#One million notes < praise from beloved mutual

[caterpillarinacave]

I am SAT for your Chenry fic. Please please tag me when you upload it?

Aw, thanks so much! I’ll be happy to!

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Catching Feelings 7/? (Keanu x OFC)

Summary: AU in which Keanu is down on his luck after he comes to Hollywood trying to be an actor. To earn some money, he joins this app for   escorts and meets Steph, a rising star who hires him to try to forget   her ex. Neither of them are expecting to fall in love and all the problems it brings. (Previous parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6)

Author’s Notes: Well, this took me a while. Don’t you just hate when real life gets in the way? Anyway, here it is. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Wordcount: 3463

Warnings: smut (powerplay; choking); mentions of alcohol.

Steph licked her lips as she watched Keanu standing before her completely naked with the exception of the black collar around his neck, the dark color making such a nice contrast with his tanned skin. Especially with the way he kept his head ducked, eyes downcast like a naughty boy waiting to be punished. The thought of it gave it a thrill.

She never thought of herself as particularly dominant. And definitely not in bed. Sure, she made sure to let everyone know what she thought and wanted; and not only in the bedroom. Steph actually lost a few jobs due to her unwillingness to compromise to certain things for sake of a director’s vision.

And in the bedroom more often than not the boyfriends she had had over the years would only half-listen when she asked for something, giving specific instructions. Kevin used to hate it and once again Steph wondered how she dated him for so long when now she could see they were terrible for each other.

Such a contrast to what she felt with Keanu. It was like they just clicked together. Two pieces of a puzzle. Their needs complimented each other so well. His eagerness to please being perfect for her assertive behavior.

Even their fantasies seemed to match because even though Steph never really thought about having someone on a collar and leash for her, having Keanu like this; seeing the trust he had on her made Steph aroused by the prospect.

To be fair, after a month with only her memories and her hands to bring her release, just having Keanu there, being able to smell that beloved combination of leather and metal scent that seemed to be ingrained in his skin from working in that bike shop, was enough to kindle that fire deep inside her.

To feel his touch, taste his lips made every nerve-end burn with need and all Steph wanted was to have Keanu fuck her senseless so she could relearn his body, recommit to her memory the feel of him inside her completing her so perfectly.

She tugged gently on the leash making Keanu moan, his lids fluttering, his hands fisting next to his body and she smirked, turning to the bed and leading the way towards it. Steph could practically feel his hungry gaze on her ass and the temptation of just getting on all fours and let him fuck her senseless nearly won over, but she wanted to enjoy her present.

Pushing him on the bed, Steph got on top of him, kissing him softly, tasting the cigarette he must had had earlier. She brought his hands to her thighs, wordless telling he could touch all he wanted as she trailed kissed down his jaw and neck, making her way to the top of his scar and nipping it gently. Keanu groaned and ached up, his cock sliding against her soaked folds, making a shot of pleasure ran through her.  

“Please ma’am…” his voice trembled with need and she sat back up. “I need you.”

Steph took a moment to look at Keanu as he laid there beneath her, waiting for her next command, his brown eyes hooded and hazed as he watched her. She had never been looked at a man like that before.

She was used to guys staring at her, his eyes screaming all the dirty things they wanted to do to her. She was used to older men sometimes looking at her like she was beneath them; a ditzy pretty girl that could be featured in a movie or a magazine and make them millions.

Keanu was the first to look at her like this. There was adoration in his eyes, but a deeper understanding too. Steph felt it in every inch of her being that whenever he looked at her, he really saw her. Not Stephanie the actress; not the public façade she had to put on to deal with people. He actually saw her. Her flaws and quirks and insecurities and he embraced all of it. Because Keanu loved her.

Her breath hitched at the realization, her hands pausing on their exploration of the plains of his strong chest.

“Everything ok?” he asked because of course, he picked up on it. Keanu always noticed every little thing. Every little hesitation.

Steph smiled, brushing some of the strands of hair from his forehead before she tugged on the leash wrapped around her hand and Keanu followed, sitting up. His eyes clouding with pleasure as she kissed his lips.

It wasn’t like the desperate kisses they’ve shared earlier tonight. This one was slow and soft; recognition of all the mutual affection existed between them. Because even though Steph felt it and was still too scared to say it, she could still show him.

Without breaking the contact between their lips, she raised herself and Keanu held himself steady so she could sink on his cock, connect themselves in the most primal way.

Steph gasped against his mouth at the way of Keanu fit her so perfectly; made her feel every inch of him against her walls, which pulsed in need as she rested her forehead against his, adjusting to the intrusion.

His hands caressed her back gently; coaxing her into relaxation. Calloused fingers exploring her vertebrae, kneading and massaging the muscles and pulling her closer until their chests were flushed together as if not having yet another point of contact between them was unthinkable.

Their gaze locked together; a wordless understanding they seem share washing over them as Keanu brought a hand behind himself, planting it firmly on the bed so he had a point of leverage to start thrusting up, slow and steady. Steph ground her hips to meet him, letting go of the leash so she could cross her arms around his neck, giving herself more support for her movements.

Their breaths mingled together along with their soft moans; sweat coating their skin as their chests slid against one another. She threw her head back in pleasure and his lips found her neck and jaw, kissing and licking; finding every spot that made Steph moan and squeeze around him. Keanu’s other hand fitting itself somehow between them and rubbing her clit helping her steady climb to her climax.

