roma’s world

twenty-two yr old who writes slowlyy

[apricityxoxo]

about me 🐅

i'm roma!! ❀

a little about me:

black woman!!

she/her

i'm twenty-two and i like to draw and write!!

ask me anything but remember to be respectful.

most importantly ak!jason todd is my husband

also here’s my writing masterlist

REQUESTS ARE OPENN!!

thank you and enjoy

[laterkiss]

It was a joke, his head was in your lap when you stopped caressing his forehead and gasped with mock suprise. Fingers trying to pick at the silver amongst his dirty golden hair.

“Simon,” you purred, leaning forward to take a look, as if there weren't several silver glistening strands amongst “Oh, there's a grey hair, wow.”

He looked up with twinkling light eyes, smiling, “Is there?”

“Yep, you're an old man now.” you grinned.

Simon reached up and traced at the expanse of your jaw very tenderly, matching your wide grin with his quiet chuckle.

He, who never thought he would grow old, who never thought he would survive seventeen or twenty seven, was now deeply happily at thirty seven, all thanks to you.

“I am yer old man, missus.”

“You are my old man.”

I need friends pls pls pls

[pricesgirly]

⋆˚࿔ husband!price headcanons because i need him as my husband!

husband!price who has nightmares because of his ptsd and finds your hand under the covers, intertwining his fingers with yours and resting it on his chest.

husband!price who can never button the top button of his shirt. always has to ask you to do it for him before he leaves the house.

husband!price who cleans up after dinner. you cooked so he'll clean the kitchen while you rest up.

husband!price who swears he didn't eat your cereal. literally kisses your face but you see it in his eyes. thing is, you bought the cereal he likes on purpose.

husband!price who says he's never tried mango before, just so he can see your shocked reaction. you literally challenge him to a fight because who hasn't tried mango!

husband!price whos hands are always rough, doesn't matter how much lotion he uses. you complain but secretly love the feeling. especially when he massages your back after a hard day.

husband!price who keeps track of the dryer so he can take out the clothes when they're warm and throw them on you. it became a thing back when you first started dating and stuck ever since.

husband!price who makes you tie his tie in the morning. doesn't care that he can do it himself. something about having you close to him. bedhead and morning breath never stopped him from giving you a kiss.

husband!price who can't make his tea right anymore. you had made it for him many years ago and now you're in charge of making tea. secretly loves when you add a bit of vanilla syrup in it too.

husband!price who hugs you from behind as you brush your teeth in the morning. his chin finds your shoulder and his lips find your neck. he litters kisses all over your skin.

husband!price who complains about his beard. he loves it but sometimes he likes to get on your bad side. you literally hide all the scissors and razors around the house.

husband!price who most likely has a ring tan on his finger. he never takes his ring off. ever. if you ever find him taking it off, call the mental facilities immediately.

husband!price who looks at you like it's his first time seeing you. you still remember the first time he saw you. he was passing by a cafe and saw you in the window. he stopped there and stared at you. a bit creepy but it led to the best thing in your life.

husband!price who learned how to do origami so he could write love notes and fold them into cute swans or hearts. he'd hide them around the house like an easter egg hunt. you even accidentally burnt one in the toaster. swears he didn't put it there.

husband!price who dances with you in the living room when it rains. no music, just the pitter patter of the rain and swaying bodies. says he's trying to be romantic as if he's not already.

husband!price who helps you bathe on days you feel tired. he washes your body with such softness, you almost fall asleep.

husband!price who takes care of you on those certain hard days. the ones where you have no motivation to get up. he brushes your hair, brushes your teeth, washes your face, then changes you. he feeds you and gives you plenty of kisses, whispering how proud he is of you.

husband!price who kisses you passionately before going to bed. every night he'll grab your jaw and kiss you till your breathless. its an intimate and slow kiss but it makes night feel better.

husband!price who learns what if feels like to be whole. he was broken but now with you, he feels full. hes full of love, full of life. is grateful for you because you taught him how to live.

got a little carried away, whoops!

[apricityxoxo]

Omgg sooo cuteee

[apricityxoxo]

all your desires ˚ ༘ ♪ ⋆｡ rockstar!john price

bassplayer! john price x wife!reader

summary: At home was his beautiful wife, who was probably at home finishing up a delicious hot meal for him to enjoy. He couldn't wait to get home to you. The other thing that he wanted to get home to was his bass; he loved it. He was gifted it in high school by his confused mother, who thought it was a guitar, and it became his secret hobby.

wc: about 2.4k

contents/warnings: fluffffffff! like always. suggestive content at the end. extremely cute marriage lol. also not really proofread, so lmk if there r major errors lol

part of my 141 rockband au

This is for the Price girlies lol, also it's like impossible for me to write smut, can't and probably never will lol. didnt expect my last one to do so well, so got inspired lol and if you haven't read it plsss do: drummer!simon riley

BassPlayer!John Price, who used to work a serious job, had a tight schedule at a well-respected company. Before his nine-to-five, he would wake up at the crack of dawn and kiss his wife before leaving for the gym. He was strict, and he loved discipline, that was just his personality. That was why he would pump heavy and work up so much of a sweat that he would get stares from the others around him. He would shower, then he would make his way to work. 

He would have many tedious meetings with assholes in suits and yell over the phone at his employees. He wasnt just disciplined in his personal life, but also as a businessman. He wasn't liked by his coworkers, but he was definitely well respected. He was seen as a traditional, hardworking man who worked solely to pay bills and give his sweet wife spending money. After work, he would show his face at happy hour with his coworkers, just to keep up appearances. Then, after one beer, he would rush home in his luxury executive sedan to enjoy the rest of his evening. It's not like he didn't enjoy the company of his coworkers; he just wanted to go home. On the outside, it doesn't appear that way, but his home was a crucial place for him. 

First, at home was his beautiful wife, who was probably at home finishing up a delicious hot meal for him to enjoy. You've probably spent your day working hard, careingly trying to make his life easier. You usually pass the time by cleaning up your already neat home, having brunch with some of your girlfriends from college, gardening, and harvesting some vegetables that you will end up using in an amazing dinner. He couldn't wait to get home to you. The other thing that he wanted to get home to was his bass; he loved it. He was gifted it in high school by his confused mother, who thought it was a guitar, and it became his secret hobby. The only person who really got to see this side of him was you; he never brought it up or shared it. When you both were dating, he was nervous to show this side to you, but when he played his first couple of chords, he watched as your eyes lit up and felt a deep part of himself that you were it for him. 

The perfect evening for John consists of him playing his bass guitar in the make-shift studio that is his garage. He is sitting down and strums the bass line to an older 70s song as you, his wife, sit on the floor painting your toenails, drinking a glass of wine, and humming along to his playing. He watches you, beautiful girl, and admires you. You're slouched over, painting your last nail as your other foot is under a lamp. You down your third and last glass and put your other foot under the lamp. You lie back on the floor with your hair sprawled out everywhere. You close your eyes and sing the words with tipsy giggles.

This was the only thing keeping him going. The only thing he cared for the reason he worked so hard. As he finishes the song, you crawls in between his legs and rests her face on his thick, muscular thigh. 

“You play so well, Johnnn,” you say, and close your eyes when John rests his hand on your cheek. 

“You should show the world your talent,” You say with a drunk giggle.

How could I afford you, my drunk girl?” he says with a laugh

“Don't want anything, I could still be happy with nothing… just want you to be happy”

You didn't know it then, but those words stuck with him. Those words stuck so well that when some weird strangers came knocking on his front door, those words came to mind. 

–

He was playing softly after a long day of work when he was rudely interrupted by loud knocking on his front door. He stopped and waited. When the knocking stopped, he rolled his eyes, but then the knocking continued. With a groan, he stood up and as he was making his way back into his house. He then heard the door softly open and his wife's voice. He heard a man speak and pressed himself against the door to hear the conversation. He couldn't hear much, but by the way the man's voice went from excited to a sudden, deep, almost suave tone, he could tell the man was trying to flirt. He knew then that it was time to put an end to the conversation. He entered the house, and he heard his wife say 

“Here he is! John was asking who was playing in the garage.” You told him with an excited smile, completely oblivious to the way the man was staring at you and your sheer lounge tank top. John, now irritated, stands between you and the front door, moving you behind him by your waist. He was about to close the door when the guy put his hands out.

“Wait! Please, I know this is strange, but give me a chance," he said, and Price waited. The man continued 

“I heard ya playing and ya sound real good! Im tryna get a band goin, you know nothin crazy but just some friends who can you know play together… well it’s just me and another guy, and im looking for a bass player and a drummer. So if yer interested, the names Johnny and here my number,” he hands an electrician's business card with the name Johnny Mactivish in print and a number underneath. 

“Please just think bout it… Ok, have a good evening, you too miss” Johnny waves at you from around John and quickly walks away. John stares at the card for a second and scoffs. 

“What an arse,” he says and shuts the door. He turns around a sees you staring up at him with a huge, almost creepy smile.

“Wow, this is soooo perfect, John, you know I was just thinking you need friends and look! When are you gonna give him a call? You guys show play soon, and you have to invite me one day so I can watch, and then you-”

“Im not gonna call him, and I don't need friends.” John interrupts you and continues. 

“And you shouldn't be answering the door to strangers, especially men,” he finishes.

“No, John, you have to call him. This will be fun for you, just go once, at least try it out.. See if they are any good… pleasee. This will be really good for you.” After that moment, that's when your words from the other night came into mind: I could still be happy with nothing… just want you to be happy. 

“...I’ll think about it,” he says with a huff. You smile up at him and lay a sweet kiss on his chin. As you start to walk away, he speaks up. 

“Wheredya think you're going?” You look at him, confused. 

“Don't think you're off the hook for answering the door dressed like that.” You look up at him with faux confusion but seductive eyes.

“Like what?” you ask, and as he steps closer to you, you suddenly run away from him with giggles and happy screams as he chases you around the house. When he finally catches you, he throws you over his thick shoulder like you way nothing and lands a hard smack on your rear. As he made his way upstairs to the bedroom, he thought that maybe he would call that weird man for the sake of your happiness because what could possibly change.

–

Little did he know it then, but a lot could change. He made his way off the stage after a great show with Simon the both of them not caring to bask in the screams of the fans at the end of the show like Johnny and Gaz did. Simon darts off to look for his pretty PR manager, and John lets out a chuckle with a shake of his head. Price makes his way around, shaking hands, exchanging small talk with others whine albeit being distracted, looking for his girl. His manager shakes his hand and pats him on the back, complimenting him for the show. He notices his distracted gaze and tells him, “Your wife's waiting for you over there. Have a good night, Price.”

He turns and sees his wife staring at him. He doesn't even respond to him; he just takes long strides over to his wife. He can see the look on her face as she gets closer, a proud smile, and glassy eyes as she stands up. By the time he gets close, you're already pulling him down by the neck and planting slight wet kisses all over his face. Price wraps his arms around your waist, tight, and pulls you close to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and tell him.

“You did so well, baby, mm, so proud of you,” you say in his ear.

“Thank you, lovey,” he returns and then slowly releases you to grab your hand. He doesn't like to stay long, nor does he like to attend to any of the lavish or wild after parties; he wanted to get you both out of there as quickly as he could. He wanted to treat you after such a long show because you deserve it. You deserve it for waiting patiently and observing him bck there with many intense managers, the stressed AV crew, weird groupies of johnny who ask you intimate and uncomfortable questions, He didnt like that environment but you always insisted on supporting him for every show, you cried the one time you couldnt make it to a show, feeling horrible about it for days, the memory makes him giggle. However, the reason you deserve everything the most is because of your unwavering support of The 141 when it was first a past time, then a dream, a possibility, and now a reality. You've always supported him and pushed him to be where he is today, even going back to work against his will to support him and his dream. You deserve everything you want, and he was going to give it to you. 

–

“I want a baby…” Those were the words that shocked him at the end of the night. He could tell that something was on your mind all night. He was pushing, almost pestering you to tell him what was on your mind, but you insisted that everything was fine. You were ‘fine’ during the expensive dinner he treated you to; you barely touched your mashed potatoes, the same potatoes you would've devoured the minute the plate hit the table. You were ‘fine’ on your stroll after dinner, he insisted you both take to let your food digest. You didn't even glance at the cute dogs in turtlenecks that walked passed you both. And you were ‘fine’ when you walked passed a little ice cream spot, opting to just return to the car and go home instead. 

