#rockstar!au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missmielyhoran · 10 months

Text

Little Helpers

Harry needs a bit of help, and who's better than his two little gremlins...

90sRockstar!Harry × Reader

A/N- Happens wayyyyyyy long in the future, like at least 10 years after they meet. Harry and reader are in their mid 30s

Only Angel Masterlist // Masterlist

*****

It was your birthday.

And Harry was struggling.

You've been out in New York for last week or so for work while he has been staying home with kids.

To say they're pain in the ass is an understatement, but he made his bed (or hot tub), so he had to lay in it.

Harry was the "fun" parent, to say the least, cause he can't say no, and those gremlins even tho they're only four years old are way too good at getting things their way.

Meanwhile, you knew how to shut down something you knew they didn't need. Like the large Nerf gun, Harry got them in secret and then had to listen to you yell at him while those two giggled from the stairs in timeout.

But that wasn't the problem right now.

The problem was that the house was mess, the kitchen was mess, it was your birthday and he doesn't know how to cook, clean all at the same time while taking care of kids who are already running around in backyard.

It was times like these he was amazed by how his mother, and even you did everything so efficiently. Never once did he saw a thing out of place when you stayed with kids, and he had to go out.

(Maybe cause you made the kids clean up after themselves while he sees one look of their puppy eyes and melts)

He took a deep breath in and called for the kids, "Jack! Soph! come back inside" He yelled, which caught the twins' attention. Their little head snapped towards him, and soon enough, they were running in giggling still in their pjs.

Harry shook his head and walked back inside and saw them talking to themselves. They were literally each others best friends, always attached to the hip, partners in crime, and he hoped they're like this when they grow up.

"Kids, kids and kids!" He announced dramatically. Twins giggled again, "There is only two of us, dada. Why are you saying kids three times?" They looked at each other and laughed again at Harry's trying to be mad face.

"Hey smartasses listen to me." He flicked their head lightly, "It's your maa's birthday today"

The twins' eyes went wide, and then Soph jumped, screaming "birthday" making Harry laugh. "That means we will get cake?" Jack asked his dad.

"You will if you help me" Harry shrugged, "Whoever helps me out the most will get the bigger piece!" Harry said.

Twins looked at each other again and then their dad and nodded their head quickly, "I will help you" Jack said, "Me too" Soph said in tow.

"Well then, let's start with this room. Pick up all your toys and everything else and put them where they should be." He said, walking towards the kitchen sink. It was an open plan, so he could still see the kids while cleaning up the kitchen.

He looked at the clock, and it was still 4 hours left to your arrival. He could do it.

He hopes he can do it.

*****

Harry was surprised and amused when he looked up and saw two heaving toddlers sitting on the ground.

"Well done babies, you did such a great job" He said, squatting down to their level and kissing both of their heads.

"We know" They said together. Harry laughed at that cause even if the kids looked like him, their personality was yours. Sassy, witty and smart for their age.

"We put everything in different boxes so you could see who did more work, and my box is the most filled" Jackson said cockily and Soph rolled her eyes.

"I'm just going to steal more from dad's plate" she said without any care as much as Harry would like to think otherwise it was true. He lost his right to have his own food when he become father and he's okay with it (to certain level). Harry still very much amused with their banter over cake slice, goes to the kitchen, and fetches both of them their water bottles along with a bowl of fruits.

"Why don't you two drink some water and eat all those fruits and then come help me bake the cake?" Harry asked them immediately, getting nods as an answer from hungry babies.

He took out all the ingredients while the kids ate and arranged them, so it was easier for kids to "help" him.

Soon enough, they were all done with their snacks and were standing on the large wooden stool beside Harry, watching him make the cake. Both of them have large chefs hat on and custom matching aprons Harry got for all of them for when they would cook together on Sunday mornings.

He was in the middle of cracking egg when Sophie started to fuss, "Dada I want to do it too!" She said, pouting.

Harry brought the bowl in front of her and stood behind her holding her hand, which had egg in it, and then cracked it open and put it in the bowl. Sophie giggled, finding amusement in cracking eggs, which made Jack feel left out so Harry did the same with him too.

The kids helped him as much as they could, with bringing him stuff, and finally, the cake was in oven.

Jack and Soph sat in front of the oven watching the cake like hawk cause in their words, "we want it to be perfect like maa makes it". Harry cleaned the rest of the kitchen.

"C'mon babies bath time." He announced which much to kids displeasure meant they had to move away from the oven. Harry literally had to drag them upstairs with Soph in his left arm and Jack in right.

"You two are getting heavy for me to pick you up and roam around" he said, groaning at the feeling of back ache rising.

"No, you're just getting old, dada." The twins laughed. Harry rolled his eyes at them and flicked their heads.

"In the bath. Your maa will have my head if you two are dirty" He said, starting the warm bath of them.

*****

There have been times Harry felt proud of himself, and right now, as he watches the clean house, clean kids, and a not burned cake, he feels proud of himself.

Kids were watching TV in the living room when they heard the car pull up in the driveway, and everyone was set on their mission.

Harry quickly lit up all the candles. Meanwhile, kids stood in the position near the door with paper confetti in their hands to throw at you.

Meanwhile, you feel exhausted as you get out of the car. The fashion week of this year was hectic. You were so busy you didn't even remember it was your birthday until you opened he door.

Colorful confetti flew on your face as you heard "happy birthday" in unison. Your kids stood near the door with the biggest smile on their faces with your husband behind them with cake in his hand.

"Omg, thank you so much my little munchkin" you said, sitting down on your knees and pulling twins into tight hugs. All exhaustion and stress were lost as you saw your favorite people.

"Hey, I'm also here." You heard Harry whine, making three of you laugh.

"C'mon maa, we want cake!" Jack said, first making you laugh. You kissed both of their cheeks and stood up, walking towards your husband.

You pecked his lips and smiled, "Thank you, baby." you said with a warm smile matching his. "My absolute pleasure angel" He said, kissing you again.

"Those gremlins helped me, or I was ready to have a panic attack this morning," he said, chuckling.

You brought the cake to the kitchen, Harry stood beside you his arms around your waist, and kids stood on the stool on your other side.

"Maa make a wish!" Soph said. You nodded and wished for your family to stay just like this forever and blew the candles. Jack and Soph clapped while Harry leaned down and kissed your cheeks.

Cake slices were cut and put in plate for all four of you and as you and Harry stood in the kitchen with your head on his shoulder watching your kids banter over who's slice is bigger you never felt more content.

This is all you ever wanted.

*****

I think they're my favorite couple after Harry and Autumn.

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @grapejuicebluesrry @gxbiqs

Please Like, Comment and Reblog

Tell me if you liked this or just talk to me cause trust me I love it, here♡

719 notes · View notes

reysdriver · 1 year

Text

Behind The Venue | J.P.

(part 1 to this fic) you discover rockstar!james is cheating on you through a fan's social media post — modern!rockstar!james x fem!reader angst

warnings: james being a cheater

words: 1k

warnings: umm just to let y'all know, a lot of my writing is gonna be angst for the time being cus i'm going through a breakup lol and also let me know if you want me to write a part 2 to this cus i can defo see it already

James was currently on tour with the boys; last night was Berlin, tonight was Vienna. Although you both wished you could join them as they visited almost every European capital, you couldn’t leave everything for two months.

Well, you could. James had made it clear you didn’t need to work, that he would buy you anything you ever needed or wanted, but you didn’t want to be completely dependent on him. So while he travelled all around the continent, you stayed home to wait tables and keep your flat warm.

But it wasn’t like you were completely away from your boyfriend for the whole time; you called each other every night—even the ones where the boys got blackout drunk in foreign hotels, and you constantly stayed updated on everything regarding the band.

The little bits of connection were how you found yourself on Austrian social media scouring the hashtags related to The Marauders. You scrolled through selfies of fans in front of the empty stage, waiting for the boys to start. Some people brought posters and gifts for them, which always made you smile. Some of the fans even mentioned you in their posts and you commented on a few of them, wishing them a fun time at the concert.

Then, you sent James a good luck text and went to make yourself dinner. You’ve learned that the best concert pictures and videos get posted a day or two after they’re taken, so you know you don’t need to stay online all night. Instead, you take your food to the couch and put on a movie while the concert hall in Vienna was electric with excitement.

Near the end of the second movie of the night, you almost fell asleep in your living room, but your heavy eyelids shot up at the feeling of your phone buzzing shamelessly against your thigh.

It had been going off periodically before, but the notifications increased exponentially in the last few minutes.

Although you were half-asleep, you couldn’t just let your phone explode with activity. Scary thoughts that something happened to James at the concert overtook your mind and you quickly reached for your phone while attempting to hope for the best.

It was about James, just not what you were expecting. Someone had caught a video of your boyfriend making out with Lily Evans, the lead singer of their opening band, outside behind the venue.

The clip was short but inarguable. That was obviously James and Lily, and there was no debate on what they were doing.

It showed them quickly, then the teenage girl who took the video flipped the camera to herself and said something in German. The only thing you could understand was your own name, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know what the rest meant.

The video was just posted, but it was already spreading. There were so many comments and reposts; everyone seemed to have something to say on the matter.

It ranged from ‘you should take this down, imagine how humiliating it is for (y/n)’ to ‘I mean, we’ve known this was coming lol look at their constant flirting’, and you weren’t sure what hurt more.

And even though every single take felt like a slap in the face, you kept scrolling through them all. You were careful not to interact with any of them so as to not encourage drama, but it seemed like the fans were doing fine on their own when it came to stirring the pot. Eventually, it just became all too much. You took a screenshot of one post and sent it to James.

But despite that, you weren’t staying up any longer. You shut off your phone, plugged it in across the room, and started getting ready for bed. You didn’t care if the only other thing to do was cry yourself to sleep, you weren’t spending any more time watching your boyfriend kiss his coworker.

✦✧✦✧✦

The night barely consisted of sleep. There were periods where you calmed down enough to sleep, but you woke up several times in a pool of emotions. You managed to stay asleep for long enough that you’d be adequately rested, and that was good enough for you.

When you opened your phone in the morning, you were sure that any limits to messages and mentions must have been hit. So not in the mood to hear anyone else’s opinions on your relationship, you didn’t even bother opening social media.

You saw that James had sent a string of texts and tried calling you several times, and your heart ached. He was the only person who you would listen to about this, but you didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. What could he say over the phone to fix this?

Then, as if on cue, your phone vibrated with an incoming call from him.

You were torn on what you should do. Answer and listen to him begging for forgiveness, decline and ignore everyone? If you answered and he asked for mercy, would you forgive him? You even thought about airing out all his secrets online in a petty act of revenge. But none of those really seemed like something you would want. In this fragile state, you wondered if anything could help.

Then your attention snapped back to the picture of him on your screen, letting you know he wanted to talk.

Compromising between all the ideas that had just been running through your head, you declined the call and opened your messages. ‘come back home and we’ll talk.’ was all you sent James before tossing your phone aside.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter imagine #james potter angst #rockstar!au #rockstar!james #rockstar!james potter #rockstar!marauders #marauders era #marauders angst #marauders au

694 notes · View notes

eyesxxyou · 6 months

Text

Backstage Show Pt.6

★🎸 {} .. hobie brown x groupie!reader

rating. m

word count. 5.5k

synopsis. it's been a long time since you and Hobie last saw each other. after he invites you to his next concert, despite better judgement, you go. you know yourself, you always fall into old habits

you and hobie get back together

🍒・．❕warnings. she's a long one, smut with LOTS of plot, fingering, hand riding, sloppy kissing, save a horse ride a cowboy, love making, a lot of references to other parts, angst, lots of angsy, a healthy(er) relationship, reader has more control than before

You and Hobie haven’t spoken in months. You imagined it was all too easy for him to pretend you never existed, that this was how all his relationships inevitably ended, unceremoniously without even a text to apologize for everything said in the worst of your moments. You were absolutely torn, terribly upset, and horrifically furious when he still used your picture on his album cover, the picture of you with his thumb in your mouth, only your lower face visible to his audience. It was like some sick wink at you. He knew you’d see the cover, knew that you’d know it was you. You two were probably the only two people in the world who knew.

Fuck him. He could fall off a building for all you cared. You didn’t need him. It seemed almost impossible to think that you were once obsessed with him, that you would have once kiss the ground he walked on and done the most heinous things for him.

Nearly half a year and you were beginning to forget what he looked like, what he smelled like, the smallest details about him. You were eternally grateful for it and unquestionably sad over it. Your sheets no longer smelt like him, the last remnant of him in your home. It was almost as if he never existed in the first place, how little he left around. He made it so easy for himself to disappear.

And he did disappear for a while. From your life and your mind.

Until he was back to touring in your location.

You weren’t going to the show. You never even listened to the new album affectionately named “Doll” after the title track on the 12 track list. You could only imagine what that was about, that and the rest of his tracks. You'd never know. You never would listen to it. You never bought a copy.

You got off of your shift with a sigh and made your way down the the bar near your job to grab a drink. It was Friday, you were able to get the weekend off, and you needed to be drunk the entire time. Mary Jane fans were swarming the streets and you couldn't stand any of them. You wondered which of them was Hobie's new plaything. When would they realize he would never love them even a fraction of the way they worshiped him?

Poor thing. Whoever they were, they were on the fast track to getting their heard broken.

You pushed open the door to your usual bar and found it roudier than usual. You managed to wiggle your way to the counter before you saw him. He was sitting out with his chair leaned back, his feet kicked up on the table, and a nice pint of frothing beer in his hand. He was smiling at some fan who had approached, wanting autographs. He was very obviously flirting with them until his eye caught yours slightly behind them. His smile faltered a bit as you whipped around and hid your face behind your hands.

He was more gorgeous than you remembered, fucking breathtaking. You never realized how much you would miss the individual features of his face. His golden eyes, his nose, his lips, his hair. You hoped he hadn't seen you, that you could get your drink and mind your own. But of course he had and of course he felt the need to come up to you.

"Y/n? Y/n, is tha' you?" You could hear a distance away and swiftly you asked the bartender for a kamikaze. This would be a long night. There was no getting away from him now. He was already making his way to you, lightly pushing people to the side to get to you.

Hobie sidled up beside you on the stool to your left, his knees on either side of your body. "How ya doin', doll?" His voice was so smooth and gentle in your ear you could just melt into him, profess how much you missed him all this time, beg for the two of you to go back to the way you were. But you refused to cave, refused to be so weak.

You didn't answer him. The bartender came back with your drink and you thanked her with a smile and a nod. You were no not talking mood, especially not with him.

Hobie's been missing you a lot. Things didn't feel the same without you around. Things didn't feel right. He felt a bit uneasy going on stage, the energy before and after wasn't exactly the same. He drank a little more, slept a little less, haunted over the way things ended. He thought he'd never see you again. The world was too large for something like that.

