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vespersposts · 2 years

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Sleepless

Hi lovelies 💝,

August means something to those who have an obsession crush like mine.

💙Let's all celebrate that nice Daiki's birthday together, hoping that sooner or later he will decide to move next door to me, or in my house directly. This story is self indulgent as hell, but when it comes down to him, even your serious author loses the plot. The story is pretty long so I decided to double split it, i think it'd be easy for the two-time reading.

📝 small side note: suffering from insomnia myself, I am well aware that the representation I have given is only useful for the purposes of the narrative, I hope it does not offend other nocturnal animals .

Happy birthday D! 💘

📮Comments, criticism, sharing and like are so appreciated!📮

Follow the #knbhousewarming or #housewarmingbyvesper to find all the entries, or just ask for a tag I’d be glad to add you.

Who’s gonna be next? ( 💜: He's HUGE!). If you prefer a different Knb boy, let me know!

Love always,

💋PS: If any of you amazing authors would like to contribute with original work to this series, that would be a dream for me. Please send me the link and tag me so I won’t miss any stories, and use the #knbhousewarming , as the platform sometimes gets crazy.

💣PPS: I apologize in advance for any grammatical and/or spelling mistakes, English is not my first language (bear with me!).

➿Genre: fluff, slice of life, one shot.

🏡 Housewarming Masterlist🏡

New York, Brooklyn Heights

Sunday, 03.15 A.M (ET)

A starry June night.

It hadn't happened to you for so long that you'd almost forgotten about it. You had started to lose bits and pieces of yourself sneakily, little by little, during a busy work period where sleeping hours were the last thing on your mind. A mountain of photos to edit, which the editor of the glossy fashion magazine you worked for had adored, promoting you to art director just to piss your predecessor. You had accepted, not so much because you were dying to find new trouble, but so that you could afford that house, in which you had dreamed of living since childhood.

It wasn't even like the other times: you were functioning. You worked too well, you worked twice as hard, you had twice as many ideas, but unfortunately you also thought twice as much. Perhaps you had not noticed it, but it stood there and had waited for the worst possible moment to make itself known.

The only unimportant detail, this time around your insomnia seemed not to want to go away.

One week, and if you hadn't slept at least five hours in three days you would have had to swallow the holy pills.

That's why, at that ungodly hour, you had slipped on leggings and trainers, zipped up your jacket over your sports bra, tied your hair in a high ponytail and, trotting down the building's stairs, were about to do the only thing that had worked in the past: tire yourself to death.

Off season for him mainly meant enjoying life.

That's why from October to April he called Cleveland home, but then the rest of the year he loved to spend it in Japan or in that flat that had been recommended to him, only a few weeks earlier, by an ex teammate. A city that looked like a district of elegant brownstone cottages, with a lovely tree-lined promenade along the East River, the same one along which the girl from flat 13 was probably headed.

"Going for a run in the darkest hours, how stupid! The night was for having fun, chatting, making love and eventually sleeping ” he had thought as he held the door and enjoyed your brief ritual exchange of 'Good morning / thank you / please be careful/ sleep tight'.

He had never ventured to ask anything , not even the reason for your strange habit of spending every night that God sent on earth awake and alone in the big flat in front of his own, going out onto the terrace to gaze at the dark night. He perceived you as a shadow against the window light, a shadow that stretched and sometimes danced to music that he couldn't hear, a shadow that returned to the night when you turned off the flat lights, and that came back from the night when your silhouette was dimly lit by the light of a faint candle. The very fact that he knew nothing about you, that he understood nothing about you, intrigued him. You were a nocturnal, wild and elusive animal and he was the only one who understood your rare nature. In his mind you were an assumption, a fascinating thought that he could not help but think about. A challenge, an exciting balancing act. Yet you had a boyfriend, so he was told by the lovely old woman who lived next door, whom you called 'Granny' , and for whom you gladly ran small errands. "An ordinary guy" the former opera singer had revealed to him, when she had subjected him to her personal entrance examination into the social life of the building. He had wasted so much time thinking about what kind of person might have attracted your attention that, ironically, for the first time in a long time it was he who was left alone for the night.

The sky changes, and you see the lights go on in other houses, the curtains open, and the day of people who know how to sleep can begin. You ask your pod for some music and turn on your computer, but your eyes see only one thing. You read his name in the inbox and open the email, only to realize how loathsome he can still be.

"I'll pick Grandma up at 11 a.m. Tight schedule. Make sure she has everything she needs and not just useless evening clothes."

"Go and die " you type back, adding a smiley emoticon as in your best tradition. It's always like that with Elliott anyway. Scion of a banking cult, slick student at your own private school, brilliant manager of the main branch of the institution founded by an ancient great-great-grandfather. You grew up elbow to elbow, he the only one able to tolerate your less than aristocratic origins, and you the only one able to handle his awful temper. A partnership cemented by the unconditional love you both had for that now elderly lady with a very tarnished memory, for whom you were both genuinely her beloved daughter's children.

You finish your tea, open the curtains and windows, so that the fresh dawn air enters the whole flat, hoping that it will wash away even that last shapeless thought. It's probably a side effect of sleep deprivation, your brain's way of getting the endorphins you deny it, but it's ridiculous that he makes you feel like a young girl on her first crush. You look towards his balcony, the window slightly open, the lights off, and you know he is sleeping, since you met him three hours ago. He was alone, but that boy was handling traffic in his house comparable to an airport terminal.

