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supertanya-mohair-sweaters · 11 months

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(via Fuzzy blue green mohair sweater oversized slouchy tunic, made to order)

New SuperTanya knitwear collection

#supertanya #mohair sweater #mohair dress #summer mohair dress #oversized mohair dress #slouchy dress #extravagant dress #summer style

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 7 days

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TF141 & sexy clothes

Gaz absolutely supports you wearing whatever you feel sexy in. however, in his heart of hearts, he believes the sexiest thing you can wear around him is your pjs, your ratty old tees, your sleep shirts, your big hoodies, your slouchy garbage clothes. he just wants to know you're comfortable. not to mention the idea of you letting him see you the way nobody else gets to... letting yourself be totally vulnerable around him... that lights up a certain (slightly needy) (slightly possessive) part of his brain. interesting how easily his hands can slide past the hem of your clothes when they're bigger and slouchier, too.

Ghost loves lingerie, though. like wrapping a present just for him. it's less about the lace (or the bows, or the straps, or the leather, whatever you prefer) and more about the time and attention you're expending to make yourself look all sexy. all this work? for him? even if his usual compulsion is to act aloof and pretend it's no big deal, he can't hide the greedy way his eyes devour you--for me? don't mind if i do. it's a toss-up whether he decides to unwrap you completely or just push his calloused hands into your lil outfit and muss you up until it's not covering anything anymore. or maybe he'll just leave the wrapping on so he can keep admiring all your hard work while he pumps into you.

Price says he loves you in lingerie, and he does. he doesn't tell you how fucking crazy you drive him when you're dressed for business. that might mean the clothes you wear into the office every day; it might mean fatigues; it might mean a particular uniform; it might be sportswear. he's big into seeing you focused and in your element--your competence is sexy--while also knowing there are so few layers he'd need to peel off before he could have you completely forgetting yourself if he wanted. and hey! if the lace at the top of your thigh-highs happens to be peeking out from under your pencil skirt, or if your ass fills out your uniform just right? that's just fine with him. you do you. (for now. he'll do you later.)

Soap's preferences are simple. he likes access. skirts. dresses. obviously, if he could convince you to be naked 100% of the time, he would. sundresses are pretty, though. so are your studded black skirts if you're gothy. or your sharp, practical, form-fitting pencil skirts if you're professional. you can even wear a kilt if you'd like. his kilt. he doesn't mind. (he only asks that you wear it as it's meant to be worn--without a thing underneath.) on days you do wear a dress or skirt, you're lucky to make it out of the house without him darting after you, pulling the hem up your thighs, and wondering aloud how you managed to find any undergarments at all; he'd swear he hid every last pair. he peels your underwear off--don't protest, hen; you know how this works--and after that, your chances of getting out the door are slim to none.

...

more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

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rafeandonlyrafe · 4 months

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flashing lights

words: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ only, brief smut, p in v sex, model!reader (a bit of influencer too but primarily a model), soft rafe, marriage, pregnancy

“so thats your new girl?” topper asks, eyes on you as you twirl to the music, long legs on show in the simple black dress.

“yeah, shes here for a month on vacation.” rafes also looking at you, unable to let his gaze stray, in case a man comes up and attempts to dance with you. you may not be an official item yet, considering you only met a couple days ago, but rafe is determined to spend the entire month that you’re here with you, and not let any other men pull your focus away.

“she looks so familiar.” the voice rings out before rafe even realizes that there's other people now sat in the circle of chairs and couches, too wrapped up in you.

the girl, who rafe recognizes from high school, begins to tap on her phone. “wait, shes a model.” “yeah, she told me.” rafe shrugs it off. he could have guessed your profession anyways, with how naturally stunning you are, and your height almost rivaling his, only a few inches shorter.

“no, like really famous model.” the girl turns her phone towards rafe, and he hates having to drag his eyes away from you to look at the screen, pulled open to a google search of your name.

“holy shit!” topper says for rafe, taking the phone from the girl as he clicks the first link to open up your instagram. “she has 20 MILLION followers, rafe.”

rafe glances from the phone to you as you turn to smile at him, still dancing to the music, glad to be free of all the attention and camera flashes. its why you chose the outer banks in the first place, somewhere more tucked away to take a month away from the spotlight.

“why are you so surprised, look at her.” rafe states before standing up, tired of letting you dance alone as he joins you on the makeshift dance floor, his hands coming to your waist as you give him a dazzling smile.

-- two years later --

camera lights flash and shouts ring out, but rafe is used to it now.

he smiles and waves, shocked that anyone would care about him, a nobody from north carolina, his only claim to fame is being your boyfriend, for a little over two years now.

rafe walks inside, having enough of the screaming and crowds as he takes in the area, chairs set up along a runway, a large prada sign on the white wall. your prestige has only grown since rafe began to date you, despite coming back to the outer banks several times to take a break and visit him. since rafe began to travel with you, you’ve gone from paris to milan to new york to london, gracing the covers of magazines and walking runways.

he tries to attend every show, taking on a pseudo-management role himself. your favorite part is dressing rafe in the mornings, having received clothing from so many brands, both mens and womens fit. rafe lets you choose, knowing you have the eye for fashion, and he loves to see how happy you get when he wears your outfit.

rafe walks through the seats until he finds the one with his name on it, front row. he sits down, scrolling on his phone as people begin to file in until the room is packed full.

he waits as the show begins, models walking down the runway. they don’t shine to him, not like you do when you step out, your face blank in the typical model expression as you strut down the runway, dressed in all denim with a pair of chunky sunglasses on your nose.

rafe is in awe every time he sees you work, whether its watching your fluid poses during a photoshoot or your long legs stomping down a runway.

he waits with bated breath for your second outfit, changing into a slouchy menswear-esque ensemble, only pulled in at your waist as the fabric swishes around your ankles.

he claps when everyone steps out for the final walk, but he doesn’t cheer for the designer, even if it is prada, as he makes eye contact with you, only ever a brief glance while you're walking the runway, knowing if you look for too long you will become entranced with his handsomeness.

rafe waits for you after the show along with some of the other family members or partners of the models, long after all the celebrities have gone, either to an afterparty or on to a different show.

“hey baby.” rafe smiles when you step out, hair still slicked up in a ponytail, face caked with makeup, but now in a pair of loose jeans and a plain white crop top.

“hi handsome.” you coo, pressing your lips against rafes. “did you like the show?” “i liked you in the show.” rafe says pointedly, making you blush. “are we going to the afterparty?” “nah.” you shake your head. “i have that carolina herrera show in the morning, and i want to spend some time with you.”

“i’ll never argue against spending alone time with you.” rafe says, slotting his arm around your waist as you exit the building, surprised when photographers are still waiting outside. you wave briefly before rushing towards the car, knowing the picture of you and rafe are bound to be spread all over instagram and pinterest before you even make it back to your hotel room.

“rafe, i’ve got a question.” you hum, stepping out onto the balcony, eyes looking to the ocean. you’re on a paid for vacation by a makeup brand, simply wanting a couple instagram story posts using their products in a get ready with me. you are supposed to be relaxing the rest of the time, but you crept onto your phone to read the latest email from your agent.

“what is it babe?” rafe asks as he pulls you down onto his lap, scantily dressed in only his swimsuit, not that you have worn much other than a bikini this whole trip.

“what would you think about me doing a lingerie photoshoot?” you haven’t accepted any jobs that would call for you to show off a lot of skin or be paired with a male model since you started dating rafe, lucky to be in a place to reject jobs.

“who is it for?” rafe asks.

“calvin klein. i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t them.” you admit. you find their style of black and white classic photos far more tasteful than traditional lingerie pictures.

“as long as i can be there during the shoot.” rafe says. he’s taken the role of your advocate and protector during photoshoots, easily able to read your face and speak up for you if needed, considering sometimes the models voice gets drowned out.

“of course.” you nod.

“then absolutely.” rafe pulls you in closer to his body. “i need a new lockscreen anyways.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you as you turn towards the ocean, watching the waves roll onto the sand.

you step out behind the curtain, a tight fitting sports bra contrasting the loose jeans, slung open and zipper undone to show off your underwear as well as the calvin klein jeans.

you look over to rafe, who has his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes skate down your bare torso.

you most over to the white backdrop as the photographer begins to test the lighting, taking occasional snaps as things are adjusted.

the photoshoot is run just like any other and you’re finished faster than expected considering they’re solo shots and no change in location or background.

you keep the underwear and jeans on, simply throwing on a sweatshirt before getting into the taxi home with rafe, this time to your new york city apartment, having collected various homes and apartments around the world, depending on wherever you were doing business at the time. you consider the outer banks home though, returning every extended break with rafe.

“did you like the shoot?” you ask when you get home, rafe laying on bed while you tug the sweatshirt and jeans off, leaving you in just the calvin klein bra and panties.

“get over here.” rafe says, not caring about your question. he’s been desperate for you since you appeared from behind the curtain, not even trying to hide it as he watched the photoshoot, your eyes occasionally moving to him, giving him reassurance you were still good.

rafe makes you keep the underwear on, simply pulling it to the side once he’s got your back against the mattress to slide his cock deep inside of you. you push the sports bra up to let your breasts free, rafes palm instantly coming to cover your tit as he thrusts into you.

“i think you should do more shoots like that.” rafe says with a moan, cock pulsing inside of you.

“its nice to be back home.” you sigh, quickly applying some makeup, mostly just mascara and a glowy primer.

“agreed.” rafe kisses your shoulder, watching over your shoulder as you finish and then adjust your white dress, having decided to take a couple pictures on the beach for you to post as well as just enjoy a walk on the sand.

“alright, i’m ready.” you hum as you slip on your sandals. you lace your fingers with rafes before stepping out the back door. “you look handsome by the way.”

the suns golden light illuminates his skin. his outfit is simple, closer to what he wore before the fame. a simple white button down, loose fitting and you are sure would look delicious unbuttoned, showing off his muscles.

“thank you baby.” rafe presses a kiss to your cheek, leading you down the beach until you come across a picnic set up. you glance around before realizing its for you.

“oh my god, its just like our first date!” you gush, stepping away from rafe to look at the spread.

“before we eat, i have a question to ask you.” you turn around to realize that rafe is on one knee, a velvet jewelry box in his hand.

“oh, rafe.” you press your hand to your mouth, tears already coming to your eyes as he opens the box, revealing a sparkling diamond ring. “will you marry me?”

“how am i supposed to look good next to a literal model?” rafe asks as he looks towards the camera, looking almost nervous for once in his life.

“we’ve taken pictures together before rafe.” you roll your eyes, adjusting your wedding dress. it’s actually four weeks after your wedding, but you wanted to get professional photos done with your new husband and asked one of your photographer friends who was more than willing to let you into their studio if they could post some of the photos on their instagram and website.

“mirror selfies and shit, this is more serious.” rafe says as you tug him over to the backdrop.

“you look so handsome, babe. don’t worry.” you smooth your hands over his shoulders. “just think back to our wedding day, we took so many pictures then.”

“i was too distracted by how excited i was to marry you.” rafe says, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, the oscar de larenta dress you ended up deciding on being off the shoulder. it was a simple dress, but the closer you got you realized how intricate the lace detail is. “you look just like you did on our wedding day though, baby. the makeup artists did a great job.”

“just tanner.” you joke, having gone on your honeymoon already.

you look as the photographer begins to set up their lens, before you turn to whisper to rafe. “you can’t tell?” you question, pressing your hand to your stomach. you know there’s no way you’d already begin to show, considering your baby is no bigger than a seed, but that doesn’t stop you from getting worried about your pregnancy being discovered early.

“not at all.” rafe shakes his head, but can’t hide the smirk that comes to his face, knowing your tummy will soon swell with his child, having made sure of it many times on the honeymoon.

“i was thinking about how we could announce the baby.” you tell rafe as you pad into the kitchen. he’s still making the decaf coffee you were absolutely craving, more syrup and milk than coffee.

“how?” he hums, glancing over at you as you lean against the counter, rubbing your stomach, bump now obvious as you’re over 6 months along. you have managed to keep it a secret so far, saying you were taking a break from modeling to focus on your new marriage. there is of course a lot of speculation that you are pregnant, but it is to be expected.

“calvin klein shoot. like before, except i’ve got a big ol’ bump.” you laugh as rafe finishes you coffee off with some whip cream before sliding the mug to you. “and you can be in it too.”

rafe rolls his eyes as you giggle. “come on! the girls love you, you’re so handsome.”

“i’m not a model.” rafe argues back, but he already knows he’s going to agree, he’d do anything for you, his pregnant wife.

“yeah, but you’re hot like a model.” you shrug, taking a sip of coffee.

“i think this is just an excuse to get me shirtless and in underwear.” rafe laughs, pressing a kiss to your upper lip, cleaning off the whip cream that sat on your cupids bow.

“yeah, and what about it?”

“you know theres some hormone to make women forget the pain of birth?” you hum to rafe, keeping your voice soft. “because if you remembered then no one would never do it again.”

“really?” rafe whispers, his voice also hushed as to not wake the sleeping newborn cuddled up in his arms, wrapped in a soft hospital banket.

“yeah.” you nod. “but i don’t wanna forget a moment of this.”

“im sure you wont baby.” rafe kisses your head as your tiny daughter squirms in his arms, letting out a yawn in her slumber. “i suppose i need to use a different name for you now that we’ve got an actual baby.”

you giggle, resting your head against rafes shoulder as you look down on your perfect little girl, already an adorable mixture of you and rafe.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld

#rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic #obx fic #outer banksoute

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leclsrc · 1 year

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happy 3k!! 🫶🏽

"grumbling" and "narrowed eyes" for carlos?

in my dream – cs55

Carlos tries his best to keep you from leaving him lonely.

auds here... title from this but i listened to this on loop while writing (1d girls unite!!!! i was a true blue zayn girl!!!!!)