But here you two were. And you weren't talking to him. Why would you? You had confessed your love to him and he had squeezed your heart til it exploded in the palm of his hands. There was absolutely no reason in the world why you would talk to him.

"Still mad at me, luv?"

Something about his tone of voice made you upset, like he was telling you to get over it, what's past is past and it shouldn't bother you anymore. You finally looked at him, your lip twitching with disdain. "Why are you here, Hobart?"

"Oh, the government name." He placed a hand on his chest to feign hurt but the way you were acting did hurt him. It was deserved, more than deserved, so he took it as it was. "I'm here on tour. It's the night before our concert. We're jus' celebrating." He nodded over to his mates, all of them distracted by fans of their own. They hardly even noticed Hobie left them.

"I ain't think I'd run into ya. I though' I'd have ta hunt'cha down, luv. I need to talk to ya." He timidly placed a hand on top of yours. You needed something far stronger than a kamikaze. You needed straight vodka shots.

You pulled your hand from his, subsequently pulling your heart away and locking it up behind your ribcage despite the way it pulled and leaped for him. It's hard not to be in love even after months of never seeing him. But you wouldn't open yourself to getting hurt again. You might be in love but you're not gonna be dumb about it. "There's nothing for us to talk about. You made everything very clear the last time we spoke." Why aren't you punching him in the face? Why aren't you leaving? Why aren't you cursing him out? All of them are valid reactions. "I'm not gonna be an easy fuck for you."

"Just give it a chance, luv. Give me a chance. I really just wanna talk, nothin' else. I think with the way we left tings off wasn't the greatest–"

"Ya think?" You downed the rest of your drink and flinched at the sharp sting at the back of your throat. You motioned for some shots to the bartender and mouthed vodka while Hobie continued.

"I just wanna make tings right, dove." There was something very soft and genuine in his voice. He just wanted to give the both of you closure. You were done with him and that was okay, just as long as you knew the truth. "How about you come to the concert tomorrow? We'll talk after. Free admission."

You stared at him, gaze softening just a bit. How tender and palpable you could turn for him, like putty in his hands. With just a soft tone and a pleading gaze and you folded. "Fine. I'll go to your concert. We'll talk but I don't want to do anything, Hobie. I don't wanna feel like you're plaything again."

Hobie raised his hands in surrender. "I won't even touch you, luv. I'll never make you do something you don't wanna." It's true. He never made you do anything you weren't down for. And you were down for anything involving him.

Hobie rolled his lips, buying the bottom one to hide a grin. He stood up and dropped 40 pounds to pay for your drinks and a couple more if you chose to have any. "Have a good nigh', luv. I'll see ya tomorrow."

You huffed in response. It took everything in you to not turn to watch him walk away. You didn't want to stay any longer. You couldn't stand the thought of being in a room with him, pretending his was there when you were acutely aware of his existence staring holes into your skull.

You used the money to pay for your drinks and left the rest as a tip to the bartender before takinging your leave. You had to be rested for tomorrow.

—

Hobie ended up getting you tickets for the pit closest to the stage. The asshole. You stood squeezed between two fans screaming Hobie's name, dressed in gaze-attracting outfits. They screamed their heads off the moment they saw him and the other Mary Janes come out on stage, hoping to get his valuable attention. Your lips were sealed but your heart swelled seeing him where he was his very best. He was so beautiful, the stage lights casting down upon him from behind. He looked like an angel but you knew better.

His eyes searched the crowd for you and once his gaze landed upon your figure getting pushed around by fans trying to push their way to the front, he smiled. "How's everyone doin' t'nigh'?" Hobie kept looking at you, like he meant to be asking you specifically. You turned your head away, playing with your nails to show you weren't interested.

"Aww, don' be shy, a lil' louda." And the crowd responded with all their lungs could handle but all he wanted was to hear from you. All he needed was you.

"I've got someone special ina crowd t'nigh'. I wanna make sure tonight's a good show for them. So please, luvs, be nice to each otha t'nigh'." He knew you didn't want to be here, it was basic etiquette. Who wanted to be shoved around all night?

They started playing some of their new songs you've never heard before and suddenly you remembered why you loved them so much. They were all so mesmerizing on stage, their lyrics made you want to move, to jump around to close your eyes and feel the chaotic rhythm.

But as you listened, you realized a little more that the lyrics were about you and Hobie. To anyone else, it was just about two people who were in love but never meant to be together. It was a progression of events across the album, each song about different aspects of your relationship. "Worship" was about how much one worshiped the other to the point that it killed them. "How We Cave" was the end, about how they fell apart, all of it cleverly hidden within the folds of the song so that no one batted an eyelash.

The entire album was a wink and nudge to you, between the two of you. "Only we have to know" it said and you despised how much it meant to you. You needed to get out of here. Suddenly the entire venue felt as though it was crushing you, crashing down on your head.

You writhed and wiggled your way between people to make your way to the nearest exit. When you got outside, you took a deep breath, your exhale a cloudy haze before your lips under the cold air. You shuddered, reached into your pocket, and lit up a joint. You needed it, deserved it.

How he changed you, molded you into a person unrecognizable to your younger self. You had never been a smoker, never been much of a drinker, not before you met Hobie and he changed who you were so intrinsically. You never knew if it was a good thing or a bad one.

You knew the concert was over when people began funneling out, talking amongst themselves about who this new, special guest was. You pushed yourself off to the side and took a long drag of your joint, leaving strawberry lipgloss that you could taste with every drag. You wandered around the side of the building until you found the back entrance where Hobie told you to wait if the two of you managed to lose each other.

He came out about 10 minutes later, looking left and right until his eyes landed upon you. "Sorry, some fans wit' backstage passes I was meetin'. The boys are entertainin'em now." He excused himself, hopping over the guardrailing to get to you. "Since when did you smoke?"

"Take a wild guess." You took another drag before Hobie took it from you and took one himself. He loved the taste of you on it, took another drag because of it. "My bad, luv." He came and leaned against the wall beside you, his leather jacket the only thing protecting him from the cold. You weren't much better off either, dresses in an outfit similar to when you first met, you shivered from time to time while smoking with him.

"I saw you leave." He hummed and passed the joint back to you.

"Doubt I missed anything crazy. You were almost done anyway."

"The fuckin' Queen's ghost came on stage 'n did a backflip." Hobie countered, looking down at you with eyes that told you he was serious. His expression fell way into one of humor when you giggled and tossed your head back against the brick wall. "You're so stupid."

"I so am."

You didn't like how serious the undertones of his voice sounded. You didn't look at him, just smoked your joint to a bud before dropping it and putting it out under your boot. "I wanna go home."

Hobie stood from his position and offered out a hand to you. "Then lemme walk you." You looked at him, then his hand, and with a scoff, walked right past him. But you didn't tell him no, so he went right with you. You never said no to him along the way to your flat only a couple blocks away.

It was like the two of you were scared to talk about what you really wanted to. The way you two left off. Anyone looking at you would have said you were friends, not ex-lovers. And you weren't even that technically. You two laughed together, walked together without a single touch shared but all the longing glances of two people wanting to get back together after so many months.

And when you reached your flat, you turned and looked at Hobie and his massive height head on. "You can't come inside."

"I can't or you don't want me to?" He countered again because he knew you too well. You shoved him softly and he didn't even move. "Both. I know myself." If he comes in, you'll have sex, you'll wake up, and he won't be there. You would have let him in just to get hurt again.

"I told you, I won' touch ya, luv. I haven' yet, have I?" He was right, the only time he tried, he gave you the option to take his hand and you had refused, renewing your agreement that he would not be the one to initiate anything between the two of you. "We still haven' spoken. I don't think ya wan' everyone on the street to know our business, yeah?"

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked around. Finally, you looked for your keys to the front door and when you found it, you unlocked it. Hobie knew to be quiet as to disturb your neighbors and he surprisingly was considering his size. You knew where the stairs freaked and he followed your moves. Most of your neighbors were older people and that they'd have no qualms reporting you to your landlord.

When you finally reached your flat, you unlocked the door and let him in.

Your flat looked mostly if not entirely the same. Hobie smiled. "Good memories in here." He looked back at you with sparkling eyes. You closed the door. "Yeah, yeah, Hobie. Come on, we came in here to talk." You didn't want any of his bullshit anymore. You needed closure or you'd go crazy. Barely getting through the day without crying and throwing things was no way to live your life. Drinking and smoking all the time wasn't much greater either. You both were a mess.

"Yeah, yeah, we did." His playful attitude faltered as he crossed his long arms loosely over his chest and looked at his boots. "Look, 'm sorry, y/n. 'm sorry for all of it. You never deserved the way I treated you, you never deserved what I said to you."

You sat, you listened, you let him talk, your lips pulling to the side as you attempted to hold back swelling tears.

"I know I was wrong. I know. And I regret it everyday for the way I hurt you. We just…one, we shouldn't've had a conversation like tha' at a time like tha'. But I'm–" he paused for a moment, looking for the words. "I wasn't lying when I said I'm not someone you want to love. I am someone that no one has ever loved, doll. They have always left me because of who I am."

"But I'm not everyone else, Hobes. You can't decide for me who I'm gonna love." You interjected, a bit tearful. The situation frustrated you to tears and you felt a bit ridiculous for crying but Hobie didn't care, he reached out and wiped the fresh tears from your face. "Ya right. I should've let you make that decision yaself and 'm sorry for tha', luv. I was jus' scared."

"Scared? Scared of what, Hobie?" You croaked out, looking up at him with those big, beautiful eyes of yours that he adored so much, that he thought of in the darkest part of the night to keep him going.

He closed his eyes because he couldn't bear to look into your gaze. "I was afraid you would leave me one day because what would I do withou'cha by my side, luv. I was scared because I loved ya too and I knew I didn't deserve ya and one day you'd figure tha' ou' too."

He was scared to look at you, scared that it may ruin the moment to know how you were feeling about all of this. If only he knew him hard you fell for him again. Maybe the two of you weren't right for each other. Maybe whatever high power never ordained for you to be together. But fuck that higher power.

Hobie felt the weight of your lips ease against his and immediately took you in to him. He's been waiting to kiss you since the moment he first saw you but he promise he wouldn't touch you, not unless you touched him first.

Your hands reached up and caressed his face with your soft palms. His hand timidly came to your hips, waiting for you to writhe from him hold but you don't, you lean into him, standing on your toes to reach his lips better. You still taste like fruits and he hopes that your nether lips taste the same.

"I want you." You murmured against his lips in a daze of lust. "I want you right here, please." You kissed him harder pushing him back onto your couch before clamoring onto his lap with your legs straddling him. Hobie pulled you close, so close until your body pressed against his chest, rolling like waves under the exploring nature of his hands.

Your hands pulled at each other's clothes, removing shirts, tugging at the buttons of pants, a bra was tossed over your shoulder by you don't know who's hand. You wanted him completely naked, completely vulnerable to you for the first time and he wanted you the same.

Removing each other's clothes, you got up and stumbled clumsily to your bedroom where, by the time you got there, the two of you stood naked, embracing each other while you kissed. You had Hobie on the bed in seconds, still on top of him while you kissed hickeys down his neck. His hand slid down the soft skin of your naval, sliding between your supple legs to touch the slick nether lips of your pussy. He slid his middle finger between your folds and groaned softly. "Are you this wet all the time?"

"Only for you." You rocked your hips softly against his hand, shuddering as he curled his finger and let it slide into the wetness of your entrance. It was so easy to add another finger into you, and with enough working from his middle and index, scissoring you open while rubbing that sensitive ridge you've got inside you, he managed to add a third.

"Ahh– shit…Hobie." You rode his fingers, your hands holding his head where his jaw and neck met. You kept your eyes on his, your foreheads pressed against one another. "Keep goin', luv. Take wha'cha need."

You liked the warmth of his skin against yours. Two humans in love sharing in the taking of each other's bodies. Your teeth met his skin, nipping, biting, the salty remnants of sweat from performing still on his skin. He smells like weed, looks like heaven, and tastes like love. His palm worked against your clit while his fingers stretched you open in preparation for his size, which you haven't taken in a long while. You could feel it resting against your stomach, aching, smearing precum across your naval. You wanted it inside you in any way you could have him. But it seemed that he was intent on making you cum hon his hand first.

"Mmmh~ Ion wanna cum yet." You told him still rutting your hips against his hand. "I wanna cum with you." You wanted out, biting your lower lip as you whimpered. "I want your cock. Please lemme have it, Hobes. Please." You offered him puppy dog eyes like he wasn't already willing to give you everything you wanted and the world on top of it.

"Cummin' twice never hurt nobody." Hobie used his free hand to lift your head and make you face him again. "Jus' look a' me wit' those pretty eyes, luv. Can you do tha' for me?" He let his hand drop to your hip and felt the way you moved under the weight of his palm, desperate for a climax long denied to you for months. You nodded with wet, pouty lips and those pretty eyes.

Yoru walls clamped down upon his fingers as your ground your hips down hard and whimpered with the beginnings of an orgasm. “Just keep–” You tilted your hips to rub your clit a little more against the heel of his palm. You bit your lip and held him tighter as you rocked to the sway of your climax washing over you gently. Your body paused and you pressed your lips to Hobie’s to stifle your moan so you wouldn’t wake the neighbors. “Fuck– Hobie!”

Your tongues pressed against each other, your kiss sloppy and passionate, full of lust melting back into love. It was dark in your room, hard to see anything all you two had were your unadjusted eyes and the intimacy of touch to guide your way. Hobie laid back on your bed with his head in your pillows. Your scent surrounded him and he was in heaven as you climbed further up on top of him and grasped the length of his cock tenderly.

He let you do what you needed to do, sighing with perfect content as you dragged the tip of his cock between your wet folds. “Go slow, dove. I wanna feel ya.” He told you, shivering as your positioned him against your soaked entrance and sank down until your warm walls enveloped his fat tip. From there, you braced your hands upon his chest and did as told, slowly sinking down upon him, his cock spreading you further than you remembered.

You watched the way Hobie writhed beneath you, his hands gripping up and down your hips and thighs. “Fuck, y/n. Oh my…” He missed this so much, he missed you, this pretty, tight, warm cunt he dreamed about at night. All the toys he’s gotten in an attempt to replicate you, all of it in vain. He almost whined for you, biting his lip to contain something of a whimper. He wished he could se the way your folds parted for him or the way your hole stretched and struggled to contain him.

You liked the sight of him struggling to control himself. There was an overwhelming sense of power you felt you had over him for the first time in you entire fucked up situationship. His grip left bruises in your skin, tighter and tighter as you lifted yourself to the very tip of his member before pushing yourself back down, sheathing his cock completely, He made space for himself inside you, you walls melding to his exact length and girth. You had almost forgotten how good he felt, how he kissed your cervix so tenderly and pressed against sensitive spots you could never reach on your own.

