#jack delroy x reader

[strang3lov3]

Downpour

Jack offers you a ride home, pulls over to wait out the storm, and fucks you. (4k)

Tags - smut, fingering, oral (f! receiving) hand jobs, unprotected piv, infidelity (Jack is married still), dirty talk, pet names (darling, sweetie, sweetheart, dear), unspecified age gap, kissing, finger sucking, bit of comeplay/come eating, reader has a bush but is otherwise undescribed #bushnation, Jack is all sweet and tender but kinda pervy too, i've headcannoned that mr. delroy is a man who comes a lot. like just so much come. references to late night with the devil but this fic can be understood without watching the movie, I write car sex uniquely in that I am not bound by physics or logic or any bullshit like that. So it’s like a Mary Poppins bag in there. Lots of room for fucking. No, don’t ask questions. Shhh. Don’t worry about it. Fic Help - @noxturnalpascal thanks for your help sweetheart ♡ i love you forever A/N - the David Dastmalchian brain worms infected me months ago and have not let me rest, so here’s this. Car sex with an older and married Jack Delroy.

I feel a little nervous about writing Jack, as I feel with all characters that are new to me. It takes me some time to find my groove. Kind comments would be appreciated 💕 maybe a prompt or two in the inbox for me to play around with if you wanna see more of him 🙏

  As Night Owls comes to a close for the evening, and laughter and chatter begin to fade out, you busy yourself tidying up your station. Cleaning your makeup brushes, packing away your supplies for the weekend. You watch the television in your room and see Jack waving goodbye, shaking audience members’ hands. He’s so handsome tonight. He’s handsome every night.

You’ve been working as a makeup artist on Night Owls for about a year now. It’s a job you kind of stumbled your way into. You had won a raffle ticket to watch Night Owls live show. You were so excited to go and yet you don’t even remember who the guest was that night. You went alone, and found yourself charmed by the show’s host, Jack Delroy. While on commercial break, while the television crew changed the set, you noticed Jack glancing at you as you touched up your makeup, fidgeting and tapping his foot. You offered him a kind smile, and he approached you. 

“Jack Delroy,” he said, holding out his hand. You took it, and he kissed the backs of your fingertips. Starstruck, you giggled and gave him your name, tripping over the syllables. “Beautiful name, darling.”

“Thank you, Mr. Delroy.” 

Jack held your hand longer than what was appropriate. Realizing this, he quickly dropped it. “So, I apologize, but I'm about to be very forward. Gosh, this is very embarrassing,” he laughed awkwardly, then scratched the back of his neck. “I get a little oily in the face. The lights, you know. You wouldn’t happen to have like, a…” he trailed off, stuttering as he tried to find the right words.

You smiled and held up a finger, then dug through your makeup bag for some Mary Kay Beauty Blotter sheets your friend had given you. “Here.” You held the pack sheets out for the handsome talk show host. “Would these help?”

Jack took the sheets from you and inspected them. 

“And this,” you added, handing him your mirror compact. “You just press one of the sheets against your skin.” 

Jack grinned kindly, then took one of the small sheets and pressed it on his forehead and his long, gorgeous nose. “You are a lifesaver,” he said. “There. This is much better. I’m almost as pretty as you now, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed and you looked down at your lap to hide your smile. 

“Apologies, I’ve been told I'm a chronic flirt.” 

“I don’t really mind,” you told him softly.

Jack pressed his lips together in a smile and nodded, then sat in the empty seat next to you. “Alright,” he said, “This is an odd question,  but I’d like to toss it out there anyway because you seem to know what you’re doing with this kind of stuff. We’re short a makeup artist here at Night Owls. It’s unorthodox, I know, but you wouldn’t happen to be interested in–”

You gasp. “I’d love to. Yes.”

“--Being our makeup artist,” Jack finished, chuckling at your excitement. 

“Sorry, I just - oh god, I’d really love to,” you gushed. Jack opened his mouth to speak further, but was called back to set. 

“Stick around after the show, will you?” Jack winked.

“I will, Mr. Delroy.” 

And that’s how it happened. The job was simple: A little powder here, moisturizer there, hairspray to seal it all off. Nothing complicated, and it paid well. Lots of perks and advantages, like meeting TV stars and music artists. You consider yourself lucky. 

Perhaps your favorite part of the job is getting Jack ready for his shows. You’re no stranger to his handsomeness, but it’s special to experience it the way you do. To wash his face, moisturize it, paint a little makeup on his skin - as if he even needs it. “Make sure you cover up my crows feet, please, darling,” Jack said, pointing to his perceived flaws in the mirror. “Gosh, I’m getting so old. Don’t get old.” 

“Noted,” you told him. 

“And my hair, could you use a bit of that makeup to cover up my grays? They look so much worse on the screen.” 

Your heart broke a little. He’s always asked you to cover his wrinkles, but covering his grays was new. You hate doing it. That’s your least favorite part of the job. 

“Oh, but they don’t look so bad, Mr. Delroy.” You combed your fingers through his hair, inspecting the silvery strands he complained about. They look so beautiful against the inky black rest of his hair.

“Jack,” he corrected. “Just Jack. Who says they don’t look so bad?”

“I um…” you hummed, nervously messing with his hair. “Just fans, some of your fans kind of like it.” 

“Do they, now?” Jack teased, his eyebrow cocked. He laughed at your bashfulness as you stuttered something in defense. So shy, so sweet.

Jack loves you all the same. He loves the special affection he gets from you as you get him ready each night, he loves getting to peek down your shirt. But he plays the gentlemanly act well, never going further than a little harmless flirting. It’s fun to make you squirm, tease you for your little crush on him. He’s not oblivious to it. 

When the Night Owls theme finally ends and the studio lights go out, you get a phone call at your station. You hold the receiver up to your ear. “Hello?” 

“It’s Shar,” the voice says. Sharon is your roommate, and also your ride to and from work most nights. She drops you off at the studio before her shift, then picks you up after the show ends each night. Tonight, however, she’s at a party. “I met this guy, and I wanna go home with him. So that means…” Sharon doesn’t finish the sentence. She sounds guilty. 

“But you’re my ride, Shar,” you complain. “And they’re saying it’ll rain. What am I gonna do?”

“I promise I’m gonna make it up to you, okay? Don’t be mad. You’re not mad.” 

“Sharon,” you groan. 

Sharon says your name. “Just listen - he’s so fucking hot, seriously. He’s like a movie star.”

“A movie star, huh?” 

“Don’t judge. Like you wouldn’t fuck Jack Delroy if you could. You know what, why don’t you ask him for a ride?” Sharon teases.

“No way, not happening. He’s married, and his wife is sick. Absolutely not.” 

“Pussy.” Sharon pauses. “If you really don’t have another way home, I’ll come get you.” 

“No, no. It’s fine. I can take the bus, I guess. But you owe me.”

“I do owe you,” Sharon says, “I owe you so much. I love you. Bye. Be safe.” 

“You be safe,” you quip. “Condoms.” 

Honestly, you’re not mad. Is it an inconvenience, sure. But Sharon works hard and deserves a nice night, and she’s right - you’d fuck your movie - television - star crush if you could too. You’ve taken the bus before, and it’s usually empty this time of night. It’ll be fine. 

You grab your purse, pull your knit cardigan over your torso and walk out of the studio, down the hall, then take the elevator down to the lobby. Through light rain, you walk down the street until you’re at a bus station, then sit down on the bench. A gust of wind nearly knocks you over, causing you to shiver and pull your cardigan tighter around your body as you wait for the bus. 

At least you don’t have to wait for long, though. Headlights approach, and the vehicle slows down. Except, it’s not the bus you were expecting. It’s a cerulean ‘74 Buick Electra, Jack’s car. He pulls over and leans across the seat to crank the window down. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for the bus,” you yell. Rain’s starting to come down harder, now, soaking your clothes. Jack makes a face and motions for you to get into his car. You wave him off, “It’s okay. It shouldn’t be much longer.” 

“Nonsense! Get in the car.” 

“It’s really okay, Mr. Delroy.”

Jack rolls his eyes. He gets out of his car and rounds the front of it, then takes your hand and pulls you up from the bench. “I’m not asking. I am telling you, as your boss, to get in my car.” 

Jack opens the passenger door and ushers you inside, then shuts your door and gets into the driver’s seat. “It’s supposed to be the storm of the century out there, and you’re gonna let it blow you right away. Crazy girl.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Delroy,” you murmur sheepishly. 

Jack puts the car into first gear and takes off. “What’ve I told you about calling me Mr. Delroy? Jack, sweetie. Just Jack.” 

“I’m sorry, M- Jack.”

“Too sweet for your own good, you know that? Always so polite. Where am I taking you, sweetheart?”

“It’s a little bit far. You’re just gonna take this road for a while,” you instruct. “And then I’ll tell you where to turn. I’m not in the city proper.”

“Must be nice,” Jack replies. “Quiet.” 

You shrug. “Sometimes. Not usually. My roommate is kind of noisy.” 

Jack chuckles. “The roommate days, gosh. I don’t miss those a bit.” He pauses, thinks of something to say to fill the silence. “You don’t usually take the bus, do you?”

“Not usually, no,” you answer. “My roommate gives me a ride most of the time. But she ditched me tonight, so…” 

“That’s a real shame.” 

The rain starts to pick up a little more. Jack squints and at the road and increases the speed of his windshield wipers. He tries talking to you, but you can’t hear him over the drumming of rain against his car. Thunder booms, the drumming becomes louder and the windshield is nearly impossible to see out of. Jack has slowed the car down to a crawl, but when hail begins to fall from the sky, he pulls over. He shifts his car into neutral, then pulls the emergency brake to keep the car from rolling. Jack leans in close so you can hear him, “We’re just gonna wait out the storm, okay? It’s not safe to keep driving.” 

“Yeah, that seems smart,” you agree. You’re thankful Jack showed up when he did, and that he’s keeping you safe in his car. If you listen closely, you can hear the faint sound of music playing on his stereo. You still feel a little nervous, though. Maybe it’s the storm, or the jitters of being alone with Jack - older, married, handsome Jack. You shiver in your wet cardigan. 

“You’re cold,” Jack says. He tugs on your sweater, “Let’s get this off of you, huh? Not gonna let you catch a cold on my watch.” He peels the sweater off of you entirely, then lays it in his backseat. “And look, watch this–” Jack presses a button on his dashboard, a little orange light glows beneath the tiny image of a seat. Within a few seconds, the leather underneath you begins to warm. “Neat, huh? That should warm you up nicely.”

You still look cold, it’s evident in the way you hold yourself. Shoulders curled inward, hands clasped together. Jack thinks about holding you close, using his body to warm yours, but decides against it. You want it too, but you’ll never initiate touch. 

You look out of the raindrop-covered window at the creepy woods off to the side, the trees illuminated by the lightning. Jack sees the worry on your face reflected on the glass. “Everything alright, sweetie?”

“It’s just the woods,” you answer. “I don’t know. I don’t like it. I’ve heard about…I don’t know. Scary stuff happens there.”

“Like what?”

“Satanic rituals or something. The occult, that kind of stuff. I’ve heard about it on TV.”  

Jack lies to assure you, “It’s all make-belive,” he says, pushing down his own memories of The Grove. The sickly sweet smell of decaying leaves, sticks and branches crunching beneath his feet. The cold, metallic cup against his lips, that awful taste of whatever it is he drank. “But don’t look at the woods. Just look over here, right at me.” Jack turns your face toward his, then taps your nose. “There’s that beautiful smile.” 

You grin even wider. You know it’s just his nature, that it’s his job to be charming and likable, charismatic and sweet. It makes you feel so special and seen nonetheless. 

Jack smiles too. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He admires the details in your face for a minute, your perfect nose, sparkling eyes, your pretty lips. His eyes travel lower, tracing the endlessly beautiful curves of your body - breasts, waist, hips, thighs. There’s a rip up high on your nylons, just below your ridden-up skirt. He furrows his brows and touches your bare skin with his finger, “What happened here?”

“Oh.” You touch the tear with your finger, just a hair away from Jack’s. “My cat, Felix. He ripped my tights.” 

“Sounds like Felix is a real troublemaker, huh?”

“Oh, he can be,” you giggle quietly. “But I love him anyway.” 

Jack keeps his finger on the hole in your nylons, now drawing lines back and forth over your thighs with the rest of his fingers. Little goosebumps erupt on your skin in their wake. “You’re still so cold, darling. What am I gonna do with you?” Another shrug, another shy smile. “Come here,” Jack whispers. He wraps his strong hands around your legs and pulls you across the seat so that your legs are lying across his, and your torso curled into his own. Fuck, he smells good. His cologne is musky and spicy and masculine. You’re so close, Jack can feel your heart pounding nervously. But he says nothing about it, doesn’t want to embarrass you. Instead, Jack just gazes at you warmly, still tracing patterns on your leg. “You’re such a gorgeous girl, have I ever told you that?”  He pushes a bit of your hair behind your ear, sending tingles down your neck and spine.

“Jack,” you whisper, elongating his name. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious, darling. If only I were a younger man…If I hadn’t married…” He moves his hand from your ear to your mouth, pulling down on your bottom lip with his thumb. God, you’re so soft. Desire is building within Jack, taking control over his sensibilities. And you, too young and enchanted by Jack fucking Delroy to listen to any inhibitions in your head telling you that you should stop this.

 Jack pushes his thumb past your lips and you suck on it gently, so gently, the blunt little edges of your teeth tickling his fleshy skin. Arousal quickly builds in Jack, the sensation overwhelming him and bubbling over. He pulls his thumb from your mouth and holds your cheeks in both of his hands, inching closer to you bit by bit. Jack licks his lips, he’s about to do it. Finally, he does. Jack closes the gap between you by pressing his lips against yours, kissing you softly. He’s relaxed and controlled, but the way you kiss him is desperate and a little tentative. In time and with encouragement from Jack, how he squeezes you and growls against your lips, you find your confidence. You kiss him fervently, tasting him, savoring the softness of his tongue. 

Jack takes your hand and presses it against his warm bulge. You gasp, “But your wife–”

“Shh, quiet. She’s not here, now is she?” 

“N-no,” you stutter.

“No. It’s just us. You-” Jack unzips his pants and pulls his rock-hard cock out of his boxers. He spits into your palm and has you hold his length, then closes his hand around yours. “-And me.” 

With your hand under Jack’s, he pumps his cock. “Oh, that’s good. You’re my good girl,” he breathes. 

Jack grips his cock tighter and kisses you again. “Oh, Jack,” you moan. Jack helps you to stroke him from base to tip, your pinky finger brushing against that patch of coarse hair at his pelvis, thumb rubbing over his weeping head. 

“Just like this, darling. All the way up, all the way down. Just like this. You’re doing so well.” 

Jack twitches in your hand as you feel every thick vein and ridge on his cock. He urges you to pump him faster and at the same time, touches you. He gropes your breasts first, breasts he’s dreamed of touching since he first laid eyes on you. He unbuttons your blouse and slides his hand beneath your bra to squeeze your flesh, tease your nipples. Jack relishes in your body, how supple, soft, warm and wanting you are. You touch him like you love him and Christ, Jack can’t wait to bury himself inside you. Feel that warm, wet embrace of a young woman’s cunt. 

“Do you let other men touch you like this, sweetheart?” Jack asks, unzipping your skirt and shoving his hand down the front of your nylons. He toys with the arousal-dampened hair that’s spattered on your mound, then slips his fingers past your lips. “Older men, huh? Married men?” 

“N-no, Jack. Just you. Only you.”

“Do you like being touched like this?” You stutter out a frantic, breathy ‘yes’. “Dirty girl. It’s always girls like you.” 

Jack circles your clit with his fingertips, then presses two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. “Distracted, are we?” he murmurs as your hand that strokes his cock slows to a still, so focused on how Jack pleasures you that you forget about his needs.

 “H - what?” Jack chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze to remind you. “Oh, I’m s - sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” God, you are such a precious girl, and Jack is a lucky man. He breaks away from you just for a moment to undress himself, shoving his pants down his thighs and unbuttoning his dress shirt. Once bare, Jack turns to you and finds that little tear in your nylons again, then rips the hole wider up the garment. He yanks the nylons and your panties off of your legs and puts them with the rest of his discarded clothes, tucking them away for later. He removes your skirt next, followed by your bra and your blouse. You breathe heavily as Jack takes in your naked form, even more beautiful than he pictured. He needs you now, needs to taste you.

Jack pushes you gently onto your back, laying you out across the bench seat before sinking to his knees on the floor of his Buick. He wraps his strong forearms around your still rain-cold thighs and pulls you close, close enough so that you can feel his hot breaths on your slick pussy. Jack could eat you alive right now.

He spits on your pussy, then rubs your folds with his fingers, paying special attention to your clit. He spreads your lips wide and admires your shiny, glistening center. “My, look at this mess,” Jack marvels, admiring your creamy arousal. He tastes you then, pressing a soft kiss against your core. Jack inhales deeply, taking in your scent, feeling your hair against his shaven face. His tongue darts from between his lips and he licks you up and down, dipping his tongue inside you. 

“Jack, oh my - yes,” you gasp, your hands tugging on his graying strands of black hair. Jack slowly licks a long stripe up your seam with his tongue flat against you, all the way from your asshole to clit. “Jack.”

The mess he’s reduced you to. All broken moans, desperate, needy cries of his name. Jack smiles against your cunt and continues licking and lapping at the sensitive part of you. He traces your folds, sucking them between his lips. He draws circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue next, driving you wild. “You like this, darling, don’t you? You like having this pretty pussy eaten?”

All you can do is nod. Jack closes his lips around your clit and sucks, causing you to clamp your thighs around his head and pull his hair tightly between your fingers. Jack forces you apart so that all you can do is take it, all that relentless, smoldering pleasure. 

Jack intensifies it all by pushing a finger inside you and curling it, stroking that sensitive part of you. Within seconds you’re coming, rocking your hips against his face as you ride out your high. 

There’s barely a comedown. Jack crawls over your body, one foot planted on the floor of the car and the other kneeling on the seat. He reaches behind the front seat for his suit jacket and bunches it up, then fits it between your head and the passenger door. “Don’t want your pretty little head to get hurt is all,” Jack says. 

He holds his cock between his thumb and his forefinger before he lines up with your entrance. His cock is big, perfectly lengthy and girthy. You tense up a bit as he fits his cockhead inside of you, “Easy, darling. Take it all for me,” he coos. 

You inhale deeply, and on your exhale Jack pushes himself inside of you in full. “Ohhh,” you moan. It’s such a tight fit, he fills you so fully. The aching burn of the stretch takes time to dissipate as Jack rubs your hip. After a moment, Jack pulls out of you, then inches his way back in. Your face previously scrunched in pain is now relaxed, soft little noises of pleasure escaping your lips. “That’s it, good girl,” Jack says. “Wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Jack laces his fingers between yours and uses his other hand to brace himself on the back of the car seat. Jack begins thrusting, not quite fucking you gently. It builds quickly, the pace both harder and faster. Jack rocks his hips into you at that perfect angle to have you writhing on his cock, the head of it kissing the most sensitive place inside of you over and over. You bury your face into him, the hair on his chest tickling your face. 

“Fuck,” Jack grunts, fucking you deeper. He knows he should be more gentle than this, but he can’t be helped. He loses himself inside of you, growling like an animal as he fucks his cock into you. You’re squirming beneath him, muscles tensing against his as you begin to cry, overwhelmed by it all. “Such a filthy fucking girl, crying on my cock. You’re okay, sweetie.” 

Jack rolls his hips quickly and fluidly so that his pubic bone is grinding against your mound, the friction inching you closer and closer to a second release, but it isn’t quite enough. You rock your hips to match Jack’s thrusts, needing more against your clit. “M-More please, Jack,” you beg. “I wanna come, Jack, make me come again.”

While still fucking you, Jack spits onto two of his fingertips, then fits his hand between your bodies. He finds your sensitive bud and rubs it, using the momentum of his thrusts to bring you to climax once more. “Come for me, sweetheart. Give - fucking give it to me.”

Jack rounds your clit with his fingers, putting harder pressure against it. In moments, you’re coming for him again, this orgasm more intense than the last. Your moans are louder, more frantic. Your face scrunches in pleasure as you pulse around Jack’s cock, urging his own release along. “Good girl, good fucking girl.”

 Jack growls into your ear as he spills into you, milking himself entirely. He fills you with his come, so warm inside you, the throbbing of his cock so pleasurable and satisfying. Dampened with sweat, Jack presses his forehead against yours as he fucks you through his orgasm, then slows to a still. He hisses a little when he pulls out of your cunt, his spend dripping from your hole onto the leather. Jack collects this mess with his finger, then pushes the digit into your mouth as he catches his breath.

It’s all quiet, save for a few scattered raindrops and the sound of you and Jack both catching your breath. Jack breaks the silence. “Well hey, how about that. The storm passed, huh? Was really something, too. I’m glad we pulled over,” Jack laughs nervously. He helps you dress yourself as best as he can, then haphazardly dresses himself too. You smile a little, and Jack touches your face. “You alright, darling?”

“I’m okay,” you answer, still a little tearful. Jack smiles sympathetically and pulls you into his side, then shifts his car into gear. 

“Well, let’s get you home, then.” 

