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jiyascepter · 5 months ago

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The Tattoo | 18+ Only

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky x Fem!Tattoo Artist!Reader

Words: 3820

Summary: Bucky, the charismatic and wildly popular rock performer of America, asks for a tattoo from you in a rather..."unconventional" place 👀

Warnings/Content: Smut; Use of "Y/n", Lightly drunk Bucky & Steve, shy/nervous reader, cursing, mention of tattoo needles (no tattoo making scene!), cocky & teasy bucky, mention of getting tattoo on dick, bucky smokes a bit, bucky has piercings and tattoos on his body, semi-public, m!masturbation, handjob, blowjob, kissing, biting, licking, nipple licking (both male and female receiving!), acliteration, riding, praising, nicknames, begging, missionary, softdom vibes from bucky ;) lmk if i missed anything!

A/n: my first bucky fic!! i hope you all like it 𖹭 also there's a lil pun in the last line if u see it which i wanted to add for no reason || also thank you @buckys-wintersoldier & @vbecker10 for motivating my lazy ass to finish this fic, bucky is sending kisses your way <3

The hum of the tattoo machine had just died down as you began cleaning up your shop for the night, the last customer thanking you for the beautiful work you did on her arm.

The familiar scent of ink and disinfectant mingled in the air, grounding you after a long day of work.

The night was winding down, and you were just about ready to call it a day when you heard the sound of a powerful engine gliding down to the dirt road, roaring in the quiet of the small town nestled in the heart of South America, reminiscent of a Midwest American town but infused with a distinctive Latin flavour.

You walk over to your window, which was painted with bold texts of “TATTOO” in different fonts and colours all over, but there was still space to peek at what was happening outside.

The car's rich wine paint gleamed under the moonlight and came to a halt just outside the porch of your shop.

Dust swirled in its wake, kicked up from the gravel road, the familiar vintage Mustang came to a halt just outside the pavement of your shop.

The doors opened from both sides and silhouettes of two men momentarily outlined against the street lights as they got out of the car and you immediately recognized who they were.

James “Bucky” Barnes. The popular, deliciously sexy rockstar of America. Lead vocalist and sometimes drummer of his band.

For over a year he had been your regular customer, gotten about five tattoos on his amazing body from you, secretly away from the eyes of the paparazzi.

He used to drive from the city to your little tattoo shop settled in the small town, just to get a tattoo from you because of the popular reviews about your talented and clean tattoo skills.

Despite his fame and money, he wanted his tattoos from an “authentic” tattoo shop situated in the Midwest.

You had always had a crush on him, even before he became your customer, used to seeing him go all crazy on the stage.

And oh he looked so hot doing that.

He was with his friend and guitarist of the band, Steve Rogers today and your breathing hitched when you saw them both get out of the car just outside your shop.

You were used to him visiting usually during the early mornings, but it was the first time he drove in this late.

The sound of Bucky's laughter, mixed with the boisterous voice of his guitarist Steve Rogers, drifted through the shop's glass window.

They staggered, arms over each other’s shoulders as they giggled over what you could not figure, but it was something stupid for sure.

Were they…drunk?

Not wanting them to see you peeping at them like a nosy neighbour, you quickly pulled back from the window and pretended to be back to cleaning your equipment.

The faint chime of the customer bell was heard when they both entered, a light drunken grin on both of their faces.

“There’s my favourite tattoo maker.” Bucky spoke in a deep rumble that made your stomach roll.

You turned and looked at him with a smile on your face. “Mr. James! It’s been so long since you..last visited...” You cringed at how excited you sounded in the beginning.

“Yeah it’s been a whi…oh come here…” He slurred and pulled you in a hug, surprising you with it, your face meeting the hard muscles of his chest. You blushed a little and Steve grinned at the sight.

Maybe it was the drink, because you two had never hugged. You had always tried to maintain yourself in front of him enough to not let him know that you had a massive crush on him.

You try to calm yourself when he pulls away, hating how you were always nervous around him. You looked up at him, then Steve and said with a nervous chuckle, “Uhm…What are you two doing here at this hour anyway?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, he needs a tattoo.” Steve says eagerly.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Sorry, Mr. James, I can't give you a tattoo when you're drunk.”

“I'm not drunk,” Bucky insisted and Steve agreed.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath and gave him a sceptical look. “I can smell it right from your breath, Mr James.”

He reached out and took your hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. "Y/n, please. I'm not drunk, and I need to do this." He put extra emphasis on the word "need," his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

Damn those blue eyes.

You sighed, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in your stomach. "Al-Alright…but if you regret it tomorrow-”

“-he won’t, that's a promise. Besides, we’re still in our senses.” Steve says, patting Bucky’s back.

You smiled and agreed.

“Okay then, I’ll get going for a drink while he gets inked.” Steve says, asking the routes of the nearby local bar from you.

Once he left, you looked at Bucky and politely asked him to take a seat on the tattoo bench. “So, where are you planning to get the tattoo?”

He smirked and took a seat on the tattoo bench, taking off his dark leather jacket and keeping it aside. “I was thinking if you could give me a tattoo on my, well, let's just say it's a bit unconventional.”

You look at him sceptically, “where do yo-” it took a moment for you to realise what he was implying. When it clicked, your eyes widened, and a blush crept up your cheeks. "You mean…?"

“Yup,” he confirmed, enjoying your reaction. “On my cock.”

“It's a dare by Steve,” he added with a chuckle.

Ah, so that’s why Steve was so eager.

Oh god, you think. You had tattooed his inviting arms, irresistible abs, and even his thighs (only god knew the struggle you endured to control yourself that time), but you had never imagined giving him one on his most precious body part. Your heart hammered in your chest.

You had tattooed plenty of people in intimate areas before, but this was Bucky Barnes. THE Bucky Barnes. Your secret crush, the rockstar you had always fantasised about. And now he was standing in your shop, asking you to tattoo his most private area.

“I, uh, okay,” you managed to say, your voice shaking slightly. “But you’ll need to… you know, get it…hard.”

He grinned. “That will not be a problem, sweetheart,” he says in a flirty manner.

Ugh, why was he like this? If this man never flirted with you, acted like a stereotypical asshole celebrity, maybe you would have lost interest in him and would not have been stuttering and blushing for no reason. But he was always so sweet and so direct with his words.

“T-then you can lay down and get comfortable…I’ll…get the things ready…” you instructed, trying to sound like this was just another Thursday for you, and it was, but not when it’s HIM.

You turned your back to him, gathering your supplies and trying to calm your racing heart. You positioned your seat so you couldn’t see him while he worked himself up, but you could hear every little noise he made.

After a slight rustling of his clothing, the dark denim jeans– the creaking of the tattoo bench when he laid down, you knew the rock singer was absolutely naked behind you.

In no time you could hear his soft groans that sent shivers down your spine. You fought the urge to take a quick glimpse.

“No, no, no, this is so wrong,” you muttered to yourself. You try to busy yourself cleaning the needles, but the way he was making those sounds made it really hard to concentrate.

Bucky, leaned back on the tattoo bench, the cool air of the shop brushing against his skin as he worked himself up. He tried to imagine all the girls he’d ever fucked, but the setting was not quite adding up.

A playful smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched you busy yourself with the supplies. His keen blue eyes took in every detail of your nervous movements, the way your hands trembled slightly as you gathered the ink and needles.

He could sense your flustered state, the barely contained excitement in your voice, and the way your cheeks had flushed a deep pink when you realised what he wanted.

He smirked to himself, he loved seeing you flustered, the way your voice hitched when you spoke to him. It was endearing.

As he lay there, waiting for himself to get fully hard, he couldn’t help but think about how much he enjoyed teasing you.

He loved the way your cheeks flushed when he called you sweetheart, the way your eyes darted away when he caught you staring at his body.

He had suspected for a while that you had a crush on him, and the thought had crossed his mind more than once: what would it be like if he made a move? Tonight, with the alcohol loosening his inhibitions, he decided to push the boundaries a little more.

“Y/n…?” His voice broke the chain of your sexy thoughts.

“Mhm…?” You responded, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Do you wanna take a look, sweetheart?” he teased.

Your face burned with embarrassment.

Did he figure you out? That you were thirsting over his undoubtedly beautiful co– now was not the time.

“N-no,” you stammered, heart hammering in your chest.

He lets out a deep chuckle. “No? But you gotta look to draw on me.”

“Oh so you’re- are you ready, Mr James?” You say, deeply breathing to calm your nerves.

“I think I am, yes.”

You turned around slowly, your eyes widening at the sight of him lying there, fully exposed below, just his shirt on. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you wore your silicone gloves and approached him with the rest of your supplies.

You tried to calm yourself. Maybe this would not be so tough if you didn’t think too much. You looked at his cock, your breathing hitched.

“Mr James…this…isn’t hard enough.” You say, cringing at your words.

He grins to himself. “Not hard enough huh?”

You nod shyly trying not to look at his cock again. “It needs to be fully erect…or the tattoo wouldn’t look good.”

He shifted a bit towards your side in his bench and said in a low tone, “How about you help me sweetheart?”

“H-help?” You reply, your voice trembling slightly.

Bucky’s eyes twinkled with perversity as he smirked at you. “I wouldn’t mind an…extra help.”

You shook your head, trying to resist the pull of his charm. “I really shouldn’t,” you insisted, but your resolve was weakening under his intense gaze.

Bucky leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke. “Just a little assistance,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your skin, “from my sweet tattoo artist.”

You bit your lip, the temptation becoming too strong to resist. With a shaky breath, you nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Let’s get this over with, it’s…it’s getting late already…”

And with an unsteady hand you wrapped your hand around his needy member.

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, nearly pushing his hips forward for you. You started stroking his semi-hard length, staring at it and then his face for the reaction. And oh, was he enjoying it. He was enjoying it too much.

“T-the gloves…” He almost whispered, gesturing to your silicone gloves you were wearing. “Take ‘em off…”

In no time you almost made it your goal to please him, taking off your gloves and gripping his cock tighter and brushing it up and down with your soft, bare hand.

You touched his red tip with your thumb, and noticed how it glistened with pre-cum at your touch.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” he whimpered, gripping the leather bench tightly with both of his hands. You looked at him and murmured with a shy grin, “I’m a tattoo artist, what did you expect?” He grinned at your answer, “such…skilled hands…baby, you’re a handful.”

You squeezed the base of his thick cock, and he let out the sexiest moan you must’ve heard from a man.

You watched as Bucky's face contorted with pleasure, your hand moving up and down his length, feeling the smooth, hot skin beneath your fingers.

Bucky’s voice ringed in your ears again, “Y/n,” he said low and husky, “take a lick, sweetheart.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your body responding to his request before your mind could catch up.

You leaned down, your breath warm against his skin, and flicked your tongue across his tip, tasting the salty pre-cum. His reaction was immediate, a sharp intake of breath followed by a deep, guttural moan.

“Fuck, I knew you wanted it,” he whispered, his hands clenching the edges of the leather cushion. You gripped the base of his cock, holding it while your other hand massaged his balls.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured. Encouraged by his response, you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him deeper. He groaned louder, his hips bucking slightly as you sucked him, your hand still working his base.

Bucky's hand—adorned with several metal rings—found its way to your hair, gently guiding your movements as you bobbed your head up and down. "Just like that, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure. "You like my cock, don’t you?"

“Mhm…” you hummed, releasing his cock from your mouth and putting it in again. You felt a surge of pride at his words, your arousal growing with each passing second.

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper into your mouth, feeling him swell and harden further. His moans grew louder, more desperate, and you knew he was getting close.

Before he could finish, you cooed in your sweetest voice, “Mr. James, I need you inside me.”

Bucky's eyes darkened with lust at your whispered request, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. “Cutie wants that huh?”

Without waiting for a response, he leaned forward and captured your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue immediately delving into your mouth.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, his hands roaming your body with an urgency that made your head spin.

His hands surrounded your waist, grabbing hold of the hem of your top and lifted it up from your body and kissed you hungrily again. He discarded it carelessly, his hands immediately finding your breasts, kneading them through your bra.

“Aren’t you a sexy thing,” he growled against your lips, his fingers expertly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside. He pulled you closer and you lifted your knee up on the bench between his legs.

His mouth descended to your breasts, sucking and nibbling on your nipples, making you moan and arch your back, pressing yourself against him.

He swirled his tongue over and over your aching nipples, his hands working their way to pull off your jeans. Your hands grabbed hold of his shirt almost needily, lifting it off of him to reveal his sexy, tattooed body with abs as if daring you to take a lick.

“I need you, Mr Ja-” he kisses you again, shutting you up. “It’s Bucky for you.”

His words made your cheeks go red as you nodded.

He grinned at your flushed face, his big hands roaming to your back and down while his tongue found its place back on your nipples. His hands undo your jeans, pulling them down to reveal your panties.

He pulled away from your nipples and pulled both of your knees on the tattoo bench, holding your butt while he pressed kisses on your belly. He squeezed your bottom before pulling your panties off too, leaning down and placing a kiss on your mound.

“You wanna ride me, babygirl?” He asked breathlessly. You nodded almost greedily at the idea.

His hand slides gently around the back of your neck, his touch firm yet tender. With a subtle tug, he pulled you closer, and his lips met yours in a needy kiss.

He lifted you effortlessly onto the tattoo bench, positioning you so that you were straddling him. His cock was hard and ready, pressing insistently against your wet entrance.

You moaned as you felt him against you, your body aching with need.

“So needy aren’t you, baby?” He grinned, slowly sliding his member against your wet clit. “All wet and ready for me…I’m already leaking cum at the sight of you.”

“Bucky please…” You whimpered, not able to take the tension aching between your legs.

He smirked and licked his thumb (oh what a sight!) and softly grazed it against your nipples. His cold metal ring on the thumb only added to your pleasure. You softly gasped, the need building from the friction of his cock and this wasn’t helping at all.

He chuckled in a low voice, “you’re so cute,” looking at your reactions and how you tried to not melt on him then and there.

“Please,” you breathed, “I need your cock inside me.”

“Stop driving me crazy,” he says, biting his lower lip and sitting up to meet your face, his slicked member pressing against your bud.

He pressed kisses against your jaw, moving down to lick your neck and gave you a bite.

“You’re getting so shameless aren’t you?” He murmured against your skin, his tongue swirling over the spot on your delicate neck. “First you can’t even look at my face properly, and now you’re begging for my cock like a slut?”

You dived your finger in his dark hair, gripping it while he made you crazier with his lips and teeth on your neck.

“Fuck me.” You breathed.

He pulled away and licked his lips, looking at your face. “Poor baby,” he whispered and leaned against the tattoo bench comfortably, positioning himself against your entrance properly.

With a groan, he thrusted up into you, filling you completely in one swift motion. You cried out as he stretched you, the sensation overwhelming and intoxicating.

He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you, his hands moving to your waist to guide your movements.

"Ride me, baby," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much you want me."

You began to move, slowly at first, lifting yourself up and down on his cock, feeling the delicious friction as he filled you over and over again. His big and hard member stretched your insides while you moaned helplessly.

“Fuck– so hot,” he murmured with a little drunken grin on his face.

His hands gripped your hips, helping to guide your movements, urging you to go faster, harder. You obliged, your pace quickening, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure built inside you.

Bucky's hands slid up your back, pulling you down so your bodies were pressed tightly together. You moved down to lay against his hard chest, while his hand gripped your arms behind your back while he started jerking his hips with a smooth motion.

You licked his nipple, your tongue encircling his piercing and taking it between your teeth, pulling at it. Bucky’s face skewed into pleasure and surprise.

Surely he wasn’t expecting that move from someone as you.

“Damn– are you tryna eat me up today or somethin’?” He says, loving the sight of you.

You grinned against him and pressed kisses against his chest while he started to thrust into you faster. He kissed you hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth as he thrust up into you with a renewed intensity. The new angle sent jolts of pleasure through your body, your moans muffled by his kiss.

You could feel the pressure building inside you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

You sit back on him, riding him out, getting him and his cock all wet in your fluids. He gripped your arms tighter, hitting the perfect spot inside you when he started to fuck you almost mercilessly.

Your walls clenched around him.

He picked you up, his cock still throbbing inside you while he got up from the tattoo bench and laid your back on it. The cool leather against your back sent shivers down your spine, contrasting with the heat radiating from your body.

His eyes, dark with lust, locked onto yours as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

“God, you're so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. Each thrust grew more powerful, more intense, as he pounded into you.

You couldn't take your eyes off his chest, mesmerised by the way his piercings shook with every movement, adding to the intoxicating sight.

His neck muscles stretched and tensed, enhancing the raw, primal allure of his powerful body moving against yours.

You could feel the tattoo bench creaking beneath you, but all you could focus on was the incredible sensation of him inside you, the way he seemed to fit perfectly.

"Bucky," you gasped, "I'm so close."

His response was a low, guttural growl. "Come for me, baby," he commanded, his hips snapping forward with a force that made stars dance behind your eyelids. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

His words pushed you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing with pleasure.

Your walls tightened around him, and you could feel him throbbing inside you, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

You looked so pretty when you were drunk on him.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you one last time, his own climax hitting hard before he pulled out and released himself all over your pussy.

He rubbed his tip against your messy clit, the sensitivity of it making you moan and whimper.

You could feel the mix of your fluids dripping from you, while you panted and just laid on the tattoo bench trying to catch your breath.

He grinned at the sight of you, then began to pull his clothes back on, still watching you with a satisfied smirk as you tried to regain your strength and catch your breath.

Once dressed, he leaned down to your face, “I knew you’d be incredible, my sweet tattoo artist.” The nickname jolted you back to the reason he was here in the first place.

“Bucky, I–” He shushed you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

His eyes lingered on your exposed breasts as he smirked, “I’ll come again for the tattoo tomorrow,” he said, leaving the shop with a chime of the door, lighting up a cigarette.