“That is my shirt.”

You stare at the buttons you’ve been nipping at, realizing a tad too late that it is Carlos’ polo, a plain white one similar to yours, which is somewhere else on the floor. Caught, you turn and find your boyfriend half-awake, sleepy eyes staring at your half-dressed figure. Smiling at his drowsy expression, you roll your eyes.

He likes when you wake up before he does. He finds you on his chest, drawing idle patterns; in the shower, where he almost always joins you; or like today, getting dressed to leave before anybody spots you on his floor. But even in a rush, with your hair all fussed up and a bed mark across your face, he still feels he’s caught in a dream.

“Okay, mister.” You make quick work of unbuttoning the several bottom rows, exaggerating the movement so Carlos sees you’re not in some thick plot to steal his Hugo Boss shirt.

He squints. “And those are my hotel slippers.”

You laugh. “I’ll take them off, then. I was going to anyway, I don’t think they allow cloth slippers in the media pen.”

Dissatisfied, he presses on. “That’s also my bracelet.” He sits up, smiling mischievously, and heaves himself off to take both your wrists and drag you back to bed. “And my hair elastic.” He swipes his thumb over the bracelet and elastic on your left wrist.

“I doubt that,” you say, climbing atop his lap despite yourself. You have work, you have to sneak out before anyone sees and starts a flurry of nasty rumors—but he’s always been good at convincing you to stay. “Your new haircut means you can barely tie a loop around it.” You rake your fingers through his blunt-cut hair.

“Well,” he says, shrugging, “it’s true. And you cannot leave until you have given all these back.” He stamps a kiss onto your jaw. “Sí?” He moves lower, to your exposed collarbones, the area of skin left uncovered by his slouchy polo. He smiles into your skin, smelling faintly of your perfume mixed with his.

“Carlos,” you mutter, pushing lightly despite smiling. “I gotta go.”

He parts from you and narrows his eyes. “Don’t.”

“I’ll get fired,” you quip, buttoning two more. He reaches up to unbutton them and you gasp. “Carlos!”

“You still haven’t given back my…” he inspects your outfit to point out something “of his.” “…Shorts.”

“These are your shorts?” You tug on the hem of the denim that hugs your thighs, clearly not his.

“Fine. My panties.”

“Carlos.” You can’t help but laugh at his desperation, endeared by the fact that he needs you close by all the time. “If you’re into that, we can talk about it in bed tonight.”

“Your report can be about how good I am in bed,” he jokes, hugging you close. You kiss his head and clamber off, pulling your sandals on.

“As a journalist, I’m a firm believer in not spreading fake news,” you say, laughing as you grab your bag and escape the hotel room.

You fix your hair before leaving, still hearing him grumble with early onset separation anxiety on the other side of the door, which opens when you’re just two paces shy of it—

—and a hand comes through and yanks you in for one last kiss, sweet and yearning for more. “Good luck today,” he says. “I love you, miss reporter.”

“Good luck too,” you mumble into his lips, smiling. “Love you more, Carlito.”

#f1 #leclsrc3000 #carlos sainz #car #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz x reader #f1 x reader

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storybookhawke · 1 month

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Merrill is probably my favorite character to dress up, especially in modern clothing like slouchy sweaters. I used a new brush here but it's hard to tell zoomed out >:/

#merrill #merrill sabrae #dragon age #da fanart #dragon age 2 #bioware #dragon age ii #sbh #sbh art #modern au #da2 #da2art

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gretavangroupie · 26 days

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The Ripe and The Ruin - (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader, OC x Reader

Word Count: 14.3k

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking, Angst, Unwelcome Advances, Kissing.

Find the Playlist Here: Apple Music | Spotify

A new series in collaboration with my talented co-writer @gretavanmoon.

"Like all good fruit, the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin."

JAKE POV

You absentmindedly swirl the skinny black straw around in your glass, scoffing to yourself as you wonder why the bartender put a stirrer into your Whiskey in the first place. It didn’t need to be stirred. You took it straight. It was fine on its own. Regardless, you sipped around the straw, letting the oaky liquor trickle down the back of your throat.

It wasn’t that you hated flying. It was more that you hated being alone with your thoughts for extended periods of time. Only your phone or a book to occupy your brain, but you knew that only worked for so long. Eventually you’d be left alone to tumble down into those dark, dusty memories that would torment you until you touched down in whatever city you were slated to be in that day.

You hear Josh’s voice, instinctively causing you to turn your head, watching as he and Daniel stand in front of the camera recording whatever video the social media team planned for the day. You gracefully bowed out of that process all together, the team knowing not to approach you about an idea unless they knew it was something you would agree to. Usually though, it wasn’t. You turn to look at Sam on your right, seeing his gaze fixed upon the two of them. Both of you were now watching them as they played along with the skit, a huff of secondhand embarrassment sizzling through you as you sip from your glass. You’d never be caught dead doing that.

Fools. How is anyone ever supposed to take us seriously if all we show them is this?

“You ready for another few months of this shit?” you mumble, your lips barely parting from the edge of your glass.

Sam snickers as he turns back to you. “No. But that’s the job isn’t it?” he answers, swallowing down a gulp of beer, turning to look at you.

“I’m hitting that wall, too.” you answer, meeting the eyes of his girlfriend, Lyla. She sends you a sympathetic look as she squeezes Sam’s arm, giving him the little bit of reassurance he needs. “S’been a shit few weeks.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, instead pursing his lips together and slowly nodding his head as he peers down into his empty glass. Everyone knows better than to indulge you in your misery at this point, vowing not to pick at the festering wound. It’s still fresh and you’re still too volatile.

“Well, we’re going to your happy place, right?” Lyla asks with a hopeful smile.

“Yeah, yeah we are,” you answer, taking another long pull of Whiskey. It was clear she didn’t know the reason it made you happy in the first place was because of the memories you made there with the person no longer around.

You turn your head ready to fall into those memories you’ve been pushing away for weeks, but fate has other plans as you spot your production team walking towards the boarding gate. They look frantic as they talk to each other, their eyes flicking up and down from their phones in their hands. Paul, your band Manager leads the group, finally slipping his phone into his pocket as he spots the gate. Next to him is Corrine, the Production Manager talking on the phone, balancing it between her ear and shoulder as she follows Paul. Wes, the Tour Manager continues to talk to Paul as they step into the waiting area, but behind him is someone you don’t recognize.

She’s looking down at her phone, unaware that Wes has come to an abrupt stop in front of her. She runs into him just enough that it gets his attention, a profuse apology falling from her mouth. You laugh a little at the exchange, wondering who this girl is, and why she is with your team. She’s dressed like the rest of them, casual, but still comfortable for a day of travel. A slouchy white long sleeve shirt, a little too thin for the cold January weather, a brown leather backpack, worn and well loved, and a pair of olive green pants that hug her ass just a little too well for 10AM on a Thursday morning. You find yourself unable to pull your eyes away from her, a magnetizing feeling sucking you in the longer you look at her. She laughs with Wes, a bright smile lighting up her face causing an unwelcome twinge in your chest. It’s when she fully turns though, allowing you to see her whole face through the curtain of tousled waves, that you find yourself needing to know who she is.

You swallow nervously, licking your bottom lip as you turn to Sam. “Who uh, who’s that?” you ask, nodding towards the group. “With Paul, Wes, and Corri?”

Sam turns around in his barstool, looking across the busy walkway to the group standing at the gate. “Oh, um…” he pauses, assessing the situation. “She’s with Paul, so that must be our new runner.”

“What happened to Lucy?” you ask, letting your eyes drift back to the mystery girl.

“She got engaged and moved to Scotland or some shit, I don’t remember. Ask Josh,” he laughs.

You hum, trying to remember the email thread where Paul’s new assistant was approved. What was her name…

“You know her name?” Lyla asks, looking at Sam.

Yes, Lyla. Yes.

“Um, I think it’s….Y/N. Yeah, yeah, Y/N,” he answers confidently, snapping his fingers as he speaks.

“So she’s the new Lucy…” you hum, flipping your sunglasses down over your eyes.

“Guess so. We’ll see if she can hack it,” he laughs, sliding his card to the bartender.

You turn back to look at her, this time your eyes concealed. She is rocking back and forth on her feet, looking around as she hugs her arms across her chest. She seems nervous, pushing her hair behind her ears every few minutes. You’re positively taken by her, unable to peel your eyes away from her every move. You can’t help but study her, and you briefly wonder if it's the alcohol rushing through your brain that has you so focused on her.

The gate agents’ voice blaring through the intercom system snaps you from your thoughts, announcing that your flight was ready to begin boarding. You look to Sam, who is signing the check, and nod your head in silent agreement that you should head over. You toss back the rest of your Whiskey, letting out a sigh as it warms your chest. You grab your black leather backpack and sling it over your shoulders, straightening out your shirt before following Sam across the walkway to the gate. With your glasses still down, you step into the waiting area, watching people line up around you.

Josh, Ty, Mia, and Daniel appear behind you, startling you a bit as you fumble around in your pocket for your boarding pass. Their conversation is loud and grating, but you tune them out. You check your seat assignment as you move forward in the line, repeating it in your head over and over so you don’t forget it. You try not to pay attention to the pretty mystery girl five people ahead of you, but you just can’t seem to take your eyes off of her. You watch her disappear down the jet bridge as she talks to Paul, and before you can even register it, it’s your turn and the gate agent is scanning your ticket. She sends you on your way with a smile, and as you make the long walk to the plane you wonder if the girl in the green pants is going to make this tour just a little bit more interesting.

—

HER POV

3E. 3E. 3E.

Your eyes scan the row of numbers at the top of the cabin, finally catching sight of your assigned seat. You slide into the aisle seat, tossing your backpack to the floor as you let out a sigh of relief. You made it in one piece. You weren’t late, and everyone seemed to like you so far.

You take a look around you, admiring the plush seats and ample legroom. You’d never flown first class before. You felt a little out of place as you looked at the people around you. Thankfully it was filled with team members you knew, and the band members and their partners, but still you knew you didn’t belong up here. You kicked your bag beneath the seat in front of you, pulling your shirt sleeves over your hands before reaching up to adjust the air vents that were blowing far too hard. A small shiver left your body as you spun the vents closed, sitting back comfortably in your seat as you waited to see who your seat partner would be.

Your phone buzzed on your lap, a text from your best friend lighting up your screen.

Ruth

10:57am: How many hours is the flight again?

You smile as you quickly text back, running the numbers in your head.

You

10:58am: I don’t know, like 7 or 8 hours? You’ll be fine. Read a book or something. I’ll text you when I get there. But it will be late…or early? I think? There is a big time difference.

Ruth

10:59am: Ok, be careful.

You lock your phone and shove it under your leg, your eyes darting to the aisle as more people pass you on their way to their seats. You couldn’t believe your first leg of tour with them was taking you across Europe, allowing you to see places you’d only dreamed about. It wasn’t the job you were worried about, you could do that in your sleep. It was the uncertainty of being in another country with people you didn’t really know.

Getting to know the bands you worked for was a precarious thing. Always walking the thin line between friend and employee. You knew your place though, and you knew where that boundary lied. Your eyes refocus as someone stops in front of you, dropping their hands. As you look up you see Jake, one of the band members staring back at you.

“I’m…right there,” he says, gently pointing to the seat next to you.

“Oh, right here?” you ask, genuinely curious how you were seated next to a band member and not with a crew member.

“3F? That’s what this says…” he asks, checking his boarding pass. You nod and stand, letting him slide into the seat. He drops his leather backpack to the ground with a thud, letting out a sigh of relief, much in the same way you had.

You resettle in your own seat, buckling your seatbelt and pulling it tight across your lap. Your heart is still pounding as you try to calm your nerves, suddenly feeling put on the spot next to your boss. Or– your boss's boss. Shit.

You realize that you know practically nothing about this band, about its members, and really even much of their music beyond their hits. You planned to spend most of this flight acquainting yourself with them, learning their likes and dislikes before making a fool out of yourself in front of them in the green room. You don’t know if you should speak to him, and truthfully you’re a little hesitant since that day at the office, catching him and Josh in an argument.

You didn’t even know they would be there as you went in to sign your paperwork, but to your surprise they were, standing in the middle of the office playing around on instruments and talking. You made a beeline straight for the management office, mostly unseen, and quickly signed your paperwork. Paul went over some of the timelines and the things you would be responsible for as you took detailed notes on your phone, not wanting to miss a single thing.

Though, all of that came to a screeching halt as the sound of a chair skidding forcefully across the concrete floors pulled you both from your conversation. From your seat you watched through the small office door as two men moved towards each other, while two more intervened to break up whatever was about to happen.

You then learned from Paul that the two people that were arguing were the twins, Jake and Josh, and that the other two were their younger brother Sam, and their honorary brother Daniel. You observed in shock as the two of them shouted profanities at each other from either side of the piano, both red faced and worked up over something.

Paul quickly walked you out the front door with an apology and a laugh, and that was the last you saw of the band and its members, until today.

Out of the corner of your eye, you try to get a good look at him without him noticing. First impressions have always been a big deal to you, and since your first impression of him was nothing short of off-putting, you decide to try again. Give him the benefit of the doubt.

Worn-in black pants, cuffed at the ankle, a wrinkled beige button up that only conceals half his torso, a thick dark navy overcoat, and a stack of heavy silver necklaces. Oh, and blue-tinted sunglasses. His cologne… now that will be sticking around in your mind for a while. Clean, woodsy, a hint of musk but still kind of sweet.

