ok but one of the worst feelings is being touch starved
You want to touch, but it can’t be someone you don’t kinda trust, and you’re afraid to ask let alone do it because it fucking sucks when someone belittles your needs or thinks it’s silly, or worse, thinks it’s pathetic
like you’ve gone so so long without the touch you need that you are just desperate for it
but you feel stupid for asking, for needing it, so you usually don’t
which makes you need it more, because it’s like every day you don’t get nice touches the problem gets exponentially worse
and someone touching YOU is like heaven… but if you ask for that, it’s gonna nibble at your brain that it’s artificial, that they don’t really mean it, that they’re just humoring you
and it doesn’t get better in days or weeks or months, because it didn’t get that bad to begin with in days or weeks or months
and the literal WORST thing is someone scorning you for touching them, even though it’s perfectly within their rights to not want to be touched, it is just devastating to the psyche to have someone that you care about enough to want to touch get angry or disgusted or annoyed at you touching them
I just want kisses down my spine, on my forehead, someone nuzzling into me, someone hugging me so tight it’s hard to breathe, petting my hair, scratching my head, idly rubbing my back
I want to hold someone, hug them with all my strength, bury my face into their clothes and skin and hair, kiss someone all over, touch them everywhere and do it over and over, run my fingers through their hair, play with their hands and kiss their knuckles and the veins on their wrists
and it hurts, like, I get physically ill if I don’t get touch when I have those moments I desperately need it but feel too afraid to seek it
it doesn’t even really have to be sexual, or romantic
I just like touch.
And I haven’t had enough of it from the people I loved.
So now it’s kind of like a condition. Touch-starved.
Summary: You and your boyfriend Peter Parker listen to Peter’s favorite song.
AN: I FELT THE NEED TO WRITE THIS OUT OF NOWHERE BECAUSE THE INFINITY WAR TRAILER MADE ME SAD AND I’M PRETTY SURE IT MADE EVERYONE ELSE SAD TOO SO HERE’S A SHORT FLUFFY PIECE TO HELP US FORGET THE ANGST
also listen to never let her slip away by andrew gold when you read this it’s a beautiful song <3
“You are going to hurt yourself!” I warned my idiotic boyfriend as he did handstands around his room.
“You worry too much, babe!” He screamed, still upside down. I rolled my eyes and grabbed his phone on the bed. I unlocked it and saw a picture of him kissing me on the cheek as his wallpaper. Smiling, I saw that his music app was open. “Ow! Damnit Ned left a part of his Death Star here.”
I looked up and saw Peter, now right side up, clutching his hand with a lone Lego piece beside him. “Told you you were gonna get hurt.” I went back to scrolling through his playlist.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, huh?” The bed suddenly bounced when Peter flopped down on it. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder watching me scroll.
~ I visited a sanctuary for rescued deer and it was the most magical day of my life ✨they are such sweet, kind, gentle little creatures, the kept nuzzling me and licking me I felt like a woodland fairy! ~
CHRIS EVANS IS READY TO FIGHT His success as captain america has made Chris Evans one of Hollywood’s sure things, which means he can do whatever he wants with his free time. So why jump out of airplanes and get into it with David Duke?
authors note: i wasn’t too sure about writing or posting this at first, but after thinking it over multiple times, i decided to just do it. thank you so much to my baby @dylanobsessed for encouraging me that this was a good. i hope that by putting this out to you guys in such a way, will make you more aware of someone’s true intentions with you.
summary: reader wants to make her ex jealous and stiles is more than wiling to help. although, things get a little too carried away.
Parties had never been my thing. The idea of being almost suffocated by intoxicated bodies never really tickled my fancy. But, this was Lydia’s party and God knows she’d have my head on a stick if I didn’t attend. It was only an hour in, and I had already drunk more than intended.
You see, I hardly drink. Being seventeen and best friends with the “popular girl” would make you believe that I party and drink all the time. But I don’t. However, when I do occasionally drink, you’d think I was a forty year old alcoholic who’s husband and kids just left with his secretary.
I wasn’t planning on getting drunk this early on in the evening, but I suppose it was a pretty good job I did. I’ve been trapped in the backyard for almost forty minutes now, and I have no way of getting inside. Take the door, you may say. But, that is a little easier said than done. Mr. Theo Raeken is currently occupying the small space just by the back door, preventing anyone getting in or out.
If it was anyone else standing there, it wouldn’t be a problem. Unfortunately for me, Theo is that ex that ruined your life and you now can’t bare to be within a five mile radius of him.