Steph kissed him as she came; afraid of letting the words fall from her lips in this moment of vulnerability. She felt him speeding up his thrusts; losing his rhythm, keening little sounds coming from his throat.

She watched him for a moment, still panting from her own high. Catching the leash again, Steph pulled it back behind him, making the collar tighten around his throat. Keanu arched his head back, his lips parting slightly into a breathless groan.

“Gonna come, babe?” she asked; and he just nodded as best as he could; too lost in his own pleasure. “Do it. I wanna feel you.”

She eased up her hold, letting air rush back into his lungs and he cried out her name as he stilled, spilling inside her. His face shifting into the most gorgeous, blissed-out expression as he panted desperately and rested his forehead against her shoulder, his body shaking.

Steph hugged him and petted his hair, letting him recover from his orgasm, mumbling words of praise and affection against his temple as he caught his breath; realizing this might have been the best sex of her life and she didn’t want to share this with anyone else.

Keanu was hers and hers alone. She just needed to find a way to tell him that.

---

They spent the rest of the night together in Keanu’s room. They ordered room service and watched crappy movies on the tv, laughing and cuddling together and getting lost in one another until they fell asleep in each other’s arms and Steph didn’t even notice how much she missed sleeping with Keanu or how they could fit perfectly in each other’s arms until she had him again.

She stared at his relaxed face under the pale morning light, tracing the sharp features, his stubble scratching her fingertips, his long lashes fanning over his cheeks, drawing attention to the faint freckles that peppered the area and his nose.

Maybe he felt her gaze or maybe it was just his time to wake up, but Keanu’s eyes fluttered open, his lips tilting into a smile when they landed on her.

“‘Morning,” he greeted, voice still rough with sleep and Steph smiled, kissing him softly.

The kiss quickly turned heated with the way Keanu pulled her closer, his mouth and tongue seeking more of her just as his hands roamed her naked body, bringing Steph on top of him for another round of sex that left her aching and sated more relaxed than she felt in months. It was well over eleven a.m. when they finally got up and showered to come down to the hotel’s restaurant for some brunch, taking a table in a secluded corner so as not to be disturbed.

Steph never ate much in the morning. She was cereal and coffee kind of girl, but Keanu could barely contain his excitement at the assortment of options at the buffet. She chuckled to herself, sipping her coffee and checking her emails while he got himself something to eat.

Steph only looked up when around ten minutes had passed and there was no sign of Keanu. Her eyes darted around the restaurant, catching him engrossed in a conversation with a pretty blonde that seemed a little too friendly.

As if feeling her stare, Keanu looked over at her direction, his smile turning into a wince as he quickly said his farewells to the disappointed looking lady and hurried to join Steph, his expression could only be described as of a kicked puppy.

“Making friends already,” Steph commented, trying to reign in her temper.

“She was just being polite. I had no idea what most of that food was,” Keanu replied with a shrug, his expression shifting into a sly grin. “But you’re cute when you’re jealous.” He kissed the tip of her nose, making Steph glare indignantly while Keanu chuckled, his attention shifting back to his full plate.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to Steph that Keanu attracted so much attention. He was a gorgeous man and so thoughtful and polite. It was no wonder that everywhere they went, as they took her day off to sightsee Paris, women and more than a few guys were not so inconspicuously checking him out.

A teenage girl in the train openly stared at him with something that Steph could only describe as heart-eyes when Keanu offered her his seat. A woman, old enough to be his mom, gushed over him as Keanu held the door open for her when they were leaving a bookstore. And a couple of girls actually catcalled him as they walked by, making Keanu blush and laugh.

Steph did her best to ignore it. She had plenty of experience with this kind of thing from when she dated Kevin. However, it bothered her a lot more with Keanu. In part, it was the fact that he was completely oblivious to it and dismissed her observations whenever she pointed it out.

“They’re just being nice, babe,” he said with a shrug, going back to ignoring the wanton looks he attracted.

It should be a comfort to Steph that he was so down to Earth that he was immune to it, but it was just driving her crazy and she couldn’t help but glare whenever one of those people caught her gaze, making them painfully aware that Keanu was spoken for.

Steph had never felt this possessive of someone before and she wasn’t exactly sure why this was happening. Well, that wasn’t quite true, was it? She knew why she was jealous. Because she couldn’t help but remember that those people could have a night with Keanu if they wished. All they needed was to make a request on Mars and Venus and it was up to Keanu to accept it or not.

“You’re quiet.” His voice startled Steph from her musings as they walked back to the hotel so they could get ready for dinner with Vincent and his boyfriend Jean.

She looked over Keanu’s way, noticing the small frown of concern in his features and forced a smile into her face. This was not the time to have this conversation. Not when they were about to head out with her friends.

“Just tired, I guess.”

“Do you wanna cancel?” Keanu asked, pulling her closer to his body, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. “We can stay in, order room service again. I’m pretty sure there are one or two surfaces of that suite we haven’t fucked yet.”

Steph let out a chuckle at his cheeky grin and wiggling eyebrows and did something she would never consider doing in a million years if she was in Los Angeles: she turned in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and meeting his lips in a kiss.

