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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?

BY MAXIMILLIAN POTTERMAR 15, 2017


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.

FOX Searchlight

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.

Three.

Two.

One.

Holy fuck.

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.

Kinky Night (Jaehyun)

anon said: Smut with Jaehyun please. Jaehyun’s back from performing abroad and he’s brought you a little present, lingerie. you’re more than happy to oblige and give him what he wants but you’ve also bought a few surprises, a pair of handcuffs and blindfolds. your both eager to get it on in an ‘extra special’ way tonight. Feel free to play with any other fetish or kink. maybe ice play, breath control and overstimulation. what can I say I have a wild imagination lol. Peace!~~ 

author: admin ni ayeee

word count: 2,834 (i got a little carried away, so not sorry :) )

genre: kink smut for ya nasties

a/n: luv ur request marry me (again the “sex” is referring to ya naughty parts lmaooooo)

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natgeo Video by @bertiegregory.
A scorpion fish closeup at night in the Red Sea. Their incredible camouflage can make these fish tough to find. Often you’ll be right next to one before realising it’s there. Their upturned mouths mean they generally look pretty grumpy but closeup, they are mesmerisingly beautiful. 

Cadillacs and Cherry Stems

Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: Absolute writer’s block, but I still managed to churn it out! Requests are always welcome. Just message me. Lol, love y’all❣️ .xx ~ Ryn

Words: 2,722

Warnings: None, other than insecure Pete (aww ): )

You didn’t notice the way he looked at you. 

When you were lost in class, inking blue pen into your hand, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you because your concentration was so alluring – you were oblivious. Or when he took the long way home, trading 25 minutes for a mere three seconds of catching your eyes looking back at his – you had no clue. Peter Parker was entranced by you – your quirkiness, your intelligence, and he wanted nothing more than to say just one word to you – at least one. He wanted more than those three seconds every day; he wanted to wave, or smile, or talk, or get lost in eternal conversation. He wanted to know what your favorite food was, and he wanted to ask you what songs were always drumming through that head of yours. He wanted to know what your hair smelled like, and why you never paid any thought in English class. Above all, he wanted you to want to know him, too. It was crazy, mad even, but he was desperate. And his desperation was killing him. He couldn’t say anything to you, though, because he was just him, and genius or not, you deep-fried his brain. He may be Spider-Man, but without that mask, it was all just a facade. He couldn’t be witty or courageous. Without the red and blue to camouflage his self-doubt and insecurities, he was just Peter Parker, and no amount of superhuman strength would change that. So he kept walking the extra mile and three quarters just for three seconds – end of story. That was until the day the sirens rang like a deafening blast through his heightened ears, and he stopped watching where he was going, and you, too, were deafening yourself with the consistent beat of your music. The collateral reaction came like a flash of light, because the same three seconds he lived for became the three seconds in which your story began. You crashed like two bullets, cherry red coating your clothes. 

“O-oh my gosh. Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry…” Peter felt like he’d been struck by lighting, because you were doing that thing you always did to him just by walking on the same side walk. This was not how he had planned on meeting you. 

“I’m fine.” You had had it with the world today. Now wearing your milkshake, you were starting to convince yourself of life’s boundless ability to wreak havoc on you. Peter, at this time, was also convincing himself of this very same thing, but with more emphasis on blaming himself. 

“Really, it’s my fault. I-I got distracted… stupid…” He started mumbling to himself, and a kind of guilt washed over you, as you looked up at his contemplating face. You placed a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder, and gave your best attempt at making a friend,

“It’s okay, Peter. I was pretty distracted, too.” His head snapped up at his name leaving your lips – a name he was sure you didn’t know. 

“Y-you know my name?” He looked like a blubbering fish out of water, and the naivety running around in his eyes made an unfamiliar feeling bubble up in your gut. A small smile tempted to form on your mouth, and suddenly you’d forgotten all about your sticky clothes and abhorrent day. 

“Duh. We’re in like, what, four classes together, and you’re kind of like the school Einstein… You’re hard not to notice.” You suddenly felt awkward, as you noticed your hand still lingering on Peter’s shoulder, and he surely did, too. His heart was about to burst, and if he wasn’t an ace at keeping his cool before, he surely wasn’t now. 

“W-wow, um, yeah… Okay, so uh, okay.” He managed to cough out before forming a small coherent sentence.