You hear him clear his throat as he fidgets with his things, putting them all in their places as he finally settles into his seat. He reaches down into his black leather bag that appears to be well-loved, and pulls out a set of wired earbuds. They’re tangled and bunched, and you can’t help but smirk as you watch him try to untangle them. His fingers pull through the twisted white wires, and before you can offer your help, he reluctantly tosses them back down on top of his unzipped bag. “Fuck it,” you hear him mumble under his breath. He huffs again and leans back, tapping his fingers anxiously on his arm rests.

You let yourself drift back into your own thought as the plane takes off, going over the hundreds of miniscule things you know you’ll have to accomplish as soon as the plane lands. It’s quiet in first class, something you aren't used to with flying on the regular. The peacefulness that comes along with the drone of the plane and the light conversation between everyone is almost enough to help you relax a little, if not for the damned cool air still blowing through the vent above you.

You shiver a little, cuffing your hands over the ends of your shirt to pull it in more closely to your body. Why you had chosen to forgo a heavier jacket in the middle of winter, you truly don’t know. You decide to distract yourself a little, pulling up the string of endless emails that lie in waiting on your phone, getting a nice head-start on your duties before you have to hit the ground running.

Jake has been sitting beside you quietly for about an hour now, alternating scrolling his phone every few minutes and looking out his window. The cloud cover is heavy, so being able to see even a glimpse of the ocean below you is a lost cause. You listen as he sighs, crossing one of his legs over the other and folding his hands in his lap.

Should you strike up conversation? No, he probably doesn’t care to speak to you. But is it rude not to? You’ve already been sitting here for over an hour…

Just as you decide to open your mouth to speak, the plane hits turbulence. The cabin shakes and rumbles, and you can feel your stomach fall. Your hands grip the arm rests with white knuckles as the plane passes through, your eyes gripping shut as tightly as your palms on the arm rests.

Finally, after what feels like forever the plane evens out again, and you hear the pilot come over the intercom to apologize. You finally let the breath you were holding free from your lungs, and you open your eyes to see Jake with his head leaned low in front of you.

“You okay?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just…don’t really enjoy this part much.” you admit, running your sweaty palms over your pants.

He sits back in his seat once he notices your calmness return. “Me neither, to be honest. No matter how many times you hit turbulence on a plane, you never get used to it. I don’t care what people say.” he says with a sweet smile. You can tell that he was coming down from an anxious episode just the same as you.

“No joke…” you agree, suddenly wanting a drink even if it was before noon. You push the tiny hairs away from your face as you regain a hold on your bearings, picking up right where you had left off before the turbulent air sent you into a spiral of doom. “I–I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before, my name’s–”

“Y/N.” he cut in, extending the tips of his fingers out to offer you a friendly handshake.

You let your hand slowly come up to meet his, suddenly uncaring that it was probably still clammy. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you.”

For the five seconds your bodies connect, and the even shorter few seconds that his honey brown eyes meet yours, you feel like you were worried for nothing. This guy is nice. Maybe he’ll be easier to talk to than you thought…

His hand disconnects and flies to his chest. “I’m Jake.”

You nod. Of course you already know his name. “Yeah, um…guitar. Right?”

He smiles harder this time. “Yup. That’s my forte, at least. Have you um, ever been to Europe?” He brushes his hand over his nose a few times as his eyes dart back and forth from the seat behind you and back to your face, unable to hold eye contact. Is he nervous?

You turn your body a little more toward him. “No, actually. This is my first time. But I hear good things…”

“Oh shit, you’re gonna love it. Especially this time of year. Things move pretty fast when we get there, but we always try to explore as much as possible. See some sights.” You can tell that he’s truly excited about this excursion, and to be completely honest, you found yourself wanting to hang on his every word.

“Anything in particular?” you press, wanting to hear the gritty rich sound of his voice again.

You let him talk on and on about the places he wants to see, and the places that they had already been, even bringing up a few older photos on his phone as he describes their past trips. You try not to look as he scrolls, but his camera roll is full of tons of scenic photos and videos, landscapes, mountains, waterfronts… and of course a few rogue photos of guitars and guitar parts. You wonder if he’s planning to make little vlogs.

“Italy is my favorite, I think. So much history there. I could’ve stayed for six months if they’d have let me.” Your shoulders are pressed up against each others’ now as you watch his thumb glide over the multitude of media, speeding through the less important ones to get to his favorites. Strange of him to trust a stranger this much to watch him scroll his personal camera roll. He obviously doesn’t have much to hide, even if this is crossing that boundary line…

“The people are great, the food is great, the wine, oh god, don’t get me started on the wine…” he chuckles, and you feel yourself bumping your shoulder against his a little as you laugh along with him. “The terroir is fuckin’ phenomenal, obviously. It’s like a different world.”

“I like a moscato every now and then.” You add, trying to throw in your two cents on your crumbs of wine knowledge.

He returns with a scrunched nose. “Hmm, a bit sweet for my taste…So, Y/N. What’s your story, how’d you end up with us?” he asks, switching to cross his other leg over, now.

You swallow, unsure of how to explain years’ worth of ups and downs you’d gone through to a rockstar. Your boss. You decide to keep it short and sweet, he didn’t need to know everything.

“Well, I spent my entire youth attending a small private school and private high school, so I came up quite the determined and disciplined kid. Kinda sheltered.” You turn again in your seat, tucking one leg up underneath you. “But, I ended up moving away from home and away from family, been in this business for almost, eh, six years now?” You go on, and he listens intently. “Guess you could say I’m a pro at making things happen out of thin air.” You give him a long wink as you snap your fingers together.

His eyebrows shoot up, and he finally gives you a hundred-watt smile. My god, he’s…

“A-ha, so you got all the good hookups, huh?” He asks, running his fingers over his chin as his cheeks turn the palest shade of pink.

“S’what the runner does, isn’t it?” You pull your eyes back down to your lap. “Get you everything you need, right when you need it?”

You bring your eyes back up to his and watch as he swallows hard, his mouth hanging open for just a split second before he catches himself. “Yeah, ehm, I suppose it is. We’re not too bossy, though. Josh can be, but.”

“So I’ve heard, he’s kind of a…diva?” You hadn’t done too much research on them, honestly. You hadn’t had the time. But, what few tiktoks and musics videos you had managed to see were fairly telling of their personalities.

“He is. He is.” Jake laughs. “Don't let him fool you, though. He’s a big softie with an attitude problem. We all kind of are, honestly.”

“You’re a softie?” You press with a teasing tone. “From the few videos I’ve seen of you playing guitar, you look a little intimidating…”

“Me? Intimidating?” He clicks his tongue. “Don’t believe everything you see on the internet, Y/N. It’s dangerous…” he growls the last word, and you can feel your insides ripping themselves apart just at the sound of his voice. You have to pull back, now.

“All the runners we’ve ever had did extensive research on us before they came on tour, did you not do that?” he inquires, throwing you off a bit.

You don’t really know how to answer, so you tell the truth. “Honestly Jake, no, I didn’t. I’ve toured with a few other bands in my career, and I did that. I researched them, learned all things I thought I needed to know so I didn’t go in blind. And, this time around, I did a little bit, but I kind of wanted to meet you all for myself. Get my own versions of you.”

“Hm.” He responds with an understanding nod. “Well, you’ll be the first.”

“Speaking of,” you go on, candidly glancing around the cabin and deciding to go ahead and ask the question that’s been nagging you. “Everyone else is seated with someone, wonder why I’m not with the rest of the team.”

“What, you don’t wanna sit by me, Y/N?” he asks with a shred of a grin.

“No no, it’s not that.” you laugh. “Just—“

“Normally I have someone with me, but…we’ve recently…gone our separate ways, I suppose.” He trips over the words a little, stammering through them like it was the first time he’d admitted it.

“Oh… I see.” you pause, “That’s…never an easy thing.”

I wonder if that was why he was so snippy that day at the office when you saw him fall off his rocker?

“Eh, s’alright. Win some, lose some. We had a good run.” He says as he waves off the question. “So, you say you’ve been doing this awhile, you must really miss whoever you’re leaving at home.”

Skating around the question, aren’t you, Jake?

“No, I’m single, if that’s what you’re asking.” You bite your lip as he doesn’t stop you from elaborating further. “I’m pretty independent, I like structure and uniformity. Growing up I wasn’t allowed much time on my own to have hobbies outside of school and practice. Strict parents. The job has kept me pretty adhered to that mindset, even in my personal life, so.”

His eyes flick to yours and he squints them a little, as if he’s collecting every single one of your words and hanging them in a closet in his mind. He’s trying his best to figure you out, you can see it on his face. But why? He shouldn’t care…you don’t matter.

“I can respect that.” He nods again. “My brothers and I, we grew up in a fairly religious household. Was great, don’t get me wrong. Really formed our roots but, as we got older and started to see the world, we kinda got away from it. Began to start seeing things in a different perspective.” He sucks his teeth, as if he’s recounting a hard memory. “Kinda why we moved to Nashville. We knew we had to break away if we wanted the band to be successful.”

You nod in understanding. “I mean, it worked, didn’t it?”

His laugh fills the cabin as it bounces off the walls, a sweet chuckle that makes your heart rate pick up. You could listen to him laugh all day long.

“S’pose it did.”

“The fuck are you two over here laughing at, huh?” Suddenly Josh’s curls are squished between your seats, his cheeks pinched together as he speaks. “I’m trying to get some shut-eye but I can’t from all the babbling—”

Jake places his hand over entirety of his twin’s face, pressing him through and back into his own seat. “None of your business, fuck off.”

You laugh at their antics, knowing in the back of your mind that you had better get used to it. You feel the air kick on again, fiercely blowing the freezing cold air directly onto you. You shiver a little, balling yourself up and pulling your sleeves closely in toward you again.

“You want my jacket?” Jake asks, already starting to pull it from his shoulders.

“No! No no no, thank you, but I’m fine, really.” The last thing you need is that right off that bat. A bad look. Day one. Nope.

“Seriously, I run naturally hot. Take it.” He replies.

“Oh yeah? Hence all your layers?” You tease, repositioning in your seat.

“It’s a fashion statement, thank you very much.” He bites. “All about comfort for me.”

Gotta change the subject.

“So tell me something I should know about your brothers. Something that would give me brownie points if I wanted to say…impress them with my craft service skills…” you press, giving him a new challenge.

“Wow um, let’s see…” he brings his fingers to his chin and thinks hard, and you can’t help but feel endeared by the fact that he truly wants to help you out. “Josh stays away from chocolate and dairy and sweets and all that, but his guilty pleasure is those cotton candy flavored grapes. Weird, I know.”

“Oh my god, those are so nasty!” you laugh, but still take note.

“Danny would be over the moon if you surprised him with salsa verde Doritos, and Sam drinks kombucha more than the normal human should.” he finishes with a stern nod.

“Got it. I think I can make most of that happen, aside from the grapes…”

“He would kiss you right on the lips, I’m telling you.” Jake giggles again, and you notice how he lights up when he talks about them.

“So Josh is the dramatic softie, what about the other two?” you ask.

“Sam’s kinda serious but he’s playful when he wants to be. Sneaky, too. Daniel’s always into something, always busy. Man doesn’t like to sit still,” he concludes, and you commit it all.

“And what about you?” you ask, feeling your stomach flip for some reason.

“I thought you said you wanted to get your own versions of us,” he quipped back, parroting your words from earlier. Damn, you had said that.

You toss your hair behind your shoulder. “I did but…You’ll tell me all about them, but not about yourself?”

He crunches his lips together as his eyes scan your face. It makes you a little uncomfortable, how hard he’s really looking at you, but you let him. Stopping him would be a sin you weren’t ready to commit just yet.

“That’s right.”

The two of you drift off into silence again as the minutes tick by, thankfully not being embarrassingly interrupted by Josh anymore. You decide that you want to listen to some music, so you reach into the pocket of your bag and pull out your AirPods, slipping the left one in first followed by the right. You pull up your music and begin flipping through your playlists, searching for something to match the relaxed tone of the hour. Truly, you feel like you could easily drift off to sleep.

You find a nice quiet playlist and curl up in your seat, halfway reluctant you didn’t take Jake’s jacket, but also proud of yourself for saying no. You’re fucking freezing.

You turn your head to the side and close your eyes, ready to drift off into another world.

You’re jolted awake by turbulence, the plane shaking again as you wake up and get your bearings. “Shit,” you breathe as you sit up straighter, remembering exactly where you are. You notice that in your slumber, your head had fallen against Jake’s shoulder. Fuck. Fuck fuck.

The turbulence only lasts a few seconds before it evens out again, and the calmness returns to your body. You glance at Jake, seeing him looking a little drowsy and shaken, too.

“Jake, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, why didn’t you wake me? I—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I kinda dozed off, too,” he replies, stretching his arms high above his head without a care…not like he didn’t just have a stranger asleep with her head on his shoulder.

You look down, noticing that in the time you had drifted off, Jake had covered you with his coat.

You panic, scrambling a little as you work to pull it from your body before anyone notices.

His hands are quickly on yours, stopping your action. “Leave it, Y/N. You were shivering in your sleep…you can’t tell me you aren’t cozy right now…” his voice is barely a whisper, and the warmth of his hands grazing overtop of yours, even for a second, is enough to give you a whole other type of chill.

“Yeah, I—I am warm…” you can’t deny that your body temperature has increased by at least a couple of degrees, and your fingers don’t feel like they’re going to get frostbite anymore. The jacket is heavy, heavier than it looks, and it smells like fresh pine needles and woodsy body soap. Just like…him?

“See?” he growls, backing away. “Just stay put.”

Stay put? You want to bite back with something that will put him in his place; you explicitly told him you didn’t want his jacket, and he covered you anyway. While you were unconscious. While you couldn’t turn down the offer.

