dni: minors, racists, zionists, xenophobes and homophobes - mostly importantly NO magas allowed!!!!
i do not use ai nor do i support the use of ai, ever!!!!
.☘︎ ݁˖ my requests & asks are open. my rules are linked here .☘︎ ݁˖
.☘︎ ݁˖ just know that most of what i write is for black readers, but anyone can read. also most of my works are not suitable for minors so i really mean it when i say minors dni. another thing, if you don't like what i post, don't complain in my inbox. just block me and move on, it takes less time to block me instead of typing in an anonymous ask. i do not have time for mean or entitled people when i'm genuinely such a nice person and i do not deserve any hate. if it continues, i will close my inbox and i'd hate to do that to everyone else who's actually been so kind to me.☘︎ ݁˖
.☘︎ ݁˖ if you would like to tip me through my ko-fi or buy me a coffee, i have them both linked at the bottom of this post!! i'd appreciate it a lot if you did, but obviously it is not required of you to do so .☘︎ ݁˖
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hiii everyone!! should i make a post of some of the works in progress i have in my drafts? i have quite a few and i lowkey need motivation to finish them, so please let me know. 😊
the beyhive in me is wanting to write more headcanons on which beyoncé songs i think the pitt characters are, similar to the jack abbot is bodyguard ones i wrote 😩
✦ introducing: (fem) harley quinn!reader for the pitt (dc au).
the only girl who can put the fun in funeral— and dysfunction, too! (re)licensed psychologist. overly long and sappy nicknames. tons of laughter. abuses the abbreviation “LOL”. animal lover. lady gaga mega fan. never dressed without a smile (and heavy mascara). funky, cool shades. britta perry & juliette starling inspo. professional ragebaiter. loves dramatics.
harley quinn!reader!
harley quinn!reader who’s on her own rocky path to redemption and healing after years of dealing with her toxic ex, the joker. she’s doing her own thing now, oftentimes working along forces of good (such as batman!jack abbot) to help protect her hometown rather than hurt it. every now and then she strays, of course; morality can get messy, and she’s never been one to shy away from doing dirty deeds for a good cause. still, she tries her best to stay good, nowadays.
harley quinn!reader whose love for animals cannot be understated. make no mistake, human lives always come first, but she loves animals— all animals. if it were up to her, her house would be a zoo with hyenas lounging around and llamas in the backyard and snakes slithering in her bedroom while she sleeps. owning a dog is a fine start, though. she’s named him larry, after one of the three stooges.
harley quinn!reader who’s always cracking jokes, especially in inappropriate situations. when her nerves are frazzled, her comedy skills skyrocket, she swears! it’s not her fault, honest! she’s always had a loose tongue and well, with brains like hers, you’re bound to be at least a little funny. it’s only natural that she’s a bit of a smart-ass!
harley quinn!reader who’s dating both batman!jack abbot and poison ivy!baran al-hashimi. yes, it is as messy as you’re imagining and no, she’s not giving it up any time soon. ultimately, baran respects her growth as a person, although she’s currently unwilling to stop her own eco-terroristic crimes. jack inspires her to do better everyday, and their civilian identities are even married on paper. the relationship is work with its own ups and downs, naturally, but harley quinn!reader is willing to put in the effort and so are her partners.
harley quinn!reader who worked as a psychologist, went a little (lot) crazy, and now is relicensed, although she doesn’t necessarily need to work for a living anymore. her civilian identity is married publicly to jack abbot, the billionaire and former playboy; it’s always a shock for people interviewing her when they hear how smart she actually is even with her eccentricities. she probably does more pop-psychology, now, making videos for people to help them find ways to regulate and advocating for mental health.
harley quinn!reader whose main method of mayhem is explosives. they’re so dramatic, she loves them! explosives, accompanied by her oversized mallet, her fists, and, if she wants to get things over with, her modified revolver. her dream weapon in a cartoon universe would probably be a chainsaw, but that’s much too gruesome for real life— again, she’s a good guy, now!
harley quinn!reader who, if she didn’t go into psychology, probably would’ve became a makeup artist. two totally different fields, but she’s just that kind of girl. it’s just something she’s always been drawn to, trying on makeup and figuring out different looks. the fascination was much more subdued when she was practicing psychology before the joker, tempered by a desire for professionalism, but it’s grown since she’s left him.
harley quinn!reader who still struggles to walk in heels from time to time. her professional heels are all on the shorter side, much more manageable. all the long heels people want her to wear when she’s next to jack at special galas and events? she’s more confident than she should be, always agreeing to them only to grow sheepish when she stumbles and has to cling tight to his arm to upright herself. abbot finds it endearing, though.
harley quinn!reader who pulls at her hair when she’s truly stressed or anxious, curling strands around her finger and tugging lightly. if she’s wearing pigtails, she’s holding onto them, using the familiar texture of hair against her fingertips to try and comfort herself. it’s a grounding habit, but not a particularly good one. she keeps pulling hair out accidentally, tugging too hard.
harley quinn!reader who’s just as much a vixen as she is a manic pixie dream girl. she cleans up real nice, knows her best angles, how to highlight all her favorite features; she can be a seductress when she wants to be. she jokes that she’s “giving other girls a chance” by not dressing to kill all the time.
harley quinn!reader who goes through low, depressive episodes more often than she’d care to admit. knowing how to get better doesn’t always help in actually getting better, and life’s not all sunshine and rainbows, anyways. she’ll spend days home-ridden, stuck there because she can’t bring herself to do much more than the basics, if that. she just gets this sinking feeling that she hasn’t done enough, that she’s not good enough, that her past has left her impure. of course, she’s wrong, and her boyfriend and girlfriend are quick to comfort her and remind her of such.
✦ this reader is: open to requests & paired with poison ivy!al-hashimi, batman!jack abbot, and potentially others in my dc/pitt-verse / works can be found under #harley quinn!reader ✦ the pitt!
tbh i only ever think of her with baran & jack but i left it open just in case i want to explore other dynamics (possibly whoever becomes wonder woman in my dc/pitt-verse). anyways, she's so darling and so fun! + here's my current masterlist!
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Titus doesn't care. You could drain him dry of everything he owns, and he wouldn't lift a finger to stop you.
Not when you complete him so thoroughly.
His chambers have become a shrine to you. Clothes scattered everywhere - expensive silk he buys in spades, and shoes that cost more than some people make in a year.
"They just don't understand us, my love," You hum, voice low in Titus' ear as you rub his back. As a man of a certain age - he often has to wait between rounds. With you, he can feel himself hardening again already, though you're only just finished.
He's utterly insatiable, and you're the only one who can quell it. "Ursula hates that I'm finally happy."
When you speak again, it's almost a purr in his ear. "Maybe we should get rid of her."
Summary - Titus insists he doesn’t like physical affection… until you accidentally discover his one very specific weakness.
Word count - 904
Welcome to another one of my silly little rambles about the old men I’m obsessed with. Hope you enjoy what my brain comes up with at 2am!!
Thinking about Titus Danforth pretending he doesn’t like physical affection at the start of your marriage.
He’ll tolerate it. He’ll let you hold his hand if you reach for him first, won’t complain when you curl up against his side in bed, but he never asks for it. If you tease him about it he just gives you that little shrug and mutters something about not needing all that “clingy fuckin’ shit.”
Until one day.
He’s sat at his desk buried in paperwork, brows pinched together while he tries to concentrate. You’re wandering around the room doing your own thing before eventually ending up behind his chair. Without even thinking about it, you rest a hand on his shoulder and start lightly scratching at the hairline on the back of his neck.
And he just… stops.
His pen hovers over the paper, frozen halfway through writing. His shoulders, usually so tense they could snap, slowly drop beneath your fingertips. He lets out the quietest breath, almost like he didn’t realise he’d been holding it.
You don’t even notice at first. you’re just absentmindedly running your nails over the back of his neck while looking out the window.
“You done?” You ask after a minute when you realise he hasn’t written anything.
He blinks once, then looks down at the same word he’s apparently been staring at for the last thirty seconds.
“What?”
You laugh and twist your fingers through the greying curls on the back if his head. “you’ve been on the same page since I started.”
He grumbles something under his breath that you can’t quite make out before trying to get back to work. Except every time your fingers stop moving and his shoulders tense again.
After a few painfully silent seconds he clears his throat and tilts his head a little. You just grin because titus danforth—the man who swore he didn’t need affection—is asking for neck scratches without actually asking for neck scratches.
Of course, the second you realise what’s happening, you’re unbearable. Your hand stays still against the back of his neck and you feel his shoulders tense beneath your palm.
“That’s cute.” You say, having to bite back a laugh.
He waits for you to continue, so do you. The room falls quiet apart from the ticking of the clock on the wall.
“What’s cute?” he finally mutters, still pretending to read the same line for the fifth time.
“Oh, nothing.”
You start to pull your hand away and his hand shoots up faster than you think a man his size should be capable of moving, wrapping around your wrist before you can step back.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself smiling.
“Don’t start with this shit.” His jaw flexes and his grip on you tighten for half a second.
“Start what?”
He finally turns in his chair to glare up at you. Except it isn’t much of a glare, not when you can see the pink creeping up the tips of his ears.
“You’re bein’ a pain.”
You gasp dramatically before gently slipping your wrist free and folding your arms across your chest. “If you want me to keep playing with your hair, you’ve gotta ask.”
His eyebrows pull together like you’ve just asked him to perform public humiliation.
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay.” You shrug and take a rather large step back. “Then I guess I’m done.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Titus calls your name and grip his pen so tight you think it’ll snap. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?” You glance back over your shoulder with the sweetest smile you can manage.
He looks genuinely pained, like this is somehow worse than every bloody thing he’s done in his life.
“Woman.”
You just wait, arms still folded over your chest and foot tapping against the perfectly polished hardwood floor. For one moment you think he might grumble under his breath and shoo you away. That is until his head drops and his lips part just a fraction.
“Please.”
“Sorry?” you cup a hand around your ear and lean in. “What was that, dearest?”
His eyes squeeze shut as he tips his head back against the rough leather of his chair.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please…” He pauses and lets out the most exhausted sigh you’ve ever heard. “Play with my hair.”
You can’t help it, you coo at him—actually coo.
“Oh, my sweetheart. You just want some affection, huh?”
“Don’t.” His eyes fly open and he sends you a halfhearted glare.
“My poor grumpy husband.”
“I’m serious.”
“Look at you asking so nicely.”
“If a single soul hears about this, I swear to Mr. Le Bail himself, you’re fuckin’ done.” He points a finger at you with all the authority in the world, even if it’s an empty threat.
You only laugh as you wander back over to him, slipping your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck again. The effect is immediate, his head tips back into your touch before he can stop himself. His eyes flutter shut, his shoulders melt, and the grumpy muttering dies on his tongue.
“That’s it,” he grumbles, though it comes out far softer than he’d ever admit. “Keep goin’, honey.”