┈➤ Bucky Taglist in the comments! Lmk if you want to join or just click this 𖹭 Thx for reading !

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taexual · 1 year ago

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sleepwalking ● 1 | jjk

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers / fluff / angst / smut (in later chapters)

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 7.5k

chapter 1 ► when i open my eyes to the future, i can hear you say my name

There was virtually not a single person left on the entire fourth floor of the company building, despite it being a Monday afternoon. Normally, two other managers worked in offices adjacent to yours, so the noise in the hallways never settled below a pleasant hum: producers, promoters, and publicists – the three cursed Ps – shuffled in and out, heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.

This funeral silence was unusual, but you knew it was only a calm before the storm.

Rated Riot were going on their first-ever European tour in two days to promote their sophomore album – named aptly, “ready, set, RIOT” – and today was the final day of meetings. Evidently, the executives at Jett Records assumed that the band deserved to have a whole floor to themselves, so everyone else got a half-day, leaving you and the Floor Administrator, Rue, all by yourselves until the band got here.

This unsettling silence was exactly why you heard them arrive as soon as the door of the building opened four floors below. Rated Riot lived up to their name by making themselves heard before they were seen.

As soon as the sharp ding! of the elevator reached you in your office—your door was always open on meeting days, because the four members of one of the most promising rock bands in the world at the moment lacked any sense of direction—you could immediately feel the atmosphere lighten, the previous silence long gone.

“Rue! The apple of my eye!” Hoseok, the drummer and the de facto mood setter of Rated Riot, exclaimed as you listened to the familiar sounds of the band as they exited the elevator and, based on the repeated clicking of shoes in the lobby, momentarily got disoriented.

“Always looking good, Rue!” Jungkook, the vocalist, as well as the new Golden Boy of Jett Records followed after.

“Good to see you again,” Taehyung, the always well-mannered bassist, said. Silence followed and you assumed he shook Rue’s hand.

“Hello,” Yoongi, who was, technically, the guitarist of the band, but, really, played any instrument he could get his hands on, was the last to speak. He’d always been very well-spoken in songwriting, but quieter and more careful in most everyday conversations.

“Welcome, guys,” Rue greeted them. You couldn’t see any of them from where your office was located, but you’ve been in a similar situation countless times before and you could imagine what was happening without needing to witness it first-hand.

Rue would stand up from her seat and point her right hand down the hallway, reminding them—yet again—that they needed to walk down the hall and take a right turn. The members of Rated Riot, in turn, would walk down the hall. At least one of the four of them would turn left instead, causing a pause as the group gathered back together, exchanging confused glances. Then, they would turn back to Rue—who would still be standing there, her right hand extended like a helpful Statue of Liberty. They’d laugh at themselves, nod at Rue, and take the correct turn.

If things were going well, they’d find your office on first try—they’d just need to find the open door and peer inside; your desk was right in front. More often than not, however, they stumbled around, knocking and chuckling to themselves as they continuously interrupted the offices of everyone else, but you.

They were special. Not just because they looked like loose ducklings, separated from the Mother Duck, whenever they entered the company building, but also because, in spite of their own lack of coordination, they still managed to get things done.

And they brightened the day of everyone they came across. Which was almost ironic—as you realised by watching the four of them enter your office—considering the effortless rockstar aura that surrounded them.

Jungkook walked in first. That was typical because he usually did: sometimes because he was the only one who remembered where your office was, but usually because the other members offered him as a sacrificial lamb when they went knocking around every office on the floor in search of yours.

He was dressed in all-black—always—adorned with silver chains and necklaces that often gave you a start when you looked up, because he had a very specific way of entering the room: he seemed to make sure to position himself in just a way that the light, coming in from the window behind you, always reflected off his jewellery and momentarily blinded you.

Sure enough, you blinked, cringing into yourself as the brightness hit your eyes, and when you opened them again, he was already grinning.

“Hi,” he said and the rest of the members followed in after him—a brighter palette of colours.

Even Yoongi, who was the only one who could have given Jungkook a run for his money if you had to count which one had more black items of clothing in their closet, was wearing a beige, loosely buttoned shirt.

Despite that, however, you could tell they were rock artists as soon as you looked at them—all tattoos, piercings, intense eye make-up behind sunglasses, and old band tees—and you stood up, excited to let them know that, finally, every last loose thread had been found and tightened. They’d get to introduce their artistry on a different continent, and you’d make sure it’d go smoothly.

“We’re leaving for Prague tomorrow morning,” you told them once the five of you settled down at the round table in the back of your office. “So, if you were planning a going away party, I strongly advise against it.”

“We weren’t,” Yoongi said, lifting his glass of lemon water—there was a jug on the table—and giving you a reassuring look. “This is the strongest drink I’m having tonight.”

“Thanks,” you said paradoxically enough, but being grateful when the members of the band you managed didn’t get drunk before an important day was part of the job. “I’d also appreciate it if—”

“Hold on a second, though,” Jungkook interrupted—you’d been anticipating it. “I’m going to a gig tonight, Reconnaissance are in town again. And there’s obviously an after-party—”

Despite Reconnaissance being, arguably, one of the most popular rock bands in the world right now, you were definite when you cut him off, “No.”

“—so, I—wait. No?” he paused. “I never miss their shows, you know that. And I don’t get drunk easily. You know that, too.”

“That’s why you drink so much,” you rebutted. The rest of the band members got their phones out, knowing well enough at this point that this would take a while. “And then I have to come get you out of trouble.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” Jungkook insisted. “We’ve been through this.”

“Have we?” you argued. “Because I keep telling you it’s my job to keep you from passing out in a dirty bar bathroom, but you don’t care enough to hear me.”

“Well, you’re not very convincing. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll wake up again.”

You were used to having this conversation with him—you’ve argued about this way before he became a singer and you ended up as his manager. And yet, the lax way he said this made you clench your fists.

Despite being mostly introverted, Jungkook did enjoy getting drinks with friends: even if said friends enjoyed his celebrity status more than they enjoyed the drinks.

“And if you don’t?” you threatened. “Rated Riot’s vocalist gets his stomach pumped. A catchy headline.”

“Yeah, man,” Hoseok interjected, putting his phone screen down on the table and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t go well with the vibe we’re going for. Don’t get your stomach pumped.”

“Fine, I—”

“What he meant was, don’t drink so much that you’d need your stomach pumped,” you clarified because Jungkook moonlighted as a Loophole Finder.

“I never have!” he insisted. “Seriously, you treat me like I’m still nineteen. Have some faith.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other members of the group look up from their phones. The band had only formed a few years ago, so you were the only person in this room who knew what Jungkook was like when he was nineteen. You never spoke about it – that was likely why everyone was so curious.

In any case, Jungkook was wrong. You did have faith—that’s why you spent so many of your off-duty nights driving down deserted streets to pick him up after his asshole friends convinced him it was a good idea to try the biker bar on the outskirts of town, and he’d gotten in an altercation with a burly redneck that was twice his size.

There was no time for that now, not when he was supposed to be on stage in Prague in three days.

“Well,” Taehyung spoke up. “I was thinking of going to the show as well. Not so much the after-party, I have better plans. But, uh, I could come, after all.”

You appreciated the offer, but you knew that these better plans involved him spending time with his girlfriend, Luna, who was going to join him for a few weeks of the European tour, but after that, the two of them were going to be apart for several months.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, not trying very much to hide the hopeful undertones in your voice. Jungkook’s friends felt intimidated by all the members of Rated Riot; they’d be on their best behaviour if Taehyung was there.

“No, I think it might be fun,” Taehyung said. You exhaled quietly and he could sense your gratitude without words. He turned to his younger bandmate. “Should we go together?”

Jungkook groaned and mumbled under his breath, “not if I have to third-wheel again.”

“When have you ever third-wheeled anyone?” you asked rhetorically, but he was already opening his mouth to reply. Quickly, you added, “be careful, is what I’m saying, okay? I am complaining about having to pick you up from all kinds of holes, but if you need me to bring NDAs, I will bring them. So, ask.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but chose to stay quiet. He knew better now – the one time he did not make anyone sign a non-disclosure agreement after an impromptu, drunken busking session in New York, pictures of him, half-dressed and giving a lap dance to a random, equally as drunk, groupie, were on every rock page on Instagram. Accompanied with detailed retellings of how it came to happen, of course; all of them more ridiculous than the next. Your personal favourite story was that he was recruiting members for a sex cult.

“We’ll call you,” Taehyung gave you a nod, “if we have to.”

“Perfect,” you said, glancing at Jungkook again, even though expecting him to confirm that he, too, would call you if he had to, was wishful thinking.

Every time you reminded him how he needed to start going out with a less destructive crowd, he’d treat his phone like a poisonous snake – and he’d been doing that even before you became his manager. His friends seemed to get their pleasure fix from watching you arrive and rip him a new one, so they were the ones who called you most of the time, always laughing into their phones like true accomplices.

It was funny how Jungkook was the only one who passed out or got so wasted, he ended up on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. His friends always walked away unscathed and, usually, only called you by the time they were back in their bedrooms – “when we left, he was ordering mint and honey daiquiris, you should probably go over there and check up on him.”

It was like they loved pushing him into danger and purposefully bringing the two of you together again, and Jungkook either didn’t realise or didn’t care anymore. It’s been a while, after all.

You and Jungkook had been broken up for almost two years when you got the unbelievable offer to manage an up-and-coming rock band. This was over two years ago now and you were only twenty-four back then. Up until that point, you had worked as an assistant manager for various indie artists, so that offer was massive.

You figured the downside that your ex-boyfriend happened to be in this particular band was worth it, considering the huge leap in your career you’d make by accepting this job.

And, for the most part (excluding the first two months that were pure chaos of repressed feelings), you and Jungkook both made this work, drawing a strict line between your relationship before Rated Riot (back when he still had your phone number saved as “❌”) and after he met you again as Rated Riot’s new manager (ironically, now your name on his phone was “❌❌❌”).

You’ve managed Rated Riot for almost exactly two years now, and if you’d asked the band – which you wouldn’t, partially out of humbleness, but also because you were scared – you’d know that they loved working with you as much as you loved working with them. So, in the end, it all really had been worth it.

“Check your emails for the descriptive itineraries,” you continued smoothly enough. The guys at the table put their phones down and returned their attention to you. “Now, who else is coming with us?”

Technically, the band wasn’t supposed to bring anyone – the label was explicitly clear about that. They wanted the first European tour to go “without a hitch” (meaning, without distractions), but you held a more liberal view here.

You didn’t think loved ones coming on the road were a distraction; if anything, they were a firm support mechanism that made touring easier for the artists.

“I know Luna’s staying until the Barcelona show, yeah?” you asked, double-checking the notes on your laptop.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile on his lips at the mention of the girl. “She flies out the next day, yeah.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Well, Sid and Jude are coming,” Jungkook spoke up and, after seeing your eyes roll back, added, quieter, “and Minjun isn’t sure.”

The three musketeer-wannabes – Sid, Jude, and Minjun – were on speed dial on your work and personal phones, because if Rated Riot had a performance and the vocalist wasn’t there, it was likely those three who were to blame. They were the only ones who knew Jungkook longer than you did, and they seemed to take pride in the fact that they had successfully been causing you headaches for seven years now.

“Sid and Jude,” you repeated, “aren’t worried they’ll lose their jobs if they travel to Europe abruptly?”

“No, they’re cool,” Jungkook shrugged, not catching the mockery in your voice—both Sid and Jude worked for their families, which really meant that they got paid to occasionally show up at the shareholders’ meetings on behalf of their parents. “I’ll text Minjun right now. Maybe he’ll come when we’re in Poland…”

“I needed confirmation by last week,” you reminded him. “At the latest.”

He glanced at you from his phone and then went back to texting. “So, why’d you ask now?”

“To double-check,” you said. “They’re going to have to book the hotels themselves. Or sleep on the street. Honestly, I don’t really—”

“So, uh,” Yoongi interrupted before another argument could begin, “how many hotels this time?”

“Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris. And some nights in London, depending on our flight time,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Bring your favourite blankets. We’re living on buses for the next three months.”

None of them minded – if anything, you could see a little glitter in their eyes as they listened to you. Being on the road and having to sleep on the tour bus every night was an experience they’d missed. They hadn’t gone on an actual tour in almost a year – as someone who thrived on live performances, they had obviously missed this.

Really, you’ve missed it, too. Rated Riot may have been a riot to look after as their manager – pun fully intended – especially on tour, but they were your riot to deal with.

You liked your job and the challenges that came with it, because, in the end, you overcame most of them: starting with your previous relationship with Jungkook (no one in the band had a problem with it, and the label miraculously seemed not to know about it) and ending with your relatively young age (Jungkook was the only one who had a problem with you being his age, but he had a problem with almost everything).

Hopefully, one day you’d manage to overcome the challenge that was getting Jungkook to open his eyes and realise that the people he surrounded himself with were more groupies than his friends. But all in due time.

“If you have questions,” you said as the meeting approached its’ conclusion, “go right ahead.”

“Wake-up calls,” Yoongi said. “Any possibility of arranging those?”

You smiled – this had been traditional practice ever since you started to work with them.

“I’ll call,” you said and then remembered a particularly frustrating way in which this had backfired. You added, “and keep you on the phone until you’re out of bed.”

Back when you were an assistant manager to a different band, this had been your main task. And, you supposed, if Rated Riot had assistant managers, they’d be the ones making wake-up calls, too – however, the band had only started to live up to their potential now. Before you booked the European tour for them, Jett Records thought they barely needed one manager to begin with.

You’ve made it this far. If the tour went well, maybe you’d get to expand your team as the band gained popularity.

Jungkook felt giddy the whole night. The Reconnaissance show with Taehyung and Luna was a lot of fun, as expected—he’d seen the band five times before tonight, and they never failed to let him down.

When he arrived at the after-party, he was nearly vibrating with excitement—on top of everything, he was going on tour tomorrow and he knew he might lose his mind over it—and this was usually the time when he tended to get reckless.

He did drink a little too much to retain a completely sober mind, but he stayed true to his word and did not wander anywhere or caused any—serious—trouble. You would have said that’s because Sid and Jude weren’t with him, but Jungkook was convinced it was because he simply had great self-control when he put his mind to it.

The only place he went to after the party was his family’s house, so he could say goodbye to his grandma. She probably wouldn’t even hear him—and if she would, then she probably wouldn’t recognise him—but he couldn’t leave to Europe without saying goodbye to her.

He thought he’d take his Katana to the house, but then remembered immediately the last time he got on his motorcycle drunk – his grandma had, literally, smacked him on the back with a rolling pin, yelling about how careless he was. She didn’t say that she hit him out of concern for his safety—that was obvious—and, instead, she focused on how hard he’d worked on restoring the bike after he’d bought it; his first purchase with the money that he made off Rated Riot’s music.

“Don’t you want it to last?” she had said then. She’d been the only person who believed he could bring the bike to life, despite it not having a single properly functioning part, least of all the engine. “You worked so hard on it. Do you want to wreck it in one night?”

Tonight, however, everyone in the house was asleep when he arrived. It was quiet, so he tried to be silent as he went up the stairs to her room—and then knocked over a picture frame after his feet fumbled on the carpet in the hallway. But no one went out to check who was making the noise—which was dangerous, he realised for a brief, semi-sober second; but the house had security, so he figured they were safe from outsiders—and he gently lowered the handle on his grandma’s door, peering inside.

The room was painted in blue hues from the night light next to the bed where his grandma was sleeping. He approached—really trying to be quiet this time—and carefully pulled her comforter up, so she wouldn’t get cold, even though the room felt warm.

It was always warm here and Jungkook had to bite his lip when he realised how much he missed sitting here as a child while dozens of his cousins ran around the house and wreaked loud, childish havoc. How much he missed his grandma reading him books—never children’s stories, he always insisted she read him the thickest, most boring books he could find on her shelves, just so he could stay in her room longer, listening to her soothing voice and feeling her comforting warmth.

Sniffling quietly, he leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of white hair from her face, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, unaware of his presence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She didn’t wake. “We will talk again then.”

He knew he’d keep this promise even if she didn’t hear it, even if she didn’t remember. But leaving her room felt painful and he was far less excited now. The alcohol had begun to wear off and heaviness settled in his chest instead. This happened sometimes when he was left alone with his thoughts, especially after he visited his grandma.

He'd come back, he knew he would. But as he glanced at his grandma’s sleeping frame one more time—remembering how she hadn’t called him by his name in months; not one glint of recognition in her eyes when she’d see him—he wondered if he’d have anyone to come back to.

Surprising exactly no one, Jungkook was the only one who did not answer your wake-up call the next morning. Having foreseen this, you’d already called Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung – in that order, because the first two took the longest to wake up, and by that time, Taehyung was already awake on his own – and only then attempted to reach the one remaining member.

Fifteen minutes later, you were already dressed and ready to drive over to his house and personally wake him up with an icy bath in bed. And just then, your phone rang – his name as the caller’s ID.

“Look who—”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook’s groggy voice cut you off before you could greet him with the appropriate sarcastic remark. “I’m awake. Halfway in the shower.”

“I don’t hear running water.”

He responded with a groan first, then shuffling. You waited patiently, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Finally, you could hear the water start running on the other end of the call.

“Happy?” Jungkook asked, always the brightest of all rays of sunshine in the morning.

“Ecstatic,” you replied, equally as enthusiastically. “Sending a car to pick you up in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I can drive myself—”

“No driving when you’re hungover,” you said, not for the first time. “In fact, don’t even go near your Katana.”

He considered several ways to respond to you; first and foremost, defending his beloved, navy-coloured Suzuki Katana with a matte coating, custom-made leather seat covers, golden rims, purring engine, and—anyway. He ended up choosing to respond with a question, “how do you know I’m hungover?”

“I’ve known you for almost ten years,” you replied. “If you go out drinking the night before, you’ll wake up hungover.”

