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blueywrites · 1 year

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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.

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lavendermunson · 29 days

Text

with a broken heart - steve harrington

chapter 6 of miss americana and the heartbreak prince

summary after all the hard work one night can potentially ruin everything

cw reader gets distracted with an older man sorry mentions of alcohol, the usual heartbreak

w.c 2.5k

a/n all im saying is… she’s in her rep era in this chapter?

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

You dance while cooking in the kitchen, and music playing softly in the background makes you so relaxed. While checking the pots and shredding the cheese to add to your pasta, the door rings, and you run towards the door.

"Hey, beautiful, I missed you.”

Steve hugs your waist and lifts you with a strong grip around your body. You’ve been feeling so alone without him, but you know it’s going to be a couple of busy weeks for him. He leaves pecks on your cheeks and puts you down so he can see your face, his palms cup your cheek, and he presses his lips against yours, not once, not twice but three times.

“I missed you too, c'mon, let’s celebrate!”

He joins you in the kitchen, helping you carry all the plates and food to the dining room and you get a special bottle of fine wine to celebrate with him. You two eat dinner while talking about your day. You tell him how much you want to go back on tour but you’ll miss him so much, and unfortunately, he can’t join you.

You spend the night drinking wine, eating, and talking. It’s so mundane, it’s something that you do with other people, but this time it feels so special. He rubs your hand and takes a sip of wine. Looking at you with that shine in his eyes, you feel so lucky to have him, and he does too.

He takes your hand in his and tugs it softly so you join him, closer. You sit on his lap, tangling your arms around his neck and kissing his face. Steve closes his eyes, letting himself fall in the moment and enjoying how your body presses against his.

“I’m so proud of you, I know you’ll have so much fun” you whisper, your words tangling his skin as you softly nip his earlobe.

“Baby–” Steve lets out a groan, pressing his fingers against your naked thighs and rubbing them slowly.

His touch makes your body fill with electricity, and his hands search for the wet patch between your legs and slowly tease your clothed clit with his finger.

“I can have fun anywhere-“

The alarm goes off, and another night having the same dreadful, hopeful dream. You were so tired, it’s been a week since you've seen him, and you knew it was time to do something about it.

You felt miserable, you kept doom scrolling on your phone and “accidentally” stalking him. You watch gossip accounts from time to time, seeing him in the arms of different girls, and it's funny how they all look like you in some sort of way.

You don’t know if you want him back, but you know this feeling has to stop.

Funny enough, your new album is almost ready. It’s a new thing, you’ve had fun experimenting and finding a new tone. It’s a mix of heartbreaking songs and ballads full of rage, with lyrics that had you mark the words in your notebook so much they bled through the page.

There’s still a week left until you start the next leg of your tour, and you are excited to go back and feel some type of love again. You’ve forgotten what that feels like.

You glance at your phone, it’s 9:00am, just in time for attending that painting class you’ve been taking to distract yourself. Your screen glows with all the unanswered calls and notifications from Robin, Steve and your team.

There has been times when you can handle even the hardest and most strange things that have come in your way, but right now your head is in a flight or fight mode and the usual answer is flight, get away from everyone, set the attention on yourself and maybe you’ll be better. Maybe you’ll start to sleep more than three hours, your skin will stop breaking out, the bags on your eyes will disappear.

But that’s just a maybe, and as your cat jumps out of your bed it’s time to get going.

Painting class was fine, it wasn’t a big group and everyone there didn’t really know you. They knew your name but you weren’t close to them, just a couple of brunches and coffee shops here and there.

“Hey! We are going to Mika’s birthday party in case you want to join us” Charlie asks, she’s been one of your favorite people to hang out with even if you aren’t best friends, you still have fun around each other. And what’s more fun than a party full of models?

“I’d love to!” you reply, smiling at her while you pack your things. She’s the one who introduced you to this painting class, and it has been a real change in your life. Connecting with your creative side in a way you’ve never imagined.

“I’ll text you the details, see you soon, babe!”

She blows you a kiss in the air and you do the same, closing your backpack and going out to the back door.

—

After you got the details to the party, you decided to get ready. The best way to spend the night was in a tiny black dress. The revenge dress. It hugs your body perfectly, showing off your best features and making you feel so sexy and so confident.

As you arrive at the party, everyone starts to welcome you with a bright smile, hugs from some of the models you know and appreciate, they’ve made you feel so included. A thing that didn’t happen so often, you felt so safe and so free. No attachments, no one talking your ear off about how great you are or how jealous they are of you. No negativity, no side eyes, or weird envy looks, just people you can hang out with and drink as if tomorrow will never come.

You ignore another call from Robin and join the group of girls at the bar.

“The first round is on me!” you shout over the music, they all applaud as you get closer to the bar and order a round of tequila.

As you wait for your drinks, a tall figure comes to you. It’s none other than Drew, an actor who has enormous talent and a big career in Hollywood. He is tall, handsome, famous, and a bit older than you.

“Thank you” you shout at the bartender, getting your shots and walking to your table, not after winking at Drew and giving him a smile. He does the same and watches you from afar.

“Sweet! Let's celebrate this birthday the right way!” Mika says, all of you raise your tiny glasses in the air and cheer for the birthday girl before drinking.

The first shot sits just right, it burns your throat as it travels down, and the taste leaves you dreaming of more.

“Another one! another one!" All the girls chant. Charlie goes for the second round, the third, the fourth.

At this point you’ve lost count of how many shots you’ve taken, but it doesn’t matter. You have everything you need, your girls and good music to sway your hips to.

You are on the dance floor, as the dj plays Mika’s favorite songs, and you find a liking for them. They are fast paced, not like your regular songs, they are more disco like with a heavy beat and lyrics that give you even more confidence. This night is perfect.

“Is it me, or Drew has been watching you all night?” Charlie says it in your ear, and you turn around to watch him.

“It’s just you,” you reply.

“If I were you, I'd take the shot. I don’t mean this one” she points at the cup on her hands. “Or maybe do both, you’ll need it”

You’ve drunk enough, but your body yearns for more. It’s the same with the attention, you knew he had been watching you all night, and you’ve been dancing provocatively to catch his attention. You could feel his heavy gaze on you and see the way he was undressing you with his eyes. It felt good, risky, and so...

“Is there something in my face?” You say as you meet him over the bar, he is drinking whiskey, and suddenly your mind starts to play tricks on you.

“No, nothing wrong I mean. You have a beautiful face.”

You giggle like a teenager, finding the seat next to him without ever breaking eye contact. He turns to the side to have a better look at you.

“You have a beautiful face too, i’ve seen it on the big screen.”

He laughs, and his voice is even deeper when he does that.

“You are funny," he says as he finishes his whiskey, leaving the glass on the table and getting closer.

You let him. Because he smells like something you know, but he feels like an entire new world.

“What are the odds of us meeting here? both alone and waiting for a good time?” he says, his voice so deep it charms your socks off. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“I believe in having fun, do you want to dance?” You ask him, forgetting everything he said earlier.

“I don’t dance, but I like to watch,” he confesses.

“Suit yourself,” you shrug, threatening to walk away from him if he doesn’t stop you. As if he were reading your mind, he touches your shoulder ever so slightly, but it feels like a million fires.

“Wait, i’m a terrible dancer, but i’ll try for you”

And there he is. At your feet.

“Join me, handsome” Something very deep inside you hurts at the nickname, but the alcohol and the smell of his cologne blur the feeling.

—

Your dance moves wear the alcohol off, you start to feel the pain on your feet, and your arms are completely sore.

“Someone is tired, maybe I can drive you home?” Drew says, he has been dancing with you for more than an hour.

“Oh” the way he looks at you, the smell of his cologne, and the way his body starts to warm you when he gets closer. “I’d love that.”

"Goodbye, babes, thank you for coming!” Mika gets closer to you, she helps you get in your coat and joins her boyfriend.

“Bye bye, love you,” you say, as Drew keeps his eyes on you. He takes your purse and then your hand, leading you to the door but he sees you struggling.

“Are you alright? Do you need me to carry you?” he asks.

“My feet hurt but i can handle it, don’t worry,” you reassured.

“Not on my watch, let me help you.”

You nod, he gets ever closer as he gets behind you and lifts you up from the ground. He carries you bridal style and you start to giggle, he finds it adorable and grins at you.

You feel like you’re in the clouds. The amount of attention, the mischievous feeling of care and love. You’ve just met him, and he looks good, he smells good, and he’s so, so strong.

As you get to the door, a couple of flashes come your way, you hide your face in the crook of Drew’s face and he starts laughing as your breath tickles on his skin. He hurries up to his car and helps you get on the ground, then on the car.

You forget who you are in the moment, and you lean up to kiss him while the flashes go on.

—

He drives you home, as he promised.

“We arrived,” he says, looking at you, with that same grin from before.

“Thank you for driving me home, it’s been nice to meet you and dance with you,” you smile.

“It’s been my pleasure, honey.”

You blush for the first time that night, the heat catches up on your cheeks. It’s crimson red the way he looks at you.

He starts to lean in, you do the same. His lips brush yours as he whispers, “You are so beautiful” His lips meet yours in a coordinated dance, and that’s when he loses you.

You remember, you remember everything. That night in the backyard, that night at the concert, that day at the little farm, that day at your house.

He’s always on your mind. His silhouette, his raspy voice, he comes to you as a ghost. The remnants of whiskey, he tastes just like him, just like your Steve. Even though he is not yours anymore, He is wandering around with a different girl a day, and you feel so replaceable, so hurt.

Drew’s hands press on the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

His hands travel down your ass, where he squeezes and pinches with such intensity. But it doesn’t feel like him, it doesn’t feel like Steve because he is not Steve.

He is not the one you want, he is a vessel for something you yearn for every day.

You stop moving your lips, squeezing his bicep as you push him back to his seat. Suddenly, you feel tired, and a headache starts to grow. Your head falls to the side, resting on his shoulder.

“Are you alright, honey?” he asks, caressing your ass delicately.

“I’m, i think i should go”

You take your stuff with you, hand on the door and taking all your bottled feelings with you.

“Sure, i’ll walk you to the door” he says, fixing his jeans to hide his hard on and taking the keys off the ignition.

“No, I'm fine. I’m only tired and i have an early meeting tomorrow.”

You lie—anything to get out of his car right now.

“Can we see each other again?” he asks, breaking into your head and interrupting your pool of thoughts.

“Yes, i’ll dm you” you answer, but as you look at him, his confused face makes you giggle again.

“What’s dm you?”

“Very funny, good night,” you say, fixing your dress and ready to get out of the car.

“Can I get your number?” he asks, his voice softly pleading to you.

“Oh, you don’t know what a dm is?”

“I’m old, honey”

“Right, i’ll give you my number. You can text me, and we can hang out again”

You extend your hand, and he quickly understands, he gives you his phone so you can save your number in his contacts.

“Did we just hang out?” he asks as you type your name on the screen, you write your name without a single heart or smile. Your interest in him seems to vanish as his cologne isn’t so strong anymore.

