#bathroom in this condo is calling to me

[speedlimit15]

[kosagum]

how to fix a toilet — gojo satoru · fluff · 1k words

summary: while moving in with gojo, you fall in love with him again, again, again.

you’re watching GOJO fix a toilet and you think you’ve never been so in love in your life.

of course, you have loved him. but you haven’t gotten to love him like this, standing over the open tank of a toilet with a hand running through his white hair and a pout on his lips as he, with no knowledge about plumbing or waterworks or even toilet repair, tries to fix one.

you should be unpacking in another room, but instead, you lean against the doorway to the bathroom and just…watch him. that is, until he speaks up.

“baby, can’t we call a plumber?” gojo whines, peering into the toilet tank with one hand sifting through the toolbox at his feet. you stifle a giggle behind his back when he picks up a wrench, eyeing it with a frown.

“nope.” you certainly could, but you want to keep him like this longer. “you said you’d fix the toilet if it broke, and it broke. that’s the only reason i agreed to move in with you.”

“the only reason?” gojo looks over his shoulder at you and gapes. “not because i’m your boyfriend?”

that makes you smile, but that’s not it, either.

you’d been all but living together before this; you’d find his socks in your dryer and your favorite snacks in his pantry, he had a spare toothbrush in the cup by your sink and you had one in his, and you both wore the clothes—his jackets, your coats and sweaters—hanging side by side in your closet.

gojo begged you to move in with him every day. and finally, when you realized you didn’t want to live in a home without his socks, his toothbrush, or his jackets, without him, you said yes.

really, there’s no one else you’d rather move in with.

you pretend to think, listing with your fingers as gojo’s gape gives in to a grin. “you’re also annoying, stubborn…”

“still your boyfriend,” he says, pointing the wrench at you with pride. annoying. despite yourself, your smile widens and doesn’t fade when he turns back to the toilet.

malfunction aside, the toilet is shiny and new, as is the bathroom and the rest of this house. the empty rooms are full of sunlight and wet paint and half-unpacked cardboard boxes holding your and gojo’s things. any surface not covered by a box is by housewarming gifts: cookbooks from geto, puzzle sets from ieiri, and a too-big bouquet from all of gojo’s students that you both ended up having to split between vases, leftover bottles, and whatever else could be used as a container.

but the bathroom is not so empty. a shower curtain from gojo’s old condo hangs over the bathtub, towels from your old apartment pile in a corner, and a cup for your toothbrush and his is on the counter by the sink. not a spare toothbrush—his toothbrush, right beside yours.

your eyes fall back on him, still here in the bathroom with you, trying to fix the toilet. and you think this must be love, too. sharing a space, the toilet and the toothbrush holder and everything else in it, and falling just a little more from that alone.

feeling your eyes on him, gojo glances back at you and, to your dismay, catches you staring. “sure you don’t have any other reasons?” he grins again, and you roll your eyes as he tilts his head at you with a laugh.

oh, you have plenty.

you won’t tell gojo all of them now while he’s in the middle of fixing the toilet. but from the eager look on his face, you think he already knows.

“well,” you start, toeing at the tiles beneath you. they alternate between cream and baby blue, your color of choice for the bathroom tiling and his. “i do love you. like this.”

gojo’s grin widens.

he definitely knows.

he sets the wrench down on the bathroom counter and sidles toward you, an eyebrow raised in equal parts amusement and affection. “you love me fixing our toilet?”

you snort as he gets closer, face now only inches away from yours. “i loved you fixing our toilet. which you still haven’t finished fixing, by the way.”

“tell me more about you loving me first.”

you finally laugh, and he tries—and fails—to bite back a grin at it. “seriously,” he says, nudging your foot with his. “tell me.”

you look up at gojo, and in every single one of the thoughts that come to mind is him.

his shoes are kicked off by yours in the foyer. your reading glasses and his sunglasses lie side by side on the counter. two sets of keys are thrown into the tray, matching mugs are stored in the kitchen cupboards, and your clothes are folded next to his in drawers and closets in the bedroom. on walls and tables all over the house sit pictures of you both in frames.

and here in the bathroom is gojo himself, trying to fix the toilet and making you laugh while doing it.

“i love you here,” you finally say, gesturing with an arm at it all.

and gojo grins even wider at you, wide enough for his cheeks to dip into his dimples, and then you’re sure of it: you’ve never been so in love in your life.

he scoops you up, and you laugh again and throw your arms around him as he laughs with you, spinning you around once, twice, before setting you down on the seat of the toilet. your shared toilet.

“i love you here, too,” he says, grinning as he kisses your nose. “and here—” your forehead, “and here—” your cheek, “and here—”

and as you laugh and try to push him away, only for him to cup your face with his hands and kiss you on the mouth, you fall again, again, again.

[nadvs]

okay so basically i was thinking that rafe and reader just had a kid and rafe has been neglecting them and reader for whatever reason and then topper or anyone comes over and since the kid hasn’t seen rafe in so long they end up calling them dad which rafe hears and gets mad at for a bit and then someone puts him in check and he apologizes to reader and starts putting more effort into the family🩷

🍓anon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You don’t understand how Rafe can be so heartless.

Whenever your son smiles at you, dimples just like his father’s, you wonder how Rafe doesn’t miss him. How he can drift in and out of your home, hardly ever present.

Your relationship was once so joyful. You ran in the same social circles, eyes on each other at parties, when your mutual friend Topper finally introduced you to each other.

You hit it off and started dating and then, six months into your relationship, your life changed forever when you stood tense in your bathroom, a positive pregnancy test in your hand.

Rafe was shaken at first. He was shaken for a while. It wasn’t until he saw the screen at your first ultrasound that he could fully understand that you were bringing a human being into the world.

And then he settled into the role, feeling genuinely hopeful about the future for the first time in life. He found a beachfront condo for your growing family. He filled it with furniture. He started talking about all the things the three of you could do together.

But as your son grew, the stress got to the both of you, leading you into more and more arguments with each other. Rafe became cold and distant.

You tried to talk sense into him, tell him that if he was falling out of love with you, that was fine, but he had to love your child. Regardless, Rafe kept drifting away from both of you, your once solid family breaking apart and deteriorating.

One afternoon, you text Topper asking if he can buy and drop off diapers. Rafe was supposed to do it but he hasn’t been home in days. You don’t want to bother calling him, knowing he’ll just disappoint you.

When he comes by, you can see it in Topper’s expression that you look just as sad as you feel.

“You okay?” He’s standing outside the door, handing you the box of diapers.

“I’m so tired,” you admit, voice cracking. “He’s barely even home, Top. It’s like he’s checking out.”

Your son waddles towards you, arms spread out. You wipe away your tears and pick him up, forcing a smile for him.

When he looks at Topper and babbles dada, your heart shatters.

“That’s not dada,” you say, kissing your son on the cheek. You look to your friend. “Sorry. I’m kind of a mess right now. Thank you for dropping these off.”

Rafe is at the club, drinking a scotch and gazing out at the golf course, when his phone starts buzzing, Topper’s name on his screen. He answers with a tired drawl.

“Hey, man,” he hears on the other line. “You gotta get your shit together.”

“What?”

“Your girl’s not doing so good. And your kid thought I was his dad.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She asked me to buy diapers,” Topper says. “Shouldn’t you be doing that?”

Rafe can only angrily hang up, his blood running hot. You’re calling other people for help? Really?

He finds your name in his phone and calls you. But you don’t answer.

It’s late when he finally comes home, carrying two big grocery bags.

You just got your son down to sleep and rush to the door, shushing Rafe as he walks in. He’s pissed off that the first thing you do when you see him is shush him.

“What’s all this?” you ask, looking at the full, heavy bags he’s carrying.

“Apparently, you got someone else to bring you diapers,” he says bitterly, “but I got everything else we need.”

“How would you know what we need?” you say tersely.

“Don’t give me shit right now,” Rafe mutters, placing the bags on the kitchen counter. He starts to put things away, loudly opening cupboards and drawers, when you grip his arm.

“You’ll wake him,” you scold. Rafe turns to look at you, his eyes narrowing.

“I did something good,” he says. “Can you show some goddamn appreciation?”

“Am I supposed to thank you for buying us food?” you snap. “It’s your job.”

Rafe hangs his head, sighing deeply as he rests his hands on the hard marble counter. You’re expecting him to keep arguing with you. But his next words come out strained.

“He thought Top was his dad?” he mumbles.

You cross your arms, feeling a sense of vindication.

“Yeah,” you say. “Can you blame him? He’s the only guy he’s seen around here in a long time.”

Rafe cracks his neck, pacing away from you as he breathes deeply, circling back towards you.

“Why’d you call him?” Rafe asks. He hates that another man provided for his family.

“What, and not you? Like you’re so reliable,” you mutter. “Where the hell have you been, Rafe?”

Rafe’s been living in a haze. He can’t forget your last argument when you screamed at him that if he didn’t love you, fine, but he had to love your son.

Fine. You’re fine if he doesn’t love you anymore.

Rafe has never cried in front of you. He always stifled it or left the room whenever he felt the thick threat of tears in his throat. He thought he had to be a man.

But at this point, he’s too weak to put up a front.

When Rafe starts sniffling, your heart drops. You’re in complete shock that he cares enough to cry about this.

You’re speechless. You stand across from him, just as still as you were the day you learned you were pregnant.

“Home,” he replies, voice thin. He’s been staying at the house, ignoring everyone. When he gets stir crazy, he goes to the club. Either way, he’s been a shell of himself, carrying his sorrow wherever he goes.

“This is home,” you say softly. You look down at the floor, your brows pinched. “What happened? We used to be…”

“What? In love?” he mutters.

“Happy.” You meet his glossy eyes. “Now all we do is fight.”

“And whose fucking fault is that?” he mutters. You scoff incredulously.

“It takes two, Rafe,” you snap. “Is that why you bailed? Because things got tough? Your baby needs you.”

“But do you need me?” he says. His words render you speechless. An even harder, colder tension grows between you.

“You said you’d be fine if I didn’t love you anymore,” he says lowly.

“I meant…” You take a deep breath. “Rafe, I’m… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t love me anymore,” he mutters. “You’ll leave. I’ll barely see him. What’s the point in delaying it?”

Your head is muddled. Normally, you’d put your hand on his when he spins out like this. Talk him down. But he has hurt you so much lately that touching him would feel unnatural.

“I’d never keep your son away from you,” you say.

“But you would break up me,” he says. You’re so angry at him that giving him any sort of reassurance feels like a betrayal to your pain. He doesn’t deserve the consoling.

But then you notice a tear roll down his cheek and your heart softens.

“Is that why you’ve been like this?” you ask.

Over the past few weeks, Rafe realized he was always scared of being abandoned. Under thick layers of anger and disdain, he fears inadequacy. And why not leave before he’s left?

