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theperfectawful · 1 month

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Blind Item / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC

Chapter 1: Gimme More

Rating: Explicit (18+) Series Summary: 2007. Hollywood, CA. As a former child star, you face the harsh reality of growing up in the unforgiving spotlight. A car crash on Sunset Boulevard and a cocaine scandal give you one option: Rehab. Reluctantly agreeing, you embark on a 90-day stay at Promises Malibu to attempt to salvage your career. But when Dieter Bravo arrives, your journey takes an unexpected turn. Drawn to each other, you navigate sobriety and the wreckage of your reputation. As the double standard of Hollywood's treatment of troubled stars becomes evident, you question if redemption is truly possible in a world of unequal consequences. Word Count: 11k

Content/Warnings: Age gap (~10 years, Dieter is in his mid-thirties), alternating POV, heavy drug use, illegal drug use, alcohol use, driving under the influence, frenemy dynamics, oral sex (f!receiving), dubcon/noncon, it is neither reader nor Dieter's finest hour when we meet them. Period-typical language and behavior, Hollywood assholes.

Notes: This is my first fic - I've never written or posted anything like this before, so please be kind and feel free to share any feedback or suggestions. I never would have been able to write something like this, let alone work up the nerve to post it, if it hadn't been for the kind and gracious support of @pennyserenade, @whatsnewalycat and @frannyzooey all lending me their advice when I slid into their DMs. They all inspire me endlessly with their work and talent and it’s because of their work that I was inspired to write something of my own.

Our reader is, for now, and unnamed OC. While I’ve done my best to avoid using physical descriptors of her, it should be noted that this story is a period piece that takes place in early 2000s Hollywood. The main character would have been a contemporary of stars like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie, and there are certain assumptions I’ve made about what she looks like based on that factor of this particular story. The early 2000s could be dark, ruthless times, y'all, especially for young women in and effected by Hollywood. My intention is to examine that. Thank you for reading!

Desperate times call for desperate measures: sources say that this former child star’s team is working overtime to keep her employed. When she made her not-so-graceful exit from her latest film, the star cited conflicting schedules as the reason for her departure. The film’s producer has a different story: the Hollywood juggernaut has been heard around town calling the star unprofessional, accusing her of being late to her call times and using drugs in her trailer. She’s got a shot at a last resort: a return to television. Word is, the bad publicity has her team bargaining and drawing out sober contracts just to get her hired.

Whenever you were in town for work, you stayed at the Chateau Marmont. You were in Los Angeles often enough and long enough to justify buying a home there, but you refused, the idea of actually owning a home in LA never quite sitting right with you. Instead, you rented the same room each time you visited. You loved that little bungalow. The thick, lush landscaping shaded the windows and kept it nice and cool inside, and your front door was only a stone's-throw from the swimming pool.

It felt like home after a few years, anyway. These old, tucked-away places were what you liked most about Los Angeles, unlikely, quiet havens hidden between sky-high condos and overly sleek offices. The building breathed old-Hollywood luxury, vintage tiles and original hardwood floors and the ghosts of silent film stars wandering the hallways. The staff knew you well. The same breakfast was delivered to your door at noon every day. The top-tier maid service employed by the hotel kept the living room, kitchen, bathrooms and second bedroom impeccably tidy, though they were given clear instructions not to enter your bedroom.

Your bedroom did not inspire the same glamorous aesthetic as the rest of the hotel. Clothing was piled high against the walls and pouring out of dresser drawers, tags and receipts discarded in the wake. Empty bottles cluttered the hardwood floors, clear, crushed water bottles and rattly orange pill canisters. A full ashtray sat on a side table, a makeup mirror and various products scattered next to it.

In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed, an antique walnut headboard sprawling against the wall with a mountain of sheets and blankets layered atop a deep mattress. You laid swaddled in those sheets, rubbing your palms into your shut eyes and groaning as you rolled over, dragging your hands wide across your face to peek out at the clock on your nightstand.

4:41pm. You blinked, straining your eyes to focus and confirm you read that right. 4:41pm. Fuck.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for your phone, met immediately by a barrage of missed calls and unread messages when you slid it open.

MELANIE [3:21 AM]: Bathrrom

PETE [3:36 AM]: Did u leave

CORINNE [9:00 AM]: Call with NBC @ 1. Please be available. Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL: CORINNE

CORINNE [11:30 AM]: Confirming availability at 1pm. Corinne Roxford.

(212) 555-4325 [12:06 PM]: Hey gorgeous ;)

MISSED CALL [12:30 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [12:45 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [1:00 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:03 PM]: ??? Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL [1:05 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:07 PM]: Call immediately. Corinne Roxford.

“Hiiiii,” a soft, tired voice called from across the room. You looked up, squinting, at your best friend Natalie leaning in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in response, peeking out from where you lay buried in the sheets. “Hi.”

She crossed the room, kicking piles of clothes out of the way and perched herself on the corner of the bed, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. You cracked open one eye, locking eyes with her. In an unspoken acknowledgment of your situation - what you got into last night, the state you’re currently in, the splitting headache you’re certain she has, too - you raised an eyebrow at her. She smirked back at you and the two of you erupted into laughter. You lifted yourself up to sit, pushing your foot into her side from under the covers.

“You were insane last night!” she accused, still smiling as she resumed brushing her teeth.

“Me!” your voice was raspy and you coughed. “Me? You were the one making out with the bartender.”

“He wasn’t a bartender. He said he was with the DJ or something.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s better,” you snorted, the sound muffled by the plush pillows that cradled your head. You rubbed your palms across your face again, feeling the coarse texture of your own tired skin. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of morning seeping through the half-closed blinds.

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, disrupting the quiet ambiance. You picked it up, groaning when you saw your manager’s name blaring across the bright screen. With a sigh, you slid it open.

“Hi, Corinne,” your voice was a hoarse whisper as you did your best to sound alive. Natalie stirred from her spot and crossed back to the bathroom, old floorboards creaking underneath her feet.

“I needed you on that call this morning. This is your career I’m trying to save here. Do you think I’m doing all of this for my health?”

“I mean… you’re not not…” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. She is on your payroll.

“Very funny. I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re running out of friends and favors here, hun. I don’t think you want me to join that list.” Her sentence was punctuated by the sound of her horn honking and a muttered expletive. She sighs. “NBC still wants to speak with you, and soon, but they want to do a four-episode Growing special. The rest of the cast is on board, and they think if we play this right we can turn into a full-on reboot. But you have to straighten up, do you understand? I need you in the Santa Monica office first thing Monday to sign the paperwork.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Your eyes closed again, and you sunk into the plush embrace of the king-sized bed, the soft cotton fabric soothing against your skin.

“I don’t know how to make it any more clear to you how much trouble all of us are in. This is your shot at a comeback.”

“I understand.”

There’s a bit of silence, the noise of New York traffic floating through the airwaves and into your ear. You insisted on total honesty from Corinne, unable to tolerate your team coddling you, so her words might have hurt more if this was the first time you��d heard them. Or maybe if the haze you’d woken up in were a bit thinner.

“Tomlin and the team will be in on Thursday night to get you ready for the VMAs. I’ll see you then, too.” Corinne changed the subject, her voice a mix of stern professionalism and genuine concern.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet, a defensive baby voice you switched into when you were nervous, a trademark of yours that had been mocked by everyone from ex-boyfriends to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Corinne said goodbye and you felt Natalie’s weight return to your side.

You groaned, long and drawn out, tossing your phone into the labyrinth of sheets and blankets surrounding you. The show she referred to was a reboot of the sitcom you spent your childhood working on - Growing Together. It's one-half cast reunion, one-half desperate, nostalgic cash-grab. The producer you sat across from at the pitch meeting was almost delirious with excitement - explaining what a smashing success it was sure to be, a “televised homecoming for America's favorite family.” It took so much strength not to roll your eyes right in front of him that you thought you’d pop a blood vessel.

“Are you in trouble?” Natalie asked, a teasing tone in her voice.

"Yeah, almost always," you replied, casual in your admission. As you sat up, fully awakening, you stretched and planted your feet on the floor. You chugged the warm Vitamin Water on your nightstand before reaching for your bag on the floor and digging through its contents. Gum, a fluorescent orange paper wristband, a baby pink Juicy Tube, a black and white photobooth strip of you and Natalie with your tongues out. Not finding what you were looking for, you dumped it out onto your bed and continued rummaging through the items and garbage inside. Your iPod, a receipt from the drugstore, 3 loose cigarettes and half a dozen empty quarter-sized plastic bags. You sighed, shoving everything back inside carelessly.

“Did we finish everything last night?” You call out, patting the bed behind you, your gaze darting around in search of your phone.

“We?” Natalie’s laughter rang through the room. “I don’t know about ‘we!’”

“God, no wonder,” you muttered, the realization of this morning's particularly splitting headache dawning. Locating your phone again, you typed out a text message to your dealer, padding out of your room to the kitchen.

[5:13 PM]: Andyyyyyy. U going to Lush tonight?

You tapped the side of your phone restlessly for a beat, then texted again.

[5:13 PM]: Can you bring what u brought last night

In the kitchen, you opened the cabinet, revealing an array of neatly arranged pill bottles. Without looking, you pulled out a bottle of Advil and an empty glass. Seated at the kitchen table, engrossed in her Macbook, was your assistant, Rhea.

“Corinne’s pissed.” She said before she even looked at you, focused intently on the screen in front of her.

“Good morning,” you responded, filling your glass at the sink and beaming an exaggerated, pageant-queen smile at her. She scoffed in response.

“The sun is going down in… 40 minutes.” she retorted, her gaze flitting momentarily to the clock on the wall, then back down. You made a mockingly offended expression, hands lifting with dramatic flair.

“Time is a social construct, Rhea,” you declared, tossing back the Advil and chasing them with the full glass of water.

“Yeah, for you, maybe.” She muttered, still typing like a maniac.

You were fired six weeks ago.

The movie was meant to signal a departure for you, a leap into serious territory - a drama marking an overdue graduation from the teeny-bopper films you’d spent the last decade of your life making. You’d been lucky a year ago - a really excellent writer took a chance on an elevated high school comedy with you at the helm that had people in the industry, finally, taking you more seriously.

Seriously enough to get you in the door, at least. Being on set gave you a different impression. You felt as coddled as ever, still treated like an unqualified child star whose presence was more of a slightly annoying novelty than a creative asset.

You wanted to be treated like an adult - a real actress, a professional. This movie was supposed to accomplish that. Despite the fact that this project had a huge, award-winning director attached to it, it was subject to the same issues you’d experienced on countless, lower-tier productions. Poorly communicated call times, technical issues, handsy producers hanging around your trailer. The latter issue caused you to insist on Rhea being by your side whenever possible - power in numbers in an attempt to keep greasy Hollywood exec’s hands away from you.

You weren’t going out any more often than you usually did. Now that you were old enough to not have to sneak into clubs anymore, you were having fun. Though your evenings often bled into mornings, occasionally pushing the limits of your call times, it felt manageable. However, Corinne was relentless in reminding you of the stakes and your professional expectations: show up, behave, perform.

That morning, exhaustion hung over you more heavily than usual. The night before, you’d been out celebrating Natalie’s 23rd birthday. A friend of hers had just returned from Amsterdam and brought with him a bag of European ecstasy as a souvenir. After Le Deux closed, you threw an after party at the Chateau’s pool, you and Nat drank champagne on your floaties as the chemicals rushed through your systems. Your fingers dipped in and out of the heated pool, the two of you gossiping and giggling and floating along until the sun came up.

You were on set on time - early, in fact - but the MDMA had worn off and your energy was plummeting fast. You’d run through the scene several times with Rhea, but it didn’t seem to have helped much.

“Cut,” the director called out, sighing and stepping out from his position behind the camera. Your costar groans softly, standing up from his spot across from you and stepping away as the surrounding crew moves quickly to reset the scene.

“I’m sorry Alan,” you offered immediately as the director approached your mark. A makeup artist swoops in, tapping a brush to your under eyes.

“You’re furious with him, remember,” he coached you. “I understand it’s early, but I need you to manage to muster up some energy.”

You nodded, trying to focus despite the persistent buzzing in your head. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t need you to apologize to me like a punished child, I just need you to perform the way I’ve asked you to. Can you do that?”

"I'll get it right this time, I promise," you assure him softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He eyed you skeptically, his weaning lack of patience with you made clear by his expression.

“We’ll break for five.” He called out to the room, still staring at you as you stood up and shuffled off behind him.

Rhea arrived at your side with your cell phone and a Red Bull. You flip open the screen as you walk, quickly scrolling through your text messages and trying to distract yourself from your dull, nagging headache.

“That was okay, right?” You asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the uncertainty in your voice. “Is it as bad as he says?”

“You were fine,” Rhea’s voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched as she held out the straw of your energy drink in front of you. Her eyes flit back and forth, scanning the area, and her voice lowers into a whisper as she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired,” You brushed her off, shaking your head and handing your phone back to her. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Rhea nods, a concerned eyebrow lifting as you arrive at your trailer. Everyone in your life was looking at you like that lately - as if doing anything less than completely coddling you would cause you to fly off the handle. The cautious glances, the careful choices of words, the subtle tiptoeing around your every move - especially from Rhea, who never gave a fuck about your feelings - it all grated on your nerves like an itch beneath the surface.

She held out her hand and you took it quickly, grabbing an orange bottle from her and slipping through the door of your trailer.

In your trailer, you sat at the vanity and closed your eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening them and gazing at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bottle, pouring out two small pills on the counter in front of you. Scanning the surface quickly, you located a plastic card and pushed it against the pills with the ball of your hand. You pushed it again and again, finally finishing and scraping the excess powder from the card onto the table. Dragging the powder into two lines, you leaned down to inhale them and stood straight back up. You licked your finger and picked up the excess residue, pushing it into your gums and taking a couple more deep breaths to re-center yourself.

The acrid taste of the pills gave you a Pavlovian surge of energy, the anxious buzz in your chest subsiding and easing into a steady hum. You sat at the mirror, dragging a finger underneath your eye to wipe smudged eyeliner from your face. You sniffled, forcing the action into another deep breath and staring at yourself in the mirror. You belong here. You do. You know what you’re doing.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you back to reality with a jump.

“Jesus,” You called out “Alright, Rhea, one second!”

“It’s Alan. Open the door.”

Fuck. You frantically began cleaning the counter in front of you - slipping the credit card into your pocket and brushing your hands across the surface.

“Now!” Alan boomed from outside.

“Okay, okay!” You moved to the door and turned the lock, opening the door just enough for him to see you. You sniffled again, trying to camouflage the reaction with a cough. “Yes?”

Pushing the door firmly, Alan moved into your trailer, his body dwarfing yours in the small space.

“Listen to me,” he said, low but firm. “I’m done. I’m not doing this with you. I am not letting you fuck up my movie.”

“What?” You were dumbstruck.

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. You know exactly what I mean.” He was inches from your face now and getting angrier by the minute. You swallowed, desperately looking around for Rhea. Tears stung the corners of your eyes and you fought them, willing yourself not to blink.

“They’re prescribed,” you attempt. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t care what you do on your own time,” he continued “But this is mine. This is important to me and to everyone else out there whose livelihoods depend on this project, and I’m not going to let some spoiled, coked-out little actress spoil it.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

“Corinne fought hard to get you on this project. This was more of a fucking favor to her than you. But this movie does not live and die by your actions, do you understand me? You can kill yourself if you insist, but you will not pull my movie down with you. You’re fired.”

Your jaw dropped. You were unable to find words let alone choke them out. Rhea’s face was stark white when you spotted her just outside the door of your trailer, her cell phone firmly against her cheek, whispering into the receiver with her eyes wide.

“This is no longer viable for me or anyone else on this crew. I want you off my set now.”

You couldn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest. He stood there for another moment before exiting the trailer and slamming the door behind him. The force of the slam caused the door to open slightly, revealing Alan standing in front of Rhea.

“I don’t want to see you here again.” He said to her, loud enough for you to hear, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for bringing drugs on my set.”

