#an unprofessional gives advice

[unganseylike]

very excited about the new covid vaccines. uncertain why my father is trying to give us what appears to be culturally christian vaccine guidance

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Not a dream, advice and help needed

I am so tired of scammers in dog cancer supplement world

Our vet recommended us to use Yunnan baiyao supplements on top of chemo to give the best chance for our dog who has sarcoma to do well

Except, there is not a single place to buy it at in Croatia

Last month we had a situation with a site in Germany but ended up receiving the goods after a lot of back and forth and a lot of stress

Now my mom ordered from another site and they were supposed to send her 6x6 packages but only sent her one set of six

She contacted their customer service and they apologized for the mistake (that's over 300 euros worth of products not being sent + she paid around 100 euro customs for the products because of the overall price, but didn't receive the products she paid for) and promised to send the products on their dime, but now they have contacted her again claiming she received everything already, when that's not the case

The size and weight of the package prove that

Trustpilot had a good score for the store that just went down to 2.7 with two new reviews that only recently appeared

Does anyone have any idea what can we do? Who to report this to if they refuse to send products that we paid for, that we bought for our dying dog?

We're over 400 euros out (over 430 usd) for products we didn't receive

As a family that lives paycheck to paycheck and we scrambled to cover this (I worked overtime many days to help) this is such a significant amount of money to pay for something not received

And the fact they admitted their mistake and then went back on it really scares me that we're not going to receive neither the products nor the refund

Not to mention that the customs were calculated for the full price, not the price received

It is so predatory to prey on desperate owners of dying animals like this

And it is reall, unprofessional to act this way, too

The site is American, btw. so please Americans help with advice

I believe they are located in Texas

If they do not end up sending us anything, who can we report them to?

[luveline]

I read the Derek and Spencer fainting bit and now I want to complete it with Hotch :)))

If that’s alright of course…

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Aaron knows you harbour more affection for him than anyone else on the team, which is a true compliment to him, as you adore Spencer. He can never tell if you're friendly or loving, if you want some or all or nothing, the line between you blurred. 

When Morgan and Garcia first began their flirtatious friendship, Aaron thought they were seeing each other on the sly for a whole fortnight. He's a profiler, but he doesn't know everything. 

He does, however, know that something is wrong with you today. Hand held up over your eyes, you squint out over the crime scene with a wrinkled nose. The lakeside smells as bad as it looks with gore blackening the surrounding grass. He's been telling you for months to get some shades. You've been ignoring his advice. 

Your disapproval of the smell is normal. Your unsure footing is not. You take his forearm when he offers it and step across the muddy bank to the body without audible complaint, though you give him a 'this fucking sucks' narrowing of the eyes when he gives you the time. 

"Agent Hotchner," a deputy greets, "Agent L/N. We found the second body here. Bystanders pulled the first out thinking she was still alive, but that was unfortunately not the case." 

You shift unprofessionally close to Aaron. He doesn't really care. The sheriff barely looks at you both, his attention on the corpse hidden between overgrown cattails. 

Aaron hates to admit that he gives you more of his attention than is helpful. You seem odd. Call it intuition, call it plain old profiling, Aaron reads the next minute of events in the smallest twitch of your finger.

You put your hand on his back and he doesn't think, he just grabs you. The sheriff deputy startles as you fold over Aaron's arm like a marionette with strings sliced, exhaling hard as your body does its best to hit the grass beneath your feet. 

"Agent L/N!" The deputy yelps. 

"I got her," Aaron says, easing you down to the ground. He keeps a hand behind your head to lay you down flat, the other quick to leap from your side to your cheek. You'll likely have bruises in the shape of his hands at your waist. "Y/N?" 

He rubs his thumb under your eye. Quick, he leans down with an ear to your lips and relaxes at the sound of your shallow breathing. He pulls away, resting a hand atop your chest. 

"Can you hear me?" he asks, conscious of and ignoring the copious pairs of eyes watching over you. 

You don't respond. Aaron goes into emergency mode, flagging down a cop who races for a paramedic, hands at your throat unbuttoning the first button on your blouse, the second in an overabundance of caution. 

"Y/N, if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that?" His tone wavers somewhere between demanding and desperate. "Come on. Come on." 

Fainting is one thing. Fainting with no signs of dehydration and little sun exposure is another, especially considering you hadn't moved from one position to another. You've passed out with no obvious cause. Any number of things could be wrong. 

He doesn't slap you —it works in the movies and not often elsewhere. In fact, Aaron finds himself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Patient outwardly and insanely panicked on the inside, he holds your face in his hand and waits for someone to tell him you're alright. 

Your breath catches, your head lolling into his palm. He straightens it, weary of your airways. "Y/N? Tell me you can hear me." 

The whirlwind of your fall and the eternity of your recovery has him holding his breath. 

"I can hear you," you mumble, again attempting to turn your head. He lets you this time. He's so relieved, he'd let you do anything. 

He fights the urge to shout, Where's the medic? instead following your face, tilting his head to the side. "Open your eyes, honey," he murmurs, for your ears alone. 

Your lashes twitch against his pinky index finger. You frown as though you're in pain and finally rouse to attention. 

"What hurts?" he asks, brows furrowed.

"Nothing hurts…" Your frown worsens. "You look really unhappy." 

"I'm not ecstatic about this," he says. He gives in, shouting, "Where's the medic?"

"Oh, no, please," you say, trying to sit up, "that is so embarrassing."

Aaron pushes you flat to the grass beneath you. "Stop, you need to stay flat. You passed out. This is the solution–" He puts his hand flat over your chest as you put in some effort. "Hey, this is what you need to do. Listen to me, agent." 

"What happened to honey?" you ask quietly. 

"That's when you were doing what I wanted." 

You close your eyes in a faux strop. "I guess I'll have to do what you want more often, sir." 

"That's enough." He sounds fond. Why does he sound so fond? 

The deputy clears his throat. "Paramedics are here." 

You groan. Aaron hides a smile. Through everything, his hand has stayed on your cheek. He doesn't pull it away until he absolutely has to, and even then, he holds some part of you. Your elbow, your wrist. He has the sense to be sheepish about it when the paramedic ushers him back, but even then, he's thinking about when he'll get to touch you next; he needs the assurance that you're okay. 

He gets it a half hour later when you're sipping on a gatorade in the back of an SUV. 

"Do I still get paid for today?" you ask, smiling playfully. "Or is this a write off?" 

He wants to joke about it with you, but there's work to be done. He sends you back to the hotel with a frankly unprofessional hug and a demand to take it easy. He's sure you'll be back stepping on his heels by late afternoon. 

[elizabebabe]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐠𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ꕤ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: yoga teacher y/n’s student has her thinking unprofessional thoughts.

minors dni!

| “you got so wet so quickly…been a while since someone touched you baby?”

| “damn — spread open for me, on your mat?”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: use of y/n, pet name, smut with little plot, fingering, f!masturbation, fantasies, horny!y/n, lowk lonely!y/n.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k!

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬: kicking off the remodel with a one-shot !! zabe loves yoga, zabe loves chris, mix em together?

“today we’ll be doing a few more advanced stretches, stretching out your backs, calves and any other tight muscles.” your voice echoed through the studio, your students crisscrossed on their mats awaiting instruction.

you had early morning classes every day of the week but wednesday was particularly your favorite since you got to see a certain student, his name was chris and yes he was handsome but he also cared about your profession or…maybe less about your profession and more about yoga itself.

he wanted you to help him fix his bad back, asking questions, asking for advice, you needed to be professional which is why all your attempts of asking for his number ended in failure.

you turned on your speakers, the usual calm, lyricless music waving through the room, also not forgetting to turn off the lights to give a more relaxed feel you always wanted to share with your students.

“we’re gonna start how we always start, savasana.” you scrambled around the room, stepping between bodies laying atop their personal mats ensuring everyone knew what they were doing.

you took 3-4 minutes to correct anyone making mistakes and marking who could use a bit of help, some days of the week you had kids joining in with their guardian, on wednesdays you have a pretty mixed group of ages so it can be hard to “grade”.

“alright, that’s savasana.” 

“come up to ‘mountain’ pose.” you continue, stepping on your mat to follow along to your own instructions, trying to ignore your eyes telling you to gaze at the brunette man in the front row.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

after an hour of tough stretches, your class huffed and puffed on their way out but one man stayed behind.

“hey.” he nudged at your turned back.

“oh! hi.” the interaction taking you by surprise as you never really interacted, “what can i do for you.” you smiled awkwardly.

“well, with the ‘cobra’ pose.” he hiked his yoga mats strap over his shoulder, “i’m struggling with getting my back that low, it kinda hurts.” he says with a cute, loose smile maybe embarrassed by what he’s saying.

“oh no! if it hurts, find a way to make it more comfortable for you.” you gestured with your hands.

“it shouldn’t hurt, maybe uncomfortable but it shouldn’t hurt—“ the rambling of yours continued.

he snickered which interrupted your words, “thanks.” he gently patted your shoulder before turning towards and out the glass door.

the embarrassment he felt now flipped on you as you wanted to crawl into a hole from the exchange.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

your drive home was silent as you sat overthinking about what played on your mind, ‘he just wanted advice, he doesn’t like you.’

‘why did he touch you then?’

‘it was a pat on the damn shoulder, did you see how fast he got out of there?’

you felt crazy as voices in your head fought over something so small, your key turned into the knob of your apartment door, remembering the exam you promised yourself to study for.

you were in community college, typically only having one class a day left lots of time to work on your yoga studio your parents helped pay for.

you threw your tote and mat to the ground, ignoring the thought to change into some of your loose pajamas and sitting at your small dining table for one.

the first few minutes of studying were fine, even taking off your fitted white jacket as you got in the zone. you were able to focus and concentrate on the work ahead of you but that didn’t stop the little voice in your head nagging about him.

you knew his name was chris or at least that’s what he filled out on the forms you had tucked in a random cabinet—

‘this is crazy.’ you huffed before averting your attention back to your notebook.

…

you scrolled through your phone immediately contradicting yourself by looking for different chris’s throughout social media — ‘doesn't he follow the studio's instagram?’

you scrolled through the following list before finding him, his handsome face adorning his profile picture and only a few photos on his feed, but you loved every second of scrolling through them..

adjusting yourself in your chair every so often at the sight of his beautifully crafted face, you couldn't help your fingers sliding past the waistband of your tight leggings that matched that thrown fitted jacket and quickly underneath your light blue panties that you could only hope chris would see one day.

your fingers quickly found your wet folds slipping through the slick and imagining it was the man from your front row, “you got so wet so quickly…been a while since someone touched you baby?” his voice echoed through your head.

the guilt you felt from thinking about him almost warranted you to stop but when your finger accidentally grazed over your clit you couldn’t stop yourself.

the actions continued, one of your fingers dipping into your soppy hole, another leaving airy touches on your clit.

it wasn’t enough, even with his face and his veiny hands you remember pressing firmly into the mat beneath him you couldn’t hit the right spots you knew those long fingers of his could.

but it didn’t stop you from trying, you pushed deeper into yourself once you slid down the wooden chair you uncomfortably sat in the position of your hips reminding you of when you instructed him through a certain pose even showing him a private demonstration, your fingers curling and grazing that spongy spot you aimed for, you remember that day, silently begging him to make a move, touch you in a any way but he never did.

trying to focus on your fantasy as you pumped into yourself made you wetter, “damn — spread open for me, on your mat?” you imagined him laying you down, taking his time while he undressed you, your drippy hole dripping onto the mat beneath you both.

“you’re gonna have to clean this later.” he says, scissoring his fingers inside you, eliciting a moan from your throat.

“gonna think about me when you do it?” 

“how wet i get you?” he continued.

“chris..” you grunted as your body buzzed and legs shook, you were close and all because you “stumbled” upon his instagram, your fingers picked up speed, vigorous motion ensued on your sensitive bud.

the rope snapping in your stomach halting your movements, your mouth agape and sweat dotting your skin.

a certain ’ding’ brought your attention back to your phone.

an instagram dm, a unexpected “can we talk?” from the man you finished all over your fingers for.

second smut baby !! and it’s about my man..

i hate this :( that’s why it took me so long to post bc i was debating whether it was too lackluster but i wanted to post something while i work on longer things, again thank you for the support on ‘southern belle’ and i love you. 🕰️

🏷️ @fratbrochrisgf @3lizaluvs @lily-strnlo @i-love-ptv @venusjaynie @jetaimevous @lizzysmith110 @firexovni @bagsbyclair0

i hope you’re satisfied with your purchase!