“A little,” you shrug, handing the phone back he takes it without stopping looking at you.

“Alright, i’d love to do it again then”

“Goodnight, thank you for the ride” You kiss his cheek and wave at him as you get to your door.

He waves back at you and puts the key back to the ignition. You open the door of your home and get in.

As you get ready to bed you start thinking about Drew. Is it bad you used him as a distraction? Do you really want to see him again?

You take off your makeup feeling like something is missing, apart from Steve and now Robin. You are forgetting something but you can’t wrap your head around it. You put on your pajamas, the worries will have to wait until the morning.

As you go to sleep, you look at your ceiling. “Steve, please stop haunting my dreams” you whisper.

And on the other side of the country, he does the same thing. Wishing you were by his side and he wasn’t such an idiot.

i wanted to cry with this one because i’ve been through hanging out with someone because i missed someone else and it’s so unfair and heartbreaking ):

tags @eddiesguitarskills @hipsternerd9 @afraidofshrimp @rexorangecouny @crowssixof @wiltedflowerz-blog @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @thxtmarvelchick @kriitiihere @kitdjarin1 @peculiarwren thank you for the support!! (comment if you want to join the tag list!!)

I hope you like this series, feedback is appreciated! don't forget to REBLOG TO SUPPORT THE AUTHOR! ♡

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int-writersmind · 11 months

Text

Potential Customer

Summary: You work at a record store, bored out of your mind, until Peter Parker walks in and catches your eye. Peter Parker x Reader

*also I wrote this with the Ps4/5 Peter Parker in mind, but honestly it's generic enough to be any Peter.

Genre: Fluff; Flirting

Word Count: 2k+

When you decided to take a job at So-So Records, you thought it would be like that movie Empire Records where every day would be an exciting romp, well hopefully not a potential job-losing-filled-romp. Unfortunately for you it was much more boring.

Your days were mostly filled with dealing with tourists who were kind-hearted but utterly clueless or pretentious audiophiles who would give you their opinions without even asking you. However, for all your big talk you weren’t that knowledgeable when it came to music, you just liked what your liked and were opened to suggestions (from unpretentious, kind customers of course.)

It was a weekday, you couldn’t remember which, since they all seem to blend together when working back-to-back shifts. You were alone, the shop had a few customers idling around.

You were at the front counter, elbow resting on the check-out counter, head resting on one hand, the other lazily flipping through a catalog. When the front bell rings, your eyes barely flicker upwards. It isn’t until that potential customer who walked through the front door is standing right in front of you do you finally look up.

“Um, hello?” says the Potential Customer.

“Welcome to So-So Records,” you decide to stand up straight and give your full attention to this Potential Customer. Clueless Tourist or Pretentious Audiophile? “Can I help you with anything?”

“Uh, yeah, um,” The Potential Customer, a mid-twenties guy with chocolate brown hair and amber eyes that complemented, reached into his satchel and pulled out a notebook, flipping through the pages. “I’m actually looking for this album? I’ve been to a few other places and had no luck, they all say So-So would be my best chance.”

The Potential Customer, with his slouchy shoulders and tendency to fidget quite often, placed a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing up and down. Your eyes dart from the hand on the back of his neck to the hand that gives you the notebook. Your gaze lingers a little too long on his long, slender fingers. Strange, you know, but sometimes the most attractive parts of a human were really strange.

You refocus, eyes skimming the paper, on it was a title and artist, your brain flickers with the passing glance of the cover. “Uh, yeah, I…think we have this, follow me.”

You move from behind the desk, taking the notebook in hand, glancing at the words once more. You lead–

“I’m Peter by the way, I know you didn’t ask, but still…” You glance back, gesturing to your name tag, as you lead Peter down the aisles of various genres of music. “I actually never been to a record store before, didn’t even know they still existed.”

“I was like that too for a while,” You stop at a section where the older music was located, placing the notebook on one section of records. “Gotta thank the hipsters for making it popular again, even though they are some of the most annoying customers.”

“The only memory of records I have is when my Aunt and Uncle used to play some every so often on the weekends.”

You start to flip through the albums, scanning for the right one, “Do they still find time to play some?”

Peter sighs and leans against a row of records, looking elsewhere, “No, no, my Uncle, actually…passed some time ago...”

You stop for a moment, fingers pausing, you look in his direction. As if he could feel your eyes on him, he looks up at you. His face, neutral with maybe a hint of sadness. Like he was used to saying that a loved one who must have been important in his life was gone, but also still hurt when thinking about him.

“Apologies.” You say, not completely happy with the response. How many times had he heard that?

“Don’t be,” Peter crosses his arms, smirks a boyish grin that makes him even more appealing. “It made me think of a nice memory that I forgot about, more memories about Uncle Ben will never not be nice.”

You smile as you return back to searching for the record, “Oh, look I found it! That’s surprising.”

Peter moves closer, hovering over your right shoulder to get a better look, You sharply suck in breath, turning your head to look at him. Peter glances at you, and smiles, “That’s great, kind of a shame though.”

“Why?”

“'Cause it means I have to leave now,” You hand him the record and the notebook, to which Peter plucks it from your hand, looking over the front and the back, while moving away from you. You exhale deeply as you follow behind him.

“Who says you have to go? Unless you have somewhere to go?” You finally say.

“I think I can spare some time,” Peter looks down at his pretend watch on his bare wrist, “Are you gonna introduce me to some music that will change my life?”

“Please,” You laugh as the two of you lazily walk down the aisle, “I’m hardly the last person to do so.”

“Don’t you-”

“Work at a record store? I know, I know, but I like what I like. Sue me if it’s Top 100.”

The two of you stop at the end of the aisle, you standing at one end of a row of records, Peter moving over and doing the same.

“I guess it’s better than getting made fun of for having an old man's taste.”

“Really? You get hate for having a love for the oldies? That’s some bullshit, especially in a place like New York.”

“Well, when you're a nerdy kid with thick glasses and a love of science, it’s not so cool” Peter flicks through the stack, pulling up an album by a band that was huge in the 70s.

“Hmm, if you like that group,” You flick through some albums on your side, skimming until you land on the second record by a female-led group from around the same time. “How about this?” You model the record, posing with it, flipping it from front to back. “And…it’s on sale.” You move over to the same aisle as Peter, standing close to him like he did to you earlier.

Peter takes the record from your hand, “I think younger, nerdier me would have loved this.”

“Younger, nerdier, you sounds like he was such a cutie.” You response.

“Was?”

You shyly smile back, moving away with your hands behind your back. ”

This was grossly unprofessional, what were your intentions with this potential customer? Making a sale or making a move. You push that thought out of your head, if you were making him uncomfortable or pushing it too far, then he wouldn’t be smirking at you like that. That smile that causes a slight flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

The two of you continue your walk back to the front, the long way of course. Bobbing and weaving through different aisles, many short, some long. Passing through pop–contemporary and classic, and some RnB, ending up at one end of the store, in the rock section. “What were you like in high school?” Peter asks.

“Quiet, mostly,” You lean against the wall and Peter does the same next to you. “Not too popular but I had friends, spent a lot of time with my art and music teachers, focused on doing little stuff like that instead of more fun extracurricular activities.”

“Huh, yeah I get it, I found some time to do some little stuff to distract myself in high school too. Nothing…too exciting.”

You inch closer to Peter and so does he, to the point where the two of you bump shoulders. “Oh sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Peter says.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The two of you just stare at one another, the hum of whatever record you put on earlier lightly plays in the air. The dry smell of the older, original pressings of albums of the past, filling up the room.

You dart your eyes downward, quickly, towards his lips, before looking away. God, now this was unprofessional. “Shit, sorry.” You move off the wall, but Peter’s hand on your wrist causes you to turn. His touch wasn’t aggressive, or rough, but gentle and light. Like a feather was tickling the underside of your hand instead of his long, slender fingers.

Ding-Ding!

Both of your heads turn towards the door, a middle aged couple walk in, wonder in their eyes, cameras slung over their head. Clueless Tourists. You and Peter look at one another, before resigning to the situation and finally making it to the front. You, behind the counter, Peter in front, the two records under his arm.

“Hello, welcome to So-So Records, I’ll be here if you need me.” You say to the newest potential customers, as they give you that polite nod, and split off into the rest of the store. Peter places the records on the table, when all of sudden his phone goes off, he opens it and stares intently at the screen. “Something wrong?”

“No, ah yes, no,” Peter says, his head whipping from his phone to you multiple times. “I-God, I hate to do this but I can’ take these right now–”

“You can always come back.” You take the records from the counter, holding them in your hand.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I close tonight, you can come back later and get them.” You place the records behind you, before looking back nervously. “I mean only if you want, obviously, duh.”

“Duh.” Peter dryly chuckles, glancing once more at his phone. “I really have to leave, but I’ll be back, I promise. It’s a date. I mean, no, not a date, but–”

“I gotcha.” You wink and smile at Peter as he nervously backs up, sneaking in a last look before leaving through the door, with a ding-ding.

God, you can not believe what just happened! Are you some teenage girl whose knees go weak when a semi-attractive guy shoots you a smile? Who’s touch makes your face heat up, even if it’s just shoulders touching, or gentle, kind, fingertips on your wrist?

For the rest of your shift, you did more of the same that you did every day at your job. Helping customers, listening to unsolicited music advice, and a lot of needless flipping through the store’s catalog.

As the day wined down, the sun dipping into the horizon, you made peace with the fact that Peter wasn’t coming back. Whatever, this is reality not some rom-com where fate will bring the two leads back together at the end.

You also decided to buy your recommendation to Peter as well, you had plenty of copies of it in the store, so if he decides to come back after all, he could get his own copy.

You pull down the store’s front gate, squatting down to lock the padlock, pulling it to make sure it was secure, the record under your arm.

“Making away with customers orders I see.”

You turn to face the familiar voice, Peter slightly out of breath, but still as charming as he was this morning. “Potential customer.” You say, standing up, smiling ever just subtly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Peter glances at the closed store, with its darkened lights and gated entrance. “Like really late.”

“Hmm, that’s ok,” You turn to walk down the sidewalk, your head peering over your shoulder, “Walk with me?”

As you walk down the sidewalk, record held in your arms across your chest, Peter falls in rhythm with you, so close that his hand occasionally grazes your leg. Jokingly you say, “I thought you forgot all about me, wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh god no,” Pete dryly chuckles. “The only thing I could think about was you, I-I mean coming back here to pick up the records and uh, and also to see you, I guess.”

“Ah, you guess huh?”

The two of you wait at a crosswalk, before deciding to jaywalk as there were no cars in sight, you make a turn once you get to the other side, on the block that you lived on.

“I was actually coming to tell you that I no longer need that record actually, the one I came in for. It was for a, uh, a project that quickly evolved to…something else.”

“Ok, I see,” Your head turns to Peter and he does the same, your eyes lock on to one another, his face filled with nerves. “You were gonna come all the way back here to not buy something. That’s a first, I would have preferred ghosting.”