"God, doll. Ya know wha'cha doin' t'me?" His hands find purchase on your hips, weakly following your movements as he watches the outline of your silhouette in amazement. The bed creaks a little with your movements, your moans mingle with the wet sounds of his pushing his cock into you, it's heaven in a single bedroom and you never want to go back to Earth.

Hobie lifted his knees and propped himself up, his hands gripping your hips a little harder so he could have his moment of control. He thrusted up into you, conjuring a breathless gasp from you as you gripped his shoulders for support. Your back arched as he fucked you, abused your cunt a little harder than you were used to over these past couple of months. You but your lip to contain the onslaught of moans you had to offer him, only letting out soft cries and whimpers to satiate his hunger to hear you.

You let him fuck into you, nice and rough, a position only those gifted in his department could pull off. You leaned down, pressed your body to his, laid on top of him with your back arched. You moaned into his neck, nosing at the angle of his jaw. Your hips flicked to meet the thrust of his hips. "H-Hobieeee." You squealed for him and he adored it, the way you dragged out his name like you wanted to hold it in your mouth for longer.

You stretched like a cat on top of him, you hands grasping at the pillow on either side of his head, scratching at the head post. You kept your face against his throat to hide your moans so only he could hear but they were so loud you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck and bite down to muffle them.

It was like he was tearing you apart, his large hands spreading you wide, his full lips muttering obscenities along the lines of his good you felt around him. So soft, so silky, so wet, so good.

When you kissed, it was not a kiss. It was just the parts, a sloppy meeting of tongues, teeth, and lips, all tangled up and touching on another. It was broken down by lust fueled by love, by the warmth of heated skin, by the kindness one human offers to another. He paused his hips to slide his hands up to hold your head with his fingers tangled in your hair.

"I love you, I love you, IloveyouIloveyou." You groaned against his lips at first before babbling it out like you couldn't hold it in you much longer. You needed it out, in the air. You hips rutted, you pussy leaving his cock soaked as you dripped. Your clit rubbed against his hair-covered pelvis and you shivered with pleasure. "Please, don't stop."

Hobie chuckled a little and you fed on it like you've never known any other substance. "I love you too, dove. 'N I wanna see you fuck me. Give me a show. Jus' f'me this time." This whole time, you've been giving shows to other people, now he wants you just to himself.

You sat back up, your hands against his stomach, scratching lightly as you rocked your hips. Hobie watched the way your body moved, hypnotized by the way you rolled and danced. You bounced on his cock, each one met with a lazy thrust into you.

You closed your eyes and tossed your head back, your mouth slightly ajar. You let the pleasure take you, you felt every thrust of his cock inside you, every point of pleasure it touched, the way your greedy, swollen clit rubbed against his pelvic bone, his hands on your hips, sliding up and down your thighs to coax you to continue. You loved his light voice, "you go' i', baby. Keep goin', jus' like tha'. My lovely, looks so pretty." His voice strained with each word, the beginnings of an orgasm making themselves known in his throat.

You shuddered, pussy trembling with your own climax. "I wanna cum together, Hobie. Please." You pleaded with him, looking back down at his fucked out expression trying to hold on to some cohesiveness. His muscles tightened as you fucked him harder, bringing yourself all the way up to the tip of his cock before coming down with a loud clap.

"Wha'eva you wan', lovely. I'll do wha'eva you wan'." He'll be whatever you want to. He just needs you in every way he can have you, for as long as he can have you. "You keep goin' like this 'n 'm gonna cum inside this gorgeous cunt of ya's."

You moaned at the thought of his cum filling you up, taking up the space his cock once did. "Do it, do it, please." You were just on the edge of your orgasm and he could tell. The way your walls clamped around him told everything and each movement brought him closer as well.

It was a simultaneous reaction. It took you both at once. Your moans were louder than before, mingling together embracing each other as your pussy quivered and milked his cock just the way he needed to shoot ribbons of cum right against your cervix and coat your walls in white. There was just so much of it and you continued to ride him, earning a few whimpers from Hobie as you milked him nice and thoroughly. To the point that his cum leaked through the tight seal his cock made with your entrance and dribbled down the underside of his cock and down his balls.

You felt so warm, so full. You fell on top of him, let him wrap his arms around you as you took in his scent so intrinsically his. You missed him so much, missed the feel of his sweaty skin against yours, missed the sound of his labored breath in your ear, then his chuckle he inevitably did at some point. You shook with his chest, rocking your hips a little to feel the comfort of his softening cock inside you.

"What's so funny?" You asked, drawing imaginary shapes against his chest in the dark.

"Really slutted me out in the end there. 've neva whimpered before." He laughed again, tossing a arm over his face to hide his embarrassment. You were laughing with him, a smile half pressed into his chest. "We could do it again."

There was a long stretch of silence as your laugher faded together and you sat there with him still inside you and his cum leaking out in globs, creating a mess between the both of you. There was so much you two needed to say, so many conversations you needed to have, but you narrowed it down in 8 words.

"I missed ya, luv." Hobie began.

"I missed you too." He'd never know how much hearing those words from his pierced lips would make your heart soar. The fact that he said it first, even more so.

"Remember tha' shower you was talkin' 'bout?"

You thought back to that moment of embarrassment for you when you had invited him to shower with you and he had refused. "How could I forget?" Even thinking about it now made your cheeks ache as blood rushed to them.

Hobie shifted a little beneath you. "I wanna take it now." A smile began to creep up onto your face and now your cheeks burned for another reason.

"Let's go take it then."

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown fic #hobie brown smut #backstage show #hobie brown x reader #rockstar!au #rockstar!hobie x groupie!reader #spiderpunk smut

358 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

I absolutely loved Rockstar!James introducing gf reader to the world and was wondering if you could do something similar for Rockstar!Sirius if inspo strikes? 🥰🥰🥰

thank you so much for the request! rockstar sirius showing you off on the red carpet ♡ fem!reader | 1.2k words

"Sirius!" someone calls, a microphone in hand. You watch the livestream with renewed interest. You'd known your boyfriend would be there, of course, and you'd known he was gonna talk to this specific interviewer hence your watching, but it's been a little while with no sign of him.

"Hey," he says. "Hey, Shalon."

The interviewer looks extremely charmed that he knows her name. You grin. He is extremely charming.

"Sirius," Shalon says, smiling a perfect smile, white teeth and perfectly painted red lips, "We're thrilled to see you tonight! And so handsomely dressed."

"Thank you! Yeah, thanks so much. My stylist will weep tears of joy."

She tells the truth – Sirius looks breathtakingly handsome, much more lovely than the quick photo he'd sent you a few hours ago pulling a sullen jib and titled 'I miss you. they don't brush my hair as nicely as you do :('.

Shalon crosses an arm across her tightly bodiced chest to hold the microphone a little closer to him.

"Who are you wearing tonight?" she asks.

"They drilled this into me tonight, so as much as I'd love to say my girl's perfume, I have to tell you that it's Christian Dior."

She giggles. You can't blame her for her reaction, but you do feel a protective stab to your chest. Protective, definitely not jealous.

"Your girl's perfume! You know, I've been seeing stuff about this all over the Internet this week-"

"Have you?"

She laughs. "I have. Pictures of you cuddling up to a girl behind the Point House arena. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?"

You tense up. That had been your fault. You'd been tired and you'd been emotional, upset to be going home. You'd really tried to hold it in and for the most part you'd succeeded, but Sirius is more perceptive than you give him credit for, so he'd cornered you outside before the last show of the tour and had you confess.

"I'm really going to miss you," you'd admitted. Three weeks had felt – still feels – like a long, long time apart.

He'd wrapped you up in a hug and held you close, whispering reassurances and rubbing the breadth of your tense shoulders. Just the two of you in a quiet moment.

Or so you'd thought. A pap had obviously spotted you and taken photos. There was even a short video showing the moment where you'd hugged him back and nuzzled your face into his neck. You can still remember the feeling you'd had at the time, the warmth of his skin and the soft tickling of his hair as it brushed your cheek.

You can also distinctly remember the moment Sirius had called you the day after, seconds after you'd gotten off of your plane home. "It's okay," he'd said as soon as you answered, "everything is going to be fine, but we might have a problem."

Sirius is supposed to fix the problem tonight. Though the photos are clearly him, the video is less evidential, and your face is hidden from view completely. If he refuses all claims of a girlfriend and shrugs it off, he might retain some privacy.

You don't want to be in the limelight; you're not naive. A lot of people fancy themselves in love with your boyfriend. You're not eager to garner any fan's disdain.

Still, the idea that he might say he has no clue what Shalon's talking about makes you feel sick.

"Pictures?" he asks, dropping his chin just slightly toward his chest, eyes wide with bemusement.

"And a video!"

"A video! Do I look fit, or?"

"I'm sure there's a thousand people watching tonight that would say you do… so, the photos are really you?"

This is where he says No, they're not me. It must be some other, extremely good-looking fellow.

"Behind the Point House?" he asks.

There's something in his voice that clues you in, moments before Shalon says, "That's right," and Sirius says, "Ohhhh. Yeah, that was me."

Shalon's face is a picture. Genuine surprise. You spot yourself in the dark of your laptop screen and see her expression mirrored in your own.

"And the woman you're-"

"Cuddling with?" He grins. It's bravado, buffeted by a real affection. "That's my girlfriend."

Your breath catches.

Shalon rolls with the punches, to her credit. "She looks very well taken care of. You're aware that the hashtag 'I need him to hug me' trended for three days?"

Sirius laughs, loud and unabashed. "While I'd love to brag I look after her, it's more like she looks after me. My friends over there-" he points toward a very overwhelmed Remus being shepherded by a much happier James, "they'll attest. I'm awful when she's not taking care of me."

"The, uh, the video-"

"Doesn't show her properly," he murmurs, looking down the length of his chest and pulling his phone that he's very much not supposed to have out of his pocket.

He unlocks his phone and pulls up your text thread, of all things. "It's a real shame they didn't get her face. She's killer."

He clicks on the photo you'd sent him this morning in response to his hairdressing woes. It's you, on the sofa. You're thanking every God there is to thank that you'd done your hair nicely before sending it to him, always wanting his compliments and always, always receiving them. Your face imitates his own, a little bit moody but with a smile that hints at a laugh.

"I was sulking about what they've done to my hair tonight. You know what she said?" he asks Shalon.

Sirius reads out your text, mock-wounded. "Suck it up, baby."

He doesn't read out the text after, where you'd told him how nice he looked, and how you can't wait to see him tonight on the awards show.

You text him out of desperation, worried he might scroll down and show the picture you'd sent him of the weird bruise on your leg. You don't think you could stand to have your foot shown on live television.

Sirius, please stop!!!

The live stream is a few seconds behind. He's midway through singing your praises as cryptically as he can when he must feel the vibration of your text. He looks down at the screen and grins.

"Is that her?" Shalon asks knowingly.

"She's asked me to stop."

"Oh, you're in the doghouse now!"

He grins like he absolutely doesn't think so and looks straight into the camera fondly. "I'm sorry, really." Then he shrugs. "How can you not show that off? I-"

James appears suddenly. You know he's been sent to stop what spells a PR shake-up. "Hey, Shalon, how are you? You look beautiful tonight, I'm sure you know."

"Babysitter's here," Shalon says.

You snort at how accurate she is and watch Sirius get literally dragged away from the interviewer and down the red carpet.

Shalon turns to the camera gleefully. "I can't say I was expecting that!"

"You and me both, sister," you mumble. You try to fight it, but your smile stretches ear to ear.

Later in the night, Sirius sends you a covert photo of a furious Lily and a small text that just says, Love you. See you soon.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius orion black #marauders era #marauders #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black drabble #sirius black imagine #sirius black x female reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black #fem!reader #rockstar!au #rockstar!sirius

1K notes · View notes

hauntedwitch04 · 1 year

Text

You can call me Daddy

Rockstar! Remus Lupin x Reader

Words: about 1.8k words

Warnings: smutty remmy, sexy rockstar, dirty talk and remus fucking lupin that is alreadya a warning himself.

Author's note: I'm writing something like five fanfiction at the same time, but I had this idea and I couldn't not write this down. I love the idea if the Maraurders as a band (like I think they are preatty much the copy of the Maneskin that I LOVE so...) and I LOVE BASSIST REMUS, so here for you our sexy Moony

Requests are open I Ask

My masterlist

Join the Taglist

You still don't know how the with your friend managed to get into this party, but you know for sure that this is a night to remember.

Through some friends of hers, she managed to find out that there was going to be a birthday party of some super-rich celebrity at a mansion in Los Angeles, and after some research and figuring out where it was, we managed to get in, making believe that we were up-and-coming Versace models and that we had been invited to the party at the last minute and had not been put on the list. The guard looked at us carefully and then let us through, and you couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. As soon as you walked in you looked around and couldn't hold back your astonishment.

The mansion is beautiful, huge and full of lights and smoke machines that create a magical and surreal atmosphere. Music and people fill the room until you almost burst, but you can't help but move in time to the music as the alcohol flows through your veins. You down drink after drink, without realizing it, the important thing is to have a good time.You find yourself dancing back to back with actors or singing songs at the top of your lungs with important TV hosts, before you realize that all this crowd and the air heavy with smoke, sweat and alcohol is suffocating you, so you nod to your friend that you would go outside for a moment to get some air.

You walk over to the nearest French door, which overlooks a hidden part of the garden. As soon as you are outside, you lean against the wall and can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. You stay a few seconds in the silence of the night, taking advantage of the cold that seems to surround you after the incredible heat that the bodies inside that room were causing. You smile, thinking that at least here you can find a moment of peace, until you hear a voice.

"Did you run away too?" A boy asks, and you suddenly turn around and see him there, a little further away from you, also leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his lips. You can't really see his face, but you can tell he's a good-looking guy, tall and muscular as thin as he may look. He's wearing skinny jean pants, a Pink Floyd T-shirt, and a black leather jacket, with stupidly overdressed shoes.

"Yeah, the situation was becoming too suffocating." I shyly confess to the faceless boy.

"I understand you. I hate these stupid parties full of people, the situation always gets out of hand, and before long someone will get hurt, if it hasn't happened already." He complains.

"How come so if here?" You ask curiously, aided by the courage that alcohol brings.

"My friends dragged me along. If it were up to me, I would have spent this evening in a completely different way." He confesses, throwing his cigarette to the ground after taking one last drag. The smoke comes sensually out of his mouth, and you can't help but tighten your legs at that gesture, praying that he hasn't noticed.

"And how would you have spent the evening?" You whisper in a sensual tone, not knowing where all that brazenness really came from. You're not usually such a straightforward girl, especially when it comes to flirting with strangers.

"Well sweetheart, I would for example have a couple of ideas on how to spend a night with you, but they are too vulgar for an angel like you." He says moving closer, but still remaining in the half-light. I feel his breath close to my face and can't help but hold back a groan at the impure things those fingers could do on me.

