#the drummer of my beating heart

[im-derty-dan]

happy wagner wednesday babes!!!

daniel absolutely TORE UP his solo in nash

but then again... when does he not??

🎥: me /scwt nash

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you drive jungkook mad but you make his heart beat.

idol!jungkook x f!reader, est. relationship / fluff, suggestive, a pinch of angst / word count: 5k

content/warnings: tried sumn different so this is mainly from jungkook’s pov :D !! drummer!oc ur so cool & i’m stealing u from ur bf 🏃— mention of a 10 yr age gap between jk & a guy who likes oc (he’s hella pissed off) ; mentions of (car) s^x ; allusion to a bl^wj^b ; jk just got home from tour & oc is tipsy, needy, & dramatic as hell T_T ; oc /briefly/ touches jk while he’s driving & he /nearly/ loses his shit & crashes the car (he doesn’t) (i’m kidding) + to the anon who wanted to jk’s cheek scar to get a kissy here u go 🥺

> in which masterlist!

note: oc is so shot glass of tears coded especially in this… i’m glad i’m posting this after golden came out just so i could say it 🥰 this takes place after this drabble sooo the end of oct 2018 <3 if u’ve read the prev drabble too, this was when jk said those exact words in the past 🥺 wrote this in the middle of hell week so i was half out of my mind :'] as always feedback & reblogs rrr always appreciated !! 🥺

—

jungkook loves the sound of rain— the gentle knocks on every surface of the earth has always been a lullaby even during daylight.

tonight is a different story, however. it is defeaning, terrifying even. he can barely see what is infront of him, spare the occasional headlights blazing across the slippery roads. his umbrella is being stolen away by the harsh gusts of wind and the mud stains on his sneakers are well-hidden by the plain black.

and yes, he is tired; and yes, this is hard, but that is the end of it.

you’re exactly where you told him you’d wait, far behind the edge of the roof where the rainwater falls from and splashes on the ground. you stand out in his blue oversized shirt, one that he purposely left behind in your closet so he could have something else to wear when he sleeps over.

you’re too busy typing on your phone to see him crossing the parking lot; he feels his very own vibrate in the pocket of his sweatpants. however, his giddy smile fades when a man exits through the entrance door and approaches you with a red umbrella. his strides become slightly hurried then, as he watches you politely decline it with that heart-fluttering smile of yours everybody adores.

“oh no, really, i’m fine. you might need it later! my boyfriend is already coming to pick me up anyway.”

jungkook acts cool. he tucks his hand in the pocket of his sweatpants, tries to make himself appear bigger because he realizes that he would be inches shorter than the man if not for the platforms of his shoes.

“____, baby!”

upon hearing your name coming from the lips of your lover, your face lights up even brighter.

“jungkook!”

you greet him with an embrace, jumping into his arms before he can properly set down his umbrella on the ground.

“yah, yah-yah! be careful!” he chuckles as he wraps his arms around your waist to catch you, peering down to check how high your boots are for you to be running and jumping around freely.

“hey, i’m going back inside- there’s more customers coming in. make it home safe, alright?”

the stranger tries to catch your attention, and jungkook’s protectiveness swiftly kicks in when he lays a hand on you and slides it down to your lower back. your boyfriend turns you away from the unprompted touch by pulling your body closer to his side, and he is unable to control how his eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

he wasn’t planning on giving much thought to the presence of a man around you. he knows better than that. but he has never heard about this one, which raises the question of who the fuck is he to freely touch you like that?

“oh- alright! thank you, jun!”

“you better take care of ____, man. it’s dangerous around here during this time.”

he receives a rather heavy and condescending pat on the shoulder, and so, with his annoyance bubbling worse, he wears a passive aggressive smile on his face.

“yeah, of course i am,”

jun’s nostrils flare as he witnesses you sneakily slide your hands underneath jungkook’s hoodie in search of warmth.

“i’m here now, so there’s no need to worry about my girlfriend anymore.”

he nods, then forces himself to smile. “that’s good, then.”

“yeah, thanks. we’re leaving.”

“oh, okay. have a nice night!”

“you too,”

he turns on his heel and returns inside the busy establishment— but not before jungkook made sure that he saw the bruises on his knuckles that he got from his boxing sessions.

his jaw clenches as he glares at the door.

is he being petty? sure, to hell with that. he doesn’t care. he’s always been one to trust his gut, and he has a bad feeling.

he is met by a love-drunk smile when his undivided attention is at last given to you, in the form of fond eyes and affectionate strokes of your hair.

“who was that?”

“eh, new bartender,” you shrug with disinterest. ���hm, i think he’s 31…? he’s nice but he keeps talking about wrestling.”

he raises an eyebrow at the mention of his age, while your lips form a sad pout.

what the hell? he thought he would be 25 at most.

“the tv has been in the same channel for the past two weeks because of him. it’s all i’ve been seeing! i don’t like it-” you whine in distress, quite frankly, a little traumatized.

an endeared smile is coaxed out of him at your adorableness, how your speech is a little slurred and how you’re looking at him like you’re begging him to do something about it.

“makes me nervous,”

his dominant hand closes into a fist.

if he only he had known. should’ve fucking punched the guy, give him a taste of what he seems to be a huge fan of.

“let’s watch something calming when we get home, how about that?”

you nod your head, eyes that twinkle with eagerness fluttering shut when he leans in for a much awaited kiss. how sweet, he feels a little more alive than before. he can smell it, even taste it— the peach margarita you started sipping on before the band’s first set. concocted by jun, he presumes. he pulls away with a small smile, licking his lips for the traces of you that clung to him.

out of the blue, you burst into a fit of giggles, weak knees buckling as your weight crashes on him.

“i missed you!”

“babe, are you seriously drunk?” he chuckles, holding you with a secure grip around your torso.

“maaaybe tipsy…? i was pretending not to be.” you stand on your tip-toes to nuzzle your face against his neck, mumbling sheepishly. “only trust you.”

—

“i should’ve accepted the umbrella.” you grunt childishly, body going limp on jungkook’s back, except for the arm holding up the umbrella that shields the both of you from the pouring rain.

“yah!” he scolds you, clearly not pleased with the words that just came from your mouth. “what does that mean?”

“i’m embarrassed! they’re probably feeling bad for you.”

the last sentence comes out as a whisper, pertaining to the side glances you’ve been attracting from strangers as you make your way to your boyfriend’s car.

unfortunately, he had to park somewhere far because the restobar’s parking lot was already full.

you jokingly complained about staining your white boots with dirt and mud, but you instantly regretted it when he bent down, signalling you to ride on his back without an ounce of hesitation.

“our shoulders always get wet when we share an umbrella,” he said. “if i carry you, wouldn’t it be better?”

“embarrassing? some would even say romantic!”

something peculiar happens then— when your lips ghost over his left cheek, planting an affectionate kiss there that lasts for seconds. you pull away with a smacking sound, giggly and bubbly, might be his favorite version of you.

“i love you,” you hum, grasping the umbrella upright before it could tip over.

he doesn’t know if you did it on purpose or not, kissing him precisely where his scar is, but his heart jumps in his chest when he feels it begin to throb.

as if the wound from his childhood has come alive. as if, once again, he is bleeding as he glares at his older brother, and he still wants to play games on the computer oblivious to the fact that it would leave a permanent scar, a brand new landmark on his body.

you mistake his silence for something else.

you frown, warm breath tickling his neck as you quietly ask. “are you still mad at me?”

he sighs, vision landing on the ground as his walking pace slows down. “no? i was wrong. i shouldn’t have questioned your decision in the first place… why would i be mad?”

you started playing the drums for your friend’s band two months ago, just as soon as he left for tour. you volunteered after witnessing how distraught they were when their drummer vanished without a trace. he learned that it used to be a hobby of yours from childhood until early teenage years, playing the drums, but it was robbed from you when your father took his instruments with him when he abandoned your home for another.

he was pleasantly surprised when he learned about it, recounted all the times your hands and fingers were drumming on any sort of surface and his head naturally bopped to the beat, but then again, you never brought it up.

isn’t ____ so cool? he would proudly say when he flaunts you to his friends, even the protocol team, who have never seen him so happy.

three times a week, from nine in the evening until midnight, your phone was propped up on an empty table infront of the stage, and him, on the other side of the globe, excitedly watched you from backstage while he was getting ready for their own show. some other times, he was in his hotel room, or the private jet. his patience has been tested by crappy wifi, nosy and noisy people, and his earphones that stopped working while you looked insanely attractive grooving to ‘why’d you only call me when you’re high?’ as you effortlessly played the drums. he showered you with compliments as you did for him. you’re working hard so he must do the same.

he arrived home from tour the other day, spent the rest of its hours sleeping. yesterday, he waited for you at school and then at work like a lost puppy, slept on your bed (if he’s being honest, the two of you didn’t do much sleeping) then woke up at 9am for work.

and he tried his best, he really did, to get out of the company early enough to catch you playing a song or two. after all, it was your last day at the job.

much as you enjoyed reconnecting with an old flame— loved the overflowing tips that came from those who were amazed by your talent (well, there were also those who were just trying to get into your pants), the moment that the old drummer got down on his knees begging to be taken back by his best friends, just like how you became a part of the band, you voluntarily stepped down.

jungkook didn’t agree with this decision. he didn’t understand why you’d sacrifice something that makes you happy for a person who fucked up and wasted what they had. you went back and forth over it on the phone until you cried, told him that it wasn’t easy for you, and he couldn’t hold you in his arms or kiss your face. he could only apologize, and it even felt insincere doing it through a screen.

maybe he’s only relieved that you no longer need to be around a man an entire decade older than he is, who is obviously interested in you and serves you alcohol drinks. no, that doesn’t sit right with him. he needs jun, or whatever the fuck his true name is, to stay very far away from his baby.

“i’m just sad that i never got to watch you perform in person.”

you rest your cheek on his shoulder, heavy eyelids slowly blinking as the headlights of a black van blindsides you.

what the fuck. too bright.

“me too…”

—

“i’m bored,” you release a dramatic sigh, stealing a glimpse of jungkook at the driver’s seat, just to see if you caught his attention like you intended.

his eyes are trained on the dashboard, however, focused on the navigation guide displayed on his phone. he isn’t very familiar with this part of the city. it took him more than an hour to arrive at the address you sent him, including the time he spent in the middle of traffic.

“forty-eight minutes, then we can do whatever you want.”

“whatever i want?”

he slows down the car, briefly turning his head to find you expectantly looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“of course,” he laughs, taking one hand off the wheel to squish your cheeks together. “just tell me what it is, baby.”

he doesn’t catch the sad look that flashes across your face after you lose his touch.

“then i’ll tell you when i figure out what i want,” you say quietly.

“i thought you already had something in mind?”

“nope,” you answer with yet another sigh.

you choose to stare out the window in silence, body completely slumping into your seat in defeat.

jungkook’s senses are sharp, or he likes to believe so. “are you okay?”

“i’m okay,”

“you sure?”

“hmm,” you hum curtly, and then you close your eyes, so he decides not to press further despite wanting to.

he meets a red traffic light not long after that. and so, he hurriedly grabs the black fleece blanket in the backseat. he envelopes you in it, crossing the distance between you to softly press his lips onto yours for a goodnight kiss. he feels you respond, albeit lazily, and he smirks cockily when you lift yourself up to chase him for one more, please— desperately, to get your fill of goodnight kisses from the many nights that you missed it.

the time seems to tick excruciatingly slow now that you’re quiet. a minute is multiplied by a hundred. the steady rhythm of your breathing keeps him sane throughout dark avenues and encounters with reckless drivers of the midnight scene.

he missed you. he missed you so much, and he knows that you’re tired from university, and tutoring high school students in english, and playing the drums for more than two hours… but he selfishly wishes that you’re awake right now so he can make up for the two months that you were apart.

be careful of what you wish for, they said.

jungkook should know better by now.

“i can’t sleep,” he hears you whisper in a dulcet tone that indirectly tells him you’re in need of some love… but he isn’t given the chance to act upon that request because you’re already all over what it is that you need.

he swallows thickly, glancing down at your hand that has somehow found its way to his inner thigh— zeroing in on your red nails, can feel them faintly grazing his skin.

you’re so pretty. everywhere.

even when naked and bare.

no, especially. it’s all he can think about.

he can draw you from memory.

“____,” he utters your name through gritted teeth, heart beginning to race a thousand miles per second in his chest.

the effect of your teasing touch is instantaneous, slowly inching closer and closer to where his growing erection is. his eyes remain focused on the road, but he fears that he’ll start thinking with his dick soon if you carry on with this act a few seconds longer.

“shit, not now, baby- please- not while i’m driving.”

your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, poorly concealing a self-satisfied smirk, and you pretend not to hear a single word from his plea.

a minx, that’s what you are, always causing trouble and blurring lines in his eyes.

“____, i’m not joking around. don’t make me mad-”

his warning is cut short by-

“fuck… fuck,” he curses, filter flying out the window once he feels you tracing the outline of his hard-on, the feather-light touch of your fingers smoothly gliding across the fabric of his sweatpants, and he completely loses it when your soft palm caresses his cock, so gentle that it feels almost innocent.

okay, so he couldn’t feel it because you weren’t skin-to-skin, but he knows that your hands are soft, can feel his imagination running wilder because he has memorized the way they feel on most parts of his body.

you’re so incredibly nasty and evil for this— squeezing him lightly, taking advantage of how sensitive he’s gotten, making him tremble as pleasure shoots up his spine. his breath stutters in his lungs and he unconsciously pushes harder on the gas.

and although it means fighting every fiber of his being that painfully yearns for more, he seizes your wrist in an iron grip, placing your hand over the gearstick while his sits heavy on top of yours.

“____! behave! you’re going to get us killed!”

he watches you jut out your bottom lip through the rearview mirror, eyes hazy with lust staring down at where your hand used to be, and then his handsome face. he is evidently flushed, honey skin dusted with a rosy pink. all the way to the tips of his ears, down to his neck.

while he’s driving? really?

doesn’t this only happen in wet dreams?

you are not real.

“then pull over,” you plead. “please?”

he releases a shaky breath. you’re always so needy with alcohol in your system, drove him into total insanity while he couldn’t be here to give you what you wanted.

“no, you need to learn how to be patient… told you we can do whatever you want when we get home, right?”

wrong move.

the silence returns, and just when he thought that you went back to your journey to slumber, the sound of your sniffles fill the car.

jungkook’s heart breaks into a million pieces.

also, he wants to slam his head against the steering wheel.

you make it so fucking hard to resist you; you always get what you want. it becomes much harder when he is the subject of your desire and he loves being loved.

“haven’t i been patient enough…? i missed you so much.”

“and i missed you too!” he brings your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing them on your skin. “fuck, you have no idea how much… please, don’t cry.”

“then pull over,” you stubbornly insist, and he is so close to driving this car into a lamp post. “fuck me at the backseat.”

“can’t,” he mumbles, sounding almost pained, and he is. he wants you so bad, it hurts. “we’re going to have to do it without protection.”

“what do you mean?” you exclaim.

you rip your hand away from his, not wasting time in unlocking the glove compartment, and a sound of sheer disappointment escapes from your mouth as you collapse back on your seat.

“jungkook, i hate you!”

“well right now i hate myself too!” he cries out in frustration. “i didn’t have the time to buy more, okay?”

“and there’s not one in your wallet?”

“babe, are you serious?!”

“what?!”

somehow, his hands still expertly swivels the steering wheel as the car meets a curve.

but he feels dizzy. the ghost of your touch is still there, a promise of carnal pleasure unfulfilled.

“stop the car,” you say out of the blue, rather calmly, and that terrifies the shit out of him.

he swallows the lump in his throat, eyes switching between you and the road in panic. “huh?”

“i said stop the car, i’m stepping out.”

“babe, come on,” he moans, ruined and tormented. he reaches for your hand but you scoot further away from him, and he ignores the way his heart drops to his stomach as he kneads your exposed thigh instead. “please, don’t be like this. i just got home.”

“jungkook! if you don’t let me get off this car right now, i swear!”

the urgency embedded in your threatening voice leaves your boyfriend with no choice but to pull over to the side of the street as soon as he gets the chance.

he carries on to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“baby, stop being stu-”

he tries to reach for you, but he is rudely ignored as you hop off the car and slam the door shut on his face.

“…bborn…”

he blinks.

he inhales. he exhales.

and then he buries his face in his hands to scream… as quietly as possible.

“what the fuck was in that margarita?!”

—

jungkook steps out of the car worried sick about you. now wearing a black bucket hat, his head whips in different directions in search for the familiar shape of your body, your hair, your shirt that is his, anything.

his arm rests on top of the car door, the other on the roof, fingers drumming on it anxiously as he chews on his bottom lip.

there are mostly restaurants here, it seems. some are already closed, some are still lights on. not far away, he hears a karaoke place bursting with music and laughter. he looks up and he finds that the night sky remains barren of stars; there’s no guidance from the heavens that will lead him to you.

except for the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name.

he turns around, and he knows it’s going to sound extremely silly, but damn, you make his life feel like a movie— because you’re jogging towards him, and the universe begins moving in slow motion. perhaps it is to prevent him from falling on his knees in relief, because he genuinely thought that you already went home on your own like the stubborn brat that you are.

“____, where did you go?! you can’t just run off like that! seriously, that was not nice!”

“i forgot my wallet!” you squeal as you halt infront of him, slapping your forehead as a way to scold yourself. “i found a hotteok cart!”

his anger quickly dissipitates. he scans your face, mouth agape in bewilderment.

you, screaming at him to stop the car because there was a sighting of your favorite snack? makes sense.

he dishes out the wallet from his pocket. “wha- i thought you… you didn’t have money?”

you shake your head to answer his question.

“then how are you already eating?”

you take another bite from the hot hotteok you’re holding in a paper cup, and then you shrug.

“i was already eating when i realized it,” you point at yourself, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “so he let me run back here. does it look like this face would steal?”

“you’re impossible!” he bursts out laughing, the unique sound of his joy harmonizing with the mundane noises of the city.

he is thoroughly amused and in awe of your undeniable charm never failing to work its magic. if you just gave it a shot, you might be even better at him at his job.

you’re pliant as he captures your wrist, tugging you away with him so he can lock the car.

“i bought three, by the way.” you note as the two of you start walking, with you clinging to his side. “the last three then mister can go home.”

you put the hotteok near his mouth, and he pauses to take a big bite. “have you even had dinner?”

“just the four margaritas- they were yummy! or was it five?”

he clicks his tongue in disappointment, but he doesn’t get to say anything more about it because you’ve reached the hotteok cart, and he’s already handing the vendor the money.

“thank you!” he bows his head politely as he accepts the remaining two you mentioned earlier, handing them over to you.

“no, this is yours.” you speak with tenderness, giving back one of the cups to him. “then we’ll split the third one. it’s really good!”

the vendor secretly watches the interaction with a fond smile as he packs up to finally, finally end his long day working at the busy streets of seoul.

—

you’re sat together on the hood of jungkook’s car as you share a midnight snack. with caring hands, you rip the hotteok apart in perfect halves, offering the other to your lover. he accepts it in between his teeth.

“do you want drums as your christmas gift?”

“love,” you search for the words to say as you chew the food in your mouth. “i can barely fit in my apartment. where am i going to put a drum set…? not to mention that i can’t even cry without my neighbor hearing it.”

his shoulders drop in dejection, and you rub your boyfriend’s back in an attempt to comfort him.

“you must really want to see me play, don’t you?”

“i’m dying to,” he says in pure jungkook fashion, tone dramatic and thick with an accent that is entirely his. “i can’t believe there were regulars who saw you every night, while i, your boyfriend, didn’t even see you once…! even that fucking bartender… this- this can’t be right! do you think this makes sense? no, right?”

“aw, my baby,” you coo at him, jutting out your bottom lip as you tenderly cup his face.

“i don’t trust him, by the way,” he scoffs. “as much as possible, stay away from him when you visit, alright…? if i see him touching you one more time, i don’t know what i’ll end up doing to him.”

“i don’t like him either,” you giggle. “so that’s easy.”

he stares at your bloodshot eyes. damn it, you haven’t sobered up.

“____, i’m serious. he’s weird. i’m worried about you but i can’t always be here to protect you.”

you blink at him innocently. “i am too! serious!”

“you promise me?”

“i promise!”

he nods, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he gets lost in the sea of his own thoughts. “i should talk to your friends about this, too. is that okay?”

“if that will ease your mind,” you half-smile, heart fluttering in your chest because you feel so cherished.

comfortable silence follows suit.

the hotteok is still soft and warm and sweet. if your love had to be delivered to his doorstep, it would in the form of your favorite food.

he sighs to gain more of your sympathy, basking in the attention he’s receiving from you. he missed this. he missed you. he sounds like a broken record, but it’s true.

“come ooon, don’t be sad! i’ll make it up to you! but it’s a surprise!”

“surprise?” he eyes you with suspicion. “what surprise?”

“just trust me, alright?”

you poke his cheek where his dimples are, and you witness them pop out as he copies your contagious smile.

“can i make a guess?”

“nope!”

you fit the remaining piece of your hotteok in your mouth, jumping off the hood of the car. you stand before him as you wipe your hands clean with a small paper napkin.

“don’t you dare. if you guess it right then my plans will be ruined!”

—

you’re back on the passenger seat to travel the remaining twenty-seven minutes to your apartment.

jungkook melts into the tenderness of your touch as he drives. you’re tracing the toned muscles of his arms; stroking his hair, his face, and the smell of the sticky brown sugar from the hotteok still lingers on your skin.

“when are you going to start getting tattoos?” you wonder out loud as he intertwines your fingers together on top of his thigh. “i think you’d look so pretty.”

“i’m planning on it.”

his heart skips a beat at the thought of you remembering that he wants his skin artfully inked as you absentmindedly distracted yourself with it.

he licks his lips, smiling as he looks over at you. “you really think so? pretty?”

“hm, hot, too,” you stick your tongue out playfully, and he snorts out a laugh. “but as long as you’re happy, then nothing else matters.”

“of course- wait, yah! you still need to eat dinner.” he reminds you once he recognizes the path you’re taking.

a grocery store is not more than a kilometer away, if his memory serves him right.

“what do you want? i don’t mind cooking.”

