Hey, hey, buddy,” he excitedly exclaimed to his dog, reaching over to scratch his head while you petted his back.

“Doesn’t like missing out on anything,” you joked.

“You have a cat, too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Pam,” you said.

“Queen Pam,” Chris said sarcastically.

“Stop that,” you laughed.

“Chris, are you a classic cat hater?” Oprah asked.

“No, I don’t hate cats, it’s just that Pam hates me. She absolutely despises me,” he said.

“So not true,” you shook your head with a smirk.

“It is,” Chris nodded.

“Uh oh, rivalry,” Oprah joked.

“Oh, absolutely. Absolutely,” Chris nodded again.

“You know, Y/N and I were just talking about her family welcoming you in their life and she was telling me about that interrogation her sister–Madelyn gave you.”

“Oh yeah,” Chris laughed, nodding, “I was already so scared. Just so nervous, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the fact that out of her mom and Marsh, it was Maddie that I needed to worry about.”

The three of you laughed, your eyes on your husband with a smile on your face as he then talked.

“No, but really, I think–I’ve always admired how protective Y/N’s family is of her because I realize where that stems from. I know how things were like and you can never really blame them for it.”

“Did your past with your biological father,” Oprah began, looking at you, “Did that affect the both of you? Did it affect your relationship?”

“Oh for sure, for sure,” you nodded, crossing one leg over the other. This time, it was Chris’ time to look at you, one elbow leaning on the armrest with his middle finger right under his bottom lip and pointer on his cheek. “I think it affected all my relationships, but with Chris–What I felt for Chris when we were first just seeing each other, it wasn’t something that I had ever felt and that was so scary to me,” you said, “It took me everything to try and just–to break that cycle of trauma and convince myself that not every man is my father,” Oprah hummed with a nod, “Chris is nothing like him. He’s not here to harm me, he’s not here to belittle me. That I’m worthy of love that is–that is actually genuine.”

Chris nodded to himself at the last bit, a soft smile on his face.

“And Chris, how was that like for you? I imagine things were not easy. That the process was slow and there were things you didn’t know that might have been triggering for Y/N.”

“Yeah, for sure,” he nodded, “Y/N’s very self-aware, like incredibly self-aware and she’s always been all about communication. So the process was slow, yeah, we took our time but I wasn’t complaining because I always knew this was something for life, you know?” He smiled slightly, “I knew this was worthwhile. That alright, we’re actually keeping each other for quite some time right there, and when you have that feeling about someone–when you have these feelings for them, you just want to make it work. You’ll wait for years even, you’ll do it.”

You smiled, very briefly resting your head on his shoulder before he wrapped an arm around you.

Oprah looked at you with soft eyes, tilting her head at the both of you.

“This is beautiful,” she said, “You know, I was thinking on my way here about how you both are like to the media,” she began, “Like the way you both are put in high regard but monitored so closely, yet you keep everything so private. It’s like what people know about you is what you want them to know.”

Chris nodded, looking at you and signaling you to reply.

“I think with our position, with our occupations, we want to keep so many parts to ourselves. Because when you’re all out there, when your arguments and daily rituals and everything else is just out in the open, it’s just–it’s no longer a relationship between you and your partner. It’s a relationship between you, your partner, and everyone with an opinion they feel needs to be shared and things get out of hand. Like, Chris and I could have an argument like every single couple out there, but the minute we go outside and either of us is looking a little angry or upset, it’s suddenly the end of the world,” you said, “Suddenly I’m labelled as undeserving of Chris, and he’s labelled as toxic. It doesn’t matter than nobody ever truly knows the context or what happened, everyone is just so quick with labels.”

“And we make up pretty quickly,” Chris said, “Like way quicker than the internet does. So we’d be doing pretty good, pretty well, but the internet and the media is still raving about possible divorce or breakups or anything of the matter.”

Oprah nodded, “You both have had your fair share of labels,” she said.

“Oh, definitely,” you chuckled.

“Y/N, you were very sexualized in the media, or just, in the industry at times, especially during your formative years which is very appalling to think about.”

You nodded.

“How did you manage to establish boundaries? Because as far as I know, before you stopped doing interviews in 2015, you were vocal about it. You were calling out predatory behavior in the industry against young actresses.”

“I think I actually lucked out with the people around me. I have people I trust that I have always gone back to for advice and rants, and it took me some time to realize that I don’t appreciate how my job, my performances, and my personality–everything was just thrown away and disregarded the moment I show some skin. Suddenly it’s all that everyone can talk about. Suddenly the reason behind my success is my body, and everyone is no longer interested in anything but what I eat, who I’m wearing, and shamelessly posting fantasies as if I’m not an actual human being,” you said, “And it’s the case with a lot a young actresses now, and has been the case for so long but the narrative is changing. As long as people actually talk about it, as long as they address it, then it’ll come to an end because you have so many actresses and models getting forced in-in absolutely sick relationships and situations, and taking on harmful diets, harmful beauty standards, and they’re suddenly looked at as something and not someone.”