…But you’re so warm, now. Your tense muscles are finally relaxing. The frigidity of the space has suddenly turned into a toasty furnace with a crackling fire.

Okay, but just until we land…

“What are you listening to?” Jake asks as he stretches again. You turn your phone for him to see, showing a generic playlist of Peaceful Sleep Songs lighting up your lock screen.

“Agh, no, what is that shit?” Jake snatches your phone from your hand, quickly flipping the screen to unlock with your face before he begins shuffling through your playlists.

“What are you doing?!” you yelp, reaching for your phone back. He raises his free hand to the air, stopping you from taking it.

“Aht aht… I’m finding you something better to listen to. Don’t worry about it.” You suddenly hear the quiet music in your ears switch to something else, something you knew for a fact you hadn’t ever heard before. You give it a second as he turns the volume up a few notches, and you realize that it is most definitely brand new to you.

It’s a solemn, tense-feeling piano beat, followed in by guitar. Lyrics only come in after a minute and a half or so. It sounds like growling, deep and hollow and a bit scary, but beautiful nonetheless. He’s watching your face as you experience it, quickly pressing pause as the song comes to a close.

“What was that?” you ask, realizing you had really enjoyed it.

“That was a song called Intro, by Alt-J. I know you’ve heard of Alt-J.” he says as he goes back to work on the phone.

You slowly shake your head from side to side. “Can’t say I have, actually.”

His jaw goes slack as his eyebrows raise in disbelief. “What? Like, never?”

You feel your cheeks turning pink at the thought of a literal rockstar calling you out on your lack of music knowledge.

“I don’t think so! That’s not what I normally listen to…don’t judge me,” you laugh, reaching for your phone again.

He swats your hand away. “Ohh no, little fledgling. You’re listening to this. This is the good shit…” he presses play again as a twinkling high-pitched voice comes through your ears. It’s just jumbled words, no backing music or tune. The acapella strikes you as strange at first, until the end when it changes tone a bit, and it’s almost as if the lyrics are giving you advice you didn’t ask for. Warning you of something new and exhilarating, or better yet, dangerous and foreboding. It almost feels as if a black cloud has overcome you, only for a split second, letting you feel the nonexistent pokes and pinches that come along with the emotion of worry.

The song flows directly into another now, one layered with a lot more sound, and it pulls you from that odd headspace the previous had put you in. You lean over the armrest, looking at the screen to see the title Tessellate. You’ve never heard anything like this kind of music before, and you wonder why Jake chose this particular artist.

“This is one of their more popular ones, like radio popular, but it’s still one of my favorites on this album. Here in a second you’ll hear it slow down—”

You stop him by pulling your right earbud out, shoving it in his hand. “Shh, you can talk me through the songs later. Let me listen.”

He shuts his mouth, giving you a sweet grin as he takes the bud, placing it in his own ear and pressing play again. You continue on through the album, each song something brand new to you, a genre you’d really never delved into but wish you had, now. It’s enthralling, different, and full of sounds that make your mind sway and swim through mixtures of color and gray.

You watch as Jake’s fingers tap along exactly with the beat of each song perfectly, down to a tee. The words don’t make much sense to you, and you can hardly distinguish what the singer is saying, but you know that Jake will give you a rundown of it all as soon as time allows him. You don’t know much about him, but his persistence is already apparent. You glance to see his eyelashes hitting his cheeks, his head barely bobbing side to side as he feels the music. You find yourself envious that he can draw inspiration and act on it, turning it into art of his own, whereas all you can do is sit back and listen to it.

Every couple of minutes he perks up from his meditation and adds new songs from their other albums onto the little playlist he’s started for you. You can’t quite make out what he’s titled it, but you can tell it's an emoji of some sort. His thumb flips and flies with precision across your screen as he scrolls and adds songs, and you have to admit, you’re a little excited to get your phone back and learn just what he’s creating for you. Especially for you.

You take a quick deep breath as you recenter yourself, catching your eyes drifting over his hand as he grips your phone. The veins in his hand roll over his knuckles, and you can just barely see the scuffed and calloused ends of his fingertips. Dial it the fuck back Y/N, remember the rules.

“Oooh, this is another one of my favorites,” he remarks, his mouth fairly close to your ear as he tries not to raise his voice over the volume of the music. He turns the screen a little so you can see the title, Taro. “You haven’t— You didn’t come to any of our shows last year by chance, did you?”

You feel a big pang of guilt shoot through your chest, remembering that you had actually been invited by some friends to see them way back when, but you’d turned the invitation down, not knowing who they even were at the time. You shake your head from side to side. “No, I didn’t.”

“This is one of the ones we play to the crowd before we go on. We all love it, it’s a sad, sad love tale based on true events. That’s the cool thing about this group, their lyrics are never really about what you think they are. They’re storytellers, a bit like Josh is, if you think about it. Their themes and over arcs are just…mind blowing sometimes.” Jake’s voice is a tiny murmur in your ear as your shoulders lean on one another’s again, still very taken with the music flowing through your ear. “We grab a lot of inspo from them, sonically and melodically…” You can feel his breath on your cheek, and you find yourself wondering what it would taste like…

“Here, read along with the lyrics. Try not to cry.” He hands your phone back, letting you keep up with the words floating down your screen. And he’s right, it’s heartbreaking without even knowing the context.

“Wow…That was really beautiful,” you choke, realizing the depth of the story of the song.

“Yep. Good shit, I told you.” He whips his hand around and takes the phone back as the next song comes in and warms your bones up again. You can feel the bare skin of his elbow brushing against yours, realizing that he was telling the truth about being naturally warm-bodied. Suddenly you don’t feel so bad about cuddling up under his coat.

He opens your contacts app and adds himself, placing the sword emoji beside his name. He smirks as he hands the phone back.

“Added your phone number, huh?” you ask rhetorically.

He sucks his teeth as he cracks his fingers. “Yep. How else will I let you know what I might need? Plus, never know when you might need to call me.”

—

You watch the signs overhead illuminate, a gentle tone ringing through the cabin as the Captain starts to make an announcement. You pause the song and pull your AirPod out, watching Jake do the same.

“Hey folks, this is your Captain speaking. Just want to let you know we will be landing in Hamburg shortly. I’d expect to be on the ground in the next ten minutes or so, putting us about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, so sit tight and we’ll have you on the ground in a few. Attendants please prepare for arrival.”

You turn to look at Jake, shrugging as you slide your AirPod back into the case. He raises his eyebrows and drops his jaw. “But we aren’t done! Wait! Hold on!”

He grabs your phone again, and from what you can see he is adding more songs to your playlist. You watch as he scrolls through various different albums by different artists, adding songs as quickly as he can. You smirk as you catch sight of the emoji he’s chosen, the chick icon, a playful nod at his earlier fledgling comment. He peeks over at you every few seconds, trying his best to hurry so you can pack up your things, but in a last effort you watch as he adds himself as a collaborator to the playlist.

You raise an eyebrow to him as he hands your phone back to you, shrugging with a soft laugh. You feel your insides swirl at the sight of his smile, and you turn your eyes to your phone scrolling through the songs on the playlist. You turn back to him and nod, a silent agreement that you will listen just as you feel the plane starting to land.

“I wanna keep adding songs for you to listen to, fledgling. If you want me to, of course…”

You nod. “Of course I do. School away, Jake,” you reply with an air of playful annoyance.

He chuckles. “I plan to.”

As you brace for the landing you grip your hands into the arm rests, letting go of the soft worn in corduroy fabric you’d been playing with for the last hour. Your eyes squint closed as the plane touches down, jolting everyone forward in their seats. Jake grabs his phone as the plane slows down, flashing his screen at you to show a local time of 12:13AM.

“I see some jet lag in our future,” you smile, sliding his jacket off of your arms. You fold it the best you can and hand it back to him, almost sad you have to give it back to him. “Thanks again for that.”

“Oh yeah, no problem.” He accepts it graciously from you, letting out a soft breath as he unfolds it and slides it back over his shoulders. It fits his personality well, soft and sturdy, worn in and weathered. He flips his hair out from beneath the collar, a barely there smell of peppermint passing through the air. You pull your gaze away from him just as you see his cheeks start to blush from your gaze. You lock your phone and stick it into your backpack at your feet, wondering how in such a short amount of time Jake has managed to infiltrate your thoughts so completely.

JAKE POV

As she turns to grab her bag you open your phone, tapping on the notification that she has added you to her playlist. You accept the invitation with a sly smile before sliding your phone back into your coat pocket. It smells like her now, soft and floral, very different than anything you were used to. Your mind was already circling with things you wanted to add to that playlist when you got a minute, finding it was harder than you thought to think of songs on the fly.

The first few rows begin to file out of the plane and you watch as Paul stands and turns to look at Y/N, motioning to her to meet up with him after she got off the plane. She nods her head and slides her backpack straps over her shoulders, waiting for her turn to stand.

“For jet lag…You know…Um, Benadryl,” you offer, your voice a little soft and unsure.

She turns to look at you, pinching her brows together in question.

“When you get to your room tonight, take a Benadryl. Should knock you out until the morning and help you get on a normal schedule. Works for me, at least.” you finish, nodding to her as the people in front of you stand to leave.

“Thanks, Jake.” She smiles and nods, sliding out of her seat to walk down the aisle.

You watch her as she walks up the jet bridge towards the gate, seeing Paul waiting for her in the doorway. The two walk together through the airport, finding it fairly quiet at this hour as most of the flights have landed for the night. You push your sunglasses down onto your nose just as you feel Josh walking up behind you.

He gives you a gentle nudge in the side to get your attention. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Easy flight,” you answer, still listening and catching bits and pieces of whatever Paul is saying to Y/N, prepping her for the hotel check in and details for the morning. She is typing notes on her phone as she walks, barely looking where she is going, clearly trusting Paul to look out for her more than she should.

You tune out Josh as he rambles on about the flight, Ty jumping in every few words with a retort or a laugh. Your eyes don’t seem to leave her though, watching her talk, watching her walk, shit, just watching her. You can’t seem to shake it. You’d never met anyone like her before. Someone you were so instantly taken with. You wanted to know every single detail about her.

You feel Josh’s hand as it comes up to your chin, pressing it upward and forcing your jaw shut. “There, you seemed to have dropped that.”

You turn to him angrily, knowing what he’s insinuating, giving him a hard elbow to the arm. “Fuck off, Josh.”

He laughs and pushes you with his shoulder, readjusting his backpack on his other shoulder. “Just an observation, that’s all. Can’t say I blame you, though.”

“Oh are you talking about Jake and Y/N?” Sam interjects, stepping up on your right side in a lanky stride.

Josh nods, laughing slightly, wanting to keep this banter going. Asshole.

“Can you two knock it off, fuck,” you growl, hoping she can’t hear them. Your eyes are locked in on her again, and much to your relief she is talking to Paul and can’t hear a word they’re saying.

“He didn’t shut up the entire flight. Lots of whispering and giggles from up there. I didn’t sleep at all. But I did hear his monologue about the genius of Alt-J for the fourth time this year.” Josh quips, earning a laugh from everyone around you.

“Fuck you again, Josh,” you spit, annoyed at his lack of respect.

“Damn, so you’re trying to scare her away, then?” Sam teases, giving you a sideways grin.

You shake your head and push past them forcefully as you step off the escalator into baggage claim, not wanting to engage in this conversation a second longer. Especially because you were afraid they might be right.

—

“Shit, not again,” Danny mumbles as you all approach the baggage claim area, immediately noticing a group of fans obviously waiting for your arrival. You take a deep, preparational breath as you can’t help but run into them on your path to the carousel.

“Let’s just get it over with,” you hear Josh complain as he puts on his faux-happy face. You all love meeting fans. Truly, watching their faces light up when they see you is something that is unparalleled. But coming off of a long flight and already feeling the effects of the time difference, starving, and ready for a drink usually puts all of you in a mood that is generally irked overall. But you always suck it up; this is the life you signed up for.

This time though, unlike most encounters with fans, is enough to make your general irritation quickly turn into intense aggravation. They swarm you, hugging and pulling and invading your spaces in an extremely unwelcome attempt at meeting each of you. You feel surrounded, and unable to get to your luggage in time before it rounds the carousel again. You keep your cool, just as you always do, curtly smiling and pulling away as your body instructs you to. You pause for quick photos as your eyes search the spinning luggage again. You see your brothers out of the corners of your eyes doing the same… quick ‘hellos’ and ‘nice to meet you’s’ as the crowd just seems to get bigger and bigger.

Just as your eyes finally fall on your suitcase, you hear a loud clack as you turn and notice someone has knocked Sam’s phone out of his hand. It lands face down on the tile floor, likely cracked and scuffed from the people crowding around you all. You watch as Sam’s face turns up in annoyance, his eyes closed as he composes himself.

“Okay, that’ll be enough!” You hear Dean, your security, bellow across the crowd. “Please step away, no more photos, no more photos…” Dean makes his way into the center of group, quickly dispersing them. You give Sam a quick look that says, ‘get your phone, let’s go’, and soon enough you’re rolling your suitcase through the middle of the crowded room.

You see Y/N in the crowd, finding her to be a little flustered from the encounters, but alright nonetheless. You lock eyes with her as she mouths, ‘Are you okay?’, and you nod her off with a look of, ‘Yeah, this happens all the time.’

Your team is surrounding you as you quickly walk through the hallway toward the exit, ready to hop into an unmarked van and zip away to your hotel. You’re still being followed as you make it through the back exit doors.

When you’re finally safe outside the pickup area, everyone breathes a sigh of relief. “Fuck, that was a bad one.” Danny says. “Sam, how's your phone?”

“It’s ok, just a little scuff in the corner but it’ll be fine,” he answers, scanning his eyes over it.