© elizabebabe

[grimm-writings]

Can I request something (I leave the format up to you) for Chilchuck x reader where the reader genuinely asks Chilchuck for his opinions and thoughts on things? (dungeon related things, union stuff, that sort of thing) Since he mentioned how he would like to be taken serious/respected like Senshi.

Basically reader respects Chilchuck and might have developed a little crush on him as well but doesn't want to make him uncomfortable by being unprofessional so they don't act on it. Maybe it's mutual.

Chilchuck is skilled as fuck and it would be nice if he got some well deserved genuine praise and appreciation for it.

mutual

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, headcanon format, some very very lightly implied maturity difference, marcille #1 wingwoman, reader is taller than chil

…wc! 992

…notes! YOU ARE SO CORRECT he’s genuinely such a valuable asset to the team!! every bit of praise here is well-earned!!!! 

You joined the party along with Senshi at the very start of their journey.  The group was rather small and you’d fear something might happen if they traverse the dungeon on their own.  You felt as if it were your duty to help out, eager to please as you are.

You realised fast that despite the dysfunctional way the group decided to acquire their food, they’re actually much more competent than you thought!

Though this is really you generalising your admiration for the picklock of the group.  Being more combat oriented, the ways in which Chilchuck easily bypasses puzzles and open doors left you rapt with his skill.

Before you knew it, you had acquired a notebook and pencil of your own (that you deliberated on robbing from orcs for a while before caving), and you were jotting down notes like nobody’s business!

(Only when alone or on night guard.  If anyone knew, you’d be so embarrassed…)

When Chilchuck offers a piece of advice about the social behaviours of adventuring parties, you notice.  When Chilchuck offhandedly mentions a tricky aspect of the dungeon, you notice.

When Chilchuck scolds Senshi for treating him like a child, you notice.

You had a feeling he wasn’t a child.  You were sort of observing him unendingly, and he seemed the image of a jaded, experienced adventurer.  You can’t help but feel your admiration for him grow upon realising that. 

It’s difficult not to come across too eager as you’re imploring him for more knowledge.  You’re just curious!  You’re expanding your dungeon knowledge!  He’s happy to tell you anything you need to know, as casually and calmly as any good teacher.

But you know deep down that you’re just really attached to the half-foot.  Maybe too attached…

When someone (Senshi) makes a comment about Chilchuck, even before he could retort like usual you’re standing in front of him telling him what’s what!  Chilchuck is too taken aback to make much of a comment about it afterwards, but he seems… pleased.

(It’s giving “his pronouns are they/them!”)

Marcille and Laios give each other a look whenever this happens.  Not saying you’re being judged, but…

Your earnestness to be the pinnacle of dungeon exploration gives Chilchuck pride in being your mentor.  He’ll make a comment about it occasionally but deep down…

You kind of wish it could be more.

You’re not young necessarily.  You’re years into your adulthood, but even with that in mind, Chilchuck already made it quite clear that inter-party relations are strictly a no-no.

And you just had to go and break rule number one!

It does leave you staring longingly at the half-foot’s peaceful expression when you’re supposed to be on night watch, wishing for a different reality.

It would be part way through your adventure, long after you’ve given up hope on your feelings being reciprocated, when Chilchuck gives you a spot of hope.

Just a run-in with a bicorn can really change your perspective…  Chilchuck actually asked if he could talk, just one-on-one, with you.

You had to contain yourself from exploding when you accepted, following behind him into a nearby corridor.  You pretend to ignore Marcille’s giggles and Izutsumi’s sigh and eyeroll. 

Just had to hold your breath…

Chilchuck turns to you, looking apprehensive.  You do appreciate his progress of trying to be a bit more open to people.  You’re always his number one supporter without even being coddling…  He takes a breath looking up at you.  If you only knew what you did to him with each round of praise and appreciation. …Well, only one way to get there, yeah? He says your name with a weight.  One you’re not able to put to name.  “I haven’t been… entirely honest with you,” he tells you. Your chest tightens and you feel your blood run cold.  “What… What do you mean?” “Nothing bad!”  He’s quick to ease your fears with a desperate wave of his hands.  He’s still working on this, and you can tell from how red his face gets that he’s definitely struggling with this.  You watch his Adam’s apple (small, but noticeable if you stare long enough) (not like you have) bob as he gulps. His gloved hands take yours.  You try your hardest not to blush. “You know how I keep telling you that you should get ahead?  Promote yourself to join the parties of more experienced adventurers?” “Yeah…?” “I was trying to push you away.”  He looks away from you, ashamed.  “So you don’t get any closer.  I also know… how you feel about me.” You’re back to feeling horrified beyond your wits. He's definitely going to reject you.  “I thought you said this wasn’t anything bad!” “I’m getting to it!”  He shoots back with the same increase in volume.  His nerves are getting the better of him. “Then by all means,” you say, “get to it!” Chilchuck’s hands over yours are shaking.  His mouth opens once more, but only a silent quiver of his vocal cords comes out.  He isn’t even looking at you anymore.  You probably think the worst of him by now, after all this time of trying his best to look his best, the image of professionalism. You know what?  Fuck this heart-to-heart stuff.  Marcille’s advice was shoddy from the start. The action is sudden.  Chilchuck unlaced his fingers from yours, and before you could process it, his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down to his height. And he’s kissing you.  A bit feverishly and you really would have thought he’d be a bit better at this considering his experience– But you kiss back, easing into it after your shocked “mmph!?”  He still definitely owes you for putting you through the five stages of grief twice though. Chilchuck breaks apart, and as you recover from your shock, he sighs and smiles slightly.  His face is nearly glowing from the heat; you can feel it quite plainly. “The feeling’s mutual,” he whispers.

[freelancearsonist]

Parts and Labor

➔ Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - 5k

➔ Eddie’s van is practically falling apart, but he doesn’t have the heart to replace it. Luckily for him, you’re willing to put in the effort to fix it—as long as he helps.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (f receiving), heavy petting, creampie, fingering, cumplay, Eddie has scars and lies about where he got them, reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader is a mechanic [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

“SHIT, FUCK!”

Eddie slams down the hood of his van, kicks the front tire as hard as he can, then winces–both at the sudden pain in his foot and at the overreaction.

“Come on baby, please,” he pleads futilely to the unresponsive engine. “I’ll give you anything, just start.”

The engine, apparently, won’t be seduced.

Eddie digs through the pocket of his low-slung jeans, finds a dime somewhere in the pile of gum wrappers and old receipts, and runs to stick the coin into the nearest payphone booth.

The garage answers on the last ring, and Eddie doesn’t even have to identify himself. They’re almost as familiar with his junker van as he is himself. They’ve wrung more money out of him for repairs than the damned thing is worth, and Eddie knows it. He knows the vehicle is on its deathbed–repeatedly resuscitated at this point–and that he should just replace it. But he can’t. Beyond fear of hurting its feelings, he’s become attached to it. He’s made memories in that stupid van. To him, replacing his ride would be like wading a huge portion of his life up and throwing it in the trash. He just won’t do it.

The garage is merciful enough to give him a ride there along with towing his poor, lifeless van. He’s not eager to spend a day in the waiting room sipping lukewarm black coffee, but he needs to be there for her. His lady is dying–waiting for news from her doctors is the least he can do.

He forgets all about his lady when you walk through the door.

You’re the Porche 944 of women. He’s never seen anything or anyone quite as breathtaking as you–with the small grease smudge on your cheek, your hair pulled back so sloppily that half of it is already fallen down, and your denim overalls unclipped on one side to show off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt you wear underneath. You’re wiping your hands on a grease rag as you approach him and Eddie just stands in dumbfounded silence. Who are you and where have you been his entire life?

“Munson,” you greet with a slight smile. 

He almost chokes. You know his name? He knows he’s never seen you before in his life–you’re the kind of girl he could never forget. Especially with how much time he’s had to spend here.

“Having trouble getting her to start?” you continue without missing a beat. Eddie doesn’t miss the way you refer to his van, and it makes him impossibly more hooked. “Seems to be a bad ignition coil. Easy enough to fix, except your crankshaft is rusted to shit and I’m honestly surprised the whole engine hasn’t fallen apart when you hit a bump or something. Seriously, it’s dangerous to drive at this point.”

Eddie hears you, but he doesn’t comprehend a single word you’re saying. He’s hyper-fixated on the way your lips form around your words, on how you’re speaking mechanics and you actually understand what you’re saying. He’s never met anyone like you.

“But you can fix her, right?”

You smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “Honestly? My professional advice is to just sell it for scrap and buy a new car.”

It’s like a smack to the face. He has to blink the shock out of his eyes while you stand there so simply, like you didn’t just tell him to kill his darling.

”What’s your unprofessional advice?”

You bite your lip, busy your hands with a grease cloth. “I could fix it. But it’ll take some time, and it’ll be expensive as hell. It would honestly be cheaper to buy new.”

”I’ll pay for the fix,” he says firmly before he can consider what he’s really agreeing to. “I can’t just replace her.”

Your smile is softer when you look back up at him. “I really admire that.”

Those words shouldn’t have as much of an effect on him as they do.

”I can do the job, but not here. There’s no way my boss would let me take up a lift for as long as I need to actually do a good job, and I don’t believe in doing mediocre work. But I’ve got enough equipment at my place if you trust me?”

You’re not only saving his lady, you’re promising not to screw him like so many people have before. He’s thinking about proposing, but he keeps his cool long enough to say, “yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

”How much do you know about cars?”

He notices a strand of hair that’s fallen down into your face, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from pushing it behind your ear for you.

”I know enough,” he says with a modest shrug.

Your eyes shine with something that he can’t identify as you gaze up at him. “Well, if you wanna help me, I’ll only charge you for parts.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to consider. A chance to spend more time with you, and a discount on repairs? “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

The first night he comes over, it’s the sticky hot of a midsummer Indiana evening. He’s in low-slung faded jeans and a baggy white tank top that shows more of his chest than should be legal. There’s so much lightly tanned skin on display that you can’t decide where to focus—much less consider the engine you’re supposed to be working on. You can’t help asking about each little spot of ink you see on his skin, curious to learn even the smallest nuisances of his personality.

He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in this podunk town since your move to Hawkins from Indianapolis. He’s goofy and aloof, charming yet awkward. He’s so gentle and sweet you can practically smell the saccharine of his words as he speaks. He’s an animated speaker—so passionate about everything he does that he puts his whole body into it. There’s a refreshing energy to him that recharges your social battery as he goes, rather than draining it like everyone else does.

By the second night of working on Eddie’s van with him, you’re close enough to call him a friend. You know what seems like every small detail about him—his favorite color, the story behind the small scar on his left knee.

By the third night, you’re fighting every instinct in your brain to keep from throwing him inside said van and having your way with him.

Especially when you deliver to him a cold glass of iced tea and he drinks it in the sluttiest possible way he can—big gulps that send the condensation on the outside of the glass spilling down his chin to leave little paths of wetness down his neck and chest. It’s like full-on torture.

On the fourth night, you’ve had the engine block completely disassembled and ready for the new crankshaft for a couple days. It’s hard for Eddie to see his baby gutted and torn apart this way, but he knows you’ve got the most capable hands of any mechanic he’s ever known. There’s a delicacy and attention to detail in your craft that he’s never seen before, and he’s enraptured with watching you work. He’s even more enraptured by the sticky glistening of your skin in the red-orange light of sunset every night.

There’s really no reason for him to keep meeting you every single evening—all you’re doing at this point is busywork cleaning various parts because the real work can’t be done until the new parts arrive. Both of you know it, too—but neither of you will admit it. You’ve both come to look forward to these few hours together, comfortable even though you’re both sweaty, sticky, and greasy. Suspending them at this point would be a crime.

There’s just the faintest peek of reddish light left over the horizon when the conversation lulls, but Eddie’s not ready to go quite yet. “You hear Megadeth’s touring in Indy this fall?”

”No shit?”

”No shit. Tickets are probably going fast.”

”We should get some,” you say with a cautious glance over at him. This is it—this is as grand of an invitation as you can work up the courage to make. If he can’t take the bait here, you’ll be forever casting lingering glances and praying he’ll make a more substantial move than just eyeing you up and down like you’re the finest, purest water in a parched desert.