“for you to fuck me, that’s what i want. you won’t mind that, too?”

oh my fucking god.

he wishes you were passed out drunk instead so he wouldn’t have to suffer this battle between self-control and his insatiable appetite for you.

“baby, aren’t you still sore from this morning?”

“a little,” he notices you squeezing your thighs together from his peripheral, and along with it, the bruises on your knees from when you worshipped his body last night. “but i want you.”

your giggles in reaction to him frustratedly running his fingers through his hair seems to only fuel the dirty thoughts in his head. he uncomfortably shifts in his seat to adjust himself.

“can you just bring it up when we get near your house? you’re killing me over here!”

“but why? i’m having fun.” you bring your tangled hands over to your side, peppering the back of his hand with innocent kisses. “i love you. you’re so cute.”

“are you… are you seriously calling me cute after what you just asked me to fuck you?”

his disbelief is challenged by your amusement.

“why not? being one dimensional? boring. being different things all at once? sexy.”

jungkook doesn’t need to see you play the drums to know that you are the only one capable of making his heart beat like this. to feel it pounding, it turns out there’s another way besides performing, he can just be alone with you. a different type of addictive exhilaration. he isn’t at the top of the world; he free falls as it revolves around you.

you always know the right words to say, because right now, he is preening. he’s wearing a big smile, the kind that looks like he’s laughing, but he’s not— almost. the kind that reaches his eyes, shapes them into little crescent moons.

how did he get so lucky?

rehearsals in the morning be damned, he will be fucking you good all night.

you make a noise of confusion when the car swerves into the trees at the side of the road.

“what are we doing here?”

jungkook only spares you a glance. “get in the backseat, baby.”

—

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—

[taylorswiftstyle]

MTV Video Music Awards | September 11, 2024

Monse Fall/Winter 2024 custom

For Future Reference Vintage 'Omega Chain' - no longer available

Rainbow K Jewelry ‘Diamond Horn Earring’ - € 7215.00 Ali Weiss Jewelry ‘Baby Pave Hoop With 2 Diamond Drop’ - $375.00 Grown Brilliance ‘Emerald and Heart Lab Grown Diamond Two Stone Stud Earrings’ - $1,895.00

Lizzie Mandler Jewelry ‘Pave Knife Edge Bracelet’ - $13,665.00 Mateo New York ‘Carabiner Bracelet’ - $300.00 Mateo New York ‘Lock Link Bracelet’ - $350.00 Rainbow K Jewelry ‘Diamond Horn Bangle’ - €18,575.00

Ali Weiss Jewelry ‘Thin Gold Band With 5 Diamonds’ - $650.00 Jade Ruzzo ‘Tennessee Drop Ring in Demantoid Garnet’ - $5,600.00 Retrouvai ‘Platinum Magna Ring’ - price upon request Grown Brilliance‘Marquise Lab Grown Diamond Eternity Band’ - $2,190.00

A brief moment of pride for me because I happened to predict a different look from this exact same collection for the MTV VMAs. I'll take the win! Taylor changed partway through the show, shedding her tartan Dior look for a party look that was easier for her to dance in but still retained a high shine award show appeal. While Taylor's look is obviously custom, the tapestry alien print and buckle detail are clear riffs from the Monse FW2024 runway. This was a fun and flirty mid-show change that reminded me of her strategy at the 2022 MTV EMAs. Though for that award show, there was a clearer throughline between both her looks as they were by the same designer - David Koma. Here, there isn't as obvious a connect between the two aesthetics. Although perhaps it's the notion of translating older notions of art into surreal, modern takes. With Dior, an ode to the secret messages Mary Queen of Scots embroidered in her clothes and with this Monse look, reimagining the antique tapestry to feature futuristic visions of alien invasion. Which feels very "Down Bad" in imagery.

For her second look of the evening, Taylor swapped out her singular pair of Lorraine Schwartz earrings (a go-to jeweler for her red carpet looks) and tapped into one of her style pillars: indie designers.

The mix of metals feels very Taylor - she often swaps between gold and silver and looks equally great in both, lucky her. Though I did most appreciate the silver tying in to the buckle detail on her Monse dress.

Of all her jewels, the piece that most caught my eye is Jade Ruzzo's ‘Tennessee’ ring. I spoke to the designer and she described the Tennessee as her “signature” collection, inspired by her late father who was a drummer. “I designed the Tennessee ring, the first piece from the collection, while in Tennessee,” she told me. “Tennessee has a heart and soul that I felt I could literally hear a beat to - it felt like it moved.” Jade translated the kinetic energy she felt in the city into a hand bezel ring with hanging gemstones that create a subtle movement - “as if [the stones] are dancing on each piece.” She added, “I wanted the movement to be subtle enough that it felt Iike soft steady music throughout the day.“ What an appropriate thing for Taylor, who calls Tennessee her home, to wear.

Photo by John Shearer via Getty Images

[alygator77]

♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: tbd (will likely be long bc i yap)

♬ a/n. hi lovelies. this is a rewrite of my first work! i've been wanting to revisit this story for a while, especially now that i've started to explore what my own writing style is :') this fic is definitely gonna touch on some darker topics, buuuuut it'll still have a happy ending bc my heart cannot handle too much pain and satoru deserves happiness (i love him too much). i will update tags as the story progresses. tysm for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

♬ series tags #beat of my heart #bomh

♬ chapters

ch 1 // the first measure

ch 2 // pending...

ch 3 // pending...

ch 4 // pending...

[httpsryu]

ideal type

pairing: huh yunjin x fem! reader

summary: getting asked a question during an interview leads heartbroken fans looking for the specific lady that's already in huh yunjin's big heart

category: rock band au, college gfs

genre: fluff, angst for the heartbroken fans

warnings: a LOT of jealousy from the fans and small suggestive talk

a/n: i loved writing this! thank you to the person who requested it :)

the music echoes throughout the clubroom where hundreds, maybe thousands are jumping up and down while they sing along to the song being played. the drummer starts to play by beat slowly, indicating that the bass solo is coming up.

lights in the room are ferociously blinking red, along with sirens going off into the background as huh yunjin does what she's best at; going full-jam on the bass. she gets on her knees, swaying her hips to the beat in the background as her hands attractively strum the strings.

fans take pictures and videos while screaming their heads off at how insanely attractive the specific red haired is.

however, from afar, yunjin knows the only girl she's playing for is the fair pretty lady in the back bartending drinks to customers.

you take a quick peek up at the performance in front of you while cleaning a shot glass, turning red at the way yunjin managed to send a wink towards you.

"gross, not in front of my salad." heeseung gags as he throws the towel back on his shoulder to go grab the newly sat customer.

throwing your head back in laughter as you also pay attention to the girl who finished yet another shot of straight rum for the eighth time. "another rum shot with splash of water?"

"yes, thank you."

the music starts to die down, indicating the song is going to halt at the end.

you let out a smile at the way fans are supporting the rock band, everyone is singing along, screaming and most importantly feeling the music.

"thank you all for taking the time of your night to watch us play." chaewon, the leader speaks in the mic, as she sticks her tongue out in a form of affection for the fans. "everyone make sure to get home safely, kay?"

more screams start again at the sight of the red haired bass player. she lets out a chuckle at her fangirls before speaking into the mic. "and for those who managed to score tickets to the after-show interview, can't wait to see you then."

everyone in the band stands up, waving and bowing before shortly disappearing backstage.

"they manage to get the girls off their feet, huh?" heeseung comes near you, washing more glasses. "you gonna clock off soon since your girlfriend is done playing?"

with a proud grin, you nod at your brother as you wipe your hands down on the towel draping from his shoulders. "i promise i'll open tomorrow."

"okay okay, priorities are putting your girlfriend before the family's bar and club."

you shrug, pouting playfully which earns a ruffle from your older brother.

"see you tomorrow, kiddo."

taking off your apron and hanging it in the back, you grab your items to scurry off into the backstage of the club.

looking for the room that the band was assigned to, your phone vibrates, grabbing your attention to it. digging for your phone in your bag, you hum in content once feeling the cellular block of a device.

an arm around your waist startles you, leaving you to jump.

"stop! don't do that! especially in this dark scary part of the club." you turn around, playfully smacking the taller.

yunjin laughs, nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck and inhaling the scent of you. oh, how she missed her girlfriend.

"i missed you." she murmurs in your neck, tickling you and leaving shivers down your spine. "i felt like i haven't seen you in forever!"

you can't help but to hug back your very tall girlfriend, inhaling the earthy-cherry smell of hers. "we saw each other in class."

"still felt like forever."

"EW GET A ROOM LOVEBIRDS!" chaewon's voice rings through the backstage, closing their room's door behind her.

both you and yunjin let out a laugh in each other's embrace.

"did i play amazing, baby?"

letting out a nod with a smile, your girlfriend excitedly squeals before attacking you in another hug once again.

"my eyes were always staring at you." yunjin whispers, encircling her arm around your waist to pull you in for a kiss.

a kiss where both parties are longing for each other. moving your lips along her signature cherry red lipgloss that you gifted to her while you two were fresh lovers. her tongue glossing over yours in a fight for dominance and ultimately you give in. letting out a quiet sound of pleasure while you pull her in a bit closer by her neck.

"you're so damn addicting baby." yunjin says in between the kissing.

feeling the air in you run out, you ultimately pull away with your forehead leaning on hers.

"after-show interview is going to be on in 15." she whispers gently, holding your face in her hand to give you one last peck. "i'll see you tomorrow after my engineering lab?"

"does anyone in the crowd want to ask sserafilm a question?" the interviewer asks, scanning out for hands in the audience.

everyone in the crowd raises their hands in hopes of being called on for their fun yet juicy questions.

"hmm..how about the girl in the middle with the star studded bracelet." the interviewer calls out, a smile on her face as she waits for the question.

the female in the audience clears her throat, making sure her voice is loud and clear. "this question is for yunjin."

"okay! go right ahead!" the interviewer nods, letting the girl continue while yunjin anticipates on the question from the fan.

"yunjin, being the well-known womanizer of the group, what do you say your ideal type is?"

"ooo~ that's a nice question." the interviewer laughs.

the red haired giggles, tilting her head to the left slightly in a processing-type-of-way. "i would say my ideal type is someone who has a sort of angelic vibe to them. she's determined for what she wants to do while also supporting me. oh! and she has these cute dimples that matches along with her moles."

before finishing her answer, yunjin looks down at her hand with a small very smitten smile. "lastly, she has a beautiful heart, inside and out."

every girl in the audience blinks, not ONCE, not TWICE, but THREE times in being dumbstruck at how specific their red haired bass player was at describing their ideal type.

"sounds like you have a specific person in mind?" the older woman looks at the bass player, hoping to get an answer from her.

yunjin can only let out another chuckle, holding the mic to her mouth. "just describing my type of lady, that's all."

the way the club was silent, everyone could hear the sounds of so many fangirls' hearts just broke at the bass player's words.

chaewon rolls her eyes, wanting to gag at yunjin's greasiness. how do you actually deal with this every day? chaewon feels sorry for you, honestly.

"sounds a little too specific, huh everyone?" the interviewer turns to the fans, earning nods and 'yeahs'.

the red-haired can only shrug in response, wanting to tease her fans.

"she's definitely dating someone." a fan mumbles to herself, suddenly wanting to play sherlock holmes as she whips out her cell phone to tweet about 'finding huh yunjin's secret gf'.

the interviewer continues to pick on a few fans to ask the rest of the others questions throughout the night. clueless on what is going to happen in a span of the young night, which involves huh yunjin and her ideal type.

stretching your arms out, you take your headphones off to take a quick 15 minutes break from the paper you're working on. reaching for your phone, you immediately smile at the notification on your lock screen.

"ew. i did not want to walk into the living room to see my roommate smiling over a text from my greasy bandmate." chaewon gags, covering her mouth dramatically as she picks up her car keys off of the coffee table.

rolling your eyes, you look up from your phone, noticing her keys in her hands. "going somewhere tonight?"

"i scored a date with some hot girl." the blonde sticks her tongue out, indicating that she knows she's awesome and to compliment her.

"you're so awesome, kim chaewon." sarcastically complimenting her with a blank expression.

chaewon scoffs, placing her hand on her chest. "shut up."

"make sure you're using protection."

"will do~" chaewon leaves the dorm apartment, shutting the door behind her to make sure nothing happens to her sweet roommate.

you let out a laugh at the antics between chaewon and you. leaning back down on the soft comfy couch, a satisfied stretching noise comes out of your mouth at the sudden cushion. oh, how nice it is to be chaewon and not have piles of homework and projects piling.

perks of being an architect major, you suppose.

waking yourself up with a self-inflicted smack to your cheek, you abruptly sit up to grab your headphones. however, a knock on the door startles you.

"chaewon must've forgotten something." you mumble to yourself, seeing your headphones on the place besides you before getting up to open the door for your roommate.

unlocking the door, you turn the door open and what a pleasant surprise.

"HELLOOO MY DARLING!" yunjin excitedly sings with a cheery smile on her lips.

before you're able to react and respond, the taller is attacking you with a hug as she starts peppering cute kisses all around your face.

"what are you doing here? i thought you had a lab?"

the red-haired gives you your space as she walks into the dorm. "it ended up getting postponed to next week so i decided to pay my little celebrity a visit."

what is this crazy lady talking about??

"huh? what do you mean?" shutting the door close before you trail slowly behind your girlfriend.

yunjin lets out a proud smile, showing you her phone's screen.

displayed on the screen was a 'X' tweet in search of huh yunjin's beloved lady. under that tweet were filled with replies, retweets and quotes agreeing on searching for the supposed angelic ideal type.

"what the hell?" you squint to get a better look at the other's phone.

yunjin nods, shutting her phone off and throwing it on the couch. "wanna go out on a date today?"

"i have to work on my paper."

"BOOO, please let's go out." yunjin begs, her eyes looking up at you with the look that you could never say no to. "and you look so pretty today, baby."

shaking your head as you shut your eyes close. "no. no. no. i am not falling for it this time."

a strong force grabs you from where you're standing, pushing you into a specific female's lap.

"fall for what?" yunjin whispers gently, her tone sending chills down your spine as she reaches over to grab the side of your face to kiss your jawline.

"don't act cute with me." you pout, not wanting to fall for her and her little plans. "i have to really write this paper, i'm sorry jen."

the red-haired nods, giving you one last peck on the cheek. "i understand. i'll be a good girlfriend and sit quietly next to you while waiting patiently."

SCREW YUNJIN AND HER CUTE ACT RIGHT NOW!

"fine."

"yay!" :>

long story short, the date ended up blowing the internet like wildfire. with fans of huh yunjin congratulating her while a few were nitpicking and were jealous. many others were jealous of yunjin for having a pretty lady breathing in her direction.

"we are never going out again." yunjin pouts upon entering your apartment.

you don't know what else to say before throwing your head back in laughter at the way your girlfriend is acting.

"why not? you don't want to show me off?"

the red-haired girl can only throw her head back in agony at the thought of everyone wanting to steal you from her. "you're literally the epitome of where one says their ideal type is pure."

"and i think that's half of the men and women who eyed you down in front of me." yunjin can already feel her hair coming off, if there was another reason to dye her hair blonde again, she would in hopes of it coming all off. "i was next to you, holding your hand and they STILL eyed you like you were SINGLE."

taking off your docs, you can only shake your head at how the older is acting. "well, for one, at the end of the day..i'm only yours. second, even if they look, you just need to know that you're the only one i ever only look at."

"i knowww but UGHH-"

grabbing the taller's face into your hand, you tip-toe up to reach her lips to which you peck multiple times.

yunjin still is pouting but nonetheless, she lets out a very smitten smile. cooing at how pretty you are, while she too kisses your moles on your face.

"i guess i am pretty lucky to have this beautiful lady in my arms, huh?"

nodding at her words, you kiss the older's neck. "wanna help me with my paper?"

"if you let me hit it raw."

"what?"

"huh?"

june 15, 2024; publishing date

[shun-ie]

₍⁠₍⁠ ⁠◝ look of jealousy

content : amab!reader, jealous!mafuyu, slight teasing, hickeys, biting, eating out, short rim job, unintentional orgasm denial, lmk if i missed any

[not proofread]

m.list !

the crowd screams as l/n y/n walks by the barrier that separated him from the fans. he poses for some cameras, holds some of the hands that were reaching out, and even letting them press half-heart hands on his cheeks. some of his band mates did the same in other areas.

he walks by his boyfriend, sato mafuyu and his group of friends. he smiles brightly and reaches over the barrier and pinches his cheeks, muttering a 'cute' before stepping away and continuing with his interactions.

mafuyu blushes lightly and smiles, watching y/n share a fist bump with the bassist and ascend up the stairs with the rest of the band. the drummer raises the mic to his lips while the others get into position, adjusting their instruments.

"this is dedicated to our dear fans . . ."

mafuyu's focus on his boyfriend drones out anything the drummer said. y/n catches a plushie that resembles a cute puppy and kisses it on the head before throwing it backstage toward a staff member, who caught it and placed it with other gifts from their fans.

l/n y/n is the band's guitarist and vocalist. mafuyu and him bumped into each other many times, before he sparked a one-sided conversation with the salmon haired fellow. their friendship started when mafuyu started responding to him.

a steady beat of drumming started, then sped up into a more complex one. the piano, electric guitar, and bass accompanied the beats, mixing into a more full rhythm.

mafuyu's eyes drift towards his boyfriend's fingers, fiddling and strumming at the strings skillfully before they ended up on his lips, mouthing words that went over his head.

uenoyama chuckles, seeing mafuyu stare at y/n so intensely, "easy there, you'll see him after this." he pats the shorter man's shoulder. "no need to stare so hard."

a blush blooms on mafuyu's cheeks as he averts his wandering eyes. "i'm not staring . . ." he quietly denies, returning his gaze on his laughing boyfriend, jumping up and down on stage. "i'm just admiring."

his friend shrugs and starts a conversation with kaji and nakayama. mafuyu takes his eyes off of y/n once, taking his phone out and typing out a message to send to said man, completely missing a moment that would go viral later on.

"i missed you so much," y/n mumbles into mafuyu's neck, hugging him tightly. "you so cute in my brown sweater," he pecks his cheek lovingly and pats his head softly.

mafuyu leans into the touch and buries his face deeper into y/n's hoodie. he mutters something inaudible, tightening his arms around his boyfriend, who tilted his head to the side in question.

"what's wrong bun?" y/n tries to pull away, only for mafuyu to press against him harder. he laughs it off and runs a hand down his back, feeling his spine under brown sweater. "you're so cute, it makes me want to bite you."

another muffled response leaves mafuyu, making y/n forcefully pull his boyfriend away. "what did you say just now?"

mafuyu tries to close their distance, prompting y/n to back up. the salmon haired male whines, trying to get closer. "no, what did you say bub?"

mafuyu huffs, mumbling under his breath. y/n leans in closer, straining his ears to hear what his boyfriend was saying. "what?"

"then bite me," mafuyu loudly proclaims. he clamps a hand over his mouth in shock. y/n blinks, huffing a laugh.

"is that what you really want?" he asks, bringing the flush male towards his chest, embracing him and swaying side to side. "you don't have to be embarrassed about it "

mafuyu plants his face in y/n's neck, bringing him down by the neck. "it is embarrassing . . ."

pants fill the living room as the t.v drones in the background. mafuyu sits prettily on y/n's lap as said male kisses up and down his pale neck. his flesh is decorated in saliva, red spots, and teeth marks.

mafuyu struggles to keep his eyes on his phone, his lids lulling shut from the tickles of pleasure on his sensitive neck. just as he was about to succumb into the teasing, his phone dings.

uenoyama :

your boyfriend's viral man @mafuyu

uenoyama :

[link]

kaji :

lmao you only saw that now?

kaji :

it's been all over the internet since the concert

mafuyu : what are you guys talking about?

mafuyu bites down on his lip as he clicks on the link his friend sent. the screen loads and a shun-gram (pfft-) reel pops up. in the video, y/n walks into screen, yelling into the mic. he then catches the eye of the original poster and looks them up and down with a smirk, as if checking them out, before walking away. the caption says, 'OML I SWEAR HE WAS ABOUT TO JUMP ME!'

he reads the caption and watches the reel over and over, a frown pulling down on his features. y/n notices his demeanor and slips his hands under mafuyu's sweater, tracing light circles around his flat tummy, "bubs, what's wrong?"

mafuyu simply gives him a view of his phone, a familiar emotion boiling in his body. he felt it twice before. once in a date, the second when they went to buy something from the convenience store.

y/n lightly chuckles, observing mafuyu's face after watching the reel. he lightly pecks his lips. "are you jealous?"

a pout forms on mafuyu's lips, he turns away and puts his phone on the coffee table. he feels y/n kiss his nape before laughing. "it's not funny."

"it kinda is. i wasn't looking at them," y/n grabs hold of mafuyu's chin and turns his head softly to look at him. "i was looking at you."

mafuyu turns pink and stands up. embarrassment fills him as he recalls the moment exactly. when he was typing out a message, he caught a glimpse of y/n's face. how could he forget such a teasing look. a look reserved only for him. he stares at a cackling y/n. "stop laughing."

y/n wipes a tear away and leans into mafuyu's stomach. he lays his cheek on the softness and wraps his arms around his boyfriend's hips. "you're so cute when you're jealous."

the t.v. hums them into a comforting atmosphere, the pitter patter of the rain against the windows brought a sense of nostalgia to their first date in the same exact living room. a movie marathon and sleep over.

mafuyu runs his fingers through y/n's hair, the pink in his cheeks slightly disappearing. "it's not cute . . . it feels bad to feel jealous about something like this. it's fan service."

"but that kind of fan service is only for you. i wouldn't go as far as checking someone out when you're right here. perfect for me," y/n says with a small smile. his words were genuine, they always were. mafuyu eased up and returned his smile.

y/n stuffs his face into his boyfriend's tummy and the latter yelps, flinching from the slight pain that bloomed in his lower abdominal region. "babe?" he rakes his fingers through y/n's hair, "that hurt."