You smile to yourself because apparently the quickest way to tame the terrifying Titus Danforth, is with a few gentle scratches to the back of his head.
obsessed loser Titus Danforth who's been stalking you, a pretty young bachelorette from a lesser family, for months now. enraptured by your beautiful looks as much as he is by your haughty, unholier than thou, demeanor.
your ice-queen self won't even look at him beyond forced tight-lipped smiles and condescending glares. because, yes, he's devastatingly handsome and of better rank in your little satanic circle but he's so....annoying. awkward. peculiar even for a cultist. he downright pesters you at every event you two unfortunately meet at, attracted to you like a magnet despite your rudeness as he attempts to make small talk that you inevitably shoot down by ridiculing him.
one time he brought you the sacrifice's still beating heart and presented it like an otter with the perfect pebble, looking adorably confused when you rejected the slimy, bloodied organ with little more than a huff
and maybe he is a bit endearing, hoofing it to your general direction like a loyal hound at every soiree, gala dinner, and satanic mass. giving you his undivided attention any time you're bored and feel like playing with him through less than innocent touches and coy teasing, delighted by the way he stammers broken flirtations back only for you to disappear moments after.
he'd even taken to leaving increasingly expensive and extravagant gifts at your doorstep that you're quickly running out of space for despite your staunch ignoring. endless flowers, jewelry, clothes, a custom crossbow with his name carved in the handle, a new mare topped with a hermes saddle, a hunting dog... quite honestly the list is almost endless.
but it still doesn't make up for him shooing away any other suitable bachelors that have approached you, ones that you were actually interested in no less! to top it all off, the poor souls that were brave enough to keep buzzing around have been mysteriously dropping like flies...though Titus denies any involvement, obviously. bastard.
you'll come around, Titus knows you will. he has high hopes for the both of you after all. ones that include you as the new mrs Danforth and his heir in your belly, Satan willing.
it doesn't bother him that you sneer at him across your own engagement dinner, knife stabbing into your steak as though imagining it was his neck instead. any other in your place would have been perfectly content while you seethed that this oaf outsmarted you.
he'd been nothing short of elated hearing of your father's acceptance of his marriage proposal from Chester. you, on the other hand, had been furious at your darling papa breaking the news of your impending nuptials by telling you that Titus Danforth was your best option. an honor really that he'd personally asked for your hand at all after everyone else mysteriously abandoned you. the sleazeball. the irritating, persistent, handsome cunt had won your little game of cat and mouse from right under your nose.
"You'll make a lovely Danforth wife," Titus heavily breathes out, all triumphant smiles while you glare bloody murder at him over your meal. "I'm sure we can work on our...relationship. in time."
Ursula chokes in her wine next to him. Titus has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed at his own delusions. your eye twitches.
"oh i'm sure we'll be perfectly happy. the perfect couple." you spit out in return, your tone pure venom. your fork stabs the back of his hand, crimson red droplets blooming as Titus gasps. his fucking cheeks redden instead of him recoiling like the normal individual he isn't. Your fiancé lets out a groan of what is surely sexual pleasure before his tongue laps at the bleeding wound.
"I know," Titus sighs, looking more lovesick than ever when you were aiming for horrified. "I can't wait."
Lucifer help you, it was going to be a long, long life married to this freak. at least his looks made up for it.
the beyhive in me is wanting to write more headcanons on which beyoncé songs i think the pitt characters are, similar to the jack abbot is bodyguard ones i wrote 😩
here's a little preview of something i'm currently working on for baran al-hashimi🫶🏽
Your relationship with Baran was complicated. Before you got involved with her, you were just two coworkers who looked at each other across the room, who not-so-subtly flirted whenever you worked cases together, who everyone else swore needed to get a room. It was easier for you then, when it was just lingering eye contact, giggling at each other’s jokes, and your shoulders brushing against each other’s in the hallway. Stolen glances and light flirting went on for weeks until she leaned over the nurse’s station, hovering over you as you were charting, her lips curved into a smirk as she asked you to go out for drinks after work.
That night the two of you slept together, and the next morning you woke up feeling the best you ever felt, but Baran quickly shot that down. She was quick to make it clear that what happened between the two of you the night before was just a casual hookup and that she wasn’t looking for anything serious. You lied, saying understood how she felt and agreed to keep things casual.
The first month of your arrangement with Baran was fun, almost too much fun. She was an amazing lover and a great friend outside of hooking up, but there was a downside, Baran was naturally flirty. At first, it bothered you when she flirted with other people around you. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself that it didn’t matter, but jealousy gnawed at you. Your heart ached seeing her flirt with coworkers because you kept thinking about how easy it was for her to lure you into her bed, and how one day she might get bored and leave you for someone else, or worse, another coworker. Still, you chose to ignore how you felt because you didn’t have the energy to care that much over a casual hookup, but whenever you noticed her attention drifting to someone new, that jealousy you kept trying to ignore crept back in.
You liked what you had with Baran, maybe more than you should have, so you took everything she did on the chin, reminding yourself that it wasn’t your place to be upset with her because she wasn’t your girlfriend, just your casual hookup. Eventually, you grew tired of keeping yourself closed off to her, so you put yourself back out there, not thinking much of it.
One day, you were working a case with Baran. She stepped away for a moment to help another resident while you were talking with a patient’s sister, who’d been flirting with you the entire time. You knew it was unprofessional, knew that you should have put a stop to it, but you chose to flirt back. How could you not? She was a beautiful woman, and she was laying it on thick, making it very clear that she wanted you. You allowed yourself to be showered by compliments from the woman, and let yourself smile and giggle a little too much.
Baran’s ears perked up when she heard you giggling from across the ED, distracting her attention from the doctor in front of her onto you, giggling with someone else. She told herself that it wasn’t a big deal, that you were just being nice, but she knew that giggle, and how it led to the situation between you and her. That giggle meant you were flirting, and you were flirting hard.
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samira mohan x fem!reader // dana evans x fem!reader // parker ellis x fem!reader // mel king x fem!reader // victoria javadi x fem!reader // baran al-hashimi x fem!reader // emma nolan x fem!reader // trinity santos x fem!reader
NSFW! MDNI! lots of pictures, both sfw and nsfw, vacation fluff, beach episode (literal), mentions of nude pictures, semi-public sex, drinking, fingering, oral sex etc.
✴︎ samira mohan
sfw:
samira has a digicam that she likes to bring around for every occasion. she takes pictures of you, when you least expect it. sitting by the sea, laying under the sun, swimming in the water, at dinner sipping your drink. it took a long time to convince her and pry it away from her hands to take pictures of her.
samira is the type to want to try every tourist attraction all the while trying to avoid getting scammed. which is, pretty hard you see, so she does her search before the trip to try out exciting stuff. not just the food and the popular cites. and she's so professional at the research with the restaurants as well, almost always the places are filled with locals and minimal tourists.
samira who loves fruit and just wants to try every single local one because she believes "only summer fruits are worth it"
nsfw:
samira’s digicam also comes to good use in bed… she snaps a picture when you're utterly spent, in bed, laying in a pool of sweat. or short videos of you kissing her, under her, touching her. samira absolutely cherishes them afterwards and during the whole of your visit.
sloppy and slow morning kisses with grumpy holiday samira who claims she can't wake up before 10am during vacation (though her body doesn't allow her that luxury due to working at the e.r.) and you tell her she can go back to sleep, you just want to kiss her. just languid kisses that turn into samira's restless hands all over your body and the both of you fully naked and awake. samira making you come three times before midday and leaving the bed for a shower to which you join her
✴︎ dana evans
sfw:
always always taking pictures of you with that old lady camera angle she has because you look so pretty,, "twirl in that skirt for me princess" "god, you look so pretty like this" "wait i need to get a picture of you here as well baby"
dana is one of those people who would totally go to like all-inclusive resorts with the spa treatments and turkish baths etc. she would not be leaving without using her massage package to the last brim
dana probably wouldn't want to leave the hotel much, booking the all-inclusive for a reason,, because she's on her feet all the time and she wants a place she can just relax with her pretty girlfriend with a pool nearby, tasteful meals and a bar just under your feet. if you leave it's because you want to see some place nearby and she just can't say no to you.
nsfw:
i already said she looves taking pictures of you, that persists in bed as well. angling her phone, trying to get the right shot while you just pose for her in the way she likes, "just a bit to the right sweet girl, spread those legs mmhhhmm." "almost there princess, look at how wet you are oh my god"
another, very innocent, reason why dana doesn't want to leave the hotel for long is because this way she can have you whenever she wants to,, unlike at home, and even the prospect of just being able to go up to your room whenever and have sex is enough to drive her dizzy. so occasionally, she will lean into your ear and whisper, "go upstairs and wait for me sweetheart, and if you touch yourself i'll know." and she waves you off on your way with a small slap at your back
✴︎ baran al-hashimi
sfw:
baran who still goes on her morning runs even during vacation only to come back all sweaty and sexy at 7:30 in the morning. and she makes sure not to wake you up, claiming you need the rest on vacation but she just can't help herself and has to kiss you when you're lying so peacefully still when she arrives back.
she finds restaurants and takes you to try local foods you've never even heard of,, engages with the servers and learns what's in every dish she enjoys. tries to get the recipe so she can make it for you later at home. it's just so precious :((
baran is also just so friendly with the locals it's unnerving. she has an ear for language as it is and she will be befriending lots of local shop owners and getting you discounts, learning each of their names and giving her promises to visit again.
nsfw:
in the shower, on the bed, out on the balcony, after her morning run, sweaty, panting, splayed out, on the sheets, all fours, with the strap, head between legs, in the bathtub, out at the club, late at night, early in the morning, quickie before lunch, long, and passionate after lunch, whenever, wherever this woman will take! advantage! of! that! vacation!
you leave your panties by her nightstand because you wanted to have sex and she's going to be using that against you.. baran stealing your panties under your dress in some pub you're at, keeping them in her bra. or her making you leave without any on so she can tease you under the table of the hotel's bar. tearing a few apart, "i'll buy you new ones princess", sniffing them before stuffing them into her pockets, eating you out over them on the hotel bed. she is just to teasing until you're begging for her to just let you come
✴︎ parker ellis
sfw:
i know the bouncer will get bored of seeing parker and you come in every night once you find a place you both enjoy. in my head she knows where to find good clubs everywhere and is an expert at finding out their best signature cocktails
parker is the type to book those luxurious yacht trips with a few friends and just have the whole sea (and you) just to herself for a few days. like i bet she even has a licence to drive the damn thing. and the whole few days would just go by with delicious food, amazing cocktails and very good sex down at the suit in general.
also i think zoos? like those huge zoos that put humans in cages to see the animals and parker would totally love to spend time in the nature,, that includes visiting the city floral parks and just having a cute little nature day
nsfw:
one thing parker also loves about clubs is how she gets to have you in the bathroom stalls. your back to the restroom door, parker's hand working with intent between your thighs, one leg hooked behind her back as she makes you come at least once before leaving
and the follow-up at the hotel is even more delicious.. "you liked how i did that, huh baby? how anybody could hear you any moment, could just come right in when you were at my mercy?" and she would get so worked up over it as well,, putting her words to good use, making you ride her face because it makes her super horny. you going down on her and she almost immediately comes the moment your mouth is on her due to all the foreplay she got.