The alcohol coursing through my veins managed to give me the confidence of walking past him once, but there’s no way I have it in me to pass him again. At least, not without another few drinks. I take in my surroundings, Mason hovering over the grass as he dangles his fingers down his throat in attempt to clear himself out as much as possible - I cringe at the sight - whilst others chitchat by the pool, their feet soaked as they sit at the edge.
The sky was dark as ever, the stars and moon illuminating down on us as the florescent lighting from Lydia’s kitchen pierced through the windows. It wasn’t until now that I realised my choice of revealing clothing probably wasn’t the best idea. My skin was riddled with goosebumps and I wanted nothing more that to cuddle into a blanket.
“Hey you.” A voice snaps me back to reality, as a large figure takes a seat on the brick wall beside me. I squint my eyes at them in attempt to suss out their features through the dark night, and I finally manage to see who it was. “Well hello, Stiles!” I beam happily, smiling drunkenly at the boy before me. He chuckles at my state wrapping my arm around my shoulder and shifting in his place.
I smile to myself, leaning my head on his shoulder and swigging the sweet substance in my cup. “You’re drinking for once?” Stiles laughs, poking the cup in my hands and I face him with furrowed eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask defensively. Did he think I was some good girl? I frown at the thought.
“Nothing babe, why are you freezing out here?” He asks, handing me his jacket which I gratefully accept. “There’s a snake blocking the door.” I grumble, covering my arms with the thin fabric and snuggling into it, inhaling his sweet scent that lingered onto the material. Stiles laughs at my comment, shaking his head and taking a swig of his beer.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the stars above us and the occasional roars of laughter from inside. “Come on,” Stiles finally speaks, standing from his seat and holding his hands out to me. I furrow my eyebrows. “I’m gonna make sure you have a good time, even if that asshole is in there.” I smile up at him, taking his hands and he pulls me up.
Stiles wraps an arm around my shoulder as I wrap one around his waist for support. He pulls me inside and pushes past masses of people, his arms never leaving my shoulder. It’s a lot warmer inside and louder too. Music was blaring from all different areas of the house and cups and bottles were scattered everywhere. Lydia will not be pleased to clear this up.
I scan my eyes over the different groups of people talking and dancing, until I land on one familiar face. Theo stood by the door, beer in hand and a smirk on his face as he conversed with a group of boys and girls I had never seen in my life. He nods at something that was said before he scans his eyes over the room, landing on me almost immediately, and his smirk falters.
I look away quickly, tugging Stiles’ shirt slightly to gain his attention. “You alright?” I nod my head, gulping loudly as I feel Theo’s hard stare burning into the side of my face. “I wanna get a drink.” Stiles nods at me, saying goodbye to someone near us and leading me toward the fridge.
I spin around, falling out of Stiles’ grasp as a drunken Mason jumps toward me. Mason was a lightweight, two beers and he’s gone. He stops in front of me, eyes low but wide with excitement. His hair was messy, shirt spotted with wet patches from where he most probably spilt his drink from jumping around too much. He was like a kid on crack.
“Mas!” I giggled, hugging him tightly as he cradles my head and sways us side to side. “Sh, it’s okay. I got you.” He slurs, causing me to pout. “Is he staring?” My question was muffled by his shirt, but he still understood, nodding his head in confirmation. I sigh loudly and pull away from him, my shoulders now slumped.
“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks, handing me another drink and returning his arm around my shoulder. “Theo keeps staring at her and it’s creeping us all out.” Mason speaks for me, wobbling slightly then giggling, which only causes me to giggle quietly too. Stiles stares at us both with an amused smile, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind me and nuzzling his face into my neck.
I giggle at the gesture and spin around in his arms. wrapping mine around his neck and smiling up at him dizzily. “Wanna give Theo something to stare at?” Stiles asks huskily, a hesitant smirk on his lips which only catches my attention, causing an ache to pang between my legs.
I giggle seductively, carefully looking beside me to see Theo’s eyes boring into us, watching my every move. I smirk to myself before turning back to Stiles, staring at his lips before I reach onto my tiptoes and press my lips against his.
Stiles’ hands grab my cheeks, pulling me closer and kissing me harder. I groan against his lips, savouring the taste of sweet liquor that stained the flesh. My fingers tangle into his dark curls whilst his hands leave my face, travelling down my sides and grabbing a handful of my ass, eliciting a small moan from me that shoots from my mouth and into his.
His warm tongue licks through the seam of my lips, pushing them apart as his tongue danced against mine messily. I pull away slowly, breathing hitched with a smile on my face. I gulp away my nerves. “Is he still staring?” I ask in a shaky breath, the tip of my nose rubbing against Stiles’, our bodies still flushed against one another’s.