“I’ve never met someone this horny before,” she said against his lips and this time it was Keanu who chuckled.

“You said that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Never!” She grinned taking a step back. “But we have dinner reservations and Vincent is dying to meet you.”

“Right. Vincent.” It was faint but it was there, the way his brow furrowed a little; the twist in his lips and Steph smirked, just knowing Keanu was jealous.

“His boyfriend is also looking forward to meeting you,” she added.

“Oh!” Was Keanu’s reply, his eyes widening a little; a pink flush making its way to his cheeks.

Steph chuckled and nodded in confirmation as she raised herself on the tip of her toes so she could kiss his nose exactly like the way he had done at brunch.

“But you’re cute when you were jealous,” she commented, making him ducked his head, blush spreading.

She pulled back and huddled close to him, letting Keanu once again wrap his arm around her shoulders, while she led the way back to the hotel. He looked around, seemingly in awe of how gorgeous Paris looked. She couldn’t wait to take him out again tomorrow, enjoy even more of the city of love with him.

---

They showered together, which proved to be an endeavor that took more time than it saved since Keanu couldn’t keep his hands to himself and Steph ended up on her knees, sucking him off before they finally managed to actually get out and get dressed a lot later than expected.

They met Vincent and Jean on the lobby where Steph introduced Keanu to them, sharing a quick look with Vincent behind his back. She could tell he approved of him but gave Vincent a warning look when she caught him checking Keanu’s ass. She couldn’t fault him entirely. It was a gorgeous ass.

Dinner went amazingly well. Keanu and Jean hit it off over a shared love for motorcycles and spent the night talking after giving up on trying to include Steph and Vincent in the conversation and getting blank stares from both. She didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, Steph was glad he was so comfortable around her two friends.

He seemed perfectly relaxed and at ease with them and at the restaurant, a distant cry from how he behaved that night she took him to have dinner to celebrate getting the part for the Fincher movie. It had only been a couple of months ago, but that night she could tell he felt awkward with his clothes, with the place and the way he was being treated.

Steph had to wonder if the change was due to the fact that Keanu grew used to the ambiance. That his clients just kept bringing him to fancy restaurants and he had to adapt to make them happy and it just became natural to him. She took a gulp of her wine, trying to swallow down the lump of jealousy in her throat.

As soon as she sat her glass down, the waiter reappeared, refilling it for her and Steph nodded in thanks. She ignored Vincent’s small frown of worry in favor of looking at Keanu talking so smoothly with Jean. His smile polite, his voice completely controlled, so different from the excited puppy demeanor he usually showed when it was just the two of them. Steph realized then, much to her dismay, this wasn’t her Keanu. this was Charles and she hated it.

Once again she reached for her drink, downing in one go, the alcohol making her head cloudy and her movements unsteady as she settled the glass back down again, clinking it loudly again her plate, attracting Keanu’s attention. Steph had always been a lightweight when it came to drinking so it wasn’t surprising she was tipsy with only two glasses.

Steph met his gaze, noticing his frown, the silent question in his eyes. She just plastered a smile on her face, but before she could actually say something, someone called out his name, making Keanu look over.

“Of all the places in the world to meet,” a brunette woman, maybe in her late forties, early fifties, said, moving closer to the table as Keanu rose. She was beautiful. Sharp blue eyes, full red lips, sculpted body wrapped in a tight black dress.

“Cassandra. It’s been a while,” he replied with that same polite smile, letting her kiss his cheek and leave a bright lipstick print that had Steph seething. “It’s definitely a surprise. I hope you’re doing well.”

“Just perfect! Celebrating my divorce!” she announced with a wide grin, wiggling her ringless fingers in front of his eyes. “And all thanks to you.”

“Nonsense,” he said, waving her words off shyly. “All I did was listen. I’m glad I could help, though.”

“You were fantastic, darling!” Once again she kissed his cheek and Steph saw the way he flushed, unable to hold the woman’s gaze. “Anyway, enjoy your night.”

She waved them off, walking away as Keanu sat down again, an embarrassed smile on his lips as he set the napkin back on his lap and looked around the table.

“I just realized I’ve never asked you what you do for a living, Keanu,” Jean said, but before Keanu could answer, Steph spoke.

“He’s a hooker,” she blurted venomously, swallowing yet another glass of wine and ignoring the bewildered look on Vincent’s face in favor of looking at Keanu. “A very good one if Cassandra’s reaction was anything to go by. How much is the night with you again, babe? Seven thousand?”

Steph knew she was being mean. That she was hurting Keanu’s feelings and humiliating him, but there was just something in her, something ugly and twisted that was rearing its head and she couldn’t make it go away. The alcohol enabling these dark thoughts, letting them spill from her lips.

“Eight,” he replied through gritted teeth as he got up again, reaching for his wallet and throwing a couple of bills on the table. “I upped it again so I could comfortably afford to come to Paris to see you on a whim.”

His words hit her like a slap, leaving only the sour taste of guilt on her mouth as she met his icy stare. Steph never knew Keanu could be that cruel, but then again, she didn’t think she could be it either.

“Vincent, Jean, it was great meeting you. Have a good night.” Keanu left without a word to Steph and she got up to follow him, but Vincent caught her arm, making her stop.

“Darling, no,” he said in a low voice, his gaze full of pity. “You’re drunk and he needs time to cool off.”