Peter laughs again, shaking his head, “No, no, I was still gonna get the record that you suggested to me. Sounds more up my alley anyway.” You stop in front of your apartment building, with Peter placing his hand on your arm to move out of another couples way. The two of you stand in front of the building's metal gates. “But it seems I have to come back during business hours to do so.”

“Or not.”

Peter raises his eyebrows in confusion, as you reach in your jacket’s pocket for a notebook you always kept. You write down something on the paper, using the pen you stuck in the notebook holder, tearing off the page. You place the paper on top of the record and push it towards him.

“No I can't-”

“I’m not giving it to you.” You say, “I’m lending it to you. Listen to it, listen to it again and then…call me, or text me and let me know how it is.” Peter takes the record and piece of paper from your hands, his fingers brushing yours. “And don’t ghost me, it would be a shame if I never get to see-talk to you again.”

“Yeah…it would be…”

“Goodnight Peter.”

Peter says your name, it makes your heart flutter just for a moment when he does so, ‘“Goodnight.” But the two of you don’t leave, you two just stare at each for a little longer.

Your phone rings and you’re forced to look at it.

“My roommate, she gets antsy if I don’t come home exactly when I say I will.”

“I understand.”

You nod and turn to walk into the building. Before you go through the doors, you glance back to see Peter staring at the piece of paper before looking up at you, that same smirk on his face.

God, you are so unprofessional.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Read Part 2 -> Hanging on the Telephone!

Oh my goodness this is my first fic on Tumblr! Please be kind and comment if you like, like if you prefer, reblog if you're like that, I won't judge. Always open for suggestions and to ~virtually~ meet others! I'm so new to this and I know I'm currently talking into the void but, whatever...Bye, thanks if you made it this far!!!

masterlist

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #insomniac spider man #insomniac peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #peter parker x y/n #ps4!Peter Parker x reader #spider man 2 ps5 #ps5!peter parker x reader #spiderman remastered #peter parker fluff #insomniac!Peter Parker #insomniac!peter parker x reader

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zansourcee · 3 months

Text

↪ ✧ 𝑳𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑪 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑬: 𝘩𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑏𝑦 𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑒𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘩.

below is a collection of various lyrics from billie eilish's newest album hit me hard and soft. to be used as rp prompts, feel free to adjust as necessary. some prompts are slightly suggestive.

◟ 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚢

' i never did you wrong. '

' my patience is gone. '

' feelin' off when i feel fine. '

' people say i look happy. '

' but the old me is still me and maybe the real me. '

' and i think she's pretty. '

' i still cry and you know why. '

' when i stepped off the stage, i'm a bird in a cage. '

' you said i was your secret. '

' somebody's gotta feed it. '

' i loved you for so long. '

◟ 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑

' i could eat that girl for lunch. '

' tastes like she might be the one. '

' i could never get enough. '

' it's a craving, not a crush. '

' baby i think you were made for me. '

' if i'm allowed, i'll help you take 'em off. '

' you need a seat? i'll volunteer. '

' she's the headlights, i'm the deer. '

' i'm interested in bein' more than just your friend. '

◟ 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚘

' take away my love. '

' not today, not tomorrow. '

' kinda strange, feelin' sorrow. '

' can you open up the door? '

' you/i can't cope anymore. '

' i need to be alone now. '

' i don't know why i called. '

' i don't know you at all. '

' there's a part of me that recognizes you. '

' do you feel it too? '

' you don't know if you'll make it. '

◟ 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

' i want you to stay. '

' 'til i'm in the grave. '

' 'til i rot away, dead and buried. '

' if you go, i'm going too. '

' it was always you. '

' nothing left to lose. '

' we should stick together. '

' i wasn't better alone. '

' it might not be forever. '

' if its forever, even better. '

' i don't know why i'm crying for. '

' i don't think i could love you more. '

' i'll love you 'til the day i die. '

' i want you to see how you look for/to me. '

' but you're so full of shit. '

' don't wanna say goodbye. '

◟ 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛

' things fall apart. '

' time breaks your heart. '

' i wasn't there, but i know. '

' you fell out of love and you both let go. '

' all i could do was hold her. '

' i know you love me, don't need to remind me. '

' i should put it all behind me, shouldn't i? '

' i see her in the back of my mind. '

' like a fever, like i'm burning alive. '

' did i cross the line? '

' good things don't last. '

' you say no one knows you. '

◟ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝

' i'm trying my best. '

' how alone i've been. '

' i'm doing whats right. '

' it's not worth fighting for. '

◟ 𝚕'𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞�� 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚎

' i wish you the best for the rest of your life. '

' you were the love of my life. '

' did i break your heart? '

' did i waste your time? '

' it isn't a lot asking for an apology. '

' you said you'd never fall in love again. '

' i thought i was depressed or losing my mind. '

' i was the love of your life, but you were not mine. '

◟ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛

' don't be afraid of me. '

' i'm what you need. '

' i know we're meant to be. '

' i just wanna talk. '

' i could be your wife/husband/partner. '

' kiss me goodnight. '

' i tried to save you, but i failed.'

◟ 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎

' i can't fall in love with you. '

' i've been on my knees. '

' i see the way you want me. '

' i hope it all goes away. '

' you seem so paranoid. '

' it's so romanticized. '

' love so bittersweet. '

◟ 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎

' i'd like to mean it when i say i'm over you. '

' i told you a lie. '

' thought you were made for me. '

' i can't change. '

' you were born reaching for your mothers arms. '

' victim of your father's plans. '

#[zandie's memes.]#roleplay meme #rp meme #writing prompt #writing prompts #sentence meme #lyric sentence meme #billie eilish rp meme #billie eilish roleplay meme #roleplay #rp

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knightyoomyoui · 1 year

Text

[SMUT] TWICE Nayeon x Male Reader - “Is There Someone Else?”

Surprise, surprise! This is my first full smut work that I will only be posting here in my Tumblr account knowing how strict Wattpad is currently with mature contents like this. I hope yall like this especially those readers of mine who are familiar enough reading smutty fanfic works. However, I wouldn’t consider this being my first time to attempt writing such completely out of my usual only fluffy/angsty one-shots formula and challenge myself on creating something different as I already did it with my other fic titled “Catching Feelings” ft. TWICE Jihyo from the Set 5 line-up of my TWICE: Book Of One-Shots X Reader book (look it up on my masterlist) although that is mainly fluff and the smut is only very short but please understood me if yall might find this boring since I’m still a beginner. Enjoy reading and have a nice day everyone! (A/N: This is inspired from the song "Is There Someone Else?" by one of my all time favorite artists The Weeknd from his awesome album ‘Dawn FM’.) WARNING: Contains mature R+18 content.

The cold, silent night just reached the 9:00 PM mark. You were sitting in the couch, legs crossed and sporting a strict demeanor staring at the door, waiting for your girlfriend who just knocked and made her way inside by opening it.

"I'm home." She said as she saw your figure already prepared to welcome her as she entered the house. Nayeon didn't even bother to notice at your strange aura at first, not until when she removed her shoes and shoulder bag off her body.

"Where did you go?" You asked her in a monotonous tone.

"I went out with friends, why?" She asked you while raising her brow.

"Plural. You sure there's more than you and whoever guy it may be that you're with earlier?" Now your arms crossed and glared at her weakly, shifting your presence to an authorative image.

"Jihyo and Jeongyeon were also with me and Junghee when we went strolling at the mall." She clarified, but that didn't satisfied you enough. You have another plan in mind to play with your rules, to ensure her glory of you believing her words.

"Oh okay then. But I assume that despite they are around, he's still stuck on your side through most of the time; isn't it?"

"YN, where are we heading with this? A-are you suspecting me?" She questioned confusingly, her brows are now knitted to one another.

"You won't answer my question?" You didn't responded to her own concern, throwing back the same treatment to her. Standing up from the couch that shortly became uncomfortable for the first time as you're facing her with all these worrying what ifs in your head, you slowly trailed across her.

"YN?"

Towering at her frame, inches close against each other; you pursed your head in her collar and sniffed. "I won't mind not receiving any answers from you, I already can tell it anyway based from his smell lingering your clothes.", you said; mentioning that familiar expensive perfume only suitable for men like you.

She stepped back, separating herself away from you with judgmental look in her face. "What the hell? So you really are thinking that I'm secretly meeting up with him without your knowing?"

"How can you blame me so, Nayeon?" You didn't circled the topic any longer, revealing your side and what urged you to confront her like this tonight. "It's been days since you keep on leaving the house with all your short and lacking excuses, and you just take my permissions I give to you as your advantage, without having any idea that I'm holding myself to beg you not to go Nayeon."

"Don't you see? We almost had a little amount of time to spend alone together, and I just want you to stay with me and enjoy having you on my side everyday but... what you're doing just starts to fill up these... doubts and uneasiness in me that you- you're hiding something from me that I don't wanna know." Nayeon frowned as she finally realized and understood why you suddenly became observative and moody with her. It was all her fault, she owned. She knows that she didn't do it with all intention or want to find ways not to have you moving around from her because of the thought that she maybe-

Oh no. She halted from processing your words in her mind, but it didn't prevented her for hearing additional question that you have in store for her.

"Nayeon, is there someone else? Was there a chance that this person is trying to take you away from me?" You asked her straightfully. Staring deep into her eyes that widened as she heard that huge question setting your relationship with her on line with it, she wandered at your pityful state. Eyes are droopy, lips curved in reverse, sadness visible in your face.

"N-no, no! YN! Never. Don't think of that, okay? I love you and only you! Ask Jeongyeon and Jihyo, they’ll tell you that I’m right!" She frantically said as she cupped your cheeks with both of her big, slender hands.

You remained unmovable with the entire view of Nayeon's beauty that you don't want to lose, desperately assuring you that she don't want the same either.

From the tone of her words, she is nearly getting you believe from it. But, you still don't want to disregard what you prepared for her to do tonight. Take it as something you and her definitely need. It has been a week that both you and her won't share any intimate moments together, and this is opportunity laid in front of you tonight to do so.

You gently removed her hands from pressing your cheeks, much to Nayeon's shock especially when she had contact from your head movement doing a disapproving shake.

Stepping away from her this time, Nayeon nervously hops in her feet as her body began to shiver in fear. "W-what? YN! No, please! What do I need to do for you to believe me?"

That question perfectly activated the go signal to do your plan. Slowly glancing at Nayeon who seems to be almost emotional in front of you, you tried to compose your bland expression to her. You want her to submit for you tonight, she is playing your game... and you're the one in charge of her.

You sat back from your couch. "Take off your clothes."

Nayeon looked at you puzzledly. "W-what?"

"Don't make me repeat again, I said, take off your clothes. Turn around as you do it."

Nayeon gulped at your unexpected request. If she's eager to earn your forgiveness and this is the solution you require, she won't protest at all to follow; you're her boyfriend anyways and to be honest, she's been wanting this to happen with you since from the start when you and her became official.