Stiles’ eyes trail over behind me, his smile only growing. “Oh, he’s gawking.” I snorted at his words, my body shaking with laughter, and I cling onto the back of Stiles’ shirt for support. “What do you say we get outta here?” He smirks down at me. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, staring up at him through my lashes before a smirk etches onto my lips.
I spin on my heels, hand wrapping around his and I push past multiple groups of people with Stiles waltzing behind me. My eyes meet Theo’s dark ones, and any other time, I’d be quick to look away, but instead, my gaze on him lingered, until I was out of sight and climbing up the stairs, swaying my hips more than usual - knowing Stiles would be watching my ass with his first class view.
Upstairs was a lot quieter, hardly anybody occupied the empty space, which made things a lot easier. Pulling Stiles down the longing hall with me, we finally reach Lydia’s spare bedroom and I slowly push the door open. The room was already dimly lit by the bedside lamp and moonlight that shone through the window.
In a matter of seconds, the door slammed closed and my back was pressed against it, arms pinned above my head and heavy breath fanning over my neck. I whimper at the feeling, a wetness already beginning to pool in my panties and I shift uncomfortably. “Stiles,” I pant, rubbing my thighs together in attempt to ease some of the pent up sexual frustration I had. Stiles noticed my slight movement, and jabs my legs apart with his knee, causing me to whine and him to chuckle at my vulnerable state.
“We’ve got all night baby, don’t rush.” He taunts, rubbing the tip of his nose against the skin of my neck and I audibly moan at the feeling of his hot breath against my skin. “But I don’t wanna wait.” I growl, a rush of confidence surging through me and I push him off me, watching as he stumbles back. His eyes darken in the moonlight, and I charge toward him.
Stiles crouches a little as I approach him and jump into his arms, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck as our lips battle in a messy fight, tongues clashing and teeth nibbling. He spins us around, throwing me onto the large bed and tearing his shirt off his body. I stare up at him adoringly, loving the way his muscles flexed with every movement he made.
I copy his actions, ridding myself from my flimsy shirt and throwing it across the room, my nipples instantly hardening as the cool air hits them. Stiles grunts at the sight, crawling between my legs and latching his lips onto one of my hardened nubs, whilst his fingers pinched the other.
I whine in response, the fire in my stomach only growing as my back arched from the mattress. My fingers tangle within his matted locks and I pull his face from my chest, our lips just centimeters away until I press mine against his. Stiles’ hands roam down the sides of my body until his fingers loop around into the waistband of my leggings and panties. I whimper with excitement, and he pinches the fabric between his fingers, tugging the materials down my legs.
Stiles slowly crawls down my body, lips messily cashing together as he tugs off his pants and boxers, throwing them across the dark room. He carefully aligns himself at my entrance, his tip pushing through my folds as the door swung open, sharp light invading the room as drunken cheers bounced off the walls. My body froze, Stiles jumping up from me and throwing the covers over us.
“What’s going on in here?” Mason giggles, a drunken Scott and Liam following after him. “We.. were about to… take a nap.” Stiles lies, his voice squeaking slightly. I furrow my eyebrows at Scott and Liam as the begin to clamber toward the bed Stiles and I were currently naked under. “How are we gonna get away with this?” I whisper to him, curling into his side.
Scott and Liam climb into the bed with us, their legs squashing our bodies together as our toes were all in each other’s faces. My breathing quickens at the thought of someone moving the bed covered exposing our naked bodies. However my breathing immediately stops when I feel a warm hand roaming the inside of my thighs.
My eyes widen, stomach dropping and I clamp my mouth shut to conceal an oncoming moan. I turn to Stiles with a worried expression, my arousal heightening at the smirk that sat upon his lips. I clamp my thighs around his hand, causing it to move further up until it was cupping my soaked heat.
Stiles nuzzles his head in my neck, flattening his tongue against the skin and licking his way up to my ear. I release a shaky breath, clamping my bottom lip between my teeth as his hot breath ghosts over my ear. “Open your legs.” My body obeys before I could even process his raspy words, his fingers making quick work of spreading my folds and swiping his finger up my slick entrance.
“Fuck. You’re drenched baby. I just wanna taste you so bad.” I whimper at his filthy words, covering it immediately with a strangled cough, which neither Liam nor Scott seem to notice as they continue with their conversation. Stiles slowly dips his middle finger into me, curling against my walls and my back arches from the mattress at the insane amount of pleasure he was somehow conflicting on me with just one finger.
God knows what that tongue could do.