She sighed and dropped back on her chair, fighting off the tears threatening to spill as she reached for her glass again. For her water this time.

“Besides, you have a more important call to make right now,” Jean declared, his face stormy as he looked at Steph. “You just announced very loudly in a crowded restaurant that your date is a hooker. Call your agent. This is gonna be a shit show.”

And as if to give Jean’s words even more weigh, Steph’s phone started to vibrate, twitter notifications popping up on the screen, the numbers increasing at an exponentially fast speed.

She looked around, noticing the not so inconspicuous glances from people at tables around them. Some of them trying to be discreet in the way they were typing on their phones. A few didn’t seem to care and were just texting openly.

Panic filled her chest. What did she just do?

xxx(tbc)xxx

go to chapter 08

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[beccasfm]

𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐦. 𝐜𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞. 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫.  ／  𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧  — 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 ! 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐟, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐢’𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫-𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬. 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 !

                          𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟. 𝟚𝟜. 𝕖𝕤𝕥. 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪/𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞.

what’s up friends! first off: i’m moon, i’m a Certified Mess™ and this is my baby becca. it’s my first time playing her in a group, and i’ve tried to pin down some career claims that best represent her but there will be a couple tweaks so pls bare with me ?? that being said, on an out of character note… i’m very nice but salty trash. 99% gay. crazy energy. there’s prolly a tiktok of me passed out in a deep freezer somewhere bc i can’t control myself. i LOVE to talk 2 talk so come into my dms if u ever wanna hc and scream into oblivion. now, onto the actual important stuff:

𝕤 𝕥 𝕒 𝕥 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕚 𝕔 𝕤 , 

𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘: becca park. 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘(𝗦): b, bec, becks, basically anything! 𝗔𝗚𝗘: twenty-one. 𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗗𝗔𝗬: february 23rd. 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥: cis female. 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: she/her 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗖 𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: panromantic. ( closeted ) 𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟 𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: pansexual. ( closeted ) 𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧: 5′5 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧: neutral good. 𝗠𝗕𝗧𝗜: infp. 𝗛𝗢𝗚𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗘: hufflepuff. 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗦: kind, gentle, hardworking, spineless, fearful, devoted, loyal, intelligent, adaptable, cautious.

𝕓 𝕒 𝕔 𝕜 𝕘 𝕣 𝕠 𝕦 𝕟 𝕕 ,

growing up on the set of a beloved family sitcom wasn’t a typical childhood, but it’s one becca is quite fond of considering the track record of child starlets and how they feel about their pasts. if you asked becca now, in private, she might say she wishes she had a time machine to go back to when she’d be eating sandwiches with her co-stars on set and doing the homework her private tutor had laid out for her between takes.

*( pls note i claimed both full house / boy meets world and that’s because becca’s show/history stretches from age 5 to her teen years, the timeline didn’t really add up but use ur imagination pls i did the best i could.. )

she grows up in front of a camera and absolutely loves it. acting is where she��s meant to be, even if it’s sitcom material. it’s good for her age, lighthearted, and she has surprisingly supportive people around her. she works maybe more than a kid should, but she finds that’s her default preference, and sitting alone for too long makes her restless. the show itself has quite the cult following and the diehard fans accumulate over the years. by the time becca is in her teens and social media is booming, her and her co-star are thrust into the spotlight. it’s all sweet, fun and games, becca now having a platform to get familiar with the fans she loves so much. the show’s success not only makes up her childhood, but the childhood of so many others, and something about that becomes irreplaceable to her.

however, all good things must come to an end. when she’s going on seventeen, the show is finally cancelled, the last episode finally giving viewers what they wanted: a happy ending for becca’s character and her co-star’s, the ship that had been over a decade in the making. cameras cut, lights off, and suddenly the team that was once so supportive of her is nowhere to be seen.

becca is desperate not to fall out. 

they tell her there’s not much room for her in the acting world, that having such a household name under her belt means people won’t associate her with anything else, and her team convinces her to give up on acting entirely. becca is crushed, but understands ( sort of ), and even if acting is where her heart is, she listens to ‘ what’s best for her ’.

thus, her pop career starts. it’s the formula for every washed up childstar, but becca is determined to make things work. she might not have the best pipes in the business or the most refined writing skills, but she has heart, and she will do anything she sets her mind to, anything it takes to be seen as good. so she puts triple the hours in the dance studio, recording studio, practices writing songs every day, does her scales until it finally clicks. her fans take to her well enough and becca doesn’t disappear long enough to be forgotten about. instead, she re-emerges as BECCA, all caps for her stage name, and re-invents herself to keep her claws in hollywood.

still, the rising fame in the cutthroat industry, especially as a teenage girl, is quite terrible. suddenly she goes from the beloved sweetheart of everyone’s favorite sitcom to a real popstar, someone that dates, someone that goes out, someone that’s seen in the spotlight. and as much as she’s praised, she’s scrutinized. for someone that takes criticism hard, it’s her biggest challenge yet.

rather than succumbing to the trainwreck trope, becca does the opposite. she keeps doing her yoga, rarely if ever drinks in public, always has a smile on, dates in private, dodges all potential scandals to keep the focus on her music and off her personal life. and so far, it’s working, but for someone that’s singing pop music written by everyone else instead of acting in front of a camera, how long can she keep it up?