“Well, how do you know I drank that much last ni—?”

“Listen,” you cut him off, hoisting your suitcases over the threshold of your front door. You fixed your phone against your cheek and continued, “how about you take that shower, and we’ll resume this nice little Q&A at the airport?”

“No,” he replied and, in a purposefully exaggerated breathy voice said, “I simply can’t stop talking to you.”

“Hanging up now.”

Jungkook laughed as he listened to the beep, indicating the end of the call. Putting his phone on the side of the sink, he took his shirt off and was about to continue undressing when his phone vibrated and nearly fell off the sink.

Scrambling to catch it, he smacked it against the cupboard and exhaled in relief when he saw that the screen hadn’t cracked. He was expecting a text from you – a threat, in case he’d go back to bed – but it was actually Sid, asking for the time of his flight.

His friends were taking a separate flight out to Prague – they weren’t happy about it and neither was he, but at least they’d get to hang out in Europe eventually – and, obviously, they wanted to know what time they’d meet up and where.

He double-checked the itinerary you’d emailed him, got confused about the time zone difference and texted Sid back.

“Gonna be there the day before the show,” his text said, “jetlag. Sleep. Maybe beer? Catch u there.”

Sid was, of course, delighted to hear the mention of beer and Jungkook snickered to himself before he resumed undressing for his shower—knowing from experience that you wouldn’t be above shipping him to Prague in the cargo section on the plane if he was late to the airport.

As it turned out, for the first time in his life, Jungkook was so terribly jet-lagged, that he did not feel like doing anything – not even drinking with friends – but sleeping.

He slept through the whole layover in Paris – and, consequently, through Taehyung and Luna’s stories about the 5 minutes they got to spend in front of the Eiffel Tower before rushing back to the airport (never mind that it was about 2 AM) – as well as the flight to Prague.

He only woke up on the bus ride to the hotel when he felt something nudging his lips and opened his eyes to find an open bottle of Coca-Cola in your hands as you held it by his face.

“Did you just—” he started to say, but his voice sounded brittle, more a croak than a voice, really. He cleared his throat and tried again, “did you just wake me up by making me sniff soda?”

“It worked,” you replied, nudging the bottle at him again. “Drink. You need sugar. You didn’t eat anything on the plane here.”

“I had that bagel on the flight to Paris,” he mumbled, but sat up properly and took the bottle from you.

“That was a croissant,” you clarified. It was almost cute to see him barely awake. “And I warned you about flying with a hangover. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he replied after taking a big gulp of coke. “Not sure which day it is, but other than that, I’m perfect. Do you have anything for headaches?”

Snickering, you nodded. “Yeah, give me a second.”

You went to fetch your carry-on bag and returned with ibuprofen, which allowed him to go back to sleep until you arrived at the hotel. The other members were also in and out of slumber, but that was their own fault. You and the other girls on this tour, which, really, only meant Luna— Taehyung’s girlfriend—and Maggie—the tour photographer—had planned ahead and taken sleeping pills as soon as the plane took off. Meanwhile, every man on this trip thought too much of himself.

By the time you arrived to the hotel and checked in, it was already lunchtime. If this had been your first time travelling with Rated Riot, you would have been beyond surprised to see what effect food had on them: they looked like they'd just returned from the most refreshing vacation in the Caribbean. Lively conversation and cheerful laughter echoed around the table – no one would have guessed that they’d just spent over 13 hours on airplanes. Their recovery was nearly always miraculous.

And, naturally, since they were feeling better, they wanted to do something as soon as the first rehearsal was over. You had far too many things to do before the show tomorrow, so you couldn’t babysit them – again, an assistant manager would have been life-saving – but you knew you’d still have to keep an eye on them.

Taehyung and Luna went sightseeing, but they were the sort who kept you updated on their adventures through pictures, which you were endlessly grateful for. There was never a reason to worry here; if you were a teacher who had to pretend not to have a favourite student, Taehyung would be the student you were pretending about.

Yoongi and Hoseok, initially, went to a record store together, but then split up – one of them returned to the hotel for a nap, and the other one went café-hopping. Those two were also fine – they usually took some members of the crew with them anyway, so you knew that in the worst-case scenario, you’d still have several people you could call to reach them.

Now Jungkook was going to meet up with Sid and Jude, both of whom had, most unfortunately, successfully landed in Prague. The Diabolical Duo would take him out drinking, you had no doubt about it – and this was where you’d have to step in with another warning. You weren’t the angry mother, dragging her children by their ears, but you felt it necessary to remind Jungkook of what was at stake if he allowed his friends to be their usual, obnoxious selves tonight.

However, you didn’t want to ask, so you had to figure out where to find them yourself. You didn’t even have to use the seven years that you’ve known them to deduce two logical, universal-for-all-assholes things: one, Jungkook’s friends wouldn’t be nearly tired enough not to want to drink. Two, they’d be too jet-lagged to look for their usual hole-in-the-wall spot that sold drinks. Therefore, they’d have to settle for the bar of the hotel.

And when you exited the elevator on the ground floor later that night, your assumption was confirmed – you could hear their laughter from where you were standing in the lobby.

You’d texted Jungkook as you arrived, hoping he’d leave his friends and come see you at the back of the bar for a minute, but unfortunately, Sid and Jude noticed you and waved you over with loud cheers.

Embarrassed as the people in booths around you began to turn to look, you swallowed and walked towards the front where Jungkook and his friends were sitting by the bar.

“Wow, it’s been so long!” Jude exclaimed as you approached. In your opinion, it wasn’t nearly long enough, but you only lifted the corners of your lips and did not comment.

“Jungkook, a moment?” you said instead.

“Let’s get you a drink!” Sid suggested as though you hadn’t spoken and extended a hand, clicking his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Can we get some Margaritas here?”

You cringed watching this, but, again, restrained yourself. They could behave like pricks all they wanted; it wasn’t their reputation that you had to protect. Someone else would, hopefully, teach them a lesson.

“Sure,” Jungkook said to you, sliding off the stool. He seemed sober enough to walk without any sort of waddling or stand without swaying, but you could tell by the relaxation behind his eyes, that he was already tipsy.

His friends patted him on the back and whistled as he followed you to a quieter spot in the back of the bar. He shook his head at them—but had a grin on his face, and for that alone you wanted to punch him.

“Can I count on you to take it easy?” you asked, once the two of you were out of earshot. “Not because you’ll make my job much harder if you don’t, but because you have a rehearsal tomorrow at eight, and that’s hard with the jet lag alone, but add a hangover into the mix, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, but you’ve heard this song many times before. It was one of his top hits. “I’m actually tired, so I might have a few and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing to believe him, because that was easier than making him sign a contract, swearing not to wake up in a dumpster. “Can you text me when you’re back in your room? So I know you’re not lost somewhere in Prague with Dumb and Dumber.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile at the nickname, but he resisted – a loyal friend, even if they didn’t deserve it – and gave you a nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll text you. And I won’t get lost.”

“Okay—” you started to say and then squinted your eyes at him, realizing. “I meant don’t go wandering the city streets while drunk.”

He snorted and placed a hand on your left shoulder. Gazing into your eyes, he enunciated very dramatically, “I will not get into trouble. Promise.”

You pursed your lips. “You’d better not.”

“I realise what that would mean, believe it or not,” he said, straightening. “Tomorrow is an important day. I’d never do anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” you said. “I trust you to make smart choices. I don’t trust them.”

You pointed at the twosome by the bar – both of them watching you like you were the entertainment of the night – and Jungkook turned to look. Sid and Jude both immediately waved at him. Jungkook waved back and, when he looked at you again, he was smiling softly.

Clearly, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with those two. You’d never believe that there was anything about them that was bearable—let alone enjoyable—so Jungkook’s weird attachment to them had to come from some sort of weird destructive force inside of him.

“I’ll keep them in check,” he said and then, possibly prompted by the skeptical frown on your face, he felt the need to explain, “they help me relax. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be shaking from anxiety all the time. Kind of like you are.”

He winked as he said that last part, grinning at his own wit, but you rolled your eyes in response.

“Goodnight,” you said then. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“Are you going to stay up late waiting for my text?” his tone was humorous and it stopped you from leaving.

“Hopefully not,” you said, ignoring the flirty comment that was obviously meant to rattle your composure. “But it’d do you well to remember that I can make life very difficult for you if you disobey me.”

He lifted his eyebrows at this, but did not lose the grin. “Oh? Will I get punished if I—”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you said again—louder—and turned away.

You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the archway leading to the lobby and caught him watching you leave—he was still beaming, but he composed himself and nodded when he caught your eye. You nodded back.

Maybe he really would be fine tonight.

And, truly, Jungkook had meant what he’d said – he couldn’t wait for tomorrow and there was nothing he’d do to ruin that. Not even if the smirking faces of his friends prompted him to laugh as soon as he returned to his seat by the bar.

“What do you want, assholes?” he asked, punching Jude on the shoulder as he walked past his friends. As soon as he sat down, leaving Sid in the middle, he took a big gulp of the beer he’d left waiting; only his third one tonight.

“We don’t want anything,” Jude said, still smirking. “What did she want? Another moral how you’re not being a good boy?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “No—”

“I was always curious,” Sid interrupted. “Was she like that when you dated, too? You know, always in charge?”

Even before you and Jungkook had settled into a steady enough rhythm of working with each other, neither of you spoke to others about your relationship. Not while you were dating, and not after you broke up. So, all your friends—real friends and whoever the hell Sid and Jude were—essentially knew nothing of your relationship.

And there was nothing he’d tell them now.

It’s been four years since you broke up—plenty of time to move on. Not to mention, you were both (trying to be) professionals. There was no point to bring back the past; there never had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungkook teased, managing to keep the banter going without revealing how the question irked something inside him.

“I would. That’s why I asked,” Sid replied, laughing haughtily. A few heads turned his way. Sid sounded very much like an entitled heir—or an elephant high on helium—when he laughed, especially when there was nothing funny going on. “I mean, you never talked about her to us. Was it getting rid of her that made you who you are today?”

Jude snorted, slapping Sid on the back in a half-supportive, half-warning manner. Jungkook knew that the level of your patience for his friends ranged from Sid (no patience) to Jude (case-by-case), to Minjun (bearable)—and he could see why.

“I didn’t get rid of her,” he said, an edge to his voice. “We broke up and moved on. Did you hear from Minjun?”

Sid laughed again—even louder than before; the glasses behind the bar seemed to clatter.

“Look at him, trying to change the topic!” he wheezed, looking at Jude over his shoulder.

“Leave him be, man,” Jude said and nodded at Jungkook. “So many girls around us and this dumbass is still hung up on your ex, huh?”

Jungkook finished his beer and held the liquid behind his cheeks for a second before swallowing. He caught the bartender’s eye and lifted his empty glass, indicating a refill.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s hung up,” Sid said with a very knowing look in his eye.

Jungkook looked at him and raised his eyebrows—surprised and momentarily distracted from his drink. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you come to her as soon as she calls, like a puppy,” Sid replied. “So, you tell me.”

“I have to come when she calls,” Jungkook defended. “She’s my manager.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Jude said, slapping Sid on the back of the head this time. “She’s his manager.”

Jungkook suddenly found himself smiling when he realised that you’d probably consider this the reason why Sid acted the way he did sometimes – permanent brain damage from Jude’s incessant slaps.

“Well, then someone,” Sid said, angrily accentuating the word—the anger was clearly directed at Jude, but the pronoun at Jungkook, “has a fucking crush on their manager.”

“I don’t have a crush—”

Sid spoke over him, “I bet you could never get her to go out with you again.”

Jungkook saw the bartender approach to pour him a drink and he heard Jude scoffing, but he could only blink, taken aback by what sounded like an accusation. “Why—why would I even—why—”

“Oh, see, see?!” Sid screeched, turning to Jude with a triumphant expression. Jude gave him a pitiful look—and looked about ready to give him a black eye, too. “He knows I’m right, it’s why he’s stuttering!”

“Dude,” Jude said slowly. “You are yelling.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, nodding at the bartender as a thank-you and then bringing his refilled glass to his lips. “And I’m not stuttering.”

“You so are, my man,” Sid taunted, patting Jungkook on the shoulder with so much force, the beer nearly spilled from the glass and from his mouth. “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

Suddenly hyper-aware that there were several producers on tour with them right now, Jungkook put his drink down and straightened in his seat.

“I’m not fucking singing at weddings,” he said.

“Not yet,” Sid pointed out, grinning. He knew he'd gotten under his skin.

“Okay, come on now,” Jude interjected, leaning back in his seat to be able to see Jungkook. “You promised you’d sing at my wedding.”

“As if anyone would ever marry you,” came Sid’s snide.

“You shut the fuck up,” Jude snarled, but there was no malice behind his bark. “I have more chances of marrying someone than he has of marrying his manager.”

“He—oh, fuck!” Sid was about to argue, but then burst into laughter—so loud and thunderous again, that the bartender was forced to glance over at the security guards by the entrance to the bar. “That’s good! You’re so right!”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Jungkook spoke. The edges of his vision were red. “I could get her to go out with me again if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Sid nodded, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “Big talk.”

“Jungkook, no offense, my dude,” Jude said, leaning forwards this time. “Let him have this one. Sid may be dumber than box of rocks, but he’s got a point here. Forget about her.”

Another insinuation that had Jungkook throwing his head back in frustration.

“There’s nothing to forget!” he groaned. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I just fucking told you I moved on.”

“So why are you getting all riled up, then?” Sid smirked, more and more satisfied with each curse that he provoked out of him.

Jungkook felt even angrier, because he was getting riled up, but he had a good reason for it. He enjoyed banter as much as the next person, but he did not enjoy mockery at his own expense—especially not the kind that involved you.

He snapped back, “because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

His friends snickered at this – convinced that his irritation only proved the point they were both making – and Jungkook clenched his jaw, annoyed.

“If anything,” he added sharply as he picked his beer up—as if that could somehow distance him from this conversation, “it’s her who’s still hung up on me.”

That was a cheap, childish defence, and everyone by the bar knew it.

“Yeah, right!” Sid cried out, but resisted from laughing again. “We’ve heard her yell at you more times than we can count. You fucking wish she was still hung up on you.”

“Okay, to be fair, Sid can probably only count to five,” Jude added—Sid finally punched him on the shoulder—as he toyed with the paper umbrella on his fourth cocktail; the Margaritas they’d ordered were long gone. “But he’s right, you know? You’d never get her to go out with you again.”

There was pity in Jude’s voice—as if he felt sorry that Jungkook lived in denial, chasing after you and convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before you��d come back to him.

This made Jungkook’s temper vile, his face red, hot, and angry. He slammed his beer back on the table, forcing some of it to spill. “Yes, I fucking would!”

Sid was hiccupping as he laughed.

“Okay, okay, listen—let’s make a proper bet,” he managed. He picked up a napkin from the bar top, then looked around for something to write on it with—not finding anything, he stood up from his seat and leaned over the bar, grabbing a pen before the bartender could notice. “$1000 says you can’t get her to go on a date with you again.”

He glanced at Jude for approval—Jude shrugged.

“I’d suggest $500,” he said. “We don’t want to rob him blind.”

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, prideful.

“Fine with me. But you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into,” he bit.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s been awfully cocky about the whole thing, hasn’t he?” Sid spoke, addressing his rhetorical question at the bar. He wrote something on the napkin and then lifted it to show the number “4000” to Jungkook. “How about this: Jude and I each pay you $2000 if you win. But if you lose, you give us your Katana.”

Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, the sudden mention of his bike catching him off-guard. Sid came from old money, he could afford fifteen brand-new motorcycles with the change he found in his suitcase, probably.

“How is that fair?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a Suzuki costs these days? It’s not $4000, I can tell you that much.”

“Why should you care?” Sid asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You were so confident about winning the bet just a second ago. Scared you’ll lose after all?”

In his defence, Jungkook did hesitate for half a moment. But there was a shit-eating grin on Sid’s mouth that he wanted to wipe off more than anything else, and he downed the rest of his beer in one big gulp—a showcase of his determination.

“Not at all,” he said then. He wasn’t sure if he was lying as he said this, but he had no time to figure that out. He extended his hand at Sid. “Get your money ready.”

Here, he was putting up a front – this wasn’t about the money at all. It was more a thing of pride; they were teasing him, purposefully making fun of him—and he wanted to prove them wrong, regardless if they were actually wrong.

Smirking, Sid shook his hand—cementing the bet between all three of them, as Jude was busy finishing off his cocktail—and was about to say something when Jungkook jumped off his stool.

“Have to go now,” he said, always a show-off with his overly creative comebacks when he was tipsy. “My horoscope predicts a date and a big fortune in my near future. Got to prepare.”

chapter title credits: sleep token, “rain”

special shout-out & thank you to @eleni-cherie who delivered the much-appreciated kicks in the ass, so that i would keep writing. the odds were really against me, so if it weren't for you & our in-depth fanfic discussions, i definitely wouldn't even be writing this note right now, let alone finally starting this story 💜

prev ○ next | | | masterlist

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts rockstar au #bts scenarios #jungkook rockstar au #jungkook reaction #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic

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lomlhwa · 9 months ago

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y'know what they say about guitarists (c.s)

pairing: guitarist!san x vocalist!reader

preview: san has watched you flirt with entire crowds. he just wants some of that attention too.

tags/warnings: fem reader, mentions of drummer!mingi, bassist!yunho and stage manager!seonghwa, ONE BED TROPE WHO CHEERED, possessive san, spit play, pet names (good girl, pretty girl, sweet girl), praise, pussy drunk san, dacryphilia, lots of hickeys, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, cockwarming

trigger warnings: n/a

w/c: 2.0k

song recs for this fic: any chase atlantic tbh (slow down, swim, heaven and back)

a/n: this lovely fic is dedicated to @kitten4sannie to celebrate my return to writing! i hope you like this ml!

as you’re onstage playing a gig for a couple thousand people, you feel like you’re in your element. nothing feels better than being onstage with your bandmates. your hips sway to the music coming from the musicians sharing the stage with you.

you give playful winks and body rolls to the fans in the front row. something that always catches your guitarists eye. though, his rhythm never falters.

jealousy always courses through him. he wants to receive those playful gestures from you. you even wink at mingi, your drummer from time to time. the beloved bassist, yunho, receives the most of your onstage affection. hugs, cheek kisses, etc. makes the male fans jealous. makes san’s blood boil.

your angelic voice rings through the in-ear monitors that each band member wears. it sends shivers down san’s spine. so talented and so incredibly beautiful.

as your gig ends, you giggle and thank the fans who attended. “thank you guys so much for coming! i love you! we’ll see you next time!” you bow and flounce your way backstage in your cute outfit. your band members follow suit, bowing and running backstage.

