ℬeing caught by the paparazzi whilst you and jack have steamy car sex right after the oscar’s……
cw .ᐟ 18+ mdni. fingers in mouth’s yayyyy!!! naked dry humping (?). penetrative sex. slight nipple play. risk of being caught. creampie. jack is pussy drunk. (let me know if i’ve missed anything :p)
acknowledgements .ᐟ gif creds: @ainasluv
the shiny new rock on your finger shone beautifully under the dazzling lights in the theatre, your cheeks hurting with how much you’d been smiling since jack had popped the question.
while he didn’t win the oscar, he got the real prize when you said yes, your shriek of excitement making him all the more happier as he spun you around in his arms, lovingly kissing you before setting you back down onto the floor.
your heeled feet clacked against the flooring as he rushed you out, giggles making your chest vibrate as you snuck out some back door of the theatre to evade the pushy paparazzi, like two teenagers afraid to be caught.
“we should probably stay ya’know,” you smiled, looking back over your shoulder at the closing swing door, the streetlight above you and jack shining down onto you both, the scene like something out of a movie.
“they’ll be fine without us baby, we can sneak away for a bit no?” he hummed, those dashing dimples of his that first drew you in showing prominently, making your knees buckle, your feet already moving after his before your mind could catch up.
he held the door open for you like the gentleman he was, wiggling his brows in the dorky manner you’ve grown accustomed to, only sparking an even wider smile to grace your features as you slid into the backseat, jack following right after, closing the door behind himself.
“jack…” you finally spoke, batting your lashes as you watched him, your cheeks warming at the manner in which his eyes traced your facial features, the love in his gaze evident, but the raw need he had for you hard to ignore too.
“mhm honey?” he clears his throat, adam’s apple bobbing as he leans his head onto his hand, propped up by his elbow.
“what are we doing here?” you smiled, whispering in response, your pupils moving from side to side, almost as if to check if anyone was around.
“can’t a guy want some alone time with his soon to be wife?” he charmingly says, causing you to roll your eyes, biting back a smile as your hands rest in your lap, the metal of the band of your engagement ring cool against your skin, the chill making you smile to yourself.
“god you’re beautiful baby, how on earth did a fella like me get so lucky?” he mumbles, swiftly reaching forward in the limited space of the backseat, his large hand wrapping around your waist to tug you into his lap, your polka dot adorned designer piece all fluffed out around you as you sat in your dear lover’s lap.
you bit back a giggle at his sugar talking; that damned tongue of his. “just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself now could you?” you hummed, bottom lip wedged between your pearly whites, your manicured hands sliding up his suit adorned shoulders, lazily tugging his suit jacket off, moving your hands right to the nape of his neck, running them through his slick backed hair, that little stubborn curl that always flopped down onto his forehead making you hum in content.
“damn right i couldn’t,” he laughs, sliding his one hand from your waist up to jaw, cupping your chin softly before pressing his lips to yours, your mouths moving languidly against one another’s, his hand that was still settled on your waist tugging you closer, the tent in his slacks pressing all hot and needy against your own centre, his incredible size already reducing your mind to a mess.
the kiss grew desperate quickly, his tongue running across your bottom lip to ask for permission, passionately frenching as soon as you parted your lips, allowing him to claim your hot, wet mouth with his.
“mhm, you think it’s a-a good idea to have sex here baby?” you breathily spoke between kisses, his hand on your waist sliding to the hem of your dress, his calloused hands sliding across the supple skin of your thigh right up to your hip, using his leverage to tug you back and forth across his bulge, your speech broken as your mind got all fuzzy.
he continued to kiss you with a hunger you haven’t quite seen before, whimpering, fucking whimpering into your mouth as you began to roll your hips on your own accord, “you kiddin’? honey it’s a horrible idea but i couldn’t give a rats ass right now with how beautiful you look on top o’ me; most gorgeous woman in the world,” he murmured into your lips, moving his kisses down your jaw, taking your earlobe between his teeth before trailing his lips down the hollow of your throat, pressing sloppy open mouthed kisses to the unmarked skin there.
you smiled softly as you tilted your head up, eye’s fluttering shut as his hand snuck down the front of your underwear, his index and middle finger slowly but steadily moving over your throbbing clit, down to your already gushing entrance, his kisses faltering against your neck as he pulled away, moaning at how wet you were.
“this all f’me pretty?” he smiled, running his two fingers through your wetness, nodding as you whined when he pulled away, his hand trailing from your underwear and out from under your dress, your arousal glistening on the tips of his fingers, his eyes blown black with lust.
“good god,” he muttered under his breath, tentatively slipping his fingers pass the threshold of his lips, tasting your sweet, sweet essence on his tongue, groaning around his digits.
the image was obscene, something straight out of a porno, your lips parting in response; your handsome fiancée, earnestly groaning and trying to savour your addictive taste on his tongue, his eyes closed in pleasure, his dick hard as fuckin rock!
“god baby you taste amazing, y’gotta-“ he paused, his mind a pussy-drunken mess, breathless as he slipped his saliva coated fingers into your awaiting mouth, your kiss bitten lips immediately wrapping around his lengthy fingers, keeping your sultry eyes on him as you began to bob your head, sucking his digits clean of your arousal and his saliva almost as if you were sucking his heavy cock.