“Well, there’s, uh, not much I can do about your wrecked clothes – which I’m like, really sorry about, really – but I can get you a new drink…? I mean, i-if you want. We can go right now, actually. I’m not doing anything. That’s stupid, you probably have a life and are doing something. Are you doing anything? I’d really like to get you a new drink, because I feel super bad… Not like a date though! I-I –” 

“Peter.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Cherry.” A small smile was considering showing itself on his lips, but it didn’t need to because his eyes were saying enough for the both of you.

“Do you like Sonic?”


Hours later after the endeavor that was only supposed to consist of a hop to sonic, skip to order, and a jump back home, you and Peter found yourselves lost in that eternal conversation that he’d been wishing on a star for and the one you never knew you desired to have. 

“So, Coldplay, huh?” It was amazing to you how Peter’s blockade of awkward geek piece by piece cracked away until this funny, kind, sarcastic boy had blossomed – a guy you never knew existed. 

“Who doesn’t like Coldplay?” He sent you a laughing touché as he shook his hair out of his eyes, realizing that every little detail about you was more perfect than he’d imagined them all to be. Surrealism was floating all around him, and he just couldn’t figure out what to do with himself. He refused to think about the end of the night – he blocked out what would happen when you went to school the next day, and he pushed away the thoughts and knowing of his once again invisibility in your eyes – when he went back to being the dork, the geek, the loser. 

“Peter?” He pulled himself away from his incessant self-berating to look over at you.

“Sorry, what?” You rolled your eyes at what you thought to be a typical act of a boy, not listening, unbeknownst to you the thoughts going through Peter’s head. You sighed and smiled anyway.

“I said, have you ever tried to tie a cherry stem with your tongue?” A blazing fire instantaneously began blotching itself along Peter’s cheeks, as you began to realize the gravity of the question you’d asked, and a light pink hazed over your normal color, and you choked on the last sip of your Cherry milkshake.

“That’s, uh, not what I meant Peter. I’ve heard it does mean you’re a good kisser, though.” He belched out an uncomfortable laugh. He never, ever – like ever – expected to be having this conversation, especially not with you. He didn’t have any idea what to say, but he figured he couldn’t be any bigger of a moron.

“Uh, I, uh, wouldn’t know… and no, I’ve never tried.” You questioningly gazed up at him, somewhat shocked at what you were sure his answer couldn’t be. Had he never kissed anyone? You found the idea outrageous, yet the perpetual innocence of the idea charmed you, and you couldn’t help but find yourself slowly falling into a spell Peter didn’t even know he was casting on you.

“Have you.. never kissed anyone?” You instantly regretted pursuing your question, as a look of embarrassment imbedded itself on the sweet boy’s face. You wanted nothing more than to tell him that it was okay, and it was all artificial – all so manufactured – unless you really loved the person anyway, but he caught words before you could.

“Yeah, um… I haven’t. But I’ll try the cherry stem.” You could tell he wanted to change the subject, and he made it pretty obvious, too, so you did your best to push it aside, plaster a new feeling in the air as you dug around for the cherry in your now empty cup and popped out its stem. You took Peter’s hand, but the second you touched his skin, you had to stop– if only for a mere and brief moment – to feel the electricity that surged through your veins, all the way to your heart, before placing the stem in his palm. 

“Here you go hot shot. Now come on, there’s a place I want to show you.” 


Since you’d grabbed his hand, Peter had had trouble not sounding like he was speaking Greek, and he wasn’t sure if it was because the cherry stem was still rolling around in his mouth, or because he was just truly that retarded. You were questioning your own genuine intentions of your decision of grabbing his hand, rather than just handing the stem to him, and Peter was still stuck on the fact that you touched his hand at all. 

“Are we, uh, you know, like, at there, or there? Or like, the place, is that…?” He felt like smashing his face into a tornado of bricks, and you couldn’t help but snort.

“Yeah, look.” Peter turned his gaze just in front of him, rather than your Y/H/C hair that had blown strands in front of your eyes and he was really wanting to tuck behind your ear (ugh, what is he, a 1993 RomCom?). You had found yourselves standing in front of a rusty gate that looked close to the end of its life, yet it was still standing, dutifully guarding a vast expanse of junk yard as if it were a sparkling castle. Peter glanced down at you, at the childlike smile adorning you face, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, too.

“Well, come on then.” You tugged at his jacket sleeve in anticipation.

