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Ok so imagine being in a secret relationship with the man himself…
Like the two of you HATE each other’s guts in public. As a rival film producer, the public loves to pit your films against each other, and the two of you as well apparently. There have been so many instances of you making small digs and sly remarks toward each other during interviews that it’s become somewhat expected by now. You have a gripe with the pacing of his films and his fame. He has a bone to pick with your cinematography.
“That manic director’s most recent film? I would give my thoughts, but unfortunately I fell asleep not even halfway through.”
“That uninspired, dreadfully dull and artistically lacking director? All their films look the same. I couldn’t differentiate them even if I wanted to.”
No matter how critically acclaimed your work is, he always has something to say about it.
Even if it was in the back of an alley with his hands gripping your hips tightly and teeth nipping at your neck.
"It took until a quarter of the way through the movie before- hah- your cinematography finally showed some signs of thought put into the shots. I know you can do better than this. So why- mmph- did it take you so long?"
You angrily nip on his bottom lip. A flash of satisfaction runs through you when you hear him hiss and taste blood on the tip of your tongue.
“Like you’re one to talk with the horrendous pacing of your newest film! Tell me, what was the plot of it again? Because I- mmm!?- already forgot the direction it was supposed to be taking twenty minutes in!”
"Well, you just simply lack reading comprehension. Not my fault, of course.”
“Oh, you little piece of-!”
He shuts you up with a rough and messy kiss. Your legs immediately go jelly and were it not for his leg slotted between yours and pushing you up against the wall, you think you would’ve collapsed right there and then.
When he pulls away, your lips are glossy and swollen. There’s a dazed look in your eyes that makes him smirk in satisfaction and without any hesitation, he pulls out his camera to take a few shots.
“Yes, yes, wonderful! That expression really suits you!”
Anger looks good on you, but he much rather prefers this expression.
He leans in for another kiss and because you can’t say no to him, you indulge him- until you hear footsteps nearby. You hurriedly clamp your hand over his mouth and wait until they’re gone before glaring at him.
“Stop running your mouth so much in public! You’ll give us away at this point!”
“Then stop being so loud,” he hisses back, though he’s in no better state than you, his-already-disheveled hair an absolute mess now from you gripping it. His flushed face is littered with lipstick marks and you can’t resist the temptation to add a few more.
“Cheeky, aren’t you?” he huffs out as you place a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. A soft kiss to his eyelid makes his eyes flutter shut and an affectionate sigh escape him. He smells of the chemicals used to develop film and strong coffee…
Then there’s a gasp and the undeniable sound of a camera shutter going off. Caught red handed.
You pull apart from him with a surprised gasp and expression. Strangely, he doesn’t look fazed at all. Still as smug as ever.
You whirl around to see an equally-shocked photographer standing there. Paparazzi, from the looks of it. He was probably going around and looking for some potential shots before accidentally stumbling upon something that would make front-page headlines. When you look back at him, then at the photographer, there’s even more people now snapping away at the two of you in a compromising position.
With the damage already done, you try to leave before he stops you. His jacket resting on your shoulders dwarfs your smaller frame and he yanks on the film strip belt to reel you back in. The crowd of photographers has doubled now, murmuring excitedly to themselves.
“Wh- let go! The paparazzi are having a field day-!”
He silences you with a swift kiss and a pinch to the inner thigh. The cameras flash even more rapidly now.
“Let them see for all I care.”