You hung in the doorway as he stormed away, and as the room swirls into focus you see the eyes of the crew on you, their faces filled with curiosity and concern. Turning your head, you quickly blinked away your tears and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

Officially, you’d been let go due to ‘scheduling conflicts’. It was flimsy, Hollywood jargon for your star showing up fucked up, and unfortunately, the euphemism did little to quell the relentless scrutiny surrounding you.

Rhea had shown you the footage of you that began making the rounds after your firing was announced - a creepy, shaky video leaked by some PA of Alan berating you on set, cut with another clip of you walking around the soundstage. It was embarrassing - your hair was disheveled and you were pacing around in a way that looked strange out of context, but there wouldn’t have been anything interesting about it at all if the rumor hadn’t gotten out that you’d been fired for your drug use. Since then, the attention on you had been relentless.

The paparazzi had been a regular part of your life since you were a young teenager. It, generally, wasn’t as bad in New York, which is part of the reason why you preferred to stay there, but in LA it felt as if you were never more than a few feet from a camera.

When you were 16 and working on your first film after Growing Together ended, you started going to clubs with your coworkers. No one ever gave you any trouble, and you didn’t even start drinking until you were 18, but despite that, the mere optics of a child star reveling in nightlife proved a lucrative angle for the media to exploit.

Since then, you were followed almost constantly. Leaving home, returning, getting groceries, getting your nails done, driving through McDonald’s - flashing lights in the corner of your eye were such a regular thing that you barely even noticed it anymore. There were photographers you knew at this point, friendly ones who knew your angles and creepy ones who constantly tailed your car.

It’d never been like this before, though. Literal throngs of photographers showed up anywhere you went, watching you like hawks, all waiting to swoop in on the slightest slip up. Going shopping was an event that needed to be scheduled in advance, boutiques needing to be warned that you’d be coming in so that they could prepare to lock doors behind you. Every step, every breath, felt scrutinized and captured for public consumption, leaving you suffocated beneath the weight of it all.

You were so angry about being let go - your behavior, truly, was no different from what any other actor your age was doing. You partied with your friends, you were out late sometimes, but you knew you were a good actress. It had been your passion since you were a child, and it was beyond frustrating to hear people tell you they loved you and wanted to see you win and then have them turn against you the moment you made a mistake.

So, although you’d behaved and spent the first week or two lying low at the insistence of Corrine, you were over it now. You stayed in LA, uninterested or unwilling to go home to your family and friends in New York and explain to them what's been going on. You were going out with Natalie every night, usually to Le Deux or Lush or Teddy’s. You stayed out late and slept in late and generally just did your best to avoid confrontation with any paparazzi or journalists or producers you’d pissed off.

You weren’t lying to Alan when you told him you were only taking what had been prescribed to you. It just happened that a lot of things had been prescribed to you. Lately, you’d been alternating between Adderall and MDMA for the last week or so, making you too speedy and anxious to really dwell on the current state of your career. You were, admittedly, running through your prescriptions more quickly than usual, causing you to need to make some calls in order to fill in the gaps.

Throughout dinner, you anxiously slid the screen to your Sidekick open and shut, open and shut. You thumbed through the wheel of apps, trying to will into existence a text from Andy that didn’t seem to be coming. It’s not exactly like you expected rigid punctuality from the guy who sold you drugs, but his radio silence was making you antsy.

[9:05pm]: Hellooooooooo

Natalie exclaimed as a tray of shots was delivered to the table, echoed by the group of acquaintances that you met up with at Don Antonios, the restaurant you always went to before a night out. Eagerly, you took one off the tray, blindly grabbing another as you knocked the first one back. You chased that shot with the other, the warmth of the liquid making you feel more like a human being and less like a raw nerve.

Seated to your right in the booth was a girl you kind of knew. She was always hanging out on the fringes of your group, some friend of a friend of a friend who was for sure going home and telling everyone she partied with you. She’d been gawking at you all night, beady eyes locked on you since you sat down, craning her neck and sitting uncomfortably close to you, your dress pinned under her studded jeans. You’d been resisting the urge to ask her what the fuck her problem was for the better part of an hour. As the group around you became distracted by the arrival of the shots, you seized the opportunity to confront her.

“Can you please get off of my dress?” you spat.

Her eyebrows shot up as she took her eyes off of you for what felt like the first time that evening to look down, apologizing and scooching over. She had tall red stilettos on and, when she looked back up at you, you could see the smudged mascara on her eyelid. Just as you were going to take the opportunity to move away from her, she leaned over to talk to you over the noise that surrounded you.

“Sorry. Hey, I’m Katie.”

You grimaced, not in the mood to talk to this person.

“Hi.”

You turn away for a beat, but your attention is grabbed again by Katie’s voice lowly in your ear.

“Hey, I have Xanax, if you want one,” the offer took you by surprise, the prospect lighting you up immediately.

“Oh, my god, I love you,” you said, quickly turning towards her and extending your palm. “Please?”

Downers really weren’t your thing, even booze wasn’t your favorite, but this evening was going to turn from boring to maddeningly insufferable fast if you didn’t get your hands on something.

“I know someone who needs one when I see them,” she laughed, discreetly dropping two pills into your palm.

The clubs in LA were the same thing every time. You showed up in big black SUVs, posed and made nice for the photographers outside for a moment and then clamored inside towards the booth that was waiting for your party.

It felt like high school. Well, you assumed, since your high school experience took place entirely on set. You saw the same people everywhere, all scattered around the room, broken up into their own little cliques. All gossiping, the room alive with murmurs and whispers. Who’d just shown up? Who was fighting with who? Who’d stolen whose boyfriend? It all felt so juvenile, but not being here was worse, so you put up with it. The people changed, but not really - you usually ended up surrounded by the same cast of promoters, wannabe socialites and greasy LA club dudes, swapped out every couple weeks by stand-ins and understudies and new arrivals. They circled your table like vultures, mingled with one another and made use of your tab while you sat engrossed in your Sidekick.

The night became slightly more tolerable once you’d taken one of the bars Katie gave you, but you were still desperately trying to get a hold of a dealer. By the time you left the restaurant and were climbing into the backseat of your car to head to Lush, you’d even resorted to texting backup options, people you’d partied with once or twice who you suspected might be around.

Sinking into the plush booth, you let your head loll to the side, eyes shutting against the assault of strobing lights. The steady, pumping rhythm of the bass sent a rattle through your bones.

After a minute, Natalie's hand landed gently on your knee, snapping you back to reality.

“You okay, girl?” She asked. Her voice felt distant, barely audible over the pounding bass reverberating through the room. The glitter on her eyelids shimmered in the blue light, the only part of her face you could clearly make out in the shadowy corner of the booth.

“I’m fine,” you answered impatiently, kicking your feet up into the seat next to you. Just then, your phone finally buzzed, your heart skipping a beat as your dealer’s name flashed across the screen

ANDY [11:03PM]: not goin tonite

You scoffed, pausing for a second before furiously tapping out a response.

[11:03PM]: FUCK U ASSHOLE

You hit send and threw your phone into your purse with a huff. You were going to have to come up with something else. Or maybe just slit your wrists right here at the table instead.

You surveyed your group as bottle service brought two large bottles of tequila to your table along with a tray brimming with shots. knew all it would take was a couple hundred bucks from a photographer outside for them to spill about how you’d begged them for coke. They'd probably do it for free just for the attention. You'd already asked Katie, but all she had was Xanax and a joint, and Natalie would've let you know if she got a hold of anything else.

You started scanning the rest of the room, looking for anyone you knew. The club was packed, some sort of launch party that’d booked a huge DJ filling even the VIP section from wall to wall.

Suddenly, your attention was grabbed by the sound of a man shouting at the booth directly across from yours. He was the typical guy you'd find in places like this: a douchey-looking producer type, each of his arms wrapped around two miserable-looking models to his left and right. Intrigued, you followed his gaze to see who he was yelling at.

Oh, bingo.

Dieter Bravo. You recognized him instantly. An actor like you, you knew you’d seen him around at award shows and parties, but you’d never met. His reputation preceded him, though; you knew he partied, knew that he, too, had been let go from movies due to 'scheduling conflicts' more than once. You knew he’d been in trouble for drugs. Last you'd heard, he'd been in the news for cheating on his wife or something. You were certain that all it’d take was a little bit of flirting and buttering him up to get him to share whatever he had with you.

Without a word to anyone, you rose from your booth, ignoring Natalie's questioning as you strode towards Dieter's booth. Immediately, though, you lost your footing, lightheaded from standing up too quickly. You brushed it off, saved from a fall by someone at your booth. Straightening your dress, you grabbed a bottle of tequila before pivoting on your heel and starting back towards Dieter.

Dragged out against his will, Dieter was a guest of honor at a launch party for Elysium Fragrances, the cologne brand he’d shot a campaign for last year. His presence was requested tonight as a make-good for being a no-show at the launch of his own campaign, instead being spotted that evening by the California Highway Patrol speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway with a model in the passenger seat.

He’d been stopped by a cop as he attempted to pump gas, some asshole photographer seizing the opportunity to swoop in on the interaction and hurl all sorts of insulting names at his date. Dieter lost his patience, blowing past the cop to shove the paparazzo to the ground, shattering his camera in the process. He was arrested that evening on five charges - assault and battery, destruction of property, drunk and disorderly conduct, assault of an officer (come on) and, thanks to a thorough search of his car, possession with intent to distribute.

As his smug-faced mugshot circulated the tabloids, it eclipsed the glossy editorial photos that the brand had invested millions in. The extravagant campaign was reduced to a joke, its over-the-top glamour juxtaposed with candid snapshots of Dieter’s angry face shouting at the photographer.

Unbelievably, the brand hadn’t thrown him out then and there. He almost wished they had - he preferred the couple of nights he spent in jail to the following days spent in meetings, his team arguing with Elysium over their ability to sway this and use his reputation to their advantage. Ultimately, they maintained his status as a face of their brand as well as his 6 million dollar contract, with the stipulation that he shoot another campaign and make himself available for any event, launch or party the brand requested for the next year.

Being asked to party in exchange for six million dollars was a sweet deal - he understood that - but the reality of being a cosmetics brand’s puppet meant that he ended up at the same fucking parties week in and week out, always babysat by an appointed employee of the brand or, failing that, someone on his payroll.

Tonight was particularly torturous. The tabloids had latched onto the whispers of his crumbling marriage - rumors that were, fortunately or unfortunately, completely legitimate. Heidi was meant to be the one to tie him down, set him straight, clean him up. Their wedding photos looked like a fucking editorial, glossy photos ran with headlines predicting their domestic bliss. But a year and a half, a relapse, a DUI, and a string of affairs - all on his part - had shattered those illusions.

Last week, Dieter returned home from a 3-day bender to Heidi’s mother on the landing at the top of his stairs. She was screaming and hurling the contents of his closet at him, plus whatever else was within arms reach. Heidi, her once-bright eyes now dull with tears, cowered in a doorway behind her mother, slamming the door behind her when he called out in an attempt to reason with her. Her mom located his Oscar, hurling it towards his head with a warning to leave the house before she called the cops. He’d ducked just in time to avoid the statue concussing him, it instead crashing through the glass window of the door behind him.

The stories spread like wildfire, his team scrambling to reshape the narrative, casting Heidi as the cold, unfeeling spouse who couldn't handle his demons. They painted her as the villain, accusing her of rejecting him for his vices - after all, she knew who she married - all the while conveniently forgetting that she had stood by him through more than most people would be able to tolerate. It was an angle he wasn’t happy with; He may have been hedonistic but he wasn’t cruel. In the interest of giving her space and avoiding any additional negative attention sent her way, he moved out. He kept an apartment closer to town, and staying there made it that much easier to avoid any reminders of his failures.

The word on the poor, dejected husband had spread, causing every asshole he ran into tonight to look at him with the same pathetic, sympathetic expression. He resented their pity. He resented this party, this club, his obligation to be seen holding some stupid bottle of cologne in order to maintain his career. The four whiskies he'd downed had done little to numb him from it, and even the lines he'd snorted on the way over had failed to dull the edges of this evening.

You’d stumbled in about an hour ago, perching yourself in the booth across from his own. Your eyelids were heavy in a familiar way, his dirtbag instincts making him suspect you’ve popped a painkiller in addition to whatever you’ve been drinking. A group of giggly, hungry hangers-on swarmed around your table like flies, posing for pictures and parting only to let bottle service in and out.

Dieter knew you - or at least, he knew of you. The cute little starlet who always popped up next to him in the tabloids. He’d seen you in enough movies and on enough billboards to recognize your face, and he’d lurked around clubs like this often enough to have seen you before. Before you’d walked in, he’d resigned himself to an armchair as far back in the VIP section as he could find, determined to wait out the evening before bringing home whatever model ended up in his car. The whiskey he’d been drinking was only just beginning to kick in and he didn’t fight it, leaning back and willing the time to pass faster. But you… you were interesting.

Your gorgeous legs were stretched out along the booth, climbing up to the hem of your dress, a pink silky thing he imagined he could tear off of you with the smallest amount of force. Glossy lips pouted at your phone, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet little frustrated expression. When you looked up he didn’t look away - he kept his eyes trained on you as you looked around the room. You were looking for someone, obviously restless. A boyfriend? The thought twisted at his stomach uncomfortably and he willed himself to stop watching you, putting his glass to his mouth and draining it with a single swallow.

“Bravo!” a voice bellowed from his left, snapping him out of it. Clint - some hack from Elysium Fragrances and tonight’s designated narc waved enthusiastically from the booth next to him. “You gonna sit there and fuckin’ mope all night, bro?”

Fuck this guy. Like most of his brand-approved chaperones, he was content to accept the babysitting opportunity and spend the evening running up Dieter’s tab and shamelessly hitting on the girls at his table. The least he could do would be to leave him the fuck alone.

His attention returned to you when he heard a commotion from your direction. There you were, knees buckled, held at your elbow by one of the guys surrounding your booth. A couple of cell phone cameras lift and snap photos behind you as you attempt to compose yourself. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stand back up, adjusting yourself, your little dress riding up for just a moment before you smooth it back into place.

The bottle he’d finished had begun to cloud his vision, so it took him a moment to realize you were stumbling towards him, your plush lips slightly parted as you swung a bottle of tequila at your side. Despite the haze, your smile was unmistakable as you arrived at his chair. When you held up the bottle with a subtle lift of your eyebrow, he nodded in agreement.

He wasn’t entirely sure if you climbed into his lap or if you simply floated there, an ethereal presence that captivated his senses. You were such a gorgeous little thing, soft legs draping over him effortlessly, while your electric fingertips traced delicate patterns along his arms.

“Where’ve I met you before?” You slurred, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt as you settled in his lap.

You were fucked up. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Good - he was, too. His plan had been to leave, get one of the models at his table to come home and roll over for him without much effort, but passing the evening with someone in his same state of mind would spare him from having another dull fucking conversation tonight. Plus, you were so pretty, big black pupils dilated and fixed on him beneath the lazy black fan of your eyelashes.

“You tell me,” he answered, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

Did you know who he was? He goes along with your guesses as to where you’d met before. Miami, London, the Met, whatever you said, as long as you didn’t piece together that you know him from a TV show that aired when you were still in middle school.

Music blasted through the speakers surrounding you, strobe lights flashing and highlighting flecks of glitter on your shoulders. He lifted his hand to run his finger along the thin strap of your dress as you lifted the bottle up between you and raised your eyebrows in question. He nodded, holding up his empty whiskey glass.

“Glastonbury?” You asked as you filled his glass.

“That must be it,” he agreed, knowing he hadn’t been to Glastonbury since 1995, and clinked his glass against your bottle. He watched as you took a long draw from the mouth and could see the grimace you were holding back as you squinted, your throat bobbing as you swallowed. He followed your lead, emptying his glass in three big gulps. Your eyes flitted over momentarily to the group he came with, crowded around the booth to his left, then back to him.