Eddie’s heart rate skyrockets even as he’s willing himself not to read too far into your words. ”Yeah? You’d… wanna go with me?”

”Might be nice. To hang out and do something other than pretend to work on your car.”

”All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says with a look that’s far too smug for his own good on his face. 

Even though it’s a little ridiculous, his cockiness flusters you. ”Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

”How could I not? I’ve got the girl of my dreams five feet away from me, I’d be crazy to not want to spend every second I can get with her.”

”Oh, is there someone else here?” You try to giggle and make it sound like a lighthearted joke, but it comes out far more flustered than you mean for it to.

”No. Just you.” It’s only three words, yet you’ve never heard anything more fraught with tension in your life. It’s in his dark eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands clench into fists at his side to keep from reaching for you.

All your eyes can manage to do is trace up the prominent veins in his forearms from his white-knuckled fists. If you meet his eyes, you know your resolve will disappear faster than a delicate snowflake on warm skin.

But he takes a step closer to you, and it’s too late before you can even consider stopping yourself.

His dark eyes are swirling with lust. There’s no mistaking it, no other label for it. It looks animalistic, almost dangerous. He looks like he wants to devour you whole, and you want nothing more than to find out if he will.

”You, umm… need a refill?” You gesture with your eyes to the now empty glass in his hand, then nod toward the house. It’s all the invitation he needs.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Eddie’s hands are on you. They start on your waist, effectively pinning you against the closed door and using you as an anchor to press himself as close to you as he can.

It’s eager and rushed, even a little sloppy. He kisses wet, he kisses deep. It’s like he’s trying to suck the air straight from your lungs, and you let him. Nothing has ever felt so good before.

“Christ,” he mumbles as his hot lips work their way down your neck. “Been wanting to do this for days.”

There’s a slight tremble in your hands as your fingers work their way into his curls, already nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of his mouth on your overheated skin. “Why didn’t you?”

”Didn’t wanna scare you off,” he confesses. It’s so endearing it pulls a moan from your lips.

“There’s not a lot you could do to scare me off, Eddie.” You mean it; you try to prove it by tugging him closer and slotting him between your legs. You can feel his pent up desire, hard and thick, as it presses against your core through his jeans. The feeling alone makes you ache with desire. It’s like a wave sweeps through you, cascading from head to toe and making everything in its wake prickle with unbearable want. You are molten flame, and he is the only thing that can douse your heat.

No one’s ever had such an astronomical effect on you from doing so little.

Eddie isn’t faring much better. He walks in a fog, blinded by clouding desire—especially so when your leg hitches up and around his hip to tug him harder against you. It’s like his cruise control is set, speed regulating with every incline or downward tilt—adjusting every little movement and touch to draw more breathless moans and whimpers from your parted lips.

A slight tug to his hair snaps him back into his own body, drawing a sudden clarity on the situation. He’s no longer an outsider looking in, as if an astral projection watching and criticizing his every move. Eddie is fully present and hyper-focused on one thing: making sure no other person can ever properly satisfy you again.

”You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs over and over into your skin as he traces kisses over your exposed neck and shoulders. His fingers hook into the strap of your tank top and slide it out of place, making way for a series of open-mouthed kisses as he ensures that not an inch of your skin is neglected.

You keen at his praise and reward him with a gentle tug to his messy curls. “So are you.”

He prickles with affection at your compliment, his cheeks warming in a way that feels completely foreign to him. No one’s ever called him beautiful before—he’s really never thought it could even be applicable to him—but he feels like he could get used to it.

He asks so nicely to take your top off and you give him permission without hesitation. You can see the flash of want in his eyes as he takes in your mostly naked torso, gaze skirting around the boundary of your bra as if he’s too shy to ask again for permission to remove a garment.

You decide to put on a little show as you give him what he wants; you unhook your bra and slide the straps down your arms so achingly slowly he thinks he might combust. And then finally, gloriously, you let the fabric fall to the floor and Eddie gets his first look at your bare chest.

He gapes, open-mouthed, for longer than is frankly comfortable—to the point you’re almost about to cover yourself up again.

And then he says, “Permission to do something highly inappropriate and maybe even a little degrading?”

”Uhh… sure?”

In a flash he’s buried face first in your sternum, hands coming to cup your breasts and dramatically smother himself in your cleavage. He lets out a pleasured groan as you giggle, deft fingers lightly tugging and pinching the sensitive peaks of your nipples. He prickles with pride at the breathy gasp you emit when his mouth starts working—he turns his head to suck one hard mound between his lips and keeps up the pressure with his fingers on the other.

”Sh-shit…” you sigh and slump into his attention, arms hanging like limp ribbons by your sides. “Eddie…”

”Love the way you say my name,” he practically purrs. “So fucking pretty.”

He switches sides now, firmly dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipple before sealing his lips around it and sucking. The pure pressure of it makes you cry out, fingers tugging harshly at his curls.

”Jesus, that feels amazing,” you whine. It’s so good, but it’s not nearly enough at the same time. And it’s like he can sense it—like he’s got some kind of a psychic connection with your body. He adapts immediately to what you need, dropping to his knees to unbutton your jean shorts and deftly slip them down and off your legs. He smooths his palms against your bare thighs and lets you feel the cold kiss of his metal rings against the burning flesh there, all the while looking up at you with dark eyes that you can’t quite identify. There’s lust, sure, but something else in those chocolate orbs. Something akin to adoration—like he’s on his knees preparing to worship you.

”Can I?” Those long, thick fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and you’re nodding before he’s even finished asking.

You wish you could put the sound he lets out once he finally has you bare on vinyl to repeat over and over again. It’s somewhere between a growl and a whimper, completely heady with desire and want; need, even. The fact that he needs you like this is so overwhelming and flattering that you can barely process it. You don’t have time to, because in a moment his lips are wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking. He goes straight past gentle and into pure pressure just like he did with your nipples; as above, so below. And it’s bliss—thigh-quaking, breath-hitching, earth-shattering bliss.

All you can manage to do is scrabble for purchase against the wall his hands have you pinned to. You have to sound absolutely pathetic, but you can’t be bothered to care because you’re precariously close to coming and it’s only been a matter of minutes.

He moans, like he’s tasting the finest, most expensive and decadent cuisine he’s ever had. The sound vibrates against your pussy and travels up your spine all the way to your brain—it nests there and makes it’s home, drives you into a fuzzy state of ecstasy. And all the while that luxurious tongue is hard at work, alternating between lapping thirstily at your entrance and fluttering against your clit in a way that causes every muscle in your abdomen to contract.

Nothing should be able to feel this good—it’s so desperately close to overwhelming. Simultaneously, you would rather die than lose this feeling is it crescendos to a fever pitch.

”Let go,” he murmurs against you, and you know he’s not talking about your grip on his hair. “It’s okay. I gotcha, let go f’me.”

You’ve never fancied yourself to be the obedient type per se, but apparently your body is feeling particularly traitorous today. It takes all of three more seconds before you’re doing exactly what he said—legs trembling with the burden of your weight as you crash and burn on his tongue. You whine and beg and plead, all of it meaningless babble as he works you over and through your pleasure with that wonderful, amazing, perfect mouth of his.

You don’t even process you’re collapsing, but thankfully Eddie does and catches you with ease. There’s a cocky chuckle in his throat as he lays you down on the floor, and you would smack him for it if he hadn’t earned it. Instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt a little rougher than mean to and drag him to your mouth, relishing in the high-pitched whine he admits at your light manhandling.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, and Eddie can’t help grinding himself hard against your thigh in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his untouched arousal. This kiss is nasty—wet, gnashing, desperate. There’s no control to it on either end.

”That good, huh?” He mutters into your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper—you can’t expect much more when you’re kissing him the way you are, grinding your thigh against his aching cock all the while. And even still, despite his obvious desperation, he manages to be cocky about how hard he made you come.

If you weren’t head over heels for this man before, you certainly are now.

You start tugging at his belt and he chuckles, only growing more sure of himself by the second.

”Wait, baby, lemme take you to bed,” he huffs over the feeling of your hand finally sliding into his jeans where he needs you most.

It makes you gasp when you finally have him in the palm of your hand. As big as he felt through his jeans, nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He’s heavy, achingly thick, and you can feel the way he positively throbs in your grip.

And just as you’re about to agree and show him to your bedroom, you shake your head firmly; because as uncomfortable as this floor is going to feel and as much as your back is going to hate you for it later, you need him now. There’s no time for relocating; if he doesn’t give it to you right now, here in the middle of your living room floor, you think you might perish.

”Right here?” He hums as if he’s not affected at all while he slots himself between your legs. “On the floor? Can’t even wait thirty seconds to let me have you the right way? Dirty girl.”

It’s such a shift in dynamic; not an unwelcome one at all, certainly. But he’s been so shy and timid up until this point—always following your lead, blushing when his hand brushes against yours. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone—if he feels some pressure to perform an act or role, to hide his true personality. 

The thought makes your chest ache a little bit, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s breaking you in half. He’s so slow about it, too; barely pressing his tip into you, giving you time to adjust to every millimeter he gives you. Even still it punches the breath out of your lungs and makes your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.

”Shit.” It’s not spoken so much as whined, and suddenly you’re starkly aware of just how much you’re affecting him. You bite your lip to steady yourself so you can look up at him, and the sight alone is almost enough to unravel you. Unruly curls spill down over his shoulder and dangle in the air over you. His mouth hangs open—fast, shallow breaths make his bottom lip quiver. His pupils are so blown with desire you can barely see the warm chocolatey color of his irises.

You’re suddenly aware that in your desperation, you forgot a very important step. He’s still fully clothed—your legs rub against his t-shirt as his hands hook under your knees to spread you wider for him. You almost feel bad about it; in your haze of arousal his attention to your body has brought on, you’ve forgotten to be attentive to his. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands unconsciously come to tug at the fabric.

He chuckles but acquiesces—not before you see a flicker of hesitation pass over his face.

It takes a moment to process what you’re looking at as he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side… and then your jaw drops. ”Shit, Eddie!”

He’s quick to quiet your exclamation with a heated kiss, unintentionally shoving himself that little bit deeper into your cunt. It distracts you, but only for a moment. Then you’re pushing yourself up onto your elbows, trying to wrap your mind around the myriad of deep, whitish-pink scars that litter his torso.

“Eddie, what—“

“Car accident,” he lies before he can think better of it. It’s a story he’s told so many times that he’s almost starting to believe it himself. “Couple years back.”

“Jesus,” you whisper as your fingers trace over the poorly healed lines.

“I know. They’re not pretty.”

That one sentence tells you everything you need to know. “It’s not that,” he assure him. “Just… a miracle you survived something that bad.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “I got lucky.”

He’s deflating a little bit, and the last thing you want him to do is lose that confidence he’s been exuding. You wrap your arms around your neck and pulls him flush against you, feeling every warm inch of his torso against yours as your tongue tangles with his.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him again. And you mean it.

He draws a gasp from your lips when he presses even closer, every inch of his body covering yours and his length shoved all the way into your needy cunt. It’s almost too much for him—the combination of your tight, wet heat around him; the adoration in your eyes as you look up at him like he’s some kind of god; your hands pulling him closer like you might evaporate if you can’t feel every inch of his body at all times. It’s a heady feeling he’s never experienced before, being wanted this badly. It nearly unravels him—especially when you start bucking your hips up to him in search of the friction you so desperately need.

He sees your need, and it pulls him back into his dutiful role. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He starts with deep, slow thrusts that nearly make you drool—you feel the drag of every single inch against your walls, every vein and ridge and contour. It’s like you’re memorizing the shape of him from the inside out.

One ringed hand slides down your hip and along the length of your thigh to hook beneath your knee, hitching your leg up as high as he comfortably can to spread you wide open for the taking.

You get barely a moment's notice as he draws himself almost all the way out. And then he slams himself back into place—deep, hard, unrelenting. He revels in the sound it draws from you, something between a cry and a plea for more; he silently vows to himself that those little pleasures sounds are going to be all you’re capable of making by the time he’s done with you.

It’s borderline violent, the way he fucks you. His thrusts are relentless and expert in a way you didn’t expect him to be. His lips hardly leave your skin, muffling his moans into hickies and bruises on your neck and chest. His hands grip hard to your body, marks blossoming beneath his fingertips.