My hand travels beneath the sheets, roaming around our bodies until my hand wraps around his fully erect cock, my eyes widening once again at the feeling of his size. He hisses at the feeling, earning Scott’s attention which he quickly avoids by rubbing his forehead with his spare hand. Scott simply nods his head, understanding that Stiles had an apparent headache, then continued to converse with Liam.
Stiles picks up his pace, pumping his finger in and out of me, curling against my walls and rubbing tight circles on my clit with his thumb. His whole hand was soaked with my arousal and he only just started. I cleared my throat to disguise my strangled moans and ran my thumb across his throbbing tip; smearing the already present precum before sliding my warm hand down his shaft.
His face buried into the crook of my neck, his lips attaching to the skin and surely sucking a purple bruise that’ll be no fun hiding in a few days. I purse my lips together, eyebrows furrowing and eyes squinting as my the back of my head presses hard against the pillow, my toes curling at the sudden intensity of pleasure I was receiving.
My grip on his cock released as Stiles’ finger curled against my g-spot, my whole body breaking into a hot sweat. My hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing tightly to tell him I was close, but he had no mercy and continued his relentless assault.
My body was on fire and my mind felt like it was about to explode at any second. The knot in my lower abdomen only grew tighter and my walls clenched around his fingers. Stiles jolted up from his position, throwing his clammy hand over my parted lips to muffle any screams I was about to muster.
I met his dark eyes as his face hovered above me, my thought clamping together and my eyebrows furrowed. Stiles knew I was about to cum at any second, so he picked up his pace, curling harder inside of me and pumping faster. “Bite me.” He mouths to me, eyes wide and demanding, so I did exactly that; his dominant side only turning me on even more.
My back arched from the mattress, my vision fading and replaced with darkness as I came on his fingers, biting what probably felt like a hole in Stiles’ hand. My body shook, oversensitive from the insane amount of pleasure that coursed through my bones, and Stiles pulled out, bringing his drenched fingers to his lips and sucking them clean.
I could’ve easily came again at the sight, as my vision was finally restored. I sat up in my place, my chest heaving and I noticed two sleeping bodies by our feet and a passed out Mason on the floor. I turn back to Stiles, watching as he redressed himself and hands me back my clothing from the floor, that somehow went unnoticed by the intoxicated teenagers.
I quickly redressed in the bed; too afraid to leave in case one of them were to wake up and see my naked body. Once I had finished fixing myself, Stiles crawled back into the bed, throwing the covers back over us and pulling me into his chest.
He presses a light kiss to my forehead, stroking my hair as I stare at the darkness of his black shirt, wondering what the fuck just happened, and what will happen from here.
Felicity Smoak Week [Day 2: Favourite Quote] ⇒“I was at home. Feeling more self pity than I have in my entire life.. when it hit me. This is who I am. I wanted to come along on your awesome superhero adventure because I wanted to help people. — I wanted to do some good in the world. — We are going to stop him. Not out of guilt, or vengeance, or regret. We are going to stop him because it’s what we do. It’s who we are.”
concept: it’s an early summer morning, and a thunderstorm wakes me up. with a violent crash of thunder, you’re jolted awake too, and we both instinctively snuggle closer to each other. with your arms tightly around me, i nuzzle into your chest and feel warm and safe.
Full Esquire Interview -
CHRIS EVANS IS READY TO FIGHT
“HIS SUCCESS AS CAPTAIN AMERICA HAS MADE CHRIS EVANS ONE OF HOLLYWOOD’S SURE THINGS, WHICH MEANS HE CAN DO WHATEVER HE WANTS WITH HIS FREE TIME. SO WHY JUMP OUT OF AIRPLANES AND GET INTO IT WITH DAVID DUKE?
The Canadian commandos are the first to jump. Our plane reaches an altitude of about eight thousand feet; the back door opens. Although it’s a warm winter day below in rural southern California, up here, not so much. In whooshes freezing air and the cold reality that this is actually happening. Out drop the eight commandos, all in black-and-red camouflage, one after the other. For them it’s a training exercise, and Jesus, these crazy bastards are stoked. The last Canuck to exit into the nothingness is a freakishly tall stud with a crew cut and a handlebar mustache; just before he leaps, he flashes a smile our way. Yeah, yeah, we get it: You’re a badass.
Moments later, the plane’s at ten thousand feet, and the next to go are a Middle Eastern couple in their late thirties. These two can’t wait. They are ecstatic. Skydiving is clearly a thing for them. Why? I can’t help thinking. Is it like foreplay? Do they rush off to the car after landing and get it on in the parking lot? They give us the thumbs-up and they’re gone.