“You alone?” You asked him, glossy lips smirking.

“Just like you.”

You let out a knowing chuckle and leaned in closer to him, tequila and lime and smoke on your breath as it mingled with his own. The way you dragged your lower lip through your teeth had his cock twitching, the combination of the chemicals in his system and you purring in his lap like a kitten destroying any shred of inhibition he had left.

There’s an acknowledgment between people like you and Dieter. It’s one of those things that doesn’t lend itself to description, but he knew it when he saw it - in the mirror, in friends and acquaintances and enemies, in blown-up photographs on the covers of tabloids, suicides and DUIs announced in newsstands. Raw nerves covered in glitter, celebrity or civilian, death drives winning over life drives every time. He saw it in your dilated pupils and the way your thighs were rubbing together, the silk of your dress doing nothing to hide it. You’re like him, too, and most importantly, you know better than to ask why.

His hand cupped your face before he realized he’d done it and he closed the space between you, your lips soft against his the next sensation he was aware of. You tasted good, and he wanted more right away, deepening the kiss and digging his fingers into your thigh forcefully. He ran his tongue along the seam of your mouth, his own lips going numb as he licked into yours. He pulled you up to straddle him and you moved easily, hips lowering onto him immediately and settling, the lace of your panties brushing up against the thin fabric of his pants. His mouth trailed to your ear, worrying your earlobe between his teeth and guiding your hips to roll against his crotch again and again.

“You don’t give a fuck, do you?” He said, his voice low and hoarse in your ear. He knew you had the attention of his group and your own, not to mention anyone else who happened to look over, but it didn’t seem to matter to you. He knew you’d been in trouble lately - the same limelight, coming-of-age growing pains he’d been through himself several years ago - and his own instincts threatened to kick in and shield you from the excess attention.

You laughed with a shake of your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder and, without looking away from him, lifted his hand from your thigh to your lips, dragging your tongue across the length of his index finger and popping it into your mouth.

Oh, you were fun. You were already making him hard, and he knew you could feel it as you grinded into him again and again, letting his finger drop from your mouth when he pressed his lips back to yours. He needed to be careful - the linen lounge pants he’d thrown on to come here would betray nothing if you kept it up much longer.

It’s a noticeable absence when you hum and pull away from the kiss, the urge for more of you rolling over him and causing his fingers to dig into your thighs possessively.

“Do you have anything… funner?” You asked, big, blown out eyes pleading as you lifted the tequila bottle up again. Aha. It just so happened he did - a baggie of coke he’d brought along just in case sat in his pocket, along with two tabs of acid. It didn’t seem like that kind of night, though, at least not yet. He’d stick with the coke.

“I might have something,” he replied, a genuine smirk spreading across his face for the first time that evening. He sat up straight, smacking your ass and biting your jawline at the same time, the yelp it pulled from you quickly transforming into a wild giggle and sending a rush of blood to his cock as he peppered kisses and bites down your neck to your collarbone.

Quickly, he helped you to your feet and guided you through the crowded room, following you across the floor, his index finger linked with your pinky, prying eyes and pointing fingers meaningless to the both of you. You may have been stumbling, but you were confident. Or at least not at all concerned. A camera phone at the bar flashed and Dieter instinctively ducked his head, moving a hand to your hip to rush you forward and out of sight.

Tucking into a hallway at the back of the club, he kicked a door open and hurried you inside a small, dark room. It was clearly an employee restroom, high piles of backstocked paper towels and toilet paper toppling over when he pushed you up against the wall harshly, his hands cupping your face, the cool metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.

He pulled a pink baggie out of his shirt pocket, opened it and tapped a bump of white powder out onto the skin between his thumb and index finger. He held it up to your nose and, without any question about what it was, where he got it or if he’d already tried it, you’d inhaled, one hand holding his steady while the other held your nostril closed.

Fucking finally. Your head lit up immediately with euphoria and relief as the amphetamines rushed through your system and you melted against Dieter as he lifted you to perch you on a stack of cardboard boxes.

You let him move you like a rag doll, smiling as he propped you back and tapped out two more bumps onto your chest and snorted them, running your fingers through his messy curls as he dragged his tongue along your cleavage, licking up what was left.

His lips found yours again, and the pungent taste of the powder on his tongue mingling with his taste drew you in closer. Looping your arm around his neck, your free hand clutched his bicep. The acrid taste turned pleasantly tingly on your tongue, a numbness spreading as it explored his mouth.

“Here, baby,” he urged, breaking the kiss breathlessly, and you hummed in response as he tapped out another bump on the back of his hand. You inhaled it again, then he used his finger to gather the remnants of the powder. Cupping your cheek firmly, your jaw relaxed under his touch as he rubbed the excess powder into your gums. You reacted instantly, closing your eyes and drawing his finger deeper into your mouth, succumbing to the rush of sensation.

He groaned in approval, your lips already open when he kissed you again, drawing him in for more, thighs parting to wrap your legs around him. The flimsy strap of your dress fell off your shoulder, the fabric across your chest following shortly after.

Blissfully content with the relief of the chemicals rushing into your bloodstream for the first time today, you went numb, rolling your head back and watching patterns dance behind your eyelids. You allowed Dieter to touch and move you at his will, his hands skillfully brushing the other strap of your dress off your shoulder, exposing your chest completely. A throaty moan escaped him at the sight, the gentle sway of your breasts moving with the rhythm of the rough push of his hips into yours. He drew you closer, his lips finding purchase on your skin. Roughly latching onto you, he drew your breast into his mouth, his tongue drawing circles around the peak of your nipple before switching to the other side of your chest.

Sparks shot down your spine and your mind went blank for a second, lost in the feeling of him against you, the synapses in your brain firing and lighting up. You snapped back into the moment when you felt him grasp your hand with his own, his fingers intertwined with yours. He guided you down to press your hand into his crotch, grinding the firm length of himself into your hold again and again.

A soft moan escaped your lips, surrendering to the warmth and pressure of his body against yours. You tightened your grip around his neck, allowing yourself to fully yield to his control, your body pliant and responsive to his every move.

You’d fuck him, you figured, as you moved against him. He was good looking - now that you were feeling a little less edgy, you could appreciate it. Corinne would kill you if word got out, but he seemed like someone who knew a thing or two about discretion. He stiffened even more as he firmly thrusted into the cradle of your hand and you cupped your fingers around his length, the soft fabric of his pants allowing you to feel him completely. You walked your fingers up to his waistband, nails dipping under the fabric and pulling at it slightly. You’d go home with him. Whatever. You’d bring Natalie with you and you could leave by morning. He probably wouldn’t even notice a missing gram or two.

You followed the thought as he trailed kisses up your chest and neck, finally settling at your ear. His hand rose up your thigh, thick fingers dragging along the lace fabric at your center. The bundle of nerves there erupted at his touch and your thighs instinctively squeezed around him.

“Let me taste you, baby, please,” He growled just above a whisper into your ear. You arched your back into his arms, moaning and nodding in agreement, the cool porcelain of the sink underneath you causing your skin to goosebump as your dress rode up further. You opened your eyes, peeking at the chestnut brown curls, the color blending into the dark room surrounding you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you fought to keep them open, wanting to stay present with him. But the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle touch of his fingers on your cheeks were lulling you somewhere else. You felt like you were floating, your vision blurred at the edges and you fluttered your eyes shut again, feeling his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and stall there for a moment.

Your fading in and out like that threatened to spook him away. You couldn’t be too fucked up. He lightly tapped your cheeks a couple of times, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Stay with me, baby," he whispered urgently. "Gotta hear you say it."

“Mmmm,” Dazed, faraway eyes looked up at him, your blown-out pupils mirroring his own. You nodded again, dragging your teeth along your bottom lip. Your pulse raced between your legs, and you felt your hips moving towards him, trying to ride something that wasn’t there yet. “Do it, Dieter, please.”

There we go. He smirked, lifting you from the stack of boxes to push you up against the wall and sinking to his knees. He bunched up the fabric of your dress at your hips, roughly pulling your panties down your legs, the black fabric hanging loosely at one ankle as he lifted your leg to hang over his shoulder.

You shrieked when he slid his tongue through your folds, your knee buckling when he repeated the motion, his strong hands moving up to your hips to support you. His tongue pushed wide against you, him tasting and exploring you as his fingers dug into your hips with bruising force.

He felt fucking amazing. You typically hated when men touched you, especially when you were high, but he felt incredible. You’d give him anything. Despite your rapidly dulling senses, the feeling of his tongue working your clit back and forth was at the front of your mind. He pushed his tongue wide against you again and again, fucking two thick fingers up into you without warning.

You gasped, your mouth opening wide as you root your fingers into his hair to ground yourself. He wanted to wreck you completely, to smear the dark makeup around your eyes and watch that glossy mouth of yours stretch around his cock. His lips locked around your clit, and as the blood rushed to the bundle of nerves there you threw your head back, chest heaving, loud, wretched moans spilling from your throat.

With your senses dulled, he knew it’d take a little more to send you over the edge. A third finger pushed into you with a stretch, starting slow and working up to get in and out of your tight, soaked cunt. You moved your hips to match his rhythm, your pace hiccuping as he began working you faster and faster, working your clit between his teeth with a pinch.

Your moans were frantic, hitching higher and higher as he confidently worked you towards an orgasm, your surroundings blurring and swirling around you.

THUD, THUD, THUD. Just as you neared your release, a loud pounding at the door shattered the moment.

He groaned in frustration, pausing briefly before attempting to resume. You struggled to regain your focus, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, nerves coiled tightly at your core.

The knock was followed by a muffled argument and the clanking of keys from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, Dieter's head emerged from between your thighs.

“Fucking assholes,” Dieter grumbled in frustration as he stood up, moving the straps of your dress back up your shoulders and quickly adjusting himself. You steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you pulled your panties back up, frustration pounding angrily between your legs.

“Find me, alright?” He breathed, smoothing out your dress, his hand lingering on your ass and eyes slowly moving up your body. “I’ll take you home.”

You nodded as the door was thrown open, the bright, white light of a flashlight shining into the small room. You stood up straight, quickly fixing your hair in the mirror and sneakily grabbing the small, plastic baggie Dieter left on the counter, hiding it in your fist behind your back.

“Let’s go. Knock this shit off,” a voice bellowed from behind the light, which darted back and forth between you and Dieter. “We’re not doing this in my fucking club, get the fuck out, let’s go!”

“What the fuck is this?” Dieter asks, moving to stand in front of you and block you from the bright light.

“I’m sorry, man, I tried to stop him,” Another voice followed from outside the room. You squinted and peeked over Dieter’s shoulder, annoyance showing on your face. A large bald man in a suit held the flashlight and to his right was the small, douchey-looking guy you recognized from Dieter’s booth. Natalie’s head popped up behind the both of them, looking relieved to have found you.

“You’re not doing drugs on my floor and fucking little girls in my bathroom. That’s it, Bravo. Get the fuck out of here, let’s go,” the angry man repeated. Dieter raised his hands and murmured an apology to you as he shuffled out, one hand poised defensively in front of his face. He pushed out of the room past Natalie, her brows furrowed at him in confusion as he passed. His counterpart flocked to his side, immediately rushing into what sounded like a flurry of explanations and reassurances. Natalie slid into the room smoothly, wrapping an arm around you to usher you out. You stumbled at her side, annoyed and disoriented.

“I’m TWENTY-TWO, ASSHOLE!” You screamed at the man with the flashlight, attempting to shove him with your balled-up fists. He raised his eyebrows, bald head wrinkling and frown deepening. Natalie pulled you away from him quickly and you could hear her apologize behind you. “Don’t tell’um sorry, Nat, ’m not fucking sorry, I was in the fucking bathroom!” you slurred, your voice disjointedly raising and lowering in pitch.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go,” Natalie urged you.

“Yeah, ’s get the fuck outta here,” you agreed, stumbling as she shepherded you out. She handed you your purse and you quickly shoved your hand inside, dropping the half-empty baggie into the side pocket. One or two flashing lights from the crowd gathered at the bar stole your attention for a moment, but it quickly returned to the big, bald, interrupting gorilla with the flashlight. “This place SUCKS!” you screamed as you began to turn back towards him, leashed by Natalie’s grip around your arm.

“Let’s go,” she repeated firmly. You followed her through the crowded bar, stomping across the floor and ignoring the unending stream of heads turning towards you. The two of you shoved out the heavy metal doors of the club, clicking and flashbulbs immediately erupting around you as the cool evening air breezed across your skin. Your name was shouted from your left and right as Natalie dug in her bag for the valet ticket.

“Having fun tonight?” A photographer asked. You rolled your eyes. “Alright, over here, honey,” the same voice continued. With a resigned sigh, you turned to offer a practiced pose, your mind ticking through your media training despite how fucking annoyed you were. Stumbling a couple of times as you attempted to maintain your balance, you moved through a lazy pose or two. You knew the routine - let them get their shot and maybe they'll back off.

“Partying tonight?” Another voice interjected. Moron.

Natalie finally located the ticket and the valet handed the keys over immediately, your car already parked and waiting curbside. Impulsively, you decided you’d drive, intercepting the keys before Natalie could take them and nearly smacking them out of the attendant’s hand before stumbling towards the vehicle.

“She’s not getting in the driver’s seat. No way,” reasons the voice of a man with a video camera to your left. “There’s no way!”

Another blinding eruption of flashing lights emerged around you. You stared down at your feet as you stumbled forward, trying to see where you were walking through the relentless assault of flashbulbs. Natalie called out your name from behind you. You struggled a couple of times with the handle before throwing the car door open heavily.

“Hey, you can’t drive, honey,” Another voice called out. You rolled your eyes.

You climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, exhaling loudly as the noise of the chaos surrounding you finally muffled. Flashing lights continued, your windshield now completely blocked by cameras. The volume raised again for a moment, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks, as Natalie scrambled into the passenger seat beside you.

“Are these people serious,” you asked, angling your head in towards Natalie and shielding your eyes from the barrage of flashbulbs pointed at you, frustration mounting with each flash. “How’m I supposta drive when they’re fucking blocking me?”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t.” Natalie said, concern in her voice. “Let me, okay?”

You shook your head adamantly. “’M not going back out there.”

“So climb over,” She suggested.

“Not in this!”

Natalie let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers tapping anxiously on her thighs.

“Hey, since when do you know Dieter Bravo?” She asks, momentarily changing the subject.

“Who? Oh,” you replied, the question registering with you once you answered. The reminder of him sent your attention between your legs and you shifted slightly in your seat. “I dunno. I know’hm from an awards thing.” You offered. It was an unconvincing lie, but Natalie didn’t fight you on it.

“He’s so random,” she laughed. “I can’t believe you hooked up with him. I think my older sister had a poster of him in high school. Right next to River Phoenix.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, everything about this evening now pissing you off. The incessant clicking of the paparazzi's cameras only added fuel to the fire, and you narrowed your eyes in irritation, slamming your hand down on the horn for a solid ten seconds in a futile attempt to disperse them.

“MOVE!” you yelled, only inciting more flashing lights.

“Let me drive, babe,” Natalie tried again.

“Oh, my god, fuck this,” you snapped, frustration finally boiling over. With your hand still shielding your eyes, you shifted the car into drive. “You're my eyes now.”

“What?! No!” She replied, her voice rising in panic.

“Be my eyes. I’m going.” You repeated. Very slowly, you eased your foot off the brake, the car beginning to inch forward. Voices clamored outside the vehicle.

“Oh my god, um, okay. Go slow. Turn left. Slow!” Natalie began to guide you. The crowd cautiously parted around the car, photographers scrambling to avoid being flattened while still unwilling to sacrifice this shot. “Oh my god, this is so stupid. Slow, slow, slow.”

“They’re fuckin’ stupid! What am I supposed to do?”

“No, yeah, okay, just slow, keep going left.” Natalie's voice trembled slightly as she continued to navigate. The relentless barrage of flashing lights illuminated the interior of the car, casting everything in stark, blinding brightness. “Okay, cut it! Cut it and keep going straight.”

