#i do NOT need a cocaine scandal right now

[timblrdrake]

i think i need a lawyer? or press training?

[eyesxxyou]

Cybersex

★‧₊˚ 💋⋅ hobie brown x camgirl!reader

rating. m

word count. 4k

synopsis. after a scandal, hobie decides he needs a change in his career. that's where you come in, a camgirl he plans to make a sextape with.

🍓・．❕warnings. mentions of cocaine usage, recording sex, p in v sex, protected sex heavily advised, oral (f & m receiving), doggy style, hair pulling, spitting, dirty talking, ass slapping, ass grabbing, degrading praise, condom taken off

Hobie really fucked up according to his manager. If you asked him, he did nothing wrong. It was perfectly normal for a rockstar to be doing coke in the bathroom of a venue in his opinion but for some reason it had caused a lot of controversy. It’s not like he was addicted or anything, that time being only the second time he’s ever done it but his manager put out a statement that he would be taking a break from his tour in order to attend rehab. Which he did and it sucked. He was in for 2 months, “working on himself” supposedly.

“Why’d ya do it?” His manager asked him as they sat side by side in the back of his car, his driver taking him home from rehab after 2 of the longest months of his life. “I mean– you have all anyone could ever want. So why?”

It was such a stupid question that deserved the half-assed answer Hobie gave. He just shrugged and grunted. Why did he do it? To escape this fad of a life. This was never what he wanted, all of this. This expensive car, a designated driver, a manager. This was never what he fucking wanted. Somehow, in his pursuit for success, he lost everything that made him who he was, lost his initial values. He was nothing but a poser now.

He was done being a poser. He’d get back to his original self somehow, some way.

So the moment they got back to his boat, Hobie fired his manager as well as his chauffeur. “Take the car wit’cha.” It was the best decision he could have made for himself, for his dwindling career. He had to get back to his roots, just him making music on his boat with his guitar and his mates.

He needed something to reignite his career, to appeal to the crowd who once supported him for being a voice against authority and establishment. The coke incident had riled people up, weeded out the posers from the real deal. He needed something more.

That’s where you came in.

“So you need my help to get your career back on track…how exactly? By having sex with me?” You sat across from Hobie inside a bar you two agreed to meet at. You were a pretty girl, gorgeous actually, with make up that told him “I put in effort, just not for this” and a pretty, delicate, white dress, black shawl, platform, leather boots, and a long rosary around your neck, though something told him you weren’t catholic. It could be the extensive history of porn you have online.

You were a camgirl. And he was a fan. Turns out, you were a fan of his too.

Hobie bought you a drink and a couple shots for you to share. You teased a cherry between your faded glossed lips and used your tongue to tie the stem into a knot. He liked you, liked you a lot. You were perfect for the job.

“By leakin’ mw own sex tape.” Hobie corrected you. “‘M jus’ tryna stir the pot. Drum up some interest, y’know?” You of all people would know better than the rest. Your entire career was built on this. You were a master at it. He was right to come to you.

“Bu’, Ion wan ya to think ya haf’ to. The offer’s on the table.”

“I know I don’ have to do anything.” He liked your attitude, the twang of your accent in your pretty voice. He understood why you had so many fans, you were borderline perfect, pretty lips, pretty eyes. He’s watched some of your videos, with partners and alone, you’re so captivating. He was an instant fan. “I just want to make sure I understand before I agree to anything.”

You leaned in with your chin resting upon your hand with your elbow on the splintering wood of the bar counter. “I’ll do it, just ‘cause I think you’re pretty.” You stood up, even while sitting down, his abnormally tall body towered over your. “I’ve got rules though, strict rules, not even a pretty boy like you can pass them.” Your hands were on his thighs as you looked up at him. He could kiss you now if he wanted to, but he waited to hear these rules of yours.

“You have to use a condom.”

“Done, already got one.” Hobie assured you. He always carried one with him just in case.

You chuckled a bit, “Good for you. We also have to do it at a hotel, you pay. I don’t wanna be at your place and I don’t want you at mine.” Hobie also liked how serious you were, how you didn’t play about your business. He appreciated it, found it a little hot too. How in the world was he supposed to keep his hands off of you until then? “FIne by me.”

“FInally, no catching feelings.”

Hobie began to laugh, a snarky grin growing across his full, pierced lips. “Confident, are ya? You don’ haf’ta worry about nothin’ like tha’, luv. I’m just attracted to you.” He reached out and pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. He leaned in close, his breath fanning your lips until he touched his lips with yours and kissed you softly. You didn’t kiss him back.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Brown but I’m not with it. Text me the details when you get them.” You pulled away from him with a scoff and tapped his cheek softly with your hand before grabbing a shot, tossing it back down your throat before walking off to take your leave.

Hobie set everything up for the following week, a nice hotel where the two of you could hook up for the night and leave it at that. It didn’t have to be anything more. Hobie was out to jumpstart his career while you were in it for the followers you would gain from all of this. It didn’t have to be anything more than just this.

“Hobie, open the damn door, I’m not waiting out here all night!” Your fist met the door for the third time since you’ve been standing here. You were just about ready to leave when the door finally swung open and Hobie was standing there without the slightest look of apology on his face. “Sorry, luv. Come on in.”

You waltzed in past him, wearing a black dress, black, distressed stockings that clipped onto a garter around your thighs, thick, mary jane shoes, and a leopard print, fur jacket that all fit together with your locs tied into a ponytail with hair clips that matched your coat. Your lips were full and glossy, eyes framed in dark makeup that made your gaze all the more mysterious. You were adorned in hanging necklaces and large rings, the prettiest person he’s ever seen. “Nice setup. We just recording on your phone?” There was no camera but you supposed that it wouldn’t be that believable of a leaked sex tape if it was on a professional camera. You two weren’t exactly Kim K and Ray J.

“Unless you brought a camera.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You waved your hand and set down your bag before beginning to remove your jewelry and set them down on the bedside table with a small ‘clack’. “Pretty ingenious idea you got here. How’d you come up with it?” You began to remove your necklaces one by one and placed them beside your rings, glancing over at Hobie who sat on the bed beside you.

“I was horny and tired, luv. Le’s cut the small talk ‘n get on wit’ i’, yeah?” Hobie reached out for you, pulling you in between his legs while holding the slope of your waist, stroking and caressing until his hands slid down your thighs then by up under your dress. There was nothing but your panties, small and lacy.

Your lips curled into a smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.” You climbed into his lap, straddling his hips with your thighs as you pressed your lips to his. It was a curt matter, a nicety you offered him. There was passion but nothing behind it except lust, feverish, violent, tearing lust that had you rolling your body against his and your pussy pressed against the growing bulge in his pants.

Hobie placed his hands on the underside of your thighs and lifted you up, your legs automatically coming around his narrow waist. He held you with a surprising amount of strength for someone so lean. He pushed you up against the wall, your hands pulling at each other's clothes in a fervorous attempt to get the other naked. He tore your stockings while you pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side. He helped you remove your shoes between kisses and you helped him remove his.

Hobie licked down your body, the warm, smooth skin of your naval all the way down to the waistband of your thong where he kissed and licked, his hands grabbing at his pockets to find his phone before handing it off to you so you could record.

You gazed at him through the camera, moaning softly as he pulled down your underwear and you stepped out of them. You lifted one leg over his shoulder, soon followed by the other, your entire weight supported against the wall, your pussy on display for him to devour with his eyes and soon, his tongue.

You were already wet, your lips nice and slick, your pretty cunt slightly gaping and ready to be filled. Hobie licked his lips and looked up at you, nodding to signal you to start recording. You kept a firm grip on his phone with one hand while your other grasped at the hair closest to his scalp. You pulled him in, forced his lips to kiss your cunt, to praise and worship.

You tasted like fruits and berries as he dipped his tongue between the gates of heaven and teased at your cunt with the warmth of his tongue teasing at the underside of your clit. His fingers played in your creamy juices, coating them before he eased a single digit into your aching hole.

“Ah~ fuck– Hobie. Mmh.” You ground your hips against his face, the friction of his hot tongue and long finger drove you crazy. You bit your lip, made sure the camera was on him, and pulled him in further. “Add another finger.” It was a plea for kindness, you needed another finger or you’d go crazy. His tongue worked you in a way you had never experience before, it was fluid yet stiff and so precise against your swollen bud. His lips latched and suckled and his tongue swirled.

Hobie eased another finger into your cunt inch by inch, curling in search of the soft ridge that would send you into ecstasy. He spat on your pussy, ate it with the eagerness of a starved dog while looking up at the camera with those pretty, deep-set eyes of his.

You cried out for him,“God, Hobie– pl–ease.” He slid his tongue into your cunt with his fingers, stretching you just a little further while the bulb of his nose nudged your clit. You would have collapsed then and there if not for the fact he was the only thing holding you up, on his knees with his face in your pussy, devouring.

“Ya gonna cum fa me, luv?” Hobie spoke against your core, making you thrash and moan his name in something of a pornographic sound of pleasure. You reacted to every flick of his tongue, your back arching from the wall and your pussy aching, pulsing, squeezing around his fingers that have finally found your sweet stop and is now playing it like a fiddle.

Your grasp on the phone became shaky as your orgasm threatened to grasp you and hold you in a grip so tight you’d cease to breathe. Never before have you come upon your climax so quickly. Hobie was skilled at this. He’s made more people come with just his mouth and fingers than he can count on said fingers. He left them bleary-eyed and pleading for more, all of them dreaming of just another chance with him.

“Hobie, Hobie, Hobiehobiehobie.” His name was on your lips like a prayer to a god who did not exist in this room. Hobie had the face of angel but the mouth of a demon and how much you praised whatever high power above for it.

He chuckled against your pussy as you gasped, all your muscles tensing then relaxing at once, an orgasm seizing your body like a demonic possession. You held his face against your core and let him taste the product of his work. You worked hard to make sure you tasted good for your partners and Hobie appreciated it, adored it.

He slipped his fingers from your cunt and lapped at the creamy juices you excreted in the midst of your orgasm. Hobie moaned at the taste of you on his tongue, licked you clean until the taste of you stained his tongue. He smiled up at the camera with his wet lips and grabbed it from you, pausing the video before helping you down from his shoulders.

His hands were on your waist again, pulling you into his body before kissing you again. He forced his tongue against yours, sliding and lapping, caressing every portion of yoru mouth he could reach. You could taste yourself in him, your cum still wet on his tongue. You liked it, you liked the taste of his mouth and you intermingled.

Your hands soothed over the sides of his face, one sliding behind his neck to pull him closer while his large, slender hands grasped handfuls of your ass. He was so much bigger than you, so much taller, he was so easily able to toss you onto the bed. You landed on your stomach, looking back at him as he removed the rest of his clothing and remained just as naked as you were.

God, his cock was so fucking beautiful. It was perfectly fitting, nice and long with a good amount of girth but not two much and a few veins here and there. The tip weeped with precum, begging to sink into a nice, tight, warm hole, preferably yours. Your pussy fluttered at the sight of it, at the way he came over and forced you face down ass up with him kneeling behind you.

Hobie rubbed his length against your ass, his precum smearing against your pussy every time his tip teased against your entrance.

"Condom." You reminded him firmly, pulling away from him until he complied. You'd get up and leave right now if he didn't abide by your rules.

Hobie got up and searched through his discarded pants for his the condom he made sure to bring with him. Once he found it, he tore it open and placed it against the tip, rolling it down the length of his dick until he reached the base of his cock.

He took up his phone and began to record again as you whined and pushed your hips back, begging for him to fill you up and finish you out. You spread your legs wider, arched your back, anything to entice him to fuck you the way you needed.

"Aww, the pretty slut wan's my cock." Hobie brought his free hand back and spanked your ass with a sharp swing of his hand as it met the flesh of your behind. He ran a soothing hand against the burning mark he left. "Go 'head 'n beg fo i' then."

Your pride wouldn't let you, your lips remained sealed but they parted with another slap to your ass. You gasped again and whimpered out something pathetic as your ass ached in pain and your back arched. "Please."

"Say i' louda fo tha' camera, luv."

"Please fuck me, Hobie."

He scoffed and chuckled behind you, lining up his tip and easing it into your wonton cunt. "I knew you wan'ed me to slut ya pretty pussy out." You let out something of a squeal as he sunk into your hole, his cock stretching out your walls unused for months now. You were tight, your pussy lips parted to accommodate his size. Hobie let out a hiss then a moan of pleasure, his hand grasped at your hip and ass almost to assure himself you were real. "Fuck, doll. Oh my– shit."

He wished he could feel you, just skin to skin, flesh to flesh, your silky, wet walls against his bare cock. He might have came right then and there if not for the condom as a slight barrier keeping his from absolute euphoria.

Hobie fucked you like it was the end of the world, pounding, borderline abusing your poor pussy all while you squealed and moaned and choked beneath him. Yours hands grasps at the sheets, neatly made by maids who had no clue what their hard work would later be used for.

Hobie recorded it, the way his cock dove into your pussy like he'd die if he didn't fuck you with everything he had. His dick touched places you weren't even sure existed within you, caressed parts that haven't been touched in many, many years. It's been a long time since you've had a good, thorough dicking down and you had forgotten how good it felt.

"Right there! Please…Hobie, please!" You moaned into the pillow beneath you. Cohesive sentences evaded you, all you could think about was how his cock was stirring your guts and how you didn't mind at all.

Clapping filled the room, the sticking of skin to skin from sweat and slick made it hard to distinguish where you ended and he began. It ran down your thighs, your arousal, the way he pushed it out of you and smeared it along your inner thighs and the base of his cock.

Hobie was obsessed with the way your ass jiggled against his hips, the way your back arched, how you seemed to be fucking him back with each other this thrusts, meeting him in the middle. Your makeup was smeared against the pillow, messy against your eyes and lips as you turned your head to the side to look at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

Now he understood why you had that last rule. A pussy like this could make him catch feelings. It was so tight and creamy and good god, the way you moved was so perfect. He was losing breath, losing sanity.

Hobie grabbed you by the hair and pulled you up to hear your moans better, your neck craned back. He leaned over and pressed his body into yours. "Say hi, dove." He put the camera in your face, only to see you all fucked out and drooling. You could only whimper, your gaze meeting the camera with teary eyes before closing. "Fuuuck." You cried you as he sat back up, his hand readjusting his grip on your hair, and fucked you harder.

"Yah makin' me lose it, luv." Hobie let out a huff. His hand grabbing the round of your ass and squeezing the meat there before sliding up to the small of your waist where his hand settled so he could pull you back on his cock. “Go ‘head ‘n take wha’ ya wan’, pretty slut.” He paused his hips, let you do all the fucking since you were such a pro. “Put on a good show.” He adjusted his hold on his phone camera and watched through the screen as your spread your legs a little further and pushed yourself back onto his length.

You started with just the tip first, just playing with that before taking the whole of his length. You were a professional at this. Looking back, biting your lip, working his cock like it was your last night alive. His mouth fell open with a moan, pussy so tight Hobie was scared the condom was gonna come off.

Hobie shuddered with the beginnings of an orgasm. “Jus’ like tha’, doll. ‘M so close.” He let out in a breathless moan. He watched your greedy cunt take him fully, down to the hilt, the grip of your walls sending him overboard.

"Take off the condom, cum on my ass. It'll look good for the camera." You were a pro at this. You knew what got the most clicks and a cumshot on the ass was only second best to a creampie. Hobie held no objections as he pulled off the condom quickly and wrapped his hand around his member to jerk himself off.

It didn't take much. Hobie muttered incoherently under his breath profanities and obscenities as he came hard. His balls tightened as he came against the round of your ass. "Fuck!" He barked and squeezed out all he had to give, coating your plush flesh in white, dripping in wet globs down your trembling thighs.

You rocked back and forth against his cock, milking him for everything he was worth, another ribbon came and dribbled down the slope of your back. There was just so much, nice and creamy, all over you. The fans would eat this up.

You stretched out much like a cat, even purred a little as you groaned and looked back at him, a little dazed, completely starstruck. He stopped the recording and put down his phone in the middle of the bed. His hands grasped your waist as he bent over you and began to kiss down the slope of your back, his gorgeous lips peppering butterfly kisses against your shoulder blades.

"What did I tell you, Hobie? No feelings."

"Nothin' felt, jus' needed to appreciate ya a little. Lemme clean ya up." Hobie gave you one more firm slap to your ass. He went to go grab one of the fancy, white washcloths hanging in the bathroom to clean you up with. He wet it, wrung it out, and came back to run it down your back in long, gentle strokes, folded it over, then got the rest of your behind.

“I guess I should return the favor, huh?” You said, getting up, sitting down before his kneeling figure. His cock was still half hard and dripping wet with the remnants of your juices and his cum. You look up at him with those eyes that could make a person fall in love, biting your lip to hide a smirk as you wrapped a hand around him to guide his cock into your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around him and lavish your tongue across the expanse of his member. He was so sensitive, shivering as your tongue passed over the salty tip. “Fuck, doll. You’re a masta’piece.” He stroked the side of your jaw with the tips of his fingers before reaching for his phone to record a little more.

He recorded you lazily sucking him off, the outline of his cock inside your cheek. The sink there was so soft, so wet, so good. “Look a’ the camera, luv.” He lightly slapped your cheek when you averted your gaze. You looked up at the camera, sloppily sucking before hollowing out your cheek and letting him go. It was a bit of a power play.

“Nice and clean, no?”

“You’re such a tease.”

You watched the video back when Hobie posted it a few days later, smiling as you bit your nails and watched the shaky, unprofessional camera work. It looked pretty authentic, just two people fucking and the video getting purposely "leaked" by him. It worked perfectly. Hobie was slowly returning back to his controversial, anti-establishment roots and your account was swarming with new followers.

As you watched, Hobie's contact popped up as a drop down notification at the top of your screen.

Wanna do it again?

[absurdthirst]

Hollywood Happiness {Dieter Bravo x Actress!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: 1950's Hollywood AU, mentions of homophobia, sex clubs, hedonism, threesomes, bisexuality, orgies, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, secret relationship, secret marriage, hidden pregnancy, labor, mentions of forced abortions, traumatic births

Comments: Hired by the studio to be Dieter Bravo's co-star, you are also tasked with taming Hollywood's bad boy and keep the negative press away. Do that, and the studio will green light your passion project. Easy enough, until you fall for Dieter and end up pregnant.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Dieter looks up from his script, his cigarette dangling between his lips until he reaches up to take it in between his fingers. His eyes appraising you as you walk in to meet him for the first time. His new co-star and the woman that’s going to be his leading lady. This motion picture is moodier, romance with a tragic ending. No dance numbers. No songs. It's a drama and what Dieter has been craving for so long. One can only tapdance in so many numbers until they can demand something more serious. This is his follow up to his Oscar win so he needs it to be good. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He says as he stands up, setting his script down to take your hand in his and press a soft kiss to the back of it. He’s hoping you aren’t one of those virginal, angelic actresses who has never seen cocaine or a naked man before. He doesn’t need to be babying you throughout this process. He wants to enjoy the production and be able to be himself…well, mainly himself. Rock walks by on his way to his own production and winks at Dieter, a shared look between “good friends” and Dieter smiles at him before turning his attention back to you. “So…what’s your story?” He asks, knowing everyone has one.

You know all about Dieter Bravo, apprised of it by the studio and exactly what you need to do in order to keep the head man happy where his star was concerned. Dieter has a problem. Nasty rumors seemed to follow him around, although it was all hearsay and the studio wanted it nipped in the bud yesterday. Dieter was rumored to be enjoying too many drugs and there are the scandalous rumors about wild orgies involving both sexes. You were brought in to make sure those rumors are squashed and their star was kept busy and out of trouble, with you. Smiling, you bat your lashes at the handsome man. “My story is one that you’ve probably heard a hundred times.” You titter slightly. “But I also have a script that I want the studio to film.” 

Dieter raises his eyebrows, surprised that you aren’t the usual Hollywood starlet they grab from some podunk town, operate on to transform them, and ensure that they have but one brain cell so they can learn their lines and blocking. You don’t seem to be the vapid, stupid actress he encounters. “A script? Perhaps you can enlighten me on the plot? Maybe I’ll be your lead one day.” He winks, noticing how pretty your eyes are and he briefly wonders what they’d look like watery while you suck his cock.

You smirk slightly and bite your lip. “It would take much too long to explain now.” You tell him. “Perhaps I can detail it to you over dinner?” You boldly ask, willing to take the opportunity to get closer to Dieter, hoping that you impress him with your boldness. 

He can’t stop the smirk that appears on his face, liking your moxie. You’re not shy and he enjoys that. He licks his lips and steps closer to you, “name the time and place, sweetheart. I’ll be there.” He promises, leaning down to snub out his smoke. He needs to change, dressing in his day suit, the one that he’s worn far too many times that the lining has holes in it but damn, it’s comfortable, and his sunglasses are perched on his head.

“Cole’s, 7 o’clock.” You insist, placing your hand on his chest and rubbing gently. “Bring a big appetite, we might close the place down.” You flirt, winking at him and then leaning in slightly to give Dieter a look down your dress.

Fuck, his cock twitches at the thought and he loves how you seem to be confident in what you want. That’s what’s been missing in other actresses he’s met. So many of them wanted to appear innocent and demure. You are sexy and he loves that. “See you at seven, baby doll.” He winks, licking his lower lip until he’s flipping his sunglasses down, “I better get to reading this script, be prepared for filming.” He says, knowing he is tempted to stay but he likes to keep a little mystery.

You watch Dieter saunter away, confident and sure as he greets other actors and actresses. You bite your lips, finding him far more interesting than you had imagined when you accepted the contract terms. Not that you had much choice if you wanted to be on screen. The studios make all the rules and you just follow them. You turn to walk towards costuming so you can be fitted to your wardrobe as the leading lady of this drama.

Dieter adjusts his evening jacket as he walks in Cole’s, the room already buzzing with conversation and the band playing in the corner. He tells the maitre d his name and he’s escorted to the private booths in the back. People look up as he walks by and he offers them a charming smile but inside he’s anxious, hating eyes on him. He swallows harshly and sits down at the booth, thanking the host who nods and leans in, “you were incredible in Hunger Strike.” He says and Dieter smiles, “thank you.” 

The man reaches into his pocket for his card and slides it to Dieter, “I’d like to show you how great I thought you were.” He murmurs and Dieter looks up at him with a smirk, “we can arrange that.” He promises with a wink and slides the card into his pocket. The man grins and walks off, Dieter watching his ass until the waiter comes over to take his drinks order.

Before you walk into the restaurant, you pull out your compact and powder your nose, checking your lipstick and hair. You are about to walk in and give the host Dieter’s name so you can actually get closer to the actor. “Be charming.” You remind yourself as you open the door and walk inside, aware that you were going to be photographed tonight.

Dieter stands up when you approach his table, a friendly smile on his face, and he takes your hand in his to press a kiss to the back of it. “You look gorgeous, baby doll.” He says, his eyes sliding along your figure and he gestures for you to sit.

“Thank you.” Your brow raises and you smirk slightly as you sit down with a clear view for Dieter down your cleavage and hum. “I have to say that the rumored charm of Dieter Bravo has not disappointed.”

He smirks as he takes his seat, picking up his whiskey, “glad to hear I don’t disappoint.” He flirts softly, knowing he’s walking a fine line when you are to be his costar for the next year. “So…who’d you fuck to get the job?” He half teases, half tests. He wonders if you’re someone looking to step on his head to get up the ladder or if you’re just that good of an actress.

You snort playfully and roll your eyes. “Who should I tell you? The director or the producer? Maybe both?” You joke and lean in. “Or maybe I got the roll on my acting skills alone? Is that the unbelievable story?” The waiter delivers a whiskey on the rocks. You order a neat whiskey with a lemon twist and smirk when the waiter rushes off, looking back at Dieter for his answer.

“Ain’t no shame in it, honey. Lord knows I’ve fucked enough people to get ahead in this business. I haven’t seen you act so I can’t say which story is the true one. Perhaps when we get on set I can ascertain which one is the reality but in the meantime, I’m gonna jerk off thinking of you getting split roasted by the director and producer.” He smirks, knowing you’ll think he’s scandalous.

You gasp, giving him the appropriate response that he is looking for. You know that he expects you to be offended, but you also know that he will be intrigued if you weren’t. Your lips twist into a smug smirk. “Isn’t that the only way to properly take two cocks?” You ask, picking up his own whiskey and taking a small sip of the liquor. “Maybe I will have to satisfy myself thinking about that tonight.”

Dieter chuckles, dirty and drawn out, and he smirks as he leans closer to you, reaching for your hand. “It appears we are going to get along just fine, baby. Tell me, have you ever been to an orgy before?” He asks, curious to see how dirty you truly are.

You tut and swat at his shoulder with your free hand playfully. “A lady never tells.” You hum and lift an eyebrow suggestively. “Discretion is the name of the game when you have fun with special friends.”

Dieter slides his foot across the floor to slide against yours, a devious grin on his face. “I can tell you and I are going to get along famously.” He hums, picking up his whiskey just as the waiter brings yours over. You order your food not long after and you and Dieter discuss the script for a bit, expanding your thoughts on your characters and the needed chemistry. “Forgive me if I speak too boldly but I think we have the chemistry down.” Dieter hums.

“I don’t think that is too bold.” You slide your foot out of your heel and rub it against his ankle. “Sometimes you just instantly know that you are going to fit well with someone.” You have flirted with him outrageously all night, but there have been some interesting conversations about the script that impressed you. Dieter is more than just a pretty face, there is a smart intellect behind those mischievous eyes.

“How do you fancy coming to a party tonight? My friend is throwing a shindig. Apparently Dean will be singing tonight.” He says and your eyes widen.

“Dean Martin?” You ask and he nods, “the one and only. Whatcha say, baby doll? Wanna come check out the Hollywood parties with me?”

How could you possibly say no to that? An evening with the top Hollywood stars? It’s exactly what you wanted and it could allow you to form some key friendships down the line. It’s not what you know in Hollywood, it’s who you know. “I say you should get the check.” You tease, biting your lip.

Dieter grins, gesturing for the waiter to come over and he quickly hands over the cash needed to pay the bill and then some. The waiter winks at him, “don’t forget to find me again.” He says and Dieter nods, “I’ll be sure to reach out.” He smirks and offers you his arm to guide you out of the restaurant and to his awaiting car.

“Are you sure that I’m the one you want to spend tonight with?” You ask as the porter opens the passenger side to allow you to step in.

Dieter scoffs, rolling his eyes, “are you fucking serious, baby? Look at you, you’re goddamn gorgeous. I’m gonna be the envy of everyone in the joint.” He assures you after he slides into the seat beside you.

You hum happily and turn so you can brush one of his curls back. “I will be the one getting the envious looks.” You coo. “I’ll be with the sexiest man there. Maybe anywhere.”