You’ve never fallen apart so easily.

“That’s it,” he purrs into your ear as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “Don’t hold back, lemme have it. Please, baby.”

And really, it would be rude to deny him after he’s asked so nicely.

Your orgasm comes like shattered glass. The sound is the first thing you process—your moans drowning out his steady grunts. And then it’s sharp. It drives its shards into your and makes you flinch away from the sensation, so pleasurable it’s almost painful.

You’ve never come just from being fucked before. Sweet, wonderful Eddie carries on working towards his own release like he doesn’t deserve a goddamned award.

“Can I…”

But you’re already nodding, wrapping your legs around his waist and coaxing him deeper—urging him to make a home in the deepest part of you.

He’s not a man who needs to be told twice. He rocks his hips as deep as he can and then presses even closer, the head of him bruising your cervix as he falls apart. And maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the sensation of him painting your walls with rope after rope or warm, sticky release; but you’re not in the mind to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Instead you do your best to help him through it, lightly ghosting the tips of your fingers in soothing patterns on his back as he pants and shudders.

“Holy…”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

It takes him a few minutes to summon the courage he needs to pull his softening length from your warmth, and he bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood when he sees the absolute mess that slides down the curve of your ass.

”Jesus H. Christ,” he murmurs. His fingers come to swipe up some of the combined cum before he can stop himself, pushing it back into where he’d spilled it to begin with and relishing in the moan you afford him at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your over-sensitive entrance.

He’s so thoroughly enraptured with the sight before him. Your cunt squeezing so tightly around his fingers, cum dripping, desperate to reject due to the overstimulation. And yet you take it without flinching, chest heaving, head falling back against the hardwood floor.

He swipes his thumb over your clit so lightly and yet it still makes you squeeze like a vice around him, and so he does it again. He curls his fingers in search of that spot that made you fall apart so prettily on his cock, and once he finds it he doesn’t relent. That, combined with the light pressure on your clit, is more than enough.

Your thighs tremble, caught indecisively between spreading further open for him and clamping shut on his cum-slicked hand. He watches in awe as your lips part in a silent scream, ass arching up off the floor; and then, as you come down, you have to push him away because it’s finally too much.

”Fuck,” you whimper—he coos so reassuringly as he leans down to gently kiss your lips, errant curls brushing and tickling against your cheeks.

”I know, baby,” he whispers. “God, you’re incredible. Did so good f’me.”

You have to stay still for a moment—let his sweet, gentle kisses bring you back down from the clouds. And then you’re aware of the ache in your back and the absolute puddle forming under your ass, and you push yourself up with a weak groan.

”M’sorry,” he winces in sympathy. “Bed next time, I promise.”

And really, the promise of there being a next time shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat the way it does.

You’re worried things’ll be awkward now, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Working with him now is so much more effortless. The tension isn’t as palpable—it’s a fluid thing that you move through confidently now that your feelings and his are known. He isn’t afraid to watch you anymore, awe and adoration in his eyes as you show him how to reassemble the engine block. He observes your skilled fingers at work, and he’s not afraid to tell you how fucking sexy it is to him. He’s not afraid to rest a hand on the small of your back as he stands beside you, even occasionally getting brave enough to let it slip down and cup your ass. He’s not afraid to be his goofy, adorable, manic self—it’s the best metamorphosis you’ve ever seen.

You finish working on his van finally, and he almost tears up at how well she runs now—although he definitely doesn’t let you see that.

And as worried as you were that finishing this job would feel like the end of whatever this is with Eddie, it doesn’t. You feel secure, somehow, that he’ll keep coming back—for more than just parts and labor.

THE END

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 ily lots

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[rafeshoeeee]

footballer!rafe x cheerleader!reader

The new girl

I knew joining a new cheer team would be tough, but i didn't think i would be welcomed by all the girls so quickly. Everyone was so lovely to me and i surprisingly fit in very well.

As my first game with the new team approached, i was extremely nervous.

I was the new girl and i had to make a good first impression.

I waited patiently on the side of the pitch, getting ready to start cheering. I held my sparkly pom poms in my hands. I had a good feeling. I felt so confident in my uniform, the royal blue color complimenting my skin tone very well.

I took in my surroundings whilst i awaited on the blow of the whistle. This all felt so surreal. My dream was coming true. All the fans sat on the bleachers cheering and singing and it made me feel ecstatic. Despite the nerves cursing through my veins, i brushed it aside and didn't let my smile falter.

Once i heard the whistle soar through my ears i knew it was time, i followed the rest of the girls onto the field and stood in the starting position.

The music blasted causing all the fans to cheer, adrenaline cursed through me giving me a boost. i executed the routine flawlessly and i felt very pleased with myself.

I jogged off the field before all the boys could take over the pitch. I took my seat with the rest of the girls and watched as the game began.

i hadn't met any of the footballers yet unlike all the other girls. Although i had been told a few things about a couple of them. Chloe, my closest friend on the team , told me to stay away from all of the boys. Apparently it would cause problems and is unprofessional. I respected that and didn't want to start off on a bad note. I was never one for breaking the rules and usually did as i was told.

Until i saw him.

I was unaware of his name but i felt drawn to him. The way he dominated on the field and wasn't afraid to get up in the other players faces did something to me.

I tapped Chloe on the shoulder and she turned towards me with a light smile on her face, "who is that?" i asked her, pointing my finger at the boy.

Chloe's eyeline followed my finger and her face dropped almost instantly, "that's Rafe Cameron, captain of the team and a total asshole. Trust me babe, he's bad news"

Her answer only intrigued me more. I wanted to know as much about him as i possibly could.

I quickly glanced back at Rafe and saw him stood there wiping a hand across his forehead.

God.

I didn't think such a small gesture could turn me on so much.

"he looks harmless to me" i boldly stated, waiting for the reaction i would get from her.

She lightly laughed, taken back from my bluntness, "Listen, i get it okay. He's hot, like insanely hot. Trust me, i know that, everyone knows that. But he has a terrible reputation with girls, he's never had a serious relationship ever" she told me, speaking in a calm tone.

I knew she was just being a good friend and didn't want me to get my heart broken but i just couldn't help myself.

He's literally perfect. His white football shirt hugged his bicep muscles perfectly, making them prominent despite the distance between us. He was extremely tall, like 6'2 tall. And he has the cutest face ever.

"well, i don't see the harm in trying" i told her, a smile forming on my lips.

She shook her head but smiled with me, "you know i'll support you, but i'm just giving you advice that you should take on board"

"i appreciate you looking out for me Chlo, but i love a challenge and i won't stop until i get what i want" i told her, leaning my chin against my hand to watch the game closely.

Chloe chuckled at my eagerness to watch Rafe play, "careful babe, your drooling" she teased, bursting out in immediate laughter.

"Oh shut up" i told her giggling, lightly shoving her knee.

The first half of the game had ended so quickly and the boys started walking off the pitch. The score remained 0-0 and both teams looked defeated.

My eyes didn't leave Rafe, i watched him walk towards our teams area and sat down at the front bench. His elbows rested on his knees and he chugged a bottle of water down, his adam's apple bobbing up and down.

I was pulled out of my gaze when Chloe started nudging me.

"what's up?" I asked her, a puzzled look making its way onto my face but slight concern lacing my voice.

"jesus y/n, coach Sarah has been calling for you" she told me, looking in her direction.

Coach Sarah was smiling at me brightly and gushing me to come down. I smiled back at her and stood up from where i was sat.

I looked at Chloe with wide eyes as i walked past her.

"you'll be fine!" she yelled slightly so i could hear her.

Once i made my way down the small flight of stairs and walked over to Sarah, she embraced me in a huge hug which i accepted straight away. I was taken back by this sudden affection from her but i was assuming that this was a good thing.

Once she pulled away, she placed her hands firmly on both my shoulders, "i'm so proud of you! you looked amazing out there!" she told me, slightly shaking my shoulders, making me laugh.

The biggest smile formed on my face, this is exactly what i wanted to hear. It felt amazing and apparently i looked amazing.

"thank you so much, i couldn't of done it without you and all the girls" i told her, my bright smile not leaving my face.

She slowly took her hands off my shoulders and wrapped her arm around me. She started talking about how the rest of the game will work if they're still drawing by the full time.

I was partly listening to what she was saying, but i was in such close proximity to Rafe, i couldn't focus.

"y/n?" she called my name with a questioning tone.

i quickly looked back at her, hoping she wouldn't notice that i hadn't been paying attention to everything she was saying.

I tried to keep an innocent look on my face but i could tell that she knew i wasn't paying attention to her due to the smile that crept on my face.

She looked over my shoulder and realized who had captured my attention. "would you like me to introduce you?" she asked, whispering in my ear.

I was quite stunned by her question, thinking i would get a lecture about being unprofessional and unsportsmanlike. It could've been a trap so i decided to play it safe.

"no, no, it's fine, i'm sure i'll get the opportunity to talk to him in the future. Plus, i don't want to distract him from this important game" i told her, slightly shaking my head to hide my lies.

She laughed at my response and i was unsure of how to act, "oh honey, you're allowed to talk to any boy you want, you just can't be intimate with one another."

i laughed at her honesty but i wasn't ready to talk to Rafe just yet, "honestly it's fi-" but before i could finish my sentence, she was gushing Rafe to come over.

He walked towards us, looking quite confused by why the cheerleading coach wanted to talk to him.

I didn't hide my stare. As he got closer, i took in all his facial features. His piercing blue eyes, his freshly buzzed hair and lips that looked extremely soft. Even though he had been running around the field for nearly an hour, i could still smell his musky cologne on his skin as he was approaching.

He stood by my side but didn't look in my direction, "everything alright?" he questioned Sarah, intensely staring at her.

If he looked at me that intensely i'd probably melt i thought to myself.

Sarah glanced at me and then glanced back at Rafe, "well, this is y/n, it's her first game today and i'm just introducing her to everyone" she told him.

I was thankful she didn't embarrass me in-front of him.

I kept my eyes on Rafe and watched him advert his gaze from coach Sarah to me. Our eyes locked instantly, his ocean eyes piercing into my green ones. He maintained eye contact for a decent amount of time before his eyes raked down my body, stopping at my cleavage.

The uniform definitely made my boobs a lot more prominent than usual and i expected the stares from gross men, but i didn't mind Rafe staring one bit.

It took him a minute before he reached his hand out in-front of him, offering a hand shake. I glanced down at his hand then back up at him before meeting my hand with his.

My hand felt tiny compared his, his hand shake was firm and his grip was quite tight. He wore a gold ring on his middle finger, and the cold metal took me by surprise. His hand was surprisingly soft and was very warm, holding his hand felt natural.

"nice to meet you y/n" he said softly, his husky voice making my stomach flutter.

A small smile appeared on my lips before i released my hand from his grip, "yeah, you too Rafe" i told him, maintain his strong eye contact. My legs felt weak but i used everything in me to keep myself upright.

He looked behind him to see his coach stood waiting for him, "uh sorry i gotta go, games about to start, but i'll talk to you after?" he asked, an inkling of hope sparkling in his eyes.

"yeah of course, good luck out there" i told him, before he jogged off.

He winked at me before his attention was taken by his coach, who looked like he was being harsh on him.

I was assuming, due to the team not winning, it's Rafe's responsibility to bring some life into the game and score the winning goal.

Coach Sarah smiled at me, "see that wasn't so bad was it?"

i playfully rolled my eyes at her comment, "yeah yeah"

she told me to go and sit back with Chloe before the game started so i didn't get caught up in the crowd of all the fans.

I quickly ran up the stairs towards and took my seat next to Chloe. I could feel her staring but i was waiting for her to ask.

"soooooooo, tell me everything" she screeched, an eager look spread across her face.

i smiled at her and turned my full attention to telling her every single detail.

The game had already began by the time i had finished blabbering on about Rafe.

"- and he wants me to talk to him after the game" i told her, waiting for her reaction.

Her jaw dropped and she looked so pleased for me, "oh my god! you lucky girl! I'm surprised coach Sarah let you even talk to him" she told me.

I raised my eyebrows at her comment, "no i know, i was so shocked. she didn't even seem bothered. She just made it very clear we aren't allowed to be intimate with each other"

"she must really like you, even she knows what Rafe can be like sometimes" she said, raising her eyebrows back at me.