Chris was nodding, arm still around you and hand on your arm, softly rubbing it up and down.

“Was there a moment when you called it all out and were threatened?”

“Of course,” you replied, “Things used to be even worse back then than they are now. So I expected the threats. I expected the talks about how I’m never going to make it further if I keep declining offers by predators and just–just people who should be locked up.”

Oprah blew out a breath, looking at Chris, “You have a tough one, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Chris replied with a proud smile, “I think–I believe this is what the industry needs. I think Y/N’s paving the way for a lot of young actresses, because it’s inspirational looking up to someone who recognizes their place and who can actually come forward and call people out for the things they do. She’s been through a lot,” he said, “So I’m never surprised that all her passions really come from a place of experience, from-from empathy.”

Oprah nodded, “God,” she hummed with a shake of her head, “There’s so much you went through, I know that,” she pointed at herself, “I imagine that’s one of the reasons why you’re overprotective,” she told Chris.

Chris chuckled a little, nodding, “I know Y/N can look out for herself, she’s an incredible woman. She can look out for an entire family but I just think she doesn’t need to do that,” he said, “I relate to her at how the feelings we felt for each other were just-they were new. It’s a sort of love that, to me, was unlike any other. So it just comes naturally to me,” he gave a shrug, “Worrying about her, thinking about her, especially if we’re apart, it’s out of my hands.”

“I imagine that was even doubled during the pregnancy.”

“Oh quadrupled even,” you joked with a laugh.

“Okay, okay, I wasn’t that bad,” Chris joked.

“I wasn’t there and even I know that’s a lie,” Oprah said.

“Alright maybe, maybe just a little,” he laughed.

“You hid the pregnancy for the first 6 months,” Oprah said, “How was that period like?”

“Quiet,” you said, looking at Chris.

“Quiet,” he repeated with a nod, “It was definitely great, honestly. Just keeping that to ourselves and to our close family and friends.”

“Everyone was wondering where you went,” Oprah told you.

You chuckled, “There were a lot of death rumors that time actually. Even though I posted some Instagram stories and tweets.”

“Somebody must be running Y/N’s account,” Chris joked.

“Conspiracy theories,” Oprah joined in on the joke, “I think the pregnancy announcement was one of the biggest announcements of the century, and I’m not even joking.”

“That’s on her,” Chris joked, tilting his head toward you.

“Chris was that ever scary to you? Being with someone like Y/N, she’s always been up there for the world,” she put a hand up, “Like a true female icon in the entertainment industry as whole.”

“Yeah, definitely,” he confessed, “When I first met her, it was back in 2014, I was already so starstruck because she’s always been an icon, just like you said. So the thought of us being together never really occurred to me, but when I really got to know her, you forget all about the fact that this is Y/N Y/L/N,” he said, “I think I’m not with just one version of Y/N though. I’m married to the icon, to the-the absolute legend, and I’m also married to the woman who prefers baking pies and making pasta from scratch over going all out and fancy, and I’m married to the woman who also likes feeling good, looking good, going out with friends or preparing a fancy date. I got over that shell–that layer people have when it comes to Y/N because it’s very dehumanizing,” he said, “Just like Y/N said really, it’s important that you stop looking at your idols as something and start looking at them as someone.”

Your eyes were tearful, smiling to yourself slightly as you looked down, listening to every word he said.

“That’s a really good point,” Oprah pointed out, “It’s very dehumanizing. I agree with you,” she said, “On a lighter note, how was it like in your life together during that time in 2019 when Chris’ journey with Marvel came to an end? Because I imagine that was very emotional.”

“God, yes,” you nodded, “Is that truly a lighter note?” You joked.

“It’s the lightest I can do,” Oprah joked.

Chris laughed, “No, really, really, it was very emotional because my journey as Cap was like-it was a comfort zone, so that ending was just a little turbulent. But going back home at the end of the day, or just-just circulating back to Y/N and my family gave me comfort during that time.”

“Comfort zone,” Oprah smiled.

“For sure,” he nodded, “I think we go beyond the comfort zone.”

“But he made a legacy with it, really,” you smiled at your husband before looking Oprah, “It’s such an iconic character for everyone.”

“Of course, who doesn’t know Steve Rogers as Captain America?” Oprah opened her arms, “But speaking of legacies, let’s switch to another route real quick,” she said, “Do you both think River will follow yours?”

You blew a breath out, Chris raising his eyebrows slightly.

“River can be whoever he wants to be,” you said, “There’s no pressure that he needs to be added to follow anybody’s footsteps.”

Chris nodded, “I think with River we’re really aware, and we’re really cautious to protect him from all that exposure for as long as we can, and for as long as he grows up to make the choice himself.”

“That’s really beautiful,” Oprah said, “I think you both are incredible parents.”