Dieter leans into your touch, almost purring as you scratch his scalp. “Fuck. Keep doing that, baby.” He pleads, his hand finding your thigh to squeeze. You’re something different and he loves it.

His plea for such an innocent touch is very revealing and you tuck it away for future speculation. “Touch a gorgeous man? My pleasure.” You assure him, keeping your hand in his hair as you lean close and kiss his cheek. “Drive baby and I’ll make you feel good.”

He nearly closes his eyes as he drives down Sunset Boulevard to the club he frequents. He pulls up and the valet takes the vehicle, opening the door for him and Dieter makes a show of rounding the car to open the door for you, holding his hand out towards you. “Welcome to Ciros.” Dieter days as he guides you inside.

Your eyes widen at the glitz and glamour of the exclusive club. “Dieter.” You gasp, clinging to him as you take it all in. Cary Grant is over in one corner, playing billiards with Jimmy Stewart, drinks on the edge of the table.

Dieter grins, loving how in awe you are of the club and he is happy you are enjoying it already. He knows he loves seeing all his fellow actors enjoying themselves and the back of the club is his particular favorite thing about this place. “You wanna get a drink?” Dieter asks, leaning in close so his lips brush your ear.

You turn towards him, so your lips are almost touching. “Whiskey, with a twist.” You tell him, looking into his lovely light brown eyes that seem to hold a thousand secrets. “Or whatever you want me to drink.”

“You have what you want to have.” He says and guides you to a booth in the back. He shuffles in and calls over the waitress, his eyes dipping down to her cleavage as he orders your drinks.  His arm is thrown over the back of the booth, his fingers playing with the strap of your dress as he leans towards you.

“So tell me about Dieter Bravo.” You coo as you run a finger down the smooth line of his jaw. “The real Dieter, not the persona”

He smirks, “the persona is the Hollywood golden boy. The real Dieter? He’s a dirty bastard. I love sex. Men, women. Both. I love sex and I love pleasure. I take drugs to numb the pain of being alone and I’m alone because I take drugs. I’m a typical Hollywood disaster and my manager and the studio desperately want me to settle and be a good boy, but that’s not me.”

“You should be you.” You pout at him, although you really mean your words. He should be free to be who he wants to be. Leaning in and kissing his chin. “Love who you want, fuck who you want.”

Dieter snorts, reaching up with his free hand to gently grip your chin, “it’s the 50’s. No one can truly be who they want to be. I couldn’t love a man, or publicly announcing that I’m fucking one. My career would be over. Just like you couldn’t be known to be anything but a perfect angelic virgin. It’s the social standard so we smile and wave and pretend but at night, we crawl to our dens of dissolute and allow ourselves the pleasures we deny during the daylight hours. It’s the life we lead and it’s fine.” He promises, leaning in to softly kiss your lips, “you understand, don’t you baby?”

Your heart aches because you know that he’s telling the truth. “I understand.” You whisper quietly, nodding as you break the kiss. “Though I believe in being happy, as much as you can be.” Hopefully he will find happiness around you and that will make your assignment easier.

He nods, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours. “We can be happy tonight if you want.” He pulls back when the waiter sets the drinks down and he pulls a note from his wallet to hand it to him. When he leaves, he turns back to you, “there’s a private area in the back. Men and women…all for our pleasure. Do you want to explore with me?” Dieter asks, raising his eyebrows with hopefully eyes while he bites his lip.

You know that the studio would prefer that he not go back to the back, but you can’t deny him. “Do you want to be split roasted or do you want to be on the giving end of split roasting me?” You ask, curious as to the answer he will give you.

Dieter’s eyebrows raise even more and he can’t stop the naughty grin that appears on his face. “Well, Jesus Christ, you are a naughty little girl.” He teases and leans in to softly kiss your ear, “I want to be on the giving end with you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how tight and wet your little cunt must be so if you want me, baby doll, I wanna fuck you and have some help to ensure you leave here high on pleasure.”

He smirks, cock already hardening, and he nods, picking up his glass to clink it against yours. “I say we better drink up and get back there.” He winks and downs the whiskey, slamming the glass down on the table then he shuffles out of the booth and holds his hand out towards you, “come on baby doll, let’s have some fun.”

You give him your hand and flash him a smile. “I’m ready to have fun with you.” You promise, biting your lip as he helps you to your feet. You curl into his embrace and look excited even though butterflies swim in your stomach.

Dieter guides you back through the throng of people and he knocks three times on the door, the peephole in the middle opens and finally the door is opened to the private rooms of the club. He winks at the doorman and takes your hand in his to guide you to the main room, full of men and women in various states of undress. Some kissing, some sucking, some fucking. It’s a den of desire and you don’t know where to look. “Okay?” Dieter asks, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable.

“There are private rooms. Let’s find a space in the observers and see who you wish to share your delicious cunt with.” Dieter suggests and guides you over to the lush seating area with large chairs. Dieter sits down and wastes no time pulling you into his lap, his hand sliding along your stocking clad leg under your skirt, “you see anyone you like?” He murmurs into your ear, pressing a kiss against your neck.

It’s hard to concentrate and look around the club as you enjoy his hand on your body. You shiver and hum speculatively as you manage to take a look at all the men and women that are milling around. You spot several famous faces and you bite your lip, cunt bottoming out when you see someone you have always admired pull off a robe and lay down on a table to let any and all touch her. You spot a man in the corner of the room, still dressed and watching as he sips a drink. “What about him?” You ask, turning and nudging your nose against Dieter’s cheek as you speak. “Have you fucked him? Does he have a nice cock?” 

Dieter smirks, “no. I haven’t. He’s nice though. Pensive. Moody. I like that. Those are the ones that fuck well. You wanna call him over?” Dieter asks, knowing the man will come over. You nod, catching the man’s eyes and you gesture for him to come over with a sultry smile. Dieter’s hand slides higher, “you excited to get fucked?” He hums into your ear, biting down on the lobe.

You moan softly, enjoying the sharp nip of his teeth. “Yes.” You admit breathlessly. “I’ve wondered what you were like in bed, watching you onscreen.” You might not have before, but it seems that he likes your answer.

The man gracefully makes his way through the gyrating crowd. Dieter pulls away from you, standing up to greet the man. "Lance." He greets the stunt man who he has seen around the studios. ‘"Bravo." He nods at Dieter, shaking his hand. 

"Have you two met?" Dieter asks, saying your name and the stunt man shakes his head. 

He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his lips, "I would definitely remember if I had met her." He winks at you after he stands up straight but keeps your hand in.

“Flatterer.” You tease, even though you find him even more handsome in person than you had from afar. “Can we buy you drink, Lance?” You ask playfully, looking over to Dieter for approval. “Have you sit down and discuss all manner of pleasurable things?” Dieter approves, the way he is leaning in to hear Lance’s answer is indicative of that.

Lance nods and Dieter gestures to the passing cocktail waitress. He orders your whiskey with a twist, his own tipple, and Lance orders a whiskey too. The waitress rushes off and Dieter shuffles down the couch, pulling you into his lap to show his possession of you while Lance sits beside you both. “So are you seeking here tonight?” Dieter asks Lance whose hand finds your knee. “I want you both.” Lance says, “I want to taste you, to fuck you.” He says and Dieter leans in to press his lips to Lance’s.

You should be discouraging the behavior that Dieter is displaying, that’s what the studio wants you to do, but you moan at the sight of the two men kissing. “Yes.” You whimper, sliding your hand into Lance’s lap and squeezing his hardening cock as you grind your as against Dieter’s. “Why don’t we find a private room?”

Lance pulls away from Dieter’s mouth to look at you, “let’s, but first.” He surges forward to press his lips to yours and Dieter groans as he watches the kiss, getting a little greedy as he surges forward to join the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours and Lance’s.

You’ve never had a kiss that involved three people but it’s intoxicating. Gasping, your tongue joins the fray and you enthusiastically kiss each of them as you massage Lance’s cock even more. You feel Dieter’s fingers pressing against your clit, making you whine softly, grinding against his hand for friction.

The kiss ends when Lance and Dieter pull back, their cocks aching, and Dieter looks up as the cocktail waitress appears, “thanks doll. We want a private room.” He says and she nods, taking the crisp bills he gives her and she tells you to follow her to the private room, she will take your drinks.

Standing, you smirk when both men need to adjust their cocks when they stand and you make sure that you sway your hips enticingly as you follow the waitress. You want both men to have their eyes fixed on your ass as they trail behind you. Feeling emboldened by their obvious lust, you walk into the private room eagerly and spin around to watch them walk on.

Dieter thanks the waitress when she sets the drinks down and she shuts the door behind her, the bed in the middle of the room is clean and made up, and there’s chairs and a small bathroom attached. “Now, where were we?” Dieter smirks, picking up his whiskey. 

“We were talking about pleasure.” Lance says and you smirk, fingering the buttons of your dress. “Are you gonna give us a show, baby girl?” Dieter asks, sitting down on the foot of the bed while Lance sits in the nearby chair.

You hadn’t anticipated stripping in front of them, but the excitement in Dieter’s eyes has you nodding, but you smirk slightly. “Both of you take something off first, then I will.” You tease, flicking open the first button of your dress and revealing more of your cleavage.

Dieter chuckles, liking your moxie again, and he shrugs off his jacket, working on his tie and the buttons of his shirt so he is shirtless, his slacks still on. Lance follows suit, shrugging off his blazer and he sits back down on the bed, his chiseled chest on display..

Dieter groans, his fingers twitching at how gorgeous you are. A true movie star. Beautiful and so fucking sexy. He hisses your name and Lance swallows harshly, cock throbbing in his pants. “Are you going to show us what’s beneath that pretty brassier?” He asks and Dieter shakes his head. “We should assist.” He says as he sets his whiskey down and stands up, kneeling down in front of his knees so he can reach out to unclip your stocking, slowly rolling it down your leg until he removes your heel and the silk.

“Dieter.” You whisper as his lips graze your thighs. It’s hedonistic and thrilling to feel both men’s eyes on your body and know that despite they want each other, they also want you. Your core is throbbing and you crook your finger towards Lance suggestively. “You want to remove it, baby?” You coo.

He nods, “I’ll take it off.” He steps behind you, placing soft kisses to the nape of your neck as his fingers work on removing your bra. “So fucking beautiful.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck and he tosses your bra aside so he can cup your tits. Dieter has rolled your other stocking down and is pressing his nose to your underwear, groaning at the heady scent of you before he mouthes at your cunt through the silk.

You feel deliciously cared for and moan when Dieter’s hot breath washes over your covered cunt. “Do you do that?” You lean back against Lance and tangle your fingers into Dieter’s curly hair. “Eat a woman’s cunt?” He’s mentioned sucking a cock, but perhaps he is like most men who find a cunt unappealing to lick. It was hypocritical of them in your opinion, but you also never insisted.

Dieter snorts, pulling back to look up at you. “Are you fucking kidding me, baby doll? I love pussy. I love eating pussy.”  He promises and hooks his fingers in your panties so he can pull them down, his face soon buried in your cunt as his tongue slides through your folds. “Fuck you taste good.” He groans while Lance pinches your nipples.

“Fuck, Dieter.” His name is a sob on your lips as he manages to make your entire body shake. You turn your head and kiss Lance’s jaw as he palms your tits and makes you feel like you are the star of your own show. “Feel even better inside.”

Dieter doesn’t deny you, grabbing your leg to lift your thigh onto his shoulder so he can slide his tongue inside of you, his nose pressing against your clit. “Fuck, does she taste good?” Lance asks and Dieter pulls back to smack his lips, “she’s fucking delicious.” He groans, diving back in.

“Oh fuck.” You moan, turning and pressing your lips to Lance’s desperately. Wanting to do more than just take from the men. Your hand slides down behind you and you fumble with the zipper of Lance’s slacks. Desperate to pull his hard cock out and stroke it while Dieter licks your cunt. “Pull- pull your cock out.” You beg against his lips.

Lance won’t deny you. He lets go of you, reaching down to fumble with his slacks, opening them to pull his cock out for you. His hands find your tits again and you whimper, wrapping your fingers around his cock. Dieter continues lapping at your cunt, sucking on your clit as he tries to send you over the edge.

Your eyes flutter closed, twisting your wrist so you can pump the thick girth in your hand and your hips cant towards Dieter’s mouth. “Oh fuck, oh this is- this is so good.” You moan quietly. “I- I’m gonna cum.” You warn the men.

Dieter desperately wants you to cum. His tongue diving deep, curling inside of you while his fingers grip your thigh and he groans when you finally cum, clamping down on his tongue and soaking his face with your juices. He laps up every drop he can get while you moan his name. Lance groans at the sounds you make, twitching in your loosened grip and he reluctantly pushes your hand away so he can pull Dieter up after the actor lowers your leg. He pulls Dieter close so he can press his lips to his, wanting to taste you.

You pant, watching the two men kiss and you decide you want a taste of your own. Dropping down to your knees, you wrap your fingers around Lance’s cock before you press your tongue to the leaking tip to lap at the juices building up. Making him groan and push into your mouth a little more.

Lance groans into Dieter’s mouth and the actor fumbles to unbutton his pants, pulling his aching cock out. Lance immediately takes his hard cock in his hard, jerking him off while you suck on the stuntman’s length. Dieter’s tongue tangles with Lance’s while he pleasures and gets pleasured.

You pull off Lance’s cock after a moment and take the head of Dieter’s length into your mouth after batting the other man’s hand away from it. Groaning as you have a hand on each man’s cock and start to massage the base of each one. You flick your tongue over the tip of Dieter’s before you pull back and take Lance back into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ.” Dieter groans, looking down at you and Lance takes the chance to kiss along his neck, biting down softly on his jaw. “She’s gorgeous.” He murmurs, stroking your cheek as you look up at the men. “I want to fuck you baby doll. Get on the bed and Lance can fuck your throat while I fuck you if you want that.” Dieter murmurs, giving you the choice.

You kiss the tip of Dieter’s cock and nod as you let go of both men’s girth. “I want that.” You promise breathlessly, biting your lip. Lance helps you up and you move over to the bed and get onto it, on all fours. Looking over your shoulder, you shake your ass at both men. “Come on, pretty boys, I’m starting to get lonely over here.”

Lance comes over, smacking your ass, and he wastes no time kneeling on the bed so you can take his cock back into his mouth. Dieter comes over, kneeling on the bed behind you and he caresses your spine. “I’ll pull out.” He promises, smacking your ass cheek before he’s gripping his cock, positioning himself at your entrance and slowly pushing inside of you.

You moan sounds out around the stuntman’s length, your back bowing slightly as Dieter stretches you out. It’s been longer than you care to admit since you’ve had a lover, appearances needing to be kept up for the studios. Still, you enjoy the fullness and push your hips back as he bottoms out inside you.

Dieter closes his eyes, jaw dropping at the feel of you, and he starts to move inside of you. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, caressing your hips before he grabs them, rocking inside of you and each rock pushes Lance’s cock deeper down your throat.

It’s filthy and wicked, while you aren’t pure, this is the first time you have been between two men. Your acting making you seem much more confident than you actually are, but you find that you love it. Moaning, you wrap your hand around Lance’s cock and pump the base while you take him deeper.

Dieter groans as he watches you take the other man’s cock into your mouth. It’s dirty and so naughty, everything the studio doesn’t want you to be. He fucking loves it. Lance does too by the look on his face and Dieter can’t help but reach for him, grabbing his neck to pull him across to press his lips to his.

Both men coming together means that they are surging deeper inside you. Pressing close and you feel yourself start to gag on the cock in your mouth but you quickly start to swallow around him. Enjoying the way they moan together above you and you wish that you had a studio camera to film this so you can see how they look.

Your cunt tightens around Dieter and he chuckles into Lance’s mouth, pulling back for a second. “Oh she loves this.” He murmurs and moves forward again to slide his tongue against Lance’s, his hands finding your hips again, his cock pushing harder and faster. He wants to feel you cum around him.

It’s hard to concentrate on the cock in your mouth when Dieter starts to fuck you hard and fast. His cock shredding up inside you and pressing against something wonderful that makes you eager to push back. Eyes watering and your lipstick smeared, you don’t care how you look as long as the delicious pressure continues to build up inside you.

Dieter and Lance pull back from the kiss, looking down at you and Lance groans as you hollow your cheeks around his cock. “That’s it baby. That’s it. Fuck, gonna make me cum.” He warns you, not sure if you want to swallow his cum or not.

You hum, looking up at him through your lashes and you continue to press him deeper into your throat. Pressing the tip of your nose to his torso and barely being tickled by the groomed hairs around his cock. You want him to cum down your throat, wanting to taste him.

“Fuck fuck fuckkkk.” Lance groans, his cock throbbing as he cums down your throat. You swallow as much as you can and Dieter watches in awe as Lance cums. “That’s it baby doll. Good girl. So good.” Dieter coos, caressing your back and he groans when your cunt flutters around his cock.

You want Dieter to cum, to have him moan in pleasure like Lance is. You clench down around him and while you are still swallowing, you push your hips back to encourage him to fuck you harder.

Dieter doesn’t want to cum until you do, his hand sliding under you to find your clit and he rubs it while he’s fucking into you. Lance groans, needing to pleasure you so he shifts onto his back, sliding under you and his tongue finds your clit, pushing Dieter’s hand aside. “Fuck.” Dieter groans as he grabs your hip again to fuck you harder, needing you to cum.

“Oh my goddddddd.” You whine, rocking your hips down and panting. You can’t take much more, the pleasure building up to the point where you screaming out when you start to cum.

Dieter hisses when you clamp down on his cock, making him groan your name and Lance shifts, licking at where you and Dieter are joined, your cum dripping into his mouth and he reaches up to fondle Dieter's balls. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna -" Dieter barely managers to pull out, gripping his cock as he spurts his hot seed onto your ass and lower back.

You whine, enjoying the way that he had felt inside you. Missing the way he had filled you as you continue to come. “Dieter, fuck baby.” You pant, dropping down to your elbows.

Lance groans, shifting out from under you and he leans in to lick a line of Dieter's cum from your flesh. "Fuck baby." Dieter grunts, leaning down to bite your ass cheek, lapping at your quivering pussy to taste you again.

Lance nods, "so fucking good." He agrees and when Dieter lifts his head, he surges forward to kiss the actor again. Dieter grabs the back of his neck, keeping him close so he can kiss him passionately, both men still tingling from their orgasms.

Turning on your side, Dieter’s cum still on your ass, you watch the two men kiss. Still feeling euphoric at the sensations you experienced and wondering why this could be so wrong.

“So fucking good.” Dieter groans and leans down to kiss you after Lance pulls back. He shifts off of the bed and goes into the bathroom to grab a rag for you to clean up. Lance follows him, caressing his back and he washes himself up while Dieter takes care of you. “You enjoy yourself, baby doll?” He asks while he cleans his cum off of you.

“I did.” You bite your lip and are a little unsure of how well you managed to satisfy the two men. “Did you both enjoy yourselves?” You ask, looking between Dieter and Lance.

Lance nods, “I enjoyed it, sweetheart. I don’t - I don’t usually like to penetrate unless it’s someone like him.” Lance winks at Dieter, hoping you catch his drift, “but you were fucking delicious.” He leans down to softly kiss you. “Hopefully we do this again sometime.”

You kiss him back, reaching up to caress his cheek. “Anytime.” You tell him saucily and winking when he pulls back. You stretch out and hum contentedly. “What do you think, Dieter baby?” You coo, trailing a finger down your breast.

Dieter bites his lip, “it was fucking fantastic baby.” He promises and admires your form as you stretch out. Lance grabs his clothes, starting to redress. “I better go. I have an early call tomorrow.” Lance says and pecks your lips once he’s dressed and he kisses Dieter once again. “See you around handsome.” He winks and carefully exits the room, leaving you and Dieter alone. “You wanna get dressed and get back out there or do you wanna order some drinks and stay in here?” He asks, grabbing his briefs to pull them up.

“What do you want to do?” You ask softly. “I’m with you tonight. Whatever you want, I’m game.” You promise. Your goal is to make him want to be around you and you can’t do that if you make him annoyed or bored.

Dieter leans in to kiss you, his hand caressing your body. “I wanna stay with you. Right here. I wanna make you cum again and then I want to take you home and make you cum again.” He smirks, knowing he’s not gonna want to let you go now that he’s got you. You’re gorgeous and kinky and everything he loves in a woman. This is the beginning of something beautiful.

****

“Fuck baby.” You moan, looking over your shoulder at Dieter as he rocks into you. Your hands are wrapped around the posts of the headboard of the bed you spend more time in than your own. For the past three months, you and Dieter have constantly been together, onset and off and the studio execs are happy that their star has been staying out of trouble. “Harder, baby.” You beg, clenching down around him. “Want to cum all over you.”

“Take it. Oh fuck. Give it to me. Wanna feel you gush, baby doll.” Dieter groans, his fingers digging into your hips and his mouth hanging open as his stomach tingles with his own near climax. “Cum for me.” He chokes, needing you to do it.

You don’t have too much longer before you are doing just that. Your legs kick up between Dieter’s and your toes curl in pleasure. Your cry of his name is something his neighbors around him should be well used to hearing now, since you cry it out every night. “Cum inside me.” You begs, twisting the sheets up in your hands. “It’s safe. Please baby, let me feel you.”

He can’t deny. Fuck, he can’t deny you anything. He pants, his hips pushing into your ass and he clenches his eyes shut as he cums, burying his cock deep inside of you. He groans loud and proud as he paints your walls for the first time. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkkk.” He groans, his hips slamming against your ass and he pants as he rides out his high.

The liquid heat of his pleasure fills you. Making you moan as it reaches every inch of your womb and coats your insides. “Fuck baby.” You whimper, biting your lip to keep from saying something stupid, something you know you shouldn’t say or feel but you do anyway. “So good, you’re so good to me, Dee.” You pant instead.

He kisses along your spine, “you’re so goddamn perfect, baby doll.” He murmurs between kisses, reluctant to pull out of you. He wants to stay buried inside of your warmth forever. He grunts as he pulls out of you, leaning back on his haunches to see his cum drip from your pussy and that makes his spent cock drip. “Goddamn beautiful.” He sighs and shifts to lay down beside you. “Darling girl, you want something to eat?” He asks, pulling you into his chest.

You curl up on his chest and sigh, smiling slightly. Dieter is surprisingly attentive for someone who had honed such a bad boy, playboy persona. “Later.” You hum softly. “I was thinking we could stay in tonight?” You caress his chest and bask in the pleasurable afterglow of his attention. Your entire body is lovingly sore from how pent up he was. Apparently you had been teasing him all day on set. “Maybe I could make you dinner? Or a midnight snack?” 

Dieter caresses your spine, “sure. You wanna have pasta? My housekeeper made me some. We can heat it up.” He suggests and you shake your head. “I can’t eat pasta. I - the studio has given me a list of things to eat. Salads, boiled chicken. Vodka or water. I need to keep my weight down.” You explain and Dieter pulls back to look down at you, “what the fuck? Boiled chicken? You’re joking, right?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

Snorting, you roll your eyes. “You know how it is. All the female actresses are strictly controlled. Why do you think I never eat anything but a salad when we go out?” You ask. “They measure me every morning and put me on a scale. If I’m too heavy, I cannot have lunch. Just smokes.”

“Jesus. I- I didn’t know it was that bad. I thought that they had you taking pills.” He shakes his head again, “you can’t not eat. Salad? That’s fucking rabbit food. You should be able to control your body, not the studio. That’s bullshit, baby.”

“I refused the pills.” You admit. “I didn’t like how they made me feel.” You’ve avoided doing any drugs with Dieter and surprisingly, he’s been okay with that. “That’s why my whiskey order changed to vodka. I hate vodka, but it’s all I can have.”

Dieter nods, having noticed you switched to clear liquor. “Baby doll, it’s crazy they dictate like that. I wish there was something I could do.” He sighs, pouring slightly as he looks at you. He does drugs, coke mainly, and you are such a good girl compared to him, so sweet and kind. He doesn’t deserve you really.

He sighs, knowing this isn’t the end of the conversation but he can’t do anything about it tonight so he pulls you closer, kissing your forehead and he closes his eyes as he breathes you in. You’ve become his home, his safe space, and he’d do anything to protect you. Z

You know that he’s relaxed now and you sigh softly. It’s gotten more complicated now. Far different from the day you had met Dieter. You were shown a side of him that no one else got to see except for in small glimpses. You’ve fallen in love even though you know that the studio has an expiration date set for your relationship. They want him single, so the press knew nothing of your nights out on the town.

****

“You want a drink, baby doll?” Dieter asks, walking over to his bar cart to pour himself a whiskey. You have taken to staying at his place nearly every night and he doesn’t complain when he gets to have you in his bed. The movie is coming along, the romance going extremely well thanks to your chemistry on set and Dieter finds himself more centered on his character, able to remember his lines better. Probably because he’s not out until the early hours having sex with strangers and snorting cocaine. He doesn’t know when it happened but he only wants you, can only think of you.

You shake your head, giving him a soft smile. “I shouldn’t.” You tell him, pressing your hand to your stomach. “They said I’m gaining some weight so I need to cut back on the drinking.” You roll your eyes and shrug. “But if you kiss me after you drink, I can taste it from your tongue.”

Dieter frowns, "gaining weight? You look fucking gorgeous. I can't wait to see the edits of you from today." He says, leaning in to peck your lips after he prepares a whiskey, sliding his tongue into your mouth so you can taste the liquor.

You moan over the taste of the liquor and Dieter combined. It’s intoxicating, and you know that you need him. Curling your hand around his neck, you pour yourself into the kiss and slide another hand down to cup his flaccid cock through his pants.

He groans into your mouth, cock starting to harden under your grip. He can’t help it, you’re too tempting for him. “Fuck baby doll. You want me to fuck you?” He asks breathlessly, kissing along your jaw, careful to not leave any marks.

“Always want you to fuck me.” You whine, closing your eyes and enjoying the way that his lips map the perfect spots to make you hum in pleasure.

Dieter doesn't deny you, wanting you just as much. His hands are everywhere, squeezing your tits, squeezing your ass. He can't touch enough of you as he hardens in your grip. “Let me fuck you baby.” He pleads, his hands sliding under your dress to push under your silk panties, finding your clit. “Already wet for me.”

“Always wet for you.” You pant breathlessly. Holding onto his arms as he rubs your clit exactly how you like for it to be rubbed. “Baby, you do that so good. Always make me feel so good.” You’ve been insatiable lately and luckily Dieter has been completely up to fucking you whenever you want.

He hums, loving hearing your praise. So unlike the harshness he experienced in the industry. Almost everything he does is wrong. He shifts his fingers to push Teo inside of you, wanting you to cum first for him like this. “Baby doll. You’re so good to me. Always- fuck - always want you.” He murmurs when you squeeze his cock.