Just like that, we’re at 12,500 feet and it’s our turn. Me and Chris Evans, recognized throughout the universe as the star of the Marvel-comic-book-inspired Captain America and Avengers movies. The five films in the series, which began in 2011 with Captain America: The First Avenger, have grossed more than $4 billion.
The two of us, plus four crew members, are the only ones left in the back of the plane. Over the loud drone of the twin propellers, one of the crew members shouts, "Okay, who’s going first?”
Evans and I are seated on benches opposite each other. Neither of us answers. I look at him; he looks at me. I feel like I’ve swallowed a live rat. Evans is over there, all Captain America cool, smiling away.
While we were waiting to board the plane, Evans told me that as he lay in bed the night before, “I started exploring the sensation of ‘What if the chute doesn’t open?’. . .”
Oh, did you now?
“. . .Those last minutes where you know.” As in you know you’re going to fatally splat. “You’re not gonna pass out; you’re gonna be wide awake. So what? Do I close my eyes? Hopefully, it would be quick. Lights out. I fucking hope it would be quick. And then I was like, if you’re gonna do it, let’s just pretend there is no way this is going to go wrong. Just really embrace it and jump out of that plane with gusto.” Evans also shared that he’d looked up the rate of skydiving fatalities. “It’s, like, 0.006 fatalities per one thousand jumps. So I figure our odds are pretty good.”
Again the crew member shouts, “Who’s going first?”
Again I look at Evans; again he looks at me. The rat is running circles in my belly.
I look at Evans; he looks at me.
Another crew member asks, “So whose idea was this, anyway?”
That’s an excellent question.
I ask Evans the same thing when we first meet, the evening before our jump, at his house. He lives atop the Hollywood Hills, in a modern-contemporary ranch in the center of a Japanese-style garden. The place has the vibe of an L.A. meditation retreat—there’s even a little Buddha statue on the front step.
The dude who opens the front door is in jeans, a T-shirt, and Nikes; he has on a black ball cap with the NASA logo, and his beard is substantial enough that for a second it’s hard to be sure this is the same guy who plays the baby-faced superhero. Our handshake in the doorway is interrupted when his dog rockets toward my crotch. Evans is sorry about that.
We do the small-talk thing. Evans is from a suburb of Boston, one of four kids raised by Dad, a dentist, and Mom, who ran a community theater. The point is, he’s a Patriots fan, and with Super Bowl LI, between the Pats and the Falcons, just a few days away at the time, it’s about the only thing on his mind. You bet your Sam Adams–guzzling ass he’s going to the game in Houston. “Oh my God,” he says, doing a little dance. “I can’t believe it’s this weekend.”
Like any self-respecting Pats fan, Evans is super-wicked pissed at NFL commissioner Roger Goodell.
Evans won’t be rolling to SB LI with a posse of Beantown-to-Hollywood A-listers like Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon, and Ben Affleck. For the record, he’s never met Damon, and his only interaction with Wahlberg was a couple years ago at a Patriots event. Evans has, however, humiliated himself in front of Affleck.
Around 2006, Evans met with Affleck to talk about Gone Baby Gone, which Affleck was directing. Evans was walking down a hallway, looking for the room where they were supposed to meet. Walking by an open office, he heard Affleck, in that thick Boston accent of his, shout, “There he is!” (Evans does a perfect Affleck impersonation.)
By then, Evans had hit the big time for his turn as the Human Torch, Johnny Storm, in 2005’s Fantastic Four, but he still got starstruck. As he tells it, “First thing I say to him: 'Am I going to be okay where I parked?’ He was like, 'Where did you park?’ I said, 'At a meter.’ And he was like, 'Did you put money in the meter?’ And I said, 'Yep.’ And he says, 'Well, I think you’ll be okay.’ I was like, this is off to a great fucking start.” Stating the obvious here: Evans did not get the part.
No, Evans will be heading to the Super Bowl with his brother and three of his closest buddies. Like any self-respecting Pats fan, Evans is super-wicked pissed at NFL commissioner Roger Goodell for imposing that suspension on Tom Brady for Deflategate. Grabbing two beers from a fridge that’s otherwise basically empty, Evans says, “I just want to see Goodell hand the trophy to Brady. Goodell. Piece of shit.”