"'m sorry," y/n mumbles out, looking up through his lashes. "you're just too cute, makes me want to eat you."

mafuyu pushes y/n off of him and snickers. he shakes his head and grabs his phone, going on the food delivery app. "well, i'm hungry. i'm craving pizza and milkshake."

y/n sighs, laying on the couch limply, "i'll eat whatever you want bub. just make sure it's chocolate milkshake." mafuyu nods, placing in their order. he puts his phone back down on the coffee table and sits beside his boyfriend's legs.

a few seconds of silence went by before y/n spoke again, "can i eat you out while we wait?"

"hng . . ." mafuyu lets out, hugging a pillow to his bare chest, staring up at the ceiling. y/n hums away, pressing his tongue against mafuyu's rim, licking and kissing, coating it with his saliva.

the salmon haired male fists at the pillow, flinching from the growing pleasure that shot up his body, leaving his mind in a hazy state.

y/n feels a hand pull him closer by the hair, his head being squashed in between milky thighs. he hears a muffled, 'm-more please'.

his hands squeezed at the flesh of mafuyu's thighs, leaving red handprints as he lapped at his puckered hole, tracing it with the tip of his tongue, before pressing his muscle flat against it and dragging it in long strips.

he could feel mafuyu's thighs shaking, closing him in more. he could feel his sweatpants constricting his aching member. he could hear every sound of music that left his boyfriend's tainted lips mixing with the series of sounds from the t.v they were supposed to be watching.

everything in the living room turned hot.

mafuyu didn't know what to grab as he let out a cry, his back arching off the couch. y/n slowly worked his tongue past the ring of muscle, feeling the spongy and hot walls.

whimpers entered y/n's ears like a favorite song on repeat, accompanied by occasional moans and words of want. he caressed mafuyu's thighs, comforting him and holding him throughout everything.

mafuyu protests as y/n pulled away, the pleasure he felt all falling into an endless abyss. "why . . ." he catches his breath momentarily and continues, "why did you stop?" his tone edging into a whine.

y/n huffs a laugh, crawling up in between his thighs and stealing a sweet kiss from him. "you didn't hear the doorbell?" he gets up after leaving a peck on mafuyu's cheek, adjusting his sweatpants, showcasing his boner. "as much as i want to keep going, our food awaits right outside the door."

mafuyu pouts to himself, watching as y/n beelined for the front door, cursing under his breath about his boner that doesn't want to calm down.

he hears the door being unlocked and opened, the small exchange of words before y/n came back with two boxes of pizza and their drinks.

y/n puts their food down on the coffee table and laughs at his boyfriend's expression. slowly, he kneels down in front of mafuyu's face and litters it with kisses, ending the attack with a long kiss on the lips that had mafuyu pulling him in more.

"i'll fuck you until tomorrow to make it up to you . . ." y/n offered, gazing at his boyfriend.

[cecoeur]

Are you a drum because I want to tap that. Are you a drummer? Because you know the beat of my heart. Are you the drum major? Cause I can't take my eyes off you. Be my drum and I'll bang you with my stick tonight. Do me like your hand drum and bang me. Do you believe in love at first drum, or should we bang again?

[moonstruckme]

hayy!! so tonight i went to a small little show that my friend was doing with his band, and me and the bassist made crazy eye contact while he sang the lyrics “good, i’m proud of you” to me. (i’m dead) ANYWAYY it made me think, this is kinda out there but maybe a james potter band au?? like he’s a drummer or bassist and you keep making crazy eye contact and the tension is THICK.. (maybe even some groupie activity later??) IDKK i’d love to see youre interpretation 😋 or even just to chat about it!!! i love you’re work sm

That sounds so fun babe! Thanks for sharing omg <3

cw: bar

rockstar!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

As much as you like Marlene, you’d sort of thought her band was going to be shitty. And in your defense, most of the ones who play this venue, where the crowd is typically too drunk to care what sound fills the space and it only costs a few quid to get in, are pretty amateurish. They’ll play their one or two original songs, then fill the rest of their time with covers, trying all the while to figure out how to work the stage and engage the crowd. 

These guys definitely don’t seem like amateurs. 

Marlene had said they were just starting out, but you don’t believe it. She, as you expected, is incredible. She embodies this fierce, uncaring kind of cool, fingers sliding up and down the neck of her electric guitar with skill you didn’t know she had. The guys in the band aren’t half bad either. The singer has a voice that seems always on the edge of a scream, and he and Marlene play off each other’s energy, him occasionally leaning the mic her way to belt something together. The bassist seems a bit aloof, long fingers moving with an almost lazy dexterity, which seems to be driving the people clustered at the edge of the stage even madder than they might be if he paid them any attention. And the drummer…

Perhaps you’re partial to the drummer because he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to be cool at all. There’s something completely uninhibited about him that lights something in your chest and sends a buzz of excitement through the room, like you’re all feeding off his energy. He looks like he’s having the time of his life. Sweat shines brilliantly on his dusky skin and drips off the ends of curly brown hair that’s just long enough to flop into his eyes. Someone threw him a headband earlier in the show seemingly to help prevent this, so now he’s got it pushed back, curls protruding his head and bouncing as he bobs enthusiastically to the beat. A smile splits his face as he launches into a brief solo, and coincidentally your stomach erupts in butterflies at precisely the same time. 

You’re thinking of trying to jostle your way up to the barricade when the drummer’s eyes take another skim of the crowd, and this time they catch on you. Your heart stutters. A tall figure moves in front of you, obscuring your view of the stage, and when they pass the drummer’s still looking at you. And holy shit. This is eye contact. You’re not totally sure how well he can see you what with the lighting in here, but it feels like his eyes are looking right into yours and saying Hello, nice to meet you. 

A few seconds more and he has to tear his attention away as they go back into the chorus, but your eyes keep finding each other’s. It feels more intimate than it probably should, with several meters of distance between you and the crowded, raucous atmosphere, but you can’t help the giddy lightness that accumulates in your chest over the course of the set. 

During what the singer says will be their last song, his gaze flicks to you with something different in it. It’s not something you can place, but in the next second it’s gone, and all his attention is on his drum solo. You cheer with the rest of the audience as drumsticks fly, almost too quick to see, over the drums and cymbals, and you’re so caught up it takes you a second too long to realize one of them actually is flying. 

Your hands flinch up in front of you just in time, protecting your face and fumbling the drumstick nearly to the ground before you catch it. You look back towards the drummer, and his eyes have flared with alarm. 

“Sorry,” he shouts over the screeching of guitars, earning a glare from the singer a second before all sound cuts out. 

Marlene takes the mic, announcing that they’re done performing for the night but will be available to receive free drinks until closing. The band starts to pack up and leave the stage. 

The crowd splits in two, one half migrating towards the bar and the other towards the exits. You’re not quite sure where to go. You want to meet up with Marlene, maybe give her the drumstick to pass along to her bandmate and thank her for inviting you before you head home, but you’re not bold enough to venture backstage. You cast a glance toward the bar, twirling the wooden stick absentmindedly between your fingers. Maybe you can find a seat to wait for her? 

“You’re not bad at that.” 

You turn, and the drummer from the band is standing behind you. 

“Oh.” You glance down at the drumstick in your hand, feeling a bit silly as you hold it out. “Thanks. Here you go.” 

“Thank you.” His eyes are even better close up. He’s put on glasses, magnifying the warm brown of his irises and the thick, dark lashes that nearly brush his lenses when he blinks. “You looked like you’d be a better catcher.” 

You laugh. “Not sure what would make you think that.” 

“Well, you did manage it in the end.” He smiles. It’s charming with a touch of roguishness, and you get the impression he’s someone accustomed to being forgiven. “Sorry for almost hitting you in the face.” 

You shrug, suddenly unsure what you usually do with your hands. “It happens,” you say. “I don’t take it personally when musicians lose their instruments in my direction.” 

“Oh, well I wasn’t trying to lob it at your head, but tossing it your way wasn’t an accident.” 

Something funny happens in your gut. “It wasn’t?” 

His grin spreads and he shakes his head. “I figured it was my best shot at getting a chance to meet you.” 

Your face heats. You hope you’re not smiling as big as it feels like you are. “You could’ve just asked Marlene,” you say. “No need to throw things.” 

He laughs, a warm and hearty sound. “I’ll have to refine my methods,” he replies. “I’m James.” 

You tell him your name in turn, and he gets this look on his face like it’s the best thing he’s heard all night. 

“Do you wanna join us at the bar for free drinks?” he asks, taking out the headband and ruffling his hair so his curls bounce onto his forehead. It’s more than a little distracting. “I’m sure Marls would love for you to stay.” 

“I…” You glance towards the bar. “I’m pretty sure the free drinks are just for people in the band, no?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He waves you off, taking your hand and leading you towards the bar. “You won’t be paying regardless. Just tell me what you like.”

[luvzshy]

Harmonious Nights

Summary: In the comfort of your shared home, you balance your passion for music with a playful relationship with Billie Eilish. As you navigate life together, you find inspiration in your creative space, while Billie adds her unique flair and support.

Word Count: Approximately 2,500 words.

Warnings: Fluff, humor, light angst, sarcasm.

The soft glow of the string lights hung above your home studio, creating an inviting atmosphere. The walls were adorned with framed posters of classic bands, and your drum kit took center stage. With a set of sticks in hand, you sat at the kit, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement as you prepared to dive into another session.

Just as the first beat reverberated through the room, the door creaked open, and in walked Billie Eilish. Her deep brown hair reflected the warm light, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, and tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

“What’s up, rockstar?” she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Gonna wake the neighbors again with your ‘drumming skills’?”

“Excuse me,” you shot back, rolling your eyes dramatically. “This is pure artistry you’re witnessing, Billie. Not everyone can appreciate the complexities of a paradiddle.”

Billie laughed, stepping further into the room. “Right, because the world is just dying to hear your ‘paradiddles’ at three in the morning.”

You chuckled, a grin spreading across your face. “Well, I’d argue it’s better than your midnight snack escapades, but we both know you wouldn’t survive without your stash of chips.”

“Oh, come on,” Billie retorted, mock offense in her tone. “I can’t help it if I have a refined palate. You know, potato chips are a culinary masterpiece.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you picked up the rhythm again, letting the beats flow. Billie watched for a moment, admiring the way you lost yourself in the music. It was one of the things she loved most about you—the passion, the way you poured everything into your art.

“Okay, but seriously,” Billie said, leaning against the wall, “do you think we could maybe jam together sometime? You know, I can actually sing.”

You paused, turning to her with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Sing? Billie, darling, you know you have to leave some talents for the rest of us mortals.”

Billie gasped, hand clutching her chest in mock horror. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I’m an acclaimed artist.”

“An acclaimed artist who sings in the shower and has an entire album about being sad,” you quipped, laughter dancing in your eyes.

“Touché,” Billie replied, a chuckle escaping her lips. “But I can still hold my own against your drumming. Just wait till I unleash my hidden talent on you.”

“Hidden talent? What’s next, you’re going to tell me you can play the bagpipes too?”

She winked, pushing herself off the wall and stepping closer. “Only for very special occasions.”

“Great, now I’m worried about what ‘special occasion’ means,” you said, shaking your head.

You returned to the kit, letting the beat drive you, your heart swelling with inspiration. The comfortable banter between you and Billie was a rhythm of its own, a dance of love and playful irritation. As you played, you could feel her gaze on you, a warm presence that added a layer of support.

Suddenly, a beat dropped, and Billie couldn’t resist. She started to sway, a playful grin lighting up her face as she danced around the studio, teasingly mimicking exaggerated drum moves. “Look at me! I’m a drummer now!”

“Wow, I’m impressed,” you said, pausing to clap. “Truly, the world needed another self-proclaimed musician.”

“Careful,” she warned, stepping closer, “or I might just steal your thunder and become the next rock sensation.”

“Right. Billie Eilish: Drummer Extraordinaire. Just what the music industry needs.”

As the playful teasing continued, your focus shifted to the sounds of the outside world. You loved this quiet, suburban life—how it felt like a sanctuary, away from the chaos of fame and the relentless demands of the industry. Here, in your home, you could be yourself, sharing moments that felt genuine and unfiltered.

“Hey,” Billie said softly, breaking the playful tension, “what are you working on tonight? Any new beats?”

You sighed, pulling back slightly. “I’m trying to come up with something for my next project. I want it to feel… I don’t know, different. Like it’s something fresh.”

Billie stepped closer, resting her hands on the edge of the drum kit. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got? I could use a little inspiration myself.”

“Okay, but if you start judging my ‘paradiddles’ again, I’m kicking you out of the studio,” you replied, your tone light.

“Fair enough. Just don’t make me cry,” Billie shot back, a wink in her eyes.

With a mock salute, you returned to the drums, setting a new tempo. As you played, the rhythm enveloped you, and Billie’s presence transformed the atmosphere. You felt invigorated, the beats morphing into a flowing melody that echoed your shared life together.

Billie listened intently, her head nodding in time with the rhythm. “See? This is what I’m talking about,” she said, excitement bubbling in her voice. “You’ve got something special here!”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of her encouragement wash over you. “Thanks, babe. It helps having you here. You always know how to inspire me.”

“I try,” she said, a playful lilt in her voice. “I mean, it’s not easy being this fabulous.”

“Fabulous? You’re practically dripping with sarcasm,” you retorted, laughter bubbling between you.

“Well, darling, if you can’t be fabulous, you might as well be funny.”

“Touché again,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “You really have a knack for this.”

As the night wore on, you transitioned into a more relaxed vibe, exchanging playful banter and soft kisses in between beats. The drumsticks danced through the air, while Billie hummed melodies that floated through the room, blending with the sound of the drums.

Eventually, you found yourselves nestled on the couch, a comfortable pile of limbs and laughter. The warmth of your shared space wrapped around you like a blanket, and Billie rested her head on your shoulder, her fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

“You know,” she murmured, “this is my favorite part of the day. Just being here with you, creating these moments.”

You glanced down, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I agree. There’s something magical about these nights.”

Billie lifted her head, her blue eyes shimmering with mischief. “But let’s be real, you just love that I’m here to keep you grounded, right?”

“Sure, that’s definitely the reason,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who wouldn’t want their rockstar girlfriend around to keep their ego in check?”

“Exactly! Just think of me as your personal assistant, but with pretty face.”

You both burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room. In those moments, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you—lost in your cocoon of love and creativity.

[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track five: the battle of the bands

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, alcohol, DOGGOS, yuji literally is just a ray of sunshine 24/7, mentions of drunk driving, so much fluff, ridiculous amount of kissing tbh, short time skip at the end, FINAL CHAPTER! || sfw. 8.8k words.

FOR THE FIRST time in a long stretch of busy days, you wake up not to the chirp of your alarm but to soft rays of Saturday morning sunlight seeping through the cracks in the blinds, painting your eyelids orange-gold. You crack an eye open and find Takuma stirring beside you. Right.

“Morning,” you whisper. For a moment, when Takuma opens his eyes, he looks surprised, and then he seems to remember why and how you got here and his expression melts into a soft smile.

“Morning, Skip.” He yawns. “Time’s it?”

You shrug. You’re pretty sure your phone is dead.

“Eh, it’s Saturday,” he mumbles. “S’fine.” You chuckle, daring to reach out and ruffle his hair. You don’t know what this is, the unspoken thing in the thin slice of air between you. You know what you want it to be, though.

For a while you both lie in comfortable silence, letting the sounds of the awakening house float up the stairs toward you. Murmuring, clattering around in the kitchen, the front door opening and closing, cars outside.

“Hey,” you say eventually, making eye contact. His eyes are a very deep shade of brown, dark but warm in a way that reminds you of old bookshelves or tree bark after the rain.

“Hey back.”

He’s relaxed, every part of him unhurried, and you take the image of it and stamp it into your mind over the memory of the night prior. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Takuma smiles. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Maybe it should be more awkward, the fact that you’re here in his bed in his clothes and you haven’t named whatever it is that stretches out in the silence. But it’s not. It’s just… easy.

“Skipper?”

“Hm?”

“I really, really like you,” Takuma whispers. The words wrap themselves around you, warm when you didn’t know you were cold.

“Yeah?” You bring a hand up to his face, trace the line of his jaw. His cheeks are a little colored in the mix of light slipping through the window and the cracked door. “I really, really like you too, Takuma.”

He cups your face in both hands, pulls your lips to his, and your whole body responds, pressing up against him in the too-small twin bed. Your hand goes to hold the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, and this is what people write love songs about, you fucking get it now, all the metaphors and cliché words you thought were exaggerations but no, they’re not, because you’re feeling all of them all at once and you don’t ever want to leave this moment in time.

“Like” doesn’t feel strong enough, not for this. You’ve only known him for a month. Is it really possible he’s already become so integral to the structure of your heart?

You’re kissing in the early morning light and it’s hungrier than you thought your next kiss would be, because even though all the rest of your days are rolling out before you, you don’t know how many there are. He twists so he’s above you on his knees, one of them between your legs, and it’s like a reversal of that night on the roof, like you can feel the night air even in the golden midmorning hours.

“Kuma,” you murmur between kisses, and he grins against your mouth, takes your next breath and makes it his.

At some point you’re interrupted by the startled growl of your stomach, and you break apart, unable to stifle the giggles rising up in your throat. “Well.”

“Well,” Takuma echoes, grinning. He stands and offers you a hand. “Breakfast?”

Downstairs, the house is alive with idle chatter and the clinking of silverware. Kirara is seated atop the counter, legs swinging as she eats a plate of eggs, and Hakari stands beside her leaning against the cabinets. Megumi scrolls absently through his phone at the table, the dogs looking up at him expectantly from either side, and Yuji is digging through a bunch of take-out boxes. When he sees you, his whole face lights up.

“Morning!” he practically sings. “Here, eat food.”

“Where’d this come from?” Takuma asks.

“My friend dropped off breakfast,” Yuji chirps, pushing a Tupperware container of pancakes toward you. If it weren’t for the brace wrapped around his wrist, you’d have no idea anything happened. He’s his usual golden retriever self.

You smile, forking one of the pancakes onto a plate. “That’s sweet.”

Your phone buzzes, and it’s Tsumiki sending you the link to the news brief. You frown at the headline, not out of any disrespect for the writer who stepped up to cover it, but more at the fact that it’s unfortunately true.

JU senior issued DUI after crash on 34th and Olson Blvd Friday night

“What’s up?” Takuma asks, immediately noting your expression. You slide the phone across the counter, watching its screen catch the light from the kitchen window. Kirara leans over it as well and starts reading off Junpei’s story halfway through.

“Zenin, who according to a campus police report was driving under the influence of alcohol, was on the phone with an ex-girlfriend when he swerved into the opposite lane.” Her dark brows knit together in some combination of anger and disbelief. “Jesus.”

“That’s fucked,” you murmur.

Someone’s phone rings, and Megumi glances at his screen and blinks, seems to hesitate. Then he gets up and disappears down the hall. You glance at Takuma, but he just shrugs. It’s probably Gojo.

The rest of you eat and eventually make your way to the living room, scattering yourselves across the couch and carpet and chairs.

“That single last night,” Takuma says, letting Kuro jump up beside him on the couch. “Concept. Make it the title track of an EP.”

You blink for a second, startled. “Wait, for real?”

“Yes!” Takuma says, sitting up straighter. “Think about it. Cover art is one of those name tag stickers, you all sign it, wrinkle it up and crease it and take a grainy film photo. And you put the song on it with Next Fix and a couple of your older singles you and blow up.”

“Or you print one off that says hello, our name is,” Kirara pipes up, seeming excited by the idea. “Ooh, you can have an intro track like that.”

“All caps. Just to match the energy,” you say, picturing the EP cover in your mind. “HELLO MY NAME IS. No punctuation either.”

“I like it,” Kirara nods. Takuma’s got that excited shine to his eyes, and you realize he’s very in his element in this conceptual space—he really will be a good producer. He has the mind for it.

Megumi slips back into the room looking a little haphazard, disgruntled, looking anywhere but into anyone else’s eyes, and Yuji cocks his head in question. Not Gojo, then. “Who was that?”

“No one,” Megumi lies, waving him off and turning back toward the kitchen to avoid everyone’s questioning gaze. Hm.You know better than to ask, and it seems that’s the consensus, because nobody pushes it—Megumi will open up in his own time. You hope he figures it out soon.

For your part, it’s a lazy Saturday, hanging out with Takuma, Yuji, Megumi, Kirara, and Hakari, gaming and talking and generally just existing in each other’s presence. After the chaos of last night, it seems to be exactly what all of you needed.

It’s not until late afternoon that Kirara broaches the topic of the band.

She gestures at Yuji, a flapping motion that misses the mark a little because Kirara is sprawled upside-down in the beanbag in the corner. “Itadori, can you, like… drum with that?”

He shrugs, looking down at his injured wrist. “Yeah, probably!” You frown. So much of drumming is in the wrist, and you kind of figured Kirara’s question was rhetorical. You realize abruptly that Shibuya Incident is still going up against Black Flash in the finals on Friday, and if they don’t have Yuji, they’re fucked.

“Psh, don’t look like that, it’s fine,” Yuji insists, grabbing two Wii remotes and wielding them like drumsticks. He goes to bang them around, mimicking a rock beat, and you watch as his face twists into a grimace and he drops one of them. “Okay, so, update: never mind!” He grins sheepishly.

Kirara is the first one to look at you, and by the time you’ve processed what exactly it is she’s trying to say, everyone else has their eyes locked on you—including Yuji.

Oh, shit.

“Whaddaya say, girl drummer?” Kirara asks, pointing a finger gun at you.

“Oh, guys, I don’t… I don’t know, it’s your band. Yuji—”

But Yuji is the one who seems the most excited about it. He’s abandoned both Wii remotes on the floor and is now looking up at you with bright eyes and his eternal grin. “No, Skipper, please? It would be so fun! I can still do aux and stuff. But we could play together! It would be so awesome!”

“Is that even allowed?” you ask, glancing at Takuma, who’s trying and failing to hide a boyishly excited smile. “I mean, I already got eliminated.”

“Hang on,” Hakari says, pulling out his phone. It takes you a minute to realize who he’s asking. “Yeah, no, Panda says it’s whatever. Better that than not have a battle at all.”

Takuma nudges you with a knee, looking at you with steady eyes. It’s your choice, he seems to say.

“I think,” you say slowly, “I should talk to my band first. But… I’m not opposed.”

