Dec 29, 2025
𝐃𝐨𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬....𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐥𝐄!!!!!
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𝐃𝐨𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬....𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐥𝐄!!!!!
Cariad
Marcus Flint x Reader
Based on the Royston club song
He wasn’t a godly man, but every time you fucked he’d shout out “oh god” enough just to send up his own little prayer, the feeling of you under him as he rutted into you feeling borderline evangelical, tears pooling from his eyes as he thanked who ever had sent your body to him.
He wasn’t a lucky man, either but you certainly had him fooled. You managed to carve out a better man, one that truly loved you through and through. But now; as his own hand didn’t feel as good as you he questioned whether he showed you that enough.
He used to spend whole evenings watching the movement of your mouth, he’d take it all in and thank god that he did because the memory was all he was left with now. His thoughts were trapped inside for another night, as his junkie fingers scroll him back to another life, the tobacco cigarette stinging his fingers as he lets it burn, his eyes burning holes through pictures of you and him.
Fuck, he missed you all of the time. He couldn’t accept that it’s over, letting the air run out. All of those pictures of you and him, plastered on the hallways of his mind, but now that it’s over. He let the air run out.
He’s just a crooked man, he found god in sin. He’d dig up the past again, just to watch you dancing within like that time you both stayed over Christmas, enjoying tunes over the gramophone.
He’s missing the Call Lane and your cigarette stains, all the poetry in his hands that he never read. As he was outrageously dreaming of you both reconvening and you leading him back to bed.
He still wakes up with things to tell you, and he’d dream of you no matter who he was sleeping next to. Good god, he resents you for leaving but he can’t pretend he doesn’t need you. Please, indulge in this sin with him; he needs your delicate fingers trading his hairline again.
Just once again.
He’s not a godly man, but every time you fucked.
He dragged himself to your dorm, relatively hitting the door, tears running down his face as his knuckles bruised against the wood. You opened the door to him, and furrowed your brows as he collapsed onto his knees, begging to you reconsider him, praying like you were a saint able to revert his sins. “Please, I need you back. I need you so bad.” “Marcus,” “I don’t think I can live without you. I’ve read all the poems, I’ve smoked all the cigs,” he begged “I’m seeing someone else-” “I know, I know. But I’m in love with you.” He said through gasped breaths, as choked sobs escaped his lips.
You chewed on your lip for a moment before pushing the door open, allowing him in as he collapsed into your arms with a bear hug.
Cariad, he needs you.
Don’t marry him, marry me
Marcus Flint x Reader
Summary: it’s been twenty years since you last saw one another, in a pub in Camden of all places. You’re engaged, you have a life - but no one’s ever made you feel like he did at sixteen.
Warnings: angst, smut, death
You found yourself in a pub. It was small; quaint even, but no less quiet. It was blustering, people gathering and packing into the room to watch the World Cup. You don’t even know where you are, Liverpool? London, maybe. You just got on a train. “D’ya want a drink duck?” The man in front asked you, a few teeth missing and balding on the top, stone island badge firmly displayed on his jacket. “I doubt you’ll be able to get to the bar unscathed is all” he says “can you get me a Guinness?” You almost shout, handing him a few quid. He nods then passes the drink back, as you shout a thank you and try find an empty seat.
You’d managed to find a rogue chair, and placed yourself on it, angled so you could see the small TV hung at the top of the bar. To be fair, you weren’t even paying attention. “Is this seat taken?” You hear a voice close enough to your ear to recognise the person was taking to you. “No, mate!” You reply, turning to look at the John Doe to give him a nod, but when your eyes met his everything seemed to stop.
“Do I know you?” He asks before you can, now sat in the chair. “Dunno.” You reply, eyes directed back at the tv. “You were in my potions class” he said and you give him a confused look. “Don’t know what you’re on about.” Then he said your name. Again, you ignored him.
“Sorry, must be thinking of someone else” he mumbled, crossing his arms and sinking into his chair. “And Divination” you mutter as you purse your lips. He shoots upright and looks at you. “Yeah, with that crazy old bat” and for the first time in a long time, you laugh. “Remember she said we’d get married” he said and your laugh lessened to a hum “yeah I do.” You nod, looking at the tele again to see nothing had changed.
“How’ve you been?” He asked “I’m alive aren’t I?” You ask and he nods “so are you” you tell him. “I mean, what’ve you been doing all these years” “you mean since the war?” You ask and his eyes falter. “Yeah” “moved away. got a degree. Got a job.” You say, shrugging “a muggle job?” He asked and you scoffed “yes” “doing what?” “Im a lawyer” you tell him “the ministry of magic-” “Marcus I left that life behind.” You cut him off.
“I have a life now, I’m free” “but are you happy?” He asked “wow we haven’t see each other in twenty years and you’re giving me a therapy session” you roll your eyes. “..are you?” “Yeah. Look Marcus go home to your wife and kids. Apparate there.” You said. “I don’t have a wife and kids” and silence ensues for a moment.
“Do you want to move to a booth, it’s quieter?” He suggests and you don’t know why you go with him. “Do you live here now?” He asks “I don’t even know where I am. I got on a train” you said honestly, messing with your glass. “You’re in Camden” “no then” you tell him.
“Are you married?” He asks and you laugh “I’m engaged.” You say, pulling the ring out of your pocket “to an accountant” you say, and Marcus caught a bit of regret in your voice “called Matthew.” You hum, putting the ring back in your pocket. “Shouldn’t that be on your finger?” He asks “I don’t think I’m going to go through with it” you say simply and he doesn’t pry. “Who dreams of being swept off their feet by an accountant?” He jokes and you laugh, properly.
“Go on then, what are you up to?” You ask, turning to him properly now and getting a good look at him. “Im an Auror now. After the war everything just fell apart” he said “I thought that’s what you wanted to do” he continues “things change, Mark” “you changed.” He said “you didn’t even know me.”
“What about that time I carried you home after a party?” He asks “or that one time you fell asleep on me so i slept in the common room with you. We even made out under the quidditch stand-” “you got the dark mark, Marcus.” You stop him. He just pulls up his sleeve and shows you a full blacked out arm, a faint outline over the mark but seemingly scribbled over harshly to make it undefinable. “I changed sides, love. You know that” “my brothers dead” “I didn’t kill him.” He say, quickly. “No. Your father did” “and then I killed him.” Marcus tells you and you both sit in silence for a minute.
“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks “I’d like that”
He returns a moment later with your drinks, and moves a bit closer to you, to see the screen he says. “Are you happy?” He asks “no.” You reply “this Matthew guy?” “A total nobody. He’s an arsehole.” You say, laughing slightly. “What am I doing with my life?” You ask, throwing your head back in disbelief.
“I wish you’d known me before all of this happened.”
He said, honestly. “The real me. Not the death eater, not the dark mark. Just me” he continues. “I don’t mind getting to know you again” you honestly tell him. “Really?” “What’ve I got to lose? I’ve got a pretty dead end job, with an accountant fiancée and I’m three hours away from home with a guy I almost dated at school” you huff “y’know I was really in love with you” he admits, and you turn to him “well sometimes we lose people because we over love them”.