In Evans’s living room, there’s not a single hint of his Captain Americaness. Earth tones, tables that appear to be made of reclaimed wood. Open. Uncluttered. Glass doors open onto a backyard with a stunning view of the Hills. Evans stretches out on one of two couches. I take the other and ask, “Just whose idea was it to jump?” Since we both know whose idea it wasn’t, we both know that what I’m really asking is Why? Why, dude, do you want to jump (with me) from a goddamn airplane? “Yeah,” he says, popping open his beer, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Settling in on the couch, he groans. Evans explains that he’s hurting all over because he just started his workout routine the day before to get in shape for the next two Captain America films. The movies will be shot back to back beginning in April. After that, no more red- white-and-blue costume for the thirty-five-year-old. He will have fulfilled his contract.
“Yeah,” he says, popping open his beer, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Back in 2010, Marvel presented Evans with a nine-picture deal. He insisted he’d sign on for no more than six. Some family members thought he was nuts to dial back such a secure and lucrative gig. Evans saw it differently.
It takes five months to shoot a Marvel movie, and when you tack on the promotional obligations for each one, well, shit, man. Evans knew that for as long as he was bound to Captain America, he would have little time to take on other projects. He wanted to direct, he wanted to play other characters—roles that were more human—like the lead in Gifted, which will hit theaters this month. The script had brought him to tears. Evans managed to squeeze the movie in between Captain America and Avengers films.
In Gifted, Evans stars as Frank Adler. You don’t get much more human than Adler, a grease-under-his-nails boat-engine mechanic living the bachelor life in Florida. After a series of tragic circumstances, Adler becomes a surrogate father to his niece, Mary, a first-grader with the IQ of Einstein. He recognizes that Mary is a little genius, and he does his best to prevent anyone else from noticing. Given the aforementioned circumstances, Adler has witnessed what can happen when a kid with a brilliant mind is pushed too hard too quickly. Then along comes Mary’s teacher. She discovers the child’s gift, and a Kramer vs. Kramer–esque drama ensues.
During a moment in the film when things aren’t going Adler’s way, he sarcastically refers to himself as a “fucking hero.” Evans says the line didn’t lead him to make comparisons between superhero Steve Rogers (aka Captain America) and Everyman hero Frank Adler. But now that you mention it . . .
“With Steve Rogers,” Evans says, “even though you’re on a giant movie with a huge budget and strange costumes, you’re still on a hunt for the truth of the character.” That said, “with Adler, it’s nice to play someone relatable. I think Julianne Moore said, 'The audience doesn’t come to see you; they come to see themselves.’ Adler is someone you can hold up as a mirror for someone in the audience. They’ll be able to far more easily identify with Frank Adler than Steve Rogers.”
Dodger. That’s the name of Evans’s dog, the one who headbutted my nuts and has since done a marvelous job of making amends by nuzzling against me on the couch. Evans got him while he was filming Gifted; one of the last scenes was shot in an animal shelter in Georgia. Evans had wanted a dog ever since his last pooch died in 2012. Then he found himself walking the aisles of this pound, and there was this mixed-breed boxer, wagging his tail and looking like he belonged with Evans.
Dodger is not exactly a name you’d think a die-hard Boston sports fan would pick. His boys from back home have given him a ton of shit over it. But he has not abandoned his Red Sox for the L.A. team. As a kid, he loved the Disney animated movie Oliver & Company, and his favorite character was Dodger. Anticipating the grief he was going to get from his pals, Evans considered other names. “You could name your dog Doorknob,” he says, “and in a month he’s fucking Doorknob.” Evans’s mom convinced him to go with his gut.
Right around when Evans was wrapping Gifted and heading back to L.A. with Dodger, the 2016 presidential campaign was still in that phase when no one, including the actor—a Hillary Clinton supporter—thought Trump had a shot. He still can’t believe Trump won.
“I feel rage,” he says. “I feel fury. It’s unbelievable. People were just so desperate to hear someone say that someone is to blame. They were just so happy to hear that someone was angry. Hear someone say that Washington sucks. They just want something new without actually understanding. I mean, guys like Steve Bannon—Steve Bannon!—this man has no place in politics.”
Evans has made, and continues to make, his political views known on Twitter. He tweeted that Trump ought to “stop energizing lies,” and he recently ended up in a heated Twitter debate with former KKK leader David Duke over Trump’s pick of Jeff Sessions for attorney general. Duke baselessly accused Evans of being anti-Semitic; Evans encouraged Duke to try love: “It’s stronger than hate. It unites us. I promise it’s in you under the anger and fear.” Making political statements and engaging in such public exchanges is a rather risky thing for the star of Captain America to do. Yes, advisors have said as much to him. “Look, I’m in a business where you’ve got to sell tickets,” he says. “But, my God, I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror if I felt strongly about something and didn’t speak up. I think it’s about how you speak up. We’re allowed to disagree. If I state my case and people don’t want to go see my movies as a result, I’m okay with that.”