You cut the wheel to the right and straighten it out, cautiously peeking through the gaps in your fingers to confirm you'd cleared the throng of photographers.

“Haha!” you exclaimed, your laughter echoing through the tense air as you slammed the gas pedal to the floor once the street ahead is clear. With a screech of tires, you peel off into the night, Natalie's nervous chuckles mingling with your own laughter. “Bye, assholes!”

You rocketed down Highland with reckless abandon. A couple of familiar vehicles creeped up behind you - regular photographers who paid their bills by stalking you. The driver to the left’s hand hung out the window, a digital camera pointed squarely at you. The light was yellow at the intersection in front of you and you smirked, not letting up on the gas and rolling your window down to flip off the camera as you raced through the intersection just as the light turned red.

“Slow down!” Natalie yelled, panicked, her hand clutching the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?! These guys are the ones with the problem,” you fired back, your tone frustrated. “I can’t do anything without getting fucking cornered!” Your car veered dangerously across the yellow lines and Natalie yelped. You overcorrected, the vehicle lurching back into its lane just in time to avoid a collision with an oncoming car, its horn blaring in warning. Natalie’s body stiffened further in her seat as you took a wide right turn onto Sunset. You turn on the radio, a Rihanna song picking up midway through.

“Did he give you something?” she shouted, her tone urgent. You furrowed your brow, shooting her a confused look. “Dieter,” she clarified.

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, mood shifting as you suddenly remembered the baggie tucked in your purse. “Look what I got us!” You reached for your bag on the passenger floorboard, swerving again. Natalie lunged across the seat, her hands fumbling for the wheel to correct your course, while a chorus of horns blared from the vehicles behind you. Finally retrieving your purse, you fished out the baggie from the side pocket and held it up between your fingers for Natalie to inspect. She grabbed it from you quickly, examining it in her lap.

“What is it?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Coke, I think. Shit, hold on,” you floored the gas to race through another newly red light.

“Stop!” Natalie shrieked. “This is so fucking stupid, dude, let me drive!”

“Jesus, Nat, fine,” you groan, slamming on the brakes. You both jolted forward as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road. “You wanna drive so bad, fine.”

You unlocked the car doors, opening yours slightly and reaching down to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, disbelief etched across her features as she surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding around you. You nodded in affirmation, a defiant smirk playing on your lips. “You’re such a bitch.”

With a surge of stubborn adrenaline, you stormed out onto Sunset Boulevard, Natalie following suit. The gray Honda belonging to one of the persistent photographers tailed you, coming to a halt beside you as the driver scrambled out, camera at the ready.

“LEAVE ME ALONE” you shouted. “I gave you your shot at the club, I’ve been nice to you guys, what more do you want?!”

You considered what it would take to get him to go away. Words weren’t working. Should you kick his car? Throw something? You began to stumble towards him, interrupted by Natalie yelling your name again. You turned around to see Natalie standing in the street, gaze fixed on the intersection ahead. Your car - which you apparently failed to put into park - was rolling into the intersection on its own.

With a frantic surge of panic, you and Natalie sprinted after the runaway vehicle, the strobe of camera flashes behind you incessant. Arms flailing, you both desperately signaled to other drivers to stop, your heels clattering against the pavement as you raced towards the car.

As the car veered left, you were powerless to stop it from crashing into a parked BMW at the corner. Rushing to catch up, you flung yourself into the open driver's door, slamming on the brakes and throwing the gear into reverse. You leaned across the cab to fling the passenger door wide open.

“Come on!” You shouted at Natalie as she climbed back into the car. With a tense exhale, you navigated the car backward, turning wide in the intersection before screeching forward.

Your mind was completely clear with pure adrenaline. You were only a few blocks away from the hotel now, the castle-shaped outline shrouded in trees just ahead on your right. You floored it, a tense silence hanging in the car, both you and Natalie’s eyes locked forward on the road in front of you.

Only slowing down to make a right turn into the hotel driveway, you didn’t bother waiting for the valet. Tossing your keys onto the driver’s seat, you left the door ajar as you stormed through the garage toward your room, ready to put this evening behind you.

#blind item #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x reader #putting this out into the world and definitely also shitting bricks

68 notes · View notes

octuscle · 7 months

Note

Hey im really confused and need some help from suport.

So im a male actor/ model and things have been really tough in the industry lately with the strikes and all so i was over the moon when a clothing brand reached out to me. But the wierd thing is this brand does not really catter to ny estetic. I usualy get jobs from high end luxury brands, but this company is a street wear blue collar clothing brand. I went to a meeting and gave me a out fit of a thick t-shirt, carpenters jeans, a flannle shirt, work boots, and a jock strap. All of them a size or more to bog for me. They also gave me a dinged up old cell phone. Then then told me to get comferable in thecloths and show up to the abandand site the next morning at the crack of dawn for the shoot. Im feeling realky weird and hungeryer then i ever been in my life. Please help.

The bag with the clothes for the photo shoot is in the trunk of your VW Beetle overnight. Cute little car. It's already got a few years under its belt. But still drives well. And that's all you can afford at the moment. You also need the money from this job. Otherwise you'll have to part with this car too. That's why you're so excited about the job. You're not sleeping very well. And normally you would go for an hour's run after getting up. But today you're hungry after a restless night. A huge appetite. You make yourself a large portion of scrambled eggs and bacon. You didn't even know you had so many eggs in the house. Yeah, that was good. Now the day can begin. You put on a white button-down shirt, plain Calvin Klein jeans and white sneakers and walk to your car at 05:00 in the morning. Yes, the Mustang is a bit rusty. But it's a classic. It suits you. It makes you feel a bit like James Dean.

Shit, you've left your iPhone in the apartment. But there's still the old Cat phone in the bag with the clothes. You type in the address and turn on the speaker. Looking at your hands, you're annoyed that you haven't had a manicure. You have hands like a construction worker.

One disadvantage of your Mustang is that it consumes an incredible amount of gas. You have to refuel halfway to the photo shoot. And take a shit. Hehehe, if you eat a lot in the morning, you have to shit a lot. And you're hungry again. It's almost 07:00 already. So you fill up at the next service station and then eat a burger with a large portion of fries. Your white T-shirt has a few ketchup stains and slips out of your old 501 over your belly, but now you feel good again. Your cell phone says there are only 50 miles to go. A stone's throw for your mighty pickup. The only thing you need before you arrive on the set of the shoot are cigars. Fuck, you left yours at home too. Luckily, you pass a tobacconist's just before you leave for the abandoned industrial site. The photo shoot is scheduled for two days, so ten cigars should be enough.

You are a star model in the workwear scene. You're actually a crane operator, but you can always use a little extra money. Besides, there's usually a lot to fuck on the set of the shoots. Photographers, marketing hipsters and the effeminate professional models love your huge cock. Your cigar is tiny in comparison.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #muscle transformation #inked man #tank top #white to blue collar tf #redneck tf

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theremexpress · 5 months

Text

"WELCOME ABOARD!"

→ It had been raining, it had been raining for a while now. You wondered when it’d let up, but you always liked the smell and the white noise so it wasn’t something to pay too much mind to.

However, you paid attention to it now, especially since the train you were supposed to catch was missed. You really should fix your pocket watch, somehow it was easy to forget it was an hour behind…

It was the late afternoon, the dark clouds in the sky matched your mood as droplets of water drizzled overhead. At least the small wooden station you were under shielded you from getting wet. It didn’t take long for the rain to start to get heavy, it would definitely be a longer walk home now…

Resigning yourself to leaning on one of the pillars of the station, you accepted that you’d have to wait for longer, since there wasn’t an umbrella with you- and you did not wish to soak in the rain on the walk back home. It was a one way ticket to getting sick, and the train ticket that was bought was already expensive enough.

With the dark gray rain clouds overhead, it started to get darker as the sun started to set, the warm colors of the lazy afternoon shifting to a cool night, the air was crisp with the rain as you waited it out. At least you would be able to look at the stars when the clouds depart.

Maybe an hour had passed before a distant horn of an incoming train echoed through the trees, it surprised you, as you initially thought you had missed the train. It did bring a couple of questions, where exactly was this train headed if you missed the first? Or did your train somehow run into a situation and was late? As far as you were aware the only train that came to this station was yours… So maybe that ticket wasn’t a waste after all.

A large locomotive train slowed to a stop in front of you, a dark rich blue with gold accents decorated its exterior, it was rather fancy. This would explain why exactly your ticket was so pricey…

Once it came to a full stop, one of its car doors opened to reveal a rather tall man. You assumed it was the conductor, as his outfit matched the train's colors.

“Hello there! You got your ticket?”

He gave you a friendly smile while you rummaged through your coat pockets to find said ticket. Once you pulled it out you found that it had changed, now matching the train with its blue and gold coloring. However, before you could take a closer look the conductor gently plucked it out of your hand and punched it.

He stepped aside, the warm yellow light inviting you inside the train.

“Maverick Mic at your service! It’s raining, why don't you come inside? I’d hate for you to catch a cold.” He offered you a hand, since the step was a rather tall one. Taking it, you were hoisted up into the train.

The train was indeed warmer than outside, the interior was nicely decorated with a chocolate brown with the same gold accents that adorned the outside of the train. It was rather luxurious, you do remember reading that the trip would be comfortable, but you felt a bit out of place in such an expensive aesthetic . You were now aware of the worn clothes you were wearing, you hoped the conductor didn’t look at you differently.

“Welcome to The REM Express! My, it’s raining isn't it? I hope you weren't waiting for too long, We do like to be punctual for our passengers after all.”

Passengers… There was no one else in the car. Granted, it was a rather large train, you didn’t count how many cars there were so maybe the other passengers were somewhere else. Maverick waited patiently for your response as you lagged to reply.

“Oh, um, It’s fine, my watch is pretty unreliable when it tells time, haha! I thought I arrived late, but now I’m thinking I arrived early instead…”

“I see! Well, in that case, would you like some hot chocolate? Just to help you get settled in. You must have been freezing out there!” Maverick led you to the other side of the car, where a small counter with a bar was set.

You set your luggage down and slid off your coat, it felt nice being able to relax. The train started to pick up again as the horn sounded once more, and the initial movement of it made both you and Maverick sway for a moment.

You quietly observed the conductor as he began preparing the drink for you.

“Not much of a talker, hm?” He poured milk into the cup as he also began to speak, “If you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer. Just say the word.”

You thought for a moment, what exactly could you ask?

“Where are we headed?"

“Well we’re heading to the nearest town over, Bloomsberry I believe! Renowned for their wine, maybe I can sneak some aboard…” This was a surprising comment.

“You’re allowed to do that?”

“Truthfully, no, everything stocked on the train has to be approved by the company, but I'm sure Rainy wouldn’t mind, at least maybe if I give him some he wouldn’t mind…”

You didn’t expect Maverick to be playful, but it was refreshing.

“Who is Rainy?” With the question, Maverick gained a lopsided smile.

“Rainy is our esteemed engineer, the one who drives the train of course! Maybe he’ll come to greet you when we reach a rest stop. Admittedly he doesn’t come out very often, but who knows! I wouldn’t mind sneaking you some wine if you wished it, hehe!”

You couldn’t help but shake your head, you figured Maverick was just being silly.

“I’m good, thanks.” Maverick stirred the chocolate into the milk as he continued.

“Well, anyways, once you’re settled I’ll show you to your room! It is starting to get late, and you look a bit worn, has it been a long day for you?”

He had no idea the packing situation you had before this, and then getting stuck in the rain… and on top of that you were pretty sure you were broke now.

“Something… like that…”

“Then I hope this chocolate will refresh you!”

You were then slid the drink, steam emanating from the surface, well stirred with a slice of strawberry fixed on the edge of the cup. How fancy. Maverick looked proud of himself. You couldn’t help but be amused by his little antics. For him to have such charismatic whimsy was beyond your understanding, at least for a train conductor.

“Thank you!”

“Of course!”

He started to clean up the bar, putting everything back where it was. You blew off the steam and took a small sip, the chocolate was indeed rich in taste, no wonder they had everything approved… everything seemed to be of high quality. You were indeed getting your money's worth.

At least you were becoming broke for a good reason.

“Anything else?”

→ Was there anything else?

#theremexpress #remexpress #tre #arg #0 #choo choo!

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thedroneranger · 2 years

Text

Hotel Homecoming

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Précis: Jake and his wife reunite in their traditional fashion.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut.

Word count: 2.8k

The valet loved creating personas for the guests based on their vehicles as they arrived at the porte cochère. Watching a sleek Aston Martin roll up the drive, they began to write the driver’s story.

Standing side-by-side on the curb, their lips moved minimally as they riffed off one another. They pictured a tall, dark-haired man neatly dressed in subtle luxury brands. Other than the car, the only signs of wealth would be the timepiece encircling his wrist and the healthy tip given to the pair. They would offer to deliver the leather overnight bag produced from the passenger seat, but the driver would insist on taking it himself.

The attendants were pleasantly surprised when a woman, clad in over-sized sunglasses and a watch that was easily worth their combined yearly salaries, stepped out of the car. She gave them a pearly smile, pulling an overnight bag from the passenger seat. The trunk popped, and she collected a garment bag. Clamoring, they offered to take her belongings, but she insisted her room wasn’t far.

One attendant accepted her keys and slid into the driver’s seat, while the other walked her to the lobby. Once she was inside, she slipped her guide a tip that she insisted be shared. She reinforced the ask by joking she would be back to check.

“Welcome!” The front desk agent greeted her, and then asked for the reservation details. She provided the necessary information and enquired if room service would deliver a bottle of champagne within the hour. Of course, the agent obliged. She departed the desk with a smile and soaked in the opulent lobby on the way to the elevator.

The room was a golden hue as the sheer curtains diffused the afternoon sunlight. She stepped up to the floor-to-ceiling windows to take in the ocean view. Waves lapped the sand, and people scurried along the shoreline.

A soft knock on the door and a muffled “Room service!” let her know the champagne arrived. The server was kind, opening the bottle and pouring the first flute.

She could barely wait for the door to close as she began to shed her clothing. Drink in hand, she sauntered to the bathroom where she drew the hottest bath. Sitting in her ring of fire, she sipped champagne and hummed along with the music she had asked Alexa to play. Interrupting her jam session, she asked her voice assistant for the time. Sighing, she began to drain the tub—it was important she stick to the schedule.

Thankfully she had the hardest part out of the way: curating her outfit.

While he loved her no matter what she wore—he often told her that her messy buns and his t-shirts drove him the wildest or her birthday suit was the ultimate gift—she knew what would give him itchy fingers and tight pants.

Tonight, she opted for a floor-length gown with thin straps and an almost waist-high slit. Since the look did not allow for a bra, she also opted to skip panties—that would get him going.

Although he loved her hair down, she wanted to show off her neck and shoulders, which he would appreciate too. Plus, she wouldn’t have to fuss with it later.

One last look in the mirror confirmed her look was almost complete. Tucking a few baby hairs behind her ear, her heirloom wedding band and custom diamond engagement ring gleamed. She slipped the trinkets off her finger, dropped them in a silk pouch and tucked them into her clutch for safekeeping.

The clock told her she had perfect timing. Her lips pursed as an idea swirled in her brain. She picked her panties out of her bag and looped them around the inside doorknob as she exited. A smirk carved her lips as she padded down the hallway.

The dark-stained wood and rich leather made the hotel bar warm and cozy. Knowing her odds were best at the counter, she slid into an empty chair. The lone bartender immediately minded her, opening with a few flirty quips. She played along and earned her first drink on the house.

With a wink, she vacated her barstool in search of secluded seating. She liked the suspense of him wandering around looking for her. Especially as the bar began to fill.

Her drink had one more swig, maybe two if she took small sips. The thought of returning to the bar for a second crossed her mind until a masculine voice broke her thought train. She peered up to see his playful green eyes boring into hers. A smile spread across her features and heat began to build between her legs.