He stares at you in silence, as if saying his fears out loud will make them come true.

“It’s not on me. You stopped loving me a long time ago,” you say, allowing him to see a crack in your armor.

“I never…” he begins resolutely. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

“And this is how you treat somebody you love? By giving up?” you say. “I’ve been doing everything alone. Do you have any idea how exhausted I am?”

Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose, the guilt he’s been repressing flooding him all at once. He knows he’s failing you. Failing your family.

He won’t say anything else. He can’t.

“If you’re sleeping here tonight, you can take the couch,” you say, pacing out of the kitchen. “I don’t want to even lie next to you.”

Rafe doesn’t give into the impulse to leave, even though his fears and anxieties are screaming at him to. He settles onto the couch. It takes him an hour to fall asleep.

When you wake up to your son’s crying from the nursery at dawn, you hear Rafe’s soft, tired voice consoling him. You drift back off into sleep, sure he’ll call you for help within minutes.

When consciousness slowly pulls you out of your slumber, you can tell by the brightness in your room that it’s well past sunrise. When you check your phone, you’re shocked to see that you slept until noon.

You head downstairs, your chest tightening when you see Rafe playing with your son, his smile bright.

Rafe’s blue eyes meet yours. He gave you the gift of rest, something you’ve been dying for.

“I’m not giving up,” Rafe says. “If you break up with me, I want to know that at least, I… I tried my hardest.”

“If you try your hardest, I won’t break up with you,” you tell him, still harboring hostility.

Instead of arguing with you, Rafe simply nods. You’re shocked he doesn’t have a nasty retort.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, planting a kiss on your son’s head, earning giggles from him. “Both of you.”

His tone and gaze are so sincere that you almost believe him. It’ll take a while for you to trust him again, but he’ll wait it out as long as he needs to.

[kleftiko]

❦ MSBY 4 WHEN YOU ASK THEM OUT

cw: none, this is fluff

—atsumu

gets SO upset. like he wanted to ask YOU out and you beat him to it. he had like a ferris wheel ride planned when the carnival came to town, and set up a nice lunch at his brother’s restaurant—basically set up a whole day to culminate in him asking you to be his partner (let’s face it, he’s a huge simp and needs to do extravagant things for you). but none of that seems to matter when you ask him first on a simple coffee date and he just nods like a love struck puppy.

bonus: osamu calls him annoyed cause ofc atsumu bugged him so much with making these perfect plans, but atsumu just kinda responds “you’re just upset cause you’re single”

—bokuto

immediately takes on the role of a passenger princess. as soon as you take charge and ask him out, he realizes he could be the pretty trophy boyfriend he always dreamed of. admittedly, you were taken back, what with how big he is, you kind of assumed he would want to be in charge. but he’s confident and comfortable enough to let you take the wheel: where to go to dinner? you decide. vacation spot? where you want. the tiles in the bathroom of your first condo? he trusts your judgement.

—sakusa

is a bit of an asshole about it (unintentionally). he immediately says ‘no’ when you ask and honestly? that hurts. and it takes him a moment to realize this effect on you and he’s frantically pulling out the little gift he got you. truthfully, he was JUST about to give you this present and ask you to be his partner. he’s just lucky you accept the apology (cause you know he didn’t mean to be rude, he’s just a little awkward).

—hinata

takes you on a date right away. yes, you just asked him to be your boyfriend. no, he didn’t give you an answer. yes, he’s blowing on the hot takoyaki before holding it out to feed you. you have to stop him right then and there, and remind him that you asked him to be your boyfriend. his answer? “did i not say yes?” you assure him that he didn’t. “i’m so sorry! i thought i said it! yes! yes, please let me be your boyfriend.”

[poomphuripan]

the mingjoe hotel room scene has been running on loop in my head all day. uppoom are just insanely talented people Jesus Christ. i would love to hear your thoughts on it!!

and cheers to no phone throwing—just lots of pushing and biting(?), which is definitely a little bit more palatable. i really enjoy that like with the ep3 bathroom scene, ming’s extreme physical behavior is not being romanticized. like sure some (me) will still find it hot but it’s very.. ugly looking? like the way ming is overly rough with his arm around joe’s neck acting like an animal or in a sleazy outfit like ep3 (😭) that it just makes you cringe more than anything else.

hi nonnie (ToT)/~~~

sameeeeeeeeee. this scene was just incredible. so for anyone that doesn't know, this is the scene from chapter 73 'Underestimating Yan Ming Xiu’s Feelings for Zhou Xiang' of Professional Body Substitute. I will leave a small excerpt with edited names for easy reading experience down here.

Joe smiled sarcastically, “Khun Ming, I am just as baffled as you. I don’t know how I could have offended P'Tong. Your FAMILY is of one mind, if you could help me figure it out, perhaps I could correct my mistakes.” When Joe mentioned ‘family,’ he especially emphasized it with a heavier tone. Ming’s expression became unsightly. He grabbed his cell phone and threw it at Joe’s face, immediately hitting Joe in his cheekbones, making it instantly swollen. Ming responded coldly, “Joe, don’t you have a bit of shame. You keep repeatedly speaking to me with this mocking sarcasm. Even if I was to spend money to raise a dog, it’ll bark nicely upon seeing me. Who do you think you are? If it wasn’t because ….. do you think you’re even worth a few yuan?” Joe caressed his face, feeling the air leaking from his voided heart. But he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t feel humiliated, let alone sadness. He felt that what Ming said is extremely right. If it wasn’t because he looked a bit like Tong, whether it was from before or in the present, how could he have the opportunity to stand in front of Ming? After such a long time, he had finally accepted this fact and was able to fully be at peace. He smiled, “What Khun Ming said is right. I admit that I am wrong. No matter what P'Tong does, he must have his reasons.” Ming raised his eyebrows deeply. The smile on Joe’s face made him feel uncomfortable, not only is it uncomfortable, it was simply glaring to the extreme. He instinctively felt that he had seen this expression before from somewhere, this expression made his heart tremble. Ming didn’t know how he could teach this person called Joe a lesson because this person is too untamed. But at the same time, there are so many commonalities between this person and “that person,” so that he is always subconsciously tolerant of him. He has repeatedly tolerated his words and even gave him the condo he had prepared for his older brother. He knew that he is not “Joe” but because there were so many overlapping details between them, it made him lose his mind. He didn’t know what he is expecting from this fake ‘Joe.’ What exactly was he expecting!! He stared at Joe coldly and ordered, “Undress.” Joe is slightly startled and then nimbly removed his clothes piece by piece. Ming press him onto the bed, separating his thighs. Then, he proceeded to brutally and fervently fuck him. The lines on Joe’s back are painfully stretched, his muscles trembled violently with Ming’s frightening rigorous speeds; sweat dripped along the sides of his cheeks onto the bed sheet. Joe clenched his teeth trying with much difficulty to suppress himself from making any sounds. The moans lodged in this throat instead became smothering sounds. The phone next to the bed suddenly rang. Joe slowly looked up and blankly glanced at it. Ming immediately pressed his head into the blanket and hoarsely shouted, “Don’t let me see your face!” Joe’s face was forced into the blanket. He hated that he couldn’t directly bury himself beneath the bed. Ming picked up the handset; his thrusting movements became a bit stagnant but he was still slowly pummeling in and out of Joe. Back and forth, his hot weapon thrusted repeatedly into Joe’s body. This strange feeling made his entire body shook.

okay so i was crazy excited for how they were gonna adapt this onscreen because for this scene to truly delivered they had to be able to retain the shame joe had to bear to hear those hurtful words from ming while showing ming is lashing out as a result of him being driven up the walls due to the similarity between joe 2.0 and joe 1.0, especially when joe 2.0 associated him and tong as 'family'.

i totally agree with the series' refusal to romanticize any of these scenes. and i think the best adaptation change has been for joe to say all these things back to ming whereas he didn't in the novel.

oh god poom's eye work in this scene was just incredible. i think i prefer this to his resigned attitude in the same scene of the novel. the series has designed joe to be more emotional and vulnerable than his novel counterpart and i think it fits in line well with the comments in the first few episodes of novel readers noting that joe seems more "innocent" and "naive" than novel!zhou xiang.

all gifs courtesy of @jimmysea

and yes as you mentioned, it doesn't feel romantic at all. and i'm sure it's completely intentional on the producers to design this scene as such so we get a remorseful ming the following morning and heightened the tension between the two characters, while building up to the reveal scene at the end of the episode.

like just how can joe 2.0 trust ming saying this when ming is seemingly the same 'guy who lashes out' in that very fight scene they had earlier.

i also like the contrast between the design of that fight scene and the scene where ming ended up not following through with sex when joe 2.0 had reminded him of joe 1.0 (see, he can make good decisions on rare occasions). it's interesting because at that point you'd think ming has changed but then just one mention of joe/tong is such a sore subject for him, as if it's a sharp reminder (from joe himself) that he (and tong) are the reason for joe's disappearance, that it triggers all ming's buttons and he's right back to square one. it's a long journey for ming to prove his love to joe and i like that the series doesn't make it an easy ride for him even if they've 'toned down' to make the characters more palatable and human.

i don't know i'm just rambling incoherently at this point, but i hope that made sense nonnie ಥ_ಥ

edit: linking this weibo post from the msi supertopic which discusses the conversation. why do i hate miscommunication but love this so much wahhhhh. also more praises for this scene here.

[male-body-swap-lover]

That Suburban Dad Life

Nicholas Fletcher was young, but he was well on his way. A young ad exeuctive who lived in downtown Chicago. A stunning new condo at Wolf Point that looked directly down the south branch of the Chicago river. Not everyone was so lucky. And did he care? Not at all. Selfish. Unlikeable. Cutthroat. Just some words that described Nicholas Fletcher. At least he had the heart of Ms. Annabelle Davis. She came from a wealthy family and Nicholas saw it as a way to get ahead in his career. Today was the day he was going to propose to the “love” of his life. Unfortunately he was running late.

“God dammit. Stupid traffic. Why won’t these pedestrians move out of the way”, he said.

In his impatience, he accidentally hit the accelerator instead of the brake and hit an old woman walking in front of his car.

“Oh fuck” he said.

He got out of the car and walked to the old lady who had fallen. He tried to help her up but she swatted his hand away.

“I don’t need help. Could you not see I was walking” she screamed at him.

“Look lady, I am on my way to propose to my girlfriend. I don’t have time to wait for some old lady from the suburbs to cross the road. I’m sorry.

“Young man, you are impatient and unkind.”

“And you are kind of a dramatic bitch. Get up off the street so I can go.”

“All you young men are so rude. You call me suburban. I bet if you were suburban, you’d have some patience and manners.”

As she stood up, she whispered in his ear “I curse you. The next time you meet a woman from the suburbs, you are slowly going to turn into her ideal companion. It’ll teach you some manners and respect.”