On the ride home, he was sweating, nervous, scared that this behavior of yours is because of him, scared that when you both walk through the front door, you're gonna lay something on him, something devastating that will break him, something that he doesn't know, and it's killing him. As you both enter the home and the door shuts behind you, before you can get anything out, John speaks. He asks what's wrong, and before you could tell him, before you could say everything's fine, he tells you that he knows something is wrong because

“You didn't touch ya potatoes, you didn't want ta walk, you didn't pet those dogs, I mean, even I thought they were cute, and you didn't want ice cream. Whatever I did, I apologize, and whatever it is, we can work it out together we can.” You cut off his rambling with the four most shocking words he's ever heard.

“I want a baby…” After you spoke, the home was silent. 

It was silent for a moment more, and you were about to backtrack your words and apologize to him for dropping that bomb on him, apologize for your behavior that night, and just suggest you go to bed and forget about it. Before you can get anything out, he aggressively grabs you by his face and plants the wettest, sloppiest, uncontrolled kiss on your lips. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you return it. He grabs you and fondles your rear aggressively before hoisting you up. When you wrap your legs around his middle, you can feel his aggression radiating off his body, he almost feels hot.

He carries you to the bedroom and lays you both down on the bed, pressing his full body against you, and you audibly moan in his mouth, and with that, he stands, out of breath on his knees over you. He doesn't say anything, he's just staring at you. He stares for so long you start to feel nervous under his gaze. You reach your hand up and caress his hard middle.

“Are you alright?” you ask, but he doesn't respond. He then rubs himself through his pants, just staring down at you.

“Johnnn,” you whine at him. Confused as to why he's not toughing you anymore. Your voice interrupts his trance, and he slowly removes his belt, and at the sight of this, you start removing your clothes. You're fast, faster than he's ever seen, and till eventually you're bare and he's in his boxers. You reach for them wildly, impatient to get him nude, but he grabs your hands before you can.

“Patientice,” he says sternly and deeply. He begins to rub your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you want him.

“Don't worry, lovey, be patient. Be patient because im going to give you all you deserve. Everything. You want a baby, im going to give it to you.” He finished, and you knew what was coming.

gonna make a masterlist and tag list for my 141! rockband au, lmk if you want to be added and what u want to see.

[apricityxoxo]

141 band au masterlist is now up!!

[apricityxoxo]

141 rockband au 🎸 ˚ ༘ ♪ ⋆｡

a collection of this little universe im working on

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♬ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ his perfect girl drummer!simon riley x pr manager!reader

John Price

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ all your desires bassplayer!john price x wife!reader

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

coming soon

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

coming soon

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♬ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

pls do not copy or plagiarize any of my work

enjoyyy

[apricityxoxo]

all your desires ˚ ༘ ♪ ⋆｡ rockstar!john price

bassplayer! john price x wife!reader

summary: At home was his beautiful wife, who was probably at home finishing up a delicious hot meal for him to enjoy. He couldn't wait to get home to you. The other thing that he wanted to get home to was his bass; he loved it. He was gifted it in high school by his confused mother, who thought it was a guitar, and it became his secret hobby.

wc: about 2.4k

contents/warnings: fluffffffff! like always. suggestive content at the end. extremely cute marriage lol. also not really proofread, so lmk if there r major errors lol

part of my 141 rockband au

This is for the Price girlies lol, also it's like impossible for me to write smut, can't and probably never will lol. didnt expect my last one to do so well, so got inspired lol and if you haven't read it plsss do: drummer!simon riley

BassPlayer!John Price, who used to work a serious job, had a tight schedule at a well-respected company. Before his nine-to-five, he would wake up at the crack of dawn and kiss his wife before leaving for the gym. He was strict, and he loved discipline, that was just his personality. That was why he would pump heavy and work up so much of a sweat that he would get stares from the others around him. He would shower, then he would make his way to work. 

He would have many tedious meetings with assholes in suits and yell over the phone at his employees. He wasnt just disciplined in his personal life, but also as a businessman. He wasn't liked by his coworkers, but he was definitely well respected. He was seen as a traditional, hardworking man who worked solely to pay bills and give his sweet wife spending money. After work, he would show his face at happy hour with his coworkers, just to keep up appearances. Then, after one beer, he would rush home in his luxury executive sedan to enjoy the rest of his evening. It's not like he didn't enjoy the company of his coworkers; he just wanted to go home. On the outside, it doesn't appear that way, but his home was a crucial place for him. 

First, at home was his beautiful wife, who was probably at home finishing up a delicious hot meal for him to enjoy. You've probably spent your day working hard, careingly trying to make his life easier. You usually pass the time by cleaning up your already neat home, having brunch with some of your girlfriends from college, gardening, and harvesting some vegetables that you will end up using in an amazing dinner. He couldn't wait to get home to you. The other thing that he wanted to get home to was his bass; he loved it. He was gifted it in high school by his confused mother, who thought it was a guitar, and it became his secret hobby. The only person who really got to see this side of him was you; he never brought it up or shared it. When you both were dating, he was nervous to show this side to you, but when he played his first couple of chords, he watched as your eyes lit up and felt a deep part of himself that you were it for him. 

The perfect evening for John consists of him playing his bass guitar in the make-shift studio that is his garage. He is sitting down and strums the bass line to an older 70s song as you, his wife, sit on the floor painting your toenails, drinking a glass of wine, and humming along to his playing. He watches you, beautiful girl, and admires you. You're slouched over, painting your last nail as your other foot is under a lamp. You down your third and last glass and put your other foot under the lamp. You lie back on the floor with your hair sprawled out everywhere. You close your eyes and sing the words with tipsy giggles.

This was the only thing keeping him going. The only thing he cared for the reason he worked so hard. As he finishes the song, you crawls in between his legs and rests her face on his thick, muscular thigh. 

“You play so well, Johnnn,” you say, and close your eyes when John rests his hand on your cheek. 

“You should show the world your talent,” You say with a drunk giggle.

How could I afford you, my drunk girl?” he says with a laugh

“Don't want anything, I could still be happy with nothing… just want you to be happy”

You didn't know it then, but those words stuck with him. Those words stuck so well that when some weird strangers came knocking on his front door, those words came to mind. 

–

He was playing softly after a long day of work when he was rudely interrupted by loud knocking on his front door. He stopped and waited. When the knocking stopped, he rolled his eyes, but then the knocking continued. With a groan, he stood up and as he was making his way back into his house. He then heard the door softly open and his wife's voice. He heard a man speak and pressed himself against the door to hear the conversation. He couldn't hear much, but by the way the man's voice went from excited to a sudden, deep, almost suave tone, he could tell the man was trying to flirt. He knew then that it was time to put an end to the conversation. He entered the house, and he heard his wife say 

“Here he is! John was asking who was playing in the garage.” You told him with an excited smile, completely oblivious to the way the man was staring at you and your sheer lounge tank top. John, now irritated, stands between you and the front door, moving you behind him by your waist. He was about to close the door when the guy put his hands out.

“Wait! Please, I know this is strange, but give me a chance," he said, and Price waited. The man continued 

“I heard ya playing and ya sound real good! Im tryna get a band goin, you know nothin crazy but just some friends who can you know play together… well it’s just me and another guy, and im looking for a bass player and a drummer. So if yer interested, the names Johnny and here my number,” he hands an electrician's business card with the name Johnny Mactivish in print and a number underneath. 

“Please just think bout it… Ok, have a good evening, you too miss” Johnny waves at you from around John and quickly walks away. John stares at the card for a second and scoffs. 

“What an arse,” he says and shuts the door. He turns around a sees you staring up at him with a huge, almost creepy smile.

“Wow, this is soooo perfect, John, you know I was just thinking you need friends and look! When are you gonna give him a call? You guys show play soon, and you have to invite me one day so I can watch, and then you-”

“Im not gonna call him, and I don't need friends.” John interrupts you and continues. 

“And you shouldn't be answering the door to strangers, especially men,” he finishes.

“No, John, you have to call him. This will be fun for you, just go once, at least try it out.. See if they are any good… pleasee. This will be really good for you.” After that moment, that's when your words from the other night came into mind: I could still be happy with nothing… just want you to be happy. 

“...I’ll think about it,” he says with a huff. You smile up at him and lay a sweet kiss on his chin. As you start to walk away, he speaks up. 

“Wheredya think you're going?” You look at him, confused. 

“Don't think you're off the hook for answering the door dressed like that.” You look up at him with faux confusion but seductive eyes.

“Like what?” you ask, and as he steps closer to you, you suddenly run away from him with giggles and happy screams as he chases you around the house. When he finally catches you, he throws you over his thick shoulder like you way nothing and lands a hard smack on your rear. As he made his way upstairs to the bedroom, he thought that maybe he would call that weird man for the sake of your happiness because what could possibly change.

–

Little did he know it then, but a lot could change. He made his way off the stage after a great show with Simon the both of them not caring to bask in the screams of the fans at the end of the show like Johnny and Gaz did. Simon darts off to look for his pretty PR manager, and John lets out a chuckle with a shake of his head. Price makes his way around, shaking hands, exchanging small talk with others whine albeit being distracted, looking for his girl. His manager shakes his hand and pats him on the back, complimenting him for the show. He notices his distracted gaze and tells him, “Your wife's waiting for you over there. Have a good night, Price.”

He turns and sees his wife staring at him. He doesn't even respond to him; he just takes long strides over to his wife. He can see the look on her face as she gets closer, a proud smile, and glassy eyes as she stands up. By the time he gets close, you're already pulling him down by the neck and planting slight wet kisses all over his face. Price wraps his arms around your waist, tight, and pulls you close to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and tell him.

“You did so well, baby, mm, so proud of you,” you say in his ear.

“Thank you, lovey,” he returns and then slowly releases you to grab your hand. He doesn't like to stay long, nor does he like to attend to any of the lavish or wild after parties; he wanted to get you both out of there as quickly as he could. He wanted to treat you after such a long show because you deserve it. You deserve it for waiting patiently and observing him bck there with many intense managers, the stressed AV crew, weird groupies of johnny who ask you intimate and uncomfortable questions, He didnt like that environment but you always insisted on supporting him for every show, you cried the one time you couldnt make it to a show, feeling horrible about it for days, the memory makes him giggle. However, the reason you deserve everything the most is because of your unwavering support of The 141 when it was first a past time, then a dream, a possibility, and now a reality. You've always supported him and pushed him to be where he is today, even going back to work against his will to support him and his dream. You deserve everything you want, and he was going to give it to you. 

–

“I want a baby…” Those were the words that shocked him at the end of the night. He could tell that something was on your mind all night. He was pushing, almost pestering you to tell him what was on your mind, but you insisted that everything was fine. You were ‘fine’ during the expensive dinner he treated you to; you barely touched your mashed potatoes, the same potatoes you would've devoured the minute the plate hit the table. You were ‘fine’ on your stroll after dinner, he insisted you both take to let your food digest. You didn't even glance at the cute dogs in turtlenecks that walked passed you both. And you were ‘fine’ when you walked passed a little ice cream spot, opting to just return to the car and go home instead. 

On the ride home, he was sweating, nervous, scared that this behavior of yours is because of him, scared that when you both walk through the front door, you're gonna lay something on him, something devastating that will break him, something that he doesn't know, and it's killing him. As you both enter the home and the door shuts behind you, before you can get anything out, John speaks. He asks what's wrong, and before you could tell him, before you could say everything's fine, he tells you that he knows something is wrong because

“You didn't touch ya potatoes, you didn't want ta walk, you didn't pet those dogs, I mean, even I thought they were cute, and you didn't want ice cream. Whatever I did, I apologize, and whatever it is, we can work it out together we can.” You cut off his rambling with the four most shocking words he's ever heard.

“I want a baby…” After you spoke, the home was silent. 

It was silent for a moment more, and you were about to backtrack your words and apologize to him for dropping that bomb on him, apologize for your behavior that night, and just suggest you go to bed and forget about it. Before you can get anything out, he aggressively grabs you by his face and plants the wettest, sloppiest, uncontrolled kiss on your lips. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you return it. He grabs you and fondles your rear aggressively before hoisting you up. When you wrap your legs around his middle, you can feel his aggression radiating off his body, he almost feels hot.

He carries you to the bedroom and lays you both down on the bed, pressing his full body against you, and you audibly moan in his mouth, and with that, he stands, out of breath on his knees over you. He doesn't say anything, he's just staring at you. He stares for so long you start to feel nervous under his gaze. You reach your hand up and caress his hard middle.

“Are you alright?” you ask, but he doesn't respond. He then rubs himself through his pants, just staring down at you.

“Johnnn,” you whine at him. Confused as to why he's not toughing you anymore. Your voice interrupts his trance, and he slowly removes his belt, and at the sight of this, you start removing your clothes. You're fast, faster than he's ever seen, and till eventually you're bare and he's in his boxers. You reach for them wildly, impatient to get him nude, but he grabs your hands before you can.