Jake was all man—tall, tanned and his suit fit as though it were sewn on. Since their meeting was informal, he went sans tie. The first few buttons on his shirt were undone, exposing a sliver of hard chest and hair. And that smile—it was impossible to not be bewitched.

She watched him as he slid into the booth, leaving just a little room between their bodies. He handed her a fresh drink. They clinked cups and pressed their glasses to their lips. His eyes scanned her body as they sat, and his arm made its way behind her head, resting along the back of the booth. Goosebumps hatched on her skin as his calloused fingers grazed her shoulder. The move persuaded her to close the gap between them. Their bodies fit perfectly together as she tucked herself under his shoulder. She let her hand skim his muscular thigh. Her head tilted back to meet his gaze, and he looked down at her with that chokehold smile.

It had been six months since they had seen each other. Fashion season was in full swing, so she kept busy traveling for shows. Jake, on the other hand, had been locked away on his homebase for an intense deployment.

Every Sunday, she kept her phone in her hand, no matter what she was doing, so she wouldn’t miss his call. Sometimes he called in the morning and other times in the evening. On the Sundays he called later, she often got worried she wouldn’t hear from him. She worried the call would come from an unfamiliar voice telling her to expect a folded flag at her door.

His hand shook her from her thoughts as his fingers brushed behind her ear and along her neck. Her eyes floated shut and she purred into his touch. She opened her eyes to meet his, which were darker than when he arrived.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her panties neatly folded in the breast pocket of his suit. “Nice pocket square.” She smirked. Smile lines carved his face and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“You like it?” he asked, taking a swig of his scotch.

“Goes well with the suit,” she added.

His free hand dipped below the table into her lap. He found the slit in her dress and skimmed his thumb up her bare thigh. Her breath hitched as he came closer to her naked core. He was amused, staring at her with a wolfish smile. She proposed they head upstairs to their room.

A closed-lip smile pulled the corners of his mouth as they stared at each other. “Finish your drink first,” he stated. An involuntary eye roll broke their staring match and a soft sigh signified her compliance. He watched her as she drank until the final swill. Gingerly, she placed the glass on the table and then motioned for him to let her out of the booth.

As she exited, she made sure to graze her backside against his front. She turned to look him in the eye, not acknowledging her actions. “See you upstairs, Lieutenant Commander.” Always a gentleman, he took her hand and kissed the back before she walked away. His eyes fixated on her as she disappeared into the lobby.

Jake loved this part of their ritual, getting dressed up for each other. Tonight’s dress was new but definitely something he would add to his favorites. As good as it looked on her, his favorite place for her clothes was still on the floor.

After what seemed like an eternity, really only 15 minutes, he finished his drink and threw a Benjamin on the table before heading to the nearest elevator.

When he arrived, she was nowhere to be seen in the main room of the suite. Closing the door softly, he shrugged his suit coat off and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Then, he hunted for her. It wasn’t long before he spied her in the dressing room. He pushed the ajar door wide enough to slip through. Their eyes met. “Help?” she asked softly.

Risking a split in his perfectly tailored pants, he wordlessly walked over and knelt in front of her. She watched as he looped her calf over his bent leg and began to unbuckle the thin strap of her shoe. Once he was done with the first, he placed a soft kiss on her kneecap. He repeated his actions for her second shoe.

However, this time, his lips lingered and his fingers wandered. She held her breath as they skimmed up her thigh, taking her dress with it. His lips followed, trailing kisses. He froze and looked up at her. His fingers had reached her warm apex. A smile pulled his lips as his fingers grazed her lower lips and a small moan escaped her mouth. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, and his fingers dipped into her folds, barely grazing her most sensitive nerves. However, it was enough for her to jolt forward with a pleasurable gasp.

He ran his tongue along the bottom edge of his teeth as his signature grin returned. He looked up at her through his eyelashes. Deviously, he again slid his finger along her most sensitive spot, and then down to her entrance, pushing in. Her mouth dropped open, and her hips rolled forward. He quickly recoiled, slipping his glistening finger into his mouth. She watched as he enjoyed her taste. Eyes closed, he slowly pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop sound. He placed one more kiss on her thigh before standing up.

During his ascent, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her chair. She trailed him into the bedroom. Once inside, he guided her to the bed with his hands on her hips. When the back of her knees hit the mattress, she tumbled into the feather bedding.

He followed her, a knee between her legs and a hand on either side of her head. She supported herself on her elbows so their lips met. The kiss was all teeth and tongues. “Undress me,” he breathed in her ear as the kiss ended.

She sank flat on the bed, biting her lip as she unfastened each button on his dress shirt. Halfway through, his dog tags fell out, dangling between them. They looked at each other and she eyed the gold band that hung with the flanks of metal.

She continued unfastening buttons, making sure her fingers grazed his skin. Every so often, she would glance at him through her eyelashes. She could tell his patience was thinning. Slowly, she pulled his shirt tails from his pants.

He barely waited for her to unbuckle his belt and open his pants before he was sliding off the bed to ditch them on the floor. Unsurprisingly, his cock was fighting the fabric of his boxer briefs.

He climbed back on the bed and trailed his lips up her exposed leg. She let her fingers card through his hair as his lips wandered up her body. Finally, they were face-to-face, and she curled the chain of his dog tags around her finger to lower his head until their lips met.

Her free hand slid down his chest and his stomach to the bulge tenting his boxer briefs. Jake groaned into her mouth and he felt her lips curl into a smile. Her hand dipped past his waistband and pumped his length. “If you keep that up, this will be a short reunion,” he warned. She purred as he sucked on her collarbones and gently slipped her dress straps off her shoulders.

Once her arms were free, Jake began sliding down the dress bodice as he peppered her chest with kisses. She closed her eyes and cradled her head on her folded arms as Jake worshiped her. Soft moans left her lips as he nipped and sucked her nipples until they were hard nodes. He showered her exposed skin with kisses and continued to slide the sheath of fabric down her body until it fell atop of his clothes on the floor.

“God, I missed you,” he said between kisses.

“My name is fine,” she teased.

She could feel Jake smiling as he continued his descent toward her pubic mound. Her breath hitched when his tongue delved between her folds. Jake guided her legs over his shoulders and he looped an arm around one of her thighs as he continued to lick broad stripes up and down her core. She moaned his name each time his tongue swirled a figure eight on her swollen bundle of nerves.

The tightening low her stomach built each time Jake touched her. Humming with pleasure, she threaded her fingers into his hair and gently tugged so he looked at her. “Jake, I want my first orgasm to be on your cock.”

He grinned ear-to-ear as his lips softly tugged her clit one more time before he sat back on his knees. Hooking his hands behind her knees, he pulled her so the backs of her thighs rested on the tops of his.

She sat up and captured his lips with hers. Her body scooted closer until her core was resting against his length. He rocked against her as they made out. Her hand dipped between them and guided Jake into her. A soft sigh left her lips, and Jake smiled into the kiss.

She kept rocking her hips into him and eventually put her full weight onto Jake, signaling for him to fall onto his back. Soon, she was perched on top of him, setting their pace. Jake’s hands moved to her thighs, his fingertips digging into her, while her hands fell to his chest. One curled around the chain of his dog tags and tugged whenever Jake tried to overpower her rhythm.

Her orgasm nearing, her pace began to slow, and Jake seized his opportunity when her eyes slipped closed for a few seconds. He sat up, causing her to tumble backward. Fluidly, he slipped one of her legs over his shoulder and the other rested on his waist as he feverishly pumped into her. “You want my cock, and I want the satisfaction of making you come,” he said as he snapped his hips with a little extra emphasis after each word.

She stared at him with hooded eyes and one hand curled in the bed sheets. The other slipped between them and stroked her clit to help break the heat low in her stomach. Her back arched and her eyes closed as an orgasm shuddered through her. A smirk pulled the corners of Jake’s lips as his name fell from her mouth. He continued his forceful thrusts as he watched her.

His hips stuttered as her hand moved to his cock, squeezing around the base and his balls to coax his finish. Jake groaned her name as pleasure pulsed through him. Releasing him, she smiled and dug her heel into his ass to pull him as close as possible.

Hovering over her, he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before rolling onto his side. She followed him, curling into him under his arm and wrapping her leg around his thigh while her hand rested on his chest.

They laid together, and she swirled her fingertip on his chest, catching his dog tags every so often. Finally, she carefully unclasped the chain and slipped his wedding band off it. After reclasping the ball chain, she gently pushed the ring on his finger.

“Where’s yours?” Jake asked. With a smile, she reached past him to get her clutch from the nightstand. She opened it and he reached in to pull out a silk sachet. He held it while she untied it and then flipped it so both bands tumbled into his hand. Then, he slid them on her finger.

He kissed her rings before trailing more kisses up her arm. She smiled and wrapped her arm around his neck, curling her fingers in his hair and leaning up to capture his mouth. Her body shifted so she was laying mostly on him as she softly kissed him. “Welcome home, baby,” she said as she pulled away.

A hand ghosting the small of her back, he leaned up to kiss her forehead. “It’s good to be home.”

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #top gun maverick #top gun #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin smut #hangman smut #jake hangman seresin smut #top gun smut #top gun maverick smut #tgm smut #tgm fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #jake seresin fanfic #hangman fanfic

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maleficentmrsofallevil · 3 months

Text

"Entitled" BJD collector, me

I've got an axe to grind due to a large order I have with a company. Thanks to a lovely bonus, I was able to pay off my layaway early. Re-reviewed my order, and realized I forgot to order bags (I hate those enormous boxes BJDs come in, and if they have any fancy print on them, I can't recycle them). Quick email to the company - Hey, I forgot to order bags. So sorry. Can I add a couple bags to my order? (it's a BIG order)

Doll company snaps back: "If you wanted bags, you should have ordered them when you ordered your dolls."

Oooooo-kay.

Less than 24 hours later: "The optional hands you ordered aren't the same color as the doll. Seeking your kind understanding."

I ordered the hands at the same time I ordered the doll.

I pointed out to the company that when I make a mistake, you snap at me. When YOU make a mistake, I'm supposed to be understanding. I'm pretty sure my email flew right over their heads, but that could also be a translation thing.

I'm done ordering from that company, but it made me realize that I am becoming an "entitled" collector.

It made me realize that this is a luxury hobby, but this is not a rich person's hobby. Rich people - truly wealthy people - expect to be catered to. They expect to get exactly what they want, exactly when they want it. Truly wealthy rich people would not put up with half the shit BJD collectors do. They would not accept dolls that arrive with imperfections, scratches, mis-matching resin, blushing that's already starting to peel, and 3-6 month wait times in which you hope you get what you paid for. They would not put up with poor to nonexistent customer service, not answering your questions for days to weeks at a time, and all the crazy shit that happens with shipping and delivery.

But if the rest of us acted like that as doll collectors, we would be acting "entitled." Emailing a company and asking them to make a certain type of doll is "rude." Asking when your doll is estimated to ship is "annoying." Asking for resin samples is "a waste of time." Expecting after sales service (repair/replacement parts) is "unreasonable." You pay what they tell you to pay. You get what you get. And you better fucking LIKE it, or ELSE. No returns. No cancellations. No refunds.

Tell me what other business operates this way?

My order was as much as a used car cost in my younger days. To me, that is a LOT of money to get jerked around and snapped at by a doll company.

I don't know, man. Folks who make the same complaints I do get told, "Maybe this isn't the hobby for you."

Maybe not.

#bjd #grousing

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bubuslutty · 1 year

Text

Love Language

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader x billy russo

word count: 1.7k

tags: domestic fluff, mafia!au, billy never betrayed frank, slight nsfw (it's just like 3 sentences), lowkey obsessive behaviour from Billy, established relationship, no dialogue, filthy rich people shenanigans, billy & Frank are like bodyguards to the reader, no use of y/n, use of 3rd person pov

warning: none

Summary: this is just how billy and Frank love differently, other than using their hands and lips on their favourite girl.

a/n: this also could be read as part of the 'La Reine de Londres' universe if you want.

Frank and Billy are in love with one woman. That's no news. But what's interesting is their different love languages. Even though their hearts belong to each other and one woman, they express their love differently.

Billy is known for his love of luxury and quality. He's not afraid of enjoying and seeking out the best of the best, be it tea, a suit or a gun. Billy's approach to life is a bit hedonistic in a sense. He loves feeling good, loves making people feel good, be it by his hands or by dressing them in silk and gold.

He has always admired the lifestyle of rich and noble people since his rough childhood, how they held themselves and how they saw the world. It was how he came to meet their girl in the first place. He founded Anvil, a private military firm, to put his and Frank's skills to use, to feel like their time in the military didn't go all to waste. And also to build himself his own small empire, to feel in control of his life and do things how he wanted.

He overheard her talking to Wade in a bar, telling him about how she needed a trustworthy team of skilled people to guard her and her assets. Billy offered his service right then and there. That day, she not only took his business card but his attention for the next week.

Billy remembers going back home, telling Frank about the gig he got them, and he didn't leave out how pretty and hypnotizing the mob was. Frank laughed in his face, saying how Billy says that about any woman he sleeps with. But then Billy gave him a look, and Frank realized that his friend might be in a bit of trouble, and so was he.

Months went by, heated glances in the office and kisses at the back of limos became limbs in tangled sheets and remembering how Frank liked his coffee, how many moles Billy had on his skin and how she liked her eggs in the morning.

Then Billy started loving her differently, without his hands, lips or body. Don't get me wrong, he still enjoys touching her more than anything, he just started loving her in a different way. He started buying her things he thought she'd look pretty in and fit her personal style. If he saw a watch that would pair well with some of her other accessories, you better believe Billy would buy it and gift it to the mob with a kiss on the back of her hand, her neck and her lips.

Of course, Billy bought her flowers, pots of plants, and any plants he thought she didn't have and would love to look after. His gifts seemed normal and pretty common to receive from your lover at the beginning, but then his gifts became bigger, filling a hole in his soul and satisfying a hunger he always had.

He bought her a sports car, even though she already has multiple and barely drives them. But for Billy, she dressed in one of Billy’s favourite dresses on her, the white slip-on that stopped just below her ass and was backless, leaving her back, arms, neck and legs naked. She drove to the ridiculously expensive sports car to one of their favourite high-end restaurants and as soon as they arrived, she was dragged to the toilets and ended up with Billy between her legs with her back to the wall.

He even purchased her a house in the countryside next to a forest and farms. Billy just bought the house because it was old, owned by a Lord a hundred years ago and he couldn't take the image of his girl lounging around the house in silky robes while sunbathing like a cat for hours. It's not even a house, really, it's more of a small castle.

When they would be in the castle during weekends and holidays, Billy got his favourite woman sculpted by a group of young artists from the University nearby. You should have seen his face when he saw the leaflets in the local grocery store, looking for models so the students would get to practice with real-life subjects. He phoned the University that same day and got an appointment with the Fine Arts Professor the next day.

When he told her, she was surprised and told him how she didn't have all the time in the world to be standing there and getting sculpted, no matter how flattering it is to be considered beautiful enough to sculpt. Billy nearly got on his knees while explaining that they would work around her schedule and that it was a dream of his to get a statue sculpted of her, just like Greek deities.

And she accepted. At first, she had to accompany Billy to the University, to meet the teacher and some of the students, but also to see their work and projects. Billy was definitely impressed by the skills of the students and couldn't wait to have them sculpt his girl.

Billy offered their home to use as a studio to sculpt for a couple of days. The professor was hesitant until Billy told him where they lived and he immediately grinned with excitement, sharing that his students would love the change of scenery and feel as if they were actual sculptors being commissioned by a Lord to sculpt his Lady. Billy also shared his one and only condition, which was to keep any finished work of his girl. After all, it was simply for practice. The students accepted once they found out who and where they would work.

Then it was paintings.

When they met some of her clients, Steve and Bucky, a friendship quickly blossomed. Billy found himself really enjoying the presence of the two super soldiers, whenever they showed up at her office or when they were invited over for tea. Once when they were talking, Billy looked to the side and found Steve completely absorbed in a piece of paper. He had a pencil in hand, sketching away while everyone else was absorbed in the conversation.