“Uh, Y/N, it’s uh… locked. Doesn’t that mean this is trespassing?” You gave him a sarcastic eyebrow raise as you adored his ‘goody-two-shoes’ act.

“Oh, my dear Peter, that’s the fun part.” He looked at you wide eyed, questioning your sanity, but then unquestioning it because it was your demeanor of rebelliousness that had always drawn him to you in the first place. You held your breath before letting out a loose laugh that danced through his ears, better than any music he’d ever heard. 

“I’m just kidding. It’s abandoned. Has been for 5 years now.” He let out a long breath before slowly nodding, now questioning his own sanity for trusting you – something he surely couldn’t help doing, anyway. As you both slipped through the crack in the gate, you guided them to a car far in the back. It stood proud on a hill – the king of the yard – its pawns guarding it in the valley below. Finally reaching the top, you huffed and turned around, facing Peter and promoting him to follow you and clamor to an unsteady, yet sturdy and dented roof. 

“Uh, Y/N. This is a Cadillac.”

“A 1952 Cadillac.”, you pointed a correctional finger at Peter, who was slowly sitting himself down next to you, pulling his knees up to his chest in the approaching nightfall. 

“Aren’t these, like, really expensive?”

“Oh, very. But not Lucy, here. She’s too beaten, too abandoned. Nobody cares or even knows she’s here” He laughed at you and you glowered your eyes.

“Mr. Parker, are you laughing at abuse?” He raised both eyebrows and looked over to you.

“Oh absolutely not. I’m making fun of the fact that you named it Lucy.”

Her.” You shoved his arm, and a clearly fabricated look of pain filled his eyes, making another one of those unfamiliar feelings grace you with its presence. You didn’t want to acknowledge your crazy ideas, but you couldn’t help but admit to yourself the way the boy who asked you questions no one else cared to know, and the boy who you’d never once spoken to unquestioningly treated you like he’d known you his whole life was making you feel. Your feelings were cut off in the middle of their realization when Peter’s eyes widened and he promptly opened his mouth and rolled out his tongue in which a cherry stem was lying, surely enough in a loop. Your mouth hung open as you slowly started to laugh.

“Unbelievable. I’ve been trying to do that for years! Like I said earlier though, you know what the fact that you can do that means.“ You wiggled your eyebrows in a wavy motion at the boy, and with your everlasting eccentric behavior, Peter was grounded, as a sudden and pleading urge to put his lips on yours overcame him. He was mortified by his own feelings and was sure the internal sweat he was feeling was showing through his eyes. He was petrified, but all the same he was angry – truly angry. His whole life he’d been the good kid. He did his homework, always came home on time, focused on family and school, and yes, it made him happy, but it also made him hate his inability to do otherwise. His whole life he’d been too afraid to live it. Maybe once, maybe just this once, he could convince himself to be more like you – more like the girl he’d admired since he’d set his eyes on her. Maybe once he could be Spider-Man without the camouflage. And in the moment of sitting on this hill, staring at the lights of New York City, his life for once seemed like a movie, and he was the guy who wasn’t afraid to kiss the girl. Ending the constant questioning of the rationality of what he was about to do, he started leaning toward you, praying against your rejection. You noticed instantly, and internally thanked the world around you for his seeming ability to read your mind. But the nearer he drew, the shallower yours and his breath became. Having remembered he’d told you he had never kissed anyone, sudden thoughts flooded his mind, a centimeter away from your lips, foreheads touching. He wasn’t good enough. He was too chicken. He was Peter Parker. Spider-Man wasn’t real; he was a mask – an idea. His breath hitched, and his eyes squeezed shut at his idiocy. Stupid. Insecure. Unrealistic. Somehow, in a way you didn’t know, you knew exactly what was beating through Peter’s mind. You knew apprehension in someone when you saw it. You knew self-deprivation. 

“Peter…” He still had his eyes closed when he hesitantly replied,

“Yes…” He was almost inaudible, but his breaking confidence was loud and clear.

“What are you so afraid of?” You just barely breathed it out, but you didn’t want anything to scare him from telling you the truth. He stiffened, both of your eyes still closed. It may have been the most intimate moment you and he had ever experienced in your lives. Everything felt so raw; you could feel Peter’s vulnerability as if it were your own. You could cut the silence with a knife, and it was only Peter’s voice that ripped through it.