I just smiled at her, wanting to focus on the game.

My eyes searched the crowd for number 9, Rafe's number. i knew this from the constant staring from earlier and the conversation i just had with him.

The ball was attached to his feet, he dribbled past all three defenders and booted the ball into the back of the net and the crowd roared. I jumped from my seat, cheering for him just like everyone else.

He celebrated with his team members on the pitch but i noticed his eyes searching the crowd.

Who the hell was he looking for? i thought.

I felt envy rush through me until i realized he was staring in my direction, but i was almost certain it wasn't at me. i looked down at my feet so i didn't embarrass myself.

Chloe was shaking my shoulder due to her excitement, "he's totally staring at you babe"

i scoffed, "oh please, no he's not" i looked up from my feet and his gaze was strong, just like it was earlier, only not so close up.

"he totally is" she told me again.

I smirked at him, hoping he could see. i felt victorious when a smile crept onto his face.

He went back to the game, there wasn't much time left now and we were still in the lead. We were only winning by one goal, so every minute counted. The boys had to make sure they didn't let the ball go anywhere near their net. And they didn't.

The final whistle blew and it was over. Rafe cheered with his teammates and coach.

Once the crowd had started piling off the pitch, leaving the stadium almost empty. Coach Sarah announced "right girls, let's get going. We have a busy day tomorrow so make sure you get plenty of rest. I just wanted to congratulate y/n one more time for her outstanding performance today!" All the girls cheered after her announcement and a smile appeared on my face.

Me and Chloe were one of the last ones left at the stadium, she was slightly ahead of me, but i wasn't far behind.

I was about to exit the stadium, but a hand gripped my wrist and spun me around to face them.

I can't say i wasn't pleased to see Rafe's face again, he looked clean and fresh. i assumed he had showered not long ago as he hair looked slightly damp.

He smirked down at me and stared at me intensely again, "so, y/n right?" he asked.

i felt myself getting shy and i broke our eye contact due to my nerves, but his hand gripped my chin to look up at him again.

"don't get shy on me now doll, don't think i haven't noticed you staring" he said boldly, his hand moving from my chin to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

The small gesture made me more nervous, but i knew what i wanted and i had to get it, "well, can you blame me? you're gorgeous" i told him, with a smirk on my lips.

He was leaning closer to me and his hands found my waist, pulling me into him. Our bodies collided and i could feel his muscles through his black t-shirt. I wrapped my arms around his neck, matching his energy.

He raised his eyebrows at my comment, " oh really?" he said, his fingers drawing small shapes on my my exposed lower back.

i nodded, too focused on his fingers tracing shapes on my shapes.

His moved his lips towards my ear and whispered, "well, i think you look perfect doll"

I felt my cheeks turn a slight reddish color at his compliment. I've never been more turned on, he knew exactly what he was doing and did it extremely well.

His hands eagerly stroked my curves, and his lips found my neck. It didn't surprise me at Rafe's boldness, i knew he would be a confident boy.

He groaned, overwhelmed by the feelings he was experiencing. "shit baby, your gonna get me into trouble" hr groaned, cupping my cheek and pulling our faces together.

Our lips were like magnets, drawn to each other. I'd never felt so much passion in one kiss before, his tongue slowly slithered its way into my mouth and it quickly took dominance.

We both pulled back, gasping for air, our foreheads pressed against each others but his hand still remained on my face.

I slowly pulled away but he was quick to pull me back in and lure me into another kiss. This one was more eager, like we were both hungry to taste each other again, to feel each other's lips move in perfect sync.

"y/n!" I heard Chloe yell in the distance.

Me and Rafe jumped apart, but of my red lipstick had transferred onto Rafe's lips, so i assumed my lipstick was smudged all around my mouth.

I rubbed my thumb against Rafe's lips, in attempt to get rid of the red residue. He curled his lips into a smile, clearly finding my gesture amusing.

"its not funny Rafe" i firmly told him, trying my best to cover up our previous actions.

He couldn't help but stifle a laugh at your short temper, "you just look cute when you're stressed." he told me.

I looked up at him with a small smile before putting my focus back on the red lipstick on his face.

I did the best i could to hide the evidence but it wasn't great. There was a slight red tinge around his mouth and slightly on his bottom lip.

Chloe ran up to me from the other side of the pitch, once she reached us she was very out of breath.

She looked like she was about to start lecturing me but held it in once she realized Rafe's presence.

She widened her eyes at me and i just smirked at her.

"what the hell is going on?" she questioned.

Me and Rafe quickly glanced at each other before both of us looking back at Chloe and shrugging.

She chuckled and lightly rolled her eyes, "whatever. y/n, let's go, everyone's waiting" she told me, grabbing hold of my arm and beginning to drag me.

I felt bad for keeping the whole team waiting, but this moment with Rafe was definitely worth it.

i turned my head around to face him, "bye Rafe!" i called out to him.

He looked quite disappointed at the loss of my presence. I released myself from Chloe's grip and ran over to him, my hands finding his face and our lips connecting. He pecked my lips a couple of times before pulling his phone out his pocket.

"i need to see you again doll, when are you free?" he asked before handing me his phone with the number keypad already on display.

i quickly typed in my number and saved my contact in his phone and naming myself y/n, before handing it back to him.

"i'm free tomorrow after 4, i have practice until 4, but i can be ready by 5" i told him, tucking my hair behind my ear.

he pecked my lips one more time, "see you then doll"

[nqueso-emergency]

The beauty of these unprofessionals on Twitter is that they will give away all types of things. Just like this confirmation of no bucktommy breakup on Thursday and no indication of one on the horizon.

1. This is actually a good move on her part. It looks like she's seen the writing on the wall, and she's carefully admitting she'll switch when the time comes.

2. Other bestie boos should take her advice because right now we have the biggest accounts making "hate" lists and going on their tiktoks to say they're going to be mean af when bucktommy breakup. Don't hurt yourselves, you're already awful people. No need to prove it more.

[salmon-bagel]

Tf2 mercenaries x Seductress! Class! Reader

Warning: nsfw content, female reader, sexism

Scout

When Scout heard that there's a woman who's a professional at seduction, he had already started plotting.

"Hello, name is Y/n L/n, but you can call me the Seductress. It's nice to meet you."

"Heya, nice to meet cha' mommy- Oh, i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy-"

Constantly hits on you. Scout believes that you're the type of girl that's 'easy', someone who will let anyone bang them regardless of who they are.

That boy isn't going to leave you alone until you let him into your pants.

Even when he's not busy trying to get in between your legs, Scout is asking you for advice on how to woo the ladies. Considering you're a professional at flirting with people.

You go back and forth on giving him good advice and bad advice. Sometimes you feel bad that he can't get a girlfriend. Then again, you think to yourself that no woman should be within three feet of Scout because of how much of a horny asshole he is.

After some time, you did grow to have a soft spot for him. Since he's bullied a lot by the other mercenaries. He can be kinda cute when he's not being a complete jerk.

Soldier

Soldier treats you like the other mercenaries. Ruthlessly bleating in your ear when you're doing something wrong.

"GIVE ME ONE HUNDRED SQUATS NOW! I WANT THAT AMERICAN ASS NICE AND PERKY BY THE TIME YOU'RE DONE!"

He wants the best from you. Regardless of your gender, he'll push you to the limit until he's proud enough to call you a warrior.

Soldier tests that you're a good seductress by making you flirt with him. It's an ego boost on his part, but he's genuinely trying to make sure you're hot enough for the enemy.

"YOU CALL THAT FLIRTING!? I'VE HEARD BETTER FLIRTING FROM A MONKEY! AT LEAST THEY CAN PUCKER THEIR LIPS BETTER UNLIKE YOURS!"

Buys you clothing that he believes would work well when you're seducing the enemies. It's always american themed swimwear or lingerie. You began to believe he's just buying that for himself for you to try.

Whenever the team successfully wins for the day, Soldier immediately rushes towards and smacks your ass as hard as he can.

"NOW THAT IS AN ASS I'M PROUD TO CALL AMERICAN!"

Sniper

Sniper believes your work is very unprofessional. Considering he believes you have to whore yourself out to the enemy team. Instead of using your actual skills.

He says he has nothing against prostitution or sex work in general. Sniper just thinks that stuff you do should be kept behind doors and not on the battlefield. He says it causes too much of a distraction. However, you claim that 'distraction' is the point. Sniper doesn't seem to get it.

You honestly could care less what he thinks. Snipers throws jars of piss for a living, and he really thinks he has the right to judge other people?

The truth is you're good at seducing people. Too good. That it distracts him from doing his own job. Sniper has a tendency to watch you through the scope of his gun.

The way your body gets all hot and sweaty from the terrible heat, oh it does something to him. Sniper has imagined licking your sweat off your tits while you degrade him for being such a filthy fuck.

You are his go-to jerk off material. The women in his porno magazines don't get him off like they used. The only way he can relieve himself now is by imagining your fat ass bouncing on his cock.

When he noticed a pair of your panties in the laundry basket, Sniper couldn't help himself to inhale the sweet scent of your panties before putting them back.

Sniper knows he's a damn hypocrite.

He slut shames you for what you do, only to get off to you afterwards. The post nut clarity consumes him with guilt and shame.

Sniper still hasn't built up the courage to apologize to you.

Heavy

Heavy is one of the very few people who treat you like an actual human being. He was raised by a single mother alongside three sisters. Heavy knows to treat a woman right. Less he wishes to face their fury.

Heavy doesn't understand why you seduce the enemy. You're supposed to shoot at the enemy, not bat your eyelashes and wink! However, after watching your work on the battlefield, he gets to more of an understanding.

"Oh, I see. You lie to enemy and lure them in like fish? HA! Very clever!"

Absolutely loves gunning down the enemy that is distracted by you.

Is one of the few men who genuinely falls for you for your personality. Heavy knows you're drop-dead gorgeous, but he knows that beneath all that beauty is a truly intelligent woman. You earned your place on the team by impressing Mann Co., with your skills instead of batting your eyelashes and begging to be a part of the team. You make his heart swoon like no other woman has.

He likes to write you poetry. It helps convey how he feels for you because he's too bashful to put it into simple words.

Heavy is not afraid of anything. Nothing, not even death itself. However, it took him a lot of courage and constant rehearsal to ask you out on a date.

He hopes to start a genuine relationship with you. Heavy doesn't want a one-night stand or be friends-with-benefits with you. He wants you to be his girlfriend and maybe possibly his wife later down the line.

Engineer

"Well, I'll be! Aren't you the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Engineer is taken aback by your good looks and sauve personality. He genuinely questions why you wanted to be a mercenary. A beautiful lady like yourself is too of high risk to get hurt!

Will always be there to help you if it gets too much for you to handle.

However, he can be very overprotective over you on the battlefield. Engineer thinks it would be safer for you to stay on the rancho relaxo than getting shot at by the enemy. As much as you'd like to not do anything on the job, Mann Co. isn't paying you to be lazy. They see everything and will tell you to get off your ass and start fighting.

You have to beg Engineer that you can do it on your own. He understands your point of view and begrudgingly lets you fight with the others. Even if it means going against his code of defending and protecting a lady when she needs it.

While putting up dispensers and sentries, he can't help to admire you from afar. Engie believes that a guy like him has no chance with a girl like you. What woman would be interested in a bald man who has a robotic hand and locks himself away in his work? No gal that's who.

Engie fantasizes about working up the courage to flirt with you and ask you out, which would eventually lead to a rather sensual night spent together. He did try to ask you out once but miserably failed. Engie kept stuttering and mispronouncing words out of nervousness while attempting to seduce you. You couldn't make out what he was trying to say. Thankfully, Demo had the heart to pull Engie out of that mess of a conversation and save him from further embarrassing himself.

So now, he just admires you from afar. Dreaming that one day he'll get to win your heart.

Spy

Surprisingly, he wants to get to know you as soon as possible. It's not every day you get to meet a lovely lady.

When he learns of your class type, oh boy, this man will make you question if you're even meant to be the Seductress.

"Mademoiselle, you are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on."

"Do you know why they call Paris the city of love? Why don't I take you there and show you?"

"If the verb ‘to love’ didn’t exist, I would have invented it upon seeing you."