-

TY for reading! Comments, reblogs, all of that good stuff would be so appreciated ♡

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

For your ask game ~ 📖 🦉 🔞

Worth the Risk - Jack Delroy/Reader

Warnings: Female reader, no use of Y/N, making out, almost fully clothed grinding, clothed fingering, bit of exhibition/voyeurism, vaginal sex.

Wordcount: 6317

Summary: He'd given you his card, invited you to the studio with the promise of a good time, and the show had been amazing for sure, but did the night really have to end once the cameras turned off?

Notes: I really wanted to write this the other day but I was too sleepy and went to bed early y'know like a baby 😖 anyways I've been wanting to do a sequel to Susceptible since I first posted it and somehow it ended up even longer so this is for you hehe hope you enjoy~ 💗💗💗

Wait for me by the back entrance at 11:00 Phil will let you in JD

You don’t know how many times you’d looked at the card he handed you since that night, but the corners were starting to bend and the pen marks were beginning to smudge, just a little. You forced yourself to leave it be as you checked your appearance one last time, the mirror by the front door to your apartment offering its final encouragement as you decided there was nothing left you could do to delay your departure before you were late. As soon as you were out the door you had to resist the urge to sprint, your heels sending muffled echoes down the hall as you headed straight for the elevator, a kindly old woman holding it for you with a smile. 

You had the sense to call a cab early so you wouldn’t have to risk waiting and missing your 11PM deadline, the car stalling right outside the door as you waved to the driver and got inside. ‘Fiske Studios, please,’ you tell him, the small building owned by a branch of UBC now very well known thanks to a certain Mr. Midnight. Your leg bounced the entire way there, the card once again in your hands as you stared out the window, neighbourhoods giving way to open city streets, more cars circling around you like a school of fish. You hated driving in the city, it was the main reason why you dedicated so much of your paycheck to cabs, but tonight you were starting to wish you’d driven yourself as you hit the tenth red light in a row.

The driver sensed your anxiousness as you bit your lip for just a split second before your purse was opened and your lipstick was uncapped, the tiny mirror in your hand reassuring you that it’d be fine, you looked great, it was an easy fix. ‘Hot date tonight?’ he asked over his shoulder, his voice startling you a little as you snapped the mirror shut again.

‘Uh, going to a live show, actually,’ you said cautiously, avoiding a yes or no to his question; it’d be too presumptuous to say yes, but god if you didn’t want to hope. ‘I’m meeting a few friends there, don’t wanna be late and all.’

‘Oh, well, girl’s gotta have some fun on a Friday night, I guess,’ he said as he looked you over in the rearview, your coat pulled a little tighter over your shoulders as you forced a smile and tried not to look to disgusted; this was yet another reason why you were so fond of Jack Delroy, he’d never make you feel that way, what with him being such a gentleman and all.

The memory of the night you met made you shiver briefly as the hallucination flashed through your mind again, the false feeling of his hands on you having haunted you all week. You sucked in a very long breath through your nose as you willed the pink to leave your cheeks again, the last thing you needed right now was this guy seeing you get covered in goosebumps and assume it was because of what he’d said. You actually hadn’t been able to watch Night Owls since that night, feeling almost guilty about it even though there was no way he would know you hadn’t seen all the exciting things he’d been talking about. You’d tried last night, but as soon as the wall had opened and he’d strolled on out with that smile and his eyes instantly finding the camera you’d become a right mess way too fast and had to turn it off again, your heart pounding and your legs pressed uncomfortably tight together just at the sight of him.

Goddamn you Carmichael Haig.

The studio came into view with the latest turn and you readied yourself to get out, money already in hand by the time the car had stopped. The bill was settled and you stepped out into the cool night air, cutting off the driver’s wish for you to have a good night with the slamming of the door, and you took a look around and tried to guess which way would lead to the back door he’d mentioned. You waited until the car was out of sight, pretending to see your ‘friends’ so it wouldn’t look like you were about to walk down a dark alley by yourself, another deep breath exhaled sharply as you summoned up all of your courage and headed to the right.

It was a large alley, big enough for a car to drive down and reach the parking lot out back, which thankfully held just as many people walking about as the front did. A lot of them favoured a large, metal door up a tiny flight of stairs, keycards flashed to unlock it before it was held open for several people at a time, everyone helping each other in the most efficient of ways. You had no idea which one Phil was supposed to be, and if you waited too long you might get pinned as a fan trying to sneak in, so the next time someone approached the area you were lurking in you got the card back out and held it out to him.

‘Um, I’m supposed to find Phil?’ you said uncertainly, the man looking you over before taking the card. ‘Ja- Mr. Delroy told me to meet him here.’

‘How’d you meet Jack?’ he asked, clearly recognizing the handwriting but wanting to be certain all the same as he handed it back to you.

‘At Carmichael Haig’s show, we got to talk for a little bit,’ you explained, your nerves starting to rise the longer you were out there, the paranoia that you wouldn’t be able to get in starting to rise in your chest.

‘Ohhh, so you’re the one he was telling Gus about,’ the man said with a grin, your back straightening at the very thought of Jack talking about you with anyone, let alone with someone in a public place. ‘Yeah, he told me to expect someone, I’ll take you up there now if you help me carry something, save me a trip?’

You agreed to his terms, the man apparently being Phil as he shook your hand and handed you the box he was balancing on one arm as you talked. He quickly jogged back to his car to grab another box before returning to you, the door held open for you both as you squeezed past another employee and followed him through the maze of hallways and way too many doors to count. The studio itself was actually on the second floor, the first dedicated to offices and meeting rooms and other businessy things, the elevator able to just barely let you both cram inside as everyone got ready for the taping.

‘Is it always this hectic?’ you asked before you realized you were even opening your mouth, Phil just laughing and adjusting his box.

‘Every single night.’

Once the elevator had pinged and the doors had slid open, Phil then led you through a few more hallways until he pushed through a locked STAFF ONLY door, even more people on the other side, although there was more to the area back here, your eyes widening when it hit you that this was the back of Jack’s set. Phil noticed your excitement and set his box down on the nearest table, taking yours in another swift movement before motioning towards the slightly ajar wall panel; the audience’s seats were just in view through the crack, some people already coming in and finding their spots, and you were just in the middle of wondering if you should attempt finding an empty one when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

‘Quite the view, isn’t it?’

You turned to see Jack standing behind you, a look of pure bliss on his face as he watched the band get ready, Gus talking to someone and going over scripts off to the right, the few audience members chatting with each other as they guessed what they’d see that night. He truly loved this job, you could tell he did even after doing it for so many years, and seeing him so in love only made you love him even more. He looked down at you then, a fondness in his eyes as he gave your shoulder a squeeze and led you around back, a little tour before you had to leave him.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he admitted as you took everything in, everyone shifting their gaze towards the both of you as long as they thought they could get away with it. ‘Been looking forward to tonight all week, what did you think of the lineup?’

‘I, uh-’ you trailed off as he pulled you out of the way of a staff member carrying the requested items for tonight’s guest, your coat suddenly feeling way too warm to still be wearing inside. ‘I missed out on them, actually, been a busy week,’ you lied, avoiding his face as your cheeks lit up; you were not about to tell him that it was because looking at him made you remember how he’d felt pressed up against your waist, even if it was fake.

A shiver ran up your spine as you then realized that the heat against your back very much wasn’t however.

‘I’ll have to tell you all about it later, don’t want you missing out on anything,’ he said with a grin, your lips trembling as you tried to keep your smile from getting any bigger. There was no way he’d actually do that, he had to be too busy to entertain you when the PMs turned to AMs, but it was a nice thought indeed.

‘I’d like that,’ you admitted either way, happy to live in the fantasy for just a little bit at least.

‘Jack!’ someone called from just out of sight, a curly-haired man in sunglasses hunting him down with expert precision as he hurried over. ‘Gus just told me you’ve been saving seats all week, you wanna explain why that is?’

‘And there’s my cue,’ he whispers in your ear before using your shoulders to turn you and guide you back to the slit in the wall. ‘Middle front row, furthest left seat,’ he whispered before pushing you to the other side, his attention turned to his producer as he descended upon him for losing them money. You listened for just a second before it hit you that you were there, you were really there, your mouth dropping open as you slowly spun to check out the Night Owls set. People were whispering about who you might be but you didn’t care, not leaving until you heard Gus clear his throat and ask what you were doing.

‘Finding my seat,’ you mumbled, although maybe it had come out as nonsense in your delighted stupor, you couldn’t be sure at the moment.

‘Okay, do you have a ticket?’ he asked, still so polite even though he was very much confused. You just held up the card again, your eyes going higher as you stared at all the lights. ‘I see, so you’re the one he’s been waiting for, right this way.’

The one he’s been waiting for? Clearly you must’ve misheard, Jack Delroy couldn’t possibly have been that excited for you, you’d only spoken for maybe five minutes, tops.

Gus led you to your seat and you instantly sank into it, a 40 minute wait still ahead of you but it felt like no time at all as the rows all filled up and people slowly stopped walking across the set to prepare. On either side of you, cameramen took their places and lined up their shots, the blue screen of the viewfinder catching your attention as you couldn’t help but see what they saw. Gus got himself ready by the band, who were all tuned up and ready to go, and when midnight hit and Gus started calling out that night’s guests, you couldn’t help but bite your lip again as Jack’s name was announced and the wall opened up again to reveal him.

He’d been right, it was an incredible show, his presence so much more overwhelming as you could only focus on him no matter who he stood or sat beside. Every single one of his jokes landed, every eccentric wave of his hands drew you in without fail, and every single smile he shot your way when you laughed only confirmed more and more that you were genuinely glad you came. He tried to talk to you during the breaks but each time he’d been interrupted either by one of his co-workers or someone in the audience ready to snatch up his attention, Jack too polite to refuse either, although it was honestly starting to make you a little jealous.

Before you knew it, his hour had passed and he was saying goodbye, your chest deflating as he was played out again along with his final guest, your hands a little numb as you gave him his well deserved applause. You didn’t want to get up and leave as the rest of the people around you did without hesitation, a chorus of yawns starting to infect everyone like a virus now that it was officially bedtime. You were rooted to the spot, hands clasped in your lap as you wondered if it’d be too presumptuous to assume that maybe he’d come back out again when everyone was gone, wish you your own personal goodnight, people staring again as you waited until you accepted that you’d fulfilled his request, there was no need to stay now.

‘Oh good, you’re still here,’ Jack panted as he jogged over to you, a sheen on his cheeks and forehead from the excitement of the night mixed in with the hot stage lights, ‘I was worried you’d leave when Leo grabbed me just now.’ 

‘I’m in no hurry,’ you told him as you stood, your clasped hands hiding behind your back so he wouldn’t see you fidgeting. ‘It was a great show, I had a lot of fun tonight.’

His smile turned from Showman Jack to Genuine Jack at that, your ability to always tell coming in handy yet again as you tried to hide your blush by tucking your hair behind your ear. ‘I take it you had a more enjoyable time with me than at Haig’s, then?’ he asked, your blushing deepening at his choice of words.

‘I did, yeah.’ Everyone was packing up for the night around you, no one giving you a passing glance as the desire to get home and sleep overtook their curiosity, and when he stifled a yawn you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at keeping him. ‘All good things must come to an end though, I suppose; I should really get heading back, it’ll be a nightmare to find a cab this late.’ You didn’t want to go, but you also didn’t want to press your luck either, and maybe you’d get another invitation to another show, who knew?

‘I could give you a ride, if you wanted,’ he offered, completely catching you off guard as your eyes widened for a second in surprise. ‘Or, if you’re truly a night owl like me, you’d prefer to join me for a drink? I always grab one after a show, can’t sleep otherwise.’

You swallowed, mouth cotton dry as you went over his offer in your head a few times; was he asking you out on a date? He had to have been, who else went out to get a drink together at 1AM other than people on dates, right? ‘Yeah, a drink sounds great,’ you finally managed to squeak out, the corners of his eyes scrunching when he smiled before offering his arm for you to take, a true gentleman. He led you back through the labyrinth until you reached the parking lot, his car parked in a spot with his name plastered against the wall behind it, most of the other cars already gone now that their owners were free.

His car was simple, nothing too flashy like someone else in his position would own, the seats worn on the inside and telling you that he must’ve had it for many years. You tried not to look too nervous as he unlocked his door and let himself in, his long body stretching across the front so he could unlock the passenger side as well; an old car indeed, he was taking very good care of it for it to still look that good. You thanked him as you sat down and shut the door, the smell of his cologne stealing your breath away as you were surrounded by purely him, the faint smell of smoke mixing in with it, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried not to look too obvious.

He shot you a glance as he clicked his seatbelt into place, the noise making you come back to your senses and do the same so he could start driving. There were quite a few bars around there, some late night diners as well, and you grew more and more confused as he drove by all of them without a word. By the time you left the city and started to head towards a more residential area, you were starting to wonder if you were going for a drink at all, not remembering ever telling him where you lived, of course this neighborhood was much too nice, maybe you should be flattered if he thought you lived around here.

‘Are we still…?’ you tried to ask, your question dying out as he then turned into the driveway of a very nice but modestly sized house, all the lights off inside telling you that no one was home. He didn’t turn off the engine though, his eyes on the wheel before he turned to you, a hopeful something in his eyes that mirrored your own.

‘Would you like to come inside? Or should we try calling that cab?’ he asked you gently, giving you the choice of what you wanted to do now that you knew where you’d be drinking, your heart thumping a little faster as you adjusted the strap of your purse and flashed him the most confident smile you could muster.

‘You did promise to tell me all about the shows I miss,’ you reminded him, Jack’s smile softening as he agreed with a, ‘Yes I did.’ The engine shut off and you both exited the car, the night air making you shiver as you held your coat a little tighter over your arms. He noticed immediately, his suit jacket draped over you before you could confirm or deny you wanted it, heat spreading throughout you as the scent of his cologne hit you even harder. You wrapped yourself up in it, face tucked into the collar as you headed for his front door, always a few steps behind until he unlocked the door and pushed it open, allowing you to go in first.

It was a modest place, decorated more cozily than anything, and you felt right at home as you stepped inside and took a look around; the walls held photos of family and friends, his coworkers and people he’d met through Night Owls spaced out around them, the surfaces of every table and shelf decorated with something and filling the space while also feeling sparse. Cozy was definitely the right word, but it also felt like a bachelor pad in the way he’d left clothes draped over the back of the couch, how the kitchen was pristinely clean from rare use based on the amount of menus he’d collected into the holder by his phone, and the dedicated minibar off in the corner so he could entertain guests.

He headed there now as you observed your surroundings, his voice breaking your thoughts as he asked you to pick your poison. You gave him your desired drink request, Jack’s eyes shining as he located the bottle amongst the plethora of them in his reserve, whisky placed next to it as he located a couple of glasses next. ‘Ice?’ he asked casually as he poured both drinks, you kindly refusing as he grabbed a couple for himself. The ice crackled in his glass as he returned, the sound pleasant to you and filling the air as he handed you your drink. ‘I’d offer you a seat at the table, but my back is killing me tonight, if you’d rather join me on the couch?’

What a liar, you could always tell when he was acting. You accepted anyways, pretending to buy into it as you both took opposite ends of the old leather couch situated in front of his fireplace. The cushions creaked underneath as you sat down, Jack letting out a sigh that didn’t sound fake as he relaxed, his body sinking right in before he took a sip and turned to look at you. You blushed and looked away, focusing on your glass as you swirled the contents around, now wishing for ice since watching it would be a good distraction.

You’d been so focused on his home that it was starting to dawn on you that you were in his home, on his couch, drinking his liquor, his focus on nothing and no one other than you. ‘Dreamer, here, awake,’ you whispered softly under your breath, remembering what Haig had said to snap you out of it and needing to make sure this wasn’t just another dream.

‘What was that?’

Oh god, it wasn’t a dream, you were really here, and his arm was now on the back of the couch, casually reaching towards you as he tilted his head to the side with an amused grin. 

‘So, how did the shows that I missed go?’ you quickly choked out, Jack chuckling at how your voice sounded way more broken than you’d wanted before downing the rest of his drink and setting the empty glass on the coffee table in front of him.

‘Well, on Monday I got to interview someone about his upcoming play, so that was interesting,’ he began, his body turned more towards you as he spoke. ‘On Tuesday, we had a man who sailed halfway around the world and narrowly survived being shipwrecked, and he read us an excerpt from his captain’s log, which he revealed he’ll be turning into a book to preserve the memories of his shipmates.’ He slid a little down the leather, genuine interest in his eyes as he spoke, that another thing you loved about him. ‘Wednesday was Game Night, as you know, and one of our audience members managed to win the jackpot and gave us a victory dance to celebrate. Gus tried to attempt it and fell on his ass, so everyone made me try it and I nearly crashed into my stage, everyone had a lot of fun that night.

His voice started to soften as he moved a little closer, your body frozen in both awe at what you’d missed and also the sight of him starting to fill up your entire view, your drink forgotten in your hands.

‘And then on Thursday we took a call from a man who thought he had superpowers, can you believe that? He truly believed he got them from another dimension, so fascinating.’ He was just about to slide over the middle cushion, your legs pressing tightly together so you wouldn’t touch him on accident, your lip worried between your teeth again. ‘I asked him to come on the show, but he hung up, I hope he calls again next week.’ His arm was completely behind you you finally noticed as his thumb brushed against your shoulder just enough for you to feel it over your coat and his suit jacket, the heat of both starting to make you sweat as he stayed just outside your personal space, ever the gentleman as he waited for you to tell him to back up. 

You didn’t, your tongue darting out and tasting your lipstick as you glanced to the side, seeing just enough of him to know that he didn’t look dangerous, or overly sexual like your fantasy had been, his actual expression one of wonder as he remained just out of reach. You felt like you had to comment on his week, say something in response to what he was telling you but you couldn’t, the sound of his thumb running over the fabric directly in your ear as you finally took your first sip.

‘Sounds like I missed a lot,’ you eventually said, Jack nodding and shifting as he got comfier, the movement sending him a little closer to you. ‘Maybe you should invite me back again, I could probably make time for that.’

‘I’ll have to see if I can get you an actual ticket this time, then, Leo was very unhappy I snuck you in.’ His voice was so low as you took another, bigger sip, his arm sliding off the back of the couch and just barely resting against the very bottom of your neck.

‘Is that what that was? I’ll be sure to use the front door next time.’ Another sip, his other hand in plain sight on his thigh as it traveled down towards you. 

‘I think I’d prefer to escort you in myself, so you don’t get lost, it’s like a maze in there.’ You watched his hand just barely touch the hem of his jacket, a soft hum leaving his throat as his eyes half-lidded. ‘You look good in this, I might have to let you borrow it more often.’

‘You assume I’ll need it again? How presumptuous of you,’ you joked in an attempt to keep things light, but it fell flat as you looked at him while you said it, his expression rendering you speechless in seconds. Now that you were facing him he couldn’t resist the urge to touch your cheek, his fingertips just barely brushing against you and making you shut your eyes as you tried to lean against them, the contact causing shivers to run down your spine at how incredibly gentle it was.

‘I really am glad you came tonight,’ he whispered as he leaned in, breath soft against your face as you both held off from closing the gap, ‘god, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

You nearly dropped the glass, Jack placing his hand over yours to make sure you didn’t before taking it away entirely. ‘Y-you’re just telling me what I wanna hear,’ you repeated from your fantasy, Jack leaning away to set the glass down before letting his forehead rest against your own.

‘Is it working?’

You grabbed onto his tie and pulled him into you, your mouths crashing together as you kissed him with all the need of someone who’d wanted this for years. He braced himself on the back of the couch as you leaned against the arm, your body arching up as he rearranged how he was sitting to kneel over you. He wasn’t as forward as your fantasy, which was understandable considering you knew very well that he’d only acted the exact way you wanted, but instead you discovered that he was slow, making as many points of contact as he could while giving you space. He was obsessed with kissing away the rest of your lipstick but he never tried to take more than you were giving him, your bodies still too far apart as he caressed you.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he repeated as his hand left your jaw to travel down to your hip, not to hold down or make you keen but just to feel the soft curve of your body; he was committing you to memory, tracing over each wrinkle in the fabric, each place that made you squirm just a little.

‘Jack…’ you sighed as he pushed both coats aside to gently kiss at your neck, small things that made you want beyond the sweetness, the love. ‘Don’t make me wait anymore, please…’

He pressed a single kiss to your jaw at that, sitting back just enough so he could look at your face. You turned away, embarrassed by your neediness, but he turned you back to him with only a whisper of a touch, a plea instead of a command. ‘How long have you been waiting?’ he asked, lips hovering just above yours, pulling away when you tried to close the gap.

‘Years.’

He kissed you again, a little rougher this time as his own need was made clear, his body shifting down until he was laying himself on top of you, and for however real your fantasy had felt, it was fucking nothing compared to the weight of him pressing pure want directly into your waist. It made you gasp how good he felt, your legs spreading until your skirt wouldn’t stretch any further, the desire to hike it up all the way so you could feel him a little better making you almost actually do it. It was him who made that move when he felt you struggling, your legs pressed into his almost uncomfortably, and he placed his hands at the hem and waited for your okay, not wanting to do anything without your permission.

What a fucking gentleman.