Nicholas laughed as she slowly walked away. He got back into his car and sped away to Alinea.

He parked his car and was walking inside just as a young woman was walking out, crying. He tried to avoid her, but they accidentally bumped into each other.

“Oh I am so sorry. My boyfriend just dumped me. I came in all the way from Elgin and I thought he was going to propose, but he dumped me!” She started cring again.

Nicholas didn’t know how to respond, so he just muttered sorry and kept walking into the restaurant.

He greeted Annabelle and sat down. He had arranged to have the ring be presented as part of dessert. As they talked all through dinner, Nicholas felt off. He couldn’t get comfortable. Everything Annabelle kept talking about bored him. He just couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him and decided he wasn’t going to propose. He called the waiter over while she was in the bathroom and got him the stop the proposal. After finishing dinner, he parted ways with her and went home.

As he sat in his living room, he felt this weird urge to drive out to Elgin. He couldn’t shake the feeling so he decided to do it, and went into his room to change. He grabbed his cubs jersey and jeans, but for some reason he tucked his jersey into his jeans. He had to admit it looked dorky, but didn’t untuck it.

He got into his car and drove out to the Elgin. He didn’t know where he was going so after driving around passing house after house, he went downtown and ended up at a bar. He sat down at the bar and ordered a beer, even though he normally got a martini. The game was on and he was enjoying it even though he rarely watched sports because he was always working.

After a while a young woman sat down next to him. They started talking and they had a really good time. He knew he should go home and call Annabelle, but he was having a good time. Hours passed and suddenly it was time for the bar to close. He paid for her drinks and they walked out. They ended up kissing goodnight and he got back into his car. Only when he got in, did he realize the woman was the woman he had run into hours earlier in the city. He couldn’t believe it. He drove back into the city and went to bed.

Weeks passed and Nicholas changed. Annabelle kept calling him but he dodged all of her calls. His performance at work went downhill. For some reasons, nothing was making sense. He stopped going to the gym and he started gaining weight. He even let his facial hair grow in more. Every time he looked in the mirror, he thought he was starting to look more like his father. Finally his boss came into his office and told Nicholas he had to take some time off of work. He needed rest. Nicholas realized he was right and went home.

A week passed and Nicholas didn’t leave his apartment at all. Finally he felt the urge to go out and went to put on some suitable clothes. However nothing fit. He had gained so much weight that he was no longer a 32 waist. He found some sweatpants and decided to go shopping to get some clothes that would fit. On instinct, he drove out to the suburbs and went shopping at Kohls. It seemed to go by in a whirlwind and he found himself back home with bags and bags of clothes. As he looked through the bags, he realized everything he bought was not fashionable. It was all dad attire. He pulled out a a polo shirt and some cargo shorts. He laid them on the bed and started laughing. This was not him at all. It was something he thought some dad out in the suburbs would wear.

Then something came over him. Some insane urge to put on the clothes. So he stipped down. First he put on a white undershirt. Then he slipped on the polo shirt and buttonened one button. Then he put on the cargo shirts and tucked in his polo shirt. He grabbed a brown belt and cinched it around his waist. Then he grabbed a pair of white socks that he bought and put them on and pulled them all the way up. Then he slipped on a pair of sneakers and grabbed a baseball hat. He stood in front of the mirror and laughed. With his weight gain, and with his beard grown out, and with these clothes on, he could have passed for some suburban dad. He started laughing and then his body seized up.

Suddenly, Nicholas felt everything in his brain shifting. Thoughts of ads and revenue were replaced with electrical knowledge and wiring. Late nights at the office were replaced with thoughts of relaxing in a recliner with a beer watching sports. Weekends spent at the club were replaced with thoughts of grilling for the neighbors and mowing his lawn. Finally thoughts of Annabelle were replaced with thoughts of the woman he met at the bar, Natalie Richards. Nicholas suddenly snapped out of it. He looked around his trendy highrise apartment and knew that it was all wrong. He didn’t belong here. He belonged in the suburbs. He grabbed his keys, got in his car, and drove back to Elgin. For some reason he knew exactly where Natalie Richards lived. He got out the car, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell. She answered the door.

“Hi Natalie, it’s Nick Fletcher. You may remember we met at the bar a few weeks ago. While I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and was just wondering if you would like to go on a date?”

“Oh Nick, that’s so unexpected. Yes, I would love to. Just give me a few minutes to get ready! And don’t you look cute!”

Nick stood outside and waited for Natalie. He struck up a conversation with some neighbors about the cubs performance. Time flew by and Nick and Natalie went on there date. Everything was perfect.

15 Years Later

Nick couldn’t believe how the years had flown by! The very next day after his first date with Natalie, he put his condo on the market and quit his ad job. He broke up with Annabelle and found a place out in Elgin. He also started his own electrician business with all the knowledge he had somehow gained out of nowhere. After six months of dating, Natalie and Nick got engaged, and six months later, they got married. Every part of Nick’s old life was gone. He no longer dressed in trendy clothes. He didn’t keep up with everything going on in the world. He wasn’t concerned about being at the top of his game. He just wanted a good stable homelife for himself, his wife, and his future family.

Nick and Natalie quickly got to business and had four wonderful kids, Michael, Jacob, Elizabeth, and little Nick Jr. They had to buy a bigger house in the suburbs and that was okay by them. There was now room for a pool out back and a ping pong table in the basement. Sure it was more expensive, but the business was doing well, and he could always save money other places. Anything to make his family happy was worth it. Yes he had gained more weight, and yes his hairline was receding, but he was happy. He had a good, steady middle class job, a good house in the suburbs, and a family who loved him. What could be better?!

[kazumist]

EPISODE 19 ♡ AFTERGLOW AND DAYLIGHT

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL — A SCARAMOUCHE SMAU

masterlist / prev ep / next ep / wc: 1001.

when dawn came upon him, kuni heard nothing from you. and when the afternoon passed, there was still nothing. he was slowly getting nervous and worried. he hasn’t heard anything from your group ever since he saw kazuha’s car leave last night.

but he still held onto that small speck of hope.

the hope that made him, broke him, and left him begging for more. hope is a dangerous thing for someone who doesn’t know how to stop. for someone like kunikuzushi. but is it really worth it to give up when he's finally given a sign that his love is going to be reciprocated?

so he waited for you, just like he always did. after all, kuni will never get tired of waiting for you.

he paces back and forth in the living room of his condominium, wondering what to do. if he had to be honest, he really should’ve made you chase him a bit more. but even so, how can he resist when you literally told him that you loved him the night before? the rain started getting stronger, and it was around six in the evening already.

kuni sits down, deciding that he should just order himself some takeout. as soon as he tapped the place order button, his doorbell rang. confused, he opens the door.

and there you were, drenched from head to toe.

“i love you.”

“well, aren’t you soaked?” he replies, leaning against the doorstep.

you roll your eyes at him, fighting back a smile. “let me get dried, first," he chuckles. “alright.” when you entered his condo, you made your way straight to the bathroom to dry yourself. but before you could close the bathroom door, kuni called out to you.

“and (name)?”

“yeah?”

“i love you more.”

“really now?” you teased.

“what a way to ruin the mood.” this time, it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“i was kidding! look at me; i’m literally blushing right now.”

“uh huh. get yourself dried already.”

you smiled at him fondly before you shut the door. and once you were done, you asked to borrow an extra shirt from him since you were wet from the rain. you sat down next to him, wearing his shirt, which is slightly bigger than yours.

“so.”

“so?”

“do you remember anything from last night?” he asks.

“yeah, from entering the bar up until you know.”

“no, i don’t.” he says. you glare at him in return, in which he just gave you an all knowing smile in response. “up to when you kissed me!”

“what took you so long, though?”

“oh, i slept the whole day, but i immediately made my way here when i woke up.” 

he nodded in acknowledgment. and then there was silence.

“i’m sorry," you suddenly say. “what for?”

“for everything—the mixed signals, the mean things i’ve said before towards you, especially after we broke up, for raising my pride far too high, and for that... night, especially that night, but most of all, i’m sorry that i took this long.” 

you took a deep breath.

“i love you, kuni. i’m ready now. i want to love you the way you love me—an unconditional, pure, and committed love. i’ll stop being scared now.”

it felt relieving to finally say those words out. this is what you’ve been waiting for ever since the night you realized you couldn’t lose kunikuzushi again in your life.

“took you long enough.” you let out a light laugh at his words. “i know.”

“but… can i ask?”

“go ahead.”

“what took you so long?”

“ah. well, you know. i just thought you were just too good to be true back then. i felt like i didn’t deserve you, and the fact that we were going through our first year didn’t really help either because i felt pressured. we lasted during twelveth grade during college application season, sure, but things just became… different when college actually came around. i didn’t know what i wanted back then; i drowned myself in studies, i ended up shutting you and the others out more than you could count.”

“but you still stayed with me despite that—despite me pushing you away. you understood me, and i really appreciated that. but you deserved someone better. you’re made for many, many great things, kuni. and i didn’t want to become some sort of hurdle for your career. so i broke up with you instead. you didn’t deserve to be with the old me, but now that i think of it, i was a red flag as of late, no?”

“i didn’t see you as a red flag,” he starts. “but honestly? you were a perfect example of a walking paradox. you didn’t know what you wanted, but i did. i wanted to show you that you deserve love despite having my own obstacles in life too. you’re the risk i wanted—no, you’re still the risk i want to take. if i had to choose someone over and over again, it would be you. it will always be you.”

 you wiped away the few tears that left your eyes. “thank you, kuni.”

 “don’t cry; did you know that you’re an ugly crier?”

“stop ruining the mood!” you smacked his arm. he laughs and proceeds to wipe away your tears for you. “but kuni?”

“mhm?”

“let’s take it slow again, okay?”

“of course.”

it may be unbelievable for others to believe that the snarky, usually grumpy, and typically cold kunikuzushi scaramouche is actually someone who would be like this in terms of love. but kunikuzushi couldn’t bring himself to love another after you; the love that he once believed was black and white turned out to be golden—something to remember, something to cherish. and you’d rather have kuni be the one to catch you every time your walls start crumbling around you; you’d rather have him be the one who would understand you and love you nonetheless.

you were his daylight. and he was your afterglow.

taglist (open): @yinyinggie @blue-b3rries @ryuryuryuyurboat @your-local-reblogging-kazoo @lilikags @haliyamori @diorlumx @mamafly @zuunotsane @iloveosamuu @featuredtofu @kana-de @xiaoderrrr @f1orent1ne @alhaitie @yelleloww @brain-r0tt @jamieexistss @danfelions @e0nssadrift @lovemari @kunikissr @chluuvr @lazy-sanns @lxkeeeee @swivy123 @sketcheeee @quacking-simp @tiredslepz @vxcmx @kichiy0shi @yingofthemoon @feiherp @sicut-sol @mayuumine @xiaosoneandonly @xtobefreex @bananasquash @im-the-ruler-here @hiraethhv @yumiaur @oughhhhmamamia @beriiov @cindywasneverhere @klanxii @fangygf @draclula @aromaticism @shotosjupiter @lyzisbitchingagain @lovelykrystal @riraaya @aether-darling @kochothehoe [1/2]

[agirlwithdemonblood]

The Celebrity Next Door: Chapter 1 - Welcome to the Neighborhood

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Reader (Written in first person, but with Y/N)

Series Summary: Y/N's life takes an unexpected turn when she moves next door to Jensen Ackles, a famous actor navigating life post-divorce. Their initial awkward encounter over a broken window leads to a budding friendship, navigating the challenges of celebrity life and forging meaningful connections in their neighborhood.