“Patientice,” he says sternly and deeply. He begins to rub your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you want him.

“Don't worry, lovey, be patient. Be patient because im going to give you all you deserve. Everything. You want a baby, im going to give it to you.” He finished, and you knew what was coming.

gonna make a masterlist and tag list for my 141! rockband au, lmk if you want to be added and what u want to see.

[ibuprofein]

𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐨

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

tattoo artist! choso

you’ve been with choso since before the shop was even a plan. back when he was tattooing out of his tiny apartment, saving for every bill, and drawing flash sheets at the tiny kitchen table while you answered his dms and kept track of clients in a notebook.

every time he walks into the shop — now with clean black walls, glowing neon signs, and his name on the front — he looks at you behind the counter and thinks about how much you helped him achieve his dream.

choso’s car also matches his success now, a black luxury coupe and custom interior. you ride to work together every morning with your playlist on and his hand resting on the console near yours. he doesn’t talk much before coffee but you always stop at the same bakery for pastries and breakfast for the crew.

the team—geto, maki, sukuna, and itadori—know the routine. you walk in with the bakery bag, tell everyone what’s whose, and by now they all know better than to touch the last croissant (that one’s choso’s).

itadori’s like your little brother at this point. you’ve known him since before the shop opened, back when he’d tag along to help choso move equipment. he calls you “sis” without thinking about it and if he forgets lunch, you always have something for him. sometimes you even tag team teasing choso when he gets too serious.

itadori’s also the first one in most days, unlocking doors if you two are running late. he also knows when to step in if a client’s giving you attitude or when to distract choso if he’s in one of those deep focus moods and hasn’t eaten. he’s everyone’s favorite that bounces around helping whoever needs it

your spot at the reception desk is pure you: a little candle burning, pink pen holder, cute sticky notes, a small succulent, and your laptop open to the schedule. you’re the only one who can get sukuna to fill out consent forms correctly and stop geto from taking walk-ins past closing.

your desk also becomes the unofficial break spot. maki sits on the counter sometimes while you talk about her next tattoo; geto leans against the counter, telling you gossip from the last convention; and itadori’s usually eating something you told him not to spill near the keyboard.

you’re known for your signature low waisted everything — jeans, cargos, and even skirts — showing off the tramp stamp choso gave you years ago, small fine line ink that sits perfectly when you lean over the counter. he doesn’t make a big deal of it but you catch him staring sometimes, eyes soft like he’s remembering when he first did it.

choso runs a professional shop but he keeps it relaxed. he expects everyone to take care of their space, treat clients right, and show respect. and because of how calm he is, everyone naturally falls in line.

the shop runs like a rhythm with you at the desk managing bookings while choso is tucked into his section of the shop working. every now and then your phone buzzes: “come here for a sec.” you know it means he wants to show you a design, or get your opinion on placement, or maybe just see you for a minute.

when the shop’s busy, it’s a controlled chaos: machines buzzing, people talking, and laughter spilling over the music. you move around the counter checking forms, refilling gloves, or tossing someone a water bottle. choso doesn’t even need to ask because you already know what he needs before he does.

when the shop’s quieted down between appointments, he’ll drift to the counter and rest his forearms there with a lazy grin on his face. “you bored yet?” he asks. you tell him to go draw something but he stays anyway. geto jokes that the two of you “flirt on mute.”

during long shifts, you’ll sneak behind his chair and drop a candy or snack next to him along with a quick kiss. he never thanks you out loud but a minute later, you’ll feel your phone buzz: “you’re cute.”

he’s not overtly jealous either. he just notices things. if a client gets too comfortable at the counter, he’ll text, “need you to check sum for me,” and you know to head back there with that unspoken understanding you’ve built over years.

closing time is its own ritual: music down, lights dim, and everyone cleaning their stations. you count the register while choso finishes sanitizing his tools. he locks up, you toss your keys into your bag, and you both walk out together — always the last ones to leave.

the two of you live in a loft style apartment not far from the shop with high ceilings, exposed brick, and big windows that let the morning light in. it smells faintly like coffee, incense, and tattoo ink no matter how often you clean.

choso’s side of the space in your home is all function: neatly stacked sketchbooks, machines, cables, and black furniture. your side balances it with soft throw blankets, candles, and glass vases with fresh flowers when you remember.

weekends off are sacred. if the shop’s closed, you’re either sleeping in, thrifting for furniture, or sitting in a diner booth somewhere with messy hair and matching tired eyes. he’ll sit across from you, hoodie up and thumb brushing your knee under the table.

he’s not a big talker in the mornings but he always starts the day by brushing past you in the kitchen with a quiet touch at your waist and a low “morning.” sometimes he’ll steal a sip of your coffee without asking, just to watch you roll your eyes.

the two of you don’t fight often but when you do, it’s never loud. he just goes quiet and gives you space, maybe steps outside for a smoke, then comes back hours later with an apology that’s half words and half the way he holds you after.

he always draws on you and it’s not always tattoos. sometimes just sketches with a pen or sharpie while you’re lounging on the couch. little flowers on your wrists, vines around your ankle, words he never finishes writing.

your tramp stamp was the first piece he ever did on you. now, years later, you have several — some small and some hidden. every one means something private and he could tell you the exact moment in your lives when each was done.

choso’s not the type to get a name inked but he’s got you on him in quieter ways — your birthday in small roman numerals just under his collarbone, where only you see it when his shirt slips. a faint red kiss mark tattooed high on his shoulder, the shape traced from one you actually left one morning before work. no one really asks about it and he doesn’t explain.

overall, he’s proud of the life you’ve built together; your contributions to the shop, the crew, and the household are never overlooked. he makes sure you know you’ll always be a part of his life that he’ll never regret or forget.

[apricityxoxo]

This is sooo cuteeee

[drewmyman001-deactivated2025101]

simon 'grumpy" riley headcanons

He’s huge. Being with him feels like dating an immovable boulder. It’s comforting and safe… most of the time. The only problem is how much he moves in his sleep, and occasionally you wake up half-crushed by morning. He doesn’t talk much in public, not even to you. It’s not that he’s ignoring you; he’s just always watching, cataloguing everything around him, so conversation isn’t his priority. That doesn’t stop you from talking his ear off, though. His affection shows up in actions, not words. If you want him to say “I love you” every day, don’t hold your breath. If you want the car warmed up at six in the dead of winter, he’ll already be outside. His humor is dark, so dark you sometimes have to nudge him: “You can’t say that.” He’ll smirk, shrug, and half the time doesn’t realize how far he went until you point it out. Some jokes he keeps for his work buddies. Surprisingly, he’s obsessively neat. Everything has its place, especially in the garage. You’ve learned to keep your hands behind your back because, in his words, you “keep messing with things you’re not supposed to.” He’s unironically terrible with technology. You joke it’s the “old man” in him, but he truly doesn’t get small gadgets. You spent an hour teaching him how to buy more phone storage after he filled it with three thousand photos of you. Hand him a broken thing and he’ll fix it. Manual, YouTube, or a quick Google search, he can build a plane if he needed to. If anyone looks at you wrong, his whole body goes sharp: jaw set, eyes narrowed, a silent warning. He can’t stomach the idea of someone mistreating you. But he trusts you to handle yourself, too. He’s not smothering, he’s careful, because he knows pushing too hard will scare you away. He wants you to give him everything willingly. He’s a little too blunt sometimes. You can take the truth, but once in a while he’ll say something too harsh, and the moment he sees your lip quiver he curses himself. He smells like his truck: gasoline, smoke, and leather. You love it. The first time he tried cologne for a “real” date, you cringed because you couldn’t smell the him you knew. When you told him, he went home and threw the bottle away.

[apricityxoxo]

I loveeeeee thissss

[apricityxoxo]

since fall is here I thought it’s time for a new themeeeeeee 🍂

…alsooooo since I did drummer!simon I thought of doing bassplayer! price

[apricityxoxo]

his perfect girl ˚ ༘ ♪ ⋆｡ rockstar!simon riley

drummer!simon riley x pr manager!reader

summary: Simon made his way off the stage to the back, sweat dripping off his body. He watched as the rest of his bandmates received hyped slaps to the back and big hugs. Despite being in one of the world's most popular bands and an undeniably excellent drummer, he was not well-liked, and he didn't care. He wasnt looking for the approval of fake fans, groupies, and other assholes who didn't know anything about music. Simon only cared about one person's opinion, and he was pushing past everyone to find her…

wc: about 4.8k

contents/warning: flufffffff!!!! some angst and a bit of violence... and borderline smut. also def inaccurate descriptions of rock bands, and pr managers cause idc enough to research. kinda took a bit of creative liberty with simon, so there's that.

im sorryyyyyyy! life has been insane lately, but im happy to finally post again. i really hope this does well because i'd love to write more about drummer!simon, if you all enjoy it. so if you do like this plssssss send me some more requests, cause I have a few in mind! 🎸 ˚ ༘ ♪ ⋆｡

Drummer!Simon Riley, who never thought he would be successful in life. He had, as he would describe to the press, a ‘somewhat rough upbringing’. He would never go into detail, but it was a lot more than he ever let on. Throughout his whole childhood, the only constant thing was his continuous search for different ways to avoid his home. He would pick fights with other kids from an early age, since he could walk. He would hang out in abandoned buildings with different crowds, smoking, drinking, and drowning out the noise with heavy rock music. He would sneak into rock concerts where he would drown out his sorrows with metal and alcohol until he could barely hear or talk. He got drunk, stole, and smoked so much that he couldn't remember when he started. Many hobbies and habits, most of which he regretted, were all a pointless distraction to avoid the screams and fists of his father and the cries of his mother. 

He regretted many things, so many that they became part of a long and continuous list. But the one thing he never regretted was picking up those drumsticks at the age of twelve. He thanks God or any higher being that he stumbled into a music shop looking for something to drop into his school bag slyly. 

He walks and browses, trying to avoid the gaze of the older staff. He makes his way around, and before long, he walks in and stumbles into the back, where he sees what he recognizes to be a drumset. It's like he sees a glowing aura around the used instrument, thinking of all the booming drum solos heard in the music he cherishes. He makes his way closer and lets his fingers run against the worn drums and the sharp, shiny edges of the cymbals. He checks if anyone is watching him before he makes his way to the stool to get a closer look. When he sits down, he takes a good look before closing his eyes and using his imagination to play with them. Pursing his lips and imitating the sounds of the drums he hears in the aggressive metal music he listens to. He wags and slams his hands around wildly on the drums. Then he- 

“Aren't ya a little young to be listening to that type of music? Aren't ya like 10?” A deep, gruff voice interrupts him. Little Simon opens his eyes and makes eye contact with what seems to be a worker. He has long, silky, jet black hair, tattoos covering almost every part of his body, scars, and piercings. 

“I’m 12…I like them, they make good music,” Simon said with pink cheeks, embarrassed to be caught playing the air drums. Simon picked up his school bag and was about to get up and leave, but before he could even leave the stool, the man put his hand out to stop him.

“You know I could teach you how to play them,” he gestured to the drum set. Simon's eyes lit up. Before Simon could get a word out, the man interrupted him with a sly smirk.

“I'll teach you how to play, but ya got to empty ya pockets first”

Simon nods immediately, emptying out all the stuff he wanted to steal before being offered the best opportunity he's ever received. Once he picked those drumsticks, he never put them down.

–

From that point on, the drums were all he cared about; everyone knew that about him. He saved his money throughout his final years of school to fund his obsession with drums. It was just a ‘hobby’, but everything he did was for his ‘hobby’; he got a construction job to fund his ‘hobby’. He went to trade school to get a better job to fund his ‘hobby’. He had just turned twenty, and he felt like there was no purpose to life but his ‘hobby’. That was until he met some friends who felt the same way about their hobbies. 

One night, he met a man named Johnny at a pub. Simon liked to go to pubs and drink while reading some sheet music. Simon felt like getting drunk and high helped him unlock a whole new outlook on the music. He was reading and writing notes in the margins while nursing his second pint when some asshole bumped into him. He spilled his beer, and Simon rushed to pick up the music sheets before they could be ruined.  This Johnny guy was so wasted that he stumbled into Simon and knocked over his beer, but he didn't even care. Instead of apologizing, he was in awe of the music he was studying. He completely disregarded the woman clinging to his body and instead began gushing about his electric guitar, which he couldn't live without, even shedding a few tears. 

“Why am I here? I miss my babyyyyyyy,” He whined. “Whatdya play?”

