#please tell me tattoos you think he has I’d love to hear them

[vague-bisexual-crimes]

Tattoos that Lister Bird has in my head, an incomplete list:

1. The Harry Styles butterfly tattoo

2. “Modernity has failed us” tattoo (I’ve been listening to Love It If We Made It, sue me)

3. Take Me to Church “born sick” tattoo because of this like ficlet I wrote in February that will never see the light of day but I stand by the tattoo

[babydollmarauders]

CANDY CANE KISSES — TREVOR ZEGRAS

trevor zegras x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Trevor has a unique use for all the candy canes y/n buys

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, nipple play, food play, p in v (unprotected), i think that’s all? (3.2k words)

notes: welcome to day 2 of the 12 days of kinkmas! this was my first time writing smut for trevor and i won’t lie; it was hard!

“this is getting out of hand.”

my eyes fly up to the kitchen entrance, Trevor’s tall frame looming in the doorway. his golden brown hair is tousled as though he’s just woken up, yet i know he’s been awake for hours.

“i didn’t think you were home yet.” i murmur, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, and my fiancé chuckles as he steps fully into the kitchen.

“i’ve been home for an hour, i was about to call and ask where you were-” his eyes flicker to the shopping bag that rests on the counter before he looks back at me with a raised brow. “but i guess now i know.”

i externally cringe, my mind racing as i try and come up with an excuse.

“i- okay- hear me out!” my hand floats in the air in front of my chest, in attempt to keep him from chastising me.

“oh, i’d love to hear this excuse.” Trevor smirks, sidling over to lean back against the counter. his hands grip the countertop behind him and for a moment my eyes linger there, tracing the veins that lead up to his tattooed arm, until i regain consciousness and remember what i was doing.

“they were buy one get one free! and there’s so many different flavors!”

Trevor’s head tips back, chin towards the ceiling as he lets out a groan.

“baby, you have ten boxes of candy canes in our cupboards!” he states, hand flying up as though to dramatically display our kitchen cupboards.

“twelve.” i mumble, my voice low as i stare at the ground.

“twelve?!” he steps forward, arms winding around my waist as he blocks my view of our tile floor. “look at me, please.”

his soft tone draws my head up, looking into his blue eyes as i exaggerate a pout.

“no more candy canes.” he emphasizes each word, “please!”

i nod solemnly before resting my chin on his chest, giving him the best puppy dog eyes i can muster.

“how many boxes did you buy today?” Trevor questions, bowing his head down to drop his forehead to mine.

“four.” i whisper, the lower half of my face rising to chase his lips. my nose accidentally brushes against his and he repeats the action with intent.

“that’s too many, babe.” he urges, “no more.”

my lips part but i get no word out before he reads my mind, answering my question.

“not even after christmas when they’re discounted.”

i huff in exaggerated disappointment, stepping away from my fiancé to pull the boxes of hard candy from the grocery bag on the granite countertop.

i’m mostly silent as i do so, except for the hyperbolic sigh that passes my lips, my sight flickering to Trevor every few seconds. he bites back a grin, hopping up to sit on the counter across from me before he speaks.

“alright,” he drags out, clicking his tongue against his teeth before he adds- “what flavors did ya get?”

i perk up, the corners of my lips quirking up.

“i got warhead, jolly rancher, sour patch kid, and mint chocolate!” i sing out, holding up each one as i tell him.

“they sound delicious, babe.”

i internally cheer at his approval as i open the candy cupboard, stuffing the four boxes anywhere i can fit them. i take a mental note of the few missing candy canes from a box of original peppermint flavor, taking pride in knowing Trevor has at least indulged in a couple of my holiday obsession.

“can we watch a movie?” i ask, pushing the cupboard closed while i spin around to face my fiancé.

“is it a christmas movie?”

“yes…”

“is it a hallmark movie?” he inquires cautiously, eyes narrowed towards me.

“it doesn’t have to be.” i shrug, shoving the plastic grocery bag under the sink with the others.

“then yes.”

***

Trevor’s t-shirt hangs around my body, the hem tickling my upper thigh, and fuzzy socks adorn my feet.

we ate dinner and watched two more movies before calling it a night, and now i stand at our bathroom counter washing my face and waiting for my fiancé to come upstairs.

i can hear his footsteps entering on the tile floor of our bathroom as i cup my hands under the faucet, filling them with water and washing the cleanser from my face.

i’m drying my face when his arms encircle my waist, his chin coming down to rest on my shoulder.

“hi, beautiful.” his voice is gruff and i can sense a hint of lust that makes me chuckle.

“hi, baby.” i set the towel back down on the counter, opening my eyes to our reflections staring back at me.

meeting his eyes in the mirror, my hands come down to rub soothingly along his arms. his grip relaxes, loosening around me for a moment before spinning me in his arms.

the small of my back hits against the counter, his hands smacking onto it on either side of me, caging me in.

“whatcha doing?” i giggle. my own hands find his chest, smoothing up to lock around the back of his neck.

“looking at my gorgeous future wife.” his response makes me hum, his face lowering towards mine before he speaks again, this time lower, “thinking about how much i wanna fuck her right here in front of this mirror. how sexy she would look; watching as i make her come on my cock.”

his words ignite a pulse between my legs, my breathing picking up just slightly.

“oh yeah?” i bite my lip, angling my hips to press against his.

“mhm.” he hums, bending down just a bit more so his lips brush against mine, and my heart skips a beat in excitement. “but, that’ll have to happen another time.”

my mood deflates as he steps away, backing away towards the doorway to our bedroom.

“oh.” my shoulders sag, my lips flattening into a straight line, and i watch him stop at the doorway.

“well, c’mon.” he urges, crooking his finger at me. “i have plans for you.”

the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk and i bite back a giddy smile as i follow him into our bedroom. his hands reach out to pull at my hips, his fingers digging into my skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he doesn’t stop until i’m flush against him.

“i had an idea-”

“oh that’s never good.” he rolls his eyes at my interruption, but a smile still tugs at his lips.

“shh, i think you’ll like it.”

his lips meet mine, our noses bumping in the movement, and my lips instinctively part, making way for his tongue to dart into my mouth and tangle with my own.

one hand sliding up to curl around and rest at the base of my neck, he groans when mine give a light tug to his locks. his hips jerk against mine, coaxing a hushed moan from deep within my throat and into his mouth.

he pulls away, looking into my eyes, his own darkened with lust, before he turns and walks away, leaving me breathless and needy.

“what-” i’m cut off with a hurried shush, my lips almost unconsciously falling shut.

“naked and on the bed.” his broken sentence echoes through my mind once, twice, three times before i register his command. making quick work as he walks out of the bedroom.

my fuzzy socks are easily slipped off my feet, panties dragged down my thighs, before finally, i pull the oversized t-shirt over my head, letting the various fabrics mingle together in a pile on the floor.

my movements are clumsy and hastened as i clamber onto the bed, sitting pretty on my knees atop the mattress.

Trevor returns with a cup in his hands, piquing my interest, but when i begin to rise in order to see over the top of the cup, i’m shut down by a single lifted eyebrow.

i heave out a sigh, falling back down to the mattress with a dejected pout.

“thought of a way to put your new fixation to use.” he hums, setting the cup on the nightstand, and it’s then that i spot what’s inside.

the cup is filled with ice, and nestled just inside, buried within the ice, is a single unwrapped peppermint candy cane.

“i’m confused.” i voice, brows furrowed.

“just sit down and close your eyes.”

i do as he says, shifting so my legs hang off the edge of the mattress, my ass now sitting on the blanket. closing my eyes, i lean back on my hands, full trust in the man that i’ll be vowing forever to in just a few short months.

time ticks idly by with nothing happening, and i’m almost beginning to wonder if Trevor has left me alone when i finally feel his hot breath hovering over my nipple.

shivers erupt through my body, goosebumps littering my flesh in their wake, and my head falls back as his lips close around the stiffened bud. his tongue swirls around it, eliciting a choked sound from my lips, and i can feel him smirk against my breast.

he pulls back, sucking my nipple with him between his lips before letting it go with a pop, and my hips involuntarily jerk on the bed at his retreat, a whimper echoing in the silence.

i’m rewarded with a gentle shush, simultaneously combined with an icy cold substance being dragged around my nipple. my back arches, breasts pushed forward as i gasp.

my eyes fly open, darting down to find the source of the chill and discovering my fiancé on his knees, the previously ice-bound candy cane in his grasp, leaving a cold sticky trail along my nipple.

“T-Trevor.” i stutter out. his eyes flick up to mine, a smirk resting on his lips as he pulls the candy cane away, replacing it with his open mouth.

i curse, my arms shaking behind me as my eyes roll back. his tongue explores every detail of the hard peak in his mouth, suckling as his free hand finds my other breast, roughly pinching the nipple, before trailing the cold candy cane around that one.

my hips grind against mattress with every flick of his tongue, and when he switches his heated mouth to the other breast, he moans against it, the vibrations against my nipple causing a full body jerk.

“Trevor, please.” i plead. for what? i’m unsure, but he seems to know; he pulls back, rolling my nipple between his lips before letting it go.

his hand comes to rest on my sternum, slowly pushing me until my back lays against the soft bedding. he swirls the candy around my breasts, stickiness coating my skin, before i can hear the clink of the candy cane being shoved back into the ice.

he rises, hovering over my body before dipping down, sucking at the sticky candy trails of his own doing.

my hips buck up against his, urging him to hold them against the mattress as he continues sucking across my chest. his lips drag along the sticky residue, his tongue darting out to lick across my nipple.

my breath catches in my throat as i can feel the early signs of my orgasm building in my stomach, but i’m left gasping for air as it fades away, Trevor’s mouth parting from my heated skin in order for him to pull the candy cane back from the ice cup.

my abdomen clenches as the candy cane makes contact, being dragged down down my stomach from my sternum. Trevor hovers above me with a mischievous smirk, taking pride in the way my body writhes underneath him.

when he finally puts the frozen candy away, his tongue drags down my body, his eyes locked into mine, glaring up at me with heated fervor.

as my body tenses under his tongue, a whimper draws from my slackened jaw, my fingers tangling into his hair and giving a harsh tug.

he groans against me, vibrations carrying over my tight muscles and sending chills down my spine, but his movement doesn’t falter; instead, he trails down even further, pressing short kisses to my hip bones and along my waistline.

“Trev-” my voice shakes, coming out in breathy quivers as he dips lower, his hot breath hitting against my dripping core.

“what do you want, baby?” his gentle pet name is an extreme contrast to the harsh tone of his voice.

“you,” i grapple with his shirt, tugging him up until his face is above mine, his nose drags up my jawline, my eyes fluttering closed, “god- i need you.”

“you’ve got me, baby.” i can practically hear his smile, the mocking lilt in his tone.

“inside me,” i clarify, my head falling back to dig deeper into the soft bedding as his soft lips attach to my neck. “i need you inside me.”

he pulls away, my eyes flying open at the sudden departure, “oh, you need my cock.”

his hands grip my hips, pulling me forward as he grinds against my core, a sharp inward gasp falling from my lips.

“you want this cock buried so deep inside that pretty pussy, don’t you?” Trevor hums, a mocking smirk resting on his lips when i whine out an agreement. “yeah, you want it so bad that you’re fucking dripping. so wet for me.”

“yes, yes,” i pant out, hips bucking up in search of his hardened bulge, “all for you.”

he snickers as he steps back, my lower body falling back against the mattress and a long complaining whine leaving me. i watch in ernest as his hands drop to the button of his jeans, undoing them and pushing them down his legs along with his boxers, putting his muscular thighs on full display. his erection springs free, nearly slapping against his clothed abdomen, and my thighs press together at the sight of his reddened tip, glistening with precum.

he grins at my reaction, his eyes zeroing in on my clenched thighs as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“open those thighs for me, pretty girl.” his hands smooth up my legs, prying them apart until they’re wide open, my cunt on display for his viewing.

“look at that pretty pussy,” my body jolts as his fingers do a quick swipe through my soaked folds, a broken moan pouring through my lips.

“please,” i mewl, “i need you you to fuck me.”

his hands wander my body, sliding up to cup my breasts as he stands between my open thighs.

“yeah?” he cocks his head, wrapping a hand around the base of his length. he drags it slowly through my folds, applying added pressure when he reaches my clit.

my back arches, my chest heaving as he slides his dick back down to my entrance.

“yes! please!” my cries bounce off the walls as he slides in, each inch slowly being swallowed by my walls.

he groans, head tipping back as he bottoms out inside of me. he stills, allowing me a moment to adjust, before pulling completely out and thrusting back in.

the position provides the perfect angle, the tip of his cock hitting against my g-spot with every thrust. my body wriggles underneath him, his hands making a home on my hips, gripping tightly enough that i’m sure bruises will form overnight.

“Trevor.” i breathe out, my hands coming up to lock around the back of his neck. i pull him down, lips connecting in a passionate exchange, and when he pulls away, i line kisses up his jaw.

each kiss is jilted by a sensual moan; finally reaching the shell of his ear, he thrusts in particularly hard, a high pitched gasp erupting from my lips that ghost his ear, and i can feel his cheek lift against mine in a cocky grin.

“you wanna come, don’t you, baby?” he speaks through strained vocal chords, his thrusts gaining momentum and his hips slapping against mine harshly.

“mhm.” i nod against him, my agreement hummed against his skin.

“yeah, i know you do.” he pulls his face away in order to stand up taller, pulling my hips off the mattress to provide a deeper angle. “dirty little slut wants to make a mess on my cock.”

my eyes roll back in my head, my hands gripping the sheets as he his cock slams against the soft spongey spot that makes my legs shake.

i can feel my orgasm building up once more, my abdomen tightening. his hand slides down to smack against my ass, the resounding sound enough to make him moan, before sliding around to press his thumb to my clit.

one hand flies up to grip his forearm shakily, my hips jerking to meet his, and the squelch of his cock sliding in and out of my cunt throws me deeper into the throes of my impending climax.

my head is fuzzy, tears pooling in my eyes, and my body aching with need for release. broken sobs begin to shake my body, his thumb rubbing deep circles against my swollen bud.

“so close,” i cry, “please don’t stop! please!”

“not gonna stop, baby.” he whispers, “you’ve been such a good girl. wish you could see yourself, all pretty and fucked out for me.”

my walls tighten around him, sweat beading at my hairline as i get closer and closer to release.

“cum for me, baby.” he demands. his cock twitches inside of me, thrusts growing sloppy with each passing second.

with one more circle of my puffy clit, my breath hitches, my body stiffening but my legs shaking as my toes curl.

he fucks into me, riding me through my orgasm until i begin to breathe heavy pants, my hips squirming in his touch.

his hips stutter, his movements growing desperate until he falters, stilling between my legs as his cum spurts out in ropes, coating my walls, “shit, fuck.”

he stays buried inside of me, standing in silence as we each catch up on forgotten breaths.

“i’m sticky.” i sigh, causing his eyes to open in order to look at the glistening candy cane residue on my upper body.

“would ya look at that,” he slides out of me, chuckling while bending down to scoop his arms under my back. he lifts me with an ease that i couldn’t imagine myself having after the activity we just partook in.

my breasts stick to his chest as he walks me to the bathroom lazily. grinning, he sets me down on the edge of the bathtub, my skin peeling away from his with a satisfying sound.

“how does a bath sound?”

“sounds like a lot of extra work after i already washed my face, you asshole.” i joke, kicking a foot at his bare thigh.

he let’s out a wheezy laugh as he turns on the hot bath water before turning back to me, his hands pushing sweaty locks of hair out of my face before gently cupping my cheeks.

“you’re so beautiful,” his words cause a rush of blood towards my cheeks, my hands coming up to rest on his forearms.

“shhh bath first. and then tell me how pretty i am,” he laughs once more, shaking his head.

“have i ever told you how conceited you are?” he hums, crinkling his nose as he lowers to press a kiss to my forehead.

“you love it.” i shrug, puckering my lips for a real kiss.

he squats lower, nose nudging against mine, “yeah, i do.”

[themultifandomgal]

Mark Sloan- Try Again Pt3

“Morning” Mer says walking up to me with Lexie smiling

“Morning” I sigh feeling sick to my stomach

“Everything ok?”

“Just morning sickness. Whoever decided to call it morning sickness is a dick. It’s all day sickness for me” Mark then walks over to us smiling

“Morning”

“I hate you” I say crossing my arms

“Why? What did I do?”

“Knocked her up” Mer says before walking off with Lexie

“Feeling sick again?”

“Threw up twice already this morning and it’s only 10am”

“At least we know little one is safe and happy in there” Mark places his hand gently on my stomach

“Hmmm” I hum before getting paged “I gotta go”

“Lunch date later?” Mark asks. I give him a smile and small nod

“Yeah I’d like that”

“I was thinking that maybe we could get back together”

“I…. I erm” I feel so off guard right now “I gotta go” with this I turn and leave as quick as I can.

“Dad?” I say walking into a patient room

“Hi pumpkin”

“Why didn’t you call to say you were sick?” I ask pulling over a tray and putting some gloves on

“The pain comes and goes”

“So you thought you could sneak in without making a fuss? God dad you could be rejecting Mers liver”

“Calm down. Please”

“Your telling a pregnant woman to calm down when her dads in hospital?”

“YN please. There’s something I need to talk to you about that I should have told you. I go to AA a couple times a week”

“Congratulations dad. You want a gold star”

“Just listen will you. Sometimes you have to get up in front of everyone and say your peace” I take the ribbon to go around his arm while I draw blood and tighten it “and then maybe there’s a person there who talks to you and then maybe you go out to coffee with them”

“So a sponsor?”

“No not a sponsor….”

“Sorry I got turned then I ended up back in the lobby” a woman walks in and before I know it she kisses dad

“Not a sponsor”

“Oh god. No Ew no. How old is she? You look younger than me no oh god” i quickly take the blood sample and start to pack up

“This isn’t how I wanted to meet you”

“Mr Grey… oh hello”

“Dr Bailey this is my dads errrm…. Woman”

“Danni”

“When did the pain start?”

“12 days ago” danni replies

“She’s good with details”

“Any fevers. Changes in your urine or stool”

“No fevers, but there was a pain incident last week… actually you might not want to be here for this part” Danni turns to me

“I’m a doctor”

“Alright well we were being intimate”

“Oh god. Yep ok Dr Bailey you ok to carry on?”

“Yeah, are you ok you look pale”

“For the first time in 8 weeks I want to vomit not from morning sickness” with that I leave the room.

“Mer you have to see dad” I say walking into the break room

“Does he want more organs”

“He didn’t say, he was to busy loving up on a tattooed 20 year old” Mer looks at me with raised brows

“I can’t deal with dad right now I’m to busy dealing with mom”

“Please go and see him, I’m meant to having lunch with Mark and I’ve just thrown up again and mark wants to get back together and all I want to do is go home and cry….”

“Woah woah woah slow down Mark wants to get back together with you?” Christina says “and you don’t want to?”

“That’s the problem I want to but we broke up and now I’m pregnant and it’s complicated and now dad has a 20 year old girlfriend who’s clearly younger than Lexie and….”

“Ok ok stop stressing. Go find Lexie and send her to dads room. I’ll talk to him. You sit down, Christina will find Mark. I think you both need to talk”

Within 10 minutes Mark rushes in with a bottle of water looking panicked

“What’s wrong? Is everything ok?”

“No” I burst out crying

“What’s going on?” Mark pulls me into him and let’s me cry on his chest

“Stupid hormones. Dads back in hospital and he’s brought his girlfriend with him and she’s younger than Lexie so it’s now weird and I know you wanted to have lunch but I feel so sick, probably a combination of morning sickness and hearing about my dad doing the dead and this morning you said you wanted to get back together which I didn’t respond to because I’m scared that if I say yes something else will happen that makes us break up but this time there’s a baby involved”

“Ok first of all breath. Take a sip of water and take a deep breath” I do as Mark says “when I said I wanted us to get back together I didn’t mean we immediately move back in and start from where we left things. We have a baby on the way so I know we need to be carful, but I never stoped loving you and I truly want to try again”

“I never stoped loving you either” I say looking up at Mark “I want us to try again as well”

“Then we take things slow. Now I know you said you feel sick, but you gotta eat something. So what do you fancy?”

“Pickles with Nutella” I sat after thinking about it

“Pickles and Nutella it is”

[prpfz]

Hey hey!! I have a muse of mine I’m currently dying to write right now: he’s mid~ 20s, very tall, pretty beefy, a rugged type of guy - think tons of tattoos, bruised knuckles, smudged eyeliner for the aesthetic, trench coats and combat boots. He’s a bartender and aspiring artist. He has a deadly RBF and a tendency of throwing hands, getting into fights, and has a history with drugs and gangs (all in the past, could bring it back in if we want angst.) He’s very much an intimidating looking guy who uses that to his advantage in sketchy situations. He’s struggling with a few things, but he’s getting there.

Despite all his roughness, I want a semi-soft plot for him. I want him absolutely smitten with someone, his partner’s the only person to see the vulnerable/soft side of him, someone he just utterly melts for. I’m open to any pairing/gender for this! I’d like someone who’s generally a bit ‘softer’ and friendlier than him, more open and positive - but, not someone who’s completely innocent, naive, subby, or some soft prince/princess. He’ll also pair well with fiery, stubborn, angsty people, so please give me someone with a backbone and who’s not going to rely on him for everything and hide behind him. Two rough people who are only soft and vulnerable together? Incredible. A confident, cocky person and their attack-dog looking bf that they hold the leash of? Immaculate. Give me complex and nuanced characters!!

A bit about me: I’m 21+, looking for anyone 18+. I’m an advanced literate multi-para writer, can be novella when the situation calls for it! Usually write anywhere from 500 words to 1500 depending on what’s going on and I’d like someone who loves to ramble and add detail! I love plotting, world building, playing side characters, and building up this story of our characters! I love angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, character development, fluff, and I like a lil’ bit of smut! Here’s a bit of a catch though: I’m open to smut here, but I much prefer my guy to be a submissive switch/top/service top. I want this big broody looking guy to be pathetic for his partner and he’s not going to be a rough dark dom, I’d much prefer if your character is the more dominant one in bed, regardless of position. (They don’t have to be a ‘dom’ or rough in bed either, just take the lead a little.)

Anyway, this is getting really long SO: I write on discord, not daily replies please be patient, usually like 2-4 a week, sometimes more if we vibe well. I love ooc chat! Please spam me with aesthetics and songs and tell me about your day! I have very few limits and am absolutely open to some sweet angst and dark content. I respect limits, but things that might generally come up with him/his past: drug/alcohol abuse, gang violence, financial struggles, abusive families, internalised homophobia. All of this can be vague and kept in the past, or some could come up to play for some angst if we want. I use irl faceclaims and prefer them, but on your end I don’t mind. I’d love to hear about your thoughts and muses so throw anything my way when I reach out!! 🥀

give a like and anon will get back to you

[bloodibambiidoll]

The Pull: Steddie x Succubus reader

Summary: You move to Hawkins after spending the last decade in New York City hoping to have a peaceful and quiet next few years flying under the radar only feeding when necessary and making everyone you spend a night with forget you. But when you arrive, you feel a pull from two men like you’ve never felt before. As soon as you feel it you know flying under the radar here wasn’t going to cut it, you had to find them. Masterlist.

Warnings: Not very many for this chapter, sexual themes, language. But future chapters will have rough smut, dom/sub dynamics, M/M/F threesome, demon sex, and I’ll probably add more once I post the actual chapters.

‼️THIS STORY AND MY ENTIRE BLOG ARE 18+ MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED IMMEDIATELY‼️

Also this is my first fic not only in this fandom but in MANY years so please be nice to me, feedback would be amazing too I’d love to hear what people think. I hope you enjoy!🖤 (also shout out @bimbobaggins69 for helping me understand how to format my fic on here and giving me the confidence to do so🥺)

You watched them quietly, perched on a tree branch outside the window of the large house. They were both sprawled out on the bed, still naked after they had just been ravaging each other moments ago. The longer haired one with the tattoos on his chest who looked like he just walked out of an MTV music video ran his fingers through the hair of the other boy, who looked like some kind of Prince Charming in a fairy tale. They were an odd pair, you thought, that was part of what drew you to them. The stark contrast of light and dark, both ends of the spectrum. Over the time you had been watching them you’d noticed a few things about them, the tattooed boy was very dominant when they were intimate with each other he was very much in charge, but the few times when you braved watching them out in public you noticed that Prince Charming was much more level headed and in control of his partner. It seemed they balanced each other out well despite their physical differences.

That’s not truly what drew you to them though, when you first felt them you didn’t even know what they looked like yet. You had just arrived in Hawkins, a small town in Indiana, a fresh start. You had spent almost the entire last decade in New York, under your latest identity but the people around you changed, aged, and you didn't, so before they noticed you would move on, again and again for as long as you can remember you have existed this way. Indiana is a state you’ve yet to live in, and having spent the last ten years in busy New York you choose a quaint small town to settle and the moment you drove past the welcome to Hawkins sign you could sense them.

You had never felt a pull like this before, so you immediately followed it, and what you found was two very attractive young men who were absolutely enthralled with each other, but each of them had something they desired, something they felt was missing… a woman. They wanted a woman to join them, you could feel their need and their want to share that with each other. Not that their sex life wasn’t phenomenal because it was, if it was just any two human males wanting to find a third you wouldn’t feel it this strongly but these two were passionate and they were extremely horny just from watching them you felt like you were gaining energy every time. But watching was getting old, you hadn’t fed since you arrived in town almost a week ago, no one could measure up, you needed them and you needed them soon.

•

The next day you sat in the small apartment you had charmed the property manager into giving you the keys for trying to come up with a plan. You had two options, you could either just burst into their house and tell them the truth about who and what you were (which you’ve never done you aren’t sure what it is about them that has you even considering it) OR you can run into them in public, stage a meeting and go through the motions of getting them into bed with you without telling them what you were and erasing yourself from their memories after.

Option one was sounding better and better… you never had a desire to be with the same person twice, no one ever having a long lasting effect on you, so why do these two boys who you have yet to even speak to have you reconsidering that? You needed to know.

So you made a decision, probably a stupid one, but a decision nonetheless. Getting dressed in a short skirt and a tight tank top, you slipped your shoes on and walked out the door. Before you could talk yourself out of it you got in your car and drove in the direction of the large house you’ve spent so much time outside of recently, determined to be on the inside this time.

•

“Babe, I’m telling you, I saw that girl again yesterday when we were walking out of the arcade with the kids! I don’t know how you haven’t noticed her ANY of the times? We have a hot stalker and you’re oblivious” Eddie said with a huff plopping down on the couch next to his boyfriend

Steve scoffs “Dude, babe, we do NOT have a stalker, let alone a hot one. It’s probably just a girl you haven’t seen before that has HAPPENED to be in the same place as us a few times”

“No Steve, I’m TELLING you, this girl was watching us, I looked over at her and she just kept staring right at me and didn’t even move or blink dude it was like she was a statue. The most gorgeous statue I’ve ever seen but still, a statue”

“Okay? So a pretty girl stared at you and now she’s stalking us??” Steve looked at his boyfriend with an amused smile on his face before laughing

Eddie rolled his eyes “I don’t know why you’re laughing at me, I already told you I also saw her at the store when we were grocery shopping in the parking lot, and I saw her outside the diner the next day. I’m NOT crazy dude she is REAL”

“Okay, fine, say she IS real, why would she be stalking US?” This makes Eddie think for a moment because why would she be stalking them? He’s not sure.. but he knows he really wants to find out next time he sees you. “Okay that’s a good point but still, I’m gonna try and talk to her next time I see her”

“Yeah okaaay Eds if she’s real I’m sure you’re really gonna chat her up with your lady killing skills” Steve snorted

“You know WHAT HARRI-“ He was cut off by the sound of the door bell “whose that? I didn’t think we were expecting anyone?”

“We weren’t, I’ll go see who it is” Steve said as he got up to walk to the door. When he opened it to say he was surprised would be an understatement, one of the prettiest girls he’s EVER seen, maybe the actual prettiest girl he’s ever seen is standing on his doorstep looking at him with the sweetest look he’s ever seen.