She turned around, her back figure is now facing you. Starting off with her belt, she began to unlock and dishevel it from her waist; hanging it at the back of the chair.

Her hands went to the zipper behind her rose designed red and white colored blouse and unzipped it, allowing the clothing to adjust for her to pull it upwards slowly from her top area. Her white laced bra aligning at the width of her gorgeous back is now open for you to witness and began enjoying it.

Half-naked, Nayeon proceeds with her skirt that matches with the apperance of her blouse; detaching the button and slip it down from her feet. She bended down, her brown hair fell and nearly reached the floor but you didn't cared that much when there's a more distracting part of hers that you have to focus on rather.

Her plump round ass hidden by her matching white panties effectively got you aroused. It would lose eventually compared to the other sight made by Nayeon when she turned around and present you her front side. You can definitely see her B-cup sized breasts encapsulated by her white bra which caused your dick to began harden on your shorts.

Nayeon saw the formation of tent done by your erected shaft, the lust in her barging to take control. She unawaringly grinds her thighs together as you stood up in front of her.

You wrapped your arm around her small waist, pushing her closer to you. Your hidden friend bumped at Nayeon's abdomen which made the woman whimper. "God, you're so heavenly attractive Nayeon."

You kissed Nayeon on the lips, tongue engaged on dancing to the rhythm with each other's movements. Breaking off your make-out session with her, you carried her up by lifting her ass; her legs locked around your waist.

Entering to your bedroom that is now willingly shared with your girlfriend, you entered and laid Nayeon on the bed; dropping her weight without care; as if it would hurt her crashing down to your bed's soft mattress.

Positioning on top of her, you kissed her again on the lips; caressing the locks of her hair from the side while she does the same from the back of your head.

"Tonight, I just want you to show me that I'm all yours."

Nayeon only nodded, she didn't want to speak for now. All she wants is to anticipate the incoming pleasure to be sent by you and her from each other's bodies.

You leaned away from her face before removing your shirt and throwing it aside. Lowering down and kneeled beside the bed, you began praising her godly sculptured body by showering kisses through her legs, knees, and those healthy thighs.

Nayeon huffed in the air as the sensation arises when you matched your kisses with gentle touches from your hands roaming in her smooth skin.

Your face meets her shielded treasure. Annoyed at the distraction, your fingers dug onto the bands and pulled her panties away as she helps you by raising both of her legs.

Her juicy, pink pussy that is now obviously desperate of your attention has now freed. Your thumb and the rest of your fingers first massaged the underside and the corners of her ass, thighs and her pussy to take your time teasing her.

"P-please eat me, baby. Don't tease me any longer, it needs you."

You obliged at her pleads. Your active hands paused for a while to hold her thighs open for you to comfortably move as you began licking her slit with your tongue, earning a sexy alluring moans and heavy breathing from your lover.

It continues as you savor the taste of her delicious pussy, biting and sucking off her flesh and nub before you entered your two fingers inside her walls as you stimulate her clit.

"Mmmhhh Y-YN yes, right there. Oohhh yeah keep eating me please."

Her hands leads to your hair as she gripped it to push your face closer on her needy and horny pussy, already dripping wet from the tongue and finger fucking you're giving to her.

You began increasing the speed of your fingers inserting in and out of her tight hole along with your flicking and wiggling of your tongue to her bloated clit.

"Ooohhh yesss Y-YN oh my god I'm cumming I'm cumming!!!"

Nayeon shouts as slimy and sticky juices of her sprayed all over your face in response to the orgasm you elicited on her. Her squirt took a little longer before it stopped, you tasted her own sweet fluid first before heading on next to other spots that deserves appreciation too.

You left a trail of kisses to her nicely built torso, over and under her belly button. She watches your head arises until it finally stops right in front of her cleavage.

In the assistance of your slick hands, you unclipped the front of her bra between the cups before taking it off, letting those small but handful and round breasts slightly jiggle in your eyes.

Licking your lips, you groped those mounds with every random directions, massaging those firm pillows as they gave a marshmallow feeling in your hands.

"Them also, YN. You can suck those tits, baby."

With regards to her command, you began sucking on her nipples and circle your tongue around those brown areolas. Giving those bosoms fair treatment, you switched side by side; one hand playing while the other being sucked carefully by you.

Nayeon moaned at how actually good it feels of your mouth tasting her delicious orbs. She begged more and more for you to keep doing it until you decided to finish worshipping her body by kissing her chest, shoulder, neck, cheeks until it brought you back again to her candy lips.

"You can't be the only one being pleasured, baby. Help me too with this. Hang your head at the edge of the bed for me."

She listened, pushing her body more to let her upsided head flailing out of the bed's surface. You get out from her and stood in front of her as you removed your short, making her gasp and sprung her eyes out at your engorged length of your big cock now escaped from your clothed prison.

Directing your shaft at her lips first to ready herself, you slowly pushed forward and successfully entered her mouth as you slowly fucked her upside down face with your pair of full balls dangling above her nose.

You moaned and whimpered at how awesome her mouth and that soft tongue rotating around your girth to add the satisfying sensation which encouraged you to got faster on your fucking.

Gurgles and slurps from Nayeon sucking your cock echoed in the bedroom. You grasped her bouncing breasts for attention as you continued drilling her mouth until you reach your end.

"Nayeon, I'm cumming! Take it all!!!"

Three last strokes is all it takes for you to gave up and release your streaks of pearly white cum to flood Nayeon's available mouth. You pumped your cock a little bit more to ride your orgasm before you slipped off, allowing Nayeon to easily swallow your cream.

Going back to business, you kneeled in front of Nayeon's body still laid on her back to the bed. Giving each other trusting nods, you inserted your dick inside her pussy. It made Nayeon's lower half shiver as she willingly takes all of your length until you're balls deep inside of her.

Slow and careful rhythm is what you gave Nayeon to let her indulge the feeling. You leaned forwards and kissed Nayeon passionately while you remained grinding on her.

Soon your pace became faster, her legs now encircled around your body not wanting to let you go. Her moans and groans gets louder to join you too as both were now in a midst of a wonderful sensation.

"Oh God, you're so tight Nayeon! You're gripping my cock so bad."

"Mmm ughhh yes yes YN pound me faster, harder! You're filling me up inside."

"I'm about to cum, Nayeon!"

"D-do it outside, babe. I'm not safe yet."

Her support and encouragement has what led you to chase the impending finish of your composure as you finally fired the shots of your second load straightly aimed on Nayeon's valley between her breasts, her torso and above her pulsing pussy.

The adrenaline cursing in your veins, pressure and efforts you poured in to assure that you are indeed pleasing your girlfriend's desires has what led you to tire yourself down, sending your body to lay beside Nayeon who is now resting after giving her a great missionary fucking.

"I'm still up for one last round. Care to join me, love?"

"Yeah me too. With you and this great sex were having? Always." She turned her head at you and smiled gracefully.

"She's indeed loyal to me. I have to apologize for her later." You took a mental note for yourself. Those choice of words that she replied at you fulfilled the reassurance of your trust and safety of your current relationship with her.

Your happiness and gratitude outranked all emotions that the entire 2 years and counting of having Nayeon as your girlfriend won't get interrupted and ended up getting wasted because this woman beside you will remain sharing the same undeniable and unmatched love with you.

You kissed Nayeon again as a gesture on behalf of everything that fills in your heart solely because of her before turning her body sideways, her back is now facing you again as you slapped one of her asscheeks emitting a gasp and hisses from your pretty lady.

Groping her petite breasts while she reaches for your cock to harden again, it didn't last long for your wood to reaawakened before aligning it on the crack of her ass and inches by inches you managed to bury your dick inside Nayeon's rear.

You instinctively felt her move a little to adjust herself at your size so you remained frozen for seconds, not wanting to do it if it'll only result hurting Nayeon. Your main purpose was to have a good time and catch up with all those times you and her haven't got to enjoy being together as couple.

She gave you a few pats on your wrist to signal you that she's now okay, so you hold one of her legs and hooked it up while your other one went beneath on her curves and caressed her breast as you started fucking her in a spooning position.

Claps, moans, grunt and squeaks of the bed were the only noises audible inside the bedroom as you and Nayeon would perform one last make-love and vanilla sex in the middle of the young night.

Her ass was even tighter than her pussy, enveloping and pumps your entire length where at this point you don't know if you can last longer of pounding her from behind.

She reaches for your head and pulled it closer against her, kissing you head while you sync it with your fingers tugging her nipples, squeezing her soft flesh and increased pace of your cock jamming her occupied hole.

Few more strokes is what all it takes for you to meet the brim of your end as you released another batch of your load for the third time inside her reddened peach and fill it without dispute.

You slowly removed your beaten and throbbing cock stained with both of your fluids out of her used, gaped asshole that is now overflowing with a few amount of your cum, dripping down to her ass and thighs.

Nayeon is now cuddling beside you, still both naked in the bed, resting from the effects of engaging such great sex from both lovers. She looks up on you which you noticed from your peripheral vision.

"I really do love you, YN. I hope what we just had tonight speaks it all. D-do you believe me now?"

You looked back at her and flashed a timid smile. "I am. And I'm sorry that it crossed my mind to bring you into this. I-I just missed being close with you, Nayeon. I really thought there's a man out there that is now close to your heart as much as I do.

I got scared, Nayeon. I didn't want to lose my spot. I wanted to keep you close and I don't wanna be hurt and left alone. If ain't gonna be with you then I don't wanna be like that anymore."

Thankfully, Nayeon smiled at your understandable reason; caressing your chest then your hair. She was touched and softened at your frown knowing how sincere you were at your explaining.

"I'm sorry too if I made you feel like that, YN. I didn't meant to do it, I swear. Maybe I got too caught up on hanging out with my friends because I haven't seen them for months. For Junghee, I have no interest in him okay? In fact, he's already seeing another woman."

You looked at her in surprise. "Oh, wait. Really?"

She nodded innocently. "Yup. His smell that you noticed on me a while ago also, well we discussed it in dislike with Jeongie and Ji too that his perfume is very strong our noses couldn’t handle inhaling it too much whenever we get near to him. It kinda annoys me now that when he slipped on the mall and I catched him from his back, his smell passed onto me.”

"Damn it, now I even feel bad that I didn't even let you speak your side." You said with regret as you facepalmed.

Nayeon laughed and slapped your chest not so harshly. "I don't mind about it. Atleast you gave me a great first time sex with you tonight. That's what matters to me now."

"Can't wait for more of this next time." She added as a hot whisper to your ear. You smirked, remembering what she said and definitely you would love to share that level of intimacy with her all over again.

"Oh you don't know how much I look forward to it."

She squeezed herself more into your body, her breast is now compressed to your arm. "I love you, YN. Every single time. I would never look for other, why would I if I have the best man with me that I can cherish for the rest of my life. So please, I'm sorry and don't be afraid anymore babe. I'm staying with you until the end."