“Erm…drums,” Simon replied.

This Johnny guy started ranting about his beloved band, told Simon that they play some shows in bars here and there for quick change and free liquor. Now that was interesting to Simon. That's all he wanted in life: His drums, quick change, and a pint.

“You know you should, play with us” *hiccup* “My friends and I need a drummer, actually…last drummer was an ass” *mumbles* “What's ya name, lad? I’m Johnny.” 

Simon didn't know it then, but agreeing to play with this drunk weirdo would change his life forever. 

–

Seven years later, Drummer!Simon had more than he could ever ask for. He played more shows, drank more beer, and had more money than he ever needed. The day he agreed to play in the band, he went from playing in pubs to playing in back alley concerts to sold-out arenas, and now here in a sold-out stadium. Playing in one of the world's most popular rock bands, The 141.

He was on fire right now. 

The final song of the night, and he can't even hear the roaring crowd. He was locked in, hyper-focused on his playing. He watched as his dripping sweat bounced off the drums as he slammed down his sticks. As they neared the end of the song, Simon's gaze left the drums and looked at the scene around him. He watched as the oldest bandmate, Price, rapidly stroked his bass with a focused scrunch on his face. His eyes then drifted to Gaz, the youngest, who played his guitar and had a charming smile on his face that drove many of the young female fans crazy. Then there was the most popular and loved member, Johnny, who was wildly trying to sing into the mic while playing his beloved guitar, ending the song with the final note and a hyped yell.

As the concert came to an end, Simon truly felt like he had made it. Despite the negativity from his father and the concerned talks he would have with his mother, he truly had the life his teacher knew he would have all those years ago. 

Simon made his way off the stage to the back, sweat dripping off his body. He watched as the rest of his bandmates received hyped slaps to the back and big hugs. Despite being in one of the world's most popular bands and an undeniably excellent drummer, he was not well-liked, and he didn't care. He wasnt looking for the approval of fake fans, groupies, and other assholes who didn't know shit about music. Simon only cared about one person's opinion, and he was pushing past everyone to find her…

Drummer!Simon had a nasty attitude, did what he wanted, and said what he liked. He didn't like the press, involved in a handful of violent altercations and a couple of lawsuits with the paparazzi throughout his career. He hated interviews even more, feeling that they were too nosy, trying to pry into his brain and find out things about his personal life, which usually ended with curses and insults. The thing he hated the most, though, was his manager, always getting on his ass for his attitude; it wasnt his fault that he was this way. 

He only cared about a few things: his drums and the lifelong friendship he's made with The 141. He didn't care how many people disliked him or got on him for his behavior. It didn't matter, and it never will. 

Until it did. 

Last year was the final straw for his manager and his record label. It was a semi-popular rock radio show with Phillip Graves: a well-liked yet controversial host, known to ask extremely revealing and personal questions. They were nearing the end of the interview, and with Johnny’s big mouth, he was able to get away with answering a few questions. That was until the Graves looked at him and then looked at his notes with a sly smirk, 

“So Simon…you rarely ever mention your childhood nor your family, but after extensive research, well… to put it lightly, you had a pretty crappy childhood.” 

Simon's jaw twitched as he continued.

“When asked about any siblings, you always say that the 141 were your brothers…”

Simon's heart stops, and the cocky host smirks.

“...but what about your actual brother…Thomas Riley, how's he doing? Is he still an addict or is he- ”

Before he could get another word out, Simon decided to wipe that cocky smile off his face. Simon jumped out of the chair and threw the mics out of the way. He grabs Graves by the shirt and lands a clean punch square in his smug face. It was chaos. The backstage crew was screaming and yelling at him to stop. Security came running to the scene. Gaz is the first to attempt to pull Simon off him, grabbing him by his waist and begging him to stop. There's so much yelling, but Simon doesn't care. He lands another punch, and he watches as the blood bursts from his nose onto Simon's shirt. As Gaz and another security officer finally drag him, he spews curses and insults. Yelling too loud to hear the laughs from Johnny and disappointed grumbles from Price.

“Watch ya mouth! Ya hear me!” Simon yells as he's dragged away from the destroyed studio

–

That was the final straw for the team. 

“Ya done, Riley! Ya done freelancing thinkin you can do whatever ya want!” His manager yells at him 

“So congratulations! You're now on a tight leash!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?” Simon replies with a confused mug. 

“It means ya can't do or say whatever you want! You're getting a PR Manager and an Assistant because we're not gonna let you drag your bandmates into the ground!” The band manager yelled with veins pulsing out of his neck

“But I don't need-”

“I don't care what ya need, it's too late, I already hired someone, so play nice.” He interrupted.

“She’ll be here in 30 mins. When she gets here, stay quiet and listen. Better not to hear anything from her,” He said before he left Simon in the office with a final slam of the door. 

Simon spent the next thirty minutes in the office grumbling ot himself about how he'd never listen to a raggedy old hag's opinion about his attitude, he would never go belly up. This was just his personality; he made it this far being his aggressive self. His friends didn't mind, the true fans didn't mind, the random women that he would bed didn't seem to mind either, so who cares? He didn't need anyone else's direction. 

His mumbles and grumbles were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Simon rolled his eyes and stood up with a grunt. He aggressively opened the door, and his eyes widened at what stood in front of him. 

A Young, beautiful woman. His eyes widened as he looked you up and down. He looked at your gorgeous face, so soft looking with your plump lips and enchanting eyes, your hair framing it perfectly. His eyes dragged down to your body, fitted in a dress shirt that fit tightly around your breasts, top buttons undone, giving him a good look down your shirt. He also sees your tight pencil skirt; he's almost excited for you to walk past him so he can get a good look at your rear. 

“Mr. Riley! It's a pleasure to meet you.” You give him your name with a bright, gorgeous smile, and he swears that nothing else matters but those syllables.

“I’m sure your manager gave you the rundown, but im so happy to be your personal assistant slash PR manager.” Wait, you're gonna be the one trying to control him and be someone he's not. He internally shook his head and rolled his eyes. By the look on your face, you could tell he wasnt feeling it. That just won't do; he knows it's your job, but he can't just let you control his already semi-perfect life. He invited you inside the office and sat opposite you at the conference table. 

“Listen, I can see that you're a little apprehensive. I don't want to change you or your personality; despite the media not being too fond of you, the fans are. I don't want to take that away from you or them, it's a part of your look.” You told him the exact words that he wanted to hear. 

“And what exactly is my look?” He asked you with a flirtatious glint in his eyes; he wanted to know how you saw him.

“Well… you're the 141’s fourth member. You have an aggressive music style and an even more aggressive personality that is appealing to a lot of fans. It's just who you are…I mean, you've been in the game for a while now, and that's why I don't want to change you,” she says to him, and it doesn’t sound like simple corporate talk that he’s used, but genuine. She then leans forward and tells him. 

“You know… out of all your band mates, you're my favorite. I started listening to you guys kinda early on. Went to one of your first shows too, the one that you guys did in an abandoned building, remember?” she says with a smile and smiles back, surprised that you're a fan, and a true one at that.

 “I actually got wasted and got one of the songs you wrote, ta- never mind,” You cut yourself off. 

You blush hard, internally kicking yourself for rambling unprofessionally. Simon smirks, thinking about what you could have possibly done. 

“Cmon, you have to tell me now,” he laughs, enjoying himself watching your face twist with annoyed embarrassment.

“That's besides the point; what matters is you. So what’ll it be?” You hold your hand out waiting for him to shake it. Simon hesitated, but he realized that the only way he could spend time and get to know you was if he shook your hand and got his hothead together. He grabbed your soft hand and gave you a firm shake. 

“Ok, perfect, well, let’s get right into it! Do you think physically assaulting and verbally berating a talk show host was an appropriate response to a personal question, Simon?” You lean back and fold your arm over your chest, and ask with a sassy eyebrow raise, the opposite of your personality earlier. Drummer!Simon knew then and there that he was gonna have fun with you. 

–

A year later, that's exactly who Simon was looking for after the show. The only person whose opinion matters to him now. 

He's been doing really well now. To the press, it's like his whole personality has gone a complete 180. When he got asked a personal question before, he would respond with vile language and threats, and now he simply declines to answer and gives them a tight smile. Before he thought that he went to your lesson and did what you asked with a couple of flirtatious comments, he could get into your pants. However, despite himself, he found himself doing what you say because it makes you happy, and he liked making you happy more than any of his other desires. For example, if he were being interviewed and he would respond appropriately, he could see you giving him a cheeky smile and thumbs up from backstage. As of right now, he lives for those smiles, ‘good jobs’, and squeezes to his strong, firm, large biceps. And for the night, he could live with only that.

He pushed and squeezed past people backstage, twisty and turning, looking for you until he heard his name coming from behind him. 

“Simon! Simonnn!” he sees you shouting and watches as you wave your hand wildly at him. You both are pushing your way toward eachother, excited to finally be together after a wild show. You both meet in the middle, and he feels like all the chaos around him slows to a stop as he finally gets his hand on you. You're dressed in black slacks that are tight around your hips and ass, but then run straight down and flare around your heels. You're wearing a loose, flowy black shirt that would be business appropriate if it weren't for the low V-cut showing off the edgy necklace with a large black stone that dips in between your breasts. When he sees you, he feels like he's seeing a little bit more of your personality peaking through. 

“You did sooooo good, Simon,” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height. He wraps his arms around your waist and lands a friendly kiss on your neck.

“You guys played so many classics, too! 19-year-old me would be screaming!” You laugh. 

“Well, im glad you enjoyed the show, love.” He says, still holding on to your waist, caressing your hip with one hand. You grab a towel out of your large tote bag full of utilities, always trying to be as helpful as possible. You begin to wipe the sweat off his sweaty forehead and face. With you so distracted cleaning him, he gets a real look at your face, your beautiful face, and he can't help but admire it. You're truly amazing. At first, he lusted after you and your beauty. However, now, because of your personality and attentiveness, she was bound to fall. And he fell hard.

He liked how bossy you were when you were trying to get him to act right. He liked how attentive you were to his emotions, making sure he would never be uncomfortable. He loved how kind you were after he did a good job, always praising him when he did well in anything. He loved learning about you and seeing your true personality shine through: your favorite songs, hobbies, favorite food, and much more. 

“Do you need water, or are you hungry? I think I have a protein bar or something,” You say as you look through your belongings. Simon can't help but smile at your kindness. Simon was about to speak again, but he was cut off by Johnny aggressively patting you both on your backs with his sweaty hands. 

“Afterparty! You both have to be there, im not taking no for an answer, okay?! Okay, cool!” He then leaves you both behind as you both try to come up with an excuse not to go. 

“I guess we have to go, right?” You look up at him through your lashes, and all he can do is nod, mouth slack. 

__

He is definitely excited to see this new side of you. He didn't know you could ever be this loud. You were lounging on an expensive leather couch, practically hanging off of Simon, joking around with Johnny. You were downing your third expensive mixed drink, bordering far past tipsy. Your hair is becoming slightly frizzy from all the laughing you've been doing, and the strap of your blouse is hanging off your shoulder, showing much more cleavage than normal.  

You laugh with your mouth open wide as you tell a story, changing your voice along with the story. The music of the club is loud and engulfed by the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweaty bodies pressed up against each other, but all he can focus on is you and your story.   

You mid-story, waving your hands in the air when you were rudely interrupted by a familiar man.

“How ya doing, friends! Long time no see…Simon.” You were interrupted by the same radio show host who got you hired in the first place, Phillip Graves. The one who decided to stick his now crooked nose into Simon's personal life a little more than a year ago. Simon must have done some serious damage because his face doesn't look the same. He holds out his hand for Simon to shake first. Simon was going to ignore him, but when he turned to look at you, his face changed his mind. You looked up at him with upturned eyebrows and a concerned look. He felt your hand rub his thigh a little too high up to be friendly. He realized what you were subtly trying to tell him. He squeezed your hand that was resting on his thigh and reached his hand out for a firm shake. 

The Radio Host addressed the rest of the large group, making casual conversation with Price. Simon thought that he was in the clear, and he wasnt going to address the elephant in the room, but he spoke too soon. 

“It's been a while, how are you doing? Is this your anger management coach or a groupie?” Graves said, gesturing towards you.

“I actually im just PR slash personal assistant, nice to meet you!” You say with a nervous laugh and stick out your hand, trying to break the ice. Graves ignores you. 