“thank was great guys! well done,” you stage manager says. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and smile. “thanks hwa.” you let go of him and turn to yunho. “yuyu, your guitar playing was extra good today!” you exclaim, smiling so brightly that the sun might have competition. you peck his cheek before running off to your stylist to get changed.

san’s shoulders slump, knowing that he won’t receive those small actions of affection from you. “feeling left out, sannie?” mingi asks, towering over the smaller guitarist. san nods, not bothering to look up at mingi.

“why don’t you just talk to her? there’s gotta be a reason she’s reserved around you,” yunho points out from across the room. his makeup artist is hunched over him, removing his makeup ever so carefully.

“talk to who about what?” you say, suddenly coming out of your dressing room. you’re beautiful even now; no makeup and in your pajamas. “no one. nothing,” san blurts out. fuck. he’s so stupid. “okay,” you smile, sipping your water through a straw.

“you guys ready to go back to the hotel?” you ask and the other three members nod in unison. you grab your bag and head for the door. “san’s rooming with you tonight, y/n.” you look back at yunho with wide eyes. “oh! um, okay.” you give san a confused look before heading out the door.

san flips yunho off before following you out the door. you all pile into the company van and sit in comfortable silence as you head to the hotel. you file out of the van when you pull up, security making sure no fans get to you. you scurry into the building and do your best to sneak into your hotel rooms. you sigh dramatically as you get the door shut.

you turn around to find san staring at your hotel room in horror. “what’s the probl-” you cut yourself off when you find that your room only has one queen sized bed. “shit,” you mutter. you drop your bag on the floor before you whip your phone out and dial seonghwa’s number.

“hwa, what the actual fuck? one bed?” san can hear seonghwa trying to explain. he picks up pieces of the conversation. something about this being all that was left when he was booking. something else about telling you to suck it up. you mutter some insults before hanging up on seonghwa.

“i can just sleep on the floor, it’s fine y/n,” san drops his bag on the floor and sits down on the ground next to the bed. “no, san, we can share the bed. we’re touring. i don’t want your limbs to ache,” you shake your head as you climb into the bed. you pat the space next to you and he clambers onto the mattress.

after a couple hours, you’re both laying on your backs in the dark, in silence. “hey y/n?” san says, finally breaking the silence. you give him a soft hum in response. “can i ask you about something that’s been bothering me?” he asks. you hum again.

“why don’t you give me the same attention you give mingi, yunho and seonghwa? no hugs, no pecks, nothing. you’ll skip over me just to give the ones beside me those things. why? did i do something to make you uncomfortable? or scared to do those things for me?” san can feel you tense up next to him. he wonders why that’s how you reacted.

“cause…” you trail off. san can see the outline of you sit up in the dark. “cause i have a crush on you. if i gave you that affection, i would never survive. if i gave you a single hug, i would never let go. if i kissed your cheek, i would never be able to keep it from turning into a real kiss,” the confession hangs in the air like a spiderweb. he sits up, like you did. “why didn’t you tell me?” san asks. you sigh and shrug, despite the fact that he can barely see you.

“i didn’t wanna ruin the band dynamic. i didn’t wanna risk you not reciprocating and making things awkward between us. i was just scared that-” san pulls your head back so he can meet your lips with his. it’s swift, but it’s enough to make you sputter in shock.

“i’ve liked you since we even started this band, sweet girl.” despite being in the dark, he maneuvers you onto your back and hovers over you. his cologne envelops you and you shiver.

“can i…. kiss you again?” san asks tentatively. he ghosts his fingers over your ribcage, making you squirm. “yes, please, san,” you respond. with your permission, he connects your lips in a surprisingly soft kiss. he lips melt with yours, finding a slow pace. his tongue drags over your bottom lip, asking for your plump lips to part.

your warm mouth welcomes san’s tongue as it pokes and prods at your inner cheek and fights with your own tongue. your hips grind up into his, searching for friction. he groans against your lips and it sounds more beautiful than any sound that’s ever come out of his guitar.

his hands gravitate towards your hips to hold them down, keeping you from grinding anymore. “we can’t…” san whispers. “they’ll hear us.” you shake your head and pull him back down to you, kissing him more feverishly. “fuck… you make it so hard to resist you.” you whine against his lips, fighting his weight holding your hips down. “please, i need you.”

you can feel a moment of hesitation from him before he just lets himself relax into you. his hands leave your hips and you immediately grind up. his jaw falls open and you shudder at the sound that comes out of him again.

you grab his hand and drag it under your shirt, wrapping his hand around your breast. your spine arches as he pinches your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. “sannie-” your breath gets caught in your throat when his mouth moves to your neck and he nibbles on your skin lightly.

“fuck, i can’t wait. let me undress you, sweet girl,” san begs you, his voice low and desperate. you tangle your fingers in his hair and nod as well as you can. his hand leaves your breast and helps his other hand to lift your shirt off you. you lift your torso up to allow for it to come off you completely. he wastes no time in allowing his own shirt to follow suit. your hands run down his chest to his abs, pressing against the muscle lightly. his hands undo the drawstrings on your sleep shorts, sliding your shorts and underwear down together.

“off,” you mumble, clawing at his plaid pajama pants. he giggles and slides his pants down, discarding them with the rest of the clothes. he runs his hands over your bare thighs, spreading your legs gently. san’s hands run up and down your skin as he leans back down to kiss you. “condom?” he whispers and you shake your head. “no, wanna feel you.”

san continues to kiss you as one of his hands moves down to his cock, stroking it a few times. he lines the tip up with your hole and sucks in a deep breath. he presses your thighs apart as he shoves his cock inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt. your hips stutter as your walls flutter around him.

your jaw falls slack and san finds purchase in kissing your jawline and your throat. he pulls out to the tip before slamming back into you and you slam your hand over your mouth to keep from crying out.

san lifts himself onto his palms to trap you between his arms. “you know what, sweet girl?” he says between thrusts, “you’re fucking mine. you hear me? mine,” his lips are right next to your ear, whispering these words into your brain. “you belong to me,” he grabs your face and forces you to face him.

“your lips? mine,” he kisses you roughly before pulling away again. “your pretty tits? mine,” he leans down to kiss your skin, leaving dark marks in the wake of his lips. “your pretty little pussy? it’s fucking mine,” san speeds up his thrusts to prove his point. your back arches and his tip jabs at the perfect gummy spot inside you.

“fuck, you’re such a good girl. your pussy is so fucking good. so wet, so warm. you take me so fucking perfectly. my pretty girl. open your mouth for me,” you open your mouth immediately and he leans down to spit in your mouth. “swallow.” your jaw snaps shut to swallow his saliva.

as your orgasm builds up, tears spring into your eyes. your chest heaves with tight sobs of just how fucking good it feels. “are you crying? does it feel that good, sweet girl?” you wipe your tears away messily, embarrassed that you’re even crying.

wiping your tears was pointless because when his thrusts speed up again, new tears fall immediately. “fuck, oh my god san that feels so fucking good,” you cry out, a little bit too loud. your thighs spasm as you try to close them, but san’s hips between your legs keep you wide open.

“i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum, please,” your hands claw as san’s biceps, your climax being right there. “me too. where do you want it, pretty girl?” he asks, his hips becoming more and more feverish. “inside, fuck, cum inside me.” san bites his bottom lip as his thrusts become sloppier.

you wrap your arms around his torso and bring him down to you so you can dig your nails into his back. he rests his body weight on his elbows and you clench around him. “cumming,” you whisper as your back arches for a final time before stuttering back down. the intensity of your walls gushing around him finally sends san over the edge.

the two of you just lay there completely still as ropes of cum fill up your abused hole. your legs wrap around his hips so that he won’t pull out before you want him to. “you’re so perfect. you’re so beautiful, so pretty when you cum,” he strokes your hair as he whispers in your ear again.

“let me pull out so you can go to the bathroom and then we can sleep, okay?” you shake your head. “no. no. stay. roll over so i’m on top. lemme sleep with you inside. please. please, sannie,” you begging goes right to his head and he does exactly as you asked. with you situated on top of him, cock still inside, he pulls the blanket over the two of you. “we have to get up early to shower though, okay?” you nod.

_____________

“good morning love bugs. your throat gonna be okay to sing tonight?” yunho smirks at you and you smack san. “hey! i was the one who said they were gonna hear us!” he cries out. “at least you finally fucked,” mingi comments.

“yeah, real fuckin good,” seonghwa comments, looking exhausted. he was in the room right next to yours. he shakes his head. “i’m sorry hwa.”

“get in the fucking van.”

#lomlhwa #ateez #atz #san #choi san #ateez smut #atz smut #san smut #choi san smut

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hwayangyeon · 1 year ago

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nsfw bassist!heeseung x drummer!reader // heeseung and you sabotage your metal band's practices by constant fighting so jay tells you to fuck each other // smut, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, hate sex kinda, reader has a vagina, i don't know anything about metal, not proofread // 1k words

your band's practices have never been worse ever since a new bassist joined you. you disliked him the second you saw him, but for your group's sake, you tried to hide your feelings as hard as possible.

as a percussionist you usually start the songs and set up the pace, heeseung follows you right after but you just can't seem to synchronize. whatever you play sounds off, even for metal.

"why the fuck are you so fast? slow down, jesus. i can't keep up," heeseung complained after the 4th time you had to start over the song.

"speed up then? what are you doing with those slow fingers? fingering your mom?" you talked back to him and got ready to practice again.

"what did you just say?" he put his guitar aside and started walking in your direction with the angriest look on his face.

"enough," jay, your vocalist and leader, stopped him and stared at both of you, "you two - go to the bathroom and fuck each other. i'm growing sick of you"

"wha-"

"NOW. if jake and sunghoon don't get the chorus right, they just punch each other in the face and go back to playing. i don't want any more blood on my basement floor, so just go and fuck the shit out of each other."

you couldn't believe what you just heard. but, to be fair, it sounded better than having to deal with a black eye for two weeks. heeseung and you followed jay's finger pointing to his obscure bathroom.

the room was so small that you two barely fit in. unfortunately the ceiling lamp was still working (barely too) so you were able to see the black-haired guy's face. just looking at him makes you heat up.

"show me your tits."

"what?"

"do you want me to get hard, or no? or should i fuck you with your drumsticks?"

"fine," you hissed and pulled up your shirt. you don't really wear bras to your concerts, so you don't bother putting one on to practices. he cupped your breast and the sudden touch sent a shiver down your spine. he's... bold. his finger brushed against your nipple, causing an even bigger pool in your panties.

he moved his hand to your other breast. it was pretty rough from the past 2 hours of playing the guitar, yet it felt like he was melting your skin.

"not bad."

"shut up," you pulled your shirt down and pushed his arm away. there's no way you'd let him do that in any other situation.

"bend over," he said and pointed at the sink behind you.

"you bend o-" you tried to say but he grabbed your hips, turned you around, and pinned you to the cabinet, trapping you with his hands on the counter.

you really couldn't help but push your butt back against him when you felt his bulge poking you as he pressed his whole body onto you. for two people hating each other's guts, your bodies felt like magnets.

he shoved your pants and panties down, then took out his dick and wasted no more time. you were so wet. he pushed his member between your thighs and you covered it completely in your juices. your folds were so slippery, he could barely put his cock in your pussy.

"fuck..." you sighed when he finally entered you after teasing your entrance.

he wrapped his arm around your waist and leaned over your shoulder. a gasp escaped his lips as he thrusts his whole length in.

he nibbled on your neck as his cold jewelry pressed on your back. his face was covered in his hair and a few strands of yours but you could see in the fogged mirror that he's furrowing his eyebrows.

his hand moved under your shirt from your waist to your breast and he squeezed it as he kept pounding into you.

your bodies moved in unison, both of you wanting to fuck the other.

the feeling of his dick stretching your walls apart became so overwhelming, you could barely keep your head up.

"come for me," he whispered into your ear, seeing your expression in the reflection.

"i'm not... coming for you," you struggled to say back.

"what are you going to tell jay then?" he continued kissing and licking your neck, extremely close to the sensitive spot under your ear.

you only gritted your teeth, wanting to stop the moans coming out of your mouth. thank god the guys started playing something the second you went into the bathroom, or else they'd be hearing all sorts of noises your bodies are making. with the guy you can't stand. fuck.

you brought your hand up to his still sweaty from the practice hair and pulled on it with the little power you had left. it was either the lack of oxygen in this small room or him fucking you brainless, but your vision became blurry and him pushing so much onto you didn't help either. you were so close. both to fainting and to your release.

he rode you off your orgasm so well, supporting your tired body with his hand on your chest and arm gripping the sink. he rested his head on your shoulder for a second to catch his breath with you before pulling away from you and brushing his hair away from his face.

even though you were still a little dizzy you quickly picked up your pants and left the bathroom. you both awkwardly walked back to your spots. you sat on your drum stool and he picked up his guitar.

as if nothing happened you resumed your practice and surprisingly, everything went well.

so now, whenever you and heeseung started jumping at each other's throats, jay just yells 'bathroom.' and you two obediently go there.

after hotel.

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #after hotel.#heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung smut #heeseung x you #heeseung x yn #heeseung x reader

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sorrowsofsilence · 1 year ago

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Louder • Sebastian

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x FemReader

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: Smut (18+), unprotected PnV (pls wrap it before you tap it), swearing, slight choking, fem fingering, eye contact. (even if you squint hard enough there is like, no plot, oops)

Prompt: You know what they say, vocalists do it louder.

Authors note: 1/4 of the prompt: “vocalists do it louder, bassists do it deeper, guitarists finger faster, drummers do it harder.” Which member do you want next? ;)

THIS IS A FIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SITUATIONS! I AM NOT IMPLYING THEY WOULD DO THIS / DID THIS / WOULD ACT LIKE THIS IRL. THIS FIC IS JUST FOR FUN, AND DOES NOT INTERPRET THE MEMBER IRL IN ANY WAY. ITS FICTION! THINK OF THEM LIKE AN ACTOR! lol

Tags: @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @th4t-em0-k1d

Well, you know what they say, vocalists do it louder.

“I got the mirror so you can watch yourself while I’m fucking you.”

Noah whispered in your ear as you stood in front of your reflections. He stood behind you, his tall figure looming over you as his chest pressed into your back. You watched as Noah’s eyes traced every curve of your body, absorbing your image with so much desire. Noah’s hands trailed up and down your body delicately, the tips of his inked fingers grazing across the bare skin of your torso, goosebumps rising across your arms with every lingering moment.

Trailing down to your waistband Noah’s fingers tugged at your thong, running his finger suggestively between the hem, watching your body shudder with anticipation, and you felt your abdomen clench through the rush of lust he inflicted upon you. His lips found their way behind your ear. As he kissed his way down, Noah’s hand slid across your abdomen, his long fingers dipping into your lace panties.

You wore them just for him, hoping that when he came home from rehearsal he would notice how your oversized t-shirt would ride up, exposing your lower half that beckoned for his attention.

“You’re not wearing shorts underneath?” He had said, noticing how you sat suggestively on the couch, resting on your side, ass facing the doorway.

“It’s too warm,” you had shrugged, your lip finding its way between your teeth as you bit back a smile, watching Noah’s eyes flicker between your body and eyes. His hair was messy from exhaustion, but his eyes turned dark with admiration. You couldn’t help but notice the way his white t-shirt hung loosely on his perfect body, his short black shorts covering his already hardening self he held you in a chokehold, just by how good he looked.

“You’re so fucking wet, already?” Noah let out a low groan as he stiffened against you, pressing into your body as his free hand crossed over your body, holding your hips into him with his one arm. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

Noah’s fingers ran teasingly through your arousal, slipping the tip of his finger before pulling them back up, barely brushing over the spot you needed most. Your stomach clenched even more in hope, praying he would touch you where you wanted him most.

“Please Noah,” you whispered in desperation, it was almost embarrassing how much control he held over you. “I need you to touch me, please.”

Noah loved hearing you plead for him. He was such a whore for begging and praises from you that he couldn’t contain the moan that escaped his lips as you mumbled his name, soft exhales being taken from your mouth. Noah loved being wanted, he loved being desired, and he knew that he would get that by teasing you.

“What do you want from me?” Noah’s teeth grazed along your collarbone. Your hands travelled to push his further into you, desperate for any amount of friction.

“Your fingers, fucking me, please,” you began to squirm from the torment, his fingers once again teasing. “Noah please.”

His lips parted into a satisfied smile, his face resting between the crook of your neck as you leaned back into him, letting go. Noah finally pushed his fingers into you, curling them as his palm rubbed against your desire.

You closed your eyes in relief, your body becoming limp from the release of tension.

“Eyes open,” Noah said, and you obeyed, attempting to maintain eye contact with the deep brown eyes through the mirror in front of you.

His absolute favourite was when you watched him worship you. He loved as your eyes became lidded from ecstasy, but you tried your best to fight the urge to close them and succumb to his fingers. Noah loved the way your lips parted gently, eyebrows furrowing.