Billy was curious and took a peek, and was surprised to find Steve sketching his girlfriend's profile as she went on about something that Billy had no ability to focus on because all he could see was the sketch and the sketch alone. After that, Billy made it his mission to ask Steve more about his art, which then transformed into an invitation to Steve's personal art studio where he showed the throuple his work.

Billy soon offered to commission Steve for a painting of his girl. He was willing to allow Steve months to paint and sketch, provide him with space in their home to paint and pay him beyond generously for his time and skills. Steve accepted immediately, he loved art, and he would love to paint the woman. She was absolutely beautiful and one of his muses after all.

Steve would end up sitting in the middle of their spacious living room in their château, surrounded by brushes and paint tubes, and a big canvas. While his subject was lounging on a sofa, her body half covered by thin white fabric, falling in her curves and dips and hugging her skin like the fabric was weaved for her skin and her skin only.

Billy would make tea, prepare snacks and sit down to admire his girl. He would talk during the process, ask her about her day and whatnot when Steve was not painting her face. Then he would feed her when she wanted a snack or a drink and was not allowed to move. And when they were done for the day, he would run her a bath, sit behind her and tell her about how much he loves her and how beautiful and perfect she is. Then when she was all dried up, he would rub lotion into her precious skin and massage her back and calves. As long as she's his, he's going to treat his so much better than anyone ever could, making goddesses in ancient myths jealous.

Frank on the other hand is a bit different. He’s the most himself when he gets to express his love through acts of service. Frank loves domestic life. There is something in the simplicity of it that makes him feel truly at ease and most comfortable.

Frank would rather do something by himself than hire someone to do it instead. He can cook, so he will cook for Billy and their girl. He can fix doors, creaky hinges, flickering light bulbs and practically anything. If something breaks in their home? Call Frank. He would be more than happy to fix it.

Frank once found his girl crouched on the floor, almost crying at a flower pot that fell and broke, and it wasn't just any flower pot, it was a gift from one of her friends. Frank looked at the mess of dirt and broken pieces and reassured her that he could fix it. It won't be as perfect as new, but he will save it as much as he can. And he did, and now it sits in their kitchen near the window and not a day goes by that Frank doesn't get all warm and fuzzy whenever he sees his girl smiling while watering the flowers in the pot.

If the clasp of his girl's watch broke? Frank would try to fix it by himself, and more often than not he succeeds. That man was so good with his hands, he could practically do anything. Not only can he wring out orgasm after orgasm from her with just his hands, but he can build her an indoor jacuzzi, refurbish their kitchen, build a shed from scratch and would damn well build a house if she asked him to.

He loves having projects to do. He needs to have something to fill his time outside of work. His girl was thinking about installing a new bookshelf in her office? Frank has already measured the space, found what type of wood his girl would like the most, how big or small she would want it and how long it'll take to build. He's truly a DIY man.

No matter how much Billy tells him to leave something alone because they can call someone to take care of it, Frank never listens. He will do it himself. This is his home, his family, and he will pour his blood, sweat and tears into building it.

He's a sentimental man after all, he wants to leave his mark on everything that surrounds him and the people he loves.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @awkwardalie @enretrogue @itwasthereaminuteago @snowkestrel @hellskitchenswhore @reveluving

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keyaho · 2 months

Text

◣the gridiron.2◢

summary: told in flashbacks and the present the gridiron follows chanel dawson and joseph anoa'i's relationship from college football to the NFL and all that is in between.

content warnings⚠️: racism word count: 2.255

◤chapter two: silly rabbit◥

Her nails always matched her current mood; black, with gold detailing across her almond shaped nails was her current fixation. Power. Dominance. Control. Luxury. When she had gone to see her nail technician there was very little talk about the news that broke this morning. She saw the faces, heard the murmurs, but knew they wouldn’t step out of place and address her directly. They could whisper all they wanted. She was there to relax before meeting up with the girl who thought she could ruin an eleven year relationship.

Chanel’s lawyer had already begun the paperwork necessary. Chanel was just going to meet with the girl as a formality, lay down what was going to happen and what the girl needed to expect to happen.

Tapping her nails on the wheel of her car, Chanel sat in the parking lot of Chateau Rosé. It was an upscale restaurant that Chanel enjoyed because of the quality of the food and service. She also knew the girl would show for two reasons. One, she used Joseph’s phone to make the ‘date’. Two, it was an upscale restaurant and she knew the girl would assume he was paying for her food in an attempt to persuade her against whatever plan she had.

That was not the case.

She wanted to already be seated when the girl arrived but opted for the reverse. She wanted to see the look on the golddigger’s face when she slid into their private booth. Such a sight was already making her tingle in anticipation.

“Yes, Mrs. Anoa’i, your table is ready and your guests have already arrived.”

“Wonderful. Have the wine menu sent to my table please.”

“Of course, Mrs. Anoa’i.”

The hostess greeted her warmly when she first entered. As she walked among the other patrons they flirted their eyes over her fitted jeans and white shirt. The black blazer and matching stilettos gave an air of indifference and simplicity. The ten carat emerald cut yellow diamond on her finger flashed as her hand moved up to tuck her black curls from her face.

As they approached the table, Chanel was surprised to see an elderly woman waiting as well. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to let any of that deter her. Nor was she going to let this girl think she had control because of it.

“Good morning ladies,’ she said brightly as she slid into the booth across from them.

She watched their faces fall as they quickly glanced at each other. The file she had on the table suddenly slid away, but Chanel’s hand stopped it.

“I assume this is for my husband?”

Destiny Crawford. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, and tan was the type of woman that thought the world owed her and she should be given what she wanted when she wanted it. Chanel was about to snatch her back down to reality.

“Um, ye-yes it is. Where is he?”

She had the nerve to look around the restaurant.

“He won’t be joining us. As a matter of fact, your contact with him ends today Ms. Crawford.”

Snooty, the girl’s mother spoke up. “She is pregnant with his child. He should be here.”

“It’s funny you mention that. How far along are you exactly?”

The who and what didn’t really matter to Chanel. She didn’t care about that. Her job right now was to poke holes in this story for the sake of their finances. To a lot of people Chanel came off as money hungry and a gold digger. She let them believe that. It was energy wasted trying to convince them otherwise. If anything, Chanel’s position in finance made her think about money and its meaning more than its value to be spent.

Pulling the file in her direction she opened it to see photos of text messages, emails, and a doctor's report stating she was about three weeks pregnant. Hm. That didn’t quite line up with the timeline Joseph had explained to her. One of them was lying.

“It’s all right there.”

Thirsty, Destiny suddenly took a long sip of her drink. Chanel glanced at the glass. It seemed to be orange juice, but the pensive look on her mother’s face made her think it was something a little extra. She’d ask for a copy of the receipt later.

“I’m glad you brought these. I’m waiting on Instagram and Twitter to send me copies of his as well. Just for further comparison.” She paused while flipping through the pages. “I can check his emails later tonight.”

Destiny scowled as she set her glass down. “You don’t need to do that. It’s all right there in black and white for you to see! I’m pregnant with his baby.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t care who the father is, honestly. This isn’t some meal ticket to a six figure pay-out each month. If this is his child there are some stipulations to how child support will work. I’m here to inform you of those before my lawyer reaches out to you. I suggest you get one.”

Destiny’s mother sucked her teeth. “He has to help take care of the baby. Physically and financially.”

Chanel smiled as the waitress arrived. Their orders were taken upon Chanel’s insistence and as the waitress left so did Chanel’s patience.

“Here’s the deal and you have no choice but to take it; Joseph will have joint custody and visitation whenever his schedule permits it. He can and will take the child on vacation with us out of the country if we decide to do so. You will get no more than two thousand dollars a month in child support. Insurance will be covered by us as well as medical expenses. After having two of his children and running the finances, that is more than enough, especially for a newborn that can’t do anything but shit and eat.”

Chanel knew she was being harsh. However, this girl had friends who would throw her a lavish baby shower and the first few month’s supply of diapers, clothes, and baby necessities would be given as gifts. Plus, as grandmother, Chanel knew she would be spending money as well.

Destiny looked at her mother with a hard gaze. There was an unspoken conversation before she spoke up again.

“You can’t determine that. The courts can. We will file for more money than that. His support payment will reflect his income.”

“I control the finances of the home. The multiple investments, credit cards, bank accounts...all that runs through me. If that child is his, and you better hope so because the lawsuits coming your way will have you in debt in the grave, we will provide for the child because of joint custody. Not you. You are not my child. You are not his child. You’re going to work or you can sit at home and figure out how to live off those two stacks.”

“I don’t know who raised you this way, but I’m sure those black babies aren’t even his! You hooked him in with a damn lie yourself just to get his money!.”

Destiny’s face paled at her mother’s harsh words.

“If anyone is the whore at this table it’s you!”

It was one thing to speak about herself or Joseph. It was a deep can of shit one opened when they spoke to Chanel's children.

“Excuse me?”

“She didn’t-’ Destiny stuttered. “Mom!”

“Oh she meant it. Let me tell you something, I’m the whore that will be taking care of your grandchild when he’s on the road. Joseph is a damn good father, but he is shit at child rearing. I will be the point of contact whether you want me to be or not. I am also the woman that if I tell him to forget this child exists he will, even if it is his. He will sign over his parental rights just to make me happy and in the end you won’t get a damn thing from him.”

She would never ask him to do that, but putting that fear in Destiny and her mother made her inwardly grin. She drummed her black nails on the table. Power.

“If you ever talk about our children like that again, Mrs. Crawford I will make sure your daughter is sucking dick on a street corner. I will also come at you with a lawsuit for even attempting to coerce her into entrapment with my husband.”

“I just want him to provide for the baby. We had sex, you can use all of this in the divorce case, right?”

It was like bells had rung from the sistine chapel.

“I’m not divorcing my husband over some silly little girl and the garbanzo bean in her stomach. I don’t plan on divorcing him any time soon.” She paused. “I hope you didn't. I'd leave him and he’d come running to you?”

Destiny looked down.

“Oh he fucked with a dumb ass for real,” Chanel sighed. “You know, I don’t think I’m mad he did what he did. I’m mad he insulted my intelligence by fucking you.”

Food came swiftly and so did the tab. It was clear they had plans to make Joseph pay for it because when they realized it was separate checks, and theirs was lengthy, Destiny slumped in her seat. Chanel grabbed it for a moment, snapped a picture, and passed it back.

“You invited us to lunch, you should at least pay!” The mother snapped. Her anger clearly still bubbling under her horribly tanned skin.

“I would have. Had I not seen that she ordered an alcoholic beverage and she’s three weeks pregnant. Clear your schedule tomorrow. You’re going to see my OBGYN for a pregnancy test.”

Using cash, Chanel paid her bill and slipped her shades back on. “It was nice meeting you ladies. Meet me tomorrow at nine. I will send you the address.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chanel was home a few hours later with bags from Sephora, Carters, Addias, and other familiar stores strewn across the bed. When Joseph came in from the gym he peeked into a few of them; slightly grinning at some of the lace and frilly bras and panties. He took a shower before he sought her out. Going down the hall he realized the kids were out. When he found his wife she was sitting in her office by her desk. He knocked twice but she didn’t look up from what she was working on.

“Are you going to ignore me?” He said after standing there for another three minutes. Folding his arms over his chest, he waited for her to respond. “Chanel.”

“I have a feeling she isn’t pregnant. I’m taking her to my doctor tomorrow. Who says they are three weeks pregnant and then drinks alcohol?”

“How do you know?”

“I met with her and her mother today. They were expecting you because I used your phone to set up the meeting.”

Closing the file she had been working on, Chanel stood up and started to put away the various folders on her desk. Each color coded with a purpose. She had a black one specifically for Destiny. He reached up and scratched the back of his head.

“You think that was a good idea?”

Brown eyes startled him as they snapped up to stare holes in his face. “Good ideas are not something you need to talk to me about.”

“Where are the kids?” He didn’t want to argue about this tonight so he conceded.

Chanel grabbed both phones before she passed Joseph and headed towards their bedroom. “My sister was in town. She wanted to spend a few days with them before she left for New England Sunday. She picked them up from school. I thought it was best if they weren’t in town right now.”

“Wait, where did she take them?”

Chanel pulled up the text on her phone after selecting the text thread she had with Audre. “She took them to the beach.”

“So it’s just us for the next four days?” He stepped up close behind his wife.

“Yep.”

He couldn’t remember the last time they had uninterrupted alone time. After Kelani was born they always took family trips. It was hard getting alone time when the kids were constantly in and out of their room.

Stopping by the bed she placed the bags for the kids on the floor while dumping the black and white Sephora bag. Most of that was replacement for lipsticks, foundations, and other items she was running low on. It was still a hefty price tag because Pat Mcgrath had some new items she grabbed at the last minute.

He was careful when he reached to wrap his arms around his wife’s waist. He wasn’t sure what she was feeling and that was always the hardest to handle. He didn’t know exactly how angry she was. He was about to bend down to rest his head on her shoulder when she peeled his arms away. Her hand flattened against his chest to push him away. He could see the pain she tried to hide in her eyes and a piece of his heart broke. Again.

He fucked up.

“Baby,’

“Sleep in the guest room. I ordered from Waiter because I didn’t want to cook. It should be here in about thirty minutes.”

“We made a promise not to go to bed angry.”

Raking her hands through her hair, Chanel then rubbed her arms.

“I’m not angry. I’m disappointed.”

#roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years

Text

The Chevrolet S-10 is the spine that keeps this country together. Even though it's been out of production for decades, you'll still see little shit-box S-10s working hard in every community. My neighbourhood has a handful dedicated to lawn service, but you might witness scrap theft, meth dealing, or even daily driving. When it comes time to do actual work, these trucks show up more often than you'd think.

And why shouldn't they? This humble workhorse of a vehicle runs forever, on virtually no maintenance. In fact, maintaining them probably makes them die faster, on account of developing an emotional attachment and all. They thrive on contempt. Contempt, and finding out just how good the absolute cheapest oil at Walmart actually is. It's probably better than whatever was around when this truck was new, because of NASA or something!

Ultimately, the problem with all this is that the trucks cost a little bit more than you'd expect. Big trucks, you can get them cheaper than these little guys, and often in much newer model years. They don't last as long without a wheezy cockroach of an engine, of course, and there's an unseemly try-hard-ness to them that this plucky little can-doer doesn't share. That authenticity means you're spending a lot more money than you'd think is totally appropriate, especially if you're like me and consider "dollars per horsepower" to be the ultimate form of vehicle comparison.

Another problem is that, again, the trucks are too reliable. Our society depends on daily-driving overcomplicated luxury pickups that break down all the time. Otherwise, your local dealership will be required to take a slightly smaller profit than they would otherwise. The S-10 thumbs its metaphorical nose at these parasites as it rolls past, its half-century-old rectangular sealed beams fogging slightly when encountering the additional humidity of their tears.

Of course, this is what caused our society to collapse. As vehicles like the S-10 and Ranger continued to operate fine without constant, expensive surgery, new car sales plummeted. Thankfully, the theory of "truckle-down economics" arrived, giving us a bunch of shitty trucks with leather that need us to pay blood money to the parts desk every so often. And through this, our way of life continues, unexamined and uncorrected.

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unchained-hound-dog · 2 years

Note

Heyy could you do something where the reader gets drunk and is really clingy at a nightclub while jack is performing and he looks after her

Here you go! Hope you enjoy

Jack was hosting an after party for his tour date in LA, he'd agreed to perform a couple of songs but could then relax and enjoy the evening. Jack wasn't a big drinker, however he often found he still enjoyed the club even without alcohol, and it also meant he could look after you, his girlfriend, who did enjoy a drink.

You were all in a V.I.P section, a U shaped couch with a table in the middle and then a small section in front of it for people to dance and mingle. You were sat in the corner with Jack, his arm around your shoulder as you both relaxed. You had to admit touring with Jack was tiring, the late nights, lack of sleep and busy schedule didn't really allow you to spend much quality time with each other. So after most of the shows you'd usually end up heading back to the hotel or both going out, not drinking.