You ignore the worries that you have, the truth that you are hiding from him as the magic of his touch takes over. Pushing it away to focus on him. “Fuck Dee,” you whimper softly. “Love this, love you.”

It’s the first time you’ve said you love him and it makes him feel like he’s on top of the world, his heart pounding in his chest. “Wait-” He withdraws his fingers and pulls your hand away from his cock. “Did you- did you just say you love me?” He asks and you nod, biting your lip and he can see you’re nervous. He surges forward to press his lips to yours. “I love you, baby doll. I- fuck - you love me?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“I love you, Dieter.” You cup his cheek and kiss him again. “I love you.” You do love him, even if you didn’t start out with this under the most honest of pretenses, you know that you do love him. Shocked that he loves you too, you beam at him.

He pulls you close, guiding you over to the sofa. “I want you to ride me.” He 

says, caressing your back until he’s working the zipper of your dress down to expose more skin to his eager eyes. “I want you to cum on my cock, baby.” He says, pushing the dress off of your shoulders until it’s pooling at your feet and he sits down on the sofa.

You watch as he starts to unzip his pants, pulling the shirttails out and up his stomach as he lifts his hips to push them and his briefs down. His cock is hard, springing up to slap against his skin as he watches you push your panties down and instead of taking off your bra, you straddle his thighs, eager to sink down on him. “Fuck I love your cock.” you coo softly. “You fill me up so fucking good.” 

He groans when you grip his cock, sinking down on top of him. “Fuck baby doll. Look at you.” He hisses, watching you take his length inside of you. He could do this for hours, just watch you ride his dick. “So fucking pretty.” He coos, cupping your cheek and he brings you close so he can press his lips to yours again.

Kissing Dieter has become so very natural to you. Both on set and off. You seemingly always are nearing to kissing him or just coming from kissing him. Still, every time makes you shiver slightly and wish that you were able to keep him. “I love you.” you murmur softly as you start to move, riding him slowly and enjoying the way he stretches you out. Perhaps this will count as exercise. 

His hands caress you, wanting to touch more of you, and he’s quick to unclasp your bra while you work on unbuttoning his shirt. He leans in to kiss along your chest once your bra is slung across the room and his lips are wrapping around your nipple as you start to slowly ride him.

“Dee!” Your fingers dig into his hair and you try to gently pull him away. You’re sensitive and want to kiss him again. “So good baby, kiss me.” You beg softly, knowing he will give in if you want your lips on his.

He reluctantly pulls away from your breast so he can lean in to kiss you. His tongue immediately slides into your mouth. The shitty tattoos on his chest he got while drunk during his brief stint in the army before he was dismissed just after training are under your touch and he knows you can feel his heart beating.

It becomes soft and sweet. Something that is very different from the energetic fucking that normally happens. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you rise and sink on his cock while you kiss him. It’s as close to making love as you’ve ever had with him and you want to savor it. 

It’s slower than usual but he loves it. He honestly never imagined he’d find someone to love in this hell hole of a town. The majority of people just wanted him to see where he could take them. He doesn’t want that. He wants someone to want him, Dieter, not the actor. His tongue slides against yours, languid and leisurely as you ride his cock. His hands caress your back and come up to squeeze your breast.

You moan softly, not hurt but it’s still tender as he squeezes. You don’t stop him from enjoying your breasts, knowing how much he enjoys playing with your tits. Your walls clench down around him and you whimper when he pinches your nipple softer than he normally does. “Dee,” You bite his ear lobe and scratch your nails against his scalp as you bury them into his hair. “Love you.” 

“Love you. Fucking love you.” He murmurs and his cock twitches inside of you. “I want you to cum for me.” He pleads softly, reaching down to rub your clit, wanting to feel you soak him. “Cum for me baby doll.” He begs, his voice a little whiny but he can’t help himself.

Instead of being explosive so you gush all over him, your orgasm is soft. Still no less devastating than your normally orgasms in his arms. Stiffening, your cunt clamps down around him and you moan his name softly.

Your orgasm is slow but you clamp down on his cock and he loves it. “Fuck. So beautiful, baby. So fucking beautiful.” He groans and he grabs your hips, thrusting up into you. He is close, overwhelmed by the emotion, and he thrusts a half dozen more times before he’s pulling you down onto his cock and painting your walls with his seed.

He smiles, feeling like he’s finally home when he’s in your arms. You caress him and he feels like he can take on anything as long as he has you. He gets to spend all his time with you and he’s worried that when the movie is finished filming, that you won’t want to see him anymore. A silly fear that’s been abated by you saying you love him but it’s still there, his insecurities. He pulls you close, breathing you in, and he kisses your hair.

****

“I have to tell the producer, I need to let out your dress.” The head of the wardrobe department shakes her head as she looks at you in the mirror. Your skintight dress doesn’t zip up end you know why, although you hadn’t said a word to anyone, not even Dieter. “You can’t tell them.” You beg immediately, nearly frozen in fear. “Please, I’m- im pregnant.”

She looks at you for a second, eyes wide, and she knows what will happen if the studio finds out. “How far along are you?” She asks, “about five months.” Her eyes dip down, “you’re carrying small. Just looks like you’ve eaten a big meal. Is it- it’s Bravo’s?” She guesses. Everyone on set knows about your dalliance with the leading man. You nod and she bites her lip, knowing that if she tattles, you’ll be forced to abort, even at five months. “I’ll let the dress out. I won’t tell anyone.” She vows, knowing she can’t betray you when you’re such a kind woman in an industry full of demanding witches.

“Thank you- thank you.” You turn around and reach for her hands. “I cannot ever repay you.” You gush, nearly in tears with gratitude. You know what this industry is like and what they will do. They forced Judy to get an abortion, and they wouldn’t hesitate to do it to you. “I promise I have been watching what I eat so I don’t gain much.” You promise her quietly. “But my breasts are getting bigger.”

“We will fix it, sweetheart.” She promises, knowing she can’t do much but she can take the dresses out. “Only five more weeks of shooting. You will need to be careful.” She warns you, having seen too many tragedies when it comes to pregnant actresses. You nod, squeezing her hands in thanks and she grabs her measuring tape to take your new measurements so she can take out your costumes.

It doesn’t take long for her to re-measure you, making you feel a lot better and you put on your dressing gown when she’s done. If anyone asks, the costume ripped and she’s mending it while she’s letting it out. You leave wardrobe and move over to the beverage cart, pouring yourself a water and resisting the urge to light a cigarette. You’ve heard it could be bad for babies, so you’ve quit.

Dieter walks through the halls of the studio looking for you. Script in hand and smoke hanging from his mouth, he’s trying to find you to discuss the script changes from the writers and he finds you in your dressing room. “Damn baby girl.” He murmurs, setting his script down and taking a drag of his smoke as his eyes trail along your front. “Gorgeous as always.”

You smile as you look at him, handsome as always and it’s by sheer will that you don’t reach down to touch your stomach. The baby has started moving and it makes you feel incredibly emotional every time. It also seems to be when Dieter is around. “Hey baby.” You walk over to him, trying to ignore the smell of the smoke, it’s started disagreeing with you. “They are having to work on my dress, there was a tear in it.”

He hums, leaning in to kiss you. “Probably me.” He jokes, knowing you’ve had a few quickies between shooting scenes. You chuckle and he kisses along your neck, “you read the revisions?” He asks, picking up the script. “They want us to do some running shit. Want you to run after me.” He says, handing the paper to you.

“Running?” You hadn’t looked at the revisions, too busy with the wardrobe department, but you take the script and look it over as Dieter continues to kiss you. “Why? There shouldn’t be running.”

“It’s some new love scene. They want you to chase me when I get into the taxi. Want you to scream at me that you love me but I don’t hear you. I ride off until we reunite.” He says between kisses to your neck, “you gotta scream out that you loveeee me.” He teases against your skin.

“Ohhhh noooo.” You hum, smiling because you know he is grinning as he continues to kiss you. “It will be so hard to act that out.” Your hands on his waist slide around his back and you lean into him for a moment. You are worried about the running, but it shouldn’t be too bad. You’ve been moving a lot and it’s not like you have to be in bed the entire time you are pregnant. As long as you don’t fall, you should be good.

Dieter smirks, leaning in to softly kiss you. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs, “you fucking know that, right?” He asks you, his dark eyes burning into yours. “Most beautiful woman here and I’m so lucky to have you, baby doll.” Dieter murmurs against your jaw.

“I love you, Dieter.” You whisper softly, wanting him to know that you love him and not just something you are saying for the movie. “I think we need to lock the door of my dressing room and have some fun before we film. What do you say?”

“I like the way you think.” Dieter smirks, pulling away from you to lock your dressing room door behind him and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms so he can kiss you properly. Smoke spirals from the smoke he abandoned in the ashtray and his tongue slides against yours while his hands squeeze your ass.

You moan softly, aware that you have to be quiet. Everyone is aware of your relationship on set but you don’t publicly display it. Your body aches for him, the boost to your libido insane during the pregnancy that the father of your child doesn’t even know about. Dieter’s hand dives for the ties to your dressing gown but you shake your head. “No time to get undressed.” You murmur.

He can’t deny you anything. His hips pressing against your ass as he sets a harsh pace, the slapping sounds and your combined moans and pants the only sounds in the dressing room. “Always feel so fucking good.” He grunts, knowing that he can’t be anywhere else. He stopped going to orgies, stopped seeking out others. All he can think about is you. You. You. You.

“I love- fuck, I love you, Dee.” You will have to tell him. You need to tell him now, but you can’t. You’re afraid of what he might say, what he might tell the studio if you do. It won’t be too much longer until the movie is in the can and then you can tell him. If he decides he wants to leave you, so be it.

“Love you. So much, baby doll. Jesus, you - can’t stop thinking about you. All I fucking think about. Stopped taking goddamn drugs because they don’t compare to you. Only get high on you now.” He confesses, “I love you.” He grits his teeth, fucking into you a little faster.

His confession makes you cry out. Falling over the edge and clamping down around his cock, you soak him with your juices. Feeling the incredible flood of warmth seep through your veins and makes you slump against the table.

He hisses when you clamp down on him, never getting tired of how you feel, how you sound when you cum. “Fuck. Oh shit. Shit.” He curses as he thrusts a half dozen more times before he’s pushes deep and cumming inside of you with a hiss of your name. Painting your walls, he leans over you to kiss your neck.

“So good baby.” You whimper, closing your eyes and enjoying the way that he fills you up. “Fuck, I’ll never get tired of that.” You murmur quietly. “We should get married.”

He pulls out of you, spinning you around so you are looking at him. “You serious?” He asks, wondering if you are just rambling in the haze of your orgasm. “You want to be my wife?” He asks breathlessly. He knows he’s a difficult man to love. Hell, he changes his religion every other week. He isn’t easy to be around yet here you are, still here months later. “You wanna marry me?”

“I want to marry you.” You promise breathlessly. “I want nothing more than to marry you.” You want to tell him about the baby but you don’t. Figuring there will be time for that later. You don’t want him to think the only reason you ask him to marry him is because of the baby. “We can go to Vegas.”

Dieter cups your cheeks, “yeah? You wanna elope? I won’t have your daddy trying to shoot my ass?” He jokes softly and you shake your head, reaching up to caress his wrists. “I want to marry you.” You declare and Dieter grins, leaning in to softly kiss you. “I wanna marry you too. Let’s tell them you’re sick so we can get off set today. We can be in Vegas tonight to get married tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You giggle against his lips and nod. “I’ll tell them that I’m having horrible bleeding and cramps and cannot possibly run.” You tease,

Kissing him once more before pulling away. Everything seems perfect, completely in love with Dieter and about to go elope with him. You hope he never finds out about your deal with the studio because he would never forgive you.

****

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The officiant declares and Dieter wastes no time in pressing his lips to yours. “Mrs. Bravo.” He coos when he pulls back, grinning in awe that he’s married to you.

You kiss him desperately, clinging to his arms. “Mr. Bravo.” You bat your lashes at him playfully. “How does it feel to be a married man?” You ask, blissfully happy that he wanted to marry you.

He grins, kissing you softly. “It - it’s like I’m finally where I belong.” He admits quietly, the weight of his wedding ring on his finger is welcome and he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “I love you baby doll. Let’s go celebrate. Champagne!” He says, pulling back from you.

You giggle, knowing that you cannot have more than a sip of champagne but you can’t deny him. “Champagne and then I want to go back to the hotel with my husband.” You beg. Once you get back to L.A. you will have to pretend that you aren’t Dieter’s wife and take off the gorgeous ring he has slipped on your finger.

The champagne is popped once you’re back in your suite and Dieter wants tonight to be all about you both. No movie, no press, nothing but the two of you. He leans in to kiss you, loving how it feels to belong to you.

“I love you.” You promise him, smiling at him as you set your champagne down. You had one tiny sip, but you know that Dieter won’t notice once you start kissing. “I love my husband. Dieter Bravo.”

Fuck, he can’t get enough of hearing that. “Come on baby. Wanna make love to my wife.” He says, “my beautiful movie star wife.” He coos, “I’m a lucky son of a bitch.” He murmurs, pulling you into his lap.

You hum, making sure that you don’t squish your belly, and wrap your arms around him. “You love me?” You ask playfully. “Will you still love me when I’m old and fat?” You ask it as a joke, but you are worried that he won’t like your body once you have had your baby. He’s used to gorgeous men and women and it would break your heart if he rejected you.

Dieter snorts, “you gonna love me when I’m old and fat too? Im gonna be a miserable old fucker. You ready to deal with me?” He asks, caressing your back, “I’ll love you no matter what, baby doll.” He vows, knowing he’s been fickle his entire life but that’s because he was searching for something, for you.

“You are going to be distinguished.” You argue, running your fingers through his hair. “Your hair will be salt and pepper and you’ll still have adoring fans throwing themselves at you.” You pout, kissing his lips. “And I’ll still think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.”

Dieter grins, pleased that you are saying that. “And you’d still be the most gorgeous fucking woman in Hollywood.” He assures you, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. “Are you gonna ride my cock, sweetheart? You wanna have married sex?” He teases, his fingers dipping beneath your dress.

“Yes.” You moan breathlessly. You have been riding him more, scared of him discovering your belly so it has been easier to mount him. He finds your panties easily and push them to the side. The short, white, sheath dress that was your wedding dress is bunched at your hips and covers your belly wonderfully.

Dieter groans when you reach down to take him out of his pants. He’s hard and aching for you. “Take what’s yours.” He orders, his brown eyes wide in awe as you sink down onto him. “Fuckkkk.” He hisses, head tilting back as you take him inside of you.

“I love you.” You pant breathlessly. “I love this cock. I love how you feel inside me, how you make me feel like the only woman in the world.” You babble as you take him deeper, spilling all the thoughts you’ve had since you’ve fallen in love with him. “I want you, only you.”

Dieter swears that his heart is about to explode out of his chest. He hisses, hands fumbling to squeeze your ass and he pants when you clench around him. “I love you. I want you, only you baby doll. Had me since the moment we met. The night we shared Lance. You are - fuck - the woman I’ve been waiting for. I love you. I love you.” He pants, swallowing harshly as he struggles to put into words how he feels about you. Ironic considering he’s an actor.

You moan his name and kiss along his neck. “I know, I love you. I love you too.” It’s all you can say, all you can feel beyond the utter bliss of having him inside you.

Your whimpers make him groan and he rocks up into you. “Cum for me baby. Want my wife to cum for me.” He pleads, his fingers digging into your flesh and he desperately wants to feel you cum for him.

Your body is sensitive, primed for an orgasm and it doesn’t take many more thrusts to give into it. Tossing your head back, you are confident that he will catch you as you cry his name. Riding out your orgasm with a whimper chant of it again and again.

“Good girl, baby doll. Such a good girl for me.” Dieter grunts as you flutter around his cock. He can’t help it, he needs to cum. Seeing his ring on your finger has him feral and he braces his feet so he can push up into you, “fuck fuck fuck. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He spits out at once until he’s cumming, painting your walls with his hot seed. Panting, he rests his forehead against your sternum, feeling surrounded by you.

You sigh happily, closing your eyes and smiling. Feeling like this is the perfect moment. Nothing is going to change the way you feel about Dieter and you know that he is the love of your life. “Perfect, baby.” You coo softly. “You are perfect and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

****

“You okay?” Dieter asks when you down the glass of water in between scenes. It’s been two months since you have been married, still living apart due to the studio but as soon as you are finished, you’ll be moving in with Dieter. Today is the last day of filming, the final scenes that got pushed back. You running after the cab.

“I don’t feel that good.” You admit, taking a handkerchief and patting your face where you are sweating. You’ve been feeling off since you woke up but you are still another month and a half from being due. The studio still has no idea, since you are carrying so small. It still just looks like you have eaten a large lunch and the wardrobe department has been magical at concealing your baby bump. “I’ll be okay.”

Dieter frowns, “maybe we shouldn’t do the scene today. I’m sure we can move it to tomorrow.” He doesn’t want you to exert yourself. It’s been a long shoot and he knows you must be exhausted. He is. 

The director shakes his head, “no, no. We get this done now. The studio is pissed off that we have gone over budget and time. This gets done today.”

“I’ll be fine.” You insist, shaking your head. You know that the sooner you get the movie in the can, the sooner you can tell the studio that you aren’t adhering to their deal anymore. You don’t care if the movie you’ve wanted to make forever never gets done or if you never work in Hollywood again. You want a life with your husband, your child. “What’s one scene? We’ll be done in no time.”

Dieter is concerned for his wife, the wedding ring he slides onto his finger every night and takes off every morning is in his pocket and he sighs as he steps aside, knowing you can’t be argued with. “ Honey, if it’s too much, we can move this to tomorrow. I don’t want you to get sick.“

Giving him a weak smile as another uncomfortable pain passes through you, you shake your head again. He has seemed to worry more about you since your elopement. It’s very sweet. “I’ll be fine. I want this movie to be done.” You give him a pointed look. “I have plans for this weekend.”

Dieter smirks, knowing what you’re talking about. You decided to take a mini break and rent a house on the beach, spend the weekend together since you are having to live apart. He winks at you and reaches for your hand to squeeze it. “Let’s get it done and then we are finished.” He says, offering you a smile despite the worry still being there.

After listening to the director’s wants for the scene, you step on your mark and wait as the car is started and Dieter climbs inside. “Action!” The call prompts you to cry out for your husband’s character and start waving your hands. “Stop! Stop! I love you!” As the car takes off, you start running forward.

Dieter is supposed to drive off but he looks behind him to wave like he’s supposed to and he sees you collapse. “Stop the fucking car!” He hisses, jolting when the driver slams on the brakes and he gets out, rushing over to you. “Baby, baby doll. What’s wrong? You okay?” He asks and the director shouts ‘cut’ but Dieter doesn’t hear it.

You are grasping your stomach and sobbing out in pain. “I- I’m pregnant!” You cry out and you know there is no way for everyone to find out now. There is a puddle of water underneath you where your water broke. Despite how early it is, the baby is coming. “I- I need - Dieter!” You scream as another pain rips through you, harder and more intense than any of the others.

“Pre-pregnant?” Dieter gasps, shocked and he shakes his head, “when? How? I- fuck. You’re pregnant?” Dieter yells and kneels down beside you, eyes wide with fear. “You’re pregnant?” He chokes, knowing it’s only him who could be the father.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I should have- have told you.” You pant out, trying to catch your breath. “I-I didn’t want- the studio- they- you know-“ you break off when another pain rushes over you and your teeth gnash together to keep from screaming again.

Dieter cannot believe you kept this from him. He’s beyond hurt but he can’t show that, knowing he has to keep strong in front of the studio. “Will someone call a fucking ambulance?” He shouts, getting desperate to make sure you’re okay. However upset he is, you’re his wife and he needs to make sure you’re okay.

A crowd is gathering around you, people wide eyes and whispering. You know there is no way this isn’t getting out. Reaching out, you grab Dieter’s hand, terrified that something had gone wrong and you’ve hurt your baby. “I-I love you.” You gasp out. “It’s- the baby is early.”

Dieter doesn’t respond, his mind whirling and he can’t focus when all he can think is “you’re pregnant.” His child. With his child. He can barely breathe himself and he squeezes your hand back, terrified and relieved when the paramedics make their way through the crowd to get to you.

Everyone gasps, glancing over at the producers and director who are equally shocked. Dieter ignores them, knowing he has to be with you, even if it’s to get answers, so he gets into the ambulance and holds your hand as the ambulance speeds away from the studio. “Eight months?” Dieter chokes, closing his eyes.

He hates the idea of being a father, your heart sinks and you close your own eyes to try to hold back a sob. “I’m sorry.” You whimper. “I-I was scared. I didn’t realize it until I- until we were serious and I didn’t want to sc-scare you too.” Tears of agony and sorrow leak out of the corner of your eyes.

“Why - why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” He chokes, confused and wondering why you haven’t told him. “We - we got married and you didn’t - you didn’t tell me. Jesus Christ, we have had sex. How didn’t I know?” He shakes his head, “I should’ve known. Jesus. Fuck. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I- if the studio found out, they would- you know they would have had me terminate it.” You need him to understand. “I didn’t- I know that I - I couldn’t risk them- I-“ you are cut off by the low, inhuman hiss that you let out, squeezing his hand. You sigh and pant when it passes. “I didn’t know until I was too far along and I knew the studio would tell you about the deal I made with them.”

Dieter frowns, “the deal? What deal?” He is confused, unsure of what the hell you’re talking about when you’re in labor with a baby he knew nothing about. He’s in pain and he wants to know what the fuck is going on.

Everything will come out and Dieter will hate you so it doesn’t matter now. You are crying and you hold onto his hand tightly. “When- when I met you, the studio told me that if I kept you out of the press, from-from behaving badly, they would finance the script I had written.” You confess, immediately rolling into another contraction that takes your breath away and leaves you unable to beg him for forgiveness.

Dieter rears back, his eyes wide and he slowly shakes his head in disbelief. “You- I- I don’t understand. You- we are married? We are - what the fuck?” He hisses, furious with the studio and with you for lying to him. You’re his wife and you didn’t think he deserved to know that you have been bribed into spending time with him.

“I know. I love you Dee, I love you, I promise.” You know he won’t believe you but you have to tell him. Your eyes beg him to believe you, “I don’t care if they blacklist me. I want to be with you. I want our baby. Our baby, Deeeeeeeee!” You cry out when another pain slams into you.

Dieter shakes his head, “I can’t believe - fuck.” He winces, feeling betrayed and yet you’re his wife. You’re about to have his baby. “I wish- why didn’t you tell me?” He chokes, tears stinging in his eyes. The ambulance comes to a stop at that moment and Dieter leans back so the paramedics can take you into the hospital.

You don’t answer him, you can’t answer him as you get caught up in the business of getting into the hospital. You want him with you but they won’t let him come back behind the double doors and you know that he has every reason to leave you. You might never see Dieter again.

Dieter is escorted to the father’s waiting room. He is itching for a smoke and one of the other dads-to-be hands him one.

“First?” He guesses and Dieter pauses for a second so he can light up the cigarette and he nods, exhaling the smoke. 

“Yeah.” He is still reeling from the barrage of bad news you’ve dumped on him and he swallows harshly, pacing as he tries to process what you’ve told him.

“It’ll be fine.” The man takes a drag off his own cigarette and blows it out. “My wife’s having our third. Little girl.” He looks over at the stack of magazines. “Bring a newspaper, though. Those magazines are at least five months old.”

Dieter rubs his forehead as he sits down, leaning between his legs, cigarette dangling between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air as he struggles to come to grips with the fact that he’s about to become a father, and his wife lied to him. “Thanks for the advice.” He snorts and the guy squints, adjusting his glasses. “Hey, ain’t you that actor guy?” He asks and Dieter sighs, “yeah. That’s me.” The guy grins, “no kidding. Wait till I tell my old lady who I met. Who’s the lucky lady?” He jerks his chin towards the ring Dieter subconsciously takes out of his pocket and slides onto his finger. Dieter says your name, knowing that the press will get hold of the news so it doesn't matter anymore to keep it a secret. “Her? She’s gorgeous. You’re a lucky son a bitch.” He says and Dieter snorts, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Inside the delivery room, you are sobbing for Dieter, panicked and desperate to talk to him, to have him nearby as the doctors refuse to tell you if the baby is okay. After too long pitching a fit, they knocked you out, drugging you.

Dieter hasn’t heard anything, starting to panic as he waits to hear from a doctor or nurse about you and the baby. His foot bounces up and down as the minutes tick by and he can’t take it. He stands up, the chair scrapping and he grabs the passing nurse. “I need to know what’s happening with my wife. Right now.” He demands, unable to take it any longer.

The nurse pulls her arm away from him and turns to start lecturing him, eyes widening when she recognizes the face of her favorite movie star. “M-Mr. Bravo.” Everyone in the labor department knows that the famous actress in labor had been calling for him until you were put to sleep to rest. The fact that you were married almost makes her speechless, but giddy to know something that hasn’t been reported. “Your wife has been unsettled and distressed so the doctor gave her something to help her rest. The baby was almost ready to come out. It will be just a little longer.” She assured him, taking his hand because she can say she touched a movie star.

Dieter looks down at her hand gripping his and immediately pulls it away. “So are they okay? No one is telling me anything.” He hisses, “I need to know if they are okay. Has the baby been born yet?” He asks and she shakes her head, “not yet.” Just as Dieter opens his mouth to respond, he hears his name called behind him. Turning, he sees the executives from the studio and he narrows his eyes, “what are you doing here?” He hisses, feeling betrayed by the producers and director who persuaded you to lie to him, to babysit him.

“Trying to contain this disaster.” The producer shakes his head, frowning heavily. “Luckily, the hospital staff can’t say anything, but have you talked to anyone? I don’t want this getting out. Stupid girl. She should have aborted the damn thing the second she found out she was pregnant. Her career is over.” His cold eyes flicker over to Dieter. “Although you will come away unscathed.”

Dieter can’t believe what they are saying. “Are you- are you fucking joking? This is my wife. My child. I- I didn’t know she was pregnant but I’m not just gonna walk away. We are married.” Dieter announces and the execs shake their heads. “No one gave you permission to be married.” Dieter snorts, “no because we didn’t need it because we are adults.”

“Well, we will get the marriage annulled.” He tells you dismissively. “While she was good at keeping you from fucking half of Hollywood, she fucked up. Marrying you, getting pregnant.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “No wonder she’s been quiet when I ask how things are going. She knew she wasn’t going to get her movie made. Although I’m still going to make it, just without her.”