Spy leaves your entire face red and completely frozen after he's done talking to you. He's so flattering and charismatic. In comparison to the other men, he makes it seem like they're not trying at all. It isn't their fault, though, Spy is a natural at wooing the ladies.

You're surprised when Spy gifts you things that you really like. You never shared these intimate details with him before or with the other mercenaries. When you asked him how he knew what you specifically liked, Spy merely winks at you and grins. He has a way of receiving information without anyone knowing.

He has a tendency to kiss the back of your hand whenever you two are greeting each other. Spy is a gentleman and can't help himself to be sweet to a beautiful woman.

When Spy asks you out on a date, you agree to it because you have been meaning to go out. You felt like you'd go insane if you stayed in the base any longer. You put on your best dress and left with Spy into town.

After having a nice meal and a few glasses of wine, both of you give into temptation. Spy could hardly keep his hands off you when he drove you both back to the base. All your clothes came off the moment you reached his bedroom. You found it a little strange he refused to take off his mask. Oh, what the hell. He's hot and treated you to a nice date.

In the morning, you receive uncomfortable stares from the other mercenaries. Let's just say you and Spy weren't exactly quiet during your lovemaking. Unfortunately for the others, you decided Spy would become your fuck buddy.

Medic

He's been meaning to include a female subject in his experiments- I mean, he's glad to meet you!

You try your best to steer clear of him. However, on the front lines, it isn't so easy. When you're constantly getting shot at and stabbed by enemies, you'll need the Medic's help to get better.

When he sees you in action, Medic feels a new emotion that he's never felt before. Is this.. love? Maybe it is. Or maybe it's just lust.

Medic has never been infatuated with any woman. Except you. The way you lure in these pathetic men with your good looks and false promises, only to kill them afterwards- oh God, it makes him giddy. He feels like a schoolboy all over again!

Medic does routine check-ups on you. To make sure all your lady parts are in working order. In reality, this perverted fuck wants to have an excuse to grope you. Always gaslights you into believing he's not being a degenerate.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Why, of course! Breast cancer isn't something to take lightly!" He'd respond. You would understand, but after thirty minutes of him fondling your breasts, you knew what his true intentions were.

Medic writes you love letters and his dove, Archimedes, deliver them to you.

The letters start off relatively sweet. Medic writes that he views you as a Goddess, a truly ethereal being that is too perfect for this world filled with lesser mortals. And how he's the only man truly worthy for you.

Then, the letters take a complete turn the more you read it. He writes how he wishes to fulfill every filthy fantasy he's ever had with you. Oh boy, the list is long. For one, Medic wants to tie you down, gag you, and breed you like the filthy whore you are. Another consited of how he wants to fuck you on the battlefield while you're bleeding out and fingering your open wound as if it was your pussy.

You've stopped reading his letters and tend to light them on fire.

Demoman

"So, how much do you regularly charge for a quick shag?" He'd ask you before laughing his ass off.

Demo will never take you or your work seriously. Even if you politely ask him to.

He doesn't see what's so hard about showing off your tits and saying how much you love to suck cock. Demo believes you should've been a stripper if you wanted to tease men so desperately.

You frequently explain to him in detail how you help and provide for the team. You honestly can't tell if Demo deliberately forgets or because he gets drunk so often, he hardly pays attention to you while you talk.

Don't worry, though. After you've instilled the fear of women into him, he'll be gladly reminded that he shouldn't judge or ridicule a woman. If his mother were here, she'd knock some sense into him.

Demo apologizes to you, drinks, gets drunk, and apologies some more

"I'm sorry, lassie! It's just that I just get so lonely sometimes! What woman would give me, a one-eyed freak, a chance!"

He bawls on the floor, crying in front of you. You attempt to cheer him up by comforting him. Instead, you end up getting drunk with him.

Did you shag him in the heat of the moment? That's all up to you ;)

Pyro

Has no idea what you're doing to the enemy. Anything sexual you do is translated as innocent in their vision. Will never know what real seduction or sex.

Luckily, they think everything you do is nice and polite!

Regularly gives you grotesque gifts, which are usually human hearts and bones. You begrudgingly take the gifts because you know they mean well and don't wish to be disrespectful.

Pyro has a tendency to go through your closet when you leave your room. Or while you're sleeping. Either why, they steal your clothing and belongings. They pick out outfits and wigs they like along with makeup supplies. You wonder where you placed your dress and immediately begin searching for it. Maybe you left it in the laundry room. As soon as you exit your room, you see Pyro wearing your clothing over their suit. Fake eyelashes have been glued onto their eyes, and lipstick smeared all over the breathing hole.

You can't even be upset with Pyro. They're doing their best.

You let Pyro keep the dress they're wearing, considering it most likely wouldn't fit you anymore.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Whoops. - AU Jegulus oneshot

(This isn't the smut, guys! That's next on my list!)

Regulus is a TA for Professor Monty Potter and Monty keeps trying to set Regulus up with his son. Regulus always refuses, of course. But what happens when, at the end of the term, he goes to the Potter Christmas Party? Just a fun oneshot based off this post! Thanks to @sebbianas for the idea and @heartshiii for the request!

“I think he’s shown up to class a grand total of three times,” Monty murmurs, jerking his chin towards the last of the students exiting the auditorium.

Regulus chuckles and continues picking up the exam papers from the desks. “Still want to go with your ‘progressive-no-attendance-policy’ next semester?" he asks lightly as he brings the pile towards the Professor.

“Eh. If he aces the final, he obviously didn’t need my help, did he?” Monty shrugs, flashing Regulus a grin.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then maybe he’ll show up a bit more often when he has to retake the class,” Monty finishes, laughing in earnest, now.

Regulus chuckles again and surveys the empty room. “Need anything else before I go?”

“No, Regulus. You’ve been an excellent help. Best TA I’ve ever had, but don’t go telling anyone I have favorites,” Monty says, smirking a bit.

“Thanks, Professor Potter–” Regulus begins, only to be cut off.

“Monty.”

“Monty,” he agrees, still feeling a bit nervous using first names even after all these weeks. He’s been trained in etiquette since birth, after all.

“And since you’re now officially not my TA,” Monty says, smiling, “You’ll come to my house tonight for my holiday party? My son will be there,” he waggles his eyebrows comically at this, and Regulus rolls his eyes.

It’s been an ongoing topic ever since he and Regulus had talked about it earlier that term:

“That’s a nice bracelet,” Monty said absentmindedly as they corrected papers together.

“Ah. Thanks. My brother gave it to me,” Regulus said of the black and rainbow bracelet on his wrist.

But Monty was looking closer at the bracelet, now. “Can I ask-?”

“He gave it to me when I came out,” Regulus supplied, looking at the Professor hesitantly.

Monty seemed unsurprised at the admission, but he also seemed like he wanted to ask something. “Can I ask something that might be seen as unprofessional?”

Regulus felt a bit nervous at this. It had been years since he’d left his extremely unaccepting parents, gone to live with Sirius in a tiny little flat by themselves. They didn’t live together anymore, but those years had been difficult, and it'd taken a lot of work to accept himself. He still had a fear of people, specifically adults, being cruel about his sexuality. But he was also curious. “Yes?”

“My son…my son recently told my wife and I that he’s pansexual. Could you possibly be kind enough to give me some advice? About how to show him that I still feel the same about him?” Monty’s face was so genuine that Regulus almost burst into tears.

But instead, he began to talk. To tell about all the things he wished his parents had done.

Of course, ever since that day, Monty had been casually bringing up his son, and how he and Regulus might get along. But Regulus had always refused, trying to respect the boundaries of the TA-professor relationship. Also, he'd never admit it, but he likes Monty, and worries a bit about losing him as a mentor if things went wrong on a potential date.

But he can't exactly refuse to go to the party tonight. Not after everything Monty has done for him.

“I’ll be there,” he says with a small smile, and bids Monty goodbye.

-

He feels a bit nervous knocking on the door of the Potters that evening, but also reminds himself that he knows how to deal with a party. He knows how to small-talk and kiss up to people and make a good first impression.

He hates it all, of course. Hates everything that reminds him of the way he was raised. But he can do this.

So, when Mrs. Potter answers the door and pulls him into a hug, he’s quite surprised- he’s never been hugged at any fancy dinner party his family has ever thrown. But he still thanks her kindly for the invitation and hands her the bottle of wine he brought.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” Mrs. Potter gushes, leading him inside.

It’s- crowded. There are a lot of people, all dressed nicely and drinking from fancy glasses. Some look to be closer to his age, while others are older. And in the middle of one of the rooms is-

“Sirius?” Regulus asks incredulously.

“Reggie!” Sirius cries, bounding forward, dragging a boy with him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Monty invited me…” Regulus murmurs, looking around for the man in question.

“Oh, Monty is around somewhere!” Mrs. Potter assures him, waving her hand carelessly. “Sirius, dear, you know Regulus?”

“Only for my whole life,” Sirius says with a wink. “Reggie’s my brother!”

Mrs. Potter gasps loudly. “This is your brother? Well, Regulus was Monty’s TA this semester!”

“He never tells me anything, ever since he moved on campus,” Sirius complains, leaning against the boy he brought along with a dramatic sigh. Then, he turns to Regulus. “The Potters are James’s parents.”

James. Regulus has heard of him. He and Sirius became friends at the start of University. Sirius has said a lot about him on their weekly phone calls, but they’ve never met.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then!” Mrs. Potter says, leaving Regulus with Sirius and his friend to answer the door again.

“Thanks, Mrs. Potter,” Regulus murmurs, only to be told, “Effie!” by both Sirius and Mrs. Potter.

“Can’t believe you’re here, Reg! Let’s get you something to drink, eh?” Sirius says excitedly, dragging the tall-but-quiet buy he’s still attached to with him.

“Now would be a good time to run,” Regulus murmurs to the boy.

“We share a flat. I can’t run far,” the man says with a grin as Sirius shrieks about seeing another friend.

Ah. So this is Remus. Well, this will be interesting.

-

Regulus was imagining a proper party. With suits and ties and a five-course seated meal and six different types of silverware and lots of networking.

Well, it was a party, alright. And people certainly had suits and ties. Or they did, about six drinks ago.

Because this party has drinks. Not just a few, but an everlasting amount. And people are enjoying them.

“Never been to a Potter Christmas Party before?” Remus asks him with a smirk as he stands in a corner and nurses his fourth- fifth?- drink, the room spinning just a tad.

“Didn’t realize I’d need a designated driver,” Regulus murmurs back, though he’s safe, as he took a cab.

“Sirius told me that last year he threw up in the bushes,” Remus admits with an evil grin.

“Charming,” Regulus laughs.

But the conversation seems to stutter to a halt.

Because he sees someone across the room. A boy.

Alright, it’s not just a boy. It’s– it’s the most beautiful human Regulus has ever seen. His dark hair is tousled and he wears the nerdiest circular glasses. His tan skin is almost caramel-colored and his grin is jaw-dropping. He’s dressed in a navy suit and tie, but Regulus can see his muscles rippling just a bit under his clothes.

And then Regulus loses his breath.

The boy is looking at him.

He stares back, unable to tear his eyes away.

And then the boy, very purposely, looks Regulus up and down. Slowly.

And then he grins. And turns away.

And Regulus feels all…fuzzy. But in the most pleasant way. “Shots? I need shots,” Regulus hears himself say in a hoarse voice.

It’s going to be a long night.

-

The man is everywhere. When Regulus goes with Sirius to get another shot, he’s there in the kitchen chatting with Mrs- Effie. And he looks Regulus up and down again, his expression hungry.

Regulus almost spits out his shot.

When Regulus moves to a dining room, he’s there, too. He just has to squeeze behind Regulus to get to the plate of cookies. And as he does so, his entire chest brushes against Regulus’s back.

“Excuse me,” his low voice whispers right into Regulus’s ear.

Regulus almost drops his plate.

When Regulus moves to a sitting room to continue talking with Remus, he sees the man there, too. He’s speaking with Sirius. Regulus is too far away to hear what they’re saying, but the man keeps looking at him.

And Regulus looks back.

-

At some point throughout the night, someone puts on Christmas music. It blares through a speaker and some of the guests are tipsily dancing. Sirius is trying to lead Effie in a waltz as they both giggle hysterically and Remus takes pictures from the side.

And the boy is there. Again.

Except now, he’s walking directly toward Regulus.