Trump. Bannon. Politics. Now Evans is animated. He gets off the couch, walks out onto his porch, and lights a cigarette. “Some people say, 'Don’t you see what’s happening? It’s time to yell,' ” Evans says. “Yeah, I see it, and it’s time for calm. Because not everyone who voted for Trump is going to be some horrible bigot. There are a lot of people in that middle; those are the people you can’t lose your credibility with. If you’re trying to change minds, by spewing too much rhetoric you can easily become white noise.”
Evans has a pretty remarkable “How I got to Hollywood” story.
During his junior year of high school, he knew he wanted to act. He was doing it a lot. In school. At his mom’s theater. He loved it. “When you’re doing a play at thirteen years old and have opening night? None of my friends had opening nights. 'I can’t have a sleepover, guys; I have an opening night tonight.' ”
That same year, he did a two-man play. For all of the twenty-plus plays Evans had done up to that point, preparation meant going home, memorizing lines, and doing a few run-throughs with the cast. However, for this play, Fallen Star, he and his costar would rehearse by running dialogue with each other. Hour upon hour, night after night.
Fallen Star is about two friends, one of whom has just died. As the play opens, one of the characters comes home after the funeral to find his dead friend’s ghost. Evans was the ghost. Waiting backstage on opening night, he knew he didn’t have every line memorized, but he had the essence and emotion of the play down. Onstage, he remembers, “I was saying the lines not because they were memorized but because the play was in me. I was believing what I was saying.”
He was hooked. He wanted to do more of this kind of acting—real acting. He wanted to do films, in which the camera was right on him and he could just be the character, rather than theater, in which an actor must perform to the back of the room.
A family friend who was a television actor advised Evans that if he wanted to go to Hollywood, he needed an agent. Toward the end of his junior year, he had a ballsy request for his parents: If he found an internship with a casting agent in New York City, would they allow him to live there and cover the rent? They agreed. Evans landed a gig with Bonnie Finnegan, who was then working on the television show Spin City.
“I just fucked off. I lost my virginity that year. 1999 was one of the best years of my life.” Until it wasn’t.
Evans chose to intern with a casting agent because he figured he had more of a chance to interact with other agents trying to get auditions for their clients.
The kid was sixteen years old.
Finnegan put Evans on the phone; his responsibilities included setting up appointments for auditions. By the end of the summer, he picked the three agents he had the best rapport with and asked each of them to give him a five-minute audition. All three said yes. After seeing his audition, all three were interested.
Evans went with the one Finnegan recommended, Bret Adams, who told Evans to return to New York for auditions in January, television pilot season. Back home, Evans doubled up on a few classes the first semester of his senior year, graduated early, and went back to New York in January. He got the same shithole apartment in Brooklyn and the same internship with Finnegan. He landed a part on the pilot Opposite Sex. Even better, the show got picked up and would start shooting in L.A. that fall.
“I know I’m going to L.A. in August,” Evans says, recalling that period. “So I go home and that spring I would wake up around noon, saunter into high school just to see my buddies, and we’d go get high in the parking lot. I just fucked off. I lost my virginity that year. 1999 was one of the best years of my life.” Until it wasn’t.
He wasn’t in L.A. for even a month when he got a call from home. His parents were divorcing. Evans never saw it coming.
Family and love and the struggles therein are part of what attracted Evans to Gifted.
“In my own life, I have a deep connection with my family and the value of those bonds,” he says. “I’ve always loved stories about people who put their families before themselves. It’s such a noble endeavor. You can’t choose your family, as opposed to friends. Especially in L.A. You really get to see how friendships are put to the test; it stirs everyone’s egos. But if something goes south with a friend, you have the option to say we’re not friends anymore. Your family—that’s your family. Trying to make that system work and trying to make it not just functional but actually enjoyable is a really challenging endeavor, and that’s certainly how it is with my family.”
the plane, a decision is made.
“I want to see you jump first,” Evans shouts my way.
Of course he does.
Like any respectable and legal skydiving center, Skydive Perris, which is providing us with this “experience,” doesn’t just strap a chute on your back. First, you go to a room for a period of instruction. Then you go to another room, where you sign away your rights.
You may be wondering how the star of a billion-dollar franchise with two pictures to shoot gets clearance to jump from an airplane—never mind the low rate of fatalities, as Evans has presented it. So am I.
“Well, they give you all these crazy insurance policies, but even if I die, what are they going to do? Sue my family? They’d probably cast some new guy at a cheaper price and save some money.”