“Listen, Simon, I wanted to apologize. Even though you viciously assaulted me and acted like a wild animal over a simple comment, I realize it was all my fault. I never should have commented on your brother. It must be hard having a brother who could never get his life together and lived a pathetically going day by day, making his addiction everyone else's problem…”

The room goes quiet, and you squeeze Simon's hand hard. You're getting nervous when you see his jaw twitch, but he continues.

“...I know you must have spent thousands of dollars trying to keep him in rehab. God, such a shame. You're so successful, and your brother is lowlife scum who never makes it to our level. Anyway, I apologize,” he finally finished, and it's like everyone stopped moving, worried that anything would set off the rabid dog. Simon stands up. Your heart starts to pick up, and you're worried, quickly pulling out your phone, getting ready to make some calls to try to mitigate the coming train wreck. Instead of pouncing on Graves, he speaks. 

“Thank you, Graves, I appreciate your apology.” He sticks out his hand at the graves and can't help but smile at all the jaws on the floor. Graves is shocked and reluctantly stands and shakes Simon's hand. Instead of shaking, Simon pulls Graves to a hug and pats him on the back. Your mouth is glued to the floor, and you don't think you blinked at all this past five minutes. 

“Now, if you'll excuse me, im going to walk her back to the hotel. It's been such a pleasure, everyone.” Simon gestures toward you, and you're too shocked to say goodbye, and everyone is too shocked to say goodbye to you.

As you and Simon make your way out of the club, holding hands, you're laughing hysterically. 

“Oh em geee! What's his problem? He's such a weirdo!” You laugh as you exit and start making your way to the hotel.

“And you did sooo good! Handled it with such grace,” you joke.

“But seriously, im so proud of you, I lowkey wanted to punch that prick,” You say as you face him. Simon wraps his hands around your waist, and you reach your hands up to wrap them around his neck. 

“Well…” he caresses. “I have a reallyyy goo, PR manager,” he says sensually.

“Really?” You ask with a flirty glint in your eyes.

“Yeah, she's really bossy though,” He jokes, and you laugh. 

“Yeah, she's bossy, but she's also…” he takes a deep breath. “She's also kind and attentive. She's smart, yet she's so sooo funny. And she's beautiful, and this past year that I've spent with her has made me feel feelings that I don't think I've ever had before, and I truly hope she feels the same.” He finished, and your eyes are glassy listening to him, and instead of responding, you do what you've been wanting to do for almost a year. 

You pull Simon down hard by the neck and then grab his face right before you connect lips. You press your lips so hard that you smush your noses together. Your lips slot between each other repeatedly, and he grabs your face. You both breathe aggressively through the nose and pull eachother closer. Both of your bodies are pressed tightly together, and you feel something poking your stomach, and that makes you giggle. He pulls away and presses his forehead to yours. 

“I’m sorry, love,” he says, embarrassed. 

“ Come back to my room with me… please.” You beg, and if this were anyone else you were talking to, you would be embarrassed, but you can't help yourself. 

“Please…” you ask again with a gentle peck to his lips, and he nods into your face and kisses you again. 

How could he ever say no to you, his perfect girl?

That's how he ended up here, in your hotel room with you both still fully clothed, lying on your bed with his hand under your shirt, fondling your breasts. You were truly enchanting. The sounds you were making when he kissed your neck made him hurt. He knew that you were never going to get rid of him. He didn't care if that wasn't allowed or what the press might say. The feeling he felt right now was never going to go away. 

You claw at his shirt, trying to get it off him. He sits up from between your legs, pausing his grinding hips to remove his shirt. 

“Easy love, mm not going anywhere,” he laughs at you, and you just whine in response. Your gaze drifts from his face down to his chiseled, tattooed chest, and you start to pet his core. 

“You're so handsome, Si, so so handsome…I used to have such a crust on you when I was younger, I was insaneee.” You moan when he continues his movement.

“Im sure you weren't, im not good enough for you, love,” he says in his deep Manchester accent.

“No, I was Simon, you don't understand, look!” You push Simon away to give you a little space. You take off your shirt, and when someone is about to resume your makeout session after getting overwhelmed from you removing your shirt, you unzip your slacks, and then he sees it. 

There on your hip bone, right above your low-waisted pants, he sees it. 

A tattoo

A red, red fine line tattoo in cursive of one of his first songs, tattooed right on your perfect skin, and he can't stop staring at you. 

You start to get embarrassed, worried you're creeping him out with the tattoo and everything else you've told him. 

“Im sorry, Simon, I didn't mean to–” he cuts you off mid-sentence by grabbing your face and slotting your lips together. That only lasts a second before pushing his tongue into your mouth, completely hypnotizing you. You're so distracted in a trance that the only thing that will bring you out of it is the jingle of him unlooping his belt. He separates himself, and you do the same.

Once he bares himself fully in front of you, he kisses and licks down your body. He's talking so low that you barely hear him. 

“D’you hear me?” He spoke up

“Huh, no, what's wrong?” you ask as he continues to mouth at your body.

“You're done, you're not going anywhere, and you understand, you drive me insane.”

“Si…” you moan loudly.

“Ya don't get it, im never gonna let ya go, Im gonna buy you a house, write songs about you, im sorry but you're never gonna get rid of me.” He finishes his rant with one final kiss on your red ink tattoo when he looks up at you from below your waist.

“You're mine now.” 

ive been pushing off my hw for this lol

[apricityxoxo]

just updated my masterlist bc it’s been awhile (had to add like 3 fics lol)

[apricityxoxo]

his perfect girl ˚ ༘ ♪ ⋆｡ rockstar!simon riley

drummer!simon riley x pr manager!reader

summary: Simon made his way off the stage to the back, sweat dripping off his body. He watched as the rest of his bandmates received hyped slaps to the back and big hugs. Despite being in one of the world's most popular bands and an undeniably excellent drummer, he was not well-liked, and he didn't care. He wasnt looking for the approval of fake fans, groupies, and other assholes who didn't know anything about music. Simon only cared about one person's opinion, and he was pushing past everyone to find her…

wc: about 4.8k

contents/warning: flufffffff!!!! some angst and a bit of violence... and borderline smut. also def inaccurate descriptions of rock bands, and pr managers cause idc enough to research. kinda took a bit of creative liberty with simon, so there's that.

im sorryyyyyyy! life has been insane lately, but im happy to finally post again. i really hope this does well because i'd love to write more about drummer!simon, if you all enjoy it. so if you do like this plssssss send me some more requests, cause I have a few in mind! 🎸 ˚ ༘ ♪ ⋆｡

Drummer!Simon Riley, who never thought he would be successful in life. He had, as he would describe to the press, a ‘somewhat rough upbringing’. He would never go into detail, but it was a lot more than he ever let on. Throughout his whole childhood, the only constant thing was his continuous search for different ways to avoid his home. He would pick fights with other kids from an early age, since he could walk. He would hang out in abandoned buildings with different crowds, smoking, drinking, and drowning out the noise with heavy rock music. He would sneak into rock concerts where he would drown out his sorrows with metal and alcohol until he could barely hear or talk. He got drunk, stole, and smoked so much that he couldn't remember when he started. Many hobbies and habits, most of which he regretted, were all a pointless distraction to avoid the screams and fists of his father and the cries of his mother. 

He regretted many things, so many that they became part of a long and continuous list. But the one thing he never regretted was picking up those drumsticks at the age of twelve. He thanks God or any higher being that he stumbled into a music shop looking for something to drop into his school bag slyly. 

He walks and browses, trying to avoid the gaze of the older staff. He makes his way around, and before long, he walks in and stumbles into the back, where he sees what he recognizes to be a drumset. It's like he sees a glowing aura around the used instrument, thinking of all the booming drum solos heard in the music he cherishes. He makes his way closer and lets his fingers run against the worn drums and the sharp, shiny edges of the cymbals. He checks if anyone is watching him before he makes his way to the stool to get a closer look. When he sits down, he takes a good look before closing his eyes and using his imagination to play with them. Pursing his lips and imitating the sounds of the drums he hears in the aggressive metal music he listens to. He wags and slams his hands around wildly on the drums. Then he- 

“Aren't ya a little young to be listening to that type of music? Aren't ya like 10?” A deep, gruff voice interrupts him. Little Simon opens his eyes and makes eye contact with what seems to be a worker. He has long, silky, jet black hair, tattoos covering almost every part of his body, scars, and piercings. 

“I’m 12…I like them, they make good music,” Simon said with pink cheeks, embarrassed to be caught playing the air drums. Simon picked up his school bag and was about to get up and leave, but before he could even leave the stool, the man put his hand out to stop him.

“You know I could teach you how to play them,” he gestured to the drum set. Simon's eyes lit up. Before Simon could get a word out, the man interrupted him with a sly smirk.

“I'll teach you how to play, but ya got to empty ya pockets first”

Simon nods immediately, emptying out all the stuff he wanted to steal before being offered the best opportunity he's ever received. Once he picked those drumsticks, he never put them down.

–

From that point on, the drums were all he cared about; everyone knew that about him. He saved his money throughout his final years of school to fund his obsession with drums. It was just a ‘hobby’, but everything he did was for his ‘hobby’; he got a construction job to fund his ‘hobby’. He went to trade school to get a better job to fund his ‘hobby’. He had just turned twenty, and he felt like there was no purpose to life but his ‘hobby’. That was until he met some friends who felt the same way about their hobbies. 

One night, he met a man named Johnny at a pub. Simon liked to go to pubs and drink while reading some sheet music. Simon felt like getting drunk and high helped him unlock a whole new outlook on the music. He was reading and writing notes in the margins while nursing his second pint when some asshole bumped into him. He spilled his beer, and Simon rushed to pick up the music sheets before they could be ruined.  This Johnny guy was so wasted that he stumbled into Simon and knocked over his beer, but he didn't even care. Instead of apologizing, he was in awe of the music he was studying. He completely disregarded the woman clinging to his body and instead began gushing about his electric guitar, which he couldn't live without, even shedding a few tears. 

“Why am I here? I miss my babyyyyyyy,” He whined. “Whatdya play?”

“Erm…drums,” Simon replied.

This Johnny guy started ranting about his beloved band, told Simon that they play some shows in bars here and there for quick change and free liquor. Now that was interesting to Simon. That's all he wanted in life: His drums, quick change, and a pint.

“You know you should, play with us” *hiccup* “My friends and I need a drummer, actually…last drummer was an ass” *mumbles* “What's ya name, lad? I’m Johnny.” 

Simon didn't know it then, but agreeing to play with this drunk weirdo would change his life forever. 

–

Seven years later, Drummer!Simon had more than he could ever ask for. He played more shows, drank more beer, and had more money than he ever needed. The day he agreed to play in the band, he went from playing in pubs to playing in back alley concerts to sold-out arenas, and now here in a sold-out stadium. Playing in one of the world's most popular rock bands, The 141.

He was on fire right now. 

The final song of the night, and he can't even hear the roaring crowd. He was locked in, hyper-focused on his playing. He watched as his dripping sweat bounced off the drums as he slammed down his sticks. As they neared the end of the song, Simon's gaze left the drums and looked at the scene around him. He watched as the oldest bandmate, Price, rapidly stroked his bass with a focused scrunch on his face. His eyes then drifted to Gaz, the youngest, who played his guitar and had a charming smile on his face that drove many of the young female fans crazy. Then there was the most popular and loved member, Johnny, who was wildly trying to sing into the mic while playing his beloved guitar, ending the song with the final note and a hyped yell.

As the concert came to an end, Simon truly felt like he had made it. Despite the negativity from his father and the concerned talks he would have with his mother, he truly had the life his teacher knew he would have all those years ago. 

Simon made his way off the stage to the back, sweat dripping off his body. He watched as the rest of his bandmates received hyped slaps to the back and big hugs. Despite being in one of the world's most popular bands and an undeniably excellent drummer, he was not well-liked, and he didn't care. He wasnt looking for the approval of fake fans, groupies, and other assholes who didn't know shit about music. Simon only cared about one person's opinion, and he was pushing past everyone to find her…

Drummer!Simon had a nasty attitude, did what he wanted, and said what he liked. He didn't like the press, involved in a handful of violent altercations and a couple of lawsuits with the paparazzi throughout his career. He hated interviews even more, feeling that they were too nosy, trying to pry into his brain and find out things about his personal life, which usually ended with curses and insults. The thing he hated the most, though, was his manager, always getting on his ass for his attitude; it wasnt his fault that he was this way. 

He only cared about a few things: his drums and the lifelong friendship he's made with The 141. He didn't care how many people disliked him or got on him for his behavior. It didn't matter, and it never will. 

Until it did. 