✴︎ trinity santos
sfw:
i know the breakfast buffet hates to see trinity coming by. she would totally get huge servings of everything she likes, and even more from the dessert aisle. when you ask why she simply says, her mouth still partially full from pancakes, “i never get to have proper breakfast in pittsburgh anyway. plus didn't we pay for it? this is my lunch as well."
she makes an extremely long and comprehensive car ride playlist that's probably longer than the entire trip but it doesn't matter as long as there isn't a minute without good music in the car.
trinity takes small silly videos of you everywhere, out on the street, sleeping at the hotel, looking at a statue, swimming at the beach and she makes a small collage video of them back at home. you keep asking her why she's not taking pictures instead the first time you're on vacation and she just says it's a secret. not giving it away until she sends you a google drive link a week after you're back home
nsfw:
trinity who gets insatiable once she gets very slightly drunk and just gets super bratty to leave the bar and go back to the hotel,, trinity who can't keep her hands off of you once in the room and makes sure you're louder than back home because she can't get a noise complaint here. "common baby let me hear you. worst case scenario we'll get blacklisted from here." and you stay true to her words, moaning her name till your throat is sore from it
movie night back at the hotel but trinity doesn't even want to watch the movie, she wants to make you feel good. small, innocent touches under your shirt and tiny pecks at your neck turning into bites and straddling your lap. when you tell her "you're so annoying" in that breathy voice she responds with the usual sass, "yeah i'm sure i am," her hand slipping under you underwear, "is that why you're so wet or?" you have to shush her with a kiss
✴︎ victoria javadi
sfw:
victoria makes like those small trip photo albums from everywhere she goes so there will be a lot of photographing involved. both you, herself, the stuff you eat, places you visit, cute little bug she spots, etc.
she is always updated on the latest trends and just loves recreating those stuff w you. "common baby, just this once i swear we can go eat at that place you liked the other day. for me, please?" and how can you deny those huge doe eyes?
victoria who brings a huge suitcase filled with different clothes for every hour of the day for a 3 day long vacation. and you can't even complain because she looks so pretty in all of them.. she is also very big on trading jewelry during vacation (or just in general)
nsfw:
you take one spicy photo of yourself with her phone saying "i'll stick this at the cover of that album" and she's done for. everytime she opens her gallery during the vacation she's thinking of it. "we should take more of those." she tells you one night and you're quick to follow up. taking selfies of yourself laying between her breasts, looking up with your chin to her chest. or one where you're biting into her skin, just below her neck. a very short video after you propped the phone by the nightstand of you sucking her nipples and victoria stopping it cus she's too shy.
victoria who innocently calls you over to the room saying she needs help zipping up her dress when you're downstairs getting reservations for the night,, but in reality she's trying on some new lingerie she got for this and wants you to see it. so when she opens the door, in the matching bra and underwear you're already drooling.. she gives you a small show first, making you sit down on the bed and walking down the small way up to you. straddling your lap and kissing you senseless.
✴︎ emma nolan
sfw:
emma would bring like 5 different books for a week long holiday and literally finish one in a day, leading both of you to search for a bookstore and something for her to just read while sunbathing. she just loves spending time at the beach and just read!!
talk about historical sight-seeing and my girl is there!! from popular tourist attractions to niche antique theaters not even the romans heard of,, she loves to do research beforehand and to just talk your ear off the whole ride there. one time she even tried to correct a tour guide and you had to get between her and the poor lady
picnic date on those huge city parks with emma!! you tell her it's fine, you're on vacation and you should just gt some pizza and sit down somewhere you find fit. but she just buys all the snacks neither of you have seen before, different fizzy drinks and even a cute picnic blanket :((
nsfw:
emma who gets super shy when you're dancing at a club or a pub or wherever,, and she gets insanely horny when you make her dance very close, her back to your chest and when your hands graze her skirt she's just begging to get back to the hotel. emma who almost comes with your thigh between her legs in the elevator because she's so worked up
she loves spending time back at the hotel as well. like just laying in bed together and emma who is just so good with her tongue,, going down on you because she just can, here, now. and she spends almost hours between your legs, you spread out on the sheets. she tells you to read one of her books, or pretend you are at least because it makes her even more turned on when she can suck on your clit while you're acting like you're ignoring her.. and this goes on for a long time, her edging you, just with her tongue, usually slow, easy movements until you can't take it for longer. pulling her up and paying her back just the way she likes
✴︎ mel king
sfw:
i think mel doesn't really like the seaside much, not enjoying the sand nor the sun. she would definitely go for the mountains and natural sight-seeing rather than the beach trip.
and mel just loves loves loves the nature so much!! she knows the name of every single butterfly or the weird bugs you spot along the way. she almost gets too excited when you spot a baby deer on your hike one morning and scare it off. thankfully, she is able to take a picture of it before the animal hops away on it's way.
if you're staying at a bungalow or a mountain hotel she found that you're sure came straight from the shining, mel would totally tell horror stories about people who got lost in the woods etc.
nsfw:
the good part about the horror stories though is the comfort she offers afterwards. she makes sure to add a few unnecessary details that makes you cling onto her even further and she just comforts you with kisses and soft touches that turn into something way less appropriate along the way. "shhh, it's okay babe. nothing's out to get you, you know." as she is literally buried deep inside.
other than that she doesn't scare you off. like when she does, there always is some ulterior motive there. but she would totally love to have you without the scary stories. very very sweet kisses as the rain platters out the window. completely using the prospect of being up in a mountain to her advantage, making you shout and moan as loud as you want. her breath would get raspy and all breathy in the morning due to all that action.
i truly am milking my (now over) vacation with this one. the people had decided for nsfw but i also wanted sfw so here it is, enjoy :p
inspired by the first time ever i saw your face by roberta flack
the first time ever i saw your face
the first time baran ever laid her eyes on you, she was completely enamored with you.
you met her in the grocery store, when you both reached for the last bag of your favorite chips. your hands bumped into each other's, causing you both to look at each other, baran's eyes rested upon yours, locking there for a moment.
you had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen, she instantly got lost in them. baran stared at you for longer than she should have, but you had entrapped her without even knowing.
"you can have them," you broke the silence between the two of you, "i can ask if they have more in the back."
baran's eyes traveled to your lips as you spoke and stuck the bag of chips out, offering them to her. you didn't even know her, but you were so sweet, sweet enough to offer up the last bag of chips to a complete stranger.
"actually, you should have them," baran replied, throat dry as she pushed the bag back into your hands. "you reached for them first."
"are you sure?" your lips formed the pout she'd later grow to love. "i don't mind a-"
"i'm sure." she cut you off, assuring you and making you smile again.
the soft, kind smile that rested on your lips made baran's cheeks flush in the way they did when she was nervous. it wasn't much, but just from seeing your face she knew had to get to know you.
"this might seem silly, but could i get your number?"
the first time ever i kissed your mouth
the first time baran kissed you, the feeling of your lips against hers lingered for days, as she replayed the memory of the sweet kiss you shared after your second date.
she didn't expect you to initiate your first kiss, you'd taken her, and yourself, by surprise, but you'd given her a quick peck as she walked you up to your front door. your face immediately flushed afterwards, becoming shy and trying to hide your face as if you didn't just steal a kiss from the woman in front of you.
she wanted to feel your lips against hers again, so she turned your head back towards her, and planted a soft kiss on your lips. then baran pulled you in closer, her kiss became rougher, slipping her tongue into your mouth and massaging it against yours. you quickly fell into the rhythm of her kiss, giving her what she needed and more. your hands rested on her hips, one of hers held your face while the other rested on top of one of yours.
when you finally pulled back from the kiss, your face flushed again, while a smirk formed on baran's lips.
"you tasted like strawberries."
the first time ever i lay with you
the first time baran laid with in bed, she didn't want to let you go, ever.
she laid her head against your chest, hearing every single beat of your heart, feeling your chest rise with each breath you took. her fingers traced along your exposed belly, loving the feeling of your soft skin against her fingertips.
you slowly fell asleep, but baran didn't want to close her eyes just yet, not when you looked so adorable. she watched you as you slept, falling in love with you even more, you were her sleeping beauty.
she wanted to kiss your cute sleeping face, but she was too afraid she'd stir you out of your sleep, so she stuck to watching you, listening to your heartbeat, feeling you breathe, and feeling your skin against her fingertips.
baran felt your hearts growing closer each second she laid with you. she wondered if you felt the same. did you want to hear her heart beating? did you want to feel her breathing? did you want to feel her skin against your fingertips? and would you enjoy it like she did? did you feel your hearts growing closer each second like she did? baran didn't have a definite answer, but she was sure you did.
the sound of your heart beating soothed her to sleep eventually, and all she could do was dream of you, her perfect girl who looked so adorable while sleeping.
the next morning when you woke up, baran was already awake, watching you sleep like she had before falling asleep herself. she gave you a soft smile, then a sweet kiss to your lips.
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summary. The world loses its' shit when you, their beloved popstar princess, stumbles out of a pink limousine looking absolutely fucked by a nameless lover. Jack Abbot and Robby, famed rockstars of the infamous band 'NIGHTCRAWLER' of the late 90s, are the main suspects.
word count. 11.3k
content warnings. fluff, smut (cockwarming, fingering), TMZ and trashy tabloids are used as a plot device here, some slut-shaming, agegap (reader is in her mid 20s, rabbot is in their mid to late 40s) !!
notes. afab!reader, mainly based in los angeles, i took lots of creative liberties for this au. i won't be tagging robby x reader 'til later on but you might see some if you squint. fully recommend listening to the playlist in order rather than on shuffle!
POPSTAR DARLING 'STAR' CAUGHT DISHEVELED EXITING A PINK LIMOUSINE ON SANTA MONICA BLVD WITH A NAMELESS LOVER.
—
The photo of you stumbling out of a pink limousine is plastered all over the tabloids sold in kiosks along Hollywood Blvd. Your stomach drops as you catch the headliner, your pristine reputation torn within minutes.
It isn't like you're a prude; your songs of shitty ex-boyfriends and unsatisfactory situationships have spoken enough to the world that you aren't some naive virgin. But your reputation is clean for the most part, adored by the general public for your class.
Being caught stumbling out of a limo at 3 AM after riding Jack Abbot, famed rockstar of the late 90s and early 2000s, did not match the public's general expectation from you. Except they didn't know it was Jack, at least. The world finding out that you've been regularly fucking a man that may be old enough to be your dad would just add fuel to the fire of your tattered image.
The news had broken the night before but the brunt of the damage didn't hit 'til this morning as you sit in one of the many conference rooms in the company building. Your schedule had only consisted of recording a few tracks, maybe a brainstorming session with some of your writers. A last-minute meeting with your agent, publicist, and a representative of the recording company you're signed under at eight in the morning hadn't been expected.
But neither has been bumping into Jack at a friend's birthday party at a bar in Silver Lake last night. With the private venue and the strict 'no phones' policy enforced, the both of you had thrown all caution to the wind when the older musician had pinned you against the exposed brick walls of the bar. His hands had wandered in the places you needed him most, artfully drawing out sweet moans in time with the bass drops of the DJ hyping up the small crowd. While the two of you might've garnered some interesting looks and playful whistles, there's no question that most things that go on in parties like these stay hush-hush.
And yet Jack had taken your hand, his graying curls flashing purple under the colorful lights, as he dragged you out of the side door and into the empty street where the garishly pink limo that your friend had arrived in a couple hours ago is sitting, abandoned. The two of you exchanged a single look before he's hustling you inside the backseat, snorting laughter when the zebra-print walls greeted you upon entering. But even with the tacky decor, it didn't take away the building lust the two of you held as Jack had all but ripped your panties aside, shoved his cock in you as your knees bracketed his hips.
It had been filthy and quick, sloppy drunk kisses exchanged in the dim lighting while your hand had slammed up against the roof of the limo for some balance while Jack fucked up into you. He finished fast and quick right after he made sure you did first, pressed a careless kiss to your lips while you returned the favor with a bright red lipstick stain on his collar. He exited one side, you went the other. Your hair askew, your dress rumpled and crooked to reveal more leg as you're half out of the limousine. Hickeys littered your neck.