You and Neelam had agreed to unwind this evening and have a good drink, everyone was granted a lie-in the following morning due to no show for another 2 days, this meant you were currently 4 drinks and 3 shots deep, laughing at something Neelam and Urban were bickering over when Jack's face suddenly got closer to you as he whispered in your ear.

'I'm gunna head up and perform I'll be right back'

'Okay baby, enjoy' you shot him a smile and pecked his lips quickly before he got up and left the area.

'Come on, let's do some more shots' Neelam yelled across to you, grabbing the bottle of alcohol from the table and lining you both up with 2 shots each.

'You girls are crazy man' Urban shook his head as he pulled his blunt from behind his ear and stood up, excusing himself to the smoking area.

Jack's performance went by quickly, he stopped by a few people on the way back to the V.I.P area, in all he'd been away for about an hour. When he returned, he found you and Neelam laughing histeracly, the half filled bottle of alcohol he'd left you with was now empty and a waitress was placing another bottle on the table. Jack smirked to himself as he stepped over to you and Neelam, you were both standing in the area trying to get a picture together.

'Hi baby' you rushed over to Jack, wrapping your arms around his neck.

'Enjoying yourself baby?' he grinned as you nodded, you both shared a kiss before you went back to Neelam.

Jack mingled with his friends, spoke to a few people and was enjoying his evening when you plopped yourself down next to him, his hand naturally falling onto your thigh as you wrapped one arm around his forearm.

'You okay baby?' he turned to look at you, your head resting on his shoulder and your eyes closed.

'yeah m'just tired' you stiffled a yawn.

'Ready to leave? It is like 3am' your brows furrowed at the realisation of how long you'd been in the club

'Yeah, take me home lover boy' you both smiled before excusing yourselves and leaving the club.

Jack held onto your body as he navigated you through the club, your feet hurting from the shoes you were wearing and it was making it imposible for either of you to get very far without you needing to stop. Once you got outside and through the baracade of paparazzi snapping pictures, Jack sat you in the car and helped you take your shoes off. The car you were in was luxurious, the seats were ridiculously comfy and so you instantly relaxed into it, your legs stretching out so your feet were resting on Jack's lap as he sat opposite you.

'Can we get food on the way back?' you bit your lip as you waiting for Jack's response.

'I'll order us room service baby' Jack's hands went to massaging your lower legs, your head falling back in satisfaction.

'Mr Harlow we've arrived' the driver informed you both, you quickly followed Jack out of the car, squeeling when he picked you up and carried you into the hotel.

'I could walk!' you huffed

'Yeah but we'd be here all night and you'd end up chewing my ear off about how bad your feet hurt' he placed you back on the ground when you entered the lift, pressing the button to your floor.

'Always looking after me' you wrapped your arms around his neck, his going to your waist as you both shared a passionate kiss, the moment making you feel even more lightheaded than you already were from the alcohol.

'Come on' his voice was soft as he pulled away, the doors opening and he guided you out and down the hallway.

When you both got inside the hotel you quickly stripped yourself of your outfit, leaving the mound of clothing near the front door as you walked over to the kitchen section, pulling out a bottle of water and chugging it down.

Jack dissapeared into the bedroom as you sat at the small table in just your underwear, head resting on your hands as your eyes fluttered closed.

'I've ordered food, come get undressed before it gets here' Jack watched as you pushed yourself up from your seat and made your way into the bathroom joined onto the bedroom. You make quick work of removing your makeup before getting completly naked and throwing on some pyjamas, Jack had been getting himself ready for bed and was now scrolling through his phone waiting for you to join him.

'Baby?' your voice pulled him from his phone, he watched as you excited the bathroom and crawled across the bed to lay next to him.

'Thank you for always looking after me, and thank you for leaving the club to come back with me' your voice became softer as you spoke, Jack knew you were close to falling asleep as you wrapped yourself up in the blanket and shut your eyes.

'Anything for you sweetie'

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow imagine

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im-a-king-baby · 8 months

Note

Hiii i loved ELYN so much.

I was hoping for any other tidbits/stories/scenes about Simon carrying the frog in the sock. i just wondered if it was like his comfort object or like the orange sweater etc. .That was one of my favorite scenes when Wille finds it

And/or “i wanted to wake up with you” i dont think i will ever forget that line.

💜 thank youuuu

Okay so I'm sorry this is so very late. Life has been a Lot 😅 hopefully folks are still interested in my ramblings!

<3 <S <3

"I wanted to wake up with you."

Fun fact: I almost cut this line. It was originally in the first draft where Simon never made the late-night-call that led everyone to Bjarstad and I was worried that after I'd made that change this line would put people off Simon, because at this point (in theory) Simon knows that Wilhelm had to get up because of what Simon did during the night so it's a bit unfair to Wilhelm. But then I figured Simon's in withdrawal, he's going to be resentful and frustrated and just because intellectually he knows it's his fault that doesn't mean he's not still having those feelings.

As far as the wanting goes, Simon is just dragging himself through life at the moment. He had this whole spiral of failing to sleep, eventually managed it by basically promising himself a future where he'd wake up and things would still be like they were when they went to bed, just the two of them avoiding the world. Plus withdrawal emotions, plus Candace showing up, the bubble is fully burst and this line is Simon tired and resentful and having to face it.

In case you're interested in how things change in editing, this is the first draft version of this moment (in this version Candace showed up basically the moment the queen left which would have been one hell of a coincidence).

“People always leave before I wake up. Maybe they think I’ll be less fun sober, probably they’re right.” “I wasn’t trying to leave you.” “Okay.” It’s the same tone of voice, accepting but not believing. “Are you going back to Stockholm with her?” He pushes himself off the wall, crossing into the kitchen and opening cupboards at random. It’s Friday morning. Wilhelm is due on TV at six PM. He’s supposed to be attending multiple prep meetings, seeing a stylish and a make-up artist before that. Minou is no doubt already at full panic stations. “I can stay if you want me to.” He stands up as Simon emerges from a cupboard with a half full bottle of vodka. “I can help you look for a lawyer. Or we could go for a walk.” Simon unscrews the bottle. “If you want to go, you can go.” The roar of an engine surges outside. Simon is closer to the window, and Wilhelm sees the moment his face shuts down, the inevitability of it, a moment before he sees Candace emerge from a sleek white car. “I want to be here for you. If you’ll let me,” Wilhelm says, picking at a conversation that’s already died as Simon braces his shoulders like a solider going into battle and tilts the bottle up to take three long swallows. Candace raps three times on the door. “Simme! Open this door right the fuck now.” Simon looks at Wilhelm over the bottle. “I wanted to wake up with you.”

x🐸🐸🐸x THE FROG x🐸🐸🐸x

After six hours of meetings a car comes to drive him to the hotel. Rachel tells him to order whatever he likes from room service and to be in the lobby for seven thirty the next morning and then he’s letting himself into a luxury hotel room. There’s a lounge, a bedroom, a bathroom with a full size bath and a separate shower with six different heads.

He takes the frog out of his bag and places it on the bedside table overlooking the pillow then pulls out his phone. He’d messaged Wilhelm when he arrived (Landed! Hopefully someone comes to pick me up!) and now he sees Wilhelm has texted three times since.

Good luck! La doesnt know whats hit it! Everything okay? I’m awake, no plans today whenever you want to call

Simon texts back: Sorry! Dumped straight into meetings all day. I’m kind of exhausted, can we do tomorrow?

Wilhelm: Of course! Jet lags a bitch. Sleep well, I love you xxx

Simon picks up the menu off the side but his stomach is still protesting the bagel it thinks it had in the middle of the night and he kicks off his trainers and his jeans and crawls into the mega bed.

After a moment, he reaches over and picks up the frog again, runs his thumb across the nose, and settles back down with it’s weight firm in his palm as he types: Love you toox

x🐸x

Candace tells him they’re going to Sweden in the same matter-of-fact voice she uses to tell him anything. The label won’t approve a third single. We have to crowdfund plane tickets. We can’t afford to keep the whole band, who can you live without? I’ve booked us a week in Stockholm and put word out to local news sites and venues, we’ll be taking the buses up there after Paris.

Simon reaches for his backpack on instinct, touches the front pocket where Wilhelm’s frog has been nestled since they left L.A. “Should I… I should call Wilhelm, right? Let him know?”

Candace glances at him over her iPad. “Sure,” she says. “Let me know if you need me to put him on the List.”

Simon leaves the meeting, twisting his phone over and over between his hands. They’re going to Sweden. For the first time since he flew out and it’s - he glances at his phone again - it’s September.

Fuck, it’s September. It’s September 2024, somehow. It’s been over a year since he left Sweden, since he last saw Wilhelm. He scrolls through the contacts on his phone but Wilhelm isn’t in there, of course Wilhelm isn’t in there, Simon got this phone back in L.A. and he hadn’t had time to transfer anything across. That had been last Christmas. Ten months ago and god, where had that time gone?

He could ask Candace to get Wilhelm’s number. That’s what she does, she sorts things. Wilhelm doesn’t answer the phone to unknown numbers. Obviously. But Simon could write a text or something. Hi, this is Simon. I know you said there was no way we could make it work because I was so busy all the time but I’m going to be in Sweden and I’ll still be busy all the time and you’re probably off in the army somewhere but -

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. There is no ‘but’, they don’t work and that has always been abundantly clear.

He unzips his backpack and the frog is there in it’s tiny golden crown, glitter still clinging to the paint because glitter is a bitch that can never be removed.

There’s a scratch across it’s nose, deep enough that Simon’s nail can catch against it. Hi Wilhelm, this is Simon, I know we haven’t talked for a while but I need to give you your frog back because you trusted me to keep one thing safe and I couldn’t even -

He scrolls back up his contacts to Guitar, Kevan and types: drinks?

His suitcase is at the edge of the room, surrounded by a scattering of costume pieces and toiletries. He digs through chains and glitter to find a pair of probably-clean socks and tucks the frog inside, where it’ll be safe.

His phone buzzes: party in 267

He just needs something to calm his nerves, to settle his stomach.

He’ll ask Candace to get the number tomorrow. Or, there’s a show tomorrow, next time he has a free minute.

He tucks the bundle down into the case and heads out of the room.

x🐸x

His case is still on the floor of his bedroom half full from tour. Technically he’s been back in L.A. for two months but unpacking was one of those ‘I’ll do it later’ things that has now somehow come full circle. He tugs out clothes, nudging them into the ever growing laundry for the cleaners to pick up once he’s gone.

His hand finds something solid and he pulls it out. Socks, with something inside, and his throat catches as he remembers September, Sweden. Everyone talking to him in Swedish, fans screaming 'jag älskar dig!' like it wasn’t… like…

Candace promised the next tour could skip it. And if he’s not going to Sweden, he can’t give the frog back, so there’s no point having it. He doesn’t need it.

He folds the socks around it a little tighter, stands up to push it into the back of his sock drawer, underneath everything else. It’ll be safer there.

Two days later the taxi is honking it’s horn outside as he runs back into the room, upends the whole drawer on the floor and grabs the wrapped bundle, shoving it into his pocket on his way out the door.

x🐸x

There’s a fresh bruise forming on his collarbone, a faded one on the side of his neck, a man whose name he doesn’t know snoring face down on the cheap polyester pillows.

He runs his thumb back and forth across the nose of the tiny frog statue, lets his head thump back against the wall to stare up at the ceiling and count down the hours until dawn.

#elyn fic #elyn ficlet #commentary meme #I got a new job and I moved house and I have not done any writing in weeks #but hopefully I'll be more settled soon #tw: alcohol #tw: addiction #classic angst #what I learned from the wake up line is that I should never assume people will think bad things about simon #he is a precious angel

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mountainsandmayhem · 9 months

Text

Blueprints of Love 1.4

(Joel Miller x f!reader)

Summary: Whitney is an architect for a luxury home builder in downtown Austin. She probably shouldn’t have favourite subcontractors but Tommy from Millers Contracting would be at the top. When Tommy has to take some time off to welcome a new baby, Whit has to work with his older brother Joel, but maybe it’s not as bad as it first seems?

a/n: slooooooow burn. Check each chapter for warnings. No outbreak. Joel is 32 and Sarah is 7. Present day, not 2003. And when you get to the bedroom door lean, this gif is EXACTLY what I mean 🥵

Warnings: ⛔️ 18+ only ⛔️, kissing, talk of divorce and abandonment, slight dirty talk, flirting, touching

It’s a pool party, so a swimsuit under Jean shorts and a tank top should be appropriate.

But Joel would be there and….

The black bikini has too much side boob, the yellow bikini shows too much ass.

Finally settling on a pink tie up bikini,that covers everything appropriately, just as Anna arrives. An open bar was mentioned twice in their invite from Tommy, so they decide to Uber together. Their car parks outside of what they assume to be Tommy and Maria’s house and they both comment on how nice it is; an updated split level in an older neighbourhood, big beautiful trees lining the streets. They go in the gate to the backyard, as per the sign on the front door.

“Well,” Anna whispers. “We know no body.”

Tommy waves from across the backyard and jogs over. He grabs the gifts from both their arms, “thank you so much for coming! You didn’t need to bring gifts. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

If one thing was true, it was that the Miller genes were STRONG. They met male cousins who were all equally as handsome as Tommy and Joel, and the female cousins were intimately gorgeous. Whit tried to focus on the introductions but she couldn’t help looking for Joel; and when she found him a small “fuck me” escapes her throat.

He’s sitting spread eagle on a pool lounger with 3 little girls around him, holding the guest of honour, Daisy. One of the girls stands beside him with her arm around his neck while the other two are on the lounger, all looking down at the baby. This was a whole different Joel. Soft and supple. He smiles and talks with the girls before he kisses the one standing beside him on the head. Whit looks back to group as they go flying past Whit and into the house.

“Last one in is a rotten egg.” One says.

“No fair, Sarah! You got a head start!” The other two cry out in protest.

Joel never takes his eyes off the baby, bouncing her gently.

- -

“Stop looking at him.” Anna whispers as you both head back over the self service bar. It’s been well over an hour of the two of you talking with the Miller family. Joel hasn’t put Daisy down as watches the girls jump around in the pool.

“I swear my uterus is trying to find a way to evict my IUD, Anna.” Whit says, making her Gin and Tonic a double. “I don’t see any water at this bar….and this gin is going to make me do something drastic.”

Anna had hit it off with Austin, an incredibly charming cousin that Tommy knew Anna would like. “Come sit by the pool with me and Austin from Austin.” She laughs, “Maybe he’ll take his eye off Daisy once he sees you in that bikini.”

Even thought she knew this was a pool party, her whole body shivers at the thought of Joel seeing her almost naked, “I’m going to go to the bathroom and find a way to fill my water bottle first. Take my drink?” Anna bounces off to sit with Austin by the pool as Whit heads for the back door of the house.

Once she’s in the house she spots the half bath on the landing, she also notices 2 small sets of stairs; one that goes up to the kitchen and another that leads to the basement. Whit locks the bathroom door and makes sure everything is tucked in properly, last thing she needs is a nip slip at a baby shower. After washing her hands she looks up the few stairs from the back landing that leads into the kitchen.

“Tommy?” Whit calls as she slowly heads up the stairs.

Great…no answer. Tommy won’t mind if I just get water.

Just as she steps into the kitchen, Joel comes out from the hall in just swim trunks.

“What are you doing?” He demands, his abs flexing with every word.

“S-shit. I was just going to fill my water bottle. I didn’t think Tommy would mind.” She’s holding the water bottle up while wiggling it from side to side like it’ll make this situation less awkward. Her eyes shoot to the ceiling to avoid ogling his body.

He grabs it out of her hand and stalks to the fridge. That’s when she notices the pictures of the little girl that had her arm around Joel all over the fridge.

Holy fuck, this is Joel’s house and I think that’s his daughter.

“S-sorry,” Whit stammers. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I assumed this was Tommy’s house and him and I have a different -“ she knows she’s about to start rambling but she can’t seem to stop.