“y’re gonna be death of me y’know that?” he smiled, his tone of voice conveying just how much he needed you, the corners of your lips quirking as you smiled around his digits, sliding them out from between your lips, a string of saliva connecting you to his fingertips, revealing the raunchy behaviour you’d just partook in.
“now i’d usually love to be smothered by that pretty pussy o’yours but i gotta be inside you baby, need to feel you wrapped tight around me before i lose it,” he frantically spoke, moving his hand, the one with the digits that had just been between your plump lips, to settle loosely at the base of your throat, his touch sending goosebumps to erupt all over your skin.
he used the leverage he held by your neck to bring you close once more, capturing your lips in another messy kiss as his other hand worked to undo his slacks, your hands moving to rip the front of his shirt open, buttons flying with the sheer force you held, your hunger for each other conveyed through your frantic movements.
you trailed your nails down his chest, jack hissing against your lips at the feeling, all suave as he continued kissing you like your life depended on it, all whilst swiftly bunching your dress at your waist, revealing your soaked pretty pink underwear.
you whispered against his lips, his unoccupied hand moving your sticky underwear to the side, getting ready to slide his dick between your awaiting folds when you stopped him with a hand to his wrist.
he immediately stopped, on high alert now, pulling back with furrowed brows, “you wanna stop baby? did i do somethin’ wrong?” he eagerly asked, an apology on the tip of his tongue in case he did.
you shook your head, quelling his worries instantly, “no no nothin’s wrong, jus wanna put it in by myself, can i?” you asked cheekily, the windows all fogged up, surely giving you away to anyone that would pass by.
he smirked that cocky smile you loved, raising his brows suggestively as he watched you look down all lovingly at his throbbing cock, “course’ you can—y’don’t gotta ask y’know? it’s yours—can do whatever you want with it,” he hums, already showing signs of being pussy drunk.
you giggled at his word choice, mumbling a soft “dork” under your breath before running your thumb over the angry, red tip, pre-cum oozing from the head, using your thumb to spread it over his entire length, almost drooling at the sight of his veiny cock.
“fuckkk,” he hissed, biting down onto his knuckles as you teased him, lifting your hips slightly to run his tip through your sopping folds, brows creasing at the centre whenever it would catch onto your swollen clit, humming constantly as you essentially humped his needy cock.
“honey please-need to be inside you b’fore he gets all antsy,” he grumbles, pausing your movements as you snorted, “he?” you smiled, tilting your head at his silliness, surging forward to press your lips to his before he could talk again, sinking down onto his dick at the same time.
you both gasped into the kiss, feeling him in your tummy as he bottomed out, eagerly moving your hips once you grew accustomed to his size, something you had to do each time you’d make love to one another. he was a girthy fellow.
“god you feel amazing,” he groaned, his lips just pressed to yours, not even kissing anymore just touching, and that was all he needed, he just needed to be close to his girl whilst your pussy sucked the life out of him, riding him like there was no tomorrow.
his hands moved to tug the front of your dress down, your breasts spilling from the fabric, pulling away from your lips to all but make out with your voluptuous tits, moving from sucking to biting at your hardened nipples, paying the same amount of love and attention to the other one as your hips continued rolling down into his, the faint hair above his manhood deliciously rubbing against your clit.
the car smelt of raw sex and desperation, a sheen of sweat coating your once pristine figures, pinup curls all messy now due to the humidity in the car. the sight was absolutely filthy and you loved it.
jack pathetically whimpered again once you began rolling your hips in a particular fashion, spelling his surname out with each roll of your hips, thighs burning at the effort.
“can’t—fuck baby i ain’t gonna last—can’t wait to make you my wife; gosh mrs. castello you’re killin me here,” he breathed heavily, sneaking his right hand down to play with your swollen little pearl, flicking and pinching the bundle of nerves till you were crying, your tits bouncing with each laboured breath you took in, wanting so badly to scream out his name.
you were already on that sweet uphill journey to your climax when he called you mrs. castello, his hand toying with your needy clit only egging you on further, “jack-mhm so close baby, love you so fuckin’ much,” you cried out, blabbering as you moved your one hand from his shoulder to his jaw, his moans bordering on pornographic, getting louder and louder with his roll of your hips; pressing your index and middle fingers to his lips, jack immediately parting them to allow your digits into his hot, wet mouth, shutting him up effectively as he immediately sucked on your digits, groaning around them as you began bouncing on his cock.
“fuck fuck fuck,” you moaned, eyes squeezed shut as you chased your orgasm with vigour, the combination of jacks lips around your fingers, his dick pummelling into you with each hop of your hips, his own hips thrusting up into you, the thrill of fucking in public—god it made your head all fuzzy, the tips of your ears burning, that coil in your belly snapping as he continued messily playing with your clit.
he moaned around your digits, your pussy squeezing the life out of his dick as your thighs spasmed; “oh god,” you cried, cumming around his thick cock, moaning like a bitch in heat as jack continued thrusting up into you, “shit shit shit baby-“ he stammered out wondering you slipped your fingers from his lips, his thrusts growing sloppy at the feel of your cunt squeezing and releasing him, throbbing around his length, the sensation sending his mind reeling as he came inside you, his fingers still slowly messing with your spent bundle of nerves, his cum spurring out in thick ropes as he fucked it up into you.