He played with your body, hands grazing over your stomach and chest, allowing himself to explore what was his; but his arousal got the best of him as he rolled his hips behind you, desperate for friction himself.

Noah rested on his knees, holding you down onto his lap. You knew both your thighs would burn from this position, but this was how he could hit the spot you needed. He slipped his fingers out from you, before pulling his shorts down, barely enough to expose himself.

He was so desperate to be inside your body he couldn’t take the three seconds to remove his clothes.

“Do you want me to take these off-“ you began, ready to pull your underwear down your hips but Noah’s hand pulled yours away.

“On,” he said hastily, tugging the lace to the side, holding it in place between his three fingers, before positioning himself below you.

“Noah I-“ but he was already thrusting into you, your arousal guiding him with ease.

Moans escaped Noah’s lips, his body shuddering underneath you as he began to pant.

You always thought you’d be the vocal one, considering how well Noah has always treated you; but the amount of lust Noah felt as he fucked you left him a complete vocal mess. Nothing turned you on more than Noah’s pornographic moans, knowing that it was your body wrapped around him that made him crumble beneath you.

Your knees and thighs ached as he pounded into you from behind, but the sexual desire of Noah’s body taking over your left you unable to comprehend what was going on.

“Oh fuck Noah,” you cried, and his free hand ran up your chest, wrapping around your throat, his fingers gently squeezing your skin. Noah’s other hand left your underwear, his forearm crossing your stomach as he held you firmly against his body, his pace never ceasing. You watched as he pounded into you, your eyes meeting his in the reflection. The sight was beautiful.

“Oh my god Y/N you feel so fucking good,” Noah’s deep groans vibrated against the back of your head as he caged your body onto his. Noah’s hips thrust upwards, causing your limbs to shake as your body began to warm, climbing towards your release.

“I- Noah,” words were barely able to leave your lips before a loud whale left you collapsing.

Noah grunted loudly with every thrust, pushing into you with his sounds as he released, allowing himself to freely control your body, “fuck Y/N, I love it when you moan. Let the entire neighbourhood know you’re mine.”

Noah’s voice rang through your ears as he rode out his high, gripping your hips, his hair cascading over his face.

You were both left panting, chests heaving as you watched each other in the mirror again, sharing a smile. You loved how even after giving himself completely to you, Noah’s soft side always shone through. He adored you, and everything you offered.

“I fucking love you.” Noah’s face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, face flushing as he wrapped his arms around you, embracing you.

You let your arm fall back and run your fingers through his hair, smiling, “I love how vocal you are.”

*********

1/4 ;) who’s next?

Ps. sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written since I Was Always Yours. Writers block is a bitch. BUT I have a mini story that was requested in the works (hoping it’ll work out!) but I thought these would be quick and easy, AND I could do one for each member! :p

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noah sebastian davis #metalcore #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian hands #bad omens smut #smut #metalcore smut #singer

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01zfan · 5 months ago

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SERIEZ MASTERLIST: ROCK THE HOUSE!

riize and the trials and tribulations of being in a band and/or being attached to one.

common themes: loss of innocence, toxic relationships, and drug use. specific content warnings will be tagged on each writing.

🎧: the type of music their band makes

FEATURING . . . . . .

SHOTARO OSAKI as the BASSIST of THE KNOTCUTIES

🎧: Punk Girls by The Headcoatees

you have been told you're not cute your whole life. too confrontational, too crass, too scary. on the other side there's shotaro, who has been told he's cute one too many times. maybe opposites do attract . . . . . .

drummer!shotaro x bad girl!reader |

SONG EUNSEOK as the DRUMMER of DOVE KILLERS

🎧: Point blank by Nailbomb

when you find yourself talking to the law you're forced to reminisce how you got there and if you have any innocence left to get you out . . . . . .

bassist!eunseok x good girl!reader |

JUNG SUNGCHAN as the RAPPER of BAMBI

🎧: Nowhere (feat. The Kickdrums) by DUCKWRTH

innocent and non-assuming, sungchan’s cardinal sin was letting people in too quickly. what will he do when he’s face to face with someone who knows him too well . . . . . .

rapper!sungchan x stalker!reader | 10k words

PARK WONBIN as the GUITARIST of HALYCON

🎧: Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino by Arctic Monkeys

an up and coming indie duo are interviewed for the first time. even though they’re shrouded in mystery their complicated history and rise to fame becomes more and more exposed . . . . . .

guitarist!wonbin x bassist!reader | 13k words

LEE SOHEE as the VOCALIST of DRAGON TEETH

🎧: Welcome Interstate Managers by Fountains of Wayne

dingy dive bars in the abysmal northeast is one place to get discovered or make a quick buck. sohee ends up finding out you can get something else there as well . . . . . .

vocalist!sohee x bartender!reader | 13.8k words

LEE ANTON as the PRODUCER of VENUSIAN

🎧: Nobody Is Listening by ZAYN

a musical prodigy without a creative bone in his body. at the risk of becoming a one hit wonder anton looks up to venus as a last ditch resort. as if on cue inspiration falls from the sky . . . . . .

musician!anton x alien!reader |

#masterlistz #seriez: rock the house #riize masterlist #riize smut #riize fluff #riize angst

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irisintheafterglow · 5 months ago

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lights, camera, bitch, smile!

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: taylor swift - "i can do it with a broken heart"

summary: it's your first time headlining the biggest music festival in the country, and your guitarist is nowhere to be found. good thing your other headliner-- and billboard chart rival-- can play guitar, right? right? (rockstar!gojo x popstar!reader)

wc: 2.73k

cw/tags: implied fem!reader but gn pronouns used, rivals to lovers, he falls first, mild angst (descriptions of a panic attack)/fluff with happy ending

note: this is another fic as a part of @ficsforgaza and a gift for @um-no-ok for donating and supporting palestinian families! interested in being a part of this initiative? check out my masterpost ! hope you enjoy this, i had a lot of fun writing it :)

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

“You’re sure the flight is still running late?” You plead, head in your hands as the tech lead, your publicist, and your manager sit apologetically on the other sofa in your trailer. “We can’t send out a car to go grab them from the airport as soon as they land?”

“Getting off festival grounds will be hard enough, not to mention battling the traffic of incoming guests,” the tech guy reminds you with a shake of his head, exhaling deeply as his radio crackles, another warning that you need to be on stage to sound check. In a matter of hours, you would be headlining the biggest music festival in the country, and both your guitarists were stranded hundreds of miles away. They should have known better than to take a gig right before the festival, but you let them do it anyway because it was only a 30 minute flight between the airports. But, after a stray bird flock nearly downed another passenger plane, the tarmac was backed up for the time being. “Can you try asking around to see if someone can fill in for them?”

“And maybe hire them instead,” your publicist mutters under her breath, seething. You shoot her a wry smile, absentmindedly fidgeting with the plug of your in-ear monitors.

“The band is out trying to find guitarists, but it’ll be hard to ask someone to fill in because of scheduling issues and the number of stages there are this year.” Your manager takes a peek at her watch and looks at you with regret. “You need to go soundcheck, guitarists or not.”

“We have a drummer, a bassist, two keyboardists, and a vocalist. You’re gonna make them go out there with a jazz band and expect them to sing the biggest pop songs on the planet?” Your publicist, bless her heart, voices what you’d been dreading since you got the call from your lead guitarist. It was the biggest test to your professionalism since your career took off and you silently wished you’d paid attention to those tour bus guitar lessons. “How bad would it be to push back the set, even thirty minutes?”

“Bad, very bad. There’ve already been more delays than anticipated that aren’t music related,” the tech lead replies with a grimace. Your publicist curses under her breath and gives you a look telling you to get on stage. “And, it’s too late to fly in guitar tracks, even if we had them.” Shit. You’d just have to trust your team to figure something out, you figure, grabbing your sunglasses from the coffee table and exiting the trailer.

The rest of your band is already plugged in by the time the golf cart drives you to the main stage where you’d be performing. The ruthless summer sun competed with barely any clouds, blazing anything in its sight and leaving you breaking a sweat, even in the shade. A stage hand slips a wireless pack onto the waistband of your shorts and the click of the volume knob brings you the dweedling sounds of your band. The audience lot is relatively empty, thankfully, save for a few brave souls who were taking care of sound. Steeling your nerves, you shoot the audio tent a thumbs up, pop in your in-ears, and wait for the click track to run.

CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Intro, 2-3-4. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

The synth intro of your walkout song rings concerningly quiet in your ears and you tap your in-ears a few times, signaling the sound tent with a thumbs-up until the rest of the keyboards are audible. Not a great start to sound check, but that’s what this time was for, right?

CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Drums and bass in. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

Nothing.

The click continues its monotonous beat and you vaguely make out bass at the bottom of your mix, but you and your drummer look at each other with the same confused expression. She taps her ears, shaking her head.

“W-Wait, wait, wait. Can we stop, please?” You speak your request into your mic, disheartened to not hear your own voice in your mix. The synths stop abruptly, as does bass, and a dozen tech people rush onstage to fix various audio problems. “This is a nightmare,” you mutter, wiping the beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead.

“It’s always mix issues, isn’t it?” As if your irritation couldn’t increase, your eye twitches on its own when you register the voice of the person standing at the bottom of the stage. All shining white hair and dark, round rimmed sunglasses, Gojo Satoru was the last person you wanted to be interacting with. To say he looked good would be an understatement and your eyes look for any place to focus on other than his chest under his unbuttoned shirt. “For what it’s worth, you sound pretty on the mic.”

“What do you want?” Your voice is tired already, as is your entire body. Figuring out who would replace both your guitarists had sapped your energy and doors weren’t even open yet. “I don’t have the time nor the energy to debate with you today–”

“Heard you were looking for guitarists,” he cuts in and you narrow your eyes. The last thing you needed was your Billboard chart rival mocking you and your current situation. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that. You and I both know you’re in a less-than-ideal spot right now.”

“Choose your next words very wisely, Gojo,” you seethe, using every ounce of your willpower to remain civil. “If you’re here to tease me, I don’t wanna fucking hear it.”

“I wanna help you,” he says before you’ve stalked out of earshot. “I can fill in for your lead and Suguru can play rhythm. I’ve already talked to him about it and he’s down. We’ve got the chords alright, but if anything funky happens, we’ll just follow your bassist. We’re pros for a reason, aren’t we?”

“I don’t need your help, Gojo,” you lie, desperately looking around for anything to get you out of this conversation.

“Thought I told you to call me Satoru when we were at that awards show.” His voice was always velvet smooth, disarmingly charming, and you hated the way it drew you in like a moth to a candle.

“I don’t remember that; and, if you did, I still don’t care.” We’re back on, says a voice through your ears. Starting the click on your cue, lead.

“Seems like you don’t remember a lot about what happened that night. I wouldn’t mind recounting it for you since it seemed like you had so much fun,” he baits coolly and you fall for it, storming back to the front of the stage and looking him square in his pretty face. Memory remnants of dancing in colorful strobe lights and running your hands through his hair appear in your mind’s eye before you can stop them, and it must register on your face. “Ah, so maybe you do remember what happened if you’re this angry about it.”

“We’re rivals, Gojo,” you hiss, your vision close to going scarlet. “We’re not supposed to be buddy-buddy, and what happened at that afterparty was a slip of my better judgment.”

“We’re not supposed to be, or you’re scared to be?” His question hangs in the air and you have no choice but to glare at him, waiting for him to back down when you know he never will. After a long pause, he sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. “Look, I know you’re in need of guitarists and I just wanna help. Consider it a favor.”

“Favors need to be paid back,” you counter skeptically, “and you’re the last person I want to owe.”

“Not my kind of favors,” he says, more genuinely than you’re used to him being. “Just…think about it, yeah?” You don’t have time to dwell on why he was being so nice to you, though, as you give the audio tent a thumbs-up again. CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Intro, 2-3-4. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

By the time you’ve suffered through soundcheck, changed into your stage outfit, and inhaled more setting spray than should be considered healthy, the sun has become a laser. Gojo is nowhere to be found, thankfully, and you spend the rest of the time before your set pacing your trailer like a caged animal. There wasn’t any room in your mind to think about the crowd, the heat, or the extensive team counting on you to make it a worthwhile show. All that you could focus on was your lack of guitarists and the proposition from your #1 enemy in the music industry. Before you could cross from the kitchen tile to the living area carpet for the umpteenth time, the door threw itself open to reveal your breathless manager.

“We found guitarists! Let’s go, before they change their mind,” she commands. You thank the music festival gods for whomever she found, even happier knowing that it couldn’t be Gojo and Geto because their band had just finished on the other largest stage. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you answer uneasily, still reeling from switching panic-mode into show-mode within minutes. “Let’s just hope they’re good.”

This next artist needs no introduction…

The golf cart parks sidestage.

Dominating the pop charts for twelve straight weeks, taking the industry by storm…

You wink at the handful of screaming fans that spot you before ducking backstage.

And nominated for the most prestigious awards in the music world…

The stagehand slips the pack onto the waistband of your pants and hands you a mic.

Performing live and streaming around the world… [CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Intro, 2-3-4. 1…2…1-2-3 and–] Make some noise for–

“Yo, Satoru. You got an extra pick?” Your synths come in at the same time you whirl around, heart dropping into your stomach when you see the two guitarists behind you. You recognize Geto with his signature black hair tied up in a bun and catching rays of sunlight reflecting off the turtle shell body of his electric guitar. The limited interactions you had with Geto were pleasant, but the same couldn’t be said about the other musician fishing a pick from his leather pants. “Thanks,” Geto says as he sticks the spare in his pocket, clocking your shocked expression and giving you an apologetic shrug. “Sorry we’re a little late, the set ran a little long because this dumbass wanted to do another encore. I made the golf cart guy race over here, though.” He motions in the direction of your temporary lead guitarist, who unsuccessfully tries to clean his sunglasses with his fishnet shirt. “Oi, hotshot. Get ready, we’re on soon.” CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Drums and bass in. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

“They’re smudged,” Gojo pouts and you act without thinking, snatching the glasses from his hands, wiping it on your own costume, and handing it back to him without meeting his gaze. “Oh. Thank you,” he mumbles, sticking them on his face and trying to catch your eye. There were too many things happening at once for you to worry about him.

“Mhmm. Thanks for filling in,” you choke out with no trace of malice, the pressure in your forehead and chest becoming suffocating. The gravity of your performance crashes down on you in one disorienting wave and you blink in an attempt to clear the sudden blurry spots in your vision. Hundreds of thousands of eyes, waiting on you, watching you, worshiping you. The biggest performance of your career thus far, and you were going onstage prepared with nothing but a terrible soundcheck and two rock stars that probably didn’t give a shit about pop music. It was too much, it was all too much–

“Hey.” It’s him, breaking through the static as the click fades into the background, any panic replaced by the feeling of your biggest rival lightly touching the side of your face. He wipes a stray bead of sweat from your forehead, and you’re close enough to see every shimmering fleck of turquoise in his eyes. The crowd noise is staggering, but all he sees is you. “You look beautiful.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, barely able to verbalize your panic. He understands anyway, confidence radiating from his body.

“I’m with you. I’ve gotcha,” he reassures you, letting you mirror him as he takes a deep breath. “You trust me?” CLICK! 2-3-4. CLICK! 2-3-4. Guitars in, vocals enter. 1…2…1-2-3 and–

“I-I do.”

“Great.” His grin is dazzling, heart-stopping. All of him, he’s yours. “Let’s have some fun, then.”

—

You sleepily blink open an eye as you register the ringtone for your publicist playing on the nightstand. Outstretching a tired arm, you find it a little hard to move with the other occupant of the bed securing you against his chest. You mutter Satoru’s name, unsure if he’s awake yet; he grunts with his eyes still closed and you figure it’s unconscious, the way his muscles tighten around your waist to pull you closer. You groan as the phone screen blinks off, then on again with another insistent call.

“Satoru, you need to let me go.”

“I already did that once,” he mumbles into the pillowcase, “and I’m not making that mistake again.”

“I need to pick up the phone, baby. It’s my publicist,” you counter gently and it’s his turn to groan, reluctantly peeling away to rub his eyes. “Thank you,” you say sweetly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before answering the phone.

There you are. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty, says your publicist, her incredulity obvious.

“Mhmm, good morning to you too. Everything okay?” You squint against the morning sun breaking through the windows of Satoru’s loft, the city skyline casting rainbows on the walls.

Everything’s great, just wanted to let you know what’s been happening media-wise.

“They figure out where we are yet?”

Not yet, no. But, you know how these things go. They’ll find you eventually, so savor the time you have with him now. Right now, you have a lot of late-night outlets asking for interviews and a few charity ball performances lined up. It’s all stuff you can handle, don’t worry. Aside from the scheduling talk, her warnings were things you already knew. It was weeks before social media users finally settled down after Satoru and Suguru joined you on stage. Satoru had even convinced you to create a burner account so you could scroll through all the edits and fancams of you two. Now that you’d reconciled your feelings about Satoru and agreed to let you two make up for all the time you lost to your stubbornness, it was relatively peaceful. On another note, I did see a pretty cute reel counting all the times he looked at you during your festival set.

“Yeah? And how many times was it?”

More than you looked at him, which is saying something, she chuckles. I’m still reeling from how chaotic the crowd was when those two walked out with you. You’d think there was a fire breaking out, or something.

“They were pretty loud, weren’t they?” You smile softly at the memory of strutting out in your boots with Satoru and Suguru on either side of you. “I think they went crazier when Satoru started soloing, though.”

“I’m not called the best for nothing, sweetheart,” he murmurs from behind you with a smirk. “These hands are worth millions, and you get them for free–”

“Okay, that’s enough from you,” you cut in before he says anything more. “Please, ignore him.”

What’d he say?