You kissed her in the forehead and hold her hand. "I know, and so am I. I forgive you, Nay. I love you too so much that I would literally want to be with you forever."

Both of you kissed again on the lips before none dared to speak after. You observed that Nayeon already slept within your arms.

Tracing the features of this exceptional beauty that chose you out of all the guys around in this world, you can help anymore but to release a few streams of your tears filled with joy based from what Nayeon entirely told you earlier.

There's really no someone else other than you. To think that you would gladly spend the rest of your life with Nayeon, her heart and soul in safe hands; you began to form a new plan in your mind that will place yourselves one step closer to the next chapter of your love story with Nayeon: prepare for your engagement ring and proposal that you will give to her soon.

#twicenayeon #twicenayeonmalereader #twicenayeonmreader #twicenayeonsmut #twicesmut #twicenayeononeshot #twicenayeonau #twicenayeonfanfic #twicefanfic #twiceau #kpopsmut #kpoponeshots #kpopau #nayeon #nayeonxmreadersmut #imnayeon

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guppybibi · 2 months

Note

hii !! can you do akito (shinonome) with a gf who’s OBSESSED with another group? i just thought of this and found it funny

he’s always like “why don’t we go to your place” and reader is like oh no it’s ok haha!! because it’s kind of embarrassing but there’s so much merch it’s impossible to take down

and one day he convinces you to let him stay over and boom. posters everywhere. cds everywhere. binders full of photocards. a whole shelf of albums just sitting there. don’t forget the dvds and polaroids! bonus points if you forgot to turn off your cd player when you answered the door so it’s blasting said group’s music as well 💀

( ++ doesn’t have to be any group in particular but i’m heavy in my enhypen phase right now, so maybe them? that’d make it even more nerdy but 😭 )

𖦹 pairing: Akito Shinonome x fem!reader

𖦹 content: Confused Akito, fluff, kpop stuff, idk..

𖦹 notes: aaaa i love this idea, tysm! for the group i chose enhypen as well but also stray kids because you can never stan too many groups ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ (i had the biggest stray kids phase lollzz, plus idk much abt enhypen:c sorrie) also wrote half of this at school wowie

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

-Just..so confused?? He doesn't get the thing about collecting photo cards and the terms fans use so you have to explain it to him.

-Once he gets it though he's just mildly concerned, for your sanity and wallet. He does commend your dedication and loyalty to these groups though (silently hopes you do the same with him.)

-Occasionally asks you if VBS had merch would you buy some, his reaction would vary on your answer. -

-If you say no he’ll just say ‘uh huh’ and walk away. (pancakes are the solution, TRUST.) + he's just playing around, he isn't mad.

-If you say yes he’ll just smirk smugly and try to talk everyone into making merch. (he fails)

He’s so confused right now, he just doesn't get what's the big deal about it. The ginger knew you absolutely loved these so called K-POP groups and he didn't mind at all, not a tiny bit. To be fair, he was somewhat an idol as well. A street musician to be exact but that was close enough.

And today was another added episode to the collection of you not letting him go to your home, what exactly were you hiding from him? He stood before you, in all his glory, a skeptical look on his face. “C'mon doll..is yer room messy or somethin’? I’m sure it can't be that bad, trust me–I’ve seen worse.” He said in an attempt to reassure you, intently watching how your lips pressed into a thin line and your eyes darted across the park you two were at. “L..-look! A bunch of people are doing cool skating tricks!” You exclaim, pointing to a bunch of randos doing flips or whatever. Distracting him was worth the shot, no guarantees it’ll work though.

He almost facepalms himself when he hears your shitty attempt at diverting his attention elsewhere. “Doll I’m not the smartest but I'm not that dumb..” It was honestly offensive that you thought that would work..You couldn't keep hiding forever, you two wouldn't progress if you didn't allow him to do something so simple as coming into your home. And as he said, he's somewhat of an ‘idol’ as well so he probably wouldn't find it too weird. Yeah, think positive! He won't think you're some kind of koreaboo or anything!

“Right..I guess you could come over to my place. But on one condition..” She starts. “Don't find it weird..?” He chuckles in response, shaking his head. “No promises.”

And that's how he ended up in this rather strange position, sitting on your cozy bed as the posters on your walls stared down at him. “Wow..this is um..a lot.” His mouth formed a crooked smile, glancing at the shelf filled with albums. Where you got the money for all of this was a mystery to him. “So..who are they?” He asks, flopping back onto your bed, full of a bunch of stuffed animals. Your eyes start to sparkle, this was your time to shine, well rather to rant about your unhealthy obsession with these KPOP groups but let's not talk about that right now.

After your rather lengthy explanation about every basic thing he needs to know, the expression on his gruff face seems unreadable. Was he angry or somehow jealous about it? Or was he simply just not interested in it? That might've been the case, but not right now at least. “Mmh..alright.” He sounded way too casual about it for comfort if you’re being honest. But if he was held captive and needed to be honest, extra–I know, he found this..mildly concerning addiction of yours quite endearing. It’s not like it would cause problems along the way, unless you spent all of your money on merchandise and went broke but he has enough trust in you not to do that..don’t break that by buying some lightstick that costs more than your kidney.

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age-of-greta · 2 months

Text

The Sun

The Sun presents a feeling of optimism and fulfillment. It represents the dawn which follows the darkest of nights.

Author’s note: hi!! Welcome back to The Sun! Sorry it’s been a while, life is busy and I try to write when I can. I hope you enjoy this ~spicy~ chapter

Pairing: Josh x reader & Jake x reader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, smutttttttt, minors DNI

Word count: 8.3k

PART 3:

“I’m actually so depressed that you’re leaving me for a week.” You groaned, as you plopped down on his bed.

“I know. I’m not sure how you’re going to survive without me.” Josh said, throwing a pair of socks into his bag.

You huffed and folded your arms. Josh was about to leave you for a whole entire week. Well, really just five days, but close enough. He was going to meet with a vocal coach to prepare him for the sound of their new album. You were really bummed about it. You and Josh had spent virtually everyday together for weeks. He was your best friend and the thought of him leaving to go to LA made you feel sick. You wondered if he would be going to lavish parties with other people in the industry. Would he meet other people? Other girls? That’s completely normal worries to have about your best friend, right?

“What time is your flight tomorrow again?” You ask, picking at the ends of your hair.

“8:45 am.”

“And we’re still getting breakfast before I take you to the airport?”

Josh chuckles. “I hope so.”

“Okay.” You respond.

Josh closes his bag and sits down next to you. “I wish I didn’t have to go either. But it’s only a few days and I’ll call you as much as I can.”

You smile at him. “I know. I’m being such a baby about this.”

He smiles back and places his hand on your knee. “I think it’s sweet.”

Your eyes meet his and you feel a strange feeling brewing.

“Hey Josh, do you need this?”

You remove your eyes and see Jake standing in the doorway holding a neck pillow. He makes a face when sees you and Josh.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Josh responds, getting up and grabbing the pillow from Jake.

“Didn’t know you were here Sug.” Jake says, crossing his arms.

You nod. “I’m taking Josh to the airport in the morning.”

Jake bites his lip. “Hm, okay.”

He glances you over once more before heading back down the hallway.

“Alright, I think I’m finally packed.” Josh throws all of his bags by the door and turns back to you. “Wanna order Chinese?”

“Oh yes please. I’m starving.” You say dramatically.

“Okay. You mind asking everyone else if they want anything? I’m going to throw all of this in the car and make a phone call real quick.”

You salute him. “Yes sir. Can do.”

Josh drags his bags down the stairs while you wonder around the halls looking for the other three.

“Danny?” You knock on his door. No response. “Sam?” You yell down the hallway. Nothing. You huff heading downstairs, but it’s also a ghost town. Finally, you open the back door and see Jake sitting by the fire pit reading. You glance around, still not seeing anyone else before deciding to head over and approach him. “Um, hey have you seen Sam or Danny?”

Jake glances up at you and slides his sunglasses off his nose. “They’re gone.”

“Oh.” You state. “Josh and I are ordering Chinese food and we wanted to see if anyone else wanted anything.”

He closes his book and turns to face you. “You can sit, you know.”

You glance down at the chair next to Jake and decide to take a seat. “What are you reading?”

Jake grins at you. “The Hobbit.”

You let out a laugh. “Again?!”

He nods his head. “Yeah. It’s one of the greatest novels of all time.”

“You and your Tolkien.” You huff. “It is one of the best books I’ve ever read though.”

Jake looks at you incredulously. “You read it?”

You nod. “And The Lord of the Rings trilogy.”

“When?”

You shrug. “Not super long ago.”

You didn’t want to tell him you had read all of those novels to try and feel closer to him. But once you started reading them, you had actually enjoyed them quite a bit.

“You’re full of surprises Sugar. Always keeping me on my toes.” Jake says, still smiling largely at you.

Josh walks outside and sits next to you. “So what’s the verdict?”

You clear your throat. “Sam and Danny aren’t here.”

Josh raises his eyebrows. “Oh lovely. Jake, what do you want?”

Jake stretches out a little. His shirt rises ever so slightly and reveals a small sliver of his stomach. You try not to look but fail. “I’m good.”

Josh makes a face at him. “You love Chinese food.”

Jake shrugs. “I’ll be out later.”

“Mhm.” Josh nods. “Holly or Katie?”

Jake shoots his twin a foul look.

Josh throws his hands up then faces you. “Okay. Wanna go get this order started.”

“Yep.” You say coolly, getting up to follow Josh.

As you walk away you glance back at Jake. He’s looking at you, like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

“This is so freaking good.” You say, plopping chopsticks full of noodles into your mouth.

Josh smiles at you while chewing. “I told you. I have the best recommendations.”

You were both sprawled out on his bed watching an old western film that you had never seen before, but Josh definitely had.

“Josh?” You say, timidly turning towards him.

He glances over to you. “Hm?”

You purse your lips in contemplation before speaking. “I really have enjoyed spending so much time with you. You’re my best friend.”

He bites back what appears to be the beginning of a grimace before smiling back softly at you. “I have too. I love you, you know.”

You grin at him. “I know.”

He bites his lip. “Do you?”

You stare at him and give him a soft smile. Unsure as to where he might be going with this. Josh lets out a bated breath and reaches close to your face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. For some reason your heart is pounding. It’s getting louder, but it’s not your heart. You jolt when you realize someone is beating on Josh’s door.

“Oh what the fuck.” He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He groans and opens the door to see Sam standing there. “What?” Josh bites.

Sam furrows his brows at Josh and then glances over to you. “Sorry to disturb you… I just wanted to come by and wish you well on your travels before I went out tonight. If I’m successful, I won’t be home this evening.”

Sam gives Josh a wink and Josh clears his throat. “Yes, well thank you Sam. Good luck to you as well.”

He grins at his brother and shifts his eyes to you. “Will we be seeing you at all this week?”

You shrug. “I’m not sure. I’ve got a busy work week ahead and I really need to hang some shelves in my bathroom.”