Last year was the final straw for his manager and his record label. It was a semi-popular rock radio show with Phillip Graves: a well-liked yet controversial host, known to ask extremely revealing and personal questions. They were nearing the end of the interview, and with Johnny’s big mouth, he was able to get away with answering a few questions. That was until the Graves looked at him and then looked at his notes with a sly smirk, 

“So Simon…you rarely ever mention your childhood nor your family, but after extensive research, well… to put it lightly, you had a pretty crappy childhood.” 

Simon's jaw twitched as he continued.

“When asked about any siblings, you always say that the 141 were your brothers…”

Simon's heart stops, and the cocky host smirks.

“...but what about your actual brother…Thomas Riley, how's he doing? Is he still an addict or is he- ”

Before he could get another word out, Simon decided to wipe that cocky smile off his face. Simon jumped out of the chair and threw the mics out of the way. He grabs Graves by the shirt and lands a clean punch square in his smug face. It was chaos. The backstage crew was screaming and yelling at him to stop. Security came running to the scene. Gaz is the first to attempt to pull Simon off him, grabbing him by his waist and begging him to stop. There's so much yelling, but Simon doesn't care. He lands another punch, and he watches as the blood bursts from his nose onto Simon's shirt. As Gaz and another security officer finally drag him, he spews curses and insults. Yelling too loud to hear the laughs from Johnny and disappointed grumbles from Price.

“Watch ya mouth! Ya hear me!” Simon yells as he's dragged away from the destroyed studio

–

That was the final straw for the team. 

“Ya done, Riley! Ya done freelancing thinkin you can do whatever ya want!” His manager yells at him 

“So congratulations! You're now on a tight leash!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?” Simon replies with a confused mug. 

“It means ya can't do or say whatever you want! You're getting a PR Manager and an Assistant because we're not gonna let you drag your bandmates into the ground!” The band manager yelled with veins pulsing out of his neck

“But I don't need-”

“I don't care what ya need, it's too late, I already hired someone, so play nice.” He interrupted.

“She’ll be here in 30 mins. When she gets here, stay quiet and listen. Better not to hear anything from her,” He said before he left Simon in the office with a final slam of the door. 

Simon spent the next thirty minutes in the office grumbling ot himself about how he'd never listen to a raggedy old hag's opinion about his attitude, he would never go belly up. This was just his personality; he made it this far being his aggressive self. His friends didn't mind, the true fans didn't mind, the random women that he would bed didn't seem to mind either, so who cares? He didn't need anyone else's direction. 

His mumbles and grumbles were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Simon rolled his eyes and stood up with a grunt. He aggressively opened the door, and his eyes widened at what stood in front of him. 

A Young, beautiful woman. His eyes widened as he looked you up and down. He looked at your gorgeous face, so soft looking with your plump lips and enchanting eyes, your hair framing it perfectly. His eyes dragged down to your body, fitted in a dress shirt that fit tightly around your breasts, top buttons undone, giving him a good look down your shirt. He also sees your tight pencil skirt; he's almost excited for you to walk past him so he can get a good look at your rear. 

“Mr. Riley! It's a pleasure to meet you.” You give him your name with a bright, gorgeous smile, and he swears that nothing else matters but those syllables.

“I’m sure your manager gave you the rundown, but im so happy to be your personal assistant slash PR manager.” Wait, you're gonna be the one trying to control him and be someone he's not. He internally shook his head and rolled his eyes. By the look on your face, you could tell he wasnt feeling it. That just won't do; he knows it's your job, but he can't just let you control his already semi-perfect life. He invited you inside the office and sat opposite you at the conference table. 

“Listen, I can see that you're a little apprehensive. I don't want to change you or your personality; despite the media not being too fond of you, the fans are. I don't want to take that away from you or them, it's a part of your look.” You told him the exact words that he wanted to hear. 

“And what exactly is my look?” He asked you with a flirtatious glint in his eyes; he wanted to know how you saw him.

“Well… you're the 141’s fourth member. You have an aggressive music style and an even more aggressive personality that is appealing to a lot of fans. It's just who you are…I mean, you've been in the game for a while now, and that's why I don't want to change you,” she says to him, and it doesn’t sound like simple corporate talk that he’s used, but genuine. She then leans forward and tells him. 

“You know… out of all your band mates, you're my favorite. I started listening to you guys kinda early on. Went to one of your first shows too, the one that you guys did in an abandoned building, remember?” she says with a smile and smiles back, surprised that you're a fan, and a true one at that.

 “I actually got wasted and got one of the songs you wrote, ta- never mind,” You cut yourself off. 

You blush hard, internally kicking yourself for rambling unprofessionally. Simon smirks, thinking about what you could have possibly done. 

“Cmon, you have to tell me now,” he laughs, enjoying himself watching your face twist with annoyed embarrassment.

“That's besides the point; what matters is you. So what’ll it be?” You hold your hand out waiting for him to shake it. Simon hesitated, but he realized that the only way he could spend time and get to know you was if he shook your hand and got his hothead together. He grabbed your soft hand and gave you a firm shake. 

“Ok, perfect, well, let’s get right into it! Do you think physically assaulting and verbally berating a talk show host was an appropriate response to a personal question, Simon?” You lean back and fold your arm over your chest, and ask with a sassy eyebrow raise, the opposite of your personality earlier. Drummer!Simon knew then and there that he was gonna have fun with you. 

–

A year later, that's exactly who Simon was looking for after the show. The only person whose opinion matters to him now. 

He's been doing really well now. To the press, it's like his whole personality has gone a complete 180. When he got asked a personal question before, he would respond with vile language and threats, and now he simply declines to answer and gives them a tight smile. Before he thought that he went to your lesson and did what you asked with a couple of flirtatious comments, he could get into your pants. However, despite himself, he found himself doing what you say because it makes you happy, and he liked making you happy more than any of his other desires. For example, if he were being interviewed and he would respond appropriately, he could see you giving him a cheeky smile and thumbs up from backstage. As of right now, he lives for those smiles, ‘good jobs’, and squeezes to his strong, firm, large biceps. And for the night, he could live with only that.

He pushed and squeezed past people backstage, twisty and turning, looking for you until he heard his name coming from behind him. 

“Simon! Simonnn!” he sees you shouting and watches as you wave your hand wildly at him. You both are pushing your way toward eachother, excited to finally be together after a wild show. You both meet in the middle, and he feels like all the chaos around him slows to a stop as he finally gets his hand on you. You're dressed in black slacks that are tight around your hips and ass, but then run straight down and flare around your heels. You're wearing a loose, flowy black shirt that would be business appropriate if it weren't for the low V-cut showing off the edgy necklace with a large black stone that dips in between your breasts. When he sees you, he feels like he's seeing a little bit more of your personality peaking through. 

“You did sooooo good, Simon,” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height. He wraps his arms around your waist and lands a friendly kiss on your neck.

“You guys played so many classics, too! 19-year-old me would be screaming!” You laugh. 

“Well, im glad you enjoyed the show, love.” He says, still holding on to your waist, caressing your hip with one hand. You grab a towel out of your large tote bag full of utilities, always trying to be as helpful as possible. You begin to wipe the sweat off his sweaty forehead and face. With you so distracted cleaning him, he gets a real look at your face, your beautiful face, and he can't help but admire it. You're truly amazing. At first, he lusted after you and your beauty. However, now, because of your personality and attentiveness, she was bound to fall. And he fell hard.

He liked how bossy you were when you were trying to get him to act right. He liked how attentive you were to his emotions, making sure he would never be uncomfortable. He loved how kind you were after he did a good job, always praising him when he did well in anything. He loved learning about you and seeing your true personality shine through: your favorite songs, hobbies, favorite food, and much more. 

“Do you need water, or are you hungry? I think I have a protein bar or something,” You say as you look through your belongings. Simon can't help but smile at your kindness. Simon was about to speak again, but he was cut off by Johnny aggressively patting you both on your backs with his sweaty hands. 

“Afterparty! You both have to be there, im not taking no for an answer, okay?! Okay, cool!” He then leaves you both behind as you both try to come up with an excuse not to go. 

“I guess we have to go, right?” You look up at him through your lashes, and all he can do is nod, mouth slack. 

__

He is definitely excited to see this new side of you. He didn't know you could ever be this loud. You were lounging on an expensive leather couch, practically hanging off of Simon, joking around with Johnny. You were downing your third expensive mixed drink, bordering far past tipsy. Your hair is becoming slightly frizzy from all the laughing you've been doing, and the strap of your blouse is hanging off your shoulder, showing much more cleavage than normal.  

You laugh with your mouth open wide as you tell a story, changing your voice along with the story. The music of the club is loud and engulfed by the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweaty bodies pressed up against each other, but all he can focus on is you and your story.   

You mid-story, waving your hands in the air when you were rudely interrupted by a familiar man.

“How ya doing, friends! Long time no see…Simon.” You were interrupted by the same radio show host who got you hired in the first place, Phillip Graves. The one who decided to stick his now crooked nose into Simon's personal life a little more than a year ago. Simon must have done some serious damage because his face doesn't look the same. He holds out his hand for Simon to shake first. Simon was going to ignore him, but when he turned to look at you, his face changed his mind. You looked up at him with upturned eyebrows and a concerned look. He felt your hand rub his thigh a little too high up to be friendly. He realized what you were subtly trying to tell him. He squeezed your hand that was resting on his thigh and reached his hand out for a firm shake. 

The Radio Host addressed the rest of the large group, making casual conversation with Price. Simon thought that he was in the clear, and he wasnt going to address the elephant in the room, but he spoke too soon. 

“It's been a while, how are you doing? Is this your anger management coach or a groupie?” Graves said, gesturing towards you.

“I actually im just PR slash personal assistant, nice to meet you!” You say with a nervous laugh and stick out your hand, trying to break the ice. Graves ignores you. 

“Listen, Simon, I wanted to apologize. Even though you viciously assaulted me and acted like a wild animal over a simple comment, I realize it was all my fault. I never should have commented on your brother. It must be hard having a brother who could never get his life together and lived a pathetically going day by day, making his addiction everyone else's problem…”

The room goes quiet, and you squeeze Simon's hand hard. You're getting nervous when you see his jaw twitch, but he continues.

“...I know you must have spent thousands of dollars trying to keep him in rehab. God, such a shame. You're so successful, and your brother is lowlife scum who never makes it to our level. Anyway, I apologize,” he finally finished, and it's like everyone stopped moving, worried that anything would set off the rabid dog. Simon stands up. Your heart starts to pick up, and you're worried, quickly pulling out your phone, getting ready to make some calls to try to mitigate the coming train wreck. Instead of pouncing on Graves, he speaks. 

“Thank you, Graves, I appreciate your apology.” He sticks out his hand at the graves and can't help but smile at all the jaws on the floor. Graves is shocked and reluctantly stands and shakes Simon's hand. Instead of shaking, Simon pulls Graves to a hug and pats him on the back. Your mouth is glued to the floor, and you don't think you blinked at all this past five minutes. 

“Now, if you'll excuse me, im going to walk her back to the hotel. It's been such a pleasure, everyone.” Simon gestures toward you, and you're too shocked to say goodbye, and everyone is too shocked to say goodbye to you.

As you and Simon make your way out of the club, holding hands, you're laughing hysterically. 

“Oh em geee! What's his problem? He's such a weirdo!” You laugh as you exit and start making your way to the hotel.

“And you did sooo good! Handled it with such grace,” you joke.

“But seriously, im so proud of you, I lowkey wanted to punch that prick,” You say as you face him. Simon wraps his hands around your waist, and you reach your hands up to wrap them around his neck. 

“Well…” he caresses. “I have a reallyyy goo, PR manager,” he says sensually.

“Really?” You ask with a flirty glint in your eyes.

“Yeah, she's really bossy though,” He jokes, and you laugh. 

“Yeah, she's bossy, but she's also…” he takes a deep breath. “She's also kind and attentive. She's smart, yet she's so sooo funny. And she's beautiful, and this past year that I've spent with her has made me feel feelings that I don't think I've ever had before, and I truly hope she feels the same.” He finished, and your eyes are glassy listening to him, and instead of responding, you do what you've been wanting to do for almost a year. 

You pull Simon down hard by the neck and then grab his face right before you connect lips. You press your lips so hard that you smush your noses together. Your lips slot between each other repeatedly, and he grabs your face. You both breathe aggressively through the nose and pull eachother closer. Both of your bodies are pressed tightly together, and you feel something poking your stomach, and that makes you giggle. He pulls away and presses his forehead to yours. 

“I’m sorry, love,” he says, embarrassed. 

“ Come back to my room with me… please.” You beg, and if this were anyone else you were talking to, you would be embarrassed, but you can't help yourself. 