“H-hi, can I help you?” He asked, and before you could answer you heard loud footsteps come bounding into the entryway “Babe, who's at the door-“ he’s stopped in his tracks because standing there, living and breathing and very real was YOU, the girl who he keeps seeing everywhere, who has been haunting his dreams, standing on their doorstep.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[betweenthings2]

ok i just got up to the cafe scene in my totally coherent (lies) rant about this fic and DELETED IT im fucking FUMING. they should allow drafts for asks. but we move. and i will rewrite it but BETTER. OK LETS GO

Now, Matty’s in halfway in his lap and they’re looking through listings their estate agent has sent them.

in his lap 😭😭 that's so cute im gonna cry i love this. its so simple but makes me feel like 🌟 that

Matty is quiet for another few moments, then, very quietly, he says, “I think I could have died there. Either he’d push me far enough that I killed myself, or I’d overdose on accident, or he’d get violent enough.” Matty pauses, then, “In the moment, that’s not what I thought, but in retrospect, I think I could have. I think he could have, if I’d stayed. I think I would have let him.”

:( "I think I would have let him" :( this is Heartbreaking and i need to die. it's just so. weak and i cannot DEAL WITH THIS. my cat just gave me an odd look for the noise i made at this. lord. "or he'd get violent enough" :(((

Matty shakes his head. “Not now. Not yet. Maybe never. I don’t want you to hear about that, I don’t think. I don’t want you to feel like you didn’t do enough in the moment, either. You’ve done more than enough. You did all you could. I wouldn’t have let you do more.”

😭 I 😭 WOULDNT 😭 HAVE 😭 LET 😭 YOU 😭 DO 😭 MORE 😭 OHMYGOD. im gonna sob this is so :(((((( genuinely need this entire thing tattooed on my back or something

Matty’s crying, George realizes, and begging, saying, “Please, please, please, just stop it,” over and over, but he’s resigned himself to George’s hold, any fight he had gone.

i feel like a sad face emoticon. :( <- me. reading this puts like a pit in my stomach and its so beautiful i can feel my heart clenching inside my chest

Matty recoils and cries harder, begging, “Don’t touch me. Please. I don’t want it. Please don’t.”

i need a gun . im telling my therapist about this .

And then Matty tugs the blankets back up to his chin and makes a pointed effort to go back to sleep, so that’s the end of the conversation.

kind of obsessed w the implication that matty has to do this because his words werent enough for squilliam william bitchilliam...what if i cry. and also i just love it

Sometimes, George will have dreams where he loses Matty, dreams where Matty didn’t leave the man who hurt him, dreams where Matty never went to rehab, dreams where Matty overdosed in a back alley of an unfamiliar city. George never goes back to sleep after those dreams, just stays awake and watches Matty sleep, reminding himself that whatever his brain dreamed up isn’t real.

currently sad facing. oh my god. :(((( love how u get the idea that mental illness also affects the people near u and not just urself without it being Mean. im. gonna cry. i love this so much its making me unwell

The Prada store is quiet and sleek when George walks in and a sales associate is quick to greet him. He explains that he has an item on hold and the associate is quick to walk him over to the counter and pull a sleek box from behind it. She carefully opens it up to revel the chain necklace George had seen online, then, when he assures her that he’s happy with it, she wraps it back up and sends him on his way.

CHAIN NECKLACE MENTIONED!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAIN NECKLACE MY BELOVED AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH. this is so cute though pls a necklace!!! im so :')))

“I’ve got George,” Matty says, like it’s an answer to every question Denise could think to ask.

this paragraph is making me feel things that humans should not be allowed to feel. HES GOT GEORGE 😭😭😭 AND ITS THE ANSWER TO EVERY QUESTION HELLO this is romance and its going to make me explode

At some point, George drifts off, too and he wakes to Matty in the throes of another nightmare. There’s no flailing or thrashing around this time, just whimpers and begging, and he’s clinging to George’s t-shirt like it’s a lifeline. George doesn’t know what to do. He knows that you shouldn’t wake someone up when they’re having a nightmare, but that means he has to stay here and watch Matty suffer, stay here and listen to Matty whimper and beg like he’s being tortured. Maybe he is, in his head.

☹️. SAD FACE. genuinely this is so wonderful (in a sad way) i need you in the history books. the fact hes just accepted it ☹️ SAD FACE AGAIN

“You can’t. You can’t undo it. You can’t undo what he did to me. You can’t fix it. You can’t help.”

im about to be on international news...i am going to DIE. you cant undo what he did to me NO BUT I CAN STILL BUY A GUN. william when i catch u william... the rage in my soul... i need to watch carpet cleaning videos to calm down

George is silent for a moment. He’s not entirely sure what to say or how to respond to all the concerning things Matty’s just said. What comes out when he opens his mouth is, “Do you, I, you, kill yourself? Matty, fuck, Matty, do you wanna kill yourself?”

the stress in his words Oh My GOD. the way you write is so like. i can pick the words off the page and feel them im about to explode and die george NO

“It was drugs in exchange for sex no matter how you shape it, and I did that,” Matty interrupts. “I let that happen. Part of me thought that was a fair trade. All I wanted was to be high. And sure, I said no and that I didn’t want it, but I could have fought harder and the times I was so high I couldn’t do anything are my fault because he didn’t force me to use, I made that choice. That’s all on me. I could have done something, and I didn’t because I wanted a fucking supplier.”

pay for my therapy. oh my god. i genuinely cannot deal with this at all im going to cry how can you put so much SADNESS into like 30 words ?!?!

“I know what it was, George. Don’t say it. I can’t take hearing you say it.”

im going to cry so much that all of europe will be submerged in saltwater for millions of years. oh my fucking god i need DEATH i feel SICK

George wants to cry, wants to slump down to the floor right there in the hallway of this house that doesn’t even feel like home anymore because Matty has been so miserable in it and sob. He doesn’t. All George does is head back downstairs and slump down onto the couch. He needs someone to talk to, but it’s all about Matty and he’s pretty sure the only person who knows more about what how Matty’s doing is Matty. He doesn’t do anything, just lights a cigarette and blows smoke towards the ceiling. He misses Matty, he thinks. God, he misses Matty.

!!! again with how mental illness also affects people around u !!! IM SICK. theyre both so sad i just need them to hug for three hours and make everything all okay for the rest of time

Maybe, George thinks, he should text Adam. Matty told Adam about the sex that wasn’t really sex, but they can’t use the other word, the big, scary, horrible word for it because Matty won’t use it and if Matty won’t use it, George won’t either. It Matty told Adam that, then maybe Adam’s the person to talk to.

i am going to vomit and die. the way the tone is like?? childish almost?! and how that just makes it hurt more ?!?!?!? I AM GOING TO DIE. adam is always the person to speak to though. adam is the best

“I know that’s what you’re worried about. That’s what you’re always going to be worried about, what everyone is always going to be worried about, and I know if I say I just wanna sleep then I’m right back where I started, but fuck, I just wanna sleep.”

this is so sad and i love him so much and i need him to be HAPPY oh my god . he's just :((((((((( so pained :((((((( george pls just hug him and use ur george powers to make everything Good

“Maybe you should talk to someone, too,” Matty says quietly. “It might help. Same way you think it’ll help me.”

“We’re not talking about me,” George says. “We’re talking about you.”

Matty shrugs. “I’m just saying. Don’t spend all your energy trying to make me feel better so things end up shit for you.”

the noise i just made is something...so far from human. they love each other so much and matty can see hes hurting and george can see it but wont accept it and im just going to cry

“He’s still himself,” George protests. “He’s still Matty, still only sleeps on the right side of the bed, still likes his tea ridiculously sweet, still laughs at his own stupid jokes, still tries to have three different conversations at once. He’s still brilliant.”

where are the tissues. i need tissues. screaming crying throwing up as though ive just received the news that my wife of 70 years has died. oH MY GOD pls im genuinely sick george loves him so much and hes just :(:((:(:((:(:((:((:((:(

Adam nods. “You’ve always been a little bit protective of him, which seemed a little bit silly most of the time, but I think that maybe he needs that now, so it’s good that he’s got you.” He pauses again, then continues, “I don’t think I’d know what to do. I could be there for him, I have been, and I will be, but I don’t think I’d know what to do. I’ve never known what to do when he cries, but you always do.” There’s another pause, then, “You’re doin’ good, is all.”

😭 HES 😭 DOING 😭 GOOD 😭 im going to die. i looove how u write their dynamic SOSOSO MUCH like it just seems so natural and open and HQJDKWUSJKSO <- me

Matty’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I just wanna be normal.”

:((((( he just wants to be normal :((((((( this is doing damage to me im making the minecraft zombie taking damage noise currently . hes so sad i just want him to be HAPPY. see no i say i want him to be happy but repeatedly read fics that make him borderline suicidal. masochism

Matty gives a tiny nod. “It does,” he says. “’s a good reminder.”

“Then I’ll keep saying it,” George promises. “I love you.”

THEN ILL KEEP SAYING IT 😭😭😭😭😭 IM GOING TO CRY MY EYES OUT. theyre so sweet and soft and 😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️ i just love them so much and i love how you write them especially because !!! its AMAZING

After a few minutes, Matty comes out of the bathroom, curls tamed, but still looking a little bit like he’s just rolled out of bed. George can’t help but find it endearing, but he doesn’t anything. Matty doesn’t either, just gets dressed and heads downstairs, so George follows.

im getting this engraved into granite and putting it as my headstone. sobbing i love them

“I spend a lot of time thinkin’ about you,” George tries.

PUTTING THIS ON MY HEADSTONE TOO HELLO STOP THIS. i love them and their relationship and im not prepared for them to have difficult conversations again Nooooooooo (yeessssssssssss)

“I know you’re gonna do great,” George counters. The light for the crosswalk changes and he adds, “C’mon. Lemme buy you coffee and tell you you’re pretty.”

BUY U A COFFEE AND TELL U UR PRETTY 😭😭😭😭😭 this is gonna put me in my grave im so. mattys so vulnerable and george is just happy (debatable) to be there and im obsessed with it and their dynamic. LORD

George can’t help but chuckle and smile at Matty, all of his love and care obvious, and says, “You are pretty. You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever had in my bed, prettiest person I’ve ever gotten to make breakfast for, prettiest person I’ve ever been ridiculously in love with.”

hey so im not okay. theyre too cute my heart is about to burst out of my chest i CANT TAKE THIS

“You’re supposed to have a reaction to that,” Matty says quietly. “You’re supposed to have something to say.”

IM SAD AGAIN. STOP. actually no dont stop ever at all. IM SO 😭😭😭 matthew pls no i need him to feel only joy and love and peace and never be sad ever again ☹️☹️☹️

“Thanks,” Matty says quietly. He takes a drink of his coffee, then adds, “She thinks you’re good for me.”

:((((((( george is good for him :(((((( george is just good for everyone i think. an angel boy. im going to sob

Even though it’s an echo of Matty’s sentiment the day before—George can’t believe that conversation on the patio was just yesterday—but it doesn’t hurt any less to hear. All George can do is try, “You are you, Matty. You’re still the person I love, still the only person I’ve ever been ridiculously in love with. You’re still someone I recognize and know. I know you ‘cause you’re still you. I’ll always know you. You’re still my Matty.”

"MY MATTY" ☹️☹️☹️ my heart is going to pop out of my chest and explode into green glitter and when it falls down onto the floor it will say I LOVE THE BIG LIGHT SERIES BY AO3 AND TUMBLR USER BETWEENTHINGS2 and then i will explode into rainbow glitter and it will put sparkles around it. can you tell im normal about this fic

Matty agrees, and allows George to urge him to his feet and out of the café, but once they get outside, he stops and fixes George with a skeptical look, asking, “What do you mean you having something for me?”

George stops too and says, “If you’d keep walking, you’ll see.” When Matty doesn’t move, he adds, “It’s ten minutes home. You’ve anticipated much more for much longer.”

I LOVE THEM AND I LOVE EVERYTHING the way u write them. i will say this again and again. is amazing. pls. it's just so !!! and sweet and nice and even when theyre sad it's like it's got a haze of Love over it. im gonna die

“You’re adorable,” George says, coming to stand in front of Matty.

Matty offers a cheeky smile and says, “I know.”

And, god, that’s Matty. That’s George’s Matty.

HE KNOOOWSSSSS 😭😭😭 im gonna BAWL im so. thats georges matty !!!!!!!!!!! they are two parts of a whole and im going to Explode over it

Matty takes a deep breath, the kind a deep breath a person takes when they’re trying very hard to keep their emotions in check, the kind of deep breath Matty takes when he’s trying not to cry, and says, “’m good, G. ‘s good, really good.”

i feel like an exclamation mark. hes so happy and im :((((((( obsessed with them im gonna explode

Carefully, almost reverently, George drapes the chain around Matty’s neck and fastens the clasp. Before he can think twice about it, he leans forward and presses a very gentle kiss to the back of Matty’s neck, just about the clasp of the necklace.

i need to be put down because i am EMOTIONAL and this is going to make me cry plsplspls i love i love i love. reverently !!! kissing the back of his neck !!! i am !!! !!! !!!

this is a masterpiece and i REALLY hope u know it because u are amazing and everything u write is like an actual. gift from god or something like its sososo beautiful and wonderful and amazing and AAAAAHHHHH. my chest is tight and ive read this like 6 times in the past 3 days. enjoy ur day and Plsplspls know that u are amazing 🙂‍↕🫶🫶🫶

First of all, thank you so, so much!! Second of all, you're right--Tumblr really should let you draft asks. There are a lot of things Tumblr should let you do, though.

They're moving in together!! They're buying a house together!! They get to have a fresh start in a place that's theirs that was never a host to all the pain and misery and guilt! It's going to be so good for them!

Things are not so good for them. Poor fictional!Matty is struggling so much and hindsight and sobriety are not helping, and if he has very little self-esteem with fictional!George, he had, like, negative self-esteem with fuckin' William and he absolutely would have let himself be pushed too far. =(

I wouldn't have let you do more =(!!!!!!!!!! <- that's how I feel about that and I wrote it. Fictional!George wants to have done more, he wishes he'd have followed fictional!Matty inside and not let him be alone that first night he came home, wishes he'd have noticed sooner and done more to get fictional!Matty out, and fictional!Matty knows that, but there's no way he would have let fictional!George do anything more than he did. Fictional!George knows that, too, but he hates it. Everyone is sad, as they so often are in my fics.

The whole entire nightmare scene is just so. I just wrote this scene for the fictional!Matty!POV version of this fic and it is, dare I say, possibly even sadder. Also, tell your therapist I made you sad before you buy a gun. Maybe don't buy a gun at all, actually.

Fictional!George has nightmares, too, and they're all about losing fictional!Matty =( =( I know I keep saying it, but he loves fictional!Matty so, so much and they're maybe a little bit (maybe a lot) codependent to the point that all their hurt is shared and fictional!Matty's mental illness never has and never will be just his own, which is somehow both wonderfully poetic and horribly tragic. (I love a good tragedy. Catharsis my beloved.)

Prada chain necklace, Prada chain necklace!! I love her! I also love gift giving as an expression of love so much, and not in a materialistic, 'I love things' kind of way, but in a 'I'm always with you' kind of way. Also, a kind of possessive way. <- who said that? Not me, I'm normal.

He has fictional!George!!! It's the answer to every 'are you ok?', every 'will you be alright?', every 'do you need anything?' He's always had fictional!George, and always will, even if he's afraid he won't. There's so much love and trust in three words and fictional!George is going to think about it forever probably. We'll see if I remember this when I write the next part.

You need me in history books?!?!?!?!? (I did want to be a historian for a long time.) Oh my god. Thank you so much is not enough!! Oh my god. Also, poor, sad fictional!George. He can't make fictional!Matty uncomfortable so he can be more comfortable, but that doesn't mean he's not heartbroken.

Fictional!Matty thinks he's irreparably broken and fictional!George doesn't know how to change his mind =( Also, still don't buy a gun. Maybe get like a sword or a cool knife. Those are way better than a gun.

Poor fictional!George is so stressed!! Does fictional!Matty want to kill himself?? He doesn't know what to do with that, not in combination with everything else. I'm so thrilled by your comments on the way I wrote this--I wanted it to feel because what the hell are you supposed to do when your partner says they want to kill themself??? Thank you!!

The mental gymnastics that fictional!Matty is doing to blame himself are honestly impressive. I cannot pay for your therapy, unfortunately. I am an unemployed student. I can (and will), however, write you more fic where maybe someone is eventually happy. The secret to putting a lot of sadness in very few words is, um, commitment? I dunno.

There is, in this fic, particular attention to the language that gets used to discuss things, and part of that is fictional!Matty blaming himself for what happened, but fictional!George's willingness to use that language is partially him not wanting to think about it. If he uses the language that fictional!Matty uses, then he frames it differently in his own head and then it doesn't hurt quite so bad.

Poor fictional!George. That could be the subtitle of the whole The Big Light series: poor fictional!George. He know fictional!Matty, he's been there through everything, seen everything, but somehow it all just gets worse all the time and he misses fictional!Matty so much and he feels awful for that, but he misses hearing seeing fictional!Matty smile or hearing him laugh. He misses fictional!Matty =(

Fictional!George really, really needs a hug (probably from fictional!Matty) and he feels so unequipped to deal with this, but he's all he's got because he can't tell anyone else what fictional!Matty has told him in confidence. And he's an adult and he's dealt with a lot when it comes to fictional!Matty, but it makes him feel so young and lost and he kind of wishes they could be sixteen again so he could do better.

He'll be happy eventually, they both will!! I have a plan, they're just going to be sad first.

Fictional!Matty is trying so hard!! He knows fictional!George better than he knows himself and he knows fictional!George won't actually talk to someone unless he suggests it, even if he has the idea without fictional!Matty saying anything. They're a little bit codependent, but it's all fine. Everything's fine.

I'm sending virtual tissues =) He's still Matty!! He is but he's not and fictional!George doesn't know how to reconcile that, but he's trying. Fictional!Adam might be right here, though, fictional!George just doesn't want him to be.

I'm actually always a little worried I about how I write the relationships beyond fictional!M+G, so I'm so happy that you found it natural--thank you so much!! Fictional!George really needed to hear that he's doing things right, thank god for fictional!Adam.

They're going to be happy eventually!! I promise. Poor fictional!Matty just has a lot of feelings and a lot of shit to deal with first.

They're so in love and fictional!Matty really thinks he's making the person he loves miserable and he hates that idea so much, so fictional!George saying it is a good reminder that the love goes both ways and that they're a team.

There's something very soft and wonderful and intimate about seeing someone when they've just gotten up. I'm also pretty sure that the mark of being really in love with someone with curls is thinking they look good when they've just rolled out of bed. My hair makes me look a little bit like some kind of deranged swamp witch when I've just woken up. If someone thought I looked good then, I'd go buy a ring.

Fictional!George thinks about fictional!Matty all the time!!! There's so much love there and I will not stop!! =)

I keep thinking about all the interviews I've seen/read with Matty where he, at the very least, seems very candid and willing to have a conversation, rather than just answer some questions, and that creates this fear he has in this series about doing press because he doesn't want to talk about it and he doesn't want the whole world to know about this and he's also generally a little bit scared of everything that's not existing at home with fictional!George. Fictional!Matty knows exactly the kinds of questions he'll get asked and he's so afraid he'll wind up in a position where he has to decline to answer questions or give half-answers that are very clearly just that or that he'll accidentally say too much. Fictional!George is just thrilled he got fictional!Matty to leave the house for something non-essential.

Fictional!George loves him so much!!!!! Fictional!Matty is his person and he's going to do everything he can to make sure he knows it.

Fictional!Matty had a reaction to that (he may have argued with his therapist about it), so he expects Fictional!George to have a reaction to it, too.

Fictional!George is so good for him!!! Fictional!George treats him so well and cares for him so deeply that of course he's good for fictional!Matty. How could he not be????

'My Matty'!!!!!!!!!!!!! I, too, feel insane about this. You always say the best things about this series and I can tell you're super normal about it. The normal-est.

There's so much love, even when everything is so sad!! They're trying so hard and they love each other so much!!

There's a line in The Song of Achilles, which is kind of a meh book, about knowing the person you love no matter what that I thought about in writing this in that fictional!George knows fictional!Matty no matter what. He knows fictional!Matty in every mood, every circumstance, no matter what because he loves him. There's a bit in Eurydice that I thought about too, about remembering that you love someone simply because you do. You're right, they are two halves of something bigger than themselves because they love each other and always will.

Fictional!Matty loves it!! He loves the necklace, but more than that, he loves what it represents, that fictional!George loves him and wants him and cares enough to give him a gift and also that fictional!George is almost laying a claim to him.

There's something ridiculously intimate about putting on someone else's necklace that makes me a little bit insane and also fictional!George so wanted to see fictional!Matty wear it for super normal reasons.

Thank you so, so much for the ask and the compliments!!!!! 💚💚💚 I will be thinking about this forever and ever. I have three more fics planned for this series and then it'll be done (unless someone convinces me to write more) and then I'll start the Unsent Project fic. 💚💚

[twopoppies]

gina hiii, have you read any fics that you’ve liked recently?! sorry if you’ve answered this before but i can’t seem to find any new ones!!!!

Hi sweetheart. I haven't read much because I'm (somewhat unsuccessfully) trying to write. But these are the last few I read and really liked

Secrets, Santa?  By @indiaalphawhiskey (E, 19K) disaster gay Harry in all his bumbling, endearing glory still manages to make his incredibly hot boss (Louis) fall for him. This one has snappy dialogue, great internal monologue, and scorching smut. I’d expect nothing less from this author.

yeah, he's a looker (but i really think it's guts that matter most) by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (E, 40K) I really enjoy fics where we get to peek in on Harry and Louis' relationship from an outsider's POV. And who would be closer to them than Louis' PA, Oli? I thought the writing in this one was delicate and emotional – the idea of reading about the pain of someone being kept from the person they love through the eyes of someone losing a different sort of love was really masterfully done.

no one's gonna know by jishler / @snowjosh (E, 9K) This author always does such a wonderful job of writing an established relationship fic where there’s so much warmth and expression between the characters, while also showing how much lust and passion there is. This is chock full of edging, exhibitionism, and dom/sub dynamics and it’s such a good read.

Golden by Shaylea (E, 128K) I loved this author‘s last fic, and somehow, they managed to write another captivating story that’s so immersed in the country it takes place in. I was sucked in right from the start and really like how they write complex, flawed characters that you still root and cheer for. It’s a bit neat in its conclusion, but I think it’s very much worth a read.

makes me wanna try her on by mercutionotromeo / @hazlouquitefinished (E, 2K) So simple, but so damn sexy. Please read this author's works... they're all among my favorites.

gold-skinned, eager baby by StarryDay13 / @daydreaming-sunflower (E, 17K) This was soft and tender and sexy and beautifully done. There were wonderful moments of gentleness and vulnerability as Harry awkwardly expresses his thoughts about his gender and his feelings for Louis, and as Louis reasons and holds space for who Harry is. I really just loved this one. And I cried. So that’s a bonus. 😆

distractions by fondleeds (NR, 4K) one of my favorite authors. The writing just feels effortless. This one is super short but sexy, tender, and sweet.

And these are two WIPs I'm waiting on to be finished, but the premise of each sounds up my alley!

Light It Up (On The Run) by theboyfriendstagram (E, 10/12, 51K so far)

“You’re quite relaxed for someone who has a gun pointed at them.”

“You won’t shoot me.” Harry dares, hoping Hydrogen (or whatever his name is) can’t tell he’s shitting himself right now.

“Wanna bet?” the guy dares, a smirk spreading over his lips.

Okay, why did Harry think that talking back to a guy with tattoos all over his body and a gun in his hand would be a good idea?

---  

‘Money Heist’/'La casa de papel' inspired AU. Louis Tomlinson is one of the most wanted criminals in the UK and Harry Styles is a law student who always did what his father told him to do, which includes interviewing for a job at the Bank of England. What Harry doesn’t know, is that his fear of standing up to his father will make him a hostage during the most notorious ten-day money heist in the history of the United Kingdom.

or

A heist!AU where Harry just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time because seven people are trying to pull off the biggest heist ever seen by mankind.

You Can Hear It In The Silence by Imogenlee / @imogenleefic (E, 22/?, 149K sp far)

When Harry Styles got accepted into a post-grad degree, he could no longer afford his flat, so he had three options to choose from:

1) Moving back into student halls. 2) Becoming homeless. 3) Moving in with his best (and only) friend, Niall, and three of Niall's other friends. He ended up choosing the third option. But it was a close race. Shame one of his new housemates reminded him why he only has one friend. If there was one that Louis Tomlinson couldn't stand, it was pretentious tossers, having grown up around enough of them. He was proper chuffed to move back in with his best friends and a couple of other lads. That was until he discovered one of them was the archetype for a pretentious tosser.

In the interest of seeing out the twelve-month lease without killing each other, they both try (debatable) to get along despite being opposite in almost every way, each having the communication skills of a cucumber, and secrets that shouldn't be kept secret.

[snelbz]

Better Or Worse {Chapter One}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: We are so excited to share this one with you guys! As you know, angst is sort of our specialty and while this one will be pretty heavy, we’ve tried to sprinkle a good amount of fluff as well. We hope you love it and always, please let us what you think!

Chapter Warning: Language.

Nesta -

“I'm going to bed.”

My fingers come to a pause on my keyboard. I glance up and find Cassian leaning against the door frame of my office.

The clock in the corner of the computer screen tells me it’s 10:46. I know he’s not telling me to try and entice me to join him. No, he’d given up on that weeks ago.

My fingers go back to flying over the plastic keys, clicking as I try to pick back up the stream of consciousness I was working on when Cassian interrupted. “I want to get this draft finalized tonight. I only have a few chapters left. The publishing company will have my ass if it isn’t submitted before tomorrow afternoon.”

Excuse.

That’s all I’m full of anymore. Excuses.

Excuses as to why I’m always at my office downtown late or don’t ever want to go to dinner. Why I’m distant or never try to touch him.

“Can you at least try to make it home by six tomorrow night? Please?”

My gaze leaves the screen and lands on him again. “I’ll try. You know I’ve got deadlines I have to hit.”

He’s as handsome as always, even more so with the shadow of stubble across his jaw. He must not have shaved this morning, if the dusting of hair was any indicator. That wasn’t like him. Shaving was a part of his daily routine, quickly followed by his morning shower. My husband may be brash and blunt, but he’s a man who has and loves his routines.

Routines that often feel like they are smothering me, stifling any spark of spontaneity in my soul.

His arms are crossed over his muscular chest, his tattoos just barely peeking out over the neckline of his t-shirt. I know those tattoos intimately, can trace them with my eyes closed.

It’s been far too long since I’ve done that.

His voice pulls me from my thoughts of the ink adorning his skin. “I’ll cook. Get a bottle of your favorite wine. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

He sounds like he’s negotiating a hostage situation, not asking me to dinner. I hate it.

I stop typing, trying my best not to show my annoyance. “I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”

Cassian's reaction does not reflect any sort of satisfaction. “Come on, Nesta. We haven’t had a date night in months. I will literally bring date night to you—”

“I said I’ll have to see.” The moment the words come out of my mouth, I feel guilty. My tone is embarrassing, but I can’t control it, the snap. 

Cassian's mouth shuts and his jaw locks. “Fine.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

A beat passes between us before I start typing again. I can feel Cassian’s eyes blazing into the back of my head for a minute, then he’s turning around. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” I say, trying to sound as genuine as possible, but mostly I just sound stressed.

Which I am.

So damn stressed. 

I hear him walk down the hall and close our bedroom door. I stop typing yet again, my eyes shutting as I rub my temples. 

At least I’m honest. I could tell Cassian that I’d be home by dinner tomorrow, but then I would be late and he would just be disappointed and get pissed. It’s better to let him down up front rather than too late.

Being a best selling author isn’t all I was expecting it to be. Sure, seeing my book on shelves next to some of my all time favorites is awesome, but it’s daunting. My first book was self published, coming to life out of my own blood, sweat, and tears. So once it took off and I started working with a publishing company, I thought I’d made it. Things were going to get easier. All I had to do was get my words down onto paper and they’d do the rest.

Wrong.

Someone is always demanding something. Whether that’s a finalized draft, an update on an outline, or approval for cover artwork, I never have a moment to breathe.

As if the universe is laughing at me, a new text chimes on my phone, lying face down on my desk. I recognize the sound, immediately knowing it’s my agent, Eris.

I sigh, telling myself to ignore the notification. I’m already editing hours after I should be, but my eyes keep bouncing up to my phone. After reading the same sentence four times, not comprehending a single word, I snatch my phone up.

Got a phone call from the Velaris Times. They have an opening for an interview tomorrow afternoon.

An opportunity I can’t pass up.

Sounds like a plan. My office or theirs?

If I thought I would be able to focus back on my edits, I was wrong. Eris is typing back as soon as my text is received.

Over dinner, actually. Viviane Whittaker will meet you at Rita’s at 5:30.

My thumbs hover over the screen.

Can you at least try to make it home by six tomorrow night? Please?

Swallowing, I type out my reply.