Chapter Summary: Y/N, a New Yorker adjusting to life in Los Angeles, finds herself entangled with her neighbor Jensen Ackles and his daughter Katie after a baseball mishap leads to unexpected connections and new beginnings in their shared neighborhood.

A/N: Okay, so it may be weird but I'm writing this in first person POV, but the name will be changed to Y/N. Might be annoying, but it's easier for the story. Thank you!

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

The sun beamed through the bay window of my living room, filling the air with the chirping of birds and scurrying of squirrels. It was a surprisingly joyful sound that welcomed me on my first real day in Los Angeles—a city I had dreaded joining.

Maybe my initial judgments were coloured by my New York roots; after all, I was unquestionably a city girl. I've always found comfort in the sounds of the city; cars honking, people scattered everywhere living their lives-that was the life I was used to. As much as I was excited about the new chapter of my life, there were qualities of LA that would take some getting used to, things that puzzled me.

Like why was it always so damn bright here? The sky, the buildings, the houses-all of it seemed to glow with an intensity that demanded sunglasses just to step outside. And why were the houses so enormous? It seemed ridiculous. I only need a bed, a bathroom and a kitchen yet here I was in what they called a condo, but felt more like a mansion with its space.

But despite my initial objection to LA’s charms, I couldn’t deny the peacefulness of the palm-tree-lined streets and the birdsong that greeted me each morning in a way New York never could.

I rolled onto my side, glanced at my phone, and sighed. 10:00 am already. There was still so much unpacking to do, and no one to help.

These first days were going to be busy. Pushing myself off the less-than-comfortable bed, I shuffled to the kitchen where the only thing I had set up so far was my Keurig machine. Leaning on the counter, I patiently awaited that first magical cup of morning coffee. Glancing outside, I squinted at the brilliant sunlight that threatened to overwhelm me. Seriously, why was it so damn bright here?

The coffee machine groaned, signaling it was ready. I turned to grab my mug when a sudden crash shattered the quiet. Instinctively, I dropped to the ground.

Peeking slowly over the counter, I discovered the cause—a baseball sitting right there on my kitchen floor, glass scattered everywhere around it.

I chuckled softly and shook my head. One thing I wouldn’t miss about New York: the reflex to duck for cover at every unexpected noise.

Moments later, the doorbell rang, nearly sending me into cardiac arrest. I approached guardedly, peeking through the side windows. A little girl stood on my porch, her expression guilt-ridden.

I opened the door, looked around for a parent nearby before crouching down to her eye level. “Hi there. Can I help you?”

Her small hands fidgeted with her zipper nervously. “I… I accidentally hit your window with my baseball. It’s inside your house.”

I smiled warmly. “It’s okay. What’s your name sweetie?”

Her eyes glanced up slightly, a light sniffle coming from her nose. “Katie."

“Well, Katie, I’m Y/N. Let’s go get your ball, alright? Are your parents around?”

She looked around and shook her head. “My daddy’s inside. Mommy’s not here.”

I nodded, retrieving the ball and returning to find Katie waiting patiently on the porch. I couldn’t help but giggle at her adorableness. Despite the broken window, I looked forward to having children around, filling the street with laughter and play.

Carefully navigating the scattered glass, I handed Katie her ball. She beamed up at me as I closed and locked the door behind us. “Where’s your house? I’ll take you back to your dad.”

Katie pointed to a massive white house next to mine, surrounded by a high fence and perfectly kept lawn which only peaked my curiosity.

Following Katie to her gate, I watched her disappear inside the house quickly, calling for her dad to come to the door. I waited patiently and suddenly anxiety filled my chest at the concept of meeting my new neighbour in this way.

It took a few minutes, but finally the little girl returned with a larger figure I could barely see from where I was standing. He approached the door and with every step he took towards the light, the more my breath got caught in my throat.

I knew him—or at least recognized him from somewhere. His piercing green eyes met mine, and suddenly it clicked: Jensen Ackles. I struggled to maintain composure, reminding myself he was just a person like me, despite my heart threatening to burst from my chest.

“Can I help you?” His voice was direct, cutting through my nerves.

I managed a polite smile, trying to gather my thoughts. “Hi... I just moved in next door. Your daughter accidentally threw a baseball into my kitchen window, and she came over to...”

“Katie!” His sharp voice interrupted, causing me to jump. He turned to his daughter, arms crossed. “What did I tell you about throwing the baseball around? This is the third time this month!”

Katie’s eyes dropped, on the verge of tears. I wanted to comfort her or maybe scold Jensen, but I knew nothing about parenting. Still, seeing him yell at her harshly made my anxiety rise.

The worst part of this whole situation though, was the way he was glaring into my soul, arms still crossed, a deep frown on his face. It felt like the very essence of my being was completely ruining his day.

He sighed, leaning against the doorway with a hint of apology in his eyes. “Is that all, or is there something else?”

I faltered, sensing his impatience. “Uh, no, that’s it, I guess.”

“Okay. Thanks, bye.” With that, the door closed, leaving me staring at the wooden texture of my first celebrity encounter.

As I walked back to my house, I couldn't stop the sadness that crept in. It was my first day, and it had already started roughly. I wondered if I would ever warm up to this place.

An hour later, most of my boxes were unpacked, clothes neatly put away away, and a single family photo hung in the hallway that was taken at a family reunion over a year ago. Our family wasn't the photo taking type, and that's one thing I vowed to change, because as I stared at the empty wall with the lone photograph, I felt sad.

But when I looked around my spacious new home, I felt a sense of relief. The morning’s drama and anxiety had faded away.

I grabbed my coffee and stepped onto the front porch, sinking into the swing that came with the house. Examining the neighborhood, I noticed kids playing—biking, rollerblading, and drawing with chalk.

My gaze landed on Jensen’s front yard. Katie was there, playing with a little boy who looked just like him. Jensen was noticeably absent, which didn’t surprise me.

I headed out to collect my mail, when I heard a familiar voice calling my name. My heart warmed as Katie waved at me from her yard. Returning her wave with a smile, I realized maybe I wouldn’t hate this place after all.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 2 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[worldofheroes]

A New Approach

tom cruise x girlfriend!reader

summary: during filming, you want to try something that ends up making the cut and becomes the most talked about scene.

warnings: fluff, hint of angst in the beginning if you squint

wc: 680

a/n: based on this request by @rveyjules ! ❤️ hope you enjoy!! My fluffy fics are always so short, hope y’all aren’t too mad! I also couldn’t find a pic/gif I liked so here we are 🫣

Tom and McQ were always in their own world when filming. It was difficult for anyone to break through their thoughts and bring them back to reality.

You were missing your boyfriend. You knew there was work to do, but everything had been so serious for the past week of filming. You were tired of it.

You’d go home at night and Tom was occupied with thoughts of how to film something differently or where the story should go. Most nights, you slept alone in your shared king-sized bed as Tom spent all hours in his office working.

You desperately wanted his attention, and you knew just how to do that.

The upcoming scene between you and Tom was emotional and ended in a tight hug between the two characters. Maybe, just maybe, you could convince Tom and McQ to let you do something different with the scene.

“I wanna try something else for this scene,” you tell Tom and McQ after a take.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Tom asks you, half paying attention to you.

“I just… wanna try something, okay? If you don’t like it, fine,” you say.

Tom looks at you, mind coming back to the present.

“You wanna try something?”

McQ looks over at Tom.

“If you don’t like it, fine. I just want to do one take, that’s all,” you tell them.

“Let’s do one take,” Tom says.

“Okay,” you beam at the two men.

McQ calls action, and you and Tom go through your dialogue.

When it’s time for the hug, you practically leap at Tom, causing him to stumble backwards a couple steps.

Tom instinctively wraps his arms tighter around you as he recovers from the sudden move.

“Cut!” McQ calls out, holding back laughter.

“That might’ve been a little too much, y/n,” Tom chuckles.

You finally have your boyfriend back, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Sorry,” you giggle. “Just wanted to try something new.”

Tom smiles and kisses the top of your head.

A few months later, you are curled up on the couch flipping through the tv channels as Tom works on post-production for the movie.

You hear the door to your condo open.

“Hey sweetheart,” Tom calls out.

“Baby,” you say, getting off the couch immediately to greet him.

Tom wraps you in a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you mumble into his chest.

“Remember that take we did where you jumped at me?” Tom asks you.

You laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

“We decided to keep it in the film.”

“What?”

“We just loved that take the most, so we kept it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Tom smiles, kissing you.

“I just did that for fun, nothing serious.”

“The scene needed something like that. It’s gonna go over well with the audience, I promise you.”

You study Tom’s face. “I guess you’ve been producing films longer than I have…”

“You haven’t produced even one,” Tom teases.

“Hey!” you laugh, smacking his chest.

“Just wait, I promise it’ll take well.”

Months after that conversation with Tom, the movie finally released and you were doing a press tour with the cast.

One night in your hotel room, you’re scrolling through social media as Tom finishes getting ready for bed.

As you scroll through the movie’s hashtag, you see the same clip popping up all over the place - the clip of you lunging at Tom.

Every post is saying “if this isn’t how you hug me every day, I don’t want it”.

“Tom,” you say.

“Yes?” he replies.

“People are going crazy over that hug.”

“What did I tell you?”

You smile, setting your phone down and scooting across the bed to watch Tom in the bathroom.

“I know,” you say.

Tom walks out of the bathroom to you. He kisses the top of your head, and taps your legs, wanting you to move.

You scurry into a seated position next to Tom, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he tells you.

“I love you too,” you reply, reaching up to give him a kiss.

[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.

[kookie-doughs]

Daddy Cupid

Modern!Various One Piece Men X Reader

-When your father grows weary of your single life, he takes it upon himself to play matchmaker. With him knowing the entire city, he embarks on a mission to find you the perfect match.

Chapter 2: Cupid's Arrow

As you approach the condo, the guard recognizes you and opens the door with a smile and a nod, familiar with your face.