You nodded and he lifted your skirt, your back arching off the couch so it could be bunched up, your underwear on display just the smallest amount before your skirt was let go. That small amount made him blush, his lips parting as he then palmed himself to ease the strain of his own clothes, his nice suit pulled taut over his dick as he kneaded. It made you want him even more, the fantasies of seeing him like that deciding to play like the world’s longest and lewdest film in your mind, reminding you of every single thing you wanted to do to him, what you wanted him to do to you.

‘I want to feel you,’ you told him, his eyes fluttering shut like the quicktalking showman Mr. Midnight couldn’t handle a bit of dirty talk; he was so cute it almost hurt as he moved his hand aside for you, granting you access to the space while he tried to undo his belt. You rubbed him over his pants, listening to the sounds he was making and letting your desire grow with each one, and when his belt was undone and his zipper was down you tugged just his pants over his hips just enough to show off his bulge a little better. It strained over the opening, the sight so tantalizing that you’d risk staying hypnotized forever if this really was just another dream, his body laying down over yours again as you wrapped your leg around him.

He started to grind against you, the fantasy definitely not doing him justice as a sinful heat warmed you up in an instant, the coats much too hot as you tried to strip them both off. He helped you but didn’t stop moving, each thrust just enough to create the best friction you’d ever experienced. There was no audience this time, no one to risk ruining this for you, and you took full advantage of that as you let out a deviously loud moan when he rubbed against you just right. 

‘God…’ he panted into your neck, hips moving just a little faster, and it felt good but it wasn’t what you wanted, not entirely. You reached down between where your bodies touched to try and get a hold of his boxers, your nails catching over the waistband just out of reach. He felt your attempts and knew what you were trying to do, his face unsure even though he still couldn’t stop. ‘Are you sure?’ he needed to know, his hips finally stilling for the most part, your eyes watering with how much you meant it as you told him yes. He groaned as he reached between your legs, feeling your wetness seeping through your panties as you moved against him, your head instantly falling back.

The sounds you let out were indecent, he wasn’t even inside you yet and he was making you fall apart just because it was him who was doing this, his fingers rewriting your brain and telling you that you’d never be able to get off on just your imagination ever again. He played with you as his other hand pushed his boxers down the rest of the way, his dick falling free and making him hiss as he gave himself a few strokes, the sound getting you to look up. Your legs twitched as you almost came just from the sight alone, his eyes shut tight as his head lolled to the side, his impressive length looking even bigger in his hand as he got himself ready.

As soon as he felt your eyes on him he locked onto you, his big, showman smile showing a little more teeth than usual as he let you watch, his own sounds almost addicting as he let you know exactly how good his own hand felt. Between the sight and his hands making the both of you feel good, you didn’t know how much more you could take of this before you were shoving him down, Jack sensing your desperation and leaning back over you. He pulled aside your panties and rubbed you a couple more times before pressing his waist against yours, spreading your wetness along the underside of his shaft, grinding against you this way until you were practically begging him to do more, please.

He chuckled at your reaction before taking himself in hand again, spreading it even more before holding himself up to your entrance, one last chance to back out. You made sure to lock eyes with him as you grabbed his tie and pulled him down to you once more, your mouth falling open as he pushed deep inside of you the more you pulled. You didn’t stop until you were full, the two of you panting into each other's mouth before he started to move, both of your legs wrapping around him this time as you tried to take him even deeper.

It was hot, you were sweating, you could see the sheen on his cheeks and forehead again as he suffered in the almost entirety of his suit versus your outfit, and you helped him relieve some of his suffering as you started to unbutton his shirt. You shoved it off one shoulder before he was tearing it off of himself and tossing it away, your own shirt pushed up to reveal a heaving stomach, muscles working hard under the flesh as he thrust into you, your body unable to move with him thanks to the arm of the couch keeping you in place.

It ensured he always hit the deepest part of you since your body couldn’t shift away, one of your hands on your stomach while the other took his own and placed it on your chest. He began to knead you over your bra, it soon out of the way as he yanked it down and wrapped his mouth around a nipple, his motions speeding up a bit as you tangled your now free hand into his hair. ‘You feel so good,’ you couldn’t stop yourself from saying then, starting to get overstimulated, and at your words he jerked a little erratically, like it’d made him stumble. ‘You- you were so handsome tonight, did so well, I couldn’t stop staring at you…’

He was moaning nonsense into your chest as you praised him, something about what you were saying making him fall apart; his head rested against you as he rutted into you with wild abandon, your hands just holding him there as you kept whispering what he wanted to hear. You meant it, every word, but to know that this much was making him practically whine against you was also addicting, needing him to know everything you felt for him, how proud you were of him, how you’d never be able to feel anyone but him for the rest of your life.

‘Come inside me, make me yours, I want to be yours,’ you pleaded, Jack grasping at you like a drowning man grasps at his saviour, a few more thrusts making your head fall back before he did just that. His hips jutted a few more times as warmth filled your insides, the sensation mixed with his broken gasps bringing you over the edge as well, his nails digging into your flesh where he held you, your hands thoroughly messing up his perfectly styled hair. When he was done he collapsed against you, his weight once again so incredibly nice as he pinned you against the cushions, the leather sticking to your skin and keeping you very much in place.

‘If I’m too heavy-’ he started to say before he shifted and cut himself off with a whine, his attempts to get up thwarted immediately.

‘You’re not,’ you reassured him, your fingers attempting to straighten his hair back into place, a small courtesy for him letting you grab him so hard in the first place. ‘We can just… stay a while.’

‘Do you wanna risk that? I might fall asleep on you like this,’ he asked like it’d be a bad thing; what a gentleman.

‘I think that’d be worth the risk,’ you told him as you kissed his forehead, Jack reaching up to cup your cheek before gathering all his strength to kiss you goodnight.

[how-serene]

Devil I know - Series (Out now)

Pairing - Obsessive!Jack Delroy x Fem!Reader

Summary - A bad string of luck leads you right to his feet. Warnings - dark!jack delroy, 18+, nsfw, dubious consent, smut, masturbation, stalker tendencies, possessive behavior, jealousy, mention of death, mention of cancer, invasion of privacy, mention of smoking, fem reader, fem pronouns, set in the 70s so expect sexism, abuse of power, jack is not a good person in this, overall creepy behavior from jack, cults, rituals, mention of religion, no use of y/n, implied age gap, personal assistant!reader series masterlist (coming soon) | main masterlist

First Chapter

[jackdelroysbump]

Mr. Midnight

Jack Delroy X Reader

No mention of (y/n) in here by the way! Warnings: NSFW, Drug Use, Alcohol, Voyeurism (ISH), Jack is feral, SMUTTY SMUTTY sex, and all kinds of things of that nature.

Summary:Leo hires you to be on the show, Jack can’t help himself around you. Words:+6100

Notes: Omg hi I've been working on this for a little bit but I'm happy to present this finally. I've been obsessed with this movie since it came out and had to write something about Jack. Hope y'all enjoy mwah (I also write for other horror films just send me an ask and I'll answer.).

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April 15th, 1977

You had been called in as a last attempt to help Jack's dwindling show by your close friend, Leo. He’d known you personally from working alongside you as a producer on other projects you were in. Laverne & Shirley and Charlie’s Angels were just a few shows you had done with Leo, but this would be your first live UBC production show with him.

“Jack’s been very fond of your work, he was upset I didn’t call you sooner. He might not even be thinking with his head in this.” He chuckled at his crude innuendo of Jack's thoughts about you before taking a drag off his cigarette. While he smokes his cigarette, you take your final look over the main script since there was no dress rehearsal. Putting your script down, he looks at his watch, it is close to time and he nods you to follow him.

Trailing behind Leo, you took in your new surroundings, you knew you had to be fully backstage now. Intertwined cords were laid along the floor, and other crew carried equipment around trying to reach their designated location. It had to be your first time working in an environment that was very unorganized and very fast-paced.

Having trouble keeping up, you began to think that wearing heels was a mistake, wobbling amongst the floor behind while stepping on cords. Another two minutes passed before Leo would stop, finally finding Jack.

"Jack we are on in fifteen, show our new one around and get her set up, please! No questions asked!" Jack was standing turned away from you both, looking back as soon as he heard Leo loudly declare. His gaze softens when he looks over from Leo to you standing behind him.

"Oh good, Leo listened to my pleas. Hey there!" He quickly excuses himself from the group of people he was talking with. Heading over to you both, you finally got a good look at Jack.

One of his hands had a glass of what you only guess at the time was some cola with ice. His hair was kept nice, neat tan dress suit with his striped tie in place. You couldn't help but feel a little underdressed standing before him as you had a simple denim jacket with a small button-up and a jean skirt on. Getting closer was when you realized how much taller he was than you.

"Good to meet you finally! Big fan." His free hand reaches out for a shake and you happily take it. His grip was tight, taking the breath out of you for a moment at his touch.

"Okay get to it Jack, now I have to get these goddamn papers to Gus since he forgot his lines and we roll in thirteen!" Leo rushes past, slightly knocking into you, separating you two. It wasn't normal for you to see him like this, you could only think it was just going downhill for him.

Jack couldn't help but let out a little laugh at Leo's haste to get the show on the road as if it were his usual.

“Well, I’ll show you to our seats.” He starts to guide you carefully around the tight spaces towards the exit to the stage. The sliding door opens and you can see out onto the main set and the seats where tonight's audience members would be sitting.

Knocking you out of a slight trance, he places his hand on your shoulder giving you a light push. Moving you towards where he had you assigned to sit.

"And that's where you will be sitting, we will come out that door and take a seat over here. After I talk to the crowd, you will come out a little after me then we will start our first talk on here." He continues on leading you back to the door. You both head back through the sliding door, waiting for it to close in silence.

When it closed, you both were slightly too close that the tension almost made you uncomfortable. It wasn't until moments later that you curiously peeked over, looking up in your peripherals and you could see Jack's eyes on you. In your head, you thought he would notice you looking at him but he paid no mind his eyes were looking low. You knew immediately what Jack was thinking when you piece together where his gaze was set on you.

"Are you nervous?" Jack questioned you as he noticed you were slightly shaking.

"No, just star-struck to be here." Your reply almost sends Jack into laughter.

"Starstruck because of me?" Jack exclaims almost sounding desperate and shocked at someone he saw as a favorite actress who was flustered to meet him. You nod and everything goes silent again.

Ten minutes had passed and by that time the audience seats were full of people conversing, curious about what Jack's show would talk about tonight. The bell ringing could be heard from where you two were, signaling the show was starting.

"Well, all I can say is just pretend we've been good friends for years, always works doll." He noted, standing straight as you moved away from the door, so you wouldn't be in the shot.

"Tonight's broadcast is brought to you by Eclipse Enterprises of companies, go get it while you can," Gus announces, half the lights dim in the back over the audience while the rest go brighter on the set.

"Live from UBC Studios in New York City, it's Night Owls With Jack Delroy, joining us tonight is our surprise new co-host, James Randi, Carmichael Haig, and closing us out will be Miss Cleo James but now here's Mr. Midnight, Jack Delroy!" Gus turns as the door opens and Jack comes out waving to greet everyone. He comes out and stands in front of the crowd.

"Good evening night owls! Thank you for tuning in once again. We have an amazing show lined up for you tonight." You move back to the door, hearing Jack declare to the crowd. It was only time until you'd be up next.

After talking to the crowd, and cracking a few jokes with Gus, he starts to announce you. You brush off your outfit as a last attempt to make sure you are neat.

"I'm glad to welcome my new co-host, she's been on television screens before. Give a good warm welcome!" Jack announces, and the band plays a beautiful melody as the door opens.

You walk out, waving out to the audience as they clap. Some screaming out, fans of the shows you are in. Walking up to Jack, you hug him, and he returns the action hugging you back tighter than you expect. After letting go you give him a quick kiss on his cheek to play up for ratings, taking him by surprise. Making your way over, you sit down watching a flustered Jack try to hold his composure as he walks over to his seat.

"Wow! Now I have a few questions if you don't mind." Jack adjusts in his seat, waiting for your cue.

"Sure thing hit me, Jack." You sit back in your seat, uncrossing your legs as you take your jacket off.

"Was the outfit in the new episode of Charlie's Angels your idea?" A few people in the crowd whistled at the question as your face slightly dropped you knew immediately what he was talking about.

The costuming department had put you in a maroon, tight, jumpsuit showing more skin than people were used to on television. You let out a giggle before speaking, brushing off the slightly awkward feeling that you had.

"Yes sir, did you like me in it?" You question him, and he takes a loud sharp breath not expecting your answers as they were off script. He looks away from you to the audience before answering as if he were bashful.

"I'm not gonna say no." Some men in the crowd react; some "ooo"', laugh and whistle. You couldn't help but laugh, you knew he had to have written that question.

“Now for some of the viewer's questions tonight, are you single?” When he wasn't looking at that card, he practically was eye fucking you at this point.

“Wouldn’t you like to know Jack?” The audience is filled with 'ooo' and whistles as Jack comically pulls his tie from his neck as if it were truly tight. A visible growing blush flooded his face, you'd never seen Jack so flustered.

"Last one, how do you make your hair look so nice?" He takes the card and puts it into his suit.

"I use Faberge Organics, It makes my hair so soft." He watches you as you play with your hair, twirling it between your fingers. Staring him down, he smiles at you before looking to the audience.

“Well folks, you heard it from here! We're gonna take a quick break, we will be back after these messages." The band begins playing again as the show goes to commercial.

"Alright, we're off!" Phil states after the bell buzzing sound plays throughout the set.

“Okay good, if you need to get anything now would be the time to get to it.” Jack hops up from his seat and walks back through the sliding door following a few crew.

You stand up from your seat, making your way back looking for something to clear your dry throat.

"Amazing job, you never let me down, especially with that improv. Keep up the good work." Leo stops and gives you a quick pat on the back before going back to his duties.

Continuing to make your way through the backstage you had come across a set of water bottles sitting on a table. After taking one, you sat in a random chair at an empty makeup stand: you had put your purse on top as it was unclaimed. You scoot in your seat as you take a tube of lipstick from your open purse, sitting on the stand.

‘Good thing there’s a clock back here.’ Thinking to yourself, you kicked back relaxing for a moment. As you were zoned out eying the fancy simple clock in front of you sitting on the counter, you didn’t notice that Jack had sat in the seat next to yours.

He places his hand on your outer thigh, fingers pinching the fabric of your skirt. His sudden shameless actions couldn't be seen by anyone else, you both were far scooted into the stand. It almost frightens you until you notice it is only Jack's hand. Obviously, he had enough of your mental teasing earlier, it was his turn to play.

“So far so good! Say isn’t this your first time on live television?” Jack tried starting a conversation as he slowly moved his hand up; waiting to see if you broke as he scooted his chair closer to you.

“It is sir.” You asserted calm and collected, trying hard to mask the fact you were a shivering mess again as his grip got tighter on your thigh.

“Just call me Jack sweetheart.” He whispers into your ear, his breath hitting your neck making you quiver. It was hard for you to keep your composure in your seat, legs tensing slightly as he swirls little patterns with his finger on your upper thigh.

"You know we have five minutes until the show starts back up." You couldn't help but melt in your seat as you looked into his eyes full of desire. If only you two weren't in the middle of a show, Jack had calculated the timing and possibility of seeing you off the air.

"Five minutes to do what Jack?" Asking curiously, you fed into his words, continuing to look into his eyes while blinking your eyelashes towards him. He couldn't stop himself, his hand started eagerly trailing under the fabric of your skirt.

Reaching your inner thigh, his fingers grip into your flesh. If you hadn't looked at his face you couldn't tell that he was so close to snapping like a twig at your mercy. His mouth parted open, breaths getting more heavy and short as he toyed with you. He wanted this so bad.

You start to see the beads of sweat on his forehead as he gazes at you hungrily. Curious you decide to look down, eyes wandering at his lap. Stopping when you see that his tight tan dress pants couldn’t hide that he was extremely hard even in the dim light that was under the stand.

You couldn’t help but stare in desperation, your mouth parts open when you watch his cock twitching from in his pants. He sighs in pleasure at your lovely reaction to him. Leaning over close to your ear, he whispers low.

"That's all for you sweetheart, don't be afraid to touch it." He lightly grabs your wrist, placing your hand on his aching hard bulge. It was warm to the touch and hard, it felt like it was trying to break out from how much force it pressed into the fabric every twitch.

"How are you going to hide this now? Jack, it's so big." You couldn't help but give him a light squeeze before tightening your grip as you asked. A loud whimper fell from his lips. It wasn't any secret that he loved praise, especially from someone with his dick in their hands.

"Fuck, You have no idea what you've got yourself into now. Think you can handle me?" He asks as he starts to move his hand from your inner thigh to your panties. Softly taking his fingers, he trails a circle at your slit from the outside teasing you, the fabric starting to dampen. Getting rougher pressing into the fabric every time he moves his fingers up and down.

"You two we are on in five! Now if you two don't get the fuck out there, we won't have a show!" Leo bellowed out making you jump, your hand flew up off Jack hitting the stand in the process as Jack slid his hand away. Jumping up you move your skirt back down, trying to blow off the fact Leo caught you two practically touching each other. You clear your throat and go out to the set through the doors.

Taking your seat, you look out to the audience who are slightly confused about how late you got back out. It was now three minutes till air, and Jack hadn't arrived to set yet. You throw a reassuring smile to the crowd trying to pass off any worry. Jack comes out not even a second later, two drinks in hand making his way towards you.

"I don't know exactly what you'd like so I grabbed my favorite, if you don't like it just let me know." He hands you a glass, taking a sip of his own as he sits down. Looking into the glass you could see that it looked like what Jack had been drinking.

Not thinking about it, you take a swig. It was whiskey and not soda which you thought it was earlier. Playing it cool you try to not bring to the attention that you did not prefer the taste at all by taking another drink.

It felt like a blur after sitting through the first guest James Randi, he showed everyone the bending spoon trick, you had an idea earlier this was just a simple episode about skeptics who were also magicians.

"I'd like to bring on one of my dear old good friends, Carmichael Haig everybody!" Jack announces as the band plays, an older man comes out and sits in the seat next to you.

After Jack's usual questions and snide responses, Carmichael started to dig into his jacket pocket. Jack shifted in his seat waiting for Carmichael to pull out his main tool for his main act.

"I'd like to show everyone a little trick that people pull on others for a quick buck. I will start now with my trusty pocket watch." Trailing off he brings out a pocket watch opening it up and hanging it up to where you and the crowd could see it. He swings it with his hand covering before revealing the hypnotizing pattern.

"Keep yourself relaxed and stare into the spiral. Everyone at home is welcome to do so too." All you could think was there was no way his little trick could work on you as it sounded made up. Watching as he swung it back and forth, you kept your eye on the hypnotizing spiral.

When he stopped, he sat silently putting the watch back in his pocket. You waited to see if he’d move but he sat still in place facing forward. It seemed to you that you were right that it didn’t work and now you’d be waiting for the next steps.

After waiting for a few minutes in silence, you began to turn looking to your right. Jack was sitting in the seat next to you; his chair not fully facing forward but slanted out where you could see most of his body. He sat legs wide open with his arms folded across his chest, a wide grin on his face. It wasn’t until you looked over that you noticed something wasn’t right, his gaze upon you could say everything you needed to know as it oozed arousal.

His eyes burned into you, making you jump in your seat. You look away, embarrassed that you caught him staring at you. The burning feeling at the pit of your stomach grew as you dug your elbows into your chair.

Looking back after a few seconds you watch as he begins to take his tie off while still gazing straight at you, tossing it to the ground the moment it is loose off his neck. Speechless you look at the crowd for any comment, and it starts to click. All audience members were frozen in place. Their eyes still and locked looking towards you two while staying silent as the dead of night.

It wasn't long before you could hear the sounds of more clothes hitting the ground taking you back, intrigued by what was happening before you, Jack had taken his suit jacket off. All you did was sit still watching as he slowly crept towards you. He stops, getting behind you while bending down close to your ear.

"You wanted to see what I was going to do with my hand earlier, didn't you honey?" It felt like your heart stopped and fell flat straight to your guts. He places rough bites on your neck from behind, his teeth almost sinking into your neck.

You stayed still as his hands went from around your neck to your button-up. Lightly pulling on it you watched as he precisely unbuttons your top. Reaching over he grabs at your breast hungrily, groaning as if it was that pleasurable for himself.

It felt as if you were nauseous with a strong feeling of wanting from him. You reach your arm over your head, fingers finding his hair and gripping it tight.

"I've been watching you eye the fuck out of me since earlier, is this what you wanted you little slut?." Jack's voice echoed from right behind you, the change in his tone sent shivers down your spine.

You felt his hand go from your breast down into your skirt, eager to put his hand in your panties. He moves himself, on his knees as his other arm reaches around.

"I won't let you get off so easily.” His hand reaches into your underwear, his fingers making their way inside you. His free hand moved to cup your mouth, muffling the sounds you were making

He thrusts two of his fingers in and out of you, taking his thumb and rubbing your clit. He knew just how to torture you. It wasn't until he let go completely that everything snapped.

“Dreamer here awake!” Carmichael screams out to the crowd snapping his fingers.

“Dreamer Here Awake,” Jack whispered into your ear from behind.

Snapping you out of a trance you never thought you could have. You look down, your clothes still intact, blouse buttoned and in place. Gasping you sit at the edge of your seat, trying to keep yourself from freaking out. The audience gasped as Carmichael had actually shown everyone else a giant spider.