You and Chris both beamed, “Thank you,” Chris said, “Thank you, thank you.”

“I try,” you said, “I’ll always try.”

“Do you think you’re just one and done with children? Because I know you both are so family-oriented,” she said, “You like big families and that environment.”

“Definitely not one and done,” you laughed, “But there’s no rush. We’re just living life day by day right now. Just making sure River grows up in a nurturing household, with emotionally mature parents, most importantly.”

“Any bets on the first word?”

“It has to be Mama,” you joked.

“I have a feeling it’ll be Mama,” Chris laughed, “He’s a momma’s boy. He’s a huge momma’s boy.”

“Is that a broken heart I hear?” Oprah joked.

“Oh, definitely,” Chris joked along, laughing as he nodded, “How dare he!”

“I just hope his first word isn’t anything inappropriate,” you chuckled, “Chris, and Scott and my best friend, Jia, have a habit of cursing all the time so I hope he doesn’t catch any of that.”

“You should set some rules.”

“Rules were set,” you nodded, “Rules get broken,” you laughed, “They never do it intentionally, it’s just in their nature.”

“I never do it intentionally,” Chris said with a shake of his head, “I’ve been practicing though, for a while now.”

“You need to do that,” Oprah joked, “So,” she smiled, looking at you, “Your story has a happy ending?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, leaning slightly on Chris, “It does.”

“That’s because you both made it so,” she said.

Chris smiled, looking at you.

“How do you feel right now?” Oprah asked.

“Content,” you answered, “I’m happy with how my life is like now. I’m satisfied with it.”

“What about you, Chris?”

“Extremely grateful,” Chris answered, “This is everything I’ve always dreamed of, and-and I’m happy I get to share that with my wife. I honestly wouldn’t want it with anyone else.”

It wasn’t just you with tearful eyes, because so did Chris, but it was you who first wiped your cheek away with a small laugh.

Oprah smiled, “Any plans?”

“Just being a husband and a dad that my family needs, what they deserve,” Chris said.

You nodded slightly, “Just focusing on our family, really. And just-just really enjoying the moment with all the sleepless nights and everything that comes with it because I know it’ll all just pass by so quickly.”

Oprah nodded with a smile, “Well, thank you for sharing your story. Thank you for trusting me with your story. I can’t wait to see River, I can’t wait to see how the both of you will be like in a year, in two years, I’m excited for it.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled, “I trust you the most with this.”

“We wouldn’t have had this any other way,” Chris said.

#planet evans #planet evans universe #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff imagine #chris evans angst imagine

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nwheregirl · 10 months

Text

A little bit of fun for your soul. (Kevin Lomax x reader)

Request: “So, can you do an headcanon Yandere Dark Kevin Lomax being obsessed with his innocent secretary female reader, please?” By @gea-chan96

((NSFW-ish, DARK CONTENT, 18+ ONLY, DUBCON, FEMALE READER, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, IT’S CLEARLY A POWER DYNAMIC AND A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP KEEP THAT IN MIND, NOT A WRITER JUST HAVING FUN, COULD CONTAIN TYPOS.))

New York is so fun, right? You just moved there, probably enchanted by all the wonderful scenery your parents' friends often told you about. Besides, you needed to feel independent, to leave mum and dad's house in order to finally be a woman free to do what she wanted.

Rent is expensive, the apartment is perhaps too small for such a high price: you immediately had to find a job.

You noticed on the newspaper that a famous New York attorney was urgently looking for a secretary: the salary was quite high for such a...simple job?

"Who cares? You literally just have to sit behind a desk and smile to his clients, and learn how to use the printer!" Your friend with whom you were talking on the phone told you, while you were sitting on the sofa of your small apartment in shorts and a tank top. "Or I'll end up spending my mornings and nights printing papers, having to remember how he takes his coffee, and having his wife storm into the office to punch me in the face out of unreasonable jealousy!" You answered, in a tone that was not too ironic.

Your friend had pointed out how you were perfect for such a job: you had always been a kind and honest, quiet girl…sometimes too naive for your own good. You were a person incapable of hurting anyone, it was hard for you to lie, you were smiley and polite. Basically, an emotional and sweet soul.

You both imagined that this big-shot lawyer was probably old and wrinkly, someone who needed help with the little tasks of his job because of his age.

Wrong, you were fucking wrong.

Kevin Lomax was a promising young lawyer from Florida. He had been making a name for himself for some years now, as a professional who had never lost a case since his career began. Over the years the commitments had increased, along with his money. He had just gotten out of a stormy divorce with his ex-wife (this is something you would find out later).

The reason for the divorce was that Kevin was an absolutely unfaithful, self centered and possessive man. His poor wife had come to have a nervous breakdown due to the immeasurable sadness he had caused her.

But this, you would never know.

You applied for the job, and on the day of your interview you were struck by the beauty of the man: his pitch black hair and his brown eyes that seemed to penetrate into your soul for how deep they were, his broad and muscular body and his expensive suit that hugged his shoulders perfectly... you were convinced at first that he was just a trainee, but no. He was the man you were going to work for.