“Guys, keep your phones on, Wes will be texting you tomorrow with where we’re headed next. Get some sleep and something to eat.” Paul instructs as everyone loads their things into the vans. Y/N is standing nearby, and you can tell that she feels a little out of place as she awkwardly crosses one ankle over the other. You take a quick opportunity to knock your elbow into her side, feeling comfortable enough to do that now that you’d sat together so long on the plane, but she’s avoiding eye contact. You hope she doesn’t feel uncomfortable around you.

“Hey, thanks for letting me jam a little with you on the plane,” you say sheepishly. “Sorry if I overstepped any, but I really think you’ll like the music I added for you.”

Finally her composure opens a little. “No, no! You didn’t… overstep. I’m actually excited to hop in my big cozy hotel bed and listen again.” Her words make your stomach fall with nerves, but you quickly suppress it.

“Y/N, you ready?” you hear Wes ask her as he passes by, heading toward another van.

“Yep, all set!” she answers as she follows him through the dwindling group. She hops into another van, and you worry she’ll be staying at another hotel. For a second you think you won’t see her as much if she is. You climb inside the van and slam the door closed behind you, seeing the group of fans with their phones pressed to the windows of the airport. You plop back down into the middle seat beside Josh, and finally take a full breath of relief.

“Fuck! I swear to god if I’m getting sick again…” Josh says as he bangs his head against the headrest behind him. You scoot sideways on the van’s bench seat, staying as far away from him as you can.

“Are you serious?!” Danny says from the seat behind you. “You need a mythical medicine man or some shit.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine, just feel a little congested. I’ll send Y/N out on her first mission for some meds after we get settled in the hotel.” Josh answers, and you keep yourself pressed against the van’s window, purposefully turning your back to him. Can’t have that again. You realize, though, that of course she’ll be in the same hotel as you, management always is.

The vision of a worried Y/N replays in your mind, seeing her face full of concern as the fans did all but ambush you earlier. You shake the thought, suddenly having a realization that, most likely, everyone else is having, too.

“I think we should amp up security,” you blurt. “No offense to Dean, but he’s only one guy. There are more than ten of us…” you’re met with a little bit of silence, so you press on. “Just while we’re over here, at least. We’re going to be separated a lot, and I think it would be a good idea if Dean wasn’t being pulled in all different directions.”

“Don’t you think we should have thought of that before we got over here, Jake?” Josh counters.

“I’ve actually been thinking it for a while. Today just…made me feel like it’s necessary, now,” you respond quietly. What could it hurt? You have the funds, and a few extra eyes on you and your team couldn’t be a bad thing.

You hear a collective sigh from your brothers, until Sam finally speaks. “Yeah, I kinda felt a little overwhelmed when I dropped my phone and it got kicked away from me. First world problems, I know, but—”

“But someone could have picked it up, and ran off with it. Gotten access to your private information. Stepped on it and shattered it. We’re probably just paranoid, but I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a bad idea…” you suggest.

“I like the idea.” Josh adds. “Wish we would have talked about it sooner, but I’m sure Paul could get something arranged for us. Those security companies are always looking for overseas gigs.”

“Daniel, you agree?” you ask, twisting your body to the backseat.

“Yeah, I do, actually,” he decides.

“Good. It’s settled, then. We’ll talk to Paul first thing in the morning,” you say, happy with your decision of bringing it up. All you can see is a memory of Y/N’s scared face replaying over and over in your mind, and you just can’t seem to shake it.

You quickly curse yourself, you’re in no headspace to be worrying about a woman right now. You’ve gotta keep your head on straight. Tour hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already letting a new girl give you butterflies. You audibly scoff at yourself as you lean your elbow on the window, looking out at the bustling streets outside. You throw your earbuds in, letting the tangle of cords just be what it is, and you pull your phone out to switch the volume up. Of course, Alt-J pops onto your screen the second you look at it, and you wonder if she’s already listening to them, too.

The city lights are twinkling through the light drizzle of rain, and you finally feel your bones starting to settle into tiredness. Though your mind is racing with excitement to play shows, you let yourself ignore the thoughts and relax into the music blessing your ears. Some room service and a down comforter is calling your name.

—--

HER POV

The shrill sound of your hotel room telephone wakes you from a half-sleep. What the hell? What time is it? You don’t remember falling asleep, but the loud TV and the lights still illuminating the room signify you must have accidentally dozed off.

“Hello?” you answer, realizing that no matter the time, duty calls.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Paul. Sorry if I woke you…”

“No, you’re fine. I’m awake,” you lie.

“Cool. Um, Josh was wondering if you’d run to the pharmacy down the street and pick up the meds I just texted you. He said he would go get them himself, but he’s doing a lung steaming treatment or… something. I dunno. But if you don’t care, here’s your first assignment! I know it’s late, but the pharmacy is apparently open all night.”

You glance at your watch and see that it’s already nearing 1:00AM. “Sure! I don’t care at all. Tell him I’ll have them to him ASAP.”

“Will do. Hey, turn your location on for me and Wes, okay? Be safe, thanks again,” Paul hangs up the phone before you can say goodbye, and within seconds you’re crawling out of bed and putting your pants back on. Your stomach growls as you realize you fell asleep without eating anything. You make a plan to make a quick trip to the pharmacy, deliver Josh his medicine, then go back out to find something to eat before you end up eating the bag of peanuts you stuffed in your bag on the plane.

You take a second to check your messages, finding you have three unread messages from Ruth. In the mess and confusion of the day, and the time difference, you’ve been thrown for a loop. You shoot her a quick few texts to let her know you’re alive and well, but you leave out the sweet little detail that you’d shared AirPods with the guitarist of the band you’re touring with. You’d get into that part later.

The walk to the pharmacy is short, thankfully, and you find the things Josh needs without much of an issue at all. The city is still fairly crowded with people at this hour, and you make sure to track your steps backward just the way you came to get back to the hotel. Your stomach rumbles again, and the smells coming from the various restaurants around you have your head spinning with hunger.

A few quiet knocks on Josh’s hotel room door bring him to answer it within seconds, and his warm composure instantly makes you feel welcome. “Y/N! Thank you so much, seriously. I need to knock this shit out before it gets any worse, and I think you just saved the day,’ he gushes as you see clouds of steam pouring out of his cracked bathroom door, and smell the sweet scent of herbal fragrances as they waft through your nose. “You have any trouble finding the place? Google said it was close by…”

“Anytime, Josh. And no, actually. It was right around the corner,” you answer, handing him the bag of meds.

“Good. Well I won’t bother you again, you heading to sleep?” he asks with a warm tone.

You bite the inside of your lip as your stomach screams at you again. “No, I passed a little pub on my walk, and it smelled amazing as I walked by. Think I’m gonna go have a drink and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

“Go feed yourself, love. Enjoy the city. We’ve got a long day tomorrow!”

“Will do, see you tomorrow!” you say as he closes the door.

“Thanks again! See ya!”

You make your way to the elevator and down to the bottom floor, digging your phone out of your pocket to check your location and make sure the pub is still going to be open at this hour. A quick search for Le Marmitone tells you the kitchen doesn’t close for another hour, so you pick up your pace and head straight for the pub.

The wind and rain have picked up a little bit, and you thank yourself for adding a few layers on before you left your hotel room earlier. The cold air bites at your cheeks as you meander through the people still out walking the streets, and the smell of the food drifting on the wind draws you straight back to the pub. Upon entering the double doors, you find that it is actually a nice restaurant with a bar.

You grab a seat at the corner of the bar, glancing to the coolers and shelves to see what your drink options are.

“Evening madame, here is a menu. Can I get you a beverage?” a man in a sport coat asks as he hands you the shiny white menu. His accent is thick, but you can understand him fairly easily.

“Hello. Could I have a whiskey soda and a water, please?” you ask as you remove your heavy jacket and hang it over the back of the stool. You look over the menu choices and decide on a bowl of soup and a sandwich, more of a lunch option, but a steaming hot bowl of soup sounds exactly like what you need right now.

There are a few people still scattered throughout the restaurant, most closing their tabs and leaving for the night. There are a few patrons still at the bar, stuck in conversations with one another or watching whatever game is playing on the big screen.

The bartender sets your drinks in front of you as you tell him your food order, and you pull out your phone to begin fishing through emails and making your daily checklists. The Whiskey drink is strong, but not too strong, and you let yourself enjoy the immediate warmth it sends coursing through your veins.

You fill your stomach up as far as it will allow you, and you decide that one more drink probably won’t hurt, as the place doesn’t close up for another hour. You’re enjoying yourself, basking in the calm before the storm that is going to hit promptly at 10AM tomorrow.

“‘Scuse me, sir. I’ll take one more drink and my check, please,” you alert the bartender. He nods and turns to concoct your drink and print your tab. When he returns, he plops a bright red maraschino cherry onto the top.

“Gentleman at the end of the bar says this one is on him, ma’am.” He places the white slip of paper in front of you as he removes your dishes, and disappears. Your eyes slowly drift to the left, landing on an older gentleman who had been lingering at the end of the bar since you’d gotten here. His friends have since left, leaving him to finish off a few more rounds by himself.

He smiles hard when you notice him, and slides off his stool, stumbling his way toward you. You feel your heart rate pick up as he approaches you, and you remember that you do have mace in your purse, should you need it, Ruth’s one request.

“Hello, lovely. Enjoy that drink on me this evening,” he slurs with a heavy accent. He sits down in the stool beside you, and suddenly you’d rather not have that second drink, after all. You glance at the drink, and back to him, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable in his presence.

“Um, thank you, really. But I—I’ve actually got to go. It’s getting to be later than I thought…” you lie, pulling out some cash from your purse to pay the bill.

“Nonsense! Have the drink, beautiful. Tell me, where are you from? Your accent tells me it’s somewhere far away from here…” he presses, pushing the drink toward you. His hands are giant, and covered in dark hair. He has a beard of the same color that reaches almost down to his stomach, and you can smell the alcohol radiating from his breath.

“The States,” you say bluntly, avoiding eye contact with him as the bartender is nowhere to be found. You immediately kick yourself for not telling Dean where you had run off to, all by yourself. You know better than this.

“Obviously, sweetheart. But where?” he asks.

“Um, a small town, you’ve probably never heard of it,” you go on, beginning to pull your jacket on and leave the money on the bar top. Suddenly the man’s hand is on the back of the stool, holding it steady as you try to turn it.

“I’d like to hear all about it, love,” he growls, and you suddenly feel very intimidated. There is no one else around, no other patrons at the bar, you couldn’t feel the presence of another human or employee running about, and you contemplated making a run for it.

“I promise I’m not here to scare you, just talk. That’s all I’d like to do…” he goes on, backing his hand away from the chair as he notices your panic. Finally, the bartender makes his way back, but instead of taking your check, he continues cleaning and re-stocking for the night. You’re alone, and uncomfortable. Why did you do this to yourself?

Suddenly you remember that Jake put his number in your phone. You know you can’t get a hold of Dean at this hour, especially since you didn’t tell him you were going anywhere. You can’t make that bad of a first impression before your first day even really happens.

You quickly turn your attention to your phone, trying to figure out what to do, but then it hits you. You type in the name, taking a deep breath before sending Jake a risky text as a last ditch effort.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here alone, hmm?” the man asks as you turn away from him to type as quickly as you can.

You

1:47AM: Jake, are you awake?

Your foot taps nervously on the floor, the man next to you doing everything in his power to corner you into this seat. A text bounces back after a minute, and you feel your shoulders relax just a touch.

Jake 🗡

1:49AM: How did you get this number?

You

1:50AM: You put it in my phone today on the plane. Are you busy?

Jake 🗡

1:51AM: Oh, hey. No, I’m just getting ready to go to bed, why what’s up? You okay?

You

1:52AM: No. I don’t think so. I hate to ask this, I know it’s late. Is there any way you could come meet me? I left to get something to eat and didn't tell anyone and this guy here has me cornered into my seat and I don't think he is gonna let me leave alone.

Jake 🗡

1:53AM: Share your location, I’m leaving now.

You

1:54AM: Thank you. I owe you.

“Did you hear me sweetheart? I said, are you expecting someone?” the man asks, a sly grin on his face as he leans closer to you.

You quickly glance back down at your phone, sharing your location with Jake and hoping he can find you. You lock your phone and put it in your purse, pretending you’re a lot less anxious than you actually are.

“Actually, yes, I am. My…boyfriend is on his way. He’ll be here in just a second.” you lie, doing your best to speak confidently. “I should probably step outside to meet him.”

“No, no, stay, you haven’t touched your drink,” he says, gesturing to the glass of alcohol. “I know a place down the street, stays open late, too.”

You feel your skin start to grow clammy, the man's intentions suddenly becoming very clear. Your heart is pounding as you try to talk your way out of the situation. You clear your throat, and just as you start to speak you see the front door of the restaurant open. Jake steps inside, looking side to side, his eyes quickly scanning the entirety of the restaurant until he locks eyes with you.

He nods to the host at the door as he walks toward you, wearing the same clothes from earlier but now his hair is a little messier. You know he got out of bed to do this.

You instantly stand from your seat as Jake steps up, reaching towards him as he settles himself between you and the man.

“Hey baby, you finally made it,” you coo, your pleading eyes locked on Jake’s as he wraps his arm around your shoulder in a welcoming hug. You can smell him, the cologne lingering on his coat. The same coat that was wrapped around you only hours ago.

He pulls away and drops his arms to his side as you turn to him. You stare at him just a second longer, hoping he can hear the words you are screaming in your mind. He blinks and turns to look at the man before letting his eyes flick back to you.

“Yeah, yeah, of course babe, sorry I was late,” he pauses, turning to face the drunk man beside him. “Who is this?”