“Come back” he says “what?” “To magic.” You think for a minute “got an Auror job opening, and an empty spot in my bed if you want to give it a go.” “What?” “Not like that, I mean. Stay a while if you need, get back on your feet.” You take a swig of your drink. “Thought you were offering me a shag then.” You sigh, a slight smirk on your face “no, no-” he notices your expression “I could be.” He says shortly.
“I’ve changed, since everything.” He says, his drink suddenly becoming unappealing. “To be fair, I should’ve asked you out when we were at school.” “Why didn’t you?” “I was scared, I hadn’t have my teeth fixed yet, I knew war was coming” “I didn’t even notice your teeth had changed” you said, looking at him with a squint “yeah you were good at not noticing the bad in people.”
“I have two choices.” You say “I get up, I get on a train. I go home to my fiancée and raise a business man or something” you say “or, we go back to mine, your throw your ring in the Thames and you leave nothing behind and come back to everything” he fills in the gap for you.
“Where’s your flat?” You ask as he grins, grasping your hand and pulling you out the pub so hard you through he was going to rip your arm off. This was stupid. This was immature and it was the best decision you could possibly make. It was what younger you would have done.
“Wait wait” you say, stopping on the bridge and he turns to look at you with furrowed brows. You take the ring from your pocket and throw it as far as you can, watching it glisten in the musky streetlights until it sinks. “What am I doing?” You ask him “putting yourself first for once in your fucking life, love.”
You got back to his place and you don’t know whether it was the alcohol or the fact that this was an event years overdue, but you ripped each others clothes off as though God had begged you to repopulate the earth. Maybe it was the fact you’d always fancied one another, or the fact that there was never a true sexual spark between you or Matthew that satisfied that primal itch inside of you.
He kissed you like a man starved, having you naked within minutes of getting you through the door. He’d walked you backwards, prompting you to lay down when you got to his bed, the memory foam enclosing around you as you settled into heaven. He ate you like a death row prisoner, mouth and hands working simultaneously as your hands threaded through his hair, pushing him further into your throbbing cunt as his nose bumped against your clit. He looked up at you as your back arched off the bed, drinking you up as you gave the begging man his meal.
His first stroke into you was heavenly, seemingly matching up like some flesh shaped jigsaw puzzle as he reiteratively hit a pleasant spot on every thrust. He couldn’t let you go on top, he had to; needed to see your face as you came undone under him, over and over again, crying out for his neighbours to hear as his arms entrapped you under him. You felt whole.
He pulled out to cum all over your torso, watching as white streaks decorated your figure, sticky love covering your breasts as it reflected in the moonlight, watching your chests unanimously heave as he collapsed next to you. “Why did we wait so long to do that?” You asked, breathless “fucking worth waiting for” he told you, turning to face you. “Stay the night?” He asked “yeah I’ll stay” “fuck stay your whole life. Don’t marry him, marry me” he says “are you serious?” “Deadly. I watched you walk away once I can’t do it again” he says
“Do you fancy a bath?” He asks a moment later “yeah go on then.” “What? A bath or marriage?” “Yes”
Small Talk
Marcus Flint x Reader
Summary: how a relationship starts
You were walking alongside the taller figure, purely coincidentally as the two of you headed unanimously towards the great hall. “How’s your NEP going Marcus?” You asked, looking at him. The two of you had hardly spoken, if ever during your six years at Hogwarts, you were just making friendly small talk as you made the trek through the corridors. You had most classes with one another, but just two lights floating along - almost like the sun and moon, knew of each other just never having the opportunity to truly meet. You were doing an NEP in potions, a Non Examined Potion, something worth 20% of your grade - coursework. It meant you could go into your final exam with at least a pass on your shoulders.
The boy peered down at you to the right with a side glance, turning his face to speak to you more clearly. “Alright to be fair. Write up is doing my head in” he admitted and you nodded “how’s yours?” “I’ve finished the write up and it’s way too far over the word count” you told him “how’ve you managed that?” He asked “I don’t even know. I’ve read it back and I’m just waffling. It’s pure shite, trust me.” You said as he chuckled slightly. “What are you doing again?” He asked, watching you loosen your green tie and shove it in your pocket, telling him it was almost choking you.
“Befuddlement Draught” you said with a hum and a tight lipped huff. “What?” He asked “oh look it works on you!” You say with a laugh and he gives you a sarcastic smile “cheeky shit.” He shoves you slightly with his cloaked elbow. “You think you’re funny” he huffs “I know I’m funny.” You retort as you hold the door open, letting him through as he thanked you “humble too” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.
“What are you doing?” You asked him, reflecting his question. “Amortentia” he nodded “can you spell that?” You scoff “oi shut up. It looked easiest.” “Fair enough” you nodded, parting ways as you made your way to your friends, and he to his. “Didn’t know you were mates with Marcus” Penelope queried as you sat down “I’m not we were just talking” you say with a shrug as she nods. “Y’know he’s making Amortentia?” You say with a scoff “what?” She snorts “careful he doesn’t use it on you.” You both laughed loudly.
——
The library was rammed. Deadlines for all coursework subjects was next week and it was filled with sixth years frantically scribbling words onto paper. You and Penelope surveyed the room before she dragged you to the least occupied table. “Can we sit? Thanks.” She says to Marcus who didn’t even have a chance to look up before your things were allover the desk. He just shook his head, unimpressed, before looking back to his work.
You’d thrown open a book, finalising your references for your NEP when Penelope stood up “Fucks sake I’ve left my Divignations crap downstairs” “that’s why you don’t take shitty Divignations” you retort as she scrunched her nose at you. “Going to my dorm. I’ll be back” she grumbles and you just grunt a ‘mhm’ at her. Bored, you started messing with the hair band on your wrist, pulling it off and stretching it with your thumbs. Not even able to react before it flicked off your hands and straight into the boy’s face. Your hands flew over your mouth as you stifle a laugh “Marcus I’m so sorry” you say, not full believing yourself as you watch the unimpressed boy look up from his book “genuinely.” You say, still gently chuckling as you reach over and take the bobble from the book where it had fallen; still laughing every so often as you thought about it again. “Is it genuinely that funny?” Marcus asks, looking at you all serious. “Yeah” you reply, snorting a little at his expression. “Seeing as you’re being a pain in my arse, have a look at this” he says, nodding at his work. “M alright thanks.” You say, shaking your head.
You felt your chair being pulled, as Marcus had grabbed a leg of the chair and pulled you towards him. “Erm” you start “as I was saying” Marcus began and you rolled your eyes, looking at his book “can you give this a look over” “yeah ‘course.” “Well first off” you pointed at the Polaroid lazily glued to the page “it’s supposed to be pink not green. Not sure what you’ve done there” “right” he hummed “oh there you go.” You say as you point at his instructions list “you used tulip petals instead of rose. Gives it the colour” you say “ohh”. “What’s the difference?” He asks “are you being thick on purpose?” You ask and he grunts. “Right c’mere” you say, leaning your chair back onto its hind legs as you point out the window “the yellow ones” you point as he looks out “are tulips” and then you point at the others “the red ones are roses” you say “oh I just grabbed whatever” he say, as you lose control of the balancing chair, only for him to grab the backrest and set you straight as you both struggle not to laugh. “Cheers.”