“Nothing important.” Your cheeks heat and you shoot him a look over your shoulder, only to be met by a self-satisfied wink that makes your heart race.

I’ll take your word for it. What’s your plans for today?

“Breakfast, probably, and then maybe head down to the shopping district.”

That’s pretty public, no?

“I don’t mind. I’m ready for whatever they throw at us,” you shrug, honestly feeling like you couldn’t care less about being seen with Satoru. You look over at him again and find boyish, giddy excitement written all over his face. He was yours and you were his, mind, body, and soul. Let the cameras come, let the tabloids rave, let the fake fans criticize, you think to yourself.

As long as you two were together, you were untouchable.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#fics for gaza #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #gojo angst #rockstar!gojo au

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nvrswrld · 1 month ago

Note

can you do rodrick heffley x gn reader who is also in a band and is the drummer ? maybe like an enemies/rivals to lovers situation idk

You and I — Rodrick Heffley

"Without you there is no reason for my story / And when I'm with you I can always act the same / Forever, yeah, if we're together / We can make it better"

— in which your rivalry finally concludes.

rodrick heffley x gn!reader

tags: rivals to lovers, not proof-read, kinda rushed at the end

notes: bless your soul for requesting this, i had literally so much fun writing it <33 i also took inspiration from lemonade mouth for the setting, which is a fuckin banger movie

Like a coyote and a lamb. Like a predator and its prey. He was always there—watching. Waiting for the moment you slipped up. At least, that was his excuse. Whenever someone asked, "hey Rodrick, if you hate y/n so much, why are you always showing up to their band's gigs?" he'd always say the same thing.

He craved your embarrassment. It's always been that way.

You had a better reputation. Despite your band being as popular as his (so not very), people never criticized it because your music was decent. And you—in his eyes—were perfect. You were everything he sometimes wished he was. You had what he wanted. Even if what you had wasn't much to be proud of, he still wanted it. Rodrick Heffley was jealous of you. Of the way people looked at you and not him. So, to see him sitting at a table all alone, staring right at you; not trying to be subtle in the slightest. It wasn't surprising, and it definitely wasn't new. In fact, you'd be shocked if he missed any of your gigs.

You were playing at a pizza joint, which was probably not the ideal place for a rock band to play, but your group was taking whatever they could get. A gig is a gig and publicity is publicity. It was a win-win in your book. Aside from Rodrick's envious glare from across the room, it was a good night.

Until after you guys played, at least. See, there were four of you. Ryan, the lead guitarist. Courtney, the vocalist. Owen, the bassist. And you, the drummer. All four of you were equally a mess. A very unorganized mess.

After playing, you treated yourselves to pizza and refreshments to celebrate a good night. The thing was that Courtney and Ryan were dating, and they weren't uncomfortable with the concept of PDA. Fortunately for Owen, his mom picked him up early. You, however, were not lucky, meaning that after taking a moment in the bathroom, you came back to see the booth you were sitting at empty, aside from the leftover food.

You knew Ryan and Courtney long enough to know what happened. They were either making out in the backseat of his car, or they left the property completely and drove back to one of their houses to make out. And considering the fact that Ryan was the one who picked you up, you were completely fucked. Your dad's car was stuck at a repair shop and your mom had no clue how to drive. You couldn't even catch an Uber because you were broke as hell.

Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was the universe being your number one hater.

One thing led to another and now you're sitting in the passenger seat of Rodrick's van, holding onto the grab handle for dear life as he sped down the street. Your drum set slid around the back of the van, taking hard hits every time he took a sharp turn. If he kept this up any longer, you'd probably get carsick.

"For the love of all things holy, slow down!" You desperately yelled over the sound of the engine purring. He gave you an unimpressed look before sighing and slamming his foot onto the brake, making the car come to a sudden stop. You almost flew out of your seat from the impact.

"Of course," he began, "leave it to y/n to ruin the fun." You brushed your hair out of your face and sent a glare his way.

"I'm sooo sorry for worrying about our safety," you shot back sarcastically. "Could you maybe try to drive like a normal person, for a change?" He glanced out his car window and smirked, pretending to put effort into considering your request.

"Huh, let me think about it... No." His smirk dropped and was replaced with his usual look of displeasure. You scoffed and threw your head back against the headrest in defeat. You should've known asking him such a thing would be a waste of breath. It's not like this was your first time driving with him. Every time you asked for him to slow down, he just ignored you; pretending that he couldn't hear you basically screaming over the engine. But for some reason, he didn't do that this time...

When he started driving again, he only went two miles over the speed limit instead of the usual twenty-plus. He was listening to you, and it was weird. Not that you hated it. Much like any normal person, you were quite grateful that your life wasn't currently on the line because of an idiot of a driver. It didn't even make sense for him to have a driver's license.

At least, you assumed he had one.

Thanks to the speed he was going, you managed to calm your racing heart and relax your muscles. You let go of the grab handle and let your hands fall to your lap. A beat of silence passed as Rodrick focused on the road.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" You asked, referring to the gig. The boy beside you didn't spare you a glance, keeping his eyes focused on the road in the meantime.

"Do you even have to ask?"

"Y'know, you usually say no, but I saw you bopping your head a few times." In response to your comment, he slammed the brakes a second time, causing your body to fly forward aggressively. You cursed under your breath and rubbed the back of your head to soothe the pain from banging into the headrest.

He, however, was unfazed and proceeded to drive. "Can it, asswipe." But you could see the hint of a smile creeping up on the corner of his lips. You rolled your eyes and rested your head against the car door window. "Why are you so..."

"So?"

"...I don't know. Why do you hate me so much?" It's not like you ever did anything to hurt him. When you first met, you tried to be nothing but kind to him. Yet, ever since he found out about your little talent, he made his strong disdain for you clearer than glass. "It's like you enjoy being confusing."

He hesitated, debating on whether to answer your question or leave you guessing. On one hand, he didn't feel like having this conversation with you, but on the other, he knew that you wouldn't take the latter for an answer.

"I don't hate you. What makes you say that?" He asked innocently, trying his best to walk around your question. You gave him a look of disbelief and sneered at his utter bullshit lie.

"You don't hate me? Yeah okay, that explains why you're always glaring at me at every chance you get. Why you always mock me whenever I say literally anything. Why you try to get in crashes every time you drive me home."

"To be fair, I always drive like that," he spoke in defense. "And I don't glare at you all the time."

"Then what—the hell—were you doing while I was playing?"

"Inspecting you." You rolled your eyes for what had to have been the hundredth time that night. Of course he wasn't holding himself accountable; why would he? He didn't owe you anything, and you never expected any less. "You're not special, y/n. Are you that self-centered that you think I have a problem with you?"

That question angered you. He was obviously trying to get under your skin, and by God, it was working. "I'm not self-centered, dipshit. I'm observant. So now that we're alone, you might as well tell me what your problem is, Rodrick."

For the second time, he was silenced. But it only lasted for a little while. Contrary to the stern look on his face, his voice was soft. "I don't hate you, y/n," he reiterated. "You're just... I don't know how to feel about you."

It was like a never-ending battle with himself. He wanted to hate you, but he couldn't. He had no valid reason to. You were nice to him no matter how many times he chose to be a dick to you. He wasn't confusing, Rodrick thought. You were confusing. Why were you so nice to him? He never deserved it. How long would it take for your patience to finally run low? Yeah, you were doing better than him in terms of social hierarchy, but you had no control over people liking you. And that answered a question for him so flawlessly: if you weren't in the picture, would anything change? Would he have the spotlight?

The answer was short, but far from sweet. Nothing would change. He'd still be the Rodrick that everyone knew and hated. You were a naturally likable person, while he was the odd one out. If he was to hate anyone, it should've been himself.

"You annoy the hell out of me and you don't even have to try." It was absurd. "You make me think about how much of an asshole I am, and I hate thinking about my actions." You held back a laugh but allowed a smile to fall upon your face.

He continued his rant. "I guess what I'm thinking is that you're a perfect example of who people want me to be. And with you being a drummer as well, it's just even more annoying. Like a comparison for everyone to see." It was like he was in your shadow, and you weren't even aware of it.

You took a deep breath and let the air escape through your nose. His words were a lot to take in, and you weren't expecting such hard-hitting reasoning from such a dull guy. Then again, you always knew he didn't apply his full potential in certain situations, so it was hard to tell with him. "Rodrick," you started, your voice soft and understanding, "I'm not all that great, and I really hope you know that. Don't beat yourself up just because I'm too much of a coward to be mean to people."

He raised an eyebrow at your words, urging you to keep talking. You complied. "The only reason why I'm not going around cursing people out is because I'm actually trying to not get my ass beat. I don't like everyone—hell, I barely like anyone at that fucked up school. But that's what differentiates us. I'm a coward and you're not."

You spoke with full sincerity and vulnerability. You were opening up to him. "It's not like I'm a perfect angel or something. I'm just a pussy. And sometimes I wish I were as confident as you are."

The only reason why you were a sweetheart to everyone was to avoid conflict. Rodrick bit his bottom lip as he listened to you. "So you just let people walk all over you? Seriously?"

"That's the only reason so many people like me," you answered. "People don't care about you being nice. It's all about whether you're a doormat or not." You unfortunately had a point. People only came to you when they needed something. "You aren't a doormat and you're not afraid to be yourself. That's why people hate you."

"So you shouldn't hate me, or whatever the case is," you explained. "Because, truth be told, you're better than me."

That last sentence was enough to make him do a double-take. At first, he was surprised at your admission, but now he was laughing. You furrowed your eyebrows, assuming that he wasn't taking your heartfelt commentary seriously. "What's so funny?"

Rodrick shook his head as he continued to snicker. "Man, I never thought I'd live to see the day you'd admit that I'm better than you." He hit your shoulder playfully with the back of his free hand, completely ignoring your semi-annoyed expression.

"Rodrick, I'm being serious."

"I know that. That's what makes it hilarious." Eventually, his van drove up to a red light and came to a stop. He rubbed his face with his hands and let out one last airy laugh. "Shit, y/n..."

You glared at him for a few more seconds before staring down at your lap. A smile slowly forced its way onto your face. You wanted to laugh because of him. He was so childish...

"I really couldn't hate you if I wanted to," he confessed. "Thanks for the compliment though, dork."

You didn't think much of his comment. Instead, you enjoyed the one rare time you and him weren't trying to strangle each other. Not like you ever hated it. It was more entertaining than anything, and you looked forward to it most days. Sometimes, the insults he called you were a little too funny to ruin your day. Now that you thought about it, Rodrick never did offend you. You liked your stupid little rivalry.

...huh.

"...I don't hate you either," you muttered awkwardly. "In case you're wondering."

"I knew that, but I never understood why." You simply shrugged and watched the cars beside you begin to move once the light turned green again.

"You never gave me a reason to. I mean, I never really took your insults seriously." You didn't need to look at him to know that he was unsure about what you were saying. "You're not as intimidating as you think you are. Far from it actually."

"Oh really? Then what am I to you?" He asked. You could've sworn there was some sort of smug aura to him. "What do you want to be?" You questioned. He shook his head with his signature smile, refusing to answer your question. He wasn't smiling out of joy, he was smiling out of uneasiness. "That's a stupid question to ask."

"Why are you avoiding it?"

"Because it's stupid."

"You basically asked me the same thing!"

"Yet you never answered me." He got you there. But you weren't sure how to answer the question. It was like trying to take a shot at someone in the dark. What was Rodrick to you? You were never sure if you could consider him a friend, but he wasn't your enemy as far as you were concerned.

"I don't know what you are to me," you answered truthfully. "Seriously, we have, like, a love-hate relationship or something... Not that I can even call it that since I don't hate you. So, I don't know."

You turned to him and stared at him with your curious eyes. "Now answer my question."

As you said that, he pulled into the driveway of your house. He pulled his hand away from the steering wheel and folded his arms against his chest. He looked down at his lap, much like what you did whenever you got nervous or annoyed. "Alright, I'll be real with you."

"It wouldn't, like, suck if I was, like, yours, or something." You paused. Actually, it felt like the whole world paused at that moment. Rodrick Heffley, that demon of a boy, liked you. You weren't embarrassed. You were shocked. Mainly because all of that tormenting he did was just an act, and that was a little hard to believe. But it all made sense once you remembered what he told you.

He couldn't hate you if he wanted to.

Once the shock finally cleared, you grinned and scratched at your neck anxiously. "Oh yeah? That's how you feel?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" You rolled your eyes and unbuckled your seatbelt before opening the door and climbing out of his van. "Come help me." Rodrick let out a groan that was mixed with both annoyance and fear. Fear that you would make fun of him for thinking of you in such a way. He got out on his side and sluggishly walked to the back of the van to help you carry your drum set to your garage.

"Y'know, you can just hurry up and hit me with the 'ew no, don't ever talk to me again'," he offered. "It wouldn't be the first time I heard it."

"What makes you think I'd say that?" You inquired. He let out a scoff. "Why wouldn't you?" It would make more sense if you did.

You both stayed silent as you brought your equipment back to your garage. When you finished, Rodrick began to walk back to his van. But you stopped him before he could get back in.

"Hey, Rod?" He hummed and turned around to face you. You walked up to him, took him by his cheek using your thumb and index finger, and pulled him down so you could press a short peck onto his lips. Afterward, you pulled away from his lips but stayed in his proximity. "Call me when you get home," you ordered in a quiet, smooth tone, "okay?"

He stared down at you in astonishment, his mouth hanging ajar as he tried to process what the hell happened in the last ten seconds.

"Uh—yeah, uh... I can do that," he muttered bashfully. You responded with a 'good' and gently patted his cheek two times before walking to your front door as if you hadn't just flipped the guy's entire world upside down.

"I'll be waiting," you called out before shutting the door and leaving Rodrick outside, frozen in place.

It was totally fate.

written by @nvrswrld

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick heffley imagine #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid #doawk rodrick #doawk

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discordantwritings · 5 months ago

Text

Rock Hard (Rock Band! Cross Guild x Reader)

Part 4. The Drummer

Prelude // The Vocalist // The Guitarist // The Drummer

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, Crocodile is an asshole (I mean it), Crocodile calls you a whore in a derogatory sense but you straighten him out about that, possessive Crocodile, light choking, desk sex, PiV sex, creampie

WC: 2.5k

Summary: Of course Crocodile finds out about you and Buggy. And you and Mihawk. Because that’s just the way your life is going. He seems to be taking the news extremely poorly.

Notes: y’all wanted mean Crocodile, you get mean Crocodile

Tagging: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @keiva1000

You contemplate never going to work again. Preferably faking your own death, creating a new identity, and starting over in some small European country where they don’t have internet and you can just be a sheep farmer. That seems like the more reasonable solution- as opposed to getting out of bed and facing Mihawk or Buggy. You could call in sick but for some reason that’s worse than any of the previous options so you begrudgingly peel yourself out of bed to get ready for work.

Your only saving grace is that you’re working with Crocodile today and ironing out sponsors for their first concert- a task that shouldn’t involve either of the men you’re desperate to avoid. If you keep your head down you should be able to artfully dodge them.

And by artfully dodge you mean using the stairs and fast walking though hallways as you don’t bother to stop at your own desk- opting to start your day in Crocodile’s office. You hover at the door to his office, listening to make sure there’s no one else in there (like other pesky band members) before knocking. He tells you to come in and you do, relieved to see he’s alone.

“Did you get the papers I left on your desk?” Is his first question and it has you cursing under your breath.

“Sorry- I must have missed it-“ You know your lie is caught the second he looks at you with one eyebrow raised.

“I came straight here, I was running late.” Another lie, but a better one that Crocodile seems to accept.

“I’ll have Daz grab them off your desk in a bit, there’s something I need to talk to you about first.” He motions for you to sit at one of the chairs across from his desk.

You hesitate, walking closer but stay standing behind the chair. “Something wrong with the venue?”

“No, everything with that is going fine. It’s something more personal.”

Shit.

“Last night I had to stop a fist fight from breaking out between Buggy and Mihawk.”

Fuck.

“Would you happen to know anything about why that might have happened?”

You can tell by his tone of voice his question is rhetorical, and you wish you had followed through with your plan on faking your death. Taking a deep breath, you dig deep to find some sort of reasonable response.

“I’m sorry. Some of my actions have been incredibly unprofessional.” You keep your eyes glued on the chair in front of you but you can still feel Crocodile’s glare burning into you.

“Unprofessional? Look if I had know you’d be such a whore-“

That last word has you seeing red and your gaze snaps up to meet his. “Excuse me? I understand that I fucked up but that gives you no right to call me that. If you’re going to call anyone a whore look at your bandmates and take your pick. Buggy begged for weeks and Mihawk couldn’t stand the concept of Buggy having something up on him that he dragged me into a closet. Get your fucking facts straight before you decide to start throwing names around.”

Standing up to him throws Crocodile for a second, and you watch his glare falter into surprise for a second before coming back as he stands up and rounds his desk. “Oh, I’m sorry, is weak willed more appropriate? Degenerate? Pathetic?”

He’s standing over you now, large frame crowding yours in an attempt to make shrink back. You don’t.

“Does saying that make you feel better? Or do you just get off on talking like that to your subordinates?” Anger and adrenaline fueled your words, not backing down even when his body moved to cage you against his desk.

“What makes you think you can talk to me like that?” His prosthetic, an expensive robotic hand, slams into the desk by your side but you don’t flinch.

“You’re already going to fire me. I might as well keep what’s left of my pride.” You answer honestly, not breaking eye contact.

Crocodile laughs- honest to god laughs at that. “Well, I guess I can appreciate that.”

Silence hangs in the air as his body continues to press the backs of your thighs into his desk. You’re not sure what to say, only that you’re not going to try and slink away and lose this fight.

“I had to stop Mihawk from denting Buggy’s painted face in. Buggy was getting awfully descriptive to get under his skin.” Crocodile muses and you grimace.

“I’m going to kill both of them.”