You smile at that innocent naughtiness of yours, which is only the result of the awareness that the relationship between you will remain formal. Grandma liked him, so it was common for her to invite him for tea or some fancy excuse. She would entartain him with anecdotes, or her fantasies, or a mixture of the two, and you would find him standing in front of you, tall and alluring every day; and every day you would notice a detail that shatters your determination not to pay attention to him. If only there was a freaking summer league, or if only he had gone back to Japan for his holiday, you would have had some respite from that constant assault on your senses. As it was meant to be, that day too could not pass without you finding him before your eyes for the umpteenth time, his charcoal shirt that couldn't look better on those perfect shoulders, his light trousers wrapped his toned legs, his enticing eyes following you around the room, now that you asked grandma permission to review her holiday suitcase. His loud laughter and his hands, those big, long hands of his, that had touched yours to deliver a glass of water, perhaps lingering longer than necessary, but more prosaically pandering to your anxiety, now that with the departure of the hostess, your chances to meet him would drop.

When Elliott arrives, the situation becomes surreal.

"You should go to lunch together" suggests your childhood friend, after spending the first half hour of his visit telling Grandma the epic story of the Japanese basketball champion, who is conquering the NBA, gloating like a teen in front of a k-pop idol.

"You know I go to Poppa's for lunch on Sundays" you cut it short, hoping to silence him, but the banker who looks like a Vogue model, is having none of it.

"In that Bed-Stuy dump?" he snorts, looking at Daiki as if the latter might know something about the toponymy of the quarters.

"Elliott, I was born there, I'd appreciate it if you didn't call it a sewer" you take him back, under the embarrassed gaze of your host.

"It sucks even if you were born there! Besides, what the fuck are you doing at Poppa's, if you don't even like meat! You're not a fucking rat anymore!" fights that big son of a gun. You fold your arms across your chest and are about to send him to hell, but he grabs you close for a hug, and you give in.

"Do you really want to take Aomine to a place like that, sis ?" he asks you , just to provoke you again, as if he expects a thank you for setting you up on a date. You look at him, half-close your eyes, about to give your answer when his voice shushes you both.

"Im so in for it. I'd like to see something different. You're gonna buy me lunch in return, deal? " his voice was so deep and warm. You'd like to make an excuse and leave him in that room, but the only thing you make him leave at home, as a precaution, is his watch.

"I hope you're not the fussy type" your voice comes to him out of the blue, shortly after you've taken a seat in a filthy underground car.

"No, I wouldn't say that " he replies, noticing how the landscape changes rapidly: from the open space of your nice district you move on to large buildings all leaning against each other, shops with broken or worn out signs, dirty streets and people with empty eyes.

"You're probably thinking Elliott was right, but ..." you carry on, as if suddenly embarrassed.

"Not at all. I was actually wondering why you moved, if you love your old block so much " he asks, turning his eyes from the window to your own.

"Because Bed-Stuy had nothing to offer me, apart from Poppa's cooking " you sigh " Since I had good grades, they admitted me to Elliott's school, but you can imagine what it was like. I was "rat" for everyone except him. Actually, when I took this train from school and went back home, all I thought about was how much I wanted to leave, how much I wanted to live in the beautiful Brooklyn Heights too, where the houses had lots of rooms and a balcony, where there were people like Grandma and not drug dealers and criminals. I'm not in love with this area, but I owe a lot to it, that's why I go back there every Sunday " you admit, giving him a glance, and he feels you so close and fragile that he would hug you tight, but he knows that would be inappropriate, to say the least.

You get off the metro, and after a short walk you find yourself in front of a row of buildings all alike, dense like the cells of a beehive, closed around a sort of common space that probably should have been a recreational area equipped with facilities, but now only looks decadent, sad and rusty. He saw groups of children playing haphazardly and cheerfully, kids with loud music watching you quizzically, elderly people raising their hands to wave at you, bullies making offers that fall on deaf ears, until you find yourself in a narrow, dark alley, right behind what must once have been a basketball court. Yet the entrance to the diner was on the main face of the building, as the arrow of the sign suggests.

"Come, don't be afraid, looks bad but it's safe" you mock him gently, your hand reaching for his one, your fingers interlacing with his to reassure him, but the effect his body sends back is a wave of overwhelming desire that makes his blood boil in his ears and leaves him unable to articulate words. He runs the palm of his hand along your forearm, over your skin, so soft and smooth. You look at him, open your lips to tell something, but he has already lost the ability to understand. Skinship, attraction, risk, a lethal mixture is pumped through his veins at an unsustainable pace. He is about to close his fingers around your elbow to pull you to him and take you, locking you against that cold brick wall, when a male voice roars your name and divides you.

Poppa is a giant with a contagious good temper and arrogant, hearty cooking, who immediately sets you up at the best table in the place, in the small green space at the end of the dark alley, just behind his kitchen. Your burger looks alive, judging by the amount of toppings and cheese it leaks, which is why you are teased by both of them, who over the years must have honed an exact technique for holding bread, meat and toppings together.