“No. No. You can’t do that. She - it was me who came inside of her. I knew the possible consequences.” He reasons, “You cannot annul my marriage to her. I love her.” He chokes, still worried about you. 

“Love? You have fucked half of Hollywood and you expect us to believe you love her? Come on now, we are doing you a favor.” 

Dieter growls, reaching out to grab the executive by his collar, “don’t fucking test me right now. My wife is having our child and I don’t know what’s going on. I’ll spread you over the fucking floor.”

The director looks ready to jump in but the producer shakes his head. “Think carefully, Dieter. You’re a star because I want you to be.” He warns him. “Fight me on this and you’ll never make another movie. You’ll lose everything.”

Dieter growls, “fuck you.” He pushes him away, “you think you own me but you don’t. I’ll get work outside of this studio. I’ll - I’ll go to Warner.” He threatens, “don’t you fucking mess with me or my family.”

The studio exec scoffs and shakes his head. “They won’t take you. You’re a liability, Bravo. Why do you think I had to bribe your wife to spend time with you?” He asks, smirking. “She’s probably going to leave you anyway so why don’t you make a deal for yourself? Save something from all this.” He suggests, needing Dieter to agree in order to get the annulment.

Dieter can’t stop himself, he pulls his hand back and surges forward to punch the exec. For voicing his fears, that you will leave him eventually everyone does. “Owwww.” Dieter whines as soon as he punches, his hand aching and he whimpers, cradling it to his chest. “Fuck, that hurt. You’re gonna fucking leave.” He growls, “get out of this hospital otherwise I’ll call the security.” The other men in the room stand up, having seen Dieter’s worry and are prepared to help him kick those assholes out.

Shaking his head, the producer reached up and rubs his jaw. “You’re finished Bravo.” He spits. “I’ll make sure you never film another scene and your habits are known around town.” He warns, turning on his heels and stomping out of the waiting room, the director on his heels.

Dieter pants, his hand throbbing but the doctor walks into the room and he doesn’t give a fuck about anything other than hearing how you are. “What’s happening? How is she?” He asks and the doctor smiles, “congratulations, Mr. Bravo. You have a son. He’s small, but healthy. Would you like to see him?” He asks and Dieter nods, the other dad patting him on the back. “Congrats.” Dieter follows the doctor, “and my wife?” He asks, “she’s recovering.” He guides Dieter to the nursery and Dieter looks down at the baby wrapped up in a blue blanket.

Slowly blinking, you feel heavy, lethargic. Your mouth is dry and your body hurts as you start to do a mental tally on yourself. Head throbbing, you look around to realize that you are still in the hospital. “Hello?” You start to panic when you don’t hear anyone or see anyone in your room. You don’t expect Dieter stayed but you realize your stomach is flat and there’s no bassinet in your room. “Hello! Where’s my baby!”

"He needs to be with her." Dieter insists and the nurse doesn't deny him, wheeling the baby into the room you are in and you are crying. "Baby doll, what's wrong?" He asks, leaning in to kiss your forehead and wrapping his arms around you. "He's here. Our son. We have a son, sweetheart." Dieter murmurs against your skin.

“A son? He’s okay?” You gasp out through your tears, struggling through the after effects of the medication to sit up. “I need- I need to hold him. Please, let me see him.” You beg, wanting to hold your son and touch him after the trauma of his birth. “A son.” Blinking through the tears, you can’t believe that Dieter is here.

He doesn't hesitate to cradle the baby, carrying him over to you and you take him into your arms.Dieter sees you holding the baby and his eyes sting. He understands now why you took the risk to hide the baby from him, from the studio. He wouldn't have wanted the child, not at first, and you would've been forced to have an abortion. Looking at his son, there's no way he could deny how much he already loves him. "He's small, but healthy. They want to observe him to make sure he's okay to go home in a few days." Dieter explains, sniffing as he reaches out to caress the baby's head.

“He’s okay.” You start crying again, relief and joy that your son is okay making you emotional. “Oh, baby boy. I’m so sorry that I didn’t hold you right away.” You coo, looking down at him. Counting fingers and unwrapping his blanket so you can count toes. “You are so precious, gorgeous.” Looking up at Dieter, you hope that he loves him as much as you do. “I’m so sorry baby, I know- I know you must hate me.”

Dieter swallows harshly, knowing he should because you kept it from him, lied to him about why you even wanted to be around him in the first place. “Baby. I- I should hate you. I should. But I can’t because - because I understand. Doll, I know why you had to keep him a secret. I just wish you’d told me. All those nights together…how didn’t I figure it out? I- I feel fucking stupid.” He shakes his head.

“No. You aren’t stupid.” You insist. “I was carrying small. The wardrobe head only knows because my dresses were a little tight. Even she says she’s not seen someone change so little carrying a baby.” You had worried, but the secret doctor you had seen assured you that the baby was healthy. You had visited him privately and paid him well to keep from reporting back to anyone who mattered.

Dieter shakes his head and closes his eyes, “I- I don’t know - fuck. A baby. I- I never imagined I’d be a father.” He confesses, closing his eyes in pain.

“Oh.” Your heart drops and you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. You had hidden the pregnancy from Dieter and lied about why you were interested in him when you first met. “I understand.” You choke out, trying to keep from crying. “I- it’s okay.” You hold your son close. “I don’t- I’ll sign whatever you want. You can pretend that you never- that this is just a bad dream for you. I’m going to move out of L.A. Make it easier for you. My career is over anyway.”

Dieter shakes his head, hating that you misunderstood him. “Baby no. No. I- I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to lose you or the baby. I love you. I love you so much and I - you’re the best thing I’ve ever had. Baby doll, don’t leave. Stay with me. We will figure everything out.” He chokes, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

“I was going to tell you this weekend.” You admit quietly. “I wanted to tell you, I almost did so many times.” You hate that he is hurt, hate that you hurt him. “I love you, I love you so much Dieter, and I was so afraid I was going to lose you. You are kind, funny, sweet, generous. So much more than you show everyone and I’m so lucky that you chose me.”

Dieter shifts to brush your lips with his. “I love you. You and our son. Fuck, we have a son.” Dieter says, reaching down to stroke the head of the baby at your breast. “I want to start my own studio.” He announces after a few moments.

“You do?” Your eyes widen in shock and despite that, you know Dieter would do well. During your late nights together, you had talked about different artistic shots you would add. He was talented in ways that would translate into director or producer well. “That’s great!”

Dieter is pleased that you think it’s a good idea. He agrees and leans in to kiss you, “we will figure it out baby. We have the contacts. No one gives a fuck about who’s behind the desk. They only care about who’s on the screen.

“We’ll figure it out.” You agree, knowing that there will be a lot to work out, but as long as Dieter wants to be a family, you will help however he needs. “But right now, we need to name our little boy.”

Dieter shifts to sit beside you, wrapping his arm around you and still stroking the baby’s head. “What names do you have in mind, baby doll? You’ve had longer to think about it than me.” He says that with no malice but it’s true.

“I didn’t think about names.” You admit. “I didn’t know what we were having and I couldn’t really decide names to pick. What name are you thinking?” You would love for your husband to name your son.

“What about Edward? Eddie for short?” He suggests, “it was, uh, it was my father’s name.” He reveals, knowing you have heard Dieter talk about his mom but no word about his father who died when he was a young man.

“What about your dad’s name? That way he has both of us.” Dieter smiles as he looks down at the now sleeping baby. You nod, repeating your father’s name. “I love it.” He grins, leaning in to softly kiss you. “So does this mean no sex for a while?” He teases, nudging his nose against yours.

You chuckle quietly as your son sleeps in your arms. “No sex, but I think I owe you quite a few blow jobs.” You admit, smirking. “To make up for keeping everything from you.”

Dieter chuckles, kissing your hair, “we have the rest of our lives for blowjobs, baby doll.” He promises, closing his eyes as he rests his head against yours. He adores you and he knows you need to have a serious talk about everything you kept from him but he loves you. He wouldn’t change anything now. You and Edward are his next big project. Hollywood can wait, Dieter has finally settled down and many in Hollywood will mourn the news (men and women alike) but he has found his leading lady and he intends to keep her for the rest of his life.

[effieotto]

What’s your headcanon about Haymitch and Effie after the rebellion?

Post-Canon Hayffie is just my favorite subjected of all time, so here we go with my favorite headcanons for my favorite silly ones

-Effie started using drugs after the war (real strong drugs, like cocaine and stuff) as a way to cope with her strong suicidal thoughts, and that’s how Haymitch found her two years after he left to Twelve with Katniss, because Plutarch called him for help

-As a consequence of her torture, Effie had injuries that caused permanent damage in her left shoulder, messing with her motor coordination, which made her unable to style her hair by herself. So Haymitch asked Katniss to teach him how to braid her, so he could make her complicated hairdos for her instead

-Effie and Katniss relationship was really hard at the begging, because Effie wasn’t in a great stage of mind to keep her bubbly old self, so between her PTSD, nightmares and withdrawals, combined with Katniss’s grief and severe depression, they were extremely hostile with each other (it is actually a very complex analysis of their relationship, so i’ll let the explanation to another post). So Haymitch and Peeta had to meddle the situation together to not let it get out of control, like they screaming at each others face, blaming them for their own miserable stages

-Haymitch was a huge gossipy man, although he strongly denied that. Therefore, every night, when Effie get home from downtown, they would set in front of the fire with two cups of tea and share every detail about the dirtiest scandal they could find

-Peeta and Effie got together to cultivate a community garden for the few people living on Twelve, where they planted fruits, vegetables and medicinal herbs, not only to help the District to get back to their feet but also to distract their minds

-Every time Haymitch had a bad nightmare, Effie would set his head down on her lap, pet his hair and sing the song his mother used to sing to him when he was a kid (the one she learnt from Grease Sae because she asked her help to learn more about Twelve’s culture, cause she wanted to do it right)

-When she had progressed on her condition, Effie was getting crazy staying at home doing nothing, so she decided to start teaching the young ladies from Twelve all the things she had learned from home (like music, etiquette, sewing, communication etc) -latter she joined an small school to continue her journey-

-Their relationship never changed from what it was before ~They continued with the teasing and fighting like they were still who they were back then, mostly. However, with all the baggage they both now had, they needed to adapt to a new routine. So there was bad days when Haymitch would drink himself to oblivious remembering his dead friends, and Effie would stay completely catatonic over a particular bad flashback. When it happened, the other would give them enough space while doing small things to try and get the other back from their depression

-Effie was obsessed with local festivals and she would drag Haymitch with her every month when Twelve made a big carnival, so they could eat, dance and help Peeta with his pastries stands. At first people who were living in Twelve wasn’t very friendly with her during it, but when she started going earlier to help them build the stands and make their schedules more consistent with all her escort knowledge, they warmed up a little bit -although most of the friends she made came from different Districts, mostly nine, eleven and six. The Twelve original citizens (apart from Grease Sae) never really got to friendly terms with her, for obvious reasons

again, i have many more, but since it was already a lot, maybe i’ll do another one later (if you want)

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 12

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 12: Ghost in the Machine

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter go on a date while grappling with the past, present, and future.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, insecurities, mirror, angst, fluff, acting career things idk, awkward/nervous speech patterns, cocaine use, past infidelity, suspicion, dissociation, argument, abuse mention

Notes: Chapter title from "Ghost in the Machine" by SZA featuring Phoebe Bridgers. Howdy! If you want the taglist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. If you want a link to the spotify playlist for this chapter, let me know and I'll send it to ya.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Every window in the house sits ajar, welcoming a warm cross-breeze that tickles your skin. It carries an earthy scent from further up the hill, giving faint whiffs of sage and dirt. 

Dieter moseys around the house in his boxers, voyaging between his kitchen sink and potted plants, watering can in hand. He mumbles sweet little affirmations to his green dependents, checking in with each in a hushed voice, saying shit like, “Now, how are we doing here? Thirsty?” or “Looking great today,” or “Wow, someone needs a haircut.” 

From your place nestled into the couch, you alternate between watching him and studying the white wisps of steam that swirl off the surface of your coffee cup. 

This morning, while peaceful, has you feeling off-kilter. Your mind keeps wandering to the interview with DIRT. To your mom. To Dieter. 

Overnight, the dust began to settle in your mind, providing more clarity. Details started to surface shortly after you woke. Things you heard yesterday, but didn’t understand or deem important in the moment. 

Like David’s statement: “Dieter has had a lot of big changes in his personal life this past year as well, with his divorce to Anika, and the scandals surrounding it.”

Like your mother saying: “He had a problem with drugs, you know, big problem, had other women, too,“ and, “I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?”

Like Dieter saying: “No, I definitely deserved that.”

In each still, calm moment, they replay. Every time you look at Dieter and your heart aches with love and adoration, your memory blindsides you with this information. 

Is your mom right? Did he cheat on Anika? 

Or is she just trying to drive a wedge between you?

Wouldn’t he have told you when he had the chance?

You know you could do a web search to look into it, do your own research into the matter. Hell, you could even just fucking ask him. But the prospect makes you itch. 

Because what if she’s wrong and he thinks you don’t trust him? Or, worse, what if she’s right? 

Fuck, what if she’s right? 

Your blood starts to buzz hot and rapid through your veins. You look around for an escape hatch and see a bookshelf, then set your coffee cup down to approach it. 

Among knickknacks and a few small plants housed on the solid oak shelves, you find titles you expect to see, like 1984 by George Orwell, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, and at least a dozen art reference books. You also find a few things you weren’t expecting, like Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, half a dozen Julia Quinn novels, and, most importantly, a first edition of Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book. 

You pull the cookbook out and examine it, running your fingertips along the frayed corners of the faded red hardcover, then flip it open, asking, “Why do you have this?”

Dieter looks up from an unruly Monstera, “Have what?”

“This cookbook,” you answer, padding across the living room’s black and white striped rug to show him. 

He frowns as you hold it up, shaking his head, “Must’ve been Annie’s. She left some stuff behind when she moved out.” 

“My grandma had this one,” you murmur, glancing up at him, “Is—is it ok if I look through it?”

He scoffs and shrugs, “Not like she’s coming to get it,” then returns his attention to the Monstera. 

You settle into the couch, thumbing through the yellowed pages, reading recipes, tips, and instructions compiled for housewives of the 1950’s. Dieter finishes grooming his plants and plops down at your side, curling an arm around your shoulders, “Betty giving you any inspiration?”

“Fun fact: Betty Crocker isn’t an actual person,” you smirk, turn the page to the section on custard pies, and inform him, “In the 1920’s, a flour company noticed they got a lot of homemakers requesting baking advice, so they adopted the moniker Betty Crocker as a pen name for the people who answered the questions.”

“Huh,” he blinks, “Interesting.” 

“Listen to this,” you flip to a dog-eared page towards the back of the book and start reading from it, “If you’re tired from overwork, house chores you’re bound to shirk, read these pointers tried and true, and discover what to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Tips for housewives who are fucking miserable,” you tell him, then read another excerpt, “Get outdoors every day. Take a walk, do some gardening, take the children for an outing, or pay your neighbor a short visit,” and another, “Harbor pleasant thoughts while working. It will make every task lighter and pleasanter. Notice humorous and interesting incidents to relate at dinnertime, etc.”

“Jesus,” he mutters.

You want to tell him that the page was bookmarked. Its connection to the spine, well-creased. Referenced often. The comment lingers at the back of your throat. 

When you backtrack your place in the book, trying to resume your study on custard pies, a white index card slides from between two pages.

“Oh,” you pluck it out and furrow your brow at the ingredients, measurements, instructions printed in a precise script, “It’s a recipe for banitsa. You ever had this?” 

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s like a flaky cheese pastry… phyllo, feta, yogurt,” you murmur, then glance up at him, “What do we have going on today?”

“Reservations at 7, and Darlene’s gonna stop by later, but other than that,” he grins and shakes his head, “Nada.”

So, the two of you smoke a joint on the patio while Lincoln picks up the called-for ingredients Dieter doesn’t have on hand. After Lincoln drops them off, you sanitize the sun-drenched quartz of Dieter’s kitchen countertop, all sparkling rainbows in the light. Dieter spreads a paint-splattered drop cloth across the no-man’s land between the dining room and kitchen, sets up an easel, equips it with a canvas, then rolls a little yellow file cabinet out next to it. 

He puts on a mix of music described as roller-rink 1978. As the funky tunes play over the sound system wired throughout his house, you attach a bread hook to his matte black stand mixer and sift bread flour into its 7-qt bowl. 

Then you go to work. 

You concentrate on the task at hand in each given moment, taking it step-by-step. Measuring, mixing, and kneading. Trying not to think too long about the romance novels lining the bookshelf, or the recipe’s delicate handwriting, or the dog-eared page, or Dieter’s baited breath after he recounted why he and Anika split, or your mother saying, “I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?” Or David Alterman asking, “Do you worry that those patterns are bound to repeat themselves?”

Instead of these things, you try your hardest to occupy your hazy, pot-laced brain by separating the dough into equal pieces while humming along to ABBA and Elton John and Electric Light Orchestra. 

When the recipe calls for the dough to rest for an hour, you clean your workspace, throw together the banitsa filling, and wash the dishes. 

Then the timer tells you: seventeen minutes left. 

You turn your attention to Dieter. His bare feet move fluid from side-to-side, paintbrush flitting between the palette and canvas as he lip-syncs along to “Hollywood Swinging” by Kool & The Gang. A grin stretches across your face. 

They cannot be right about him. This is not the kind of man who has affairs. No fucking way. This man is an angel. 

I’ve been fooled before. 

You banish the thought with a quick shake of your head, then try to distract yourself by asking, “Do you still see ghosts?”

He looks up at you, then back at his work-in-progress with a shrug, “I don’t usually see them per se, it’s more like a, uhh… an understanding. Or a knowing, I guess. Like a picture in my head with a feeling attached to it.”

His features twitch animatedly as he talks, accenting his words, dark eyes glancing between the canvas and your face. 

“It’s like… have you ever had intrusive thoughts?” 

“Have I ever,” you snort.

“It’s like that,” he explains, “Like a flash of something. Not like that kid in the Sixth Sense, seeing them fuckin’ uhh… walking around and shit.” 

You hop up onto the kitchen counter and inquire, “Where’s the most haunted place you’ve been?” 

Dieter pauses mid-brushstroke and scrunches his face up as he thinks about this, resuming when he says, “Well, hotels are always the worst. They’re so transitive, you know, all this energy coming and going constantly. And the people stuck there… they usually went intending to have a good time, a vacation or party or whatever, and something happened to them. That, or… they went in with an intention not to come out and succeeded.”

The implication unfolds in your brain, and you nod. 

“Either way they seem to have unfinished business,” he shrugs and squints at the canvas, smudging paint with his thumb, “Usually they’re harmless, so it’s pretty easy to ignore,” he pauses here, clears his throat, then continues, “But in terms of the worst vibes I got, like, uhh… how scared it made me feel, it was definitely Ethan.”

Blood drains from your face and extremities, leaving you cold and dizzy. 

“I—I thought—wait, really?”

He squints up at the ceiling, like he’s re-evaluating his statement, then levels his eyes with yours with a nod, “Yeah. At first, at least. Like the first night I was there, I felt him and it was,” he furrows his brow and drops his gaze to the floor, “Dark. Really fucking dark. And I was already in a bad way, y’know, I went to your place straight from the airport and you were—”

“A fucking disaster?”

“A beautiful trainwreck,” he corrects with a persuasive smile. It falters as soon as he continues, “And I just had this big fight with Annie about the divorce and, uhh, stuff, and hadn’t used blow in a day or two, just… not great,” he swallows, then shakes his head, “I think maybe… he could sense that about me. It was a warning. I remember knowing that’s what it was.”

“Oh,” you breathe. Look down at your hands. Start picking at your cuticles.  

“It was hard to stay. So… I left.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad. I’m sorry. I mean, he told me that he liked you—”

“It got better, really, love. It’s fine,” he assures you, then frowns, “Wait, he told you he likes me? Did you ask him about me or something?”

“Well, yeah,” you drop your gaze to the floor, “I just wanted to—I don’t know, see if he approved, I guess.” 

His head jerks back and he blinks, “Oh.” 

“Yeah—he, um, told me that he always liked you,” you tilt your head at your dangling legs and chuckle, “Told me you were a triangle guy.” 

Dieter lets out a light puff of laughter. 

“He asked if you make me happy,” you tell him, so quiet it’s almost a whisper, then look up to study his reaction. 

He pulls his paintbrush from the canvas and stares at you, his eyes soft and searching, “And?”

A soft scoff flees your lips, and you say, “Of course you do, Dee.”

“Yeah?” 

This crooked smile spreads across his face and makes your heart ache. 

“Obviously,” you chuckle, grinning in return. 

Dieter seems to think about this, pink tongue rolling along his bottom lip as his eyebrow quirks. He sets his palette down on the little yellow file cabinet, drops his paintbrush into a cup of water, then crosses the room towards you. 

The way he looks at you seems to take a physical presence on your skin, making you shiver before he even reaches you. When he does, his hands slide up your bare legs, fingertips dipping under the hem of your jean shorts. His hips nudge your knees apart. 

You hook your arms around his neck as he tugs you closer, brushing his nose against yours, “You make me happy, too.” 

He kisses you, gentle for only a moment before your tongues meet. 

It’s so soft and wet it makes you gasp. A rumble sounds from his throat and his grip tightens. You arch your back, balling his shirt in your fist

He guides your hand to the bulge in his sweatpants, “Do you feel that? How happy you make me?” 

“That’s pretty fucking happy,” you grin, wrapping your fingers around his girth, over the soft fabric. You start to work him and he tosses his head back with a moan. 

Your lips meet his again, finding depth. It’s a slow heat, the way you take your time with his cock in your grip and your tongue in his mouth. Drives him crazy. His breaths carry strained groans that tickle your throat and make your cunt throb. 

When you roll your thumb against the damp spot in his sweatpants, he gasps, “Fuck–”

You hook a finger under his waistband, “I wanna see it.” 

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles, pausing to drag his tongue against yours, earning a whimper from you, then says, “Any time, any place, he’s all yours, baby.”

And right when he starts to pull down his pants, the front door swings open. 

You both jump and look towards the noise. 

In walks Darlene, cell phone pinched between her ear and shoulder, talking to someone on the other line, “Yeah, I just got to Dieter’s house, I’m going to tell him—Yeah, I will—Ok. Ok.”

Dieter rearranges himself and meets your eyes, murmuring, “To be continued,” before turning to approach her. 

“Yep, bye,” she tosses her phone in her designer bag and sighs, looking between the two of you, “Did I interrupt something?”

Your mouth gapes open. You shake your head and hop down off the counter, “We, um–we–”

Dieter cuts in, thank fucking god, responding, “No. What's the news?” 

Darlene raises an eyebrow at him, then you. She leans back against the dining room table and crosses her arms, “Well, I raised hell at DIRT. David Alterman is on disciplinary leave. The interview will be published without the phone call tomorrow. So… we will see what happens.” 

“Oh, that’s good!” you grin, glancing at the back of Dieter’s head, then to Darlene, “Thank you so much. And—and I’m sorry, you know, you had to deal with that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Darlene nods, flashing you a wane smile, then looks to Dieter, “Can I steal you for a sec? I have to talk to you about something.” 

He clears his throat and nods, “Yeah,” then follows her outside. 

You release a little chuckle and smile to yourself. 

The timer goes off. 

Dieter slides the door closed behind him, following Darlene around the centerpiece of his patio: a sprawling oak tree. He looks up into it as he trails behind, admiring all the twisted innards of the beast. When they step out of its shade and into the hot afternoon sun, he grimaces. 

She plugs a cigarette between her lips and lights it, asking him on the exhale, “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” he takes a step forward and leans against the steel railing, peaking over the edge to look down the cliffside. 

“How’s she doing since yesterday? That was a fucking mess,” Darlene leans on the railing beside him. 

Dieter scrunches his nose up, shrugging, “Kind of hard to read, I guess. She seems fine. But–but I don’t know, she’s just,” he pauses here and frowns, “I think I would be freaking out if I were her, you know? But she’s not? And I don’t know what to do about that.” 

She flicks her cigarette and raises her eyebrows, then sighs, “Actually, Dieter, that’s what I wanted to talk about with you.” 

“About what? Lua? What about her?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you serious about this girl?” 

“Jesus Christ, Darlene,” he groans, dropping his head, “Yes, I’m fucking serious. I wouldn’t be doing all this bullshit for just anyone.” 

“It just seems like there’s a lot you haven’t figured out. Maybe some things you haven’t discussed,” she takes a drag and looks him up and down, “What if I got some intel that says she’s still selling drugs?”

He plays along, inquiring, “What kind of drugs?”

“Edibles. Pot brownies, shit like that.”

“I’d say your intel is bunk. She’s straight.”

“Well, I looked into it,” she blows a plume of blue smoke out into the canyon, “She has no online presence, no license, sells out of her apartment—I mean, it fucking reeks, Dieter. How’s she able to make enough to live in that area with no marketing?”

“She doesn’t make a huge profit. I mean, this month I helped her with rent—”

“You’re fucking kidding me. So she’s using you—”

“No, she’s not. I had to beg her to let me help. It’s not like that,” he maintains, shaking his head, “I mean, who’s your source? Why are you even looking into this?” 

“I don’t trust her, Dieter! Something isn’t right, it’s not adding up.”

He pushes off the railing and pushes non-existent sleeves up his forearms, “Let’s say you’re right, and she’s selling edibles,” he stops for a beat, then scoffs, “Who fucking cares? Fucking pot brownies? Who gives a shit.”

“Movie studios care. The public cares. Doesn’t matter if it’s crack or pot, she’s a fucking drug dealer.”

“She’s not a fucking drug dealer, Darlene,” he snaps.

She stares at him. Takes a drag off her cigarette. 

He kneads his neck, shifting his weight from one foot, to the other, before throwing his hands out in exasperation, “I need you to just believe that, for once, someone loves me and is good for me. Please.” 

Darlene’s lips purse, “That’s what you said about Anika.”

“That—that’s different,” Dieter drops his gaze to the ground. 

“Is it, though?” she blinks at him, “You swore that was it, that she wasn’t a gold digger, and yet… now she’s ex-Mrs. Dieter Bravo. Walked away with almost half your estate in return for not selling your secrets. She’s a rich woman now.”

“Yep,” Dieter sighs, skidding his toes against the mahogany deckboards, “I’m just a big fuck up, you got me there.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she asserts, “I just want you to really think about this before doing anything… rash.” 

“I’m not going to run away and fucking marry her the first chance I get, ok?” he sneers, “Just—chill the fuck out.” 

“Dieter, let me be perfectly honest with you,” she drops her cigarette and crushes it with the toe of her beige pump, “I worry it’s more than you just being cunt-struck again.”

His head jerks back and he scoffs. 

