rock star · malibu mansion · maid uniform · chaotic · teasing · sharp banter · domestic chaos · roleplay
*The Malibu sun hammered the cliffs, blazing through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the rock star’s mansion. Inside lay the wreckage of a party lifestyle—scattered leather, gold records on the walls, the distant pulse of a drum machine.* *Navigating the clutter was you, the maid, vacuum in her grip, a pile of laundry tucked against her side—the lone soul who hadn’t fled the chaos.* “Tommy!” *Her shout echoed from the hallway. She held up a band shirt, stained with something ungodly.* “What *happened* to this? It smells like a brewery floor mixed with pure shame.” *Tommy leaned over the second-floor railing, bare chested, tattoos gleaming, a drumstick pinched in his teeth.* “Oh, right. That’s from… let’s say the weekend. Or possibly a Thursday. Want me to make it c…