Crocodile doesn’t respond but as the silence stretches on you notice the way he’s carefully looking over you, gaze dragging down your face and neck. His hips are square with yours but hovering just out of indecent range and then it all clicks.

“You fucking hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?” Crocodile tone lowers, clearly pissed.

“You’re just like them! Probably mostly like Mihawk if I had to guess.” You stand up straight, chest pressing into his. “You’re mad that Buggy had something up on you. You insecure, petty-“

You’re cut off as his hand shoots up and grabs your jaw, forcing your face to keep staring up at him but giving him more control. You flinched back at the move but try not to let it scare you- the second he actually hurts you your knee is perfectly set up to hit his groin.

“You can dish it out but you can’t handle it?” You fire back, voice slightly muffled by the way his fingers dig into your cheeks.

“I would never get jealous over anything involving that clown. And I can take a lot more than a few rather tame insults.” His grip tightens. “What I don’t appreciate are brats.”

“The way you’re looking at me suggests otherwise.”

Your knee, which was previously itching to debilitate him, creeps up slowly and you can feel his hard length straining against his pants. He makes a noise almost like a growl when you press down and you grin wide. The grip on your jaw turns slack as he grinds his length against your knee before settling even closer to you, pressure held against his cock.

“Just admit it Crocodile.” You whisper, tilting your head so it’s laying gently in his hand. “Admit that you’re jealous.”

“Fuck you.” Despite his words his thumb caresses your jaw and his hips slowly grind into your knee again.

“I’ll leave. You need this more than I do. Say it.” You press you knee in further, getting close to hurting him with the amount of pressure you’re exerting.

“I’m not jealous.” He restates, but there’s less bite to the statement.

“Fine.” You straighten your leg back out and his reaction is immediate.

“Fuck- wait a damn-“ His grip on your face tightens once again and you feel his other hand grab onto your hip.

Despite him holding your face he doesn’t look at you, eyes focused downwards as he works through the thoughts in his head. He moves your jaw, tilting it slightly to the side as he leans down to bring his face to the column of your neck. His breath is hot as it fans over your skin and his nose slightly nudges you.

“I’m not jealous.” You’re about to wrench out of his grip but when he continues you still. “I’m competitive. I’m possessive. Just like Mihawk I thought about you under that fucking clown- and then with him-“

“You probably didn’t even like me until Buggy-“ You begin to snarl but Crocodile cuts your off by finally moving to look in your eyes.

“I’m not a toddler and you’re not a fucking toy. You’ve had my gaze for some time why do you- I remembered you from Marines. I spotted you then and I remembered you and that’s why you’re here. You stood out to me and I chose you to be my manager. I chose you.” There’s a sincerity to his words that catches you off guard- a sharp contrast to the argumentative push and pull.

Your eyes scan his face for any trace of deceit but you can’t find it and you find yourself floundering as the game suddenly changed. You find yourself melting into his strong grip almost against your will.

“Don’t lie to me.” You whisper, now afraid of the emotional weight added.

“I’m not. I haven’t. I won’t.” He promises.

And you believe him.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

You surge forward to close the small gap between you two, mouths roughly meeting. His hand slips down to your neck as your tongues and teeth clash in the messy, heated kiss. His teeth tug at your bottom lip as the hand around your neck grips loosely, just enough to feel that he has control over you.

With one of your free hands you reach down and slide a hand roughly underneath the waistband of his pants to palm at his erection. He groans into your mouth as he moves his hips to grind into your hand. Before you can reach your fingers around him your hand is yanked out and Crocodile is stepping away.

“Pants off. Now.” He barks and while your hands automatically go to the fastenings on your pants you pause once you think about it.

“If you want them off so bad-“ You don’t get the rest of that bratty thought out of your head before Crocodile is manhandling you.

He turns you around and pushes between your shoulder blades until your chest hits his desk. Before you can even complain your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles and his foot kicks yours so your legs are spread wide.

“Smart fucking mouth- gonna make you shut up-“ You hear the click of his belt and the unzipping of his pants and that keeps you glued to the desk.

“Look at this. So fucking wet. You love getting pushed around?” You feel his tip drag along your entrance and you moan, but that’s not good enough. “Use your words.”

“Yes-“ You whine and are rewarded when his tip presses into you.

“That’s right- that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You try to think of some clever retort but lose every single thought in your head when he pushes himself all the way into your in one sharp motion. Both of you moan loud as he bottoms out inside of you. There’s a sharp pain that makes you feel like you might be ripped in half but as he grinds himself in and grips your hips it quickly fades into pleasure.

“That’s it- just needed to be stuffed full with my cock- fuck-“ The grip on your hips is bruising as he starts to move, thick length dragging out and then snapping back in.

The sharp thrusts force your thighs to dig into the hard corner of the desk but the pain adds wonderfully to the flood of sensations. Crocodile sneaks one of his hands around your neck and pulls you back just enough so he can bite into your neck, another pain that makes your head dizzy with pleasure. You know exactly what he’s doing- marking you so the other two will know exactly what happened. The thought is electric as you imagine what Buggy and Mihawk’s reaction will be.

“You’re so fucking tight around me- can’t wait to feel you cum all over my cock-“ The hand around your neck grips tighter, not cutting off your air in any way but keeping you firmly locked against him.

His other hand reaches down and presses into your clit causing you to moan and clench around him. You know you’re close but you can’t tell him, all you can do is moan and whine as he pounds into you.

“Tell me- either of them cum inside you? Did they claim you like that?” He asks and you shake your head no- the correct answer. “Fuck- that’s right- gonna fill you up- make you mine-“

You cum hard around him, vision whiting out as he keeps relentlessly thrusting into you.

“I’m- fuck-“ He swears loud as he stops buried all the way inside you, his cum shooting out deep into you.

He holds himself in there, grip around your neck still keeping you up. Both of you pant and you can feel both of your cum sliding out of you and onto the desk below, but you can’t bring yourself to care about the mess. Crocodile kisses your neck right where he bit into it before letting you go and you let yourself lay on his desk while he slides himself out of you. You hear him shuffling around and after a few moments you feel him lightly wiping you off with some tissues.

“Thanks.” Is all you can manage, looking over your shoulder to give him a tired smile.

“You can lay down on the couch.” He offers, head tilting towards the ridiculously expensive couch off towards the side of his office.

“Not kicking me out?” You ask, half joking, half not as you take up his offer and wobble over to lay down.

“Of course not.” He straightens up some of the papers and pens you both scattered everywhere. “I don’t- I would hope this could be more than a one time thing.”

“You were serious.”

“Of course I was.” He stops what he was doing to walk over to you, bending down as he holds your face.

You’re confused, you’re tired, you’re overworked, and you just got fucked within an inch of your life. You were not ready for something that seems so serious. Crocodile seems to pick up on that and can’t hide a twinge of disappointment coming over his face.

“I don’t- I’ve had a long few weeks and I’m not saying no. But-“ You sigh and nuzzle into his hand. “Is this really a good time?”

He sighs, you’re right. “We really need to be focused on this first concert.”

You nod, pressing a kiss to his palm. “You will do the concert and then after we can seriously work this all out.”

“I knew I hired a good manager.” He gives you an uncharacteristically soft smile before straightening back up again. “Rest all you need today but tomorrow it’s all work.”

“Yes sir.” You respond, and you don’t miss the way his gaze snaps back to yours at the title.

“Next time, that’s the only way you’ll refer to me.” He says like a promise before returning to his desk and getting back to work.

You got comfortable on the couch, pulling one of the pillows under your head to get comfortable and rest a bit before you had to get back up. But every time you thought your head was clear thoughts of all three men flooded your head.

Again the only thought you had was of how truly fucked you were.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #x reader #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x you #cross guild x reader #the cross guild x reader #buggy x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader

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cumikering · 6 months ago

Text

Guitarist Gaz x reader

2k | fluff, teenage crush, late 90s You were in a band with Gaz

“You’re pulling my leg,” Kyle deadpanned.

“Really. My mum said I should be studying for my A-levels.” Jack hung his head as he tried to smear off the crusty mud from the side of his sole.

“But the gig is this weekend!”

“’m sorry, Gaz. She’s holding my guitar hostage. Said she’s going to sell it if I’m not home right away after classes.”

“You know we can’t do with only three members,” he said exasperatedly.

“There’s still a few days, I’ll help you find someone.”

After band practice sans Jack “mum-said-I-can’t” Wilshire, Kyle hopped onto the local forum with a grumble.

This was stupid. It would take a miracle for him to find a replacement for Jack in mere days. Regardless, he punched the words into his keyboard.

Sixth Form alt band looking for a stand-in guitarist for a birthday gig this Saturday

Later that night, his PC pinged with a notification.

Hiya, I’m interested in the gig. Where do you practice? I can meet tomorrow to see if I’m a good fit.

He breathed a sigh of relief. There was still hope. He didn’t have to cancel and embarrass himself.

Sweet. Here’s my college. See ya at the bus stop at 2 mate

The next day after classes, Kyle and his two bandmates waited at the bus stop.

“Gaz, how do you know he’s not a no-show?” Tim sat on the bench, twirling his drumsticks.

With his foot, Owen toyed with the overgrown grass under the bus stop sign. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

“Come on, lads. We need him, yeah?” He turned to them, trying to cheer up his mates. ”Let’s just hope he’s decent.”

Across the street, a bus alighted with a screech and a loud hiss. A few seconds later, it departed, revealing you behind it. You wore your college’s uniform, hair lightly tousled from the weather, your gig bag on your back.

“It’s a she?” Owen straightened up.

“Well, I assumed-“

Tim stood up, slipping his drum sticks in his back pocket as he walked over with a smile.

“No,” Kyle stood in front of him, trying to bite down his smile. “She talked to me. I go.” He marched towards you, ignoring Owen’s ‘or we could wait for her to cross the street’.

“Kyle?”

“Hiya.” He smiled, the most charming one he could muster. “Thought you were a bloke.”

You cocked your brow. “I thought the handle was obvious.”

Was it? He was too focused on the fact that he got a candidate (the only one so far).

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, well let’s go meet the lads.”

You followed as he made his way towards his mates.

“This is Owen, our bassist.” He pointed at the tall bloke with the blond buzzcut. “And this is Tim, our drummer.”

He nodded at you, his dark fringe bobbing in the air.

“And me, I’m the vocalist and lead guitarist. You’re going to be Jack’s stand-in as the rhythm guitarist. Is it okay if you play us something here? Apparently, we’re not allowed to bring non-students onto the campus.”

“Yeah, no worries.” You sat on the bench and took your guitar out. “Anything specific?”

“Nope, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

The familiar intro of Wonderwall wafted in the air. You were a little quiet at first but encouraged by the approving nods and smiles of the lads, you opened up. Kyle watched the way you strummed, fingers expertly dancing across the fretboard, chords held precisely. Your clean notes did the classic justice. They all sang the last verse together.

“Wow, that was real sweet.” Owen said.

“Watch out, Gaz, you might be the stand-in by the end of this.”

He gave Tim the side eye before smiling at you. “Should we start practicing today?”

Practice was at Tim’s the days leading up to the gig, as it always was. His spacious room was cosy and soundproof, plus his mum baked the best cookies.

How obvious was it that Kyle always wanted to sit next to you on the bus? Or let his mates walk ahead of the both of you, so he could have a little moment with you to chat?

But it was the next day that he only dared to make his move.

“It’s getting late. Would you like me to walk you home?”

You looked up as you zipped your gig bag close.

“I live closer to you than her and you never offer to walk me home,” Owen chided, making Tim cackle from the other end of the room.

He pretended not hear anything, his eyebrow rose instead as he rapidly lost his cool.

You stifled a laugh. “Okay,” you said.

Kyle beamed, flipping Owen the bird before he shut the door on his way out. He left his guitar because ‘we’ll be back tomorrow anyway’ and helped you carry yours instead.

“You hungry? That chippy is good.” He pointed at a busy shop on your way to the bus stop.

“I am, actually.” Your steps slowed.

After a bit of queuing, the both of you sat in the cramped corner of the shop.

You took small bites of your piping hot chips. “What are you doing after Sixth Form?”

“I’m enlisting in the army,” he said with pride.

You smiled. “Your parents must be so proud.”

“They are. I’ve always wanted to do this and I’m glad they’re supportive.”

“I wish you the very best, Kyle. I think you’d be a wonderful soldier.”

He beamed. “Thank you.”

The conversation continued to what you were going to study in uni, and how the both of you got into music. He told you all about his heroes and seeing how you lit up in recognition of the names made him gooey. You get me.

After the meal, you waited at the deserted bus stop, pedestrians passing occasionally.

“Can I play?” He gestured at your guitar.

You nodded and he took it out of the bag, skilfully picking the strings to Iris. You smiled in recognition of the song and couldn’t help singing along. Engrossed in the little concert, none of you registered the bus was approaching.

His hands slowed, and you turned behind you.

“Oh, need to go, need to go!” You laughed, grabbing the bag beside him, scrambling to the edge of the pavement.

He smiled behind you as you boarded. The bus had no empty seats left, and the both of you stood there facing each other as he held your guitar, resting it on his shoe.

You didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes, but he found it cute. You had a sweet smile and an even sweeter laugh. He appreciated your openness to spontaneity, loving the twinkle in your eye as you sang with him just a minute ago. You were a breath of fresh air.

The next day, Kyle offered to walk you home after dinner again. You let him, even had his hand brush against yours a few times. The next, since he finished his classes early, he asked if he could pick you up in front of your college.

He waited at the bus stop, head on a swivel, worried that he’d miss you among the sea of students. But you soon approached with your friends who giggled as they eyed him.

He smiled at the refreshing sight of you, hands pulled out of his pockets. “Hiya,” he breathed, barely glancing at your friends.

You stood in front of him as you chewed on your lip, smiling but not meeting his eyes. “Hi,” you mumbled.

One of the girls nudged you with a teasing smile before walking along.

“Oh, uh, see you on Monday, babes!” you called out to them.

“Good luck for your gig!” the blonde said.

“I hope I’m up to par for tomorrow,” you said to yourself.

“You are, trust me. We don’t need Jack anymore.”

You laughed.

“Here, let me just…” he grabbed the strap of your gig bag.

“You’re the sweetest, Kyle.”

He smiled, pulling the straps over his shoulders. I’m trying! “I got you this.” He pulled out a packet of gummy bears from his pocket.

“Thank you so much!” You tore the packet open, popping a bear into your mouth, before offering him some.

At the bus stop, he sat next to you just a little closer than a friend would.

“Oh, one of my girls let me borrow Jagged Little Pill for the weekend.” You grabbed your Discman from your bag, handing an earphone to him. “I wanted to listen to it with you.”

How did you not expect him to melt at that? When each of you had an earphone on, you hit play and he wouldn’t be mad if the bus never came. With you, this was the perfect afternoon.

He should have got more gummy bears.

You and the band played through the setlist flawlessly as the party went on. It was the most fun Kyle had had at a gig that he didn’t realise the hour was up. When Owen and Tim went off to grab food, without missing a beat, he strummed More than Words.

Kyle barely took his eyes off you as you sat across him with your guitar throughout the gig, a sweet smile on your face. If he kept playing, this would never have to end, right?

Your arms paused in the air as you took your guitar off before setting the strap back and smiling in recognition. You sat back down, your foot tapping to the gentle rhythm before joining him in singing. The crowd gathered and sang together, and you both couldn’t help dueting a few more mellow songs as Owen and Tim cheered on.

By the end of the night, Kyle was holding your hand. It was nice to not be insecure of his calloused fingers. Yours were too, like a shared secret. As you neared home, his arm grew stiff. Was this his last time walking you home?

“We don’t have anything else coming up, but you’re always welcome to swing by anytime.” He handed you your guitar. He insisted to help you with it even when he had his too. “We can just jam together.”

“What’s going to happen to Jack?”

“Like I said, we don’t need him anymore.”

You laughed. “Yeah? I should probably study for my A-Levels too.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “We can always meet at your college if you want. Or somewhere else. Wherever you want really.” I just want to keep seeing you.

You smiled. “I’d love that.”

Since then, he picked you up after classes almost every day. If not to jam at Tim’s, it was to study at your dining table. He caught the teasing looks your mum shot you that made you look away with a shy smile. He didn’t mean to, but his grades were better than ever, baffling his mates, including Jack.

Thinking of the distance that was to stretch between you was like looking up a mountain too tall to see its peak. It was irresponsible of him to ask for more as he was leaving for the army. With a heavy heart, he allowed himself to enjoy the last weeks he had with you, forced to be content with the fleeting touches and bashful gazes before they, eventually, fizzled out with time.

At the park, he played Lovefool, one of your favourites. You sat facing him, knees pulled to your chest wearing his hat he plopped down on you when you squinted at the sun earlier.

“Love me, love me, say that you love me…” He looked up from the fretboard to your pretty smile as you hummed along, hair swaying in the wind-

His strumming screeched to a stop as his heart lodged in his throat. “D- do…”

Bloody hell, Gaz, why are you stuttering like that!

You blinked. “You alright?”

“Doyouwanttobemine?”

Your smile brightened.

Oh, he was going to serenade you every chance he got, even when he was a thousand miles away from you. He hoped you didn’t mind.

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts

@rowanyaboats @mangoguy

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sl-vega · 8 months ago

Text

meet the bands!-introducing: 5WIRL

ꕥ scaramouche-part-time bassist and full time pain in the ass (according to you at least). He's the newest member of 5WIRL but already one of the most popular. Loved for his snarky personality and brutal honesty, he's gained quite the following. You don't know why he decided to join a band. He's some stuck-up rich kid who's already set for life, so why's he so into music all of a sudden? (you're totally not jealous about him being more successful than you)

♫ venti-5WIRL's vocalist and founder. Juggling his band and being part of the school band, what can't Venti do? He's the face of 5WIRL and the most popular member (scara is pretty close tho), Venti's a people person and a great friend (but not a reliable one). After hearing Scaramouche play for the first time, he basically hunted him down until he finally agreed to join. He may be multi-talented when it comes to instruments, but he'd much rather be playing with his friends than performing on his own.