Penelope had gotten back ten minutes ago, but your proximity made her reluctant to join you at the table, instead humming as she found another spot. “Right I’m done” you say, slamming your book shut. “Already?” He asked “no just can’t be arsed” you say “fairs” you collect your stuff as his voice begins again “y’know what I’ve had enough too” he says, and collects his stuff as well. “I’ll wait for you” you say as he nods, putting his books in his bag. “Right c’mon” he says, as you both head for the dungeons.
“Y’got any plans for the rest of the day?” He asks and you shake your head “nah, you?” “Quidditch practice” he says “forgot you play quidditch” you say “d’you not go to any matches?” He asks “yeah but I don’t really pay much attention” you said, honestly. “You should, it’s good” “ok Wood” you scoff and he shoves you “don’t you dare.”
“Alright, see y’later Flint” you say, beginning the stairs climb to the girls’ dorms. “Yeah later.”
——
Later that evening, you and Penelope were sat on the sofas in the common room, talking about utter nonsense in hushed but ironically, obnoxiously loud voices. Just after eight, several sweaty and loud boys clambered into the common room laughing boisterously amongst themselves. “Ladies” Adrien Pucey greeted, planting himself on the floor, a few others joining him as Marcus shoved himself into the small chair beside you. “Do you mind?” You scoff “not at all, love” he says, smirking at your disenfranchised look, shoving an arm around your shoulders. “Fuck off you actually stink” you say, shoving him off you as he laughs, a repulsed look on your face. You position your body sideways, throwing your legs over his and onto the arm rest as to sit more comfy and eventually his hands naturally rested on your calves as you all conversed between yourselves.
“I’m off to bed” Marcus said, tapping your legs telling you to move them, but your legs remained firm. “You sat here mate, not my issue” you shrugged and crossed your arms “I’m quite comfy.” “Fine” he hummed, putting one arm under your legs and the other around your waist “oi” you say, kicking your feet slightly “go steady Prince Charming,” Montague snorted as the boys all laughed, Marcus walking over to the large sofa and dropping you onto it. “Have a shower!” You shout after him, as you curl into the cushions.
“You coming to bed babe?” Penelope asked and you nodded, getting up as the group gradually disbanded “made that sound like you’re lesbians” Bletchley commented “what wanna join in?” You ask as you and Penelope squeal and giggle, running up the stairs, chased by the boy who was stopped at the bottom. “Dickhead!” You shout down the stairs.
“What’s happening with you and flint then?” Penelope asked, laying next to you on your bed “nowt. Literally nowt. We’ve been talking a lot and then that just happened.” You shrugged “girl he just picked you up” you both connected eyes and started giggling. “Can you get past the teeth?” She asked as you shoved her “what teeth?”
—
“What’s happening between you two then?” Montague asked Flint as the boy left the bathroom. “Who?” “You know who.” “Penelope and your lass just offered me a three way” Pucey boasted “you pillock they were joking”. “Nothings happening” “not with your teeth mate” “fuck off”.
Flint sat on his bed, shorts bunching around the muscle of his thighs as he used his towel to dry off his bare torso, throwing the towel across the room. “C’mon then” Marcus flopped back against his bed “dunno” “dunno? You’ve been flirting with her for like two months” “yeah you were cuddled up on the sofa for the past few hours” “listen I don’t know, okay? Leave it” he said, but loud snores interrupted his argument. As he was left to think, alone. He threaded his hands and put them behind his head; thinking.
——
You were all settling into your seats in potions, Marcus’ eyes meeting yours as he entered the room ‘thought you were going to wait for me’ he mouthed and you just shrugged as he took his usual seat behind you, tugging on the hood of your cloak and you turned to him “couldn’t find you babes” you said, and turned back as Snape cleared his throat.
“For your assignment you must practise your potion on a pre-decided partner, this will be the third and final sector of your NEP. Remember, your potions don’t have to work to get a good scoring, as long as you thoroughly explain why it went wrong.” He said.
“Penelope and Adrien, Oliver and Angelica, Fred and Sarah, Marcus and-” he tugged again on your cloak as your name was read. “The dungeon rooms have been reserved so if you all find an empty room along the corridor and reconvene here in ninety minutes.” “Ready to fall in love with Flint?” Penelope asked “don’t come knocking” you wink, as you head for the boy stood expectantly, hands in pockets.
“Be warned love, might find me irresistible” he smirked “oh like I don’t already?” You joke, pulling his hood over his head as he tosses his arm over your shoulder. You find a room and shut the door, as you exchanged vials. “Looks a better colour” “fuck off” You entwined arms, and necked the vials, as if shots. “Probably won’t work on you, you’re belligerent enough.” You grin. “Neither will mine seeing as you’re utterly in love with me.” He retorts.
For about ten minutes, you were sat on desks on opposite sides of the room. Mid conversation, you slid off the desk and walked over to the boy who raised an eyebrow at you, smirking slightly. You grasped onto his robes and pulled him forward. Him, in turn, slid off of his own desk and planted his feet firmly on the floor, breath hitching in his throat. You looked up at him with hooded eyes, grabbing his tie and pulling him to eye-level. “Do you smell beer?” You ask, thinking again “or pine and broomsticks” “no love” he replied, looking at you dead on. You hum as you exhale slowly, pulling him forward and allowing your lips to ghost “me neither, cause you stink.” You say with a loud laugh, letting the boy go as his actions faltered. “What a load of crap. How’d you mess up Amortentia?” You scoff “bua guff plaogh-” He replies, but stops and creases his brows, as yours raise and victory appears on your face. “But I didn’t mess up mine, did I Flint?” You tease, allowing yourself this opportunity to walk all over him while he was incapacitated.
“What happened? Put lilies instead of roses? Awh, someone doesn’t know his colours.” You pout and he grits his jaw. He paces towards you, a finger pointed as you, in turn, walk backwards. “Huwby klineon fgeot. Sken alovrns pwmf.” He says, poking at your chest as you hit the wall behind you. He rested an arm above your head, trapping you against the wall as his other finger was still pointed, mind-numbingly arguing with you but still making very little sense.
“Huh? Making more sense than usual, Marcus” you smirk “oh I’ll make you fucking senseless, love” he said, neither of you batting an eye lid as the potion wore off. “That a promise?” You ask him, and he just smiles at you. The doors to the dungeons fly open and students begin to emerge. You dipped under his arm and winked at him, beginning to saunter out of the room, him jogging to catch up and once again throwing an arm over your shoulders.
“So what happened?” Adrien asked “seven minutes in heaven Adrien, babe” you say and wink jokingly at him as Marcus releases you from his grip to collect his things as you all begin to file out of the room.
“Quidditch this weekend, you coming?” Marcus asked as you made your way to lunch. “Depends, what’s in it for me?” You ask, apprehensively. “A bit sloppy kiss from the captain of course” Montague interrupted “shut up” Marcus laughed “d’you fancy it?” He asks “we’ll see.” You hum “if we win I’ll get the drinks” he promises “deal.” And you shook on it.
You and Penelope ended up sat right beside the rowdy sixth year boys, all digging into food as Pucey and Montague began fighting over a slice of cake. “Will you fat fucks put that down a whole other cake will appear when you give over.” You say, grimacing at the pigs before you. Marcus made snorting noises making you and Penelope laugh. “Shut up troll face” “oi leave him alone” you say “ooh Marcus, your little girlfriends sticking up for you!” “And where’s your girlfriend Pucey? Cumming in your pillow at night doesn’t count.” You say, silencing the boy.