I’ll be there fifteen minutes early.

I should go tell Cassian that there will be no date night tomorrow, but I think better of it. I’m already so tired and that is not a fight that I want to start so late at night. I’ll just text him about tomorrow.

I look back up at my screen and try to reset my mind, call back my concentration. Just as I begin reading, a jingling bell comes closer and a ball of fluff settles on my feet.

I look down at the chubby black cat and reach down to scratch him between the ears. “Hi, Greg.”

Greg shoots me a look full of judgment. 

“Don’t try to guilt me,” I say, straightening back up in my chair. “I already feel guilty enough.”

With a huff, Greg lays his head against the carpet and closes his eyes. I’m officially the only one in the house not fast asleep.

Cassian -

I haven’t gotten mind-numbingly drunk since college, but all I want to do once I get out of work is drink to forget. I’ve never been good at handling my anger, and I was already on edge, so when Nesta texted me saying that she had dinner plans and would be home late, I was automatically seeing red.

I just want one night with my wife but I should have known that was too much to ask for. It usually is. 

Already finding Rhys’ number in my phone, I hop in my truck and start the engine as he answers.

“We’re going out tonight. Drinks are on me,” I say, before he can even say hello. 

“It’s a Thursday,” he replies with a laugh, but I know he’d be there regardless. Out of all of us, Rhys was the one who had ended up with a real “big boy” job. He’s one of the most respected lawyers in Velaris, and having his own practice, he basically gets to make his own hours if he isn’t in court.

“Glad you can read a calendar.” I sound like a dick but I can’t bring myself to care. “I’ll be at Windhaven in fifteen.”

“Should I call Az or is he already on the way?”

“I texted him first. Didn’t want him to leave work and have to turn around.”

Azriel works in a tattoo parlor two blocks down from our favorite spot, but lives outside of town. With Elain being pregnant, there’s only so much time we get with our brother.

I look over at the empty spot in the garage next to mine and sigh.

A hole in my chest that has been progressively growing larger aches. I’ve always been proud of Nesta. She’s always wanted to be an author since the day I met her, and she’s living her dream. And she’s really damn good at it. She has a way with words that I could never understand, that I couldn’t even come close to matching. She was meant to be a writer.

But ever since she’s found success, I’ve come in second.

It’s not that I always have to be her first priority. I want her to live for more than me, but it would be nice to be a priority sometimes. It would be nice for her to put our marriage first, to make time for me, for us. I barely even see her, and when I do, her eyes are glued to her laptop screen. She didn’t come to bed until four, then was up again at seven, barely uttering a word to me before she left for her office. 

“Cass?”

I haven’t even realized that Rhys has been talking to me. “Sorry.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he says, and his tone has softened, fully aware of where my mind has gone. “Get a booth.” 

“Alright.” I hang up, reading Azriel’s text on my screen once I pull the phone away from my ear.

Perfect. Had to tattoo a flower on an 80 year old woman’s ass today. I need a drink. 

Despite my current mood, I chuckle and pull out of the driveway. Keeping the radio off, I drive, wondering if I should send Nesta a good luck text. In all reality, she probably won’t reply, so I toss my phone in the passenger seat and let it be. 

If Nesta wants to talk to me, wants to spend time with me, she would be home for dinner for once. I know I’m being petty, but after a while, being neglected by the woman you married becomes exhausting. 

And I’m so damn tired. I need booze and bad food and my brothers. I’m man enough to admit when I need to get something off my chest, but not enough to do it sober.

Rhys’s instructions to get a booth were unnecessary. Azriel unsurprisingly beat me here and is sitting in our normal booth, the one with a direct line of sight to the bartender. A pitcher of beer sits in the middle of the table as well as three glasses. I appreciate my brother’s propensity to think ahead, but I need something harder than beer tonight.

Nodding to Az, I make a beeline to the bar. Breathing a sigh of relief, I see Ace is the one behind the bar tonight, not Devlon. The old man owns the bar and has never been a fan of me, Rhys or Az.

“You look like you need a free drink,” Ace says, as I make it to the bar and lean against the cool wooden top. 

“I always need a free drink.” The words sound pitiful coming out of my mouth. Ace just winks and pours me a glass of whiskey without even having to ask me what I want. “Thanks.”

“Always,” she says, patting my hand before I turn to walk to the booth. I’ll see her again shortly. I don’t expect the glass of whiskey to last too long before I need another. 

Azriel watches me approach, his glass already halfway gone. I nod to it as I sit across from him. “Has the image of elderly ass been erased from your mind yet?”

“No,” Azriel says, taking another drink. “But the memory looks better and better with every drink.”

I huff a laugh as I sip from my glass of whiskey, enjoying the burn as it slides down my throat and I pour a glass from the pitcher in the middle of the table. 

Rhysand appears beside me and slides onto the bench. I hadn’t even realized that he’d walked in, but in my defense, I’m hardly present. 

After pleasant hellos and Rhysand pouring his own glass, he asks, “So, is this when you tell us the reason you want to get plastered on a Thursday?” 

Swirling my glass, I watch as the whiskey moves through the ice cubes, the color diluting as they melt slowly. Bringing my drink to my lips, I drink deeply and set the glass down, staring at the table top.

“My marriage is falling apart.”

Neither of them speak.

Neither of them do anything.

I wasn’t expecting them to fall over themselves to comfort me, but I was at least expecting a back pat or an I’m sorry, man. Glancing up from the table, they both just stare at me.

The look in their eyes tells me they knew. Everyone knows. We haven’t been ourselves in months. I can’t think of the last time we were both at a family dinner.

“I don’t know what to do,” I go on, when neither of them say a word. “I’ve been trying…but every time I try, no matter what I try, I feel like I’m pushing her further away.” I take a drink. “I’m exhausted.”

I down what’s in my glass and motion for Ace to make me another. 

“I tried to give her a date night tonight,” I go on, working on my beer that’s quickly disappearing. My brothers simply watch me as I babble. “We haven’t had a date night in months. She never seems interested, so I stopped asking. Last night, I asked, for the first time in a long damn time.” I gesture around the table. “As you can see, I’m not with my wife.” 

“Where is she?” Azriel asks, when it’s clear I’d paused my rambling, at last. 

Another glass of whiskey is set in front of me. I give Ace a grateful look before shrugging. “With some reporter. Not sure where. They’re out to dinner and will probably be there until some ridiculous hour.” 

Azriel looks away from me, his eyes locking with Rhys and then I feel both of their gazes on me. I turn to Rhys, who is usually the one who takes the lead in awkward situations. Tonight is apparently no different.

“She won’t have dinner with you, but she’ll meet some skeezy reporter for dinner?” He asks, an eyebrow raised.

Shrugging my shoulders, I start on my second drink. “So it seems.”

He folds his arms atop the table and leans towards me. “And you didn’t ask where they were going? Or when she would be home?”

“I stopped asking what time she’d be home months ago.” My voice sounds hollow, empty. I wonder how long it’s sounded like that. “And begging for answers seemed pathetic.”

They make eye contact again and Azriel clears his throat. “You don’t…think she’s having an affair, do you?”

“Absolutely not.”

He sighs. “Cass—”

“She isn’t sleeping with anyone else.”

“Cass,” Rhys begins, his tone as placating as possible, slipping into the voice of the man who can convince anyone of anything. It’s what makes him such a good defense lawyer. It makes me want to break something. Makes me feel weak. “We know you love Nesta and that she loves you.”

“She wouldn’t cheat on me,” I snap, and I mean it. We might not be on great terms right now, but Nesta is loyal to those she loves.

And despite the distance between us, I have to believe she still loves me.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to calm myself down once the silence between us stretches on for too long. The air is thick. They know they had struck a chord and are surely deciding if they want to keep the conversation going. “I just…don’t think that’s the case.”

“If she’s not cheating, then what’s the issue?” Azriel asks, tentatively. “Her work?”

“Yeah, she’s busy,” I say, staring at my empty glass. “But…I don’t know. Honestly, I have no fucking clue how we got here. We barely talk. Most nights, she doesn’t even come to bed. I can’t even tell you the last time we had sex.” That was a lie. I remember it, and it was way too long ago for me to admit. “Every time we do talk, it ends in a fight. I’m just…at the end of my rope. I don’t know what to do.”

The table is quiet for another minute before Rhys asks, “Are you saying that you want to leave her?”

It’s not that the thought has never crossed my mind. Lately, I think about it often, filing for divorce, giving up, but hearing the words out loud make me feel sick to my stomach.

I don’t answer.

I wave to Ace for another whiskey.

The table is silent until she brings the drink and returns to the bar.

“I don’t see what other options I have.” My words are whispered, as if I can’t hear them, they aren't coming out. My words are starting to slur a bit, a good sign I should probably slow down.

I ignore that sign and take a drink.

“You two fought like cats and dogs when you first met,” Rhys reminds me, as if I could somehow forget. “What’s different now?”

“Those weren’t fights, that was sexual tension,” I admit, shaking my head. “Gotta have sex for there to be sexual tension.”

Azriel refills his beer. “She hasn’t said anything to Elain, as far as I know.”

“Or Feyre,” Rhys adds.

“You both know Nesta,” I start, looking between the two of them. “She doesn’t talk about her feelings with anyone, much less me or her sisters.”

They both frown, watching me with concern, seemingly at a loss for words. 

“Do you still love her?” Azriel asks.

“Of course I do,” I say, my anger fading as the alcohol calms me, consumes me. “But just because I love her doesn’t mean that it’s working anymore.”

“Don’t make any rash decisions,” Rhys says, calmly, refilling my beer for me before motioning to Ace for another pitcher. Seems I’m done with whiskey for the night. “I know you, don’t act out of anger. You have to tell Nesta how frustrated you are. You have to communicate.”

I know he’s right, know that communication has become a weakness in our marriage. I don’t  want to communicate, I don’t want to work for it, I just want my marriage to right itself, to return to the way it used to be.

And I want to fucking drink.

So that’s what I do, alongside my brothers, until I’m not thinking about my crumbling marriage at all.

[softxsuki]

i’d like a male jjk n/or aot matchup please🥹 thank you so much i’m SOOO excited

personality type: sag sun, leo rising, scorpio moon, isfp-t, introverted prefer hanging with people one on one, funny, caring. sentimental, romantic, i make art, jewelry, n clothes n sell them n am learning to tattoo, my love languages are gift giving n words of affirmation, i like driving around, reading, playing the drums, makeup, shopping; flowers, listening to music, journaling, cute plushies n stickers, i hate anxiety, bugs, bigotry, loud people, comedy movies, etc

in relationships i like reassurance without having to beg for it, being spoiled n doted upon, random gifts, giving love letters (i’ve never gotten one but i’d really love one!!), stealing hoodies, encouragement, consistency; someone trying to grow n better themselves, someone really understanding, matching anything, seeing each other often, petnames!!!, communication, i dislike the obvious things such as disloyalty, etc; i hate non chalant behavior, not keeping to their word, feeling like a bother, them not carrying their weight, someone too logical it’s dismissive, someone who isn’t romantic, someone following lots of girls on insta, etc (i’m insecure n have lots of trauma n triggers)

question heehee: how would they react to me being super drained n low energy? or what would they be attracted to in me? (whichever you like better)

1000 Follower Event Matchup #35

This event is CLOSED. The masterlist is here.

Note: Hope you enjoy :) sorry for the wait.

I match you with: ITADORI, JEAN

Runner-up: Yuuta, Armin

Itadori:

No because after the recent episode, I’m convinced he’s absolutely perfect

He’s so kind and respectful to everyone!!!! AHHHHH

Although he is an extrovert, I think sometimes introverts and extroverts can make a great match and they bring out qualities in each other that they wouldn’t have known about otherwise

He thinks it’s so cute that you make jewelry and clothes and is always telling everyone about your little business whenever he has the opportunity to

You’re learning to tattoo? He offers to be your test subject so you can do one on him one day for practice (he even tries dragging, Nobara, Megumi, and Gojo with him too lol)

Itadori is always spoiling you with physical gifts and words of affection/compliments; it just naturally comes out of him at this point since he cares for you so much

How does he react to you being super drained?

He worries for you, and tries to encourage you to take a break

Whenever you’re ready to talk about whatever has you this way, he’d be waiting to hear you out

In the meantime though, he just holds you close and cuddles with you, whispering sweet words in your ears in hopes that it helps in the meantime

Jean:

This was tricky, but I decided on Jean

Even though in the beginning he was someone who didn’t put his all into his work and was a bit of a coward, I feel like he grew a lot as a character and became someone that deserves respect and love

He’s loyal to his friends and even gave Eren the benefit of the doubt at times despite how much they didn’t get along, he was able to think rationally even when he lost one of his closest friends 

Jean would be very loving and caring to you as his lover, you’d become the only one he has eyes for and he’d do anything to make you happy

I imagine he’d be very romantic, picking flowers for you and surprising you with them on his way back from training, kissing the top of your hand as a greeting, romantic escapes at night to watch the stars or have a quiet, peaceful picnic together

It would be really cute

What about you is attractive to him?

Probably your ability to move forward and even give him a chance despite whatever you went through in the past

He admires your strength to keep pushing forward and strives to be the same so he can become a man you can truly rely on

Aside from that, he’s so in love with you that any little thing you do is attractive to him, even the things you hate about yourself

EVENT REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

REGULAR REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Posted: 9/6/2023

[spncontips]

Hi! What is the autograph experience like? I’m going to my first con in April and we’re getting silver to get Jared and Jensen autographs. Especially Jensen I want to get what he writes tattooed and have an idea of what I’d like him to write - are personalizations allowed? Are you able to quickly chat with them? I don’t want to be rude to other goers, but I’m hoping to express to Jensen how much Dean has literally saved me - anything you can provide is appreciated!

Hi there

Jensen and Jared don't personalise - they just sign their names. You can try and ask Jensen if it's just a word or two - but he or his handlers may say no, as personalisations are not officially allowed. And a no can be awkward.

You can definitely talk to them at the autograph table. Remember there is a huge queue of people behind you, so you don't have long, and you may be moved on if you're taking up too much time. But there is definitely room for a quick conversation, and I highly suggest starting one, because that way you will get engagement. I have seen a lot of people complain that the boys never spoke to them, just signed and smiled, but the fan didn't speak either...so... Definitely talk to both Jensen and Jared! And hopefully you'll get a bit of back and forth.

Just a couple of things to remember: Autos are usually at the end of the day or the weekend and everyone is tired, so don't be disappointed if you don't get as much chat as you hoped. Try not to go in with expectations. We have a tendency to run how we think it's going to go through our minds and then when it doesn't go quite like we thought, we get bummed out. Try and go in there open to whatever the experience is and enjoy the moment. Also please remember that the boys have a lot of fans to smile at and chat to after you, so if you're telling them a personal story that is important to you, try to keep it on the lighter side. They carry our stories with them, and though we want to share with them how important they are to us and our journeys, we also don't want to give them a heaviness to carry through the rest of the evening - I hope you understand what I mean.

One more thing, Jensen loves Dean. He is Dean's biggest fan. We think we are. I think I am! But one thing I've learned through my interactions with Jensen is, that he is. He is 100% Dean's biggest fan, so he will love hearing how about important Dean is to you.

My main piece of advice is, have fun and try to relax and enjoy being in their orbit for a moment. They are both lovely guys, and if you're friendly with them, my experience is, they'll be friendly in return.

Have fun!

-sweetondean

[ghost-proofbaby]

oh. my. god. alright, buckle in, because this chapter broke me and i am going to make you all hear all about it. also it's a bit of a mess and i definitely bounced around way too much. my bad. spoilers below the cut <3 (also anyone not already reading this story - what are you waiting for people??? look at this masterpiece!!! what!!!)

FIRST OF ALL

“Oh—” he looks back over as you lift the bag of laundry into your arms with a huff, “I have a pair of silk boxers in there that need to be hand washed, so don’t even think about putting them in the machine. And, uh… don’t worry about the stains.”

it's not a want it's a need y'all i need him so badly. eddie in any sort of fancy underwear always gets me going but silk boxers? running to costco for my own kirkland knockoffs brb

and robin!!! my baby robin!!! don't even get me started on baby girl showing up!!! so many thoughts on her entrance, but that entire interaction with eddie was just... oddly comforting? the entire energy of them just being besties is so nice and warm. obviously eddie cares a lot about her - he's her beard for fuck's sake - but i just... i love to see it in action. speaking of which...

“Hey Wheeler, did Robin tell you she’s getting new headshots done for her upcoming play?” he asks. “Do you mind giving her some pointers while we break?”

Nancy brightens at the suggestion, “That’s a great idea. I’d be happy to help!”

“Why don’t you two go somewhere private? I don’t want all these people leering at my sexy wife when she’s posing.”

this entire interaction just softened my heart so much. the way we as readers know why he did this, that he's letting robin and nancy have a moment alone together, but i just. ugh. i completely melted fully. also, it certainly didn't go over my head the way he so casually greeted robin. or the way he didn't wear his wedding ring when they were alone in the apartment. it's all these beautiful, subtle details that you geniuses include that are just so so so pleasing to me.

SPEAKING OF BEING ALONE IN THE APARTMENT. THIS SCENE.

Fully content to ignore him until your task is done, you can’t help but startle away when his fingertips ghost against your temple, pushing the hair back.

BUT THEN I WASN'T EVEN GIVEN THE GRACE TO RECOVER BECAUSE YOU EVIL LIL BEAUTIES HIT US WITH

Eddie’s reaction is instantaneous and dramatic – he moans in outrage as he slides all the way down to the floor beside you, leaning over to lightly hit his forehead against the side of your outer thigh over and over.

i couldn't explain why these scenes, amongst so many other little moments this chapter, had me so feral. i was losing my mind, i had genuine butterflies, until chels so graciously pointed something out - the little touches. the soft brushing of them against each other, eddie making contact whenever he can. basically what i'm saying is i'm touch starved and this chapter has somehow made it even worse. kudos, y'all. endless kudos.

don't even get me started on the honey bee reveal (seriously never letting go of that joke that i'm the biggest fan of this story due to my own bee tattoo sorry y'all), or erica and murray. and murray's sexual innuendos??? GOD. you HEATHENS.

alright, last thought before this damn review gets too long, cause lord knows i could actually scream endlessly. i want to point out something that killed me.

him inviting her on tour.

we know it's part of her job. we know she was coming whether he asked her or not, whether she said yes or not. but in that moment, they play into this illusion of choice. like they have a choice, a say, in what is to happen. the same illusion that, with a heavy heart and sinking stomach, i sense they will play into when it comes to their soulmarks and them being soulmates (speaking it into existence. i know it hasn't been confirmed yet but i refuse to believe otherwise and i'm delusional. sorrz again.) they will pretend to have a choice, we know eddie already holds that state of mind regarding soulmates. act as if they can choose their destiny in whether they will end up together. fight it, accept it - whichever path chosen, they will act as if they have a choice.

they don't have a choice. it's the universe's choice, and they're pawns, and i'm getting carried away and probably no longer making sense but. yeah. not really a theory just an observation and word vomit. sorry guys.

thank you for this brilliant chapter and for letting us see the workings of every single amazing mind behind this series. i bow to y'all, seriously. you all possess such talent and it never fails to leave me in awe. i am sending all my love to you all until the end of time. <3

I Will Wait

a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)

cowritten by @abibliophobiaa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, and @fracturedarkness

18+ only for mature themes and eventual sexual content. fem!reader, alcohol consumption

three (15.3k) | next | masterlist | AO3 | 🎵 shmackin' tunes

in this universe, there is no upside down, the year is 1995, and corroded coffin = nine inch nails. enjoy! 🐝

The next few months are an absolute whirlwind. Corroded Coffin was in the last legs of producing their new album when you were hired, meaning the period of time when they were gearing up for the debut was just getting started. Photoshoots, interviews, preparing press releases, scheduling future appearances, and a million other things all seemed to be happening at once.

In addition to being the middleman between Eddie and the powers that be, which mostly consisted of Steve sending you constant emails of new appointments, you also were quick to learn some of the other expectations that comes along with being a PA for a celebrity. Mainly: house work.

At first you had thought they were fucking with you when Eddie mentioned that he needed you to come to his brownstone in the morning to do his laundry. As it turns out, he was both completely serious and incredibly amused with your ignorance of all the things you had technically signed up to do for him by taking this position. So you found yourself letting yourself into the Munson brownstone in Greenwich Village a few times a week to do menial tasks for your client. 

Today, you’d walked in around 10am, much to Eddie’s displeasure, and were greeted with a bag full of laundry thrown at your feet. “Good morning to you too, Eddie,” you offer, albeit a bit dryly as you place your pocketbook on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Did the maid I hired not get around to laundry this week?”

“Fired her.” Eddie sounds way too chipper for this time of day, and you can only guess it’s because of his smug smile as he forces you into doing things you’ve tried to work around. “Kept looking at my underwear weird; thought she was gonna sell it or something.”

Not believing it for a second, you still give him a tight smile. “I’m sure. I’ll work on finding another maid to clean the brownstone. Again.”

“You do that!” He calls over his shoulder as he walks further into the bright and airy kitchen. In his black sweatpants and bleach-stained tank top, he looks completely at odds with his own home. It sometimes makes you wonder if his wife, Robin, picked everything out or if they had just gotten a designer to come in and make it like a show home. The first floor is beautifully decorated but stale, like no one actually lives there. It gets a bit more personal as you ascend but it still seems strange to have a home feel so disconnected. “Oh—” he looks back over as you lift the bag of laundry into your arms with a huff, “I have a pair of silk boxers in there that need to be hand washed, so don’t even think about putting them in the machine. And, uh… don’t worry about the stains.”

Oh, how you wish you could smack the cheeky grin off his face sometimes. You mumble an acknowledgement as you carry the bag through the first floor and past the kitchen, passing through an open door frame that leads into the laundry/mud room. Sorting lights and darks, despite the very intense lack of white articles that need to be cleaned, you start shoving black fabric after black fabric into the top load washing machine. When the tips of your fingers brush silk, your teeth clench tight together as you clutch it in your fist and throw it towards the deep sink a few feet away.

Once the machine is started, you walk back over to where the bundle of black silk now rests at the bottom of the plastic basin. Upon first examination, there are no suspicious ‘stains’ to be seen, but you still don’t trust it. Pinching one of the hems between your fingernails, you lift it up to eye level to inspect further, wanting to know exactly what you’re getting into before you get started.

The french door behind you pulls open with a stream of sunlight and a brush of floral perfumed air. Still holding the offending garment between your fingertips, you spin toward where Robin has just entered the mud room, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose and a book in her hand. “Uh…” Her hand slowly drops from the door handle, a smile stretching across her face as her eyebrows raise. “Whatcha doin’?”

Embarrassment wells up to warm your face, which you assume was Eddie’s goal all along, while you give Robin a tense smile. “Eddie fired the maid again. Said his silk underwear needed to be ‘hand-washed’.”

Robin’s sigh is one of long-suffering acceptance as she crosses over to you, grabs the boxers, and throws them into the running washing machine. “He’s fucking with you; you know how he is.” The sunglasses are pushed up into her hair so she can fix you with her blue-eyed stare. “You can just… push back a little. Don’t let him walk all over you.”

“It’s my job to—”

“Your job is not to just do whatever the fuck he tells you to do. Like, hiring the maid was a good move. He probably would’ve had you over here everyday dusting his little trophies if you hadn’t outsmarted him.” Her smile is warm, almost like she’s proud. “Your job is to make sure he can do his job. That’s all.”

Since meeting Robin 3 months ago, she has been nothing but sweet and kind to you. Despite being your client’s wife, she very often put herself in your corner, facing off against some of Eddie’s more unreasonable requests. While you don’t necessarily need her intervention, it still is nice to have sometimes. Her reassurance has your tension easing, a deep breath expanding your lungs in slight relief. “Thank you, Robin.”

“No prob,” she taps the cover of her paperback against your bicep as she moves past you and out into the kitchen. “Eddie!”

You follow her through the entry just in time to see Eddie spinning toward her shout, an open gallon of milk in his hand and a white stain on his upper lip. “Hey Rob, what’s the move?”

“God, Munson, you’re so fucking gross.” She pushes his shoulder out of her way to reach into the fridge and pull out a decanter of orange juice. “Remind me to never drink the milk in this house again.”

He sets the jug on the kitchen island and leans on his elbow to keep himself in her sideview, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “And you married me anyway.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groans, although it betrays a certain level of amusement with her husband as she places her palm on his forehead and pushes him away again. Watching the easy interaction of their back and forth, always acting more like best friends than a more formal married couple, has a pang twisting in your chest. You can only hope for such an easy and comfortable relationship with your soulmate one day.

Two days later, you’re once again standing in the Munson brownstone in the early hours of the morning. Or, Eddie’s version of early, which happens to be anytime before noon. You hadn’t had time to find another cleaning service yet so you were elbows deep in the sink in their kitchen, bright yellow silicon gloves protecting your hands from the hot, soapy water as you washed bowls and coffee cups.

Eddie appears at the bottom of the stairs, yawning loudly as he stretches his arms skyward, shirt lifting to show a peek at the ink beneath. You pay him no mind as you continue your methodical cleaning of ceramics, keeping your eyes down even when he walks right up beside you and leans on the counter. Fully content to ignore him until your task is done, you can’t help but startle away when his fingertips ghost against your temple, pushing the hair back.

“What are you doing?” You finally glance over at him, your voice pitching up a bit in surprise. His smile is mischievous, eyes shining in the light, leaning over further to rest his chin on his fist.

“Oh, I was just fixing it for you. Your hands are wet and soapy.”

Exhaling through your nose, you go back to focusing on scrubbing the burnt eggs from the bottom of a frying pan. Over the last month or so, Eddie has gone from barely tolerating your existence and trying to make your life miserable, to being very pleased with your existence so he can continue to push the envelope on making your life miserable. It has become more and more like a game for him – testing the boundaries on what you will tolerate. Both what you will do for him and how much he can flirt with you until you get terse.

After a moment of awkward silence, at least on your end, you move to break the tension. “We should go over your schedule for today.”

He gives an exaggerated sigh, turning to lean both arms back on the counter beside you. “If we have to.”

“Your stylist asked you to be on site by 10am so they would have time to get you ready before the photographers arrived.” You’re barely halfway through your sentence before Eddie is groaning, sinking a bit lower onto his elbows. Mustering a flat look, you turn your head in his direction. “Why are you pouting?”

“I forgot the fucking photoshoot was today.” A ringless hand comes up to rub at the side of his face, still a bit swollen from sleep. “The only thing worse is those stupid press interviews.”

You turn back to the soap filled bowl in your gloved hands to hide your smile. “Good thing that’s not today. The interview is later this week.” Eddie’s reaction is instantaneous and dramatic – he moans in outrage as he slides all the way down to the floor beside you, leaning over to lightly hit his forehead against the side of your outer thigh over and over.

“I swear, it’s like you hate me,” his voice is muffled from below, face directed down. “You hate me when I have been nothing but nice to you.”

An amused snort leaves you against your will at the idea. His head whips back to look up at you in surprise and you barely manage to school your expression in time. “It’s not personal, Eddie. I’m just doing my job.”

“Speaking of your job,” he picks himself up off the floor in a less-than-graceful fashion, his sweatpants running much lower as he rises. You keep your eyes in the sink as you wipe down the last coffee mug left and pretend you aren’t seeing him adjust the fabric around his groin. “I need you to walk my lizard today.”

Halfway through removing the stopper from the sink to drain the used water, you freeze with your forearm still in the slowly lowering water. “Excuse me?”

He’s leaning on his elbow again, a smug smile on his face as he watches your reactions. “My lizard. You know, the one upstairs?” You make a noise of acknowledgement that you know what lizard he’s referring to. “He needs to be walked once a week. Specifically on sunny days. Normally around noon when the sun is highest, so he gets the most of the heat, y’know?”

You feel your eyebrows drawing together in confusion, trying to think back to what you know about lizards. Which, admittedly, is not much. Still, needing to walk a lizard sounds incorrect. You’ve never seen someone walking around with their lizard on a leash. You’re about to start to question him more when you catch sight of his expression. He has his lips drawn in between his teeth, his eyes pinched tight as he tries not to laugh. “... You’re fucking with me.” The laugh escapes as a bark, his palm slapping down on the counter beside you as it echoes out into the high ceilings of the brownstone. “You almost fell for it too!”

Bristling in annoyance and just a little bit of embarrassment, you take a deep breath and hang the damp gloves over the edge of the now-empty sink to dry. “I think it’s time for you to get ready to leave.”