Just in the perfect view of a paparazzi pack (hiding in the literal bushes across the street) awaiting for the perfect shot.
The shot is staring up at you as your publicist slides it across the glass table. You feel juvenile in your comfy hoodie and yoga pants, sitting across your team who's dressed in business casual. Your sleeves fall over your fidgeting hands.
"I didn't think anyone was out there," you mumble as you push the glossy camera shots of you back to your publicist, Dana. The older woman sighs. She's all hard edges, a no-nonsense attitude crammed in her petite 5'3" frame, but she's soft towards you.
"It's alright, hon. You're not a kid anymore, the company knows that," she says, her Pittsburgh accent still as strong as it has been since she relocated to Los Angeles decades ago, with a gentle pat to your hand. "So what— a grown woman like you had some fun at a party, no big deal. Our job here is to lessen the public outcry but we won't know that 'til we see how the internet's feelin' about all of this."
Her face is unreadable as she pulls out her iPad from her bag, flicks it open with a few sharp taps, and hands that over to you and your manager, Cassie.
@mariasont : god forbid a WOMAN wants to get fucked!!! in a pink limo, no less!!!
user1: where's her class? it's demeaning
@pearlessance: she's not a child anymore!!! people forget she's literally in her 20s jfc
The comments are plenty and while the negative ones are what steal your attention first, there's a flicker of hope that lights within you when you catch more people defending your actions rather than reverting to full-on slutshaming. You release a shaky breath as you return the iPad.
"See?" Dana hums. "Not so bad. Just gotta redirect the narrative, sweetheart, all there is to it. You just gotta help us out a bit, give us somethin' to gnaw on. Think you can give us the name of your Romeo?"
Your cheeks burn as you avert your gaze elsewhere.
—
ROLLING STONES PRESENTS: NIGHTCRAWLER, THE PRODIGAL BAND RETURNS.
NIGHTCRAWLER HAD BEEN THE 'BOY' BAND OF THE EARLY 2000S, REIGNING SUPREME ON THE RADIO DESPITE THEIR UNCONVENTIONAL IDENTITY OF OSCILLATING BETWEEN HEARTTHROBS FOR TEENAGERS OR SERIOUS MUSICIANS FOR THE OLDER DEMOGRAPHICS. DESPITE THEIR REFUSAL TO LABEL THEMSELVES, IT DIDN'T TURN AWAY THE GENERAL PUBLIC FROM DIALING THE VOLUME UP WHENEVER THEIR ADDICTIVE GUITAR RIFFS COME ON THE RADIO.
WHILE THEIR IDENTITY HAD BEEN IMPOSSIBLE TO PIN DOWN, IT WAS UNDENIABLE THAT NIGHTCRAWLER HAD STAR POWER.
MICHAEL 'ROBBY' ROBINAVITCH, FRONTMAN AND RHYTHM GUITARIST, WASN'T AFRAID TO SHARE THE SPOTLIGHT WITH FELLOW BAND MEMBER, JACK ABBOT, WHO PLAYED LEAD GUITAR. ALTHOUGH THE POSITION OF DRUMMER AND BASSIST WAS ALWAYS FULFILLED BY A NEW FACE ALMOST EVERY OTHER ALBUM, THEY WERE NEVER FORGOTTEN BY THE FANS.
(PICTURED: ABBOT, ROBINAVITCH — CIRCA 2006, GRAMMY AWARDS AFTERPARTY.)
NIGHTCRAWLER DIDN'T BLOW UP OVERNIGHT— ROBBY AND JACK HAD BEEN CHILDHOOD FRIENDS, MOMENTARILY SEPARATED WHEN ROBBY HAD PURSUED A MASTER'S DEGREE AND JACK HAD ENLISTED AFTER THEIR COLLEGE GRADUATION— BUT AN EXPLOSION OF TALENT IN THE MAKING. WHEN THE SIMPLE LIFE HAD PROVEN NOT TO BE ENOUGH, ROBBY AND JACK REUNITED UPON HIS HONORABLE DISCHARGE FROM THE MILITARY TO FORM NIGHTCRAWLER.
AFTER ONE RELEASED ALBUM (YOUNGBLOOD), THEY RECEIVED THEIR FIRST GRAMMY NOMINATION IN 2006 BUT WON THE YEAR AFTER FOR CALM IN 2007. FROM THAT POINT ON, NIGHTCRAWLER WAS A HOUSEHOLD NAME.
A FEW DAYS AGO, I SAT WITH ROBBY AND JACK AFTER THEY HAD ANNOUNCED A SUDDEN REUNION ALBUM AND TOUR AFTER NEARLY FIVE YEARS OF SILENCE WHEN THEY HAD RELEASED THE SINGLE GHOST OF YOU IN COMMEMMORATING IRIS— JACK'S LATE WIFE AND BELOVED ACTRESS— AND THE FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF HER PASSING.
Q: IT'S BEEN SOME TIME SINCE GHOST OF YOU, HOW HAVE YOU TWO BEEN?
J: WE'RE DOING ALRIGHT. TOOK SOME TIME OFF FOR OURSELVES.
R: COASTING ON THOSE ROYALTIES KEPT US AFLOAT.
Q: THAT'S WONDERFUL TO HEAR, DID YOU TWO PICK UP ANY NEW HOBBIES?
R: GOLF, BUT— (LAUGHTER.)
J: I HATED GOLF. I ENDED UP WRITING LYRICS IN THE GOLF CART WHILE THIS ASSHOLE PUTTED AWAY.
THE TWO MEN CONVERSED LIKE NO TIME HAS PASSED AND ALTHOUGH THEY'VE STARVED THE WORLD WITH THEIR FRIENDSHIP AND MUSIC, IT WAS LOVELY TO SEE THAT THERE HAD BEEN NO LOVE LOST. AFTER SOME SMALL TALK AND HAVING BROKE THE ICE, WE DOVE RIGHT INTO THE MOST AWAITED TOPICS.
Q: SO. A NEW ALBUM AND A TOUR. HOW THE HELL DID THIS COME AROUND?
J: (SOFT CHUCKLES.) IT'S ALWAYS BEEN SOMETHING WE TALKED ABOUT AFTER THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY OF IRIS PASSING, WE NEVER DID STOP WRITING MUSIC.
R: THAT'S RIGHT, WE JUST FINALLY HAVE ENOUGH TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS SINCE WE DID SOMETHING LIKE THIS AND WITH HOW THE MUSIC INDUSTRY'S CHANGED SO MUCH, WE DIDN'T WANT TO DEAL WITH THE BULLSHIT OF PROMOTIONS AND TEASING SPOILERS OR HOWEVER THE FUCK ARTISTS DO IT NOW—
J: WE THOUGHT TO KEEP IT SIMPLE. ANNOUNCE OUR NEW SELF-TITLED ALBUM AND OUR PLANS FOR A TOUR, SIMPLE AS THAT. WE'RE A COUPLE OF OLD MEN NOW, WE CAN'T KEEP UP WITH THESE YOUNGSTERS.
Q: SPEAKING OF NEW ARTISTS, HOW DOES IT FEEL KNOWING YOU'VE INFLUENCED A WHOLE GENERATION OF SINGERS? MANY OF THEM HAVE NAME-DROPPED YOU BEFORE, ONE NOTABLE AS 'STAR' WHOSE PREVIOUS ALBUM HAD ELEMENTS OF PUNK WITH HER USUAL POP GENRE. SOME MIGHT EVEN SAY IT HAD A HAND IN HER FIRST GRAMMY WIN IN 2022, AN UPSET WIN WHEN SHE HAD BEEN NOMINATED AMONGST THE EXPECTED WINNERS.
R: AHEM, YEAH. IT'S INSPIRING FOR US, TOO, YOU KNOW. NOT TO STROKE OUR OWN EGOS BUT IT'S NICE THAT WE CAN LIVE ON IN OTHER WORKS RATHER THAN JUST OUR OWN MUSIC. STAR'S A GREAT SINGER, SHE'S ONE OF OUR FAVORITES.
J: … DEFINITELY, SHE'S BEEN LIVING IN MY PLAYLIST FOR AWHILE NOW.
Q: COULD WE BE EXPECTING A COLLAB ANYTIME SOON?
R: NO PROMISES.
BEFORE THE TOPICS GOT AWAY FROM US, THE CONVERSATION WAS REDIRECTED BACK TO IRIS TAYLOR-ABBOT, JACK'S LATE WIFE. SHE HAD BEEN A PHENOMENAL CHILD STAR, GROWING UP IN THE PUBLIC EYE AS SHE GREW INTO HER OWN SHOES OF ONE OF THE BIGGEST NAMES IN CINEMA. HER LOVE STORY WITH JACK HAD BEEN ONE FOR THE AGES, ONE THAT PEOPLE TODAY STILL TALK ABOUT WITH REVERENCE. IT WAS A WHIRLWIND ROMANCE, HOW SHE TAMED THE INFAMOUS ROCKSTAR WITH A SIMPLE WINK WHEN SHE HAD WON HER FIRST OSCAR AND HE WAS IN THE CROWD FOR NIGHTCRAWLER'S SCORE FOR HER FILM.
THEY HAD BEEN THE NATION'S IT COUPLE OF THE EARLY 2000S.
J: I LOVE HER, THAT'S NOT GOING TO CHANGE, AND TIME DOESN'T HEAL ALL WOUNDS BUT IT SURE MAKES THE PAIN LESS. I CAN THINK OF HER WITHOUT WANTING TO LIVE IN THE BOTTOM OF THE BOTTLE.
Q: THAT'S WONDERFUL, JACK. WE CAN SEE THAT SHE STILL LIVES THROUGH YOU, AT LEAST, IN THE MULTITUDES OF LOVE SONGS THAT YOU'VE RELEASED.
R: SHE'S ALWAYS GOING TO BE A PART OF US.
HER UNTIMELY DEATH IN 2016 HAD BEEN A BLOW TO THE ENTIRE WORLD, ULTIMATELY LEADING TO NIGHTCRAWLER'S HIATUS. ON THE FIFTH ANNIVERSARY, GHOST OF YOU WAS RELEASED WITH LITTLE FANFARE BUT IT CHARTED ON TOP FOR MONTHS. PEOPLE HAD SPECULATED THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL BAND BUT CAME TO NO FRUITION.
UNTIL NOW, NEARLY TEN YEARS AFTER THEIR DISAPPEARANCE FROM THE PUBLIC EYE.
—
The ceiling spins above Jack's head as he reclines in his office chair, drumsticks loosely grasped in his hand while Robby messes with the soundboard. There's staff inside the recording booth, readjusting mics and filters.
"Did you see that TMZ article?"
Jack snorts. "Since when did you pay attention to gossip, brother?"
"Since your girl's plastered all over the front pages."
The chair releases a loud creak before Jack tumbles onto the floor, unceremoniously lifting himself off his feet with as much grace his prosthetic leg allows. "What the hell did you say—?"
Robby chortles as he hands his phone over, the obtrusively red logo of TMZ splashed across the top of his screen. Jack settles onto the leather couch pushed against the far wall of the room with his bandmate's phone in hand, shoving his readers on before he scrolls.
Sure enough, it's a photo of you exiting the pink limo from the night before. His concern for you (along with the feral instinct to protect you from wandering eyes) is momentarily silenced when pride grows at the sight of you wearing his marks. It isn't until his eyes snag onto the blunt and crude headline meant to clickbait, ultimately tearing down your character to the public.