You look at your timetable, noticing the horrible afternoon planned for you. “Ugh I shall not survive the winter” you say dramatically, turning and falling into Marcus’ lap as you lay across the bench. “Do you want a sweet?” He asks, holding one up and you open your mouth as he drops it in “cheers, Marc” you say, chewing as you stay “you getting up anytime today?” He asks “nah” “you can have a job while you’re down there” he winks “not for free, pal” you joke, sitting back up as you and Penelope gather your things, off to your next lesson.
——
“You came.” Marcus said, slightly out of breath as you stood in front of each other on the Quidditch field. “You won.” You replied in the same optimistic, slightly surprised tone. “Well my good luck charm came, didn’t she?” He teases as you role your eyes with a smile. You begin to turn to walk back towards the school. “What? No well done?” He scoffs “well done.” You said flatly. “That’s not what I meant.” He replies, walking up to you while you stayed firmly in place.
“Well?” You say “I’m not doing it” he says, smugly, crossing his arms “fine” you hum with a shrug, turning around before a hand grabs your wrist, causing you to spin and crash into the boy. You smirk up at him, grabbing the collar of his quidditch jersey and crashing his lips into yours, him dropping his broomstick and grabbing your waist instead.
You pulled away and looking into one another’s eyes for a moment, before letting go of him and nodding towards the castle “c’mon you promised me drinks!”
About fifteen drinks later and a lot of celebrations from the party, you were incapacitated on the sofa as you were laid against Marcus’ also tipsy, however not as bad as yours, body. “You off to bed?” He asks you, looking at you but seeing your eyes closed. He chuckles quietly to himself. “Mkay cmon duck” he says, slotting his arms under your body to lift you up, heading for the girls’ dorms to put you to bed. “No.” The matriarch portrait said as he reached the stairs “she’s asleep” he replied “so? I know what you boys are like. She’s drunk and vulnerable. You are not taking her up these stairs” she said, gruffly. “Look, i understand, but-” “no buts.” She huffed and after a little more back and forth, Marcus returned to where you were both laid across the sofa before. He couldn’t just leave you. You were drunk off your head.
——
“So who are we waking first?” Montague hummed before Pucey walked over and violently shook Marcus awake “Oi prick” “rise and shine” Marcus creased his brows and looked at the amused group of boys surrounding him, and the girl still sleeping soundly on his torso. At some point during the night, someone had put a blanket over the two of you and left you to sleep. “You coming to quidditch practise or not?” He was asked and he nodded, Penelope walking over and practically jumping on you to wake you up and, in your groggy state, just walked past the group of boys surrounding you, totally unbothered and up the stairs with Penelope to enjoy a bit more sleep.
“It’s Hogsmeade weekend” Higgs nudged him “heard her and Penelope were planning on heading to the 3 Broomsticks” Bletchley added and Marcus hummed. “Right lads” Marcus began. “We’re gonna have a vote.” He surveyed his team “if you want to have a full practise say I” and silence ensued “if you want to do a bit and then go to Hogsmeade say I” and the whole team became vocal. “Right okay”
After half an hour of drills and a couple of sprints on the broomsticks, “right I’m calling it!” Flint announced. “Get showered and get down to the village”.
Just as the boys got back to the common room after having showers and getting dressed, you and Penelope’s voices were heard descending the stairs. You appeared from the bottom, complementing the picture at the base on her dress as the woman thanked you and bid you farewell as your eyes met Marcus’. You looked ready for the weather, as the first snow had began to fall on the snowy landscape.
You had leggings, thick socks and black adidas sambas, a thick puffer coat and scarf covering the lower half of your face. “Jesus love, wrapped up enough?” Marcus asked with a laugh “shush I’m cold already” you huffed, voice muffled behind the wool. He offered his arm, and you threaded your arm around his and pushing your hand into your pocket. Joined at the hip, you began the walk to the small village.
The path was slippy, black ice decorating the cobbled bridge, and your feet slipped from beneath you as the lack of grip on the bottom of your shoes became evident, he quickly grabbed you, but in pulling you up, he ended up pulling himself down simultaneously.
You ended up laid on top of him, as you both groaned “well that was daft” you say, moving to sit on your bum as you dusted off your knees. He gets onto his knees, using the wall as leverage to stand and grabbing your hand, pulling you up and into him, his hands sliding down your figure. “Your arse is a bit wet love” “well yeah I just landed on it dickhead” you scoff and he grins, “and get your hands off my arse”. “Give us a kiss then” he says, grinning. You lean against the wall as you melt into his kiss, one arm on the wall; the other around his neck.
Just as he deepens the kiss, you pull up your other hand and crash a handful of snow onto his head. “Oi!” He shouts, pulling back as you laugh and run off as best as you can, slipping along the bridge as he tries to chase you “you’re gonna get it now, cheeky shit” you laugh as a snowball flies past your head. “Missed me!” You shout, hiding behind a tree.
You gathered a bunch of snow and threw it at the boy who’d taken salvage across the way. At your next throw, you ended up hitting Adrien Pucey in the face “what the fuck!” He shouted “you’re in no man’s land Adrian” you shout, ducking at Marcus’ next throw. “I’d suggest joining in or taking cover.” You say “come ‘ere mate!” Marcus tells him “nah I’m helping your missus!” He says, joining you and helping pelt the boy at twice the speed.
Eventually, most of the students down at Hogsmeade had joined in, choosing a side. “Okay! Okay! I surrender!” Marcus shouted, as most people had sided with you. “Drinks on you?” You ask, as the snowballs stall. “One round!” He shouts as everyone cheers, slowly clambering out from your trenches and over the tops, meeting with the others and heading to the pub.
Armistice.
Marcus threaded an arm around your waist and guided you to the pub, dragging you into a booth in the corner before paying for a round, bringing two drinks back with him. “Y’got plans over Christmas break?” He asked “dunno. Probably not” you reply with a shrug. “I’ve got a rugby match on Boxing Day if you fancy coming” he tells you and you cock your head and furrow your brows.
“You play rugby?” You ask and he nods “yeah it’s a good sport” “I know it is I just didn’t expect you to play it, muggle stuff n all that” you reply “it’s one of the few muggle things my parents legs me do” you nod “you fancy it?” “Yeah why not”
——
And somehow; you were stood in the freezing cold, scarf wrapped tight around your neck, hands in pockets while the whistle was blown. It was just a small local rugby club, you were stood near his parents as muddy boys scrimmaged along the pitch.
You’d formally met them that morning, shaking their hands as Marcus introduced you. It was odd, seeing his practically famous parents in ‘civvie’ clothes - muggle clothes. His dad was wearing a pair of jeans, hiking boots and a thick coat, woolly hat and glasses on his head, his mum wearing something similar. You told them your name and his mum just smiled “we know, he doesn’t shut up about you” and your eyes averted to Marcus whose face was heating up.
“What’s your background?” His father, Christopher had asked you and his wife smacked his chest. “Very long line of very magical people” you replied, weary of the muggles surrounding you and he nodded. “I’ve got some distant link to Slytherin apparently, but we’re going back centuries now” you told him “what’s your surname?” He asked and you told him, hearing a hum of approval as he recognised the family name.