“oh my god—“ you breathlessly spoke, your hips still lazily rolling into his, forehead moving to rest against his, smiling as you leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips.
“that-that was awesome darlin, god i love you so so much-” he huffed, letting out a “whoo!” which only made you laugh against his lips, shaking your head as he whispered sweet praises to you.
unbeknownst to the both of you, the paps had received a tip from one of the theatre’s staff, the lot of them swarming in the direction of the car in hopes of getting something juicy on the new up and coming star, jack castello.
just as you were coming down from your high, ready to tug your clothes back on, loud voices boomed from outside, flashes going off all around the car. jacks head perked up with an urgency that made him dizzy, the high from his orgasm vanishing in an instant, his eyes going wide, face stark white as he realised what was happening; his first hollywood scandal—being caught having sex with his fiancée in the backseat of his car outside of the oscar’s.
“oh dear,” you huffed, scrunching your face in embarrassment at the predicament you’d caught yourself in, looking over your shoulder at the invasive vultures outside, covering your face as you kept your bare chest facing him, jack’s softening dick still inside.
“god baby i am so screwed,” he groaned, mumbling a “fuck” under his breath as he unconsciously made sure you were covered from prying eyes, blindly reaching for his discarded suit jacket to tug over your shoulders, all the while preparing himself for the scandal that would no doubt be front page news.
come monday, avis would definitely wring his neck out.
✿. summary: you said no kiss scenes. you’d rather die than kiss one of the guys you hated most: jack castello. but jack finds a way to get you to do the scene—and a way to make you moan his name. (apart of my 2k celebration ! request -> here)
✿. pairing: enemie!costar!jack x mean!brat!starlette!reader
✿. word count: 5.2k (i went overboard..)
✿. request: “hii!! I would like a jack castello novel with spicy tea and bratty reader who’s a princess to work and act with until one day after set he takes it upon himself to sort it out so the production can go on <3”
✿. warning: filty smut, acting trailer sex, dom/sub undertones, brat taming, degradation, r is so mean, some uses of y/n, unprotected sex, enemies to lovers, sloppy kissing, pinv, some nipple play, spanking, pull-out method, missionary, doggy, r gets cock-drunk, kinda dub-con but not really, r is in denial, probably a plethoa of grammatic and punctuation issues
✿. a/n: sorry that this is so long…i had a lot of fun writing this lol. hopefully it’s structured well bc i was lowk jumping around BUT i hope you enjoy, anon <333
MORE UNDER THE CUT | 18+ MINORS DNI </3
“I’m not doing the damn scene!” came out of your mouth like a broken record since the director of the film you’ve been dreadingly filming finally told you that you had to smooch your co-star, Jack Castello. You weren’t fond of Jack—actually, you hated the guy. The reason for your disdain was simple: you found him annoying. An annoying kiss-ass—and a little birdy had chirped in your ear and told you he practically slept his way up to the top, using his only natural born talent—being attractive—instead of taking the long road like you did. His acting was run-of-the-mill. A skill level that was heightened with studio-mandated classes because Jack was god-awful at his supposed dream job.
The first time you met him, he was exorbitantly hyper.
“Oh gee! Gosh—I just can’t believe it! Are you really Y/n L/n? I-I’m a huge fan. The name’s Jack Castello.”
It was a little cute, but tense with an eagerness to impress and charm every star he came in contact with. You had a very short conversation—you assured that your words were kept to a minimum, considering you have somewhere very important to be.
But, your opinion on him changed once he dropped the question you loathed most hearing from aspiring actors: “Can you put a good word in for me?”
Sure, it wasn't the worst question in the world; it was normal! But not for you—now every sweet statement Jack proclaimed to you was deemed a way to butter you up and better get roles.
Since it ticked off that easily triggerable anger-bomb inside of you, you told him off. Inert, he was speechless, eyes wide, and those irritatingly pretty lips parted in immobilizing shock. Most people didn’t expect such a “graceful” doll like a world-renowned star, Y/n, would ever spew such obscene words when she was upset.
The key was not pissing you off. ‘Don’t dare say a wrong word to the princess of Ace Studios.’
Unfortunately for Jack, he didn’t know how insanely bad your temper was; you would never be able to tell from the interview in the magazines and newspapers, the front covers. Posters of your stunning face, your fan interactions, and your acceptance speech of your very well-deserved award…you seemed like America's sweethearts. Sugar, spice, and everything nice and in little packages wrapped in a big bow, but not only were you a bitch. You were a brat.
When everything wasn’t up to your standard, you pouted and fussed until your demands were met, shouting when something gave the inexplicably wrong answer, turning up your nose and folding your arms when you didn’t feel like it.’
Multiple producers and other actors have stated that you were nearly impossible to work with, but your talent always kept them coming back. Pleading on their knees for one more go, telling you they’d go anything you want; just one more movie. If everyone was on their best behavior, you were a peach, being the exact image that’s been painted of your sweet side, which you very much had, but you were okay with keeping it hidden when you got away with it for all this time. You’ve had no one to knock you off that high horse, and you expect to stay on.