“I told you I’ll do that for you when I get back. You're not the greatest at making things level.” Josh pokes.

Sam fake gasps and nudges his brother. “What a gentleman. If you get bored after work or are looking for trouble, you know where to find us.” Sam says with a wink.

You huff a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Well, I don't want to hold you guys up any longer. Good luck Josh. Love you guys!” Then Sam is waltzing away to get into God knows what.

Josh closes his door and lets out a chuckle. “He’s going to be the death of me one day.”

You shake your head. “He loves you.”

He smiles at you. “He’s a little shit.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” You say, smiling back at him.

Josh rejoins you on the bed, picking up his container of rice and scooting ever so closer to you than he was before.

After you both had finished eating you had cleaned up and longued about before getting ready for bed. You grabbed your micellar water and doused it on a cotton pad to remove your mascara. You smiled when you glanced at the place it had lived in Josh’s bathroom. In fact, you had a whole shelf full of your small toiletries that you needed when you stayed over. After completing a quick version of your nightly routine you slid in bed next to Josh, adjusting your pillow just how you liked it.

“I need to get you softer pillows for when you stay over huh?” Josh laughs.

“I don’t know how you sleep on these flat things.” You say, fluffing up the pillow.

“Believe it or not, sleeping on flatter pillows is better for singers. It helps even out the breath in your sleep, leaving better airflow for your vocal chords.”

You make a slightly surprised face at him. “Wait, really?”

He turns and smirks at you. “I have no idea. I just made all of that up. Flat pillows are better though.”

You playfully smacked his chest, leaving your hand there. “Josh! I totally bought that. I think I would believe anything you said to me. That’s a dangerous quality to have. You should start a cult.”

He scooted closer to you. “Yeah? Would you be a member?”

You grinned at him. “Oh, I’d be your biggest fan. Give me that Kool-Aid, no questions asked.”

He snickered at that. “Good to know. Loyalty is of utmost importance when embarking on such a journey.”

You absentmindedly fidgeted with his necklaces. “Loyalty is everything. But I would need to know what my leader thinks the meaning of life is?”

He puts his arm out while you nuzzle yourself into it. This was somewhat of a new position. But you two were best friends, so testing the waters was platonic of course. This is what you told yourself as you took in his scent in an anything but innocent way. “The meaning of life?”

Josh pondered for a minute, lightly tracing circles on your arm. “To be happy and to be with people you love. Where there is love, we must live on. Where there is not love, we must provide it.”

You fluttered your eyes closed, feeling sleep sinking in. “I like that. You’re very poetic.”

He turns his head towards you and places a small kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight sleepy girl.”

You groggily woke up the next morning at an ungodly hour. Josh still had his arm lightly across you. You gently lifted it up, smiling at his soft snores and scooted out underneath him. You quietly crept to the bathroom doing a small routine before slinking down the stairs. You wanted to make Josh some coffee and surprise him with cooked breakfast before he headed off this morning. You tried to remain quiet through the house, not wanting to disturb anyone. Then you remembered you were probably the only two here. That wasn’t the case when you turned the corner and saw Jake sitting at the kitchen island. He was in a pair of very worn navy sweatpants with a steaming cup of coffee sitting next to the same book from earlier. He had made significant progress through the pages since you last saw him. It was early. Did he just make it back from whatever he did last night? You tried not to make any sound, but your heart sunk when you realized the sweatpants he was wearing were a gift from you.

“Morning.” You said lightly as you entered the kitchen.

Jake glanced up at you, almost surprised to see you. “Good morning.”

You began to clink around with the mugs, trying to act entirely normal.

“Sleep well?” Jake asked from behind you.

You nod your head, placing two stone mugs on the counter. “I did. How was your… night?”

Jake shrugged. “Got a lot of work done in the studio. Then came back and crashed.”

The studio. He was there. Not at someone else’s house. That made you feel relieved and it ate you alive simultaneously that you even cared.

“I don’t remember you being an early riser.” You poked, pressing buttons on the fancy coffee machine.

He half smiled at you. “I’m full of surprises too Sug.”

You met his eyes and couldn’t help but grin back at him. “I’ve changed a bit.” He offers, in a quieter tone, his expression too serious to read.

You swallow hard, trying to figure out what to say. Trying to figure out just what he meant.

Your thoughts are plundered by the soft padding of Josh making his way into the kitchen. “Morning.” He says through a long stretch and yawn. He eyes Jake. “Why are you up?”

“Wanted to get a jump start on my day I suppose.” Jake responds to his twin, rather flatly.

Josh turns to you and smiles. “Is that my coffee?”

You let out a small laugh and nod.

“You’re my absolute favorite person, you know that?” Josh gushes as he heads over to you and wraps you in a hug while grabbing his coffee.

You giggle at him. “So sappy Joshy.”

He plants a kiss on your head dramatically. “Ah, just for you.”

Jake clears his throat.

You're transported back to reality for a moment and realize how cozy you and Josh are. To you, this felt normal. Natural even. But you could see how it might look to Jake.

“Anyway, I had planned on making you breakfast before your big trip. But it appears you only have Ritz crackers and margarita mix.”

Josh laughs. “Now that is a meal. Don’t sweat it, let me go get everything ready and we’ll stop somewhere before you drop me off.”

Josh grabs his mug and darts off towards the stairs, leaving you and Jake in silence. You take a few sips of your coffee, leaning against the countertops. Jake has resumed reading his book while absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the counter. You had come to learn this was something he did when he had a particular riff stuck in his head.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Better go get ready.”

He glanced over at you. “Sure.”

You couldn’t help but notice the bite in his tone.

It was too early for any normal breakfast place to be open so you and Josh settled at a Dunkin Donuts close to the airport.

“Pink frosted sprinkled donuts are my spirit animal I think.” You joked, biting into your sweet treat.

Josh smiled at you. “That donut is an embodiment of you.”

“Philosophical Joshua. I have a confession though…”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Do tell.”

“Pink frosted sprinkle donut. Right? But what’s the flavor? It doesn’t taste like artificial strawberry or like medicine, bubblegum or cotton candy. The taste is simply… pink.”

Josh cackles and claps at your revelation. “Oh my god. You finally get it now babe.”

Babe? That was new. It made a warmness flutter in your chest.

You tried not to sound bashful. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Josh smiled at you as he licked chocolate frosting from his thumb and sighed. “We should head over soon.”

You frowned. “You’re probably right.”

He grins. “That’s typically the case.”

You fake roll your eyes. “Can it.”

You put your car in reverse and drive the short distance to the drop off at the airport. Josh is lightly humming to a Joe Cocker song that had come on shuffle. Somehow during the short ride his hand found it’s way on yours. You tried not to think too much on it, but it felt nice. What the fuck was happening to you?

The bustle of the airport was still chaotic even at this ungodly hour.

“Fuck.” Josh muttered.

“Hey, be safe okay? Keep me updated on when you land and all that.” You say.

“Yes ma’am. Thank you for taking me. I really appreciate everything.”

You softly smile at him. “Of course.”

“Well.” He groans. “Better go before that whistle starts blowing.”.

He leans over and grips you in a tight hug before grabbing his carry-on and opening the door.

“It’s not really a goodbye. Just a farewell for now.” Josh offers with a bright smile, standing at the door.

“Okay people move along!” One of the traffic officers yell accompanied by a whistle.

“See? Told ya. These fuckin whistles.” Josh scoffs.

You laugh at him. “Be safe! Come back in one piece please.”

He winks at you. “I’ll try.”

A dreadfully boring Wednesday had rolled around. The week had already been long, you had been in the office the past three days. It was now nearing dark and you were so excited to throw some frozen orange chicken in the air fryer and make a lazy version of stirfry as soon as you had gotten home. Traffic had been brutal and you were on the final stretch, finally making that turn towards your townhome. You parked your car and grabbed your work tote, thankful that you only had one more day to work this week until you had three days off. Subsequently, you were so excited to see Josh again. You two had kept in touch of course calling and texting, but you were both also busy. You unlocked your door and kicked your black heels off at the door. You threw your tote bag and baby blue blazer down on the table. You know you shouldn’t cook dinner in your work attire, but your stomach is too empty for you to care. You tied an apron around your waist, trying to hide the white bodysuit and baby blue slacks from any stains. Then you got to work taking out your frozen vegetables and putting them in the skillet with oil. You put on a Dire Straits album and swayed around your kitchen as you let your mind wander. It was liberating doing such a mundane task after a long day. A knock at your door disrupted your thoughts. You made at face and glanced at your phone. No texts from anyone and you weren’t expecting company. You wiped your hand on a dish towel and felt ready to let whoever was on the other side of that door that they needed to go. But when you opened the door you were taken aback slightly. It was Jake. He had a toolbox on hand.

“Good evening Sugar.” He smirked.

You furrowed your brows at him. “Jake, what are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Sam had mentioned something about some bathroom shelves.”

You pursed your lips together. “I can hang them.”

He laughed and stepped by you into your house. “As if. Come on let me do this for you Sugs. Friends remember?”

You huffed a little. “Okay. Well, um I’m cooking dinner. Orange chicken stirfry. Would you like some?”

He smiled at you. “Absolutely. Nice place you got here. Want to direct me to where you would like these shelves?”

You had lit a scented candle. Why? You don’t know. For some reason you were nervous. You could hear Jake with a drill in your bathroom as you anxiously tapped your fingers as you plated the food. You took two plates and sat it on your kitchen table, then grabbed two wine glasses and your favorite bottle of moscato. You placed everything down, took your apron off, and smoothed your hair before heading towards your bathroom. He was just finishing hanging the first shelf. His brows pinched up in concentration, while he had a drill bit hanging out of his mouth. He had always been a perfectionist.

“Looks good.” You say, standing in the doorway crossing your arms.

He pops the drill bit out of his mouth and turns to give you a smile. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Dinner’s ready.”

You turn back heading towards the kitchen and hear Jake picking up. He joins you just a few minutes after and takes a seat across from you while you scroll on your phone.

“Oh Sug, this smells great.” He says with a smirk.

You place your phone down and force a laugh. “Thanks. Most of it is frozen though. I rarely have time to cook anything else. Wine?”

“Please.” He says, tipping his glass towards you.

You uncork the bottle and pour the chilled wine half way full in each glass.

“It’s my favorite. Not too sweet, not too bitter.”

Jake swirls the wine around in the glass and brings it to his nose before taking a sip. “Wow okay, yeah. You have good taste.”

You shrug and try to act like that’s not a huge compliment coming from him as you poke around your plate with your fork.

“So, tell me all about you. What’s new?” Jake asks, taking a bite of food.

You hum. “Nothing too exciting. I work a lot. I occasionally go out and I enjoy going to the park to read.”

“Enthralling stuff there honey. But let’s cut the boring shit here. That’s not us. What’s really been going on? Have you dated anyone seriously since me?”

You can’t help but smile at his bluntness. “No, not seriously anyway. Have you?”

“No.” He responds with a grin.