"It's not a guy who looks like him, Pops" you explain, making the man's eyes widen "I brought you the real deal!" you smile, taking a long sip of water. Now the man's attention shifts to you, because "He knew he had seen you somewhere before".

"That's me Sir. Aomine Daiki, the one who plays in Cleveland" you reply and see the man's eyes light up with joy. "Man! We are all crazy about you, you're a genius!" the man shouts, calling out to all his kitchen staff, so that they too can shake hands and take pictures with the man who scored an average of 22 points per game in the last championship. It starts a party, which soon involves the whole block and in which he seems completely at ease, so much so, that he willingly accepts to shoot a few rounds with a group of boys from the local team, raising the already torrid temperature considerably, when he takes off his shirt and asks you to keep it, completely unaware of the emotional tsunami that watching him play causes. If Daiki in grandma's kitchen is attractive, in his element he is the most sensual and exciting man walking on earth. The way he moves, his absolute mastery of his body, those bright eyes full of agonism and above all his smile so radiant and seductive, which he never fails to turn on you after every point scored.

"Awesome!" shouts the girl sit next to you on the bench.

To you it's not awe, it's crave.

That dangerous feeling does not leave you even when you return to the metro, when you shower in your flat only to knock on his door shortly afterwards, having agreed to have dinner with him, bewildered as you were by lust.

You find him exactly as you left, absorbed in a phone call with someone he likes as he laughs, but that's all you can understand as he speaks a fascinating but unfamiliar language to you, which makes his voice sound even deeper.

"Excuse me, bestfriends catchup" he smiles, as you reach to take two glasses from his hands, asking if he can get you water instead of the caffeinated drink he opens for himself.

"I can't sleep lately, so I'm trying to ... " you stop, because there is no need for him to know that embarrassing fact about you. He glances at you fondly, as if he really cares about your story.

"Yeah I mean, it's a period where I should also call someone special to relax" you cut in short, taking a sip of water.

“You can call him, I'm sure he'd love to be your hero! ” he suggests.

"Him who, though? Elliott?" you ask, as you follow him moving away from you to retrieve a set of flyers from the fridge.

"Your boyfriend" he says, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

"I don't have a boyfriend " you answer with undue urgency, figuring out shortly afterwards the genesis of that misunderstanding, as Grandma had muddled up Elliott's boyfriend as yours.

"Time to get one, if you don't want the situation to worsen! " he says, approaching you, taking advantage of your discomfort to mess up your hair, and leave the flyers in your hands, with the options from which you will have to choose your dinner. Then he finally goes to take a shower, smiling at you blushing at his soft tease.

A normal routine.

"For a couple " adds your brain, which has evidently lost all its best cells, and can't think of anything else. You sit on the chubby rough linen sofa in the big white living room, look at the dark marble of the fireplace, the high neoclassical walls, the windows with their thin curtains, close your eyes and lean your head , trying to avoid the storytelling of that absurd fantasy. Yet, all the naughty things you two could be busy doing on every surface of that huge house, are the only thoughts swirling around in your head. That sharp desire takes all your energy away, surely making you look pathetic in his eyes, actually used to see models, and not a vapid chick like you. You rub your face and take a deep breath, feeling a sudden saddness that makes your body heavy.

He quickly ran a towel through his hair, pulled on a white T-shirt, fastened his dark trousers and inhaled, because after that day, it had been a terrible idea to ask you to stay for dinner. He wasn't ready, and now what he had felt after your last conversation was haunting him, reverberating endlessly in his mind. He wanted to take care of you, he wanted to be him and no one else the mainstay of your life, and that was upsetting, because that was not the way he was. He was careless, free, unattached. Yet he would not have tolerated you perceiving him that way. He wanted to be infallible in your eyes. He wanted to be the one, unrepeatable, incomparable, irreplaceable.

And then he wanted to have you. He wanted to have you so badly.

He smiled because on the large sofa in the living room you looked so tiny, all curled up on one of the large linen cushions, one bare foot on the edge of the furniture, your small hand beside your sleeping face, your soft breathing , your hair spread over your shoulders left bare by the pretty blue dress you were wearing.

Too damn cute.

He dimmed the lights in the room until they went out, leaving only the pale reading light on, retrieved a blanket, but stopped shortly after because a sudden flick of your eyelids caught his attention.

"Dai-ki," you tell him with a sigh, probably still in dreamland, as you can't keep your eyes open. You smile as he approaches and slowly strokes your head, running his fingers through your hair and over the nape of your neck, sitting on the rug at the foot of the sofa so he can see you.

" I'm here" he says gently to your sleeping self, resuming his slow, sweet caress.

"Speak to me, tell me something in your language, anything " you call him out in a smooth voice, so innocent but with a hint of need that immediately roused all his senses

"Daisuki na, oyasumi nasai. Yoku nemureru to iine." (*) he indulges you idly, more to himself, thinking that you may have already caught up on your sleep, so beautiful and cuddly that those words come out naturally, as if he is breathing.

"Your voice is so sultry , it gives me chills " you murmur, blinking a little, your soft lips curving upwards.

"Chills?" he asks back, amused.