𝕡 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 ,

at her core, becca is a kind, loyal and just person. she cares deeply for other people and finds it hard to cope with the immense pressure and materialism of the industry she works in at times. she hopes one day to return to acting, but growing up surrounded by opinions older and bigger than hers, she’s quite used to doing what she’s told.

she has a hard time trusting herself with choosing what’s good for her. instead, she listens to the opinions of others. she puts a lot of weight on it, and can come across as spineless. an industry puppet. she’s on stage dancing and singing, but her heart is somewhere else. still, it doesn’t stop her from putting everything else she has into it.

even when it’s something she doesn’t particularly want, becca is nothing but grateful. she works until she sweats and until she has blisters. she is nothing if not persistent. everything is done graciously, because becca doesn’t do much, if anything, out of spite.

at times it can all come crashing in on her, though. for someone that cares a lot about what people think, having ten million people look your way constantly can be overwhelming. she’s naturally introverted and leans on this during these times. lots of time at home with her cats, watching films, baking, hiding away from the world.

becca doesn’t date or party in public because she’s so intensely afraid of scandal or judgement. that doesn’t stop her from going out, but she’s more likely to hold the purses and help get someone home than she is to dance on a table. still, she avoids judging anyone herself. she worries for everyone else, and only wants to see the people around her succeed.

𝕨 𝕒 𝕟 𝕥 𝕖 𝕕  𝕔 𝕠 𝕟 𝕟 𝕖 𝕔 𝕥 𝕚 𝕠 𝕟 𝕤 ,

good influence. perhaps another pop singer that helps her out, works as a confidante, someone she asks tips of and helps her get into something she’s not fully adjusted to yet. ‘don’t play that venue, it sucks’ typa friend.

ride or die. someone that’s known her since her good ol’ tv days and has stuck by her. someone she tells all her secrets to, someone that she confides in with her secret of not really wanting to do music at all. basically, they’d tell each other everything and keep it under lock and key.

enemies. maybe a rival? it could be new, perhaps an award show slip up, or an old enemy from her tv days. it could be a two-way street, purely online beef, or some mutual dislike through the grapevine.

her personal mess. someone that’s messy as hell that becca takes care of. she gets them home after a wild night, or comes in to do damage control before any paps get a view of what’s happening. she helps protect them and their image.

friends turned sour. despite her kind nature, becca can easily be accused of living a lie or being inauthentic. someone that was once her friend but can’t stand her inability to tell people no, or do what she really wants. 

jump off the trainwreck. since she’s so obsessed with her image, perhaps she could have an enemy that was someone she abandoned after a scandal? the ‘i can’t associate with you’ type thing because it brings headlines, and they aren’t fond that she lets the media get in the way of their relationship. could be a platonic one or a romantic one.

behind closed doors. someone she’s seeing but refuses to tell anyone about because she’s afraid what people will think, or doesn’t want to be scrutinized for it. the other muse could either agree, or be frustrated with their situation.

shout out to my ex. maybe they dated and either they write a song about becca that goes viral or vice versa. names may not be named, but there’s tons of speculation by fans and there’s definitely some tension / drama about who and what it’s fully about, but maybe only they know!

and of course, any exes, hookups, casual friends, etc. are up for grabs !

[questionsandanswerss]

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relationships • finding love

IN PRAISE OF UNREQUITED LOVE

We are a practical species, and when we think of love, it is normal to focus on the sort that goes places, that is mutual, that leads people to form couples and perhaps one day households.

But the more peculiar reality is that the greatest share of humanity’s love stories have unfolded in a directionless form in the recesses of the mind of only one party. It seems that we are – in aggregate at least – committed first and foremost to the unrequited version of love.



At any point, millions of love stories are quietly being spun by one person while the object of their adoration goes about their business blithely unconcerned. Someone watches someone else on a train, casts surreptitious glances at a delegate at a conference; carefully notes a fellow shopper’s manner in a grocery store – and the earth spins on undisturbed.  

Unrequited lovers are easy to dismiss as not far from pathetic. If we were better designed and a little saner, we would of course never develop feelings for people who were not prepared to develop them for us – nor squander our days on desires without logical or practical outcome.



But, looked at more benevolently, there is something hugely salutary and noble about our capacity to entertain tender daydreams. It is a feat to be able to detonate powerful longings without causing any inconvenience to others. The ability to daydream is a significant human achievement. Rather than wishing that we stop doing so, we should be worried by what might happen to us if we couldn’t daydream, if we were faced with the choice of either accepting reality in all its barrenness or else of barging into the lives of others with unwanted desires. Daydreaming is a vital and artful safety valve, mediating between resignation on the one hand and uncontained effusions on the other.

Along the way, unrequited love provides us with an occasion to exercise our aptitudes for optimism in a highly salutary way. After a few decades on the earth, it is only too easy to start to hate our fellow humans for their mediocrity, selfishness and idiocy. But with our beloved in mind, we can, for once, give free reign to a boundless generosity that a god or the parent of a newborn might deploy. We can tell ourselves that we have found an angel, an exalted being, on the basis of nothing more than how wise their green eyes look or how delicately they open their yogurt for lunch. Our verdicts are a delusional exaggeration, but – given how much grounds there is to despair at the human experiment – perhaps a noble and forgivable one as well.