The two of you were lucky enough not to be working on the same film, to only see enough maybe once a day, around the set, a mean glance here and there, just to let each other know that what happened was definitely not forgotten.
The funny thing is, Jack was in the dark about what he did to make you so mad until another actor told him what the problem was because he himself made the same poor mistake. After that, every single heated interaction made sure that your growing hatred was sewn deep. Then you were told by your manager that Avis herself wanted to sit down with you and go over a new script that she just knew would be absolutely perfect for you and you only.
It was a starring role, the main character naturally—these days, you hardly ever are handed anything less than a co-starring role, and if it was, you’d never accept it. You told her you’d think about it and wanted more time to look through it some more. The script was well written, had moments that would definitely draw a few laughs from the audience, and a slow burn that had you captivated. However, you were told it wasn’t the full script; just a sample to see if you were interested. Usually, that would bother you. There weren't many times that you were only allowed to see bits and pieces of a script you ultimately regretted by the time you began filming—but this was different. You needed to see this movie come to life.
After they got the go-ahead to start production, the casting director sought out the male lead, the man you’d have to put up with for months, the man you’d spend hours rehearsing with, the man who you would have to be latched to the hip with. But apparently, they already had the perfect man in mind who was already with Ace Studios. A budding star, an Oscar nominee, gorgeous, tall, dashing—a true gentleman with a charm that had every woman swooning from just his looks alone.
From this description, you were somewhat excited to be introduced to such a heart-catching man that you’ve never ever heard of—not that gave you a name to refer to, it was quite ominous how they kept everything name-free.
Until you met him. You couldn’t believe it. Of course, it was Jack Castello. Both of your smiles dropped in sync once you saw each other. They had done this on purpose. The high-ups knew who you didn’t like—you were never one to stay quiet about your displeasure when it came to certain people, usually ones with power or useful to you, Jack being one of them. Avis herself knew that you were fond of him. So you complained, complained, and complained. “You must be out of your goddamn mind!” and “There’s no way you think I’m going to be doing anything with that, jackass.” or “Which one of you did he fuck to get this role? Because it definitely wasn’t me! He’s not even a good actor, for God's sake.”
They all begged you to push through just this one time for the script you loved oh so much, they even settled for just a screen test, to see if you were movie magic compatible…and you gave in. You hated giving in. But just this once, would you agree to working with the man that’s been on your shit list since you met? The excitement was at an all-time high because of your awfully rare compliance, but their pompous fists of joy quickly faltered when you announced the catch. No kissing scenes. Absolutely fucking not.
Although everyone in the room looked shocked at your request, Ellen stepped in and told you there wouldn’t be one just to give you some temporary comfort, but what would a romance movie without a kiss scene? Saying that “If I have to kiss that bastard, I’m gonna make sure there's a problem. A big one.”
Heading to the set in the morning while you were already in a shitty mood made it ten times worse when you met with his
stupid face and those stupid dimples and that annoying grin that showed off his pearly whites, and his stupid blue eyes—it was stupid. He was so stupid.
The fact that you weren’t even informed of the supposed scene change until the last minute made you even madder. Everyone knew you and Jack didn’t get along, but you two looked good together—great actually. Perfect for the silver screen, complimenting each other perfectly during a photoshoot—it was a shame that your personalities clashed worse than two cars slamming into each other.
Did you have to pass the chemistry test with flying colors? If it went horribly, maybe they’d find another person just like him, but tolerable.
Already, you had made it clear you didn’t want a kiss scene— You were a woman of your word. That’s why you’re locked in your trailer with a few men outside your door begging for you to comply. “C’mon! It’s just one scene! It’ll be over before you know it!” said the director, hitting his fist against the metal next to your window. “I said no! I’ve got a different kissing scene for you. One where you kiss my ass!” you said back to the man.
If this were any other actress pitching a fit like you were doing now, they’d toss you out on your ass without thinking twice about it. You were allowed to throw tantrums if you didn’t get your way, you didn’t quite often, and you’ve never been fired once. It would be stupid to lose one of the biggest stars of the decade when your demands were usually easy to accommodate, but this was the grand ending of the movie. There needed to be a kiss scene. But here you were in your trailer, still in your changing robe, and you kept your foot down like it was glued to the ground.
“Shit! She’s gonna ruin the whole film. Why did we ask for her again?” Danny said, dragging a hand down his face in utter frustration. In his years of movie-making, he’s never met an actress with such a bratty attitude. “We didn’t ask. Avis offered her the role because she’s one of the best actresses in Hollywood….” A producer sighed, and sighed ever harder when he checked his watch to see how much time had gone by since they first started trying to lure you out of your locked trailer. Jack tsked, tapping his foot against the concrete. You were even sure why he was there in the first place. Whoever gave him the job of “Calming Y/n down so she can do the damn kissing scene” was an idiot.
“Why do all the best ones have to be assholes?” the director said, but louder this time, just enough that you could hear him. The corner of your top lip lifted as you rolled your eyes and shouted, “I heard that!”