🍁kazuha-the keyboardist and the songwriter for their original tracks. Kazuha's the sweetheart of the group, always being the peace maker whenever his bandmates (mainly scara) get into disputes. He's usually the one that has to break up you and Scaramouche's fighting, but he thinks the two of you could be really good friends if you just try. Hell, he thinks you guys could be even more than that.

⌕ heizou-5WIRL's guitarist and local detective. He joined the band 'cuz Kazuha wanted to, and he's been hooked since. He may have zero-interest in pursuing music as a career, but he takes the band seriously, and he's made some great friends because of it. He shares Kazuha's sentiment about you and Scaramouche. Except he's more vocal about the "more than friends" bit.

☁︎ xiao-the drummer and the "brooding, mysterious guy" of the group. He joined because he was impressed by Venti's skill, and because of Aether. The band doesn't hesitate to use Xiao's street-cred to their advantage (just ask 5WIRL and they'll tell you tons of stories about goth chicks tryna hit on him). He may seem distant and cold (well, he is) but he's a great listener and friend if you just give him the chance.

✧ aether-5WIRL's lovely manager and your ex (jury's still out on that though). He used to be the band's bassist before suffering from a serious injury due to his playing, he's recovered but he stepped down from the role and became the manager instead (because nobody is trusting Venti to book their gigs). As for the ex part, well that's a long and complicated story. But to summarize, the two of you are on good terms and you remain friends. Even though Lumine is convinced that he's still head-over-heels for you.

additional notes:

-MORE PROFILES DONE LET'S GO

-so proud of myself

-dropping a ton of lore in here

-y/n and aether being exes is a major plot point in this

-DRAMA

-but yeah i'm proud of these

masterlist

༘🎧⋆₊˚ෆ-MY HEART BEATS FOR YOU

Pairing: [BASSIST!] Scaramouche x [GUITARIST!] Reader

Genre: rivals/enemies to lovers, rivals to friends to lovers, fluff, crack (?), comedy, angst (?), slowburn, high school au, band au, modern au, social media au, smau

Synopsis: You're the lead guitarist for your band, C✧LESTIA and Scaramouche is the bassist of 5WIRL. The two of your bands have a friendly rivalry, but you and Scaramouche don't. On top of being academic rivals, you and him have never been on good terms. Always one-upping each other in grades and in music. Even your bandmates have grown tired of your constant bickering with each other. But when your usual practice hub gets flooded, you and the rest of C✧LESTIA are forced to find a new place to rehearse. So when 5WIRL offers to share their studio with you who are you to refuse? Of course, this forces you to spend time with your sworn rival whether you like it or not. But maybe the two of you can overcome your differences and actually be friends?

Or maybe even more?

(OPEN) TAGLIST: @featuredtofu, @levianamor, @danfelions, @thatoneswordgirl, @lolmeowing, @bananasquash, @xiaosantenna, @glxssmemories, @kaitfae, @mujiwuji , @peaceindreams, @peaceindreams, @freyao7, @rinquinq, @justpeachyteastea , @ladyninggs, @b2ne, @skyoverkill1, @scaradooche, @morallyrainyday, @adres-tia, @justadvena6, @agaygothicmushroom, @huanator, @seaofdata, @kyon-cherri, @aether-darling, @ukinya, @sketcheeee, @ibawa, @shutingstar, @eutopiastar, @kunimix, @wonderful-worlds, @ectomotive, @yourfavoritefreakyhan, @b4tm4nn, @h3xi2g0n3

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glossdebut · 11 days ago

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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ CH. 1 TEASER

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you. 『 series masterlist 』

✧ TEASER WARNINGS: none!

✧ NOTES: aaaah!!! i was going to wait a little while to drop this but i couldn't resist. consider this an introduction to the boys! i hope that this is a suitable teaser to kick off the series. this teaser is un-beta'd thus far, so wording is subject to change when i reach the editing stage. please feel free to sound off in the replies or my inbox with thoughts/questions! <3

✧ TEASER WORDCOUNT: 733 words

✧ STATUS: ch. 1 scheduled to drop on nov. 6, 2024!

With a flash of lights and a cacophony of sound, Burn The Stage launches into their first song on the setlist. The crowd roars around you, but you’re not here as a fan, so you try to remember everything Jeongguk taught you in preparation for tonight.

If you weren’t already close, most everything there is to learn about Jeon Jeongguk himself could easily be found with a simple Naver search.

Not only is Jeongguk the lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist of Burn The Stage, but he’s also the de facto face of the band, and he couldn’t be better suited for the job. He’s beautiful. Like, seriously beautiful. Well-built and knows it, sings songs about love and sex and anger with the sweetest voice known to man, covered in tattoos and piercings that eommas everywhere pretend to disapprove of when they’re actually ogling just as much as their daughters. He’s a teenage girl’s wet dream, and with that comes hordes of them using the deductive skills of the NIS to figure out the last time he took a shit. Very little in his life is a secret, whether he likes it or not.

The rest of the band, in turn, gets the luxury of a little bit of mystery.

Park Jimin, drummer, and Kim Taehyung, bassist. Jeongguk’s best friends in the world. You’ve met them both in passing before, at industry events here and there, and they both seemed nice enough.

Jimin has a bit of a reputation for being temperamental, angry, but the way Jeongguk describes him paints him as something gentle. Childhood friends who’ve known each other since scraped knees and runny noses.

It’s public knowledge that Jimin wanted to be a dancer, before this—that when he was in college, he suffered an injury that ended his dancing career before it even started. One moment he was one of the most promising ballet students in Seoul, and the next he was retired at nineteen. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but every time the band is interviewed the question is inevitably asked. Do you have any regrets? You’ve watched the videos, seen the way he shakes with anger even as he answers with a saccharine smile. You have a feeling getting along with Jimin won’t pose any challenges for you. You know a thing or two about regrets.

Taehyung is a bit harder to figure out, but not in any way that sparks concern. He’s just an interesting guy that way.

He was the last to join the band, the first to answer a ‘BASS PLAYER NEEDED’ ad posted around the city. Apparently, he was so good that they didn’t feel the need to call anyone else.

He lives in his own world, does his own thing. Posts very artistic photodumps on his Instagram with concerningly cryptic captions. He’s quiet when he’s around people he doesn’t know, but when he’s put in a room with Jimin and Jeongguk he becomes the loudest person there. He’s kind, caring, always seems to know the right thing to say even if it’s delivered in the strangest manner possible.

Jimin and Taehyung won’t cause any problems for you. Jeongguk assured you that they’d be easy to win over, that as long as Jeongguk likes you, you’re in with them.

The real wild card is the guitarist. Min Yoongi.

According to Jeongguk, Burn The Stage wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for Yoongi. When the band formed, they were just dumb kids with a shared dream, but Yoongi was the one to set it all in motion.

When they didn’t have anywhere to practice, Yoongi convinced the ajumma he worked for to let him cram as much equipment as he could fit into a tiny noraebang room. When venues wouldn’t book them without the guarantee that they would draw a crowd, Yoongi burned hundreds of CDs and stood on the streets of Hongdae begging people to listen. When shady entertainment companies started offering them laughable contracts, Yoongi found Namjoon and somehow convinced him to manage them for dirt cheap. When they finally got an offer worth taking, Yoongi made them mull it over for as long as they possibly could. Weigh the pros and cons and decide if it was what they really wanted.

If Jeongguk is the face of the band, Yoongi is the heart. Unfortunately for you, this particular heart is very well-guarded.

✧ TAGLIST: @jajabro @pitchblack0309 @sugar-snap @ot72025 @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl

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binniebakery · 8 months ago

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Your Biggest Fan!

Rockstar!Yeonjun x Fem!Reader, Strangers to ?? (fwb? teehee) Slightly Suggestive! ♡ Summary: Your best friend forces you to attend a local rock group’s concert. You weren’t expecting much until said group’s lead guitarist catches your eye with a wink and a smile, now he’s all you can think about. Little do you know you’ve caught his attention too. ♡ Warnings: smoking, some drinking, n cursing, the sexual tension go crazy, yeonjun is kinda mean, almost burns reader with a cig, this is not proofread! ♡ A/N: finally! After so long i post this lmaoo tbh i had the biggest writer’s block for this fic (I cringed while every second writing this so I very much hate it but o well!) but as promised this was going to be my next one!! moawajunnies please enjoy!!

“Ah, shit– I spilled my drink!” Your friend groaned and you looked from your phone to see part of her outfit drenched in beer. It’s a good thing she was wearing all black. “You alright?” you ask, joining her in assessing the damage.

“Yeah, just clumsy..” She then excuses herself to search for something to wipe the beverage off, mumbling a ‘just as the concert was about to start’ as she squeezes through the crowd. There was probably a low chance she’d make it back to your spot in the very front.

You turn back to the screen, watching the timer tick down. Three minutes left and the crowd was starting to get more impatient by the second, internally cringing at the way you were getting shoved up against the barricade.

God, this was not your type of event at all, not with the amount of smelly drunk attendees. You were only here because you were dragged.

Time went by surprisingly quick as your subway surfer’s gameplay was cut quickly to an end. Music began to roar across the small outside garage and you felt the bass pump through your veins.

A group of five males walk up on stage, the tallest member, their leader, smiling and waving as he approaches his spot, dimples on display as he held his large keyboard guitar.

The drummer, your best friend's favorite, had blonde hair curled perfectly against his handsome features. Tapping his drumsticks with a grin as the crowd roared his name. “Kai! Kai! Kai!”

The group’s bassist and lead guitarist walk in, jumping and showing off their skills with nimble fingers, causing the crowd to get louder and louder. The lead guitarist’s brown wolf cut bouncing as he smirked and waved, black-haired bassist motioning his hands for the crowd to scream louder.

The perfect combination of charisma and attitude for a rock band.

Lastly, the lead vocalist runs on stage, microphone headset attached to his head as he stops front in center. His eyeliner smeared in just the right way, his soft orange hair a bright contrast to his torn and tattered outfit. Immediately you could tell he was the main attraction as fans roared.

Though you can’t say you could disagree, this man had an aura, and it was becoming more intense the longer you stared at him.

Said male lifts his chin to the crowd, a confident smile as fans swooned. “How are we doin’ tonight!?” The place shook and you felt the air grow thicker with every second. You felt the need to join in, feeling the energy shoot through your veins. At this point thoughts of where your best friend was had completely left your mind.

“Let’s fucking go then! This one’s called ‘Growing Pain’!” He kicks and the notes begin to blare through the speakers.

To say these guys weren’t talented would be the biggest understatement in history. The presence they served was beyond comprehensible and although you had never listened to their music prior, you felt immediately entranced by their stage presence.

Their lead singer especially. He had the attitude of a true rockstar, grabbing his water bottle and splashing the water on himself and the crowd after taking his sip. You were completely lost in the character portrayed in front of you, and you had the perfect view too.

As the concert went on, you came to learn the lead singer’s name was Yeonjun, and this Yeonjun was definitely eye candy.

‘Dreamer’ was one of their slower songs, but the crowd seemed to adore it. The sensual combination of the boy’s voices mixing together and harmonizing to create a sexy and attractive atmosphere and you felt practically high on the sound.

You still couldn’t take your eyes off Yeonjun. The way his body moved and the way he always seemed to linger in your part of the stage didn’t help either.

“Let me break it down for you..” Yeonjun’s gaze lands onto yours and you hold eye contact. You feel your body buzz at the interaction. The singer bites his lip as the leader of the group sings his verse, Yeonjun’s eyes never shifting from your position.

Damn, he was good at his job.

The rest of the concert proceeds like that, you and Yeonjun exchanging stares and at one point he winks at you, mouthing a ‘call me’ as his hand waves. You immediately flush at the boldness. He knew how to really interact with his audience.

The concert ends and you finally meet up with your friend, flusteredly attempting to explain the interactions you received and she groans. “Fuck– lucky! I’m so mad I wasn’t able to get back to the front, but at least we both enjoyed the concert..” She smiles weakly and you pat her back. Suddenly you feel a large hand tap your shoulder.

Why the hell was the band’s lead singer standing behind you?

“Hey.” Yeonjun smiles and he tilts his shades upwards, as if you wouldn’t have recognized him. Were the shades supposed to be some sort of disguise? He was literally still wearing the same outfit as earlier, sweat droplets still falling down the sides of his face and you can’t believe the fact that nobody has noticed him yet.

“Oh! Uh– well I gotta go– see you later y/n!” Your friend coughs and runs off to her car. You watch her leave with a confused look. I mean, you two did come to the concert in your designated cars, but what the hell was that about?

You turn back to Yeonjun embarrassed. “Ah, sorry… how can I help?”

Really? The hottest member of the band is talking to you and you're asking him how you can help like he’s a customer at a grocery store?

Yeonjun chuckles and stares you down, tongue in cheek, and you shiver from the attention.

“I wanted to get a better look at you, pretty face was starin’ at me the whole concert.”

You laugh nervously and place your hands on your hips. You decided that you’d entertain him. “Well, how could I not? Your performance really caught my attention.” You prayed to whatever God was out there that Yeonjun couldn’t sense the way your entire body tensed from his gaze.

“Mine or my band’s?” He smirks and you feel a lump in your throat. You wanted to just pass out then and there.

“Y- yours of course..” You mumble, toying with the hem of your outfit. Since when did a man make you so nervous?

“Is that so..?” He steps closer to you and offers his hand. “You wanna grab a drink or a cig?” He tilts his head and you stare at him with wide eyes. You felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“Uh.. sure…? What about your bandmates though?” You were really trying to remain unfazed by his forwardness.

“They'll be doing their own thing, let's go yeah?” Yeonjun gently grabs your wrist and is pulling you along with him, fully oblivious to the stares you were receiving from the concert’s remaining attendees.

Yeonjun takes you backstage, and you could hear your heartbeat thumping throughout your ears as he opened the door to his changing room.

The room was dimly lit, with a crappy light flickering every few minutes. Yeonjun’s clothes were tossed around, makeup vanity in disarray, and gifts and flowers from fans were neatly placed in the corner on a table. You hold your breath as Yeonjun closes the door behind him, lock clicking

You had no idea what was going on or how you even got in this situation, you had simply just attended this concert for the sake of your friend not wanting to come alone. Now here you were, backstage in the lead singer’s dressing room and you had no idea what he wanted with you.. but the burning feeling inside your stomach begged you to stay and your curiosity grew.

“Make yourself comfy, or just stand there, I won’t rush you.” Yeonjun laughs as he pulls a cigarette out from his pocket. He lights it and holds it out to you.

He places the end towards your mouth and you inhale, Yeonjun licks his lips as he watches the way your mouth wraps around it. “Darling.. you really know how to tease a guy huh?”

You stare at each other as you exhale the smoke and the burning in your throat is nothing compared to the burning heat throughout your body. This man had an effect on you in the same way you were affecting him.

You take this opportunity to stare up at Yeonjuns face, his features even more handsome now that you were this close. You take in the way his damp hair sat perfectly on his face, the smell of sweat and his cologne radiating off of him. The choker he wore called your attention to his neck and the way his sweat had dried mostly but you could still make out where the droplets had sat. You swallow and your eyes find their way back to Yeonjun’s.

Yeonjun notices your tension and smirks. “Like what you see pretty girl?” God why was he so fucking attractive.

“Maybe I do.. Is there an issue with that?” You stare at Yeonjun and the look on your face is enough for him to know what you wanted. You really wanted to regain control of the situation, so you decided to tease him further. “Yeonjun, right?.. You sure you wanna be alone with me in this room right now?”

Yeonjun scoffs at your reply. “Why? You trynna be one of my girls tonight?” Yeonjun quirked an eyebrow at you with a smug look, casually leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitched.

You bite your lip at the suggestion, what was this man playing at? “And what if I do?”

Oh, you were playing with fire.

“You sure you want this? You know how many girls would kill for your position right now?” Yeonjun queries as he carries himself over to you. It finally dawns on you that you both really were alone in his dressing room and that his body was too close to yours, completely leaving you trapped between him and the wall behind you.

You could feel the way Yeonjun’s body heat begged to intertwine with yours, you felt your muscles weaken under him as he placed an arm on each side of your face on the wall. The room felt smaller and the scent of the cigarette in his mouth lingers around you as his breath alone practically envelops your senses.

Honestly, at this point, it didn’t matter how many girls he’s been with, hell you could care less if he even contacted you after this. You wanted him.

“I know well what I’m getting into.” You confidently stare up into Yeonjun’s intense gaze, feeling the way his eyes are scanning every curve of your body.

“Alright tough girl, can you handle this though?” Yeonjun grabs your wrist and pulls the cigarette from his mouth with the other hand, placing it near your skin just enough so you feel the slight burn.

“Ah– ah! Yeonjun–!” You choke and he cackles at the way you weakly attempt to pull away. You stare up at him, eyes slightly watery but the way your legs feel like jelly from the way he's treating you makes you slightly crave more.

“Relax darlin’, I wouldn’t hurt a single hair on you.” Yeonjun drops the cigarette to the floor and crushes it with his boot, still holding your wrist tightly.

He pulls your wrist over your head and he finally pushes his body up to yours. You inhale into his shoulder and Yeonjun’s beaming from the way you just lean into him. He relished in the way you let him do what he wanted to you.

“Stay for me, will you? Kinda like the way you looked up at me from the crowd with that pretty face.” The biggest grin spreads across Yeonjun’s handsome face and of course, who were you to say no? You were more than willing to let this man break you.

After all, you were now his biggest fan.

#txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt x reader #txt smut #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x y/n #txt x y/n #BakeryTreat♡

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