His grip tightens before he hands the phone back. He leans back against the couch, head tilted backwards with his eyes shut.
"Can't do much. TMZ didn't name anyone and talking about it would just prove me guilty."
Robby releases a hum, half-distracted now as he turns his attention to the soundboard and the files he had just opened. The album's half complete now with just mixing and final changes needed before they hand the whole thing over to the company's in-house producers.
Although the album was supposed to be done half a year ago, you had entered Jack's life, kickstarting nearly five new songs from the first evening he spent with you. Robby doesn't mind, he likes you well enough. You're younger, maybe a little too young to be messing with old men like them, but you've got a love for music that reminds them both of their own start all those years ago.
"Did Star text you?"
Jack shakes his head as his gaze returns to the back of Robby's head where it's slightly bowed as he fiddles with a few chord progressions. "No. Also, she's got a name. You don't have to keep calling her by her stage-name."
"Habit," Robby shrugs while he hits the save button. A half-lie, he knows your name but Jack is possessive, moreso with you than anyone else. It almost feels like an intrusion, a false sense of familiarity that hasn't earned, to use your given name. He turns in his chair, grabs the acoustic guitar to absentmindedly strum a few riffs. "You heading over to her place?"
"I don't know, maybe. It's her first scandal, not sure if I'm what she needs right now."
"She'll always need you." The simple remark has Jack looking up in mild surprise, searching for any kind of jab there from his bandmate (maybe something about your age again), but nothing but sincerity lives upon Robby's features. "It's been six months, brother. Your past flings never lasted this long."
Something uneasy settles into his stomach then, his mind nearly splintering to try and skip over the almost-revelation there to stitch something half-true about your importance in his life. He shifts in his seat instead, grabs the other guitar by its neck as he keeps his hands busy by tuning it. "I'll call her later. Make sure she's okay."
Robby nods in slight approval. "Maybe lay low a little. I know you two like hitting up your usual bar but with the article out…"
Jack hits a sour chord. He didn't realize Robby had been keeping tabs of their 'usual' places. "Yeah— yeah, good idea. Or maybe I can stop by, pick up her favorite before heading over." He readjusts the tuning peg, misses the way his best friend shoots him an incredulous look at the blatant domesticity. Jack looks up then. "What?"
"Nothing. Just don't forget her fried pickles."
"… Right."
—
The bar in question is Barney's on Santa Monica Blvd, nestled deep in West Hollywood. To both of your closest confidants (Robby for Jack and Trinity for you), Barney's had been the 'usual' hangout— a perfect meeting point between your house and Jack's home. It's out of convenience, you told Trinity. Traffic's a bitch in Los Angeles and the shorter the commute, the better. Nothing more, nothing less.
No one knows that it's the first time Jack had met you in person, where he had roguishly hit on you about two old fashioneds in. No one knows that you had also been a tad bit tipsy, spinning wildly off of a strong margarita that you pounded down when your writers' block had become too much to handle. And no one definitely knows that you had giggled your way through Jack's cheesy one-liners, nearly tearing up and toppling off your barstool and into his lap when he asked you if you had a map because he kept getting lost in your eyes.
—
… SIX MONTHS AGO.
You're gnawing at the end of your pen, brows furrowed and nose scrunched up each time you scratch a line through a lyric. The bar is sticky beneath your notebook but you can't find it in you to give a fuck as your heels shift and resettle against the footrest under your stool. The bartender, Queenie, gives you a tender look before refilling your glass of water and placing a fresh margarita beside it. Despite the raucous cheers from the other patrons watching a football game, you're focused enough to follow the melody that's been knocking around your head all day.
But not enough to write a single cohesive lyric that wasn't actual dogshit.
So you reach out for the sweating glass near you, ice clinking as you lift it up to chug the rest of your margarita down. The room spins a little but you power through. There's movement on your left, silver gray curls catching your peripheral view.
"I have to say," a gruff voice sounds beside you. "You caught my attention the moment I walked in."
The cheesy one-liner coaxes an incredulous laugh as your spine straightens and you turn to face him. At least he's hot in that DILF-way, you muse to yourself. You didn't realize you had said it aloud until he's chuckling, takes a swig of his glass.
"Thanks, sweetheart. Glad to see I haven't let myself go."
Recognition would've kicked in earlier if aren't two margaritas in but it comes anyways and a flush creeps up your neck as your eyes widen when you take him in. Jack Abbot, lead guitarist of NIGHTCRAWLER. Widowed to Iris Taylor— a favorite actress of yours, if you recalled your younger days. Even though you've established yourself as a musician, considering some other artists that you've admired as a peer and colleague now after you've won your own Grammy, you still get a bit tongue-tied when you're faced with literal legends.
"You're Jack Abbot."
"And you're Star..?"
You chuckle at the stage name you picked out so long ago and offer your actual name instead. When Jack tries it on, you fight the urge to shiver at how sweet your name rolls of his tongue. The thought has you turning back to your notebook, scrawling the line in as a potential lyric.
"So, I had to come by and let you know you owe me a drink." Your brows fly up, absolutely shocked as you turn to face Jack again who swirls his drink. "Because when I saw you, I dropped mine."
A very ugly snort escapes you at the absolute shit-show of a pickup line, devolving into giggles. "That can't be your best line."
He chuckles and hides his bashful smile against the rim of his glass. "Alright, alright. Hold on, I have more." He pauses and you wait patiently. "Look, I'm just trying to drink here. You're very distracting."
The line isn't as funny as it should be but you're at that point of tipsy where everything is hilarious and you're nearly pitching forward, cheek brushing against Jack's chest as his warm hand settles on your waist to settle you. "Careful, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Here—"
In the midst of your giggles, Jack's arm carefully reaches out between your knees to grasp onto the underside edge of your stool and drags you closer to him. The easy strength of it silences you momentarily and you find yourself gripping his bicep for stability. "Oh, that's unfair."
Jack laughs, raspy and low as he retracts his hand and takes another swig of his glass. "What's unfair?"
Your hand wavers slightly as you gesture to his entire face and chest. "You— your whole… gentleman shtick. And I'm not dumb, y'know. I know the rumors about you and your manwhore ways. You and Robby—!" You might've been concerned with being a touch too crass, possibly offending Jack, but his easy and amused grin never falters as you babble adorably in his space. You haven't noticed yet but your bare knee is loosely slotted between Jack's and he's starting to crave the momentary brush of your skin against his denim jeans every time you shift.
"My manwhore ways…?" He repeats with a half-grin, hoping to coax you on to spill more.
"Yes, don't act coy, Mr. Abbot. I've seen the tabloid pages, the blind items." You sigh softly and regard him in a way that Jack feels almost exposed. Vulnerable. "If I didn't know any better, I thought I might've found my husband here in this bar in Silver Lake."
"It's concerning to think you're in Silver Lake, sweetheart. We're in West Hollywood."
"Irrelevant," you dismiss with a wave of your hand. "As long as my uber driver knows where I am, I can do anything I want."
"Alright, superstar. Maybe with how your words are slurring, it's time for that uber driver to know where you're at?" When he gently guides you off the stool, helps you with your jacket and purse, you go easily. He tips his head at the bartender who knows you by name, gives your manager a heads up while Jack leads you to the curb. He pays for your uber with just the regret of not giving you his number.
The regret goes away when he sees you at the same bar a few days later, this time stone cold sober.
—
The doorbell ringing draws you from your thoughts as you stare at the rerun of the TMZ soundbite where they have you splashed out on the screen, a half-step out of the pink limousine as an abrasive male voiceover eagerly dives in on your exaggerated exploits. Slamming the mute button, you look over your shoulder towards the door while tugging your stolen hoodie lower down your thighs.. You tug the hood over your head, harshly pulling at the strings until just a glimpse of your eyes and nose are revealed, while you drag yourself to your front door.
When you peek through the peephole, you relax and open it to see Jack with a baseball cap on, a greasy paper bag that smells faintly of your guilty pleasure snack in hand. A relieved smile curls upon your lips as you pull him in. "I didn't know you were coming," you say in greeting, shutting the door firmly before you're dragging him down by the nape of his neck for a kiss.
He smiles against your lips, reaching behind you to lock the door. "Wanted to check on you. You were trending again. Robby said so."
You groan dramatically and take the paper bag with Barney's logo on the front, turning to pad barefoot to your kitchen while Jack follows. You hear his keys jingle, settle into the bowl beside your keys, and his hat landing quietly onto the coat hanger you have by the door. "If your chronically off-line best friend knows about it, then it's definitely viral."
"Robby's getting better with the internet," Jack defends with a short laugh, leans against the threshold of your kitchen where you tear into the bag and lay out his treasure along your island counter.
"Mm, for a fifty year old."
"Sweetheart, we're forty-five." Your dramatic wince has him barking out a playful chuckle, crossing the distance that has you squealing and rushing around the island. He circles it, long legs striding with ease to catch and lift you to place you on the counter. "Glad to see the gossip circuit hasn't snuffed out your spark, superstar."
Your bare legs hook around his waist, feeding him a fried pickle. "It's not so bad. It could've been a leaked sex tape."
Jack frowns as he chews. "We don't have a sex tape."
"Not with you." When he gives you a shocked look, your face cracks and you burst into an amused cackle. "God, you should've seen your face, babe. And no— before you start to spiral, I don't have a sex tape with any body. I just—I need to joke about this otherwise I'll overthink."
His lips snag onto the corner of your lips, cradling your jaw on the opposite side. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. The general public loves you, your fans would go to literal war for you. The world will adjust." When he sees the slight wrinkle that always settles between your brows finally smooth out, he knows he got you. "Mm, there's my girl."
A flutter grows in your stomach but you stifle it. Jack's too good with his words, means it just as much as a throw-away comment, and you're too clever to let yourself get lost in it. It's been six months of bliss and if you get to have that a little longer without the security that comes with a label, then you'll gladly coast this situationship until it crashes and burns. `
"Well, your girl is exhausted and it's been too long since I was given even an inch of attention—"
"You don't have to convince me, I'll stay the night," he says as he shuts you up sweetly with a kiss. "You have anything for me to wear?"
You give him a sweet hum, sharp eyes sparkling with mischief which he responds with a roll of his eyes.
"If you want me naked, sweetheart—" He picks you off the counter, his low rumbling chuckle harmonizing well with your playful giggles, and brings you to your bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress, unbuckling his jeans as you prop yourself up by your elbows.
"Your leg, Jack," you interrupt before you sit up smoothly, padding over to the attached closet to pull out a pair of crutches. He falls silent, looking gobsmacked with a look you miss as you set them down by the ottoman at the foot of your bed. "Jack…?"
"Right. Sorry—" He snaps out of his throughts and leans down to steal a kiss. The action of removing his prosthesis in front of you no longer carries the odd sensation of shame or embarrassment but rather frustration out of a chore that's interrupting what he wants. With his leg set aside, he's back to joining you in bed just as you tug the stolen hoodie off to leave you in just an old t-shirt and cotton shorts. It gives him pause. "Baby, was that mine?"
You bite back a smile. "You left your hoodie in my dressing room a week ago. I told Cassie that I thrifted it. Did you want it back?"
He shakes his head, takes the shirt he must've left behind at your place too because it's folded nicely and smelling like you and pulls that on next. In just his boxers and a fresh sleep shirt, he joins you into bed while you reach over to your bedside table to flick the TV on. "No TMZ," you promise while you put on a streaming app instead. "I just want to turn my brain off a little."
