Author's Note: Well, hello there! This story was written for Tiffaninichole after a plot bunny development because she loves Bella/Jasper pairings and she loves smut. It'll be a two-shot, nothing fancy. I've been sitting on this chapter for months and have been too distracted to work on the second half. Basically, I thought that if I could get some people to read it, it'd renew my passion for the story. I do know what will happen, mind you, I just haven't felt like writing it down. So, here's to you Tiff! Your smut will be in the second installment, but I hope you like this anyway. And thanks to coachlady1 for her quick BJs (beta-jobs). She got this and four other things to me within the weekend! FLove you ladies hard!
DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and I don't own multi-platinum albums either.
(* - see bottom A/N for clarification)
I. Swan: Superstar
Chapter 1: This Ain't Brittany. It's Bella, bitch.
The giggles she could deal with. The face-cracking smiles, the bone-crushing hugs, and the overzealous photo ops were all bearable. She could even get over the fact that her hand would probably suffer irrevocably from Carpel Tunnel Syndrome for the rest of eternity.
But the squealing…
No, wait, the squeeing… that was what would surely be her demise in the long run. The pre-pubescent shrieking would surely be her downfall. The sheer decibel levels were enough to nearly split her eardrums at any given moment. The frequency alone was enough to have caused her to shatter four pencils already, before her road manager graciously switched her over to using a Sharpie.
I wish, Bella thought, I could shatter their voice boxes instead. But, alas, unlike her seemingly overnight skyrocket into super stardom, some dreams just weren't meant to come true.
Bella Swan—better known as Isabella Swan: Pop Sensation Mega Star—sighed dramatically, but continued to diligently sign more autographs while simultaneously wondering if the DeLorean was a real car that could transport her far, far away from here.
It wasn't as if she hated her fans, quite the contrary; if it weren't for the fans of her music, she wouldn't be here right now. But therein lay the problem; if it weren't for the fans, she wouldn't be here right now. Here, at a Podunk little music store in the middle of the Sahara desert––a.k.a. somewhere in Texas—in the middle of the summer, signing autograph after autograph for an infinite line of teen girls.
She looked down the row of squealers to see if the line really was endless. Yes, she internally groaned, it seems that it is. Glancing at her cell phone, she was pleasantly surprised to see she had only half an hour left before the real torture began. In her experience, there was only one thing worse than a four-hour block meet and greet: trying to fight through the masses that were too late for their one-on-one time.
"I just love your music, Isabella," gushed the generic tan skinned, bottle blond standing in front of her. "It just, like, speaks to me on a whole other level of, like, my inner being."
Bella only nodded and continued to smile; she knew the girl was nowhere near done singing her praises.
"I mean, you are, like, a songbird of my generation. You, like, get us and get me, down to my very core. I, like, feel like all of your songs were written for me; to me, really. I can, like, totally feel you reaching out and calling to me; singing your, like, love for me..."
This was getting a little too out of control for Bella's liking; usually, when teen girls starting speaking about cores and other nonsense, some crazy shit was about to go down.
"It's like our minds are as one!" The girl continued on, getting weepier by the second. Her body was even trembling Bella noted fearfully. She knew this could not be good.
"You are, like, my everything." The obviously unstable fan's breathing hitched as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I fucking love you!"
Suddenly, the girl launched herself at the pop sensation. Bella had no idea what was happening as the small girl grasped onto her top, tugging Bella halfway across the table as she repeated a mantra of love and destiny to the star.
You have got to be fucking kidding me, Bella thought as she strained to hold her smile in place while prying the crazed fan from her shirt. Bella glanced around panicked, trying to eye someone into saving her.
Luckily, Bella's road manager wasn't too far away and witnessed the latter half of the assault. He quickly snapped his fingers—never breaking concentration from his phone call—to alert the body guards that Bella could use their help. That's what he was paying them for anyway. It wasn't as if this was fucking rocket science or anything; keep the star safe and get rid of potentially dangerous psychos, duh. He had better things to do than to make sure the meatheads were doing their jobs, like seeing if Pepsi would up the endorsement deal to a cool 2.6 million dollars for only three months of campaigning. He sighed. It was a hard life for him indeed.
Bella quickly righted her clothing as her two guards dragged the quivering and snotting girl through the back doors. She couldn't fucking believe some people. It was true that her tunes were catchy and great for clubbing, but she wouldn't call them life changing or anything. Scenes like this seriously made her wonder about the youth of America. She shuddered at the thought of one of her fans becoming the president or a church pastor.
She sighed, but continued to sign more autographs. A few moments later, much to her relief, she noticed someone had already stopped more people from entering the building. Sure, there were hundreds of teens outside, but at least she didn't have to look at their disappointed faces when she would finally be able to leave. Bella noticed the doors were locked from the inside, too. Excellent.