His mirth dies down fast, his head rolling back to sigh at the ceiling. “But, and here’s the thing right, I really don’t want to go.” You make another noncommittal noise, not looking to encourage his antics right now. Neck rolling toward you, that cheeky grin that you’ve come to loathe is back. “Beg me and I’ll do it.”

Another exhale out of your nose to remain calm, you weigh your options. If you beg, you are playing into his games and encouraging antics like this. But, you also get the result you want faster. If you refuse, you are technically standing your ground, but could end up with a bigger fight to try to get him ready and out the door in time. Deciding to play his game, you give him the flattest expression you’re capable of. “Will you please get ready to leave for your photoshoot?”

This time the sigh he lets out is satisfied, his shoulders falling and eyes closing in what looks like relief. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re accompanied by a lazy smile. “Love when you say please.” He taps the tip of your nose, shocking you still, as he turns back toward the stairs. “I’ll be ready in no time!”

He is not ready in no time.

You’re standing at the bottom of the stairs at 10:10am and have still not seen head nor tail of Eddie since he traipsed back up. The car outside has already honked twice, letting you know it’s waiting, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Eddie, we’re already late!” Your voice echoes through the multi-floor space, definitely loud enough for him to hear, but you get no response. Patience running thin, you raise your voice again. “Eddie!”

You finally hear him reply, voice far off. “I got stuck in my pants, maybe you should come up and help me!”

Pressing your fingertips to your brow bone hard enough to pull the skin of your eyelid, you call back, “If you’re struggling to put your own pants on, I should probably call a medical professional.”

The soles of now-familiar boots appear at the top of the tall staircase, your eyes trailing up their occupant as he begins to slowly lumber his way down the stairs. He’s in his usual attire. Scuffed Doc Martens, a pair of black jeans stretched tight over his endless thighs, leather jacket fitted against his frame, those chunky rings adorning his fingers. Around his neck he wears multiple silver chains of varying sizes, dipping low into the collar of his shirt. “Y’know you could stand to be a little more fun.”

You remain firm, arms crossed as you wait for him to hit the final step. “I don’t think I understand your version of fun.” He blows a raspberry in your direction as he crosses the foyer to start shoving things into the already-tight pockets of his jeans. “We’re already late, and that means we are just delaying further when we can get to your preferred portion of the day at the studio.”

He meets your eyes through the mirror before him. Both of you showing an attempt at nonchalance.  “I swear, sometimes when you talk it’s like a fly buzzing around my head and I just,” he swats once, “can’t,” twice, “get it,” three times, “to stop.”

“Maybe you should get better aim,” you offer coolly as you cross behind him to hold open the front door, hoping to get him to finally walk through it. “Or, better yet, you should consider actually listening to me instead of letting it go in one ear and out the other.”

“But it's like a buzzing little bee in my ear. Gets so annoying whenever you’re droning on and on about responsibilities and my to do list and shit.” He walks past you as he continues his rant, bouncing down the small set of stairs leading to street level. You’ve just turned back from locking the door when he whirls on you. “Maybe if you wore something a little more easy on the eyes, I’d be able to focus more on what comes out of your mouth.”

When you grit your teeth, his grin only grows, backing up towards the black sedan waiting for you both. Your voice is a thinly veiled warning when you start to say, “Eddie –”

“Careful, little Bee,” he opens the door, lifting a boot to rest on the frame. “If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.” Then he falls into the darkened car, leaving the door open and sliding across so you can get in next to him. With no other option, you stomp down your frustration and climb in after him.

You’re not sure what to expect as the car pulls up in front of an abandoned warehouse out on Long Island. At first glance, it’s a dilapidated looking hole in the wall. From where you’re sitting, you can see the rusted metal roofing, the smashed in windows, exposed beams standing erect to hold up the exterior of the building. You knew the team intended for a grungier, broken down scene to represent the lyrics of the band’s latest album portraying a man’s downfall; however, you hardly anticipated something such as this in the seemingly middle of nowhere. 

  Eddie’s knee spreads further right from where he sits next to you, jean-clad thigh brushing yours ever so softly. Your head shifts to take him in, gaze trailing instantaneously to where you’re connected, stamping down the feeling that wells up and lingers behind your ribs with every fleeting moment such as this. His amber eyes are shrouded behind a pair of sunglasses today, tattooed hand nearest to you sprawled over his bent kneecap. There’s a thought burgeoning in his gaze, ever present before he ever even opens his mouth to speak out his reluctant drawl of, “Guess it’s now or never.”

The two of you slide out the car in unison on opposite sides of the respective vehicle, winding around the exterior and meeting to join in the center of the uneven, grassy ground. His lip quirks upward as he takes in the sight of you like a newborn doe on heels that insist on sinking into the ground, head tipping your way in the only acknowledgement of your presence you’ll likely receive. Inside, you’re immediately greeted by rusted over conveyor belts in the center of the room. There are steel beam stairs leading to an upper deck overlooking the central portion of the interior. To your left is the wall least eaten away by rust throughout the years, silver metal spanning from floor to ceiling, with endless lights positioned around the edges of the parameters to illuminate the set.  

Your head tips to Eddie, standing there disinterested as ever, head tipping up to the sky, visible through the broken up ceiling. Like this, you can see every dark wave of hair that dances along the leather of his jacket, the ridges on the column of his pale throat, the tattoos that creep up high along the neckline of his collar, hinting at intricate detailing beneath. And then that left hand settles over the bridge of his sunglasses and pushes them upward, the glint of his wedding ring catching in your field of view, and you set your gaze on the glowing set before you as you edge closer to your destination. 

The room itself is bustling. People shift and mill about the warehouse, carrying various pallets and crates in hand and positioning them strategically around the room in order to create impactful angles for the intended photos. Workers chat amongst themselves with cameras draped around their necks, clipboards in hand as they mark down a list of tasks you’re not privy to. Once nearer to the group, a woman comes barreling over in a flurry of movement. She’s gorgeous. Deep russet skin, dark hair styled to perfection, a tape measure over her shoulder, and a pair of leather pants curled over a forearm. You catch the glint of her artful gold hoops in either of her ears and the bright makeup covering her eyelids. You admire the rips in her jeans and the fabric of her oversized hoodie as she tuts audibly and glares Eddie’s way. You assume this isn’t the first time Eddie’s run behind schedule, try as you might to get him there as close to on time as possible.

“You’re late!” She admonishes, hand dropping to a popped out hip. For the first time since you’ve been working for Eddie, you catch the slight drop in his steely facade. It’s barely noticeable, just the slightest downturn of his lips, but you capture it all the same, knowing this woman intimidates him in a way no one else seems capable of doing so. She turns to you then, flashing you a megawatt smile. “Erica. Erica Sinclair. I’m Corroded Coffin’s stylist. I’m sure you tried your very best to get him here on time, but you see Edward wouldn’t be Edward if he wasn’t late to everything.”

“Fashionably late, Sinclair.” She glances him up and down, clearly unimpressed by his excuse, and curls a hand around his shoulder.

“Says the man who would wear the same ugly ass Hellfire shirt to every fitting when I first started working with you all. It’s a miracle by my own doing that you know how to dress yourself now. Come on, the team is already paying for your lateness,” she says, and without another word your way, she ushers him to a trailer standing just outside of the warehouse, where you anticipate the rest of the band to be readying for their photoshoot within. 

You’re left to stand in the back of the warehouse, trying to keep out of the way of those working around you. With a low sigh, you wander over to the furthest wall covered in sheet metal and broken in windows, looking out into the grassy landscape. A bird flits on by, drawing your attention, just as a voice sounds from behind you. Jolting, you whirl on the heel and spot none other than Steve himself, and beside him, a man you’ve yet to meet before.

The man’s bearded face is twisted in a scowl as he shouts into his brick of a cell phone. He’s gesticulating wildly, dark curls bouncing with every angry movement. You can only catch snippets of his impassioned rant, but you’ve gathered enough to know that he does not suffer fools gladly. 

Steve stands awkwardly beside the man, wincing on occasion at his booming voice. The scene is not entirely inviting, but you have no choice but to approach when Steve’s gaze catches yours. His face lights up in recognition, and he waves his hand to beckon you near. As you approach, Steve steps forward and briefly pats your upper back in greeting.

“Glad to see you made it! I want to introduce you to our band manager, Murray Bauman.” Steve motions you over with a warm smile until another shrill taunt from the man in question has him flinching away. “But let’s just give him a minute, shall we?” You agree politely and turn with Steve to observe Murray closing out his phone conversation. 

“I don’t care how busy you are, get it done TODAY!” Murray’s barking demand echoes throughout the warehouse, and you stare as he rips the phone from his ear and takes out his frustrations by repeatedly smashing the end call button. He lets out an annoyed breath before pushing his wireframe glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

“Fair warning, he can be… bold.” Steve whispers this warning for your ears only. Just another hothead for the collection, you snort to yourself. You deal with Eddie Munson on a daily basis. How much worse could Murray Bauman be? Steve walks ahead of you to serve as the bridge during introductions. Before Steve can offer an explanation, Murray’s annoyed face takes in your approach with suspicion. 

“Who are you? Harrington, why are you bringing this person to bother me?” Murray interrogates you immediately. He regards you skeptically, assessing whether you are worth his time or attention. 

“Murray, this is the assistant I was telling you about,” Steve explains, offering your name as he beckons you forward. “You know, the one who is currently working with Eddie.”

“You mean the one you forced me to hire?” 

Steve casts a furtive glance your way before his gaze whips back to Murray, the stare holding weight as he replies, “She’s lasted four months, Murray.”

Murray looks back flatly as Steve tries to impress some knowledge upon him with a combination of wide hazel eyes and bushy brows. Behind his wireframe glasses, Murray squints. “Four months?” He replies skeptically, and Steve nods slowly.

“Four months,” he enunciates slowly, and you watch the men communicate through shifting facial expressions: Steve’s eyes implore Murray to be civil, while Murray appears exasperated by the prospect of niceties. Eventually, Murray lets out a groan before forcing his face into a perfunctory smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Murray offers, insincerity lacing his every word. His dark eyes cut to Steve as if to ask - happy now? All at once, his mask crumbles and he returns to his brash self. “Do me a favor, yeah? Keep Munson in line. I’d prefer to not clean up any more of his messes.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” you reply. “It’s very nice to mee–”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Murray sounds appalled, disgust written all over his face. His question makes you stutter to a stop. You look down at your outfit and see nothing untoward - white blouse, black cardigan, plaid pleated skirt, dark tights, and chunky heels. It’s simple and professional. It’s safe. Or so you thought. Confused, you look back up to see that Murray isn’t making eye contact with you. Instead, he’s glaring at something or someone behind you. That’s when you register the sound of heavy boots thudding your way. You turn to see who has inspired such a visceral reaction from Murray, but instinctively you know who you’ll find. 

Eddie.  

He strides toward you with Erica by his side. She looks proud of her work, and you can’t blame her. Eddie looks… well, he looks hot. To put it bluntly. Erica has given Eddie a monochrome look that’s enhanced by different textures and accessories. His black suit is striking with its satin lapels and tailored fit. The suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the pièce de résistance - a mesh top that leaves little to the imagination.

“You look ridiculous! Where’s the rest of your shirt?” Murray’s question is directed at Eddie, but his scowl is aimed straight at Erica. Any other person would have withered under the intensity of his glower, but Erica seems emboldened by it. 

“Where’s the rest of your hair?!” Erica counters without a moment's hesitation, arms crossed in defiance. “Leave the dressing to the experts. Seriously, Murray. You look like a sad, middle-aged hack going through a divorce.”

“Oh, spare me, Sinclair.” 

Erica and Murray’s jibes muddle with Steve’s pleas to stop, eventually fading into background noise as you observe the man standing before you. 

You have to hand it to Erica - it’s a daring look. The mesh hugs Eddie’s torso in a way that flatters his lithe frame and provides just enough of a glimpse of his tattoos to captivate any onlooker. His pale skin is heavily decorated in ink, and you can’t help but try deciphering what you’re seeing through the mesh. Eddie’s collection of tattoos seems to pay homage to his love of music and fantasy. On his left side, you spy an unusual string instrument with the word bard etched underneath. Just below that, you see artwork of a dagger with a blade made of uniquely shaped dice. By his right ribcage, Eddie has a tattoo of a mighty dragon with wings poised for flight. The dragon’s claws seemingly tear into the supple skin of Eddie’s toned abdomen. You follow the dragon’s scales down, down, down until its tail disappears beneath Eddie’s suit trousers - along with a little patch of sparse hair below his navel. 

I wonder where that tattoo ends. The thought jolts you back to reality. This is your client— your very married client— whose wife has been nothing but kind to you. The guilt and shame overwhelm you. 

You become very aware that you’re still ogling Eddie’s body, and your eyes race upwards to find a more appropriate location to settle. Unfortunately, your retreat to safety is foiled by the glimmer of metal you spot by Eddie’s nipples. You feel flustered by the sudden warmth blossoming within you. Eddie Munson has his nipples pierced. You had been too distracted by his tapestry of tattoos to notice them at first, but now you’ll never be able to forget that the piercings exist. Great going, you think to yourself, you try to avoid staring at your client's happy trail only to stare at his nipple piercings instead. Well done, very professional. 

To your horror, Eddie has caught you staring. He sports a look of faux disappointment with his plump lips pushed into a pout. His tattooed hand points to his face, and he teases, “Tsk, tsk, little Bee. My eyes are up here.”

Your mind races to find a suitable excuse for your staring, or better yet, a way to deny it happened in the first place. Eddie is looking at you like he’s a spider that has caught you in his web, and you break eye contact to save some face. It ends up being the wrong decision because your mortification only deepens when you realize that Murray and Steve have witnessed Eddie’s accusation. Erica has long since departed after her verbal sparring match with Murray. Without her there to act as the target for his irritation, Murray is now laser-focused on you and Eddie. “Hmm… that’s interesting,” he observes, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. 

“What’s interesting?” Steve asks.

“Keep up, Harrington,” Murray offers no explanation and instead dodges Steve’s question with a dismissive wave of his hand. Steve places his hands on his hips looking utterly bewildered. He goes to speak again, but Murray beats him to the punch. “So, Munson… I hear that your assistant has lasted four months working with you. Is that right?”

Murray’s inquiry has an instant effect on Eddie’s body language. His playful pouting has dissipated, and his stance now appears guarded. He crosses his arms over his chest— over the distracting nipple piercings, thank god— as he eyes his band manager cautiously. “... why do you ask?” 

“Oh, no reason at all. Just curious,” Murray replies nonchalantly. “You must be getting along.” You don’t know Murray well at all. However, you do know Eddie well enough to take his weariness as a signal that things could soon become uncomfortable. 

“I haven’t scared her off, yet. If that’s what you mean,” Eddie scoffs. “But don’t worry, I’m still working on it.” It’s a classic Eddie move -  making a joke of something to avoid showing any hint of being rattled. He throws a coquettish grin in your direction, which does not go unnoticed by Murray. Steve looks uneasy, as if this conversation will upset whatever balance you’ve struck with Eddie. 

“I sure hope she isn’t stroking your ego too much.” Murray’s tone is blasé, but his implication is clear. “And you better not be giving her a mouthful.” Steve can no longer stand idly by now that he has finally caught onto what Murray found so intriguing. He swoops in to intervene by physically placing himself between Eddie and Murray. 

“Well this has been fantastic,” Steve forces a laugh out and runs a shaky hand through his brown locks. “Murray, let’s continue that chat about merch, yeah?” He is practically vibrating with nervous energy as he tries encouraging Murray to move. 

Allowing himself to be led away, Murray offers a farewell over his shoulder, “Good luck, kid. If you need anything, anything at all, do not contact me. Bother Harrington instead.” At the mention of his name, Steve turns briefly to mouth I’m sorry as the pair exit. 

Mind spinning off kilter from everything that occurred in the last few minutes, you turn yourself back toward Eddie for a sense of stability. Since when is Eddie something constant in your life? You find a very tense-looking man. The muscles in his jaw are pulled tight as he glares at the spot once occupied by Murray. The moment ends quickly as if he can feel your eyes on him. Eddie annoyingly seems to have gained a sixth sense for knowing when you’re staring. His crossed arms fall along with the seriousness of his expression, hands tucking into his front pockets. The action only causes his pants to inch lower and, for a split second, your eyes are instinctively drawn to the patch of skin now on show. 

My eyes are up here.

The echo in your brain rings out and has your glance jumping back up in horror. Eddie watches every movement and his lips pull between his teeth again, the same face he made this morning when he was trying not to laugh. All you can offer in defense is rolling your shoulders back to look taller and making your gaze sharper, daring him to say something. He lifts his hands in surrender, his lips popping out into a self-satisfied smile as he turns on his heel and saunters back toward the set, whistling all the while. You begrudgingly follow after him.

Eddie’s pace is unhurried as he drags his feet in a clear display of apathy. You spot the rest of the band gathered around a petite woman speaking animatedly and pointing to various spots on the set. She’s captivating with her high cheekbones, loose brunette waves, and eyes like the ocean. Those eyes narrow upon seeing Eddie’s dawdling. 

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” she chides. “We’ve been waiting on you. Hurry it up.”

“Hello to you, too, Wheeler. I didn’t realize you were so excited to see me. I’d hate to disappoint a fan,” Eddie teases with a roguish grin wide across his face. Much to your surprise, he picks up his pace and joins the others in listening to Nancy— whose first name you learn indirectly, thanks to Eddie’s habit of calling everyone by their last names— detail the aim of today’s photoshoot. She explains that the media team will be experimenting with several looks in order to use the photos for both album promotion and touring purposes. 

Eddie turns to you as Nancy begins guiding the others to their spots on set. “Enjoy the show. You sure seemed to earlier.” He winks and turns on his heel to join the others.

Deny! Deflect! Do something!

“I was only admiring Erica’s work! It had nothing to do with you.”  You can see Eddie’s shoulders shaking with laughter, and you know he’s not convinced. To be fair, you haven’t convinced yourself either. It sounds weak even to your ears, like a last-ditch effort to save your dignity. Feeling defeated, you slump over to the chairs lining the wall where you can watch the photoshoot concealed behind the photography equipment. 

Two hours pass and the band is still preoccupied with taking pictures. You watch as they’re pushed and pulled into different poses and settings. The process feels overall repetitive, but Nancy does her best to keep energy levels high. She directs the photographers to get solo shots, which leads to hilarious chaos as the band hypes each other up behind the camera. “Yeah, Harry! Rock out with your Cox out!”  

Despite the momentary amusement, you find yourself mostly bored watching from the sidelines. You’re both surprised and grateful when you see a familiar face enter the set. Robin peers around at the flurry of activity before making her way over to you. 

“Finally some good company,” you breathe out in relief. Robin is delightful to be around, and you mean it when you share your appreciation for her presence. She gives you a sympathetic look before taking a seat beside you.  

“These things can take forever,” she commiserates. “But Nancy will keep them on track. Don’t worry. They’re lucky to have her. She’s brilliant.” Her husky voice sounds especially warm with adoration.  

Just as Robin said, Nancy is brilliant in her precise and methodical approach. She directs the crew in adjusting the lights and backdrops with ease. Her critical eye allows her to observe each shot and offer valuable posing guidance. It’s impressive to watch someone be so in her element. 

You and Robin sit together and make small talk until there’s a break for a set and wardrobe change. Robin excuses herself and makes her way over to Nancy. You notice Nancy’s focused demeanor melt into one of warmth upon Robin's approach, and the sight of their friendly affection for one another brings a smile to your face. Quite honestly, it makes you miss your friends; you’ve been so busy since starting this job that you haven’t found much time to see them.

Eddie walks past the pair on his way to meet Erica, briefling nodding at his wife in acknowledgement. He stops abruptly and looks around at the crowded set before swiveling back to face them.  

“Hey Wheeler, did Robin tell you she’s getting new headshots done for her upcoming play?” he asks. “Do you mind giving her some pointers while we break?”

Nancy brightens at the suggestion, “That’s a great idea. I’d be happy to help!”

“Why don’t you two go somewhere private? I don’t want all these people leering at my sexy wife when she’s posing.” Eddie winks at Robin, who whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ before leaving with Nancy. You’re touched by what you’ve just witnessed. Eddie is actually a supportive and loving husband. The longing hits you unexpectedly. When will it be my turn? Soulmate, where are you?

It’s exhausting to pine for someone you haven’t met yet. You have all of this love to give without a person to receive it and reciprocate. It feels aimless, like being adrift in the dark ocean with no light to guide you home. You’re too lost in your yearning to notice that Eddie has returned and is standing beside your chair.

“Everything okay, Bee?” The question physically jolts you from surprise. You wait for the inevitable teasing from Eddie about catching you off guard. Instead, you look up to find Eddie eyeing you closely. Whatever he sees in you in that moment must cause him concern. His brow is furrowed, and there’s an unexpected tenderness in his gaze. 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I got distracted by my thoughts.” 

“Well, that’s no good. What did I tell you this morning about having more fun?” Eddie hold his hand out for you to take, and he gently coaxes you to stand. His calloused hands feel rough against your gentleness, but you find it comforting. Once upright, he drops your hand and offers out his arm out as a replacement. “Come on, I’ve got just the idea to break you out of your shell.” 

The two of you walk side by side comfortably, and Eddie guides you to where the band and Nancy have reconvened. The guys are looking up at one of the warehouse walls in deep observation. You squint your eyes, searching for something on the wall that might be drawing their attention. Having no success, you look back to the band and realize they’re each holding something. Are those spray paint cans? Your ears perk up at the sound of rattling as Gareth shakes the can he’s holding. Yeah, definitely spray paint. You send a quizzical look Eddie’s way.

“Murray thought we needed some more edgy photos. He suggested we graffiti the wall for the next set,” he explains. “Wheeler was all worried about it, but… Murray knows best.” He mutters the last part bitterly, shaking his head with distaste. “He might actually be right about this, though.” Eddie steps forward, breaking your linked arms, and snags two spray paint cans from the ground. He holds one out to you, his face alight with mischief. 

You look around self consciously, noting that Steve and Murray are both within view. You fidget nervously and contemplate whether you can let your hair down while on the job. No one else appears to be partaking; only the band members have been given spray paint. “Are you sure about this? I think it’s just meant for you all.” 

Eddie throws his head back with an exaggerated groan. “Come on! Live a little.” He snaps out of his dramatics when he hears the sound of hissing fill the air from the spray paint cans in use. Gareth, Jeff, and Harry have already begun doodling on the wall without him. “See?! We’re missing out on the fun because you’re overthinking.” 

He extends the can out to you once more, gently nudging you to partake. He grins widely when you take the simple black paint from him reluctantly. You can do this. Show him you’re not always so uptight. 

You slowly approach the wall and think about what to paint. You need to show him that you can have fun and keep up with his jokes. The idea comes to you easily, and you get to work on your masterpiece. It’s a simple piece that only takes a few minutes for you to prepare. . 

Eddie is intently focused on drawing a large, crimson devil’s face, and you need to wave to get his attention. When his eyes meet yours, you point to your painting and await his reaction. Previously blank, the wall now sports the image of a humble bumblebee. The bee has two basic stripes, fluttering wings, and most importantly - a stinger. Eddie’s warning from this morning is fresh on your mind. If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.

Your artistic choice has the intended effect, and Eddie lets out a hearty laugh. He smiles at you, and those brown eyes crinkle at the corners with joy. He looks proud, and it stirs something unexpected inside of you. You find that you like pleasing him.  

  “Atta girl.”

You suppress a shiver that the hum of his voice conjures despite the flippancy of his words.

That photoshoot, though chaotic in and of itself, somehow ended up becoming the calm before the storm for you. A demarcation point beyond which your days became filled with the relentless pursuit of planning a multi-month tour for a moderately famous industrial metal band. Days that had previously been spent ushering Eddie around to meetings with some semblance of timeliness and bringing him snacks when he gets cranky are now consumed by filling a thickening manilla envelope with neat documents, each marked with your precise handwriting as you plan and record each aspect of the trip logistics: contacting venues as per Steve’s direction, managing their hospitality riders, tracking expenses and budgeting for food and accommodations, as well as other minutiae that, frankly, has begun to make that vein throbbing in your neck a near constant companion by the end of the workday. The hours feel long, longer than they do when you’re trying to wrangle Eddie; though the days aren’t physically taxing as you spend them holed up at a desk fitted snugly into the closet you’d reorganized, they are mentally exhausting as those dates, dollar amounts, and contact names begin to tangle up in your head. You spill them out onto your trusty desk calendar, collecting them there as you stretch the strands and detangle them in order to begin weaving together Corroded Coffin’s first tour. It’s a feat you take no small measure of pride in.

Thankfully, during the weeks you spent taming this beast of a task, Eddie and the guys had been occupied almost entirely with rendering the final mix of their album. They’d worked closely with Argyle in refining the balance and levels of instruments and ambient sounds that would create the dirty industrial feel they were seeking with this upcoming release. You’d popped out of your stuffy little closet occasionally to check on them, though they didn’t seem to need much beyond being fed. Eddie, in particular, seemed quite consumed by a desire to see the vision brought to life, and was as serious and engaged as you’d ever seen him with a chair pulled up next to Argyle. That’s where you’d almost always see him when you emerged— long fingers idly twisting chunky rings, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed while he listened carefully and assisted in tweaking such small changes that you hardly could tell the difference with your unpracticed ear. He had a beeper to page you, but through your months of working with him, you’d begun to anticipate what he needs to sustain him daily in this routine— a hot to-go cup of black coffee first thing in the morning; at least half a box of cigarettes in the pocket of his leather jacket, on call for a smoke break; a salty snack around his lull time of four in the afternoon, which you rotate to keep him from getting bored; and next-to-no interruptions except a quick meeting of your gazes a few times a day in case it reminds him to ask you for something. 

And now, finally, as late August adorns the New York streets with haze rising from the asphalt and paints sidewalks with the frantic bustle of summer tourists, your strands of dates and locations and prices and contact names have now been woven together to form a complete tapestry: Accommodations for Corroded Coffin’s ‘95-’96 Album Tour. All the knotted muscles in your shoulders, the bloodshot eyes, the late nights and early mornings had been worth it to get to this point— the point at which the final picture of what exactly that tour would entail has been tied off into neat and tidy knots of thorough efficiency. You stretch your arms above your head and your spine pops with relief; despite the fatigue you feel fuzzing between your eyebrows, you push back your chair almost cheerily and pull the headphones from your ears, prepared pop from the closet and join the men whose tour you’ve just planned.

When you emerge, you expect to see them all in some approximation of the same position as usual— Argyle and Eddie sat in front of the mixing board, Harry hovering close behind, and Gareth and Jeff either mucking about in the studio or sprawled on the couches in the corner where they call out their contributions. Instead, you’re surprised by the presence of an unexpected figure, who acts as the nexus point around which the rest of the band hovers. He’s got his hands stuffed under his armpits and his hip jutted out, one loafer tapping against the floor, though behind his wire-rimmed spectacles he looks less irritated than the last time you’d seen him. I suppose having the tour booked and the album finished would put any band manager in a decent mood, you think, eager to join the throng of smiling men who gather around him.

“What’s on the menu? Anything good? ” Gareth is asking as you walk up.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is free food not good enough for you? You eat Smarties in Yoohoo as breakfast cereal. Get a grip,” Murray snipes, and laughter rumbles through the group.

“Oh!” All eyes turn to you at your little sound of surprise. “What promo event are you discussing? Did Steve plan something? I don’t remember seeing it on my weekly agenda notes from him.”

There is a beat of uncharacteristic silence from everyone before Jeff speaks— not quite tripping over himself, but with an extra edge of enthusiasm you don’t typically hear in his voice. “No, no,” he assures you quickly. “You didn’t miss anything. It’s a celebration for finishing the album, not a promo event. Just a get together Murray planned for us tomorrow.” He lifts his brows, eyes warm and sincere, if not a little too wide. “You gonna be there?”

That familiar feeling in your chest— that subtle deflating that sinks into your stomach, reminding you of cafeteria tables lacking in saved space and friends reminiscing over shared experiences you hadn’t even been aware of— weighs you down inside as you look into Jeff’s kind face. It stings, the knowledge that you hadn’t quite been forgotten or excluded, but only just— only because you’d emerged from your makeshift office and wandered into the conversation at just the right moment. Had you not, you would have been none the wiser, and it makes Jeff’s question— ‘You gonna be there?’ — feel awkwardly like you’ve invited yourself.

Still, you choose to save face. “Oh, gotcha!” you say, turning to Murray. “Where is it?” 

The neutrality in Murray’s expression in place of his typical sardonic scowl almost makes you feel worse. “My place. You been to the Upper West Side?” You nod. “You can show up anytime after seven. I’ll have Harrington shoot you the address, kid.”