Yuji whoops so loudly you flinch a little and Takuma grins, putting his arm around you and squeezing your shoulder.

“I probably should head out,” you say, a little reluctantly. “Kinda left the roommates high and dry last night.”

Kirara salutes you, her face red from the blood rush of still being upside down, and Yuji chirps out a happy see ya!

“I’ll walk you out,” Takuma says, standing when you do. You say bye to the band and the dogs and he follows you to the front door, going as far as to step just outside with you. The door stays open just a crack as you linger, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. He pulls you in and kisses you right there on the front step, and you smile against his lips.

“Are we, like…?” Takuma murmurs when he pulls away, cheeks flushed from the question or the cold, you can’t tell.

“Are we what?” you tease, shoving lightly at his chest.

“You know.”

“Well, if you don’t say it I’m gonna beat you to asking—”

This seems to zap whatever hesitation Takuma had right out of him, and he cuts in, “Willyoubemygirlfriend?”

“Sorry, what was that?” You know you’ve got a shit-eating grin on your face, but you can’t stop it. “Couldn’t really hear you—”

“Oh my god. Will,” he says slowly, drawing out the word, “You. Be. My. Girlfriend?”

You can see your laugh fanning out before you in a puff of warm air, and you tip your head forward into his chest, grinning. “Yes, Takuma, I would love to be your girlfriend.” You pull back and look up at him, lacing your fingers together. “I was kind of trying to get you alone all week so we could figure out what the fuck was going on. But it worked out, huh?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “It worked out.” He reaches up and ruffles your hair, laughing when you go to swat his hand away. “I was trying to get you alone, too,” he admits. “I like spending time with you, Skip. I’m pretty sure you’re the coolest person I’ve met, like, ever.”

“Ever,” you echo. “Those are some pretty lofty expectations to live up to.”

He shrugs. “You meet them all.”

Despite yourself, heat creeps up to your cheeks again.

“That was less scary than I thought it was gonna be,” Takuma confesses. Your phone rings in your pocket, and you glance at it and see Maki’s name sliding across the screen.

“Think that’s my cue.” You plant one last kiss on Takuma’s lips and turn around, throwing a “bye, boyfriend” over your shoulder. You glance back and catch him mid fist-pump, and he sheepishly shoves his hands into his pockets when he realizes you saw.

You’re still wearing his clothes, you realize as you answer your phone. Guess it doesn’t really matter, since they’re your boyfriend’s.

“Hey,” Maki says in your ear. “You comin’ home anytime soon? No rush, but we’re making lunch so we figured we’d ask.” In the background, you can hear Toge singing what you think is a dramatic rendition of Kristoff’s song from Frozen II, but you aren’t entirely certain because none of the words are right.

“Yeah, I’m literally walking through the door in thirty seconds,” you say, and Nobara’s face appears in the kitchen window. She waves excitedly and you raise a hand in return.

“Oh, sick.” The line goes dead as you open the front door. “Hey!” Maki shouts when she hears it click, and you slam it closed against the rush of cool air trying to sneak inside with you.

“Hi!” you call back.

Yuta pokes his head around the corner and grins at you. “Welcome home, our favorite breaking news reporter.”

“I didn’t actually report on anything,” you admit, kicking your shoes off and padding into the kitchen. Toge is somehow balancing cross-legged on one of the high stools, and Maki is making tacos. “Conflict of interest once I realized who it was.”

“Yeah, I saw the article,” Nobara chimes in, glancing up from her phone. “Yikes. Frickin’ Naoya Zenin. What an asshat.”

You snort. What an understatement.

“Hope he rots in jail,” Maki says in a sing-song voice, not even looking up.

“I love family,” Toge says.

You fill your friends in on the crash and the aftermath and Yuji’s wrist, leaving out some of the details about Takuma, because that feels a little invasive. And then Yuta asks the big question: “What about the band?”

“About that,” you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not exactly sure why this makes you so nervous. Maybe it’s just that these are your people, your band, and you all worked so hard and then went down together. It doesn’t seem fair that you get to go back on stage and try again and the rest of them don’t. “So. They asked me to fill in—“

“Yes!” Nobara shouts, pumping a fist in the air. “Oh, that’s so awesome!”

“Well, I didn’t say yes yet—”

“What? Why?” Toge asks incredulously. You laugh, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. Of course they’re okay with it. These are your best friends. They’ll always have your back.

“I wanted to check with you guys,” you say, feeling silly about it now. “Just—I don’t know, to make sure. Since it’s not our band, and I didn’t want you guys to feel like I was, I don’t know, like…”

“Musically cheating?” Maki chuckles. “Skipper, this is great. You should say yes.”

Yuta solemnly puts a hand over his heart. “Avenge us.”

“Thanks, guys.” You grin as you hop up on the counter next to Nobara, pressing your shoulder to hers. “I love y’all.”

“Sap,” Maki says, which means love you too.

—

Using a drum set that isn’t yours is always a weird experience. You feel like everything is just ever so slightly off, and Yuji’s kit is an absolute patchwork of different brands of heads and shells and cymbals. You have to lower the stool because he’s taller than you. But it’s just for rehearsal, at least—you can use your own kit at The Fix.

It’s your first time in the shabby basement of Takuma’s house, and it looks distinctly different than your own. They’ve pinned old rugs to the walls as a type of sound deadener, not dissimilar to your own setup, but their lighting is a collection of Facebook marketplace floor lamps and a little disco ball that’s apparently Yuji’s. Your basement has string lights and a bunch of stools and beanbags, and this one has extra blankets all over the floor where Yuji and Kirara have made themselves at home.

Learning Shibuya Incident’s songs isn’t difficult—you’ve heard enough of their music to anticipate what’s coming, and Yuji’s there to give you pointers. Their three-song set for the final performance isn’t actually done, because they don’t feel like they have a good enough finisher, and after you’ve run the first two songs several times you mess around with potential chorus lines.

“What about that?” Kirara says after plucking out a new melody. “It’s hype enough, I think. Or it will be, once we add the rest of you.”

“I like that.” You tap out the rhythm on the snare rim, humming. “You have lyrics?” You look at Takuma, who’s staring at the ceiling like it might have all the answers if he just squints hard enough.

“Somethin’ about, like… losing your head a little bit because you caught feels,” he says. “Like, you’re down so bad you can’t function, to be dramatic about it. That triplet at the beginning of the chorus, Kirara—”

She plucks it out again, down-up-down. “On my own,” Takuma echoes, down-up-down. “Every little move I can’t pin down…”

The words tumble past your lips before you can stop them, because they’ve been circling your head for a week now. “Friends with all the dead in my ghost town.”

He spins around to look at you, a grin spreading across his face. “Yes! It’s like I’m going…”

“Going,” Kirara echoes, and they go back and forth—going, going, “out of my mind!”

“Whoo!” Yuji cheers, pumping a fist in the air. “Holy shit. That was crazy.” Takuma grabs the nearest beat-to-hell spiral notebook and starts scribbling.

Megumi starts laying out a bassline, subtly driving the beat forward a little, and you clamp the hat down on two and four to keep time. Kirara comes in with something that must be the verse, and Takuma reads off, “You left in the morning after eight, I got into work two hours late, I can’t see the sun without your face.” Bass, bass, bass. Megumi nods along and Yuji is practically dancing from his spot on the floor.

“One day and I run fresh out of light…”

Hm. You add, “Twelve hours without your hand in mine.”

“I’m dizzy and overworked and tired,” Kirara sings lowly. All three of you sing the chorus again, and you feel just like you’re at home in your own basement, writing a song in real time with Nobara and Maki and the boys.

“Oh, that slaps,” Takuma practically shouts. “Jesus. We’re gonna win.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Megumi warns, a wry quirk to his lips.

Kirara glances at her phone. “Food’s here. Break time, freaks.” She bounds up the stairs and Megumi follows to help her grab the bags—you DoorDashed Taco Bell, since Yuji never got his beloved crunch wrap on Friday.

You leave your sticks on the snare and move around the drum set, flopping down on the ground beside Takuma. “You’re good at that,” you tell him honestly, pulling the notebook away to read what he’s writing down. I met you across the darkened stage, you shook up my life, you got me made, you’re drivin’ me crazy night and day.

You can’t help thinking of the night you met him, locking eyes while he sang from the edge of the low stage at The Fix, lit up by purple-red stage lights and putting you in a trance. You scribble a few more lines after his and hand the pen back.

“You’re a poet,” he tells you, and you laugh.

“I’m a journalist.”

“Woman of many talents,” he says, echoing Maki’s words from that first night you met.

“Itadori!” Kirara shouts down the stairs.

“Coming!” Yuji leaps up and disappears up the rickety basement staircase, leaving you and Takuma alone.

“Hey,” he says, tapping the pen on the page. You glance up at him, nodding for him to keep going. “Can I take you out? Like, on an actual date?”

Something light and quick kicks around in your chest, a hummingbird loose in your ribcage. “I would not be opposed,” you say, as if the idea doesn’t make you want to kick your feet like a little kid. “When are you thinking?”

“Mm, you’re in night class prison tomorrow,” he says, tapping the pen against his lip now. “Tuesday?”

It shouldn’t make you so irrationally happy that he remembers your schedule, but logic seems to go out the window where Takuma Ino is concerned. “Tuesday’s good. Where do you wanna go?”

He shakes his head adamantly, tapping you on the nose with his pen. “Leave it to me.”

—

The only things Takuma’s told you about your date tonight are dress warm and bring your board. He meets you outside your place at four, his bag definitely bulkier than usual, his own skateboard under one foot.

You’re wearing a denim jacket over a hoodie and your favorite cargo pants with your boots, and you tucked a beanie and gloves into your bag just in case, but it’s surprisingly balmy out for late October. The wind is the worst of it.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Takuma says when you coast down the driveway and come to a stop beside him. The greeting makes you blush as much as his smile does, and he chuckles as he pushes off. “This way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Crazy,” he says. You roll your eyes. Sounds like the kind of dad joke Yuta would make.

“Well, then.” The two of you make your way down the street and around the bend, and you realize he’s taking you to the skate park. But at the entrance he keeps going, around the pit and a few of the ramps and to the largest one, back in the corner—not the one Sukuna deals under, but the one opposite. And you stop in your tracks, your longboard making a protesting schkk under your feet, when you see it.

Battery-powered string lights loop around the posts and down the underside of the ramp, and blankets and pillows are spread out across the ground. The area is sheltered from the worst of the wind, and you know your jaw is hanging open a little as you watch Takuma unload his bag—JBL speaker, two thermoses, and a bunch of food.

“Takuma,” you say, not knowing what other words suffice. “I—oh my god.” You did not peg him as being this romantic.

Then you think about his song lyrics and think maybe you should have.

He grins at you from where he’s sat down on the blankets, holding out one of the thermoses. You leave your board by one of the poles and sit down beside him, taking it and letting the warmth seep into your hands. “What is it?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Mm.” You scoot closer to him, staring up at the layers and layers of graffiti and marker art covering the underside of the ramp. “This is maybe the sweetest thing ever.”

“I’m glad,” he says. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” You take a sip of the hot chocolate—still warm. “It’s romantic. Big fan.”

“Really?” He points to where somebody drew a dick on the far side of the ramp.

“Okay, well, you didn’t have to point it out,” you smirk. “You ever done graffiti?” Looking at his mischievous smile and the beanie tugged over his head, the skateboard abandoned a few feet away, he does look like the type.

“Tagging?” He shrugs. “No. I would, though. Maybe we should.”

You hum, staring up at the arcing bubble letters and jagged black lines all over the ramp. You think you’d be horrible at graffiti, but you’ve always appreciated it, the way it sends a message and doesn’t ask for anything in return.

“This is like… alternative aesthetic stargazing,” you muse, lifting a finger and tracing the sharp lines of one of the illegible words in the air. You could stare at all this art for hours and never find all the intricacies of it.

Takuma digs around in his bag and produces a Sharpie with an “aha!”

“You’re gonna graffiti with a Sharpie?”

He throws it at you and you catch it in one hand, instinctively twirling it like a drumstick. “We’re gonna graffiti with a Sharpie,” he corrects.

And so you do.

The nearest part of the wall is covered in bright pink paint outlined in black, and it takes you a moment of squinting and tilting your head to realize it says LEAVEYOURMARK. Seems as clear of an instruction as any. So you do—scooting forward, you start to draw flowers into the thick bands of pink lettering, and soon they’re shifting to music notes, percussion notation, aimless squiggles. Takuma queues up a laid-back playlist with a few artists you recognize and many more you don’t, and you pass the pen back and forth, adding tiny notes to messages around the ramp, doodling in the empty space.

You’ve been on dates before, but this feels wholly different. With Takuma, you’re not stressing over conversation starters, worrying about commitment, wondering if you picked the right outfit, trying to gauge your shared interests with carefully planned questions. It’s just easy, existing with him like this.

After a while, you’re on your back in the mess of pillows and blankets, staring directly up at the massive painting of a skateboard with a face. Takuma is drawing something on the wall behind you.

Squinting, the green streaks under the skateboard look like that loss meme Toge sends you at least twice a week. You take a photo with the intention of showing it to him later, though maybe you shouldn’t—he gets way too proud of himself for versing you in what he calls Reddit culture.

You crane your neck to see what Takuma’s drawing and find the thick, dark strokes of a city skyline, towers and domes and boxy apartment buildings.

“Artsy,” you tell him, smiling when he appears in your line of vision upside-down. “You sure about this computer science thing? You’re too creative.”

“That’s what my mom said,” he chuckles, capping the Sharpie and sitting down beside you. As you sit up, he leans back on his hands and glances over at you. “I told her about you. She’d love you. I mean, I’m pretty sure she already does.” He hesitates. “Is that weird? Too soon?”

“No,” you grin. “I—that’s really sweet, actually. I would love to meet your mom.” Your gaze softens at the relieved smile that crosses his face. “Gotta thank her for raising a guy like you, anyway.”

You realize you want Takuma to meet your family too—you want to show him all the corners of your too-small town, show him the place you grew up. It made you who you are—it led you here, to him, after all.

“So,” you say, tilting your head. “When you say you wanna be a producer. Where do you mean? Like, LA?”

He shrugs. “Probably. But I’m sure it’s more competitive there than anywhere else. I feel like the major hubs are there and New York, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere quieter, either.” He loops an arm around you, and your head finds its way to his shoulder. “What about you, world-class journalist?”

You grin, thinking of all the places you haven’t been, all the places you want to go. “Anywhere and everywhere. I just wanna see it all. I wanna travel.”

“You should!” He sounds genuinely excited about the concept, and you lift your head, taking in the expression on his face—he looks the way he did when he was talking about making an EP, like the world is full of possibilities and he wants to see them all play out. “You’d be so good at it. Being a travel writer or international correspondent or whatever.” He clears his throat. “I read some of your stuff, y’know.”

“What?” Suddenly you’re racking your brain for every piece you’ve published in the JU Journal, overly critical of your own work in hindsight. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s good. Really good, Skip, seriously.” He reaches out and tugs a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, and you find yourself leaning into the contact.

You aren’t sure what to say, so you settle on a soft, “Thank you.” Somehow, the idea of Takuma going out of his way to read your work feels personal on the same level that writing a song together does. Taking in your words, your ideas, internalizing them. What is intimacy if not that intellectual exchange?

“I think you’re going to be a really good producer.” It’s his turn to blush. “I mean it. Not everyone has the perspective for it, or the ear. But you do.”

“Ah, well, I—”

“Am not good at taking compliments?” you cut him off, raising a brow. “Mm, we’ll fix that.” He laughs, and you’re leaning in to kiss him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is the most natural thing in the world.

It’s late October, and you are not the least bit cold.

—

Your hands need to stop sweating before you lose a drumstick or something.

Shibuya Incident has about twenty minutes before you’re all due on stage for the finals, and The Fix is alive with students and lights and drinks and music and chatter. You’re out on the floor tonight, off to the side for easy access to the stage once Black Flash clears out.

“We’re kicking off with the reigning champions of the Battle of the Bands,” Panda booms, throwing an arm out as the band takes the stage. “You know ‘em, you love ‘em, they’re every genre and no genre, covers and originals, brass and wind. Give it up for Black Flash!”

You whoop just as loud as anyone else here, grinning at Nobara’s animated cheering from closer to the center of the floor. Miwa walks right up to the mic and takes it off the stand, the neck of her white electric in her other hand. “Hey, folks!” She brushes her bright blue hair out of her face and shouts, “Y’all ready to hear some good music?”

She has the sort of infectious enthusiasm that could work on pretty much anyone, and before you know it you and Kirara are spinning each other around to the beat of a synth-heavy pop song that sounds like it came straight out of the 80s. The instrumentals are simple but tight, and Miwa jumps around, engaging the crowd, belting like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“They’re good,” you catch Megumi saying lowly, probably to Yuji, but Takuma’s the one who answers.

“If I tell you the power of friendship will lead us to victory—”

“No.”

“Well, okay, you’re no fun.”

Kirara turns around and plants a hand on her hip, looking at Megumi. “Fushiguro, we’re fine. We’re going out with a badass new single and not one but two percussionists. We’ve never sounded this good.”

“Just being the token pessimist,” he sighs, cracking a reluctant half-smile. “I know we’re good.”

Yuji elbows him playfully. “Mr. Realist.”

Black Flash segues into a second track, an ABBA cover that has you dancing without thinking, and Takuma catches your eye and grins, moving along with you. And all too soon it’s over, a third song come and gone, and Panda’s back up on stage and the five of you are hopping up over the side to make your way to your places. Hakari and another tech have already swapped out the kits, and you settle yourself in the comfort of your own throne, your own pedals, flipping on the snare and pounding the kick a few times.

Yuji’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning at you. “You got this,” he mouths, shaking his tambourine at you.

You truly have no idea where he got a tambourine.

“What happened in Shibuya? Who the hell knows?” Panda shouts, riling up the crowd. “Give it up for Shibuya Incident!”

That’s your cue. You look at Kirara, who nods with a conspiratorial smile, and then Megumi, who plucks out a few notes in answer. Yuji’s already giving you a grin and a thumbs-up. And Takuma… he’s already stepped into his on-stage confidence, all relaxed, easygoing performer, and the look he gives you has energy coursing through your fingertips like an electric shock.

You hold your sticks above your head, clicking them loud on the lower end of the shaft, and shout, “One, two, three, four!”

You are alive.

The first track is another pulled from their EP, and you’ve listened to it probably an embarrassing number of times—you know Yuji’s part down to the sixteenth note, the roll, the rest, but you don’t hesitate to put your own spin on it, and he’s alight with the same energy beside you, messing around with a tambourine and a few other aux instruments near a mic of his own, since he’s also doing backup vocals tonight.

Your hands are moving fast, your feet pumping the pedals of their own accord, an instinct, and it’s over before you know it, a sheen of sweat already forming under the stage lights. You grin, catching your breath, wiping your hands on your jeans as Takuma introduces the band.

From your place near the back of the stage, you get more of the low feedback than anything else, but you definitely hear when he says Shibuya Incident and the crowd responds raucously in kind.

“That’s Kirara Hoshi on guitar and vocals,” he says, pointing to her as she does her little riff.

“Yeah, Kira!” You have no idea where Hakari’s voice is coming from, but it’s unmistakable.

“We got Fushiguro back there on the bass,” Takuma continues, and Megumi gives the crowd an unbothered nod, showing off his own instrument for a moment. “Itadori’s back here on aux and vocals.” He pauses to let the crowd shout for Yuji and then adds, “And filling in for him on kit, we’ve got the legendary drummer from Cursed Technique. Everyone give it up for Skipper!”

You do a quick roll, laughing as your own band goes crazy—you can’t see them in the glare of the lights, but you (and everyone else) can definitely hear them.

“I’m Ino, we’re Shibuya Incident, and this next one’s gonna slow things down a little.”

This one starts with Megumi, a laid-back track with a similar vibe to the first song you ever heard Shibuya Incident perform, but a little smoother. It’s over before you know it, and then you and Kirara are launching into the new single. Even Yuji looks like he’s having the time of life on backup vocals.

“On my own,” he and Kirara harmonize, Takuma taking the lead, and you nail the next two lines with punchy cymbal-tom hits, “all the shadows look like a death threat, everybody’s waitin’ to get hit, it’s like I’m going (going) going (going) out of my mind!”

All your worries melt away as the beat drives your movements. You’re not thinking about dropping a drumstick, missing a measure, losing the competition. You’re doing what you love with people you love, and that’s all you’ve ever wanted to do.

“Think I’m seein’ double in one eye, startin’ to think this air is spiked, no one told me that’s what love is like.” Takuma lets the guitar hang and grips the mic in one hand and the stand in the other, leaning with it as he engages the crowd, and you definitely hear Nobara screaming. “You got me going (going) going (going) out of my mind, yeah, yeah.”

It’s over so fast you can barely breathe, and you’re laughing before you know what’s happening, Yuji throwing his arm around you and shouting, “You killed it!”

Takuma turns around and locks eyes with you, and you see that same adrenaline high in his gaze that you know is in yours, and when the band stumbles off stage in Panda’s wake, he grabs your hand and pulls you into a hug. “That was crazy!” he practically shouts, which is probably good, because your ears are ringing so much you probably wouldn’t have heard him otherwise.

“Guys,” Megumi says, deadpan as always, but you can see the effects of the performance even on him, his usually stoic expression unable to mask his own excitement. “I think… we might have a shot.”

“Holy shit,” Kirara says. “Skip, write the story. Resident pessimist breaks vow of negativity—”

“Oh, shut up.” Megumi elbows her as she dissolves into laughter. In the wings, you can hear the indistinct sounds of Panda’s instructions as he starts voting, and music kicks up over the speakers. Ten minutes. Ten minutes.

It’s the longest and shortest wait of your life, and then you’re back on stage with Black Flash and Panda, and it’s fucking time.

You wonder if everyone else can hear your blood roaring, too.

“Once again, an insanely tight vote,” Panda says, a hush falling over the crowd as they wait for the verdict. “Phenomenal performances from both of our final bands, but someone’s gotta win. Give it up for the champions of this year’s Battle of the Bands…”

You imagine Maki hissing under her breath for Panda to hurry it up, Nobara’s hands clasped together as she anxiously bounces on the balls of her feet, Yuta biting his lip and trying to get Toge to shut up.