In the first months of your job Kevin had been professional and quiet, at times even cold and rude. He just nodded to you, ordering you left and right to do something for him without so much as a 'thank you' or 'please'. He was a man of few words and busy. You thought it was definitely not the friendliest environment to work in.

No one from the office ever spoke to you: you were simply the secretary and nothing more. They wished you good morning and smiled at you, that's it.

What you didn't know was that, in the first few months there, Kevin had done meticulous research on you to understand what kind of woman you were: he had contacted some criminals he had managed not to send to jail (they owed him a favor) to stalk you and make a complete profile of the person you were.

He was a lustful man, but at the same time (given what he had gone through with his ex-wife) he wanted to aim for a woman who was simple, submissive and therefore easy to manipulate. Not a gold digger, possibly. He wanted to indulge in his needs without any stress.

Kevin liked your aura of kindness and naivety, so he wanted confirmation that it wasn't just a mask: he discovered that you were actually a good girl, with a simple life and many female friends. You were shy around men, sometimes maybe even scared that someone might be interested in you. In short, you were perfect. Kevin wondered how it was possible that you didn't realize how beautiful you were, your sinuous body could have set a fire in the soul of any man that looked at you. He liked it even better that way though, it would have been easier to corrupt you and make you his good little fuck doll.

It happened out of nowhere: your boss had started being nicer, almost too much. You didn't know what to say or what to do, you were too embarrassed...and he had too much power over you to complain. You couldn't risk getting fired.

“Grab me a coffee. Will you, sweetheart?”.

“What a nice skirt you are wearing this morning, doll”.

“It’s late, I’ll call you a cab”.

“Y/N, print me this.” He would say, moving exaggeratedly close to your ear and tapping his fingers on your hips for a few seconds.

“You can go now. Do you have any plans for the weekend? I hope you don’t have a date, sweetie”. He said to you one day, winking at you with his pearly white smile: you laughed at those words but there was a touch of jealousy in his eyes, it seemed that through that small gesture he was hiding something more sinister.

During the few months in which those subtle behaviors had gone on you hadn't reciprocated his flirting ways: you wanted to keep it professional, you were shy and perhaps it made you a little uncomfortable. You couldn't deny that you weren't flattered to get the attentions of such a handsome and powerful man, though. Kevin knew that behind that fear, that innocence…you craved him just as much as he did. He was starting to lose his patience, no longer wanted to play nice with you.

It happened one evening, in one of the most expensive bars in New York: Kevin had just won yet another lawsuit. You often accompanied him to court to keep his papers organised, always finishing work after dinner time and coming back home exhausted. This time, however, you had decided to pass by that bar just for a few minutes to say hello and congratulate him.

"Congratulations, Mr. Lomax!" you exclaimed happily as you entered the bar. You knew perfectly well that you didn’t belong there: you were surrounded by very rich attorneys, with their beautiful trophy wives and their shiny sports cars.

You were wearing a navy blue knee-length skirt, a white button-up blouse, a tailored blazer and stud earrings. A pair of low heel classic pumps at your feet. You wore your hair down, alway looking professional and polished.

Kevin turned to look at you as he was talking to his colleagues, his face changing completely into a seductive grin. He stared at you, licking his lips. He was wearing a sophisticated three piece grey suit.

His voice almost seemed to take a different tone; much deeper and seductive.

“Thank you, sweetheart”

He said with a charming wink, taking a sip of his drink as he offered to buy you one.

"Oh no thanks, I don't drink. I just came by to say hello, I don't want to disturb you"

"Who ever told you that you disturb me, honey?" Lomax said, his smile widening more as he leaned forward. He brought his drink to his lips slowly, eyes locked on yours as he did so. You didn't know exactly what to answer to those words, it was simply you being shy. Lomax reached out a hand, placing it gently on your arm.

He looks strong and confident, you had always admired him for his confidence…

“Don’t be so self conscious, you are a beautiful girl” He said with a warm smile, bringing his hand up to gently stroke your hair.

Wait…what the fuck had just happened? Was Kevin Lomax really stroking your hair?

You blushed, you lowered your gaze and murmured thanks to that compliment: man, now you understood why all the girls in the office spoke of him as if he were the most fascinating man on the planet. It took very little for him to make someone's legs shake.

"Mmh..thank you, but I really have to go..." You whispered at that moment as you sank into your shyness: but he wouldn't have given you a chance to escape. In fact, being late, he offered to drive you home in a tone that made you understand that "no" was not a plausible answer.

So, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of his very expensive car, your hands resting shyly on your knees while you avoided making eye contact with Kevin and admired the sight of the city’s lights from the car’s window. The famous attorney had turned to look at you, a sly smile on his face: you were so cute, he could feel his pants getting tight at the thought of corrupting such a simple girl. It would have been so easy to make you fall at his feet…

"You know I don't bite, right? You can talk to me." There was an awkward silence in the car due to your discomfort. You turned your head toward the man, a shy smile on your face. Fortunately, you were not very far from your apartment: you could hold out a little longer. You smiled shyly, apologizing to him.

“…unless you want me to bite”.

What? What did he just said?

You turned towards him, shocked: you felt your throat grow dry as your cheeks turned bright red. You stood still for a few seconds.

"Mr. Lomax?" You called his name, thinking you were losing your mind. But no, it was real and it was really happening: you became aware of the fact that he had parked in front of your apartment but was showing no signs of wanting to unlock the door.

"You know..." The handsome attorney whispered, bringing his face closer to yours.

"I know you've noticed how I've treated you over the past few months, but you've shown no signs of wanting to give in. I am a not very patient man, if I want something I always get it." You noticed that you felt a huge emptiness in your stomach as you continued to stand still and look into his eyes with your lips half-open in shock.

"I always win." The man had whispered then, brushing his fingers over your cheekbones.

"I don't think any of this is appropriate…you are indeed a handsome man...but what will be said about me if people find out about this?" You whispered, as your insecurity blocked your throat from making a confident, clear sound.

"There are many beautiful women just waiting for attention from the famous Kevin Lomax, I am simply your secretary. I know what lawyers do with their secretaries, they use them like dolls and then throw them away. I don't want to be that, for any man in the world -- not even the richest one..." You kept going, feeling your eyes getting wet: damn insecurity, but at least you were managing to speak. That innocence and tenderness of yours generated in Kevin an even stronger lust for you: it was true, a good part of his colleagues did that. The world of New York lawyering was a world full of sins and scandals. But he was a gentleman, or for that matter he was distinctly better than some people: it almost seemed as if he could smell your fear and embarrassment.

"Sugar..." this time Kevin caught your face in his hands, bringing it brutally close to his: you could feel his breath smelling of alcohol and cigars on your skin. Not commenting on anything you had said, he ended the conversation this way:

"Good night, try to get some rest because tomorrow you will be forced to stay with me until late."

And once again, his tone scared you.

Back home, you looked at yourself in the mirror as you silently rinsed your face: you thought first about calling and quitting the very next morning, and then in the silence of your room -as you tried to fall asleep- you sensed your most unconscious emotions taking over your brain.

Kevin was handsome: you had stated that several times. You admired his confidence; you were frightened by his authoritative energy. You were a woman like any other, you had needs and when a person was attractive to you, you couldn't help but fantasize at least a little bit. Your brain had done that with your boss too, but you had always tried to scuttle your thoughts-you felt guilty, damn guilty. It wasn't right, what would your parents think of you?

You fell asleep overwhelmed by this train of thoughts, ignoring the fact that you had woken up after dreaming of your body bent against a desk, powerful hands pulling at your hair.

The next day you felt like you were in a different place, not the one you had now come to know for more than eight months.

You constantly felt Kevin's intense, dark gaze on your body; he hadn't spoken to you all day: he seemed to be back to his old way of doing things.

How wrong you were.

He simply wanted to make you feel uncomfortable, and he had succeeded. You felt that you had done something wrong, that you had offended him: perhaps you had gone too far? Was he about to fire you?

You were doing an impeccable job: his schedule was always perfect, his papers always in order, and much more. Would he really have been able to send you away or treat you badly because of a simple conversation?

You were forced to stay late into the evening in the office, when everyone had already left. Kevin had been in court for many hours that day because of a very difficult mob case. Now, after having dinner with several colleagues, he was forced to stay until late sitting at his desk to analyze documents that contained important evidence that would enable him to win the case. It was you who had alphabetically sorted through that large amount of documentation; that was why he needed you.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he had coldly called your name to ask you to find him the file of a specific person.

Slowly, you opened the small metal drawer to look for that specific file. There was total silence inside that room, it was now almost 11 o'clock at night, and you couldn't feel the fatigue because of the adrenaline rush that the discomfort was causing you.

You could once again feel the attorney's eyes slowly exploring your body-he was waiting, but panic made it seem like your eyes could not focus on the right letter. You coughed several times, starting to sweat.

"So?" He had said aloud, passing his tongue over his lips: his blazer was resting on the chair, his sleeves were rolled up, and his tie was now forgotten somewhere. The first buttons of his shirt were open. His hair, that were always tied elegantly combed back, now fell over his forehead.

At that moment, to get even more comfortable, he had taken off his suspenders and the very expensive Rolex he was wearing on his wrist until a few minutes before.

"I'm sorry, I'm looking for it: it must be fatigue slowing me down." You had your head lowered in shame: you were generally quick, it never happened to make him wait more than a minute.

“Come here”.

You slowly turned toward him, your eyes still fixed on the floor.

"Look at me."

You didn't want to, you were ashamed, you couldn't really lift your head. At that point, Kevin violently slammed his hand against the desk.