“Please…” you ask again with a gentle peck to his lips, and he nods into your face and kisses you again. 

How could he ever say no to you, his perfect girl?

That's how he ended up here, in your hotel room with you both still fully clothed, lying on your bed with his hand under your shirt, fondling your breasts. You were truly enchanting. The sounds you were making when he kissed your neck made him hurt. He knew that you were never going to get rid of him. He didn't care if that wasn't allowed or what the press might say. The feeling he felt right now was never going to go away. 

You claw at his shirt, trying to get it off him. He sits up from between your legs, pausing his grinding hips to remove his shirt. 

“Easy love, mm not going anywhere,” he laughs at you, and you just whine in response. Your gaze drifts from his face down to his chiseled, tattooed chest, and you start to pet his core. 

“You're so handsome, Si, so so handsome…I used to have such a crust on you when I was younger, I was insaneee.” You moan when he continues his movement.

“Im sure you weren't, im not good enough for you, love,” he says in his deep Manchester accent.

“No, I was Simon, you don't understand, look!” You push Simon away to give you a little space. You take off your shirt, and when someone is about to resume your makeout session after getting overwhelmed from you removing your shirt, you unzip your slacks, and then he sees it. 

There on your hip bone, right above your low-waisted pants, he sees it. 

A tattoo

A red, red fine line tattoo in cursive of one of his first songs, tattooed right on your perfect skin, and he can't stop staring at you. 

You start to get embarrassed, worried you're creeping him out with the tattoo and everything else you've told him. 

“Im sorry, Simon, I didn't mean to–” he cuts you off mid-sentence by grabbing your face and slotting your lips together. That only lasts a second before pushing his tongue into your mouth, completely hypnotizing you. You're so distracted in a trance that the only thing that will bring you out of it is the jingle of him unlooping his belt. He separates himself, and you do the same.

Once he bares himself fully in front of you, he kisses and licks down your body. He's talking so low that you barely hear him. 

“D’you hear me?” He spoke up

“Huh, no, what's wrong?” you ask as he continues to mouth at your body.

“You're done, you're not going anywhere, and you understand, you drive me insane.”

“Si…” you moan loudly.

“Ya don't get it, im never gonna let ya go, Im gonna buy you a house, write songs about you, im sorry but you're never gonna get rid of me.” He finishes his rant with one final kiss on your red ink tattoo when he looks up at you from below your waist.

“You're mine now.” 

ive been pushing off my hw for this lol

[apricityxoxo]

Proud of this and I want to write more about Drummer!Simon so plssss send requests

[apricityxoxo]

his perfect girl ˚ ༘ ♪ ⋆｡ rockstar!simon riley

drummer!simon riley x pr manager!reader

summary: Simon made his way off the stage to the back, sweat dripping off his body. He watched as the rest of his bandmates received hyped slaps to the back and big hugs. Despite being in one of the world's most popular bands and an undeniably excellent drummer, he was not well-liked, and he didn't care. He wasnt looking for the approval of fake fans, groupies, and other assholes who didn't know anything about music. Simon only cared about one person's opinion, and he was pushing past everyone to find her…

wc: about 4.8k

contents/warning: flufffffff!!!! some angst and a bit of violence... and borderline smut. also def inaccurate descriptions of rock bands, and pr managers cause idc enough to research. kinda took a bit of creative liberty with simon, so there's that.

and if you enjoy pls read: bassplayer! john price

im sorryyyyyyy! life has been insane lately, but im happy to finally post again. i really hope this does well because i'd love to write more about drummer!simon, if you all enjoy it. so if you do like this plssssss send me some more requests, cause I have a few in mind!

Drummer!Simon Riley, who never thought he would be successful in life. He had, as he would describe to the press, a ‘somewhat rough upbringing’. He would never go into detail, but it was a lot more than he ever let on. Throughout his whole childhood, the only constant thing was his continuous search for different ways to avoid his home. He would pick fights with other kids from an early age, since he could walk. He would hang out in abandoned buildings with different crowds, smoking, drinking, and drowning out the noise with heavy rock music. He would sneak into rock concerts where he would drown out his sorrows with metal and alcohol until he could barely hear or talk. He got drunk, stole, and smoked so much that he couldn't remember when he started. Many hobbies and habits, most of which he regretted, were all a pointless distraction to avoid the screams and fists of his father and the cries of his mother. 

He regretted many things, so many that they became part of a long and continuous list. But the one thing he never regretted was picking up those drumsticks at the age of twelve. He thanks God or any higher being that he stumbled into a music shop looking for something to drop into his school bag slyly. 

He walks and browses, trying to avoid the gaze of the older staff. He makes his way around, and before long, he walks in and stumbles into the back, where he sees what he recognizes to be a drumset. It's like he sees a glowing aura around the used instrument, thinking of all the booming drum solos heard in the music he cherishes. He makes his way closer and lets his fingers run against the worn drums and the sharp, shiny edges of the cymbals. He checks if anyone is watching him before he makes his way to the stool to get a closer look. When he sits down, he takes a good look before closing his eyes and using his imagination to play with them. Pursing his lips and imitating the sounds of the drums he hears in the aggressive metal music he listens to. He wags and slams his hands around wildly on the drums. Then he- 

“Aren't ya a little young to be listening to that type of music? Aren't ya like 10?” A deep, gruff voice interrupts him. Little Simon opens his eyes and makes eye contact with what seems to be a worker. He has long, silky, jet black hair, tattoos covering almost every part of his body, scars, and piercings. 

“I’m 12…I like them, they make good music,” Simon said with pink cheeks, embarrassed to be caught playing the air drums. Simon picked up his school bag and was about to get up and leave, but before he could even leave the stool, the man put his hand out to stop him.

“You know I could teach you how to play them,” he gestured to the drum set. Simon's eyes lit up. Before Simon could get a word out, the man interrupted him with a sly smirk.

“I'll teach you how to play, but ya got to empty ya pockets first”

Simon nods immediately, emptying out all the stuff he wanted to steal before being offered the best opportunity he's ever received. Once he picked those drumsticks, he never put them down.

–

From that point on, the drums were all he cared about; everyone knew that about him. He saved his money throughout his final years of school to fund his obsession with drums. It was just a ‘hobby’, but everything he did was for his ‘hobby’; he got a construction job to fund his ‘hobby’. He went to trade school to get a better job to fund his ‘hobby’. He had just turned twenty, and he felt like there was no purpose to life but his ‘hobby’. That was until he met some friends who felt the same way about their hobbies. 

One night, he met a man named Johnny at a pub. Simon liked to go to pubs and drink while reading some sheet music. Simon felt like getting drunk and high helped him unlock a whole new outlook on the music. He was reading and writing notes in the margins while nursing his second pint when some asshole bumped into him. He spilled his beer, and Simon rushed to pick up the music sheets before they could be ruined.  This Johnny guy was so wasted that he stumbled into Simon and knocked over his beer, but he didn't even care. Instead of apologizing, he was in awe of the music he was studying. He completely disregarded the woman clinging to his body and instead began gushing about his electric guitar, which he couldn't live without, even shedding a few tears. 

“Why am I here? I miss my babyyyyyyy,” He whined. “Whatdya play?”

“Erm…drums,” Simon replied.

This Johnny guy started ranting about his beloved band, told Simon that they play some shows in bars here and there for quick change and free liquor. Now that was interesting to Simon. That's all he wanted in life: His drums, quick change, and a pint.

“You know you should, play with us” *hiccup* “My friends and I need a drummer, actually…last drummer was an ass” *mumbles* “What's ya name, lad? I’m Johnny.” 

Simon didn't know it then, but agreeing to play with this drunk weirdo would change his life forever. 

–

Seven years later, Drummer!Simon had more than he could ever ask for. He played more shows, drank more beer, and had more money than he ever needed. The day he agreed to play in the band, he went from playing in pubs to playing in back alley concerts to sold-out arenas, and now here in a sold-out stadium. Playing in one of the world's most popular rock bands, The 141.

He was on fire right now. 

The final song of the night, and he can't even hear the roaring crowd. He was locked in, hyper-focused on his playing. He watched as his dripping sweat bounced off the drums as he slammed down his sticks. As they neared the end of the song, Simon's gaze left the drums and looked at the scene around him. He watched as the oldest bandmate, Price, rapidly stroked his bass with a focused scrunch on his face. His eyes then drifted to Gaz, the youngest, who played his guitar and had a charming smile on his face that drove many of the young female fans crazy. Then there was the most popular and loved member, Johnny, who was wildly trying to sing into the mic while playing his beloved guitar, ending the song with the final note and a hyped yell.

As the concert came to an end, Simon truly felt like he had made it. Despite the negativity from his father and the concerned talks he would have with his mother, he truly had the life his teacher knew he would have all those years ago. 

Simon made his way off the stage to the back, sweat dripping off his body. He watched as the rest of his bandmates received hyped slaps to the back and big hugs. Despite being in one of the world's most popular bands and an undeniably excellent drummer, he was not well-liked, and he didn't care. He wasnt looking for the approval of fake fans, groupies, and other assholes who didn't know shit about music. Simon only cared about one person's opinion, and he was pushing past everyone to find her…

Drummer!Simon had a nasty attitude, did what he wanted, and said what he liked. He didn't like the press, involved in a handful of violent altercations and a couple of lawsuits with the paparazzi throughout his career. He hated interviews even more, feeling that they were too nosy, trying to pry into his brain and find out things about his personal life, which usually ended with curses and insults. The thing he hated the most, though, was his manager, always getting on his ass for his attitude; it wasnt his fault that he was this way. 

He only cared about a few things: his drums and the lifelong friendship he's made with The 141. He didn't care how many people disliked him or got on him for his behavior. It didn't matter, and it never will. 

Until it did. 

Last year was the final straw for his manager and his record label. It was a semi-popular rock radio show with Phillip Graves: a well-liked yet controversial host, known to ask extremely revealing and personal questions. They were nearing the end of the interview, and with Johnny’s big mouth, he was able to get away with answering a few questions. That was until the Graves looked at him and then looked at his notes with a sly smirk, 

“So Simon…you rarely ever mention your childhood nor your family, but after extensive research, well… to put it lightly, you had a pretty crappy childhood.” 

Simon's jaw twitched as he continued.

“When asked about any siblings, you always say that the 141 were your brothers…”

Simon's heart stops, and the cocky host smirks.

“...but what about your actual brother…Thomas Riley, how's he doing? Is he still an addict or is he- ”

Before he could get another word out, Simon decided to wipe that cocky smile off his face. Simon jumped out of the chair and threw the mics out of the way. He grabs Graves by the shirt and lands a clean punch square in his smug face. It was chaos. The backstage crew was screaming and yelling at him to stop. Security came running to the scene. Gaz is the first to attempt to pull Simon off him, grabbing him by his waist and begging him to stop. There's so much yelling, but Simon doesn't care. He lands another punch, and he watches as the blood bursts from his nose onto Simon's shirt. As Gaz and another security officer finally drag him, he spews curses and insults. Yelling too loud to hear the laughs from Johnny and disappointed grumbles from Price.

“Watch ya mouth! Ya hear me!” Simon yells as he's dragged away from the destroyed studio

–

That was the final straw for the team. 

“Ya done, Riley! Ya done freelancing thinkin you can do whatever ya want!” His manager yells at him 

“So congratulations! You're now on a tight leash!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?” Simon replies with a confused mug. 

“It means ya can't do or say whatever you want! You're getting a PR Manager and an Assistant because we're not gonna let you drag your bandmates into the ground!” The band manager yelled with veins pulsing out of his neck

“But I don't need-”

“I don't care what ya need, it's too late, I already hired someone, so play nice.” He interrupted.

“She’ll be here in 30 mins. When she gets here, stay quiet and listen. Better not to hear anything from her,” He said before he left Simon in the office with a final slam of the door. 

Simon spent the next thirty minutes in the office grumbling ot himself about how he'd never listen to a raggedy old hag's opinion about his attitude, he would never go belly up. This was just his personality; he made it this far being his aggressive self. His friends didn't mind, the true fans didn't mind, the random women that he would bed didn't seem to mind either, so who cares? He didn't need anyone else's direction. 

His mumbles and grumbles were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Simon rolled his eyes and stood up with a grunt. He aggressively opened the door, and his eyes widened at what stood in front of him. 

A Young, beautiful woman. His eyes widened as he looked you up and down. He looked at your gorgeous face, so soft looking with your plump lips and enchanting eyes, your hair framing it perfectly. His eyes dragged down to your body, fitted in a dress shirt that fit tightly around your breasts, top buttons undone, giving him a good look down your shirt. He also sees your tight pencil skirt; he's almost excited for you to walk past him so he can get a good look at your rear. 