She lowers her voice to a pleading tone, “Look, you’re falling headfirst into a serious relationship with this girl, she used to deal drugs, there’s all this shady stuff with her business, and… I just—I worry, are you, you know… are you ok?” 

“Am I ok?” he repeats the question, drenching it with incredulity, “What the fuck do you mean, am I ok?”

She studies his face, crossing her arms. A meaningful tilt of her head tells him everything he needs to know. 

His jaw gnashes from side-to-side and he shakes his head, “I’ve been clean for months, Darlene, because of her.” 

“Alright,” she raises her eyebrows and blinks, “Good.”

“Do you believe me?”

Darlene shrugs, “If you say you’re ok, you’re ok.” 

Bullshit.

“I am,” he confirms, his voice firm and final. 

“Great,” she nods, then pulls out her phone and looks at the screen, “Alright, well, I’ll keep an eye on things after the interview drops and let you know how it goes.” 

She stomps past him, the click-clack of her heels echoing out behind her, and exits out the side gate. 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, shaking his hands out at his sides, rolling his neck as he starts towards the glass patio door.

Dieter walks beside you as the hostess leads the way through the busy restaurant. Everything around him is white noise. It doesn’t matter at all. 

All that exists is his palm on the small of your back. His whole universe has boiled down to you, right now, draped in this white, flowing chiffon dress that Kelly picked out for tonight. You, all starry-eyed and dolled up, gawking at your surroundings because you’re just so damn excited to be at another fancy-schmancy restaurant.

Earlier today, while wrapped up in his sheets, you told him all about the menu, and haute cuisine, and French culinary history, and Escoffier. He closed his eyes and held your warm body in place next to his, content to listen to you chatter on as long as you’d allow him.

He loves that about you. How passionate you are in everything you do. How you slow to appreciate beauty in things like snowstorms, and layers in croissants, and even the subtle timbre of a cello woven into his favorite song. 

“Listen close,” you told him when you pointed it out, “It’s fucking incredible.” 

He did. 

He felt the chords vibrate through him, resolute and melodic. It gave the music new meaning, and he couldn’t believe he’d never noticed it before. He notices every time he hears it now. 

But that’s what you do. 

Everything seemed so fucking boring before you. Meaningless. You opened his eyes to what was right in front of him and gave it new life. Gave him new life. 

The hostess comes to a stop and gestures to a square table, laying a menu on either side of the white linen. You sit across from him and meet his gaze, face all lit up with that gorgeous fucking smile that makes his chest tighten. 

“Do you have a strategy in mind here?” he asks, leaning forward onto the table, rubbing his hands together, “Food, wine, dessert, the whole nine yards?”

“I love that movie,” you comment mildly, “Bruce Willis is hot.” 

He raises his eyebrows. 

“What?” you laugh.

“Bruce Willis, really?”

You study him, clearly very entertained, “Why, are you jealous?”

He scoffs at this, “No—I’m just saying, though, he’s never even been nominated for an Oscar—”

“Oh, well in that case,” you roll your eyes and let out this dramatic sigh. 

Dieter laughs and shakes his head, “Wow.”

“Ok, but really,” you turn your attention back to the menu. As you survey it, you tilt your head back and forth thoughtfully, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. A mischievous smirk plays on your lips and you ask, “Did Darlene say we were allowed one glass or one bottle of wine?”

Dieter taps an index finger to his chin and grins, “I recall her saying bottle, don’t you?”

“Mmmm, yep, now that you mention it, I’m like… 99% sure she said bottle,” you agree conspiratorially. 

He smiles up at you, but his breath hitches when something behind you catches his eye. 

Or, someone, rather. 

A bright tangerine dress tight around her petite, curvy frame. Loose chestnut curls flowing down her back. Glowing brown eyes locked onto his. A small smirk plays on her plump, shiny lips. 

His spine straightens and he mutters under his breath, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

You frown and follow his gaze to Lilly Stokes just as she pushes her chair back and starts towards the table. 

“Dieter, hiiii,” Lilly croons, squeezing his forearm, “How are you, Pookie? It’s been a minute.” 

Dieter watches your eyes flick between Lilly’s hand on his suit jacket, and her face, and Dieter’s face. He watches the gears turn. The light bulb turns on. Your eyebrows shoot up and you meet his gaze, then immediately drop your eyes to the tablecloth. 

“Fine,” he answers and leans back in his chair, pulling his arm from her grasp.  

Lilly glances back at her table, then to Dieter, “I’m here with Jay—you remember Jay, right?” 

Dieter blinks at her, thinking, “We’ve been inside you at the same time, of fucking course I remember Jay.”

But what he says is, “Yeah.” 

“Oh, duh,” Lilly waves off the obvious, then wets the seam of her mouth, eyes dragging along Dieter’s body, “We should merge tables so we can catch up.” 

“Oh, no—” Dieter shakes his head and gestures to you, “We’re—”

Lilly finally seems to notice your presence and turns towards you, “Oh my god, Dieter, she’s so cute, are you two on a date?”

“Yeah,” he meets your eyes for a moment before telling Lilly, “This is Louella.”

“Lou-el-la,“ Lilly repeats, enunciating each syllable like she’s trying to commit it to memory, “You don’t mind, do you, beautiful?” 

You stare at her for a beat like you’re trying to figure out what she’s asking, then stammer, “Me? Wh—I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s ok if we join you?” Lilly nods, batting her false eyelashes. She asks this in a condescending way, slowing her words down like she’s asking a toddler. 

Your throat croaks as you look from her, to Dieter, who’s mentally pleading, “Please no,” then back to Lilly, “Uhh—I mean, sure?”

He deflates as Lilly calls Jay over and pulls out a chair. You mouth, “Sorry.”

Jay Blackburn, who looks like a poor man’s Alexander Skarsgård but six inches shorter, saunters over, a lopsided grin plastered on his smug face, “Bravo. Long time no see.” 

“Yeah,” Dieter responds, shifting in his seat at the reminder. 

Across the table, you gnaw away at your bottom lip, eyes downcast, your bubbling excitement replaced with this raw, nervous energy. He soaks it up like a sponge. It trickles down his backbone and seeps into his bloodstream as he wrings his hands together. 

“Who do we have here?” Jay asks, dragging his eyes along your body, drinking in your beauty with zero fucking shame. 

Dieter’s jaw clenches and cocks to one side. His leg starts to bounce. 

“I’m Louella.”

A warm smile crosses your face and you extend a hand to him. 

Jay takes it in his like a baby bird and presses a kiss into your knuckles, then releases you, “Jay Blackburn.”

“Oh—um, nice to meet you,” you say, glancing at Dieter, then at Lilly, “And you are?”

Lilly bristles at this, huffing a little before her mask of sweetness goes back up and she responds, “Lilly Stokes.” 

“So nice to meet you,” you look from her to Jay, “Are you guys actors, too?” 

“Um, no,” Lilly lets out this half-chuckle, half-scoff, “That’s so funny. No. Well, maybe someday. But for now I’m just a makeup artist, content creator, brand ambassador for Wowie Zowie Cosmetics, and model,” she counts each role on her fingers, then adds as an afterthought, “Jay is a wellness guru.”

You furrow your brow, “Wellness… guru?”

“Lifestyle coach,” Jay corrects, “Shepherding people to wellness through mindfulness, yoga, and nutrition.”

Dieter rolls his eyes. 

“Ohhh,” you nod, “Wow, you’re both, like, really popular on the internet?” 

“I have over 10 million followers,” Lilly advises, “So, yeah.”

“She didn’t know who I was, either, if that makes you feel better,” Dieter teases, casting a smirk your way. 

You wince and shrug, “Yeah, I, umm… live under a rock, I guess. Sorry.” 

“I like that,” Jay says, still eyeing you up like you’re a piece of fucking meat, “It’s refreshing. We should all be so lucky to be sheltered from the world in such a digital age.”

You raise your eyebrows, “I mean, I read the newspaper every day, so I’m very much aware of what’s going on in the world—“

“Right, but,” Jay starts.

“—Just, you know, stuff that matters.” 

A stunned sort of silence falls over the table for a moment, then laughter erupts from Dieter’s throat. You grin at him, and Jay must think you were kidding, because he joins in on the laughter. 

“You’re funny,” Lilly flashes this smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, then lets out an exasperated sigh and looks around, “Are we going to get some fucking service here or what?” 

Throughout the meal, you remain quiet. 

You don’t share your thoughts on the cuisine, or the wine, or the world-renowned chef. Your face stays painfully neutral as Lilly and Jay dominate the conversation, going on and on in a masturbatory fashion about their busy lives. 

More than anything, Dieter wants to tell them to fuck off. He wants to tell them that neither of you fucking care about subscribers or algorithms or sponsorships. He wants to comment on the restaurant’s heavy-handed use of bear décor and kiss you and tell you he loves you. 

But Darlene’s warning to be on his best behavior rings in his head. 

Despite this, the one bottle of wine you agreed upon is easily negotiated up to two. 

After the plat principal is cleared from the table, Lilly leans towards Dieter and asks “So, what’s new with you? We haven’t heard from you in, what,” she turns to Jay for confirmation, “Months?”

“Summer, I think?” Jay supplies. 

“Yeah,” Dieter nods and looks up at you, watching the way you wiggle in your chair and look down at your lap. He shrugs, “I’ve been keeping busy.”

“I see how it is,” Lilly pouts, glancing between his eyes and mouth, “Pookie gets a girlfriend and forgets all about us.”

Heat rises to his face. Every muscle in his body clenches. A hundred violent images flash through his head. The words shut the fuck up wrestle their way up his throat. 

“How did you all meet?” you ask, plastering on this polite smile. 

Lilly combs her long fingernails through her hair, “I met Dieter at some fundraising gala last year.”

Dieter’s leg starts bouncing. He leans his elbows into the table and presses his closed fist against his lips, watching you absorb this information. But he can’t get a read on you. 

“She introduced us,” Jay nods to Lilly, “Yeah, we were at this party, it was fucking wild—”

“Lua doesn’t wanna hear about that,” Dieter cuts in, dropping a hand to the table.

“It’s fine, Dee,” you chuckle, then take a big swallow from your wine glass. Unconvincing. 

Jay ignores Dieter’s protest, “It was one of those nights where everyone got very well acquainted with one another, if you know what I mean.” 

Your fake smile twitches. 

“Sounds… hot,” you offer. You empty the remaining pinot grigio in your glass down your throat. Dieter mirrors the action, taking the wine like a shot of hard liquor. 

Lilly sips her martini and lets out this wistful little sigh, “Soooo hot.” 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you announce as you push your chair back, then hurry away from the table before anyone else can respond. 

His blood boils. 

He glares between Jay and Lilly, well aware of the slew of insults percolating at the tip of his tongue, held back by his awareness of the public eye surrounding them.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Lilly says.

Dieter grits his teeth and warns, “Lillith—”

She waves him off and starts towards the bathroom. 

“Dieter,” Jay smirks, tilting his head, “You seem upset.” 

“What an astute observation,” Dieter mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, “Fucking incredible.“ 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jay raises his eyebrows, “So we’re touchy, ok. Is it because I told the story?” 

Dieter says nothing, just grinds his teeth together. 

“She doesn’t know about your more salacious hobbies, I take it?” 

“She sure as fuck does now,” Dieter grumbles, “Thank you for that.” 

Jay scoffs, “What, is this your first date or something?”

“No.”

Jay hums and takes a sip from his cocktail. 

Dieter shakes his head. Scrubs a hand over his face. 

Then he sits up and points at your empty seat, “If she’s going to hear about that shit from anyone, it should be me. Not some fucking ghouls just trying to get a rise out of her.” 

“Then why didn’t she hear it from you?” Jay questions, pausing a beat before he sighs, “You know, you gotta own your demons, man. It’s not my fault you didn’t tell her—”

“Yeah, I fucking know, ok?” Dieter snips. He leans his elbows against the table, looking towards the women’s bathroom, “What’s taking them so goddamn long?”

Behind the roar of the flushing toilet, you hear the bathroom door open, followed by the sharp click of stilettos against ceramic tile. You open the stall door to find Lilly leaned up against the marble slab countertop, pulling a tiny silver canister from her clutch. 

She looks up at the mirror and makes eye contact with you, “Hey, girl.” 

“Hi,” you smile politely and approach the sink. 

While you wash your hands, you watch Lilly through the mirror as she cuts two thin lines of coke right on the countertop. She fishes a short straw out of her purse and holds it out to you, “Do you want any?”

The ghost of cocaine’s allure sends your heart racing. It’s tempting, but you decline. She shrugs and leans over the counter. You look away and hear the two deep, short breaths through the straw. You swear you can feel the rush vicariously. 

She sits up straight and keeps one nostril plugged closed, taking a few sharp inhales, making sure she got it all to the brain. Her eyes flutter and throat hums with contentment, “Fuck, that’s good. You sure you don’t want any? 

“I’m fine,” you assure her, but don’t go to leave. You lean one hip against the sink and cross your arms, “Did you and Dieter, like… date?” 

Lilly releases a chuckle, a sniffle, then rubs a fingertip against the white marble countertop where her blow was cut, “Oh, no. We fucked, like, a lot. But no, we never dated per se. It was more of a fuck buddy arrangement. No biggie.” 

She scrubs her finger against her gums, then turns to the mirror to assess her appearance. 

“Was that while he was still with Anika?” 

“Well, yeah, that’s how it started. He asked if I could be their third,” she sniffles a few times as she examines her nostrils, “I know Kate Ridley was seeing them for a while, but that must’ve fallen through. Anyway, we all fucked around and it was fun. I brought Jay with a few times. Then Anika got turned off or something, she didn’t wanna get together anymore. Jealous I think, probably. He reached out to me for some one-on-one time.” 

The information hits you like a slap in the face. A kick in the gut. A fist closed around your windpipe, squeezing tighter and tighter.  

You can’t breathe. 

“And of course I said yes. It doesn’t hurt to cozy up to a guy like him, with his connections and all. Good career move. Plus, he’s so good in bed. Fucks like an animal,” Lilly giggles, “Not that I have to tell you, right?”

Your face heats and lips part to respond, but she continues without regard. 

“If you ever wanted a third, I’d be happy to step in. Jay, too, I’m sure of it. He was checking you out. You’re hot, you know, in a non-traditional kind of way. How long have the two of you been going out?”

She stares at you, waiting. Your throat croaks and you hear yourself say, “A few months, officially.”

“Oh, are you two, like, serious?” 

You bring your hand to your throat and nod, “Yeah.”

“Weird,” she murmurs, “After what happened with Anika, I thought he was done trying to pretend he was like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… monogamous, you know. He told me he’s a free spirit, doesn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again, all that. Then he disappears and re-emerges in a supposedly serious relationship, no offense, but it’s just confusing.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, frowning down at the floor, “Well, maybe he changed?” 

“The man is almost 50, I doubt that,” she scoffs, checking herself out in the mirror, then glances over at you, “Or, I mean, maybe? Hopefully?” 

You nod solemnly and swallow the knot in your throat, “Should we go back?” 

“Sure,” she shrugs, then leads the way out of the bathroom, into the dining room. 

When you meet Dieter’s eyes, his annoyed expression goes slack. You lay one hand flat, palm facing the ceiling, balling the other into a thumbs up on top, and raise both hands. The signal he taught you back in your apartment before this clusterfuck started: Help. 

Once seated, you keep your eyes low, trying to keep the steady hum in your chest from amplifying. Everything seems fuzzy and out-of-focus.

It’s too much. Too much noise. Too much information. Too much change at one time. You want off this fucking ride. You want to be home in bed, hidden under the covers where no one can reach you. 

“We should go,” Dieter announces from far away. 

Your body is cement. Limbs frozen. Lilly’s words play on repeat at a deafening volume: 

I thought he was done trying to pretend he was like that.

He’s a free spirit, doesn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again. 

“Oh, come on, Pookie–”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” he growls, then softer, in your direction, “Are you ready, love?”

You nod, then look from Lilly to Jay, your smile wavering, “It was nice to meet you both.”

Dieter leads you past blurry tables of shiny, well-to-do patrons, his hand at the small of your back, burning through your dress. You can feel his gaze glued to your profile, trying to assess the damage. You can hear the words queued up behind his closed lips. 

A restaurant employee holds the door open for you. The cool night air kisses your heated, buzzing skin. 

“Hey, are you ok?” Dieter asks, his thumb working against your spine. 

You look down at the sidewalk and open your mouth to tell him, but it’s all a jumbled mess at the base of your tongue. Fire rises up your throat and tingles behind your eyes. You just shake your head and smother the sob in your chest. 

Tears bloom in your eyes and drop to the cement. You croak out, “I’m fine.”

He scoffs. 

The valet rolls up in Dieter’s cartoonish, pea soup-colored two-seater and tosses him the keys. 

Once inside, you clasp the seatbelt. Grip the leather upholstery. Stare out the side window as the landscape starts to move. 

“Louella” he coos, glancing between you and the road. 

The car clunks a little as he shifts gears. You grip the seat tighter. Watch the city lights fly by. 

He tries every once and a while to talk to you, but you can’t make yourself respond. 

You’ve been here before. 

You know what happens if you make a sound. If you vocalize the protest in your lungs.

What happens next is acceleration. 

Car horns. 

Impact. 

Those vacant black eyes. 

Darkness.

The second the car pulls into Dieter’s garage, you’re unfastening the seat belt. 

When he shifts to park, you yank on the door handle and scramble from the vehicle. 

The entryway door slams in Dieter’s face as you kick off the stupid high heels you never would have picked out for yourself. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” his voice booms through the house when he opens the door. 

By now, you’re halfway down the hall, making a beeline to his en suite bathroom, leaving a trail of jewelry behind you like breadcrumbs: the left earring, the right earring, bracelets, a necklace. All these brilliant ornaments Kelly loaned you to make you look more refined.

Dieter’s footsteps sound from a few paces behind as you turn into his bedroom. 

“Louella, come on. Why won’t you talk to me?”

The edge his words carry make your heart jump and your feet move faster. You hurry into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you.  

He jiggles the handle, “What the fuck is this? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask. 

“That I slept with Lilly and Jay?“ he scoffs, “I didn’t think it mattered who I fucked before you—”

“That’s not what I mean. You know that’s not what I mean,” you press your forehead against the door and squeeze your eyes closed, “When I asked you what happened with you and Anika, you said the two of you grew apart. That—that she was resentful—like it was her fault–”

“Open the door so we can talk about this,” he says in a low voice, “Please, baby.”

You shake your head, whimpering, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

The door handle jiggles again, “Come on, Lua, open the door.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, just unlock it—”

“Answer me.”

“GodDAMNIT–” 

A hard thud shakes the doorframe. 

You jump back and yelp. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” he seethes, “Lock yourself in my fucking bathroom instead of talking to me. You realize how fucking stupid that is, right?” 

He hits the door again. You scramble away from it, watching the doorknob rattle. 

“Stop it, Dieter,” you cry out, backing yourself up to the wall, “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you?” he scoffs, his words still steeped in red, “Do you really think I would fucking hurt you?”

You slide down the wall and collapse into a pile, covering your head. All you can hear are your own shattered breaths. 

A few quiet moments go by. 

When his voice comes again, it’s a plea. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You look up at the door and sniffle, wiping your eyes. 

“I—I wanted to tell you. I mean, I was going to tell you. I swear to god. It’s just,” there’s a soft thump against the door, and you can picture him on the other side, forehead pressed up against it, “Do you know how hard it is to admit that you’re a piece of shit?”

You don’t say anything, just watch his still shadow beneath the door. 

“Do you know how hard it is for me to willingly show you that? I mean, fuck. How–how are you supposed to trust me now?” 

What follows is silence. Broken up by occasional sniffles and wet, labored breaths. Your chest aches.

Slowly, you rise to your feet and pad across the cool tile floor. 

When you reach the door, you don’t say anything, just press your palm against the barrier where you think his heart is. And you swear, if you concentrate hard enough, you can feel its steady rhythm.

“How are you supposed to love me now?” he whispers, “You won’t even look at me, Louella.”

Your eyelids clamp shut and you take a deep breath. Then you step back and turn the doorknob, pulling the door open. 

And there he is. 

Dieter Bravo. The man you love. 

His eyes all puffed-up and red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears. Every handsome feature laced with remorse. 

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his suit jacket. He envelops you in a warm embrace and squeezes you tight. 

“I’m–I’m sorry for yelling,” he tells you in a hoarse whisper, petting your hair, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I lost it.”

You swallow hard and rub his back, a silent kind of reassurance. 

“I would never hurt you, Lua,” his voice cracks, “I’m not him. I’m not him.”

Instantly, tears flood your eyes. 

“I know, love,” you croak out, pulling him closer, “I know.”

Dieter kisses the crown of your head with reverence. Then your forehead. He tilts your chin to face him dead on, grazing his nose against yours, “Wanna talk about this more in the bath?”

You nod and weave your fingers through the curls at the back of his head. His lips meet yours, lingering for a tender moment before he pulls back and makes his way over to the soaking tub. 

While you wash the makeup off your face, he fiddles with the water temperature and crumbles a magenta bubble bar in the stream. The sweet scent of blackcurrant fills the air. You glance up in the mirror and see him shucking off his suit jacket, eyes trailing down your spine. His breath heats the nape of your neck when he draws close and unzips your dress, his movements gentle and slow as he slides it off your shoulders. 

The dress falls at your feet. You turn to face him, murmuring, “Look up.”

He does, and you set to work on his shirt buttons. When you’re halfway down his chest, he asks, “Will you tell me what she said?”

“She, um,” you pause to bite down on your bottom lip, then sigh, “She told me you and Anika would fuck around with her and sometimes Jay. Then, you know, just her.”

He hums in acknowledgment. 

You reach the end of his button-down, then spread the shirt apart. As he takes over tugging it off, you ask, “Was that something that you wanted, or…?”

“We both wanted to try it,” he shrugs. Your hands move to his belt buckle and you unfasten it. He continues, “Thought it would reignite that passion. It was fucking stupid because it just made us both jealous.”

He pauses to kick off his slacks, then ushers you face the mirror again. You watch him unclasp your bra and toss it aside, glancing up when you recount, “She said you didn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again.“

He nods, diverting his gaze, “Yeah. Well, that’s true. I didn’t,” then his eyes return to yours, “But then you came along. Fucked up all my big plans to be lonely and miserable forever.” 

You can’t help but grin. 

He casts a backwards glance at the tub, “I think it’s ready.” 

Dieter gets in first, groaning as he lowers himself into the bubbles. You sit on the opposite side and tip your face to the ceiling, stretching your legs across him, then sink down to your shoulders. 

The water burns your skin a little, but you like it. It feels real. 

“Hey,” Dieter rumbles. 

You swivel your head down to look at him, but can only see bubbles.

“Holy shit,” you giggle, then sit up and meet his eyes, “What?”

“Come here, doll,” he reaches out to you.

You slide your feet under the water and crawl over to him, closing your eyes as you lay your cheek on his shoulder and relax against his body. He wraps his arms around your waist, snuggling you like you’re his favorite teddy bear. 

One of your hands occupies itself by absentmindedly tracing the edges of his jaw. The shell of his ear. That one silver hoop earring he refuses to part with. Your nails work into his hairline and play with his damp curls. 

“Were there others?” you ask him. 

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, then he admits, “Yeah. A few. Just hookups, really. Lilly was the most consistent, and that was still, you know…”

“No strings attached?” you smirk. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

Your spine arches as he draws a big breath in, then releases it, “All the reasons I said it didn’t work. That was true, you know. I was gone a lot. Filming, meetings, press stuff. A few days here, a week there. There was one stretch where I was gone for two months. I’m not drowning in work or anything, but it adds up. I don’t think she realized that being with me meant being away from me that often. And. Yeah. 

“At first, it upset me a lot. I thought she would be supportive and loving. Compassionate, you know. But she turned so cold when she was mad. Completely ignored me. Acted like I didn’t exist. Even when I begged for her reassurance, for her to show me she still cared and noticed me, but she wouldn’t react. I felt like a ghost. It-it kind of reminded me—”

He pauses here for a moment, holding his breath, then releases a soft, sad chuckle. His Adam’s apple bobs. When he starts again, his voice is watery. 

“It reminded me of what it was like for me growing up. If I didn’t please my dad, he would ignore me completely. I would act out, be loud, push him until he exploded. Because then… then at least I knew he could see me. It was something, you know?”

You blindly cup his cheek and graze your thumb against his beard to let him know you’re listening. He nuzzles into the touch, a small rumble sounding from his throat. 

“Maybe I was acting out with Annie? Or maybe just trying to… fill that emptiness, loneliness. Or numb out. Forget that my wife didn’t love me anymore. I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter. I started using again. Heroin, oxy, bars, morphine, adderall, booze. Whatever I could get my hands on, really. But blow has always been my favorite. It makes me feel…”

“Powerful?”

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah. Powerful. And with other people I actually felt… desired. Plus, they were both a rush. I felt alive. When I was home I was hollow. I stopped groveling for her affection when I started fucking around. Neither of us wanted to work on the hard things. The whole fucking thing, you know, it metastasized. And—and our relationship died.” 

“Fuck,” you grimace. 

Dieter cranes his neck to look at you, “Too bleak?”

“No, it’s not that,” you tell him, “It’s just… familiar.”

Adrenaline spikes your bloodstream. Your mouth opens to say more, then you close it and hold your breath. 

He rests his cheek on your head. Squeezes you a little tighter. Like he’s prodding you so say more. 

“Do I make you happy?” you ask him. 

“Do you make me happy?” he repeats, disbelief raising his voice an octave. 

You nod.

“I told you earlier,” he kisses your hairline, “You make me so happy, Louella.” 

“But will you feel the same tomorrow?” 

“Obviously,” he lets out a little snort of laughter like he thinks you’re kidding. Silence settles. His body seems to tense and he adds, “Really, love, I mean it.”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip. Brows lace together. Then you ask, “What about a month from now?”

“Don’t do that, come on—”

“A year from now? Or—or longer, even—”

“Lua,” he huffs, then pulls you up to face him. His eyes are soft and pleading. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Look, we won’t be happy every second of every day. You know why?”

A sharp pain radiates across your chest. You wince and shake your head. 

He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes and says, “Because it’s fucking impossible. If we do this thing right, which I fully intend to, sometimes we’re going to be scared, and frustrated, and–and we might want to take an easy way out. But I’m telling you that I will not do that. Because I love you.” 

You search his face and only find sincerity. Your stomach flips in a freefall so violent it makes you gasp, “Fuck, I love you.”

He smirks, gaze flicking between your eyes and lips, “And I’m going to love you tomorrow.” 

Your heart skips. Heat creeps up your neck. 