Having a spare key, you simply let yourself in and crash onto the sofa.

"Y/N," a voice calls from behind you.

With your face planted on the couch, all you can manage is a muffled "Heyy."

The man groans, and hearing his footsteps walking away, you finally turn to face upright.

"Smokeyyyy..."

"What?" he replies from the bathroom, where he's brushing his teeth.

"I fell for Dad's tactics again..."

His head peeks out of the bathroom as he rinses his mouth. "Who is it this time?"

"Edward's son..." you sigh, realizing you've been roped into another matchmaking setup.

"Well, that can't be that bad," Smoker remarks optimistically.

"You say that, but all the dates Dad has set up for me so far are weirdos," you retort, listing off your previous experiences.

"They're not weirdos."

"King tried to rope me into his cult. Kuro is obsessed with cats, and his two cats are hideous. Pretty sure he also had a knife play kink. And Cracker plays with his food like he's 7."

"Marco isn't that bad from what I heard," Smoker offers.

"Who's Marco?" you inquire.

"Edward's son. He just moved here a few weeks ago. He's a doctor," Smoker explains.

"Ugh, you're supposed to talk shit about this, don't list off his good traits. Do you not want me to marry at 40?" you complain, frustrated with Smoker's positive outlook.

"You're hopeless. Come on, I'm on duty," Smoker insists, pulling you up.

"Can't I just stay hereeeee...." you whine.

"No," Smoker says firmly, pushing you out and closing the door behind you both.

You pout as Smoker escorts you out, and you protest, Smoker sighed. "If you want someone who'd shit on people, go visit Buggy or something."

"Fine, maybe I will!" you stomp away, and Smoker follows you silently.

Before you part ways, he ruffles your hair and says, "See ya later. Good luck on your date," with a smirk. Leaving you more upset.

As you mumble under your breath and scrunch your face in frustration, you become distracted and fail to pay attention to where you're walking.

"You're in the way!"

In a moment of carelessness, you accidentally get hit by a bike, causing you to stumble and fall to the ground. As you and the man on the bike fall, you quickly look up to see who it is. Your eyes meet his, and you both take a moment to assess the situation. You find yourself face to face with a tall and imposing figure. The man had a considerable stature, with a strong and well-built frame. He has black, curly hair cut to chin length that fans out at the tips, tanned skin, and an altogether lean, long build.

Your upsetness quickly takes over, and you glare at the man who bumped into you.

"This was a sidewalk, why are you even here!" you snap.

"Bikes are allowed on this sidewalk. Why weren't you paying attention?" he grumbles in response.

"You ruined my clothes!" you exclaim.

"You ruined my bike."

"No, I didn't!" you argue, pointing at the perfectly okay bike that was just on the ground.

"Fine, maybe my bike is fine, but you're still at fault," he concedes, getting up and dusting himself off before picking up his bike.

You hurriedly get up, not wanting him to divert from the issue at hand. However, you wince when a sudden pain shoots through your wrist as you try to push yourself up, causing you to clutch it in discomfort.

The man looks at your wrist and, despite his grumbling, takes your hand to examine it. You wince in pain and pull your hand away from him.

He then pulls out his wallet and hands you a paper. "Calling card. Get that checked, then call me. Sorry for the trouble," he mutters, seeming somewhat remorseful.

"Shouldn't you take me to somewhere I can get checked instead of telling me to go alone?" you glare at him, frustrated by his lack of assistance.

"I'm busy. Anyways, just call me," he says as he starts to leave, showing little interest in staying to help further.

You trudge to the closest hospital or clinic you can find, nursing your injured wrist. The nurse at the front desk helps you fill out the necessary paperwork, and you take a seat in the waiting area.

After a while, the doctor emerges from his room, the doctor was a tall, lean, muscular man with blond hair and a rather sleepy look on his face sporting some stubble around his chin. The doctor briefly speaks with an elderly lady, cautioning her to be careful, before turning his attention to the nurse and inquiring about the next patient to see.

The nurse calls for you, and you make your way to the doctor's room. The doctor, with a sweet smile, welcomes you inside.

"So, Ms. L/N, for a broken wrist?" he reads from your paperwork.

You nod and reply, "Y-Yeah, an asshole bumped into me..."

He chuckles sympathetically and looks at you as you cradle your injured wrist. "May I?"

"O-Oh, right," you say, realizing he needs to examine it. Slowly, you hand your hand over to him, and he gently takes it, carefully inspecting your wrist. He proceeds to move it and perform various examinations.

"Well, I'll just wrap it up and keep it on for two weeks. You can't let this get wet, and I'd suggest you remove it when you sleep," he advises, outlining the treatment plan for your broken wrist.

"Also, from your paperwork, it said you got hit by a bike. You might have bruises or something, would you want me to check those too?" the doctor inquires.

"Uh, sure..." you agree, realizing that it's probably a good idea to make sure you haven't sustained any other injuries from the accident.

The doctor carefully examined you, paying attention to any potential injuries beyond your broken wrist. After a thorough check, he pointed out, "Well, it seems you have an abrasion at the back of your thigh, and there's another one on your ankle."

You blinked in surprise, realizing you hadn't even noticed those injuries. "Oh, I didn't even notice."

The doctor chuckled at your response. "Perhaps its the adrenaline from the accident must have masked the pain. It happens more often than you'd think. I'll clean and dress these wounds for you, so they don't get infected."

After the doctor dressed your wounds and provided you with the necessary care, you paid for the medical services and expressed your gratitude before leaving the clinic.

With your wrist securely wrapped and your minor injuries tended to, you made your way to Buggy's place.

You knock on the door, and it's answered by a slim, well-endowed woman with dark-green eyes and long, wavy black hair. She greets you with a scowl, clearly not pleased with your presence.

"Who are you?" she scoffs, crossing her arms defensively.

"Don't worry, I'm not here for you," you reply dismissively, pushing past her to enter the room. She gasps at your audacity.

She quickly runs to the couch, where you spot a familiar redheaded figure watching TV. She jumps into his arms, and you roll your eyes at the dramatic display before knocking on Buggy's room, eager to get this meeting over with.

As you knock on Buggy's room, the redhead inside turns to see who's entered. His eyes light up with excitement when he sees you, and he quickly pushes away the woman who was in his arms.

"My love! Y/N~ You couldn't help but come for me, hmm~?" Shanks exclaims, trying to pull you closer.

"Is Bug home?" you ask, trying to keep the conversation on track.

"I am~ Do you still need him~?" Shanks sings, pulling you closer once more. Annoyed, you grab his ear, causing him to hiss in pain. "Ow owowowow!!!"

"Yes or no?" you demand.

"He's asleep!!!!" He finally answers, albeit reluctantly.

Pushing Shanks away, you roll your eyes and decide to call Buggy directly. You pick up your phone and dial his number, not wanting to deal with any more unnecessary drama in the room.

In the background, you can hear the woman and Shanks starting to argue, but you pay them no mind as you patiently wait for Buggy to answer your call.

Buggy picks up the phone after a few rings, and you quickly inform him of your presence.

"I'm outside, open your door," you instruct.

You hear some commotion and noises from inside the room, and then the door swings open. "H-Hi!" Buggy stammers.

Without wasting any time, you push him back into the room and close the door behind you, not wanting to deal with Shanks or the woman any longer.

"Bug, Smokey didn't comfort me," you complain, turning your attention to Buggy.

"Comfort you why?" Buggy asks, looking genuinely confused.

"Dad got me another date..." you sigh in exasperation.

"Again?? Didn't he promise not to?" Buggy questions, clearly surprised.

"I know, right?! He never keeps his promise! I told him I'm moving to mom's if he doesn't keep this promise."

Buggy raises an eyebrow. "Who's your date this time?" he inquires, curious about the latest candidate your father has selected.

"Smokey said his name is Marco. I don't know him, though..." you explain.

Buggy chuckles and says, "I bet he's an ass too."

"THANK YOU!!!" you exclaim, rolling your eyes. "Smokey said he's amazing," you mock, emphasizing the word 'amazing' with a sarcastic tone.

"Oh, I bet he also said how this one might be the right one!" Buggy adds, catching onto the pattern of your father's matchmaking attempts.

"EXACTLY OMG!!" you reply, the frustration evident in your voice. It seems both you and Buggy share a similar skepticism about these setups.

"Why not just ask your dad to help you with Hawkeye," Buggy suggests.

You flush and retort, "Shut up, you clown."

"It was just a suggestion. You want him anyway," He insists.

"He has kids," you remind him.

Buggy smirks and teases, "What a dilf, am I right?"

"You're the worst, omg! I have a date tomorrow, hellooooo!" you exclaim, exasperated by his antics.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

HI GUYS I'VE WRITTEN AND ALMOST FINISHED DOFFY'S STORY BCUZ UHM I KNOW I SAID THIS STORY WAS SUPPOSED TO BE OWNED BY MARCO BUT I FELL IN LOVE WITH DOFFY AGAIN

I'll be writing either Marco, Katakuri or Aokiji next I'll let you know who ill write

im letting you guys know in case you want changes and as ive said before characters thats been written are not receiving change of tropes

to clarify stuff too i wasnt going to make this a harem but perhaps some people got the wrong idea

these are separate stories sharing the universe where Y/N will go down the route of romance for this character sometimes they'll make references from the other stories if i can think of funny ones but yes

i hope you guys enjoy this story thanm you so much for all your supports!!

-kookiedoughs

Taglist?

@nykie-love-anime @gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @angstylittleb1tch @valen-yamyam16 @melodyidk @anicega @littlegreekgirl1 @rebeccawinters

[luvneymar]

(2) BABY NAMES & BREAKFAST — NEYMAR JR

SUMMARY: Neymar, Davi & You are picking out baby names for the future daughter & Davi’s future baby sister.

“how about Isabella?” Neymar asked munching on his pancakes getting crumbs all over the white sheets of your king sized bed. After the skincare situation last night you made breakfast to make it up to Neymar for “ruining” his eyebrows.

When you were cooking you, Davi & Ney were picking out names for the baby that’s about to come into your lives. Once you finished cooking Neymar and Davi brought the food upstairs on a cart so you could eat together as a family.

“Mmh, that’s cute. Maybe with an accent? Like ‘Isabélla?’” You also munched on your pancakes trying to brainstorm regular names and making them unique. “I don’t know make it unique or something.” You added before shoving another piece of maple syrup drenched scrambled eggs.

“That’ll give it a whole other pronunciation. Like ‘Isabecghlla’” Neymar laughed imagingi the teacher trying to pronounce her name on the first day of school. Even though the name might be the least of their worries on that day.

“Did you just call our baby an ‘it’?” You jokingly glared at him throwing in of your blueberries from your pancakes at his forehead. You both unconsciously called your baby an it but it was worse when he called her an it because you were carrying her. (Pregnant lady logic)

You both laughed as he threw a blueberry right back at you having it roll down your face and into your shirt in a split second. “Boob-Berries.” Neymar whispered trying to not have Davi hear his perverted joke.