"Do you really think I am an angel?" You ask as you move closer in turn, so close that your lips are almost touching. For a moment you think about how impossibly beautiful this situation is, a few hours earlier you were lying on the couch at your house eating chips and watching your favorite show and now you're at a party full of celebrities and now you're flirting with a guy definitely out of your range, and he's playing along with you. Life is truly full of surprises.

"Oh no you darling look like the purest of all angels, and I love girls who look innocent but are real demons in bed." He continues, moving closer , kissing your neck gently, leaving you the time and space to say no, but you don't want to say no, you want him and you want nothing more than to drag him to the nearest surface to fuck until you are voiceless with all the moans you will emit.

"Well I could always give you a demonstration." You answer as he continues his attack on your neck, and you run your hands through his disheveled hair.

"How can I say no to such a beautiful girl." He says pulling away from you. "But not here honey, there are too many people who would hear you shout my name, and that is a pleasure that is granted only to me." He continues, leading you toward the exit. In a sobering moment you manage to remember your friend and tell him you were going inside to warn her. He nods and tells you he would be waiting for you by the gate. Quickly you go inside and immediately find your friend intent on making out with a fairly tall blond girl. You quickly approach her and tell her that you would not be going home with her this evening. She looks at you and smiles before yelling at you to be careful and use a condom, but you are already far away and in response you raise your middle finger at her.

You see him at the gate on a blazing black motorcycle with a helmet for you in his hand. You put it on and cling to him as you get on the bike, as your excitement about what is about to happen rises and you can't help but get wet.

A few minutes pass before we find ourselves in front of the doors of a huge building. Quickly he gets out of the vehicle, having parked there in front, and we run to the entrance. The boy, still wearing his helmet, waves to the doorman, who waves back, and quickly we get on the first elevator we see. He crushes the twenty-first floor as you take off your helmet and realize something.

"My name is Y/N." You say confidently, looking at his face still covered by the black helmet. "I never told you my name." You go on laughing.

"You don't know mine either." He counter laughs as well, patting my arm, and you can't help but laugh at the situation.

"Of course fate is strange I went from lying on my couch in my pajamas to getting drunk with my friend to fucking a stranger." You say as you move closer to him, kissing him on the neck, gripped by a jolt of courage.

"And do you regret it?" He asks with a half groan.

"Not by a single second." You whisper, continuing to leave marks on his neck, as he had done to you at the party.

As soon as the elevator stops you realize you are already in his apartment. You quickly get out and he drags you toward the bedroom, taking off his helmet and throwing yours on the couch in the hall you pass as well. As soon as you reach the room his lips glue themselves to yours and a power struggle begins between the two of you. Clothes fall off like autumn leaves and suddenly you both find yourselves naked lying on the soft sheets of the bed.

"Remus, my name is Remus." He says panting as he kisses your breasts, reaching down. "But you can call me Daddy, angel." At those words you can't help but let out another moan, which you would be ashamed of if you were sober enough, but your mind is too clouded with pleasure.

His lips find the most delicate spot on your body and attack it like a child sucking on a lollipop, and the moans that seemed too loud before seem like whispers compared to those coming from your lips now. His fingers enter your vagina not too gently, and instinctively you cling to his hair, pushing his face between your legs.

"I knew that behind that angel look was the most beautiful demon." He says, returning to kiss your lips after making you orgasm, with still your taste on his lips. "What do you want honey, you have to tell me or I don't know how to help you."

"I want you, all of you." You say panting, while still recovering from the pleasure you just received. " I want you to fuck me so hard I can't walk straight tomorrow."

"Your every wish is an order princess." He says in a whisper before entering me with his huge cock. The pleasure you feel right now, you thought did not exist.

You continue fucking until dawn, rolling up on yourself and in the blankets, orgasm after orgasm. You fall asleep at sunrise in the arms of the unknown boy.

You wake up after a few hours, alone in bed, hearing the sound of a shower running in the next room, realizing that your lover has gone to take a shower. Still sleepy and sore from all that sex you reach for your phone in your jacket pocket and see thirty missed calls from your friend and at least fifty texts always from her.

Immediately you call her, thinking something serious has happened, but as soon as the phone stops ringing you hear her screaming in your ear.

"Do you realize what happened last night?!?!" She shouts like a squawking hen.

"I thought you didn't mind, you said you were okay with it." Confused reply.

"I didn't resent it, but do you realize who you slept with?"

"With...Remus?" You say, unconvinced by your answer.

"Yeah with Remus freaking Lupin! The fucking bassist of the Maraurders!" Your friend says excitedly, but you're already no longer listening as she goes on to tell how she found out, all your mind can process are just two words: oh fuck.

#remus lupin smut #remus lupin au #remus lupin x reader fluff #remus lupin x reader #bassist!remus #rockstar!au #band!marauders #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader

679 notes · View notes

bettysupremacy · 10 months

Text

Midnight rain | Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve wants a family and a home with you, but you’re still chasing the fame of being a rockstar.

a/n this is dedicated to all my swifties. i love u. also, i’m incapable of finishing a fic on a sad note. sorry! happy ending.

Lemme know if y’all would want more of this

Request

“One more tour.” You cradle Steve’s fragile face in your warm hands.

Tears run over your fingers, dripping guiltily onto the blanket. He shouldn’t feel like this, and it shouldn’t have been you to make him feel like this. He was sunshine. The sight has your heart in pieces on the comforter between you.

“One more tour,” you whisper. “And then It’s you and me.”

He shakes his head. “I want that now.”

You know he isn’t blaming you for his hurt, but it gnaws at you anyways. “You know I do too.”

It’s weak, but it’s convincing. And true.

“I know you do.”

Your eyes search for his glassy ones. “But this’ll pay for it. Another tour is a house, more than that.” Fame. You don’t say it.

His chest aches. He knows you’re right, and the thought of ripping you from the very thing you want the most tears him apart. He slides into your arms, needy for affection. Your hand glides from where it cradles his jaw to behind his head, holding under his other ear. It’s an intimate touch that has him hiccuping into your chest.

The gratefulness that he’s this comfortable being vulnerable around you is burdened by your guilt.

You’d had this conversation before. It had started with your confession that he deserves more, and ended with him in tears again because he only wants you. He can’t imagine children with someone who isn’t you.

You’d left it at that. He’d wait, however long it took, and be there when you were ready. He just wish it’d be quicker.

There had been three tours so far. Three sold out worldwide tours that Corroded Coffin had traveled, each one a little more taxing on Steve. He missed you. He didn’t like being apart from you for so long, didn’t like calling you and knowing you were on a pay phone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. It was never that. He just missed the intimacy of home life he’d get in between travels.

“Eddie said this album would make the history books.” You whisper. You hate buzzing thrill in your voice. “This tour could mean big things.”

His head doesn’t move from your shoulder, but his arms tighten. “Big things that make the wait longer?”

“Big things that insure our future, Stevie.” You breathe out. “Another tour is the type of money where we’d never have to work again.”

“But you’d miss it.” He shakes his head the most he can. He’s right, you would. He couldn’t do that to you.

This was all you’d ever wanted, and you’d finally gotten it.

“We can still make music, corroded coffin can still make music, and once we’re settled, I don’t see why another tour isn’t possible.”

He sits up out of your hold, imagining this future. Your nimble fingers reach up to wipe over his cheeks, uncaring of the snot the runs.

His breathing is in staggers. “You, me, baby Harrington.”

“Yeah, baby,” Your shoulders shake with soft laughs, a light in the dark atmosphere. “I can still be rockstar with a kid.”

He smiles, pictures of you on stage with a bump flash his mind. “Totally metal to be pregnant.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” You brush his hair from his eyelashes.

He blinks funny because of it. “And I could go with you.”

Your eyes lock. He’s only ever been with you for one. It was too much for him, too much movement. And it’d only been the states.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’d like that.”

He nods back. He doesn’t want to miss you again. Missing you was the worst ache he’d ever endured. Many sleepless nights, many red eyes.

His tired eyes claw at you.

This argument started at ten and now your bedside clock reads midnight. You hate to even call it that. An argument. He hasn’t tried to stop you, to argue that you shouldn’t go. He’s just upset, rightfully so.

You stretch to your nightstand, pulling the string on your lamp. The room goes dark, silent besides his breathing. Laying down, you give him enough room to lay down beside you, his ear to your heart. Your fingers tangle in his hair. You let the silence envelope you before whispering.

“In two years.. we’ll buy your parents house,”

He nods quietly. “I’ll knock you up.”

Your chest rises in quiet giggles. His mouth turns up at the feeling of it. “You’ll knock me up. She’ll grow up with her uncle Dustin and aunt Robin.”

“She?” His eyes close.

“We’re having a girl.”

“Okay.” He wouldn’t mind being a girl dad.

You scratch his scalp. “She’ll go to Hawkins elementary, tour in the summer.”

He hums.

“It’ll work out.”

“Me and you.” He agrees.

You were midnight rain.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem! reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve x y/n #rockstar!reader #rockstar!au #stranger things

280 notes · View notes

osvald-linds · 6 months

Text

The singer Crowley and violinist Az.Fell on a walk, photo taken by a paparazzi. Are they dating ???

Yeah that was my impression of a tabloid... I'll keep it to drawing

#rockstar crowley #rockstar!au #art #good omens #sketch #artist on tumblr #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #inneffable idiots #gos2 #innefable husbands #good omens art #good omens fanart #david tennant #michael sheen #neil gaiman #anthony j crowley #fanart

118 notes · View notes

cowgurrrl · 1 year

Text

Kiwi

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: as I was writing this, I proclaimed in the most southern accent, “now we’re cookin’ with peanut oil!” so do that with that

Summary: Joel goes home for a month. You stay in California to work. What could possibly go wrong? [3.8k]

Warnings: HEAVILY implied casting couch culture, brief allusion to creepy Hollywood producers, yearning, I can’t think of anything else!!

Boarding my flight now.

Thanks for letting me know?

Well, I texted my mama to let her know, and she told me to text "that girlfriend of mine."

Doesn't sound like she's a huge fan.

She'll live.

You like the message and go to put your phone away when it buzzes again.

Is it weird that I kinda miss talking to you?

You smile and ignore your name being called over the intercom for another beat.

There are a lot of weird things about you, Joel Miller, but that one feels the most normal.

Text me when you land in Austin. Tell your mom I said hi.

You tuck your phone away, fighting the stupid smile on your face, and look up to see a pissed-off PA walking towards you. You apologize and half jog to the sound stage where Ryan is waiting.

"The perfect punctual queen is late for once? Is the world going to shit?" He asks, and you slap his arm.

"People are allowed to be late."

"Does your lateness have anything to do with your boy toy?"

"Are you ever gonna call him by his name?" You ask. He senses that you're stalling his question and take a deep breath. "Joel is flying home to Texas today to visit family and get some work done. He'll be gone for a month."

"Oh, how will you ever survive?" He pouts, and you give him a look. The director calling for places stops you from responding, but you threaten him with the promise of picking up the conversation later.

You don't ever get to tell him off for suggesting that you can't live without Joel being in the same state because of how late shooting goes. It might've been exhaustion, but you swore that you saw the sun starting to rise over the horizon by the time you finally got to leave. You knocked out a good chunk of the scenes you were still working on, which is great news, but you were mentally and physically drained. You slept most of the next day and missed Joel's messages from one whole time zone away.

Landed.

Jesus Christ, I forgot how hot it is here.

My mama told me to ask you if you go to church since she doesn't believe me.

Attached: Two photos

You laugh as you sleepily scroll through his texts when you wake up mid-afternoon, feeling a little bit better from your long night. One of the pictures he sent is of him sitting in the cab of an old truck with the caption, "This was my first car. I can't convince my dad to sell the damn thing." The second is a blurry photo of a blue-looking weed on the side of the road surrounded by what looks like thousands of other blue weeds. "Turns out the state flower will literally grow anywhere besides in a pot in my house."

A) I'm glad you made it in safely. B) Isn't Texas the armpit of the South? C) I don't go to church, and I never have, but please feel free to lie to her. D) I can imagine a young, emo Joel Miller driving it now.

He reads your messages almost as soon as they deliver, and your screen lights up with his initials as he calls you. You yawn as you pick up and hear chatter in the background of wherever he is.

"First of all," he starts in a determined tone. "Texas ain't the armpit of the South. That's South Carolina." He says. He hasn't even been in Texas for forty-eight hours, and his accent is already thick again.

"My mistake," you laugh. "Did you have another point, or was that it?"

"Second of all, why d'you sound so tired?"

"Obviously, I was out partying with strange men all night."

"Really?" He asks, and you scoff.

"No, Joel. Filming went really late yesterday. I don't think I got home until six this morning."

"Sounds intense."

"Not as intense as being interrogated by your mother," you say, and he hums. You hear someone laughing in the background and relish in the joy that you're not there to witness. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and you wonder if the line dropped, but when you pull the phone away from your face, you see the call is still active. "You really miss me so much that you called me just to sit on the line?"

"Maybe I did." He says. You take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table. He's two hours ahead. The sun must be setting by now, casting gorgeous rays onto his skin and making his eyes look amber. You wonder what Texas air does to Joel's soul. Maybe it soothes him like only an old baby blanket can. Maybe it makes him jumpy, like he's waiting for a clap of thunder that never comes. Maybe it makes him wonder why he left in the first place. You wish you could be there to read his expression and try to decipher what he's thinking. Someone calls Joel's name in the background, and you hear him shuffle with the phone, probably covering the microphone with his hand because the voices become muffled. When the phone comes back to his ear, he takes a deep breath, and you do the same. "I gotta go. Can I call you tomorrow?" He asks.

"I'm counting on it, Miller." You say, and he laughs before mumbling a good night and hanging up the phone.

After that, it becomes a habit for Joel to call you every day from Texas. He'll tell you different stories about his parents, how Austin has changed since he left, and update you on how the newest album is coming. He listens to you rant about work, how tired you are, and how frustrated you always get toward the end of a project. Sometimes the conversations last ten minutes, and sometimes they last hours. One night, you fell asleep on the phone with him because he was trying to get your opinion on a new song, but you had spent the day filming the scene of your character giving birth, which was tiring in its own right. He doesn't chide you for it. He just sends you a goodnight text and promises to call you the following night.

You hate to admit it, but production speeds up with Joel out of town. You end up wrapping your scenes a week early while Ryan still has another couple of days of filming his scenes. You'll probably get called back in for reshoots in a few months, but you feel really good about the work you put out there, and you finally get the chance to rest before Melanie sends you more scripts to read over. You send Joel a photo of your open laptop and a glass of wine next to it as the California sun sets over your balcony.

Wrap parties are looking different as I get older.

Don't worry. I'm sure you'll still be a drunk, no matter how old.

Asshole.

Lashing out is the first sign of a bigger problem. I think I should call Melanie.

You laugh and search for the middle finger emoji when he sends you another text.