He cracked a smile and patted you on the shoulder “c’mon then, youngen let’s watch some rugby”. Marcus had left to head onto the field, green and white striped jersey cladding his body, hair getting progressively more wet as a light rain decorated the air.
“Do you like rugby?” His mum asked you “to be fair I’ve never watched it. My dad likes football” you say “good man, I used to play myself when I was younger” his dad said. “I didn’t realise your family was so into… muggle stuff” you say and he shrugs “one of those things, I suppose. They have some good things.”
His mum pulled out a camera “like this” she said, messing with the buttons on the digital camera “oh my mums got a thing that lets you print out the photos you’ve taken” you tell her and her eyes light up “really?” “Yeah she likes stuff like that” “would you mind printing the pictures on here out for me?” She asks and you nod “yeah of course” she hands you the camera, showing you and her husband how it works as you see Marcus mess with the mouth guard protecting his gums.
A few pictures later, Marcus was jogging over to you post-match, with a crooked smile from the way his guard was suppressing his lips. “Did you like it?” He asked, leaning over the barrier “yeah it’s fun to watch” you tell him and he tries to lean and kiss you “no! You’re all muddy!” You protest but his dirtied hands grasp your waist as he places a kiss on your lips. “What a bloody joke” you huff, annoyed, trying to wipe yourself down. “Are you coming over for dinner?” His mum asked “oh am I invited?” “Yeah of course you are love” she says and you smile “then I’d love to.”
And later on that evening, you were both cuddled in front of his fire in an old armchair, head against his chest as you messed with the rings on his fingers “y’know what, you’re alright Marcus” you say and he laughs “not too bad yourself dove” he continues “don’t think I’m doing too bad at this boyfriend thing” “you’re not my boyfriend” you tell him “I’m not?” “No, you haven’t asked me.” “Oh I needed to ask?” He teases and you just nod “will you be my girlfriend?” “Yeah, alright then.”
Put your shoes on, love
Finn Shelby x Reader
Warnings: smut (choking, name calling)
Summary: Finn’s got flowers, you have needs, his brothers don’t help.
Request here
“Where you going with them Finn?” Arthur asked his brother, eyeing the comically large bouquet of flowers that the former was now attempting to hide behind his slender frame. “No where” he quickly blurts “with what?” “Yeah yeah sure” Arthur narrows his eyes with a smirk as the boy scurries off, nearly falling over his own feet.
Finn checks over his shoulders few times before throwing little pebbles at the top window of a terrace house. *tap* *tap* *tap* “OW” “shit sorry darling” you rubbed your forehead as you peeked outside your window. “I am sorry my love” he said, hand holding the bouquet with one hand and the other scratching the back of his neck guiltily. “You’re lucky you’re attractive Shelby or I’d be lobbing something at your head.” You said with a faux angry look on your face as he grins up at you.
“They better be for me” you say, nodding at the flowers behind his back “maybe. Guess you better come and see” he hums, pivoting from heel to toe as you shake your head with a grin. “Give me a minute” you say, shutting your window and padding your way down the stairs.
You open the door and jump into his arms as he drops the flowers to catch you, spinning you around and holding you in the air, hovering just above the cobbles as he looks at you lovingly. “You haven’t got shoes on” he says, matter of factly. And you squeak “can you carry me back in” “ah that’s gonna cost you” he says with a straight face and you get closer and whisper “Finn I have no money” he grins “lucky I don’t accept money, ain’t it?” He rests his forehead against yours “only kisses” and kisses your lips sweetly.
He takes wide steps into the doorway of your house as you comment “hope you don’t take kisses off anyone else” “course not sweetheart.” “Get my flowers.” “Yes, love” he steps back and grabs the bouquet, slamming the door behind him. “Don’t slam my bloody door” “sorry, love”
“Should I get my shoes?” You ask after decanting and repotting the, now slightly squished, flowers. “I have something I’d rather do” he said, walking you backward as you raise your brow with a giggle “what’s that, Shelby?” “You” he exclaims, throwing you over his shoulder as a squeal emits from your mouth.
Finn’s suspenders are slackened and his trousers are at his ankles; your skirt hitched above your waist as he grips at the pooling material to keep it out of his way “do you..” you take a gulping breath to keep up with his pace “want me..” “to get on top?” You ask and he smirks at you, shaking his head smugly “nah you just lay there and look pretty.. let me do all the work darlin” he tells you “actually, hold this for me” he passes the bunched up dress from his hands to yours to free his up, his hands going to your hips to angle them further upwards, prompting a groan from deep in your chest. He passed a hand around your throat to feel the vibrations of your sounds but his fingers tightening around the skin forced a deep, guttural moan out of your lips; an immeasurable pleasure stimulating at your core “Jesus you do like to be fucked like a slut.” He hisses “thought you were supposed to be all innocent, my innocent good girl” his words and deep thrusts overstimulated your mind and body, your chest arch upwards into him and off the bed “that’s it, cmon show me how much you want me-” *knock, knock, knock* his movements faltered and you whined “don’t stop for fucks sake-” *knock, knock, knock* “I think there’s someone at the door” Finn said “no shit” you reply with an angered snarl. “Get off me” you huff, pushing him off of you as he rolls onto the bed and you stand on wobbly legs. He grins victoriously and folds his fingers together and slots them behind his head to rest on as you stomp down the stairs.
“What?” You open the door angrily to see John and Arthur Shelby stood shoulder to shoulder in the frame. They raise their eyebrows in surprise at your angered and messed appearance and sharp tone, a hint of a smile on John’s lips. “Just wanted to let Finn know we’re all heading to the Garrison, love” Arthur said “and?” “Can you tell him, flower?” John asked nicely, “no, fuck off” you say as you try to shut the door but John places a foot in the way. “What’s got you so worked up, darling?” “We were a bit busy. I’ll send him later-” “send me where?” You all heard as he sauntered down the stairs “pub” you say in a sulk. They looked Finn up and down as his eyes widened at who the visitors at the door were. They shared a look as they took in his and your’s appearances. Your messed up hair and crinkled clothes that only seemed to iron out at the waist, Finn’s bare chest, suspenders around his waist, button done on his trousers but the zip down, a tent evident in his trousers - even missing a sock. “Oh!” Arthur said “our apologies” he said, but couldn’t form it completely due to his and John’s eruption of laughter. “You’re busy Finn, clearly.” John nodded, still chuckling. “So those flowers were for someone” Arthur suggested, on his tiptoes as he peered nosily into the house. “Look I was doing something-” Finn said, but you interrupted. “He was doing someone. Fuck off” you slammed the door “ruined my fucking orgasm” you cursed, grabbing the elastic of his loose suspender and dragging him back up the stairs as if on a leash.
“You’re gonna make me cum then you can go out. Do exactly what you were doing” you instruct, flopping dramatically onto the messed up bead spread with a bothered huff. He crossed his arms and leant against the door frame “and what exactly was I doing, Mrs?” He hums “choking me and calling me a slut.” He licks his lips at your bluntness, rushing over and climbing back on top of you. You look up at him with angry, wide, doe eyes as he teases you with the tip and ghostly his hand around your neck, tracing your jaw line as if the essence of a sketch “Fuck me Finn”.