"Anything about you is so damn attractive, do you have any idea how tiring it is to resist ? " you admit, laughing quietly at your own boldness, turning towards him, so close you can feel his scent. He smiles at you, bringing your forehead into contact with his. You open your eyes and you feel your body slightly shiver , when he demands your undivided attention, pressing his thumb against your lower lip as he whispers those words.

"Then don't"

He closes the distance between you, working his way over you, locking his eyes in yours, making you sigh. His lips join yours with a light touch, that immediately deepens. He smiles against your lips, his tongue plays with yours, his voice claims you with a sensual moan to which you immediately surrend, as you do not want him to miss anything about you. You smile just to catch your breath, and kiss him back wholeheartedly. His eyes close ever so slightly after yours, allowing him to lose himself completely in your warmth.

It hadn't happened to you for so long that you had almost forgotten. You had forgotten what it was like to wake up in the house of someone who smiled at you, while you were having breakfast on the terrace of his flat, who stole your food, teasing you because you had fallen asleep like a stone on his sofa. A funny, handsome man with a childlike soul who, only a few days earlier , you had hoped would spend the off season light years away from you, but who now, leaning next to you on the railing of his flat, already seemed too far away.

(*): Hopefully it's the correct form for "Goodnight, my love. I hope you sleep well"

#knbhousewarming #housewarmingbyvesper #kuroko no basket #knb #aomine daiki #knb x reader #the basketball which kuroko plays #aomine x reader #aomine x you #aomine fluff #knbsliceoflife #knboneshot #knb oneshot

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cable-knit-sweater · 2 years

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Summer Days, Summer Nights

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word count: 732

Notes: I don’t know if this fits the prompts for @steverogersweek day 4 exactly (Food + Tradition) but I kinda think it does? Even if it doesn’t, here it is, a mood board & some rambling thoughts about Brooklyn summers, then and now, for my favorite Brooklyn boys ❤️ It’s a little bit messy, but written with a lot of love.

Bucky is starting to remember their life from before bit by bit, asking Steve about it of and on, and he’s more than happy to tell him in vivid detail, feeling like for once his perfect ability to recall anything is a blessing. He tells Bucky about how in the summer, they’d spend their day playing in the street, cooling down under the spray of fire hydrants with the other neighborhood kids. How their ma’s gave up on keeping any track on what the two of them got up to on those long summer days. How they’d spend their nights on the fire escape more often than not, escaping the oppressive July and August heat and falling asleep looking at the stars.

Steve thinks about it for a long time after, about those particular memories, how they’d spent their summers in Brooklyn. He wants to not just tell Bucky about their past. He wants to show him the places that were important to the both of them - no matter how much they’ve changed - and make new memories together, ones that are theirs as they are now. He wants to explore the place they are from in a way he hasn’t dared to this century. Find their way together in this new place. Make it their home again. So he does what he does best. He comes up with a plan.

When they’re back in Brooklyn for a couple of days in early July, right after his birthday, he starts off with the first part of his plan. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him when Steve puts pillows on the floor of their (much, much nicer) fire escape and gestures for Bucky to join him. Bucky grumbles, but joins him anyway, and they fall asleep completely intertwined, just like they did every summer night before, not caring that it’s to hot to be so close.

A couple of days later, they go for a stroll around the neighborhood. They get some pretzels off a cart like they used to, if they had a couple of extra pennies to spare, walk along the Brooklyn Heights promenade, eventually finding a bench where Steve takes out his sketch book to draw the Manhattan skyline and Bucky gets out a book and listens to some music. They stay the whole afternoon, until late in the evening, to see the sun set on their city, Bucky’s head leaning on Steve’s shoulder.

They go to a local Brooklyn diner, not exactly like the ones they used go to, but close enough, and have egg creams and as much greasy food as they can stomach. They take the F train to Coney Island, from the (for them) new Jay street station, where they look up at the Cyclone and then at each other, clearly having decided at the same time that just seeing it is enough, and they don’t need a repeat of that experience. They get hot dogs instead and walk around - hand in hand now, which already makes this a better experience than any of the times they went in the past. They just take it all in.

They also discover the new Brooklyn, with a much larger range of cuisines that their old Brooklyn had, and Steve can’t help but get the biggest, fond smile on his face whenever Bucky gets excited about finding something they haven’t tried out yet. They go back to the beach and eat a ridiculous amount of ice cream until even their supersoldier stomachs can’t take any more. They go to the parks, find a local bookstore, a bodega for their morning coffee, a stray, fluffy white cat that ends up becoming theirs. Bucky teaches him how to dance one night, music both old and new on their record player, not caring about how quickly the heat makes them both gross and sweaty, not when they’re this close, bodies moving against each other completely in sync.

On one sticky, hot August day at the end of summer, Steve sits alone on the fire escape, his feet dangling down. He thinks about it all. There’s a lot about their life in Brooklyn now that’s so different from what it used to be. They’re different from how they used to be. But there’s more than enough that’s still the same. Most importantly, that they’re together. That they feel like they’re home. He smells pepperoni and cheese. He feels a hand on his shoulder. He smiles.