"I said fucking look at me! Don't you ever listen?"

Terrified, you raised your head toward him: your legs were shaking, you felt you were about to cry--you don't like it when people yell at you. Kevin realized that maybe he had gone too far in having that reaction with you (or maybe he had accidentally shown you his true nature?), so he signed and massaged his temples:

"I'm sorry, come here..." He turned in your direction, opened his legs slightly and settled more comfortably in the black leather chair.

Figuring it would be worse if you didn't listen, you slowly approached the desk and looked at him with a confused and disappointed expression. You were facing him now, but were still too far away for his own taste.

"I didn't mean to respond that way, sugar..." He repeated, displaying a mask of guilt as his hand repeatedly tapped his thigh.

"Come closer” He said in a firmer tone, this time understanding what he was getting at.

"Kneel" He ordered you, and so you positioned yourself between his legs like a lapdog: in the silence of that moment you felt humiliated…humiliated and that you were succumbing to his power and feeling even more ashamed of the fact you were liking it. His hand began to caress your cheek as his thumb did the same with your lips.

"Open" The lawyer ordered , and you welcome his finger in your mouth, licking and sucking it slowly. You had heard of things like this: you understood then what he wanted, and you were at least trying. He'd probably been with more experienced women than you, and that shamed you even more. You felt like a stupid teen.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice the fact that Kevin had slowly started to undo his belt, opening your eyes when you heard the noise of the zip being lowered.

"Don't worry, I’ll teach you everything" He explained, having noticed how awkward you were: even better he thought, it would have been even easier for him to make you what he wanted you to be.

"You're mine now, not that you'd ever get a chance to run away from me..." The way you were looking at him, with his finger still between your lips, made his eyes darken: you reminded him of a sweet deer, small and innocent. He smiled, taking your face in his hands and leaning towards you.

"If you're good, in a couple of years I might even put a ring around your pretty little finger…you would like that wouldn’t you, little doll?”.

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves characters #keanu reeves fanfic #kevin lomax #kevin lomax x reader #kevin lomax smut #the devils advocate #headcanon #fanfic #nwheregirl made this #request #dark fic

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oneirictheater · 11 months

Text

little lost love. (ft. Jang Wonyoung)

A/N: I debuted! Thank you again to @maemisnippets and @gangplanksorenji for inspiring me :>

At first, you were selfish. You admitted that now. You were too harsh on her because you only thought of yourself. The world only revolved around you, and as she orbited your cruel flame, she began to seek things worth dedicating her shine to.

It was your fault. All those times you told her that she was being selfish when it was the other way around scarred her. You were both young and sheltered - it was only normal that she would find ways to climb out of the box her life kept her in - the life that you took part of holding her back.

All of that happened, all by the book, yet Jang Wonyoung was still so beautiful.

As you looked at the pictures she posted on her Instagram, scanning the ones of her standing in Paris before the Eiffel Tower, with her new boyfriend. She wore a big smile on her face, and it was bigger than the one she sported when you were together. In fact, you barely remembered a smile from Wonyoung in the last few months she was with you. But you could recall more than plenty of brash moments, when the two of your lonely hearts collided and her tearful eyes struggled to meet your own:

"What is it, Wonyoung?" you said. She had been standing in front of you nervously for about a minute, and it was beginning to annoy you.

She was dressed in her best clothes and held a suitcase. As her lips quivered, she said, "I'm going to Paris. And you can't stop me."

It barely registered in your mind. But when you looked at her and saw that she even had the boots she used exclusively for travel, and her fist curled around the suitcase handle was tighter than your chest, you realized she wasn't joking.

"What?"

Wonyoung took in a deep breath. "I said I'm going to Paris. And you can't stop me."

"What for?" you asked. Surely she was just playing a prank with you. Your fights always resolved somehow. You always made amends in the aftermath. She couldn't be serious.

Wonyoung gave a tiny little scoff. "It's not like you care," she said. "You've been playing games all week, so you probably didn't see me packing."

"Wonyo." You stood up and approached her. Your heart pinched when she stepped backwards. "What's wrong, baby? Let's sit down and talk. We can fix this."

"We can." She turned up her chin as her cheeks became blotted with tears and, through gritted teeth that tried to hold back her tears, continued. "But we won't."

That was the day she left. It coincidentally was the same day you spent crying your heart out. Through those miserable hours you asked yourself about when Wonyoung became this self-centered. Why she was leaving you so suddenly. If she really loved you.

As it turned out, she did - but she also loved her dreams, too.

She achieved them. She sought higher and was brought higher. Everything was going well for her - she became famous, rich, happy.

"What would you say to everyone who has their own dreams to chase?" asked the interviewer in the video you were watching of her right now.

Wonyoung turned to the camera and smiled. "Hey, everyone," she said in English at the video you watched of her, in her adorably posh accent. "Don't be afraid to do what it takes to achieve them. Leave what hinders you behind and only go forward."