"I can help with that," he murmurs, lips grazing along your bare shoulder while he spoons you from behind. He drinks up you soft laughter, basks in how it shifts into something breathier when you feel his bulge prod against your underwear.
"Jack," you murmur but you part your thighs, pulling your knee up just enough to give him room to grind his clothed cock against your core. The TV continues to blare but you're only giving it part of your attention when you feel Jack's hand slide between you two to tug your underwear aside. A broken whimper falls from your lips as he presses kisses into the nape of your neck.
"Shh, it's alright, pretty girl. Just missed you." His hands are soothing as they coast along the planes and curves of your body, reverent and nearly worshipful, while his cock starts to press against your folds. It isn't filthy the way it usually is, fast and dirty while he presses your face against the mattress, but it's nearly gentle and domestic. You banish the thought before it can take root and force yourself to focus on the rerun of a show you put on, allowing tiny gasps and whimpers as Jack sheathes himself completely inside you. When he doesn't move, you glance over your shoulder with a little pout.
"Why aren't you moving?"
He chuckles, heartbreakingly fond when he leans over to kiss your pout. "I'm not trying to tire you out tonight, superstar. I just want you to rest. Unless, this isn't—"
"No, no, it's fine," you interrupt with a shy grin of your own. "Didn't think you were into cockwarming."
Jack gives you a deadpan look. "You think me sticking my cock in your pussy throughout the night isn't gonna turn me on?"
"… good point." You turn back around to the show, sighs as you sink deeper into Jack's arms while he presses more lazy kisses into the nape of your neck. "S'kinda nice. Feels good… feeling comfy and full."
He hums, chest rumbling as his grip tightens around you. "Good. Get some rest, sweetheart. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow, right?"
You nod, half-asleep now as you trace little shapes along Jack's forearms. "I have a brainstorming session with the writers, recording… mm, but that's all after my brunch with the girls."
"That's right," he muses as he gives a little, shallow thrust. "I'll try to get out of your hair early, let you get ready."
Your eyes fly open (when did you even close them?) and release a quiet huff of protest. "No, you can stay— I like it when you make me breakfast." His laughter is warm against your shoulder, warm and sweet.
"I thought you were going to brunch, sweetheart."
"Let's be real, Jack, it'll mainly just be Trinity and I pounding back mimosas."
He sighs. "Your best friend's an awful influence. Make sure you drink water in between, baby."
Your tone is wry but thick with sleep, already nodding off but not without slipping in one last bratty little remark. "Yes, daddy."
His cock throbs inside you but neither bother to mention it.
—
Morning comes with stubbly kisses to your cheek, a kind beginning to buffer the sun's cruel rays that are most definitely not being shielded by your usual curtains. You groan, shove your face into your pillow before peeking above to see your blinds and curtains open.
"Jack—" You whine pitifully but he merely chuckles, circles the bed with his leg already on to settle on your side of the bed. His large hand smoothes back your hair, his calloused fingertips tracing along your jaw. You nuzzle into his touch like a cat. "Are you leaving already?"
He nods and lowers herself down to kiss your forehead. "Robby called. Our producer flew in early and they're calling for a recording sesh."
You sigh dramatically and lift your head up, lips pursed. "Tell Robby he owes me for stealing you away."
"You got it, sweetheart," Jack smiles against your lips, pinching your chin before he releases it to rise to his feet. "I'll call you later, yeah?"
Mumbling into the pillows to catch on some more sleep before one of your girlfriends call you up, you wave Jack goodbye. His footsteps fade into nothing and it isn't until your little security camera at your front door beeps with activity, letting you know that Jack has left your property. You sigh and roll over, shamelessly shoving your face into his side of the bed to inhale his shampoo and aftershave. It's an addicting musk, something clean but woodsy, something that reads 'older man' rather than some male manipulator's basic odor of Dior Sauvage.
In the privacy of your bedroom, you release a swooning sigh and allow yourself to daydream about Jack. It's dangerous territory, you know this, and yet you let yourself think up scenarios of simple domesticity. No one can blame you; your tumultuous relationship with Jack had gone from one night stands and stolen quickies in dressing rooms to picking up your shampoo on the way home or sharing pizzas on hotel rooftops.
Before you can sink even deeper in your fairytale thoughts, you drag yourself out of bed and stumble into the shower for a fresh start. You play your colleague's music rather than the demos you've been hoarding, all of them meant for your latest album that you've been working on. Nearly all of them about Jack.
As you sit at your massive vanity, Trinity facetime calls you without warning. You prop your phone up, accept the call with a soft sigh.
"Bitch, tell me you're ready."
You set the powder brush down and bring your setting spray within view of your camera in answer. Trinity rewards you with a bright grin as she shoves her sunglasses up her forehead to settle in her sleek updo. Despite the group chat claiming it to be a 'chill' brunch to catch up (now that all of you are finally in the same timezone), everyone is far too media-trained to ever be caught dead without looking effortlessly put together.
"We're on our way to you, get your ass to the front door!" Trinity crows as she turns the phone around, panning to the other girls in the car. Samira's glowing beside Trinity, the wonderful benefits of having wrapped up filming in Malta, and Victoria looks clean cut yet practical as if she's trying to demand the whole world to take her seriously as a filmmaker (even if she's one of the most famous nepo babies in Hollywood). The phone's passed down to Dove Tala, another singer-turned-actress that's been added into the fold of your friend group after sleeping with Trinity.
(As of now, you still have no idea what relationship they even have for each other.)
With a final swipe of lip gloss, you slip into a pair of kitten heels that match your sundress. Even now, your professional life bleeds into your personal as you slowly adopt a more girly style, something your team and creative partners had insisted on as you begin to build your next album release. They want more immersion, they said, especially with a fanbase like yours that follow your every move.
Already, some of your fans have begun to wonder if you're seeing anyone (aside from the pink limousine fiasco) due to the way you seem to be 'glowing' (a class effort from Tatcha's Luminous Dewy Skin Mist Finishing spray).
When Trinity's driver pulls up to the front of your house, the door swings open and you climb in where you're immediately greeted by a chorus of sweet 'hello's and gasps from your outfit.
"Okay, you're giving girlfriend material," Samira grins as she scoots down to make room for you. "Who's the lucky guy?"
Your eyes roll. "Jesus, I haven't even buckled in—! Can we please save the interrogation until after the mimosas?"
Dove's eyes glimmer with mischief. "I'm holding you to that, babe."
—
The car takes your group to Beverly Hills, rolling to a stop in front of a podium where a gloved valet opens the door. With your glasses firmly placed on your nose, everyone schools their expression into one of neutrality before you're inside and the host guides you to your table near an open window for some natural light. While it leaves all of you exposed to any possible photos taken, none of you have any concern for it.
"Your server will be with you shortly," the host says serenely as you all scoot into your booth, purses set aside and sunglasses carefully placed upon the tops of all your styled hair. While your friend group aren't the only celebrities frequenting the infamous brunch spot, you still garner a fair amount of looks. Mostly awe but many are of sick curiosity.
Your cheeks burn and you recall the nasty exposé that TMZ had dropped the night before. Trinity takes your hand beneath the table and you immediately understand the silent question in her eyes.
"I'm fine," you murmur and squeeze her hand gently in affirmation. She holds your eyes a beat longer before she nods. The girls around you immediately notice the small interaction. You wave away their concerned looks. "Honestly. It's my first trashy tabloid photo, I'm just being a baby about it."
Dove tsks. "Still doesn't excuse them to blow it all out of proportion, especially with just one photo! Fuckin' deuxmoi's making it sound like you dropped a sex tape."
"Wait, what?"
Victoria elbows Dove and while a silent conversation passes, you turn to Trinity with a question on your tongue. However, the other girls interrupt. "It's fine, it's nothing—!" Victoria cuts in, snatching your phone off the table with a slightly frazzled grin. "It's the same bullshit, these blind items are never accurate."
Panic brews but Trinity squeezes your hand before you can completely spiral. "No one is insinuating that you had a sex tape. It was a theory that your fans shut down immediately. However— the most common thread here is who the fuck you were with in that limo."
Four pairs of eyes land on you and while you've performed in front of tens of thousands of people, you feel an irrational sense of stage fright in front of your closest friends. But your server comes with a polite smile and you can sink into the plush velvet seats in relief.
"What can I get you ladies?"
"Let's start with a pitcher of Tommy margs," Dove smiles and her charm is blinding, eliciting a shy laugh from the poor server who nods. The rest of you rattle off your orders (the usuals, really— the five of you frequent this place so often that it's an open secret with your fans that it's the best way to catch a glimpse of you) before relaxing back in your seats when your server leaves with the promise of returning quickly with margaritas.
Samira slides her phone towards you, screen displaying the TMZ article that's been haunting you alongside the photo that's shown you at possibly your worst: your black cocktail dressed ruched up one thigh in the stolen moment, one strap sliding off one shoulder where a myriad of lovebites are painted across your collarbone and neck, lipstick smeared and your hair mussed.
It's almost theatrical if you stare at it long enough. Maybe even purposeful if it had been taken with your consent.
"You look good," Dove murmurs with a light shrug. Your eyes cast up and her easy admission soothes the panic that's been simmering in your gut. She's kind but not always the most gentle with her words. Compliments are rare but it makes the ones that spill from her tongue even more precious. When she compliments, she states it like fact.
"Of course she does," Samira cuts in. "It's just awful that it was taken with the sole intent to defame her."
Victoria's nails tap away at her screen. "Some of these blind items say so. But lots are disagreeing." She hands her phone over to you.
Popstar princess snuck away from a party. Not so innocent now.
— she's a grown adult, let her have fun.
Popstar princess caught filming a sex tape in a limo. Call it a wild ride.
— if it was a real sex tape and we're thinking of the same singer, it would've been leaked by now. this is false.
And there were more, multitudes of comments defending you or demanding proper proof before any kind of accusations can be flung onto your name. It softens your racing heart as you give Victoria her phone back. "Thanks, guys."
Your friends all send you a smile, reaching over to rub your shoulder or hand or refilling your glass. "Of course," Samira coos.
Dove nods and takes a sip of her drink. "Now that we've got that out of the way, it's time to spill. Who's the guy, babe?"
As if on cue, your phone buzzes with a text, the table vibrating slightly.
J ♡ : Robby's driving me insane. Rooftop pizza later tonight?
The girls gasp and dive for it, eyes snagging onto the blatant red heart that's tagged right after Jack's initial. Before you can scramble for your phone back, Victoria's unlocking the text and blanching at the contact photo.
"You're dating Jack Abbot," she whisper-yells, remembering they're still in public settings and making sure to mouth his name at the end. The girls struggle to take the phone from Victoria who has a terrifyingly large grin. When you do not deign to confirm or deny, Dove deems this your silence as answer enough before her sharp gaze lands on Trinity.
"You aren't reacting." Her eyes narrow. "You knew, didn't you?"
Trinity's grin is wild. "Of course I did. Best friend privileges."
Victoria's expression is a touch hurt when she asks, "why didn't you tell us?"
"It felt so surreal, I wasn't sure if he was just gonna leave me high and dry after that first night," you share with a bashful smile. "We didn't even sleep together for the first couple of times we ran into each other at Barney's."
The food arrives, artfully decorated, and plates land quietly on your table. Your group give the server a distracted word of thanks before their attention is fixed on you once more. You drag out the moment as you grab your phone to text Jack back.