Takuma’s hand is on your shoulder, Yuji on your other side, Megumi and Kirara behind you. You glance at Miwa, and she gives you a knowing look that you can’t interpret.

You almost don’t hear it.

“SHIBUYA INCIDENT!”

You don’t know which screams belong to who—maybe one of them’s yours—but you’re swept into a massive pile of musicians drunk off victory, and you’re laughing, and Miwa’s jumping up and down and saying how that was insane, guys, you were amazing, and even Mai nods at you in congratulations, and Yuji is abruptly on Todo’s shoulders, and as the stage lights turn down a bit you finally catch sight of your own band, losing their minds on the floor.

“That’s our girl!” Maki hollers, and Yuta whoops as Toge pumps a fist in the air. You realize you can’t see Nobara, and two seconds later your questions are answered when she somehow materializes on the stage, launching herself at you with a massive grin on her face.

“You did it!” she shouts. “Holy shit, Skipper!”

Everything around you is chaos and laughter and noise, but something in the center of your being is incredibly still, and you think maybe it’s contentment. In this moment, you would ask for nothing else. It is perfect.

Nobara detaches herself from you after more profuse congratulations, turning to Miwa, and the bands make their way gradually off stage. Takuma’s hand is in yours—you don’t know when that happened—and he pulls you past the band, past the wings, all the way into the drum storage room backstage.

��That was fucking amazing,” he says. “You’re fucking amazing.” His beanie is off, tucked into his pocket, his hair as wild as his eyes as wild as your heart.

You close the door.

It’s a pulse. That’s the only way you can describe it, the rush of living energy that comes with kissing Takuma Ino behind the stage of a shitty campus bar, the heat shooting through your veins in time with the throb of the bass from distant speakers. Breath on your teeth and hands in your hair, the warmth in your gut from skin-on-skin proximity, ears ringing with the sound of your name on his lips and love-blind eyes, you’re alive and addicted to a feeling you know you’ll chase forever.

—

TWO MONTHS LATER. DECEMBER 19.

The house is alive with laughter and chatter and Michael Bublé’s Christmas album spinning from the record player. The semester is over, and tomorrow you’ll scatter for winter break, home for the holidays. Nobara insisted on throwing a party before all the inevitable road trips and flights, and the main floor is strung with multicolored lights and tinsel—Yuta’s plant, Rika, even has a tiny Santa hat on.

In addition to the actual residents of the house, Takuma and the band are here, as well as Hakari, Panda, Tsumiki, Miwa, and a handful of other friends. Megumi’s even brought the dogs, who have both taken a liking to the loveseat by the window and claimed it as their own. You’ve informed Megumi that they’re going to stay here with you forever (he said no, but you don’t take orders from him).

“Okay, I’m dropping you off at ten, right?” Yuta quadruple-checks. You’re huddled in the kitchen with him and Maki—Toge was here a minute ago, but he heard someone in the living room mention Just Dance and ran off to assert his dominance or whatever.

“Oh my god, yes,” Maki answers for you. “Yuta. You wrote it down. It’s in your calendar. You live in the same house as Skip, you’re not gonna forget.” She bumps her shoulder with his and he sighs in admission.

“I know.” He smiles at you. “Just gotta make sure she gets home for the holidays. Can’t have you turning into a sad Christmas cliché on us, Skip.”

You salute him with half a gingerbread cookie. “Appreciate it.” He’s taking you to the airport tomorrow for your flight home and refuses to take your gas money, so you’re already planning on beating him to paying for the first grocery run when you get back.

“Things with Mai are good?” you ask, glancing at Maki. She shrugs noncommittally but doesn’t correct you, which is a good sign. She and her sister met up the week after the Battle of the Bands for coffee, which you genuinely thought was a joke when she told you about it. They’re both going home for Christmas and have apparently decided to try and like each other a little more openly. And she actually showed up tonight, which you have to admit you weren’t entirely expecting.

“Yuta!” Toge hollers from the other room. “You have to come do Rasputin with me!”

Yuta groans, looking pleadingly at Maki like she can get him out of this, but she just grins. “You heard him.”

“You hate me.”

“Yeah,” Maki says fondly. Yuta, defeated, goes to join Toge in the dance of death. Maki whispers to you that she’s going to record it for blackmail and slips out after him.

Tsumiki appears beside you, drink in hand, and leans against the wall. She tilts her phone screen toward you and you see it’s the Journal website analytics.

The top story right now is yours. You grin. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize.”

“I expected it,” she admits, tucking her phone back in her pocket and gazing out across the room. “Look, I’ve been meaning to tell you. We won’t start the application process until spring sem, but, if you want it,” she glances at you, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, “I really think you should apply for editor-in-chief, Skip.”

Your mouth opens and closes without anything of use coming out, and Tsumiki laughs. “You don’t have to, but—”

“No!” you blurt, grinning. “I—I want to. I would love to. I was planning on it. I just didn’t know you… wanted me to.” Kusakabe’s just the advisor—when it comes to actually hiring the next editor, Tsumiki has the final say. Her endorsement is as good as a job offer. “I… thank you, Tsumiki.” You look down, suddenly overwhelmed by the words. “Big shoes to fill.”

“Aw, none of that,” she says, stealing a cookie from the tray on the counter next to you. “I literally can’t think of anyone better.” With a wink, she disappears through the doorway, where Kirara and Nobara are talking animatedly. Nobara gestures to you when she catches your eye.

“Dude, our listens are shooting up!” she says, shoving her phone into your hands. Your EP dropped mid-November, six tracks recorded in the studio with Takuma and Hakari, and you’ve performed better than you ever expected. The analytics show a sharp uptick that’s probably in large part due to Panda playing your stuff on the radio station.

You whistle, leaning on Nobara’s shoulder. “Awesome.”

Kirara leans against the wall, considering. “You guys thought about what you’re gonna do next year?”

Truthfully, you’ve really tried not to. The idea of Maki and Yuta graduating is so bittersweet. But graduation means Shibuya Incident will have a hole in their band, too. Kirara will be gone.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Nobara muses. “We could join forces. If we lose Maki and Yuta and Kirara, the only thing we’re doubled up on is drums and lead.”

It’s not a bad idea. And if Yuji is track captain next year and you get that editor job, neither of you will have as much time for the band—switching off could actually be very helpful. You hum, considering. You’ll have to talk to the others.

“Oi,” Kirara says, reaching out to poke you with a socked foot. “Your boyfriend’s in lost puppy mode over there.” You glance into the living room to see Takuma scanning the room next to Megumi and the dogs, probably looking for you.

“Dumbass,” you say fondly, and nod goodbye to Nobara and Kirara before making your way over to him. The boys are halfway through Rasputin and Yuta is, much to Toge’s chagrin, kicking ass. Toge looks like he’s just run a half marathon.

Takuma lights up when he sees you, a mischievous smile appearing on his face as he intercepts you by the hall entrance.

“Oh, wow, what is that?” he asks cheekily, and tilts your chin up to see a piece of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. That was definitely Nobara’s doing. “Crazy that we just happened to—”

You cut him off, dragging him in by the shirt and kissing him, and makes a surprised sound that has you smiling against his lips.

“Crazy,” you repeat after you pull back, relishing the flush on his cheeks. Even after dating him for two months (as of today), every reaction you get out of Takuma makes your heart rate bump up a few beats. “Oh!” he says, suddenly remembering something. “Wait, c’mere, I have something for you.”

“Takuma!” You swat at him. “I told you not to—”

“Boo hoo,” he says, sticking his tongue out and dragging you toward your room, where he dumped his stuff earlier. You quietly close the door behind you as Takuma digs around his bag, standing up with his hands behind his back. “It’s Christmas and it’s been two months. You have no defense. Close your eyes.”

You do, giggling a little as he grabs your hand and presses something into it—something soft. “Okay,” he says, and you open your eyes to see a little stuffed penguin perched in the palm of your hand. It’s fucking adorable.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “Oh, he’s so cute! Takuma.” You cradle the penguin to your chest with both hands, grinning.

“It’s you!” he says, laughing. “Not official Madagascar merch, but I thought it was pretty cute. Your own lil’ Skipper.”

“I love it,” you say, making the penguin do a little dance in the air. You grab its tiny wing and poke Takuma on the nose with it. “Thank you.”

“Merry early Christmas.” His nose scrunches up a little in thought. “Early Merry Christmas? What’s the right way to say that?”

“Happy early nondenominational holiday of your choice,” you say teasingly, because the public university won’t actually say Christmas despite the decorations all around campus.

It’s a running joke among the entirety of the student body that the massive tree in the arts lobby is not a Christmas tree but a secular modern art installation. There are variations of insane alternate tree names on the school meme accounts. The knockoff JU Barstool page even got in on it, and the student groups hosting the Hanukkah and Kwanzaa celebrations.

Takuma’s answering laugh is bright and it follows you as you cross the room to your desk, pulling a box out of the second drawer. “Your turn.”

“What?” He has the audacity to look confused. “Skip—”

You hold up the penguin. “Objection denied!” The box is light and square, and you watch excitedly as he opens it.

“Oh my god,” he says when he realizes what’s inside. “No way. These are the exact ones—how did you even—?”

You had to do some investigating to figure out the precise guitar strings he uses, but what's your journalism degree for if not this?

“Who knows?” You shrug playfully. “Maybe it’s the psychic powers, maybe it’s the housemate I begged to sneak into your room and find out.”

Kirara was more than willing. “Good thing you came to me and not Itadori,” she laughed. “That kid can’t be subtle to save his life.” Takuma’s strings have been on the brink for a while, and you’re honestly shocked none of them have given out yet.

“They’re perfect,” Takuma laughs, setting the box back on your desk. “I love them. I love you.”

He says it so easily it takes you a moment to realize what just happened. He freezes, mouth opening and closing like he doesn’t know what words he’s looking for.

“I—uh,” he says eloquently. “It’s—I mean. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I didn’t mean to say it like that but I did mean it, you don’t have to say it back, if it’s too soon or you—”

Instead of cutting him off verbally, you grab him by the shoulders and press your lips to his. His eyes are wide when you pull back, despite the way he relaxed into the kiss on instinct.

“Hey,” you laugh, one hand trailing up to the back of his neck. “I love you, too.”

The excited smile that spreads across his face is slow and hesitant, like he can’t believe you reciprocate. You pull him back in and feel his grin against your lips, his hands coming to rest at your waist, warm.

“Thank god,” he murmurs between breaths. “Because I keep almost accidentally saying it, and it was gonna happen sooner or later.”

“Least it didn’t happen over the phone,” you grin, your hand skating down his arm and coming to rest in his.

Sheepishly, he admits, “Almost did. Yesterday.” Your laugh is bright and so is his answering one, and you perch your little stuffed penguin atop the guitar strings and tug Takuma toward the door.

“Okay, lover boy. Back to the outside world.”

“Lover boy, huh?” he teases. “Kay, pretty girl.”

“Couple of cheesy ass romantics we are.”

“Mm.” He presses a kiss to your temple, the action so casual and unthinking you want to melt. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The second you step back into the living room, Yuta grabs you by the elbow and presses a Wii remote into your hand.

“Oh, no. Yuta—”

The song’s been chosen for you, and Toge has passed the remote to Maki, who looks like she’d rather die than give a rousing performance of TiK ToK by Ke$ha.

“Well, at least it’s you,” she says. Toge tries to discreetly pull his phone out, but Maki gives him a death glare that could send a grown man to his grave. He nearly drops it in his hurry to shove it back into his pocket.

You snort, patting Maki sympathetically on the shoulder. “Let’s kick ass.”

Three hours later, everyone has somewhat settled down, sprawled across furniture and countertops and the carpeted floor. Yuta’s grabbed an acoustic from the basement and it’s being passed around, goofy Christmas songs overlapping with the still-spinning record player.

You enrolled here with the intention of building a new life, finding a new purpose—new faces, new music, a new place to call home. And you feel like you’ve found it. This is the point of college. You’re surrounded by the best people you’ve ever known, and your heart is practically overflowing with how much you fucking love them all.

After all, your heart is not a finite thing. You’ve just got an endless supply of affection, and you’re not scared of it.

Love is the right word, you think, letting your head fall onto Takuma’s shoulders, legs tucked up beneath you on the couch.

“I love you,” you whisper, just to say it. When he whispers your name, your real name, in the shell of your ear, something in your chest sparks a little. He makes it sound like a song.

“I love you, too.”

directory | prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222 @honeyyhuggs

a/n: that’s a wrap on out of my mind! ahh! i loved this one a lot, and it has so much spinoff potential i’m going a little crazy with it—keep an eye out for the megumi spinoff dropping soon. if you want to be alerted when it drops, lmk and i’ll put you on the jjk taglist. also, greta wrote a sukuna spinoff here—go read!

@bitchkay i need you to know your reblog tags give me life and you were fucking RIGHT ON THE MONEY with these developments

i’m not sure if i’ll start writing other fandoms or not—if y’all would want to see attack on titan or blue lock do let me know!

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

I need you

rockstar!hongjoong x fem reader

Trigger warnings: none?

Content warnings: oral (f receiving), squirting, very mild choking, hongjoong’s so in love

Summary: your ex boyfriend still loves you

Word count: 4.8k

A/N: here’s my gift to you all at the very end of my birthday 🤪 i really hope you enjoy, it’s not really proofread and only took me a few hours to write but i will admit i’m in love

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

Smut below the cut

Live events, especially concerts, were electrifying. Everything, everyone was buzzing with energy and excitement. Tonight was no different. You’d scored pit tickets to see your favorite band and had already made several friends in line. You’d never heard of some of the opening acts but you were always open to finding new music so you were excited to see who was playing.

The first two acts had already played and you were waiting for the third and final performance before the main event. The stage lights dimmed and the crowd cheered in anticipation. First out was the drummer, followed by the bassist and lead guitarist. Finally, the frontman jogged out and the band launched into the first song without so much as an introduction. That would come later.

But you needed no introduction. You knew exactly who he was. You hadn’t seen him in years but your knees weakened the second he set foot on the stage. You couldn’t hear the music. You could barely make out the cheers of the crowd. All you could focus on was your ex standing center stage, screaming into the microphone.

You stood in a trance the entirety of the first song, never so much as nodding your head to the beat. When the song came to an end, the band formally introduced themselves and Hongjoong began to introduce the second song.

“This next one’s for someone very near and dear to my heart. Sing it out if you know it.”

Your heart ached at his words. It had been years, sure, but he was always the one that got away. You couldn’t help but feel burning jealousy directed at whoever he wrote this song for.

But then you heard your name and your heart stopped for a moment before galloping a million miles per hour. One of the girls you’d met in line nudged you with her elbow and wiggled her eyebrows when she heard. “Wouldn’t it be so funny if this was for you?”

“Hilarious.” You nodded, faking a laugh.

Why would he write a song for you? Did it mean he missed you too? Or was it something he wrote when you were together and it became a hit with his fans later? You couldn’t figure it out. All you could do was question it.

The rest of the set seemed to fly by and you found yourself enjoying the music even if you were stunned into silence the whole time.

But then it happened.

As he exited the stage, he saw you. Your eyes locked and you stopped breathing. Everything melted away and it was just the two of you. You couldn’t breathe. But as quickly as the moment came, it was over as he was ushered away for the staff to start setting up for the final act.

You felt like you might crumple to the ground if you dwelled on it but that’s what you did even as the final act performed. You recorded your favorite songs and tried to pay attention but all you could do was think about how perfect and happy he looked as he walked off the stage. About the look on his face, like he’d been sucker punched the moment he saw you.

Apparently you were too far in your own thoughts because you were grabbed by the arm as you walked towards your car. You let out a surprised yelp but his familiar scent kept you from panicking before you saw him. “Can we talk?”

“Hongjoong.” You whispered his name, eyes wide as you spun to look at him.

“Can we talk?” He repeated after a few moments of staring at each other.

“Uh- yeah. Sure. Do you want to go to my car?” You sounded breathless as you offered the suggestion.

“Lead the way.” He released your elbow and gestured for you to show him to your car. You were ridiculously nervous now. You’d been nervous seeing him on the stage but now you were face to face and your heart was racing. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He hummed, trying to make small talk. “It’s a long way from home.”

“It was quite the drive.” You agreed quietly. “It was the show closest to me though and you know how long I’ve wanted to see them.” You explained, referring to the headliner. He hummed in response and the rest of the walk was quiet.

You unlocked your car and got in the driver's seat as Hongjoong slid into the passenger seat. You turned the key so the air would start to cool the summer heat from the car and then turned slightly in your seat to better face him. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I miss you.” He blurted out. “I think about you every day. I wrote that song in the hopes of one day playing it for you and winning you back. Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life.” He looked down at his lap and continued. “I didn’t mean to just throw that on you. I just never thought I’d see you again. I tried to reach out but nothing ever went through.”

“I blocked you.” You explained quietly, looking down as well. “I was hurt when you left so I blocked all means of communication.”

“I see…” He nodded and bit his lip. “I just…I figured as much. I just didn’t want to push and make you hate me. Though I probably did that when I left.”

“I can’t hate you.” You said incredulously. “I was hurt and angry when you left but I can’t hate you. You did what you had to do.” You sighed and shook your head. “You did it. You’re touring with one of the biggest bands in this day and age. You’ve made it. You wouldn’t have done that staying back home with me.”

“Why can’t I have both?”

“Because I’m not strong enough for that.” You bit your lip. “I’m not strong enough to wonder every day if you’re meeting someone else on the road. And I’m not strong enough to leave every bit of stability I know just to follow you. We’ve been over this.”

“I’ll abandon it all.”

“No you won’t. You’ll resent me one day.”

“I could nev-”

“You would. You’re not meant to settle in one place. You’re meant to live on the road, chasing the high of being on stage every other night. You-”

You were cut off by his lips meeting yours. It was a brief kiss. It was over just as quickly as it began. But it was enough to silence you.

“I haven’t been with anyone else. I haven’t wanted to meet anyone. If I can’t have you, I don’t want anyone.”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes and it broke you. You quickly turned away from him and put your seatbelt on. “Buckle in.”

“Where are we going?” He asked as you threw your car in reverse and backed out of the space.

“My hotel.”

He didn’t ask any further questions. He simply put his seatbelt on and allowed you to take him back to your hotel. You saw him fire off a text and figured he was letting his bandmates know where he was. But then his eyes were back on the road, occasionally stealing glances at you.

It didn’t take long for you to arrive and find parking and within minutes you were locking the door behind you. You kicked your shoes off and put your small bag on the desk. He started towards you but you held a hand up to stop him. You needed to preface this. “I won’t say this will go anywhere. But I at least need you for tonight.”

“It can go wherever you want it to go.”

“Then kiss me.” You dropped your hand and stepped towards him. Instantly, he was on you.

His kiss was brutal. It reminded you of your past and you felt yourself fall into the same rhythm you’d grown accustomed to all those years ago. Your arms slipped around his neck as he backed you towards the bed and you let out a contented sigh against his lips. This was right.

It had been too long since you were intimate with him but the familiarity never faded. You suddenly needed him like you needed air. His lips began to trail towards your neck and you tipped your head back, allowing him better access. “Joong?” He hummed against your skin in response so you continued. “When you said you haven’t been with anyone else…neither have I.”

His only response was a low groan as he urged you onto the bed. His hands slipped under your ripped shirt and you bit your lip. His hands felt electrifying on your bare skin. You didn’t want tonight to end for fear that he’d slip away again when you needed this. Needed him.

He still knew your body after all this time. His hands slid higher and higher until he was tossing your shirt aside. “No bra? You’ve gotten bolder.” He teased as he dusted kisses along your collarbones. His lips dipped lower and encased one of your nipples and you let out a soft sigh. “Missed this so much.” He whispered before continuing, flicking his tongue back and forth over the sensitive peak.

Your hands tangled in his hair and you gave a light tug, urging him to swap sides. You wanted to hurry things along, knowing what he’d do next. He wasn’t predictable in bed, he just loved going down on you before actually taking you. That was always the one consistent thing. Knowing that he hadn’t been with anyone else, you knew that hadn’t changed.

“So eager.” He ribbed as he swapped sides, circling your now-wet nipple with his middle finger as his tongue gave attention to your untouched one. His free hand caressed your side, his touch leaving behind a trail of fire.

“Can’t help it. It’s been too long.” You whined, not wanting him to keep teasing.

“Don’t worry, I know what you want. I’ll make sure it’s even better than the last.” He assured you as his lips skimmed lower, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your shorts before hooking in the waistband. He tugged your fishnets down with your shorts in one go and tossed them to join your shirt on the foot of the bed.

As soon as you were down to just your panties, his head was between your legs. He pressed soft kisses to the insides of your thighs and ran his hands along the outsides. “Missed this so much. Missed you so much.” He murmured against your skin as his lips trailed higher.

When he reached the apex of your thighs, he took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your arousal and groaning. He traced small shapes over your panties and watched as the wet patch grew until they were fully drenched. “Always so responsive to my touch.” He whispered in awe before finally breaking the trance he was in and tugging the thin cotton to the side. “And as beautiful as ever.”

Then his lips were pressing against your soaking cunt, his tongue dipping between your folds. You sucked in a gasp at the contact and instantly reached to tangle a hand in his hair. His touch dragged up memories that made heat pool low in your belly and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against his tongue.

His tongue flicked back and forth over your clit, lapping at you like a man starved, and you forced yourself to keep your voice down. You’d be horribly embarrassed to be heard vocalizing through the walls. “Joong…” You sighed, melting into the sheets when he slipped two fingers into your pussy.

He hummed against you in response and the vibrations made your head spin. As if to further prove that he still knew your body, he curled his fingers and instantly found your g-spot. This earned a louder moan and you pressed down against his touch in search of more.

“Taste so fucking good, baby.” He groaned before closing his lips around your clit and sucking. Your back arched at the sensation and he chuckled against you before doing it again as he scissored his fingers.

He alternated between licking and sucking as his fingers worked you closer to the edge. He slipped a third finger in and you felt the knot in your belly begin to fray. “Joong ‘m close-” You moaned.