You brace yourself against this second blow— being called ‘kid’ as if you really are just Eddie’s babysitter, as if you hadn’t just single-handedly coordinated an entire tour’s-worth of hotels and restaurants and activities— and smile. “Thank you,” you say, avoiding the dark brown eyes of one curly-haired menace.

Because if there’s pity there, too— pity like the kind you felt in Jeff’s too-wide smile or Murray’s soft nod— you think you might just burst into hot, utterly humiliating tears.

On Friday night, it takes some time for you to dress and even longer for you to resolve to actually attend the celebration party. That last-minute invite has rocked your sense of self, manifesting most clearly in the lack of clarity regarding your outfit. Clothes are strewn across your typically-orderly room like a cyclone of indecision has torn through it, and what you’ve chosen feels barely adequate: silver jewelry, simple mary janes, and a black silk blouse that flows like water against your skin, tucked loosely into the waistband of your bootcut blue jeans. You’d settled on the blouse chiefly because of the color, as if with some subconscious desire to blend in with the men you work with so that maybe next time they won’t forget about you.

After a good nights rest unencumbered by that looming task still hanging over your head— since you’d finally completed it, to your relief— and some consideration, you’d reasoned that the reason for your late invitation was probably not malicious. And when you’d checked your email to see that, not even twenty minutes after your conversation with Murray had Steve emailed and sent you details and the address, it essentially confirmed it. Sure, it certainly still stung knowing that you hadn’t been thought of from the get-go, but you chalked it up to your newness and the fact that you’d been cloistered in your ‘office’ so often lately.

You’d concluded the mistake was likely innocent, and as you stand outside the front door to Murray’s apartment hesitating to knock, you find yourself desperately hoping you’re right, and that you haven’t made a mistake by coming after all. This job is already so different from any you’d had before— nowhere else had you spent so much time intimately intertwined with the details of your employer’s life outside of a professional context. Spending time at Eddie’s apartment to wash his dishes, coordinate his meals, take him to his appointments, fetch him the things he needs… look after him… it all feels more domestic than professional, though in this role, really, those things are one in the same. It blurs the lines and leaves you strangely yearning for inclusion, leaves you feeling more vulnerable, as you finally press your index to the doorbell, than you’d honestly prefer.

A flash of panic hits you as you hear the approach of footsteps beyond the door. You prepare yourself for the sight of Murray’s face half-twitched into a reluctantly-polite smile as the rest of the men stare at you from their seats, drinks dangling from their hands as their eyes turn quickly from you and back to one another.

But when the door swings open, you’re instead greeted with the sight of Gareth’s poofy brown bangs and pink cheeks as he smiles so widely at the sight of you you’re sure his face must ache from it. “She made it!” he exclaims into your face, breath puffing loose and acrid with alcohol as he hooks an arm around your shoulder to pull you inside amidst a rousing chorus of elongated ‘ay’s from the rest of the band.

Your apprehension dissolves like seafoam as he pulls you eagerly inside. 

The interior of Murray’s apartment feels as though you’ve walked into a time capsule. You aren’t sure whether the mid-century modern theme is because Murray is partial to the style or because he hasn’t bothered updating the furnishings since the seventies, but judging by his half-unbuttoned ‘party’ shirt striped with deep brown and cream— displaying no little amount of bushy chest hair within which a gold chain is nestled— you figure it’s probably the latter. You look around with interest at the furnishings, intrigued by the design’s ability to feel both high end and also warm, quite a contrast from the modern crispness many favor nowadays. Gareth doesn’t give you much time to sight-see as he leads you towards the party’s epicenter in the living room, though you do notice that the walls are a bold burnt orange, accented by geometric wallpaper and bookshelves filled with vintage books and knick-knacks likely gathered on Murray’s travels. As you pad over the shag carpet in your mary janes, your gaze is drawn to the men crowded on the low-slung sofa around a sleek, glass-top coffee table. The air is hazy with smoke, which wafts from a cigar resting in a crystal ashtray near Murray’s elbow, and the record-player in the corner is crackling with jazz— Miles Davis, if your memory serves you correctly. 

All-in-all, it’s nothing what you expected Corroded Coffin’s album-completion party to look like, down to the way they all perk as Gareth leaves you to hover near the side of the couch while he plops back down in his spot on the floor. It’s all the familiar faces you would expect, and no one else. Murray, Steve and Argyle sit on low-profile armchairs pulled up beside the coffee table where cards and poker chips clearly indicate they’re in the middle of a game; Jeff and Gareth are seated together on the floor, and they lift their drink glasses to you when your eyes pass over them; and finally, Harry and Eddie are on the couch, knees spread wide and comfortable as they slouch, though they straighten at your approach. The mens’ greetings become a cacophony of friendly voices you can’t possibly discern as they overlap happily, and you accept them with somewhat shy nods but a pleased smile. Harry immediately shifts over towards the couch’s arm, and when he notices, Eddie does the same, narrowing his knees and shuffling over to the opposite side to make room for you.

It’s a clear invitation, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest as you step carefully over Harry’s shoes to sink onto the low velvet couch between them. 

“Did you find the place okay?” Steve asks, and you meet his hazel eyes as you reply,

“Yes, thanks. Actually, my aunt lives—” You find a cup suddenly thrust into your fingers, and you close them hastily around textured glass, glancing down at the amber liquid inside. “What is this?”

“Whiskey, my dude,” Argyle replies, settling back into his chair with a lopsided grin. “Bottoms up.”

You stare at it for a moment skeptically, already balking from the burn in your throat. But, like sharks in the water, they sense your hesitation; as if with one mind, the guys lean forward to goad you with some light ribbing, flashing brows, and wide grins. All except Murray, that is, who seems more impatient to get back to the poker game as he grouses and sighs impatiently. 

In the end, it’s Eddie’s elbow in your side and his brown eyes catching yours that do it— his gestures are loose with alcohol, and yet more gentle than you typically see him. “C’mon, little Bee.” He smiles, and something catches in your throat as it brightens his flushed face. “Time to get buzzed.”

Your head tosses back of its own accord as you laugh, tickled by the pun; when you look at him again, Eddie looks inordinately pleased with himself. “All right,” you concede; the guys cheer as Murray shakes his head. And though it burns just as much as you knew it would, when you clink that glass down against the coffee table, coughing slightly as Harry claps you jovially on the back, all you feel is warm. Warmth in your belly, warmth against your sides where Harry and Eddie sit beside you, warmth in your cheeks as you settle back against the cushions and look around at the friendly faces that surround you. 

Now that you’ve been christened with your first drink, the group turns back to the game of poker your arrival had interrupted. You watch with interest as they take up their hands again, hiding your giggle behind your hand as Gareth dramatically flops backward in a sprawl on the floor when he loses to Jeff, who rakes the pile of chips in the center gleefully and dramatically into his corner of the table. “I put thirty dollars on that hand; come on, man,” Gareth whines, but Jeff pays him no mind nor offers any mercy.

“D’you know how to play?” Eddie asks you, and you shake your head. 

“We can teach you,” Harry offers. 

“Oh, I’m fine watching—” You begin to protest but it’s cut off almost as quickly with a sharp movement from Eddie, who snatches a handful of chips from his pile into his broad fist, heedless of the way some bounce to the shaggy carpet below. You’d felt warm in your belly, at your sides, and in your cheeks, but more than anything else, you feel that warmth in your heart as Eddie presses some of his poker chips into your open palm.

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to play,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just have some fun.”

You smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips to match the way he pats your wrist before lurching forward to pick up his fallen chips and receive his next hand. 

Throughout the games of poker you play, you find yourself both having the fun Eddie had instructed you to and simultaneously watching him, marveling at the way the haze and jazz and laughs and velvet couch have… softened him, almost. He's clearly drunk— more than a little glassy-eyed, with flushed cheeks and loose, heedless swinging of his wild curls and his limbs as he celebrates victories and laments losses— but it’s accompanied by more easy smiles and cackling laughs than you’ve heard from him in the last few months combined. He’s full of life tonight, but without as much biting edge. And you can’t help but think that to see him like this, so relaxed, so happy…

It’s nice. Nice in a way that makes that feeling bloom again— the one you’d been feeling more often since the photoshoot. You shake it quickly away.

His joy fuels the others, you notice. You suppose it makes sense; Eddie’s boisterousness and overwhelming energy tends to dictate the tides despite others’ attempts to direct situations otherwise. And as the night wares on, that easy looseness eventually devolves to become a bit more wild. Of course, it doesn’t take much for some of the others to follow suit.

Somewhere between the umpteenth hand of poker and your third round of drinks, Argyle wanders into Murray’s kitchen and helps himself to the bottle of champagne chilling in an icebucket, most likely prepared by Steve— you can’t see Murray bothering with that. Steve perks up when he comes back over, rubbing his hands on his trousers and rising as he reaches to take it from Argyle. 

“Thanks, Arg,” he says, but his gratitude ends up being a little hasty. Because rather than passing the bottle into his waiting hand, Argyle instead begins to shake it with a jerky flail of his arm, forcing Steve to retract his fingers, who huffs affrontedly. “I was gonna say something,” he protests, and while the exasperation is easy to read there, it’s overshadowed as Eddie leaps suddenly off the couch, crouching slightly, face alight with mischief as he circles Argyle on the rug. Once Eddie’s up, everyone follows suit— Jeff and Gareth scramble to join him, and you and Harry follow close behind, your hands clasping your elbows as you eye the proceedings with cautious amusement.

“Yeah, yeah, Steve, we all know what you’re gonna say,” Eddie drawls, but the wide smile on his face takes the edge off the sarcasm. “‘What an incredible accomplishment, we’ve worked so hard, the culmination of many months of effort—’ blah, blah, fuckin’ blah.” Eddie cackles as he flings his arm out to smack Steve companionably in the stomach, making his PR manager stumble slightly due to the accidental force behind the gesture. “Allow me.” 

Eddie flourishes and bows dramatically, his wild curls splaying around his shoulders as he jerks his head up to address the group— his face is flushed, pink rather than pale, with a vein popping on his forehead, and you can’t help but shake your head in reluctant, wry amusement as he declares, “Fuck bitches, get money, make metal, and raise fucking hell, boys!”

And with that— without any forewarning, really, besides a slanted smirk— Argyle pops the cork from the champagne bottle, spraying Eddie directly in the face with it.

You don’t know why you wouldn’t have expected it, but you stiffen with a little jerk as Murray roars, “Fuckin’— dammit, Argyle, not on the goddamn rug—!”

His ire is quickly overtaken by joy that fills the room as Jeff and Gareth jump towards the spray, mouths open wide in wait; ever obliging, Argyle coats their faces, too, directing most of the alcohol into their mouths but playfully directing it toward you and Harry too. You squeal and giggle as fizzy drops coat you lightly, turning into Harry’s broad shoulder for protection as the spray gradually weakens until it’s nothing but a dribble dropping to the shag.

In the ensuing silence, Steve looks at Murray sympathetically. “I’ll bill him for the carpet cleaning,” he promises, wringing his hands until Murray’s face calms from apoplectic to merely deeply aggravated.

You’re briefly worried he may pop an aneurysm until Argyle— the only one of you still bone dry— distracts everyone by pulling something casually from his pocket. “Oh, brochachos. Almost forgot. I got this advance copy of the album finished last night.”

The boys explode in a flurry of potent outrage and glee. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us sooner?!” Jeff shouts, and you’re taken aback to see the most even-keeled member of Corroded Coffin shake his producer by the shoulders. 

“Relax, dude,” Argyle drawls. “S’not fully mastered yet, but it’s close enough.”

And when the needle scratches to a halt on the record player, replacing smooth, dulcet jazz with the rhythmic drum beat of what you know is the boys’ favorite song on the album: ‘Closer.’

It also happens to be one of the best tracks to dance to, and the boys take advantage of that, though their movements— mostly just flailing limbs as they jump and headbang— are really just some crude approximation of dancing. Yet that doesn’t detract from the glee of the moment as, at some point you get pulled in, too, finding yourself in the middle of it all— laughing and swinging your head and shouting along with them. “I wanna fuck you like an animal!” you scream, chest effusive with bubbling joy as Eddie doubles over in wild, joyful laughter at the crudeness of the lyrics shouted in your alcohol-hoarsened voice. You find yourself swung by hands, twirled under arms, spinning and sing-shouting until your throat goes scratchy and your head a little fuzzy from all the activity.

As the song ends, Eddie steadies you with a hand on your shoulder, and you smile up at him appreciatively but are surprised when he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he tips his head, jerking it toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, and you see his lips move but barely hear his words underneath the booming of the next track, which echoes so loudly it nearly rattles the knick-knacks on Murray’s shelves. 

You trail after your employer as he leads you to the kitchen, sloppily filling an empty glass with water from the sink and handing it to you without any explanation. The intuitiveness of the gesture surprises you, as does the way he hovers nearby while you take tiny sips to soothe your parched throat. 

Eddie leans a hip against the counter, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his dark jeans and looking you over appraisingly. It’s the first time you’ve really gazed at him all night, and as he appraises you, you don’t feel that instinctual need to hide, the impulse dulled by the warmth buzzing in your veins. Instead, you just appraise him back, eyes trailing over the silver of his handcuff belt buckle, the chain at his hip, the soft, faded black of his band t-shirt, your eyes lingering where he’s clearly torn the sleeves off, evident by dangling threads that tickle the alabaster of his pale biceps. His curls are frizzier than before, still damp and sticking to his neck from the champagne, and his plush lips are pinker than they typically are— shiny and wet as he licks across them with a swipe of his tongue. 

You feel a distinct stirring deep in your belly and wrench your gaze from his mouth to his eyes, face heating as you anticipate a smirk and a crude remark, or perhaps a pointed comment about your wandering gaze. Yet Eddie’s face is calm, almost a little hesitant as he opens his mouth to speak— seemingly entirely consumed by what he wants to say. “So, you know we’re going on tour,” he says matter-of-factly, and you can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of it.

“I think I’ve gathered that. I mean, I’ve only been working out your accommodations for said tour for the past few weeks now,” you retort with a little smirk, and his lips curl in a lopsided grin at your sass. You anticipate a rebuttal, but Eddie continues without comment.

“Well, I know it might come as a shock that I’d be admitting this, but, ah…” He scratches the corner of his lips with one dark-painted fingernail, mouth stretched wide before he continues abruptly, “things have been running a little smoother since you came around. ‘Specially once you got the hang of washing my silky drawers right.”

Your growing pleasure at the praise flattens along with your expression at that final comment, though it eases when he smiles at you, crooked but wide, as eager as you’ve ever seen his smile be. “So,” he says with an air of dramatic finality, “how’s about you take that laundry service on the road?”

In what is almost more to goad him than in genuine disgust, you wrinkle your nose, and your chest warms again when he chuckles huskily, knocking you with his elbow lightly again. "What I'm try��na say is... you wanna come on tour with us?" 

When you think back to the way this party began for you— with a split second of awkward silence and a hastily extended invitation, clearly late-to-come— you hadn’t anticipated the way it would end up. In that moment at the studio, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed in so readily, sprayed with champagne, twirled underneath their arms, and cared for with poker chips and glasses of water. You hadn’t thought you’d be here, standing with Eddie Munson in his manager’s kitchen, being invited by him personally to go on tour with the band. 

It’s confirmation that you do have a place amongst them, and it’s also exactly why you took this job in the first place— the opportunity to explore beyond the limits of your current world.

"Yes,” you reply, and you can’t help it when your voice comes out honey sweet. “I'd really like that." 

"Well, good,” Eddie huffs good-humoredly, “‘cause you kinda have to whether you like it or not. But I'm glad I don't have to twist your arm after all." 

You nod, and something small— small and tenuous, trickling like briny water— flows between you and Eddie as you gaze at one another. "Well... thank you," you say, your voice soft and almost shy as you look up at him.

Eddie blinks, looking a little taken aback by the gratefulness in your expression. Quickly, his eyes jump from yours to track around the room as he says distractedly, "Sure, little Bee— Hey, Murray!” His hoarse voice rises in a shout as he skirts around you, trailing out of the kitchen as he calls wolfishy, “Where's your top shelf shit? I wanna get fuckin' blasted tonight." 

You watch him lope off toward the living room again without sparing you another glance. Quickly, you drain your water glass, leaving it in the sink and wandering back into the fray until you find yourself elbow to elbow with Steve. 

“So—” Your eyes find hazel as Steve regards you with a friendly, knowing smile. “You ready for that travel I promised you?”

Another wild cackle— one that, after tonight, threatens to haunt you in your sleep— draws both of your gazes. For a moment, you and Steve watch as Eddie sneaks up behind an unsuspecting Gareth, grappling him around the neck and tugging him into a headlock as the other man sputters and kicks at him. All at once, they seem to you much younger than their years, and it makes you consider the question.

Are you ready for the travel Steve promised you— travel where wrangling these unruly rockstars, and one in particular, is about to become even more of your daily existence?

You find, as Eddie shoves Gareth into Jeff and licks across his bottom teeth with a manic grin when the two recover and face him, readying themselves to retaliate, that you have no damn idea whether you’re ready or not.

Dear Soulmate…

The early morning of the first day on tour, your feet carry you around the familiar walls of your apartment, taking in the comforting sights you’ve woken up to for the past year. Angela watches from the kitchen island, eyes full of unshed tears, an unspoken awareness settling over the room. Your life has changed since becoming Eddie’s assistant. It’s a reality you’ve accepted for some weeks now, but it feels real now—more than it ever has before. Because now you’ll be traveling on tour with the band, with him, moving across state lines you’ve never roamed. It’s a world of endless opportunity ahead, new sights to see, places to explore. It dawns on you that your home in New York City will be a far and distant memory for the next months you’ll be following Corroded Coffin around the country.

I’m leaving on tour with Eddie and the band today. Isn’t that crazy? I’ve never been this far from home – traveling was just never something I had time to do. I was always so focused on school, on trying to make my parents proud, on trying to be perfect. And now, I’ll be traveling with a metal band across the country! I never thought this is where I’d end up, but I’m trying to learn to embrace the unexpected (it’s so scary though!). I definitely didn’t expect Eddie to be the one inviting me. Although, he acted like he really had no choice in the matter, it’s still strange. 

Angela helps roll your multiple suitcases out into the main living area, mouth a wobbly line as you push them over onto their side and make sure you have everything you need one final time. Heels and other shoes, boots and sneakers in one duffel bag, each one a proper pair, freshly wiped down for any imperfection or defects. Another bag holds all your toiletries, makeup products, and hair tools should you ever need them. You unzip your suitcases next, peering in at various tights, dark skirts, dark colored sweaters, dark wash jeans for your off days. 

Eddie is… well, we’re still working on our relationship. I think most of the time he feels like I’m annoying him on purpose, but I’m really just trying to do my job. He’s not used to being on a schedule, which is a little wild to me because that’s all I’ve ever known. And maybe that’s what makes him push me away so much. His wife says I need to push back a bit, but I’m worried about keeping my job… I think I’ve grown to like working for him.  

Angela walks you down to the street, helping roll one of your bags down and onto the pavement. Cars and taxis speed by in a kaleidoscope of color, but your eyes latch solely on the rolled down window of the car sitting on the curb’s edge. 

            Eddie’s thre with a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, those dark sunglasses of his shrouding his eyes, tattooed arm on display in the bright sun of the morning. An inky tapestry of intricate detail, etched with countless stories and meanings he’ll never divulge. In the front is Hopper, his usual bored demeanor in place as he opens the driver's side door and walks around to join you and your roommate. The back trunk of the vehicle pops open with a small beep, your heart hammering away as the heftier man helps hoist your things into the back and latches the car back into place. 

“Ready?” Eddie calls from the car. 

You’re on the clock, sure, but you still remind yourself to quench the desire to raise your middle finger in a vulgar gesture, annoyance writhing in your gut. Instead, you focus your tangle of nerves on the girl standing before you on the street, with her shiny blonde hair and mournful expression on her face. She takes a slow step forward, arms coming to curl around your shoulders. There’s a suddenness of the realization you won’t see her until you return to New York for the holiday season. For the last year you’ve woken to the comfort of the four walls of your bedroom, the warmth of your apartment, and your friendship with Angela. 

“Go crush it,” she says, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, head close to your ear. “Take all the pictures. Try and enjoy yourself. New York will be here when you get back. I’ll be expecting as many phone calls as possible, and postcards of all the places you travel to! I want to hear about it all.”

He’s challenging, and yeah he calls me Bee (which I am STILL certain is short for Bitch despite his reassurances otherwise) but the work genuinely feels rewarding. Also, I am really enjoying getting to know the other guys in the band. They’re not friends, no, but they’re kind enough. And who knows? Maybe Eddie will come around. We don’t need to be friends, but I would like it if one day we could become colleagues, at the very least.

Eddie regards you with little interest, still unchanging in his distaste for any time before 12pm, as you clamber into the back of the car with him. He does not shift whatsoever to accommodate your presence, only haphazardly flicks his cigarette onto the concrete below and dips his head at Angela. The blushing blonde raises her hand in a nervous wave, an uneasy smile crawling across her features as he glances along her frame, telling her to have a nice rest of her day. It’s almost comical, though no laughter bubbles up from you, the easy kindness he shows her way; meanwhile, he regards you most days as though you’re no more than a pest when he’s not relentlessly flirting with you. Hot and cold, dependent on his mood on any given day. A bee to be swatted away. You suppose it’s understandable—knowing your mere presence is a reminder of the mistakes he’s made in the public eye. Huffing audibly in your mild upset, your fingers lift to wiggle in the air to wave goodbye to her as Hopper slides the tinted windows up to keep the air conditioned temperature within the vehicle, obscuring her from view. 

I wonder about what you’re doing a lot these days. It’s summertime, the season of endless possibilities. Are you traveling? Maybe you’re on a beach somewhere tropical. Maybe you’re celebrating some good news. Or, maybe you’ve taken up a new hobby. Angela and I tried hot yoga last week (never again), so I suggest you stay away from that one. To be honest, and maybe it sounds silly, I just think about you a lot. With everything changing, it seems like knowing you’re out there is one thing I can rely on. Even if I haven’t met you yet. 

Your fingers drop and curl around your notebook tucked within your pocketbook for safekeeping, trailing along the pages littered with words meant for the one person in the universe who will understand you better than anyone. It brings you comfort as Hopper peels away from the road and into the bustle of New York City traffic. 

Outside, taxis speed in and out of lanes, regardless of bodies surging forward in intersections, heedless in pursuit of their destinations. The car jerks and thumps over numerous manholes and metal grates around street corners, Hopper’s fingers reaching across the center console to raise the volume on the radio. 

One of Corroded Coffin’s songs is playing through the elaborate speaker system. There’s a spark of pride that springs to life within you. It’s not one of the newer, to be released singles—no; but there’s a sense of excitement for them, knowing how hard they’ve worked to get where they are, especially because you’ve witnessed the effort they put into their craft first hand. 

Eddie seems unphased by his own voice on the radio — as if it’s a normal occurrence for him, and you suppose it is. While you’re still adjusting to your new life following alongside a public figure, he’s had some time to become acclimated. He’s experienced sold out concerts, screaming fans singing along to his songs, crowds surging forward to try and get closer to Corroded Coffin. He’s been on the receiving end of good and bad press that paints him in a caricature of himself; one that’s larger than life and not entirely accurate. 

And you’re once again reminded you’re here with him because you’re his assistant when his thigh accidentally brushes yours as the car jolts over a particularly large bump, skin burning at the point of contact, seated beside him in the quiet space around you, watching as the city blurs behind your eyes. 

“Remind me of what you have planned for the day,” he drawls, and you’re grateful his stare is presently focused on looking out his window and not on your face. He doesn’t capture the deep inhale, nor does he catch the slight gathering of tears on your lashes that you swat away with the pads of your fingers, brought upon by the suddenness of your change in scenery and leaving Angela. 

It's as easy as breathing after that. With his cold, quiet words a distraction from the sadness swirling in your gut, you swiftly breeze through the mental list you woke with. You remind him you’ll arrive on schedule at six, where you’ll get on the tour bus around seven after having a meeting and breakfast with Murray and the rest of the band. After that it’s a two and a half hour drive into Philly. It gives you all enough time to get situated once in the city and for the band to relax a bit to get into the proper headspace before getting ready for their soundcheck in preparation for the first concert scheduled later in the evening. 

You tamper down and try to hide the thrill of excitement that buzzes in your veins at the prospect of seeing the guys all perform together. It’s been one thing watching them in the studio for the months they’ve been working on the album, and another all together to see the culmination of all their hard work come to fruition. However, it also brings up a new bout of anxieties over what exactly will be required of you while on the road. Thus far you’ve run errands and kept Eddie on schedule for meetings, interviews, photoshoots and other appearances. Following him across state lines and watching him on the stage, however, seems like a new, daunting task you’re hoping to tackle head on. 

“Ever been to the exotic Philadelphia?” Your head jerks as the words break through the silence, those dark eyebrows of his furrowing in confusion when your mouth opens and closes, no words falling freely from your lips. “I’ll take that as a no.”

You swallow thickly, pushing aside the indignation that burns and builds at his words. His inked fingers reach up to grasp the sunglasses perched on his nose, sliding them down slowly to fold them away beside his thigh. You’re no stranger to Eddie’s features at this point. Those amber eyes of his, emotive and magnetic, immediately capture your attention. You regard him carefully, just as he is you, his gaze trailing your features in a slow perusal. When you finally speak, it’s a soft utterance of, “I haven’t really ventured too far out of New York.” 

He chuckles gleefully, mouth drawn upward enough where your eyes catch on the dimple in his cheek. He’d be prettier, you think, if he scowled less. Like this he’s vibrant and bright, and appears much younger than his twenty nine years. For a moment you wonder what he was like before all the fame, before the party lifestyle, before the allure of the industry sunk its greedy teeth into him and spat him right back out. His head shifts toward the streets, and your eyes drop down to your lap, fingers toying with a frayed edge on your pocketbook. You hear him then, voice a husk of, “Looks like it’s time for my little worker bee to finally leave the hive.”

My first stop is Philadelphia. I’ll definitely be sure to take a bunch of pictures to share with you someday! I’d like to try and draw a bit too while I'm gone, but who knows. I haven’t really had much time for that lately with the new job. If I create anything worth keeping, I’ll definitely save it so I can show it to you. 

You offer him an easy smile, returning your gaze to the world outside the vehicle, exhaling deeply when Hopper pulls up into a parking garage. He mutters briefly that he needs to go check on the tour bus and leaves the two of you to your own devices. You can hear the echoes of voices closer to the tour bus, whoops and calls from the other band members reach your ears through the softly parted window as they catch sight of Eddie’s vehicle. Vaguely, you even catch the utterance of your name in the midst, teasing in nature, urging the two of you outside. 

Before you can even say a word, Eddie’s opening his passenger side door and getting out of the car, leaving you behind with your things. Exhaling deeply, you move to open your own side and nearly fall out when the man in question tugs the door open and extends a hand in your direction. There’s a brief clash of stares while your eyes drift from his to his palm, uncertain as to what he’s doing. 

Unamused, Eddie huffs out, reluctantly explaining, “So you don’t bust your ass like you did your first day working for me.” His eyes drop to your largely inconvenient heels. You’d only worn them because you weren’t sure what one would wear before heading off on a concert tour. Noting your apprehension, he continues, “Bee, I’m not going to pull my hand away at the last second. I can be a gentleman, you know?”

You snort, wrinkling your nose. “I didn’t doubt it.” It’s not the fullness of truth, but you suppose for your client, it’s better to abstain from telling him that most days he is quite determinately, or at least it seems that way, driving you to the brink of hysteria. It’s probably also best to not remind him how not very long ago, before you hired him another maid you insisted he keep this time, he would make you clean his brownstone top to bottom. A task that also included tending to his clothing and highly suspect underwear on more than one occasion. 

Deciding to appease him, you envelop his palm within your own and allow him to help you down onto the concrete below. Your feet wobble a bit from the drop, but he’s there with a gentle hand at your bicep to steady you, before the moment fizzles and he pulls away all together. You walk side by side, though not together, to join the rest of the band where they stand in an excited huddle around the tour bus. 

Even the vehicle itself is larger than you anticipated. It looms above you, imposing and impressive, signifying the success the group has seen in the time they’ve been in the media spotlight. You have little opportunity to think about it, however, because the boys greet you with warm welcomes and hellos, trading their normal handshakes they’ve given you for hugs. A recent development, brought about merely by spending as much time with them over the months as you have. Jeff in particular lingers a little longer just as Murray calls the band into a circle for a meeting, muttering a “Happy you’re here,” before rejoining with the rest of his band mates. 