To J ♡ : Serves you right for picking him over me.
To J ♡ : But yes to pizza ♡
When you hit send and lock your phone, you glance up to see them staring at you with patient expression. (Almost patient, Victoria looks like she's about to dive out of her seat.)
"So he joined me at the bar that first night—you know how I like to write at Barney's—and he tried the most stupidest pick-up lines on me." You recall the evening with a smile, telling a shortened version before you continue on to tell the next time you'd seen him. "I didn't give him my number then and I was fully regretting it until I saw him again a week later at Barney's."
—
… SIX MONTHS AGO.
The loud music and wild cheers is a comfort that doesn't deter your concentration as you try yet again to continue writing lyrics. While you manage to tune out the surroundings of Barney's, you can't quite tune out your own thoughts. You're better than this, you think to yourself as you set the pen down with a little groan in favor of sipping at your glass of cherry coke.
Jack Abbot has been living at the forefront of your mind since he had helped you get home a week ago. You scoured the internet for any trace of him at two in the morning, stalking his non-existent socials only to come up with just their last release of Ghost Of You about five years ago.
The song itself is heartwrenchingly beautiful, the ache interlaced within the chords and harmonies, it had driven you to your piano and write a short melody you can't quite put a name to. It's the same melody filtering through your mind, one you've been trying to write lyrics to.
"You'll end up scratching a hole into the page if you write so hard."
You nearly fall off your stool when Jack settles into the seat beside you. Effortlessly handsome, his silver curls are messed roughly atop his head, crows feet deepening in amusement.
"Are you stalking me?" You blurt out but he chuckles and shakes his head.
"No, I just wanted a beer. But seeing you's a nice surprise." He takes the open bottle with a nod, takes a swig without losing eye contact with you. When you don't speak, a silent challenge, he gives in with a slightly bashful grin. "Alright, I might've… been coming every night to see you again."
The immediate confession floors you, flattery blooming in your chest. "Seriously?"
He laughs and it's such a boyish sound that he nearly looks ten years younger. "Seriously," he confirms. "Didn't feel right though since you weren't sober the last time I saw you."
A smile rises up your lips, unbidden. "I'm sober now. Still want that number?"
"Yes, but I was hoping for more now."
Your brows raise in playful surprise. "And what did you have in mind?"
His eyes flick up and down but rather than feeling like a piece of meat, he makes you feel like art being appraised. It sends a shiver down your spine. "One evening with you."
Maybe if it were anyone else, you would've made him work for it. Beg a little. Drag the moment until they're drooling for just a touch. But Jack's good at making you chase for it and make it feel like it's your idea.
"Take me home, rockstar."
No one bats an eye when you walk out of the establishment with Jack's arm around your waist, the other patrons turning a blind eye. His cologne is addicting when he tugs you into his side, effectively shielding you from a few stragglers taking a smoke break by the curb. When the car rolls up, Jack's got a hand at the top of the entrance as you slide in to avoid any accidental head bumps.
The drive is quiet but filled with a tension neither of you knew how to name. His hand is warm on your thigh and when you two make it to his place deep in the 'burbs of Holmby Hills. It takes your breath away when Jack helps you out of your sweater in the receiving foyer of his home.
It's massive and beautiful without seeming pretentious.
"So, be honest," you say as you follow him to what seems to be the main lounge, a plush brown leather sectional with a private bar hugging the far wall. "Do you use that line often to get women home?"
He circles around the bar, picks out a few glasses with a knowing laugh. "What—? No, I don't just hang around bars to pick up women. That's more of Robby's prerogative. Haven't you seen our tabloids? He's the manwhore between the two of us."
You laugh and lean against the opposite side of the bar, nearly bending over to flash Jack a hint of your cleavage. "That doesn't help your case! Those same tabloids that talked about Robby also talked about you, you know. You two are one in the same."
He shakes his head with another amused chuckle before he gives in, narrating his tried and true methods. "… I start off with making mocktails. Makes it look less sleazy than me using actual alcohol." He does a few tricks with the cocktail shakers, indubitably impressing you despite your attempts to remain indifferent. When he finishes, he pours the mocktail espresso martini into two glasses, adds a coffee bean in the center.
"I hate to say it, rockstar, but I'm a little impressed," you say after taking a careful sip, noting the way Jack's eyes track your tongue catching the foam left behind on the corner of your lip.
"Thank god, I don't think I'd live with myself if I ended up disappointed you," he teases as he circles the bar to join you on the same side, leaning one elbow upon the dark wooden counter as he appraises you yet again. No hesitation in checking you out and you let yourself be put on display. He watches you look around, never taking his eyes off you as he absentmindedly reaches up to brush back your hair over your shoulder to trace your collarbone.
"You have a lot of decor…"
The touch is light and undemanding, the backs of his knuckles feather-light as they brush along the remnants of glitter from your previous photoshoot. "I traveled a lot. And with the royalties, I have too much money I know what to do with— yeah, I know," he laughs at your blatant eye roll but he continues on when you sink deeper into his space. "I bought a lot of stupid shit with it. I even got talked into buying a gold massage chair."
You gasp dramatically. "No fuckin' way. Those are literal scams."
"I was out $10k, of course I knew it was a scam," he laughs as he shakes his head. The hand that had traced your jaw and collarbone travels down to your waist, skimming a thumb along your hip bone. The space between you two is nearly nonexistent but before you follow the natural progression to kissing, he tips his head to the side. "Follow me."
His hand nearly swallows yours as he guides you to the leather couch, sits you down before he wanders to the corner of the room where a gorgeous turntable sits. The room's filled with slow crooning and instrumentals, maybe something from the forties if you had to date it yourself, when he drops the needle. The plush seats dips beside you as Jack's arm stretches out across the back of the couch, effectively curling you into his embrace. You aren't complaining as your shoulder brushes his chest, lifting to move your legs onto his lap while you sip at your mocktail.
"Your age is showing," you tease. "I didn't think you listened to Frank Sinatra. Were you two classmates?"
"Har har," Jack laughs dryly, pinching your side lightly while you lean over to set your empty glass down onto the coffee table. "You're real cute, sweetheart." In your effort to escape and wriggle from his ticklish touch, he uses your movement to his advantage to pull you even closer for a kiss that steals your breath away.
You kiss back immediately, a low whimper spilling between your lips that Jack swallows immediately. He kisses you like he's starving. His touch is warm and demanding as he coasts along the expanse of your ass and hips, drawing you closer. At one point, your hips rise, grinding slightly while you hover above him and his head tips back with the force of your kiss. It's hungry and messy now, your hair cascading down that he uses the back of his hand to sweep back your tresses before tucking it behind your ear.
The gentle touch brings forth a broken giggle before you full on start laughing against his neck.
"Sweetheart. This is kinda killing my ego," he says as his large hand splays out along your spine while you bow over to stifle your laughter in his shirt.
"I'm sorry," you manage to say, your giggle dying down as you lift your head while you smooth out the creases upon his collar and chest. "I just— it was tickling me and then I just remembered— you have a massage chair? Like for real?"
He gives you an incredulous look but nods. "Yeah."
"Can I see it?"
"Not right now."
...
You sit in the massage chair with a blanket wrapped around your frame while Jack stands above you, fiddling with the remote control. The chair kickstarts and your eyes roll back with a quiet moan. Jack's eyes darken before you look up with a half-grin.
"This is great but this was definitely not worth ten thousand dollars, rockstar."
—
You're pulled back into the present when your phone buzzes in your hand. A red heart from Jack in reply to your text.
"You tried out his massage chair before you tried him out?" Dove interrupts with a bright giggle. "Did you guys fuck that night?"
When you shake your head, the girls gasp. "No, we spent the whole night talking. He took me back to bed and we made out some more but we kept laughing. At one point, we just fell asleep together."
You didn't realize you had been staring out the window with the dopiest smile until you snap out of it, glancing back to your friends who are watching you with varying looks of fondness and slight concern.
"You look smitten, babe," Samira murmurs gently. You startle and before you can deny it, Dove cuts in with a firmer squeeze to your hand.
"Just remember, honest love can be a cage that'll trick you into feeling like you're free."
Victoria smacks her shoulder. "Jesus, you're a bigger cynic than Trinity."
You shake your head and trace shapes into the condensation of your glass. "I never said it was love, guys. It's… We aren't labeling anything. And I'm not about to scare him off by asking the stupid 'what-are-we' question, I'm being cool. Chill. Relaxed and indifferent."
"Indifferent suddenly means your not-boyfriend coming around for pizza?" Trinity remarks with a sharp brow. "Be honest with yourself, he's doing boyfriend things, you're doing girlfriend things. I think six months is a little too long for a situationship—"
Victoria snorts into her glass. "Look who's talking."
Dove and Trinity share a look and an awkward silence falls on the table. Despite feeling sorry for your best friend and her own messy love life, you're grateful that the attention is finally off you.
The conversation shifts onward to different topics, Samira bemoaning the strict thematic approaches the higher-ups are placing on her next EP, Dove gushing about the last episode of Euphoria, Trinity rambling eagerly of a break after wrapping up filming for her latest movie, and Victoria complaining yet again of her extraordinarily famous director of a mother.
You sit in the midst of the beautiful chaos with a soft smile, nibbling absentmindedly at your friends before your phone buzzes again. Trinity glances over—you wonder if it's her innate overprotective best friend role—until you wave her away. It's just your manager, Cassie.
"I've gotta go," you sigh regretfully as you show the screen of Cassie calling you. The girls boo dramatically but you give your customary cheek kisses before you stumble out of the booth, answering the call and tucking your phone in between your ear and shoulder. "Hey, Cass."
Your heels carry you to the front, sunglasses back on your face. The valet approaches you but you politely wave them away just as your own driver pulls up to the curb.
"… yeah, Antoine just got here," you tell Cassie on the phone as he steps out to open the door for you. "… yup, absolutely." When you hang up the phone, you let your driver know to take you straight to the recording studio.
As you sink into the backseat, you let out a quiet huff as you brace yourself for the packed schedule that'll take up the rest of your day. In the midst of LA traffic, you mindlessly scroll through emails and correspondence to shift your brain into work mode.
Even so, your attention falls to the leather cord that's wrapped loosely around your wrist. A guitar pick dangles at the end, matte black with a red 'J' scrawled in the center.
Your smile never fades even as you enter the building upon arriving.
—
The outside world falls away when you envelop yourself into the bubble with the other writers and producers. Before you even step into the booth, you settle onto the couch as you're surrounded by a few of the other staff. Cassie had brought you your notebooks from your house for you, along with a few changes of clothes in anticipation of having no time to go home and change.
"I do have potential lyrics for one of the b-sides."
You flip through your notebook and the raw vulnerability that greets you nearly has you slamming the pages shut. But you keep it open and hand it over to Brendon, one of your harsher critics and fellow co-writers. It always feels like peeling your skin and exposing the muscles beneath when Brendon looks over your work; he may not know it's about Jack but he'll see the yearning that's been burrowing deeper and deeper in your bones.
"Not bad." Brendon nods and turns where he sits on a piano bench, testing out the chords you had scrawled above the lyrics. "Slower tempo, though. Might keep this as an opener if you want to build the storytelling to something bigger…"
The afternoon continues on like this, testing out melodies and harmonies while locking in the lyrics. Something comes to mind from the brunch and you lean over Brendon to scribble an extra line in the first verse.