Your warning only spurred him on and he worked harder to get you off. His fingers curled as he sucked harshly on your clit and your thighs began to tremble on either side of his head. But something felt different.

Before you could process what was happening, you were squirting all over his hand and face. He groaned loudly against you as he helped you ride it out and you had to fight to stay quiet. It was the most intense, satisfying orgasm of your life. And he’d given you plenty of satisfying orgasms in the past.

When he pulled back, your release was dripping from his chin. Your cheeks flamed and you began to babble out apologies but he quickly silenced you by licking his lips and offering a lazy smirk. “I had no idea you could do that, baby. Why didn’t we try before?”

“I-I didn’t know I could either.” You admitted timidly as he stood from between your legs.

“Wanna try for another? I’m dying to be inside you.” You nodded furiously and he grinned. “Good girl.”

You watched as he quickly undressed and cleaned himself up a bit, still trying to catch your breath. You took the time to admire him, taking in his physique with hungry eyes. The man was still absolute perfection and you couldn’t believe you ever let him go.

Now fully naked, he fully removed your panties then crawled over you and took a moment to look into your eyes. You could see the words he wanted to say swimming in his eyes but he held back. Now wasn’t the time.

Instead, he offered up a playful quip. “Guess we know you’re wet enough for me.”

“Shut up.” You whined quietly as your cheeks heated and he chuckled softly before switching gears.

“Wanna be inside you so bad…”

“Then fuck me, Joong.” You whispered, attempting to tug him down for a kiss.

“Tell me how bad you want it, baby.”

“So fucking bad, Joong. Need you so bad. I haven’t been able to even think about another man since you left. I’ll go insane if you don’t take me right now.” His eyelids grew heavier with each word and as soon as you finished speaking, he slid into you in one fluid motion.

He let out a long groan and buried his face in your neck as he bottomed out, his hands curled into fists on either side of your head. “Christ, y/n, you’re so fucking tight…”

You let out a helpless moan at the full sensation and bit your lip when he rolled his hips. “Wait.” He paused but didn’t pull back to look at you and you reached blindly for your shorts, quickly grabbing your phone when you found them.

As you scrolled through the music, he finally lifted his head. “Baby, what are you doing? I’m dying here.” He truly sounded agonized at not being able to move when finally sheathed inside you after so long.

“You’ll see.” You smirked as you finally found what you were looking for. You dropped your phone back on the bed and wrapped your arms around his neck as the first notes drifted from your speaker, soon followed by his voice.

“What’s this?” He asked with a grin.

“Even if I was distracted for the entirety of your set, the music still turned me on.” You shrugged then wiggled your hips. “Now,” You sighed at the sensation. “Why don’t you show me what I've been missing?”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.” He groaned and crashed his lips to yours as he rolled his hips. Your eyes slipped shut as a moan tumbled from your lips and you held him tightly.

Your nails dug into his back as he set his pace, his thrusts deep and powerful. His lips trailed back to your neck and he worked on sucking a mark into your skin as you reached up to tug at his hair. “Joong…” You sighed his name, gasping a moment later at a particularly strong thrust.

His low grunts and groans were only working you up further. You’d always enjoyed hearing his sounds, they always got you impossibly wetter. And he always made sure you knew. “Just keep getting tighter and wetter for me, don’t you, baby?” You nodded quickly and clenched around him as if to emphasize his point. He let out a choked sound as his hips stuttered and pride filled your chest.

He cursed under his breath and sped up, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. You felt the knot already forming in your belly and wrapped your legs around him, hoping to draw him in impossibly deeper. You needed for him to be close.

It had been too long. You’d missed this so much. In truth, you didn’t want it to just be tonight. But you were afraid of what it looked like to be in a relationship with a touring musician. So tonight was what you were going to allow yourself. Anything else would have to be off the table.

Tears formed in your eyes at the thought but you forced them away. But Hongjoong noticed before you could and smirked, completely misunderstanding. “That good, baby? You like it that much?” You nodded quickly, eager to play along and forget why you were really crying.  “Whose pussy is this? Tell me, baby. Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“You!” You cried. “It’s all yours, Joong! ‘M all yours.” And you were. No matter how badly it hurt or how scary it was, you were his.

“That’s right, baby. All mine. ‘Nd I'm all yours. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.” He pulled out and you frowned, the tension in your belly already starting to dissipate. “Flip over for me.” You did as instructed and wiggled your ass to tempt him. You yelped when he slapped your ass and he chuckled as he lined back up. “Wanna feel this perfect pussy in every position imaginable.”

“Do it.” You urged, moaning softly when he filled you again. He wasted no time in setting a rougher pace, both hands finding purchase on your ass and squeezing the soft flesh there.

Your toes curled instantly when he hit your g-spot dead on and your arms quickly gave way, leaving you to fall face first into the sheets. You feared your makeup would smudge and transfer onto the sheets but that quickly became the least of your concerns when you felt him sliding his hands up your back.

When he reached your shoulders he held you in place and gave a few hard thrusts before pulling you up. You were helpless, only able to moan at what he was doing to you. You allowed him to pull you up so your back was to his chest and he secured an arm across your front to keep you there.

His heavy breathing right by your ear only served to turn you on further and you clenched involuntarily around him. “Shit, baby, do that again.” He groaned, his free hand moving between your legs.

You followed his orders and tightened around him again, whimpering at the sensation. His fingers quickly found your clit and began to rub tight circles there. “Joong-”

The hand that held you in place against him slid up towards your throat and your head fell back on his shoulder. He knew you wouldn’t protest but still went slowly just in case. Finally, his fingers wrapped around your throat and you couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through your body as he tightened his grip.

“You like that?” You nodded furiously and he nipped at your earlobe. “Always did.”

His pace was brutal and unforgiving as he fucked into you, leaving you to claw at his forearms as he gently released your throat. You could feel him falling into a frenzy, his thrusts growing sloppy as his orgasm neared. You knew he wouldn’t last much longer and made it your mission to finish him off.

“Joong?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Want you to cum inside.” He cursed at that and you felt your own orgasm lurch closer. “I- oh- I’m on birth control ‘n’ I want you to fill me up. Please?” You pleaded breathlessly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, y/n.” His voice was strained and pride swelled in your chest. You could feel him getting closer to the edge and bit back a loud moan as you clenched around him again, the sensation nearly undoing you. “Shitshitshit ‘m cumming-” He warned as he let go, filling you to the brim.

You wanted to scream as he shuddered behind you. You always loved watching him fall apart and you wished you could watch once again. You needed to see him come undone.

His hips slowed slightly but his fingers worked furiously against your clit to bring you down with him. You felt tears spring into your eyes again as sensation overwhelmed your body and they wasted no time in spilling onto your cheeks. “Want you to cum all over my cock, baby. Let go for me. I feel you fighting it.” You were. You wanted to hold off, wanted to keep him here with you for longer.

But his coaxing tipped you over the edge and molten pleasure filled your veins. Your vision whited out briefly as you trembled under his touch, your release mingling with his as it ran down your thighs.

He took your jaw in his hand and forced you to face him, then caught your lips in a blistering kiss. You were still shaking when he pulled back and began to shower your face with kisses. “Why are you crying, baby? Was it too much?” His voice was laced with concern.

“No, just really fucking good.” You explained breathlessly, chasing his lips that now tasted like your salty tears. The kiss was brief and comforting. “Don’t wanna stop.” You admitted quietly as he pulled out.

“No?” You shook your head. “Hold on.” He instructed as he untangled himself from you. He sat on the bed, by the headboard, then motioned for you to come to him. “C’mere.”

You crawled to him and immediately straddled his lap, trapping his cock between your bodies. “Can I be honest?” You asked as his arms snaked around your middle.

“You know I want you to.”

“I’m terrified right now.”

“I am too.” He admitted quietly, a small smile on his face. “I’m terrified of what happens after this. I’m so afraid for what’s next. But you know something?” You hummed in response and he continued. “It’s okay because I'm with you. Even if this goes nowhere, I can say I got a chance to properly send you off instead of vanishing on you like last time.”

“I don’t want this to go nowhere.” You blurted out.

“I don’t either. I’m yours and I always will be. No one else matters but you. And I know that even if I don’t have you, I’ll still be faithful to only you. Like I have been all this time. But I want you back.”

“It’s scary.” You whispered as you slipped your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “I’m so fucking scared of what happens when you’re away.”

“Nothing happens. We stay the same. We stay hopelessly in love and wait until we’re back together and we do it all over again.” He kissed your shoulder, his voice suddenly strained. Was he…about to cry? “These have been the longest years of my life, y/n, and I’d give anything to change how things went between us. But I understand where you’re coming from.”

Oh. Oh no. Was he…was he giving up? Panic filled your body and you hugged him tighter, pressing your nose to his neck. “I’m so sorry. I never should’ve made you choose. It hurt me just as much.” You pressed a small kiss to his skin. “There’s…so much to figure out if we do this.”

“Y/n?”

“I want to figure it out. I’m fucking terrified but I want to figure things out, Hongjoong.” You pulled back just enough to stare into his eyes and found them misty. “I missed you so much. I don’t want to go through losing you again.”

“You won’t. I’m right here.” He pulled you back into him and kissed your cheek as his arms tightened around your middle. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The air felt lighter now but something electric still crackled between the two of you. You couldn’t help yourself and turned to catch his lips as he reached between you to line up. Your breath hitched as you sank down onto him, your lips finally meeting in a sickeningly sweet kiss.

As cheesy as it sounded, you felt complete in the moment. Like a piece of yourself that had been missing was back in its rightful place now. And it was.

Things seemed to move in slow motion now as you rolled your hips, gasping into the kiss at the sensation of being full all over again. You set a slow pace, sinking into his touch only to lift back up onto your knees a moment later. It was maddening.

But a moment later, you were being tipped backwards. You landed flat on your back with Hongjoong on top of you, keeping the pace you’d set as he thrusted into you. This didn’t feel like makeup sex, this felt like making love. And you were all too happy to let it carry on.

He took your hands in his and intertwined your fingers, pinning your hands above your head. You allowed him to hold you in place as he stroked deep within you, loving how possessive he seemed in the moment.

You were a live wire. Your body was already overwhelmed with sensation and you knew you wouldn’t last very long with him fucking into you like he was. Still, you were going to fight to hold on as long as possible.

You weren’t sure when he started chanting “mine” but his words were like a prayer murmured against your feverish skin. He seemed drunk off you and it made your head spin. The moment was too perfect.

“Joong- oh-” You gasped as he gave a powerful thrust, the motion driving you up the mattress a bit.

You weren’t kissing, your mouths were simply pressed together, drinking up each other's sounds. You couldn’t stand to have any space between you as he worked to bring you both over the edge.

“So fuckin’ close-” He warned, his hips stuttering as if to prove his point. “You want it inside, baby?”

“Please.” You whimpered, all too eager to be filled again.

Your legs wrapped around his waist and you shuddered as he seemed to fall even deeper into you. He slipped a hand between your bodies and began to trace circles over your clit, wanting you to finish with him. It was enough to make your entire body burn with desire as your orgasm lurched closer.

“So good, baby. So fuckin’ good.” He groaned as he came undone, filling you with his release.

Lewd sounds filled the room as you drew near to completion, his cum dripping out of you and running down your ass as he continued to fuck you. He seemed to know you needed a little push so lightly pinched your clit, earning a surprised yelp as pleasure filled your body. “Do it again.” You pleaded breathlessly.

And the moment he did, you lost yourself to the pleasure. You couldn’t dream of keeping quiet this time and simply prayed no one was around to hear you calling his name. Your entire body shook with the force of your orgasm and it overwhelmed you. Within moments, you were begging him to stop. “Too much.” You whined, slowly relaxing as he stilled and kissed along your jaw.

“You did so well, baby. Such a good girl for me.” He praised and your cheeks heated.

You laid there basking in the afterglow for what felt like ages but could realistically have only been two minutes before he pulled out slowly. You whimpered at the loss of contact but he leaned down and pressed a series of tender kisses to your ribcage. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” He whispered against your skin and you nodded, reaching out to gently push his hair back from his sweaty face.

“You better not.” You whispered back, your throat tight. “I need you.”

“I need you too.” He leaned up and caught your lips in a sweet kiss. “More than anything.”

[markdelonge]

can you do an eminem hc in which his gf is in a band/ a rock artist?? strong gjrlboss vibes that matches his attitude :)

not my gif

...

title: em's punk gf

req: yes

warnings: blood mention and cussing

eminem masterlist

...

• alr so, she's prolly into punk

• dark blue hair and baggy clothes omg

• no one has ever seen her in a dress

• she's in a band too

• like a band that's as big as blink-182

• she can drum too

• ex drummer turned bass player omg

• huge stage presence, she walks on stage n the crowd goes crazy

• her and marsh met on the warped tour back in '99

• he had came up to her to ask if she was alright bc while she was on stage, she somehow busted her face open

• not really, but it was a big gash on her eyebrow

"yo, are you alright?" the bleach blonde went up to the bleeding girl.

"yea, i'll be fine, it's just a cut" she smiled

"y/n ... you're literally about to go get stitches" her bandmate chimed in

"yeah, but still, i'll be fine" she reassured.

"it's gonna make a dope scar, too" she joked, turning to the blonde guy.

"hey, you're that slim shady guy, right?" she asked, wiping some of the blood off of her eyelid with the back of her hand

"yeah" he half-smiled, still worried about the girl

"dope ... i like your music, i'm y/n" she introduced herself, sticking out her right hand that was covered in her blood before switching to the left one, which had none

"i'm marshall" the rapper shook her hand.

"are you sure you're good?" he asked once again

"yeah, i'll be fine, this happens a lot" she said while grabbing a towel to put on her wound

• the only shoes she wears are beat-up vans that has all her friends signature on it

• she looks like a skater but in reality she can't skate to save her life

• reappearing guest on jackass

• she has a lot of tattoos

• like amy winehouse type tats

• chipped nail polish

• she only ever paints her left hand nails because she's not left-handed and refuses to even try

• middle finger up in almost all her pictures

• anti-paparazzi

• she hates paparazzi

• and interviews

• mostly because they say shit like "why do you dress like a boy" "have u tried wearing clothes your size?" "are you dating one of your bandmates?" "are u gay?"

• she keeps a lot of her life in private (does that make sense?)

• like relationships n shit

• interviews like:

"so, we see that you hang out with eminem a lot"

"yeah, he's really cool"

"is there anything we should know?

"what do you mean by that?"

"like are you seeing each other?"

"why would that be something you need to know?"

"girl, just tell us! is there anything? do you have a crush on him?"

"no. do you?"

• she's in the punk rock genre but her favorite artists are mariah carey and beyonce

• marshall fell in love with her the day she sang an entire beastie boys album by heart

...

thats all i got bye

[alygator77]

♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: 7.3k

♬ a/n. hi lovelies, welcome to the debut of this fic :) very excited to explore this dynamic between satoru and y/n, thanks for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

series masterlist ♬ next chapter → pending...

ch 1 // the first measure

“Emotional regulation is defined as the process by which individuals influence the emotions they experience, when they experience them, and how they express them in response to different stimuli.”

Staring at the neatly printed words in your psychology textbook, your mind automatically begins to dissect the concept.

Emotional regulation. The holy grail of human behavior, wrapped neatly in clinical terms. It’s the ability to keep yourself in check, to craft a perfect mask that hides what’s boiling beneath the surface. The world only gets to see what you allow. If it were as easy as the textbook made it sound, half your classes wouldn’t exist.

Letting out a breath, you sink deeper into your chair.

People aren’t simple equations you can balance, after all—people are… complicated.

Emotions, even more so.

They ebb and flow like unpredictable tides, swelling when you least expect them, crashing down when you think you’ve regained control. They are messy, stubborn, and relentless—especially when the brain stops following its own rules.

Your mothers face comes to mind—uninvited. Her once-bright eyes are now dull with confusion, emotions flickering in and out like static on a broken TV. Dementia has stolen the filter that once kept her reactions in line with reality. It’s as if her mind is betraying her, one piece at a time.

You press your fingers against the pages of the textbook. Will any amount of psychology truly prepare you to untangle the complexities of the human mind? Can it allow you to help her—or at least understand her—before she’s lost entirely?

Before you can sink further into that thought, an ear-splitting crash reverberates through the store, jolting you back into the present. Glancing up with a sigh, the peaceful hum of the music store is shattered by the clumsy cacophony of someone abusing a drum kit like it owes him money.

Clearly, emotional regulation isn’t on that guy’s radar.

Yet, somehow, you’ve grown used to it. Working part-time here has taught you how to tune out chaos, as if the dissonance of the store has become its own kind of background music.

It’s chaotic, but it’s your kind of chaos.

The strings of guitars being tested, the pounding of drum kits, the chattering of customers—it all blends into a rhythm you no longer notice.

You’ve been working part-time in this quaint little music shop for so long that silence has become unsettling. If it’s too quiet, your mind starts wandering, spiraling into places you don’t always want to go. And so, the chaos is your anchor—it helps you focus, keeps you present.

Studying in silence feels foreign.

“Ugh… I have such a headache,” Utahime’s voice breaks through your thoughts, her hand pressing to her temple. Standing a few feet away, she shoots a glare towards the drum section. “He’s been at it for practically an hour now. Like… come on. Is he trying to destroy that kit or learn how to play it?”

Glancing up from your textbook, you eyes land on a brawny guy with jet-black hair, slamming away on the drums with no sense of rhythm, no control—just brute force.

“Has it really been that long?” you ask, blinking at the scene. The noise had faded into the background for you, becoming just another layer of the store’s soundtrack.

Utahime gives you a look that screams disbelief.

“You didn’t notice?”

You shrug.

“Guess I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Tch… wish I could do that,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her temples like the sound is physically burrowing into her skull. “That guy is killing me.”

Oh, shit. Now that your attention is focused, you notice just how bad it really is. It’s not just noise—it’s borderline offensive to music. He’s not even playing the drums—he’s assaulting them—completely unaware of the sonic devastation he’s unleashing on the store.

Utahime lets out another long, exasperated groan, her entire body sagging as she leans forward in defeat.

“I swear, if he keeps going, I’m going to snap,” her elbows rest on the counter, and she presses her forehead into her hands. “y/nnnn,” she whines, lifting her head just enough to glimpse at you. “Can you please do something?”

Glancing around the store, you catch the irritated looks of other customers—one guy near the synthesizers is glaring openly at the drummer, his hand gripping a set of headphones so tightly you half expect him to snap them in half.

It’s like the whole store is holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to make it stop.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook. It’s one thing to tune out the chaos when you’re focused on studying, but now that you’re paying attention, the noise feels like an assault on your senses too. You can’t blame Utahime for losing her patience—though she’s never been one to take matters into her own hands.

“Fine, I’ll handle it,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your seat.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, finally peeling her hands away from her temples. “Please, work your magic. Before we all go deaf.”

You roll your eyes internally, though you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Magic. Sure—that’s one way to put it.

What Utahime calls ‘magic’ is really just years of learning how to manage other people’s shit without losing your cool.

It’s not magic—it’s survival. A skill you’ve honed out of necessity, not desire. And sure, maybe your love for psychology helps—you’ve got the theories to back up the practice—but most days it feels more like wrangling toddlers who never learned how to grow up.

Taking a steady breath, you step into the fray, weaving through the store’s labyrinth of instruments and displays. As you get closer, the vibrations from the drums rattle through your bones, crawling up your spine. The sound is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through a megaphone.

The guy doesn’t even look up, his head bent low over the drum kit, raven hair falling in messy strands across his forehead. His arms move with the rhythm of someone who has no idea what rhythm actually is, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with each heavy-handed strike as he slams the sticks down like he’s personally offended by the drums.

You stand off to the side for a moment, watching him have at it. You’ve dealt with a lot of difficult people working here, but this guy? He’s so oblivious to the fact that the rest of the store is on the verge of mutiny.

Clearing your throat, you raise your voice, hoping to break through his focus.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

Another crash of the cymbals, loud enough to rattle your skull. Your jaw tightens as you try again, this time louder.

“Excuuuuse me!”

Still nothing. He’s completely in his own world, bashing away with reckless abandon. It’s like he’s in a vacuum, utterly disconnected from the chaos he’s creating around him.

Jesus this guy… your patience thins and you step closer—close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him from his overexertion. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and the muscles in his arms continue to ripple with each reckless swing of the drumsticks.

He’s not just playing hard—he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

As you reach out to tap his shoulder, you try to keep your touch firm but not aggressive, although, the moment your fingers make contact with him, his entire body jerks—drumsticks freezing mid-air as he whips his head around to face you.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sharp and filled with a flicker of annoyance.

“What?” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation.

Keeping your expression neutral, you try not to let his attitude get to you.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” you begin, as calm as you can manage. “We have a limited selection and there are other customers who may be wanting to try this kit.”

His eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed.

“So?” he drawls, waving the drumsticks lazily, like your request is beneath him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you press your lips together in protest. Stay professional, you remind yourself. Shifting your weight slightly, you square your shoulders and look him directly in the eyes.

“So,” you continue, voice firmer this time, “store policy is thirty minutes per instrument. You’ve been playing for over an hour.”

A low, sarcastic laugh bubbles from his chest, the sound filled with mockery as he tilts his head back slightly.

“And… what are you gonna do about it?” leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees like he's settling for a show—eyes glimmering with amusement as his lips curl into a smirk. “Throw me out?”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—every fiber of your being is itching to knock this guy down a peg.

Ugh. What a tool.

The condescension in his voice grates on you like sandpaper, but you force yourself to stay composed.

“Look…store policy is pretty clear,” you reply evenly, nodding towards the sign behind the counter. “You either give someone else a turn, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Your words seem to pique his interest—his smirk widens, eyes flicking over you slowly, appraisingly. Suddenly you’re more interesting to him than this drum set. He pushes himself off the stool in a slow, deliberate movement, and you hold your breath the moment he towers over you.

He’s by no means, a small guy.

The light behind him is blocked from his broad shoulders, and there’s a new edge to his gaze now. The moment he invades your space, it is just a little too close for comfort.

“Oh yeah?” your stomach turns from the low suggestive timber of his voice, “And what if I don’t feel like leaving, sweetheart? You gonna make me?”

Ick.