Thinking the answer is almost certainly going to be no, I ask Evans if he’s ever gone skydiving before. Turns out he has, with an ex-girlfriend. Turns out that ex-girlfriend is now married to Justin Timberlake. Evans and Jessica Biel dated off and on from 2001 to 2006. They took the leap together when Biel hatched the idea for one Valentine’s Day. According to media accounts, Evans was recently dating his Gifted costar Jenny Slate, who plays the teacher. “Yeah,” he says, “but I’m steering clear of those questions.” You can almost feel his heart pinch.
“There’s a certain shared life experience that is tough for someone else who’s not in this industry to kind of wrap their head around.”
We end up broadly discussing the unique challenges an international star like Evans faces when it comes to dating, specifically the trust factor. Evans supposes that’s why so many actors date other actors: “There’s a certain shared life experience that is tough for someone else who’s not in this industry to kind of wrap their head around,” he says. “Letting someone go to work with someone for three months and they won’t see them. It really, it certainly puts the relationship to the test.”
In Gifted, there’s a moment when Slate’s character asks Adler what his greatest fear is. Frank Adler’s greatest fear is that he’ll ruin his niece’s life. Evans’s greatest fear is having regrets.
“Like always kind of wanting to be there as opposed to here. I think I’m worried all of a sudden I’ll get old and have regrets, realize that I’ve not cultivated enough of an appreciation for the now and surrendering to the present moment.”
Evans’s musings have something to do with the fact that he has been reading The Surrender Experiment. “It’s about the basic notion that we are only in a good mood when things are going our way,” he says. “The truth is, life is going to unfold as it’s going to unfold regardless of your input. If you are an active participant in that awareness, life kind of washes over you, good or bad. You kind of become Teflon a little bit to the struggles that we self-inflict.”
He continues: “Our conscious minds are very spread out. We worry about the past. We worry about the future. We label. And all of that stuff just makes us very separate. What I’m trying to do is just quiet it down. Put that brain down from time to time and hope those periods of quiet and stillness get longer. When you do that, what rises from the mist is a kind of surrendering. You’re more connected as opposed to being separate. A lot of the questions about destiny or fate or purpose or any of that stuff—it’s not like you get answers. You just realize you didn’t need the questions.”
This here—this stuff about surrendering, letting life unfold, taking the leap—this is why he wanted to go skydiving. It’s why that sixteen-year-old took the leap and did the summer in New York; it’s why he took the leap and turned down the nine-picture deal; it’s why he got Dodger. Surrender. Take the leap.
And so I go first.
Oh, one important detail: Novice jumpers like Evans and me, we don’t jump solo. Thank God. Each of us is doing a tandem jump. Each of us is strapped with our back to a professional jumper’s front. I’m strapped to a forty-four-year-old dude named Paul. Considering what’s about to happen, I figure I should know a little something about Paul. He tells me he used to own a bar in Chicago. Evans is strapped to a young woman named Sam, who looks to be twenty-something. She’s got a purplish-pink streak in her black hair and says things like “badass.” In fact, Sam introduced herself by saying, “I’m Sam, but you can call me Badass.”
At the plane’s open door, my mind goes to my wife and two teenage sons, to those I love, and to the texts I just sent in case my chute fails. Then Paul and I—well, really mostly Paul—rock gently back and forth to build momentum to push away from the plane, to push away from all that seems sane.
HOLY FUCK. This is what I scream as we free-fall from 12,500 feet, at more than a hundred miles an hour, toward the earth. Which I cannot take my eyes off of. I think about nothing. Not living. Not dying. Nothing. I simply feel . . . I have let go.
Suddenly, it all stops. I’m jerked up. Paul has pulled the chute, and it does indeed open. This is fantastic, because it means we have a much better chance of not dying. But it’s also kind of a bummer. I had let go. Of everything. I had chosen to play those odds Evans had talked about. I had embraced jumping and letting life unfold.
Now I had been jerked back. I would land. Back on the earth I had been so high above and from which I had been so far removed. Back in all of it.
Once I’m on the ground, safe and in one piece, a staffer runs over and asks how I feel. I say, “I feel like Captain America.”
The staffer runs over and asks Evans the same question. He says he feels great. Then he’s asked another question: What was your favorite part?
“Jumping out,” he says. “Jumping out is always a real thrill.”
This article appears in the April '17 issue of Esquire.
Authors Note: I’m really excited about this one! There will also be a part two that I’ll have to start working on! I want to thank @thelittlestkitsune for mentioning to me for this to be sinful and giving me a few pointers! A HUGE thanks goes to @smutandahalf for reading this over plenty of times and helping me express what I was saying better and helping on a few parts I didn’t know how to explain.