You take a sip of your wine. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

He raises an eyebrow at you but keeps that grin on his face. “How come?”

“Well Jake, you’re not exactly relationship material.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe not for most. But I was for you.”

You felt your cheeks grow pink. Fuck. Why did he affect you like this? Play it cool. “Right.”

“Despite everything. I always thought about you. Wondered about how you were, what you were doing, who you were with. Sometimes I would think I would look out into the crowd at a show and see you there.” He admitted, flicking his gaze towards the table as he talked.

The wine had made you feel warm inside, at least you told yourself that was the reason. “I’ve been fine. Building my career, working on myself, loving myself.” You paused, finding those honey brown eyes. “But of course I had thought about you too. From time to time.”

He smiled at your acknowledgment. “Well hot damn. After all of this time, look at us huh? Who would’ve thought we’d end up here?”

You shook your head and laughed. “Not me.”

After you two had wrapped up dinner and finished the whole entire bottle of wine you had changed into lounge clothes and migrated to your couch, spending hours talking and giggling. At some point Jake’s hand found its way to rest on your calf as you sat criss cross facing him while he leaned towards you.

“So moral of the story, that’s why Sam no longer drinks kombucha before shows.”

You giggled at his stories as he tried to fill you in on every major detail that had happened since you two had last been together.

“God you really have lived an adventure huh?” You ask, twisting the ends of your hair.

He nods. “And I hope it’s only getting started. It’s been so surreal and being here in Nashville makes me want to stay. There’s so many different people and the weather. Oh the weather.”

You nod your head. “That’s what did it for me. I don’t think I would survive a full Michigan winter again.”

He placed his hand on your hip and began to tickle you. “Nope. You’re too warm blooded now.”

You leaned back in a fit of laughter. “Jake! Stopppp!”

He continued and leaned over you. “Mhm I know all your spots Sugar.”

He finally stops and you brush your hair out of your face. He’s essentially on top of you, in between your legs. “You’re such a little shit. You know that?” You say lightheartedly.

He leans closer to you, the tip of his hair tickling your collarbones. “Now that’s not nice to say darlin. Do I need to remind you how sweet I can be too?”

Your heart is thumping in your chest as you two make fierce eye contact with each other. The wine has you feeling giddy. But, you’re saved by the bell as your phone begins to ring loudly on the coffee table. It jolts you from your thoughts and your position. You reach over and grab your phone seeing “Josh” pop up on your screen along with a silly picture of you two.

“One sec.” You say to Jake, who clearly seems disappointed. You run to your room and close the door.

“Hello?”

His chipper voice rings back at you. “Hey there, pretty lady. It’s been an insanely busy day, I’ve just now got a five minute break to have my own thoughts. What have you been up to today?”

You clear your throat, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “Oh you know, same old same old. Just a long day of working. I made stir fry for dinner.”

He sighs into the phone. “Now that sounds good. I’ve been living mostly on takeout and party foods.”

You huff a laugh. “Party foods? Oh poor you.”

He returns your laugh. “I know it’s rough out here. Hey listen they’re about to call back for me. It was good to hear your voice. I’ll give you a call tomorrow?”

“You better. Have fun, be safe.”

You collected yourself and cleared your throat before heading back into your living area. You found Jake in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner.

“Everything okay?” He asked, rinsing a plate.

“Mhm. Yeah yeah, just checking in. Hey you don’t have to clean up. I can do it.” You offer, stepping in to help.

He shakes his head. “No, I got it. I’m going to finish up and I’ll be out of your hair. I know you have work tomorrow.”

You nod, trying to decipher if you were relieved or disappointed.

“Care if I come back by tomorrow to put that other shelf in?” He asks with a soft smile.

“Sure. I can make dinner again.”

And you did. He had come over again Thursday night, installed your shelf, and you two had made pizzas together. A flood of nostalgia flooded you as you two had rolled the dough out. Jake put a dab of flour on your cheek and you returned the favor with pizza sauce. This was a date you two had before, but this time there was no arguing. In fact, the night had gone quite pleasantly. You had watched a movie and Jake went home after. He kept his hands, mostly to himself- which surprised you. You had woken up on Friday morning in a haze. The past two days had felt surreal with Jake. Part of you had believed maybe you had hallucinated the whole thing, but when you saw how perfectly your shelves were hung you smiled to yourself. Josh would be home Sunday morning, but all you could think about is if Jake would try to come by again. You checked your phone. Nothing but a Snapchat from Josh. In the past two days you had unblocked Jake and even shared a text or two. You decided to try and push him out of your mind and switched it up today, going for a hot yoga class. This was a little further of a drive than your pilates studio, but the drive cleared your mind. After yoga you felt energized and grabbed a coffee to get you through the rest of the day. You decided to stop at a shopping plaza to treat yourself. While gandering at all the pretty little things you felt your phone vibrating in your purse.

Jake.

Your heartbeat picked up and you felt a rush go through you as you answered.

“Good morning Sugar. Do you have any plans later?”

You decided to play it cool. “Nothing too concrete. Why?”

“Great. I’ll pick you up later. Before you ask, wear whatever you want. You look good in anything. I’m about to head to the studio, but be ready by 8.”

You glanced at the black lacy matching set you had in your hands. This would do.

7:58. You stared at the clock on your wall, tapping your fingers absentmindedly on your couch as you waited for Jake. You felt unusually nervous, as if you hadn’t been on a date with him before. Was this a date? Who in the hell knew. Your feelings were scattered everywhere. But the one thing you knew was that Jake had sunk his claws right into you again. Everything inside of you was screaming no while also simultaneously screaming yes. You had decided on a casual little orange dress that complimented your tan perfectly with platform sandals and gold jewelry. You put loose curls in your hair and did an ample amount of makeup. You felt summery and pretty. You hoped Jake would think so as well.

A knock on your door at 8 pm sharp jolted you from your thoughts.

“Hello gorgeous.” Jake said, stepping in and handed you a small bouquet of red roses.

“Do friends buy each other flowers?” You ask, trying to play off that this was the first time he had ever gotten you flowers.

He smirked at you. “They can. Ready to go?”

You two had ended up at a stylish little cocktail garden across town. Jake had reserved a table on the rooftop, pretty hidden from the rest of the crowd. You both selected different specialty cocktails and ordered a quite large charcuterie board.

“This place is cute.” You said sipping your drink and surveying your surroundings.

He flashed you a smile. “I thought you might think so. Very ‘Nashville.’”

You laugh. “Jake, baby, not every place with neon signs is distinctly Nashville.”

You feel your blood run cold as you just realized you had let that word slip out. Fuck these drinks were strong.

Of course he had noticed it too and bit down on his straw giving you a sly smile with those eyes. “Sure, but the fake flowers on the wall and shitty country music makes it feel that way.”

You hold your hands up in defense. “Hey I know you love your dingy little hole in the walls. But time and place for everything. At least enjoy the oxygen that isn’t littered with cigarette smoke.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Since when is cigarette smoke a problem for you?”

You grab your straw and perhaps suggestively take a sip while locking eyes with him. “Time and place for everything Jake.”

When the charcuterie board arrived you both had picked at the selections while continuing to drink. You giggled and laughed and then giggled some more. You were smitten with him yet again. You weren’t dumb, you knew it wouldn’t last. The hell would come. But for now, you allowed yourself to keep your head in the clouds.

“I don’t think I can drive Sugs. Care if we Uber back?” Jake asks, finishing off drink number-hell you had lost count.

“That’s a smart idea. Gonna go to the bathroom before we leave.” You slightly slurred.

The walk to the bathroom proved a little off-kilter. You were on the cusp of tipsy and your brain was swirling with bad decisions.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror, lightly rolling on lipgloss and fluffing your hair before making your way back out. Jake had already taken care of the tab and was waiting for you out front.

“Uber should be here in about 15 minutes.”

You nodded and followed him into a crowded elevator. You two had to squeeze in, which meant you were pressed into each other. Jake glanced down at you with a certain look in his eye that made your mouth water. His hand snaked around your waist, his fingers pressing into your hip. A spot that he knew would rile you up. You bit your lip and held your breath. You didn’t dare breathe again until you were at the bottom.

“That elevator was pretty cramped huh?” You played, stepping outside of the building.

He shrugged, matching your walking pace up the sidewalk. “I didn’t mind it.”

You lightly shoved him. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

He smirked at you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You shoved him again, slightly harder. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

He signed. “You’re done Sugs.” He scooped you up and tickled at your side.

“Jake!” You giggled out through laughter. “Put me down! Jake I swear!”

He continued. “Or what Sugs?”

“Jacob Thomas!”

He laughed. “Okay fine. Fine. No need for government names.”

He placed you down and you braced up against the concrete wall and you fixed your hair that had gone wild. “You don’t play fair.”

He stepped up closer to you and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “There. Perfect as always.”

His eyes searched for yours, his gaze intensely switching to your lips. Fuck it. You pushed yourself up on your tiptoes and kissed him, hard. There was zero protest from him as his hands immediately found your waist. Warmth flooded your senses and you felt entirely weightless. You lightly bit his bottom lip which caused a small groan to leave his mouth.

“Now who’s not playing fair?” He growled into your ear as his fingers found that spot on your hip.

The intense session was interrupted by Jake’s phone buzzing. He cleared his throat. “Uber’s here.”

You nodded and took his hand as he led you into the car. Neither one of you spoke the whole entire ride home. Jake kept his hand firmly planted on your upper thigh while both of you took stolen glances at one another.

“Thanks.” Jake said, tossing a stack of bills at the driver.

He guided you up to the door, standing close as you fidgeted with your keys.

Finally, once inside and the door was closed. His lips were on yours again. His hands running wildly up and down your body, your hands in his hair as you two shuffled through your house. Somehow you two had made your way into the kitchen.

“Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He panted in between kisses.

He backed you up against the counter, his eyes glaring into yours. Then his rough hands run under your thighs as he lifts you and places you on the counter. Neither one of you had dared to speak yet. Then Jake broke the silence.

“So pretty.” He spat, as his hands ran up under your dress.

You were impossibly turned on. Anticipation sat in your throat like a softball.

You bit your lip as his hands hooked around your panties. He pulled them down and scooted you closer to him. He bunched up your dress right to the very beginning of your thighs.

“So fucking pretty.” He stated again.

You squirmed under his touch as he raked his fingertips around your inner thighs.

“Jake, stop teasing.” You said, though it came out more as a beg.

He smiled at you, then craned his head down and kissed you on your sweetest spot.

A jolt ran through your body.

“So needy. My pretty girl, so needy for me.” He says with a smirk. “Let’s see how wet you are, Sugar.”

He takes one finger and slides it in between you, just grazing. You slightly buck your hips, desperate for some sort of friction. Desperate for that feeling that only Jake had given you.

“Whew, fuck Sugar.” Jake says, taking that same finger and popping it in his mouth. “So sweet, just like I remember. So wet for me.”