This guy might take the cake for being the most difficult prick you’ve had to deal with here, and that’s saying something. Working in this music shop, you’ve come across a lot of full of themselves wannabees, praising themselves like the next big thing—acting like God’s gift to music when all they want to play over and over again is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

A surge of discomfort ripples through your body, but you stand your ground. You know how this goes—he wants a reaction, and you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Look dude, I’m not asking,” your tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. “This is your last warning”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and a low whistle escapes his lips, as if he’s impressed—but it’s the kind of faux admiration that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he muses, chuckling softly.

Leaning in, the heat of his breath brushes against your skin as he invades your space once again—far too close for comfort—and you feel his gaze sweep over you slowly, lingering in a way that feels slimy and unwelcome.

“I like a girl with a little fire,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “It always makes things more fun.”

Gross.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides and you fight the urge to recoil as a surge of revulsion twists through you like a knife.

But before you can respond—before you even have the chance to formulate the sharp retort already forming on your tongue—the air shifts and a new voice cuts in.

“Wow, did I just walk in on the world’s worst pickup line, or are we about to throw hands over a drum kit?”

Turning your head towards the source of the voice, your eyes land on a tall figure standing a few feet away—his hair is a striking shade of snowy white, messy and untamed, falling in tousled strands that almost brush against the black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and even with his face partially hidden, there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint tugging at the corners of his mouth—like he’s watching the scene unfold for his own amusement.

Despite the casual nature of his appearance—jeans slung low, a loose-fitting hoodie—there’s something undeniably striking about him. It’s the kind of presence that demands attention without asking for it

Who the hell is this guy?

Clearly irritated by the interruption, the drummer straightens up—his smirk faltering as he sizes up the newcomer.

“This doesn’t concern you, man,” he growls, tight with irritation. “I’m just having a little conversation with her.”

The snowy stranger’s grin turns sharp, though his voice remains light.

“Yeeeah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he steps up beside you, and without hesitation, his arm slips around your waist, pulling you smoothly into his side like you’ve always belonged there. “Everything concerning her concerns me.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sudden, possessive gesture. Part of you bristles at the boldness, but another part… feels oddly safe in his grasp—like he’s been by your side forever.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as the drummer's eyes narrow—like the balance of power has tipped—the presence of this stranger throwing him off.

“Oh really? And just who the hell are you?” he snaps.

Your mysterious stranger doesn’t miss a beat—he chuckles softly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—brilliant, vivid blue, and gleaming with a spark that teeters between playful and dangerous. It’s the kind of look that makes your heart flip.

“Oh, me?” he feigns innocence with a nonchalant shrug, like this whole thing is just mildly amusing to him. “I’m nobody special.”

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he casually pulls you in a bit closer, and you are met with the warmth of his body as he leans into you just slightly.

“Just here to make sure my girl doesn’t have to deal with assholes. Y’know how it is.”

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Your girl? You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks as the words rolling off his tongue begin to register. You barely know this guy—hell, you don’t know him at all—and yet here he is, acting like the two of you are something.

But…maybe it’s working? Because the drummer’s eyes narrow further, his expression twisting as a furrow darkens over his features. Ah…but then you realize he’s not focused on the claim your stranger just made—no, his attention is locked on a different word entirely.

“Asshole?” he echoes, voice rising with indignation, practically spitting the word back. Clenching his fists, he steps forward with a scowl twisting upon you face. “You calling me an asshole?”

“Well, yeah,” your stranger remarks casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs again, utterly unfazed by the tension mounting between them. “When the shoe fits…I mean, you’re acting like one, aren’t you?”

Pure rage flashes across the drummer’s face, and you can visibly see his fists trembling slightly.

Uhh… on second thought, is this guy even helping?

Now you’re not so sure if your so-called rescuer is making things better or worse, because clearly, the drummer is on the verge of snapping.

“You better watch your mouth man,” the drummer snarls, fury simmering beneath the surface.

But the stranger’s grin only widens, and he exudes a confidence that makes it clear he’s not worried in the slightest.

“Heh. That’s a warning I get a lot,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “But y’know what? I don’t usually listen.”

It's a wonder the drumsticks the drummer is fisting haven't cracked under pressure, given how tightly he clenches them—his knuckles turn white.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls through gritted teeth.

A low hum rumbles against your strangers’ lips as he ponders the question thoughtfully.

“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty hilarious,” he scratches the back of his head, like he’s seriously considering the statement, then, glancing at you, his eyes gleam with amusement as his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Whatcha think babe? Am I funny?”

The question—and that pet name—catches you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But the drummer isn’t interested in the little game your stranger seems to be playing. His jaw clenches—teeth grinding audibly as his face hardens into something feral.

“I’m about two seconds away from wiping that stupid grin off your face,” he spits, taking another aggressive step forward.

Fucking hell, is a fight really about to break out at your work?

Your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you think he might actually swing at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the stranger says, still grinning like none of this phases him.

He releases his hold on your waist and steps forward with a smooth, almost lazy movement, placing himself between you and the drummer. His hands slip casually into his pockets, posture relaxed, but the air around him shifts.

“Let’s pump the brakes, big guy,” he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “You’re welcome to try. But I’ll tell ya right now—” his teasing lilt diminishes, replaced by something colder, more commanding, “you’re not gonna like how it ends.”

His words—a warning and a challenge wrapped in one—hang heavy, and for a moment it feels like the entire store is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Glancing around, you notice a few customers watching the scene unfold.

Fucking hell—this has gone from bad to worse.

And yet…the drummer doesn’t swing. He doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch.

He’s seething—rage evident in the set of his jaw, the clenched fists at his sides—but something about the stranger’s calm, unwavering demeanor is throwing him off balance. It’s almost impressive, really.

No, scratch that—it is impressive.

You misjudged this guy. He might have walked in here like a cocky troublemaker, throwing out cheesy one-liners and pushing your buttons, but now? Now, he’s cool under pressure, defusing a situation that could’ve easily escalated into violence.

Body language often says more than words ever could, and his is completely in control—relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single muscle tensed for a fight, yet there’s a sharpness beneath the surface—an unspoken control that demands attention.

It’s brilliant in a way. He’s defusing the threat without lifting a finger—a textbook example of how to manage tension without aggression. This guy is winning a psychological game the drummer doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

Their silent standoff stretches, until finally, the stranger breaks the silence with his smooth and almost disarmingly casual voice.

“Look, man,” he shrugs one shoulder with a nonchalance that seems almost practiced. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away with your dignity intact.” Tilting his head slightly, he gestures toward you with a subtle nod. “She asked you politely to stop. This is a store, not your personal garage. So maybe it’s time you pack it up and go before you make things worse.”

There’s a moment—a pause that feels like it stretches just a beat too long—where you can practically see the drummer’s gears turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to hold onto whatever’s left of his bravado.

Then, finally, he mutters through gritted teeth,

“Whatever.”

The word is spat out, dripping with frustration and barely-contained rage, and with a sharp movement, he tosses the drumsticks onto the kit—the wooden sticks clattering against the drums in a final act of defiance.

“You’re not worth it, and this place sucks anyway,” he mutters, full of aggravation, but his heart no longer in it—it’s clear his fight has deflated.

Turning sharply on his heel, he shoves past both you and the stranger with a forceful shoulder, storming toward the exit, and once the door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberates through the store with an unmistakable finality.

Just like that, the tension breaks. It’s like the whole store exhales at once—the weight lifting from the air as the distant murmur of customers resumes.

Before you can fully process what just happened, the stranger beside you turns his attention back to you.

“Well, that was fun,” he remarks, “Could’ve gone worse though. I mean, I didn’t even get to throw a punch. Talk about anti-climactic, huh?”

You barely manage to take a breath as he closes the space between you just a little more, his movements slow and intentional, and your heart flutters the moment his sunglasses slip down slightly, just enough for you to get a direct glimpse of his eyes. They lock onto yours—those bright, vivid blues—and for a second, everything else around you fades into the background.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You okay?”

There’s something undeniably genuine in his tone, something that cuts through the playful exterior and lands right in your chest. You weren’t expecting that—this tenderness from someone who moments ago had brushed off a near-fight like it was nothing.

His eyes—soft but still burning with intensity—hold yours captive, and for a second, you forget how to speak.

“Uh… yeah,” you manage, “I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Because I think you owe me a ‘thank you’ for that stellar rescue.”

You blink out of incredulity.

Thank you?

So much for tender—who does this guy think he is? You nearly scoff aloud. He wants a 'thank you' for a rescue that, truthfully, you weren’t even sure you needed?

Unsure whether you’re amused or annoyed by his arrogance, you open your mouth to respond—but before you can say anything, he cuts you off with a wink.

“Kidding,” he says with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Always happy to help.” His hands settle into his pockets and he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Especially when it means I get to rescue a pretty girl like you.”

The compliment lands harder than you’d care to admit as you feel the warmth creeping up your neck and into your cheeks—betraying the fact that—against your better judgment—you’re not entirely immune to his charm.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest…

—nope. Let’s not go there.

Pushing it down before it can grow into something more, you refuse to let that feeling root itself.

You’re not looking for attention, especially not from a guy like this—a guy who flashes a cocky grin like he knows it works. The kind of guy who acts like the world bends to his whims.

Romance? No thanks. You’ve got bigger things to focus on. He’s exactly the kind of distraction you don’t need.

“Rescue might be a strong word,” you mutter, finally finding your voice again as you cross your arms over your chest. “I had it under control… mostly.”

“Oh, you did? My bad,” leaning in slightly, his voice lowers as if sharing a secret. “But trust me, that guy? He was one wrong word away from turning this into a full-on disaster. You’re lucky I stepped in when I did.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his comment, refusing to let him rattle you this time, and there’s a flicker of amusement creeping into your voice as you challenge him.

“Lucky, huh? So, what now? You expecting a medal or something?”

His grin widens—a grin that’s undeniably magnetic, but you resist being pulled into its orbit.

“Naaaah, I’m not that high maintenance,” straightening himself, he regards you with a slight tilt of the head. “But… I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by his response.

Did he just… ask you out?

“Wait, what?” you stammer, not quite sure you heard him right.

“A coffee,” he repeats smoothly. “Y’know, like a reward for my heroic efforts.” He pauses, just long enough to make it clear he’s toying with you. “Or is that too forward? I can settle for your number instead.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips—a sharp exhale that’s part disbelief, part amusement. This guy is unbelievable.

Nope. You’re not going to let him get to you that easily.

“I don’t even know your name,” you shoot back, lifting your chin just a little higher, “and you’re already angling for a reward?”

“Ouch, y/n,” he replies, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if you’ve wounded him deeply—his grin, however, never falters. “That stings.”

You stare at him, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“How do you…?”

“How do I know your name?” he finishes for you, clearly enjoying this a little too much. He tilts his head. “Well, for starters, your nametag.”

Oh.

You glance down quickly and—of course—there it is, printed neatly on the tag pinned to your shirt, and now you are mentally kicking yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Right… of course,” you shake your head in mild embarrassment. It’s infuriating how easily he’s messing with you.

An amused chuckle dances on his lips and he leans back ever so slightly—hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“But that’s not the only reason I know you,” he adds, voice taking on a more playful tone, almost like he’s daring you to figure it out. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

You blink, trying to piece together where you might’ve seen him before. There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice…have you heard it before? Do you know him?

“I don’t…” you start, trailing off, searching for any spark of recognition, but you come up blank. “Uhh… should I?”

Flashing you a toothy smile, he's clearly delighted by your confusion.

“Ouch again. Double whammy,” with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head in mock disappointment as his crooked grin curves up. “I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his theatrics, and despite yourself, the corner of your lips do too. Ugh. You want to be irritated with him but somehow, he makes it incredibly hard to be.

“Right… well,” tilting your head, your voice dips with playful sarcasm, “maybe if you told me your name, it might jog my memory?”

With a soft chuckle, he slides his sunglasses off and rests them on top of his head, and just like that, you’re greeted with the full, unobstructed view of his eyes—striking, electric blue, so vivid they almost don’t seem real, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

“Satoru,” he says smoothly, as if his name alone should be enough to make everything click. “Gojo Satoru.”

The name floats in your mind, like it’s circling around something, but still, nothing concrete surfaces. He seems so confident—so sure that you should know who he is—and it only adds to your frustration.

Do you know him?

Generally, you keep to yourself, both at work and on campus—with your moms condition you don’t really have time for the exciting college life. Tilting your head, your eyes narrow as you study his face—surely, you would have remembered someone like him... wouldn’t you?

“Gojo Satoru…” you test the name on your tongue as if saying it aloud might unlock some hidden memory. But still—nothing. “Sorry, not ringing any bells.”

Satoru laughs again, rich and unbothered, like this is the highlight of his day.

“Wow, I’m really striking out today,” he shakes his head in mock dismay. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Before you can muster a response, he reaches out casually, plucking a pair of drumsticks from an endcap display nearby, twirling them between his fingers like it’s second nature. He examines them for a moment, then looks back at you with a raised brow.

“So, since we’re here and I’m feeling generous… how about you check me out?”

You glance down at the drumsticks in his hand, then back up at him—his expression is unreadable, that signature smirk lingering as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“...you mean ring up the drumsticks, right?” you clarify, though your voice is uncertain.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he murmurs, and then, with a sly wink, he adds, “But I don’t mind if you do both.”

For a beat, your breath hitches, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

Okay—this is guy is definitely a flirt. You’re not falling for his trap.

“Wow… you’re really not subtle, are you?” reaching out, you snatch the drumsticks from his hand. “How many women actually fall for that?” you turn on your heel towards the counter, and he follows in step.

“Hmm…I’m not exactly keeping score,” he admits. “But let’s just say I don’t hear too many complaints.”

Glancing back at him, you arch an eyebrow as you approach the register—fingers automatically moving to unlock your cash drawer, and he leans casually against the counter beside you, propping his elbow on it—like he owns the space.

“Will say though,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “I don’t usually have to try this hard. You’re pretty special.”

You scoff, your fingers hesitating slightly over the keys, though you refuse to let him see how his words make a tiny flutter bloom in your chest.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter under your breath, trying—and failing—to focus solely on the transaction.

Satoru hums, watching you with that same playful gleam in his eyes.

“Nah,” his tone drops to something almost conspiratorial, “you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Yup. He’s a smooth talker—and without a doubt, bad news.

Pressing your lips together, you force your gaze to remain on the screen in front of you. He’s playing a game, and you’re determined not to lose.

As you scan the barcode on the drumsticks, he casually pulls out his wallet to pay, and that’s when something catches your eye—a student ID peeking out from the clear pocket inside his wallet.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, your fingers hover mid-air as you get a better look. The ID is familiar—yet you can't make out the school’s name plastered right across it, but the logo and the colors are unmistakable.

Wait a second…

“We go to the same school?”

Satoru looks up, his grin stretching even wider and the glimmer in his eyes practically daring you to catch up—he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Took ya long enough,” he teases, playful but with a hint of smugness. “Yeah, we do.”

You blink, the pieces clicking together a little too late.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demand, unable to stop the half-accusatory, half-embarrassed tone that underlines your voice. A groan slips past your lips and you shake your head in frustration. “I swear…you’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

With an amused chuckles, Satoru lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.

“Hey, it’s more fun this way,” he leans in a little closer, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “Besides,” he pauses, tilting his head just slightly while his lips curve into a sly grin. “I like watching you piece things together. You’ve got this cute little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking hard.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and no matter how hard you resist, there’s that undeniable flutter in your chest, warm and unwanted.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer ground.

“Oof. You’re killing me, y/n. I pass by you every day, actually.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes.

“Every day? Where?”

“The water fountain,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically, just a light touch. “Y’know, where you sit and study. Every afternoon, without fail. I walk by almost every day.”

Ah. That’s why his voice must’ve sounded familiar. You probably heard him—another voice blending into the background while you were studying.

“Really? Guess I never noticed you.”

Resting his chin in his hand, a dramatic huff falls from Satoru's lips as they form into a pout.

“Jeez…you don’t quit. I can’t believe I’m that forgettable.”

You can’t resist the soft laugh that escapes you, despite yourself—it’s hard not to find his antics at least a little amusing, and though you’d never admit it, the way he’s so desperate for your attention is almost… cute.

“Maybe you just blend into the background too much,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow while extending your hand, silently gesturing for his payment.

“Ouch...” he winces dramatically, pulling out his card before placing it in your hand. “Okay, that one stung a little.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure your ego will recover,” you quip, glancing up briefly before focusing back on the transaction. But there’s a brief pause as you swipe his card—a silence that suddenly feels charged with something else.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy and expectant, and you try your hardest not to give in to the pull to look at him again—but the heat of his attention is unmistakable, almost like a gravitational force pulling you in, and you can feel your pulse quicken under his scrutiny.

“I gotta say, you’ve got a sharp tongue—I like it,” he murmurs.

Your fingers freeze for just a second, your breath hitching slightly as his tone shifts, and you can’t resist—your eyes flick up and he holds your gaze captive yet again.

“But it’s a bad habit, y’know,” he continues, his voice dropping, growing more intent as his eyes flicker over your features. “Not being aware of your surroundings like that...” leaning in just a fraction, his words become a quiet murmur between the two of you. “What if some creep tried to take advantage of you?”

The gentleness in his demeanor… is he genuinely concerned? It’s hard to tell—harder than you’d like to admit—and it’s easier to convince yourself he isn’t—that this is all part of his charming routine, because that makes it easier to ignore the subtle pull he has on you.

“Well,” you keep your voice steady, despite the flutter in your chest, “lucky for me, no one’s tried. Unless…” tilting your head slightly, a teasing smirk tugs at your lips, “you’re secretly admitting to being a creep.”

Satoru’s laugh spills out, rich and warm, breaking the moment just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Nah, I’m not creep,” his voice lightens as he straightens up just a little. “Just a concerned citizen looking out for someone who’s too absorbed in her textbooks to notice the world around her.”

You huff, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward against your will.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” you quip back, determined to maintain control over the situation. In a quick, defiant motion, you grab the receipt and shove it into his hand, a small victorious gesture.

“Right, right. You definitely proved that today when I swooped in for the rescue,” he teases, and his hand brushes yours ever so briefly as he takes the receipt—a touch so light is sends a tiny spark up your arm. “But hey, what if you don’t show up at the fountain one day? I’m gonna have to file a missing person’s report.”

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“A missing person’s report? Seriously?” you roll your eyes.

“Yup,” he grins, emphasizing the ‘p’. “You’re there so often it’s practically routine. Same spot. Same time. Every day. It’s kinda predictable, y/n. If I don’t see you there one day, I’ll just assume some creep finally got to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you can’t help the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Predictable?” you retort, trying to sound indignant. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you are,” he counters, clearly reveling in your reaction as he slips the receipt in his pocket. “But hey, that’s not a bad thing. It makes you easier to find if you ever disappear.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes, a snappy reply ready on your tongue, but he’s already raising his hands with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to paint the scene in vivid detail.

“I can see it now: ‘Missing: Cute girl who spends way too much time by the water fountain. Last seen buried in a psychology textbook. Answers to y/n.’”

It’s impossible not to laugh again, the sound bubbling up as you watch him weave his ridiculous scenario with such confidence and flair. His eyes flick to yours, and a satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth—clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on you.

“Wow,” you manage between chuckles. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, leaning slightly closer. “Gotta be prepared. I don’t want anything happening to my favorite water fountain girl.”

Your heart flips—and for a second, it feels like he’s given you some kind of title you didn’t realize you wanted. You try to brush it off, to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it’s not so easy with the way he’s looking at you.

“Riiiight… well, lucky for you,” you manage, attempting to sound nonchalant, “I’m not planning on disappearing anytime soon.”

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth. “Because I’d miss seeing you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the upper hand, though the small smile that tugs at your lips betrays you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you would.”

There’s a brief moment, just the two of you—his gaze still locked onto yours, when—

“Ahem.”

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to see Utahime standing beside you, arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She gives you a look—a very knowing look—that sends heat rushing to your cheeks all over again.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes dancing with mischief as they flick between you and Satoru. “So… don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air, you swallow hard and offer her a tight smile.

“No promises,” Satoru quips, that cocky grin returning to his face as he leans against the counter slightly—clearly unfazed by the interruption.

After Utahime saunters off, he continues smoothly, picking up right where he left off.

“So...” he starts again, “What do you say? How about you give me your number? Just in case I need it, y’know, for emergencies.”

He’s relentless, isn’t he?

Heat creeps up your neck as you blink from his boldness—with a soft, incredulous laugh, you desperately try to find your footing again.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

That familiar and confident gleam glistens in his eyes as his grin widens.

“Not when it comes to someone as interesting as you.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest—a flutter that you’re quick to squash.

“Mmm… sorry,” you murmur, tone sweet but firm. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of disappointment. I’m really not interested in players.”

For the briefest moment, his grin falters, and something unreadable flashes behind his eyes—a momentary crack in his facade. It’s so quick, so subtle, that you almost miss it. But there’s just enough time to wonder if maybe you hit a nerve.

Still, Satoru recovers in an instant, his playful charm sliding back into place like nothing happened.

“That’s cold, y/n,” his voice light and teasing, though there’s a trace of something deeper, almost wounded, lurking beneath. “You really think I’m that kind of guy?”

Tilting your head slightly, you cross your arms over your chest as you study him—gaze sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met enough guys like you to know how this works.”

With a soft chuckle, and a smooth, almost lazy motion, he lowers his sunglasses from where they’re perched atop his head—resting them back on the bridge of his nose as the dark lenses now obscure his eyes from you.

He’s hiding behind them—letting them do the work of shielding his real thoughts. Huh. Typical behavior for someone who enjoys the chase but avoids real vulnerability.

“You’re quick to judge. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants. And right now? I just want your number.”

Classic deflection—you think. He’s not even denying it. Still... something about the way he says it makes that familiar flutter stir in your chest, and you hate it.

“Yeah... that’s not happening,” crossing your arms more tightly, you try to maintain control of the situation.

His hands come up in mock surrender as a small, amused sigh slips from his lips.

“Bummer,” he concedes, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone, only amusement. “But hey,” he picks up the drumsticks from the counter, “offer’s on the table if you ever change your mind.”