“Care to dance?” he murmurs, his gaze almost piercing through Regulus, to his very soul.

Luckily, he’s taken dance lessons before. “Alright,” he agrees a bit nervously.

The boy leads him to a quieter spot in the room, away from Sirius’s insanity, and Regulus tries not to react to how it feels to just hold his hand. He’s not in middle school, after all. He shouldn’t feel so giddy. It must be the alcohol.

They begin to do a sort-of waltz that involves mostly just turning in a circle to the soft music in the background. As they do so, the boy’s hand rests on Regulus’s waist, his thumb moving back and forth slowly, making Regulus’s toes tingle a bit.

“You haven’t been here before,” the boy murmurs softly, looking almost desperately into Regulus’s eyes. “I- I’d remember you.”

Regulus can’t resist. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, pretending to be upset.

“I- no, I-”

“I’m joking,” he says with a smirk, and he feels the boy relax a bit.

“You’re…beautiful. That’s why,” the boy says, answering his earlier question.

And beneath the obvious attraction between them, Regulus senses that this boy is being genuine. And he almost melts right there. Nobody’s ever called him beautiful before. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“How am I doing at this dancing thing? My best friend says I’m terrible at it,” the boy asks, clearly trying to ease the tension, grinning wryly.

To be honest, he’s not great. But Regulus is just enjoying the way the boy’s hand is resting at his waist, making his skin there all hot. “You’re doing fine,” he allows, laughing, trying to resist the urge to pull the boy closer, so their bodies touch.

The boy shrugs, laughing, and Regulus is again stunned by his smile. “Well, I guess we all have our weaknesses. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, really.”

And then they stare at each other, all attempts at conversations gone. And It’s cliché and ridiculous, but it’s like they’re the only people in the room. All Regulus can feel is the boy’s hand on his waist, the other clasped in his own. All he can see is the way the boy is staring at him- almost adoringly.

And then, they’re kissing.

And if Regulus liked the feeling of the boy’s hand on his waist, it’s nothing compared to the feeling of their lips together. It’s heat and perfection and desire but also somehow warm and gentle and caring. Regulus feels the want building in the base of his spine as suddenly, the boy’s hand lets go of his own and comes to the back of his neck to pull gently at his hair.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe Regulus is going crazy, but suddenly, he wants more. Fuck the fact that this is his Professor’s Christmas party.

But at least the boy seems to be on the same page, because as they separate, he grabs Regulus’s hand and drags him along yet another hallway, up some stairs, and into a bedroom.

And before he can really contemplate what they’re doing, he’s slammed up against the wall of the bedroom, the door closes, and the boy’s lips are all over him.

“Is this alright?” the boy murmurs gently, grabbing hesitantly at the hem of Regulus’s shirt, and he only has to nod once before his shirt is ripped off his body, followed quickly by the boy’s own jacket, tie, and shirt.

And God, his hands. They’re everywhere. Cool against Regulus’s hot skin, tracing against his pale chest as lips and teeth move along his neck, and he lets out a moan that is quite embarrassing, but it only seems to spur the boy on more.

He feels like he’s floating, the way the boy worships him, kissing seemingly everywhere at once- his neck and jaw and lips and shoulder.

And then two things happen simultaneously.

The boy’s hands start to move. It’s as if they’ve read Regulus’s mind, because all he can think is Fuck, lower, lower, yes, damnit, touch me lower.

But just as the hands are finally drifting over his waistband, the door opens.

“Jamie, you’re supposed to be sociali- oh!”

And to Regulus’s absolute horror, it’s Monty. Walking in the bedroom. To him and a half-naked boy.

He wants to run. Or hide. Or throw up.

But it all gets decidedly more confusing when Monty, who previously just looked dumbfounded, bursts out laughing.

He and the boy look at each other and back again, and Regulus is a bit relieved to see he looks confused, too.

“What-?”

But Monty finally catches his breath and says, “Well…I’m glad you two have, erm, met! James, this is Regulus, the TA I told you about! And Regulus, this is my son, James!”

Well. Whoops.

-

“Remember last year?” James murmurs into Regulus’s ear as they set out what feels like hundreds of bottles of wine for the annual Potter Christmas Party.

“Vividly,” Regulus says, but he hides a smile.

“Suppose we should do that again this year, but finish what we start- ow!” James shrieks, trying to turn away from Regulus’s light punch.

Regulus just rolls his eyes at his boyfriend. “Shut up, Potter.”

Leave comments and kudos here <3

[delzinrowe]

WORD COUNT: ~1.4K WARNINGS: Mentions of alcohol, idk. F!Reader

Bartender!Takuma Ino has been rotting my brain so here's a little something.

Bartender!Takuma, who is one of three bartenders in a local pub. He’s known for his mixing skills and his moves, constantly getting the highest tips due to his level of wit, skill and his handsome face.

Bartender!Takuma who always has a keen eye for guests and listens attentively when he notices someone with worries. He has a special drink for each occasion that he gives a concerned guest. For a broken heart he has a soft pastel blue coloured sweet cocktail meant to heal. For financial trouble he has a clear drink with green syrup that brings fortune. For family struggles he has a pink cocktail, supposed to lift all the worries and help rekindle.

Bartender!Takuma who gets in trouble with his boss for giving out those cocktails for free (one per guest though) but always gets off the hook cause he brings the most business into the pub and is well liked by all locals.

Bartender!Takuma whose eyes are immediately on you when he sees you walk in. He doesn’t say a word about it but he notices the tear stains on your cheeks, the chapped lips from biting them nervously, the unfocused gaze in your eyes. He’s immediately in front of you when you sit down at the bar, ready to take your order.

Bartender!Takuma who mixes you a special and unique sweet cocktail after you tell him you don’t have the mind to choose from a long list of drinks. He serves you the cocktail with a reassuring smile.

Bartender!Takuma who is known as the one to always make a show but tonight he didn’t perform a single move because all his attention is on you. He keeps coming back to you and asks you if everything is okay, but he never comes across as pressuring or pushing.

Bartender!Takuma who doesn’t give you advice because he knows advice from someone else might come from a good place but mostly falls on deaf ears until the person actually learns the lesson on their own, so he settles for listening to you instead.

Bartender!Takuma whose shift ended half an hour ago, yet he still stands behind the bar, talking to you about mindless stuff until you cheer up a little more because he can’t leave without seeing you smile.

Bartender!Takuma who asks if he should call you a taxi or bring you home himself when you tell him it’s time to go but he knows you’ve had a few drinks. You reassure him that your friend will pick you up and you won’t drive yourself, which has him visibly relieved.

Bartender!Takuma who watches you leave with the sour taste of regret in his mouth that he didn’t ask you for your number or at least gave you his. But he knows it would be unprofessional, and despite everything you (and other locals) share with the bartenders you’re still all just paying customers.

Bartender!Takuma who leaves that day with the least tips he ever got because most of his attention was on you but he really doesn’t care about that because as long as he made you smile it was all worth it.

Bartender!Takuma who spends his shifts during the next few days watching the door almost obsessively in hopes to see you walk in again but he’s disappointed every time it’s someone else. He’s waiting to see you again.

Bartender!Takuma who always gives up on seeing you again and tries to forget you by doing his job extra well, performing different bartending moves and throwing bottles and glasses in the air, effortlessly catching them all and putting on a show for all the guests. He’s so immersed in the show that he only notices the wave of new customers when he approaches them from behind the bar.

Bartender!Takuma who is absolutely elated and immediately has a bright smile on his face when he realizes you are among the wave of customers. He does his best to cater to everyone’s wishes but his attention is still mostly on you as he asks you about stuff related to your first night in the bar. It makes you blush that he remembers even small details.

Bartender!Takuma who doesn’t seem to notice the glances your friends give you whenever he performs a trick just for you. He still performs for other guests too but it’s obvious that he’s putting much more effort into the moves he makes for you.

Bartender!Takuma who slowly but surely gets to know you more, your full name and zodiac, as you tell him happily, your profession, your worries, your hobbies, your likes and dislikes. He’s happy you’re talking to him so much and he’s opening up to you just the same.

Bartender!Takuma who once again forgot to ask you for your number when you leave but it’s okay because he has the strong impression that you’ll visit the pub again, and he hopes it’s because of him.

Bartender!Takuma who is smiling like a little kid on Christmas when he sees you again because he was right that you’d come back. His two colleagues are happy you’re back too because if they had to listen to him talk about you any more they would have punched him.

Bartender!Takuma who builds a solid friendship with you over the course of weeks. You don’t know it but his colleagues tell him when you come in on his days off and how your happy smile always falters when they tell you he’s not working. His heart always skips a beat when he thinks about it

Bartender!Takuma who gladly caters to all your wishes in everything cocktail-wise and always knows which moves to make to get you to laugh. Everytime he succeeds his heart makes a little jump.

Bartender!Takuma who gets urged by his colleagues to finally make a move and ask you out because now that you frequent the pub they have seen many guys looking at you. He gets visibly upset when they tell him that men have bought you drinks on his day off.

Bartender!Takuma who is immediately irritated when a guy on the other side of the bar buys you a drink and tells him to give you a message. But it’s his job, so he has to do it. Instead of making the drink and giving it to you right away however, he asks you if you want to accept it.

Bartender!Takuma who smiles a little too happily when you ask him if it’s impolite to reject the drink from the guy. He reassures you that it’s not impolite and takes care of the guy, in a more or less polite manner because he’d like to keep his job.

Bartender!Takuma who scowls the immediate moment a stranger approaches you and asks if they can buy you a drink. It’s different when someone is standing right next to you, so he knows you’re likely to accept just so you don’t anger the stranger. He takes the stranger's order, internally rolling his eyes at the bitter drink he ordered for you because he knows you don’t like bitter cocktails.

Bartender!Takuma who nonetheless mixes the drink and even performs some of his skilled moves to get you to look at him. When he serves the drink he accidentally spills it, making sure it stains the stranger’s pants. Of course he apologizes, but only you know that it’s a half assed apology that he doesn’t mean

Bartender!Takuma who swears the entire pub can hear his heart leaping when you thank him for saving you with his little stunt. It’s the first time he’s actually blushing and you think it makes him look even more handsome.

Bartender!Takuma who finally has the guts to ask you if you want to go out with him after weeks of pining for you. He’s not as smooth when he asks you, almost a little clumsy with his words but unbeknownst to him you think it makes him seem even cuter.

Bartender!Takuma who can’t hide his relieved and happy smile when you agree on a date. He’s so happy he completely forgets to ask for your number or when you have time. When you leave he wants to kick himself because how can he take you out on a date if he doesn’t even have your number.

Bartender!Takuma who almost breaks out in a happy dance when one of his colleagues hands him the napkin you purposely left behind with your number on it. He’s so happy he seems to be floating and beaming, brighter than the sun itself. All because he’s soon taking you out on the best date you ever had.

[live-laugh-legolas]

Thanks for your headcannons! How about a sketch where Gandalf, for example, helps fem! reader to cope with anxiety/insomnia and how the rest of the fellowship react to it (but only if it's not difficult for you)

I’ve just focused on the anxiety part of this prompt because I have struggled with anxiety my whole life so I feel more comfortable writing about it

I feel like some of these just turned into me giving advice based on my own experiences so please remember I am a very unqualified unprofessional and I love my therapist and suggest everyone get themselves one (as a little treat, you deserve it 💕)

The Fellowship x reader w/anxiety

Aragorn:

-He is very understanding and patient

-Doesn’t let you be embarrassed about your worries

-If you brush off your worry by asking questions about something similar that feels more “reasonable” to you he will gently call you out

-“what are you actually worried about?”

-Your anxiety might not be rational to others but I feel like anxiety rarely is; it’s still valid no matter what and he makes sure you know this

Legolas:

-He doesn’t fully understand it

-And by that I mean he doesn’t understand why some people’s brains just don’t work quite right

-Why would your brain trigger a fear response when there is no threat? Is that a mortal thing?