He reads it over, sings it in the melody. "Honest love is a cage that makes you feel free…" the final chord echoes in the room. "That's cynical for a love song."
You shrug. "That's why it's titled 'stupid song'."
Another producer behind you chuckles at your smart wit. The progress is slow and steady but you've got a demo recorded at least and soon Cassie's hustling you out for your next schedule to the dance studio a few blocks down.
Fortunately, there's only a few dancers already there and the choreographer and performance director is close behind; you hate making people wait, fully negating the diva persona the internet tries pushing on you.
The choreo is something you're already familiar with and rehearsal goes by swiftly, blocking out your entrances as you follow the marked tapes that's meant to mimic the stage for the festival you're headlining next month.
"We'll end here today. Thanks, everybody." Everyone disperses for water, stretching out while you head over to your phone where it's been ringing.
You thank everyone as you cross the room to your bag, rummaging to bring out your phone. When you answer, a smile immediately blooms upon your lips.
"Hey, baby."
Jack's chuckle is slightly overtaken by the roar of winds and you figure he's driving with the windows down. "Hi, sweetheart. Did I interrupt something, you sound breathless."
"Oh, absolutely. I was just riding Robby," you retort with a snappy giggle.
"My best friend? That's cruel," he whines dramatically before he breaks off into a laugh. "Our recording sesh finished early, thought I could swing by and wait for you at your place."
"Actually…" Your conversation with the girls begin to weigh heavily on your mind, missing the way some of the dancers start to glance your way. "Rehearsals just finished. Do you wanna pick me up instead?"
"Depends. Where's the dance studio?"
"Are you near West Hollywood? On Melrose?"
Jack chuckles. "I am. I'll be there in ten, alright? Don't come out 'til I pull up."
You hum, not bothering to stamp down your bright smile. "I know. I'll see you soon."
"See you, darling."
Jack's G-Wagon is excessive yet blends right in with the rest of the vehicles that roll along Melrose Ave. He's shamelessly double-parked in front of the studio, hazard lights flashing, as you walk briskly to hop into the front seat. You don't relax until the door's shut behind you, safe behind tinted windows, to lean in and kiss Jack across the console. Despite the obvious traffic he's causing, his hand grasps your jaw to deepen the kiss that has your thighs clenching together.
"Mm, Jack… the cars—"
He nips against your lower lip. "Can't help it. Missed you today."
You giggle, traffic be damned, and lean in for another. "You saw me this morning."
"Not enough time," he says simply before he drops a kiss to your nose and shuts off his hazard lights. "Buckle up."
You obey immediately before a tantalizing smell steals your attention. Like a bloodhound, you sniff the air and look over your shoulder to see the familiar box in the backseat.
"You got me Vito's?"
Jack chuckles at the sharp squeal that follows, landing his warm palm onto your thigh to settle you when you attempt to turn and crawl into the back for an early slice. "It's your favorite, sweetheart, of course I did. Now quit moving and behave for me."
You retaliate with a sharp nip to his earlobe instead, dragging his hand higher up your thigh which he squeezes. "I'm giving you the sloppiest head later."
"Just for pizza?" He barks out a laugh as he turns onto your street.
"For Vito's," you correct. He rolls into your driveway, the gate shutting behind him. Once the security system is locked in place, you squeal as Jack's hand shifts higher to rub your clothed clit. His mouth finds yours, swallowing up your moans as he rubs you through the soaked fabric until you're cumming in your seat.
You're panting against his mouth when he reluctantly breaks the kiss, retracting his hand to lick his fingers clean while you watch with a burning gaze. "Always taste so sweet for me, sweetheart," he remarks casually before he steps out, circles the car and helps you out next.
The indifference he has is a ruse, you know that much, but it turns you on even more, whining playfully as he grabs the pizza and heads inside without another word. "Jack—!"
His resounding cackle only has you huffing, playfully stomping your feet as you follow him inside. "Go shower, pretty girl, I'll meet you on the rooftop."
—
(INSTAGRAM — @STARSARCHIVAL. (fan account for STAR!)
2 min ago. — [caption: THROWBACK TO WHEN STAR DID LIVESTREAMS.]
VIDEO: A screen recording of an old livestream of you that aired a few months ago. It's late morning or early noon, birds chirping. You're sitting in your backyard patio at the table, an acoustic guitar on your lap and dressed in a matching pajama set. A bowl of unfinished greek yogurt and parfait is sitting on the table beside you.
"This is a demo, not really sure if this'll ever be released but I finally figured out the chorus. Hope you like it."
A sweet melody rings out, mingling with the occasional songbird that flits in and out of frame behind you. It's likened to a lullaby.
"And it's too hard to describe thisIn a way that feels honest, but even when I'm quietI adore you, baby, I promiseAnd I hope I never see what your face looks like goin'A face, I swear, that I could spend my whole life knowin'Here's to hopin'."
—
By the time you're showered, the sun has begun to set, painting the skies a strawberry pink tinged with orange. One of Jack's old NIGHTCRAWLER shirts hang off your frame, the black dye faded into a crackled gray, and conceal the cotton shorts beneath as you climb up the stairs that lead to your house's roof.
It had been the sole reason of purchasing this home, the gorgeous view that overlooks the neighborhood with an artifical ivy wall to create a semblance of privacy. With some renovation, you had another wall put up to project movies off of with a mountain of beanbag chairs and plush couches to sit on at the other side of the roof. A low coffee table sits nearby as well, occasionally pushed aside or dragged closer for whatever the evening requires.
But tonight, Jack has the lanterns turned on, casting the roof in a warm glow that'll replace the sunset's natural light. The coffee table is tugged close to the couch that Jack's already occupying, the pizza box open and a couple of cherry cokes already set out for the both of you.
"That mine?" He chuckles in greeting as he opens his arm for you to slide into.
"It's mine now," you grin and tuck your legs beneath you, fitting perfectly in his arms while he hands you a plate. Music is playing faintly; you may not own an exorbitantly expensive record player like Jack but you have a handy JBL speaker that's currently playing an old R&B track you might've introduce him to.
The two of you eat in comfortable silence as you assume your usual position: legs tossed across Jack's lap, his hand stroking along your thigh, and your head resting on his shoulder as you chew. While he'd been technically on hiatus with Robby for the past several years, he understands the chaos and demands of a life lived in the public eye.
Sometimes, just existing with Jack is enough to find your anchor.
"Day's been okay?" He asks quietly, plates set aside as he presses a kiss to your forehead. When you nod, a voice that sounds eerily like Trinity whispers in your ear: boyfriend activities. You bat it away.
"Just busy," you answer as you set your cherry coke down to tip your head up to meet his eyes. Your fingertips scratch along his scruffy beard, traveling up to play with his silver curls. "This is nice, though. I love our rooftop pizza nights."
Jack hums in agreement, head tipping to chase your touch. "Best way to end the day. Made any progress with the album?"
"A bit. We got the verse down but we're still playing around with the chorus," you murmur. His hand smooths up your thigh without expectations, basking in the domesticity of the evening while you ramble on about your day. He listens with a few nods and hums slipped in. "But how about you? I saw the Rolling Stones article about you and Robby. Are you excited to be back in the limelight?"
"I think so— I know Robby is," he chuckles. "Most of the album is recorded but it's shorter than we planned it to be. Either we just drop it as is or we would drag out the release by dropping singles."
"That's what my company wants me to do. Don't tell anyone but I have something slated to release for my music festival next month. Oh— that reminds me! Will you be coming?"
Jack already has trouble denying you anything but when you pair a question (that you ask oh so sweetly) with a bat of your big doe eyes, he's saying yes before he could even consult his schedule. He's rewarded with an eager squeal from you, nearly knocking him backwards as you hug him tight. "Careful, sweetheart," he laughs as he braces you against him with a hand on your back, effectively holding you like a clingy koala with how your legs hook around his waist.
"I'll have my team send over badges so you can get through security," you state while reluctantly releasing Jack so you can draft up an email to Cassie while perched comfortably on his lap. "Should I get Robby one too?"
Jack pauses before he nods. "Sure, why not."
"Good, I already requested for two." The email's sent and when you toss your phone aside, you catch your lover's questioning look as you settle back down in his arms.
"Don't give me that face— you and Robby are like a set, I know better than to separate you two."
—
Hot off the press, a stack of US WEEKLY magazines are dropped off by the kioks on the Walk of Fame a few days later. Your face amongst a few other male celebrities are splashed across the cover, garnering more attention by passing pedestrians.
US WEEKLY: STAR-CROSSED LOVERS?
NATION'S POPSTAR PRINCESS 'STAR' WAS FOUND EXITING DANCE STUDIO ON MELROSE AND GETTING PICKED UP BY A MYSTERY MAN.
MANY HAVE BEEN SPECULATING EXACTLY WHO WAS IN THE LIMO WITH STAR THE NIGHT BEFORE BUT SOURCES CLAIM TO KNOW WHO PICKED HER UP IN THAT G-WAGON. SOME SAY IT'S DENNIS WHITAKER, UP AND COMING COUNTRY SINGER OR MATEO DIAZ, CURRENT HEARTTHROB OF THE BIG SCREEN.
BUT MANY CLAIM IT'S JACK ABBOT OR ROBBY FROM NIGHTCRAWLER.
—
thank you so much for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are heavily appreciated and welcomed!
i just need baran so bad!! her being patient with you (a little too patient), having you ride her thigh while you tell her what you want her to do to you :( taking her time kissing you all over before eating you out 😵💫
she's so attentive, and sometimes it's just too much because you're just a wet mess whining for her, your crotch throbbing in pain because it's being ignored while she kisses on her pretty baby. baran will act all surprised when she slips your underwear off and sees just how drenched you are, cooing at you and saying that you should've spoken up, because she would've taken care of her baby (she wouldn't have heard you anyway. she gets SUPER into kissing your body).
baran tutting at you while you ride her thigh, telling you to use your words.
"nuh-uh. speak properly. i can't understand your whines."
"what's that, honey? use your words. tell me what you want me to do."
her hands stroking your waist, sliding up and down your thighs while you hump her stomach. cooing at you and nodding along to whatever you say, making your brain even melt even more because GOD her voice is so soft.
"yeah? you want my fingers inside you? oh, i know you do. i can tell. you're drenching my thigh."
"you sound so hot when you beg, baby. beg a little more, and then i'll give you want you need."
goddd...being able to see and hear the effect you have on her just from the way you grind against her thigh. her nipples poking you. her hands squeezing your waist. her breath hitching when you squeeze your knees around her thigh. her eyes hooded with lust, staring at you intensely. the way she's literally hypnotized while watching you, brows all creased like she's close to cumming.
she likes to wait until you're drooling from between your thighs before she eats you out. baran absolutely loves to spread your lips and see the mess she created, cooing at your throbbing hole, thumb swiping over your swollen clit. and she hasn't even touched you there yet. she's been spending all her time kissing down your body, worshipping you.
baran really wants to try to make you cum hands-free just from her kissing your body. thinking about her trying to hypnotize you to get you relaxed enough.....
baran, who's fucking obsessed with kissing your stretch marks, or this one mole on your body that she finds super pretty >__< she gets so distracted from kissing it that when you push her away and whine, she genuinely forgets where she is for a second @__@
dada is BIG on eye contact. i know she's cupping your chin and making you look her in the eyes while you tell her what you want her to do. she won't touch you, won't kiss you, until you make eye contact and tell her what you need from her.