It’s the privilege of unrequited love never to have to encounter the disappointment that follows from contact with reality. We are not after accurate knowledge of what it would be like to coexist with this person. We don’t really want to know how they might behave in the midst of a crisis at work or over a holiday with their parents. We’ve been through enough such trials – and the results aren’t edifying. Of course they would, after a time in our arms, prove less than ideal and a little more like everyone else we know. We may be denied intimacy, but we are granted access to something arguably far nicer: boundless hope. We can attach to the form and figure of the person we desire everything we so want to be true about human beings. The beloved becomes the repository of every desire: for a particular kind of intelligence, wit, temperament and outlook. The older we get, the more unrequited love brings us back into contact with a passion and hope that feels like an essential relief, like finding out that we can still run – or giggle. In meditating on our beloved, we’re not getting to know a real person; we are gaining an insight into our ideals.

[thepoeticwit]

In Praise of Unrequited Love

(I just realised that they had a blog with just about the same essay while transcribing all of this, but never mind.)       We are a practical species, and when we think of love it’s normal to think of the sort that goes places, that’s mutual, that leads people to form couples, and perhaps one day-- households. But the more peculiar reality is that the greatest share of humanity’s love stories have unfolded in a directionless form in the recesses of the mind of only one party. It seems that we are-- in aggregate at least-- committed first and foremost to the unrequited version of love. At any point, millions of love stories are quietly being spun by one person while the object of their adoration goes about their business blindly unconcerned. Someone watches someone else on a train; casts surreptitious glances at a delegate at a conference; carefully notes a fellow shopper’s manner at a grocery store; and the earth spins on undisturbed. 

         Unrequited lovers are easy to dismiss as not far from pathetic. If we were better designed and a little saner, we would, of course, never develop feelings for people who are not prepared to develop them for us, nor squander our days on desires without logical or practical outcome. But looked at more benevolently, there is something hugely salutary and more noble about our capacity to entertain daydreams. It is a feat to be able to detonate powerful longings without causing any inconvenience to other people. The ability to daydream is a significant human achievement. Rather than wishing that we stop doing so, we should be worried by what might happen to us if we couldn’t daydream; if we were faced with a choice of either accepting reality in all its barrenness, or else of barging into the lives of other people with our unwanted desires. Daydreaming is a vital and artful safety valve, mediating between resignation on one hand, and uncontained effusions on the other. 

             Along the way, unrequited love provides us with an occasion to exercise our aptitudes for optimism. After a few decades on the earth, it’s only too easy to start to hate our fellow humans for their mediocrity, selfishness and idiocy. But, with our beloved in mind, we can for once, give free reign to a boundless generosity that a god or the parent of a newborn might deploy. We can tell ourselves that we have found an angel, an exalted being, on the basis of nothing more than how wise their green eyes look or how delicately they open their yogurt for lunch. Our verdicts are a delusional exaggeration but -- given how much grounds there is to the despair of the human experiment-- perhaps a noble and forgivable one as well.

               It is the privilege of unrequited love never to have to encounter the disappointment that follows from contact with reality. We are not after accurate knowledge of what it would be like to co-exist with this person. We don’t really want to know how they might behave in the midst of a crisis at work, or over a holiday with their parents. We’ve been through enough such trials--and the results aren’t edifying. Of course they would, after a time in our arms, prove less than ideal and a little more like everyone else we know. We may be denied intimacy, but we are granted access to something arguably far nicer: boundless hope. We can attach to the form and figure of the person we desire everything we so want to be true about human beings. The beloved becomes the repository of every desire; for a particular kind of intelligence, wit, temperament, and outlook. The older we get, the more unrequited love brings us back into contact with a passion and hope that feels like an essential relief-- like finding out we can still run, or giggle.

         In meditating on the beloved, we’re not getting to know a real person; we’re gaining an insight on our ideals. One day, perhaps, in the not-too-distant future, we’ll be surrounded by “thought police” that would look inside our minds at will, and ruthlessly condemn us for all the phantasmagoria that goes on in them. But, for the moment at least, we can have any thought we like with impunity. We and the beloved can go on a holiday to Portugal, can have four adorable children together, can dance in the town square all night; and the armed guards will never know. 

        It’s hard to share with most acquaintances quite what we’re going through, but those who do understand become the targets of particular gratitude. A true friend will indulge our folly and be generous to our melodramas. They would avoid the easy task of censoring and upbraiding us. They would have enough of an impression of our basic mental health to shepherd us only gently back to melancholic sanity. 

         Episodes of unrequited love force us to develop a sense of humour about ourselves. It’s impossible to think too well of who we are in that aftermath. Unrequited love edges us inevitably towards a basic humility. We are, at last, confirmed as truly ridiculous. With any luck, no one gets hurt. It’s just that for a time, the world seems a bit more wondrous, more exciting, and more blessed than usual. A natural impulse is to try to convert our longings into something more sensible: either to start a proper love affair, or else to dismiss our dreams as “too silly to nurture”. 