There were several photos too of her with her boyfriend, in the city of love you'd never been with her. She was smiling, laughing charmingly in a blurred glitch in the camera. And then she was kissing him - he was grinning into it, holding her close as if he'd never let go.

You never did either.

But today, you looked at her Instagram page, looked at her beautiful polaroids, and said, through a throat stuck with tears:

"I'm letting you go. I'm letting you go, my little lost love. I'm sorry."

#kpop scenarios #ive wonyoung #izone wonyoung #jang wonyoung #wonyoung #ive scenarios #kpop angst #kpop imagines #ive imagines

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inkpot909 · 11 months

Text

Rohan Kishibe Falling for an Assistant!Reader

↳ Reader’s gender is not defined/is gender neutral. Reader is in college and not a stand user.

A/n: ‘roHan KisHibE wOuLd nEveR hiRe an asSissTant-‘ Rohan Kishibe loses in fights against teenagers. He’s been famous since the age of sixteen; there’s no way he can even do the dishes properly.

Warning(s): Swearing.

Rohan Kishibe began the process of finding a personal assistant not a year after Yoshikage Kira’s death.

Not too long before, the idea of hiring an assistant was one the mangaka would openly mock. Him? Needing assistance? Not a chance. His work ethic is unreal; able to disregard what other artists would consider as valuable help. The Great Rohan Kishibe works solo at every opportunity and everyone ought to know it.

Although his reputation to many of the people around him can be rocky, one would be hard pressed to find anyone with the opinion that he needed an assistant at all.

However, the kind of aid he sought was, for lack of a better term, a glorified maid.

The Kishibe resident itself is big enough to comfortably home a family of five, and Rohan famously lives by himself. And completing tasks associated with home ownership had always been a big pain in the ass to the artist. Too much of his time was wasted on ‘unnecessary’ trivials (things others would describe as regular adult responsibilities).

Not only does he lose precious work time to maintaining a house, but also to grocery shopping, sending messages to his editors, and even cooking.

In short, he independently searched for someone to take care of his home and busybody tasks on the regular. Releasing an ad, he felt confident that he’d find someone. Even if the job itself turns a handful away, a generous payload would be sure to entice a fair amount of people.

Trudging through resume after resume, interview after interview, Rohan eventually came across you.

A young college student, taking a small yet steady stream of classes. Your resume was average to many your age, but stood out to him for other reasons. Namely, your application was well-written and to the point (something he had increased appreciation for at that stage in the interviewing process). Not only that, but the specific experiences you have had in the workforce was good insensitive as well. The final nail in the coffin was a general feeling of honesty pooling from your written words. Judging by how it was written, he could sense genuine realness. In short, you didn’t bullshit.

Amidst your educational endeavors, you searched tirelessly for a stable income. Spotting Kishibe’s ad, you resolved it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot. And as fate would have it, you were contacted in order to set up an interview.

Unsure of what to expect, you dressed yourself up and swallowed your nerves. The interview itself was to take place at a tiny coffee shop in Morioh Cho and you were thankful for the short trip.

Meeting one another at the agreed time, Rohan’s character quickly confused the hell out of you (as much as it was intriguing). He’s certainly the type to leave a lasting first impression, while seeming careless to your own thoughts on him.

It was intimidating, overwhelming, and admirable all at once.

Also, he made it clear his work’s extremely important to him, the sole reason behind why he searched for help in the first place. More time to work; more time to dig for inspiration.

His dedication is what truly sold you, finding it weirdly motivating. Within just fifteen minutes of speaking to him, you’d forgotten that he’s only a year or two older than yourself.

That was, until the interview went on longer and he let it slip that certain worries plague him. Especially between chapter releases. The prospect almost made you sad; both his ego and anxiety possibly due to being a well-renown artist from a relatively young age.

Your personal response to the questions plaguing your brain was to disregard them, and instead focus on an expectant Kishibe. His eyes were sharp, looking down at you and impatiently awaiting a response to a question you completely missed.

You didn’t need to hear the exact words, though. Smiling sheepishly, you reached out your hand and shook his own. In the back of your mind, it was assumed any answers to your questions would eventually arrive one way or another.

They were bound to, considering Rohan Kishibe was- from that moment onward -officially your boss.

And to say it was a rough start for the both of you would’ve been an understatement.

Initially, you were a little shy about making any more assumptions or even observations. Hell, you were shy in general. Adjusting to the new job became a top priority over any curiosity about your peculiar boss. But when working with a man like Rohan Kishibe, it’s difficult not to hang over his every last word despite yourself.

However, time brings with it familiarity. Not only with a usual work routine, but with Rohan himself. His initial sternness made meeting his expectations all the more satisfying. Without a doubt, you were proud of how quick you got into the swing of things.

He prioritized quietness and swiftness, but was also surprisingly fair. Even after accustoming to the work environment, he always comments on a job well done.