He cups your cheeks and locks his eyes onto yours, “And the next day, and ten years from now, and all the way until my next fucking life, ok?” 

“Ok,” you nod. Tension liquifies and drains from your body. The corners of your mouth upturn and you ask, “What then?” 

“What then?” he snorts, shaking his head with amusement, “What do you think? Hmm?”

You grin and shrug, pressing the tip of your tongue to your front teeth. 

His eyes drop to your mouth and he pulls you in for a kiss. When you part, he murmurs, “I’ll fucking find you in the next life and fall in love with you all over again.”

The words electrify you. You hook your hands behind his head and press your forehead against his, “Promise?” 

“Cross my heart,” he murmurs, and kisses you again.

[youling-the-ghost]

sfth incorrect quotes pt. 3 because I have no life :] (the link I used to generate these)

*obligatory "none of the shipping quotes are me actually shipping them"

AJ: Fruits that do not live up to their names; passionfruit, grapefruit, honeydew and dragonfruit. AJ: Fruits that do live up to their names? AJ: Orange.

Sam: Yo dumbass, get over here. AJ: Okay- Luke: *gleefully runs past* I’m coming! AJ, sadly: I thought...I was dumbass...

Sam: Do you take constructive criticism? Tom: Not without crying.

Tom: Luke, take out the trash. Luke: Sure. Sam, will you go out on a date with me? Luke: *seductively takes off glasses* Luke: Wow... Sam: *blushes* Haha...what? Luke: You're really fucking blurry. AJ: Why don't humans have a specific noise that means "there are bees here, let's leave immediately." Why are elephants more advanced than us. Tom: We do have a specific noise for it. It sounds like this: Tom: "There are bees here, let's leave immediately." Tom: Do you care if I take the skin off this Furby? Tom: I want to make him a god. Once he is free of his sinful flesh, he can begin a path towards enlightenment. He will take care of us. Tom: I also want to softhack his circuits. Luke: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that ever again. Tom: Here is my wall of inspirational people. AJ: Is that a picture of you? Tom: Yes, I am big enough to admit that I am often inspired by myself.

Tom: Anyone else feel good when their brain releases a bunch of endorphins? Luke: Can't relate. AJ: Why would my brain release a bunch of dolphins? Sam: Hey, wanna help me commit arson? Tom: What the hell!? Sam: Oh, sorry, my bad. Sam, whispering: Wanna help me commit arson? Tom, whispering: Of course. What do you need? Luke: I’m scared that when you become rich and famous you’ll be embarrassed by me. Tom: Oh Luke, I’m already embarrassed by you.

Luke: What, I can’t be in a bad mood? It’s like people think, “Oh, Luke is such a nice person, Luke is so happy-go-lucky! Luke can’t be in a bad mood!” Well, you know what? Luke CAN be in a bad mood. And right now, Luke IS be in a bad mood. Luke: The only thing I'm guilty of is being adorable...and also assault with a deadly weapon. Tom, seeing a banana on the car seat: What the FUCK?? Tom, buckling the banana up: Fucking buckle UP, it’s the LAW! AJ: Not to brag, but I can go into the Spirit Halloween without crying. Tom: I feel like I can be myself around you. AJ: You’re weird and quiet around me. Tom: Yes. AJ: *Reading a letter* Tom: Well, what does it say? AJ: It’s a confession letter. It turns out Sam killed my pet rock. Luke: I refuse to apologize for being weird or off-putting. That’s actually your problem. I’m having a fantastic time!

AJ: How long do you reckon it’ll be until Tom finally snaps and commits murder? Luke: I’ve been going through life assuming it’s already happened at some point and it’s just that no one was ever able to trace it back to him. Sam: You know my motto: carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe coles. Tom: Seize the day, seize the night, what’s the last one? Sam: Seize the dick.

Luke: Watcha doin? Sam: Stealing my neighbour’s cat. Luke: Scandalous. Luke: Can I help?

AJ: Why's it called an oven when you of in the cold food and you of out hot eat the food? Sam: ...What??? Tom with a gun to Luke's head: What happens if I pull this trigger? Heaven? Luke: Bold of you to assume I'll go to Heaven.

Tom, at Starbucks: Can I get a venti vanilla latte with um, seven espresso shots. Luke, in line behind him: Jesus Christ, just do cocaine.

Luke: I’m this close to falling in love with Sam. Tom: Your fingertips are touching. Luke: Exactly.

Tom: You believe me? Luke: Tom, you’re the last good person on this planet. I‘d believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning.

AJ: My head hurts. Sam: That’s your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity. Tom: Ok so, apparently the "bad vibes" I've been feeling are actually severe psychological distress. Tom: What must it be like to live in your head? Are there happy ponies in there? It’s really something how utterly delusional your optimism is. If I didn’t hate you so much, I might even be impressed.

AJ: Huzzah! I got a heavily qualified and slightly sarcastic compliment from Tom! Sam: How petty can you get? Luke: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about. Tom: I am going to cry. I’m going to cry until I can no longer physically cry anymore because all the water in my body is gone and I die from dehydration. Luke: Are you okay? AJ: Did you actually just ask him that? Like, you need that to be answered otherwise you won’t know? AJ: *spins around in chair ominously* I’ve been expecting y- *chair continues to spin* shit *tries to stop spinning* shit *tries to grab a table to stop spinning* sHIT *falls out of chair* Luke: So, you’ve finally arrived- Luke: Here to save prince- Luke: I’ve been waiting for this day- Luke: Stop skipping my dialogue- Luke: Seriously, stop- Luke: MOTHER FU- Tom: I need you to come meet me, and I need you to come alone. Luke: And I need you to be less vague and weird. Tom: Things will get better! The Squad: Tom: Okay, maybe they won’t. Tom: But they will be terrible in new and interesting ways!

Tom: *fast-forwards all the way through the movie* Sam: You can't just skip to the happy ending! Tom: I don't have time for their problems. Luke: Hey, quick question. How petty am I allowed to be?

Sam: Tom annoyed me today so I told them that I can’t wait to see what they have planned for our special day tomorrow. AJ: There is nothing special about tomorrow. Sam: But there is something special about watching the color leave their face as panic takes over. Tom: You know, Sam, when you generalize, you tell general...lies. Sam: ... Sam: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns. Luke: Of course I have a lot of pent-up rage, you fool! I've been the same height since I was twelve!

Luke: Hey guys, what are your favorite kinds of pudding? Tom: Pudding deez nuts in your mouth? Is that what you were about to say? Do you gain joy from tricking your innocent cohorts? What if I actually wanted to tell you about my favorite pudding?

[pandaimitator]

Oh I found my Hazel at last!

Tallulah Bankhead, Hollywood/Broadway/West End wild woman!

An axpick of her insane life:

She was put in Catholic boarding schools for being completely unmanagable, and expelled for seducing nuns at 15 years old.

She then ran off and joined the theater at Broadway and her father warned her to stay away from alcohol and men, but he never warned her "to stay away from cocaine and women"

She called herself ambisextruous

She caught such a bad case of the clap that she needed an emergency hysterectomy, and leaving the hospital after weeks of recovery she quipped "don't think this has taught me a lesson"

She frequently got naked just for funzies, and at Hollywood parties she would drape herself in grapes and greet the guests, or do cartwheels wearing no underwear

So was super engagerad in the civil rights movement, kept mixed company and fought for equal rights for everyone

When staff complained to Hitchcock about her not wearing underwear on set he retorted "I'm not sure whether this is a issue for costume, makeup, hair dressing or prop."

Upon running into Douglas Fairbanks and Joan Crawford on their honeymoon she said that she'd already had an affair with him, and that Joan was next.

She couldn't remember anyone's name so she just called everyone darling.

And finally, words to live by: "Nobody can be exactly me. Sometimes even I have trouble doing it." And "if I had to live my life again, I'd make the same mistakes, only sooner."

Now: a little side by side comparison with Errol Flynn, contemporary male Hollywood superstar:

-Both were deemed unhinged and put in boarding school and subsequently expelled, she for seducing nuns, he for stealing

-Both absconded, she to join the theater, he to join colonial forces and become a self-confessed slave trading murderer.

-Both worked the stage in England

-Both had insane charisma and attracted absolutely everyone (can't imagine they didn't sleep with each other)

-Both were severely ravaged by stds.

-She would use wit, humour and occasional surprise nudity to seduce anyone and everyone; he would blame women for assaulting him when commiting adultry, and rape unconscious teenagers

-She was put at the very top of Hay's (of Hay's code infamy) blacklisting doombook, and was held back from important roles (such as Scarlet O'Hara which she would have been perfect for), where he had a hoard of Hollywood lawyers twisting the words of the teenagers he had assaulted making him come out a viral sex god after each trial.

-Both drank, slept, and drugged themselves to an early grave.

-Both wrote scandalous tell-all autobiographies, but she has the guts to publish hers before she died.

All in all the difference would be toxic masculinity: where the woman was held back for her unhinged charm and wit, and the man was celebrated despite his never ending tendency to cause severe harm. She was an icon; he was an asshat.

Phew, this was a ride.

[slutnali]

From my understanding the people on twitter were more upset with her response to biblegirl, who tweeted something along the lines of “the sooner we accept that most adults do cocaine the better” (not the exact wording, she deleted it now cause the response was overwhelmingly negative, but the sentiment was normalizing cocaine use bc it’s prevelant) and Denali responded “tea”. To me that’s a lot more 🤔what do u mean by that🤔 than anything she said on the podcast.

This is long so I'm adding a read more out of curtesy and also because we are talking about drugs [not very descriptive but still]

I remember seeing that earlier while I was out but don't remember it word for word, wish I did tho

But from what I remember, I thought there was some truth to it. Many people do it, it's not just rampant in the lgbt+ community but everywhere else. Does it make it okay? Absolutely not but from what I took from it is that there's just so much shaming for it and I think harm reduction should be discussed. That's not to say that you should glorify it and I don't think they are, however its such a delicate & complicated topic that people are quick to jump at each others throats defending their stance, etc.. With Nali replying 'teaaa' I think also it has to do with the fandom's reaction to it as well.. like, it always gets weird?

I remember when s13 had been announced and people did their digging and found out about her mugshot etc.. the fandoms reaction gave me an ick because people were very much 'omg how scandalous teeheee 🤭" gossiping and theorizing it... and then again when she'd made a joke about her mugshot on the GITMS segment and then people were actually thirsting over it on twt.. like it was weird imo.. and yeah, she was open about it and to some extent you could argue "she made it our business" but I think this'll probably be the last time she does share about it and I don't think she owes us any more stuff about it if she doesn't want to. That's just me though.

Could the tweet have been worded better? Yeah, but again, the tweet from Biblegirl was deleted and I can't really go in depth. But tbh I don't want to go further into depth or back and forth after this ask and another i have, because this blog is mainly for reading [and occasionally writing] drag race fic and thirsting over my faves.

There def is a discussion to be had when it comes to people who have used it and people entirely against it, and there's many points to be shared on both sides. I've seen some of it while I was scrolling twt a while ago bc I follow a bunch of dr girls [obvs] and local queens.

As for Denali, if you no longer want to support her that's fine and your right. If you need/want to separate yourself from that, do it and if you're a follower or mutual of mine that wants to unfollow me there's no hard feelings. If you do wanna keep following me you can black list 'denali foxx' and 'denali' so you wont see posts with her tag. I cant speak for everyone else who may not tag but I can for my blog because I always use them and tag accordingly.

Drug use and talk happens and it's not a cancelable offense, in my opinion at least. There are many many queens who openly talk about substance use but I rarely even see anyone bring it up: Willow and a bunch of s14 girls doing shrooms, Camden talking about how blackout she was while touring last year and not knowing how she got safe to her hotel room, Sasha C mimes sniffing coke or smoking on stage, all the open stoners, etc.. when it comes to this and other topics people are very pick and choose when it comes to their faves so idk..

but again, this is all my opinion and ramble and its okay if we have a difference.

[hlfmoonshine]

i love my messy ex catholics. i love the women whose lives they irrevocably fucked.

lucien o'malley, ex priest, history professor, bassist, hot messy ex catholic gay louis o'brien, ex husband, ex father, financial manager, hot messy ex catholic bisexual tate (nee tatiana) o'brien, grade 2 teacher, ex party bisexual with fuck boy weakness maeve o'malley, bartender, lost girl with no guidance, hot messy catholic bisexual

im not sorry – sacrilege – god must be doing cocaine – slow dancing in a burning room – godspeed – you send me – delicate – falling slowly – high enough – midnight rain – feeling whitney – nothing else i could do – safe – mount everest – pray

louis married too young and he knew it. he thought that if he went to school, took time away from his wife, maybe he would grow out of the fear and chaos of it all but then tatiana was born and he had to accept that he would always think getting married was a mistake. it was only the first mistake however. one affair, one heartbreak, one divorce, fourteen moves, one big pond and twenty years later and louis had learned that if you thought you were making a mistake you had two choices. lean into it and embrace the tragedy that was going to follow or run as far and as fast in the opposite direction as you could. 

lucien never thought he was making a mistake. he felt like he was on a very specific path that was handcrafted for him by god and his parents. everything was exactly as it was supposed to be and that freedom came with so many perks that he couldn’t imagine finding a mistake in anything in his life. and then one man approached his church. everything fell apart after that, and lucien found himself in america, in a band, in a thick knitted sweater as he taught history to a bunch of reckless and loud mouthed young adults and in a very precarious relationship with the very god he had trusted so much twenty years earlier. 

tate hated everything she got from her father. the trauma, her name, the drive to be good, the need for praise and acceptance and the urge to blow up her entire life. by the times she was nineteen she was scared that she would never give a fuck about living. she gave up the drugs, the sex, the drinking and the misery and focused her efforts into fixing what she blamed her parents for breaking. she cut ties with her hateful and alcoholic mother, who never recovered from the scandal, she changed her name and enrolled in a community college. now she teaches second grade and tries to maintain the stability she had to build for herself.

maeve never understood much about her family, about the world that she had been born into. one moment she was a happy, well adjusted minute, and then next she was a teenager with all this angst and anger in her chest that she had no idea how to let out. things only got worse when she realized that everything she did was going to be held against her perfect sister and her literal priest of a brother. when lucien’s affair came out, her family shifted dramatically and suddenly there was no one around to watch out for her. so she leaned into it, letting her anger and anxiety rule her, fucking up her own life left and right. 

[billiejeanenthusiast]

List of random thoughts 5/7/23

I’m now kind of an adult in the workforce and I have yet to need to transition my make up or clothes “from day to night”. Magazines really lied to me.

I honestly need a Taylor code. Not just bc I really want to see her live. I do. I really do. But bc I just need one good thing to happen to me in life. Lately it’s been rough.

I’m surprised the White House didn’t have a cocine scandal before. It’s literally called White House with the amount of high stress and high stakes I’d bet good Lokey it’s harder to find someone NOT doing cocaine than someone doing it.

I just saw a hot silver fox in his 50s dressed in a crisp shirt and suit pants parking his black Vespa next to the restaurant in my building. And that whole situation is so: Mediterranean summer at lunch hour.

I love Hart of Dixie. The show. I could write an essay on it. I’ve rewatched it so many times. I guess sometimes I’m just nostalgic for living in such a close knit community and small town.

Saturday morning I’m gonna step on that plane with a never bigger mix of emotions. How can I both love to return to a place and have someone absolutely ruining it for me so much I dread going back. I’m so happy to return. But I have the biggest stone in my stomach over it. I hate this feeling.

I hate the 2024 f1 calendar. Not bc it’s bad. But bc my life is so chaotic and I just can’t plan anything. And it makes me sad.

I should’ve taken a pill for my headache before I went to the post office. There’s just one person working and 11 people and it’s SO SLOW

I genuienly do think I’m someone who is happy just with the little things in life.

I GOT THE ERAS TOUR TICKETS CODES FOR SALE….and then immediately I realised that means nothing bc there’s still the whole war of actually buying the ticket.

I think I’ll probably sob through a solid 5-6 songs on that concert.

I think I’ll download glitter conspiracy videos to watch on my flight home.

Or actually no. It’s right the morning after Speak Now TV comes out. I’ll just spend the 45min listening to that.

It scared me that I’m 26 and I don’t feel a day older than like 23/24. I don’t know how to explain it. I’m scared to even say it to people. I just…is there something wrong with me? I blame COVID. I lose two years of my life.

I don’t think there is a single type of chocolate inverted that I would not like. Chocolate and shiny jewellery is the key to my heart. And no I don’t care that it sounds or is basic. Give me a pretty bracelet and some Belgian chocolates for an anniversary or just random day and you will get the freakiest dream come true sex of your life.

I feel like lately the whole universe has been a bit unhinged. Everyone and everything just seems on a looser tether. I can’t properly put into words the feeling but everything feels like it’s way closer to an edge than it was and that balancing on that edge is wobbly. People are more unhinged. The universe and what’s happening. A bunch of people I know have been having the most awful period of their lives. Others have been up to things the fbi couldn’t even come up for a fictional scenario. I too am a bit victim to this. I feel like I just …care less about any perception of me than ever before.

I would love to do one of those colour analysis things but they all feel just so incredibly MLM-ish to me. I’m not saying they are. They just give me that Avon and Mary Kay vibe.

[thecameronchronicles]

Withdrawal

TW: Drugs. Effects of Cocaine. Smut. Language. Angst. 

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE THINGS ARE TRIGGERING!

SUMMARY: Rafe comes to you with a plan to get clean, but it would prove easier said than done with your own complicated feelings for him…

WORD COUNT: 3800

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Withdrawal

You were all Rafe Cameron had after everything happened this last year. Anyone else that dared call him a friend was socially blacklisted when the scandal of his father's money laundering became the means for families splitting up and companies going under. This also meant that the king of the Kooks had delved deeper into his vices. Something you were forced to witness first hand as you knew better than to stand between him and his ivory mistress. The same one that only supplied a temporary high to the issues no drug could truly rid him of. But you had been his means of salvation on more than one occasion. Bailing him out of prison for unnecessary fighting and getting there in the nick of time before he would succumb to another near overdose. Not to mention the nights he would come to you when you were supposed to be asleep, ending up wrapped within his arms when he'd fallen asleep after yet another row with his dad. 

And why did you do this? Because you were completely in love with him. You had been before his first line of cocaine and long before he became associated with his title of royalty between the groups of different social standings. And you saw glimmers of him in the cracks of the man he was now, making it visible to know the man you loved was still in there. You hoped you were the tether to his sanity and convinced yourself as much as he had only come to you for those things. But you were unaware that you were not only his lifeline, but also his gravity, and tonight, his last hope. 

The knock came as it always did outside your bedroom window, light yet purposeful, as you sauntered to the pane to find him standing on the shingles you usually sat on to talk. But as you saw him at this moment, he wasn't nursing torn knuckles or failing at hiding tears. He was determined, almost excited, if the sparkle behind his blue hues were any indication of this. 

"Rafe-" 

"I've made a decision...But I uh...I need your help..." 

"Okay..." You agreed not caring to know the details as you were just happy to see him excited for something that wasn't a hit of something. 

"I'm gonna get clean..." He nodded as your happiness faded as you'd heard these words before. Most recently, after his previous brush with death a month prior, when you found him outside Barry's trailer on the line of morality, having called paramedics just shy of what would have been too late. He even wore the same committed bob of his head and animation of his fingers rising to his temples and his chest as he continued. 

"I need to get my shit together, I know that, okay? I do...But I can't do it without you-" 

"They have rehabilitation centers that could do more than I can-" 

"No..." He was quick to disagree. 

"They don't have you." You didn't know if he ever meant such dramatic and even romantic proclamations and yet, he made them often. It was that left the questioning lingering in the air if this was something more than platonic. But either way, you knew he was in no condition to take care of himself, let alone a relationship. So you refocused on his words as if they were spoken only from a friend. 

"What can I do?" 

"I need you to stay with me...Make sure I don't use anything." The idea of being alone with Rafe was both exciting and nerve-wracking. But more of the aforementioned had left you bobbing your head in approval as he now stood in wait. 

"Right now?!" 

"I'm already starting to tweak a bit..." 

"I..." Your eyes darted in every direction in search of what you would need. 

"You know, Sarah has a bunch of shit she left behind like all those expensive perfumes and all that kinda stuff so you don't need much." 

"Is that all you think girls need?" You teased as he shrugged, never able to hold onto a relationship long enough to figure that out. As you made small talk, and even a minor lesson out of what was needed, he made his way around your room as you began to pack. Necessities on the forefront of your mind, you ran around almost like mad before collecting what was needed and disappearing into the bathroom across from your room to continue this brigade. 

When you returned, you found him in your dresser, removing a pair of lacy underwear that was now dangling shamelessly at the end of his finger. 

"These would definitely be a distraction for me-" You quickly took hold of them before showing them back into your drawer. 

"YOU would look quite distracting." You shot back, sporting a grin in being proud of yourself for such a comment.

"So you DO think about me naked?" This playful banter made up the more positive side of your relationship as you pushed him towards the window. 

"I'll meet you outside in ten minutes. I have to convince my parents where I'll be for the next..." You waited for him to tell you a time as he would only shrug while she straddled the sill of the window. 

"You've gotta give me more than that..." 

"Just tell 'em my dad is giving you a great working opportunity for the rest of the summer. Not that much of a lie since I am quite a piece a work...said it himself before he left last week." Your heart ached to know he had been alone since then. With Sarah living off campus between semesters and Wheezie having been sent to boarding school by Rose for some semblance of a normal life, you and Rafe would truly be alone. So after agreeing, you could slip into his truck and act as his sponsor for the foreseeable future. 

You had visited Tannyhill enough times to feel at home to some degree. You knew it well and didn't need directions for any part of the estate, and yet, it now felt so different crossing the threshold to know you would be alone with him. Intimidating Rafe Cameron. You swallowed hard at the thought as the door closed behind you. 

"You can have any room you want...I'll sleep on the floor-" 

"What?!" 

"The whole point of this is to keep an eye on me. If we are on opposite sides of the house then I could leave, take a hit, and you'd never know." 

You hesitated. What harm was there in him being on the floor? You wouldn't have to think about him being beside you on the bed or wrapping his arms around you some point at night. You would be fine.

Right?

"Okay...I'll just use your room then." He nodded before leading the way to it. 

"I uh..." You turned to face him as you noticed him suddenly appear nervous. 

"I have a stash here..." 

"Okay, where is it?" 

He moved behind a floor length mirror in his room, pulling out a dime bag before handing it to you. Never before had you ever been this close to drugs, unless you counted the residue on Rafe, and it made your stomach twist at the thought. This powder, innocent looking enough, had been the cause of altering the caring boy you knew into a hardened asshole when he didn't get his fix. But his steps continued still until you had two fists full of his vices. 

"Anymore, scarface?" You teased as he cocked his jaw and led you to the bathroom and even the kitchen before confessing that was it. 

"Just get rid of it, yeah?" He spoke almost in dismissal while moving into the bedroom, your eyes distracted on him having undressed for bed, as it was nearly two in the morning by now, as you disposed of the drugs within the toilet. 

"You don't have to sleep on the floor, Rafe..." The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. 

"I don't mind-" 

"I'll feel really bad. It's your room." 

"Are you sure?" You nodded, fighting the urge to ogle his torso as it was well taken care of. Muscles yearning for your touch all while you acted indifferent to what pulled your thighs together in a press of desperate friction left untouched once again. 

"Positive." 

"Dammit..." 

"Forget your nightlight?" He teased you as you ignored him. 

"No, I packed everything but a pajama shirt..." 

"Here..." He removed his from his chest and tossed it at the other side of the bed, unaware how this made your heart race. Not only did it leave him bare, it left his scent close enough to you that your pure thoughts would all be twisted to lustful visions that would certainly leave you awakening from a wet dream in the morning. 

"Can I hold you, like I usually do?" You nodded, finding comfort in his touch before he spooned against you, both of you quickly falling asleep. 

But it only lasted a short while. 

The sound of slamming cabinets and torn doors sent you upright just before dawn. Your feet were quick motion to its source as you realized Rafe was absent from the bed. 

"Where the fuck are you? Where did she put it?" He asked himself, skin already damp with sweat and words erratic while you carefully crest the corner. 

"Where are they?" 

"They're gone, Rafe..." 

"Don't lie to me! I gave them to you so I know you have them!" 

"I got rid of them-" You kept your composure even as he yelled to you enough to spit with every word. 

"That's bullshit!" He continued to tear through the house, knocking down decor and pictures in the process, sending the bones of the architecture to rattle with his thunderous steps and angered pulls of knobs and their near hinges, before ultimately turning his focus back to you as you had stupidly followed behind him. 

"Give it to me, I'm not fucking around..." 

"I don't have it, I flushed it-" 

"You what?!" He was not only upset. He was enraged. Consumed by this wrath as he pulled away from you and towards the bedroom. Picking up his phone, you narrowed your eyes while questioning him. . 

"Who are you calling-" 

"Barry. He'll bring the good shit-" You apprehended his phone and held it out of reach. 

"I can't let you, Rafe-" 

"Give me my phone, you bitch!" Your eyes narrowed. 

"I understand you are losing your mind a bit here but you you NOT get to call me that, Rafe-" 

"Then give me my phone back. Or I’ll call you a lot worse…" For this, you took the case off and the battery out, before drowning it in a vase of flowers, submerging the power source. 

"Then I'll just use yours!" He lunged for it, set on it's charger at the side of the bed as you were quick to rival him. But as you were shorter and further away, he managed to take hold of it first. You wrested for a second before pinning him beneath you. 

"You wanted me here, Rafe, so I'm gonna help you." 

"I don't want you here. I don't need you here. I don't need you. I don't meet anyone." You knew he may have believed this to a point but it wasn't the complete truth. Not really. It was the withdrawal. The need to do whatever was necessary to get what he wanted. 

"You might not feel that way." 

"They don't need me-" 

"I do." You spoke almost in a whisper as he had paused for a minute to analyze your words. It was a soft moment undeserved by him as you fought every urge in your body to kiss him. Even in this state. Knowing he needed the care you could offer, even more so.

 "I do, Rafe. So I'm not gonna let you sabotage yourself because you're-" 

"Get off of me-" 

"Not until you-" You were taken effortlessly from his waist and thrown in disregard before sprinting into the bathroom in the nick of time for his nausea to take him over completely. 

For hours, you sat at his side, dabbing the sweat from his skin and allowing him to nap in your lap between getting sick and being emotional. He would alter from sympathetic to pitiful and dramatic to reasonable, all while you never left his side. 

Having eventually fallen asleep along with him, you awoke to the smell of fresh coffee at your side as you realized he had carried you back to bed. But with his absence, you lept up in fear. Throwing yourself down the steps, you found him in the kitchen making breakfast, apologizing for the night before, while you bonded over a childhood favorite of Fruity Pebble pancakes and coffee. 