“Mama, what about Camila…?” Davi stuttered out, ever since he’s turned 4 & 1/2 he’s been having trouble pronouncing his C’s, its really cute watching his face light up when he finally is able to pronounce it.

“That’s beautiful Davi, wanna write it on the list?” You hand him the pen and paper we’re the names; Valerie, Sofía, María, Veronica, Selena & Fernanda. They were all really nice but we were looking for something that’ll make her stand out.

A bit more banter and Boob-berry jokes until the boys were done and weren’t talking as much. Davi was picking at the thread of the blanket and Neymar was picking at his fingernails.

“Are you finish with your food guys?” You sighed at Davi & Ney. They both picked at their food the same way whenever they were full but didn’t want to say so. Having you ask them is so much easier than having to wait the next 30 minutes for them to finally rip off the bandaid and scrap their food.

“Yeah, Davi come lemme help you scrape your food.” Neymar and Davi waddled into the hallway and headed downstairs to the kitchen which was on the other side of the condo so it would take them a while.

You finished your food whilst caressing your very pregnant belly & staring into the distance. Hoping that a name would just come to you like 1,2,3, You never knew that coming up with a name was supposed to use so much energy.

You sighed and placed the plate on the bedside table swinging your feet to the side of the bed. They were so swollen you couldn’t wear anything but house slippers in sizes 5x your own. Being pregnant was such a blessing but sometimes you wish you could switch pregnancy shifts with Ney. See if he liked having cantaloupe feet.

Soon after, you heard laughter coming down the hall as Davi & Neymar came back from the kitchen with suspicion grins in their faces. Like they had done something they weren’t supposed too.

“What’s with the grins? Did you guys sneak bites of the Ice Cream in the freezer?” You asked getting up and walking to the powder room to relive yourself from all the food you just ate.

“Me & Davi have found the perfect name for our little kidney bean.” Neymar announced, walking towards the bathroom with you just to have the door slammed in his face. You didn’t like him seeing your pregnancy symptoms like morning sickness, diarrhea, vomiting and more.

Even though he insisted he didn’t mind you still didn’t prefer for him to see it if he could avoid it. “Continue talking through the door. It helps me. Or the baby, your voice convinces her to be nicer to her mommy.”

“Okay well me and Davi thought about the name ‘Valentina Rosa Camíla Santos-[Last Name].” Neymar revealed the name as he fiddled with his hands waiting for your response. “We thought to add the top 2 names on the list as a middle name so it’s not just a boring short name like ‘Valentina-Santos-[Last Name]’.”

Neymar nervously chuckled hoping you would like their suggestion. Last time you guys discussed names it turned into a huge argument. Davi grabbed his hand as he waited for you to answer him and his papa until 10 seconds turn into 30, then 1 minute then 2 minutes.

After 2 minutes with nothing but absolute silence Neymar had gotten worried and turned the door-knob. You stood in front of the mirror with eyes watering rubbing your pregnant belly. It wasn’t even a situation where you should be crying but the name was just so beautiful you couldn’t help it.

“ Valentina-Rosa, It’s perfect. She’s perfect. You’re perfect.” You smiled at Davi who was peeking around the open bathroom door before walking inside when you ushered him too. You hugged them both as tightly as you could.

“Princesa, I love you so much. Thank you for carrying my child & giving me the family I always wanted.” Neymar Hugged you before smiling brightly as his son as they marched out of the bathroom happy with the ending of their mission.

after that sentimental moment you elbowed Neymar glaring at him. “Heyy, Why’s my last name at the back? Shouldn’t it be first? After all I am carrying her.”

“That wasn’t me! It was Davi.” Neymar turns to Davi who has a shocked look on his face. “Papa! Don’t lie it wasn’t meee!” Davi stomped his feet hitting Neymar’s stomach with his tiny fist.

You laughed at the scene in-front of you impatient as to when you could share this amazing life with your daughter; Valentina-Rosa Camíla Santos.

← prev [ neymarsluv! ] next →

[nadvs]

this is for the long distance part of the au

reader face timing rafe while she’s at a party drunk/tipsy and telling him how much she misses him. she’s just giggly and sad and in love cause she loves her man and misses him so bad ���

aaaaa i love it 🤭

based on this fic

» au masterlist

she finds a quiet corner in the kitchen as the party carries on around her. at this point, she’s enough drinks in that the room is spinning.

this was the house rafe lived in before he moved, and even though it’s almost two months into her school year, it still feels weird being here without him.

it’s been four months since he left. his season has started. his life has completely changed. and hers hasn’t, except for the fact that the man she loves isn’t within an arm’s reach anymore.

it’s nearing ten pm when rafe hears his phone ringing as he brushes his teeth. he always has it on loud these days in case she calls or texts. part of the nature of being in a long-distance relationship, he realizes, is hating himself if he ever misses a notification from her.

her boyfriend’s face appears on her screen and she feels a mix of love and joy and sadness and yearning all at once.

“hiiiii,” she slurs, her smile wide. he can hear bass-heavy music rumbling in the background.

she sees rafe’s smirk, his dimples, the way his eyes soften when he looks at her. god, she misses him.

“having fun?” he asks. she watches him walk through his condo as he holds the phone up to his face.

“barely,” she whines. “i can’t have much fun without you. it’s physically impossible. i miss you, baby.”

“i miss you, too,” rafe laughs. he can tell she’s absolutely plastered.

he rests his phone on the bathroom counter, his bare shoulder in the corner of the screen as he finishes brushing his teeth.

“shit, are you about to go to bed?” she asks, eyes wide.

“i can talk,” he says. he turns off the tap and picks the phone back up. he has an early practice tomorrow, but she’s worth the fatigue.

“you don’t have a shirt on,” she says softly.

“i don’t,” he says. he moves to his bedroom, flipping on the lamp by his nightstand as he settles onto his bed.

“you like to sleep in your boxers.”

“i do.”

“show me,” she says.

“show you my boxers?” he teases.

“mhm,” she says, her camera a bit shaky as she slyly smiles at the screen. he flips the camera, giving her a view of his legs stretched out on his bed. she takes in the sight, resting her chin on her fist, her eyes wide.

“you’re so hot,” she giggles. “how are you so hot?”

“how much did you drink, baby?” he laughs, flipping to the front camera again.

“like barely anything,” she fibs. “did you hear what that one commentator said last night?”

“no, tell me,” he says, amused. she watches all his team’s games and post-game highlights. he loves that she’s always been so interested in his career.

“he said you’re one to watch,” she recalls.

“i’m surprised you remember,” he says.

“what’s that mean?”

“it means you’re wasted,” he chuckles. she throws her head back in laughter.

“so what if i am?” she says. “you are one to watch. i watch you all the time. you look so good. i’m still thinking about that one dunk last night.”

rafe smirks. after every game, he knows when he picks up his phone from his locker, he’ll see a thread of messages from her as she texted him her thoughts throughout the game. her support is unwavering.

sometimes he wonders if she keeps up with his career just to make him feel better. but if she’s this drunk and still raving about him, she must actually want to watch him.

“you liked that?” he asks.

“i miss you,” she says again desperately. “i never knew missing someone could hurt so bad.”

“i miss you, too,” he tells her. “reading week, right?”

“right,” she says. she has it in her calendar to visit him in a couple of weeks. the last time she saw him in person was at the end of the summer.

“what are we gonna do?” he asks.

she brings her phone even closer.

“you won’t be in your boxers, that’s for sure,” she mumbles.

“i thought you had to study,” he says, teasing her for how she had told him she couldn’t visit to just have fun the whole time.

“don’t listen to sober me. she’s boring.”

“that’s not true,” rafe mumbles. “don’t say that.”

“can i say that i love you?”

“you can,” he says. “i love you, too.”

“when do you have to wake up tomorrow?”

“four thirty.”

her eyes widen even more. their time difference is only an hour. he’ll hardly get six hours of sleep if she keeps yapping.

“you need to sleep,” she says. “i miss you and i love you and go to sleep.”

“alright, baby, don’t forget to text-”

“text you when i get home, i will,” she says. “but i have my location on anyways so don’t worry.”

rafe thinks he’s always going to worry. she’s responsible and careful, but she’s still his girl, and he can’t turn the protective side of his brain off.

“be safe,” he says.

“i will,” she sings. she hangs up and he stares down at his phone until it goes black. then he taps the screen just to see his lockscreen photo.

it’s her silhouette standing on his balcony in front of the setting sun. he took the photo from his bed. he can’t wait to see that view again. he gets what she meant. missing someone so much it hurts. he feels it every day.

rafe doesn’t mind being woken up when it’s a text from her saying she’s home safe. in fact, it helps him sleep deeper knowing she’s okay.

but nothing beats falling asleep with her in his arms. life is a countdown until he can see her again. he finds comfort knowing it won’t always be like this.

[rebelliousstories]

Communication

Relationship: Sean Renard x Reader

Fandom: Grimm

Request: Yes by Anon (Technically)

Warnings: Brief Strong Language, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 2,413

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Summary: Having never expected to be in love with a kehrseite, Sean has no idea how to proceed in the relationship.

Evil is also not anything small or close to home, and not the worst; otherwise one could grow accustomed to it.

“Sean! Stop it!” A feminine giggle sounded through the condo as she was attacked by her boyfriend.

“Never, my dear.” Sean continued to drape his body over hers, and nuzzle his day old scruff into her neck.

It was a blessed couple of days off for the couple, and a rare occurrence. Appreciating the time, they spent majority of it tangled up in the silken sheets of their bed, and only left it for necessary things. Hearing the phone start to ring, Renard groaned, and dropped them back down onto the bed together.

“You should probably answer that, darling.” Reaching her hand out to grab the offending item, he snatched her wrist back into his quickly.

“No. Work already know that I wanted to not be disturbed while off today and yesterday. Do not pick it up!” He demanded with a light growl into her neck, causing more giggles to erupt. She tried to speak, but Sean simply captured her lips in his, taking any words that may have previously been spoken. Whether they simply chose to ignore the ringing, or it stopped and started again, the couple heard it once more, and groaned.

“You really should check on that. It’s starting to annoy me.” She complained, disengaging their lips and dropping her head on to the pillows below. Renard allowed his head to find purchase on her chest, before he grabbed the phone. Pausing as he saw the number across his screen, he sat up like he had been burned and went to leave the room. Pulling on some pants, he finally answered the phone.

“Oui?” Sean clipped, surging out of the room and leaving his lover behind on the bed. He had shut the door, which meant that she could not hear him clearly, but she knew he was speaking entirely in French. It was not a language that she knew a lot about, having only picked up a a few phrases from spending time around her lover.