Paul got me on the list for some charity event this Saturday. Want to come with me? He said it'd probably be better to get some more dates in sooner rather than later.

The reminder that this is all fake shifts your entire mood. Of course, it's always lingering in your mind, but the texting didn't feel fake. The late-night calls didn't feel fake. He didn't feel fake. In fact, this is the first time you feel like you have a sliver of an idea as to who Joel Miller actually is when he isn't selling out world tours and recording platinum albums. It's stupid for you to feel this way. You have no reason to. No right. You take a deep breath and type out a message.

Sure.

On Friday, you drive to the airport to pick Joel up, creating an over-the-top scene of you running and jumping into his arms. His hat falls off his head and onto the ground as he catches you and kisses you sweetly. When he sets you back on the ground, he doesn't let you go right away. He lingers in your arms, and even though your feelings are still hurt and you're still trying to remind yourself that this is all fake, you let him. He smells like a detergent you don't recognize, but underneath that, you catch a whiff of the cologne he always wears. You rub his back as you hold him in the middle of the airport.

"'S really good to see your face," he says into your neck, and you nod.

"You too."

As you drive him home, he brings you up to speed on how the album is coming along and how different Texas was when he was there. You tell him about the last few days on set and an upcoming press junket in New York City. He lights up when you tell him the dates as you maneuver through LA traffic.

"I'm scheduled to go to New York to work with my sound mixer that same time. He's got his own studio out there now and knows more about it than I do," he says. "Maybe we can fly together? Make it look like a couple's trip?"

"Sure," you say. He furrows his eyebrows at your lack of excitement, and you scramble for something else to talk about. "How are your parents?" You ask. The rest of the ride to his house goes off without a hitch, and he kisses you again as he gets out of the car, both of you highly aware of the car full of paparazzi that's been tailing you since you left the airport. He promises to pick you up at five the following night, and you just nod. When you get home, you walk calmly into your house, lock the door, and scream.

Joel's hand is in yours as you wait for your turn to walk the carpet. You're not sure why there's a red carpet at a charity event, but you're not about to throw a fit about it. Joel is wearing a sleek black suit, and you're matching with a long black dress. It's a low-cut backless dress, and a sparkly necklace your stylist picked out rests against your sternum. Joel taps your hand, and you look at him.

"You okay?" He asks. He looks worried as he steps between you and the wall of photographers waiting for you to stand and pose perfectly for their photos. "You've been quiet the past few days."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I think I'm still recovering from that last week of filming."

"Are you sure you're not gettin' sick?" He asks, raising his other hand to your cheeks like he's checking your temperature. You smile half-heartedly and swat his hand away.

"I'm sure," you say. He tries to say more, but someone with a clipboard gets your attention and asks if you're ready. You nod and step onto the carpet, holding Joel's hand. The press erupts into a cloud of noise, startling you and making Joel laugh. You slap his chest and plaster on your rehearsed smile. You do your best to look where all the photographers are yelling at you to look and try different poses so they can get what they need. Everyone has to make a living, you suppose. You just wish their salary wasn't at the expense of your privacy.

You get halfway down the carpet, taking pictures as a couple and some solo shots, before one of the photographers yells a new command. "Can we get a kiss?" He shouts. You pretend not to hear him and show off how the dress dips down your back, hugging you in all the right places. Still, the photographer is demanding a kiss, and now others have joined in too. It feels very "dance, monkey, dance," but you do your best to grit your teeth and smile. You catch Joel staring at you when you turn. It could be the flashing bulbs of cameras or how he's looking at you, but his eyes are sparkling, and the creases in the corners make you melt just a little.

You hold out your hand for him to join you, which he happily obliges, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close enough for him to kiss your temple. "You alright?" He asks against your skin as you rest a hand on his chest and look up at him. You nod and glance between his eyes and his lips. The chorus of people practically begging for a picture of you two kissing is growing, and you raise your eyebrows at him.

"You gonna keep them waiting, or are you gonna kiss me?" You ask, the playful lilt reserved for him returning to your voice. He gives you a look and smirks before leaning down a pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Everyone ooh's and aw's at you two, but you only care about how fast his heartbeat is against your palm. You want to blame it on the anxiety of walking the carpet and having people scream at you to do whatever they want. No, you have to blame it on that. There's no other option.

When you finally get inside, Joel gets you a glass of wine and a mixed drink for himself. The event is sweet and goes by quickly as you listen to people talk about something they're so passionate about. You decide to donate some money under an anonymous name once you are all excused to the reception, where there's food, more alcohol, and dancing. Joel leaves your side to catch up with some musician buddies, kissing your cheek before disappearing into the crowd.

You nurse your wine as people you've never met start conversations with you. They're all polite and ask about your newest project, how LA's been treating you, and what's up next for you. You can't reveal much due to the NDA you signed at the beginning of shooting, but you tell them how excited you are for them to be able to see it and admit you've got some auditions lined up in the coming weeks. You've probably given the same answers to a handful of different people when you realize you're out of wine and Joel is still missing. You scan the room for him, but you can't find him. That's fine, you think. It's not like he's obligated to stick to my side at all times. He can have his own life.

You sigh as you belly up to the bar and order another glass of wine. You almost make it a double when someone taps your arm, making you turn. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you look exquisite tonight. I just thought you should know," ultra-famous producer Richard Pike tells you. You blink at him, your brain struggling to catch up with the fact that one of the men who's made the most award-winning films in the past twenty years just noticed you. "I know everyone has probably told you that tonight, but-"

"Oh, no. Thank you. I'm sorry. I was just a little starstruck right then," you apologize before holding your hand out to introduce yourself. He takes your hand and kisses the top of it. It's very dramatic, but this is Hollywood we're talking about. Your glass of wine arrives, and he pays the bartender before you can even reach for your purse.

"Women as gorgeous as you should never have to pay for a drink. Ever." He says, and you laugh.

"I mean, I won't argue with you on that," you say, taking your glass in your hand to clink it against his glass of scotch. "Thank you, Mr. Pike."

"Please, call me Richard," he insists. "You just finished another movie, didn't you? You're a very busy girl."

"Yes, sir. I'm already looking for new projects to audition for."

"Oh, I remember when I had actors audition. See, that was before I started writing roles for specific actors. Some people call that crude or playing favorites, but it hasn't failed me yet."

"No, sir, it hasn't."

"So formal! Yes, sir! No, sir! Are you like this with everyone?" He asks as he takes a big swig of his drink.

"Just people who can cast me," you say. You're partially joking, but it's enough for him. He laughs, and his hand lands perfectly on your exposed back as he cackles loudly. You force yourself to laugh along with him and suddenly get that sinking feeling in your chest. Everybody seems to strategically look away from you two at the bar, and you want to be anywhere but here.

"You know, I've seen a few of your movies," he says, getting close to your face like he's telling you a secret. "I think you've got a lot of potential. With just a little coaching and one great role," his hand dips lower down your back, and you freeze. Ice water runs through your veins, and everything is screaming at you to run away, but your heels stay planted against the expensive hardwood. "We'll make an Oscar winner of you yet."

"Excuse me," a familiar drawl says behind you. You both turn and make eye contact with Joel. "May I steal my girlfriend for a dance? I promised her one on the way over." He asks, but he's already wrapping an arm around your waist, ready to pull you away. The hand on your back disappears and claps Joel on the shoulder.

"Of course! You take good care of this one!"

"Yes, sir," Joel says as he pulls you to the dance floor. Your heart is still beating in your throat, and you feel like you could cry, but Joel's looking at you with such kindness. You find safety in him as you wrap your arms around his neck and slowly sway with him, the soft material of his dress shirt calming you down. He waits until Pike is out of earshot to lean down to talk in your ear. "Now, I know you don't need me savin' you like that. Are you sure you're okay?"

"He's one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. He could tank my career in a single email. You want to be the one to yell at him?" You ask. "If I said or did something, he would've doubled down, but he respects you more. He backed off because, in his mind, I belong to you."

"How do you know?"

"I've dealt with people like him before. They're all the same old men who think they can offer you a legacy on a silver platter if you fuck them. I've gotten enough advice from other actors to know how to handle them. Let them get touchy but find an out before it can go too far. Stroke their egos so they feel good about themselves. Basically, do whatever to keep you and your career safe."

"I thought stuff like that didn't happen anymore."

"You and everyone else in the world. Things don't just magically change because one guy goes to jail." You sigh.

"I'm sorry," he says, and you shake your head.

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

"It was one of the first things people told me when I started. They said it was something I might just have to… endure but that the weight would get easier to carry. One actress even told me that it was the price we have to pay because everyone wants to be us," you chuckle. He doesn't interrupt you; he just stares at you with apologetic eyes like he would take this burden from you if he could. You almost believe him. "I don't think that's true. I think most people would hand this lifestyle in the second it got too real."

"What would you do if you weren't an actor?" He asks, and you shrug.

"I always thought about being a teacher. Sure, the pay is shit, and the work is thankless, but kids are our future, you know? There's something really special about shaping young minds."

"Sounds nice."

"What about you? What would you do if you weren't doing this?"

"Probably something with my hands. I worked as a mechanic for a while, and I really liked that. I liked how it was a big puzzle that needed to get sorted out and fixed up."

"Why'd you stop?" You ask.

"I needed to grow up. My dad owned a contracting company, so I worked with him until I saved up enough to record my first album. And that was that."

"It's crazy how we fought so hard to get to where we are, and now that we're here, it's..." You trail off, trying to figure out what you want to say.

"Terrifying?" He suggests, and you nod. "Yeah, I'm terrified every second of every day."

"You don't act like it."

"I don't act like a lot of things that I should," he says. He stares at you so intently that the rest of the world fades away. You don't hear the song die down or the applause erupt around you as the band takes a bow. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest. You know how crazed it is. He wets his lips before stepping back and trailing his eyes down your dress and back up to your face like he's taking you in for the first time. "You really do look beautiful tonight." You swallow around the lump in your throat and smooth your hands down your dress, suddenly self-conscious.

"Thank you." You mumble.

Pictures of you two kissing on the carpet and dancing inside are circulating online before you even leave the event. You wake up to a huge batch of texts— one from your mom, two from Joel, six from Ryan, and one from Melanie about your trip to New York that you barely read. You would've stayed in bed wallowing in your own bad luck if there wasn't a sharp knock on your door. You groan the whole way down the stairs like it will help you greet whoever has decided to show up at your house at eight in the morning, but nobody's there when you open the door.

Instead, a bouquet of flowers in a lovely vase sits on your mat with a note sticking out. You glance down your street and barely catch a delivery truck turning down the block. You carefully take the flowers into your kitchen before plucking the note between the petals.

Pretty flowers for a pretty girl - JM

(PS bought these of my own volition)

"Goddammit," you mutter under your breath as you think about his lips on yours, his soft shirt, and his stupid fucking, "I don't act like a lot of things I should."

#one for the money two for the show #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller au #tlou au #the last of us au #rockstar!joel miller #rockstar!au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #I promise Sarah and Ellie are going to make an appearance soon 🫶

227 notes · View notes

pocketlessdruid · 2 months

Text

Sasodei week day 3: rock star au

Deidara is a young, enthusiastic and promising musician. Sasori is a very obsessive producer and sound engineer, and way older than he looks, and who in fact kinda hates music.

After every live performance and every recording session, Deidara runs to him in a happy mood, always thanking him, and telling him that he would be nothing without his arrangements, followed by an invitation to spend some time together. And although Sasori always responds with disinterest, lately he started to think that Deidara's music is actually not that bad, maybe he even likes it. Also, he is pretty cute too...

@sasodeiweek

43 notes · View notes

themunsonator5000 · 1 year

Text

Eddie and his sweetheart ❤️🎸

Corroded Coffin poster included in Metal Hammer magazine April 1988

#eddie munson #eddie munson edit #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn edit #joseph quinn edit #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things edit #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson fanart #eddie munson manip #stranger things fanart #rockstar!au #rockstar!eddie munson

239 notes · View notes

missmielyhoran · 9 months

Text

Long Live

Harry does his first ever tiktok live...

90sRockstar!Harry × Model!Reader

A/N- i- just read this...I cried thinking about this

(It's 2023, Harry and Reader are in their early 50s, Jackson and Sophie- 19)

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

*****

"Angel do I look good?" Harry asks you as he props his phone on the stand Jackson setup before he went to the studio.

"You always do Baby" You chuckled from the loveseat watching your husband fix his graying hair for millionth time.

It's been a long time since Harry and band stopped performing. The last album they released was almost five years ago and today was band's 25th birthday. So, Harry's management asked him to do a live stream.

He obviously didn't how amything worked considering the old man he was which you always told he wasn't seeing as people your age were still having kids while yours were about to go to college.

He felt old.

He noticed the whole time he was live as multiple comments rolled in. He thought tiktok was fun, Sophie even got him to make some with him which he thought was silly but again very fun.

"Hi I'm Harry" He introduced himself as if everyone already didn't know who he was. You shook your head amused.

"Oh there are so many people. How do I talk to them? Is it like face time?" He asked you but you were just as confused.

"I think you read the comments and reply to them babe" You guessed as you saw multiple people asking different questions and some sending weird emojis.

"Oh" He read the comments and laughed, "They want to see you Angel" He said and pulled you from the loveseat to beside him and wrapped his arms around your frame.

"Hi" You said laughing.

"As you all know it's my band's 25th anniversary so I decided to this live thingy my kids taught me the other day. I can't perform anymore any of us can't especially Mitch and his old man bones" he said teasingly knowing his best friend will see this.

"My kids are so smart cause if it was upto me I would've never been able to do this" He said as he read people finding it funny and sweet that he didn't know how to use tiktok.

As if on queue Sophie walked into the living room typing away on her phone.

"Sweety come here and say hi. I'm live on tiktok" Harry said eagerly. Sophie laughed and slid beside her dad putting her head on his shoulder.

"Do you guys know she got into Harvard? All by herself." Harry said proudly, "I don't even know where she got it from none of us are smart"

"Hey, I'm smarter than you" You said slapping his chest.

"I'm dumb as fuck Angel, Evie is smarter than me" He said laughing which turned into a cackle when Evie meowed from her bed half asleep across the room.

Harry decided to read some more comments and you decided to get onto preparing lunch. Sophie sat on the sofa letting her dad do her thing but also be there if he needed something.

"Hey, sweetie what does b and 4 means?" Harry asked quizzical to his daughter.

"It means before dad, like b and four" She explained, Harry's face morphed into a 'ohh' expression.

"That's smart" He said nodding his head. He read some more comments when someone put sunglasses on his face.

"Someone put sunglasses on me" He laughed and posed as if he was wearing real sunglasses, "This is fun"

He saw someone say 'brb gotta cry' and he felt bad, "I don't know who brb is but please don't cry" He said his lips turning into a soft frown.

Sophie laughed from her seat and explained to her dad that it didn't mean someone was literally crying which made him feel embarrassed flushing his face a bit.