About fifteen minutes later, Finn opened the door to see his brothers leant against the wall, smoking, clearly waiting for him. They looked at him, neck purple with kiss-infused bruises and licking his palm to flatten his hair, tucking his shirt into his trousers. “Want to tie your shoelace?” Arthur asked and Finn rolled his eyes and squatted to do so, as John peered into the house to see you, much calmer, at the foot of the stairs. “You coming love?” Arthur asked “am I invited?” You asked, slightly surprised.
“Get your shoes on, love”
Post Show Pleazures (Twizted Bliss) - Rockstar!Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
[Bradley Bradshaw x reader, rooster x reader]
Summary: your band was performing as DaggeR 1’s warmup act on their world tour; a group significantly younger than the Nu metal heads - and Rooster thought he could handle having you around, could handle his own hard on’s. But you’re a month in and Manchester proves otherwise.
Warnings: smut, age gap relationship 35//24, degradation, p in v, no protection, oral (m receiving), begging, basically Roo being a perv
This was originally about Munky from Korn, but it didn’t do well so if you’re into Korn maybe check out the original here
Rooster was a respectful guy, he’s midway through his umpteenth fucking world tour for God’s sake, a grown ass man. He kept his distance, stayed way back, promised himself he wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable; only a young thing after all.
It was all fun and games until it came time for the bands to be introduced to one another. DaggeR 1 had sit in their studio and their manager had put on your music for them all to listen to before they agreed to anything, just like them - a Nu metal mashup with screaming and incoherency every now and then. And they had to admit, you could fucking sing.
And then it was organised, the posters printed, the ads sent out - Twizted Blizter would front for DaggeR 1 in their upcoming tour, formally meeting the week prior in order to get all your affairs straight. “I’m telling you dude she’s real good” Jake said, pushing open the door to the studio as himself and Rooster discussed you.
Rooster stopped in his tracks when he was faced with a young woman with her hands on her hips, stood like some undead Avril Lavigne, smoky eyeshadow, pierced brow, sharp dark nails and this stupid shit eating smirk that he could kiss off your face- wait what?
“Hey! This is the band I was telling you guys about!” Jake introduced you all to each member of the band, Rooster’s eyes lingering on you a little more than necessary. And as you shook his hand and your tongue protruded to wet your blackened lips, teeth bared as you grinned up at him and voice a hell of a lot softer than he expected judging on your voice’s ability to warp into some hellish chant. “It’s a pleasure to meet you” you say meekly, nails scratching his skin slightly as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from your own. “You’ve got rhythm” he tells you and you smile again, appreciatively “that’s what they all say” you reply with a wink. He hadn’t a chance to compute that underlying meaning that sentence suggested, before you shook Coyote’s hand.
“Y’ wanna watch the band?” Coyote asked, walking out of his dressing room; beer in hand. Rooster looked at him and shrugged. “Alright man” your set had already started, band already getting into their stride as the beat gyrated through the venue’s flooring. Rooster took a swig from the bottle as he watched you throw profanities into the mic; hair frazzled around your head, makeup running, sweat dripping off your body, nails digging into your thighs and creating crescent shaped indentations beginning to leak with blood as you scraped them up your skin like a satanic tattoo artist.
Rooster barely made it through the first song before he had to force his way back to the bathrooms, just to rub one out before the show - angrily cursing himself as he hated the way he thought about you, the way you carried yourself, the way he could have you. You were over a decade younger than him and this was disgusting. But as he climaxed and moaned out your name, it felt so goddamn right.
“Mr Bradshaw?” He heard from behind him as he prepared for his own set, head still foggy. He turned to see you staring up at him through your lashes, fingers on one hand fiddling with the index nail on the other, nervously chewing your lip. He gulped at the way you called him. “Yeah hun?” He found himself saying, like some pensioner talking to the teenage intern at the nutcase ward. “Did you like our set?” You asked him, tone dripping with nerves. “Holy fuck yeah it sure was good” he tells you with a smile “really?” Your face lit up as you took a step forward and he certainly didn’t step back. “Yeah. Damn good singer you are.” He tells you and you giggle giddily. “Thank you” you tell him, appreciatively. “I really look up to you as an artist, Mr Bradshaw.” You tell him, honestly. And he almost can’t help but think your honey-laced words are fakery for the horny shit you were doing ten minutes ago. “You do?” He found himself asking, dreamily. Get your shit together, man. You nodded in response. “It’s an honour to be working with you and your band.” You say with a child-like grin, your eyes darting down and up again as fast as they had. “Best of luck for your set.” You said, taking a sip of water. “Not that you need it” you tell him, pivoting and walking in the other direction.
Rooster sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face, seeing his flustered reflection in the mirror across from him, distracted by the obvious wet patch on his trousers. Did you see that? Shit.
And that’s how it went for the rest of the North America tour. You’d play, he’d rub one out, and then he’d head to the stage already dripping in sweat as he’d see your eyes watching him tentatively.
It was on the way to the UK tour when the two bands were mingling on the plane, Rooster excusing himself to get a drink and walking past your group. He looked at your face, sleeping soundly in the arms of your drummer who looked like a shitty Travis Barker wannabe, who raised an eyebrow at Rooster and smirked.
He felt his nostrils flare as he walked on, having to force himself to walk past the two of you again only to see not-Travis stroking your hair and pushing it out of your face and Rooster could tell it was clearly for his benefit. He felt a twisting pang of jealously in his chest as whatshisface threaded a hand under your thighs to pull you closer. Rooster just shook his head and walked back to his seat.
God this is so fucking wrong.
Manchester, England. Ironically where your band formed so you knew exactly where all the best bars were in the area - and as usual, your band was on before DaggeR 1 - your expression hazy and dazed as you blared into the microphone, clawing at your own skin with such desperation Rooster so wished you’d take out on him. And of course, he had to have his inaugural trip to a more private area to sort out his predicament before anyone saw the boner he was nursing.
In his dressing room, he sat palming at the obvious tent in his pants. Cursing himself as he urged his cock for some sort of relief, moaning your name reiteratively like some sort of sickened chant. “Mr Bradshaw?” He heard your voice from the door as you looked at him with widened, evidently startled eyes. “Shit! I-” he began before you slammed the door behind you, him hearing a “sorry!” Squeaked from you and he rushed to pull his pants up and sprint for the door, grabbing your wrist before you could go anywhere. “Did you hear that?” He asked and you gulped with a slight nod. “Shit I’m so sorry-” he began as you pulled your hand away “I didn’t mean to interrupt-” “you must think I’m such a pervert.” He says, running his hands through his hair. “Look I’m so fucking sorry, you must think I’m a real creep, I’m so much older than you and I’m rubbing one out after your sets and it’s disgusting and-” he rants. “Mr Bradshaw” you cut him off and he looks at you. “It’s ok.” You say and he raises his brows. “It is?” You nod “it is perverted but it’s okay cause I get off to you too-” you say honestly and he grunts involuntarily. “You what?” “You heard me” you reply and he grits his jaw. “I can help you Mr Bradshaw-” “shit” he swears and drags you back into his dressing room, making sure to shut the door tightly and pushing you against it.