#Maya tries to write #stucky #steverogersweek2022 #steve rogers #fic #mood board

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nothingunrealistic · 6 months

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New York City has been the backdrop for many TV series over the years, from “Law & Order” to “Sex and the City” to “Succession.” But the Showtime series “Billions,” which ends on Sunday after seven seasons, may have been the New Yorkiest of them all. It’s clear from the opening credits, which feature an eagle-eye’s view of Lower Manhattan — but no actors — that New York City is not merely a location but the star. The showrunners, Brian Koppelman and David Levien, planned it that way. “The city plays a central role on the show,” said Mr. Levien. “We always felt like being here and knowing the city was like our secret weapon.” Mr. Koppelman and Mr. Levien were both born on Long Island but eventually moved to New York City. (“Nothing makes you more desperate to be in Manhattan than growing up on Long Island,” Mr. Koppelman said.) The two first worked together on the screenplay for the 1997 film “Rounders,” set in the underground poker scene in New York, and they went on to collaborate on “Knockaround Guys,” “Runaway Jury,” “Solitary Man” and “Ocean’s Thirteen.” But “Billions” was their love letter to New York City. New York has been integral to the plot, which follows the endless battle between hedge fund billionaires (Bobby “Axe” Axelrod, played by Damian Lewis, and in later seasons, Mike Prince, played by Corey Stoll) and the U.S. attorney, Chuck Rhoades Jr. (played by Paul Giamatti).

The characters have visited hundreds of locations in the city, from the Thurgood Marshall United States Court House on Centre Street in Lower Manhattan to Morningside Castle in Morningside Heights and the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. Scenes have been filmed at MetLife Stadium in the Meadowlands, Barclays Center in Brooklyn, and Yonkers Raceway. “There was almost nowhere that we couldn’t shoot, that we wanted to,” Mr. Levien said. The neighborhoods where the “Billions” characters live also serve as shorthand for their personalities. Chuck’s father, Chuck Rhoades Sr., is an old school, blue-blood businessman, so naturally he lives on the wealthiest stretch of Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, not far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Chuck Jr., whose positions as the U.S. attorney for the Southern District of New York (and New York attorney general) involve prosecuting financial crimes, lives in a Brooklyn brownstone (the exterior shots are of 49 Eighth Avenue, in Park Slope). “Chuck Sr. would not experiment with another neighborhood just because he could, financially,” said Mr. Koppelman. “He’s not going to go try a loft in TriBeCa.” And it makes sense that Chuck Jr. lives on an understated (but gorgeous) block outside Manhattan: “Chuck would have been a little bit rebellious to his dad’s ways,” Mr. Koppelman said. Brooklyn? “Senior thinks it’s like the frontier, basically.” Axe, the character played by Damian Lewis, is the CEO of Axe Capital, a multibillion-dollar hedge fund. His Manhattan home is an airy, light-filled penthouse, high above the city. “It’s this incredible glass box built on top of this building downtown in TriBeCa,” said Mr. Levien. “Because, you know, he is somebody that would go try some neighborhood, live where he wants, open himself up to new experiences.” The location was an actual apartment where the show filmed for a couple of years — and it impressed even the showrunners. “If you’re a New Yorker, it’s fascinating to walk through what a $60 million apartment is,” Mr. Koppelman said.

As die-hard denizens of New York City, the characters on “Billions” eat at all the best and most famous restaurants. There are scenes set inside upscale white-tablecloth rooms at expensive eateries like Keens Steakhouse, Babbo, Craft, Ai Fiori, Wolfgang’s Steakhouse, Michael’s, The Pool and Marea. But the characters also visit more humble spots: Wo Hop, Gray’s Papaya, Joe’s Pizza, Old Town Bar, Costello’s Claddagh Inn. There are new favorites (Una Pizza Napoletana) as well as New York classics, like Peter Luger’s, Cibao, Second Avenue Deli and Barney Greengrass. Mr. Koppelman said that for New Yorkers, food information is a valuable currency. “Finding the best bao is as important as finding the best four-star flambé or something,” he laughed. “The show was absolutely trying to show you the real thing over and over again each time. Where’s the best hot dog, where’s the best burger?” New York City chefs — including Daniel Boulud, David Chang, Kwame Onwuachi, Tom Colicchio, Alex Guarnaschelli — have made cameo appearances in “Billions,” weaving the show intricately into the food scene. (The show featured so many restaurants that someone wrote a book detailing the locations.) “Because we’re New Yorkers and we care about New York, we care about these restaurants, we care about these people, we want to find a way to showcase what they love about their place and what they do,” said Mr. Koppelman. (And at some restaurants, it’s not just the food that the characters are into: In the first episode of Season 4, Chuck Jr. and the police commissioner visit Sparks Steakhouse and re-enact the 1985 murder of Paul Castellano, the reputed boss of the Gambino crime family — a hit that an F.B.I. investigator said was arranged by John Gotti.) In addition to celebrated places, the show features the occasional lesser-known gem — like Chartwell, “the world’s Only Winston Churchill bookstore.” When he needs some quick cash, Chuck Jr. sells his collection of Winston Churchill books. Being featured on a television show can be a boost for business and for a shop owner’s self-esteem. “Most places that we got feedback from that were featured in the show were extremely happy to be associated and to be recognized sort of like nationally and internationally,” said Mr. Levien.