Laying back against the silken sheets, she breathed a deep sigh of discontent. There were no secrets between them, except whatever he spoke about on those phone calls in French. At first, she handled the excuse that it was political work, stuff that came with being captain of the police force in Portland. But she had heard those phone calls with his detectives and officers, they were all in English. She did not know what he was hiding from her, but it was starting to make her sick. Sean returned to the room, this time without the phone to his ear, and made his way to their shared closet.

“Darling, I have to go in. Something came in at work.” He called, picking out a suit for him to wear. She sat up and clutched the sheets to her body.

“You’re supposed to be off for the rest of today,” came her complaint. Sean sighed and moved his way to the bathroom and started the shower.

“I’m sorry, dear. But I have to go in. Duty calls. Would you care to join me?” He held out his hand, but she turned around and showed her back instead.

Sean made quick work of his shower after that. He could probably spare a few minutes to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee with his lover, but she seemed content to stay in bed and not speak with him. Fixing his tie as best as he could, Sean draped his suit jacket, and tan over coat over the chair at the desk in the room. Kneeling down to where his girlfriend had turned over, he reached out a hand and stroked her arm.

“Help me with my tie?” He pleaded, watching her purse her lips. She sat up, and straightened out the tie residing on Renard’s chest. They both knew that he was more than capable of making sure his tie was perfect, he had been doing it for so long that it was second nature. But neither one called attention to it; it was a sense of bliss for them, allowing her to help him finish getting ready for the day.

“Darling, I know that it’s not how we planned, but-”

“But you have to go in. It’s okay. I’m fine. I get it. Doesn’t mean that I can’t be upset about it.” She cast her eyes down to her hands. Sean leaned up, and guided her gaze back to his with a gentle touch of her chin.

“When are you going to tell me what it is you’re hiding?” The sudden question made the man force himself to school his expression. It was only a matter of time before she had questions.

“It’s just work, dear. Nothing more than that.” Sean tried to reassure her, but she slipped from his grasp and to the other side of the bed. He sighed once more, and felt himself lose just a hint of control over his being. He was glad that she was turned away from him at that moment, because he could feel the woge taking over before he quelled it.

“I’ll be home tonight in time to make our reservation. Je t’aime, mon cher.” He called, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before he left. Normally, she perked up and almost preened under hearing him speak French to her, but she stayed underneath the covers till she heard the front door shut behind the police captain.

Going through their days were tough. She was bored at home, with no one but herself, and simply allowed herself to waste away the day. It did not feel like a specially requested day off anymore; it just felt like a regular day off from her job. Meanwhile, Sean had been trying to figure out what his family was up to, and made his way to an out of use, abandoned building. However, what he was met with, was nothing. The sun was starting to set and he needed to get home. Sean had no time for games. Ringing the phone of the person who called him, he nearly jumped hearing the ringing coming from less than a foot away from him. Underneath the phone, was a note. A note that, when read, made Sean drop it and race to his car.

We do not take kindly to outsiders. No matter how they find their way into your bed.

Renard definitely broke several traffic laws trying to race home. He never should have left this morning. He never should have left her all by herself. And now, he may never get the chance to leave her at home again. Sean took stairs two at a time to make it up to his condo, and immediately drew his gun upon finding his door. The view inside that awaited him was unlike anything he had seen that day, let alone that week.

Broken glass from a picture frame was right inside the door. A shattered vase lay in pieces upon the ground of the kitchen. And his lover, bloody, beaten, and bruised, was being held up by two people Sean did not know, with a third standing nearby with a knife dripping in blood, and a fourth person observing it all.

“Come now. No need for something so American.” A smooth, accented voice broke the captain free from his wandering mind. He noted a cut on the side of the face of the man holding a knife, and felt relief that those self defense lessons he had given her paid off a little bit. The third cut man came upon Sean, and relieved him of his firearm, leaving him without a weapon.

“What’s this all about?” Renard questioned, watching the but man go back to where his lover was still being held up by her arms.

“Oh, this?” He motioned to Sean and his lover across the room. “This is just business. Nothing personal you see.” The captain was steadily clearing the distance in the room but was stopped by a gun pointed at him. It prevented him from getting any closer to his lover.

“Now, you might be wondering, why all of this. Well,” the accented man started, “truly, it is quite simple. We want the key that the Grimm has. Failure to retrieve it will send a, how do you say, unfortunate lesson to your door.” Sean listened to him, but kept his eyes on the woman across the room that struggled to return his gaze.

“And her, ah. Such a lovely woman. But even you must know, that with your… heritage, we will not allow your relationship to continue.” He chuckled as he raked his eyes over the woman’s body. She visibly cringed and struggled against her captures, wanting nothing more than to pluck the eyes from his head so she never had to feel that gaze again.

“Have you even told her of what you are?” The man continued, running a hand over the captive woman’s face.

“Sean, what is he talking about?” She whimpered, locking her gaze onto her lover that stood in front of her. The man said nothing which prompted the other one to laugh.

“Oh, this is just too good. You really have yet to find a way to break it to the little kehrseite. Maybe we should find a way to do so.” Nodding towards the captain, the woman was deposited into the arms of the main man who held her tightly towards his chest. Three against one, it appeared that Sean was outmatched for this fight. As she stared at them, unable to pull her eyes from the inevitable fight, she watched as the three people who held her shifted into something more resembling a dog than a person.

Her gasps were cut short as a hand fitted itself around her throat, cutting off any noise that threatened to escape.

“You won’t want to miss this.” The man hissed in her ear.

One after the other, the three dog people attacked Sean. He grunted and tried to block their attacks, but it was in vain. They kept landing hit after hit, and as much as he tried to fight back, they were simply too powerful for him. That is when he saw it. A similar ripple came across Sean’s face, leaving his right eye and left side of his mouth deformed. She did not know what she was seeing. Her boyfriend was something like the people who attacked her. The man to her back was laughing as he watched the royal dispatch of the dogs easier now that he had shown his true colors.

“Beautiful!” He shouted, as three bodies laid at Sean’s feet. Whether they were dead or knocked out, she did not know. “Doesn’t it feel good to have that all released? No more hiding, mon ami!” But his triumph did not last long.

Narrowing his eyes on the man, Sean stalked over and attacked. Throwing punch after punch, he did not stop until the man was bloodied and beaten within an inch of his life. Hearing shuffling behind him, Renard turned towards the source. His girlfriend. Forcing the wage underneath his skin again, he tried to reach for her but she moved out of his way.

“What the hell was that?” She barked, but Sean said nothing.

“What’re you trying so hard to hide?” Through her screams, tears slipped down her face as she tried to process what was going on.

“Cher, I will explain everything to you soon. But you need medical attention.” He reached for her once more, and in a state of shock, she let him. Sean deposited her on the couch and grabbed his phone.

“This is captain Sean Renard. I need units and an ambulance at my residence.” She did not catch much of the phone call; her eyes stared at the three bodies that were lying on the floor.

“What just happened?” Came her whisper, so Sean sat down on the couch and held her hands.

“Just listen while I explain. Any questions you have, I’ll answer at the end.” And with that, they sat there, listening and talking until the units arrived. Medics arrived before Sean could answer her questions but he made sure to tell her something very important.

“Whatever you do, don’t mention you saw anything weird happen. They’ll just throw you in the mental ward.” So she did not. Telling her side of the story, of how they slipped in through the front door and balcony and attacked her. How she smashed vases and tried to slice one with a kitchen knife she managed to grab. The beating that she had endured in the meantime till Sean got there and saved her.

Sitting down on a hospital bed, she smiled at the nice nurse who left the couple alone for the time being. Getting stitches and x-rays was not how she envisioned spending her day today, but here they were. They sat in silence and Sean tried to hold her hand. However, her hand was limp in his while she stared off into space.

“I’m so sorry, mon cher.” Renard admitted quietly. He leaned down slightly an pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“What are you?” She finally spoke. Lifting his head, he paused briefly to gather his thoughts.

“My mother was hexenbiest. My father was a royal. So I am half-zauberbiest.” He left nothing out, not wanting to keep secrets anymore.

“When you speak in French on your phone calls, is this why? You’re dealing with royal business?” Came her question.

“Yes.” He spoke.

“Okay. It’ll take a little getting used to but-” she paused, “I think I can live with it.” She nodded, and squeezed her lover’s hand softly.

“What did he call me? A ‘K’ something. Keera?” Struggling to find the word, Sean stepped in to help.

“Kehrseite?” He supplied. Her nod confirmed that was the word she was looking for.

“A kehrseite is a normal person. Not of the wesen world. However, I suppose you are now a kehrseite-schlich-kennen. A normal person who knows about our world.” Nodding again, she seemed to accept the information that her brain was being loaded with.

“No more secrets, please?” She whispered, looking towards Sean with soft eyes.

“No more secrets, my love.” He confirmed, and pressed a gentle kiss to her head. Evil is also not anything small or close to home, and not the worst; otherwise one could grow accustomed to it.

[misshoneyimhome]

Cause I'm not ready | Auston Matthews 

Tags: jealous!auston; Austonxreader;

A/n: I don’t know why, but I feel like Auston would be the kind of guy that isn’t good at showing his emotions and admit his feelings to himself 😉

*

Cause I'm not ready; To find out you know how to forget me I'd rather hear how much you regret me And pray to God that you never met me Than forget me

”Forget me” - Lewis Capaldi

*

Dating Auston Matthews was no walk in the park; however, it had been the best three months of your life. It was just after New Year's, when Auston had made his move. You were a friend of a friend of a… you weren’t even sure how you became part of the group hanging out with the hockey players of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Nonetheless, you and Auston had grown close and formed a relationship, the more time you had spent together as a group.

So, one cold January evening, Auston had decided that he'd want to spend some alone time with you and get to know you better. And oh, so did you. It had been a classic: starting out with a coffee chat, then dog walks with Felix while talking, then evenings at his place simply watching your favourite shows. After a few weeks, it turned into make-out sessions on the sofa, and not long after, heated sessions in the bedroom followed.

It had been truly amazing. Not to mention the sex; oh boy, did that boy know his way around a female body. He had made you feel incredible. The first times had been slow and soft; he took his time to make you feel good, to please you - he'd always make sure you had at least one orgasm before continuing to make himself feel good inside you. Then it got a bit more heated; to which you couldn't complain. Auston had a bit of a rough side to him - nothing BDSM kinky or alike, but he simply liked to dominate in the bedroom - and the kitchen, and the living room, and the bathroom… okay, his entire condo and maybe even yours. But again you didn't complain. He was amazing. Full stop.

But then the playoffs came closer, and Auston had to prioritise his time and energy on hockey. It hadn't been a bad breakup - if you can even call it that. He had been honest with you, which is more than you can say most other guys had ever been, and a part of you had sort of seen it coming. You had been spending quite a lot of time with the hockey players and their significant others, so you knew how much time and effort the players had to put into training and the games. So when Auston said he couldn't find the time to see you, you were okay. A little disappointed, but okay.