You let out a small breath of relief as he silently agrees to play along with you. “Oh, he came over from the bar. He sent this drink over, but I just can’t drink it. I already had one and you know I work in the morning,” you answer, hoping he is understanding what you’re trying to say. “Do you want it?”

He looks so effortless standing there with a hand in his jacket pocket. He tilts his head and scrunches his nose just a bit before answering, “Ahh, nah…It looks like a watered down well pour and I just had one myself before I got here. I’m alright. We should probably get going though, we have an early day tomorrow and it’s fairly late already.”

Yes.

“Oh, you two are terrible liars. He isn’t your boyfriend, is he sweetheart?” the man asks, scoffing at Jake. “You should come with me, I can show you the city better than this fool.”

“That’s an awfully brazen assumption, sir, I must say.” Jake argues, pulling his hand from his coat pocket and grabbing yours. You suck in a harsh breath feeling his fingers lace with yours. Fake or not, there was definitely a new feeling swirling through your veins.

“Look at her, she’s flustered. This woman hasn’t ever been touched by you. It’s written all over her face.” he continues, looking Jake over.

“Your boyfriend, your husband, he isn’t any of those things. I don’t see a ring on your finger, and I don’t know how they do things where you’re from, but in this country, you my dear, are fair game.”

You want to snap back. The audacity is astounding. You start to step forward, ready to lay into him, but you feel Jake’s hand squeeze yours and you know he’s telling you to follow his lead this time.

“She is with me, sir,” Jake spits. “And it would be in your best interest to back off.”

“Oh, is that right?” the man counters, standing up from his seat, giving him a few good inches over Jake. Jake didn’t falter though. Of course he didn’t. He knew that didn’t matter.

“Kiss her, then. If she’s yours, kiss her,” he quips.

“Absolutely not, I don’t have to prove anything to you, and quite frankly sir, it’s none of your business,” Jake snaps, you can tell he’s starting to get mad, his hand gripping yours a little harder. “Let’s go, babe.”

You stand firm next to him, not letting your face show a single waiver of emotion as the man waits to see if you’ll crack. Jake starts to walk away pulling you behind him, but before you can move the man grabs your other arm, taking both of you by surprise.

“Stay, sugar. Let a real man take you home.”

Jake snaps his head around, hearing the words fall from the man's drunken mouth. For a minute you’re scared. You don’t know how Jake is going to react, his jaw is hard set and his nostrils flared in anger. You hear him curse under his breath as he shakes his head.

“You know what? Fuckin’ fine…” he challenges, looking at the man then to you, nodding just enough for you to notice.

Just as you feel the anxiety of what he is about to do bloom in your chest, he reads your body language, letting a sweet and quiet ‘S’okay’ slip from his lips.

Your eyes widen a little as you realize what’s about to happen, but take solace in the fact that he’s likely just as nervous as you are. He stops, pulling you in towards him as his hand grabs at your waist.

His fingers grip into your hairline as he tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss. His tongue swipes over your lips, hot and wet as your hands slide up his body to rest on his chest. You kiss him back, you’re trying to sell this as the real thing, but also partly because you just want to. You try not to think about that part too much as you let your tongue flick against his just for a second before pulling it back. You feel the vibration on your lips as the softest groan leaves his mouth just as he pulls away from you.

Your lips are wet with the taste of him and your chest is heaving as Jake rubs his lips together and clears his throat. He turns to the man who is standing there staring at the two of you, a bit of challenge in his tone as he speaks. “You good now?”

The man scoffs, mumbling a curse as he bats at the air between you. You feel yourself relax in Jake’s grip as the man turns to walk back to his original place at the bar. A quiet ‘fuck’ leaves Jake’s mouth as he turns his attention back to you, stepping back and releasing his grip on you.

His eyes search yours just as yours search his, both of you unsure what to say. Instead he looks over to the man again, nodding his head to him as he grabs your hand again and guides you towards the door.

“You okay?” he asks, opening the door and letting you walk out into the drizzle. You pull your jacket closed across your front, the cold air chilling your skin.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Thank you– for that,” you murmur as he steps up next to you. He grabs your hand again, lacing his warm fingers with your cold ones, taking you by surprise.

“Oh, it’s okay now Jake, he isn’t following us,” you offer, looking over your shoulder to check. He doesn’t drop your hand though, in fact you feel his fingertips brush across your knuckles, sending a whole different kind of chill through your body.

“I know,” he answers, smiling shyly as he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re positive he can see the blush that has taken over your cheeks, your mouth suddenly dry, and your mind unable to form a response. You feel the butterflies swirling around in your stomach as you walk towards the hotel, the rain starting to taper off finally.

“You can trust me, you know,” he says, his voice sincere as he guides you around puddles.

“I barely know you, Jake,” you smile, bumping your shoulder into his.

“For now,” he answers, squeezing your hand in his.

He opens the door to the hotel lobby, the warm air instantly hitting you. Jake drops your hand, your fingertips brushing against his. You kind of miss it, in a way you definitely shouldn’t be.

“Thank you again, for doing all of that. I’m really sorry. I fucked up, I won’t make that mistake again,” you say, watching him press the button for the elevator. Your eyes linger on his lips, a little pink from the cold air outside.

“It was no problem, I promise. Stop apologizing,” he pauses, motioning for you to step into the elevator. “Let me walk you to your room, what floor?” he asks, his finger hovering over the buttons.

“Oh, no it’s really okay, you don’t have to do that. I promise I’m good now,” you stammer, watching his lips turn up in a huff of laughter.

“Y/N, what floor?”

“Nine,” you squeak, your eyes fixated on the dimple in his cheek. You feel your skin growing warm just from looking at him, you feel like you might burst into flames just at the thought of how his lips felt on yours. Did you imagine that whole encounter? No way all of that just happened.

“Me as well,” he says, pressing the button as the doors close.

The two of you ride up in silence, casting each other the occasional glance every few seconds. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you're positive you stopped breathing. The elevator chimes as it reaches the ninth floor, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound.

He smiles at you again as the doors open, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him. “Your room number?”

“Um, I think I'm 924, all the way down,” you answer, your heart jumping in your chest.

He nods his head and puts a hand into his pocket. “Alright, I’m just up here in 915, but I’ll walk you down.”

“Jake you really don’t have to, you can just–”

He turns to you and laughs, shaking his head again. “Just let me.”

“Fine.” You huff a breath, pulling your own keycard from your purse. He walks only a step behind you, both hands in his pockets now as you step up to your door. You tap your key to the lock and hear it beep, signaling for you to enter. You turn to look at Jake, seeing a softness to his face you hadn’t noticed until now.

“Thank you, for…being such a gentleman,” you say playfully, smiling at him.

“My pleasure, Miss Y/N. There is some chivalry left in the world…” he answers, bringing his hand up to rub at his lips.

You start to enter your room, and hear him speak again, this time very quietly. “We’re not all bad.”

You turn around to see him shifting his weight still rubbing his fingers over his chin as if he expected you not to hear him.

“What?”

He hesitates as he makes eye contact with you, clearly shocked you heard him. You can tell he wants to say something but he’s holding back. Maybe you’ve spooked him.

He shakes his head with a smile, as if telling himself whatever he wanted to say was stupid. He pulls his phone and his keycard from his pocket and grips them in his hand. “Nothing, nothing, um, have a good evening. I will see you in the morning, I suppose.”

You nod once, giving him a sweet and appreciative smile, “See you in the morning.”

He lingers for just a moment, eyes locked on yours before flicking down to your lips. He catches himself and looks back at you before turning to head down the hallway. You shut the hotel room door and twist the lock, letting out the breath you had been holding with a gasp.

You spin around, letting your back press against the door as you sink down to the floor with a barely audible squeal. Holy. Shit. What the hell was that?

Pull yourself together Y/N.

You grab your purse and stand up, digging through it as fast as you can in search of your phone. You have no earthly idea what time it is in Nashville but you don’t care as you pull up your texts with Ruth, and begin furiously typing.

You

2:34AM: Without going into detail I definitely just kissed the guitarist 🫢

You toss your bag onto the chair and change into your pajamas, your blood still rushing around in your body as you try to calm your nervous system. A text bounces back, and you know it’s her.

Ruth

2:40AM: WITHOUT GOING INTO DETAIL???? KISSED? I just got to my desk!!!! I’m here. I’m sat. I’m listening. I want every single detail in a five paragraph essay with MLA formatting.

You

2:42AM: Lol it is 2:40 in the morning. I will call you tomorrow, which is really still today for you, but kinda tomorrow for me? I don’t know this is confusing but I will call you and give you the full run down because we also shared airpods on the plane and he made me a playlist? Love you goodnight!

Ruth

2:44AM: AIRPODS? A PLAYLIST??????

2:45AM: Y/N NO! GET BACK HERE

2:45AM: Okay. Hang on, I’m googling him. I need to see this man’s face

2:46AM: Wait there’s two guitarists

2:46AM: Ok one is the bassist HELLO?? You kissed HIM?! Aldjsfklsk

2:48AM: It’s totally fine and I am being so normal about this. Talk to you later, if I haven’t pulled all my hair out by then! I’ll be creeping his insta all day! Goodnight!

You laugh as you read her onslaught of messages, knowing that she is likely going out of her mind with possible scenarios. You make your way into the bathroom, washing your face and brushing your teeth so that you can positively melt into the bed and sleep until your alarm forces you awake. You’re patting your face dry as your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, but the noise it makes isn’t one you’re familiar with. You hang the towel on the ring and pick up your phone, seeing a notification come through that is brand new to you.

‘Jake Added A Song to Your Shared Playlist: ��’

He what?

Now?

Your blood runs cold just seeing his name on your phone after…well…whatever that was.

You turn off the bathroom light, hesitantly sliding your finger across the notification, and letting it bring up the playlist. There at the very bottom you see that a new song was added two minutes ago. But not just any song, no. You know this one. You know this one well. You tap on the song hearing the familiar and haunting guitar riff of ‘Kiss Me’ by Sixpence None the Richer start to play through your phone speakers.

You can’t help but to laugh, a smile of shock has your jaw hanging wide open as you stand in your giant fancy hotel room, listening to what you consider to be a fairly romantic song sent straight to you from none other than your knight in shining, well, corduroy, armor. You couldn’t even picture him listening to this song, and somehow that almost made it a little better.

As the chorus plays you fall backwards onto your bed, the fluffy white sheets enveloping you as a giddy feeling swirls through your chest. He’s thinking about me. He’s thinking about that kiss. You felt guilty for thinking about it, but now? Now you weren’t feeling so guilty. He liked it just as much as you did, clearly.

Jake Kiszka liked kissing you.

You.

What?

You couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off of your face if you had to. You didn’t want to. This was quite possibly the most thrilling thing that has happened to you in months. Years! You had all but forgotten about creepy bar man at this point, but god you have half a mind to walk right back into that bar and shake his hand.

But, you knew you had to calm down. Take a breath. The song came to a close, leaving the hotel room silent. Your mind was still swimming in bliss, replaying the feeling of his lips on yours, the way his hands held yours, the way he smelled, the way his lips tasted, oh god… He was thinking about your kiss. He all but told you so.

You were also thinking about that kiss. He wanted you to know he was thinking about it. How can you– Oh. A sly grin spreads across your face as you type into the search bar.

You find the song you’re looking for, your thumb hovering over the add button as you try to talk yourself out of doing this. It could end badly, terribly, really. He is technically your boss, and you know you shouldn’t be doing this, but. Hey, you’re just the runner. You smile as you watch the little box pop up reading ‘Added’.

Your heart starts to pound. Did he get a notification? Is he asleep? Did he see it? Will he understand? Since when did you start communicating with people through song titles?

You rush back to the playlist scrolling to the bottom and smiling as you press play on the new addition to your shared playlist. It's mere seconds before ‘Do It Again’ by Steely Dan starts to play and you laugh, knowing you are absolutely crazy. Do it again, of course you wanted to do it again. God he probably thinks you’re such a loser. Plot twist, you are, but he doesn't have to know that yet.

You listen to the song, plugging your phone into the charger and turning off the lamp. You’ve always loved Steely Dan, it reminds you of your dad, but then again who doesn’t it remind of their dad? The song comes to a close, your giddy feeling finally starting to wear off as the exhaustion starts to step into its place. Your eyes feel heavy as you roll towards the nightstand to set your alarm, groaning at how soon it’s coming. You lock your phone and settle into the pillows, letting out a content sigh as you recap the day in all of its insane glory.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, the glow illuminating the room for just a brief second. You freeze as you stare up at the ceiling, almost too scared to look. Did he add another song? What if he changed his mind? What if you overstepped? Oh god. You should not have done that. What were you thinking?

You suck in a breath as you grab your phone, nervously tapping the screen that shows no new songs added, but a text from Jake.

Jake 🗡

3:04AM: I fully intend to.

Oh, he definitely saw it.

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lolahasmoxie · 4 months

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Winter Headcannon (E.M.)

Eddie will keep your home somewhat cold. He does it so that you're forced to cuddle him more.

You try to tell him you'll still cuddle him, but he pouts and says it's not the same.

You have found him outside digging in his van at 3am wearing threadbare boxers, boots, and a robe while he searches for his cigarettes.

Eddie is good on ice skates. Like, surprisingly good. He'll skate laps around you at the rink and swoop up next to you, telling you, "It's okay, sweetheart, I won't let you fall."

CURLY HAIR UNDER A BEANIE. SNOWFLAKES ON THOSE CRIMINALLY LONG EYELASHES.

Eddie layered in thermal tops and flannel pajama pants. Just him wearing loads of warm, fluffy, and soft clothes.