Watching movies set in New York when they were younger inspired both of the showrunners. The Coney Island scenes in “Warriors” and the dinner scene in “The Godfather,” they said, were especially memorable. “The walking in the back door at the Copa in ‘Goodfellas’ is an all-time classic,” Mr. Levien said. Mr. Koppelman was in awe of the Sal’s Pizza scenes in “Do the Right Thing.” “I’ll never forget the extra cheese argument in that movie. It reveals so much about character,” he said. “It’s a very important thing in my cinematic journey as a young person wanting to do this — we thought over and over and over and over and over again about Sal’s Pizza.” There was only one downside of filming in New York, Mr. Levien said: “Sirens and car horns. Ruining takes. When these actors are locked in concentrating on some serious emotional monologue or moment — and you know, it’s like, ‘Hold for the police helicopter. Hold for the fire truck.’” For their next show, Mr. Levien and Mr. Koppelman may head to Florida. “We’re certainly really animated by the idea of making a show set in Miami,” Mr. Koppelman said. Still, Mr. Levien said filming in New York was “such a privilege.” Mr. Koppelman put it this way: “I do think, as is often the case for a Long Island-born New Yorker, who has been a New Yorker for 35 years, Billy Joel put it best: I’ve loved these days.”

#the last line made me tear up i won't lie #billions #brian koppelman #david levien #set posting #chuck rhoades #chuck rhoades senior #bobby axelrod #must admit i'm really enjoying the mental images of sirens and car horns interrupting takes

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railwayhistorical · 2 years

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City as Metaphor

Lower Manhattan as seen from the Promenade in Brooklyn Heights, taken 1988 and 2021. Images by Richard Koenig; for more of this project please go here.

#manhattan #manhattan1980s #newyork1980s #filmphotography #grainisgood #rephotography #woolworthbuilding #eastriver #worldtradecenter #newgildedage #wtc #promenade #brooklynheights

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cbc-bb · 9 months

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What would be your perfect date?

grabbing a wood fired pizza to go, sharing it on a bench on the brooklyn heights promenade, watching the sun set over manhattan, sharing stories about our lives or our days with each other

#thanks for the ask!#asks #anons

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thetowers · 1 year

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Lower Manhattan

taken from pinterest

#brooklyn heights promenade

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wanderingnewyork · 2 years

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Buildings in the #Financial_District, #Manhattan as seen from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade.

#nyc #Manhattan #financial district #newyorkcity

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scandinavianfairytale · 2 years

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Blurred lines - Bodyguard Steve

Part 9

Warnings: Suspicious & scary Brock, mentions of potential divorce, speculations of cheating, implied steaminess, Steve & Holly are in love 💙

Tagging: @schlean

Find the Masterlist here 😊

In five years, since Brock took over the family business, Alexandria's life changed so much, she often had a hard time recognizing it. When they got married, she pictured a small flat, filled to the brim with books, vinyls and plants. They'd drink morning coffee on the little balcony, she'd study for her PhD and he'd write. They'd do what they wanted for so many years, what they have planned for so many years.

But when Brock's father got sick and they cut their honeymoon short the shift in her new husband was vivid. John and him were with their father for hours each day and Petra and Alex were worried about their husbands - especially with the possibility of Rumlow's head death. Brock would return home each night completely exhausted but would still go to the office to do some work his father couldn't at that moment.

Alex often thought about that pivotal moment when John turned down the title and all eyes turned to Brock, but she couldn't remember anything else as time stopped and all she could remember was the beating of her heart. She could remember how all their plans were disintegrating and when she found the eyes of her husband again...to this day she can't describe the emotion that crossed his face. But she could see him stand up and accept the burden that wasn't his to carry.

She should've seen it coming honestly, John was seen less and less at the family house as their father's disease progressed and Brock had more to do because of it. Alex should've known John was going to pass on the heavy load of being the new head to his younger brother, but she was too worried about her husband to notice. Maybe if she had, she could've done something about it.

Joe opened the door for her as she exited the house, wearing her baggy jeans and black sweatshirt that she liked to wear whenever she was on her way to the other side of the island.

"Thank you Joe, but I'm taking the subway today." She smiled at him through her sunglasses and rested a hand on his clasped ones.

"If I may ask: when do you expect to be home?" He asked cautiously. He had to answer to Brock, even though his heart went out to Alex - he has seen her cry too many times in the past 5 years.

"Late." She didn't say anything for a moment, but then she pulled off her sunglasses and sighed. "If my husband asks, you can tell him I'm in Brooklyn on the look-out for new art."

After Joe nodded, Alex walked out the gates of her house and towards the metro station. The first time she made it to the Brooklyn heights promenade she cried, stopping a few runners that passed her. She spent the next 5 minutes trying to explain that she was okay and that this was her first time seeing this place. After that when she felt suffocated by her life, she'd disappear for the day and just soak in the sun on the rocks and watch the sunset at the Manhattan bridge with other people. She felt like she was normal then.

She put her headphones on when she sat down on the metro. Her parents loved classical music, but she was more of an old school rock fan. Like Brock. When he proposed to her, he bought her a Creedence Clearwater Revival vinyl she was searching for months. They wanted to fill the small closet in their flat with vinyls.

There's no gramophone in the house now.