Honestly, you probably hadn't even expected it to become anything more serious. Auston wasn't exactly known to be the marrying kind of guy who'd want to settle down ASAP and have a family. He might want to someday, but for now, he enjoyed his youth. And with his charming personality, flirty smiles, and devilish demeanour, he could probably have anyone he'd like. Auston enjoyed the freedom of being a young bachelor, but there had been something about you that had made him enjoy the closeness of someone. Something had triggered within him to reconsider the whole idea of a relationship. But for the time being, he'd want to focus on hockey.

So now that the new season was about to begin, and everyone was slowly coming back to Toronto, you knew you were eventually going to see him again. And you didn't mind at all. You had had a great time over the summer; you'd visited your family, gone on a few trips with the girls, caught up on sleep and your favourite TV shows… it had been a great summer - and oh yes, you'd also started seeing someone.

Dean was sweet; a couple of years older than you, worked in banking, and was an overall good guy. And he adored you. He'd do anything for you - even come along to the first home game of the hockey season, even though he knew nothing about the sport.

Auston had expected to see you during the friendly games, but when you weren't there, he'd felt a small tinge of disappointment. During the off-season, he'd missed you, but he didn't want to reach out, seeing on your Instagram how much fun you were having. And he also knew that he was the one who broke it off. But nonetheless, he missed you.

So when he saw you for the first time in months, after the winning home game, where he had played amazingly by the way, he was thrilled. Well, at first. Until he saw the guy standing next to you, with an arm around you. Auston never thought of himself as the jealous type - but that was until the moment he saw you smile and laugh when engaging in a conversation with the other friends and families. A laughter that was music to his ears and a smile that lit up his entire world, even on a grey rainy day. A smile that usually he'd be the one to put on your beautiful face and a laughter that was usually caused by one of his idiotic jokes.

You seemed happy.

"Hey Aus," you smiled. "What a great game!"

Auston simply smiled back at you.

"Thanks," was all he managed to reply.

You were even being nice and friendly towards him. You greeted him as the friend he was to you, and congratulated him on the win as well as praising his wonderful play. Couldn't you just at least be mad at him? Or something? It just seemed like you'd forgotten all about what had happened between the two of you. Like it was nothing. But it was not nothing. Not to Auston at least. Only he'd just realised that now.

"Dean, this is my friend Auston - Auston, this is Dean," you introduced the two lads. You figured, why not - Auston had broken up with you, and you'd decided to stay friends, so why couldn't you introduce your new flirt?

"It's nice to meet you, I've heard so much about you," Dean said, offering Auston a friendly smile.

"Can't say the same about you - I mean, that I've heard about you… but great to meet you too," Auston blurted out.

There was a slight awkward feeling among the three of you, but you handled the situation nonchalantly, and you all went back to chatting with the group.

**

Between that game and the following home game, you and Auston had barely talked. Not that you'd talked much during the off-season - it had mostly just been occasional snaps of whatever you were doing, wherever you were, and liking each other's Instagram stories and posts.

But these days had been killing Auston. Knowing that you were in the same city as him, talking to the same people, and going to places where he'd be, was killing him. He'd want to reach out to you. To spend time with you. To make you laugh and talk to you like you used to. But you were with Dean.

And honestly, you didn't even think of Auston. You were happy with Dean. And just overall happy to be back in your everyday life routines. Nothing could get you off course.

So you thought.

After the home game, yet another win for the Leafs, Auston quickly noticed you standing with the group of significant others, chatting. But this time you weren't wearing his jersey, like you used to. And Dean was there as well.

As Auston came out of the locker room, he moved towards you to greet you. You were smiling as your eyes locked and took a little step forward to meet him. And that's when Auston couldn't stop himself - he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in for a kiss. It wasn't an intense kiss nor just a peck on the cheek - it was a soft and gentle kiss on the lips.

Without saying a word, Auston pulled away and walked back to the other players. You were baffled. Stunned by his actions. Yet a certain, familiar sensation of pleasure filled your body.

"Wow… somebody wants people to know that you're not available…" Dean nervously chuckled.

"Oh no… that's just Auston being…" you trailed off, unable to fully articulate what had just happened.

"I think I get the message," Dean softly said, offering a friendly smile. "He likes you."

You were unable to reply. So you just simply nodded.

"…and you like him," Dean added.

Again, all you could do was nod.

**

After Auston had finished up in the locker room, he walked out and immediately saw you standing alone.

"Where's your date?" He asked, coming over to you. You couldn't help but smile a little.

"He left," you said with a calm and soft voice.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why…" you gave him a slight puzzled expression. "Because of you."

Of course, Auston knew that. He just wanted for you to say it. And he simply let out a sigh.

"I don't get you, Aus…" you tried your best to remain calm. "You broke it off with me… but then you go and do something like this?" You spoke with a soft voice.

"I'm sorry… I don't know what to say, y/n," Auston simply replied.

"Just tell me what you want?"

Auston was unable to formulate a proper sentence. Something that was unusual for him. When he didn't say anything, you let out a sigh and slowly began to walk away.

"Well, let me know when you've figured it out…"

You were almost by the exit, when a hand grabbed yours and pulled you into a large body. Auston had run after you, and still unable to articulate his feelings, he pulled you in for a deep kiss.

The kiss was good - wonderful even - and only when needing to breathe for air, you both pulled away.

"You," Auston softly spoke. "I want you."

[lovesickmermaid]

Sunday Kind of Love || Tom Cruise 18+

Summary: Your husband has to work on a Sunday, but luckily for you, you're good at distractions.

Pairing: Tom Cruise x female!reader

It was a bright Sunday morning when the light peeked in through the wall of windows on the far side of your bedroom. You rolled over squinting your eyes at the sun’s rays. The curtains were open. He’s awake you smiled to yourself before stretching and shifting to a better spot in the California king bed. Why was his side always the comfiest? The smell of his cologne still lingered in the room from the morning. You shifted your head so that the bathroom was in your view and you envisioned the heavenly sight of your husband getting ready before walking out to kiss your head and starting his day downstairs. You chuckled to yourself before willing yourself into an upright position. Those thoughts alone were enough to get you out of bed and craving his touch.

You made your way down the stairs and heard his voice faintly in the office at the furthest corner of the two story condo. He was always so considerate not to wake you and he knew you liked to sleep in. Even though his work demanded more of his time than he liked, he always did what he could to keep you happy. 

Rubbing the sides of your arms, you attempted to warm yourself up as you made your way to the doorway of his office. Tom looked up from his desk, “we just need to make a few adjustments to the score and the movie should be ready for post-production” he smiled and winked in your direction before returning to his phone call, “yes, I’m sure. Just look at the notes I sent over and get back to me when it’s finished.” You made your way to the back of his chair and let your arms slide down around either side of his neck, resting your hands on his chest. You kissed the top of Tom’s head then turned and walked towards the office window, while he ended his phone call, “uh-huh… yes I look forward to hearing from you… you too, bye.” Tom sighed as he put his phone down on the desk. “Good morning, sweetheart. I’m sorry if I woke you.” He swiveled in his chair to face you. Rubbing his eyes in frustration, you turn to him, “you didn’t wake me, I just figured it might be time to wake up and make something of the day… Paramount giving you problems again?” you ask as you approach your husband now slumped down in his chair. “Always” he responds. He motions for you to come just a little closer, and as you fill the gap between the two of you, he wraps his arms around your waist and brings his head to rest on your stomach, letting out yet another relieving sigh. 

“I wish I could spend the day with you, but I’m afraid I have more work to do,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. You had a weak spot for those sad, evergreen eyes. Before you could answer, Tom’s phone began to ring. “See?” he said, rolling his eyes and moving towards his desk once more. The ringing stopped. “This is Tom,” he answered. As Tom continued to speak, your mind began to wander. The thought of everyone needing your husband’s attention started a fire in you, and there was only one way to put it out. 

“Mhmm… well I told them not to book it yet…" you walked to the front of Tom's desk, making sure that he was watching you before removing the tank top and pajama shorts from your body. "Huh? Yes, yes, I'm still here…" Tom motioned for you to stop while smiling. He was always a terrible liar. You bit your bottom lip as you played with the top of your panties, teasing him just enough, before completely removing them. Tom shifted in his seat. 

"Yes, I'll make a note of that…" you slinked up behind your husband, kissing from his ear lobes down to his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as your lips moved. You could hear the other person speaking to Tom on the phone, but was he really listening? You swiftly spun his chair around and finished unbuttoning his shirt before climbing into his lap and running your hands around his torso. Tom's hand covered the phone, what are you doing? He mouthed. You licked your lips before kissing him from his neck down his chest all while fumbling with the button of his trousers. You made direct eye contact with Tom as you unzipped them revealing his hardening cock in his boxers. His eyes fluttered as he felt you removing both of his bottom layers. 

"Well the sooner we can start filming the bet-" Tom was cut off by the feeling of his length being taken into your mouth. Tom clears his throat, "better… excuse me." You smiled as you stood up from teasing your husband. You straddled your husband before slowly lowering yourself onto his cock. Placing both arms around Tom's neck you began working his length, up and down, up and down, up and down. "Yeeeaahhh, that sounds g- uh good" your husband tried his hardest to hold back his moan, but there was no hiding it. You were just that good. Tom leaned back in his chair watching as you rode him. There was no point in trying to stop you now. His head fell backwards as you took his free hand and brought it up to your breasts. "Mhmmmm, I tho- ught the sa- ame thing," Tom bit his bottom lip trying to form sentences as he watched your tits bounce in his hand. "Listen, I'll call you ba- ack… uh huh… ok… you too" Tom threw his phone onto his desk as he picked you up and moved you on top of it. His arms holding himself up on either side of you he began pounding away, kissing down your neck. "You think you're funny, huh?" he asked watching your smile slowly form as he fucked you. Taking your hand behind his head you pulled him on top of you, wrapping your legs around him so that his length could fall deeper into you. As he moaned in your ear, you took small strands of his hair between your fingers, pulling just enough until both of you came at the same time. 

Breathing heavily Tom lifted himself off of you, kissing you softly on the lips. "Maybe Sundays at work aren't so bad after all", he said smiling and laughing into your mouth. "Maybe so", you agreed with a sly little wink. He picked you up off the table and helped you get dressed. "I'll send you an invite for my next meeting", he said buttoning his pants. "I look forward to it", you said before leaving his office and entering the kitchen.  "Alexa, play Sunday Kind of Love" Tom looked up from his desk, watching as you spun around the kitchen in your underwear and his button up. His daydream was interrupted by his phone ringing once again. "I want a Sunday kind of love… a love to last…" "Hi, this is Tom…"