Luckily, Joel cuts her off with an “s’fine” as he thrusts the water bottle back in her hand, their fingers briefly touch and Joel’s brain screams at his stubborn and guarded heart.

Just let your damn walls down with her, what the fuck.

They stare at each other for a moment before Joel softens his features. “Really, it’s fine. You startled me.”

They smiled at each other before he continues. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure it means a lot of Tommy and Maria. However, I have 3 little 7 year olds who I promised I would rocket launch before they leave.”

Before she’s even fully outside she’s pushed back in by Nat; if there is a female version of Joel, it’s his cousin Nat. She was tall and muscular, in a sporty and feminine way, she had long curly black hair, sun kissed skin and those signature Miller eyes; deep chocolate brown. To add insult to injury, she might be nicest person Whit has ever met. During their conversation earlier she was kind and insightful. Asking her all sorts of questions and sincerely listening to her answers.

“Whitney. Can I talk to you for a second?” She whispered.

“Sure.” Whitney realized her response came across as a question so she quickly followed it up with an “of course.” Nat stood on front of her, oozing an almost intimidating level of confidence.

“About Joel…” she starts.

“Oh god. He hates me, doesn’t he?”

“If he hated you; you wouldn’t be here.” She says flatly.

Whit raises an eyebrow in response.

“I was born 4 days after Joel. We have always been best friends. The last few years Joel has been very black and white. You’re either in or out. No in between, and almost everyone gets the latter of the two.”

Whitney nods, unsure where this is going but could do a little dance knowing Joel doesn’t hate her.

“Between me and you, he seems to have an in between with you, and I think that scares him. I’ve caught him staring at you a lot today, but when I asked him about you...” Nat bunches her eyebrows together and crosses her arms to do her best grumpy Joel impression, “drop it Natalie.”

Whit can feel herself blushing as she laughs a little at the almost spot on job Nat does of her cousin.

“Look,” she’s speaking just above a whisper at this point. “All I’m saying is to be patient with him. He never lets people in anymore, but when he does - he’s the most loyal and trustworthy person to have in your corner.”

Nat heads back out to the party with a wink, leaving Whitney all sorts of confused.

Joel might have kid, he apparently keeps looking at me, and I should be patient.

Her feet take her to Anna, plopping down on the same lounger as her and pulling her in. “So this is Joel’s house, not Tommy’s. And I’m pretty sure the little girl in the purple swimsuit is his daughter.”

Anna goes to respond before she’s cut off. “But that’s not it. Nat just told me that Joel has ‘in between’ with me.”

“I’m gonna need an explanation.” Anna says.

A splash of water hits both of them, interrupting their gossip session. Austin is perched on the edge of the pool looking at them while Joel tosses the girls around like they’re made of paper. Granted they’re 7, but he never seemed to tire as those girls keep coming back for more.

“What?” Anna giggles, batting her lashes.

“Those girls just got a 5 minute warning from Nat. You two are next.”

“You can’t catch us both.” Whitney taunts.

“Watch me.” He flicks more water at the 2 of them.

Whitney doesn’t make it a habit to brag about her accomplishments, but she’s not about to let this man she just met think he has an advantage over her. “I’ll be watching you fail. I went to university IN ENGLAD on a partial rugby scholarship. There’s no way you’re taking me down, little man.”

Joel turns his head slightly to make sure he’s hearing this correctly.

Whitney? Playing rugby?

“Alright,” Austin counters. “I’ll get Joel to take you then.”

Joel and Whit lock eyes, neither of them will let their guards down to do anything, but god they wished they could be that close to one another. Heat spreads through Joel’s body as he pictures wrapping hands around the soft skin of her waist, laughing with her as she would try, and most likely fail to fight him off. Meanwhile, goosebumps erupt over Whitney’s skin as she imagines how the cords of his muscles that line his body would feel under her as she wrapped her strong legs around his waist, refusing to let go as he attempts to throw her in.

Luckily, they’re both saved by Maria and Daisy. Whitney eats up the baby cuddles as Maria apologizes for the rowdy Miller clan. As the baby changes arms to Anna, Whit finds herself searching for Joel again. She finds him down on one knee, wrapping that same little girl in a towel before dramatically throwing her over his shoulder and taking her into the house. Her little feet kicking as they laugh together.

“Earth to Whitney?!” Tommy says robotically, waving her hands around.

“Huh? W-what?”

When did Tommy walk over? How much of this conversation did I miss.

Her cheeks flush as Tommy looks at her with one eyebrow raised up. Another one bites the dust, he thinks to himself.

“Burger or hot dog, for the 4th time!” He laughs.

“Tommy you know communal food freaks me out!” She says, trying to sound incredibly spoiled.

“I’m sure Joel will let you sneak into his kitchen before anyone else touches the food. I’m making both of you burgers.”

Those 3 little girls come running out of the house, yelling good bye to everyone as they head towards Maria.

“Bye, auntie Maria!”, a big bear hug between her and these 3 little ones breaks out.

The 3 girls hug Whit next even though they have no idea who she is. If one thing is clear, it’s that the Millers might be loud, but no one loves bigger or harder.

Nat jogs over while Whitney collects her hugs, “lord help me for agreeing to take all 3 of these girls for the night! Joel was just giving them handfuls of gummy frogs.”

Soft Joel is killing me today.

Nat and her husband corral the girls like bouncy balls as they leave for the night and Tommy waves Whit over, signalling it’s time for her secret sneak into the house.

Joel is standing in his kitchen, and much to Whitney’s dismay, he’s put a linen button down shirt. He still has his swim trunks on and his wet curls slicked back.

“Heard you have a thing about communal food.” A small smirk appears on his face.

“I just had some bad experiences in college with shared food, so I avoid it.” She laughs.

“Mhmm, well, help yourself princess.” He says when a little bow.

“Hey,” she laughs, “if everyone could just be like me….”

“Lord help us all.” He lets out a laugh, the same sing-song laugh he had back in her office with Anna.

“Mr Miller, did you just make a joke?”

“S’Joel, sweetheart,” he says, handing her a paper plate.

Princess. Sweetheart. God dammit.

Whit feels herself blushing and immediately busies herself with the task at hand. Joel saunters around to her side of the island, opens the fridge and cracks his beer. He leans on the counter across from her sweeping his eyes down her body.

Her hair is up in a loose bun with a few strawberry blonde curls dangling around her neck, where he notices a small tattoo along her hairline.

What I wouldn’t give to kiss that little triangle tattoo.

His eyes sweep down her see through white tank top, the ties of her pink bikini peeking out. Her Jean shorts cover her round cheeks, and Joel has to stop himself from thinking about how small the bikini bottoms must be to not be poking out. He continues to sweep down her strong thighs and toned calf’s.

Fuck she has great legs.

Whitney is looks over her shoulder at him just as his eyes sweep to her toes, painted the same colour as her bikini.

“You ok over there?” She asks, shifting her weight to one foot, popping her hip out towards Joel. She’s not dumb, she knows he was checking her out. His eyes dart up to meet hers.

Don’t look down.

“No. I’m hungry and someone s’taking her time.”

“Who?!” She says in sarcastic shock.

“Miss Whitney,” he says in a mocking tone, “did you just make a joke?”

“You can’t just steal my bit, Mr Miller.”

“I didn’t, I don’t know your last name.”

She looks back down at her plate. “It’s Willis, unless you’re my college degree.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“No time,” she turns to face him. “Someone is apparently starving.”

Joel takes one step to be face to face with her, their front almost touching. He brushes past her right side, reaching behind her for the salad bowl.

“Miss Willis…” he whispers into her ear before shifting to brush past her left side to grab the potato salad. “I always have time for you.”

He straightens out again, sends Whit a devastating wink and heads outside.

Holy. Shit. It just got really hot in here. Thank god I’m leaning on this counter top or I would have fallen over.

- -

After they eat, the early evening sun prompts Whit to remove her tank top and unbutton her shorts, folding them open the waistband, as she lays beside the pool talking with Anna and Austin.

Her exposed skin catches Joel’s attention. “Double gin and tonic,” Maria says quietly to Joel. “Don’t be a dick. Go talk to her. I’ll deal with Tommy telling you she’s off limits.”

“I ain’t gonna do that, Maria.” Joel says as he heads inside to clean up.

As the sun begins to set, the Miller clan invite the girls to stay.

“Stay and play cards. Later we’re having a fire.” Tommy says, “I’m sick of always beating the same people!”

Whit already knows that Anna and Austin have other plans, probably of the naked variety, and the scarcity of Joel has her feeling like she’s about to overstay her welcome, so she heads out front and calls an Uber.

“Whitney?” Joel calls from the front door.

“Hey, sorry, I couldn’t find you to say goodbye.” Whit rubs her arms in the chilled night air. “Thank you for having me.”

Joel will never have this chance again and he’s kicking himself for not gluing himself to her the second Sarah left. He can see that she’s freezing as he steps towards her.

“I - umm,” he plunges his hands into his front pockets.

Is Joel Miller nervous?

“I w-was hoping you’d stay?” His cheeks flush a little, he’s definitely nervous.

“Anna left, it feels like a family thing now.” Whit is freezing, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. “And I didn’t bring a jacket or anything.”

“I have sweaters,” he says softly. “Please stay?”

If she leaves I’m never going to recover from embarrassment.

Fuck, he looks so good right now with his big soft eyes. And what I wouldn’t give to be wrapped in one of his sweaters.

A small “ok” comes out of Whits mouth as she holds up her phone, displaying the cancelled Uber ride.

“Come on, you’re freezing.” Joel places his hand on the middle of her back and leads her through the front door.

- -

“Here.” Joel holds open a green button up flannel. As she stands in the doorway of his bedroom.

He clears his throat as she spins and slips her arms into the ridiculously oversized shirt. “So, gonna finish that story about your last names?”

Joel is right behind her, pulling the flannel up her body. The smell of cedar and leather hits Whits nose as turns her head slightly looking him over her shoulder. “Short story, I was married and now I’m not.”

“No chance.” He laughs. “I want the real story.”

Whit spins around and leans her hip on the door frame. “I’ll give you the condensed long story if you promise to answer a question for me.”

Joel puts his hand on the doorframe by her head and leans in. Whit looks up at him with eager eyes, trying not to look at his plush bottom lip. “What’s the question, Willis?”

Her cheeks flush but doesn’t break eye contact. “Nope. Blind trust, Miller.”

He rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue inside his cheek to fight a smile. Whitney’s stomach muscles clench at how handsome he looks when he pretends to be irritated.

“Yes or no?” She whispered, reaching up to fix the collar on his linen shirt. This time she can’t help but look at mouth, wetting her lips a little before looking back at those gorgeous eyes.

Fear of letting anyone in gets the best of him. “No.” He replies, “let’s go outside.”

“Ok.” She spins on her tippy toes and heads down the hallway. Joel follows, noticing how his flannel is so long that it looks like she’s wearing nothing underneath.

He groans as they reach the kitchen. “Ok, yes. Fine.” When she spins to face him she has a big beautiful smile on her face and Joel comes to the crushing realization that he’ll do anything to see her smile like that forever. “You win.”

She hops up to sit on the counter, wrapping the flannel around herself and bites her bottom lip to try to stop her grin.

“If I win, Miller…” she says mischievously, “that means you lose. You know that right?”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, popping out one knee and placing his other hand on his hip. “You’ll be the death of me, Whitney Willis.” When he makes eye contact with her again she’s straight faced and pulling her hands into the long sleeves of his shirt.

I’m really going to bare my soul here. Shit.

“Ok…” she takes a big breath. “We were young, fresh out of high school, and we were in love.” Her eyes jolt away from Joel’s, focusing on her knees, “I was moving to England for university while he stayed here, so like all logical 18 year olds, we got married.”

Joel took a big step towards Whit, standing close enough that she could feel his heat radiating on her bare legs. “We made it work despite the ocean separating us. He came to me when he could, I couldn’t come to him because of rugby. But I was incredibly happy, everyone around us was supportive. I was going to have the perfect life.”

Whit felt like she had razor blades in her throat. Joel wants to reach out and touch her. Just a gentle rub on her arm so she knows it’s ok.

I’m here for you.

Her eyes flick up to Joel’s, who is looking at her softly, before darting back to her knees. “After graduation I landed an internship in New York, it would have lead me to my dream firm…And he was going to Columbia for med school. Last minute he changed to Baylor and I changed all my plans. I found this job and it started right away, so I flew straight here from England and started laying down roots to really build our lives together.”

Whit looked so sad and it was eating Joel up. She hadn’t looked up from her knees so he stepped right up to her, his hips pressing into her knees. She finally looked up, opening her legs slightly and grabbing the hem of his shirt with one hand.

Puppy eyes. Warm, chocolate brown puppy eyes.

“First day at this job he called me to ask for a divorce and said he wasn’t coming to Texas.”

“Whit,” Joel says softly as he places a hand on her soft thigh. “I’ll kill him. Just give me his name.”

Whit can’t help but breakout into laughter, resting her hand on top of his. “It’s really ok. It lead me here.” She stammers, “I m-mean, like, in Texas. At this job.”

Joel stares at her for a few seconds until she smiles at him. “Ok,” he says. “My turn I guess - what’s your question, Whitney?”

Whitney clears her throat. She’s not sure why she’s nervous about this. She just told a man she barely knows that she was ditched by her husband.

“Was one of those girls today your daughter?”

Joel clenches his back molars together, causing a vein in his neck popping out. The hand on Whits thigh moves as he crosses his arms in front of him.

Those goddamn biceps again.

She can’t help it, like a moth to a flame she reaches up to grab his arm, her other hand still holding the hem of his shirt. “Joel, you don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t cross lines of work and personal, Whitney. I know Tommy tells you about his life, but I’m not like that. I like to keep things separate, mostly for her.”

“So she is your daughter?” Whitney opens her legs a bit more, hoping he’ll inch closer.

“Yes.” He breathes.

“Short story?” She says, dropping her hand from his arm to his side, pulling him in more.

“She’s 7. Her name is Sarah. I am the only parent she has.”

Whit’s mind is turning. She has so many questions, but isn’t going to push Joel. Nat said to be patient, so that’s exactly what she’s going to do. She pulls Joel in all so he flush with the counter, whispering a “thank you” as she slides herself into him.

His large hands come to her waist. “What for?”

Their bodies move closer. “For trusting me with that.” She says.

They’re so close now. If each of them just reached a little bit their noses would graze.

“Stop looking at me like that, Whitney.” He whispers into her lips.

“Looking at you like what?” She replies breathlessly, licking her lips.

His eyes flick down, watching her plush bottom lip dampen with her tongue. “Like you want me to kiss you.”

She smiles a little, reaching her nose towards his. “Would that be so bad?” She says through a shaky exhale.

Joel and Whitney’s lips collide. The kiss starts off hard, like they’re tattooing themselves onto the other. Joel’s hands rub down her body, coaxing her legs to wrap around his waist. Whit parts her lips slightly as a small moan escapes her, that sound is enough encouragement for Joel to push his hips into her harder, slipping his tongue along her bottom lip, nudging her to open her mouth more.

Slowly, they both melt into the kiss, Joel flicks his tongue against hers. She moans again as she tangles her hands into the back of his hair. “Fuck, I love that sound.” He says quickly before sliding his hands under the lower back of her tank top. Her legs lock tighter around him. Both of them have imagined this moment countless times.

Joel’s lips move to her jawline, making a line of wet kisses towards her throat. Whitney moans a quiet “don’t stop” as her fingernails gently scratch at the back of his head.

“JOEL!!!” Tommy yells from the back door. Both of them freeze, not ready to let go. “WE ARE PLAY BULLSHIT, LETS GO!!”

“Fuck me.” Joel groans, bringing his forehead against Whits.

“Better deal in 2!” Whit yells back, winking at Joel.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

#pedro pascal #pedro is daddy #pedrohub #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel x reader #joel x female reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller tlou #joel miller x female oc #joel miller fanfiction

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