"I- I have to go." You stood up from your seat and began to walk off. You turned to look at Jack who was getting off his knees to stand up from behind your chair, slightly reaching out for you trying to stop you from leaving.

“Well we’re going to take a quick break, when we get back folks Carmichael will give us some insight into how he does his little trick after these messages.” You could hear him as you walked off, the door opening when you got to it.

Making your way back, a girl comes up holding a tray with different mixed drinks out towards you. Taking a drink off the tray, you say a quick thanks before moving out of her way.

Without even thinking, you down your drink, unknown to you it was another drink of whiskey. You never expected to be so buzzed after a few drinks, but you underestimated your tolerance. Having hit you like a brick instantly. Standing in front of a mirror you could see your surroundings behind you, you could see a concerned Leo coming up to check in.

"Everything okay? I watched Jack whispering things into your ear, you get freaked out and make weird faces. Look if he said anything to make you run away you tell me right now. I'll run straight to him and set him straight." The amount of concern on his face could kill if deadly.

"No Leo, I was just spooked by the act, that's all!" Throwing a reassuring smile back at him. His shoulders relaxed as soon as he could tell you were serious about Jack not making you leave. He places his hand on your shoulder and gives you a slight pat on the back.

"Alright, I'm glad I was worried I'd have to give him the scare of his life, he knows how I feel about wanting to keep you on here." Leo quickly left, turning away and walking over to the crew over to the side.

Looking back into the mirror you begin to fix your hair, taking no notice that Jack has now spotted you alone. Jack noticed you hanging out to the side, looking into the mirror at yourself. He comes up close from behind, his head tilted making it where no one can see what he is saying.

"Sorry if that scared you out there, I've seen his little trick before and found my ways to toy with it." He reassured you, trying to give you some sort of comfort. Turning around, you were met face to face with him.

"How? Jack that felt too real! Your hands-." You couldn't help but blurt out before he cut you off with his hand.

"If this is too much you have my word to run away. I'll tell Leo to get you into another great project. Or if-" Your hands reach for his tie, grabbing and pulling his face closer to yours. Causing him to drop his hand at your mouth.

"If what Jack?" It was no surprise his antics had turned you on, the way he had eyed you down previously made your stomach feel as if were tied in knots. You watch as he starts to piece it together, his eyes widen, and a little smile forms on his lips. He looks at his watch before he gazes back at you.

"Well sweetheart, meet me in my dressing room after we get done on the air. I can show you other things I can do with my hands." He lightly smacks your behind as you two begin to walk off to close the show.

As the audience starts standing up to leave, Jack thanks the crowd before striding off the set to the backstage area. You take a few minutes to yourself, stopping to talk to Gus before going backstage.

"Hey there, nice first episode! You brought the ratings up fifty percent, I owe you my life. Celebration tomorrow night!" Leo exclaimed as he caught up to you walking back to your purse. He pulls you into a small hug before letting go abruptly.

"I have to go tell Jack!" Leo hurriedly rushes away leaving you by yourself. You get to your purse, cleaning up the stuff on the stand. Looking into the mirror, you checked your makeup for what you thought was the last time you'd have the chance before you would again be face to face with Jack.

After checking to see if the coast is clear, you sneak down the hall looking for his dressing room. Luckily the floor was carpet, hiding the sound of your heels, keeping your cover clear. It wasn't long before you came across a door with writing on it. 'Jack Delroy' was labeled on the door with a gold star next to it, you lightly knock. Immediately hearing movement, you knew he had to be desperately waiting for you.

"Come in!" After you hear Jack yell through the closed door, you walk in and close the door behind you. Taking in the scenery it was a spacey room with a twin futon, side tables with plants sitting on top, a makeup stand, a standing lamp, and a few collectibles. The room smelled of flowers as he had a candle lit on the table.

“Nice of you to join me.” Jack had his just long sleeve button-up shirt with his tie still on, he stood with an ashtray in his hand. His radio on the side table played soft rock from the local radio station.

He had a cigarette lit in his mouth, you couldn’t help but stare and think that he looked so good in the dim light. Coming in closer, you take the cigarette from his mouth as you sit on his futon. You take a drag looking up at him, smiling as you blow the smoke back at him.

“Oh hey, I was just about to light this one up.” He walked over to one of the tables, grabbing something off it before sitting down. Holding it out to where you could see it up close, you could finally tell he grabbed a joint.

You’ve smoked before, but never with your colleagues. He lights it up, taking a hit before passing it to you. You happily oblige and take a hit as well.

“Wait Jack smokes the devil's lettuce?” You dramatically jokingly ask him as you pass it back to him. He cackles, coughing out smoke in the process.

“There are things you don’t know about me” He takes another hit before passing it back to you. Starting to get comfortable, you uncross your legs.

It was about a few hits and a moment later before it kicked in, you watched Jack as he picked up a drink he had made from earlier. You started to get hot, deciding to undo some of the buttons on your shirt. Unbeknownst to you Jack noticed, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Want a sip? It’s something different from whiskey.” He offers you the cup, gladly taking it. You take a sip, sneering as you realize you took a big sip of vodka. Laughing, he takes the drink back and sets it on the table.

“What game are you trying to play Delroy?” You could feel the heat between your legs grow. The way he set eyes on you, a predator eyeing its prey before taking a leap.

Leaning down he takes your face into his hand, moving your face to face his. Placing his thumb at your lips, you open your mouth. Taking his thumb into your mouth lightly sucking at it. He groans as you do, pushing it into your mouth more before pulling it out completely. Standing up, he starts desperately unbuttoning his long-sleeved button-up.

“God you’re so fucking hot.” Throwing it off he comes back over to you. Leaning over, he places his lips onto yours, leaving soft lingering kisses. He pulls you up as you put your hands on him, hands gripping his chest. Starting to get rough, Jack takes your lip between his teeth, and his hand wanders down to your body.

You smile at Jack before you drop down to your knees in front of him to unbutton his pants. Undoing the buttons, you pull his pants down with haste. He now just stood in his briefs, waiting for your touch.

Now it was more prominent how big he truly was, his briefs are white but the tip could be seen from how much pre cum was leaking from his cock. You couldn't help but put your face up against his clothed dick. Leaving little kisses through the fabric. He took no time to tear his briefs off, his cock swinging up when it was free.

Going in you start kissing the tip, moving from the base down to his balls. Taking them into your mouth, lightly sucking on them. He whimpers as he feels your tongue tracing random patterns on him.

His hands gripped the edge of his makeup stand as you swirl your tongue around him. Tracing the veins you could feel while sucking in your cheeks. He takes your hair and holds it back, gathering it together until he has one hand around it like a ponytail.

Getting a good grip on your hair with one hand, he begins to thrust his cock deep into your mouth. Face fucking your throat, you couldn’t help but make little whimpers around him every time he hit the back of your throat.

That only made him go faster, your fingers grip his hips as he ravaged your throat. He couldn’t help but let little moans pass through his lips as you gagged on him, shuddering with every thrust.

Pulling you away from him, he makes you sit on the futon again. You couldn't help but grin at him as you sit there admiring the man you have in front of you. He was desperate to have you, needing to touch you.

“Please violate me, Mr. Delroy.” It was like you had seen a switch flip as he made towards you again. Taking your top with his hands, ripping it apart; the buttons flew as he tore it apart.

Pulling the cloth from your arms, he then goes for your bra. Unlatching it and tossing it aside, your chest was now bare to him. He gets down on his knees up close and in front of you. His hands come up to cup your breasts, squeezing them before leaning down to put a nipple into his mouth. Sucking on it while his fingers toyed with the other, pinching and pulling at it.

Letting go, he pushes you back and goes for your skirt, pulling it off of your body. Taking one of your legs, he moves it to the side, spreading you open. He couldn't help the amount of joy he had as he instantly noticed the damp spot on your panties.

"How long have you wanted me? Wanting me to fuck this tight little pussy?" He leans over you, his hand holding onto your thigh before he tears your underwear off, throwing them behind him. Standing back he admires your naked body sprawled out in front of him.

"Jack I've wanted you since I've laid my eyes on you while watching Night Owls." That response made the heat burning in his groin get worse. He needed to fuck you.

“Jack I-it's not going to fit.” Nervously confessing as you began to process his size would be inside you. You couldn't help but stare down in amusement at him standing there, his hands rubbing up and down his own body, hard cock out on display.

“Oh sweetheart, I'll make it fit.” He stood towering over your limp body on the futon. Stroking himself at the sight of you waiting for his touch. Getting down on his knees in front of you, he slides his knee in between your legs, spreading them further apart.

With his cock in his hand, he rubs the tip against your entrance. Slowly pressing it in, he brings it further down before stopping halfway. You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan in surprise as he finally pushed his way fully inside you. While inside you he undoes his tie and puts it around your neck, tying on your neck like a chain. Not taking another second of waiting he begins to move his hips. Starting with slow thrusts, savoring the feeling of being inside someone once again

He takes both your hands putting them over your head, pinning them down onto the mattress. You couldn't help but scream out as he started going faster, his grip getting tighter around your wrist.

It wasn't long before picks you up, slamming your back against his makeup stand. Swiping off whatever cologne, scripts, and ashtrays he had lying on the ground. He glides himself back into you, unleashing a loud guttural moan.

Shaking the wardrobe his thrusts start up again, hungrily pounding into you. Grabbing at the tie tied around your neck he pulls your face closer to his, going in for kisses before moving to your neck. He eagerly sucks at your neck, leaving a little love bite to show as you grab at his back.

The door opens, and Leo walks in with a small mirror that has a few lines of cocaine before stopping at the sight of you two. Jack still rocking his hips into you as your fingernails dug into his back. His cock stretches you out in front of Leo. In shock, he takes a second before stepping back out and closing the door.

“God, do you like it when I pound into you like this?” He holds your legs with his hands, pushing them higher, making it easier to slam into you. You could feel his cock hit the hilt of your insides, causing a sensation of pleasurable pain making you cry out.

Your back hit the mirror so hard as you let go of his back that you could hear it crack. The tie in Jack's hand that was still tied around your neck helped him get a hold of you with every thrust. He pulls it roughly forward dragging you from the mirror, dragging you forward. You wrap your legs around him making him closer to you.

Grabbing you by your hips he swiftly turns around, laying back on the futon leaving you on top of him. You adjust yourself, knees on both sides of him. Starting to move, you balance yourself as you go up and down. Riding him as he held onto the sheets withering underneath you.

“Holy shit.” His eyes closed shut as his breathing became heavier. Whimpering when he could catch his breath, your fingers pressed into his chest as you leaned forward.

As you push yourself up and down his hard cock, he takes his hand over to your aching pussy, putting his thumb on your clit. Rubbing circles on it, causing you to whine out, losing control you had over your body. Your legs shake as you cum on his cock. Losing your senses you lay down on him, giving him the go-to start. He wraps his arms around you before thrusting up into you. Sweet soft moans poured from his lips as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck!” His hips rut up into yours losing control as he shoots a thick load of cum into you. Moaning out as he rides out his orgasm, hips starting to slow down. After taking a second to catch his breath, you get off of him. Standing up you got to find your clothes.

"We cannot tell anyone about this, but this won't be the last time. That was so fucking hot." He sits up, getting up to get dressed as well. You found your shirt annihilated forgetting that he had ripped it.

"I broke your shirt but you can put on mine." He hands you his long-sleeve button-up shirt. After you both get dressed, you both make your way out to leave to go to his place.

Walking out of the UBC building you two were swarmed by a group of paparazzi people taking pictures as they spotted you.

"Is this the girl you are seeing months after Madeline's death?" A reporter asked as he kept his head down, completely ignoring them. He flags a car down and you both hop inside off to his house.

After spending the rest of the night relaxing together by the TV, you remembered what Leo had told you earlier.

"Oh Jack, Leo says we have a party tomorrow to celebrate ratings." Jack turns to you surprised at your announcement.

"What! He didn't come to tell me anything about this after the show."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The End (Maybe??!?)

Hi again, I hope this isn't complete dookie and that y’all like it. This took so long to make but I'm glad to get it out. If you guys like it I will probably make part 2. If I come back and find anything I written that I don’t like ngl I’ll probably come back and write on this again. Peace out-C

[jackdelroys]

[apology] for jack delroy, if you want!!! so glad people are writing for this man 🙏

super excited to write for him!! he's everything 🫶 thank you for the request! i could talk for hours about jack and the psychology behind him auuugh

[ apology ] a kiss offered as a way to apologize or make amends

THE last thing he'd expected when he entered his dressing room was to see you, perched carefully on the couch that lined the far wall. You'd taken the liberty of making yourself a drink, a question he didn't have to even ask, not with the way you'd motioned the glass towards the minibar adjacent to your seat.

"I didn't know you were here," he muttered, glancing out the doorway cautiously before shutting the door and locking it, "I looked for you. I haven't seen you all night."

You shrugged, explaining that you'd come late.

The casual tone of your response eased his tensions. He tosses the jacket of his suit aside, pulling his tie loose and approaching the bar himself. He pours his usual, and takes a sip as the bitter twang of alcohol and mixers hit his tongue.

"You did great tonight."

He turns, hearing how close you are. As he looks you over, a sigh escapes him, and with it the lingering anxiety that he generally carried post-show. He comments on the outfit you've worn -- you look nice. The way he says it, so quietly, so earnestly is almost jarring compared to the Jack you've just watched on the stage set for the past hour or so; But at the same time, it doesn't worry you. This is the Jack saved for you, the one that's opened up to you alone, in private.

There's something so endearing about it, the idea, and he can see you thinking, with a questioning look does he lean forward just slightly, and with reassurance and a light but dismissive laugh do you meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his. He looks nice, too.

You taste like cherry. It's sweet and simple and easy to remember, and he'll never admit it but it's the reason he always restocks the flavored cola in the minibar every week. He likes being able to remember you like this, so sweet and pretty and gentle -- or maybe not so much gentle as it was calculated, he changes his mind as he feels your fingers tug at the hair at the base of his neck.

He allows an arm to slip around your waist and he pulls you to him, not so much caring now if his neatly pressed shirt wrinkles, or stains for that matter, as he fumbles his drink and spills some between yourselves and the carpet. With both hands free, it's easier to maneuver you until you're hoisted onto the bar's flat-topped surface anyhow.

"I'm sorry I was late," you offer, pushing away from his eyes the bangs that have come loose in all of their meticulously, promenade-drenched elegance.

"Don't apologize," you can barely hear him over the way he's buried himself in your neck now, between kisses and half-taken breaths he's still trying to refill his drink, all the while distracting you with the way his mouth feels against your skin.

You don't know how long you stay there like that, with his wandering hands and other affections, but by the time you're stumbling out of the dressing room into the empty studio, you're as drunk on his kisses as he is his whiskey, and you're taking his keys and offering (without taking no for an answer) to at least drive him home safely. He's wearing that goofy grin again, the one he puts on for the cameras, as he hands them to you, his touch lingering on your palm.

"Y'really think I did good today?"

You nod, nudging him in the direction of the passenger seat.

"You did perfect, baby."

Perfect, baby.

Even through his drunken haze, he giggles, in a giddy sort of way. Even if you'd said it to appease him, he liked the sound of it.

It was definitely something he could get used to.

[cum-a-calla]

i went a little insane on this Jack Delroy tidbit (is it still a tidbit if it’s 4800 words? get back to me on that)

Jack Delroy visits a diner in the middle of the night to wind down. He has very little in the way of expectations in the midst of fighting his own demons, but one thing he doesn’t expect is meeting a starstruck waitress that forces him to truly reckon with his urges.

under the cut: the lightest touch of dubcon, rough PIV fucking, fingerfucking, oral sex, public fucking, internal misery, and the suggestion of possession.

…

The late-night circuit is taking its toll on Jack.

It’s not so much the show - he lives to host, lives to act and react, lives to hype up his guests, to engage the audience. Genuinely enjoys the silly little skits they do. It’s living a dream, being in front of the camera and feeling that very specific, special feeling - not quite acting, not quite being himself. It’s less a façade and more a specific side of him - just a sliver of Jack, a flavor. A taste.

It’s not even really the late-night circuit, is it?

Ever since - …since, Jack’s been off. And why wouldn’t he be? The loss, the never-ending grind, the… the events that precluded this loss. The carving out of something inside of him, and to that end, when did that start? When the ratings fell? When Minnie did? When everything between those two massive events in his life took place? That secret in-between time, the woods, the eerie hooting in the trees, the costumes; God, the costumes had been so hack. He’d come so willingly, veins sluiced with booze, laughing, jeering with the rest of them. Until… until they weren’t.

Until he was kneeling in the pine needles, feeling them crunch under his knees, and had he ever paid so much attention to his surroundings? Had he ever stopped and noticed how it smelled in the forest? Perhaps not until then. Green, thick, heady. The sound of flapping wings, the whispers of his cohorts in the night. The metallic taste in the cup. Feeling something so unlike anything else, coursing through him, and wasn’t it so easy to chalk it up to nothing? It was easier. It was easier.

And then… and then.

It had been a time between sweet Minnie’s passing and his almost-reluctant return. But how long can tragedy keep you from your ultimate calling? There can only be so many mornings, noons and nights spent in a stupor, crying, vomiting, drinking, drugging. Only so much time avoiding every single part of your life, your livelihood. And what an unfair thing, to neglect one love of your life for the loss of another; Minnie’s face, her voice, she still lives in the back of his brain like an aneurysm. Capable of taking him completely out at any given moment.

And so the meetings in the Grove certainly helped, and perhaps did not at all. Before, after - what difference does time make, anyway? Minnie’s passing feels at once a hundred years in the past as well as five minutes ago. Time. Distortion is the only thing Jack knows anymore. There is only his life as the leading Night Owl and his life as Jack, and what in the fuck does that mean anymore unless he masks it with whatever else he can get his hands on?

His hands.

They tremble a little on the table, slid into a booth at a local diner. It’s a perfect imagining of a fifties spot, the plush, scuffed seats, the ridiculous outfits the largely female staff are wearing - the modest skirts, the aprons. The little notebook balanced against his waitress’s arm as she glides dutifully to his table.

“Evening,” she begins, glancing at him for barely a second before flipping a page. “Or - well, I guess it’s more like… good morning, right?” She laughs a gentle little laugh and it tugs at him, somehow. He watches her as he sweats, resisting the urge to wipe at his damp hairline. It’s been a fucking night.

“Evening and good morning to you, young lady,” he responds. Always genteel, always On.

She glances at him again and it’s a classic double-take. Eyes a little wider, she shifts in place and stares at her notebook, making every effort to conceal her recognition. Jack’s seen this look hundreds, thousands of times, so used to it that he can only smile warmly in return. The price of fame, but also the pleasure. She’s turning pink in the cheeks and it’s endearing, the way it lights her freckles up, the way it makes her squirm in place. Jack is charmed. He’s used to all ranges of attention - clamoring women, shy women, forward men. He takes it all in stride, but it’s the shy ones that get him. Demure, unsure. Something in his gut twists, and he waits politely for her to organize her thoughts before he says anything else.

“Th-thank you,” she stammers, blushing. “I… I know you must uh, get this a lot, but… you look like somebody,” she hints. She flicks her eyes from her notepad to Jack’s own eyes, guarded, giddily scared.

“I do get that a lot,” he says warmly. He drops her a quick, clever wink. “You’re clearly up late enough to know for sure, considering.”

She lifts the pad and covers her mouth with it, making an adorable, almost-silent squeal of excitement. The tips of her ears are burning, she’s so flustered. Jack can’t help but grin, laughing at her genuine and unbridled reaction.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, I’m being so dumb! I just - I love you,” she gushes, and the words tumbling from her lips embarrass her even further as she cringes at herself. Absolutely gorgeous - Jack can’t help but run his eyes quickly along the line of her body, noting the curve of her waist, the length of her legs. The hint of bare thigh under her skirt. “I’m such a fan. I know everybody must say that, I.. wow, I’ve never met somebody famous before. Especially not somebody I’m such a big fan of.”

“That’s incredibly sweet. Must be my lucky night, being waited on by such a lovely fan,” he flirts. The dark twist in his pelvis keeps him eyeing her, and he’s forced to take the linen napkin on the table and blot at his forehead. “Excuse me - been a long, long night.”

“I bet,” she says. “I imagine you’re constantly busy. Mister Delroy, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting - what can I get you?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. Just a… a black coffee will do me for now.”

She nods and the woman scurries away, glowing with excitement. It’s just one of the many perks, the hoards of beautiful women that lose themselves in his presence. The power there. Jack is easy, kind - hearted. He has no need for applause, not in the way you’d assume - he lives to be enjoyed, lives to be an entertainment, sure. But the drive isn’t for the droves of people begging to worship him - and isn’t that cliché? Isn’t that just something a famous, rich asshole would say, or convince himself of?

But it rings true. All he wanted - all he wants, all he sacrificed for -

All he sacrificed for… is to be needed.

The girl comes back with his coffee, placing it down on top of a napkin in an oversized, chipped mug. Jack smiles warmly at her and winks again, watching her thighs under her skirt as she hurries away again. It’s cute, really. It’s heartening in a way, but mostly… it stirs. Jack forcibly turns his head and stares down at the scratched formica tabletop, coffee steaming. A single drop trails its way down the cup and stains the napkin, bleeding through to the table. In the low of his gut, in the back of his brain, a whisper begins. He sweats - he’s always sweating these days. The cocaine, the alcohol, the various other substances he blinds himself with… and -

And…

The… thing. The thing that makes his belly hot, the thing that turns his cock hard even when he least expects it. It’s like a black, swirling possession over him; it’s the only thing that he doesn’t need a substance for, but a substance against. It’s not a drunkenness, not a high - it’s something else entirely, a tingling, pervasive kind of darkness.