Eddie is one of those fuckers who just naturally run hot. Now imagine Eddie in soft flannels and thermals and his warm, pliable body keeping you warm at night.

Because he runs warm, he'll sometimes disrobe in the night. You wake up the following day, and he's making coffee wearing only his boxers. You tell him he's gonna catch a cold, but he points to his slouchy slipper socks and says he'll be fine.

If there is a snow day, he's more excited than the kids in the park. He's up early, yelling at you to hurry up and get dressed while holding his sled. He will also be the coordinator for the trailer park snowball fight. Will absolutely nail a kid with a snowball if he has to.

Cuddling up with you on the couch while drinking hot chocolate. Eddie, of course, loads up on mini marshmallows.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson headcanons

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janitorhutcherson · 5 months

Text

hey bitches!! it’s e, i’m backkkk. i had a fic idea, something i think i’ll use for a lot of new content if y’all react well to it. to give y’all a run down before we get into it, this is a famous!mike schmidt au.

basically mike is josh hutcherson. reader (you) are his live in PR assistant. not sure the perfect word for it, but basically you manage his social media presence, the way he dresses, how he is in public, attend all events with him to monitor him, etc…… kinda like a babysitter….. also, could technically be a part of olderbf!mike because reader is 22, mike is 31. anywaysss..! it’s a new idea, i just wanted to set the scene. the way i’m writing this is different from usual. plz let me know what you think! if y’all like i’ll write more in this universe🤭

summary: ur actor mike schmidt’s assistant!!

warnings: angsty, just an introduction to an idea.

————————

mike schmidt was a mess, and everybody knew it. that was part of what was so appealing to the public. he was a celebrity, a famous actor, known for various movies, tv shows. he was glamorized, lived in LA just like the rest of them, edits to upbeat songs all over social media with his hips swaying from some random snippet of a trailer. yes, mike schmidt was a heart throb, but he wasn’t your typical golden boy. he wore jeans and raggedy t-shirts to interviews. his brown curly locks were always tangled and sticking in fifty different directions. his stubble was always a little too rough, his hands calloused and bruised to masculine perfection. he wore snap backs and had no sense of what a filter was. he said things as they were on stages, into microphones, or on livestreams, silly phrases coming out of his pink lips. he was carefree, not glamorous nor slouchy but instead some odd middle ground that left women with slack jaws and puddles of drool. he was what every woman actually wanted when they said they wanted a man ‘written by a woman,’ or so they thought he was.

in reality, mike was the biggest pain in the ass to walk the earth. while most 22-year-olds got to save pictures of him to their pinterest boards and kick their feet every time he came into their tv screen, you were stuck managing his every move, saving his ass from letting the wrong thing fall from his mouth in front of the wrong audience. you were his manager, of everything, really. you managed his social media, coached him through what to say during interviews, inspected the clothing he wore before events… there wasn’t quite anything you didn’t do for mike. the two of you had a weird connection since you’d started, not quite foes but certainly not friends. the air was always somewhat tense, something you were all too aware of whenever you’d have an interaction with him. you knew it needed to change, and fast.

you’d gotten the job fresh out of college, extremely eager to take such a high paying position. you were lucky and you were aware, your gratitude something you showed through your endless devotion to being the best manager, and hopefully one day friend, mike could have. when you’d first been offered the position, part of what made it so appealing was knowing not only were you being paid, but you were given a room to stay, in the same home as mike. it was crucial, living alongside your boss in order to keep him in check. when you’d walked into a meeting room after you’d accepted the position, you were debrief about mike, told he was… difficult, to put up with. he tended to push his previous managers to the limit, his somewhat childlike demeanor sending them running the other direction. you accepted this as a challenge, something to motivate you to prove that you were worth more than the other old and dried up pieces of talent they’d had in here.

oh boy, did you have another thing coming. you weren’t any different to mike. sure, you were gorgeous, your eyes a color he could drown in, your laugh something he grew oh so fond of over the past few months you’d lived with him, but you were just another manager… right? it was his job to make this difficult for you. that’s how he saw it. so, you fought like you were pulling teeth, demanding he go change before going out like he was your 14-year-old daughter when he’d come out in a bleach stained t-shirt. you’d have to keep him from posting selfies of him smoking a joint on FACEBOOK just to cause a stir. for gods sake, you didn’t care if he put them anywhere else, just please, not where all the old people were. you’d argue late at night when you’d both head back to his place, your eyes filled with fiery anger after he’d drop some stupid shit in an interview, accidentally saying something about how one of his older costars were a “dried up old fashioned hag who needed to get some.” was he wrong…? no. but that didn’t mean he could say it.

he’d always yell back, his eyes filled with just as much anger. you went about this charade almost every time something had to be done. it could be a red carpet event, an awards dinner, an interview, even simply a live stream, there was always something with mike, something to yell and scream about. you constantly tried your hardest to stress how much you cared about this job, about him even too, sometimes blurring the line between professionalism and feelings as you’d get a little too intimate about the things you’d left behind, desperate for him to understand you, to see you.

it wasn’t until one night you’d finally had enough. he’d changed outfits right before a big interview that could’ve got him in front of multiple big directors, something big, even more groundbreaking for him. he’d been in an elegant outfit that fit his body so well, just like a glove, you could only imagine. of course, he hated it. he hated being coaxed into things, told what to do, to say, and currently, both were happening. when no one was watching, he’d slipped himself into a pair of black jeans and a tank top, walking out just like that, then proceeding to insult every director there individually. you were dumbfounded. no, he wasn’t drunk. no, he wasn’t high, medicated, or under any influence. this was just… mike, and you were starting to have enough.

the moment the two of you entered the house, you’d went at it, your face red from anger. how could he? how could he go out and blatantly go against everything you’d said purely out of boredom? he was a grown man, you’d think he could do better than this. you were embarrassed, not even for yourself as who represented him even though you should’ve been, but for him. you wanted this for him. your eyes locked on his, the moment you slammed the door shut. his big, beautiful brown eyes you most definitely didn’t mind looking into, no matter how angry you were. “mike, what the fuck,” was all you could say before he stuck his hand up. he went to turn on his heel, not even bothering to listen to a word you’d have to say.

that’s when you did something you didn’t think you’d do. this time, you’d let something slip, something you’d wished you hadn’t. “mike, if this shit doesn’t stop i’m fucking quitting, i’m leaving.”

that’s all it took.

that’s all it took for him to turn back on his heel to face you, frozen. his mouth was slightly parted, his eyes wider than you’d seen them before. he looked… angry.. confused.. no, not even. he looked… sad? he fluttered his eyes, his mouth opening and closing a little. you’d known you’d lasted longer than most, but this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“don’t,” was all he said, taking a couple of steps toward you. you stood there, frozen and tense as who was basically your boss slowly moved towards you, his demeanor different than you’d seen before. he was like a lost and wounded puppy, his dark brown eyes glistening with an emotion you’d never seen in him before. he reached out, touching your shoulder. you flinched, not even because you didn’t want him to but out of instinct.

“just, don’t go, y/n. i couldn’t take it, okay? i-i’m sorry, i’m sorry i fuck around too much, i’m sorry.. i just.. i don’t want you gone,” he said, his voice was low and growly. oh. he wanted you to stay. this was the first time he’d shown any interest in you in any way other than arguing, and you didn’t know what to do. with that being said, you did what you knew how to do best.

“okay,” you simply said, nodding your head as you went to your room. that night, you’d laid in your bed conflicted about the side of the man you lived with that you saw tonight. meanwhile, while you tossed and turned in your own sheets, mike did the exact same. little did you know, you were the only person mike had ever felt a real connection with. you were the only one patient, loving, thoughtful enough to be there for him, even through his hissy fits. he adored you, your style, your walk, your laugh, your humor, and he hated it. you were in his mind 24/7 and he hated it. but no, he could never get closer, because he knew you’d leave, just like the rest, and tonight was proof.

no, if mike were to ever attempt to get closer, you’d be the one to start it. and perhaps.. perhaps you would be, perhaps this encounter would be so engrained into your brain that you think about it daily, dissecting the look on his face. but who knows? maybe next week you’ll change your mind and pack your things, walk out the door. only the narrator knows quite what’s in store for the two of you…

#josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson imagine #mike schmidt smut

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blueywrites · 1 year

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Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, extreme fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), anal play (f receiving), fingering (v & a), p in v, praise kink, breeding kink

chapter twelve (epilogue): late bloomer (14.5k) | playlist | AO3

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the songs for this chapter are #37-40. #37, the title song, is not featured in the text, so you can play it whenever feels appropriate. Here is a female version of 'Passenger.'

He’s a late bloomer

He lives in the in-between

But he’s getting it right

First she started a seed

She proceeded to cut the weeds

And she’s facing the sky

'Cause late bloomers still rise

Late Bloomer — Mereba

The salt you scrape from your sneakers leaves tiny pink crystals on the welcome mat, and even before your numb knuckles rap against worn wood, the plastic bag dangling from your fist announces your arrival to the man inside.

"Coming!"

The call comes from beyond the door, and muffled footsteps follow. You step back off the mat in preparation for the door to swing open. When it does, revealing a mop of unruly golden-brown hair above clear blue eyes, you greet one another pleasantly, your enthusiasm calmed by weeks of following the same song and dance.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply, sticking out your arm, your plastic bag held aloft in offering. His brows quirk in a silent question which you answer readily. “Mexican again this week.”

The blandness of his voice sparks with genuine enthusiasm then. “Sweet!” Gareth takes the bag, peering into its contents as he abandons the threshold to wander back toward the living room. You let yourself in, closing the door behind you and toeing off your sneakers next to the scuffed black Docs and Vans belonging to the apartment’s occupants.

It’s quiet inside except for the low murmuring of the television and the crinkling of plastic as Gareth drops your food delivery onto the coffee table. As you head directly to his bedroom, he doesn’t spare you a glance, already pulling apart the contents of the bag as he plops onto the couch. You’re peeling your scrub shirt over your head without bothering to close the door when you hear him call hopefully from the living room, “Are the nachos for me?”

“Yep,” you call back, smiling to yourself when you hear him rip the plastic lid from the package without any further adieu. You shuck your pants, riffling in the top drawer of Gareth’s dresser for a change of clothes. Inside is a tangle of blacks and soft blues, deep grays and creams, threadbare t-shirts and soft sweaters— a drawer relinquished to a friend in need, filled first with Eddie and slowly acquiring bits of you as your weekly visits continued for one month and then two. You dress for the December chill in soft leggings and a slouchy sweater, folding your wrinkled scrubs as you shuffle out of the bedroom in your socks. You quickly drop them in a neat pile by the door before skirting by Gareth’s knees and curling up on the opposite side of the couch. You settle into that familiar nook, passing the time unwrapping your dinner and watching whatever show Gareth has chosen. The tacos are crunchy, all salty shredded pork, crisp lettuce, and mild cheese, though you chew and swallow mechanically; the show is engaging, a mystery-thriller with an attractive leading man, but its colors are dull and your eyes drift from the action.

Because where you’re nestled now is in the shade. Your blooms are lazy and half-closed, your leaves soft and lax, drooping downward towards fertile earth. You’re eating and watching, but really, you’re waiting— waiting for a brightness that doesn’t come until you hear distant heavy bootsteps that grow steadily louder before halting just outside the apartment. There’s the briefest pause and then the jiggle of the doorknob.

And when Gareth’s front door opens, only then do you bloom again.

Eddie shoulders his way inside in his dirty coveralls and his workboots and with his wild hair balled into a low, greasy bun; even when filthy as all hell, he still manages to suck all the light from the room. When he tugs his boot laces loose, you unfold your legs and straighten your spine in anticipation of his approach. As Eddie pads over, he and Gareth exchange casual greetings, and you wait patiently for him to turn amber brown toward you. That’s where all the room’s light is because when he meets your eyes, it bathes over you like the warmth of the summer sun emerging from behind a cloud.

“Hi, baby,” Eddie says.

“Hi, Ed,” you reply, and your face tips up automatically, knowing how he’ll greet you: a warm, broad hand resting on your shoulder for leverage as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead.

The tang of motor oil and sweat envelops you, and Eddie’s lips are chapped from the winter but warm as he presses them to your skin. He hums contentedly when you lean into him, and your love wells up from the bottom of you, rising up your green like sweet water as your vines plump, your leaves rise, and your flowers glow white in the sun. You’re craving so much more the second he pulls away, and you know from the curve of his lips and the look in his eyes that Eddie feels the same, but you both refrain for Gareth’s sake, sating yourselves with loaded glances and fond words for now. “How was your day?” Eddie asks you, squeezing your shoulder three times deliberately before he’s straightening up and rocking back on his heels. You smile at the secret meaning behind his touch, snatching his wrist before he can turn away and squeezing three times back.

“Oh, you know,” Gareth drawls, flapping his hand, “same ol’ same ol’. Thanks for asking, baby.”

Eddie shoots Gareth a flat look, but you giggle as your boyfriend shoves one dirty hand into the food bag on the coffee table, rooting for his dinner. “Wasn’t talkin’ to you, dipshit,” he says, though his lips twitch with a repressed smile. He pulls the remaining item from the bag with an air of triumph: an overstuffed burrito wrapped in shiny foil, looking fit to burst. Exactly how he likes it, you think, pleased when you see his eyes gleam eagerly as he starts to peel it open.

“It was fine.” You squint, derailed from your typical follow-up question about his day as Eddie steps around the coffee table, still unwrapping his dinner. “Are you not gonna eat with us?”

“Gotta shower today. I’m disgusting,” he says, tacking on quickly, “more disgusting than usual” before Gareth can open his mouth.

Your squint turns to a confused frown. “You can’t eat a burrito in the shower, Ed.”