Harry was having fun with this new technology nonetheless and Sophie was having fun watching her dad experience new things. She knew this will be added to the plathora of Harry Styles compilations there are on YouTube (which he very much enjoys watching).

She was lost in thought of maybe teching him how to use instagram and maybe doing a live there also when he spoke up again.

*****

"Why are so many people here calling me dilf? what's a dilf?" He asked confused and Sophie decided that she is not letting him do live again.

Idk where this came from I was listening to Long live by Tay. also by sweating I meant this emoji 🥵

Like, Comment and Reblog cause it really helps me🩷

If you liked it please tell me here♡ and I love you guysssss

304 notes · View notes

reysdriver · 1 year

Text

Rockstar!Remus

headcanons of Remus as a rockstar in a band with the marauders — remus x gn!reader

warnings: one mention of drugs

words: 0.4k

- The band is called The Marauders of course

- Either plays bass or drums (I’m always conflicted between James and Remus playing bass/guitar or drums)

- Goes with a very classic rock aesthetic, while Sirius goes for more glam rock and James just wants to be a shirtless rockstar

- You don't always go on the tours with him, but he sends you postcards from every city he goes without you

- And when you aren't on tour with him, he'll insist on spending the whole day before and after the trip with you doing whatever you want

- Writes so many love songs about you (like SO MANY that Sirius rolls his eyes and jokes that he's trying to change the genre into everything lovesick)

- Doesn't do hard drugs like other celebrities, just smokes weed and drinks bc he can still think about you while on those

- Cuddles with you in the tiny bed of the tour bus

- Always talks about you in interviews and while performing (if you're comfortable with that of course) because he wants the whole world to know how he feels for you

- Even though he makes a lot of money, he doesn't live very lavishly

- Most of the money he does spend is to spoil you or buy a nice place for the two of you

- Sometimes steals little things of yours like clothes or a bottle of your perfume when he goes on tour without you so he can be reminded of you

- And you barely notice things are missing or you think you're losing your mind until he mentions it on a phone call or you see him holding it on newspapers and tabloids (or social media if it's a modern AU)

- But you can't really be mad because you do the same thing with his stuff lol

- Fans are actually super nice to you when you go public about the relationship

- Like a few are jealous or whatever but the majority of them look up to you like you're a member of the band

- And Remus will always defend you from those few mean fans so you never have anything to worry about

- He uses pictures of you or things you draw as inspiration and even tries to convince the guys to put it on album covers and stuff

- The boys don't often argue because they love you too

- They also know Remus will whine and beg until he gets you as the unofficial face of the band

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin headcanon #rockstar!remus #rockstar!au #marauders era #marauders headcanon #rockstar!marauders

452 notes · View notes

eyesxxyou · 6 months

Text

Backstage Show Pt.5

★🎸 {} .. rockstar!hobie brown x groupie!reader

rating. m

word count. 3.6k

synopsis. a game of body shots goes terribly wrong when things gets heated and hobie walks in on you. you two are forced to come to terms with your feelings

hobie gets jealous and fucks you

🍒・．❕warnings. bathroom sex, rough sex, jealous sex, body shots, sorta kinda cheating but not really since they aren't togeteher, claiming kink, writing on v, bathroom sex, oral (m recieving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, a whole lotta angst at the end, yall ain't ready for this

Backstage Show pt.4

Hobie Brown was always so sure of himself. He was sure in his pursuit of music as a career, sure in his bandmates and their ability to perform, sure in his own capabilities when it comes to nearly everything in life. He loved his life just as it was, the glamor, the weed, the alcohol, the fans. He was so sure that he adored it all.

But Hobie could not be sure of you.

He was initially interested in you because you were pretty and that hole between your legs could constitute a portal to heaven. You were nothing but a way to let off some steam before or after a show. A pretty little thing he could have on his arm just for him to make up for the fact that he was a horrible, lonely, asshole who used girls for his own pleasure because he was a self-sabotaging loser. And once the people he date finally figured that out and eventually left, he’d find someone new to bide his time with until the cycle continued.

And now he could not think of a world where you're not right there by his side. He can't imagine a world where you aren't his girl. Your loyalty was unmatched, your dedication, your silent worship every time you looked at the profile and his slender, beautiful face you simply wanted to run your fingers alone and kiss.

Did you know he wanted to do just the same? DId you know that he thought the world of you? The only difference between you and him was that he had the courage to do it, to rub his fingers upon your lips and trace your jaw where the tips of them touch? It's because you were always a little more his than he was yours. You'd never dare call him yours, never try to make him feel constricted in fear that he may ghost you.

But because you were not necessarily his and he was certainly not yours. You thought it perfectly fine when Mace was in your ear as he usually was talking about doing body shots with the rest of them. His hands were holding your waist as he pulled you into his body and whispered in your ear that it’ll just be a “bit of fun, nothin’ serious”. You could hear the smirk in his voice, feel his lips curl against the shell of your ear.

You were hesitant at first, glancing over at Hobie who was talking to a roady about stage management, but gained the courage to go off with him and the others to lick tequila shots off of each other's bodies. Why would he not be okay with it? He let the others have their way with you, body shots would be where he crossed the line?

You sat down in the group and watched for a moment. They had gotten a couple of other groupies to play the game with them, shirts all removed as they lay back and let alcohol get poured on them. You were hypnotized by tongues, by the giggling, but the heated makeouts once they reached the top of each other's bodies, mouths seeking each other without discrimination.

They went around the circle, licking each other’s sculpted bodies until it was your turn. You were eager to try. You removed your shirt and layed on your back while Eli poured a shot on the curve of your diaphragm, trickling north and south very quickly before his mouth caught it.

It was warm and hot, his mouth that is. Even hotter watching his tongue lap up your diaphragm and down your naval, eyes never leaving yours as you let out a shaky breath. He made his way down to the waist of your skirt and kissed the mound of your pussy before going back up to kiss you, the others cheering you on into depravity. You kissed him back, thinking only of Hobie's lips on yours, his hands on your body.

Eli grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your bodies melding into each other much like clay. He smelled vaguely like Hobie, like smoke and musk but a different cologne. All you wanted as Hobie, Eli meant nothing to you but he knew how to make you feel good.

Then his voice manifested behind you.

"Wha' in the bloody fuckin' hell is this, then?" He reached between the two of you and pushed Eli away, your lips tearing apart from each other as you gasped and looked up at him. "Hobie– It's no-"

"Oh, don' gimme tha' bullshit. Come'ere." He did not reach for you, did not help you up, forcing you to sit in your embarrassment as you grabbed your shit and stood to your feet. Hobie grabbed your wrist and pulled you along with him out of the room and towards a nearby bathroom in the busiest part backstage. You held your shirt to your chest to cover whatever little modesty you had left as he put you in the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind the two of you.

His lips were on yours so fast you hardly had any time to comprehend it. It was rough, possessive, demanding all you had and more to offer. He swallowed your moans as you pushed your body against his and dropped your shirt to the ground. “Hobie–” You whined, begging for him to let you explain. His large hands were pulling your clothes off of you until you were just in your bra and your panties were partially pulled down your supple thighs.

“You must like sluttin’ yaself out, don’cha?” He picked you up with a surprising amount of strength and set you down on the sink. “Greedy lil’ whore. One just isn’t enough for you.” Hobie reached around in his pockets to find the marker he always carried around for autographs. Once he finally found it, he uncapped it with his teeth. “Guess I’ll haf’ta remind ya who you belong to.”

In great big, capitol letters, he wrote above the mound of your pussy like a tattoo, like an autograph ‘HOBIES PUSSY’. Hobie capped the marker and tossed it away somewhere before pulling you in and kissing you again with ravenous fervor. He was angry, he was jealous, you realized.

The thought of him being jealous made your heart swell. Jealousy meant that in some way, he cared, even a little. You kissed him back, let him have his way with you as he licked and bit down the length of your body, your skin still tasting of tequila and bad decisions. You parted your legs a little further as he made his way towards where you needed him the very most.

His breath the warm, fanning along your outer lips, teasing what could be but never quite getting there. Hobie paused a moment and looked up at you. "Nah– you don' deserve i'. That's a privilege." He let you go, standing up and backing away. His body, once warm and covering your partially naked one, suddenly retreated from you and now all you know is the cold and humiliation. You ached. You wanted him badly, needed him.

"Hobie, please." You begged, hopping down from the sink, your hands coming to adjust your panties. His claim on your body still visible through the thin fabric of your underwear. "I know you're mad but it was just some stupid game. I wasn't actually gonna fuck him."

Hobie didn't say anything, didn't look at you from across the small bathroom you two were locked in. He was so good at making people feel unimportant, unheard. He was good at making people feel like they didn't exist in his presence.

What if he told you he had never even looked at a single person since he first fucked you? Never placed his hands on another person other than to sign tits as some fans love when he did. People have flirted, men and women and everyone in between, but he brushed them all off. What's casual, one time sex when he has you there to offer him something so much more? Would that change what you said? Change the way you brushed it off as if it were nothing?

You got down on your knees in front of him, kissing the crotch of his pants where his cock lay half-hard and growing. "Please forgive me." Your words muffled as you spoke into his dick that was beginning to stir more and more. He was still pretending to ignore you but his body could not. It wanted you as badly as your body wanted him. "'m gonna make it up to you."

Your hands worked his assortment of belts and his jeans until his half-hard length sat before you, twitching with the rushing of blood. You spat into the soft palm of your hand and used that to work your hand up and down the length of his member, your thumb rubbing over the sensitive slit at the tip of his head.

He was hard in your hands in no time, a few short huffs leaving his nose as he attempted to deny himself the pleasure. You knew he would break soon, but it would take more than some feeble handjob to do it. You kissed the wet tip and parted your lips to let him sink into the hot wet cavern of your mouth, your tongue running along the vein on the underside of his cock.

Hobie shuddered, finally looking down at you and the way your mouth wrapped around him. You took him as deep as you could go, a little more than halfway before your throat constricted and you gagged around him. You looked at him through teary-eyes you drew back, leaving his cock all wet with your saliva before pushing forward again. You bobbed your head at a steady pace, your hands braced against his thighs.

Oh– you sucked dick like a champ, slurping him up like he was an popsicle, looking him up with those big, innocent eyes of yours. You hollowed your cheeks for more suction, letting him go with a pop of your lips before taking him right back into your hot mouth.

Hobie hissed with pleasure, moaning softly as he reached down and gathered up your hair in his hands in some makeshift ponytail. “Jus’ like tha’. Nice, stupid slut, tha’s all ya are.” How his body shuddered for you, for those wet, plump lips of yours, for your tongue that ran over his slit over and over and drove him absolutely insane. He couldn’t stand you and the way you could make him crazy for you, for your mouth, your body, you in all your ways.

He forced you to go faster, pushed you a little further until his cock slid down the tight pocket of your throat. He selfishly took his pleasure in you, slapped your cheek lightly when you resisted him out of instinct. Your throat tightened around his cock and if he were to look underneath, he’d find the outline of his dick in your throat.

Hobie fucked your throat the way he wanted to, fast and deep until your nose met his pelvis and your saliva dribbled down his balls. You were nothing but a means for his pleasure, a way to get off, a sex toy. You offered yourself up to get back into his good graces, not wanting him to hold a grudge against you over some stupid game.

He fucked your throat raw, nice and deep, slowing down to give you a break, speeding up when you got too comfortable with the slow and steady pace. Hobie pushed you to your limits, fucked your mouth until you were lightheaded as hand to tap his leg to get him to give you a break. When he let you go, you broke away with a gasp, coughing as your lungs pleaded for air. Hobie grasped you, picked you up with overwhelming ease and set you back on the sink, tearing your panties away with a rip of fabric like it meant nothing to him. His signature on the top of your pussy spurred him on as he stroked his cock between the sopping lips of your pussy and sunk into you in one swift motion of desperation.

You let out a gasp, shuddering at the feeling of his cock filling you so suddenly. His tip kissed your cervix before retreating and thrusting back into you. He gave you no time to adjust, no time to savor the feeling of him slowly inching his way into you. He was fucking you hard and fast and you were loving every moment of it. He couldn’t wait. He needed to be inside you, claiming you, owning you.

"Hobie! Mmh~" You moaned loudly enough for anyone outside of the bathroom to hear. It's just what he wanted, for everyone to know that you were taken, that you were his. He had your legs hanging on either side of his shoulders, toes curling behind his head as he brutalized your cunt.

The way he fucked you could only be described as abuse. It was ruthless, desperate, selfish. Hobie was not at all focused on your pleasure, if you happened to cum during all of this, that would not have been his goal, just a side effect. He was out for his own orgasm, he deserved it, you belong to him.

But did you really? He never applied labels. You were only his in his mind and you had only broken a made up rule he had kept in his brain.

“Fuck! Ohh~ God, please…I–” Your voice was louder, hands grasping at anything and everything you could from the sink to Hobie’s neck. Your jaw hung open, lips forming a small ‘o’ shape. Your back was against the cool mirror and you wondered in the back of your mind what you looked like right now. Did you look like a whore? You imagined you did, with wild hair and smudged makeup. He probably thought you a slut, just making your rounds with his bandmates until you collected them all like Pokemon.

Hobie readjusted his grip on your thighs, his hold almost bruising as he nudged your jaw with his nose. "Look at i'. Look at the way I fuck you." Your eyes were squeezed shut, hands gripping the sides of the sink to brace yourself. Slowly, you opened your eyes and looked down at the sight before you. His cock bullied its way into you, the lips of your pussy parted for him so nicely. Just above the mess he made of your cunt, a creamy, white ring sitting neatly at the base of his cock, was his signature, 'HOBIES PUSSY’. The words made you moan, made your head face back and your back arch as he fucked you up.

Only he could do you like this, have you screaming his name in the violent rush of an orgasm so everyone could hear the way he fucked you. The sound of him pushing into you was wet and creamy with the residue of an orgasm pulsing through you. Your body shuddered, your hands grasping at him, tugging at his shirt, pulling him closer, teetering on the edge of tears. Your climax crashed upon you, left you desolate and destroyed and sobbing.

He didn’t stop fucking you, didn’t slow down. “Look a’ me.” One of his hands grasped you chin and forced you to look him in the eye. You could hardly see him through the glaze over your eyes, the tears swelling then falling down your face, taking mascara and eyeliner with it.

“You see wha’cha done to yaself?” You let out a cry as he gripped you tighter, fucked you harder, his pelvis rubbing against your aching clit with each thrust into your used up cunt. You could hardly take it, barely stand it. Your body scrambled to get away from the brutalization. Hobie held you down. “Why ya runnin’, luv? You said ya make i’ up t’me. Stay righ’ here and take this dick since ya so hungry to be fucked.” You could do nothing but take it, take the jealousy and angry way he fucked you.