It’s been easy to overcome it most of the time…

Most of the time.

It gets harder every day, little by little. What makes it really hard is when he finds a person, a thing, a place, a situation - something that makes his fucking balls ache, something that fills him to the throat with blackness, with need, and he follows. It’s all part of it. Resisting makes him… not himself. Giving in makes him not himself. Where the line between who he thinks he is and who he is now has been blurred, irrevocably lost in the dust of things, impossible to decipher. The ruins of his life have been buried so many ways in such a short amount of time. He looks in the mirror and it’s a miracle to recognize himself anymore. He rakes his fingers through his hair, straightens the lapels on his suit jacket. It’s hot. He takes the napkin, blots his sweat once more.

He stares serenely out the window at the darkened sky. Stars are out, now, piercing through all that velvety blue-black, like freckles, like pinholes embedded in some luxurious cloth. He checks his watch - just about a quarter to three in the morning, and not even a wink of an urge to sleep. Nothing satiates, nothing helps him rest. Constantly on the hamster wheel, doing his little dance.

“Mister Delroy - I, uh - well - I know you just ordered the coffee, but… we had some extra things, so… I just thought - in case you were hungry… On the house, of course.”

Jack turns to the waitress as she carries a plate to him, steaming with all kinds of fixings - hashbrowns, eggs, bacon, toast. She toes her shoe on the floor, and again he steals a look at the little bit of exposed thigh, the way she nervously straightens the apron affixed to the front of her uniform dress. He smiles up at her and there’s a whisper in the back of his mind - he watches her struggle to try to look away, but she can’t. He indulges her in her sweet gaze, refusing to break eye contact just to see what she does. She squirms a little, pleasantly so - her pupils dilate, flicker from his mouth back to his eyes. Trying not to be obvious. It makes him laugh a little, a hum under his breath as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Thank you very much, dear. You sure know how to take care of a tired man.”

She looks at the floor, smiles so big. She ducks under the length of her hair but it does nothing to dull the sheer delight making her face glow so. Jack wants to grab her by the hips - a line of racing thoughts boil his blood, stir his cock as he sits. Thinking about her lips on him, the warmth of her mouth, his fingers digging into her. Stop. Not now. Please. Fighting the urges, the impulses.

“Anything for you, Mister Delroy.”

He almost winces, dick jumping in his slacks. God, she’s adorable. There’s an almost coquettish quality to the way she looks up at him again, under her lashes, hands clasped chastely behind her back. She licks her lips and he feels suddenly so, so feral. He can almost taste her by power of thought alone.

“Jack is fine… I insist.” He reaches out and takes her hand. Her fingers tremble the slightest bit and it sets his soul on fucking fire. He brings her soft hand to his lips and kisses her tenderly on the knuckles, resisting the urge to take her fingers into his mouth, to gently bite on the tips of them. He imagines pushing his own fingers between her pink lips and feeling her tongue, reaching back toward her throat until she’s teary-eyed. He watches her as she exhales, shaky. Uncertain. Absolutely excited.

“Jack,” she parrots under her soft breath. “Jack it is, then.”

As she hurries back behind the counter, fielding some of the other late night owls in the restaurant, he contemplates what exactly brought him here. Why the cocaine never jumps him the way it used to, at the beginning. Before the - the… gathering. Why the booze doesn’t calm him the way it used to. Why nothing works, why nothing can settle the hot, despicable urges, the constant crawling underneath his own flesh.

He spends the better part of the next hour switching between gazing out the window, sipping his coffee (and then another, and then another) and picking at his plate, forcing himself to chew the food, to taste it, to appreciate his server’s gift. It does nothing to satiate him. He can barely feel hunger these days - it’s just going through the motions.

Minnie used to make a killer breakfast. On lazy weekends, while he slept off a hangover, and -

He pushes those thoughts away.

3:55 A.M.

The cute waitress comes around again and seems pleasantly surprised to keep finding him here, alone, lingering. Is he lingering? Why is he still here? He should be trying to sleep everything off, getting at least a snatch of shut-eye before another busy day tomorrow trying to up his ratings. There’s a very special show in the works - still in the idea phase, still scouting for a story, but… it’s shaping. Things are rolling, building up. The smart thing to do would be to pay his bill and catch a cab to his hotel room so he can rest fitfully for a few hours.

He asks for the bill and she swallows her own crestfallen feelings as she turns to retrieve it for him. He glances at it, pulls bills from his cracked leather bifold and tips her so generously that her eyes almost bug out of her head. She begins to refuse his tip and he rises from his seat, shushing her. He towers over here and she has no choice but to gaze up at him, like the very length of him is hypnotizing. The shared hunger. He can feel it like electricity, and for a split second they’re so close to each other that he could hook his hand behind the curve of her skull and pull her into a kiss. There’s zero doubt she would give it to him.

Instead, he grasps her shoulder and gives her a light squeeze.

“Thank you for a delightful breakfast - or dinner. Whatever is appropriate for this time of night,” he jokes.

She smiles, beaming at him like he’s the sun and she can do nothing more but bask in his light. “Of course, Mister Del - er, of course, Jack. It was such a pleasure to meet you. A dream.”

“I’m flattered,” he says, and he means it. That’s one thing about his job, and about protecting the shreds of humility he still has left - he always means it. There is nothing more intoxicating, nothing more rewarding than meeting a person who lights up at his very presence. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Touching somebody in such a profound way that brings a little joy, a little entertainment? “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.” Her voice is low, quiet and sweet. He stoops just slightly to catch it, that dark little voice tickles the back of his brain as he finds himself just a touch closer to her, and he swallows against the urge again to crush her against him, to sip her breath into his lungs and feel her tongue against his. Her eyes glitter in the old, yellowed lights of the diner. He, the Jack Delroy, finds himself utterly speechless and hanging on to her silence like a life raft, awash in his own deafening desire. “I’ll never forget this night, Jack.”

He’s the one basking, now, wondering what her feverish cheek might feel like against his, what other parts of her might feel just as hot, just as deliriously pink and warm against his own flesh. He summons a graceful smile, but it comes out as more of a gentle smirk, a huff of a laugh. Since when does Jack get nervous?

She waits and he regains control of himself, running his fingers through his hair and swiping the back of his hand across his damp hairline, straightening up, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sure I won’t be forgetting this night any time soon, myself,” he jokes. She’s delighted, practically vibrating in place. He can almost smell her, her sweat. Some delicate kind of perfume or soap.

He makes his way outside and waves at her as she returns behind the counter, scurrying into the kitchens - he imagines her in there pressing her hands to her own cheeks, shaking out her adrenaline and excitement. It’s endearing. It sets him on fire.

There are a line of pay phones outside of the restaurant, and he steps into one and lights a cigarette, flipping through the pages to find a cab service. He finds himself eyeing the building, seeing if he can see her through the windows as she continues serving. Mere glimpses - he sees her flit back and forth a little, remaining largely out of his view.

He closes the abused phone book and drops it to hang on its heavy chain, the pages nearly in tatters by years and years of use. He exits the booth without having so much as put any coins into the slot, opting instead to walk across the parking lot. He glances at his watch - 4:14 A.M. He seats himself on a cement block at the edge of the lot, finishing his cigarette just to light up another one directly after. God, he could really use a scotch or two - not that it would help any.

Minutes tick by and he waits. He rubs his sweaty palms down his thighs, constantly checking his watch. 4:21 A.M.

By the time 4:45 A.M. rolls around, he spots her. The lot is dark, the flickering neon sign of the diner doing little to expose him to her. She has a purse slung over her shoulder and not much else. Jack rises to his feet, wincing at the pop of his knees, the stiffness in his back. He flicks the butt of his cigarette to the ground and smashes the lit end with the toe of his shoe.

He approaches her and the gravel crunching under his feet has her suddenly alert, jerking her attention toward him. He watches her tense up, eyes wide, clutching the strap of her bag. Her features distort with fear, confusion. She can’t seem to decide how to feel, expression blurring and resetting, blurring again.

“Jack…? What are you - what are you doing here?”

“I was, uh… well, I suppose I was waiting.”

“Waiting for…?”

“For you.”

A hint of delight seems to ease her tension, but not enough for her to relax. She shifts from one foot to the other. Jack aches. He feels the heat pooling in his pelvis, feels that pull. His cock is already half-hard, pulsing with his heartbeat as he comes closer. She’s frozen to the spot, unable to do much else but watch him.

“For me? Wh-why?”

“There is something very special about you, I think. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, if I’m being honest.”

He’s nearly touching her, and he slowly brings his finger to her chin, lifting her face to his. He leans down until he can feel her shuddering little breaths against his mouth. She licks her lips, anticipating him, and he finally bridges that gap. Her lips are so soft, her kiss so submissive, inviting. It’s even better than he’d been fantasizing about, and inky black tendrils of desire creep up through his spine, dripping behind his ribs like ichor. Roiling down from his belly to his balls, stiffening his cock. The violence. The utter, blind, salivating need as he pulls her close, buries his fingers in the fabric of her cheap uniform as he does so. She resists for a moment and seems to melt into him, moaning into his mouth.

He could eat her alive.

They stumble together across the gravel, her hands on his face, skating over his sharp cheekbones to muss his hair. He grabs at her ass, squeezing the generous flesh there. He imagines biting her, leaving a mark that she’ll feel for days to come, imagines her craning to look into a mirror and running her fingers along bruises, bite marks. God, how he wants to mark her.

He guides her clumsily into the mouth of an alley behind the diner. Pressed against the wall, he has the freedom to roam further under her skirt. He tucks his thumbs into the band of her sheer, nylon tights, pulling them down to her calves. Kneeling before her, he watches her flushed expression as he rips her panties off her body with his strong hands, relishing the way she squeals his name. Like a trapped animal. A lamb trembling in the jaws of a wolf. He dips his fingers between her thighs, sliding them into the tight heat of her cunt. She gasps as he fills her this way, stroking, thrusting until she’s practically panting. He ducks under her dress and a growl rumbles up his throat as he tastes her. He wants her dripping down his face. He wants her to beg him to stop, to feel her tighten exquisitely around his fingers as he fucks her with them.

She’s alternating between gently pulling his hair and petting it, thumb slipping occasionally down to trace the bridge of his nose. She does this many times, and it’s so unexpectedly intimate it catches him off guard. Feeling him, painting the image of his profile on the inside of her mind’s eye like a tattoo - it’s not enough to be able to look at him, touch him, kiss him, watch him on TV. She traces him. She memorizes the shape of his nose, the gentle slope of his brow, fingers tickling over his cheekbones. It has him leaking in his trousers.

Her breath catches in her throat and his name is on her lips, sweet and soft as silk, thighs shaking, and there it is - she climaxes. He pulls his fingers out of her and stoops even lower, tongue pushing as far as he can into her folds, nosing her clit. This seems to do something animalistic to her; she nearly screams, covering her own mouth as she grinds against him. He wonders idly if she’ll buck hard enough to break his nose (and so be it, he decides).

Jack can’t wait any longer. He wipes his face off on his sleeve, spins her in place and yanks her hips back. She’s still catching her breath, face so red in the shadows of the alleyway. Eyes half-lidded and dreamy, lips swollen. She glances back at him and watches him struggle to unbuckle and unzip himself, pulling his hard cock out to rub between her wet thighs.

“Jack - please,” she whines. “Please, please.”

“Please what?” God, she’s so fucking slippery. He could swoon on the spot. She makes a soft, whimpering sound and he pulls the head of his cock away, teasing. “Come on. Say what you want.”

“Please… make it hurt.”

For a moment, he stares into her eyes in surprise, and she offers him a coy smile. It changes her features into something a little more sinister than he’d expected. It sets him on fire. Without another word, Jack lines himself up to her plush, slick, waiting cunt and fills her in one brutal thrust. She stiffens on the spot and screams, and now it’s his turn to clap a hand over her mouth.

“Oh, but you wanted this, little dove,” he coos in her ear between grunts. He fucks her hard, fast, feeling all that silken flesh rippling around him. “I had no idea you’d be so filthy. Are you like this for other men? Older men? Spreading your legs in an alley for them to fuck you open?”

The sounds she makes against his hand are probably words - surely they are, but all he hears is her desperate mewling, her high-pitched moans and near-shrieks, the feeling of her breath and drool, her teeth as she considers biting into the flesh of his palm.

“Just me, then? How long have you wanted this, how long have you fantasized about Jack-fucking-Delroy pounding into your little pussy? Do you think of me when you try to sleep? Do you touch yourself thinking of it? Is it what you expected, darling?”

He can barely control himself. There’s a special place between heaven and hell, some secret universe they’ve created with all the heat and pressure of their bodies, with the whispering darkness coursing through him, clouding him, transforming him. There’s nothing else but the urge to rip her in half. To make her scream, to fill her so violently that she feels it for days, for weeks even. He releases her mouth in order to grab her hips, hooking his fingers around the soft flesh there to yank her back against his brutal thrusts. He no longer cares how loud she screams. He likes the way her hands flutter back, grabbing at his wrists, reaching for this thighs in a poor attempt to escape his violence, to temper the way he hammers into her. But he’s too far gone - the smack of his hips into her ass, the way their bodies make the most infernally wet sounds… it’s all there is.

Jack hears a sound, something that nags him in the back of his mind. A rhythmic, gentle noise in the distance, something familiar but unable to breach the ferocity of his current focus. As the pressure builds in his balls, cock harder and more rigid than ever before, he recognizes it. Delirious, he recognizes the sound of an owl somewhere among these buildings, the gentle, almost mocking call of it every couple minutes.

Something about it pushes him over the edge, sweat rolling down his forehead in hot, fat drops, tickling the tip of his nose. He holds her flush as release frees him from all that pressure, muscles tightening and relaxing and waves of molten-hot pleasure surge all through his belly, between his thighs. She’s nearly sobbing at this point, and who can blame her? Each throb of his cock has him grunting against her, draped over her body, teeth bared.

Jack’s easing up, now. He rocks through his orgasm and fills her with his cum, pushing himself as deeply as he can as if a slave to his biological urge. Coating her, marking her with his seed. Mine. I did this.

As he’s emptied himself into her, so empties his mind. No more owl sounds, no more swirling thoughts, the darkness dissipating. He pulls his softening cock from her body and tucks himself away, doing his best to help the poor woman straighten up. Tear tracks shine on her cheeks, little sniffles accompanying her embarrassed smile. There’s fear there, just a little. It hides beneath the veneer of guilty satisfaction, of still being starstruck by her company. It seems that she can barely believe everything that’s just happened. He puts an arm slowly around her shoulders and guides her out from the alley, taking a secret and perverse satisfaction in the way she has to limp a little at first.

“Hey - that was… well, that was something, wasn’t it?” He laughs nervously, searching her to make sure she’s okay. “Are you all right? Do you need a cab? I’d be happy to get one for you, to share?”

“That would be great, actually, if - if it isn’t a pain, Mister Delroy.”

“Jack,” he corrects her gently. He turns her toward the phone book and she waits beside it as he makes the call, staring into the night sky and hugging herself warm. He reemerges, and the way she looks up at him fills him with something he can’t quite name. Some kind of near-familiarity. He’s suddenly struck with his need for the affection, to hold her, to lean own and kiss her lips and be tender to her after all of that. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over her shoulders, drinks in her warm little smile as she tugs it around her. They wait in a comfortable silence, occasionally smiling at each other until a car pulls into the lot. It doesn’t take very long at all. He escorts her to it and slides into the back with her once she’s seated, resting his heavy hand on her knee.

“Would you like to… do you need a place to stay the night?” The nip of loneliness. The need, poking its head restlessly into his mind, his body. So different than what they’d done against the wall, so much scarier. “If you’d like to join me…”

She tries unsuccessfully to hide a grin, turning to stare out the window at nothing at all. Hiding her delight, her own need. “I’d love to, Jack.”

[defectivevillain]

the forsaken road

pairing: Jack Delroy/Reader

The reader is referred to with he/him pronouns. Otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

summary:

Jack lets out a wry laugh. It’s broken and dry, as if the very gesture pains him. His hands are trembling, you realize as you study him. His suit is a bit wrinkled and there are a few hairs out of place near his temple. “My career is over.” Jack states resignedly. He looks around the studio, as if trying to get one last look at everything.

The rise and fall of Jack Delroy.

word count: 4.9k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence/blood/death, spoilers for the movie; ethically questionable relationships.

-> The reader is Jack's personal assistant; their relationship could be constituted as employer/employee, but it's implied that they will no longer be employed at the same place once their relationship turns romantic.

thanks to @palefaceswhore for the beta! any remaining mistakes are mine.

Being a personal assistant is far from your dream job. The hours are long; the pay is laughable; and the high-emotion environment of a television studio can quickly turn sour. Fortunately, these cons are less noticeable when you work as Jack Delroy’s assistant. Jack is forgiving and kind; he doesn’t order you around like a butler, nor does he lash out at you for things you have no control over. He isn’t perfect—few people are—but your position is far less stressful than the ones you had in the past. 

The Halloween episode of Night Owls with Jack Delroy is a departure from that thought. The show’s ratings have been slowly decreasing, leaving Jack with less sponsors and a contract with the network set to expire in a few months. There’s been a slight air of desperation on set recently. And when that one guest accused Jack of changing the show too much… Well, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Truthfully, the programming has been a little crazy lately. The producer, Leo, has turned to increasingly dramatic ways to draw in new audiences. Unfortunately, his efforts aren’t quite paying off. 

That brings you to October 31, 1976: a special Halloween broadcast. Tonight will be one of the most monumental moments of Jack’s career. If he can make a captivating show, then there’s a good chance for more sponsors or, hell, syndication to another television network. If he fails, the show will officially enter its final season—and eventually become nothing more than a memory. Safe to say, there is a lot of pressure on Jack Delroy at the moment. 

Still, he’s handling it rather well—at least, from what you can tell. Several celebrities and guests are lined up for the night, and while you aren’t necessarily excited about some of them, you can recognize their appeal. There’s something for everyone scheduled in the program tonight, from jazz singers to skeptics and psychics. There will be hijinks and shenanigans, interspersed with serious, head spinning moments. 

Thankfully, you don’t have a very big role in the show itself—you’re just here for Jack. While you occasionally assist with programming for Night Owls, your main priority is ensuring Jack has everything he needs: whether that’s a freshly dry-cleaned suit or a brief about the next guest. You’re a jack-of-all-trades around the set—and you enjoy helping others out when they need it. The crew members—Gus McConnell, the co-host; Phil, the director and cameraman; and Sammy, the make-up artist—are easy to talk to. 

The night starts innocently enough, as the first guest, psychic Christou, is invited to perform for the audience. He does appear to intuit a few things, but it’s not overly impressive. Just before the break, however, he lets out an ear-piercing scream. Everyone’s eyes fall on him as he claps his hands over his ears, shaking vigorously. Jack approaches him cautiously, inquiring after his wellbeing. Christou asks the audience about a particular name, but no one seems to recognize it. With an anticlimactic ending to the segment, the broadcast cuts to commercial and the crew is left to scramble about. One thing is abundantly clear to you, as you bustle around behind the scenes: something is wrong with Christou. He keeps coughing into his arm with an exaggerated puffing of his cheeks, as if resisting the urge to hurl. Several people attempt to approach him, but he snaps at all of them. Jack also seems concerned, but the break is ultimately too short for anything to be done about it.

The next segment of the show features Carmichael Haig, a magician-turned-skeptic. He appears alongside Christou, and it is abundantly clear that the two of them despise each other. They’re from two entirely different schools of thought, after all—Christou believes in the supernatural, while Haig only believes in the material. Haig murmurs several insults under his breath as Christou attempts to continue speaking to Jack. Eventually, Christou’s irritation spurs him to get up from his chair and pace about in evident restlessness. 

If the last segment was strange, you can’t even begin to describe what happens in the ensuing few seconds. Christou makes the strange coughing motion again, only to fall forwards and catch himself on the ground. His face contorts into discomfort and he coughs again, only to release a disgusting black liquid. You stare in complete disbelief, unable to believe your eyes. He continues vomiting up the mysterious matter, before Jack leads him off stage and a “We’ll be right back!” message appears on the broadcast. 

You move to approach Jack as he sits next to the skeptic. Immediately, you realize that Haig is trying to get your attention. You valiantly pretend not to notice, until he clamps a hand on your shoulder and forces you to acknowledge him. “Get me some water,” he demands. 

You stare at him for a few seconds. “I’m not your servant,” you then snap. He is perfectly capable of getting up and grabbing his own water. The refreshments aren’t even that far from his current position—he’d just have to turn the corner and take a couple steps backstage to reach them. Irritation prickles along your skin at his flippant disrespect. 

Haig stares at you, before a slight smirk rises on his lips.  “Right, you’re his,” he answers, motioning to Jack. You grit your teeth and resist the urge to throttle the guy.