You’re not left alone long in that parking garage, luckily enough. Steve’s there to urge you off to the side when he pulls up in his car. He’s a little worse for wear, acknowledging his lateness with a wave to the guys and a pleading look shot your way. He requests you follow him, putting yourself out of earshot from the rest of the men. For a brief moment, you worry you’ve done something to muddle your position. Stomach dropping at the thought you might have unintentionally said the wrong thing to Eddie, a vendor — maybe even Robin, but that fear is quelled immediately when Steve clears his throat, his hand coming to cup around the back of his neck, kneading the muscle beneath his fingertips. 

“Look, you’re doing great. I’ve told you more times than I can count on two hands how grateful I am you’re here and everything, but I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. He’s — ”

Your mouth opens briefly to ask what his meaning is behind the clear warning, just as Eddie appears out of the blue and claps Steve on the shoulder, chuckling brightly as he asks, “Ready to go, Bee?” He looks to you imploringly, and you haltingly meet his stare before shifting back to Steve’s kind features. He tips his head, dismissing you, and you join at Eddie’s side, following him in the direction of the vehicle. Murray shoots Eddie a stern look as the two of you walk along by, your eyes darting to the Corroded Coffin logo stretched across the entirety of the exterior. “Here is your home for the next few months.” 

You’re uncertain as to what you might expect. You’ve never been on a tour bus before. The closest thing you can attribute it to is a coach bus for a school field trip back in your early education days. What greets you as Eddie turns back to extend a hand once more and assist you in climbing up onto the first step is greater than anything your mind might have conjured. 

He’s not kidding by his assessment that the bus will quite literally be your home for the duration of the tour. At the head of the impressive vehicle belies Hopper’s station, full of buttons and displays you’ve never seen before, and a dashboard with a hanging Corroded Coffin logo dangling from his rear view mirror. The burly man raises his hand in a wave as you and Eddie pass, heading into the lounge area that follows immediately. Your eyes are drawn to dark red couches, like that of a red wine, with black pillows strewn about. Nestled in front of the couch is a table pressed against the corner wall, new magazines displaying photos of the band and a headline that details the upcoming tour. 

Deeper into the vehicle is the adjoining kitchen, all in the same color scheme of dark black furniture, with red and silver accented bits. Eddie shows you around the space, opening the fridge for emphasis, showing you how to use the different amenities, before moving on down to point out the bathroom. Lastly, you’re brought into the bedrooms. Or rather, one spacious room lined with bunk beds on either side of the bus. 

“Normally I like being on top, but when it comes to sleeping I prefer the bottom." Eddie says suggestively, gesturing to the bed on his right. Your head shifts his way, taking in the little alcove he’ll be sleeping in for the night. He waves his hand to your left, smirking. “That’ll be yours. In case of an emergency.”

“In case of an emergency,” you repeat slowly, placing your pocketbook down on your assigned bed as you settle down beside it, positioned specifically across from Eddie’s in the event he requires you for anything. You quickly reach inside and jot down a few sentences in the unfinished letter, affixing a bright floral sticker to one of the corners. 

I have to go. We’re about to leave, but I just wanted to let you know what I’m up to. I’ll talk to you soon. Wouldn’t it be fun if we met in Philly?

As you shut your notebook, you realize you never heard the rest of Steve’s harrowing warning. I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. Your eyes narrow in piqued curiosity as you take in Eddie, that now familiar lanky form of his flopping down against his own mattress. He nods his head in your direction and you wave back numbly. 

You hear it then. That soft howling in the distance, a creeping sense of something looming with no name to place on it. 

You offer him a soft smile, and he throws a pillow over his head, settling down to nap.

Steve’s warning is suddenly very far away from your mind. 

[kookluvre]

gold is dull. || jjk || 03

your once-love abandoned you to chase his dreams as a boxer, leaving you and unknowingly, at the time, his son. as much as you want to forget him, you can't. you see him on the billboard, tv commercials, and in your son's room, reminding you of everything you once were. “momma! please take me to golden boy's fight! he’s fighting here! in our hometown. please, momma. for my birthday? i wanna see him in person!”

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader

genre: boxer!jk, dilf!jk, single mom! oc, heavy angst, ex-boyfriend, eventual smut, fluff, slow-burn

chapter warnings: fighting, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of illness, mentions off-screen death, angst,

chapter wc: 8.3k

A/N: chapter 3 is here!!! i can't thank you enough for loving ch2 <3. i hope ya'll love ch3, as well. i will tell you, though, that this chapter 3 has more dialogue and description rather than oc internal dialogue. pls don't hate me for it 🥲. also this chapter is a lil more fluffy (i think, not really?) but with that strong angsty backbone 😍. okay that's enough, enjoyyyy now♥️.

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“What? Here to offer me more money?” You sigh. 

The anger that you felt earlier that day has dissipated. You don’t have any more energy to continue being pissed nor to tell him off. 

“No. To talk to you. Can I come in?” Jungkook straightens up from the leaned position he found himself in before you opened the door. A pained expression on his eyes. The doe eyes you once saw every galaxy in them, just appear defeated and dark.

You open the door wider, prompting him to come into your apartment. You’re left with no choice than to let him in due to your delicate and nosy neighbors. They’ll call the landlord or even the police at the sound of any arguments. 

Jungkook looks down, “_____, Min-su’s my child?” He’s frozen. Unable to move his hands from his pockets or straighten his caved-in chest. He knows the answer to the question from earlier today, but he still asks. 

“Yes! Cmon Jungkook!” You desperately throw your hands into the air. “What? You just forget the letter I sent four years ago?!” Your sentence starts as a whisper but increases in volume with every word. You thought you had no more anger left. 

“I. Don’t. Know. What letter you’re talking about! And I didn’t send my manager to meet with you!” Your anger gives Jungkook the room to feel something. Shame. Stress. Fear. His voice tenses and he begins to pace back and forth. 

You frantically walk over to your kitchen and get a stool from the counter in order to reach the top of your refrigerator to get the old cereal box. Jungkook is behind you, following your every move, “What are you doing? Please, _____. Just talk to me. This is the first time that I hear about this.” He pleads. You grab the cereal box and pull an old wrinkled and folded paper from it. 

“Here! Maybe this’ll refresh your memory!” You shove him the letter right at the center of his chest. 

Four years ago, you sent Jungkook a letter to let him know he was a dad. You believed he deserved to know what was happening, and maybe a part of you felt that having him by your side at one of the darkest times of your life would make everything brighter. 

Jungkook desperately opens the folded piece of paper and begins reading it. His hands tremble. Tears stream down his face and his tattooed hand comes over his mouth. A feeling of empathy begins to settle in your heart at seeing him in such a vulnerable state. Your face softens at the sight of his hard-felt emotions. 

“I-I-I am so sorry, ______. This is my first- I-ve- I’ve never seen this before,” Jungkook stutters with shaky breaths, “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

He takes a seat on the counter stool, hands covering his eyes in frustration. He wipes his nose with his hand, then extends it out to yours, placing his hand on top of yours. You feel your muscles tense at his action. You feel a knot forming in your throat and tears fill your eyes. “If I knew you were going through this, I’d leave everything behind and come back to you and him.” His grip on your hand tightening. You remove your hand from his hold. Only if he knew. You sniff back your tears and turn away from him. You don’t want him to see the tears streaming down your face. 

“I-i-is he all better now?!” Jungkook abruptly stands from the stool.

“Yes.” You look to the side with hands on your waist. Jungkook lets out a relieved breath, softening his muscles.

“When did you find out you were pregnant?” He calmly asks. 

You turn to him to meet his eyes, “Three weeks after you left.” 

When you found out you were expecting a child, you didn’t want to chase after Jungkook. You felt that if you chased after him, it’d be like you were forcing him to stay with you. You felt like you would be trapping him in a life he clearly didn’t want to have, hence the abandonment. You didn’t want to be that person to Jungkook.

However, even if you wanted to, this would have never been possible. You had no way of locating him or contacting him.  Jungkook had become a ghost to everyone he knew. There was nothing that could hint where he was staying. A year later, though, Seokjin got a job at the police station, giving you access to Jungkook’s details and information, which allowed you to send him the letter to a location that was listed in his records. 

“Oh god. Why didn’t you tell me anything?! It was only three weeks, _____!” Jungkook’s tensed pleading hands move up and down, emphasizing the last three words. 

“How could I?! You disappeared!” Hands coming to your hips, slowly shaking your head. Jungkook knows you’re correct. There really was no way to reach him. 

He bites his lower lip, in complete defiance, nodding his head. Tears at the edge of his eyes appear again, “I’m sorry.” He whispers. You nod. You have an unsettling, conflicting feeling in your stomach. Jungkook didn’t know he had a son with you. It wasn’t him who sent that letter. 

Does that change anything for you? 

“Give me the opportunity to care for him, _______. Give me the chance to be his father.” He whispers the last part of his sentence. 

“I-I don’t know, Jungkook. This is too much for me to think of right now. Give me some time and space.” You face down to the floor, unable to look at him. The utter silence you both stand in is interrupted by Min-su’s steps coming towards the kitchen. You signal Jungkook with your hand to crouch down behind the kitchen counter so Min-Su won’t see him. 

“Mommy?” Min-Su appears from the hallway, wiping his eyes. He’s been awaken by the noise in the kitchen area. 

“Hey baby, sh-shh it’s okay. It’s just the TV.” You walk over to Min-Su and carry him over to his room.“Go to sleep, papa. Here I’ll turn on the lamp.” You kiss his forehead and stay by his side rubbing his back, until he’s fully back asleep. You walk back into the living room and roll your neck and eyes. You massage your neck as you’re emotionally and physically exhausted from the conversation with Jungkook. 

“Did he go back to sleep? I’m sorry for being so loud.” He says.

Your hands go to your chest, “Shit. You scared me. You’re still here?” 

He looks around you defeatedly. He scurries to the side table when he spots a pen and notepad, writing a something on it. “Whenever you’re ready, call this number. Time, day, doesn’t matter, just call it. I’ll be there waiting.” He sniffs. “Just-just let me be a part of his life. Doesn’t matter how.” He half smiles with a broken, yet hopeful, look in his eyes. 

Jungkook sees you, Daeun, and Seokjin playing with Min-Su at the park. Seokjin is teaching Min-Su how to ride the bike that Grandpa gifted him for his birthday slash Christmas. Jungkook is parked far away for you not to spot him, but close enough to see Min-Su enjoying his time with family. 

“Okay, now we’re going to try without the wheelies. Can he do it? What do ya’ll think?” Seokjin asks you and Daeun as you sit in the bench. 

“Hmmm… I don’t know. Seems scared. Can you do it?” Daeun says teasing Min-Su. You laugh, “Of course, my superhero baby can do it, right?!” You scurry over to him, giving him a high five. Min-Su’s nose scrunching, smiling with only his two front teeth. 

“Cmon Min-Su, don’t think you have the wheelies off. Just do what you’ve been doing.” Seokjin kneels down beside Min-Su giving him instructions. Min-Su attempts it multiple times and fails, falling on his full behind. “I can’t do it, Mom!” His lips forming a small pout. “Yes, you can. Cmon, I’ll be behind you.” 

“Let’s go kiddo, you can do it.” Jungkook whispers from the car. He makes an encouraging motion on his fist. 

You get behind the bike, and push him outward. You hold onto him, until he’s finally doing it alone. “You’re doing it baby!” You exclaim. 

“Are you behind me, mama?” 

“It’s all you! I’m over here! Yayyyyy Min su!” You shout as he pulls further and further away from you. You jump up and down and run to him. Daeun records the moment. Min-Su is smiling. You’re smiling. A beautiful and happy moment that will be remembered by Min-Su’s family, including Jungkook. 

Jungkook is happy that he at least has the privilege to know that Min-Su is his son. He’s glad Min-su and you live a happy life with the support of Seokjin and Daeun. His eyes glisten when he sees you lift Min-su up and bounce him up and down on your hip, as when he was toddler. Jungkook’s eyes long for more, though. He wishes it were him teaching Min-su how to ride a bike. It destroys him knowing he missed so many of Min-su’s first. His first word. His first steps. His first day of school. His first birthday. 

A tear falls down Jungkook’s face. “Okay. Let’s go, now.” He tells his driver.

It’s been two weeks ever since Jungkook came over to your apartment. You haven’t contacted the number he left. You feel unsure whether you’re ready to let him into your son’s life, knowing how bad he hurt you when he abandoned you. However, you also know that was between you and him, which has nothing to do with your son’s life. You know you know you’re going to call him sooner or later, for Min-su’s sake, but you continue keep putting it off. 

It’s Monday and you have no work. Not because your boss gave you a day off, but because the restaurant was closed since the AC did not work. Min-su is at school, so this is the time to have your own time and relax without any mom duties. When you’re about to soak yourself in your bathtub to relieve the stress this daddy thing with Jungkook has brought you, you’re interrupted by the knock on your front door. 

“Coming!” You shout. You figure it’s just the delivery guy knocking on your door to alert you he’s dropped off your groceries. You wrap yourself in a towel and quickly walk to the door.

It’s not your delivery guy. It’s a tall, muscular, blonde-haired 6-foot man. You’ve seen this man before. He’s stopped you twice from getting to Jungkook. Kim Namjoon, Jungkook’s bodyguard, is standing right at your door. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He politely looks away when he sees you are only wearing a towel around your body. 

“Cmon, it’s just a towel,” Your comment sounding a tad snarky, “What are you doing here? I told Jungkook to give me some time.” Your face tenses up.

“Jungkook doesn’t know I’m here. I was hoping I could talk to you. I can come at another time, if you’re busy.” Namjoon looks down. Still feeling uncomfortable at the sight of you only wearing a towel.

This catches you off guard. What could Jungkook’s bodyguard possibly want with you? Confused yet curious, you let him in. “Here, you can sit here. I’ll be right back.” You go to the bathroom to turn off the water and to your bedroom to put some clothes on. 

“So?” You swallow a large gulp of saliva, that even Namjoon is able to hear. You’re trying to remain calm and cool, but you’re an extremely nervous person, imagining the numerous possibilities of why he’s there.

“I wanted to ask you to give Jungkook an opportunity.” You find yourself completely stunned at his statement. Why is he the one telling you this? Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “He’s like my brother. I’ve known him, since he,” His choice of words give him a pause.

“Since he left me, right. And?” You complete his phrase, easing the awkwardness of his sentence. 

“He didn’t know he had a son. Trust me, I wouldn’t be working for him if I knew he had a son he neglected.” He chuckles and turns to look at you. This is the first time you see an expression, other than the brooding and serious bodyguard look, on Namjoon’s face. Two charming dimples appearing at both ends of his smile. 

 “I think Jungkook and your son deserve to get to know each other. It’s good for your kid. To know he has someone else that loves and cares for him. Knowing his dad can’t hurt him,” he pauses, “I know my kid and I would’ve loved another opportunity at that.” Namjoon looks back down at the floor. A pleasant and accepting smile on his face yet his eyes holding a bit of sadness.

“You have a kid?” Your shoulders bend down, letting your walls down. Knowing that Namjoon is a dad allows you to feel comfort with him. There’s a trusting and warm feeling that stems from parents. 

However, Namjoon stands up at your question and is back to his stiffened posture. Unsure what to do, you mirror his actions. As he’s walking towards the door, he looks back and tells you, “Hopefully, this isn't the last time we see each other.” 

“Hey, I-i was going to call him already. But thank you, anyway.” You give Namjoon a warm smile. He nods and heads out. 

Your conversation with Namjoon gave you the push you needed to call Jungkook.  It’s true that knowing Jungkook can’t hurt Min-su, it’ll only make him happy. You knew all this already. However, hearing it from someone else makes you truly believe it.

That same day, when Min-su is finally asleep, you’ve finally come to grab the notepad from the table drawer. After an hour of staring at it, you grab your phone and dial the phone number.

“______! Um, hi!” Jungkook nervously exclaims, picking up at the first tone. You’re taken back by how fast he picked up the call. Guess he was waiting. 

“Okay.” You dryly respond. Your voice is confident, however behind the phone, you are rubbing your hands on your thighs and biting your lip. 

“ ‘Okay’ what?” A confused tone to Jungkook’s voice. 

“Okay to letting you be in his life.” You tap your foot.

“Can I see him tomorrow?!” You feel Jungkook’s excitement through the phone. Baby, shhh, it’s up to Mama. You hear Jiah tell him. 

“You and I need to talk first. About Min-Su and all of that.” You continue to tap your foot. Now faster.

“Right. Of course. I’ll send you my address. I’m free all day tomorrow.” 

“6:30 PM.” You hang up. 

You got out of work at 6:00 PM and now you were heading over to Jungkook’s house. Daeun had picked up Min-su from school and you asked her to keep him a little longer as you were meeting with his father.

Your eyes widen as you arrive to your destination. Jungkook’s mansion is two-stories with contemporary architecture. The outside is a neutral beige color. The golden lighting from inside the house shines on to your eyes. As you walk to the door, you whisper to yourself, “What is this? Parasite?” The house clearly resembles the one from the movie. 

You ring the doorbell, anxiously tapping your leg as you wait for someone to answer. “Hello, ____.” An elderly woman greets you and leads you to the living room. “Mr. Jeon will be right down.” She smiles and leaves you there. Your mouth slowly opening in amazement as you slowly spin looking at the size of Jungkook’s house. Your whole apartment in the size of only the living room. You walk over to see the photos he has on the console table against the wall. There’s pictures of him, Jiah, and some other people you don’t recognize. 

“That’s when I won my first championship.” He points to one of the photos on the table. Jungkook’s presence makes you stiffen your posture.

“I made dinner. Let’s eat something.” He signals to follow him to the kitchen. As much as you’re hungry, you don’t want to stay to eat. You want to get this over with as fast as possible. You feel strange being in the same house with Jungkook and his fiancé. 

You stay still in the living room, “No. Can we just get to it?” 

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” Jungkook returns to the living room and takes a seat on the couch, placing his hands on his legs and leaning forward, ready to hear everything you have to say. He extends his palm, bringing it down to the sofa, requesting you to sit. You accept.

“He can’t know you’re his dad. Not yet. It’s too much of a change.” You instruct Jungkook. 

He nods in understanding. “Yes, of course.” 

You don’t want Min-Su to know Jungkook is his dad just yet because it’s too soon. One day he knows him as a celebrity and now he’s suddenly his dad. It wouldn’t make sense to him. He needs to first get to know Jungkook as Jungkook and not as Jeon the Golden Boy. 

“I need to be with Min-Su every time you’re with him.” Your eyes fixed everywhere that isn’t him. You’re looking at the sofa. His shoes. Your hands. Your purse. His arms. Your thighs. 

You feel and will feel uncomfortable at being such a close proximity to Jungkook, but Min-Su will need you there with him. Maybe it’s you the only one who feels the need to be there.

“Yes. That’s not a problem.” He smiles. 

“This all needs to happen without anyone knowing, okay? No public eye for Min-Su or me. We don’t want any of that.” Your tone becoming more serious. Reporters were one of the things that you found yourself most afraid of. You found yourself scared at the thought of Min-su seeing what they’d write about you or Jungkook on the tabloids if they found out Jungkook had a hidden son.

“You don’t need to worry about any of that. I promise you I have the best team taking care of all that.” Jungkook reassures you. 

A silence lingers over the two of you. Unsure what else to say, you grab your bag, getting ready to leave. As you’re about to stand up, Jungkook interrupts you, “_______, um, I’d like to support you.” 

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you’re unsure what he means. 

“Financially, I mean. I haven’t been helping you out all these years. I feel like I have to. I want to.” He reiterates.

You shake your head, “No, Jungkook. I don’t need child support or any of that.” It doesn’t come to you a surprise that he wants to help. He’s loaded. Of course he wants to. Sending money over to you won’t affect him a tiny bit, but you don’t want his money. You simply want Jungkook and Min-Su to have a relationship. 

“But-” Jungkook wants to insist on giving you money. 

“No, buts. You’re enough for Min-Su. He doesn’t need any money.” You say clenching your purse and standing up. You walk over to the door and Jungkook follows behind you. 

“When can I see him?” Jungkook asks as you’re about to leave. Your eyes widen at the question since you had completely forgotten to plan a good time for Min-Su and Jungkook to see each other. 

“Right,” You let out a slight nervous chuckle. The first time Jungkook sees that on your face. He chuckles a bit, too. “Tomorrow 3:00 PM. We have a doctor’s appointment at 1:00, he’ll be out by then. He likes to be treated with Pizza after needles.” You are going to leave work early tomorrow to get Min-Su out of school for his monthly check up with his doctor. 

“Pizza it is.” Jungkook’s full smile makes an appearance. He feels grateful that he is being let in little by little to Min-su’s daily life. 

You feel something in your chest every time you see his smile. You feel endeared by the happiness that appears on Jungkook’s eyes at the thought of seeing his son. 

Although endearing, you feel angry at Jungkook. The anger you've felt all these years has only maximized. He's had the opportunity these past few days to apologize to you for abandoning you. You feel weak for still waiting for that real apology from him that will probably never come. You feel dumb for wanting it. It's clearly not in his mind, so why should it be on yours.

Jungkook sent you the address to Kang’s Palace. You expected a small dining pizza place, but he chose a whole amusement center with an arcade, laser tag, and gravity ropes. You’re a bit nervous to be seen in public with Jungkook, but he promised you that you and Min-Su would never be in the spotlight. You chose to trust him and agreed to go to the place. 

As you arrive to Kang’s Palace, you wait in the car, confused whether to get off or not. There are no cars in the parking lot, except a black SUV and an emerald green Aston Martin Vantage. You recognize that green car parked at Jungkook’s house, so you figure it’s him. 

“Momma, why aren’t we getting off? I want to see Jeon!” Min-su jumps up and down in his carseat, looking out the window of the car. 

“I think it’s closed babes. Let me text-” 

“No momma. Look, there’s someone waving to us!” Min-su points at the door of the amusement center. Namjoon is waving at you to get off the car and join them inside. Jungkook had rented the place for the whole evening so there wouldn’t be any distractions or press that would ruin the day for him and Min-su. 

As you approach Namjoon, you greet him with a small smile and a “Hi.” He nods and bows to you. As soon as you enter the center, Min-su lets go off your hand and goes running to Jungkook. He’s completely star struck when he sees Jungkook as he only knows him as the famous boxer he sees on TV. He stands in front of him speechless, eyes widening at the visual of his idol. 

Jungkook crouches down at Min-su, his hand wanting to come up to Min-su’s cheek, wanting to embrace the warmth of his son’s face. But quickly brings it down as it might be a bit weird for Min-su. Tears appear on the edge of his eyes, blurring his eyesight. Just like Min-su, Jungkook also finds himself speechless at the sight of Min-su. This is the first time he sees Min-su up close after knowing it’s his son. You notice Jungkook tense up at the moment he is in front of Min-su, so you help him out. Even with all the history between you and Jungkook, you still want them to have a successful relationship. 

“Hey Min-su! Remember when we said that Jeon and I were friends? We still are! That’s why we’re here to eat some pizza and play! You like that?” You have a wide smile on your face which Min-su mirrors back at you and then him. You figured it’d be good to tell Min-su this again to make him more comfortable with Jungkook. 

“Jeon!” Min-su exclaims and throws his body at Jungkook, hugging him. Jungkook is first stunned at the hug, but he soon gets out of it, and he tightly brings his arm around Min-su. Jungkook shuts his eyes, letting every emotion come over him when he was Min-su in his arms.

The hug is interrupted by a sultry voice, “Since we’re all friends here, why don’t we all call him Jungkook and not Jeon?” Jiah tells Min-su. You’re still a bit uncomfortable with Jiah being close to Min-su, but you know you’ll have to get used to it sooner or later since he is marrying Jungkook and will become Min-su’s step-mom. 

“Jungkook!” Min-su exclaims and giggles when he turns to look at you and then Jungkook. You love seeing Min-su so ecstatic about all this. Namjoon was correct. Knowing his dad, especially if it’s Jungkook, won’t hurt him. As much as it pains you to admit it, every where Jungkook shows up, there is a light that comes with him. These thoughts that you still have about Jungkook anger you. Even with everything he did to you, you still have these certain positive thoughts about him. These thoughts are at the stem of your cold persona in front of Jungkook.

In the round table Min-Su chose to sit at, Min-su sits between you and Jungkook, with Namjoon besides you and next to Jiah who is besides Jungkook. The pizza is joined by laughters especially between Jungkook, Namjoon, and Min-su. This is the first-time, well second-time, you see Namjoon act like a regular person and not a bodyguard. You get to witness the brotherly relationship Jungkook and Namjoon have. It reminds you of what Jungkook and Seokjin once had.

“Momma. I don’t want to eat anymore.” Min-su had only eaten half a pizza. He is eager to go play. 

“C’mon baby, you need to eat. If you don’t finish it, there’s no games.” You raise your eyebrows, “Don’t make me do the airplane you so hate now.” You laugh. When Min-su didn’t want to eat, you’d get the food and make airplane noises, flying it right to his mouth. When Min-su was smaller, he used to love it. Now he is “too old for that.” Min-su quickly grabs the pizza and eats it. Funny how “the airplane” makes him eat his food either way. 

“Who is ready to go play?” Jungkook raises his eyebrows at Min-su. 

“Meeeee!” Min-su jumps off his chair and takes Jungkook’s hand. Jiah gets up from her seat and joins them.

“Momma, you’re not coming?” Min-su asks you. 

“No babes, I’ll watch you from here. Go with Jungkook.” You stay in the table with Namjoon. 

It’s kind of awkward as Namjoon is only giving you one word responses to everything you ask. You’re trying to make any sort of conversation, but Namjoon doesn’t crack. He’s back to his bodyguard ways. You’re thinking hard about something to ask that will give you something other than a “yes” or “no.” You feel clever at the question you’ve just came up with. You think it’s appropriate to ask him right now since the meeting of today is about children. Why didn’t I think of this sooner. 

“Last time you mentioned you had a kid. They around Min-su’s age?” You cheerily ask. 

Your question only makes Namjoon be quieter than before. He tenses up at it, too. He stands up and joins Jungkook, leaving you all alone at the table. Shit. You pretend you are using your phone and texting someone, but all you really are doing is opening and closing the weather app and typing nonsense in the notes app. 

About 30 minutes pass, and Min-su returns to the table to drink some Sprite. “Momma! Let’s play Laser Tag!” He takes your hand and drags you out of the seat. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to play. 

“In my team, I want momma and Jungkook!” Min-su’s bunny smile appearing on his face. You smile back at him and so does Jungkook. You really wish you weren’t on Jungkook’s team right now, but you are left with no alternative since that’s what Min-su wants. The three of you huddle and Jungkook cheer, “Let’s get it!” Hands go in the middle and up as the three of you cheer the team’s name “Min-su!” 

Throughout the game, you let your inner child take over you, running and strategizing with Min-su behind the barricade, “Baby, you take Namjoon and I take Jiah!” You high five Min-su and you’re both off to attack the opposite team. Jungkook observes you and a smile appears on his face. He loves to see you and Min-su having this much fun with each other. He’s thankful he gets to witness that. 

“You’re just as competitive as I remember.” Jungkook chuckles as he meets you from behind. 

You roll your eyes at him, trying to act calm and cool, although you feel somewhat flustered at his comment. You feel odd knowing he still remembers things about you. You blame what you feel on the dark lighting of the arena. 

Your thoughts, however, are soon interrupted by Min-su cries, “Mommy!” coming from the front of the room. You and Jungkook call out to him since you can’t see very much. The lights turn on as the game ends, making it much easier to find him. 

You find him sitting on the floor, grabbing his knee. Min-su’s face and eyes are red as a tomato and the crying snot and tears are falling all the way to his shirt. 

“Baby, what happened? You hurt your knee?” You coddle him in order for the crying to stop. Jungkook bends down beside you, unsure what to do. 

“I tri-tripped and cut my-my knee,” Min-su stutters through the tears. “Let me see, baby.” You remove his hand from his knee. It’s nothing big. Just small scrapes. Min-su probably got scared over the blood. 

You lean onto Jungkook ear, “Can you, um, carry him?” You hate having to converse with Jungkook, however, you’re still trying to make Min-su have a comfortable relationship with his dad, and that includes having to help Jungkook have a comfortable relationship with Min-su.

“What?” His eyes widen, “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course.” Jungkook lifts him up and takes him to the nearest bench. As Min-su is more calmed, you wipe away his tears with you shirt. Namjoon comes over with a first-aid kit and a bag of ice the workers gave him. He cleans his knee and places the ice bag on top of it.

“See, you’re all better now.” You smile at Min-su. 