Hobie kissed you when he was close to orgasm. His teeth chewed softly on your bottom lips as he asked you to scream a little louder. You wrapped your body around his, kept you so close he could barely pull out enough to cum. He made a mess of you, coating the outside and inside of your pussy in creamy white.

“You’re such a fuckin’ was’eful, whore.” Hobie dragged his fingers through his cum and pushed it into your leaking hole, watching the white ring of cum forming at the base of his knuckles. When he pulled out his fingers, you slid down from the sink on shaky legs and reached for some toilet paper to clean yourself up while Hobie washed his hands.

There was a long stretch of silence as you got dressed. You couldn’t help but look at the curl in Hobie’s lip through the mirror. He was really upset about it and you figured you should say something to help the situation. You didn’t want any animosity between the two bandmates.

“It truly didn’t mean anything.”

Hobie turned off the water and flicked the water off his hands and he turned to look at you. “Is tha’ s’pposed to make me feel better? I walked in an’ you were shirtless, makin’ out with ma mate. What the fuck was I s’pposed to think. Aw nah, she’s jus’playin’? Come off i’.”

You didn’t understand why he was so upset. He always made it very clear that you two were nothing official. He was not tied to you and you were not tied to him and it didn’t matter either way. “I don’t understand, Hobie. Are we together or are we not because I’m tired of always following you around like a puppy dog wondering when you’d actually look at me as more than just a sex doll you can call up when you need to get your dick wet.” It came out so suddenly, your quiet anger, your silent resentment.

Silence once again. The two of you stared at each other for a long time.

“I haven’t touched a single person since I first met you.” Hobie admitted, almost throwing it in your face. You scoffed at him. “That’s not fair, Hobie. You know that’s not fair. You always made it clear that we weren’t together. And I’ll have you know that before tonight, I haven’t been with anyone that you haven’t given me express permission to be with.”

“I’m not holding that against you, luv. You don’t even have to bring it up.”

“Then what do you want from me? Are we together or is it just casual? You’re giving me all these mixed signals. One second you’re ghosting me and the next, you’re talking about how obsessed you are with me. Hobie—” Your voice broke, choking on your own words as more tears dappled your messy cheeks. “Hobie, I love you.” You said it, you laid your heart out in front of you and gave him all the opportunity to crush it under his boot.

His lips twitched and he shook his head, placing his hand upon his temples. What did he expect? She hung on his every action, his every word because she hated him? She was in love with him before she ever even knew him. She was in love with him the moment he first interacted with him. She worshiped him like a god.

“It won’ last, babe.” He sighed. “I’m a fuckin’ dickhead an’ an asshole. I don’ do love. One day you’re gonna wake up and realize tha’ I’m not worth ya love or ya time.” He pushed you away because he couldn’t bear to wake up to that day where you don’t look at him with that spark in your eye or you don’t hang on his every word. He can’t face the day where he figures out that he’s in love and you’re not.

“That’s for me to decide.”

“Well, I’m makin’ the decision for ya. Piss off, would ya? I don’t fuckin’ love you ‘n I neva will.” Hobie flung you off with a dismissive wave of his hand like the beads of water that still clung to his skin. It was the period on the matter, the end all be all of this conversation. He left no room for further argument. He wanted you gone and that was that. Who were you to fight it?

So once you were all dressed, you opened the door and looked back at him, tears threatening you to show weakness. You would never give him the satisfaction of crying in front of him. A young you would have begged on your knees. A naive you would have asked him not to turn you away. But you were better now, knew Hobie for what he really was and he was right, he was just some selfish asshole who could never love you.

“Go fuck yourself, Hobie.”

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown fic #hobie brown smut #backstage show #spider punk smut #spider punk fic #rockstar!hobie x groupie!reader #rockstar!au #rockstar!hobie x reader

392 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

could i request remus getting in a fight (i know it’s not like him at all but maybe it was ab the reader?? idk) and then shy!reader has to patch him up and it’s rlly fluffy and cute. i love all your work!! 🤍

i did rockstar!remus hope you don't mind it's not a huge detail CW r is cornered by a creep, fighting, bloody knuckles ♡ shy!fem!reader | 1k words

The dressing room is silent.

Remus sits slouched in a chair with his hand hiding his face, fingertips aligned over his brow and the pad of his thumb pressed to his top lip. His knuckles are bruised. Deep, cruel bruises. The index knuckle is split and scabbed with dried blood.

You lean against the vanity, your cheeks tearstained but dry. He's still so angry.

Not with you. The opposite, he's angry for you. Some techie had tried to lay hands on you during the set. You remember Remus' face filled with post-show adrenaline and how it had drained when you told him what happened. He'd been very quiet, characteristic if abrupt, and asked you who.

There's a roll of bandages, a square of gauze and an antiseptic wipe in your hands.

"Remus?" you ask.

He drops his hand and blinks. The anger is occluded by fondness. "What, dove?"

"Can I fix your hand?"

Remus straightens in his chair. "Sure you can."

You put the gauze and bandages in his lap and step in between his legs. His hand on the armrest, you curl your fingers around his wrist to hold him still and dab at his split knuckle gently.

Remus pulls your waist. You let him, unsurprised when his face drops into your abdomen.

"Sorry, dovey."

You stop your wiping and swallow. There's lots of things you want to say. Don't be sorry. That guy cornered me and he could've done worse. You're brave. Thank you for defending me.

"I love you," is what you say instead.

He looks up. "You're not upset?"

"No," you say. You reach for the gauze in his lap and lay it over his knuckles. "Can you hold this, please?"

Remus gives your hip a small squeeze before he does as you ask. You wrap the bandage around his hand and his bruised knuckles, feeling silly because you don't really know what you're doing, you just want him to feel looked after.

"I didn't know you…" You let his hand fall gently and put your hands on his shoulders, fingers slow and shy but very, very desperate, coveting the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

"Go on," he prompts as he always does, tilting his head back in your hold.

"I've never seen you fight someone."

"I don't do it often," he says dryly.

You can't help but laugh. "No, I'd hope not."

You both go silent, looking at the other with a vast range of sticky sweet emotions.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he says eventually.

You hesitate, eyes closing. Your words are slow; you think of each one carefully before you say them, "You didn't make me cry. I was just worried about you. Watching James have to pull you off of that guy, it was… it was a lot."

"I'm sorry," he says again.

You open your eyes, find him shaking his head from side to side, lips parted in regret.

You smile and your cheeks apple, eyes squinting ever so slightly.

Remus smiles. "But you already know that," he says.

"Uh-huh. Doesn't matter," you whisper. "None of it matters. I'm just glad you're okay."

He pulls you in close and you feel heat move over you in a wave, worse when his hand comes to the back of your thigh. He drags your leg onto the chair between his until you're forced to brace yourself on his shoulders and lean your weight in his lap.

"Don't be silly," he murmurs. "Sit properly."

And you explode internally, climbing onto his thighs with an awful churning in your tummy. He makes sure you're settled comfortably, doesn't care that it takes a lot of shuffling or that the chair is hardly big enough to accommodate you both.

"There, that's better."

You take your hands back from his shoulders and stare at his t-shirt, a black short sleeve sporting the Def Leppard logo in burning orange. You trace the letters with your eyes.

"Hey," he says, tapping under your chin with his free hand, the other a clear heat behind your back. "You've gone all shy on me."

You ignore him lest you spur him on. He tsks and leans back as far as he can in the chair, dark eyes half-lidded, a smugness in the uptilt of his mouth.

"Does it hurt?" you ask.

"No, dove. My nurse did a great job. She was super fucking pretty, too. The sweetest thing."

You press your lips together tight to smother a pleased little laugh and move your gaze up. He looks super serious as always, his eyes unflinching where they pour into yours.

He rubs under your eye with the very tip of his ring finger. When he's done he moves to the second, wiping away your smudged mascara with all tenderness.

He graces your cheek with the side of his hand. "Poor girl. Still so pretty covered in tears."

He's sick. In the head. You hope your pout clues him in to how unfair he's being and he reads it wrong, or knowing Remus he doesn't read it wrong at all, only chooses to act as if he did when he pulls you down. Firm, almost stern, his hand slides up the length of your back and holds your shoulder as his lips press to yours. You close your eyes and let yourself be kissed, too melted by him to do anything more besides kiss back lightly and screw your fingers in his shirt.

"Slow down. I'm injured," he whispers.

That does it. You're pent up and tired and he has no business making jokes at your expense. You laugh so much you have to drop your forehead to his chin, physically unable to hold yourself up.

Remus pats your back. "I love you," he says warmly. "Didn't say it back before."

You wrap your arms around his neck and sigh. You hadn't doubted it.

#marauders era #marauders #rockstar!au #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #bassist!remus

2K notes · View notes

wordsarelife · 16 days

Text

guys!! the poll decided: our love interest will be Theo!! i'm super excited to start planning and writing the series!

reminder: it's going to be a rockstar/band au and enemies to lovers!!!

characters that will be featured (in the band):

theo as lead singer, enzo as guitarist, blaise on the drums, draco on keyboard and mattheo as bass player!

so here's one last thing i need to ask and i'd love to hear your input on, before i start planning:

(please send requests (so not to spoil or reveal too much)

what are moments/ scenes you want to see?

suggestions for a band name??

and any other input you might have, like song suggestions that the band could've written or quotes you want to hear hehe or username ideas for a few chapters in which social media might get a feature, let me know!!

thank you guys so much for all your input so far!! i'm super excited!!!

tagging my moots (that are probably tired of me by now, so feel free to ignore this guys): @ahead-fullofdreams @amongemeraldclouds @novelizt @mqstermindswift @blooberry-bagel @givemea-dam-break @obsessedwithceleste @witchy8464

22 notes · View notes

boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

Title: ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ [4]

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist || series playlist || chapter song

Summary: Drowning in women and designer drugs, Bucky Barnes of Valkyrie’s Revenge is in a race to rock bottom. Fed up, his bandmates give him an ultimatum—straighten up, or fuck off. In a last, desperate bid to maintain his place, he agrees to return to the one place he swore he’d never set foot again—home.

Warnings: Angst, Drug Addiction, Mental Health issues, Toxicity, Recreational Drug use, Hard drug use, PTSD, Dealing with trauma, Slow Burn, Fluff, MINORS DNI, [More to be added]

A/N: another installment down! i’m really eager to hear what folks are thinking and feeling, so please don’t hesitate to hit my inbox with comments or questions! divider by @firefly-graphics

series playlist || chapter song

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

🎤

You don’t sleep until the sky starts to turn from deep purple to pink at the edges, waiting for your phone to ring, or the doorbell, or a fierce knock—but nothing comes. You begin to slip down into slumber as the dawn stretches bright fingers up the faded wallpaper of your bedroom, and your anxieties follow you in.

You’re in the car. Why are you in the car? The window is cool to the touch beneath your fingers—it’s winter. It was winter. Maybe here it always is. Someone squeezes your hand—Bucky, you know it without looking. You know him so well that even the guitar callouses on his fingertips are as known to you as the folded pages of your favorite book.

You stroke your thumb over the creases in his skin. They are the familiar lines of a map you have learned down to the letter—every scar recorded to memory.

Why are you in the car? Rebecca is there too, her face blurred in the mirror as she leans over to whisper something to Bucky’s mother. You can’t hear her, like she’s speaking from under water.

“You think you’ll ever come back here? When you get famous?” You know how this goes, you remember this part—

“When we get famous, you mean.” The world tilts on its head and suddenly you are standing in the rain on the shoulder of the road, staring at the smoking, twisted metal—

“Mommy?”

Your eyes are slow to open, like your body doesn’t actually want start moving again so soon after falling asleep. Iris is perched on the edge of your bed, her wide gray eyes searching your face.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” you sit up onto your elbows with a huff. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.” You hadn’t slept at all, really, but your daughter doesn’t need to know that. “Were you up long without me?” She shakes her head.

“No.” She looks so much like Bucky as she cocks her head at you, her eyebrow lifting ever so slightly as she regards you. It’s almost laughable how many of his mannerisms she’s seems to have inherited despite never being around him, how much of him is in her.

Iris crawls up to the head of the bed and scoots underneath the blanket with a little sigh. You wrap your arms around your daughter, pressing a tired kiss to her forehead.

“You sleep okay? Any bad dreams?”

“No. I was a mermaid in my dream.” Iris replies seriously.

“Oh? Did you see anything cool down there under the ocean?” As she begins describing the intricacies of her subconscious, you start trying to ready yourself for the day. It’s Saturday—one of your only full days off. Generally, your off time consists of taking Iris to absorb what little culture Meridian and the surrounding counties have to offer, but today, you’re dragging.

You haven’t dreamed about the crash since after Iris was two, but you know you shouldn’t be surprised by it’s reoccurrence, not really. The past has a way of biting your ass when you least expect it, your grandmother had said that to you when you were young, and you found it still held true. First Bucky, then Steve—it had been bound to happen sooner or later.

You can’t stop thinking about it as you slide out of bed, only managing to half listen to Iris as she describes the flavor of kelp ice cream to you over freezer waffles.

Following Bucky back from the softball game, riding in Steve’s truck because Winnie’s tire blew out on her sedan—Bucky was going to go back and pick it up later with the spare from the garage.

Kissing him and telling him you’d see him at home, that you loved him.

Watching the drunk driver plow headfirst into Bucky’s truck.

Bucky pulling his mother and sister from the wreckage, and screaming, so much screaming—

“You’re sad today, mommy.” Your head snaps up, your fingers loosening on your fork in your shock. It clatters against the plate, but Iris doesn’t blink. “I can tell.”

So fucking much like her dad.

“I guess I am,” you say after a moment.

“Why?”

You’re not sure what to say—you certainly can’t tell her that you’re thinking about the crash. The one almost exactly a year before she was born. You can’t tell her that that’s when everything fell apart, when Declan Forge’s truck jumped the divider and slammed full speed into Bucky’s Dodge.

But you don’t want to lie to her either.

“Something… bad happened, just before I found out I was pregnant with you. There was an accident, and some people I was very close to passed away.” Iris knows what death is; you’ve never shied away from some of the harsher truths, but this one is still hard for you to stomach. Iris looks like she’s thinking hard, her little brows scrunched up as her nose wrinkles.

“I’m sorry you’re sad, mommy.” Your chest goes painfully tight when she places her little hand on your cheek. “You shouldn’t have to be sad.” There’s a simple, childish wisdom in her words that makes you want to protect her, keep Iris just like this forever—but the concern written in the lines of her little face tells you otherwise.

You wipe at your tear filled eyes, fixing Iris with a soft smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”

You bundle Iris into the shower as she talks a mile a minute. There’s barely enough time to answer one of her questions before she’s firing off others, each thought biting the tail of the next as they rush to get to her mouth.

“Are we going to the center today, mommy?” She asks as you towel her off. “Miss Kitty said there’s berry picking today.”