Before returning her attention to the faceless girl in front of her, Bella noticed a lean blond man at the very end of the line. It wasn't often that she had male fans and she was excited and curious to find out what he liked best about her albums. If she could delve into the psyche of the peen variety, she could ultimately create music to reach out to more people. Why she wanted more fans was beyond her, but something in her stubborn nature made her want to rise to the challenge of becoming the best. Hell, she was already a household name, but she wanted Spears' recognition—without the head shaving and trailer park babies, of course.
Bella quickly scribbled her signature on photos and posters for the remaining fans until the man was standing in front of her. He was taller than she realized and his hair was a dirtier blond than she'd originally thought. His skin was tanned like most of the other people here, but something told her that his was from working out in a field as opposed to sitting in a tanning bed. He was devastatingly handsome, too, almost too good looking to be a straight man. She saw that his eyes were a pale blue, almost like a cloudless sky. Her girly parts shuddered in response.
Yes, this guy definitely wasn't gay. Wearing an open hoodie over a band tee, cowboy boots, and a pair of jeans that cupped his man bits deliciously, he was too sexy and rugged looking to be queer, she knew. Bella wanted to say that she could tell because she had excellent gay-dar, but really it was because he looked completely lackluster in his appearance and most gay men were jumping out of their skin to meet her, wearing their Sunday's best.
Bella decided she needed to get to know this sexpot and immediately greeted him. "Hi," she smiled brightly.
"For my sister," he replied languidly.
Upon reaching the singer the man lazily tossed a CD case atop the table, crossing his now-empty arms. He just wanted to get this over with. He didn't even know why he was being so nice to his fucking sister in the first place. The bitch had given him a guilt trip over being denied her requested personal day while he was off and had nothing better to do. She'd wanted to meet Isabella so badly, but he could make it up to her by at least getting the latest album signed for her in her place.
He didn't see what the big fucking deal was about the pop singer anyway. She had slightly catchy beats with mediocre lyrics at best. He could probably create her entire album with Fruity Loops* for Mac and a Pop Tart* for sustenance. Hell, even his sister Heidi could fill her shoes as a generic figurehead of the music. He snorted at that; Heidi would eat that shit up.
Bella was a bit taken aback by his brusque behavior, but just shrugged it off. If he was trying to get this signed for his "sister" she didn't want to embarrass him more than necessary. Instead, she just whipped out her Sharpie and signed her name at the bottom.
Before she could ask for a name to personalize the CD the "maybegay" swiped the case and started to make his way to the door, mumbling a thanks over a shoulder. He stopped when he noticed he never told Isabella his sister's name and turned around to reapproach her, swearing quietly as he neared.
"Sorry, ma'am, but could you write 'To Heidi' on it or something? I kind of promised," he stated weakly, scrubbing the back of his neck with his palm after tossing the CD down again.
Bella was getting a little pissed off at this guy. Not only was he manhandling her album, but he was being kind of rude to her. It's not that Bella felt entitled to anything, but it had been a long time since anyone had treated her with such disregard. Just because this guy was cowboy-sex-on-legs didn't give him the right to be so blasé. She decided she wanted to fuck with him a little bit.
She reached into her bag to retrieve the marker—even though it was firmly clasped in her hidden hand—while mumbling that it would only take her a second. Of course, the asshole huffed in annoyance, but it only made her smile bigger. While she made him sweat a bit, she decided to get some answers to her own questions.
"So," she began smoothly. "Heidi, huh?"
"Wha?" He was a little startled by the silken tone of her voice. It made his cock jump a bit, but he couldn't figure out why.
He looked at her, really studied her for the first time. Isabella Swan had thick, luxurious brown hair in large waves, stopping just shy of the tops of her breasts. He wondered if her nipples would peek through it if she were naked. Her face was a soft heart shape and the color was porcelain pale with rosy undertones. He didn't know if it was stage makeup or whatever, but it suited her well. She had plump lips that were the opposite of a pout, the top being a little fuller than the bottom, perfect for suckling. And then there were her eyes; on anyone else they would be ordinary, but they were so round and a deep, deep brown that hypnotized him.
For a fleeting second he thought he was in love. He quickly shook himself though; he guessed he could see her appeal… or whatever.
"What about Heidi?" He finally spoke, his voice straining a bit, much like his cock.
"Heidi. You said she's your sister?" Bella questioned, genuinely curious. The cowboy seemed to be a bit distracted she noticed.
"Yeah, yeah. Um, she's my twin sister. She loves your music, but couldn't get off work to be here today so… here I am." His voice cracked a little at the end, but he covered it with a cough. He hoped she didn't notice him staring at her tits. They're so juicy looking, he thought as his mind trailed off again.
Twin sister, my ass, Bella thought with an internal snort. She wanted to ask him if "Heidi" was his drag queen stage name. "Do you guys listen to my music together," she asked instead. She figured he'd be more receptive if she didn't burst his bubble.