Jack doesn’t seem pleased with the skeptic’s behavior either, as he glares at him. “Haig,” he warns. Jack’s eyes are glittering and there’s a dark expression on his face. The skeptic quickly shuts up; convinced, Jack gets to his feet and walks away. Not wanting to be in Haig’s presence any longer, you walk away and assist Phil with setting one of the cameras. 

The next segment doesn’t make you feel any better. Jack greets the audience and introduces parapsychologist Dr. June Ross-Mitchell. While you can admit you’re skeptical about her “research,” you don’t think she deserves to be continuously interrupted by Haig—who remains sitting next to her. Thankfully, Jack frequently interjects to put Haig in his place and June gets to tell her story. You learn that she researched a Satanic church run by cult leader Szandor D’Abo, composed of members who worshipped the demon Abraxas. Supposedly, in one final encounter with the FBI, the entire group died: lighting themselves on fire and burning their whole building down. One person survived the entire tragedy: a young girl named Lilly. 

From the moment Lilly walks out on stage, you can sense something’s off with her. You don’t want to judge her so quickly, especially considering what she went through. But her behavior is rather abnormal—she stares at the cameras with an eerie smile on her face; she greets Jack as if they have already been acquainted; and she claims to have a demon residing within her named Mr. Wriggles. 

It’s at this point that you have to take a step back and contemplate every decision that has led you to this moment. You signed up to be an assistant to Jack Delroy, a late-night television show host. In all the time you’ve been working with him on set, you’ve never seen the show adopt such an occultist and spiritual lens on things. And while you know the broadcast is a Halloween episode, there are ultimately too many occurrences that can’t be explained away with common sense. What happened with Christou? More importantly, what the hell is happening here? 

While you don’t get an answer to the latter question, you soon have an answer to the former. When the segment ends and the cameras cut to black, Jack is pulled aside by the producer, Leo. Within a minute or so, Jack emerges looking rather pale. He makes a beeline towards you and leads you towards a forgotten corner of the set to have a private conversation. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask immediately. The tension on Jack’s face betrays his attempts at composure. He takes a step forward and you resist the urge to back away. The two of you are standing rather close together now. 

Jack takes a slow breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, before looking at you. “Christou died on the way to the hospital. From hemorrhaging, supposedly.”

“That’s…” You trail off, unable to find the words. You rub a hand over your face. “Something’s clearly wrong here.”

“I know,” Jack acquiesces, his gaze flitting about. 

“And something’s not right with Lilly, either,” you say. “I don’t think it’s possession. Her mind… What she went through is enough to give any adult trauma, let alone a child.” You remark. Jack is silent, which motivates you to continue speaking.

“I mean, you know I’m as skeptical as they get. And even I’m unsettled. People will do anything for attention. Even if this “demon” doesn’t prove to be real, the people in this studio are—and they can cause real damage.”

Jack looks conflicted. Unfortunately, before you can hammer in the point any further, Leo is rounding the corner and pulling him away while whispering in his ear. You’re left standing against the wall, arms crossed over your chest as you contemplate exactly how you got yourself into this situation. A fucking demon conjuring. A late-night television show is going to broadcast a demon conjuring. 

What follows is a dream sequence. That’s the only way you can describe it. It’s a nightmare—a fever dream. None of it feels real. During thr summoning, Lilly’s eyes turn yellow; her skin rips apart; she shakes in her chair and writhes against her restraints. Her voice doesn’t sound like her own—it’s deep and dark, a juxtaposition to her unassuming appearance. But just as you begin to wonder if this is all some sort of elaborate prank, she levitates several feet in the air. 

Ultimately, nothing you witnessed can be explained away by common sense or logic. At least, that’s what you think—and it appears nearly everyone else thinks the same thing. Everyone else… except Haig. Ever the skeptic, he asserts that he can show the audience how June and Lilly pulled off their “trick.” And while you’re sick of hearing his voice, you want nothing more than a reasonable explanation for all of this mess. Unfortunately, the skeptic isn’t exactly someone you would characterize as reasonable or particularly grounded. 

“Where is your assistant?” Haig asks Jack, promptly breaking you out of your thoughts. You feel a bolt of pure fear run down your spine, as you immediately catch on to what he’s asking for. There are two chairs set up on the stage. He’s going to perform some kind of hypnotism. And… he wants you to participate. Fortunately, Jack doesn’t seem keen to let that happen, as he quickly shuts the skeptic down. 

“He has nothing to do with this-” Jack interjects. You’re distracted with a sudden overwhelming appreciation for the man. Unfortunately, that gratitude is quickly overshadowed by Haig promptly turning around and walking to the edge of the set—right in front of you. 

“Here!” You hardly have a chance before there’s a hand on your arm again, pulling you into the spotlight. “Please, join me.” With that, he turns to the audience and smiles, as if sharing an inside joke. “Isn’t he charming? Yes, a round of applause for the brave volunteer.” What volunteer? You were just forced to participate! You suppress any sarcastic remarks and take the proffered seat across from Haig. 

“In a moment, I want you to look at my watch,” he explains. “I will snap my fingers, and you will be completely in my control.” You roll your eyes internally, knowing it won’t work. You’ve never believed in any of this hypnosis bullshit and you’re not about to start now. “Ready?”

“Yes.” You say, after he asks for verbal confirmation. Haig pulls out his watch, revealing a white and black swirling backdrop. He holds it in front of him and you stare at it, trying to focus despite your misgivings. It’ll need to be at least a little convincing for the viewers. 

As the mesmerizing spiral continues, you feel your vision clarify and sharpen intensely. Everything around you slowly starts to fade away, until you’re floating in an infinite void. You don’t emerge for a while, until there’s a harsh light burning into your eyes and a firm snapping sound reverberating through your ears. You blink and your head jerks forward, as the television set around you rematerializes. The audience gasps and you look around in confusion, quickly sensing that something must’ve gone wrong. Jack looks as if he’s seen a ghost; Dr. Jude looks disturbed; and Lilly looks amused, which only furthers your suspicion that something’s wrong with her. The audience members are all in varying states of fear. 

You try to move your hands, only to feel a residual ache running up and down your fingers. Frowning, you try to regain feeling in your limbs. Meanwhile, Jack seems to collect himself—as he stares at you for a long moment before announcing that they should watch the footage of the hypnotism. The audience, the crew, the guests, and Jack… They all must have seen something horrifying. That’s the only explanation for the downright terror flickering in their eyes. 

A crew member wheels a small television into the room and starts to rewind the footage. You get up from your chair, your balance wavering, and move towards a seat near the television set. You need to know what happened here—in the immeasurable time that you spent lost in the shadows of your mind. Eventually, the crew member pauses the footage and Jack motions for them to unpause. The footage begins. 

At first, nothing is out of the ordinary. You watch as Haig explains the process, before swinging his watch before your eyes. The entire audience looks at the pendulum, too. You watch with a strange feeling at the pit of your stomach as everyone’s eyes glaze over. Haig continues speaking to you, asking you about your worst fears and the sensations you’re experiencing. You don’t remember any of that happening, nor do you remember what happens next: 

“What is that?” You frown, tilting your head to the side as a high pitched noise rings in your ears. Your temple starts to ache. “Why is it so loud?” Your hands are trembling, even as you grip the arms of the chair hard enough to send bolts of pain sliding down your fingers. 

“Stop,” you beg. You clap your hands over your ears and practically writhe in your seat. “Please stop.” No one else seems to sense the sound. But you’re almost fighting against some unseen force to get it to stop. The camera briefly pans to Dr. Jude and Lilly—who look frightened and amused, respectively—before finding Jack. Jack looks extremely disturbed—and appears moments away from being sick.

You’re pressing your fingers into your temple hard, as if clawing at your skin will free you of the blaring noise. You’re repeating “stop,” as if it’s a mantra. At some point, your voice inexplicably deepens—until you realize that you’re not the only one speaking. Jack’s voice joins yours. “Stop!”

The footage glitches and the screen turns black. 

You stare at the footage in disbelief. You don’t remember any of that happening. If there wasn’t video evidence, you wouldn’t believe it. But… it must be true. Haig was making you hear some sort of phantom sound. And to think, you believed hypnotism was utter nonsense… 

“Well,” Jack says, taking a shuddering breath. “That was…” He breaks off, seemingly at a loss for words. You take a slow, deep breath and try to remain calm. Jack turns to face one of the cameras. “We’ll be right back,” he announces somewhat forcefully. The smile that remains on his face is far too strained to be genuine. 

When the cameras are off, Jack stalks away from the set, immune to Gus and Leo calling after him. You watch him leave in confusion, pressing a trembling hand to your temple as you walk towards the back. You’re hardly out of the spotlight for more than a few moments, before the make-up artist, Sammy, is approaching you. She moves to grab a brush from her pocket and you shake your head. 

“I don’t need anything, it’s fine,” you choke out, slowly regaining your composure. 

“Just pretend; I don’t want to go back to that jackass,” Sammy murmurs, her eyes falling to Haig. You nod in understanding. “Anyway. Are you okay?”

You contemplate the question. Are you okay? Truthfully, you’re not quite sure. “I don’t know,” you admit, resisting the very compelling urge to bury your head in your hands. “...That was really weird.” That’s the understatement of the century.

“Was any of this planned?” Sammy asks hesitantly. 

“They chose the guests for tonight, obviously,” you answer, trying to think. “I can’t imagine they thought it would go like this, though. And I didn’t fake that hypnosis. That would go far past an innocent prank. And I’m not that good of an actor.”

“Right,” Sammy says with a frown. She seems to believe you; relief courses through you. “And what happened with Christou…” She trails off. 

“I know,” you whisper in agreement. “That was… scary. I mean, everyone seemed surprised—even Jack. I know Haig said there’s such a thing as controlled regurgitation, but it’s still disturbing.”

“Hey, at least you’re done on camera.” She says.

“Yeah,” you agree, unable to feel fully relieved. Dread made a home in your chest the moment the episode started. Something is off in the studio today. “And I’m never going on air ever again.”

“Ha.” Sammy’s eyes glitter with amusement. “You were great! Pretty popular with the ladies. I think Jack got jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re a good friend, Sammy,” you sigh, “Even if you’re a liar.”

Sammy laughs loudly, before slapping a hand over her mouth quickly. She evidently realizes that she’s been brushing the same side of your face for at least twenty seconds now, and backs away with an apologetic grimace. “Well, you’re definitely covered on the right side.”

A playfully disparaging remark is on the tip of your tongue when there’s suddenly a hand on your shoulder. You hardly get a chance to think before you’re getting nearly manhandled into a standing position by Leo, who looks uncharacteristically stressed. 

“Leo, what’s up?” You ask. 

“Need you to speak to Jack,” Leo mutters, guiding you through the backstage area and towards the dressing rooms. “He’s practically locked himself in his dressing room. Doesn’t want to do the rest of the show.”

You don’t want to do the rest of the show either, so you probably won’t be convincing Johnny of anything. But you are concerned for him, so you let Leo push you into the dressing room and promptly slam the door shut. 

Jack is sitting on the sofa, his elbows propped on his knees as his head is buried in his hands. You stare at him for a moment, contemplating if you should just leave. Does he really want you here? You suppose you’re about to find out. “Jack?”

He looks up and stares at you. You’re surprised to find tear stains running down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” Jack says, with worrying sincerity. Your brows furrow. What is he apologizing for? “This was entirely my fault. I got you into this situation.”

“Jack, that’s-” You try to say, only for him to cut you off by reaching out and lightly grabbing your hand. Stunned to silence, you watch as he turns your hand around and inspects it. 

“There’s blood under your fingernails.” He notes. You pull your hand away and Jack exhales exaggeratedly, rubbing his hands over his face in stress. “Everything’s a mess.”  

“Well what can we do?” You question. When he doesn’t seem keen to answer, you continue speaking. “We can continue running this shitshow, which, honestly, will go poorly. It could be dangerous, too—I don’t know what happened with Lilly, but that wasn’t normal.”

“We could also end the episode early,” you continue. “It would probably scare viewers, and ratings wouldn’t be great…”

You’re not sure how long you stand there until Jack breaks the silence. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits. 

“Me neither,” you respond. “At least it’s in your hands, though. You make the decision—whatever you’re most comfortable with.” You shove your hands in your pockets, feeling a need to quell the restless energy running through you. 

“You should be the producer,” Jack murmurs. 

“I’m a man of many talents,” you joke. 

“You are,” he responds, with far too much sincerity. Jack turns to look at you expectantly. “What would you do, if you were me?” The trust in his eyes is overwhelming. You don’t believe you deserve it. 

“I think I’d end the episode,” you reply after some contemplation. “Enough viewers have been traumatized. Our ratings have already suffered, and dragging this on will only make them worse. Besides, something’s seriously wrong with Lilly—and I’d rather not be here to find out what that is. And a few crew members are already on the verge of leaving, so…” You break off, hoping you’ve made your point clear. Just because he asked you doesn’t mean that he’s going to do exactly what you say (nor do you want him to). 

“What will I do?” Jack asks. His voice cracks ever so slightly. ��

You’re not sure if that’s meant to be a rhetorical question, but you decide to acknowledge it anyway. “What do you mean?” You ask.

“I needed those ratings,” Jack sighs. “My contract’s going to expire. The show will probably end after this.”

“Well,” you frown. “There are other networks, and other opportunities out there. I doubt you’d just… slip off the face of the planet.” You reason. And it’s true—even if Jack’s popularity on the network is dwindling, he still has a decent fanbase. You’re almost certain he would be able to recover somehow. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?” You squint at him. 

“What will happen to you?” Jack questions, staring pointedly ahead.

“I don’t know,” you respond honestly. “Haven’t thought that far ahead yet. I’m sure I’ll figure something out, though. Besides, I don’t want to be an assistant forever.”

“Your degree, right,” Jack seems to recall. You blink at him for a second, shocked that he knows that. Then you remember the conversation you had with him years ago—about how you wanted to do something more with your bachelor’s degree. 

“I’m surprised you remember that,” you manage to say, once you can sort out your thoughts.  

“I’m a good listener when I want to be,” Jack smiles. (“You’re a talk show host! You’re supposed to be a good listener!” You heard June say to him earlier.) After a few moments of thought, he places his hands down on the sofa next to him. “Okay,” Jack says determinedly, getting up from his seat with a renewed resolve. “I know what to do now. Thanks.” He nods, head somewhat bowed as he exits the room. You almost immediately hear Leo harassing Jack for a decision and you sigh, following his lead and leaving his dressing room. 

What follows is a mess, to put it kindly. Jack’s decision to shut down shooting for the day is definitely the right one, but the audience members are somewhat disappointed—and it takes a while to get all of them to exit the building. Eventually, Leo storms onto the stage and threatens to kick them out—which seems to do the trick. After, the crew members start to clean up the studio—taking down equipment and ensuring everything is in its proper place. Usually, this doesn’t take long; tonight, amidst all the craziness, it’s a lengthy affair. 

Finally, after what feels like far too long, it’s just Jack and you in the studio. You can finally breathe. You take one final walk around the studio to ensure nothing was forgotten or left behind, before returning to the stage area. Jack has been sitting in his chair for the entirety of the takedown process, which is a little concerning. He’s staring ahead with a blank expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You ask Jack, despite already knowing the answer. If you were in his position, you’d be frustrated, confused, and exhausted. You can only assume he feels a mix of those emotions—and more—at the present moment. 

Jack lets out a wry laugh. It’s broken and dry, as if the very gesture pains him. His hands are trembling, you realize as you study him. His suit is a bit wrinkled and there are a few hairs out of place near his temple—a travesty Sammy would not allow if filming was still in progress. “My career is over.” Jack states resignedly. He looks around the studio, as if trying to get one last look at everything. 

“You made the right decision,” you try to reassure him. 

He runs his hands through his hair, effectively ruining the coiffed look he had going before. Ironically, you think it looks better messy. You immediately scold yourself for letting your thoughts wander. Jack, immune to your brief internal crisis, sighs. “It doesn’t feel like it.” 

“That’s how it is, sometimes,” you say. And it’s true. Sometimes, the best decision still feels like a defeat or a loss. You’ve had to make those kinds of decisions in the past, and you’re sure life will bring you some more in the future. Admittedly, you’re usually on the other end of these kinds of scenarios—you’re usually the one who feels as if their life is crumbling around them, not the one who offers advice and consolation. 

“When did you get so wise?” He huffs. You exhale in amusement. 

“Come on,” you urge him, extending a hand. “Let’s get out of this hellhole, before a light falls down and beheads us.” That would be just your luck. Jack lets out a dry laugh, taking your proffered hand and getting to his feet. The two of you walk out of the building, occasionally brushing shoulders in your proximity. Neither of you are able to come up with something to say, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. When Jack sees that you plan on taking the bus home, he offers to drive you back to your place. Regardless of how many times you try to say no, he’s strangely insistent on making sure you get back safe. 

You suppose it’s inevitable that you later find yourself standing at your kitchen counter across from Jack. He holds a mug of coffee—how he’s able to drink it so late at night, you’re not sure—and stares into the distance thoughtfully. 

“It’ll be okay,” you feel the need to reassure him. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so troubled before. You quickly decide you don’t like it. 

“I know,” he says, his voice somewhat hollow. It may take him a little while to truly believe that, you realize. And that’s alright. “Thanks,” Jack continues, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Yes, you could’ve,” you argue. The objection comes easily, because it’s true. You’ve hardly done anything of significance across your years working with him. 

Jack shakes his head in disagreement, placing his mug down and looking at you with an unreadable look. You watch with bated breath as he takes a step closer. You’re pulled to him like a magnet, turning to look at him. 

“Sometimes, I feel as if you’re the only one who really sees me.” Jack whispers. You bite the inside of your cheek, emotion stirring in your chest at the vulnerable admission. In a spur of the moment decision, you reach out and clasp Jack’s hand where it’s resting on the counter. For an awful moment, you think he’s going to wrench your grip off —but he only flips his palm around and clasps your hand with reassuring strength.

“And I think about you all the time,” he continues, “I think about sharing a life with you, and having the privilege of seeing you every day. Outside of the set, away from all the madness.”

Jack’s hand lingers in the air between you, as if he wants to touch you but can’t allow himself to do it. His next words are breathed so quietly that it takes you a few seconds to process them. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes,” you respond. You don’t expect the swiftness of his response, as he pushes you back against the counter and nearly crashes into you in his vigor. Jack presses his lips to yours, his hands bracketing your face. You rest your arms around his shoulders. A shiver rolls down your spine. Jack pushes you back further and, moments later, there’s a loud shattering sound. The two of you break apart to investigate the noise, only to find your mug on the floor in pieces. 

“I’ll clean it up,” he immediately remarks, looking very guilty. 

You reassure him that it’s not a big deal. “You’re getting me a new mug, though,” you propose. 

“Of course,” he responds breathlessly, a smile on his face. This smile is new—it isn’t the strained, tense one from earlier today; it also isn’t the fake, all-teeth one that he uses when he’s in the public eye. This expression is new to you—Jack’s eyes are ever so slightly wrinkled at the sides and his lips quirk at the edges. 

You roll your eyes. Jack’s kissing you again before you can remember the mess on the floor.

endnotes: I don’t know how (read: why) I wrote so much for this fucking movie. I have written far less for far better pieces of media… Sigh. It is what it is. The deed has been done. Blame it on David Dastmalchian—first Murdoc, now Jack…

here's an obligatory jack delroy playlist. sigh... i'm down so bad...

thanks for reading! <3

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general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

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[godspeedviper]

Saturday Night Fever - Jack Delroy x F!Reader (SFW)

𖤐 Requested by Anon: Politely requesting some Jack Delroy x OC hurt/comfort. MAN AM I A SUCKER FOR some good old fashioned caretaking – a bad day, a cold, something has our intrepid host down but trying to push through and the OC makes it their task to cheer him up.

𖤐 Synopsis: Jack Delroy wakes up the day after his fated Halloween Special in 1977. Pure fluff.

𖤐 Type: Fluff || Comfort || Caretaking || Sickfic || Fix It fic || Post Canon

𖤐 Word Count: 1848

𖤐 Rating: Gen || SFW || Mentions of Medication

𖤐 A/N: Sorry this took so long! I had a real bad month (chronic illness) and as a result i've been listening to a lot of ASMR whilst bedridden and writing this kinda helped me through the weeks as well. ALSO the inspo for the "plot" came from this commercial and a comment on that video that said they, and i quote, "hated the dissonant piano at the end". It got me thinking of how surreal it would be to wake up to that while sick. Additionally, the described furniture in this fic looks like this. Final note, the NBC nightly news anchors at the time (1977) were John Chancellor and David Brinkley. ANYWAY i just want to see Jack happy and taken care of :(

  Jack stirred in his bed at the sound of strange dissonant piano keys in the distance. His eyes fluttered open, catching a blurry glimpse of the tail end of a commercial. He had a violent headache and his whole body ached. He tried to speak but his throat felt scratchy and sore. 

“Hey there handsome!” said a voice “Shh… There there now, try and take it easy.” 

“Minnie?” Jack croaked out. 

“If you’d like me to be, sure.” Replied the voice with a smile. 

  She reached out to the coffee table in front of them and picked up a small hand towel. She dipped it into an adjacent bowl filled with water and then used the damp cloth to gently pat Jack’s clammy forehead. He let out a relieved sigh in return as the cloth felt cool against his feverish skin and soothed his headache. Each muscle in his body slowly relaxed, sinking back into a curved chartreuse sofa.