“Mr. Riley! It's a pleasure to meet you.” You give him your name with a bright, gorgeous smile, and he swears that nothing else matters but those syllables.

“I’m sure your manager gave you the rundown, but im so happy to be your personal assistant slash PR manager.” Wait, you're gonna be the one trying to control him and be someone he's not. He internally shook his head and rolled his eyes. By the look on your face, you could tell he wasnt feeling it. That just won't do; he knows it's your job, but he can't just let you control his already semi-perfect life. He invited you inside the office and sat opposite you at the conference table. 

“Listen, I can see that you're a little apprehensive. I don't want to change you or your personality; despite the media not being too fond of you, the fans are. I don't want to take that away from you or them, it's a part of your look.” You told him the exact words that he wanted to hear. 

“And what exactly is my look?” He asked you with a flirtatious glint in his eyes; he wanted to know how you saw him.

“Well… you're the 141’s fourth member. You have an aggressive music style and an even more aggressive personality that is appealing to a lot of fans. It's just who you are…I mean, you've been in the game for a while now, and that's why I don't want to change you,” she says to him, and it doesn’t sound like simple corporate talk that he’s used, but genuine. She then leans forward and tells him. 

“You know… out of all your band mates, you're my favorite. I started listening to you guys kinda early on. Went to one of your first shows too, the one that you guys did in an abandoned building, remember?” she says with a smile and smiles back, surprised that you're a fan, and a true one at that.

 “I actually got wasted and got one of the songs you wrote, ta- never mind,” You cut yourself off. 

You blush hard, internally kicking yourself for rambling unprofessionally. Simon smirks, thinking about what you could have possibly done. 

“Cmon, you have to tell me now,” he laughs, enjoying himself watching your face twist with annoyed embarrassment.

“That's besides the point; what matters is you. So what’ll it be?” You hold your hand out waiting for him to shake it. Simon hesitated, but he realized that the only way he could spend time and get to know you was if he shook your hand and got his hothead together. He grabbed your soft hand and gave you a firm shake. 

“Ok, perfect, well, let’s get right into it! Do you think physically assaulting and verbally berating a talk show host was an appropriate response to a personal question, Simon?” You lean back and fold your arm over your chest, and ask with a sassy eyebrow raise, the opposite of your personality earlier. Drummer!Simon knew then and there that he was gonna have fun with you. 

–

A year later, that's exactly who Simon was looking for after the show. The only person whose opinion matters to him now. 

He's been doing really well now. To the press, it's like his whole personality has gone a complete 180. When he got asked a personal question before, he would respond with vile language and threats, and now he simply declines to answer and gives them a tight smile. Before he thought that he went to your lesson and did what you asked with a couple of flirtatious comments, he could get into your pants. However, despite himself, he found himself doing what you say because it makes you happy, and he liked making you happy more than any of his other desires. For example, if he were being interviewed and he would respond appropriately, he could see you giving him a cheeky smile and thumbs up from backstage. As of right now, he lives for those smiles, ‘good jobs’, and squeezes to his strong, firm, large biceps. And for the night, he could live with only that.

He pushed and squeezed past people backstage, twisty and turning, looking for you until he heard his name coming from behind him. 

“Simon! Simonnn!” he sees you shouting and watches as you wave your hand wildly at him. You both are pushing your way toward eachother, excited to finally be together after a wild show. You both meet in the middle, and he feels like all the chaos around him slows to a stop as he finally gets his hand on you. You're dressed in black slacks that are tight around your hips and ass, but then run straight down and flare around your heels. You're wearing a loose, flowy black shirt that would be business appropriate if it weren't for the low V-cut showing off the edgy necklace with a large black stone that dips in between your breasts. When he sees you, he feels like he's seeing a little bit more of your personality peaking through. 

“You did sooooo good, Simon,” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height. He wraps his arms around your waist and lands a friendly kiss on your neck.

“You guys played so many classics, too! 19-year-old me would be screaming!” You laugh. 

“Well, im glad you enjoyed the show, love.” He says, still holding on to your waist, caressing your hip with one hand. You grab a towel out of your large tote bag full of utilities, always trying to be as helpful as possible. You begin to wipe the sweat off his sweaty forehead and face. With you so distracted cleaning him, he gets a real look at your face, your beautiful face, and he can't help but admire it. You're truly amazing. At first, he lusted after you and your beauty. However, now, because of your personality and attentiveness, she was bound to fall. And he fell hard.

He liked how bossy you were when you were trying to get him to act right. He liked how attentive you were to his emotions, making sure he would never be uncomfortable. He loved how kind you were after he did a good job, always praising him when he did well in anything. He loved learning about you and seeing your true personality shine through: your favorite songs, hobbies, favorite food, and much more. 

“Do you need water, or are you hungry? I think I have a protein bar or something,” You say as you look through your belongings. Simon can't help but smile at your kindness. Simon was about to speak again, but he was cut off by Johnny aggressively patting you both on your backs with his sweaty hands. 

“Afterparty! You both have to be there, im not taking no for an answer, okay?! Okay, cool!” He then leaves you both behind as you both try to come up with an excuse not to go. 

“I guess we have to go, right?” You look up at him through your lashes, and all he can do is nod, mouth slack. 

__

He is definitely excited to see this new side of you. He didn't know you could ever be this loud. You were lounging on an expensive leather couch, practically hanging off of Simon, joking around with Johnny. You were downing your third expensive mixed drink, bordering far past tipsy. Your hair is becoming slightly frizzy from all the laughing you've been doing, and the strap of your blouse is hanging off your shoulder, showing much more cleavage than normal.  

You laugh with your mouth open wide as you tell a story, changing your voice along with the story. The music of the club is loud and engulfed by the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweaty bodies pressed up against each other, but all he can focus on is you and your story.   

You mid-story, waving your hands in the air when you were rudely interrupted by a familiar man.

“How ya doing, friends! Long time no see…Simon.” You were interrupted by the same radio show host who got you hired in the first place, Phillip Graves. The one who decided to stick his now crooked nose into Simon's personal life a little more than a year ago. Simon must have done some serious damage because his face doesn't look the same. He holds out his hand for Simon to shake first. Simon was going to ignore him, but when he turned to look at you, his face changed his mind. You looked up at him with upturned eyebrows and a concerned look. He felt your hand rub his thigh a little too high up to be friendly. He realized what you were subtly trying to tell him. He squeezed your hand that was resting on his thigh and reached his hand out for a firm shake. 

The Radio Host addressed the rest of the large group, making casual conversation with Price. Simon thought that he was in the clear, and he wasnt going to address the elephant in the room, but he spoke too soon. 

“It's been a while, how are you doing? Is this your anger management coach or a groupie?” Graves said, gesturing towards you.

“I actually im just PR slash personal assistant, nice to meet you!” You say with a nervous laugh and stick out your hand, trying to break the ice. Graves ignores you. 

“Listen, Simon, I wanted to apologize. Even though you viciously assaulted me and acted like a wild animal over a simple comment, I realize it was all my fault. I never should have commented on your brother. It must be hard having a brother who could never get his life together and lived a pathetically going day by day, making his addiction everyone else's problem…”

The room goes quiet, and you squeeze Simon's hand hard. You're getting nervous when you see his jaw twitch, but he continues.

“...I know you must have spent thousands of dollars trying to keep him in rehab. God, such a shame. You're so successful, and your brother is lowlife scum who never makes it to our level. Anyway, I apologize,” he finally finished, and it's like everyone stopped moving, worried that anything would set off the rabid dog. Simon stands up. Your heart starts to pick up, and you're worried, quickly pulling out your phone, getting ready to make some calls to try to mitigate the coming train wreck. Instead of pouncing on Graves, he speaks. 

“Thank you, Graves, I appreciate your apology.” He sticks out his hand at the graves and can't help but smile at all the jaws on the floor. Graves is shocked and reluctantly stands and shakes Simon's hand. Instead of shaking, Simon pulls Graves to a hug and pats him on the back. Your mouth is glued to the floor, and you don't think you blinked at all this past five minutes. 

“Now, if you'll excuse me, im going to walk her back to the hotel. It's been such a pleasure, everyone.” Simon gestures toward you, and you're too shocked to say goodbye, and everyone is too shocked to say goodbye to you.

As you and Simon make your way out of the club, holding hands, you're laughing hysterically. 

“Oh em geee! What's his problem? He's such a weirdo!” You laugh as you exit and start making your way to the hotel.

“And you did sooo good! Handled it with such grace,” you joke.

“But seriously, im so proud of you, I lowkey wanted to punch that prick,” You say as you face him. Simon wraps his hands around your waist, and you reach your hands up to wrap them around his neck. 

“Well…” he caresses. “I have a reallyyy goo, PR manager,” he says sensually.

“Really?” You ask with a flirty glint in your eyes.

“Yeah, she's really bossy though,” He jokes, and you laugh. 

“Yeah, she's bossy, but she's also…” he takes a deep breath. “She's also kind and attentive. She's smart, yet she's so sooo funny. And she's beautiful, and this past year that I've spent with her has made me feel feelings that I don't think I've ever had before, and I truly hope she feels the same.” He finished, and your eyes are glassy listening to him, and instead of responding, you do what you've been wanting to do for almost a year. 

You pull Simon down hard by the neck and then grab his face right before you connect lips. You press your lips so hard that you smush your noses together. Your lips slot between each other repeatedly, and he grabs your face. You both breathe aggressively through the nose and pull eachother closer. Both of your bodies are pressed tightly together, and you feel something poking your stomach, and that makes you giggle. He pulls away and presses his forehead to yours. 

“I’m sorry, love,” he says, embarrassed. 

“ Come back to my room with me… please.” You beg, and if this were anyone else you were talking to, you would be embarrassed, but you can't help yourself. 

“Please…” you ask again with a gentle peck to his lips, and he nods into your face and kisses you again. 

How could he ever say no to you, his perfect girl?

That's how he ended up here, in your hotel room with you both still fully clothed, lying on your bed with his hand under your shirt, fondling your breasts. You were truly enchanting. The sounds you were making when he kissed your neck made him hurt. He knew that you were never going to get rid of him. He didn't care if that wasn't allowed or what the press might say. The feeling he felt right now was never going to go away. 

You claw at his shirt, trying to get it off him. He sits up from between your legs, pausing his grinding hips to remove his shirt. 

“Easy love, mm not going anywhere,” he laughs at you, and you just whine in response. Your gaze drifts from his face down to his chiseled, tattooed chest, and you start to pet his core. 

“You're so handsome, Si, so so handsome…I used to have such a crust on you when I was younger, I was insaneee.” You moan when he continues his movement.

“Im sure you weren't, im not good enough for you, love,” he says in his deep Manchester accent.

“No, I was Simon, you don't understand, look!” You push Simon away to give you a little space. You take off your shirt, and when someone is about to resume your makeout session after getting overwhelmed from you removing your shirt, you unzip your slacks, and then he sees it. 

There on your hip bone, right above your low-waisted pants, he sees it. 

A tattoo

A red, red fine line tattoo in cursive of one of his first songs, tattooed right on your perfect skin, and he can't stop staring at you. 

You start to get embarrassed, worried you're creeping him out with the tattoo and everything else you've told him. 

“Im sorry, Simon, I didn't mean to–” he cuts you off mid-sentence by grabbing your face and slotting your lips together. That only lasts a second before pushing his tongue into your mouth, completely hypnotizing you. You're so distracted in a trance that the only thing that will bring you out of it is the jingle of him unlooping his belt. He separates himself, and you do the same.

Once he bares himself fully in front of you, he kisses and licks down your body. He's talking so low that you barely hear him. 

“D’you hear me?” He spoke up

“Huh, no, what's wrong?” you ask as he continues to mouth at your body.

“You're done, you're not going anywhere, and you understand, you drive me insane.”

“Si…” you moan loudly.

“Ya don't get it, im never gonna let ya go, Im gonna buy you a house, write songs about you, im sorry but you're never gonna get rid of me.” He finishes his rant with one final kiss on your red ink tattoo when he looks up at you from below your waist.

“You're mine now.” 

ive been pushing off my hw for this lol

[mintchocolater]

My delusional unckuna nephyuji au

[apricityxoxo]

I’m still alive… been working on something new and I’m proud of it.

…See y’all soon

[zeenodeeno]

Red Hood in Position

Based on this post

[explosiongamora]

bob nation.. wake up, new pookie pics just dropped

[romantacysblog]

LET ME AT HIMMMMM