You huff out at him. You’re beyond ready to beg, but he can’t have that satisfaction. You have to play the game right back. “As if you’re not about to bulge out of your pants right now. Face it Jake, you’ve never had better.”

He grips your thighs. “You’re right about that. You drive me crazy Sugar. Especially when that pretty mouth says such filthy things.”

“Jake.” You say looking down at him, batting your eyelashes. “Can you just shut up and fuck me?”

His mouth falls open slightly at that and he stares up at you completely enamored.

You use this as an opportunity to tease him. You slide back and open your legs a little more.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” You say with as much sex in your voice that you could muster.

Jake takes in a deep breath and then a devilish smirk appears on his face. “No.” He starts. “But it’s about to.”

He licks a stripe up your thigh whilst holding eye contact with you. Then, he smiles before burying his face in between your legs.

You arch your back and tilt your head backwards as soft moans escape your lips. Jake shimmys your dress up even further, then slides his fingers into you.

“Fuck.” You whined, which only egged him on further.

“Yeah come on baby. Give me all of those pretty little sounds.” He begged.

His fingers worked expertly with his mouth. Like he had your body etched into his mind and he knew how to make you unraveled. Just as you were right there, white hot- he stopped. You unclenched your eyes and looked down at him in shock. He smirked back up at you and lightly bit your thigh.

“Come on Sugs. What’s the rush? Let’s take this to your room.”

You scoffed at him, hopping off the counter and pulling your panties back up. You were bewildered, but you knew him edging you was a sick little kink of his. You followed him into your bedroom where your lips connected once more. You unbuttoned his shirt while he kicked off his shoes. You pushed him back onto the bed where he raised up on his elbows and watched you intently. You slowly began to pull at the sleeves on your dress and dropped it to the floor, leaving you just in the black lacy little number you had just bought.

“God damn.” Jake barely whispered as he watched you with full blown lust.

“Oh this little thing?” You teased running your hands over the lace.

He swallowed hard. “Fuck. You are so fucking hot. I- Get over here please.”

You laughed. “I thought there was no rush?”

You turned around walking towards your dresser, giving him a nice show of your plump ass.

“Oh my god.” He all but groaned. You could sense him twitching over there, just itching to get his hands on you.

You struck a match and lit a small candle. “That’s better isn’t it?”

He nodded.

You walked over to him, slowly. His eyes were trained on you. You straddled his lap and his hands immediately found your hips, the whole entire time you stared into each other’s eyes. So much unspoken. So much unsaid. He leaned in and kissed you with fervor. His hands immediately gripping at the flesh of your ass. You were the first to slip out your tongue, but were met eagerly with his. You worked quickly to undo his belt and pants. He managed to shimmy them off while never breaking the kiss. You both leaned by entirely, you slowly grinded down onto his boxers causing him to almost lose it right there. You would start and get him worked up, then stop. Playing his own game right back at him. This earned you a swift smack on your ass. “You little tease.”

You sat up, fully shifting your lower half on top of him. “What’s wrong Jakey? Can dish it out but can’t take it?”

He let out a laugh. “We gonna play these games all night or are you going to let me fuck you? I can ruin that pretty makeup by having you in tears, begging me to let you come. Or I can fuck you so hard you won’t be able to think straight. Both are equally intriguing to me. Your choice baby.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Still think you’re up for the task? Can you even make me come, Jake?”

In a swift motion he flipped you over, him now on top of you. He pinned your hands above your head, holding them there. “Such a little brat. I could think of a better way to put that mouth to use. Looks like you chose the hard way.”

Excitement bubbled in your chest. No one ever got you this worked up, it was only him.

He released your hands and ripped your panties off of you. He pulled the fabric apart until it ripped.

“Jake!”

He didn’t flinch. “I’ll buy you one hundred more of these, especially if I can take them off of you like this.”

He grabbed your hands again, tying them up in the now ripped lace fabric. He slides down next to you, his fingers finding your center to begin work. After a few seconds you’re already squirming.

“Thought you were clever huh Sug? Asking me if I still can make you come?”

You flutter your eyes closed, trying to recenter yourself. Jake slapped your core. “Eh uh. Eyes on me.”

You pry your eyes open to watch him, trying your best to act like you weren’t on fire inside.

He kissed below your navel, making your shutter. “Did you miss me?”

You refused to answer that.

“Mhm I think you did. Do you touch yourself and think of me?” He asked, in a sickeningly sweet voice as he continued his descent.

“No.” You say, calmly.

He nips at your thigh. “It’s okay if you do. Sometimes I find myself thinking of you, late at night.”

You huffed as he continued to tease you.

“Not as sweet as the real thing though.” He made contact making an obscene slurping sound that made you twitch.

Then he stopped again coming back up to kiss you.

“Taste that? That’s you. My sweet girl.”

“You’ve made your point. Just fucking touch me.” You all but whined.

He chuckled at you. “So demanding.”

He unties your hands while freeing himself from his boxers. Then he flips you around and spreads your knees wider. You arch your back, silently begging for him to enter you.

“Fuck. Now there’s a view I would never get tired of.”

He slides himself all around you, still trying to tease you, but you could tell he was faultering. Slowly, he sunk into you. A moan left both of your mouths. He took his time but finally pushed himself all the way in.

“Ah fuck. Fuck baby.” He cooed.

He reached down and pulled you up, so you were flushed with him. Then reached down and rubbed at your bundles of nerves, sending you almost right over the edge.

“Jake- fuck don’t stop.” You whined.

He bit at your jaw. “Who fucks you like this? Who is the only person who will ever fuck you like this?”

“You! It’s you.” You barely spit out.

That warmness spread all over your body and you were about to explode. You squeezed him with everything you had.

“That’s right. You’re such a good girl Sugar. Fuck.” He grunted.

“Jake I’m- I’m.”

He removed his hand. “I know. I wanna see your face when you come for me.”

He unclasped your bra, tossing it to the side and flipped you over on your back.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

His hands massaged your breasts before lightly biting at your hardened nipples.

You were now in the home stretch, both of you struggling to hold on. Jake hooked your leg up over his shoulder and started to pound into you.

You could see the sweat beginning to trickle on him as his hair stuck to his face and neck. He guided your hand down to your sweet spot and guided you. “Almost there baby. Eyes on me.”

You locked eyes with him and that’s all it took. That wave came crashing down, completely washing you away with it. Jake was right behind you and you could feel him release into you. You gripped his shoulders while his mouth found yours, swallowing all of your sounds.

“Shit.” Jake groaned, rolling off of you. Both of you absolutely spent. Sweat, sex, and panting still filled the air. You reached over and grabbed a pack of American Spirits from your bedside table, they were old but necessary. You flicked a lighter and lit it while Jake looked at you with a smirk.

You shrugged and met his eyes. “Time and place for everything. Remember?”

Light filtered in through your blinds the next morning gently waking you. You turned to your side. Empty. Should have figured. Fuck, you were sore. You groaned as you stretched out making your way to the bathroom. You jumped in the shower to wash off the smell of sex and nicotine then brushed your teeth. You couldn’t tell if you were slightly hungover or slightly sad. Of course he left, that’s what he does. Coffee. You needed coffee badly. You tossed a giant band tee on and some cotton underwear and combed through your hair before padding out into your living room. Also empty. The refrigerator was embarrassingly barren. Leftover pizza, expired creamer, and strawberries. You needed to go to the grocery store, badly. You snickered at the thought of Josh seeing your refrigerator like this. He would playfully scold you and force you to Publix. You missed him. A loud noise crashed through your apartment and you jolted out of your thoughts.

“Jake? What the fuck! You scared me!” You clutched your chest.

Jake had bounded through the door with a coffee carrier and brown paper bags. A sight you never thought you would see.

“Don’t look so surprised to see me Sugs. Did you think I would have just up and left.” He asked with a smirk.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Well yeah.”

He shakes his head at you. “I stole your keys so I could let myself back in. Had to Uber to get my car and then I got us breakfast. Hope you like breakfast burritos and coffee that’s a little too sweet.”

A smile twisted up on your lips. That was thoughtful?

“I do. Thank you.” You say, walking over to the counter to grab a coffee. You took a sip, it wasn’t your normal complicated vanilla latte. But it would do.

You both had plopped down at your table, somewhere you had found yourselves often the past few days and ate breakfast together.

“So, Danny and I have a meeting today. Some sort of podcast thing, but I’ll be free after. Care to go out again?” Jake asks, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

You bite your lip. “Josh comes back tomorrow.”

He shakes his head. “Uh huh.”

“Jake, he can’t know- about any of this really. He would freak out.” You say cautiously.

He gives you a sly smile. “S’okay Sugar. I’ll be your dirty little secret.”

You tap his arm. “I’m serious.”

He sighs at you and holds up a hand. “Fine. Scout’s honor.”

“Then yes, we can go out again tonight. But it can’t be a repeat of last night, I have to pick him up from the airport and do not want to be hungover.” You say, standing your ground.

Jake shrugs. “I dunno, maybe it could just be a little bit of a repeat from last night.”

You crack a smile and shake your head at him. What in the hell had you gotten yourself into again.

“I am so happy to see you!” Josh says, climbing into your car and squeezing your shoulders with a hug.

You smile at him. “I missed you too. I can’t wait to hear about all of your adventures.”

He huffs. “I have so many to share. Can I run by my place and shower and then come over? I am craving a home cooked meal so badly.”

You click your blink and laugh. “Well yes, but I don’t have much to cook. You would be appalled at the state of my refrigerator right now.”

“Hey, you have to take care of yourself. Change of plans; I’ll call in Chinese tonight and pick it up on my way over. First thing in the morning we are going grocery shopping.” He says in a caring tone.

“Deal.” You agree.

After dropping Josh off you had decided to tidy up a bit before he came over. You had already done a sweep of your house, making sure there were no remnants of Jake lying around anywhere. You had spent last night together again in a similar fashion to the night before. The last thing you wanted was for Josh to know that.

“These egg rolls are fresh today.” Josh said, stepping into your house.

“Oh I can tell it smells good.” You took the bags from Josh and placed them on the counter.

“Can you turn on that documentary we were watching last week? I’ll be right back, my bladder is about to explode.”

You chuckled and set out all of the food on your coffee table then started searching for whatever you two had previously watched. Once it was queued up you grabbed and extra blanket and waited for Josh. A few moments later he came walking into your living room.

“Shelves?”

You turned around and made a face at him. “What?”

He pointed behind him. “You hung your bathroom shelves?”

Fuck.

“Oh-uh yeah. It wasn’t too hard actually.” You tried to say as nonchalantly as possible.

He made a face at you. “Where did you get the tools?”

You shrugged. “I borrowed them from a neighbor. Come on, I'm starving and this food is going to get cold!”

He chewed on his cheek and eventually joined you on the couch. You hated lying to him, but the alternative would be worse.

That night you two had ended up asleep on the couch. You were wrapped in Josh’s arms, but his twin was the one occupying your mind.

***

Thank you for reading!!! <3

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