“Please, get over yourself and come out!” Jack said back, which had you taken aback, who was he to tell you anything? Nothing he could ever say would have you out of your trailer. Nothing. You winced once you heard his voice—that was always sultry and low during a normal conversation, it was weird. “Oh, Fuck off, Castello,” you scoff, walking over to the only window that blocked anyone from looking inside and drawing the blind up to give Jack a nasty look before dropping it back down and taking a seat on your loveseat—that was exclusively for you and two other actors that were with Ace Studios.
You crossed your legs and sat back down, wrapping your silky pink—custom-made Chanel robe that was handmade by Coco herself as a gift for winning yet another Oscar—around your partially nude body and took a big gulp of wine from your glass, waiting to hear whatever the men had to say next. “It’s getting late. We’ll continue this tomorrow, and we’re all hoping that you’ll come to your senses!” Danny said, before telling the producer to tell everyone the day was wrapped up. “Well then, you, the producer's name I don’t know, Jack, and everyone else can keep hoping. Good luck with that,” you said back, cupping your hands around your mouth so they could hear you loud and clear. “My name is—“
“I don’t care! Go away!”
Exhausted and annoyed, they all went their separate way—but before that, Jack leaned in real close and whispered, “I think have a way to fix our problem,” They were going to ask him how he would commit a miracle-esqe action, but all they said was good luck, because there was no way in hell you were going to let up.
Some time has gone by, and you were fully convinced that the bastards outside had finally left and gone home, leaving you all alone as you told them to do numerous times. You let out a heavy sigh out of annoyance, standing up to unlock the door and properly check—but before you twisted the handle, the door was already being opened. “What the—“
It was Jack. What, along the lines of “go away,” did he not understand—but there were many things he didn’t understand; that is another reason why you didn’t like him. You didn’t like stupid people. They always made everything harder than necessary, like your situation right now.
“Castello. Get out. Now!” you demanded, face twisted up in a deep scowl as you wagged your finger at the tall man forced himself inside and shut the door behind him. But he doesn’t listen, he’s dormant, still with his arms wrapped around his chest tightly, the work put in at the gym showing as his bicep popped in that tight shirt—it infuriated you, everything about him did. “No. Not until you agree to do the scene,” he said, with such certainty in his voice. Like he was sure he could convince you to do it.
So you narrowed your eyes, tilted your head, and brought every ounce of intimidation you held in your body to play. Most of the time, it worked, and the helpless person who received your death stare would get right to whatever you needed, but Jack looked unfazed, very different from how he looked the first time you told him off. And as a matter of fact, you swear you can see him biting back a smirk.
“I’d rather smash that wine bottle against the floor and slit my throat than kiss you,” you scowled, sticking out a finger and gesturing to the bottle of very expensive wine that sat on one of the counters. It was dramatic, sure, you wouldn’t actually take your life to get out of kissing him, but with the anger that was twisted and deep-rooted in your choleric voice, it was convincing. But again, he was unmoved, that smug expression still on his face.
Then stepped closer in one naturally long stride—he’s so tall, all of his steps were twice the size of yours—and said, “You know what? You’re real immature.” Shaking his head and biting the inside of his cheek, he was closer now. So what if he was close? You didn’t care. All you cared about was getting him out of your face and out of your trailer and out of your life.
You gasp, wrapping your robe tight around your body as if you were offended by his words, but you drop the act. The same finger you were using to point to the wine was now poked into Jack's chest as you said, “I know, and I don’t care. And can act like a fucking toddler and still get paid, my fans will still adore me, and I’ll still be better than you, kid.”
The tick in his jaw went off the moment your bitter words rolled off your tongue. For a moment, you satisfactorily smile to yourself, thinking you have brought down the self-assured facade, but he gripped your wrist, putting you into his broad chest, and pressing you up against him in one swift move that almost knocked your robe off. “You’re doing the scene, kid,” he whispered, in a tone that you’d expect to make your stomach wrench in anger, but it was something different.
Very different.
Internally, you cursed yourself and instantly decided to head down the road of denial. Surely his new dominant demeanor wasn’t turning you on. And the way his body was so incredibly close to yours didn’t make your legs squeeze together subconsciously, and of course, his heaving chest, the slight flare of his nostrils, and his maddening, sharp gaze were not getting you aroused.
“Let me go, asshole—“ you said meekly, too low to sound domineering, and weak that you planned.
A crooked grin ghosts over his lips as he notices the shift in your eyes. They were once darkened with anger, but it looked like lust, and he saw his fair share of lustful stares. From many women and men alike. Despite your pitiful protest, he kept his traps around your wrist tightly and pushed his chest even further, feeling two hardened peaks like his through the silk of your robe. How funny was this? Someone so bent on controlling everyone around her was getting her rocks off to someone controlling her.
“First, you're gonna listen to me,” he started, cranking his neck low to say, "I don't know what your issue is, but you're going to stop holding up production, and you’re gonna do the scene” into your ear. His voice sends chills down your spine. Making goosebumps develop across your skin, but you couldn’t give in just yet. Especially when it was him, making you feel all weird inside—you were disgusted with yourself. After these months of holding up this petty hatred, it was coming down like during a heavy thunderstorm.