          Maybe we should do neither, but rather let the unrequited love exist on its own: neither fully grown up, nor wholly damnable; neither deeply horrible, nor quite sane. It’s just the mind, a very complicated machine, constrained by the narrowness of existence, turning its wheels, tantalised by a vision of happiness and sensing quite rightly and quite hopelessly, that there could’ve been so much more to life than there ever really will be.  Source:  https://youtu.be/e4t4PliUmdI “In Praise of Unrequited Love” by The School of Life Also, see: https://www.theschooloflife.com/thebookoflife/in-praise-of-unrequited-love/?utm_source=You%20Tube&utm_medium=You%20Tube%20-%20In%20Praise%20of%20Unrequited%20Love%20-%20Video%20Description%20-%20TBOL%20Article&utm_campaign=You%20Tube%20-%20In%20Praise%20of%20Unrequited%20Love%20-%20Video%20Description%20-%20TBOL%20Article

[ohthatbunnygirl]

A modern Adam Driver Drabble for @these-are-the-first-steps that is based entirely on our conversation about our mutual obsession with Adam Driver’s thighs in this commercial. This is absurd, but also probably an accurate representation of all of us in the face of his beefy legs IRL.

________________________________

Astronaut, ballerina, and actress are all shiny, glittery careers that little kids go starry-eyed over. Those are the jobs that kids are encouraged to believe will garner them fame, fortune, and all that necessary applause. Those are the brass rings you aim for even when you’re still clinging on to monkey bars.

After all, why wouldn’t you want to be a cowboy who saves the day? Why wouldn’t it be nice to end up as a beloved football star who earns that winning point? Yes, every last one of those elusive jobs are inspirational as hell when you’re younger, but the woman sipping her lukewarm craft service coffee was fairly certain that a commercial script supervisor was never anybody’s dream job.

And if that job was miraculously an ultimate goal for some kid, then that child was obviously weird and wrong.

Closing in on hour thirteen of a should-have-been-eight-hour commercial shoot, the script girl jotted down notes. Her vision going blurry from the lovely combination of a lack of sleep plus too much caffeine. Her pale fingers actually jittery around her pen, but she couldn’t afford to falter. Nope, not when it was all on her slim shoulders to make sure that no dialogue ended up garbled. Not when a harsh word from the stuffy producer beside her could send her late twenties perky butt packing up home early if she dared to accidentally miss an actor’s cue.

Focus. Focus. Keep baldy happy.

One look around the room confirmed that everybody else was tense that night. On top of all the normal crew members the creatives were on set that day. Those Manhattan marketing savvy folks mixing in with the advertisers talking a million miles a minute to the clients. It appeared that everybody that day had an opinion, or fifteen. After going back and forth over matters as important as sound -or as insignificant as an extra’s lipstick color- the production had finally managed to reach scene eleven. The day was grueling, and when all was said and done the script girl wouldn’t even receive any of the glamorous accolades or praise. Best case scenario, she’d hopefully scrap by with another job offer for the future. There was truly nothing fab about her position, but the work paid the bills that day, and so the plucky worker bee took another sip of coffee. Wearing something faintly similar to a smile when they announced the next swap of actors.

Last pair! Thank God, but not you baldy because you’re clearly in league with the devil.

Stealthily giving the producer next to her the stink eye, the girl entirely missed the entrance of the first actor. Never noticing that it was Adam Driver until his unmistakable husky voice asked for an eye line. Without missing a beat the camera assistant held up two fingers for the actor’s gaze to follow; and after Adam figured out where to look his gaze shifted back forward. Meeting that poor script girl’s stare right as her mouth widened into a shocked o.

Oh no! Stop!

Stop staring at him like a lovesick guppy!

At least twice a day, she saw celebrities. A perk of her job was viewing charismatic millionaires in their natural habitat, and so the crew member didn’t normally gawk --but this was Adam Driver. He was her celeb crush. He was the insanely hot, ridiculously talented actor who made her nearly spray milky coffee out of her mouth once she’d spotted him. He was a guy (her favorite guy) whose multiple masturbation scenes from ‘Girls’ she’d watched more times than was entirely healthy. Yes, this was the guy of all guys who had no idea that he’d been involved in multiple fanfics involving tentacles that she’d at least read the summary of before deciding that no, she was not into that yet...yet.

Standing there in practically painted on black jeans and a white button up shirt, Adam radiated strength and humble charm. He didn’t shout for attention like other actors. He didn’t make demands other than warmly accepting a Diet Coke with a straw for a much needed energy jolt. Even while not doing much, he was causing the poor girl’s heart to almost thump out of her shirt and it wasn’t fair.

It so wasn’t fair that there was a makeup stain on her shirt, and it sure as heck wasn’t fair that the bags under her eyes were heavy enough that they would have been charged an extra twenty-five bucks on a flight, and it also was one hundred percent not fair that Adam was happily married to another insanely hot lady who’d he’d likely shack up with later that night.

Nope, not one bit of those facts was fair.

But the show had to go on, and so the girl glanced back down to her notes. Marking up the script with the last slate number and a note before suddenly hearing her voice being called out.

“Huh?” she bobbed her chin up.

“Can you pop in for a second?” the second assistant director repeated himself, pointing to the position beside Adam. “Your hair is brownish enough, you’re not completely short, and the actress’s stand-in isn’t answering her walkie. We need to make sure lighting setup works if we’re going to shoot soon, and so would you mind, love?”

“Sitting next to Adam?”

“Yes.”

In the back of her throat a weird rumbling squeak came out. “Yeeeeah, no prob.”