Truth be told, you don’t want to spend any more time at the community center than you have to, these days—especially now that Bucky practically lives there. You’re bound to run into him—Meridian is smaller than a goddamn speck—but you don’t want to do it more than you have to. If Steve is already noticing the uncanny likeness between your daughter and his best friend, you don’t want to add more opportunities for Bucky to do the same.

“Wouldn’t you rather go to the park?” You suggest, but Iris shakes her head. “Or maybe the library? Or we could go see—”

“Mommy, I want to see my friends at the center,” she whines, scuffing her foot against the bathroom tile. “Please?” You can’t deny her trembling lip and wide eyes, and you heave a sigh as you draw the wide toothed comb through her hair.

“Sure, sweetheart. We’ll go see your friends at the center.”

—

Steve’s house is better than the studio apartment Tony had rented in his name, Bucky’s grateful for that. Waking up from the withdrawal induced nightmares to stare at the creepy painting of cherubs by his bedside was driving him crazier than the cravings. And now, there’s more than one place to sit around all day parsing out what a piece of shit he is—there are options; the kitchen, the porch, the living room, the den; all laid out for his choosing pleasure.

Bucky is currently parked on the porch, smoking what he thinks is either his fifth or eighth cigarette of the morning—he can’t remember. He’d been up early enough to watch the sun rise over the old warehouses in the distance, stretching golden fingers through the streets until it passed beyond the dead-end cul-de-sac where Steve’s mother used to live.

He’d missed that funeral, too. Bucky tries to recall where he was when Sarah died, tried to dredge up the memories—but they’re too cloudy for him to sort through. What a good friend, he thinks sourly, shaking either his sixth or ninth cigarette loose from the carton. Don’t even remember when my best friend’s mom kicked the bucket.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice makes Bucky turn, squinting in the bright morning sun. “You’re up early.” Bucky appreciates that Steve doesn’t comment on the fact that Bucky’s always awake, knees trembling as he picks the cuticles on his hands down to the quick.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Steve sits down beside him, shaking his head when Bucky offers him a cigarette. He’s not sure when Steve quit smoking, another memory lost to the shuffle.

“You going down to the center today?” Steve asks, and Bucky’s lip curls as he exhales smoke. He doesn’t much fancy going down there to wallow in self pity and regret. Easier just to do it here, where there isn’t anyone to ask him how he’s processing it all.

“If I said no would you make me go anyway?” He asks, and Steve actually laughs.

“Probably wouldn’t be too hard,” he replies with a chuckle. “You’re skinny as shit.”

When they get to the center, Kitty is already there and going strong. She gets an almost religious fervor about herself as she speaks, her eyes bright as her lips move impossibly quickly. It reminds Bucky of what it was like on stage, the crowd’s attention and devotion like a steady morphine drip. He wonders if that’s Kitty’s addiction—being the center of attention.

“We talked about rock bottom last meeting,” she says, clapping her hands. “Now I want to talk about moving up. I want to talk about moving forward.”

No forward for you, the demon mutters. Just under. Six feet, right?

“Obviously today’s session isn’t mandatory, but it’s still useful. We’re going to give back to our community today, the community that has held us through these tough times.” Bucky’s not sure which community she’s talking about, considering that most of the folks inhabiting Meridian are no better than rabid dogs, but he keeps that little thought to himself.

“There’s a local business in need of a little assistance, they’re short staffed this quarter, and we’re going to assist! Isn’t that wonderful?” Bucky wants to shake his head, but refrains from doing so—barely. “Raul’s Berry Farm, out north on 49.”

Great.

Kitty’s rented a van for today’s excursion, but Steve volunteers to drive him, which Bucky is thankful for. He’s not really sure how many more “uplifting” and “inspirational” stories he can handle. He gets back into Steve’s pickup, leaning his head back against the headrest. Steve pulls out into traffic, following the van. His fingers drum nervously against the wheel, tapping out an anxious rhythm Bucky’s not even sure he notices. Steve’s always been fidgety when he’s nervous, though, ever since they were little.

“What?” Bucky asks, and Steve turns to look at him like he has three heads. Bucky gestures at Steve’s fingers, tap-dancing across the dashboard. “What’s the problem?”

Steve shrugs. “Nothing.”

“You always were a shit liar.”

Steve scowls at him. “It’s nothing, Buck. Seriously.”

The berry farm is a Meridian institution, one of the local businesses that had been around since before the town was a town. Bucky doesn’t think that’s a particularly impressive resume, but he knows better than to mention it when he hops out of Steve’s pickup and down into the dusty parking lot. Kitty gestures for everyone to circle in, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Alright everyone. We’ve got some little helpers here today too,” she points at a short yellow school bus that Bucky assumes also came from the community center. “I think we all know how important it is in the process to make amends not only to ourselves but to our community!”

Can’t make amends to people who are dead though, can you?

Bucky picks up his five gallon bucket and starts down a line of blueberry bushes. He pops a few into his mouth, tart sweetness bursting over his tongue. He doesn’t wait for Kitty to deliver instructions—after all, how much directing could they possibly need to pick berries? The smell of the hot sun, the laughter of the children racing up and down the rows—it’s nostalgic. Bucky had been here many times himself on school field trips, the farm being one of the only “historic” locations within forty-five minutes of Meridian.

A group of children rounds the corner, flying down the dirt path at top speed. One of them crashes into his legs, and then lands back on the ground with a soft oof.

“Easy, kid.” Bucky reaches down to help her up, and his heart leaps into his throat when Iris beams at him.

“Hi, Mr. Bucky!” Her wide smile is missing a couple of teeth. “I’m sorry I runned into you.”

“That’s okay.” He glances around, looking for you, but he doesn’t see you. “Where’s, um. Where’s your mom?” She cocks her head at him.

“She’s talking with Miss Kitty.” Iris points back towards the parking lot, and then makes a face. “Grown-up stuff.” She looks so much like you, wrinkling her little nose with distaste the same way you do. He can’t help but wonder who you’d found after him, who had tried to help you pick up the pieces because Bucky wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

And perhaps that’s the worst part of all, that when he’d broken you, he expected you to stay that way. But you hadn’t. You’ve moved on, you’ve grown, while Bucky is stuck in the same mud pit, nursing the same old wounds. Or maybe he isn’t nursing them at all, just tearing them open again and again because he knows he doesn’t deserve peace.

If he did, he’d be in the ground same as Beccs.

“Do you, um. Do you like blueberries?” Bucky asks lamely. He doesn’t know how to talk to kids, not really. Iris looks around conspiratorially, before gesturing for him to lean in close.

“They’re mommy’s favorite,” she stage whispers, and Bucky nods. He remembers that, at least. “She’s sad today. If I bring her something she likes, maybe she’ll be happy again.” Iris says resolutely, secure in the soundness of her childish reasoning. It makes Bucky’s heart ache a little, though he isn’t sure why. “Can you help me?”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. He knows you probably don’t want him anywhere near your kid. He looks around, searching for you, but he doesn’t see you.

“I dunno, kid, I mean… your mom, she…” Bucky stops, unsure of what to say. He can’t exactly tell a six year old that he’d nuked their relationship, can he?

“Please?”

“I guess I could… help you get a few.” She chatters aimlessly at him, and Bucky struggles to keep up and respond to every loose thought that seems to fly from her little mouth up to his ears. Iris is so much like you—and it isn’t just the fact that in more than a few ways, she could be your twin. She reminds him of you before.

His fingers are stained purple by the time Iris’ bucket is even a quarter of the way full. Bucky can’t believe he even remembers how to do this, gripping the soft fruit gingerly and twisting it off of the vine. Iris’ mouth and hands are purple too, though that’s more from eating than picking. She stands up away from the bucket and waves at someone Bucky can’t see, crouched underneath the thorny vines the way he is.

“Hi mommy!” He pulls hurriedly away from the bush, wincing as one of the thorns catches his finger. You look less than pleased, but not angry. Panicked might be a better way to describe your tight expression, the frantic way your eyes move back and forth between Bucky and Iris.

“Hey, sweetheart. I was looking for you,” you reply. The weak smile on your features grows strained. “Hello Bucky.”

“Hey.”

“Mr. Bucky helped me get lots of berries, mommy, see?” Iris reaches indigo stained fingers into the bucket, and lets a handful of berries fall through her tiny fingers like gold coins. “Lots!”

“Woah! That’s so many,” you agree, placing your hands on your knees as you bend over to peer into her bucket. “I thought maybe we could head out, sweet pea. Maybe go for dinner? My friend made reservations for us somewhere special.”

“Is it Andy?” Iris replies, her nose wrinkling again. “I don’t like him, mommy.”

You wince.

Who the fuck is Andy? The live-wire of jealousy that flares to life within him is neither logical nor fair. It’s the same one that had sparked when he’d found out you’d gotten pregnant, moved on, had an entire life without him while he was drowning in pills. But you like pills. The demon’s sly whisper makes him wince. More than anything.

“Okay. Well, why don’t we talk about that in the car, hmm? You should go say goodbye to your friends.”

“I don’t want to,” Iris whines. “I don’t want to go to dinner, I want to stay and—” You crouch down in front of Iris, grasping her hands in yours.

“I know, sweetheart. I know you’re frustrated because you want to stay and play, but it’s time to go. But you’ll see all your friends next week after school, won’t that be fun?” Iris’ pout is gut wrenching, her little lip poking out and trembling as she stares at you with watery eyes.

“Okay.” She scuffs her foot against the dirt, kicking up a few pebbles. You massage your temples as you watch her go.

“Sorry about that. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” You stuff your hands into the pockets of your jeans, making small talk.

“No, no. She’s, um. She’s great.” Bucky says, shaking his head. “So… Andy.” He can’t help the bitter tinge that colors his words, he can only hope you don’t taste it too. Your jaw tightens at the mention of his name, and you blow out a breath. “The um. The police guy.”

“Yeah.” You look away. “He’s nice.”

“I didn’t think badges were your type.” He scoffs.

“What would you know about my type?” You fire back, hackles already up. Bucky’s lips draw into a thin scowl, and he opens his mouth to loose more venom, but stops, and deflates.

“Nothing, I guess.” He says after a moment, shrugging. He attempts to steer the conversation back into safer waters. “Your kid, she’s, um. She’s really something.”

“Yeah.” You hook your thumbs through the belt-loops of your jeans. “Even if she does announce my business to the world.” Bucky laughs at that.

“That’s what they’re for, right?” He says, and for the first time since he’s been back you really smile at him. Bright and wide and beautiful, like you used to. His chest goes tight. “Looks just like you.”

You shake your head, laughing. “She…” You hesitate, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as the two of you watch her gesticulating enthusiastically at another group of kids her age. “She looks like her dad.” It hangs in the air uncomfortably between you. He wants to ask. He wants to ask so badly, but he knows it’ll just make you throw up another wall. He wonders how many you’ve built just because of him.

“I didn’t know they would put you guys to work like this,” you say quickly, as though forcing more words out will cover up the ones that went before. “Is that legal?” Your stiff joke lands, and the corners of Bucky’s mouth turn up.

“I don’t know. Probably not. Pretty sure there’s hazardous chemicals in the sheds that we could use for nefarious purposes.” For a moment the two of you are laughing together, and Bucky feels the clock rewind—and then it’s over, dirt crunching under Iris’ sneakers as she approaches.

“Okay mom,” she says decisively. “We can go.”

“Oh, well, thank you very much,” you reply, shaking your head a little. You glance at Bucky over your shoulder. “I guess I’ll, um. See you. Around.”

“Yeah.” Iris looks back at him too, giving him a wide smile. She tugs her hand out of yours and jogs back over to him, reaching conspiratorially into her pocket.

“I saved you some,” she says, and then holds a purple stained finger over her mouth. “Don’t tell, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky whispers back, nodding seriously. “I won’t tell.” The berries are a little squished and hot from the heat of her palm, and they stain his fingers with fresh purple juice. He watches you go, Iris bouncing excitedly beside you as—Bucky grimaces. He remembers Andy well enough, his manicured beard and sharply pressed uniform hard to miss. Bucky gets a perverse sort of pleasure watching Iris’ lukewarm greeting, and the way you turn your face so that he gets your cheek when he drops his head for a kiss.

Prick.

At least he knew Andy wasn’t Iris’ father. That would have been a much harder pill for him to swallow, and all the more distasteful. Who is her father? The question plagues him as they head back to the community center. It’s like a rock in his shoe, impossible to ignore no matter how many times he shifts it’s position. There are other rocks too, ones that make him narrow his eyes as he stares out the window at the passing countryside. Iris’ allergy, her age…

He supposed he had been trying not to think about it, the thought playing at the edges of his conscious mind. Mainly because it would be unthinkable—you’d agreed, both of you had agreed that you would get an abortion.

So Iris couldn’t be his.

What if she didn’t? The oily smooth voice at the back of his mind whispers. What if she didn’t?

Steve’s pickup rumbles into the driveway, and Bucky sits in it vacantly for a few minutes after Steve hops out. The thought eats at him, won’t leave him alone.

What if?

“Buck, you’re pacing.” Steve comments from the doorway of his room. “I can hear you downstairs.” Bucky scrubs a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry.” He perches on the edge of the bed, his hand tapping nervously against his knee. “I just, I can’t stop thinking, you know?” Usually he has the pills to help with that, to dull the anxious turning of his mind. But now, he has nothing.

“Yeah?” Steve moves to sit beside him. “What about?”

“About Jellybean, and the kid, and fuck, what if it’s mine? And I never fucking knew this whole goddamn time? That would fucking serve me right, wouldn’t it?” Bucky barks out a humorless laugh. He looks at Steve, waiting for him to say something, anything. “Right? I mean it’s not possible, right? It-It’s not.”

It’s so silent, Bucky reckons he could hear a pin drop. For once he’s thankful to be out of the haze, because it lets the puzzle pieces slide together almost disgustingly easily. His face contorts as he jumps up, away from Steve.

“Oh my God.” He presses the heels of his palms into his closed eyes as he shakes his head. “You fucking knew.” Steve holds his hands out placatingly.

“Buck.” He reaches out to place a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, but he shoves him away.

“No, you shut the fuck up,” Bucky says, shaking his head disbelievingly. “You fucking knew.” His voice cracks, just a little.

“She asked me not to say anything. I swear, I didn’t know before we got back—” Bucky’s already running down the stairs, the sound of his pulse roaring in his ears blocking out the sound of Steve frantically shouting his name. He doesn’t realize he’s leaving the house until he’s already outside, rapidly fleeing into the coming evening before Steve has a chance to follow.

I have a daughter.

next chapter

Hello friends! I no longer maintain a taglist, so please follow @box-of-bones-library for updates and new work, thank you!

Likes and comments are amazing, but reblogs are golden! Please consider sharing my work so that others can see it too!

#sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x black!reader #rockstar!au #rockstar bucky #rockstar!bucky #rockstar!bucky barnes

248 notes · View notes