Fast and hard.
“No….” you mutter, trying your hardest to not break the intense eye contact that was definitely contributing to one of many reasons why your lacy panties were getting damp with your juices. Another one was added when he lifted up his free hand to grip your jaw and squeeze your cheeks. God, was his hand big compared to your face, and so was his face. He looked far more beautiful than you want to put on, you’ve always noticed it—Everyone does. How handsome he was, that is. But it always irked you to say the least.
Blessed with such a pretty face and cursed with such an annoying attitude, but the way he was touching was annoying. It was awakening something that you didn’t even know was sleeping.
“You’re doing the scene.” he said once more, his breath fan across your face and make your cunt throb in raging anticipation.
“Would it really be so bad to kiss me?” he asked, knitting his brows, screwing up his eyes and batting those lashes. It wasn’t a genuine question, it was mocking one. You let a shaky, quiet, “Yea…” not believing your own words that you would’ve sworn by 10 minutes ago. Then he scoffs, dropping your face from his hand and letting it wander down to your chest, tracing a finger over your nipple. It’s made you whine and buck up against him, you didn’t mean to, but it felt so good.
“You’ve been eyeing me since we started filming,” he accuses, pressing your sensitive bud into your breast like it was a pillow. His cock twitched in his pants as you let out a pained whimper. “Those weren’t looks of lust, wiseass,” you say, eyes fluttering in a sign of dishonesty. What you said wasn’t entirely true. Maybe once you get a good look at him, you’re a human. It was natural to look at a guy and notice his attractiveness on occasion, but it wasn’t like you were proud of yourself afterwards.
“Oh yeah? Then why’d I catch you staring at my cock?” he said lowly, squeezing you, dragging around whimper from your lips.
Again, completely natural—what were you supposed to do? Not look when it was just staring at you. That imprint plagued your mind for days, and you were sure he wasn’t even hard at the moment. And another thing that would plague you was how wet his filthy accusatory words were getting you.
“I wasn't.” You lie, but acting skills weren’t coming out to play right when you needed them. God, not even you were reliable. Your stomach churned as his head angled, his eyes burning lasers through your skull and leaving you a mess. “I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'm definitely not blind,” he whispered, rolling his hips against yours. You draw in a sharp exhale through the mouth in a mix of shock and horniness.
“Am I gonna have to make you?”
You know what he means, exactly what he means. You should push him away—even if you probably would have failed since he was very strong—but you just look up at him with big, glossy eyes filled to the brim with lust. But you do in fact bite your lip.
You’re on the couch, face down in the cushions, gasping and moaning, the most quiet you’ve been—only words-wise. You were loud—and so was he. Muttering filthy words to degrade you and tell you how much you made his blood boil. Jack was behind you; he was heavy and thick. Perfect length and perfect width. Perfect for filling you up and making your words turn into incoherent babbles that were drowning in pleasure. Your thighs tremble, and he digs you out, switching around your guts and fucking you silly.
“It’s always such a challenge with you. You always have to have your way, dontcha? Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?” he growled, snapping his hips harder with every seething word, but all you did was whine pitifully and rock your ass back on his cock—but your lack of an answer earned you a slap on the ass and earned him a loud yelp.
“Answer me. Tell me why it’s so hard to get you to listen, I’m waitin’ for an answer, babydoll,” he rasped, not letting you crawl your nails into the cushion and taking both of your wrists in one of his hands, bending you back as he pulled you. “I-I dunno…M’sorry—“ you whimpered, choking out any word that was still registered in your lustfully clouded mind.
“Why do you gotta be such a goddamn brat every day?” He huffed, giving you another spank on the side of your ass cheek. The sweet sting burned where his hand slapped, making you clench around his in desperation. “G-Gosh, you’re s’tight…who knew such a nuisance could feel so good?” he whimpered, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down.
The mean words and harsh statements were uncharacteristic for Jack; he would never dare speak words of this manner to a lady, especially one who held such beauty and talent like you did, but you also held a mean mouth, mean looks, and a mean attitude; almost evil. You were so mean. That’s why he was treating you this way, using his built-up frustration to fuck you into a state of submission you were not used to. And by the way you crooned his name, how your warm walls fluttered around his cock, the guttural moans that vibrated in your chest, he knew that you were loving being treated this way—being put in your place. Tamed.
“You're always makin’ a fuss—so loud. Everyone hates you. I hate you, you want me to fuck you like I hate you?”
Jack had fucked away your sense of pride, but you needed to feel it. You needed to feel that anger that you’ve bestowed upon him by your presence alone. You wanted him to have you seeing stars from the pure force of him using you like you were his personal toy—this was new for you, but all you knew was that you’ve never been in such a state of bliss and acquiescence. You needed more. A whine is drawn from your throat instead of the words you knew he told you to speak. “Say it. Say you want me to fuck you like I hate you,” he panted, smacking your ass again.
“Ah—F-fuck me like you hate me. P-Please, Jack,” you mewl, arching your back into the couch and pressing back against himself, whimpering from how deep he was. His dick was a damn weapon, assaulting your insides, but you were still bouncing back on him. It was greedy, but those tingles were finding their way on every inch of skin, pairing with the sheer layer of sweat on your trembling body.