“Are you okay with what I’m ’bouta do to you?” He asks and you consent “I’m a grown ass woman Mr Bradshaw” you say “I’m okay with it” “shit call me that again” “Mr Bradshaw?” He groans “yeah that” “Mr Bradshaw” his knees go weak and he slinks back onto his couch with a groan, watching you sink to your knees as you undo his pants and palming him through his boxers. “Please forgive me I’m so disgusting” he says, as you take him into your hand “I’m a filthy pervert” he breathes as you lick a stripe up the bottom of his cock “you’re too pure for a sick old man like me” he says, as your head begins to bob “I don’t deserve this.” He says, embarrassed how quickly he was building up to his orgasm “please make me cum” he begs as you hollow out your cheeks and he shoots cum into the back of your throat, throwing his head back as he watches you swallow his cum through hooded eyelids.
“Shit” he groans as he pulls you forward as he stands up, laying you on your back on the couch “how much do you like these pants?” He asks and you shrug as he uses a decent deal of effort to rip the flimsy material along with your underwear. “They were expensive though-” you sigh “shit I’m sorry. I should’ve checked, I’m such a sleaze. So desperate for you. I’ll take you shopping, I sound like some goddamn sugar daddy-” “Bradley, it’s okay.” You tell him and he groans pathetically as he sinks into you, your arms reaching around his neck as he peppers kisses onto your stage-sweated face. “M sorry. ‘M such a perv.” He reiterates again and again and you shut him up by kissing him firmly on the lips and clawing your sharp nails into his back.
“You are a perv” you breathe “‘nd this shouldn’t feel right” you agree and he cries out “I look up to you” you say “and I’m letting you down” he groans, feeling you hook your legs around his waist. “But I can’t stop it’s so good” he moans as he cums inside of you, watching your face contort in pleasure as you came moments after. “Shit I came inside of you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” “you’re good” you breathe with a smile, catching your breath as he pulls out of you and provides you with an oversized pair of khakis in lieu of your trousers in odder to accommodate the lack there of, collecting himself and looking at you, hands delicately reaching up to cradle your face as he looks you over, touch so gentle as if you were an antique doll. “M sorry you’re too good for me. He says, kissing your forehead. “It’s okay Mr Bradshaw, I liked it.” He groaned as you kissed his palm and leant into his touch.
“Oh Mr Bradshaw, I made your back bleed” you say, eyes full of concern as a drop of blood seeps onto your thumb. He takes your hand in his and licks the blood off your thumb “good I deserve to be punished.” He says, walking you backward until your back hit the door, leaning against it and effectively trapping you on it as he leans down to pepper your lips with hot open mouth kisses. “M such a pervert”
“Two minutes, Rooster” you heard from beyond the door as he moaned, frustrated. “You’ll be great, Mr Bradshaw. Like you always are” you tell him, eyes full of pride. “And I’ll be in here when you’re done” you promise and he whimpers “make sure you don’t have the pants on” he says, before smacking his own head “asshole” he curses himself as you open the door “go be great, Rooster” you say as he walks over the threshold. “Don’t you want a shirt?” You ask and he walks away with a bleeding back “nah they can watch me bleed knownin’ it was you, princess” he says, thrusting his hands into his hair as he cursed himself for being such a crude and corruptive son of a bitch.
And he cried and fucked you all over again once the show was done, feeling every bit guilty- but not really.
And in the following show, Leeds, he sat through your whole set and as soon as you walked off stage, he picked you up at the waist and slung you over his shoulder, marching running to his dressing room not really taking care as to who sees, offering a cocky look to your drummer as you head past him. “Pervert” he says under his voice “hell yeah I am!” He shouts with a holler as he licked the exposed skin on your upper thigh, “and she’s gonna fuck me and call me names until I feel so guilty I cry!” slamming the door shut behind the two of you.
Post Show Pleazures (Twizted Bliss)
James “Munky” Shaffer x rockstar!reader
[Munky x Reader , korn x reader, female reader!, James Shaffer x reader]
Summary: your band was performing as koRn’s warmup act on their world tour; a group significantly younger than the Nu metal heads - and Munky thought he could handle having you around, could handle his own hard on’s. But you’re a month in and Manchester proves otherwise.
Warnings: smut, age gap relationship 35//24, degradation, p in v, no protection, oral (m receiving), begging, basically Munk being a perv
Munky was a respectful guy, he’s midway through his umpteenth fucking world tour for God’s sake, a grown ass man. He kept his distance, stayed way back, promised himself he wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable; only a young thing after all.
This was meant to be your big break, Twizted Blizter’s way to get into the lime light, and seeing as Jon had supported your band from day dot when he first heard the rendition of Nu Metal, he was more than happy to suggest your crew to warm up the crowds for Korn.
It was all fun and games until it came time for the bands to be introduced to one another. Korn had sit in their studio and their manager had put on your music for them all to listen to before they agreed to anything, just like them - a Nu metal mashup with screaming and incoherency every now and then. And they had to admit, you could fucking sing.
And then it was organised, the posters printed, the ads sent out - Twizted Blizter would front for Korn in their upcoming tour, formally meeting the week prior in order to get all your affairs straight. “I’m telling you dude she’s real good” Jon said, pushing open the door to the studio as himself and Munky discussed you.
Munky stopped in his tracks when he was faced with a young woman with her hands on her hips, stood like some undead Avril Lavigne, smoky eyeshadow, pierced brow, sharp dark nails and this stupid shit eating smirk that he could kiss off your face- wait what?
“Hey! This is the band I was telling you guys about!” Jonathan introduced you all to each member of the band, Munky’s eyes lingering on you a little more than necessary. And as you shook his hand and your tongue protruded to wet your blackened lips, teeth bared as you grinned up at him and voice a hell of a lot softer than he expected judging on your voice’s ability to warp into some hellish chant. “It’s a pleasure to meet you” you say meekly, nails scratching his skin slightly as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from your own. “You’ve got rhythm” he tells you and you smile again, appreciatively “that’s what they all say” you reply with a wink. He hadn’t a chance to compute that underlying meaning that sentence suggested, before you shook Head’s hand.
“Y’ wanna watch the band?” Head asked, walking out of his dressing room; beer in hand. Munky looked at him and shrugged. “Alright man” your set had already started, band already getting into their stride as the beat gyrated through the venue’s flooring. Munky took a swig from the bottle as he watched you throw profanities into the mic; hair frazzled around your head, makeup running, sweat dripping off your body, nails digging into your thighs and creating crescent shaped indentations beginning to leak with blood as you scraped them up your skin like a satanic tattoo artist.
Munky barely made it through the first song before he had to force his way back to the bathrooms, just to rub one out before the show - angrily cursing himself as he hated the way he thought about you, the way you carried yourself, the way he could have you. You were over a decade younger than him and this was disgusting. But as he climaxed and moaned out your name, it felt so goddamn right.
“Mr Shaffer?” He heard from behind him as he prepared for his own set, head still foggy. He turned to see you staring up at him through your lashes, fingers on one hand fiddling with the index nail on the other, nervously chewing your lip. He gulped at the way you called him. “Yeah hun?” He found himself saying, like some pensioner talking to the teenage intern at the nutcase ward. “Did you like our set?” You asked him, tone dripping with nerves. “Holy fuck yeah it sure was good” he tells you with a smile “really?” Your face lit up as you took a step forward and he certainly didn’t step back. “Yeah. Damn good singer you are.” He tells you and you giggle giddily. “Thank you” you tell him, appreciatively. “I really look up to you as an artist, Mr Shaffer.” You tell him, honestly. And he almost can’t help but think your honey-laced words are fakery for the horny shit you were doing ten minutes ago. “You do?” He found himself asking, dreamily. Get your shit together, man. You nodded in response. “It’s an honour to be working with you and your band.” You say with a child-like grin, your eyes darting down and up again as fast as they had. “Best of luck for your set.” You said, taking a sip of water. “Not that you need it” you tell him, pivoting and walking in the other direction.