-Although he is confused a bit he will never judge you for being anxious

-He doesn’t even really think twice about what your anxiety is about; he just wants to help

-He quickly picks up on the fact that sometimes there isn’t really anything he can do except be there for you

-Awkwardly brings you water

-He will keep you company if you can’t sleep because he doesn’t sleep anyway

Gimli:

-He will tell you that he will fight any thing that worries you

-He kinda takes an approach of “I’m going to be over the top so they can see that it not something worth worrying over”

-This is not a mocking sort of thing; I want to make that clear; he is not going to tell you that there is nothing to worry about, he hopes you will come to that conclusion with his comedic support

-He will also give you pep talks like he gave himself before going into the Paths of the Dead (I think that was what it was called; the cave with the cursed ghosts)

-I love his softer moments and I think he would lean into this and be a teddy bear and a solid rock ya know?

-He suggests drinking ale if you can’t fall asleep but you have to tell him blacking out isn’t a healthy way to fall asleep (personally I don’t like the taste of alcohol but it does make me really sleepy. I am of age though; don’t underage drink even if Gimli offers it to you)

Boromir:

-“well what is the worst thing that will happen if (insert worry here)?”

-He takes the approach of “this is your worry and this is every way we will handle it should it come to fruition”

-I know this might not be a particularly great way to handle anxiety but I will say to myself “ok the worst thing that happens is you die. Welp if you die then at least you won’t be stressed anymore and don’t have to go to work in the morning”

-It has just allowed me to find some peace with things out of my control

-Basically he will help you find things you can control in your life and help you accept the things you can’t

Frodo:

-He is a really calm person in general and he is also super patient

-He will listen to any and every worry you have even if you have repeated the same worried question multiple times

-He will remind you to bring something of comfort with you; like your favorite hoodie; if you are going to do something out of your comfort zone or that might trigger your anxiety

-Sam is prone to anxiety at times and he has learned how to help him get out of his head a bit and he does the same for you

-I think he will just hand you something to fiddle with as a small distraction and to get a little energy out; and if nothing is available he will give you his hand or let you play with his hair

Sam:

-He takes a very hands on approach; and by that I mean he knows your common anxieties and helps you to avoid anything that will bring them on

-Will throw a heavy blanket on you if you start to panic

-He’s a little stressed while trying to calm you down just because he wants you to feel better

-He also has some anxiety so he sympathizes; you guys can reassure each other

-If you take meds he will make sure you take them even if he has to hold you down and pill you like a dog

Merry:

-My parents always told my sister and I that “they will tell us if there is something to worry about”

-Merry does this

-He tries to “train” you like a dog with a treat to come and ask him if you should be worried so he can tell you yes or no

-He obviously won’t do this if you don’t get a laugh out of it; he doesn’t want you to think he is making fun of you

-And he will be honest; if it he doesn’t know he will check it out before confirming if you should be worried about it or not

-He teaches you breathing techniques and grounding exercises

Pippin:

-This hobbit is super empathetic and will pick up on your anxiety really quick

-He’s subtle with his comfort though

-Will make excuses for you both to leave a situation without putting any attention on you

-He can be oblivious at times, but never to your emotions

-Does the “nose boop” or something silly to catch you off guard if you start to panic which can help pull you out of that headspace

Gandalf:

-Will tell you some wise shit about how everything experiences stress and how everything ends up working out

-“You are more than your fears. Don’t let your fear control you”

-I just think about the scene when he is talking to Frodo about wishing the ring didn’t come to him

-He will pass you his pipe because he smokes his troubles away; but how’s that going for ya Gandalf? *insert scene of him choking on the smoke but he keeps going despite Pippin looking like he thinks he will die any second*

———————————————————————

I have realized I talk a lot about myself and reference my parents and experiences when I’m writing these. Do y’all find that weird or annoying to read? I have found it sometimes is the easiest way to explain where the headcanon idea came from. But I also don’t want to bore anyone with my wordy explanations

[unicoo]

The fact that there are people out there saying GRRM should shut up about HIS opinion on HIS story, when they always seem to give us their opinions even though we never asked is INFUCKINGSANE!! 💀

First y’all try arguing with the man who CREATED this work of FICTION. Trying to make him wrong about HIS OWN SHIT because YOU can’t handle being wrong or not having your OPINION be right & embraced by the masses is mental 😭

Now y’all are saying my guy George should just stfu & keep his opinion to himself……. Babe I’m going to hold your hand when I said this, take your own advice -We the people would greatly appreciate it 🙂

Also to say he was “unprofessional” when he really wasn’t is the most diabolical way to dick ride Ryan & Sara (who treat us like fucking idiots, let’s be real their writing is so bad & some y’all just eat it up with no complaints like the simpletons they think we are🫤) GRRM could’ve talked shit before the season came out or as it was coming out, that would be unprofessional. Instead he waited till the season was over & it marinated with us all, him included, before stating his thoughts. Y’all love to share y’all thoughts but hate whenever somebody who thinks differently than you says something…..🤨

Another thing PLEASE stop fucking saying he needs to go write the next books, or that he’s doing everything but writing the next books. He doesn’t owe y’all shit, especially after seeing the way y’all are acting right now at this very moment. Just a bunch of ungrateful miserable assholes who love spreading hate onto others 🤦‍♀️ If that man decides to never release those books it HIS RIGHT!!! Being an author and writer is not easy. Writing a book is not easy!! If you think it is, then how about you go & do it 🤔

Go on, wander over to a computer and write a best selling SERIES.

[lunarphoria]

Khaire everyone , I have a little question ( I think that's what it is ) , especially to any other Hellenic Polytheists

I don't want to get too much into it but basically my family did something really hurtful to me today , it's been really affecting me and I'm not really sure what to do . I did tell King Zeus about it , since he's like a parental figure to me , but it was a really (for lack of a better word) unprofessional conversation. I was crying and stuttering throughout the entirety of it , not confident about what I was saying and I'm not sure if that's respectful to him or if I should do something more . I didn't really dare to ask for anything since I'm not able to give anything in return right now , especially not in this situation ( my family doesn't know I'm pagan and I don't really want to try and explain it to them since i don't think they'll understand ) . Plus I don't have an altar space for him , I just thought he'd understand and listen , especially because he's been very kind & comforting to me before. But I feel bad for not doing anything more , maybe I should've written down my thoughts instead in a sort of letter to him ? But I'm pretty sure my writing would be terrible and full of mistakes. I'm not sure what I'm asking for either , probably advice?

[theperfectawful]

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.

[svt-kiki]

( ⌨️ ) 𝐊𝐈𝐊𝐈’𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ! ⌅ .

MAJOR MOMENTS

❪ one ❫　────　YEAR OF 2018 was the beginning of the rollercoaster she never had been before. kiki appeared in produce 48 as the dace trainer this year, and this set the fire for both wide public popularity and the price of fame. at the beginning, she faced with nonchalant backlashes from fans of miyawaki sakura because it looked like she was the only one who opposed to put her into A class.

　however, during the program she gained a lot of positive attention from audience due to professional yet soft and kind behavior towards the trainee. she quietly addressed the mistakes and the points they should modify, gave a thoughtful advice but never raised the voice pointlessly. she carefully curated her attitudes and reactions entire time of filming to avoid causing any evil editing. viewers pointed out the amount of time she was on the screen behind the main object of the scenes, often got caught giving advices and training girls more than any trainers, despite the busy schedules as an idol.

❪ two ❫　────　at the end of the year, she hosted mama 2018 in japan thanks to the reputation through the program. however, at the end of the award show while all of the idols roaming around the stage and greeting with the audience, her heels broke and kiki needed to get to the backstage for the extra shoes. she took off both of heels and tried to reach the stairs which was like miles away before wonho noticed her incident and offered her a ride ‘til there. seventeen and monsta x were always super close, so she declined his suggestion in a friendly way, but wonho lifted her up anyway, since he cared about their little sister so much, and she could got hurt in those bare feet. the audience in the venue thought as just “iconic” moment in those award shows at that time. although most monbebe hadn’t any problem with it and the way monsta x boys cherish kiki was certainly famous among the fandom, some of kpop stans brought up the opinion on the table as she’s being “unprofessional” in the award shows.

❪ three ❫　────　YEAR OF 2019 was the most tough ride among the trails of her career. in march, kiki faced the false bullying accusation from the former pledis trainee. it was quite shocking and back stabbed moment for her, because at that point the ex-trainee, SONG NARI had been working as a back-up dancer for the group about a year. kiki was puzzled, hurt, sad and disappointed all at the same time.

❪ four ❫　────　however, this false accusation was shut down no longer after, due to several former trainees of pledis, just like SONG NARI herself stood up to clear her name, including LEE GAEUN, SAMUEL, LIM NAYOUNG, KYULKYUNG and JANG DOYOON. also pledis announced the statement to deny the rumour completely right after, so this commotion just proved kiki is innocent and she was loved by all people around her — when you took a glimpse from the outside.

❪ five ❫　────　it looked like she’s all fine, stunning in her own beauty. MAMA 2019 IN JAPAN was the turning point that laid the foundation for her later reputation as the it girl. kiki’s visual at the night was no joke, red lips and white & black gown highlighted her natural beauty and showcased jaw dropping allure. the whole venue screamed just as she was projected on the display. after the night, she was recognized as THAT GIRL in mama, marked as the most iconic moment at night.

❪ six ❫　────　of course, the optimistic view only lasted until she announced her first official hiatus from group activity in feburary, YEAR OF 2020. according to the statement issued by pledis, “kiki has recently been undergoing a detailed examination and diagnosis of her health, due to symptoms of distress. after the discussion, all of the seventeen members, including kiki herself, agreed that it would be best for her to take the time to rest and concentrate on the recovery of her psychological well-being.” eventually, she came back after almost a month with her first japanese academy award winning and the announcement her appearance in the upcoming kdrama, “it’s okay to not be okay,” as the lead actress.

❪ seven ❫　────　unfortunately, netizens hadn’t known how to leave her alone. on april, shortly after her resumption from hiatus, they brought the topic on the table which was her demeanor in the newly published youtube video of her, joshua, hoshi and dino’s bangkok trip in 2019. anonymous commented it’s weird and wild how she’s close with male members in the pool, especially they were just wearing the swimsuits and all three boys revealing their upper body. someone was dare to speak up about the “lovestagram-trap” photos kiki and joshua took for fun, that looked like the lovey dovey pictures of the couples in social media. some of the netizens showcased unpleasant of how “sl!ut” she is, repeating the same old story. however, the thing started slowly changing this time. if it was few years ago, couldn’t really say such opinions were rare. but throughout her career as seventeen, how sincere and thoughtful person she is, her hardworking, finally starts blooming. tons of netizens, not only carats, rage about how it is misogynistic and dumb opinion. they pointed out the basic facts such as they’re in the same group, spent several years under the one roof, still living together as a family. the people who has a common sense and brain cells to think things straightly has her back this time, and kiki also senses the shifting as well.

❪ eight ❫　────　in the regard of her first drama appearance, kiki made an interesting announcement during the individual live streaming — perhaps, controversial. she said, “there’s some scenes may implies the smoking in the drama i’m shooting right now. it won’t portray the exact moment of inhaling from cigarettes or anything, mostly just holding a lighted one due to avoid the higher ratings for the show. but i thought it would be better if i know how to smoke at least, because if i had no idea, it would look like a fake, you know. there could be a lack of reality. so i thought it would be more nice to let you know beforehand i start smoking practice.” she continued as “i’m aware that cigarettes not always has a good public image, and quite difficult to quit once it became your habit. although i have never interested for smoking, and still is, because it is certainty not good for your health, i discussed with people around me and maybe i can try and see what i can learn from it. i have no intention to be a smoker, but i don’t know about the future... i will try to not to though,” and indicates that she will understand if carats didn’t like this at all, also she could do without making public about this at first place, but someday the picture of something that shows her smoking could appear online and carats would be shocked and surprised more in that way, so wanted to let people know first the actual intention. kiki also added that cigarettes are unhealthy luxury items, so please don’t think it’s cool or anything just because she tries to learn how to.

　most carats showed understanding what she said because of the trusted relationship she built with her fans throughout the career, known as one of the most well behaved, thoughtful and attentive person. they can see why she’s doing this. however, subsequently, it became to be considerd as her only scandal or controversial case in her career. some of netizens get in a stew over with it, as “did she quit the idol? no? if not, she shouldn’t acting like the actress.” or “she is ruining the group’s image! someone just kick out her from seventeen already,” while other people, including carats defend her that it’s different than the photo of her smoking in the banned place was leaked or something, most of actors know how to smoke for the sake of the job, so as her, nothing dramatic, and these people are trying to make drama to drag down her reputation.

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