“Well, you asked for it,” he whispered, letting go of your wrist and using both of his arms to wrap around your torso, caging you in so you couldn’t escape—the Princess of Ace always got what she wanted, didn’t she? He dropped your wrists and held on to your waist, making sure he had a good grip on your body before he fully ruined it.
Then he let go, let go of anything that was holding him back from truly releasing his anger. You scream as he pounds you, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and he bruises your fucking cervix over and over again. He was grunting and groaning like a madman, mumbling curses into your ear, dirty insults and profanities were all you heard, and it was getting you closer. And he is so big, almost too big.
If someone heard the noises coming from your trailer, they’d think both of you were famous for making a different kind of movie. His balls were heavy, slapping your ass as his hands found your tits, giving them a harsh squeeze—he had made sure every touchable area of your body was receiving the same treatment.
A whine draws from your throat when you feel the loss of his cock, but he flips you over without a hint of difficulty and slips back in. The new position had you trembling. Having him stare into your eyes as he rocked his hips made you feel like you were about to hit your peak.
Jack grabs your neck and pulls you into a fast, messy kiss. It was sloppy, loud, and wet. Teeth clacking together and tongue fighting to dive into the other mouth. It was messy, but you’re kind of messy. It was good. Too good. You hated that it was good. Especially since it’s what you’ve been screaming your head off about not doing. But here you were, deepened said kiss and whimpering into his mouth, and he rolled your puffy nipple in between his fingers and rocked into you at a brutal pace.
Making you let out pathetic moans each time he retracted, then snapped his hips, burying the fat tip of his cock deep inside you. In and out, in and out. Each thrust gets you closer to your climax. Skin clapping together and obscene pornographic moans—drawn both of you—bouncing off the walls in your small trailer. “L-Look at you—all pathetic and fucked out. Get all dumb because my cock. Finally found a way to shut you up.”
“I’m—f-fuck…M’close…” you murmur lazily, words soft and slurred as you lose all the presumed ineradicable uproariousness of your voice. It was shaky and frail—like it was something you could shatter. Then he pulls out. Without remorse, but full of cruelty. You gasp from the lack of fullness and say, “W-what..what’re you doing…please—put it back.” Your hands tremble as you make a weak attempt to slip his cock back inside you, and he laughs at you, his chuckle thick with cockiness. His gaze has your heart beat going so fast you could hear it in your ears.
You had a small feeling that you were going to look back at this moment and wince at your pitiful behavior, but you couldn’t think about your future self at the moment, no. All you were thinking about was how the pool in your stomach was about to drain if he didn’t start fuck you again. He shushes you, shaking his head as he leans down to meet you face to face. “Oh, you can have it back, sugar, but I think somethin’ from you before we do that,” he whispers, nudging that gorgeous nose into your cheek. The way in which he spoke was new. Soft. Dangerously soft. It had you clenching around nothing.
“F-Fine! I’ll do the damn scene. Just make me cum—please, Jack,” you blurt out, pleading with both your words and your eyes, rolling your hips forward like they had a mind of their own, needing him back inside of you.
Jack knew he could do it. This…now this was a massive ego boost, having one of the most powerful, beautiful, and bitchiest women in Hollywood dropping the painful attitude and begging him to fuck her—and most of all, he got you to do the scene you swore off. But he knew it would work. After taking his cock so well, what would be so wrong with a little smooch?
“I knew you could do it—who knew all I had to do was fuck you, huh?” he chuckled, and before you could even try to give a snarky comeback, he stuffed you full in one thrust. It was instantaneous how your words flatter, how your head tipped back, and how fast your whimpers came back. Jack drops his hand down to circle your clit, using every available to have you come hard around his cock, giving you a little reward for your new good behavior.
His thrusts are perfect, precise, and deep and he rutts into at the right pace. It’s not too fast, not too slow, just right—right enough to have cum with a loud cry. You latch on to his neck, leaving crescent shaped marks into his neck skin as you moan his name, it on repeat like one of those autosuggestion books. His grinding does stop, like he’s imprinting the fact that he was the one that made you have the best orgasm in your life into your cunt—leaving you a sweet little reminder.
You knew your ass would be sore along with everywhere else. You tits, your lips—southern and northern—your insides, your thighs—everywhere. You were sure to be riddled with hickies and red and purple bruises, but for some reason, the thought of you wearing his marks around was almost enough to rile you up again. Damn it.
You’re still sensitive when he pulls out and spurts hot ropes all over your skin. He whimpers as he comes, eyes threatening to squeeze shut, but you can tell he wants to watch it happen, so he could use the mental image for later.
Then he swipes his thumb down your stomach and collects some of his release, then rests it above your mouth, and without him saying a single word, you open your mouth, ready for him to pop his finger into your mouth. He rested it on your tongue, feeling his cock twitch as you sucked his thumb clean like a good girl in an act of submission. “You’re already learning, darlin’…” he purred, sliding his thumb from your lips with confidence written all over his face.
“Now, was that so hard?”
“She’s doing it,” he muttered to the director as he was getting ready to film one of your scenes that didn’t include Jack, a day after what you did in the trailer, which reeked of dirty sex afterwards. The makeup artist was pissed that they had to do extra work and cover up the reckless marks from your secret love-making machine.