"Huh?" She caught his eyes staring down her shirt before returning to her face. He stammered before continuing, embarrassed into speaking the first thing on his mind. "I don't listen to that shi—I mean…" FUCK! "…your music."
Bella caught his slip and flushed with anger. "You don't like my music?" she asked through clenched teeth, more pissed than hurt. Like she'd said before, it wasn't as if her music was life-changing or anything, but it was a fucked-up thing to say nonetheless.
"Well, um, I didn't say that… exactly. It's just, uh, not my scene," he replied, trying to cover up his blurt. It was weak, he knew, but this Isabella chick looked kind of fucking scary when she was pissed. Actually, it was kind of hot. His dick jumped twice to concur. He tried to palm it as discreetly as possible, which wasn't very discreet at all considering that he was standing and Isabella was sitting at the autograph table directly in front of him, eyes leveled at his cock. Shit!
Well, hello, there! Bella mentally saluted the obvious bulge in the stranger's pants. It was quite impressive by her standards and she internally chastised herself for giving the guy such a hard time when he was packing such serious heat. He was definitely an ass for bombing on her tunes, but that just meant that he was the typical hetero guy. She decided the jig was up and mentally patted herself on the back for doing such a good deed.
"Yeah, whatever you say." Well, she could give him just a teeny, tiny bit more shit. She made a plan. Her smile was maniacal. "So, I should make this out to Heidi then?"
"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks." He sighed in relief. If she had seen his boner she wasn't letting on so he figured he was in the clear.
"So, what's your name, Heidi's brother?" Bella asked curiously. She really did want to know and not just for her own revenge plot.
"Ah, the name's Jasper Whitlock, ma'am." Jasper didn't want to be so formal, but he didn't know whether the star's real name was Isabella Swan and he didn't want to look like a douche for not knowing. Shit, he'd already pretty much admitted that her music sucked monkey ass. He didn't need another reason for the celebrity to think of him as a mere simpleton.
Bella hastily scrawled across the CD case before deftly closing her marker and tossing it into her bag. She stood, her high heels putting her eyes to the stranger's chin. Fuck, he's tall, she thought with a smile. Probably gives good table sex, she continued her thought. Her mind was wandering to a very dirty place as she looked over the sexpot again.
She handed the disc over to the country-fried sex cowboy and turned to leave, muttering a quick goodbye as she tried to make her escape. Bella really wanted to see his face once he read what was written on the CD case, but if he was pissed, she didn't want to be too close.
Jasper was stunned immobile as he watched the whirl of activity that was Isabella's departure. He was caught up at the sight of her lithe body and the way her curls fanned out behind her body. Her fan-fucking-tastical ass swaying back and forth as her heels clacked away had something to do with it, too. It was all supple and juicy and he wanted to smack it, then kiss it, then bite it, maybe. Then he'd kiss it again, just to be thorough.
Two huge bodyguards stepping into his eye line of her curvaceous backside was the only thing that brought him back to his senses. He turned to leave through the front door as the singer slipped through the back, followed by her entourage. He sighed when he caught sight of the mass of disappointed fans waiting to bum rush the doors as soon as they were opened. One way or another, he had to make it through without damaging Heidi's precious autograph. And if one of these preteen squealers even had so much as a thought to try to steal it from him…well, let's just say he wasn't above smacking a bitch.
Jasper snorted to himself as he moved to slip the disc into his hoodie pocket. The writing caught his eye just before it was shielded by fabric and his mouth popped open, eyes wide.
What a fuckin' bitch, he seethed as he read—and reread—the cover's dainty scrawl.
To Jasper, A.K.A. Heidi
If you have a good dance routine worked out for one
of my songs, I'd love to see it. Text me the address
of the gay bar where you perform and
I'll have to come back to visit soon.
XXXO ~Isabella Swan ;)
The little bitch even had the nerve to put a phone number at the bottom, Jasper thought sourly. He noticed that the area code wasn't familiar, but that was probably because it was one of those shitty rejection hotline numbers. The more he thought about it, the more pissed off he grew. Jasper had images of her laughing her ass off at his expense, telling all her millionaire movie star friends what idiots Texans were…
Now he was pissed.
Nobody fucked with Texas.
With gung-ho resolve and a Chuck Norris attitude, Jasper spun around and made his way to the back door where he last saw the bitch in question exit. He was going to give her a piece of his mind while leaving his momma's manners at the door.
End Author's Note: *Fruity Loops- a digital audio workstation used by producers to create beats – or loops – for musical recording artists. *Pop Tarts- a delicious and nutritious toaster ready, fruit filled pastry snack
Like I said, I'll be trying to work on the second installment to get it out to you. Leave a review and tell me how you feel. Thanks again to coachlady1 for making this legible and to Tiffaninichole for the plot bunny. If you haven't read anything by these two ladies, you are missing out beyond belief.