While gently placing her trusty binder down, the usually professional girl gave herself a pep talk. Getting herself fired up to totally casually walk like a normal human being when she strolled over. Saddling up beside the actor with an ease bordering on appearing bored, she’d accomplished phase one of her plan. Not embarrassing herself yet before flashing her best version of an I’m-totally-not-imagining-your-BDSM-fic-I-read-last-night smile.

Extending his hand, the actor introduced himself, “Adam.”

Oh my God, he totally bought how casual you are. Perfect. You’re doing great!

“Yes.”

Shoot...was that a decent reply? Sounded like more of a confirmation of his name versus the beginning of a conversation but try again. Be cool. Be icy. Don’t think about how many times you’ve read about his dick referenced as pulsing.

Nope, don’t even think about one tiny throb --not even one engorgement.

Don’t be garbage. Don’t be garbage. Don’t be garbage.

“I’m-” she started to introduce herself before the assistant director’s shrill voice cut her off.

“Both look forward, please.”

“Oh,” the far lower on the totem poll worker blushed. “Of course.”

Studying them both, the director’s lips twitched down into his hundredth frown of the day. No doubt painfully aware of how many extra thousands were sucked down the drain the more he got wrong. Frenzied stress gathered tight in his shoulders, but unable to sacrifice his vision the director took time before waving his hand. “Square your shoulders, please...err, a little less square though.”

Scratching at his thinning hair, the director shook his head. “The height difference is weird.”

“Sorry about that.” Adam chuckled, instinctively curving his back as if he’d heard that all his life. “I’m a bit corn-fed”

“No, no, no. You’re perfect. You’re good.”

In front of the girl’s face, a light meter reading earned a less than pleased smile from a camera assistant. It shouldn’t have been personal, but the script supervisor couldn’t help feeling for a beat that she was somehow failing the job of standing up straight. Oh, the poor girl felt downright miserable at human-ing.

Maybe trash queen is my natural state. Maybe this is all the proof I need that I’m clearly best while all crumpled up at the altar of this flawless man. I mean, would you look at his hair?  It’s so shiny. It’s fucking glossy, and it smells like sea salt and bergamot. Gah, he smells like man with just a hint of a woman who cares enough for him to buy Aveda conditioner.

Tilting his head to the side, the director weighed his options. Going back and forth before hurriedly barking out, “Do you think that you can sit on his leg?”

“Y-yes.”

Glancing down, the girl caught sight of her weakness: his thighs. His humongous, obscenely ripped leg barely contained in his black jeans. Those meaty muscles straining more than any decent limb should. Each juicy hammy begging for a bite.

Turning around, she straddled his thigh. Not realizing that she’d messed up the easy instructions until Adam’s eyebrow arched high in confusion.

“Oh, hmm.” he chuckled, flashing her a dimple. ”Hello there, but I think he meant the other way.”

“Aaaah, yes,” she laughed into a snort. Closing her humiliated eyes so as not to stare into his hazel orbs of loveliness as she stood up again again. “That would make sense.”

Going out for round two, she sat down. Legs spread in the right direction this time before her rear made contact with the boulder that he passed off as a leg. Sitting there for a split second before she gulped. Sucking down a breath and her sanity as she experienced the full swing of emotions that came from sitting on his leg. It was glorious. Sitting there was transcendent, and it took all her willpower to bite back the shaky unprofessional moans that threatened to sneak out. Holding on with every fiber of her being to keep it together, but also not worried one bit about the iPhone in her pocket possibly crushing if it meant feeling his thigh on her body (and worried even less about looking lovesick in front of her boss if only she could continue to sit on Adam’s massive, beefy, stupidly hot, shouldn’t be legal thigh).

Holy hell, I think that if I inch back, I could actually get off on him. Would he notice?

Yeah, he’d definitely notice...but what if I pretend I’m just shifting to get comfortable?

About twenty low-key shifts should do it…No, that’s creepy. Don’t do that!

Don’t do that.

But I wanna...

“Are you comfortable?” Adam interrupted her inner ramblings, and his politeness killed her as she’d so recently considered dry humping him.

“Never better.”

Oh, that was a weird ass reply. Go you!

“You’re funny.”

I’m funny?! He thinks I’m funny! I win at life. Everybody else go home!

“I’m kind of out of my element.”

“Sounds about right for our industry,” he assured her with another far too kind smile. “Always keeping you on the top of your toes --or my thigh.”

They shared a laugh.

Not a weird laugh this time, but a pure simple laugh.

They were having a moment.

After all her sordid fantasies they were somehow meeting as equals and having a moment. She wasn’t a fan accosting him in a supermarket. She wasn’t a journalist abusing her position to flirt. Nope, the script supervisor was a peer. A respected ally sitting like a beacon of professionalism on top of his ever loving beautiful thigh.

I have ascended!

Despite the fifty other people in the warehouse, she was flying on cloud nine. Soaring weightless above the stuffy hipster PA named Sebastian. Cruising above the teamsters chowing down on their sandwiches. Flying absolutely high on life while preparing another bit of witty conversation when all of the sudden her name was called again.

“Ok, hop on up. We got it.”

Standing up, she cast one last glance back at the best seat she’d ever taken for a ride.

Goodbye fair thigh, I loved you well.