“What? I don't believe you. You yanking my chain?” he asked, stunned and very confused. How in the world did one of the people you have named as one of your enemies convince you to do a scene you were set on not doing.
“Listen. I swear on my grandmother's grave.”
“How did you even—what the hell did you do?”
“Let's just say we had ourselves a long, proper conversation.”
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Jack sees you at the Golden Tip Gas Station and assumes that you are looking for Dreamland. As he approaches you, the look on your face is not full of lust, but fear. You whisper, “Help me.” Someone’s been following you.
The neon glow of the Golden Tip Gas Station flickers against the wet pavement, casting sharp reflections in the late-night drizzle. You stand by one of the pumps, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your coat pulled close as if it could shield you from the stares burning into your back. The night hums with the low growl of engines passing by, but your world feels narrowed down to the sound of your quickening breath and the crunch of footsteps lingering too close behind you.
You glance over your shoulder—he’s still there. The man in the tan coat, his hat pulled low, pretending to check his lighter as he leans against a post. He’s been following you since you left the diner, his shadow slipping between pools of streetlight like smoke. You told yourself you were imagining it, that people don’t just follow strangers in a city like this—at least not in the open. But when he smiled at you, slow and deliberate, something cold settled in your chest.
You reach the station because it feels safer, brighter, but even here your pulse hammers. You’re out of place. The gas station is empty except for two attendants by the office and a man at the far pump—broad-shouldered, tall, in a dark leather jacket. His hair catches the glow when he turns, and his eyes—blue, sharp, but softened by curiosity—land on you. He notices the way you’re standing, rigid and wary, like someone ready to run.
Jack Castello wipes his hands on a rag, tossing it onto the hood of a gleaming Packard. He’s used to women looking at him, but this is different—there’s no invitation in your gaze, no flirtation. Just fear. You glance past him again toward the street, and that’s when Jack sees the man—the one in the tan coat—hovering too close, his eyes trained on you like you’re something he already owns.
Jack starts walking toward you, slow and easy, like a man approaching a skittish deer. He figures maybe you’re here for… well, that—the kind of business Ernie’s station is known for. The way you keep glancing around, the way you look lost—it wouldn’t be the first time someone new didn’t know how this worked. But when he gets close enough to see your face in the flickering light, he realizes it’s not confusion written there. It’s terror.
“Evenin’, sweetheart,” Jack says warmly, his voice steady, meant to soothe. His smile is easy, like this is nothing unusual. He stops a foot away, careful not to crowd you. “You lost?”
You shake your head hard, your lips barely moving as you whisper, “Help me.”
Two words. Quiet. Fragile. They hit him harder than a punch.
Jack doesn’t hesitate. His posture stiffens, like a soldier. He doesn’t even glance at the man behind you, though he feels his stare like static on the back of his neck. Instead, Jack steps in close—close enough that the smell of oil and cologne clings to him—and tilts his head like he’s greeting someone he knows. Then he does something bold. His arm slides around your waist, gentle but firm, pulling you flush against his side. The warmth of him is immediate, his presence solid like a wall between you and the rest of the world.
“There you are,” Jack says, his tone shifting to something intimate, familiar. He leans down just enough for the words to brush your ear. “Play along.”
You nod almost imperceptibly, your fingers clutching his jacket like a lifeline. Jack kisses your temple—not lingering, just enough to sell it—before turning toward the street. His voice rises, cheerful and sharp enough to cut. “Sorry I’m late, honey. Car trouble, you know how it is.”
The man in the tan coat freezes, his expression souring as Jack stares him down with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Jack keeps his arm around you, the picture of a husband reunited with his wife, and tilts his head toward the Packard. “Let’s get you home.”
The stranger lingers a beat too long, his jaw tightening. Jack doesn’t break eye contact. The war taught him how to hold a stare, and he uses it now like a weapon. Finally, the man mutters something under his breath and slinks off into the shadows, his footsteps fading into the night.
Only when he’s gone do you feel Jack’s grip ease, though his arm stays around you like he knows the fear hasn’t left yet. He guides you toward the car, opening the door like a gentleman. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice stripped of the easy charm now, replaced by something genuine.
Your throat is tight, but you manage a nod. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice shaking.
Jack studies you for a moment, his brows drawn together. Up close, your face is lit by the neon glow, and he can see the strength beneath the fear. You’re beautiful—not just in the obvious way, but in the way that makes him want to shield you from every ugly thing in this city.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says with a small smile. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
He doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t press. He just makes sure you feel steady as you slide into the car. When he circles to the driver’s side, he throws one last glance over his shoulder, scanning the shadows for any sign of tan wool and malice. There’s nothing but night and neon now, but Jack stays sharp. Because something about that look in your eyes—it’s the kind of thing that makes a man want to keep watch.
As the Packard pulls away from the curb, the city sprawls out ahead—bright lights and dark corners, a place that chews people up. Jack glances at you in the passenger seat, your hands still clenched in your lap, and he makes a silent promise: whoever that guy was, he’s not getting near you again. Not on Jack Castello’s watch.