The rest of the day was spent reminiscing about your treasured memories as he would confuse your friendship in small romantic motions. Such things as pulling a loose stand behind your ear or taking your legs across his as you watched a movie. But it was never enough to validate anything more than a flirtation, which wasn't strong enough grounds for you to risk your relationship in its entirety for. So you'd only smile and be burned internally by the unmet passion, before continuing on. 

"Country club!" A voice called as you sat around the pool, feet dangling in the water, as you turned to find Barry making his way to the back of the estate. 

"We had plans, or did you up and forget about me for this fine piece of ass? Can't say I blame you if she's the reason..." He was shameless in checking you out as Rafe set himself in front of you. 

"Lost my phone. Been busy...think you should go-" 

"Why, when I have somethin' even she can't give you, huh?" He exposed one of those small little bags as you saw Rafe tense. A hand wrapped around his bicep only made him tense further. 

"Do you want to go through last night again, Rafe? Please-" But Rafe was quick to step forward. 

"Leave." You were proud of him as he made his way inside, but was quickly followed by Barry. A conversation in which you were forced in exclusion from, brought you only able to speak to Rafe when Barry's bike echoed in the background. 

"Rafe?" You asked nervously as he was bent halfway over the kitchen counter, cocaine untouched but tempting him on its surface. 

"There is only one thing as strong as my need for that hit..and either way...either way I can't..." 

"I know it's hard...But you don't have to do it-" 

"But I want to! I don't want to fucking hurt anymore! I don't want to feel anymore!" He now spoke more on pain than anger. 

"I have lost everything! And the only thing I can contribute is to…Barry's lifestyle as his best customer...And I am just taking you down with me...So go home..." Your eyes narrowed. 

"No." 

"You being here is only making this worse." He spoke behind clenched teeth. 

"So if I left, you wouldn't do a line? You wouldn't finish the bag off in an hour? Maybe two?" He spoke your name in warning as you continued, having reached your limit of his words as your idea of leaving him behind to what you were certain would be the last time was too much to bear.

 "What about when you abuse your limit, Rafe? Or when you regret it the next day? If you even GET a next day?! I'm tired of finding you like that! I'm tired of almost losing you!" Tears formed in your eyes as he fixated on the bag. 

"You're the only one-" 

"So what if I am?! I care about you, Rafe-" 

"Why?" He suddenly shot at ay you. "Nobody else thinks I'm worth saving so why do you?" You couldn't formulate a response. Not because you didn't have one, but because you had so many. But he took your silence as validation for his own words. 

"That's what I thought-" 

"Because my life isn't the same without you in it." You spoke as he nearly left the kitchen, turning back at your words. 

"Because believe me, you've tested tested enough. Where I should have spent more time by the pool, I spent in the emergency room praying to any God that would listen for you to just be okay! And I'm an idiot for it! I have lost everything because I care about you! Because you're good, Rafe! You are hurt and lonely, but you can be good!" He looked back to the bag again, jaw clenched as you were shameless to your tears. 

"You know what?" You suddenly took it in your hand, his feet quick to apprehend you before you moved away. 

"You want to take it? You want that high and that rush? Then don't expect me to watch it take control of you. Because I care about you too much to almost lose you, again-" You threw the bag at his chest before moving to leave. 

"I-" 

"No, Rafe, I'm not going to watch you-" You were taken by your wrist and pulled against him, lips silencing you as he spoke. You had imagined a kiss with Rafe your entire friendship. You hoped it would be some grand gesture or even a means of a confession. But in this moment, in desperation and emotion, you only cared to take advantage of it. And it showed on the way you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck just as he pulled your waist against him. 

You were dizzy by the time he pulled you against the counter, shirts leaving you both exposed as he took time at your chest while you fondled with his belt. But the second it came open, you were lifted to the surface recently against your spine before pulled back into him. 

"You've never left me-" He explained with a devoted hand to the back of your neck. "You've only ever fought for me...so I'm not fucking stopping until you know how good I can make you feel..." He was on his knees before you could eleven comprehend his words, as he guided your legs over his back. 

Sweat developed in the minute that quickly faded into a blur before he pulled you to an edge. The counter damp with your slick beneath you, the bend of his fingers in unison with his tongue ravaging your clit, all of it was evidence of the coming release he brought from you. But he wouldn't allow as he retracted as you announced how close you were. 

"I wanna taste you this way..." He pulled you down to the floor, bending you over the rim once again, before pulling apart your ass and leading his tongue back to your clit from behind. Your fingers ran through his hair as he purposely stared from over your perfect mounds, shaking as he slapped them or vibrating from his moans. 

"Every way..." His tongue teases closer to your ass, biting the cheek he'd left stinging, before redirecting his focus to his own pleasure. 

"Being with you is the only thing that makes me feel sane-its also what makes me want to use..." You turned to speak, but he silenced you with fingers entering your sex. 

"So I'm gonna inhale you...taste you...feel you until I overdose..." He pulled your jaw to face him. 

"And for that, I don't want you to save me..." He kissed you, using this distraction of a kiss to lead himself inside of you. 

"Shit-" He groaned in unison to your gasp as you rested your head on his shoulder and he wrapped his thick fingers around your throat. 

"I'm always so fucking high on you. Just you looking at me, so do you have any idea what THIS is doing to me?" 

"Rafe!" 

"Whatever you want, baby, it's yours. Just ask...just fucking ask and it’s yours." He spoke rather desperately as you began to work his cock, fingers asking for him faster and deeper. 

"You want me harder?" 

"Fuck. Me..." You managed to utter as he scoffed. 

"Fucking is momentary..." He bent you back forward. "I intend to make you mine in every fucking way though...every fucking position...every fucking room-" 

"Rage! Please! I'm...I'm so close I can feel it!" 

"Don't fight it baby, give it to me...I know you want to..." 

"Yes!" His hand tightens around your throat still. 

"YES, RAFE! JUST. LIKE. THAT." You became lost to the lust. Your body shamelessly thrashing before him as his grip was the only thing keeping you tethered. But as his hands weren't kept to just one part of you, you were reliant on the counter as well. He hiked your knee to the surface, leading himself even deeper. 

"Give me it! Let me have it." He withdrew his cock, using his fingers at a battering pace from behind, before the tush became too much to ignore. Squirt after squirt came your release as you watched him take it to his lip. 

"I'd much rather wear you instead of some line-" 

You turned to face him, stroking him as he grinned. 

"Want me to come, baby?" 

You nodded. 

"Then bend back over..." You denied him by moving on your knees instead. 

"If you take me that way, I'm gonna expect you to swallow." You joined while obliging, showcasing how talented your usually quiet tongue had proven to be. Tears in your eyes and spit collecting on your own knees would begin a sight too erotic for him to withstand as the roll of your gaze would bring him to that nearing precipice. 

"Fuck, you feel so good for me..." He confessed as you now alternated between your mouth and your fist for him. 

"Better me than any high?" 

"Shit-yeah!" 

"Then remember that, Rafe.." His eyes lowered to you. "Because if you so much as take a look at another dime bag..." You sucked him to the edge, tongue running his shaft and between his balls, before your hand spread that precum as he spoke your name in warning.

"I'll never let you come again-" You were forced onto the counter facing him, as his hand was on the back of your neck, forehead taking to his own at rest as his body was anything but still.

"I swear to God, baby...I'm too fucking addicted to you to want anything else." 

"Prove it. Come. Come, Rafe! I want it! I need it!" 

"Shit! Fuck! Yeah, yeah, heah!" And with the final buckles the warmth release would keep your mutual climax in silence until your tremors would settle enough for him to reclaim some semblance of an existence. 

"You touch another line and you'll never touch ME again, Rafe...but everyday you dont...You can do whatever you want to me-" He pulled your jaw within his grasp.

"I hope you didn't have any plans today...or the rest of the fucking summer because I have a feeling, I'm gonna keep having these withdrawls and your means for a reward for enduring them. I’ve already gone two days...and that was only one orgasm so we’re already behind, sweetheart." 

"Then what are you waiting for, Rafe? Take another hit…"

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @bethoconnor @belcalis9503

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.2)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

*SNEAK PEAK*

Summary: On the worst days, Yoongi is judge, jury, and executioner. But he judges you and finds you worthy of protecting (and loving too). 

Tags: Dead bodies, blood, murder/crime themes, guilt, childhood trauma, drugs (cocaine, heroine), domestic abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, controlling behavior, implications of omega mistreatment/discrimination, anorexia, blood, graphic depictions of violence, manipulation, talking behind someone's back, morally gray Yoongi, 

W/c: 14.5k

A/N: Honestly this took me way too long to write and edit. I can’t tell if this is my favorite depiction i’ve ever written of falling in love or if I hate it. But yeah- i didn’t want to sit on it for much longer. This part takes place chronologically before the last part, and documents what happened while yoongi was away from the rest of his pack. 

Previous part — Masterlist

-----------------------

CHAPTER 2: THE DON

“She’s just an omega- you know how they are- they need a firm hand to keep them in their place.” Yoongi scoffs thinking of his omegas. Anyone who even dared to think that Seokjin and Jungkook did not wear the pants in their pack had another thing coming to them. 

He watches his older brother cut another line of cocaine. 

The amount of drugs in this Geumjae’s study cost enough to feed a small family for a year. But Yoongi knows better than to partake. He pretends to take a Bump and taps it off when Geumjae tips back a shot."Omegas aren't even fucking worth it if you ask me, brother, you're supposed to give half of yourself away, and for fucking what? A glorified bed warmer?"

Yoongi boils and stays silent, letting Geumjae get himself wasted on drugs and alcohol. He can't tell what distresses him more Geumjae has such little regard for life that he can't recognize that omegas are fucking people- or that he's so freely sharing this with him. 

He knows he’s toeing the line. More pushing might hurt you more, if he provoked aggression from his brother- it would no doubt come back to bite you. Yoongi can’t imagine wanting to hurt someone he loves or speaking with the same callousness that Geumjae speaks. “Don’t you love her?”

Geumjae laughs at Yoongi’s childish question “Oh little brother, don’t you know that love makes you stupid?”

His brother has it all wrong but Yoongi’s powerless to say it. Those threats from the funeral linger. And it's not only your life and Yoongi’s at stake here but the rest of his pack. He has to fool Geumjae into thinking he is on his side. 

“Work with me here- what will the other omegas in the pack think of you if they find out what kind of shit you pull? And they’ll take their concerns straight to their alphas and say you’re unfit to lead. You know I have to listen to the bulk of them regardless of what you want.”

If he can’t appeal to Geumjae’s humanity- he can appeal to Geumjae’s better interest and common sense. His image in the family is arguably the most important thing in geumjae’s mind, and Yoongi can tell by the way that Geumjae stiffens when he says the words that it’s stuck.

Geumjae might have been trained in torture, but Yoongi was trained in manipulation. And he take the bait- hook, line, and sinker. 

After that, he has the good sense to act softer with you in front of the rest of the family at the very least. But he fears he might have done more bad than good when he sees the way you stiffen and fail to meet his eyes more consistently as the days go on. You’re sensitive about eye contact, Yoongi gets it. you don’t have as much control over your facial expression as the rest of these robotic mobsters.  

Group dinners are routine, and while Yoongi could find an excuse to see you during the day, he’s also often pulled in 50 different directions by the expectations of his family.

He finds himself reading for dinner in a hurry most nights, eager or maybe a little panicked to check in with you. You never request his presence, you never text (though he made sure you have his number just in case), and the family dinners are tense between the two of you.

You maintain none of the easy friendship you’d started that day in the rain or that closeness. You avoid him like the plague at dinner, and It’s like that day in the rain never happened. 

Geumjae sticks to your side like glue too. A hand that probably looks protective to anyone else but looks possessive to Yoongi slung around your waist. Yoongi sees the harshness and pain in your body when Geumjae’s hand tightens digging into the swell of your hip. You’re soft in the way that most omegas are a little soft- and it’s as expected as it is distracting.

He manages to corner you during one of the dinners. you're not alone- and you can hear the grannies and omegas prattling to each other in the kitchen. the alphas are outside enjoying a cigar and investigating one of the new rolls royces that one of yoongi’s uncles recently purchased. 

The corset portion of your dress making your chest soft looking, plump and inviting if yoongi was the kind of man to get distracted by something like that. As it is- all he notices is how it’s making your chest heave. Breath uneven, he thinks he can hear the boning in the dress creek. It’s a designer thing, but it looks way too tight on you. he can tell how uncomfortable you are. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, though it's clear you’re not, you dont reply, looking down and away worried. Hand hovering over your stomach, “I won’t get mad whatever it is.”

You bite your lower lip. hand catching yourself on a side table before you teater over, dizzy. Yoongi grabs you before you fall. “He did my corset too tight, it’s hurting my ribs. I feel like im going to pass out.” Yoongi quickly looks around, but there is no one around in the part of the house right now, the garden is a backdrop, speckled with lights. you’re alone. 

Yoongi turns you around quickly, setting his champagne to the side and grabbing yours out of your hand. He undoes the top knot of the dress and you inhale gratefully as he tugs at the strings looser, fingers touching your bare skin. “Is that better?” he has to be quick. This isn’t exactly scandalous- but- its not quite proper. 

You inhale deep and grateful. “So much better, thank you.” you barely have a second to both straighten up, Yoongi's fingers pulling the bow back together. grabbing your champagne and sipping at it a careful distance away from Yoongi. looking for all intents and purposes like you’ve been swathed in uncomfortable silence the entire time they were gone. The picture of propriety as Geumjae and a few other alphas return in a puff of rich smoke. 

“Don’t mention it.” Yoongi says it softly so that only you can hear it.

More than once. Geumjae catches him staring at you during the dinner. you look so much more comfortable now that it’s been loosened. Your hand hovering in front of your dress to conceal your cleavage under the guise of fiddling with your necklace. During those moments, Geumjae rewards Yoongi’s wandering gaze with bold touches. A hand sliding from waist to hip and your sudden straightening in pain. 

Geumjae’s harsh fingers digging into a bad bruise on your hip. you’re so trained, you barely flinch when he does it. And still- Yoongi’s hands tighten in his slacks. Gritting his teeth and biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making a scene and reaching across the table to stop Geumjae from hurting you.

Many of the other members of the family notice Geumjae’s sudden dogmatic approach to your presence in his life. Confirming what Yoongi suspects. That he’d never given you too much attention at these family meals before Yoongi came with his wandering eyes. He should do better be better not to put you in harm's way.

Yoongi keeps his eyes firmly trained on his plate full of spiced soft-shelled crab as one of the grannies comments on how sweet the two of you seem. Yoongi wants to gag. “You know how new love is. I feel like we’ll be in the honeymoon phase forever. I want her all to myself so bad I think she’s worried I’ll chain her to my bed” he says- feigning drunkenness. You laugh too- trying to play it off but Yoongi can see your barely concealed fear.

Staying silent and letting your husband hurt you is the hardest thing that yoongi’s ever had to do. But there are many more battles, fights and skirmishes to win in this war. Yoongi has to be patient.

He’s a poised snake, ready to strike at the perfect moment.  

COMING WEDNESDAY APRIL 21 @ 6PM EST

[placebogirl7]

Kinoshita: Ren's assistant and "voice of conscience"

I decided to make an analysis about one of the most underrated character in Nana (also because he doesn't appear that much) but who I appreciate so much. Prepare yourself for a very long post to read because my beloved Kinoshita deserves it! ;) Kinoshita has been introduced as Ren assistant: his role is to drive Ren home when he's too tired, to remind him his schedule, to help him with whatever he needs. Kinoshita is also a big fan of Ren, so he's excited to have the opportunity to work with his idol. When we first see him in the manga, he's driving Ren home after a long day work. He's fashinated about Ren's expensive car and when Ren tells him that it's just a car and he doesn't matter about apprearance unlike Takumi, Kinoshita says to him that he's very talented and rich but he's not ambitious despite this. He also says that he let Takumi have control even his music and that it's when he plays punk music that he gives is best. Kinoshita is firmly convinced that Ren soul belongs to punk and that's the kind of music he should do. Probably in the old days he would have been a huge fan of former Blast! XD He sees the potential of Ren and he's aware that Takumi is "suppressing" it asking him to write songs more suitable for Reira's voice (which is definitely not punk).

At first Ren laughs about Kinoshita's words, because they just seems the words of an excited fan, but later he realized that maybe those words werent' that stupid. In fact, during a talk with Takumi, the latter says something that immediately make Ren remind of Kinoshita. Takumi basically confirmed what Kinoshita himself said before: Ren shows his best when he act like a rebel punk and he plays punk music. Can we just spend one minute looking at Ren's face expression in the last image of the panel below? He's smiling, but there's a sad expression on his face after he realized that Kinoshita's words were right. I think in that moment Ren realized what he had left behind and the fact that he's not free as he was in the past. He has to play the role of Trapnest's guitarist and he can't be anymore just Ren Honjo. Suddenly Takumi's kingdom was not so bright anymore compared to his own one little kingdom he abandoned.

So we can say that Kinoshita is the first one who really realized Ren's real potential and he has no fear to tell him directly.

Another thing that I appreciate about Kinoshita is exactly that he doesn't have fear to tell what he thinks and he has the courage to do it even about Takumi. Despite his evident bad attitude, nobody in Cookie staff has the courage to rebel against Takumi: they just wait for hsi orders and obey to them even if they don't agree. But one day, while talking to Ren, Kinoshita finally expresses what in my opinion is the thought of everyone: they are just little soldiers at the service of Takumi. He respects him and he recognize that he's an excellent business man, but he's not good when it comes to treat people in a decent way. He lacks of empathy and of other things on a human level. Even if Ren doesn't seem to appreciate this, I think Kinoshita was totally right and also I love how he feels at ease to confess to Ren his thoughts and opinion: he doesn't seem to simply consider Ren as an idol or a person he has to take care of but as a sort of friend to whom he can feel free to talk.

Later in the story, Kinoshita starts to re-evaluate Takumi after he found a solution to stop the scandal between Ren and Reira. He understands that Takumi actually cares about the band and its members and he carefully thinks about everything to avoid bad situations or loss that may bring damages to Cookie Music. Also, he doesn't see himself anymore only as Ren's assistant (like he has done until that moment) but he starts to see himself as a "vassal" of Trapnest, embracing Takumi's vision that he had criticized before. Ren is very happy to know that, look at his smile.

And now let's talk about Ren's drug addiction and how Kinoshita reacts to that. Of course Kinoshita knows about Ren's problem but he also knows he can't do a lot to be helpful. When Ren tries to get rid of all the cocaine he has but then starts to suffer from withdrawal, while they are driving to Cookie Music, Kinoshita notices that Ren doesn't feel good at all and tries to convince him to go to the hospital instead of going to work. Ren won't listen to reasons and yell at him to bring him at Cookie Music (knowing that Narita will give him drug). In the end Kinoshita obey to his order, but since he's really worried and not satisfied he later decided to call Takumi and inform him about Ren's conditions. Despite he doesn't like Takumi, he knows that he's the only one he can ask for help because Takumi has something he lack of: the power to find a solution even to the most complicated things. The binomial hate-admiration that Kinoshita has for Takumi is evident from the beginning to the end of the serie. I won't put images of the above mentioned scenes because Tumblr allows you to put only 10 images per post and I need to reserve the space for other images of more important scenes, but I'm sure you all remeber both the scenes I mentioned.

Another thing I want to point out is Kinoshita's vision about Nana and Ren's relationship. We can say that he has always been very considerate about their relationship and he never doubted even for a second that Nana wasn't sincere about Ren. He had understood from Ren that they truly loves each other and he sincerely wanted them to stay together. The little panel below is an example of this: Nana and Ren were having hard times and they rarely met each other. They had just found a new house but they couldn't spend time together in it and Kinoshita seemed to be very sorry because he saw how much Ren needed to stay with her.

Another scene were he demonstrates he cares for Nana and Ren's relationship is when Search publish that scandalous article and all the media start to talk about this, inventing fake things. Ren doesn't say a word and Kinoshita encourages him to do what he want, telling him that if he wants to spend good words about his girlfriend in front of the reporters, he won't prevent him from doing it. He says to Ren "follow what your heart tells you to do", which is the same thing that Yasu himself had told him in the bathroom during the Trapnest Vs. Blast show, when they spoke about Ren's drug addiction and Nana's hyperventilation attacks. Again, Kinoshita is acting like a supportive friend to Ren and not only as a mere assistant. When Ren refuses to do it and defines his old band members and friends (including his girlfriend) "old thrown away partner", Kinoshita seems shocked by that reaction. I personally was shocked too when I read it, because Ren really acted like a jerk in that moment. He put his career and Trapnest above his love and realtionship and friends, acting like Takumi would have acted, and so for Kinoshita (who in that moment still didn't appreciate Takumi for this) it must have been disappointing to see him acting in that cold way towards his lover and friends who were being accused.

Later, while Trapnest are in London, Ren realises that he acted like he didn't care and he reminds of Kinoshita's words (exactly like it happened when he told him he gave his best when he played punk music).

When Ren and Nana separate and Ren refuses to go fetch her because he feels ashamed to meet her and tell her about his drug addiction, Kinoshita takes the initiative and decide that if Ren needs to be encouraged to go to Nana, then he will be the person who will encourage him. He knows that Ren needs Nana and he hopes that reuniting with her could help him to feel better and convince him to stop taking drugs. While they are in Ren's car driving towards Cookie Music and Ren is talking about this with Hachi on the phone, Kinoshita asks him where Nana is in that moment and when he answers "Osaka", Kinoshita immediately change direction and starts to drive towards Osaka.

Again Kinoshita brings out his rebel side and affirms that he can't do what the staff expect him to do or follow Takumi's orders: he's convinced that he's doing the right thing (and he was definitely doing it in my opinion). He blames again Takumi and his way of handling the situation, knowing that what Ren needs is professional help and a break to recover, but Ren suddenly brings out the reality of the fact: he's not disappointed by Takumi or the staff, he's disappointed by him, his own hero, the idol he estimates so much. Kinoshita doesn't know what to answer, he doesn't want to hurt Ren and probably he doesn't want to admit to himself that Ren is right. In the last scene of the panel below, Kinoshita's expression is very sad because he realized that there's nothing he can do anymore to help Ren. He did his best but he failed. I think it must have been hard for him to realize that.

I think we can make a comparison here: Kinoshita has always idealized Ren exactly as Nobu did. They both saw Ren has an invincible hero, a perfect creature to admire and they wish to be like him, but then they realized that not all that glitters is gold and that Ren wasn't as perfect as they saw him. He was actually more fragile then them and they feel powerless because they knew they couldn't do anything to help him. When you idealize a person so much and then you discover that person isn't as you saw him/her, then you feel disappointed and that's what happened to both Kinoshita and Nobu.

Last but not least, after Ren's death Kinoshita tries his best to complete what Ren has left incomplete. His thoughts aren't for Trapnest's future or Cookie Music or for his work: his thoughts are for Nana, just like the last thoughts of Ren were. Kinoshita's mission is to be a sort of "emissary" who has to bring to Nana the feelings Ren was going to express her, his last words, his thoughts for her. The scene below is so sad but I love it, it's one of my favorite in the manga. Looking at Kinoshita crying while saying that "Please, accept it" breaks my heart evry time. He's literally begging Nana to take that present which Ren wanted to give her but didn't manage to, he wants Ren to be happy wherever he is in that moment, knowing that his wish has been fulfilled.

So, after all this recap of Kinoshita's moments, I think we can say that he's not only a mere assistant for Ren, but he's also a friend. His feelings for Ren are sincere, he doesn't praise him because he wants to keep his work, he praise him because he sincerely admire him. Kinoshita knows Ren needs and try to help him as much as he can, not only with his work but even more with his personal life. And if we consider all the times he has said something and Ren hasn't taken him seriously, but later realized how much he was right, we can say that Kinoshita's role in the story is to be Ren's "voice of conscience", that voice we all have inside us that says to us what is the right thing to do (but we often ignore it like Ren did). Kinoshita is a sort of mixture between Yasu and Nobu: he gives Ren the same advices as Yasu would have given him and he admire him like Nobu did. I think this is a good thing for Ren, because now that he's not a member of Blast anymore he doesn't have much time to see his old and true friends (not that Naoki and Reira aren't his friends but...well, in my opinion they can't be compared to Yasu and Nobu), so having Kinoshita near is like having a part of his friends with him all the time.

I hope this super long post hasn't annoyed you and I hope now we can all love Kinoshita together because he deserves a lot of love for what he did ♥.

Nana Week 2021 Day 1 Prompt: side character

[sunlightandsuffering]

Prompt : they are both famous and secretly dating.

tbh I don't know what this is or if it makes any sense at all, so sorry anon for butchering ur prompt, but I'm a basic bitch and I like my drake, so like this is gonna be pain bcuz my favourite song on the new album is just pain and I can't stop thinking about a fucked up celebs relationship to it, just ANGST AND PAIN!! 😭😭 but those lyrics hit, can't believe I wrote a song fic ugh circa Tumblr 2015 jfc I'mma write a happier ending to this in another prompt 😂 bc someone else asked for the same thing.

Fucking Fans

I'm still working on me

Eren stands at the Met Gala, holding Mikasa by the waist, giving a cramped smile for photos and keeping her close. People call their names and cameras flash and his beloved blinks, hiding her face into his shoulder as the lights overwhelm her.

He looks down at her lovingly as some jackass reporter yells about a cheating rumour and her pretty face pinches up. Eren is quick to comfort her with his touch, both hands gripping her waist reassuringly as he decides it's time for them to go inside.

"Come on Miki," he kisses her forehead and she nods, accepting. Neither of them wants to think about those rumours, the damage and the pain they bring up is too much and it's all his fault, he knows, but he can't undo it.

The guilt eats at him and she holds his hand tighter, the despair takes him and she cuddles him at night.

They're together now but sometimes Eren wonders just how it happened, how he came back from falling so far. How she took him back when he fucked up so massively.

And I'm coming back better for you

The day he shows up on her door step again is the day of the biggest awards show of the season, the one he knows she's going to kill and probably sweep several categories. Just because she's that amazing. He finds her where he expects, in her apartment, the address Armin gave him, doing her own hair and makeup, humble Mikasa just like always, ironing out her own dress. He shows up in a suit with as many white roses as he can fit into a bouquet and ready to leave if she still hates him, which she has every right to.

But he's been through months of therapy, gave Armin control of his bank account, and check himself into rehab thrice, every time he was even inching closer to relapse.

He's not fixed, but he's better, marginally, and he wants her to know it, know he still loves her at the very least.

She opens the door, beautiful even without makeup, and wearing a white slip and her pretty red mouth parts in shock.

All he can do is hold out his roses as tears leave his eyes at seeing her for the first time in months.