“Right... I’ll keep that in mind,” you dryly reply, knowing full well that you won’t.

“Please do,” he shoots back with that infuriatingly confident grin. “Besides, I’ll be seeing you around, water fountain girl.”

The familiar nickname brings an unwanted warmth that you attempt to shake off.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Gojo.”

But Satoru just steps back toward the door, exuding that same unshakeable confidence. “Oh, I’m not worried,” he says with a cocky smirk. “You’re predictable, remember? I know exactly where to find you.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but before you can, he’s already halfway out the door, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers with effortless ease.

“See ya around, y/n,” he calls over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle before you even have a chance to respond.

And just like that, the store feels quiet again, as if the air shifted back to normal now that he’s gone. You stand there for a moment, blinking at the closed door. You should feel relieved that he’s gone, that the exchange is over, but instead, you’re left with this strange, restless feeling you can’t quite shake.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking your head, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s a part of you that’s frustrated—frustrated at how easily he slipped under your skin, how effortlessly he managed to unsettle you with nothing but a grin and a few flirtatious remarks.

You hate that you’re even thinking about it. About him. He’s just another guy with too much confidence for his own good.

But something about the brief crack in his facade sticks with you. That fleeting moment where his grin faltered, and something else—something almost vulnerable—flickered behind those cocky blue eyes.

What was that?

With another shake of your head, you push the thought aside. He’s a flirt. A player. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.

That’s all there is to it.

You don’t have time to psychoanalyze every flippant guy who crosses your path, even if there’s a part of you that’s still curious.

Just as you’re about to shake off the thoughts entirely, your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, glancing down at the screen.

Kyoko: Hey sweetie, just wanted to let you know your mom's been having a rough day today. She’s more confused than usual, keeps asking for you. Maybe you could visit soon?”

Reality crashes back in—grounding you in the weight of your responsibilities.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, already mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You: Thanks for the update, Aunt Kyoko. My shift is almost over, I’ll be home soon.

Focus. There’s no room for distractions—not right now.

Not with Satoru Gojo. Not with anyone.

a/n. thanks for reading the debut of bomh (or i guess the re-debut since this is a rewrite? hehe). i'm excited to explore a lot of topics in this fic, and rewriting it definitely helped rekindle my passion for this story. so, i'm looking forward with whats to come! hope ya'll enjoyed 💕 → you are currently all caught up ♪

taglist:

@gojoslefttoenail @satoryaa @ninjaturtletoes @murtabuckz @sorcerersseestars

@reagan707 @sakurasimppp @sugxryratz @tkyemfk @lovelyjkook

@lovebittenbyevans @kaemaybae @bloopsstuff

[alotofpockets]

Beat of my heart | Reneé Rapp x Reader

Where Reneé falls in love with her drummer and childhood friend.

Reneé Rapp Masterlist | Words: 1k

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If there was one take away from the Snow Hard Feelings tour for Alyah so far, it was that Reneé and y/n would make a great couple. She knew about her best friend's crush on you, but now after spending so much time with both you and Reneé, she could see that the feelings were mutual. Yet, neither one of you seemed like you were going to make a move any time soon.

Reneé was one of your childhood friends, you both went into the music industry, and you even wrote some music with her over the years. So, it was a no-brainer that when Reneé went on tour, you'd be her drummer.

Going on tour, and spending so much time with Reneé only made your feelings towards her grow. Exploring the cities in the day, performing in the evening, and travelling at night. You did it all together.

After another successful show you find yourself back in the tour bus with Reneé and Alyah. “Who’s up for another movie night?” Reneé asked, it had become one of her favourite ways to relax after a show. The three of you squeezed into Reneé’s bunk together, and put up a movie on the small screen. You hadn't realised how tired you were until you were about twenty minutes into the movie, and were struggling to keep your eyes open.

Reneé’s heart skipped a beat the moment your head fell against her arm, she tensed for a moment, but relaxed when she saw how peaceful you looked. Alyah watched the moment with a knowing smile. 

Not even ten minutes later, Alyah looked over and saw that Reneé had fallen asleep as well. She snapped a quick picture, before she carefully got out of the bunk and headed to her own.

You wake by the loud sound of the end credits, and are a little disorientated. When you feel someone move besides you, you realise what happened. “Oh sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. I should head to my own bunk.” Your slightly groggy voice melts Reneé's heart. “Oh no baby, you're good. I was pretty comfortable actually. Wanna scoot down and get some more sleep?” You're too tired to even hesitate about her offer, and scoot down in the bunk bed. Reneé puts the covers over the both of you. 

Reneé laid down beside you. Your heart was beating out of your chest, at how close your faces were together. For a moment, all that the two of you do is stare at each other. You were studying every part of her face, the light freckles on her nose, the way her bangs fell over her face, her slightly parted lips, and her piercing blue eyes looking back at you. “You are so beautiful.” Your words are spoken softly, like they would disappear with the slightest gust of wind. 

Reneé’s smile grows, “Thank you baby, so are you.” She reaches out her hand and starts running her hand through your hair, moving her face a little closer with every movement. Your hand finds her side, where you let it rest. When Reneé didn’t see any form of hesitation from you, she closed the distance between you. Her soft lips were moving in a slow rhythm with yours. 

Kissing Reneé was both the scariest and most comforting thing at the same time. The softness in her eyes when she pulled away from the kiss, nearly melted your heart. “I've been wanting to do that for so long.” The blonde confessed. Your smile grows wide, “Me too.” Reneé lays down on her back, and pulls you into her side. “Come on, let's get some rest. Big day tomorrow.” You hum, and get comfortable. “Goodnight Nae.” The blonde kisses your forehead, “Goodnight baby.” It was a good thing you were already hiding your face into her chest, otherwise she would have seen you turn bright red.

The next morning when Alyah wakes up, the first thing she does is check your bunk, which she finds abandoned just like last night. She gets excited about even the thought of the two of you sleeping in Reneé’s bunk, which would at least mean a step closer to the two of you realising your feelings for each other. When she stepped closer she heard the two of you giggling, and without knowing what happened last night, she just knew that something had.

“Morning yaya.” Reneé greets her best friend as she heads into the seating area of the tour bus. “Oh yeah I bet it is.” With a knowing smirk Alyah looks up at her, finding a blushing Reneé looking back at her. “Spill.” Reneé slid into the seat beside her, “We kissed, and then cuddled, that’s it. It was amazing though, and I was kind of wanting to ask her out for breakfast, but I wanted to pass it by you first, since I don’t want to leave you out.” Alyah laughs, “Are you kidding me? I’ve been pushing you to ask her out for months! Yes, you go, and you go ask her right now.” Alyah was basically pushing Reneé your way in excitement.

“Would you like to go out for breakfast?” Reneé asked shyly. “Only if it’s a date.” You counter, making the blonde’s nerves fade instantly. “Definitely as a date.” Without hesitation, Reneé grabbed your hand and led you out of the tour bus, having arrived in a new city overnight. 

After breakfast you walked around a bit before you had to head back to the venue for sound check. During the sound check you and Reneé were constantly goofing around, much to the enjoyment of Alyah and the rest of the band. Alyah filmed and photographed a lot of the tour, besides the crew who would capture everything in high resolution, the more retro shots that Alyah took were loved by Reneé.

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alyahcs just posted to their story

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[fandomlit]

gif cred belongs to @entertainmentgirl80

a/n so. guess who saw twisters

imagine tyler owens watching you sing

"you have to watch this chick!" lily grinned at tyler and boone as the lights of the bar dimmed and a band began to filter on stage. she pointed her beer to the center microphone. "she's a star."

tyler turned as the crowd of drunkards and sobers alike went wild as a woman stepped out from backstage with a grin on her face. she was gorgeous; from the way she walked, to the color of her eyes, to her cowboy boots. tyler couldn't help but lean back, admiring with the rest of the crowd. he was still staring before he noticed she was speaking into that center mic, the patrons hanging on her every word.

".. start the night with a classic," she was saying, still smiling easily as she turned to the drummer and nodded. the band knew exactly what to do, and the guitar kicked to life at once. he recognized the song almost immediately, having heard his own mother's voice sing the country classic accompanied by their old scratchy truck radio.

"i've been down with a broken heart since the day i learned to speak.. the devil gave me a crooked start when he gave me crooked feet.."

he was smirking without realizing, tapping his foot as she finished the first verse and the rest of the band kicked in.

she had her arms behind her back, stomping easily to the beat as she continued, "i found myself an omen and i tattooed on a sign, i sent my mind a wanderin' and i walk a broken line.." her eyes were easily looking around the crowd and tyler sat a little straighter when they swept over him. but then her eyes did a double-take back to his handsome grin, her held tilting so she was looking at him dead on. "you have a mind to keep me quiet, and although you can try.." tyler leaned forward in his seat, feeling a shiver dare to ghost his spine at her eyes. her grin crept back to her face, and she didn't dare break the electrifying eye contact as she shook her head and continued, "better man have hit their knees, and bigger men have died."

she turned back to the center, raising her hands as she belted, "i'm gonna raise, raise hell!"

"i know that look," lily spoke, just loud enough to be heard over the music as she eyed tyler. boone leaned toward her.

"what look?"

she smirked, "owens found his next storm to chase!"

[delulufortoji]

ONE NIGHT ONLY - choso kamo

pairing: choso x fem! reader

content: 18+, MDNI, begging, whimpering, riding, sub choso, modern au, and yeah thats pretty much it

word count: 2.9k

author’s notes: this has always been one of my favorite songs, so i was like "lemme write a fic with this song"

He holds you tight, fingers tangling in the strands of your hair, trying to pull you in deeper into the kiss. His touch is urgent, bordering on desperate as he clings to you, His hands roam over the landscape of your body, seeking to map every curve and valley, striving to keep you as close to him as humanly possible. He’s drowning in the feeling of your lips on his, nibbling away at them to keep you from pulling away—the taste of your lips is like a forbidden fruit, a temptation too sweet to resist. He craved more of you, your softness, your warmth, your alluring scent, which clung to him like a second skin, a scent that enveloped him like a comforting blanket. It's a scent he knows he will miss when the night is over, a scent he wishes he could keep with him always.

Reluctantly, Choso parts his lips from yours, panting for air, his chest heaving with each breath. “Mm…” He moans, pulling you closer by your hips, his voice a low growl in the silence of the room. “More.”

You glance down at him—his face is flushed with desire, his dewy cheeks stained with the signs of his arousal. Sweat begins to build on his brow as his gaze takes in the beautiful sight that is you, a sight that leaves him breathless with anticipation, his deep purple eyes soft and tender as they roam over your body, drinking in every inch of you with an insatiable thirst.

You still recall the night you first met, the memory playing like a reel in your mind. The bar was alive, buzzing with energy and excitement, The air was charged with the raw energy of rock music, the rhythm resonating throughout the room as the crowd, illuminated by the flicker of red stage, jumped and screamed to the beat of the drums. But to you, the sound of the music, the cheers of the crowd, the clinking of glasses—all of it served as nothing more than background noise as your eyes locked onto the band 's drummer. All you could see was him, the gleam of the overhead lights reflecting off his pale skin, contrasting with the dark hair that fell effortlessly around his face. His features were refined, chiseled perfection—every line and angle of his face seemed carefully sculpted, created by the hands of an artist, creating an intimidating air of godly beauty.

But it was his eyes that seemed to call to you, that caught your attention—they were laced with disinterest, with a gaze that seemed to indicate he was a person who didn’t seem to care about anything, a piercingly cold stare that made chills run down your spine. His eyes, dark like a moonless night, held an intensity that seemed to cut through the air, that oozed mystery and brooding allure, but once they settled onto you, they softened, his face flushed as he stared at you.

Before you knew it, he was gripping and grabbing at your waist, his lips melting into yours as he drew you in closer, his hands wildly exploring your body with an unmatched sense of urgency, thrusting up in you.

Nights like those became routine. Every couple of months he’d fly out to see you, just for one night. You’d fuck, and then he’d be gone by the morning, leaving nothing but his lingering scent and an ashtray full of cigarettes. You knew whatever you had was nothing permanent, but each time he left, you found a piece of your heart going with him, leaving you longing for his return.

“Don’t get too attached,” you remember him telling you, his words echoing in the silence of the room. “This is nothing more than a fling.”

He sounded so cold and detached then, as if this was nothing more than a night of fun and good sex. You never would have imagined that the same person then would be in front of you now, eyes of longing and desperation as his hands traverse your body, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer, whining, pleading to surrender himself over to you, to let him drown in the pleasures you had to offer him.

“Keep going…” He mumbles, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. He’s completely consumed by the sensations you’re stirring within him—every lingering touch, every caress, sends waves of longing coursing through his veins, leaving him yearning for more. Yearning for more of you.

A sly smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you ease him onto his back, climbing into his lap. You can’t help but want to tease him, to play with him a little as you see him in this state—tonight was your only opportunity, and you were going to take full advantage of it. This was a night of stolen moments, a night of passion and longing, a night that you both knew would end with the break of dawn. But for now, you were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

You brace your hands just above his knees, your legs spread out, giving him the most alluring view of your body, tits out and all. You look down at him, a soft chuckle escaping your lips—his dark hair is splayed out over the pillow like a crow’s wings, his plum eyes wide and dazed, his cheeks stained a rosy red from anticipation. You slowly trace your fingers down Choso’s stomach, following the curve of his body towards his dick, your fingers teasingly brushing against his hardening length.

His breath hitches, and he lets out a low, guttural growl. “Stop it,” Choso murmurs, but you can tell from the way he’s moaning and writhing under you that he wants you to continue what you’re doing, wants you to keep pleasuring him, wants to succumb to your will. You know just what you’re doing to him, rendering him too weak to refuse your advances.

You lean forward, lowering yourself onto his cock with a deliberately slow and gentle push, sliding his member into your cunt, letting it delve deeper into your folds. Choso can barely manage to hold back a whimper as you dive into your task, sliding up and down his length, taking him fully in and then lifting up, rocking back and forth, your movements slow and intentional, teasing him with the sway of your hips, making him wish for more.

“Ngh, don’t…” He lets out a breathy whisper, his hand slipping up your thigh and gripping you tightly for stability as you drag those pretty sighs from his mouth.

Each movement is enough to send Choso into a state of euphoria, driving him to the brink, leaving him in a blissful state of disarray. The sight of him, disheveled and writhing beneath you only fuels your desire to tease him further, tantalizing him with the feel of your pulsating walls gripping his length.

You smile as you ride him, glancing down at his flustered expression. One night only, you think to yourself. This was one of the only times you would ever get to see him like this, with his stoic facade melted away, his defenses shattered as he surrenders to the pleasure you offer, only his vulnerability and desire evident.

Choso’s focus narrows, his entire being consumed by the closeness you’re allowing him—the brush of your soft body against his own skin, the wet heat of your pussy clenching around his throbbing length, the feel of your sweaty palms locked together—all of it only intensifies the lust that had consumed him. He clings to your body with an unmatched desperation, his movements rushed as he rolls his hips against yours, trying to savor every precious moment of closeness—he’s already drunk on the sensation of being this close to you, yearning for more, longing for a way to be even closer than you already are.

You lean down, letting your mouth trail down his neck, your teeth nipping at his exposed skin, drawing soft gasps from his lips. Your hands roam over his toned chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, appreciating the hard firmness beneath your touch. Meanwhile, Choso’s squirming beneath the weight of your touch, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure and euphoria that you effortlessly provide him, drawing those precious mewls and whimpers from his lips. He’s completely under your control, each whimper, each plea for more making your heart flutter with satisfaction. You love the sight of him beneath you, completely undone by your touch—you relish in it, in fact.

“You like that?” You tease, slowing your pace even more just to see his reaction.

His brows furrow, and his lips turn curl into a slight frown—he clearly wants to say something, wants to object, but the way you’re riding his cock leaves him so overstimulated that he can only let out cries of pleasure. He presses his lips together, trying to stifle the moans that threaten to escape, but the overwhelming sensual gratification had already taken hold of him.

It takes him a while, but he’s finally able to force out one sentence: “Please…go faster.”

Your lips tilt into a smirk—you know exactly what you’re doing to him and it drives him crazy. You feel so good, so damn good. Good enough to drag a needy whine from his lips.

“No.” You say, an airy chuckle escaping your lips as you watch him squirm beneath you.

Choso doesn’t immediately reply, gritting his teeth and turning his head to the side, the veins in his neck tensing. He’s trying hard to keep his cool, to keep his frustration in check, but the effort is clearly visible. His sulking is brief, however, lasting only a few seconds before he turns his attention back to you, hypnotized by the sight of you grinding against him. He focuses instead on whatever sensations you are permitting him; the warmth of your skin, the wet heat of your pussy squeezing around his length, the squeeze of your palms around his knees. But it’s just not enough for him, not enough to fulfill his desire. He doesn’t want to waste time going slow—he wants to be completely and utterly consumed by the pleasures you provide him with. He can’t stand it a moment longer. In one swift movement he sits up and turns you both over, putting you on your back and pinning you beneath his weight.

For a moment, he simply stares at you, his gaze intense, as if he’s trying to etch the sight of you into his memory. His dark hair falls around his face, partially obscuring his vision, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his focus solely on you. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a husky whisper, “I just…couldn’t wait any longer.”

You roll your eyes at his earnestness, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Just make this good,” you retort, a playful challenge laced in your words.

And that’s what he was going to do—he wants to be good for you, wants this to feel just as good for you as it does to him. He’s desperate to make you enjoy every second just as much as he does.

Choso’s hips slap against yours once—a single thrust already has you moaning, salivating at the sensation, nails digging into his skin for support, for something to anchor you.

“Fuck, Choso…” you manage to gasp out, your voice filled with raw desire.

Choso doesn’t respond verbally, instead, he forces himself deeper and deeper, driven by an insatiable hunger, captivated by the sensual sway of your hips, the tantalizing feel of your skin, and the addictive sensation of your clenching around his dick, finding himself overtaken by the primal urge to feel every inch of your body.

More. He craves more of everything you have to offer. He yearns to delve deeper, to explore every centimeter, every crevice of your body. He longs for a closeness so intimate, it would be as though you were momentarily conjoined as one person.

Choso begins to piston his hips with a purpose, each thrust a deliberate act of stretching you open further. The physical sensations that consume you both are no different than a potent drug, or an intoxicating elixir that fuels their connection. He fixates on the tight heat of your walls around his cock, the way your hips meet his rhythm, the delicious way you clench around him as his dick stretches your hole out.

“God…” Choso moans, unable to hide his pleasure. The sight of you before him is tantalizing, enough to strip him of any remaining self-control. The hunger in his gaze only intensifies, his eyes boring into you as he loses himself in the hypnotizing sight of your body. With a low growl, he pulls you down by your waist, his hips meeting yours in monstrous thrusts—his cock hits your sweet spot with precision repeatedly, each one eliciting a chorus of whimpers that echoed through the room, driving Choso towards the brink of madness.

His mind is filled with a single, overpowering thought - more. More, more, more is all he can think as his tip grazes your sweet spot, stealing those beautiful, salacious noises from your lips. Choso can barely focus anymore, can’t maintain his rhythm as he loses himself in you—you demand his concentration, demanding him to forget about everything else at this moment. And Choso succumbs to it all—the way your lips part every time you moan, each one a haunting melody that calls to him. The way your nails dig into his back, evidence of your passion imprinted on his skin. The way you writhe and surrender beneath him, the way your insatiable hole eagerly devours each of his thrusts - it all overwhelms his senses, controlling his every thought.

The rhythmic sound of your skin slapping against each other becomes a relentless symphony, a testament to your unyielding pleasure. Choso loses himself completely in you, completely drunk off of you—he just can’t help himself. You’re like a drug, impossible to resist once you get a hit. And you just looked so pretty beneath him, giving him the most captivating view of your body—pussy on full display, your eyes rolling back each time Choso hits your sweet spot. Every time Choso looks down at the naked body beneath him, his cock can’t help but throb, growing harder at the sight.

Choso can’t hold back any longer, his body reacting instinctively to the overload of pleasure. He lets out a contented sigh, his warm, creamy release flooding your pussy, filling you with his essence. Each pulsing jet of his cum stretches your walls, the sensation of being filled so completely driving you over the edge into your own orgasm.

He gradually slows down, each languid thrust of his hips causing his cock to pulse within you. His voice, husky and raw, breaks the silence. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His words trail off, his breath hitching in his throat.

Choso's body is slick with sweat, the muscles in his chest heave with each labored breath, his heart pounding against his rib cage. He closes his eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations coursing through his veins, the pulsating warmth of his release still lingering within you.

Slowly, he collapses onto you, his body molding perfectly against yours as he holds you. His head finds rest in the crook of your neck, the tickling sensation of his soft hair against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His arms wind tightly around your waist, pulling you closer against him, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns on your bare skin that leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The feeling sends a pleasant shiver down your spine—the soft sigh that escapes your lips draws his attention, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. His gaze softens as he looks at you, lips curving into a gentle smile, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingertips lightly trace the curve of your cheek, his gaze filled with a warmth that makes your heart flutter.

The gentleness of his touch, the warmth in his gaze, it paints a picture of a man different from the one you thought you knew—it's a side of him that you've never seen before, a side of him that he's only let you see this one night.

The gesture sends a warmth spreading through your chest, your heart fluttering at this moment of intimacy. Your heart swells in your chest, a warmth blossoming from within, spreading throughout your body. A smile tugs at your lips, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. You lean in, capturing his lips in a slow, sweet kiss, a shared moment of tenderness that leaves you both breathless.

But as you lay there, in his arms, you can't help but feel a sense of sadness creeping in. This shared intimacy, this closeness, it’s fleeting. It’s a one-night-only deal, a brief interlude in your otherwise separate lives. By morning, he wouldn’t call you until the next time he was in town. By morning, Choso would be back to his usual self, the man who seemed so distant, so unapproachable—the man who only surfaces in the dead of the night when he’s sick of being alone.

So, you draw him closer, nestling his head in the crook of your neck as you try to steady your erratic breathing. “It’s fine,” you assure him, your voice barely a whisper against his ear, “keep going.”

This is one night only, a stolen moment in time. And you intend to savor every second, to make each moment last as long as you can.

pls listen to one night only by sonder it's literally so good