“Oh you poor thing you’ve had a real long night haven’t you.” 

“What happened?” Jack mumbled. 

“You caught an autumn cold and went on to do your Halloween special, but the heat from those TV lights in the studio made you start running a real high fever.” She said, unfolding the damp towel and placing it flat across Jack’s forehead. “The fever was so high it started messing with your head on set and you began to talk nonsense about the devil and all live on your show!” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, everything had seemed so vivid and felt so real that it seemed unlikely to have all been a hallucination. 

“Then… How did I end up here?” He spoke cautiously, both from the ache in his throat and out of fear. “And where is ‘ here’ exactly?” 

“You’re at the big boss’ penthouse atop the UBC building. He has this place for when he stays working late, comes up here to catch a few zzz’s then goes right back to meetings and the like. Figured it would be easier to keep you from the prying eyes of tabloids here than in a hospital.” She said in a very matter of fact voice, as if Jack should have deduced it all. 

  Jack tried to make the effort to sit up and look around, but his body felt far too weakened and pained to complete the task. He only managed to raise his head and lift his shoulders a few centimeters off the sofa before collapsing back onto the cushy furniture. 

“Oh you poor thing,” Jack heard her say as he shut his eyes and groaned in pain. 

“Wait…” He mumbled. “If… if the fever was that bad? Why am I not with a doctor or in the emergency room or an ambulance?” 

“That’s what I’m here for silly!” She laughed, shrill and dainty like the ringing of a small bell. “I’m a home caregiver hired by the big boss. You can call me Nurse Minnie if you’d like, since that’s what you blurted out earlier. It’s my job to make sure you’re right as rain in no time.” 

“Uh-huh…” Jack nodded slowly. He was still in disbelief, but he had no other explanation for how he was feeling or for what he remembers experiencing. 

Regardless, his fever and headache were very very real and so, he tried relaxing his tense muscles, slowly shifting into as comfortable a position as possible. 

“Would you like some tea now that you’re awake?” She asked, daintily batting her lashes at him. 

“Um, yes please.” It sounded almost like a question coming from Jack, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

“Alright then, wait right here Mr. Delroy and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

 Jack’s large, dark eyes followed her as she stood up from the sofa and took her leave. He then turned his attention to the coffee table on his right side and looked over all the items laid on top; a thermometer, some small hand towels, some medication, the television remote, and the aforementioned bowl of water. He reached out for the remote – the buttons were rubber but the body was made of sleek wood that felt cool to the touch – turning up the volume and flipping through the channels until he saw a picture of himself on the nightly news with a headline ‘Is Television Going to Hell?’

“After last night’s heartstopping broadcast, Night Owls with Jack Delroy has skyrocketed to the top of the Nielsen charts as viewers everywhere proclaim this to be the most frightening thing put to screen since The Exorcist hit theaters back in ‘73.” Said a man in a sandy colored suit jacket with a matching color tie. 

“That’s right, David.” Replied the man sitting to his left. “A spokesman for UBC kindly let us know that the entire night was scripted and to rest assured that no one was harmed in the making of the program.” 

“Now hold on a minute, John. That isn’t entirely true!” The man in the sand colored suit interrupted. 

“Correct,” His co-host replied with a swift synchronicity rarely seen outside of tennis matches. “That same UBC representative also made it clear that while the entire broadcast was scripted the titular host, Jack Delroy, was running a high fever that night, resulting in his erratic behavior towards the end of the program. However, he has since been hospitalized and is on the mend.” 

  Jack sat there with his mouth agape, trying to wrap his mind around what the newscasters were saying. His thoughts were quickly interrupted as his caretaker returned to the living room, placing a tea cup and accompanying saucer on the table right in front of him. 

“Here you are,” She said, sitting on the edge of the sofa near his hips and helping him slowly sit up. “Please be careful, it’s hot.” 

“Oh, oh thank you.” He replied, slowly reaching for the teacup. 

“I see you’re catching yourself up to speed.” She said, nodding towards the television set. “How does it feel to be at the top?” 

“Hot.” He said with a chuckle. 

“Was it worth it?” 

Jack froze, unsure of what to say. His eyes flitted down towards the teacup, then back up at her, but she was giggling along with his statement. Jack nervously smiled, fully doubting his senses. 

“Oh Mr.Delroy, even when you’re not on camera you still have a sense of humor.” 

“Sorry,” He said sheepishly as his cheeks started to blush. “I can’t help it… And please, call me Jack.” 

  She smiled back at him in earnest, mindlessly reaching for the discarded hand towel which had rolled off his forehead and onto his lap. “Don’t be sorry about that, Jack.” She gave him a poignant look. “Most people let fame get to their head. They become rude, ungrateful, and just plain old unpleasant. I will happily take your bashful apologies and polite sense of humor over all that any day.” 

“Thank you.” He said, blush spreading to the whole of his face. 

  Jack finished his tea in silence as she lay back and watched the remainder of the news broadcast with him. The anchors had moved past Jack’s news story and onto the Son of Sam, whose court date had just been set for May of the following year. Once he finished his drink, Jack tried to stand up and take away the used porcelain, but he was quickly stopped by his nurse. 

“Please, let me take care of you Jack. It’s what I’m here for.” She held the teacup in one hand and used the other to gently press against his chest, lowering him back onto the sofa. “Trust me, you are not a burden, this is no bother.” 

“A-alright.” Jack reluctantly lay back and let go of his worries. 

  She set the teacup back on the table for a moment to reach for the blanket draped over Jack’s legs and pull it up towards his neck, tucking him in. Once he was comfortable she grabbed the thermometer off the table and brought it to his lips. Jack complied without words, allowing her to place the item into his mouth and under his tongue, holding it there as she lifted the teacup and left the room. She swiftly returned, taking the instrument from his lips to read the temperature, reacting only with a soft disappointed sigh. 

“That bad, huh?” Jack tried to laugh but choked out a cough instead. 

“Shh shh let your throat rest so the tea can do its work.” She cooed, reaching out for another hand towel. “You’re doing much better but your temperature is still within feverish range. I’m going to apply another damp towel to your head and then let you rest. Unless you need anything else?” 

“An aspirin perhaps?” Jack whispered. 

“Oh, does your head hurt? I’m sorry, I should have thought to offer you some sooner so you could have taken it along with your tea. I’ll go get you a glass of water for that and then I’ll massage your head to make up for it.” 

  She stood up and quickly left the room before Jack could try and protest the unnecessary apology. Instead, he slowly propped himself back up into a sitting position, ready to receive her offerings of care. Upon her return she smiled at the sight of him, waiting and ready like a good little boy. She picked out a pill from a small bottle and handed it to Jack. Much like with the thermometer, Jack submitted to her care and took it without protest, like a good boy indeed. He lay back down and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head, while she picked up the remote and turned off the TV. She stood back up and Jack could hear her walking around the room. He then heard the sound of her rustling through a shelf of records, followed by the unmistakable scratch of the needle over the vinyl disc. David Bowie’s Space Oddity began playing softly in the background, and she returned to once more sit on the edge of the sofa alongside Jack. 

“I’m going to place another damp towel on your forehead to help break your fever, alright?” She whispered. 

  Jack nodded and settled into the sofa. Her gentle whispers made his ears tingle, as did the slightly spongy sound of her dabbing the damp towel along his face before laying it across his forehead. She then put her fingertips onto the edge of his scalp, right where it met the skin, and began rubbing them in as a gentle massage. Jack sighed in relief, causing her to giggle under her breath. The droning melody of the music in combination with the head massage and medication was causing Jack to feel as if he were melting directly into the furniture. He began to moan as the overwhelming relief began to feel almost erotic in nature. As Jack was slipping back into oblivion, he swore he could hear her whispering ‘good boy’ every now and again, until he succumbed to sleep. 

Ao3 || Request || Ko-Fi || WiPs

[mothhball]

KINKTOBER 24 SURVEY

Hello hello hello! As promised, here's the google form for my kinktober!

MINORS DNI OBVIOUSLY

I hope everything works as it should lol Also, if anyone else wants to make a form for their own kinktober prep, feel free to use/reference this (it's hardly original as it is)

[tenderhungering]

when i start writing a jack delroy fanfic and the reader is an asshole i hope you all cheer and defend them with your lives. i’m thinking either an awful little journalist (who i’m sure he’ll accuse of exploiting as if he doesn’t bring people on to showcase trauma and milk it for views), or someone who directly works with him (for him? does he enjoy it)? grief and desperation. there is something wrong with you. there is something wrong with you that is also wrong with me. maybe even someone with religious trauma,,,the inevitable breakdown and jack on his knees begging and pleading comfort me, i need to be comforted i need you to comfort me because really, why go after power and fame and the sweet feeling of being loved by as many people as possible if not because you’d like a little comfort?

but i would have to plan it out a lot. and get a good grip of jack’s character (do you guys enjoy how i characterize him in my asks?) so i can feel a little more confident in writing for him.

would love to hear your thoughts (whether it be replying under this post or in my inbox!) about whether or not you guys enjoy my incessant stream of analyzing the film or characters some. i’d hate to write a fanfic that feels out of character or that you guys feel is coming from someone who didn’t fully understand the film! i really appreciate all the questions though, they are so much fun to write. i have one sitting in there im really excited to respond to tomorrow!

[strang3lov3]

While on air, you’re hiding under Jack’s desk, startling him when you touch his thighs. Raking your nails up and down the soft fabric of his pants. Jack has to keep it together when you undo his belt and pull out his cock, stroking it to its full hardness before taking him down your throat. Jack’s struggling to keep it together, sweating, twitching, jerking in his seat. Guests are confused, Jack coughs and apologizes gracefully, ‘Just feeling a bit under the weather, is all’. He forces a smile to the audience. You tease him like this for a while before you make him come once, then twice, overstimulating him. A mess of spit and spend in his dark pubic hair. He kicks you under the desk. Enough. But Jack can’t fight the little moans bubbling up in his chest, and he drinks glass after glass of water to distract himself, hands shaking, it’s all dribbling down his chin. You’re teasing him again, and the show cannot be moving any slower. When Night Owls ends and the studio clears, Jack drags you into his dressing room and bends you over the couch, then fucks you apart. Hitting, choking, growling in your ear. If you do this again, sweetheart, and I’ll give them all a real show. Is that what you want? To be on national television, sucking Jack fucking Delroy’s cock?

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Susceptible - Jack Delroy/Reader

Warnings: Fully clothed grinding, very slight dirty talk, very light exhibitionism in a sense, no use of Y/N, female-hinted reader because of skirt/makeup mentions but other than that there's no real gender mention.

Wordcount: 4950

Summary: You spent a small fortune getting a ticket to Carmichael Haig's show on the promise of his new act showing his audience something the world has never seen before, as well as the possible attendance of one Jack Delroy, but will two hours of bullshit be worth the risk?