Most times it was my selfishness and your helplessness that I took advantage of

It was so easy with Mikasa, she was so devoted to him. So loving and sweet, always there for him.

She'd wait up, let him do what he wanted, never wanting to stifle or control him. Too afraid their tenuous relationship would crack and they'd break up.

A part of him blames her for it, for being so willing to let him do what he wanted. She'd been passive, unsure how to insert herself, had minimal complaints, letting him ruin his life party by party, late night after late night, drugs and alcohol all of it.

But he knows he can never hold her accountable for his own actions, and the day she's finally done with his bullshit is both the best and worst day of his life. She finally says no, and it begins his path to fixing himself. Because hitting rock bottom is losing the most important thing in his life, and that's Mikasa.

You sit in the house and I be out and I know you're worried, up

The problem with her passivity is he knows it's not passivity at all, she just doesn't know what to do, how to fix him. Eren has always had a temper, and she's known him for a long time, knows he'll lash out and behave worse if provoked. So she'd reacted as best she could, leaving rehab pamphlets out, asking him to stay in and watch movies, bake with her, anything other than going out to party.

But he'd stumble home every night and see her asleep on the couch, waiting. Always there to pick him up instead of a cab, not wanting the paparazzi to get a hold of him, she was always there.

And you try and block it out

They lived in a bubble, they pretended it didn't happen. They didn't acknowledge when he was too hungover to shoot the next morning. She'd brew him coffee, get him through the day, flush his drug stash when they checked, both his saving grace and biggest enabler.

Even when he's kissing her for more than just an on-screen kiss, lips drinking her in like a man starved, and the next morning she finds new girls in his bed, she keeps quiet.

They're a mess, but every time she dutifully kicks the girls out and drags him to the shower.

I'm so sorry for letting you down

When he'd first become famous, he hadn't known what to do with himself. He'd been scouted for how many movies, tv-shows, underwear commercials, brand deals. It was a whirlwind as Hollywood found their new boy wonder, handsome, smart and a nice boy.

His best friend, and female love interest in their debut movie, Mikasa, who had followed him to Hollywood on nothing more than a whim, was equally bombarded with fame and fortune. They'd always been close, always best friends, but never quite more, no matter how much they both obviously wanted it. It never progressed beyond a few acted kisses.

Still, they got an apartment together, and Eren had thought it was the start of something great, he was living the dream. Rich and famous with his best friend, the girl he'd secretly loved since he was young.

He'd been content just to stay up late and watch movies with her before work, to visit her on set and bring her donuts. They were Hollywood's shining stars, two kids sickeningly sweet in love even though they weren't officially dating, they were as good as.

At the advice of his agent, he'd started doing more, started picking up a few other gigs on the side, modelling, but he kept it small, he didn't want to overwhelm himself, and he still wanted time for Mikasa.

It had gone well, they'd taken fame okay, and Eren had been proud, neither of them had a sex-scandal or a pregnancy scare yet. They'd even been inching towards finally being something more than just friends, a few heated looks, some on-stage kisses to finally get the ball rolling.

Then Mikasa had been cast in an upcoming romance movie and her love interest hadn't been Eren, it had been Jean.

That had been the start of his spiral.

He'd never meant for it to get so far out of control, how many movies he started doing, how many promotions. Meanwhile Mikasa, smart, brilliant Mikasa stuck with smaller projects and only ever one at a time, preferring to keep close to their apartment. He was all she had, and she was all he wanted.

Nights when I just needed to hold somebody

He misses her, lays in bed awake at night thinking about her, how long it’s been, when was the last time he saw the curve of her face in person and not in a washed-out picture on a magazine. Girls in and out of his apartment, trying to fill the empty void inside him, and nothing works, nothing ever works. Because he’d fucked it up, said he didn’t need her, told her he could do it on his own, fame wouldn’t take him. Called each other names, every one in the book, screaming matches over stupid shit, if he should take that job, what she was doing with Jean, how she was eating, if she was eating enough.

The toxicity was palpable in their apartment until finally Mikasa just left and he broke.

Feeling overwhelmed, should've told somebody

Fame takes him like a drug addiction, actually it comes with a drug addiction, heroine, cocaine, molly, all of it. In trying to ditch his Hollywood’s sweetheart, good boy image he diverts his life so radically he doesn’t know if he can ever get back to where he was. He loses weight, barely gets by, he doesn’t even understand how he’s still getting booked, but people want him even more now that he’s Hollywood’s bad boy. Meanwhile Mikasa is disgraced now that he’s ‘thrown her away’ even though it was the other way around. Last he heard she lived in a little apartment on the upper east side, leaves only to work, and to fly up to see their families. He hasn’t seen his parents in months, doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to see the look in their eyes when they realize how skinny he’s gotten, how his body lacks muscle, skin barely clinging to bone, gaunt and lifeless.

He needs help, but he’s spiraling, he’s committed and no matter how many times Armin tries to get him into rehab, he never goes. What’s the point Mikasa is gone, he’s not getting her back, all he has now is the money, the drugs, and the women.

Picturin' it's me sending chills through your body

He hears she’s dating Jean now and somehow, he gets worse.

Every fear he’d ever had comes to life and he gets angry, his temper coming back full force. The past few months he’d barely been getting by, not really living, but his rage awakens him. She’d told him no, that they weren’t dating, never so much as kissed outside of work. What a fucking lie.

How many girls he takes home that month he doesn’t know, how many paparazzi photos of women leaving his apartment, how he dreams it’s Mikasa under him, not some rando.

He sees her on the cover of some magazine, walking innocently with Jean and it sends him into even more of a rage, but under it all he wishes it was him, doesn’t matter that they were never official, that it only happened a few times, he wants her back. But Eren’s never been good at navigating his emotions, so he clings to his rage like a lifeline.

I just probably should've chilled 'til I saw you

When they ask about her in interviews, he doesn’t answer. Not until that once, when he lets it slip and he watches Armin wilt in real time from behind the camera as he spits the words, “I think it’s obvious, she’s with Jean now isn’t she, right after she was with me, figure it out yourself.”

The insinuation is lethal, cruel, mean and he knows it’s not true, but he says it anyway. He knows she didn't do it, but still the coincidence hurts too much, the very thought that there might have been something romantic going on with them before makes him want to throw up.

The interviewer looks shocked before he brightens up at the tidbit of information, like a vulture picking apart the last pieces of his heart, massacring it further, but Eren doesn’t mind the pain anymore. It fuels his rage and that’s all he has these days.

How am I supposed to get to know somebody?

When the rage wears off months later and Mikasa has done nothing, no comment on his interviews, no appearances, no angry texts, just silence, he becomes numb. Then the sadness sets in, because losing her romantically isn’t even the worst part, he doesn’t even have his best friend anymore, he’s lost her too.

She’s become a recluse, a hermit, he hasn’t even seen her with Jean on the magazine covers lately. Distantly he knows it’s because their movie is finished filming, and she was probably never dating him in the first place.

He goes to awards shows in hopes of at least catching a glimpse but she’s gone into hiding, there’s rumours she’s back in their hometown, but he’d never visit, not with the disgrace he’s become. He tries to date seriously, tries to talk to other actresses, but it’s all so vacant, disingenuous. All they want him for is his image, there’s nothing real about these women anymore, everything is fake, plastic right down to their boobs. Nothing like Mikasa, who was pure to her core, even in the face of her fame.

If we broke it off then you know it wasn't painless

He'd cried for weeks after she'd ended it, despite it being entirely his fault.

Armin had cancelled all his engagements and Eren hadn't left the apartment, curling himself up on her empty mattress, her room a barren wasteland.

He'd only eaten when Armin forced him too, and only come out of his hibernation after his mother had called to yell, Armin holding the phone right in his ear, the first time he'd spoken to her in forever.

If she got a watch then you know it's not a stainless

He’s got money, but it means nothing. Mikasa has money too, it doesn’t even matter. What has it all been for? He doesn’t even know anymore. All he’s gotten from his acting career is trust issues, more money than he knows what do with and the loss of his best friend and the only girl he’s ever loved.

It’s all a blur now, he acts, he models, he does PR. Armin makes him a schedule and he follows it. They meet with his nutritionist and his personal trainer, and he starts working out again, eating real food, not just smoking, and drinking coffee to supress his appetite.

Armin is the only reason he’s still a functioning human being as Eren hits rock bottom. The only one left to try and push him out.

I was out here fucking fans, I was shameless

He knows he fucked up, it’s why he starts therapy.

The shit he’d done, high off his own fame and arrogance, it’s messed up and he he knows it now. All the girls, all the money and the drugs, ignoring Mikasa’s concerns, dragging her down with him.

He doesn’t blame her now, he knows none of it was fair, she was justified in leaving. They were toxic, their half on, half off relationship, how he'd commit to the drugs but never her.

He can still remember the first time he kissed her, really kissed her, Eren and Mikasa not two characters on screen. It was after their first awards show for their movie, he’d been so excited, so delightfully sober, he couldn’t help himself, she’d been so pretty in her white dress, he’d leaned down before he could stop himself. The first night they’d had sex, her moans, her soft cries of pleasure, nothing had ever measured up since.

It had been bliss, for about a month or so and then they’d really been discovered, and it had all been shot to hell.

All the fans, all the women throwing themselves at him, his eyes couldn’t help but wander despite Mikasa always being the most radiant in the room. He had her love, he’d had everything, but that insidious voice in the back of his head had wondered. Thought the grass was greener on the other side, wanting to explore fame at the same time they’d finally started their relationship.

You was at the crib reading stories that they sent you

They’d kept it casual at Eren’s insistence and Mikasa’s heartbreak, his rock had been willing to allow it for him, for the chance to finally explore their relationship. But he could see how much it hurt her, the tabloids were the worst part, every day a new cover, another apartment he’d leave, another hookup in the parking lot. And he could barely justify it to himself, why he did it, why he continued to do it? He had everything he could ever want in Mikasa, the girl he’d loved since forever, finally in the palm of his hand, willing to give herself wholly to him.

And yet fame had called him more, and the people he was hanging out with only encouraged it, the famous lifestyle, drugs, sex and rock and roll.

Everyone was doing it, so why shouldn’t he?

Most of that was bullshit but some of it I did do

The rumours spiralled out of control after a while, there was nothing he could do, it was over, they had too much on him.

He'd been telling himself lies that maybe she was with Jean on the side, that she had the same opportunities as him, she could go out and sleep around too.

As if Mikasa would ever even consider it.

He’d finally given into being exclusive, seeing the toll it was taking on Mikasa, after Armin smacked him upside the head and told him he was going to lose her if he didn’t get his shit together. Eren had finally realized how irreversibly he was fucking up his relationship, but by then, it had been too late.

When they finally started truly dating, monogamy and all, it had been far, far too late. The backlog of photos the paparazzi had was ridiculous, any opportunity they got to demonize him they took.

He and Mikasa been casual at the time of all the photos, sure, but anyone would buckle under the weight of constant articles about their significant other cheating. Eren became the villain in his own story, and Hollywood loved it, ‘Bad Boy Eren Yeager Ditches Mikasa Ackerman’. He still remembers the headline, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, she’d come home, dropped the offending magazine on the coffee table and hidden in her room for the rest of the night. He’d slept outside her door, and the next morning he’d been woken by her stepping over him to leave, bags packed.

It was sad, they’d never even officially dated to the public, they hadn’t gotten to that point. She’d wanted to reveal it at some awards show by taking him as her date, thanking him in her speech, her boyfriend, Eren Yeager. Overnight the paparazzi had singlehandedly broken them up for shit he hadn’t even done.

He had no one but himself to blame.

Hard for me to justify the women I was into

Looking back, he can’t say why he did it or what the purpose of all the models that looked eerily like her were for. Maybe he was trying to fill the empty space in his heart, maybe he felt neglected by her friendship with Jean and how obvious the man’s feeling for her were, but for one reason or another, he’d slept his way through about half of the Victoria’s Secret fashion show, and award shows were awkward these days. Meeting the eyes of all the talented women he’d hooked up with in such a professional setting was uncomfortable at best.

How many more did he not even remember, to high off drugs and alcohol and his own ego?

Especially when the whole entire world wished they had you

He’d seen it in how Jean looked at her the first time they’d walked the red carpet as promotion for their movie. The tall man was a b-list actor and he’d been invited to the pre-screening, and he’d watched Mikasa the entire night. His gaze wasn’t moved by Eren’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist or his chin resting on her head, nor the possessive hand on her thigh.

They hadn’t even been fooling around back then, but he couldn’t help himself, he didn’t want Jean’s eyes on her. She was also Mikasa Ackerman, and the whole world thought she was just as beautiful and amazing and perfect as he did.

But she was his. His best friend, love of his life, his everything

If only he’d treated her like it.

Probably made you want to hit the streets on everything

She doesn't take him to the awards show the night he comes begging, but she lets him inside her apartment. Lets him help her with her hair, something he's sorely missed. Something he's familiar with, been braiding her hair since they were kids.

He helps her put it up into a beautiful twist.

And when Jean knocks at her door to take her to the awards show he lets her go, kisses her cheek and tells her how much he loves her, how she's going to win it all and he'll be waiting her when she gets back.

And then she leaves, walks away with another man and Eren thinks he deserves it, it's his penance, how many times has she felt this same way, how many women has he been through?

Probably made you want to pour bleach on everything

He discovers not a single remnant of himself in her apartment, no pictures, no clothes she's borrowed. Even his old sweatshirt, her favourite one is gone. Hell, even their award for best-onscreen-kiss is gone.

He finds it all in a crumpled box under her bed and it's his own fault for snooping, their photo crumpled up and misshapen, riddled with water damage. Probably from her tears if he had to guess.

Probably made you want to kill me on everything

She comes home that night and Eren is surprised, he'd expected her to go to Jean's. Hadn't really believed she was going to come back. Had resigned himself to sleeping on the couch and waiting till tomorrow when she'd come home dishevelled and covered in hickeys and bruises, the kind good sex gives you. The kind he'd never really allowed himself to give her.

That's when she'd really broken and he'd been so fucking happy when she'd thrown her purse at him. No more of her her silent rage, her forced smiles. She'd kicked and screamed, cried in his arms only to hit him brutally with a pillow, chasing him to the end of the couch. Hands restraining his wrists, as she curses him out, tears running down her beautiful cheeks sparkling in the moonlight, she's a vengeful goddess and he deserves every second of her wrath.

She collapses on top of him in a heap of sobs and all he can do is hold her, hating himself just as much as he's sure she does.

Yeah, trust, I know that

He wakes the next morning with her weight in his arms, and he holds her like he never wants to let go.

He's lucky she's even here with him right now, that she didn't kick him out on the spot. That she even cares enough to still fight with him. He kisses her forehead softly, he knows.

Yeah I kinda hate this but whatever have angst 🤷🏻‍♀️

[thetaekookcloset]

This ask isnt about taekook, i would just rather not say this on twitter cus twitter armchairs are insane. I dont understand hybe truly. Maybe this is an unpopular opinion but the OT7 agenda hybe enforces on the boys is oppressive. I dont like all the pandering they do. The fact theyre only getting freedom now is sad. This is why working for a company like hybe sucks. They look so much happier these days and i find that extremely telling. Finally, they can openly be around the opposite sex and they actually can do things alone. I have a theory actually. Hybe didnt think bts was gonna get as much popularity, i do think bts success was organic. I think if they didnt get as popular, their career trajectory would have been pretty different. I dont think this whole ot7 agenda wouldve been as heavily enforced on the boys. I find it weird that taehyung has acted in one role in 2016 and never did again… like what was the reason? Is it because he really didnt wanna act or because the company didnt let him? Or the fact jin has an acting degree but never acted?

No worries, Twitter is a mess so I totally feel you, and I’m always down to talk about pretty much any topic on here!

There are a lot of interesting ideas in here.  I can’t say I necessarily agree with all of them -- or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I feel like we don’t have enough information for me to agree or disagree -- but I think you’ve brought up some ideas worth considering for sure.

I think you’re probably right about the fact that Big Hit never thought BTS would get as big as they have, and that they probably have had stricter restrictions on them as a direct result of their popularity.  I imagine that’s true of most idol groups, just because the expectations on them seem to be so high.  Look at the backlash Taehyung got from a lot of different factions of fandom just for attending a party in Paris as part of a work event.  He really didn’t do anything very wild at all, but people were acting like he’d been caught doing cocaine in the middle of an orgy.

I think this is an unfortunate feedback loop, where companies put all these restrictions on their idols to make sure their image stays squeaky clean and inoffensive -- but then the fandom expects that all the time, to a degree that’s absurd.  Jungkook having a whole dating scandal because he hugged a girl in public is wild enough, but the obvious other side to that is -- so what?

So what if he was dating her?  Why should that be a big deal to literally anyone?  It’s all part of this weird relationship that the company, idols, and fans have, where they pretend that the idols are literally that: inhuman idols whose whole lives are lived for their fans, or in other words, to make money off of their fans for their company.  It’s a mess, and it seems like it would be difficult to untangle it at this point.

But it certainly does seem that taking a break from group activities for the moment is giving BTS as individuals a bit more freedom -- or in any case that part of entering into this new chapter, as they call it, is getting to have this new freedom.  I wonder if they didn’t just have a talk with the higher-ups at HYBE to basically say that at this point they’re too big to fail and also they’re almost thirty and need to be able to live their lives as adults.  Whatever it is, I’m glad for them.

As for things like working on outside projects, I imagine we’ll never know why most of them haven’t done much of that, how much came from not being “allowed” versus waning interest versus simply not having the time.

Personally, I suspect that in Taehyung’s case, it’s mostly the latter.  I do think BTS has pretty much always been expected to put the group first.  BTS has always been the top priority, until now, so finding the time to work on other things has always been difficult for them, even when those other things were just their own music projects, let alone something as time-consuming as filming something.

With Jin, I think it’s probably more that his interest in doing other things has waned.  Just based on the way he talks about acting, it sounds like the other members are more invested in him trying it out than he is.  I think he got what he wanted from acting by being an idol, and he doesn’t really have the same drive for it anymore.  It will be interesting to see what he does end up doing.  But that’s just my opinion anyway.

Like I said, anon, you brought up a lot of interesting topics here!  Thank you for sharing your thoughts, and of course I’d love to hear more, from you or anyone else!

[tiny-maus-boots]

Queen of Hearts pt 13

A/N: Always and first thank you to my bestie @chloes-yellow-cup for always doing the thing. and to @kimmania who always gives each chapter a thoughtful review. 

13.  

“Oh, my dear it’s so lovely of you to come to brunch. I was starting to feel a little put off you know. All those invitations you so politely refused. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

Stacie smiled and sipped her cool iced tea to give herself a moment. It was true, she had ignored all of Edith’s requests to have lunch. And yes, she had been avoiding the older woman. It was a matter of self-preservation really. Keeping up the appearance of normality around someone as observant as Edith Roussard-Ford was never easy. She had a keen eye and open ear to everything that happened to the biggest families in society.

“Well…I suppose I can be frank with you. Now…that things are…resolved.”

The old woman across from her nodded encouragement and leaned forward eager for any tidbit she could glean from Stacie. It was necessary even she’d rather not talk about life with Weston. When dealing with Edith you had to give some to get some.

“Of course, my dear. Dreadful business…”

“It was hard to get away…often times my only haven was my work. Weston was…” Stacie trailed off and cleared her throat. It wasn’t acting, the rush of anxiety she experienced just thinking about that time robbed her of speech. “Weston Whitman was a very controlling man. Controlling and more often than not…violent.”

It never got any easier admitting the truth of things but she raised her chin defiantly. Edith’s eyes widened slightly but her surprise was more about Stacie admitting it than the confirmation itself. She waited a beat for the other woman to ask what she knew was coming.

“Oh, dreadful. Just dreadful. And still…you never knew? There wasn’t a hint of suspicion about his true character?”

“Of his character, yes. Of his actual coming and goings and affairs…no. I had no knowledge of those terrible things. I shudder to think of him, under my roof, sleeping next to me self-satisfied with the blood of innocent women on his hands. What a joke I must have been to him with my work at the shelter, helping him keep up the façade unknowingly.”

“To think nothing of the scandal about the money.”

Of course, the money was far more important a topic than her public humiliation and shame. Stacie let her gaze drop demurely. Money was everything in this world, who had it, who needed it, and who stole it…

“I’ll admit Edith, I had some concerns about Weston’s business. He seemed edgy and evasive and he asked me to empty my personal safe…spending cash. Some jewelry. It was nothing that would ever pay back his investors.”

“I heard the federal agents seized everything. It’s a wonder you have a roof over your head, my dear.”

Stacie’s smile was brief and coy. “Much like oil and water, money and love simply do not mix. When you’re a Conrad you learn that at quite a young age.”

Edith leaned back to watch her carefully. Weighing all that she had learned and the earnestness in which Stacie had conveyed it. She could see the respect dawn in Edith’s gaze and when the woman leaned forward again it was with eager confidence.

“You may be a Conrad in name but you are Helene’s daughter in more than appearance. Your father barely had a nickel to his name when she ran off with him. Now there’s a scandal for you!”

It was surprising and Edith laughed gleefully when it showed on her face. She’d been raised her whole life on the presumption that her mother hand done what she had been expected to do. Money marries into money.

“Didn’t know that did you? She might have run off with August but she was no fool. Van der Berg family lawyers ensured he couldn’t take a dime of it.” Interesting. Stacie made a soft thoughtful sound and Edith continued unprompted. “You have to hand it to August. He made a name for himself. All that money is his by right…I suppose.”

Stacie’s brows came up and she tipped her head to the side. “You sound doubtful of that Edith.”

“I wouldn’t dream of speaking ill of your father, dear. I know you’re not close but there are some bonds that can’t be broken. Family bonds. You understand. I wouldn’t want you to have different opinions of your father. He’s done well by your mother.”

It was there, below the surface, begging to brought into the open. Stacie could feel it between them, brewing like a great storm. One little flicker of interest and it would come out. And then things would change forever between Stacie and August Conrad. And with that she was sure the tentative and fragile bridge she and her mother were building.

But if she were really like her mother, Helene would understand why she was doing this. At least that is what she hoped if this all ever came to light. Stacie let out a soft sigh and leaned back. She couldn’t out right ask about it, it had to be done delicately. Edith watched her work through the knowledge that there was something going on that she hadn’t been aware of. It was a careful dance baiting the woman to reveal more than what Stacie herself had given.

“Well, whatever my father is or is not doing, it’s nothing I know about. He and Weston shared that in common.”

“Ah yes. Thick as thieves those two…”

There it was. The hook Edith thought she was dropping in the water. Stacie batted her eyes in mild confusion, ignoring the slightly predatory smile on the old woman’s face. Her lip pouted out just enough to give the impression that she wasn’t making the leap entirely. Stacie smiled inwardly as Edith swallowed her own lure.

“Mind you, I’m not saying August is a thief, he’s merely an opportunist you see. He’s very good at knowing who to know. It’s how he made his fortune through the years. Nothing illegal in it exactly. Most would say it’s a shrewd bit of business.”

“But I don’t see how that could help him benefit from Weston’s…activities. Of course, he knows everyone, he’s a politician.”

“Hm indeed, indeed. Of course, he wouldn’t be involved in any such thing. Strike it from your thoughts, my dear.” The woman brushed a hand over her knuckles, and not for the first time during the conversation. Aubrey probably would have called the tell earlier but Stacie was proud of herself for picking it up now. “In any case I am quite sure Senator Grant and Warren Randall would lean very heavily on your father if they felt he was in any way responsible for Weston stealing their money.”

Stacie’s heart beat double time but she rolled her shoulders casually in a shrug. Jackson Grant and Warren Randall were her father’s closest confidants, present at every family function since as far back as she could remember. Uncle Jack had even gifted her the first horse she had ever owned. They were, in a fashion, family.

“I haven’t seen Uncle Jack in a few years. Not since his son Kodie and I went to Senior Prom together.”

It hadn’t been her choice of date, and the argument that had raged in the Conrad home had lasted three intolerable days, she and her mother butting heads on everything from the color of her dress to the way she wore her hair. Kodie wasn’t a bad guy and truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to go the dance with her any more than she had with them. But it had been arranged years before the event was even due to take place. In the end they both dutifully took their places next to each other for pictures in the foyer before escaping to the limo to get happily drunk on the well-stocked wet bar.

“I had almost forgotten about the blush of young love. I was worried about that boy for a while. You heard they caught him awhile back in a house full of street whores and enough cocaine to give that Tony Montana character a seizure.”

Her brows came up at that. It seemed unlike the boy she had known but people changed and it took more strength to keep from breaking under the family pressure than perhaps Kodie had. She let her curiosity at the topic glimmer to the surface.

“A house full of…he was the perfect gentleman at prom. I can hardly imagine that scene.”

“Who can say what’s gotten into that young man. If Jackson hadn’t gotten him a job at the Port of Los Angeles, he’d probably be in an out of rehab facilities I imagine.”

She could tell by the way Edith waved a hand dismissively that Kodie wasn’t worth the energy to think on. Stacie lifted a shoulder casually giving it the appropriate gesture of disinterest that was expected. There wasn’t much more to gain from digging further. Eventually Edith would wonder why she was so eager to gossip about the families. It was better to go on to something everyone knew.

“Speaking of rehab, did you know Tristaan has a new line coming out now that he’s clean and sober? He plans to call it Clarity. I saw a sneak peek of some of the pieces and they are just gorgeous. You’d just adore the mother of pearl pin collection…”

The conversation shifted easily and she spent another hour enjoying the afternoon with Edith. She kept the tone of their topics light but her mind was turning over the information she’d gleaned. Stacie was willing to bet even money that Uncle Jack and Warren Randall were in on whatever Weston was into. Whatever business they had together scared Weston, enough to demand she empty her safe, liquidate assets…it was big. Big enough to ignore Weston’s predilection to torturing and murdering women. Stacie knew there was a bigger play on the table, she could feel it even if she couldn’t see it yet. They needed more information and she knew just which card to play. She waved one last time to Edith as she slid into the backseat of the SUV.

“Home?”

She gave Happy a distracted nod that the blonde smiled at before turning to put the car in gear. “Who do we know in drugs?”

Happy’s bright eyes cut to her quickly in the rearview mirror with curiosity. She was weighing the request to see if Stacie was joking or not. After a second she gave a delicate grunt and focused on the road.

“Depends on how much of what you’re looking for.”

“Enough cocaine to make Tony Montana have a seizure.”

This time the eyes panned up in a slow disbelieving arc. Stacie smiled widely and gestured to the street to remind the other woman to keep her focus where it needed to be.

“We might know a guy…”

“Good. Aubrey’s going to want to talk to him.”

“I’ll make it happen, boss.”