“That-that I’m not good enough, especially not for someone like you. I make so many mistakes, Y/N – more than you may ever know. An-and I don’t know how to do this. I’m afraid of myself sometimes.” You lifted your eyelids, the tenderness of the moment hanging by a thread.

“Being honest Peter, I don’t know much about you. I don’t know your story – your past – but what I do know is that you care enough to ask me the little things about myself. Without even asking you paid to buy me an entire new shake, even though us colliding was half my fault. I also know just by looking at your eyes, there’s this-this light. You have such a big heart, and believe me when I tell you, you’re good enough.” Still leaning his forehead on yours, Peter let out a raspy laugh and a small nod, all of which you heard and felt rather than saw. 

“Okay?” You were desperately hoping what you said could at least help him in some way, the way he had helped turn your day around. He opened his eyes fully to look at yours.

“Okay.” {sorry not sorry John Green😂 } And then he kissed you. It happened so drudgingly slow at first, but it quickly caught up with the pace of both of your hearts. Peter officially was lost is a world he thought didn’t exist, barely managing to process the events of the entire day while you pulled at the back of his neck, he pulled at your lips and placed his hands on your waist. It was something that you both needed – something you both wanted. It was a kiss that you both made sure the other knew you never wanted to end. 

Santa Baby

Prompt: we’re both in the store and I’m trying to find a good candle for my mom, what do you think about this scent?

A/N: I switched the mother part and replaced it with something else. Hopefully it is still equally as good. It’s been awhile since I wrote for him, and it sort of felt like coming home, which is probably weird, but YOLO. Also, I literally have 0 regrets writing an early Christmas thing for Jiho, cause I love him and Christmas. Much Love, Jenn

Genre Zico x Reader

Words: 1288

Disclaimer: As always, any gifs used are not mine and belong to their rightful owners!

“Does this smell okay?”

You were aware that sticking a candle into the face of a stranger wasn’t the greatest introduction into becoming friends, or not seem crazy. Lucky for you, the guy who stood beside you didn’t seem to mind.

He gave you a quick once over before he leaned down to stick a large nose partially inside the candle. His eyebrows and nose scrunching up in matching disgust as he backed away.

“Do you want an honest answer or do you want me to sugarcoat it?”

You let out a sigh as you put back the seventh candle you’d picked up within thirty minutes. At this rate you were willing to bet your sense of smell had died around the fifth one you’d inhaled.

“That had, huh?”

His full lips cracked into a smile and you found your cheeks redden from staring.

“I mean it wasn’t the worst selection you could’ve made, but it wasn’t the greatest. If you don’t mind me asking, who are you needing the candle for? Boyfriend?”

“That would be a terrible gift for a boyfriend,” you replied, your words tinged with laughter as you tucked your hands into the pockets of your coat.

Keep reading

3

yesterday at albuquerque  playground in crippling heat. 

Have not been particularly inspired these past weeks in abq where i’ve been stationed for my latest day job. While desolation and route 66 has had its appeal in the past, there is little in the way of walking so i’m often in car or at home where when the a/c is functioning properly it’s been tenable, while I can’t be sure that outside these walls, on the other hand, the sun isn’t plummeting towards earth–or at least new mexico. While I happened to have moved down the street from a film lab and have been trying to shoot regularly I’m not uploading much, in part because I do so less and less here, in part because the photos largely tend to reflect said lack of inspiration or effort, and in large part because my startup disk is almost full and i’m too tired and achey to do much about it. 

Lugged my Aeroliberator, convered Graflex Super D, to the playground yesterday and took four shots, these are three of them. I’ve taken a lot of pictures of this lady over the years, but this somewhat thoughtless spontaneous shot, the first of the three, with my 2 ½ year old son bobbing and weaving in and out of foreground that i didn’t bother metering and figured I’d double expose anyway (which I did do the second go round) turned out to be one of my favorites I’ve taken of her, if not ideally exposed. I’m glad I resisted the temptation to double expose it. It looked pretty on the ground glass. The old polaroid IDUV did the rest. The third one, well on its way to being banal and underexposed, a shot I was setting for 10 minutes while Roxanne and Bud played on the swings, was meant to be a selective focus shot of a couple twigs in foreground and some trees in the background, but the lady in red, and her camouflaged friend, just happened to cross into frame at the right moment. This was without a doubt the most exciting thing to have happened to me in a month here.