Alex thought about leaving and divorcing Brock so many times. Too many times that she was comfortable admitting to herself. But even though she thinks about leaving, she knows she never will - he is the love of her life. He did the only right thing he could've done at that moment and she can't blame him for that, especially not when he tries so hard to make her happy.

She got off the subway and walked downhill, among the little brick row houses and she wondered about the people living inside them. She often wondered about other people's lives. What they dreamt of, what were they scared of, what made them want to get up in the morning. She tried answering the same questions, but it sometimes made her sad. As she saw the first sun rays breaking on the water she sped up, wanting to see the water as soon as possible and grabbed an ice-cream from the vendor - Paul - on the way to her spot on the rocks.

~Brock~

It had been happening more and more recently - Alex disappearing for the whole day and returning only in the evening. She never told anyone where she was going and she always took the subway. Joe always told him the same - she was in Brooklyn searching for art. The first couple of times he brushed it off as she was a fan of art, but when she never added anything to the collection, he became suspicious.

After the conversation they had a week ago, Brock was feeling antsy. He knew what he was about to do was wrong and if Alex found out, she'd have his head, but he needed to do something or his head was going to explode. Picking up the phone, he dialed the newest number in his phone.

"Steve. It's Brock." He paused for the other man to catch up. "Listen, I know it's early, but if you want I have a job for you. Can you come over tomorrow to discuss details?"

~Steve~

"Sure. I have to pick something up from the post, but I can come over straight after that. Would 9am be okay for you?" Steve asked as he walked around the apartment. Holly watched varily from the sofa, twirling the remote in her hands.

"Perfect, see you then." He hung up and exhaled.

"Was that Brock?" Holly asked as he plopped down next to her, putting his arm around her, scooching closer to her. He hummed in response and reached for the remote to unpause the movie.

"I thought we talked about it, Steve. I don't want you close to the business." She moved the remote out of his way. "You're too pure to be in this business."

"Holly, I can handle myself. It's not like he'll ask me to move a body or something."

"Maybe not now." She joked. "But seriously Stevie...I know you don't have a job but this is serious. He won't make you do anything illegal but he might put a target on your back. And I love you too much to watch you get killed."

"Oh, you love me?" Steve quickly changed the subject.

"I do." Holly blushed and turned her body to him, slowly kissing his jaw. "You are the most honest and nicest man I have ever met and I love you because of it."

"I love you too." Steve grabbed her chin, looking into her eyes. She stared at him before kissing him hard and stradling his lap, tugging at his belt.

~Brock~

He couldn't focus, he stared at the man in front of him but he couldn't hear a single word the man said. The only thing that played in his head on repeat was that Alex might be cheating on him.

"Mr. Rumlow, I would need your answer by the end of today. I'm meeting with new potential client tomorrow and unless you'd agree to a higher price, I will have to stop supplying the coca plant." That made him snap out of his throughts. Brock let his hand fall from his beard to the table and he met the eyes of the man sitting in front of him. The man visibly flinched.

"Mr. Gilson, I thought we had a contract that was valid for the next 3 more years."

"W-We do, however as you hopefully recall, there is a clause that mentions the other competitors." Gilson gulped. Brock stood up, motioning to his bodyguards to leave, before he cornered Gilson in his chair.

"I don't like to be fooled, Gilson. We both know there was no such clause and you're only greedy." Brock sneered. "You know damn well what kind of reputation I have and I don't like to prove anyone right. So unless you'd like to be on the receiving end of it, I suggest you call off tomorrow's meeting as I am the only one that has the legally binding right to your coca plant."

"M-Mr. Rumlow, p-please, he is offering a lot more money and I'm not asking you to match his price, just a symbolic value, so I can justify saying no."

"Are you in money trouble? Have any debt?" Brock straightened up, looking down at the man in front of him.

"No."

"Is the competitor threatening you?"

"No."

"Have you had a good harvest and have additional coca plants that will go bad if you don't sell them?"

"No."

"Are you afraid of the competitor?"

"Not really."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"Not always."

"What about right now?"

"...yes." Gilson gulped and when he saw Brock's hand move, he flinched, closing his eyes. Brock slapped his shoulder.

"I will tell you what's going to happen now." Brock inhaled. "You are going to leave my office and never, or for the next three years, raise this topic to me again. Unless there will be some real problems, I don't want to hear about your greed. And there will be no other buyers. Do you understand me?"

"Y-Yes." The man scurried out of the office and his bodyguards entered the room again, sitting at the table, observing their boss rubbing his forehead.

"Find out who this competitor is. Someone has been snooping around and I don't like it." His bodyguards nodded and left again, leaving Brock alone with his thoughts.

~Steve~

After Holly showered she left for some event she needed to attend and Steve decided to take a walk and think about tomorrow. It was going to be a pivotal day for his mission and he wondered what the job will be, what will be asked of him. He knew that undercover cops don't undergo trial or face consequences but he still wondered if he will be able to do what will be asked of him.

He made his way to the water, walking around the lively restaurants and bars, observing the happy chatter and music that filled the Pebble beach. He thought of Peggy and he remembered how she left him - in the middle of Per Se with a ring in his palm. He had a plan then, for them. He was going to buy the small brick row house in Brooklyn and they'd have a family, like they dreamed of, he'd request a transfer to a desk job or even maybe potentially change jobs, so he wouldn't worry her. They'd dance in the living room to jazz and they'd cook together while they recounted their days.