“You’ll probably scar a little, kid.” Namjoon tells him. 

“It’s okay. I want to, like Jungkook hyung!” He turns to look at him, his full smile again on display. 

“That’s right. They’re called battle scars.” He smiles. 

“Battle scars.” Min-su repeats after him. 

The day comes to an end and you’re heading to your home with Min-su. Through the car ride, Min-su won’t stop telling you what him and Jungkook were talking about, mostly about boxing and cars. A smile never leaving his face throughout the whole car ride. Your eyes glisten at the sound of his laughs and his excitement. You are now 100% sure that Min-su knowing his dad will be a good thing for him. For you…who knows.

As you arrive to your apartment, Min-su runs straight to his room. You follow after him, a bit confused at his actions. He suddenly starts removing all the posters he has of Jungkook in his room. 

“What-what are you doing, Min-su?” You stutter, clearly scared.

“I’m taking them off!” Min-su excitedly goes on to the next wall. He’s not mad. He’s not sad. He’s happy and excited.

“Okay… why?” Now you’re just confused. 

“He’s my friend now! Jungkook told me he wants to be my friend, forever!” He exclaims. 

You sigh with a hand over your heart with a smile appearing on your face. Min-su becoming closer to Jungkook will be easier than you imagined. You help Min-su remove the posters he can’t reach. 

Later that night Jungkook texts you. 

11:23PM  Jungkook: Did he have fun? 

11:43PM  You: Yes 

11:44PM  Jungkook: Did he say anything about me?

12:01PM  You send him a photo of Min-su’s empty postered room. 

12:01AM  Jungkook: What happened? I thought he said he had a lot of posters of me. 

12:01AM Jungkook: Did he not like me? 

12:03AM  Jungkook: __________ ??

12:10AM  You: He said you’re his friend. Friends don’t have posters of each other. 

12:11AM  Jungkook: 😅. I had fun. Thank you 

You head over to Daeun and Seokjin’s house after work to pick up Min-su. You are extremely tired since it’s a Monday. Monday are always busy at the restaurant. There’s something about today that make people make crave Italian cuisine. 

“Oh god, look at you!” Seokjin exclaims as you walk into their house rubbing your neck exhausted from standing up 11 hours with only two 5 minute breaks. “Here, I made some gimbap earlier today.” Seokjin slides the plate of gimbap over to you. “Thank you.” You stuff your mouth with the gimbap. “Where’s Daeun and Min-su?” 

“Daeun needed to get some things from her office. Min-su wanted to go with her,” Seokjin tells you,“Sooo…” Seokjin raises his eyerbrows with suspicion in his gaze. 

“Mmm.” You furrow your eyebrows at the taste of the good. 

“Are we going to see you and Jungkook be all over each other again?” Seokjin laughs. 

You choke on your food, “Dude! The guy’s engaged!” You shake your head. 

“I’m kidding!” He raises his hands signaling you to calm down. “For real though, you good with seeing Jungkook and his fiance together, plus Min-su?” 

“Really? I’m past all that. Plus, the focus is Min-su. We’re both just here for him.” You roll your eyes at his question.

“Hm, okay.” Seokjin smirks and takes a sip of his drink. 

“If he didn’t have a son with me, I wouldn’t be seeing him and he wouldn’t be seeing me.” An awkward pause rests over you two. “Alright where are these two? I need to go home and shower!” You quickly change the topic. 

On the way home, you can’t shake off the conversation with Seokjin. It’s true. If it wasn’t for Min-su, you’d never reconnect with Jungkook. You wouldn’t have shown up at the boxing fight that day. You wouldn’t have met up with his asshole of a manager. He’d probably just be an ex-boyfriend you were in love with five years ago. That’s probably what I’ve been to him all these years. But that’s obviously not the case. You’re not a firm believer of the universe having a plan for everyone, but this gives you just some hope that maybe everything does happen for a reason, whether that be reconnecting with Jungkook for Min-su’s sake or simply finding that extra happiness that you’ve been longing for all these years, whatever that is. 

Min-su and Jungkook have been spending more and more time with each other these past few weeks. They’ve been hanging out at his house in the play room that Jungkook recently had built specifically for Min-su or at public places that he’s rented out. These meetings never consist of only you three, you’re always joined by Namjoon or Jiah. Jiah is besides Jungkook all the time, although she doesn’t really make the effort to talk to Min-su. Namjoon has added to his one-word sentences about two more words, so fortunately, you’re able to talk to him a bit more without it being completely awkward. You and Jungkook converse only when Min-su is involved. Other than that, you don’t really talk to each other. He tries to make small talk here and there, but you shut him off with “yes” and “no." There’s also those times you don’t even answer him.

It’s Sunday and you have no work. Min-su is bored, playing on his iPad in his room and you’re ready to watch the new episode of your favorite TV show. Jungkook hasn’t seen Min-su all week long because he had to travel out of the city to shoot a commercial. As you’re about to get comfortable since the show is about to start, you get a text message. 

6:07 PM Jungkook: I want to see Min-su. I miss him🥲

As you’re about to leave him on read, there’s a knock on your door. You grunt and get up to open the door. When will you be at peace to watch your show? 

Namjoon is standing there. 

6:04 PM Jungkook: I already sent Namjoon, sorry😧 

You roll your eyes at his text. You wouldn’t have agreed to go, but Min-su has been asking for Jungkook all week long. “Gosh, isn’t he one?” You tell Namjoon and chuckle. “Min-su! We’re going over to Jungkook’s house!” 

Min-su comes running straight out of his room, quickly putting his on his shoes, “Okay ready!” He exclaims. 

Jungkook opens the door wearing a see-through green lounge set that gives you access to see his godly figure through it. You’re trying your best to keep your eyes away from his chest, torso, and tighs. You’re trying to focus on everything that isn’t him, but that lounge set leaves very little to the imagination. 

“Jungkook hyung!” Min-su exclaims as he runs to hug Jungkook. You’ve gotten used to the running hug as this is how they always greet each other. You love to see it every time. 

“Hi kiddo!” He hugs Min-su. When he crouches down, he looks up at you, mouthing “Hey” with a pleasant smile. You only nod. 

“Hey bud, what do you want to watch?” Jungkook searches for a movie on the TV. Min-su jumps and shouts, “Toy Story!” “Alright, kiddo. Toy Story it is then!” Jungkook laughs. 

“Hey, um, is it okay if I go to the backyard?” You ask Jungkook. He looks a bit confused as he thought you’d be joining them. You don’t want to watch Toy Story, again. It’s Jungkook’s turn to go through the Toy Story phase with Min-su.

“Uh-yeah-yes. Sure,” Jungkook replies, “You’re not going to watch it with us?” 

“No. Min-su, Mom will just be outside.” Min-su doesn’t turn to look at you as his eyes are glued to the movie. 

You’re outside enjoying the clear air and silence. It’s nice to be able to go outside and not hear the busy noises of the city. The fire pit is turned on at the center of the patio. The warmth and the smell of the burning wood make you drift into an afternoon nap. 

A door closing wakes you up. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Namjoon sits on the chair next to yours. 

“Oh no, it’s okay. I’m a light sleeper.” You chuckle. 

You let the nature sounds and Min-su and Jungkook’s chuckles from the living room join you and Namjoon’s silence. You like hearing them have a good time together. “You were correct.” You raise your eyebrows at Namjoon pointing to the living room. Min-su loves to be around Jungkook; they bring happiness to each other. 

“I wish I could’ve had that opportunity with my daughter.” He gently smiles, looking up to the sky. The air, the fire, the weather, and your presence makes Namjoon feel comfortable enough to share this with you. 

“Are you not allowed to see her?” You ask. 

“Her mom let me be part of her life when it was too late,” He looks back down at you, “She had cancer. She passed away five years ago.” 

“Oh, Namjoon. I am so sorry.” You hold his hand, with a gentle touch, looking at his eyes. 

“It’s okay. Choi-hee was her name.” Another gentle smile appearing on his face. 

Your hold on his hand tightening and your eyes fixated on his gaze. “If you ever need anyone to talk to— about anything, I’m here.” 

Your heart breaks for Namjoon. This is why he was so adamant on Jungkook and Min-su’s relationship to work. He wanted Jungkook to not go through the same thing of not being able to meet his kid. Namjoon wishes he would’ve had the opportunity to know his daughter for a longer period of time, and not only the day she passed. 

You hear a throat clear. Namjoon quickly moves his hand away from yours at the sight of Jungkook.

“It’s 8:00.” Jungkook stands at the door. You had told Jungkook that you’d be leaving at that time, since Min-su has school tomorrow.  

“Oh. Right.” You blink several times. You wish you didn’t have to leave Namjoon’s company after he shares something like that, but you have no choice.

“Min-su, let’s go! Time to leave.” You start putting Min-su’s coat, scarf, and beanie on him. “Say goodbye to Jungkook.” 

“I’ll take you home. I have nothing to do anyway.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders off. You figured it’d be Namjoon taking you home since that’s always how it is, but you guess it’s Jungkook today since Jiah isn’t there. 

“Let’s go” He grabs his keys from the table. Namjoon also grabs the keys to the SUV as he usually follows behind him when Jungkook drives his own cars. 

“Nah. It’s good. Take the night off.” Jungkook tells Namjoon. 

Jungkook gets off his car and walks up the apartment with you and Min-su. 

“Alright say bye and thanks to Jungkook.” You tell Min-su as you’re opening the door to the apartment. 

“Bye Jungkook hyung! Thanks.” Min-su hugs Jungkook again. 

Min-su enters your apartment and drops off his backpack on the couch and goes skipping to his room. As you’re closing the door, you notice Jungkook staring inside your apartment, looking at everything Min-su is doing. He wishes he could see Min-su fall asleep. You see the desire in his eyes to witness Min-su’s day coming to an end. Without much contemplation, you offer him to come in to your apartment. 

“Do you want to come in?” You ask him dryly. 

“What?” His look directed back at you from the inside of your home. 

“Do you want to come in?” 

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” He wipes his palms on his pants. 

Little by little, you’re letting Jungkook in to Min-su’s daily life. Although, it feels a bit strange, there’s also a feeling of normalcy, which you appreciate. 

“Why is Jungkook hyung sitting on the living room?” Min-su whispers to you in his bath. 

“That’s because—”  You’re trying to quickly make something up at the moment, “Remember when I said me and him were really good friends a long time ago? We haven’t seen each other in forever, so he wanted to catch up. Also, shhh, but he’s also here because he wants to be your friend really bad.” You scrunch up your nose. Min-su lets out a million of giggles that pull at your heart. 

Jungkook hears the giggles coming from the bathroom. He wants to join you and Min-su with every inch of his body, but he knows it’ll be strange for Min-su. 

“Hey baby! Medicine.” You hand Min-su his pills. 

“Open.” 

Min-su opens his mouth. 

“Pills.” 

Min-su places the pill on his mouth. 

“Now, drink and swallow.” 

Min-su drinks the water from the straw and swallows a big gulp. He opens his mouth and shows you that he has swallowed his medicine. 

You catch Jungkook transfixed at your routine. He’s amazed at your system with Min-su. It’s surreal to him how you and his son have been living your own life without him all these years. He hopes the day comes where he can also have a routine with Min-su too. You hope that too.

As you lay Min-su on his bed, getting ready to put him to sleep, you hear steps approaching the room. You turn around to find Jungkook leaning on the door frame. He gets his phone out and sends a text to someone. 

8:50 PM Jungkook: Can I put him to sleep? 

He looks up from his phone looking at you with hope in his eyes. Jungkook’s eyes, leaving you with none other than a choice than to let him. You lean into Min-su and whisper onto his ear, “Jungkook wants to be your friend so bad so he wants to put you asleep.” You both let out giggles and you kiss his forehead. 

Jungkook sits in the same position you were in besides Min-su, “How’s my favorite kiddo doing?” 

You lean on the door frame in the same position Jungkook was watching you. A small smile appearing on your face. 

“Tell me a boxing story!” Min-su exclaims with his bunny smile. It tugs Jungkook’s heart to see how identical they look. Jungkook goes on to tell him about this boxing match he had a with a 60-year-old boxer for a charity. “I had to take it easy on him, you know! He was 60-years-old.” Jungkook adds voice effects when talking about the punches and hits of the fight. “He was always meant to win, but not by knockout,” Jungkook raises his index finger, “But then I tripped when he punched me, so it looked like he actually knocked me out!” Jungkook shakes his head. Jungkook is definitely more energetic than you when telling bedtime stories.

Min-su laughs and even a light chuckle comes out of you. A smile forms on Jungkook’s face when he hears it. “Alright dude. Time to sleep. Goodnight.” Jungkook wants to kiss his forehead just like you, but he only squeezes his hand and gives him a warm smile. 

As soon as Jungkook is about to turn off the bedside lamp, Min-su asks Jungkook the question. 

“Are you my dad?” 

Jungkook’s heart makes a shift from 90 beats to 1000 beats per minute, “Uh-I-um,” he nervously chuckles. He looks back at you with his widened eyes shaking. You have the same expression on your face as Jungkook. You hadn’t thought of a way that you were going to tell Min-su that Jungkook was his dad. You thought you still had some more time left to plan it. 

“Baby, Jungkook is um,-” You approach the other side of the bed, sitting next to Min-su. Before he lets you think of an excuse, Min-su says, “I heard you and Jungkook talk, mommy. When you told me it was the TV.” You hope everything he got from that conversation was that Jungkook is his dad. 

“Is that all you heard, baby?” Your eyebrows furrow, rubbing your thumb on his hand. 

“Yep. I couldn’t understand the rest. So, I just fell back asleep.” He giggles. 

You feel relieved that Min-su knows Jungkook is his dad. This whole “wanting to be his friend” thing was getting old for you, Jungkook, and clearly Min-su, as he blurted out what he had been hiding this past month. 

“Why didn’t you tell us anything?” Jungkook smiles. 

“Momma likes to take care of me. Because of my weak heart. So, I figured it’d take her some time to tell me.” He smiles. 

“Oh baby, you’re so smart aren’t you? And you don’t have a weak heart anymore! Doctor said it’s big and strong, now. It’ll only get stronger if you go to sleep now. And no more eavesdropping! Goodnight, baby. I love you.” You chuckle, hugging and giving him a kiss on his forehead, leaving Min-su and Jungkook alone in the room. 

Jungkook leans forward and whispers to Min-su, “I am your dad.” Bunny smile on full display on both of their faces. Jungkook kisses his cheek and tells him, “Goodnight, kiddo.” 

“Goodnight, daddy.” Min-su tells Jungkook and then turns on his side, giving Jungkook his back. Jungkook takes one last look at Min-su before closing the door. There is a yearning look on his face. He whispers. “I love you.” Tears set on his doe eyes before he quickly wipes them away. 

“He just called me dad!” He loudly whispers, throwing his thumb back at Min-su’s room. A huge smile on his face. You smile too, but you turn away, not wanting him to see it. “Thank you.” Jungkook tells you as he sits beside you on the couch. 

“For?” Eyes fixated on your phone. 

“For this. For giving me an opportunity to be his father.” His eyes on you. 

“I-um, I’m doing this for Min-su. He deserves to have a father.” You meet his eyes. A serious expression on your face. 

“I know. But still. I’d like to thank you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here right now.” He nods with his words. He gets up getting ready to leave. A question he’s been wanting to ask makes him pause at the door before leaving, “______, we’re okay, right? You and me? To co-parent Min-su? I mean I’m going to marry Jiah and there’s all of that.” He turns to look at you. 

“You and me?” You chuckle, “You and me are never going to be okay. But…even if we aren’t, for him we are.” You slant your head, raising your eyebrows at him. 

“I’ll see your around, ______.” He smiles. 

You give him a tight-lipped smile. Again. No apology.

It hurts you to know that you’re never truly going to be okay with Jungkook. You know he didn’t know about having a son which is why you have agreed to let him into Min-su’s life. However, that doesn’t change anything about him leaving you. To some people it might seem like he simply chose between two things, on of them not being you, but he had a third choice. That third choice consisting of making his dreams come true with you. That third choice is what is keeping you not wanting to forgive nor forget. He had a choice and he didn’t choose the one with you in it. 

The only thing you can now do is pretend he never abandoned you, when Min-su is around.

But you and Jungkook? Things will never be the same. 

9:30 PM Namjoon: Go straight to the office. There’s been some photos and information leaked to the press. 

9:34 PM Jungkook: About

9:34: You, Min-su, and ______ . 

☆ yayyyyyy!!! you just finished chapter 3!! i hope you guys loved it. chapter 4 is ready and will be uploaded next Tuesday... YAYAYYAY... now lemme tell you... ch4 has some amazing & shocking moments 😳 remember leave me your thoughts, theories, questions, anything here ✉ !!! thanks y'all! ♥️

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[arrantsnowdrop]

Starlight - Azriel x Reader (fluff)

Fanart by jessdraw.s on Instagram

Request: “(Y/N) is the youngest Archeron sister and Azriel knows that she’s his mate when he first meets her in the human lands (but obviously she doesn’t feel it bc she’s only human at that point) and then maybe continue to when she’s kidnapped/turned into fae in Hybern/she realizes he’s her mate as well??”

Tags: @milllionthingsihaventdone

Warnings: depictions of violence and pain, swearing

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: One of my favorite Azriel requests ever. Very fun to write! As a small life update, I am safe and enjoying Spain very much. Love you all and hope you enjoy reading :)

Feyre had been gone for nearly a year when she returned to the estate from beyond The Wall. Of course, you hadn’t been home when she arrived, and had learned from Nesta later that afternoon.

You were the youngest Archeron sister - a year younger than Feyre - and had focused all your energy on school after your father regained his fortune. Not knowing how to read or write or do basic math had been your largest shame during your years in the cottage. There was no way for you to help other than helping skin the animals Feyre brought back, and even then you lacked the skills necessary to help her sell them at the market. You were determined not to let your family fall into such a situation again, and saw your education as the only way to guarantee that. You’d caught up rather quickly, and hoped that one day you’d be able to go to school in Neva and become a clerk or a banker.

That was where you’d been when Feyre had arrived. You could tell something had happened when you returned - there was a heavy tension in the air. Nesta was sitting on your bed waiting for you, her face set in stone, her shoulders stiff. You gave her a quizzical look as you closed the door behind you.

“You alright?” you asked, dropping your bag on the ground.

“Feyre’s here.” She spoke as if it were some common fact.

Your eyes widened as you turned around again, reaching for the doorknob “Why didn’t you say so-”

“Y/N don’t!” Nesta commanded, standing up from the bed and ignoring the bewildered expression on your face. “Do not open that door-”

“Why the fuck not?” you half-shouted, scoffing when Nesta stiffened at your words. “We haven’t seen her in months, you don’t get to keep me from seeing her.”

“She’s a faerie now.”

A pause.

“What?” you asked slowly.

“Feyre has been…changed, into a Fae. And she’s brought three of them with her.” There was an underlying pain in Nesta’s voice. “I thought you should know before you saw her.”

You could practically hear your heart pounding. “Are you sure?” you asked finally. “Are you positive?” Nesta nodded.

You gulped, brows furrowing. “Well, she’s still our sister,” you started, “and I’d like to say hi.”

“I swear, Y/N, if you walk out of this room-”

You rolled your eyes at Nesta, pushed the door open and stalked into the hallway.

“Y/N!”

“Please shut up, Nesta!” you called over your shoulder, heading in the direction of the guest room.

You knocked once, twice on the door, rocking back and forth on your feet as you waited. “Feyre?” you called. “Nesta said you were here…”

Your voice trailed off as the door opened slowly and Feyre’s head popped out from behind it. Your eyes widened, taking in the pointed ears, the tattoo on her hand, the nervous look on her face…

“Y/N, I-”

You pulled her into a tight embrace, your sister’s words dying on her lips. She let out a relieved sigh and wrapped her arms around you. “I missed you,” you whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be,” Feyre murmured. “Nesta sure isn’t.”

“Sucks to be her,” you replied, grinning when Feyre giggled. You pulled back, inspecting her carefully. “You look healthy,” you noted. “And the ears look fabulous.”

“You really think so?” Feyre asked with a small grin. You nodded eagerly.

“Very cool.”

Your gaze trailed to the room behind Feyre, eyes widening at the sight of three very tall, very intimidating men with…

“Are those wings?” you asked incredulously, staring at the two donning bat-like wings and dark armor. Feyre chuckled nervously as the one with longer hair gave you a charming grin.

“They are indeed,” he said, spreading his wings out behind him to show you better. The red jewels on his armor gleamed.

“Feyre, who is this?” asked the third man. This one didn’t have wings, but instead a pair of intense purple eyes.

“My younger sister, Y/N.”

You waved hesitantly. “I’m assuming you’re all faeries, too?” They nodded. You cast a glance at the other winged man leaning against the bed frame. His hair was shorter, and the jewels on his armor were blue instead of red. He was also shrouded in a dark, twisting haze.

“I didn’t know you had a younger sister,” the one with longer hair said. He looked a little offended.

“Well, I didn’t know you existed either,” you shrugged. “Rather unfortunate.” Feyre rolled her eyes as the man chuckled. “Feyre, I like her.”

“Y/N, this is Cassian,” your sister said. The man gave you a quick wave. “And that’s Rhysand…” (another wave from the man with purple eyes) “...and Azriel.” Azriel gave you a faint smile before looking back down at the carpet.

“Well, hello,” you said shyly. “Welcome to our home.”

Rhysand chuckled. “That’s the first nice thing we’ve heard since coming here.”

“My sisters are a little less…fond of faeries,” you explained apologetically. “I’m sorry if Nesta was a lot to deal with.”

“No need for apologies,” Rhysand said dismissively.

You turned to your sister. “Will the four of you be joining us for dinner?”

“Yes, as long as Nesta doesn’t throw us out before then,” Feyre joked. You grinned.

“That’s bound to be entertaining.”

—◯—◯—

At dinner you sat next to Azriel, cautiously eating your soup as you watched the drama between your older sisters with wide eyes. Every once in a while Cassian would interject with something funny and you would laugh, only for Nesta to silence you with a pointed glare. You thought the tension between him and your eldest sister was quite comical.

“So, you don’t have a problem with us?”

You looked over at Azriel and shook your head. “No, not really. I was afraid of you all when I was growing up, but once Feyre came back the first time I figured you couldn’t be all bad. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so desperate to leave again.” You bit your lip, remembering the day she’d left again for Prythian. Azriel seemed to notice the change in your mood.

“Did you miss her?” he asked. You nodded.

“I love her, more than anything,” you said. “But it hurt. It felt like she was choosing another life over us…” You shook your head. “But there was nothing left for her here. And I’m happy she found you all.”

Azriel nodded, chewing a forkful of potatoes thoughtfully. “We’re happy to have her.”

Your attention was drawn once more to Nesta, whose face had turned a furious shade of red at Cassian’s incessant remarks.

“But she hates us?” Azriel asked again.

“Oh, yes,” you said with a nod. “Completely.”

“Noted.” A beat. “And your other sister?”

“Elain doesn’t hate,” you explained, glancing at your other sister sitting quietly next to Nesta. “But she definitely isn’t a huge fan. And her fiancé, well, he’s like Nesta but ten times worse.”

“I’ll avoid him then,” Azriel said, pushing his empty plate forward and turning slightly to look at you. “And you…Feyre doesn’t talk about any of you much, but she hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

You shrugged. “She’s always been protective of me. I think she’s just doing what she wishes Nesta had done for her.”

Azriel nodded, understanding. “She’s been through some tough situations, I understand why she’d make an effort to keep you out of it.” You spared Feyre a glance. “She’s the strongest of all of us.”

“Well, definitely of her, Nesta, and Elain,” Azriel remarked. “But I know nothing of you, so I can’t judge entirely.”

You grinned shyly. “There’s not really much to know.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “I’m sure that’s not true. What do you like to do?”

“I like to read, I guess,” you said with a shrug.

“You can read?” Azriel asked, a confused look on his face. “But Feyre…”

“I didn’t learn until after she left,” you explained. “I used the money to get a tutor, and then I started going to school when I caught up to the people my age.”

He looked surprised. “That’s a lot to accomplish in a year.”

“Well, it’s kind of a necessary skill, you know? When we were starving in the woods, all I could think was that if I knew how to write or do math I could get a job and help Feyre provide for us all, but I couldn’t.” You scratched the back of your neck, a little embarrassed. “All I do now is study. I never want to be in a position like that again.”

“I understand,” Azriel said, giving you a small smile. “I know what it’s like to be forced into a compromising situation. And now you have the ability to keep yourself out of it, and so you’re working as hard as you can for that.”

You blinked, a little shocked by how well he understood you, and nodded. “Yes, exactly,” you whispered.

“What do you like to study?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and taking a drink of his water.

You cleared your throat, rubbing your hands together nervously. “I like math a lot. I want to go study it more in one of the big cities, where they have whole institutions for it and stuff.”

“What do you want to do with that?” Azriel asked, genuinely interested.

“Well, I’ll probably become a banker or something, but I think I’d really love to study astronomy.”

Azriel bit back a grin. “I think you’d enjoy watching the sky at night in the city where I live.”

“Really?” you asked.

He nodded. “If Nesta ever lets you come visit, I’d love to show you.”

“I think I’d really like that,” you replied with a hopeful grin.

—◯—◯—

There was something about the Mortal Queens that left you completely unnerved. The way they seemed more than willing to sacrifice the Mortal Lands in Prythian, the way they seemed rooted in their decision before Rhysand and Morrigan had even begun speaking. It was like their visit was performative - like they wanted you all to think they cared, but really they only valued their own power and wellbeing. They could care less how you all fared in a fight with Hybern.

And these realizations left you shaking. You were terrified, scared for your family and your home, scared for the faerie folk north of The Wall that you’d just begun caring for. Your hands had begun to tremble in the middle of the meeting, and you hadn’t been able to stop it. You’d clasped them behind your back, gripped the chair in front of you, all to no avail.

Azriel had noticed. He’d been standing behind you, and moved up to your side when he noticed how anxious you were getting. He gave you a look that asked Are you alright?, to which you gave a dismissive shake of your head. But the Spymaster saw right through you, and took one of your hands in his and squeezed it reassuringly.

This had worked, for a little while. You allowed yourself to become distracted by the hand that held yours, which you were now seeing ungloved for the first time. You were taken aback by the scars, and wondered what awful things he’d had to endure to get them, but thought they made him seem more strong and beautiful than before.

Unfortunately, even with Azriel holding your hand, by the end of the meeting you were shaking again. The minute the Mortal Queens vanished into thin air you rushed out of the living room, hurrying off to your room as tears welled in your eyes and slamming the door behind you before anyone could hear you cry.

You collapsed against the wall, sobbing and shaking in defeat. Feyre would be the first lost to Hybern if they attacked, but in the end all of you would be killed in this war that seemed so sure to happen.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?”

Azriel.

“Y/N, please can I come in?”

“It’s unlocked,” you tried to say, voice wavering more than you wished it would. You wished you could be like Feyre, you wished you could be strong.

Azriel was in your room in an instant, crouching in front of you and clasping your shoulders. “Y/N, look at me.”

You brought your eyes up to his and inhaled sharply, transfixed by the emotion on his face.

“Az-”

“You are going to be fine,” he said, his voice deep and smooth and comforting.

“You and Nesta and Elain are going to be fine. And Feyre is going to be fine. Cassian and Rhysand and I would face Hybern ourselves and die before letting anything happen to the four of you.”

You let out a strangled, desperate noise, and Azriel’s face broke.

“But I don’t want anything to happen to you, either,” you sobbed.

“Y/N.” His voice was no more than a whisper.

And then Azriel was holding you to him, your face pressed into his shoulder and his into your hair as you clung to him wildly.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, relishing in the warmth of him and the feel of his hands caressing your back. You feared you’d never see him again, that you’d never feel him again. And more than anything, you feared you’d never get the chance to figure out what these feelings meant.

“You won’t,” he said, “I promise you won’t.” And you almost wanted to believe him.

—◯—◯—

When you regained consciousness, Elain was being dragged towards a cauldron in the middle of the room. And there was screaming, so much screaming…

There were your sisters, and Feyre and Rhys and the members of the Night Court, and the blonde woman who had showed up at your house and-

Nesta was screaming, clawing and thrashing and shouting for Elain. You went to stand up, only to be held down by a man with yellow hair and green eyes.

“Ah, the youngest is awake.” A cold, sinister voice. And then Feyre shouting, and someone else shouting, and oh god there was Azriel’s body, limp on the floor.

You shrieked, struggling as you tried to free yourself.

“Tamlin, make sure the girl is watching. She’ll be next, after all.”

