The Chosen One// Adam Driver, Robert Pattinson Fanfic (SMUT)

Two drinks too many...

After stopping at home and changing into my little black dress, I decided to meet the girls for some drinks at Sloppy Shots, Poppy's place. Even though Adam seemed to like my answers for the screening, I still felt I some how missed the mark. I didn't know whether it was my dress or my timing, but Joan Theeves sure as hell did not want me in that production.

By nightfall, the cold clouds had swarmed the Brooklyn sky, covering the moon. The street lights provided just enough light to walk around, but not enough to feel safe from an attack. Luckily, the bar was only a few blocks from the apartment, so I didn't have to take a sketchy cab.

Joan's little speech, or intimidation tactic, kept replaying in my head like a broken record. I had one bad day and she was willing to permanently suspend my career. If I didn't get the part, I'm sure Joan would have something to do with it. I just hoped her word wasn't the last on who to cast as Tessa. It would be heart breaking to know an industry snob stopped the progression of the movie industry's diversity, and my career for that matter.

The bouncers outside Sloppy Shots let me cut the line and slip in. The bar was hopping, and so was the dance floor. The large wooden staircase was a mess to walk down in my fake heels. At any second I felt like the back of my shoe would fly right off. I scanned the crowd to find three terrible dancers waiting for me on the dance floor. I recognized Penelope immediately from her incredible height over everyone else. If it weren't for her, the other girls, Zoe and Fredrika, would have just faded into the crowd.

Zoe was a third year at NYU, studying to be the next Timothee Chalamet. Her and I didn't quite get along. She preferred foreign films and the art of indie films. She called dramas and romances  'wastes of time' filled with 'mediocre actors'. It wouldn't have offended me, however, she knew I was studying romances specifically, and wanted to hurt me by making the statement.

Fedrika on the other hand, was extremely down to earth. She was an independent artist from Germany who loved the female body. She made sculptures, paintings, and even wrote about the female anatomy. Funny thing is: she's a nun. She's a thirty year old nun who shames Penelope for her sex life, and damns gays to hell. Penelope and I are making bets on when Fredrika would leave the Cloistered life to marry one of her sisters. Even with the underlying homophobia, Fredrika took care of us all, and was always forgiving of our "sins".

I found the girls in the middle of the dance floor and joined them dancing to The Weeknds new song. We had fun for a little bit. Zoe and I got along, only because she was a few shots in, and I didn't have to make small talk with her in the mean time. Men grinned and made eye contact with me. I flirted back, knowing full well what I was getting myself into. All I wanted was an overnight cure for a chronic problem: loneliness. Occasionally Fredrika would notice and try to move in-between me and the other men.

"Hey, Penelope," I yelled over the blaring music. "I'm gonna head to the bar for a drink."

She nodded, but I knew she had no fucking clue what I was saying. I walked away, pushing through all the outliers on the rim of the dance floor. One man, a man who I had not given my attention to, slapped my ass as I passed by.

Let me clarify something. Flirty eye gestures and the occasional grinding, is NOT the same as an ass slap or grab, or on any part of the body for that matter. Its violent and sudden. I hated it when men thought it was ok to push my boundaries to the point of a nonconsensual grope. In my head, it was soooo completely different from other types of flirting.

I whipped my head around, ready to beat the shit out of the bald headed loser.

"Hey," I screamed. "What the hell do you think you're doing."

The guy scoffed and ran a hand through what little hair he had left.

"Who do you think you are sweetheart? Do you know who I am?" His accent was thick like the smell of cigar that surrounded him and his posse.