Steve made it to the lawn next to the Manhattan bridge and took in the setting sun. He pictured having picnics here with Peggy, they'd sit in silence and just be with each other, appreciating something so spectacular and beautiful.

He saw a lone figure far from anyone else, resting on her hands, head lulled to the side and he recognized her.

"Alex. What brings you to the other side of town?" Steve made his way to her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Steve...what? Did Brock send you?" Alex quickly stood up, wiping her hands in her jeans.

"What? No, of course not, I live near by and walk along the promenade oftenly." Steve looked utterly lost and her stern look fell and she tried laughing it off.

"Sorry about that. Of course you live near by. You mentioned last week at dinner."

"Mind if I join you?" Steve asked and pointed to the patch of grass she was sitting on a few moments ago.

"Not at all." They sat down and watched the sun set on Manhattan.

"The first time I saw it, I cried." Alex said after the last rays disappeared. "The sunset I mean." She turned to him. Steve didn't know what to say.

"I can understand that - it is truly breathtaking."

"I don't think I'd ever get tired of seeing it."

"You would." Steve sheepishly laughed as Alex looked at him, eyebrows arched high. "I grew up here so I have seen it thousands of times. It's nice, but you get used to it."

"I don't think I ever would."

"That's because you live far away and can't be here everyday. Let me put it like this - at the dinner I commented on the Kandinsky that hangs in your living room and you said that it was okay. If you only saw it once in a museum, you'd think it is one of the most beautiful works of art. But now you look at it everyday and you don't think it's that interesting anymore."

"That's true, but I also think that each day you'd come here, the people are different and so is the vibe. I think that makes each experience different from the one another." Alex smiled.

Steve insisted on walking her to her subway station across the Brooklyn bridge. Alex felt weird not talking to him, while she suspected Steve didn't mind the silence.

"How's the job search going?" She finally aske, breaking Steve's train of thoughts.

"Actually Brock called me today with a job offer." He was surprised by her surprised expression. "You don't know anything about it?"

"No...but to be fair I am the least involved in the family business."

"How so?"

"I don't want anything to do with it. The less I know the better."

"For your protection?"

"And my sanity - I don't want to know the business my husband is involved in, especially when I know that I won't agree with it."

"Why marry into the family then?" Steve inquired and paused as Alex turned to him. "Forgive me, that was completely out of line."

Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes. Steve took off his jacket and put it around her shoulder as she shuddered due to the wind. She stayed way over what she calculated and was severly unprepared for the NYC wind in the middle of Brooklyn bridge. She was surprised by the act of kindness. He really was different than Holly's other boyfriends.

"Brock wasn't supposed to take over the business. When we got married, we were supposed to move to Europe. I was supposed to continue studying and he wanted to write." She decided to answer his previous question. Steve nodded but decided to keep his mouth shut - after all this wasn't his business and was irrelevant to his mission, so he thought it was better to not snoop too much and make her uncomfortable.

She returned his jacket when they arrived at the Fulton street and they said goodbye, before she disappeared into the station and he continued to walk to the Chamber street.

When Alex returned home, Brock was still up, reading his book in bed.

"How was your art hunt?" He smiled at her, putting down his book.

"Joe really can't lie, can he?" She joked. "Not as productive as I would've liked. There were good pieces but none of them really moved me." She said from the bathroom. His smile fell and he had to restrain himself from accusing his wife of anything without proof.

"I sure one of these days you'll find what you're searching for."

"I'm not really searching for anything - I'm just looking around. I know it when I'll see it."

"Right...listen I want to talk to you about the business."

"Brock, no, I don't wa-"

"I know. But this is pressing and it concerns you. I don't want you to be blindsided tomorrow."

Alex could sense something was off, but now she was becoming uneasy. She walked out of the bathroom in her PJs and sat on the edge of the bed, next to Brock.

"There's something going on and until I get to the bottom of it, I want you to be safe at all times. I have a meeting with Steve tomorrow and if he accepts he's going to be your bodyguard for the time being." Alex stood up abruptly.

"No, Brock. We had this discussion already, I don't need a bodyguard."

"This was before. Things changed. You're getting a bodyguard and that's the end of this conversation."

"You can't make decisions for me whenever you feel like it."

"For fuck's sakes Alex, someone has been snooping around and I can't have you sneaking off for the whole day, making me worry what has happened to you!" Brock was now standing in front of her, yelling in her face. She piped down, looking into his blazing eyes. In the 20+ years she has known him, she has seen him angry only a handful of times.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but please just grant me this until I figure things out, okay?" He sighed as he stared into her big eyes.

"I don't like this, Brock." Alex sighed as well.

"I know, but just until I get to the bottom of this, okay? I swear." He kissed the top of her head.

Thank you for reading! 🙏😊

The GIF and the clothes picture aren't mine - they belong to the amazing creators.

Phew this was a long chapter! And it was a long time coming 😁 I hope it's still okay that @schlean you are still tagged?

#chris evans #steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers x ofc #undercover cop steve #frank grillo #brock rumlow #brock rumlow au #brock rumlow x ofc #mob boss brock #marvel #mob marvel #mob marvel au #fanfic #series #blurred lines

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