Munky sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face, seeing his flustered reflection in the mirror across from him, distracted by the obvious wet patch on his trousers. Did you see that? Shit.
And that’s how it went for the rest of the North America tour. You’d play, he’d rub one out, and then he’d head to the stage already dripping in sweat as he’d see your eyes watching him tentatively.
It was on the way to the UK tour when the two bands were mingling on the plane, Munky excusing himself to get a drink and walking past your group. He looked at your face, sleeping soundly in the arms of your drummer who looked like a shitty Travis Barker wannabe, who raised an eyebrow at Munky and smirked.
He felt his nostrils flare as he walked on, having to force himself to walk past the two of you again only to see not-Travis stroking your hair and pushing it out of your face and Munky could tell it was clearly for his benefit. He felt a twisting pang of jealously in his chest as whatshisface threaded a hand under your thighs to pull you closer. Munky just shook his head and walked back to his seat.
God this is so fucking wrong.
Manchester, England. Ironically where your band formed so you knew exactly where all the best bars were in the area - and as usual, your band was on before Korn - your expression hazy and dazed as you blared into the microphone, clawing at your own skin with such desperation Munky so wished you’d take out on him. And of course, he had to have his inaugural trip to a more private area to sort out his predicament before anyone saw the boner he was nursing.
In his dressing room, he sat palming at the obvious tent in his pants. Cursing himself as he urged his cock for some sort of relief, moaning your name reiteratively like some sort of sickened chant. “Mr Shaffer?” He heard your voice from the door as you looked at him with widened, evidently started eyes. “Shit! I-” he began before you slammed the door behind you, him hearing a “sorry!” Squeaked from you and he rushed to pull his pants up and sprint for the door, grabbing your wrist before you could go anywhere. “Did you hear that?” He asked and you gulped with a slight nod. “Shit I’m so sorry-” he began as you pulled your hand away “I didn’t mean to interrupt-” “you must think I’m such a pervert.” He says, running his hands through his hair. “Look I’m so fucking sorry, you must think I’m a real creep, I’m so much older than you and I’m rubbing one out after your sets and it’s disgusting and-” he rants. “Mr Shaffer” you cut him off and he looks at you. “It’s ok.” You say and he raises his brows. “It is?” You nod “it is perverted but it’s okay cause I get off to you too-” you say honestly and he grunts involuntarily. “You what?” “You heard me” you reply and he grits his jaw. “I can help you Mr Shaffer-” “shit” he swears and drags you back into his dressing room, making sure to shut the door tightly and pushing you against it.
“Are you okay with what I’m ’bouta do to you?” He asks and you consent “I’m a grown ass woman Mr Shaffer” you say “I’m okay with it” “shit call me that again” “Mr Shaffer?” He groans “yeah that” “Mr Shaffer” his knees go weak and he slinks back onto his couch with a groan, watching you sink to your knees as you undo his pants and palming him through his boxers. “Please forgive me I’m so disgusting” he says, as you take him into your hand “I’m a filthy pervert” he breathes as you lick a stripe up the bottom of his cock “you’re too pure for a sick old man like me” he says, as your head begins to bob “I don’t deserve this.” He says, embarrassed how quickly he was building up to his orgasm “please make me cum” he begs as you hollow out your cheeks and he shoots cum into the back of your throat, throwing his head back as he watches you swallow his cum through hooded eyelids.
“Shit” he groans as he pulls you forward as he stands up, laying you on your back on the couch “how much do you like these pants?” He asks and you shrug as he uses a decent deal of effort to rip the flimsy material along with your underwear. “They were expensive though-” you sigh “shit I’m sorry. I should’ve checked, I’m such a sleaze. So desperate for you. I’ll take you shopping, I sound like some goddamn sugar daddy-” “James, it’s okay.” You tell him and he groans pathetically as he sinks into you, your arms reaching around his neck as he peppers kisses onto your stage-sweated face. “M sorry. ‘M such a perv.” He reiterates again and again and you shut him up by kissing him firmly on the lips and clawing your sharp nails into his back.
“You are a perv” you breathe “‘nd this shouldn’t feel right” you agree and he cries out “I look up to you” you say “and I’m letting you down” he groans, feeling you hook your legs around his waist. “But I can’t stop it’s so good” he moans as he cums inside of you, watching your face contort in pleasure as you came moments after. “Shit I came inside of you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” “you’re good” you breathe with a smile, catching your breath as he pulls out of you and provides you with an oversized pair of khakis in lieu of your trousers in odder to accommodate the lack there of, collecting himself and looking at you, hands delicately reaching up to cradle your face as he looks you over, touch so gentle as if you were an antique doll. “M sorry you’re too good for me. He says, kissing your forehead. “It’s okay Mr Shaffer, I liked it.” He groaned as you kissed his palm and leant into his touch.
“Oh Mr Shaffer, I made your back bleed” you say, eyes full of concern as a drop of blood seeps onto your thumb. He takes your hand in his and licks the blood off your thumb “good I deserve to be punished.” He says, walking you backward until your back hit the door, leaning against it and effectively trapping you on it as he leans down to pepper your lips with hot open mouth kisses. “M such a pervert”
“Two minutes, Munky” you heard from beyond the door as he moaned, frustrated. “You’ll be great, Mr Shaffer. Like you always are” you tell him, eyes full of pride. “And I’ll be in here when you’re done” you promise and he whimpers “make sure you don’t have the pants on” he says, before smacking his own head “asshole” he curses himself as you open the door “go be great, Munky” you say as he walks over the threshold. “Don’t you want a shirt?” You ask and he walks away with a bleeding back “nah they can watch me bleed knownin’ it was you, princess” he says, thrusting his hands into his dreads as he cursed himself for being such a crude and corruptive son of a bitch.
And he cried and fucked you all over again once the show was done, feeling every bit guilty- but not really.
And in the following show, Leeds, he sat through your whole set and as soon as you walked off stage, he picked you up at the waist and slung you over his shoulder, marching running to his dressing room not really taking care as to who sees, offering a cocky look to your drummer as you head past him. “Pervert” he says under his voice “hell yeah I am!” He shouts with a holler as he licked the exposed skin on your upper thigh, “and she’s gonna fuck me and call me names until I feel so guilty I cry!” slamming the door shut behind the two of you.
“koRn Masterlist”
Jonathan Davis🌽
->“Blue Ballin’” - Korn is a huge band now, he can have anyone he wants. But none of them are you, are they?
Brian “head” Welch👤
James “Munky” Shaffer🙊
->“Post Show Pleazures (Twizted Bliss)” - your band was performing as koRn’s warmup act on their world tour; a group significantly younger than the Nu metal heads - and Munky thought he could handle having you around, could handle his own hard on’s. But you’re a month in and Manchester proves otherwise.