Notes: There is SO MUCH BUILDUP I'm so sorry I'm so weak for worldbuilding and plot I swear the other one I have planned will be shorter OTL I have never written a reader before but I am a huge fan of them, especially the DDverse ones I've been binging oop, so I hope this is a good first attempt! It's been a few years since I've written anything like this and probably a good decade or so since I last posted anything, so here's hoping I post more in the upcoming future~ This is also completely unbetaed so if you see any mistakes please let me know <3 The Manhattan Center is also real but didn't fit my needs entirely so I mashed it together with the theatre I went to as a kid lol

~~~~~~~~~~

Carmichael Haig was back in town and you had no idea why you were here. 

He had left for what felt like both forever and not nearly long enough for a few months to do his tour, seeing his smug face everywhere you looked between both digital and paper news and making your distaste grow a little more each time. You had been fond of his trickery for a time, but his move from magic man to skeptic had sucked all the fun out of the act, his determination to not only find the real but humiliate the fakes way past annoying to straight up sickening to you by this point. Tonight’s show proved to be another big presentation of the latter you’d decided when it’d been announced officially, promoted by your favourite talk show host - and current celebrity crush - Jack Delroy; his smile was wide for the cameras but it didn’t reach his eyes, you could always tell between them by now and he did not seem to be as pleased as the two talked about it that night.

‘I’m going to show the world something they’ve never seen before,’ Carmichael had said, his usual smug look in place as he hammed it up for the cameras like he could really pull that off, Jack running with it like the patron saint of patience he had to be.

‘Big talk, you sure I can’t convince you to give our wonderful audience a taste tonight?’ he asked, the crowd cheering at the mere thought of getting to experience his new act an entire month early, but if there was even an iota of temptation within him to share he hid it perfectly. He waved the offer away to everyone’s disappointment, Jack pouting on everyone’s behalf and putting those big eyes on display as his own plea; the ratings, you imagined, would be wonderful for a segment like this when his show was already starting to slip down the line, but even that was no use.

‘You’ll all get a chance to see it on the 13th,’ he promised them as he turned to face the audience, the place and date scrolling across the bottom of the screen yet again, they’d been flashing it every single time it was mentioned to the point where you were sure you’d see it in your sleep tonight, rolling across the bottom half of your dream. ‘Or, those of you who’ve been able to get your tickets will, we’re selling out fast,’ he smirked with a tip of his glass, yet another thing that’d been brought up and hammered home; you’d gone to the Manhattan Center to check a couple days ago, just out of curiosity, the ticket price absolutely ridiculous to the point that you were convinced they’d never sell out, but now you guessed your distaste of him wasn’t as widespread as you’d secretly hoped.

Jack slapped his leg in mock disappointment, Carmichael looking back to him at the sound. ‘Guess you’ll have to tell me all about it the next time you’re back in town, I had asked Gus to pick one up for me but it seems he missed that call,’ he joked, Gus’ surprise at the blame of his absence being placed on him getting a big laugh as his face fell and he tried to explain himself. 

Carmichael placed an understanding hand on Jack’s shoulder and leaned in closer, the other man leaning in in return as if to receive some kind of secret. ‘Well then, it’s a good thing my date canceled on me,’ he retorted, and when he pulled his hand back he revealed a ticket, Jack’s eyes going wide as he accepted the gift with a big smile, pointing to it before shaking Carmichael’s hand with a thanks.

Ah, so that was why you were here again.

You knew you’d never be able to get a seat on Night Owls because the thought of Jack seeing you in the crowd made you blush all the way to your shoulders, even on your bravest of nights you hadn’t been able to even call and see if there were any tickets left, but to maybe share an audience with him? To sit in the same room as him where you could steal glances if you were able to find him, with no risk whatsoever of him catching the way your eyes lit up when you looked at that handsome face, that dangerously attractive body? That was doable. 

It had cost an arm and a leg to convince that scalper to hand over one of the tickets he was parading around outside the Center, but it was worth it as you stepped inside, your heart racing because, unless he wanted to risk the aftermath of Carmichael calling him out for not going, he was here; somewhere in this building was the man you’d been dreaming about since his debut a few years ago, the one you watched nearly every night without fail just for that hour where he looked at you, talked to you, noticed you even if it was through a camera, and that was all you’d needed until tonight.

You’d gotten a pretty shitty seat despite the price but you didn’t mind, it actually worked out for you considering you weren’t actually there to see the show but to look for someone in the seats in front of you, and you hoped that you’d be able to spot him from where you were in the far back corner. As long as he wasn’t, say, the exact opposite of you then you probably stood a chance of at least a glance, since his ticket came from Carmichael himself you guessed that it was probably close to the front if not front row center just to mess with him and prove that he’d come, and you felt all the hair rise on your arms and neck when Carmichael walked on stage early to very loudly greet someone who’d just walked in.

There he was, leaving his seat to meet the other man in the middle, and he was so much further than you expected but it was still him, big smile in place, hair perfectly combed, his crisp suit being wrinkled by Carmichael’s hands as he gave him a showy hug, and he was beautiful. You froze in the middle of the row, unable to finish the walk as your eyes stayed on him, the people trying to get by you not as starstruck as they attempted to squeeze past when you ignored their presence.

‘Sorry,’ you murmured as you sat as fast as you could, eyes still trained on him as he waved to the crowd to prove that yes, he did honour the gift and was there to see this big new act he’d been promised. You let out an embarrassingly needy whine when he sat back down and you became unable to see him again, the mass of bodies behind him obscuring all but a sliver of the back of his head from this angle, and you’d be damned if you had to spend the next 2 hours stuck like this at a Carmichael Haig show of all things. The person at the end of the row finally arrived and you made your move, hurrying down and taking one last glance before getting ready to make this whole thing a little more bearable. ‘Excuse me,’ you nearly stuttered as the person, a man older than yourself who definitely gave off the air of being a Carmichael fan, looked up at you, ‘would you want to trade seats with me? I was really looking forward to the show but I was too late to grab an aisle seat.’

It’s a blatant lie but the quick glance from before proved that you could see him better from there, and the chance of getting to look at him for the next two hours was worth the look the man gave you at the request.

‘Which one are you?’ he asked, looking down to the few empty spaces still waiting for their owners, and you pulled out your ticket to double check, seeing that it was R51; wow, you didn’t realize how far away R was from A until you saw it firsthand. He looked back down to your seat and considered it, looking you over midthought when he thought you weren’t looking, and he almost got away with it if not for the fact that you felt his eyes on you. ‘$100,’ he decided, the offer knocking the wind right out of you.

‘What? The seat was already $350,’ you choke, giving away the fact that you were really, really late to the party.

‘Take it or leave it, I had the sense to order on time,’ is all he says to that, and you looked back at your possible view before sighing heavily and reaching for your wallet; goddamnit, Jack, if only he knew how worth it he was. You hand over the money and step aside, the man pocketing his fee and leaving the seat for you as promised, and the view is just barely better but there he is again, perfectly in view due to what can only be a miracle, the hole in your wallet feeling a little less big as you watched him turn his head to talk to someone, giving you a perfect side view.

He really was handsome, captivating even from this distance, and you swoon a little as the audience finished filling out, the lights dimming and obscuring your view a little more save the grace of the stage lights that illuminate him from the front as Carmichael walked back out on stage and started the show. You’d never been one for spacing out but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, the $450 price tag of this shitty aisle seat all for him and not feeling so bad even as Carmichael charms everyone around you. He didn’t look to the side that often, you guessed he didn’t actually know his neighbour since the seat was a gift, but the times that he did, where he laughed or sighed at the theatrics or even put his face in his hand because he wasn’t having too much fun, were all cataloged away in your head forever, the perfect souvenirs to last you a lifetime of home viewing after this. 

At about an hour in according to your old watch, Jack looked about ready to get up and find any reason to leave, which you couldn’t blame him for, the acts themselves were pretty damn good you realized in the times you actually paid attention, but it was getting so tiring to see Carmichael explain away all of their tricks, to see the joy leave their faces at being called a fraud or having all their mysteries revealed, and it was clear Jack felt the same down in row A. After a particularly rough walk-off from a woman who was trying very desperately to convince Carmichael that she could really read his mind and ending up with the humiliating reality that everything he answered to was false to get her to out herself, you noticed that when you looked back to his seat that Jack isn’t there, and you were in the middle of wondering where he went when the person coming up the aisle came into view so suddenly that it took your breath away.

It was Jack, his brow twitching slightly to keep a neutral face, his footsteps heavy as he tried not to stomp and draw attention to the fact that that last one really pissed him off, his hands already reaching into his suit pocket for something. You tried not to stare the closer he got but it was hard, years of being able to look all you want training your brain to look look look as he approached, and you forced yourself to stare straight ahead at the stage as he reached you. Your hands were clenched tight in your lap as he went to pass row R, and you were in the middle of thinking you were going to make it when he fumbled the small box in his pocket and dropped it with a low curse, the cigarettes he apparently smoked bouncing to the side and coming to a stop between your recently shined shoes.

Your head snapped down so fast you felt it in your neck as he came to a stop beside you, the two of you locating the box at the same time, and you stiffened as he reached for it before realizing how rude that would be despite his own sour mood. ‘I’m sorry, could I bother you for a second,’ he asked, his smile back in place despite being a bit tense, and you stuttered out a confirmation as you leaned down to pick them up.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ you blurted out before you could stop yourself, Jack’s hand frozen in midair as he reached for the box, his smile relaxing a little as he looked from your hand to your face.

‘Did I find myself a Night Owl in this sea of skeptics?’ he wondered aloud, your cheeks brightening in a way that really made you pray it was dark enough not to notice. 

‘I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,’ you lie, and he crouched down so he could hear your whispers as the crowd reacted to the next act.

‘I take it you’re also not very impressed,’ he figured, hitting the nail on the head based on your expression alone. He chuckled at your silent confirmation and looked back down to the cigarettes, his fingertips just barely touching yours as you both held it, you didn’t even know when he’d grabbed it and you let go before it got awkward, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘Well, if you don’t tell my producer that I’m smoking again, then I won’t tell Haig that you didn’t like his show, deal?’

You sucked in a breath as he moved the box to his left hand, offering up his right for a handshake this time to seal the deal, your heart pounding as you shook on it, his smile more genuine than you’d seen all night, you could always tell. He stood back up as the act finished and Carmichael went back to his disproving, his mood dropping again as his need to escape rearose. You both offered a look of disdain at the stage before he stood back up to move again, something stopping him midstep before he turned on his heel and leaned back down to you, a shiver running down your spine at how close he was so he could be heard.

‘Have you ever been to one of my shows?’ he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, his warm breath accidentally hitting your neck and rendering you unable to do anything but glance at him and shake your head no. ‘You’d have a much better time, I’ve got some great stuff coming up,’ he pitched, either completely unaware of your predicament or just used to people acting like this around him, either way he didn’t react when your eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to watch him lick his lips so fast you almost missed it. ‘The next one’s already booked up but if you go down to the studio and give them this card, you should be able to get a spot for a night you’re free, I'd like to see you there.’

He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a business card, flipping it around to the blank side on the back before resting it on the arm of the chair. A pen was found next, and he scribbled a quick note to the ticket seller on it on your behalf, signing it and handing it over with that big showman smile of his. You took it and placed it in your own wallet, the previous hole instantly filled with its presence, his mood clearly raised by the interaction as he wished you a quick goodbye and resumed his journey outside, oblivious to the fact that you were about to disrupt the entire theater if you didn’t find a place to scream and fast. 

You gave him a few minutes to reach the doors before jumping to your feet and making for the bathroom, your heels clickclacking on the tile the entire way until you found the correct door. The place was empty, which was great because once you caught sight of yourself you knew that it was bad enough he saw you this way, no one else should get the pleasure; your face was redder than you’d ever seen it, your pupils blown from the exchange and you could’ve sworn you could actually see yourself shaking you were buzzing so hard, your grin so wide anyone else would’ve assumed that Santa had just given you the toy you’d always wanted for Christmas early. 

You tried to calm yourself as you ripped off some paper towels and dampened them, patting them against your cheeks and neck to bring your body temperature back down to a normal person’s, carefully avoiding your makeup that you were thankful you spent the time putting on just on the ultra rare off chance you’d run into him. When you were ready to go back - and after a quick internal debate on whether you should try and meet him outside for another, less hushed conversation already - you made sure to calm your breathing before heading back out there, taking a quick moment to look for him before making the trek back to your seat. 

When you got back you noticed that no new act was on, Carmichael already talking to the audience and projecting himself up on the screens for all to see, you rolling your eyes as you collapsed into the rich red velvet and preparing for more of his bullshit until Jack returned, if he felt like it that was. Everyone around you was concentrating on his words, staring right ahead as the theater fell silent save for his voice and the sound of a ticking clock; ah, he was trying to hypnotize everyone, that must’ve been his big final act that he’d promised his audience. You weren’t impressed, you’d tried to be hypnotized before at a party in your youth, it hadn’t worked then so it wasn’t going to work now you knew, so you sat back and prepared to at least enjoy whatever he was going to make the audience do.

Your thoughts went back to Jack as Carmichael’s voice slowly got drowned out, the ticking a bit louder in your ears despite the distance, but you didn’t mind because it was nonsense anyway, ‘Now who’s the skeptic,’ you think to yourself as you sink deeper into your chair. You vaguely heard the words, ‘Your greatest desire,’ in your ear before you felt a hand on your shoulder, your eyes leaving the stage to travel up until you saw Jack standing just behind you in the aisle, his smile from before now more like a smirk as he motioned towards the doors like he wanted you to follow him. 

You looked back at the stage as Carmichael invited someone from the audience up to stand with him, some poor hypnotized fool who was bound to be humiliated along with everyone else who stood with him tonight, and you decided that you’d rather not see that again before standing and following Jack. There was a small hallway between the theater and the doors on that side of the back wall, the two of you out of view from everyone else but Carmichael’s voice still reaching, and you were about to wonder if he was leading you outside to just leave or talk when he turned and pushed you against the wall with a muffled thud. Your back met cold paint as your chest met with his, your eyes locking as he cornered you where no one could see, a confidence he saved for the cameras now focused solely on you as he looked you over the same way you’d done to him a thousand times over. 

‘I couldn’t wait for you to come to my show,’ he whispered, his voice impossibly low as he held you in place, a knee parting yours and making you gasp, ‘you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘You’re just telling me what I wanna hear,’ you managed to get out, his eyes closing as he leaned in to grin against your cheek.

‘Is it working?’

You didn’t dare answer but you might as well have because your silence was enough to spur him into action, your head falling back against the wall as he started to kiss your neck, your hands grasping at anything because this was crazy. The man you’d wanted for years was kissing you not even 30ft away from a room full of people, anyone could come around the corner at any second and catch you, and you bit your lip at the thrill of it all. You’d had dreams like this before, ones that left you panting into your pillow when you awoke, but the real thing was so much better as he sucked a mark into your soft skin, your hand leaving his arm to cover your mouth lest you alert anyone within hearing distance to your current predicament.

You let him do as he pleased, let him ran his hands over your sides and down to the edge of where your lifted skirt was resting against his thigh, your legs shaking as your body tried not to grind against him; it was only due to him holding you that kept you standing as a matter of fact and he seemed fully aware of it as his nails scratched softly against your bare leg. He seemed to love all your reactions to what he did, he was in the entertainment business after all, every noise of approval that slipped through your fingers must’ve been like music to his ears but you had to hold back no matter how much you wanted to indulge him. Being denied what he wanted only made him work harder for it, the assault on your neck moving to your shoulder and collarbone instead of your covered lips, your mouth watering for just a taste as he started to move against you, one hand pulling your waist away from the wall by your lower back as the other moved up and under your skirt.

The first grind of his body against yours was decadent, you swore you could feel it in your soul the way he wanted you just as much as you’d wanted him, like he’d been watching you back through the screen for years and also craved this very moment, and now that he was getting it he wasn’t going to stop, you didn’t want him to stop. You’d never seen him act anything like this before in all his years on TV, a greedy flash of excitement running through you at getting to see such a new side of him quickly overcome by pleasure as he cupped your ass and pulled you even closer. You knew you couldn’t get undressed here, if you’d made it to the bathroom then maybe he’d be doing more but he hadn’t lasted even that long, but even with that desire being restrained you still wanted him here and now. Never in your life had you been this desperate for release but he was bringing out a demon inside of you that desired and needed and wanted so much that you were willing to throw your modesty out the fucking window for just a second of his hot skin pressed against your own, but this would have to do while the show still went on.

‘Jack…’ you moaned as your hand, moist from your panting, gripped his arm once again, Carmichael’s voice getting louder in the distance as you grew closer to your release.

‘Come home with me,’ he begged into your ear, his movements getting rougher as he also grew close, you knew you’d both have to leave before everyone saw you but it was worth it, god it was so worth it. ‘I want to have you all to myself, I need to taste you-’

You bit your lip and led his face away from your neck so you could look into his eyes, his mouth parted as he tried to control his own panting, he was coming apart at the seams for you right here in the hallway, the ticking in your ears either your heartbeat or a clock far away. You moaned his name again as you felt the heat build in your stomach, your back arching and pushing your body into him even more as the door to your right opened.

‘Dreamer, here, awake!’

All at once your knees gave out and you collapsed to the floor before that final wave could push you over the edge, your head heavy and your vision swimming as the body against yours vanished into nothing. ‘Are you okay? What happened?’ Jack’s voice from above asked as his worried expression came into view, the smell of rain and cigarette smoke invading your senses; the sound of the audience in a similar state of confusion drifted around the corner as Jack crouched down next to you, just back inside from his break from the show, the realization that you weren’t as immune to hypnosis as you’d thought hitting you like a bucket of cold water. You just panted in shock, surprise, and waning lust as Jack looked you over in concern, your hands moving to pull the bottom of your skirt down to cover your exposed legs in embarrassment, the scratches you were so certain he’d left behind not there, because he hadn’t been there.

‘I’m fine,’ you force yourself to say after you’d caught your breath, Jack believing you but still helping you to your feet like a gentleman, of course he would never act that way, that was only how you’d wanted him to act, you’d had dreams like that for god’s sake, the real Jack would never-

‘Is the show over?’ he asked as the roar of people applauding overtook the chatter, Carmichael now silent, and you avoided his eye as you started to edge towards the way out.

‘I think so.’

‘What was the big mind-blowing act?’

You put a little distance between yourself and him but he didn’t notice, Jack heading for the corner so he could look at the stage as he waited for your reply. ‘He hypnotized everyone,’ you answered curtly, his reaction big and full of surprise as he looked over the size of the crowd in an awe that wasn’t present for the first hour and a half.

‘Everyone? You should’ve come found me, I would’ve loved to see that.’ He was still looking at the room beyond, your eyes on him as he watched everyone else.

‘I got a little overwhelmed,’ you mumble, and he finally looked at you with that same concerned expression again, and it’s too much after what you’d just thought you’d seen, your eyes finding the floor.

‘What did he make you see?’ he asked, his curiosity quiet but still there under the concern, but you couldn’t answer him. ‘Do you need a ride home, or are you okay to drive?’

He’s too kind, he would never act that way, he would never say that to you.

‘I took a cab, I’ll be fine,’ you tried to say, but still you quickly found yourself being led to the front door as the audience swarmed around you, his hand on your back to make sure you stayed standing, a true gentleman. It had started raining while you were inside which explained the scent pairing with the smoke that covered up his cologne, and you just stood under the marquee as he hailed a cab for you as the sea of skeptics washed around you like rushing water. You hopped inside but he didn’t shut the door right away, leaning down in the rain once you were seated, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to get in when he spoke.

‘I do hope you come to my show, preferably Friday’s, it’s gunna be a good one, I promise,’ he said with that big genuine smile again, your heart pounding as your cheeks glowed red for a reason other than embarrassment as you gave him a small nod.

‘I’ll be there,’ you promised back, and he tapped the roof of the cab before shutting the door and letting you go. You looked out the back window as you drove away, the both of you waving as he ducked back inside and out of the rain, and as soon as you turned back around to face forward you found yourself reaching for your wallet. His card was in your hands as you looked it over, all in all it was an uninspiring, plain business card, and you flipped it over to read what he wrote for the ticketmaster on the back.

Wait for me by the back entrance at 11:00 Phil will let you in JD

Your cheeks turned red again as you put the card away, the cab driver giving you a look in the rearview mirror as you held your nearly empty wallet, now with one business card, to your thumping chest. Oh yeah, it definitely was all worth it after all.

[how-serene]

Slow Dancing In The Dark

Scenario - What it would be like to slow dance with Johnson, Jack Delroy and Bob Taylor.

JOHNSON - This man, if anything, definitely knows how to slow dance. Steady hands gripping firmly onto your waist as you rest your cheek against his shoulder/chest. Prefers being at home, holding your body close to his as music streams through the speakers and fills the living room. I believe this man is a secret romantic at heart, and would take the opportunity to slow dance with you if the moment presented itself. Would twirl you every so often, but loves the close intimacy of being able to hold onto you as you sway together.

JACK DELROY - Showboat. Loves to twirl you, and have a bit of fun. Holds you close to his body, and probably leaves kisses on your forehead every so often. Would enjoy dancing with you in general, doesn't mind if it's in public or not. Definitely has a nice collection of records for you to choose from. Very sensual when it comes to slow dancing with you (hands running up and down your body.)

BOB TAYLOR - Very nervous, shaky hands as you direct him to hold onto your hips or waist. Is a little unsure at first, but I believe after some time he would start to love the slow nature of dancing with you. He finds it soothing, your hand in his as you gently guide him. If your short, he would love to rest his chin on top of your head and just close his eyes to the music. If your taller, he finds comfort in resting his head against your shoulder as you rub your hand up and down his back. He starts looking forward to these slower, more calm moments with you.

[jackdelroysbump]

ATTENTION

All the Jack and Leo girls, be ready for part 2.

Titled: Celebration.

I should be finished with it before October 31st!

[kiji0]

Jack Delroy one bed trope (gets so hard I pass out)

[godspeedviper]

Disco Inferno - Jack Delroy x Reader (18+)

𖤐 Synopsis: It's summer of 1977. Leo convinces Gus and Jack to visit the newly opened, and already infamous, Studio 54.

𖤐 Type: smut || oneshot || Jack Delroy x F!Reader

𖤐 Word Count: 1,933

𖤐 Rating: explicit || graphic depiction of drug usage || period typical sexism || PiV || Vaginal Fingering || Unprotected sex

𖤐 A/N: I encourage everyone to look up pictures of Studio 54 because the parties were so insane that it's hard to believe. They even brought a whole fucking HORSE inside one time. (I'm not kidding this was 100% a real thing that happened)

  Jack stares out the car window and sighs, he hadn’t expected such a crowd. They had just finished tonight’ broadcast and the last thing he wanted was to have to face yet another crowd of people after wading through the audience members on the way out of the UBC building. Even though it was long since dark out, Jack put on his sunglasses and took in a deep breath to steady his nerves before stepping out of the car and onto the busy street entrance of the club. As soon as the two men stepped out of the vehicle they were bombarded with bright camera flashes and shouts from the crowd. More and more celebrities were frequenting the discotheque in recent days, thus resulting in paparazzi practically camping outside the entrance to try and catch a glimpse of any famous attendee in scandalous attire. 

 “Mr. Delroy over here!”                                           “Tonight’s episode was great!”                                         “We love you Mr. Delroy!” 

“Where’s the missus, Jack?”                                                “Oh he’s even cuter in the flesh!” 

“Who are you wearing tonight, Mr. Delroy?” 

                                                                                                                                   “How do you feel about the current ratings?” 

                          “Jack! I’ve loved you since your radio days!”

                            “He’s so handsome!”                                   “Jack, look over here!” 

   Leo pushed him ahead trying to get them past the clusterfuck and into the venue as soon as possible. Suddenly a young woman spilled out from the crowd, causing her to fall on all fours right in front of Jack. He bent down and reached a hand towards her, to help pick her back up. Jack was instantly taken in by her appearance, and just as he was about to speak to her one of the bouncers grabbed her by the shoulder to pull her away. 

“No!” Jack interjected. “No it’s alright! She’s with me!” He pulled her close to him and locked his arm to hers. The bouncer cocked a brow in suspicion but he wasn’t gonna probe any further. 

“Ok then.” The man mumbled before stepping away and attempting to clear a path in front of the duo, now trio with Leo just behind them.

  Once inside Jack removed his dark sunglasses, placing them into the pocket of his overcoat, and the group was greeted by a long red hallway that spilled out into a massive dance floor. A few couples lined the walls, trying to have a conversation away from the noise. They walked over to the coat check booth off to the left, Leo quickly wandered off, leaving the couple to talk amongst themselves.

“Thank you, Mr. Delroy” She said, a coy smile playing on her lips.

“Oh, are you a fan of the show?” He tried to play this off as humble, but inside he was beaming with pride – of course she knew who he was, everyone did nowadays. 

“Yes, very much. You’re even more handsome in person.” 

“Now you’re just buttering me up!” He laughed, secretly thankful that the colorful disco lights obscured his blushing. Jack leaned forward, ready to steal a kiss, when suddenly Leo shouted at him for attention. 

“Jack! Jack over here! I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.” Leo walked up to him with another man at his side. Leo patted the man’s back and waved his other hand towards Jack. “Jack, meet Steve Rubell. Steve, meet Jack Delroy!” 

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Midnight!” Steve said as he eagerly shook Jack’s hand. “I see you’ve already found yourself a date for the night. You’re a real hoot with the ladies! Pun intended.” Jack laughed nervously, and Steve quickly interjected, seeing right through his anxieties. “Ah! Don’t worry Mr. Delroy, what you do here tonight is between yourself and the dance floor. None shall know about any ahem indiscretions.” He winked. 

  The three men let out a hearty laugh, although Jack was still quite nervous and clearly uncomfortable. Aside from choosing to follow Leo here, this was his first bad choice of the night. She pouted a bit at the reminder that Jack was a married man – a famous married man – but married nonetheless. 

“Now now, don’t you be upset young lady! Negative feelings are not permitted in this establishment!” Steve wagged a finger in mock disapproval. “Follow me boys and girls! I have just the thing to turn those frowns upside down!” 

  The trio followed Steve into the belly of the beast, heads turning to look all around them, awestruck at the utterly absurd levels of decadence on display. They walked through the massive dance floor, surrounded by people in all manner of extravagant dress. The air was hot, humid, heavy with pheromones and a powerful beat that seemed to possess everyone in its wake with an utterly liberating sense of mania. Steve led them to a cushy, semicircular booth within the VIP lounge by the bar. He quickly waved over a staff member and ordered “the works” for the trio of novices. 

“Voila!” Steve shouted with theatrical flair, hands motioning to the tray placed in front of them. “If there is such a thing as a breakfast of champions, then this is surely the dinner of virtuosos! Champagne, cocaine, and Quaaludes for your pleasure my dear lady and gentlemen. Enjoy.”

Leo clapped and laughed, picking up a flute of champagne for a toast, the rest followed suit. “To Night Owls! And to my dear friend, Mr. Midnight, Jack Delroy!” 

“To Jack!” Steve and Jack’s disco girl said in unison. 

  At first, Jack hesitated trying to think of something else to say, but unable to, he just blurted out “To me!” with a boisterous laugh. He took a sip of the champagne and leaned back into his seat, relaxing his body and throwing one arm around his serendipitous date. The two watched as Steve prepared the items on the tray for what was to follow. 

“Okay so! First things first, you take your little disco biscuit,” Steve said while picking up a quaalude “And you swallow that with the champagne. Then you’re gonna go for the snow so that the ‘ludes don’t put ya to sleep. And always always always remember that the proper way to do some lines is with a hundred dollar bill, nothing less. If you follow those rules you’ll have permission to say you had the genuine Studio 54 experience. Capisce ?”

  Jack put his drink aside and reached out for one a quaalude. Holding the pill between his thumb and forefinger, he offered it up to her lips. 

“Ladies first.” He said, looking at her with a dark hunger in his eyes as she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to receive the pill, looking up at him through thick glittering lashes. Her tongue grazed his fingers, causing a shiver to go down his spine. 

  The other men whistled and cheered in amusement. Jack, emboldened by the onslaught of praise, then reached into his pants pocket for his wallet, and he pulled out a one hundred dollar bill as instructed. He rolled it up into a straw and wordlessly handed it to the young woman beside him. The implication was more than enough to get her to reach out to the round table – seductively arching her back as she did so – and pour out a generous helping of cocaine, promptly inhaling it. This caused the men to cheer and whoop and holler. She slowly sat back down and offered the rolled up bill back to Jack.

 “ Winner next.”  She said with a wink.

“Oh she’s good !” Said Leo, nudging Steve’s arm. 

  Jack sheepishly took the bill between his fingers and watched as she reached for a pill to offer it to him in the same way he had just done to her. He stifled an awkward giggle and took the pill into his mouth, swallowing with a wash of champagne. Then, as Jack leaned forward onto the table, he heard Steve start to chant his name – egging him on – and the others followed suit.

“Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!” 

  He took one long deep breath, inhaling a substantial amount of cocaine as the three others cheered and clapped. He felt the rush almost instantly, causing his head to spin as he leaned back into his seat. By the time he had overcome the initial jolt, Leo was already culminating his own baptism, and Steve was calling some people over. 

  The drugs hit Jack all at once and suddenly, as if by magic, he found himself on the dance floor surrounded by beautiful women. He had no idea how he got there, or who they were, but he sure was not about to complain. The disco lights formed a thick kaleidoscopic coating over the dance floor, they seemed almost sentient under the effects of the drugs, as if the light too was dancing to the beat along with everyone else. He posed for photos with important people, celebrated people, trading handshakes and drugs till his face hurt from smiling and his nostrils felt dryer than a desert, but he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t. The energy of success was as infectious as the drive to achieve it. Jack had long since forgotten all about Minnie and any sense of self preservation. He found himself following his libido up a dark flight of stairs into the pseudo privacy of the old theater bulding’s balconettes. 

“How does it feel to be Mr. Midnight?” She asked in between sloppy kisses, her voice breathy and hot against his skin. 

“It feels fantastic,” He replied. “But not as good as I’ll make you feel.” 

   She gripped onto the railing of the balcony and lifted up her already skimpy dress to reveal a pair of sheer bikini-like panties. They were so minimal in fact, that Jack was able to push the delicate fabric aside with a finger and expose her eager cunt. He pushed a finger in, then another, and began stroking her to the languid sensual melody of Donna Summer’s I Feel Love until he could no longer hold back his own voracious desire for release. Jack hadn’t realized just how painfully hard he was until he felt a wave of relief wash through his body when he finally unzipped his fly. He lined himself up and slipped his fingers out, replacing them with his cock in one hard thrust. He saw stars, he was a star in every sense of the word, his body absolutely electrified with pleasure, skin shining like the disco itself, dusted with glitter, makeup and sweat. He could already see tomorrow’s headlines in his mind’s eye – Mr. Midnight extends his hours at Studio 54!– accompanied by pictures of himself looking glamorously trashed on the dance floor, shirtless save for the burgundy suit jacket he currently had on, alongside the likes of Grace Jones, Mick Jagger, and Steve Rubell. 

    Jack looked down at the scene below him and almost burst. He watched as she moved hypnotically against him, the low scoop of her dress allowed him to see each vertebra on her spine bob up and down as she arched her back, pushing her hips against his to amplify the power of each thrust hammering into her core. Below them, the dance floor shone like the very galaxy itself, each attendee a star in their own right, and they were all unaware of Jack looming over them in the shadows like a God of the night. The very thought sent Jack into the stratosphere. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mind whiting out as he reached orgasm. This was what it felt like to be a winner. This is what the view is like from the top.

Ao3 || Ko-Fi || WiPs || Request