The man wrestled you into an upright position, his hand on your jaw forcing your head forward. You watched as Elain was dunked in the Cauldron, tears streaming down your face, and gasped when she emerged completely different.

And then you realized, they were turning you into High Fae.

You screamed as Tamlin pushed you forward, digging your heels into the ground to try and push back.

“You’re so tedious.” The cold voice again. You scanned the room, eyes settling on a crowned man with the darkest eyes you’d ever seen. “The struggle isn’t worth it, you might as well go with some dignity.”

Feyre screamed, and you grimaced, pushing back again. It was no use.

You began to sob as Tamlin dragged you closer to the cauldron, begging for him to stop. You could’ve sworn you saw Azriel twitch where he lay on the ground.

And then Tamlin was hoisting you up, ignoring your screams as he pitched you into the Cauldron. You closed your eyes, hoping whatever would happen would be done quickly.

Cold. The first thing you noticed, and then searing pain. You cried out, pushing yourself up from the bottom of the Cauldron only for someone’s hand to push you back down.

The cold liquid turned blazing hot around you, energy coursing through your body as you changed, limbs stretching and heart pounding and skin searing.

And then someone was pulling you up, hoisting you out of the water.

You felt dizzy, and everything was blurry. You could make out Nesta’s face, fire in her eyes and she screamed, but you couldn’t hear her. And there was Feyre, face dreadfully pale. And Azriel, who was trying to push himself up off the floor, face twisting with pain as his eyes met yours. The first thing you heard was his strangled cry as he tried to reach out for you.

Tamlin let go of you, and you stood on your own for a moment, swaying, before collapsing onto the floor. Nesta roared.

“Well, that took longer than expected,” the cruel man laughed. “The Cauldron took more time with you than your sister, huh?”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to scream, blinking in confusion as you looked down at your own hands, suddenly so unfamiliar. You felt so defeated, sitting there on the ground as Nesta was dragged kicking and screaming to her fate.

Silence. Nesta was in the Cauldron. You slumped forward in defeat, head reeling as the Inner Circle struggled to reach you and your sisters. The last thing you saw before losing consciousness again was Azriel’s panic-stricken face.

—◯—◯—

You woke up in an unfamiliar room, in perhaps the comfiest bed you’d ever been in. You moved to sit up, grimacing at the pounding in your head, and inhaled sharply as memories flooded you. You looked down at your hands, noticing the slight differences in the way they looked and in the way you were seeing them, and realized it hadn’t been a dream.

You blinked again, trying to adjust to the heightened details your senses were picking up, the textures of furniture and sounds of birds chirping outside your window. It was all very overwhelming.

As if on cue, the door opened and in stepped Azriel, looking a bit worse for wear. His eyes, underlined by dark circles, widened upon seeing you sitting upright, and he rushed over to the bed.

“Y/N,” he breathed, sitting down next to you carefully and cradling your face in his hands. You let yourself fall into him, allowed yourself to relax in his touch as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Hi,” you squeaked, nuzzling into his chest. He pulled back, brown eyes darting up and down as he inspected you.

“When did you wake up?” he asked softly.

“Just now,” you replied, twisting your head to stretch your neck. “How…how long was I asleep?”

“A couple of days,” he answered, a grimace on his face. You nodded, not quite knowing what to say.

“Where’s Feyre?” you asked finally.

“In the Spring Court,” Azriel answered, shoulders slumping slightly. “With Tamlin.”

You scoffed. “The asshole who dragged me into the Cauldron.”

“That’s the one,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle. You scowled.

“What’s she doing there?” you asked. “I thought she was, you know, with Rhys.”

“She is,” Azriel said, looking up at you. “Feyre is not only Rhysand’s mate, but the High Lady of the Night Court. She’s alive and well, and spying on Tamlin for us.”

Your eyes widened, nodding slowly. “That’s certainly a promotion,” you stated, trying to process what Azriel had just told you. “Good for her.” Azriel laughed, an exhausted and relieved laugh, and pulled you in for another hug.

“Gods, Y/N,” he breathed into your hair. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to hold you again.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak as you snaked your arms around his torso.

“What happened to me?” you asked, voice no more than a whisper.

“Ianthe…the priestess who works with Tamlin, she kidnapped you from your home.” Azriel’s voice was thick with emotion, and you bit your lip as he pulled you closer to him. “And then she brought you to Hybern, where we were ambushed trying to remove the Cauldron’s power.”

“That’s why you were unconscious?”

Azriel nodded and gulped. You realized he was crying. “And then they turned the three of you into High Fae, and Feyre distracted them so we could get you all out.” You pulled back, heart breaking at the misty look in his eyes. “Where are we now?” you asked, glancing around the room.

“You’re in the House of Wind, in Velaris,” he answered, a small smile on his face. “The City of Starlight.”

Your eyes lit up. “The Night Court?” you asked, trying to contain your budding excitement. Azriel nodded. “Holy shit.”

He chuckled, shifting backwards slightly and looking down at where your hands rested on the comforter. He swallowed, then reached out and gently took them in his own. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice smaller than you’d ever heard it before. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?” you said softly.

“I promised to protect you.” His voice was a whisper now. “I promised you I wouldn’t let any harm come to your family and I failed, I-”

“Absolutely not,” you interrupted. His eyes snapped up to meet yours, and you shook your head. “You did not fail. You were literally unconscious when Tamlin put me in the cauldron. They had to knock you out to get to us, and that still didn’t keep you away. Don’t you dare say you failed.”

“But-”

“And we’re all here now, and we’re all alive.” You paused, frowned. “We are all alive, right? Nesta and Elain…”

“They’re fine,” he said quickly, hands squeezing yours. “Nesta…well she’s not doing well emotionally, but they’ve both been up for a few days.”

You nodded once, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his. “Please don’t blame yourself. I don’t think I could stand it.”

“I’m still sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” you begged. “You got me out of there, while you were injured yourself. You’ve done more to keep me safe than anyone.”

He gave you a small smile. “Don’t forget Feyre,” he said. You grinned.

“I’ll consider you tied with Feyre.”

You pulled back slightly, glancing around at the room and taking in the lavish furniture, the rich purple color of the walls. “Rhys really has a lot of money, huh?” you said, looking back at Azriel. Azriel shook his head, smiling.

“He has more money than he knows what to do with,” he replied, eyes full of adoration as he gazed at you.

“Do you think I could…borrow some of it?” you suggested. “It’s not that I don’t love the decor, but if I’m going to be staying here for a while I think I’d like to buy a painting or something.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” he chuckled. “Maybe we could go into the city, and look at some art shops?” 

“I’d enjoy that,” you said, nodding eagerly. “You could show me around, you know?”

Azriel grinned, ducking his head and looking down at his hands. “Do you remember when we met, and I told you I’d take you stargazing if you were ever here?”

You nodded. A beat.

“Would you like to do that, tonight?” he asked tentatively. “Just you and me?”

“Yes,” you replied quickly, a smile blossoming on your face. “Yes, please.” Something about the hopeful look Azriel was giving you, the way his eyes shone at you with adoration, left your heart stuttering in your chest.

—◯—◯—

“So, it isn’t always nighttime in…the Night Court?” you asked hesitantly. You were on top of the House of Wind with Azriel, the two of you lying down on a blanket he’d brought up with him. Azriel chuckled and shook his head.

“Rats,” you said. “Got that one wrong, I guess.”

“We do, however, have the most beautiful nights in all of Prythian,” Azriel pointed out. You grinned.

“Yea, Az, it’s gorgeous.”

Never in your whole life had the stars seemed so close. You reveled under them, picking out constellations as Azriel told you about Velaris. Every once in a while you glanced over at him and were rendered absolutely speechless, admiring the sharp angles of his face and the curve of his nose. He looked beautiful in the starlight.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Anything.”

He bit his lip. “You have to promise not to get mad.” He paused, reconsidering. “I’m nervous that you will.”

Your brows furrowed and you shifted next to him, resting on your side so you could look at his face. “What is it?”

You watched him swallow, close his eyes as if whatever he was thinking about physically pained him. “You understand how the whole…mate thing works, right?”

“Kind of,” you replied slowly. “Like Feyre and Rhys?”

Azriel nodded. “Exactly like Feyre and Rhys.”

“Well what’s that got to do with-” You stopped, eyes widening in sudden realization. “Azriel,” you whispered, voice deadly quiet. “Are we…?”

You trailed off as he nodded, an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Oh.”

He sighed. “I understand if you need time, or if you don’t want anything with me. I just want you to know I’m here for you-”

You climbed on top of him, effectively cutting him off as you buried your face in his neck and hugged him tightly. He inhaled sharply, clasped his arms around your midsection tightly, as if he never wanted to let go.

“Azriel it’s okay,” you said softly, “You’re fantastic, I could never be mad at you, especially for something like this.”

He let out a shaky breath, pulling you closer to him still. “Thank you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, recalling all the times you’d felt an indescribable pull towards Azriel, all the times he’d been the only person who could calm you down or understand you.

“How did you know?” you mumbled against him.

“I think I’ve always known,” he said quietly, one hand rubbing your back. “There’s always been something so special about you, something that made me want to keep you safe. And then the minute you changed in the Cauldron…”

Azriel took a deep breath, and you remembered the desperate look on his face when Tamlin had pulled you out of the Cauldron, remembered the way he’d been so injured but still tried to reach you.

“Something just snapped,” he whispered. “And I think I had been unconscious, but suddenly you were coming out of the Cauldron and all I could think about was you and how scared you looked.”

“Azriel,” you murmured, pushing yourself up to look in his eyes. You felt your resolve crumble at the tears running down his face, and reached up gently to brush them away.

“How-” you started, brows furrowing as you searched for the right words. “How does one…agree to a situation like this. What am I supposed to do?”

Azriel’s voice was slow and unsteady as he answered. “If you were to accept the mating bond, the female typically makes something for the male to eat.”

“You sound like you’re reading from a textbook,” you teased, giggling when Azriel rolled his eyes. “So, what do you like to eat?”

Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Y/N-”

“I know you had potatoes when you came over that one time-”

“Y/N, you don’t have to accept it,” he said hurriedly. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, and I’m perfectly happy to wait.”

“I think I’m going to make us cookies,” you hummed, resting your nose against his. Azriel gasped softly, his eyes fluttering shut. “Would you eat them with me?”

“Yes,” Azriel strained. “Gods, yes.” He brought his hands up to hold your face, and your eyes shut as he kissed you reverently. And you stayed there for hours, holding each other under the starlight, whispering soft I love you’s between kisses, before heading down to the kitchens hand in hand.

[letterstotheflre]

blooming blueberry

summary: remus surprises his sweet girlfriend at her bakery [mafia!remus x reader]

warnings: none, just a hint of smut at the end

18+ ONLY || MINORS DON'T INTERACT OR I'LL BLOCK YOU

word count: 1.6k

a/n: enjoy this cute little thing i wrote last minute :')

“Have a nice day, Mrs. Rogers,” you give the old woman a smile, handing her the paper bag you filled with a dozen soft rolls and a slice of your signature blueberry pie.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she makes sure she has a good grip on the handle before taking it from you. “And tell that boy of yours to visit the library soon. There’s a new book I think he’ll like.”

You blush. “Will do, Mrs. Rogers.”

She rolls her eyes and starts walking towards the door. “I told you it’s Dorothy to you,” she huffs, waving her hand in the air.

You laugh a little– she’s told you multiple times to call her by her first name, but you can never bring yourself to do it. She even scolded Remus for calling her Mrs. Rogers the other day.

Shaking your head, you go to the kitchen and take the lemon muffins out of the oven. You bring them to the front desk, leaving the tray in the designated area near the window where you decorate some of the baked goods. Humming softly, you fill a sifter with powdered sugar and gently tap your hand against it, dusting the sour sweetness with white snow.

You finish dusting the muffins just as the bell on the door jingles, signalling a new customer. “Just a second!” you call, quickly bouncing over to the register. You pat your hands on your apron to get off any excess sugar that might’ve stuck to your hands and ask, “What can I do for you, today?”

“Could I have one hot chocolate, please?”

Quick as lighting, you look up when you hear his voice. “Remmy!”

He gives you a soft smile, “Hi, dove.”

You lean against the desk and get on your tiptoes, pouting your lips for a kiss hello. Remus leans down and cups the back of your neck, moving his lips against yours slowly, allowing you to warm them up for him. When you pull away, he bumps your nose with his, his eyes glinting when he hears your giggle.

“What are you doing here?” you ask once your feet are rooted on the ground. “I thought you had some, um… business, to take care of.”

“He was quick to open his mouth,” he shrugs. “Why, not happy to see me?”

“I am!” you exclaim. You realize how loud your voice got and lower it with a grimace. “I was just curious…”

Remus chuckles. “‘M just teasing, love. Besides, ‘m here with an ulterior motive.” When he sees your curious eyes, he explains. “I have a surprise f’you.”

“A surprise?” you ask cautiously.

“Mhm. It’s outside with the boys,” he hums, eyeing the display of pastries. “I’d really like that hot chocolate first, though. And a slice of that orange and chocolate chip bread, please.”

You peep the silhouettes of James and Sirius standing on either side of the door outside your shop. You offer them a shy wave, receiving a nod from the tattooed man and an energetic wave from the curly-haired one. You have to stifle a laugh when Sirius slaps the back of James’ head, his beanie almost falling off.

“It’ll be right up,” you ring Remus’ order in and prepare his hot chocolate.

As you fill his cup, you glance back to the two shivering men outside. You contemplate for a second before picking up two more cups, filling one with hot chocolate and the other with black coffee. You put the lids on and cut a slice of the bread your boyfriend asked for; placing it inside one of the smaller paper bags before grabbing a few gingerbread cookies and boxing them up.

“Here you go,” you hand Remus his cup and bag, leaving the rest on the desk. He raises a curious eyebrow but doesn’t ask, simply pulling a couple of bills out of a wad of cash and putting them on the tip jar.

He tells you to go grab your coat so you head to the back room and put it on, grabbing your scarf and beanie.

“You got new markers?” Remus asks, looking down at the red hearts you drew next to his name. When he sees you tying your scarf, he sighs, “C’mere.”

“For the season!” you say happily, allowing him to bundle you up. “I can use them for Valentine’s Day too.”

He brushes your cheekbone with his thumb. “S’very smart, bunny.”

You preen at his compliment, your tummy fluttering nicely at his praise. You grab the two cups and hold the box between your elbow and waist. “M’ready,” you turn to Remus, feeling his arm snake around your body and rest on your hip.

With his shoulder, he opens the door and holds it for you, watching as you shiver slightly when the sudden cold hits you. “Brrr, you didn’t tell me it was this cold,” you grumble.

“Who would’ve guessed, hm? Right in the middle of winter,” comes the snarky voice of Sirius from your right.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you huff, kicking some snow with your boots.

“Don’t be mean to her, Sirius,” warns Remus, standing behind you, his shadow falling over you. “She brought you two some pastries. Would be a shame if you didn’t get to taste them.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and is about to reply, most likely something sarcastic, when James’ excited voice interrupts him. “Those cookies you were talking about the other day?!”

“Yeah!” you step towards him so he can grab the box. “I used m&m’s for the buttons.”

“Oh, sweet!” he cheers. He opens the box and takes a big bite out of one of them, a few crumbles falling on his coat. “Tha’s good,” he moans. “M’mum used to put chocolate chips on’em, bu’ this s’more fun–Wan’ one?” He asks Sirius.

Sirius raises an eyebrow, a slightly disgusted expression on his face. “I’ll pass for now.”

“Coffee?” you offer, a bit dejected that he didn’t try your cookies.

Glancing at Remus and seeing his sharp look, he sighs. “Sure, doll.” He takes the cup from your hand and takes a sip, the liquid warming him up from the inside. If he’s surprised by you knowing how he likes it, he doesn’t say anything.

“Hot chocolate for you, James,” you hand him the cup.

“Oh, you are an angel,” he sighs wistfully, eagerly slurping it down. You look down bashfully, toying with your fingers.

You feel a gentle pat on your butt, and you lift your head to look at Remus upside down. “Why don’t you close your eyes so I can show you what I got you?”

You mumble an ‘okay’ and cover your eyes with your hands, knowing that you would most likely take a peek if you just closed them. You hear some grumbling and a huff, a dull thud from something hitting the floor, and then feel Remus’ fingers curl around your wrists to bring your hands down.

“Surprise,” he whispers in your ear, his hot breath tingling your skin.

With a racing heart, your eyelids flutter open. You’re confused when you don’t see anything. “What–what is it?”

With a light chuckle, Remus places a hand on the back of your head and tilts it down. You gasp when you see it, covering your mouth after a puff of air floats in front of you. “Remus–”

In front of you, a wood-carved sign rests against the window sill. The words “Blooming Blueberry” are painted in a deep purple colour, in a pretty calligraphy font. The rest of the sign is decorated with a few wildflowers, a colourful contrast to the neutral background.

You turn to Remus with a parted mouth. “I– You– How?”

“I noticed you hadn’t put up a sign yet. Now everyone will know where the best bakery in town is.” Despite the wide grin on your face, you sniffle and grip the lapels of his coat. Remus brushes away your tears, cupping your face with one hand. “D’you like it?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat and nod. “I love it, Rem. It’s perfect.”

“Yeah? If you want to change anything I can have another one done in a week.”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, no. It’s everything I could’ve wanted. But you didn’t have to–”

“I wanted to,” he cuts you off sternly. “When will it stick to that little dumb brain of yours that I like spoiling you?”

You gulp at his words and glance back to his two best friends. Sirius is lighting up a cigarette while James plays with his empty cup, kicking it in the air and showing off. Sirius merely nods appreciatively and goes back to flicking the metal wheel of the lighter.

Seeing them so distracted, you get on your tiptoes and speak lowly. “Can– Can we go back inside?”

“Are you alright?” he looks worried.

“Yes yes,” you say mindlessly, swaying back and forth. You bite your lip and look at him through hooded eyes, fluttering your eyelashes. “I just want to, um, thank you for the sign.”

He smirks and chuckles, leading you back inside your shop and turning the ‘closed’ sign around. He nudges you towards the backroom, pulling off your coat and dumping it on the chair in the corner. He finds you already on your knees, looking at him with that adoring glint you hold just for him and with your hands on your thighs.

He stands in front of you and unbuckles his belt, his dress pants falling to the floor unceremoniously. He grabs your hair and tips your head back, your mouth falling open and tongue lolling out on impulse.

He grabs his cock by the base and taps it against your tongue, watching amused as your eyes flutter shut. “Show me how grateful you are, bunny.”

[erodasfishtacos]

This was an ask but I lost it - it was a prompt for the tropes to get a text about a guy hitting on them in a grocery store

Okay but work with me here

There is actually a guy hitting on them.

Have a Good Friday bubbies 💕

-

With three growing boys came a lot of groceries, on top of Harry who was a garbage disposal himself and ate like crazy - came the need for two groceries carts.

Harry had wandered off to pick up a forgotten item with Ezra in the little seat, Easton and Cash in the cart among the food item.

It was just YN waiting in a ridiculously long line to check out when a cart pulls behind her, and she hears someone cough to get her attention.

She turns to look and it’s a younger man with a white smile and a raised brow, “I just wanted to let you know you’re very beautiful.”

YN has to stop from making a face, instead pulls up her phone and sends out a quick text before sliding it back in her purse.

yn: better hurry up, some guy is hitting on me

She would normally ignore the comment but she’s just waiting for her husband to come and have a fit so she entertains the conversation.

“Thanks, that’s very sweet of you,” YN gives him a small smile and his eyes dart to her chest before reading it - it was a pretty plain tee with a Yankees logo on it.

“Fan of the Yankees? You’re too pretty to like baseball too,” The man laughs like the joke he said was just comical.

“Who’s you’re favorite player?” YN asks with a curious grin.

“Oh, Styles for sure. Have you heard of him, honey?” The man asks patronizingly like she’s a dumb, band-wagon fan.

“Uh, Styles?” She replies dumbly with wide eyes, “Is he the catcher?”

“Can I help y’mate?” Harry interrupts rudely, maneuvering his cart full of children in front of the man talking to his wife.

The guy legitimately gasps, “Y-you-you’re Har-Harry Styles.”

“Oh my god, that is Harry Styles!” YN remarks with faux surprise to irk her husband but it gets ruined when Ezra screeches, “Mama!”

Harry rolls her eyes at her but she doesn’t miss the little curve to his lip.

“I am. What can I help you with?” He asks gruffly, his hand going to cup the back of his wife’s neck protectively.

“I was ju-uh? I was talking er to this girl because of her s-shirt,” He rambles, the man’s hands were shaking with excitement and nerves.

“This girl is m’wife and I’d appreciate if you left her alone now,” Harry glares, “I think she’s off the market based on the fact that she gave me these three babies in tha’ cart.”

YN giggles when Harry gives her skin a slight squeeze, he was so hot when he was protective of her and their babies.

“Ca-can I have a signature?”

Easton furrows his brow, tossing the box of cereal to the side in the cart, and huffs out, “Leave us alone!”

Harry laughs, moving to shush him and shrug, “Y’heard him, leave us alone.”

And if that man goes around telling everyone Harry Styles is an asshole after that…well Harry couldn’t give a flying fuck.

-

YN didn’t need Harry to tell a man to fuck off, obviously not, but it doesn’t mean that it wasn’t an opportunity to rile him up.

It’s in the pasta aisle, Harry had went to find the Cheerios that Beau had suddenly demanded with puppy dog eyes.

As she reaches for a box on the top shelf, someone steps behind her and grabs it for her - encroaching on her personal space.

“Here you go, doll,” A clean-shaven, business-looking man smiles as he hands her the box and steps back from her.

Beau and Olive were sitting in the cart, playing with the few toys YN had brought along to keep them entertained.

“Thanks,” YN scoffs but then realizes this is a perfect opportunity to fuck with her husband so she sweetens her tone and smiles, “You’re so tall.”

As he begins rambling, YN pulls out her cell phone and sends a quick text to her husbands.

yn: some guys in aisle six is trying to make me his house wife

She sees the message is read but he doesn’t reply.

It’s less than a minute before he’s striding back down the aisle - looking hotter than fucking ever if you asked his wife.

He was in his normal black skinny jeans and plain black tee, his curls pulled into a bun, black leather boots, and his body covered completely with tattoos.

“Can I fuckin’ help you?” Harry barks, right off the bat, lightly pushing his wife behind him in his normal protector mode.

“I was just offer some help to this beautiful lady,” The man smiles obnoxiously, puffing out his chest to appear bigger.

“My wife doesn’t need y’help,” He replies with a scoff, he was taller than the men and much more muscular - there was no chance.

The man falters for a moment before shrugging, “I just wouldn’t expect such an stunning girl to be with fuckin’ tattooed up scum like you. She’ll leave you.”

Harry has to use all of his self-control to not knock this man out, “Look at those fuckin’ babies, look exactly like me, don’t they? Because I put them in her. Pretty sure she isn’t gonna leave me.”

“Low life,” The man scoffs.

But then, Harry is narrowing his eyes, “Wait a minute, I know you. You’re Henry Clark.”

It’s obvious Henry is confused to how this man knows his name by his raised eyebrows.

“How do you know me?” He challenges.

“Because you owe me money,” Harry replies with a crooked grin.

“I don’t even know you!” Henry laughs with a honking, annoying sound.

“Oh, y’know me,” Harry is still smiling, he pulls up his tee slightly where he has a tattoo on his abdomen that matches the slogan on his gun.

Smile! You’ve met the devil!

Henry’s wide grin falls and his face pales without a seconds notice.

“Daddy, please!” Olive whines angrily after Beau smacks a box of crackers out of her hand with a baby giggle at his sister’s irritation.

“Excuse me a minute, don’t move,” Harry replies with a shit-eating smile, he lifts his shirt a bit more to flash his gun before turning to his kids.

YN had been distracted at looking over their grocery list, unconcerned about what was going on.

“Whassit, button?” Harry murmurs, thumbing away the tears on her ruddy cheeks.

“S’being mean,” Olive squeaks with sad, puppy eyes and a poured bottom lip - making grabby hands for her father, “Pick m’up, daddy.”

“S’kay, Beau - y’need to be nice t’your sister,” He tells his son seriously before turning back to the quivering man, “There better be £50,000 at the Third Street Shipping Ware house by midnight or I’m coming to find you.”

“Stop talkin’ daddy,” Olive complains, wanting his attention on her and not this random man. Her small hand comes to pat at his cheek, finger curiously touching the tattoo there.

“F-fine,” Henry agrees with a stutter, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

Harry snags a bag of cookies of the shelf to distract his daughter as he finishes their conversation, “If y’not there, I’ll gladly painted m’walls with y’blood.”

“I-I wi-will,” The man agrees, wiping his brow.

“Also, if y’tell anyone about m’babies - I’ll not only kill you but every single person you’ve ever loved if you even think about mentioning m’children,” Harry touches his gun with his free hand, “I have bullets w’your name on it.”

“Daddy, no more. Cuddle now?” Olive interrupts, unbothered or concerned by her father’s tight jaw and dangerous eyes.

“Get lost,” He demands before turning away from the man and kissing his daughter’s temple, “Y’want a cuddle, hm?”

“Please,” She whimpers, giggling when she feels her father’s slight scratchy stubble on her cheek before he’s hugging her close to his chest - protective and safe.

-

[ladderofyears]

Two Lists, As Requested By My Mind Healer.

List of things that I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, enjoy:

~ Earl grey tea. Freshly brewed leaves only, and not too stewed. Please, not those ludicrous Muggle teabags.

~ The scent of freshly starched shirts and how the collars feel against my skin.

~ Being prepared. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail (and other such clichés my governess imparted onto me.)

~ The Arrows being top of the Quidditch League and the look on Weasley’s face when reminded of this very pertinent fact.

~ Cracking the spine on a new paperback. Pansy calls this habit cretinous, but personally I’d rather my books looked like they’d been read.

~ Mum’s expression, just before she’s about to tell me a particularly scandalous piece of gossip.

~ Riding my Firebolt. That first kick away from the earth. I’ve been flying since I was six, and it still gets me every single time.

~ Dancing. In a nightclub with sickly cocktails, loosening my inhibitions, or at one of Mum’s evening soirées. It doesn’t matter. I simply adore the feeling of being lost inside the music.

~ Petting my Kneazle, Felicity. Categorically, the most beautiful girl in the world, and I won’t be persuaded otherwise.

~ Sex. An entry that rather speaks for itself.

~ Getting up early and running though London before the rest of the world has woken up.

~ Magic. Yes, perhaps a bit of a prosaic answer for a wizard, but there we are. I love the feeling of magic pulsing through my blood, love the gasp of breath you pull into your lungs the moment you cast a spell. It’s as important a part of me as my beating heart.

List of things that I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, detest:

~ Making lists.

~ Father’s letters from Azkaban. They put me in a dark place for days afterwards. When I burn them, I feel guilty, and when I keep them, I dwell on them. They make me feel like the worst version of myself.

~ Not exercising. Usually occurs in combination with the point made above.

~ Migraines. Nothing much helps when one arrives. I’ve tried the most renowned potions and even Muggle pills. Nothing shifts them.

~ The Prophet. Their vile excuse for journalism is the biggest joke in the magical world.

~ The slow pace of magical law making. Merlin’s bloody beard! It shouldn’t take three years for legislation to be discussed and voted on.

~ Whenever the Arrows lose to the Canons. Weasley always pulls that ruddy smirk of his.

~ The food in the Ministry canteen. Bloody hell, but it's dreadful. You could resole your boots with a slice of their Treacle Tart.

~ Tepid mugs of tea. Disgusting. They never taste right after casting a re-warming charm.

~ Wearing long sleeves on hot days.

~ Howlers.

~ I hate the way that Harry Potter glances in my direction. He does it all the time. He thinks that I don’t notice, but I do. Potter thinks he understands me, and that he’s got me all figured out. He’s wrong. I’m more than just the smart cut of my robes and my charm-tidied hair. I’m more than my childhood and the lies that I listened to because I didn’t know any better.

I’m not foolish. I know how I must appear to Potter. He believes me to be polished elegance skating over the dirt, rubbish and tattoo ink beneath. We talk sometimes, Potter and I. We swap small pleasantries, and I hear the hesitation in his voice. I hear him waiting for me to be cruel.

Part of me wants to tell Potter that I don't care, that it doesn't matter to me that I'm no longer any of his business.

Except, sometimes, occasionally, I see his bright twist of smile or I catch the tail end of his green-eyed glimpses.

Then a part of me shatters into shards. That's when I wish that I were.

✒✒

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt of: giving into your love.

Thank you @iero0 for the wonderful beta read.

Have a lovely weekend, lovely people.