Except for when he’s deeply invested in his work. To you, it’s difficult to tell if he even notices your presence upon entering the art room. However, it’s not as if you slipped into the background, but he simply grew used to you being there on occasion.

Months passed. You grew to have less and less questions about a man you no longer called Mr. Kishibe, but instead by his first name.

The two of you don’t necessarily need to speak in order to be communicative. You’re at a point in your relationship now where you found reading into his actions to be surprisingly easy.

That’s an aspect he certainly wasn’t expecting either, not used to such things.

Just the smallest shift of his facial expression- just a lift of a brow -and your eyes light up with understanding. Sure, he can ‘read others like a book,’ but you’ve seemingly mastered the language of Rohan Kishibe’s demeanor without any stand power.

Then he notices that you’ve started doting on him. An extra selection of sugar with his morning tea. Always taking an enthusiastic intrest whenever he shares his art. And a specific kind of contentment or pride you put into your work that he honestly would have never foreseen.

For the longest time, he was adamant that he wouldn’t use his stand to peak at your past and present. His power had grown considerably, and became more selective of who he investigates. However, his curiosity overcomes a sense of restraint on his own abilities.

He couldn’t help but take a peak. Besides, he could find something usual for his writing. Regardless of whether or not he did, he found something else as well. Written in on your second page, his name was the most recent in a list of people you harbor (or have harbored) feelings for.

Rohan can move on after that. No problem. It wasn’t the first time he’s found his own name written down in someone’s book as a crush. It’s nothing to pester you about; nothing to even ponder. Nope. Just go back to work. Not a hint of romance is going to suddenly appear in his manga (it’s psychological horror, why would it be?) out of thin air.

A week passes. Two weeks pass. He’s become a little more silent as of late, but it’s nothing you care to mention at all. Rohan gets absorbed in his work often, and you figure you’ll get the chance to ask him about his work a later time.

Your patience is respectable; it’s downright endearing. But the lack of investigation on your part made his teeth grind together in frustration.

He doesn’t think of you that much. Not really; don’t flatter yourself. His mind just lingers on your memory when you leave. Rohan’s thoughts merely turn to you when introducing a noticeably beautiful character in Pink Dark Boy. And it’s nothing special that he gets agitated when he doesn’t see you for a few days.

While you put him out of your mind (the thought of him is far too flustering), Rohan’s lingers on your more and more. The glances he throws at you dwadle, observant in the way you’ve been for months.

Standing in the front hall of Rohan’s home, your body is leaning against the wall while you pull your shoes on. The sun hangs low in the sky, kissing the horizon line. A pinkish blush spreads across Morioh Cho, dusk signaling the end of your work day. While making your effort, footsteps travel from the top floor and down the stairs.

Lifting your head, a smile spreads across your face when meeting your boss’s gaze. He’s made his way to the bottom of the stairs, stopping a comfortable distance in front of you. “Taking a break?” you ask gently.

“For a short while,” he confirms, before adding in a mumble, “Although I know you’d lecture me about working late.”

“You said it, not me,” you jest, straightening your back upright after slipping on your shoes. You fold your hands behind you, long coat softly swaying as you momentarily rock back and forth on your feet.

“Only so you don’t say it yourself.” Rohan crosses his arms, shifting his weight onto his right foot.

“Because you prefer the sound of your own voice?”

Rohan opens his mouth, only to close it anticlimactically a moment later. His brows furrow, and eyes dart away from your person. Biting the inside of his cheek puffs out his lips subtly.

It’s times like this that you wished you were the artist. He’s so insistent on capturing reality, in all it’s forms. But he’d be your muse of choice. Yet he neglects that he’s a work of art himself, you mentally note with an audible giggle.

Rohan’s demeanor changes, his pondering expression morphing into a curious one. It merely strengthens your smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rohan,” you finally speak.

“Yes, of course,” he replies dismissively, as if it was redundant of you to mention.

Chuckling once more, you move forward. The mangaka’s breathing catches in his throat when you wrap your arms around him, and forehead collides with his chest. The hug is short, but noticeably warm.

You pull away far too quickly, waving him ‘goodbye’ and going on about buying him a St. Gentleman’s sandwich for lunch the following day while walking out the door. Rohan merely nods, watching the front door delicately shut behind you.

He’s stunned. Unmoving in his spot, only his eyes blink dumbfoundedly. Is he really going to head upstairs like nothing happened? Even now? Just continue working a few more hours of the night away? Maybe he should mull you over in his mind for a moment or two. Maybe for a couple of minutes. The way he’s starting to feel around you may not be a problem, but it certainly is something isn’t it?

He bites his lower lip, silently cursing your name. He attempts to ward away the rising heat on his cheeks with a shake of his head. For once, he’s glad he cannot use his stand to read his own mind. Because even without such ability, he has no doubt it would clearly state that The Great Rohan Kishibe has grown much to close to his assistant.

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