By this time he’s peeled back enough foil to expose the bulging tortilla, and Eddie descends on it like a man starved, cheeks bulging as he replies through the mouthful. “Can eat it on the way to the shower,” he muffles through beans and rice, grinning cheekily as best he can when your eyebrows pinch in fond exasperation.

“Dude, do not drip sauce on the floor,” Gareth shouts after him, and you look over the back of the couch to see Eddie waving his hand dismissively without looking back before he disappears into the bathroom. From the other side of the couch, you feel Gareth’s eyes on you like a heavy presence, and you settle back against the cushions, crossing your legs again before glancing at him. He’s looking at you dully, almost accusingly, and you grimace sympathetically. “Soon,” you whisper. “I promise.”

It’s another familiar song and dance. Any time you’re over and Eddie does something, well, Eddie-ish, you promise Gareth that you and Eddie would be getting your own place soon, and Gareth grumbles that you’d said that last week. You know he doesn’t really mind that Eddie’s become his impromptu roommate these last two months since getting kicked out of the apartment he’d shared with Chrissy. Gareth has done his faithful best to accommodate Eddie though his apartment is a one-bedroom and barely bigger than a studio, so Eddie’s nights are spent on the couch, and his belongings are fitted into spare drawers and whatever unoccupied crannies could be found. They’ve known each other for years, and Gareth is happy to help his friend and bandmate, but as the weeks drag on, some friction has formed between the two men as they share such a small space.

To cut Gareth a break, you and Eddie try to spend most of your nights together at your place, only opting for Gareth’s when Penny has Charlie over to give them some space. She’s been very understanding about Eddie being over so often, and you’re already well aware that your sister hadn’t signed up for a package deal when you’d asked if you could move in.

You’re hoping that by this time next month, barring any unexpected expenses, you and Eddie will be ready to move in together. It isn’t a matter of commitment; you know he'd want nothing more than to get a place with you now, and you feel the same way, but the two of you haven’t saved up enough to make that decision practical yet. There’s the matter of a deposit and two months' rent, plus utilities, insurance, new furniture… it all adds up, and though Penny had adamantly refused to let you pay partial rent with her, you know Eddie had insisted on splitting half-and-half with Gareth. It doesn't matter that he just sleeps on the couch. Eddie Munson is never going to take any handouts.

Penny and Eddie are stubborn and more alike than they realize, you’d thought on more than one occasion.

The couch dips, and when the warmth of Eddie’s body settles against you, you welcome it wholeheartedly, shifting into him instinctively. His arm is a heavy but comforting weight slung over your shoulders, and he smells of smoke and apples when you snuggle against him, lifting your knees to fold towards him. His curls are cold and damp as they brush against your neck, and you shiver but don’t pull away. You’re rewarded with the heat of his stubbled jaw when he leans it against your temple. Your hand settles automatically at the soft of his waist, thumb trailing along the little pudge of fat below his navel, stroking over his threadbare t-shirt, and Eddie’s fingers ghost against your upper arm, scratching slowly in time with your movements.

In this way, you and Eddie can steal subtle touches and relish in each others’ presence as he and Gareth bicker over what to watch. They settle on a comedy movie, and while you don’t really mind either way what they choose, secretly, you do prefer these comedy nights. Though sci-fi and fantasy hold your interest the most, and horror provides opportunities for Eddie to comfort you, which you enjoy, comedies are by far the most fun to watch with him because he’s at his wildest and, frankly, his most joyful. You grin when Eddie’s stomach leaps under your hand as he throws his head back and laughs without restraint, squeezing you tighter against his side. You giggle when Eddie jostles you as he leans forward and gestures widely with his free hand, spouting off complaints and eager observations alike, flopping back against the cushions and dragging you with him. You glow when Eddie murmurs commentary into your hair, remarks for only you to hear— observations about how so-and-so reminds him of something you've said, or questions he wouldn’t want to ask Gareth for fear of looking stupid, or little whispers of affection, sappy nonsense to make you blush so he can nuzzle his nose against your cheek and call you cute.

And that’s how you spend the evening: belly full, tucked into your boyfriend’s side, watching a movie with him and his best friend until the hour grows late. It’s the same as it goes every week, a song and dance you’ve come to know so well you could hear its phantom notes in your sleep, a melody you’ll never tire of singing.

By the time the movie finishes, Gareth is rubbing his eyes, flinging a sleepy wave over his shoulder as he shuffles off to the bedroom. You and Eddie mumble your goodnights to him, lazing against one another for a moment before moving. You breathe deep and stretch as Eddie’s weight leaves you and he maneuvers onto his knees, craning over the cushioned back. His shirt rides up, and your eyes are drawn to the wide sliver of pale skin as he drags his blanket up from behind the couch, piling it in your lap for you to straighten out as he leans even further to reach his pillow. That gets plopped at the opposite end as you stand and tug the blanket over your shoulders, waiting for Eddie to flop down, lanky legs splayed and arms open and ready for you to join him. Eddie’s hair is dry now but still fragrant, smelling of apples as he enfolds you in his arms and it tickles your cheeks. You shimmy together, tangling your limbs and finally sating the desire for closeness you’d been assuaging all night with small touches that would never be enough.

Eddie buries his face in your neck, huffing against your skin as he burrows into you insistently, and you know he wants affection. You love it when Eddie gets needy like this— dragging you greedily against his body, almost manhandling you, flopping his leg over yours and wiggling until he’s comfortable. You tuck your fingers into his curls and scratch his scalp in big circles, smiling softly when he melts into you, boneless and lax as you lavish him with attention. Humming contentedly, you reach up under his t-shirt to feel his hot skin, dragging your nails over his back. He stretches against you like a cat, arching into your touch and pressing his lips to your throat in a mute thank you.

He tries to reciprocate, calloused fingers stuttering over your side as he attempts to stroke your skin in return, but Eddie is nearer to sleep than you are. When you feel his legs twitch, that tell-tale sign that he’s about to drift off, you pull your hand from beneath his t-shirt, smoothing it down as you rest your hand against his lower back. You don’t anticipate the low whine he muffles into your throat, and you chuckle when he shimmies to communicate his dissatisfaction. It almost seems antithetical that this man, typically clothed in ink and leather and chains, typically sharp and wolfish with eager flashing grins and a teasing black-smoke rasp, now whines unabashedly for your touch and pouts up at you with hazy brown eyes and pooched pink lips, soft white underbelly exposed for you to do with it what you will.

You love Eddie’s black, but his white is only for you, so you can’t help but covet it even more.

Your hand tucks obligingly back under his shirt, tracing random patterns, and as Eddie sighs against your neck, a question floats up, one that’s been hovering on the edges of your mind for some time now. It's a question that causes pins and needles of nervousness to prickle low in your chest, but in the dark hush of the living room, it feels possible to voice it.

“So, I’ve been thinking—”

“Always dangerous,” Eddie mumbles, and when you huff and your fingers stall on his back, his head pops up, eyes holding yours contritely as he rests against the pillow instead so he can look at you. He’d be a vision of innocent devotion with those beautiful curls and big brown eyes if it weren’t for the amused dimple threatening at the corner of his lips.

"So,” you repeat, “I've been thinking.” That prickle of nervousness surges again. “We’ve been dating— officially, I guess— for a couple of months now, and… well, there's been something I wanna do. Someone I wanna—"

“Uh-uh.” He cuts you off with a sharp shake of his head, and your heart falls. Before you can say anything, you’re being flipped onto your back as Eddie covers you with his body, hips pinning your pelvis to the couch, brown eyes glittering with intensity. Your eyes dart between his, wide with alarm as he says, "Oh, fuck no. Never again.” Your lips part in confusion, but Eddie barrels on, brows jerking up in emphasis. “You're all mine now. You’re my sweet girl. I'm not sharing you."

His meaning hits you all at once, leaving you winded and incredulous as his name strangles in your throat. You think he must be joking, must be pretending to be serious— but when his fierceness doesn’t subside, your incredulity transforms into something resembling offense.

You scoff disbelievingly. "Eddie!” You hush his name in an outraged exclamation, a little miffed that he’d actually think you’d be suggesting you swing with someone else, but nonetheless a little fluttery at his immediate possessiveness. Still, as you push at his shoulders, you frown petulantly. “That's not what I was gonna say at all! What the hell?"

Eddie doesn’t relent as you resist him, though the fierceness in his expression finally melts away at your unmistakable shock; instead, in a whiplash mood reversal, he wrestles you playfully, tickling you with his face and hair until you’re no longer at the edge of anger and are filled with giggles instead. "What then, hm?" he snaps teasingly from underneath his hair, shaking his head like a dog until you press your hands to his ears, holding his head steady between your soft palms.

You clear the hair gently from his face, feeling a little shy again as his eyes are revealed from the curtain of his curls, staring at you curiously. "Well, I was trying to say that we’ve been dating for a little while, and you’ve already met Penny, and I was thinking….” You push through your nervousness at the potential for rejection, voice quiet in your throat. “I wanna meet your uncle. If you want me to."

Eddie visibly softens, amber eyes going gooey like honey. His smoke voice is deep and rich and sure. "I'd really like that."

Your wings flutter at the gentleness in his gaze, warmth spreading to soothe the prickle of nerves. “Yeah?”

Eddie tucks your hair behind your ear and drags his thumb down the shell to your lobe, which he pinches three times slowly and deliberately. “Yeah, my sweet girl. I want you to meet my family.”

You take his hand, brushing his knuckles with your lips and squeezing three times back. It’s a quiet way to communicate when words aren’t needed or can’t be used. Three presses, slow and deliberate, a gesture that always means the same thing.

I love you.

It's snowing in Hawkins, Indiana, and while Forest Hills Trailer Park typically isn’t much to look at, it’s a wonderland in white.

The tires carve deep grooves in that white as you pull down the lane, and all— every flat roof and rusted car, every trashcan and skeletal flowerpot— is covered in a thick blanket of delicate powder. When Eddie turns the key to cut the engine, the silent stillness feels different from usual. Magical, almost, suspended in time and space as fat, dry flakes drift soundlessly down from a dove gray sky. As you dismount the vehicle with your host’s bag of gifts in hand, even the slam of your car door doesn’t echo quite as far. It’s muffled by the surrounding blanketed forest, where every piney branch is covered in a hush of snow, shifting occasionally like wings unfurling when powder falls into the sea of white below.

Eddie clomps up the worn porch steps first, leaving imprints for you to follow in. You match his stride with your smaller feet all the way up to the front door, eyes caught on the lumpy couch shaded by the awning, its front face dusted with white that clings like powdered sugar to the rough fabric. Eddie's rings rap against the plastic frame, and it’s then that your heart starts to pound. Nervous anticipation flutters in your stomach, borne of desperate yearning— a yearning to make a good impression on the most important man in your boyfriend’s life, to be deemed good enough for the most important man in yours.

Wayne Munson’s aging face is grizzled and creased, but the dimple in his cheek and the softness of his nose are so familiar they kick you in the chest. The sound he makes when he locks eyes with his nephew is husky and full, the bark of his laugh matching the smoke of Eddie’s when he clasps his nephew in a rough and eager embrace. His hands are tan but broad like Eddie’s, also worn from years of toil as they clutch at the back of your boyfriend's leather jacket. The men rock for a moment in the shared contentment of their reunion, and you wait behind Eddie, nearly fidgeting with the anticipation of meeting his uncle for the first time. But when they finally part and Eddie steps aside to reveal your shy smile and soft hands carrying your bag of offerings, the way Wayne Munson looks at you makes one thing abundantly clear:

You needn’t have worried.

“This is her,” Eddie says, and the audible pride in his voice floods your cheeks with pleased but bashful warmth. You’re ready to meet him where he is, but Wayne steps down from the threshold of his doorway onto the porch, his crooked smile widening as his blue eyes meet yours.

“It’s a pleasure t’meet you, sweetheart.” He pulls you into a much more careful hug than was bestowed on his nephew, and his worn denim shirt is soft beneath your chin and smells of laundry powder and cigarettes. The paper bag knocks against his back, and when he pulls away, he eyes it curiously. “That f’r me?”

You nod, shyness still gripping your tongue, but Eddie’s palm on the small of your back is grounding. “Just hold your horses, old man,” he gripes. “Let us inside before you stick your nose in.”

Wayne grumbles but obliges, stepping up first and leading the way into his home.

The indoor heat glows pleasantly against your cheeks as Eddie pulls the front door shut behind you, closing you in the cozy clutter of his childhood home. The place is cramped but well-kept, messy in the way you’d expect from a single man, but not dirty. There’s much to look at; the decor is quite eclectic, walls and surfaces covered with items both practical and sentimental. The most interesting is the ship wheel ceiling fixture in the kitchen, loaded with mismatched bulbs of different colors that cast the space in varied shades of light. The effect only adds to the charm, and you can nearly see a younger Eddie bounding down the narrow hallway from the back of the house, smoke voice high with adolescence as he calls out a goodbye to his uncle, curls bouncing against his forehead as he rushes past you out the door.

“So—” Wayne’s gruff voice startles you from your imaginings, and you catch his twinkling blue eyes as he jerks his chin toward the bag in your hands. “You gonna gimme that or what?”

The tease in his voice has you giggling despite Eddie’s huff. “Ungrateful,” he mutters under his breath, but you pull out the first item obligingly— a square box wrapped with paper to conceal what’s inside. You pass it over to Wayne, who shakes it, you suspect, just to make his nephew scowl. “You know what it is,” Eddie says, trying to be stern, though when they share a look, a smile can’t help but crack through. “Just open it.”

Your confusion over Eddie’s insistence on this particular type of gift has eased now that you’ve seen the primary decor adorning the trailer’s walls, but you watch Wayne carefully nonetheless, curious as to how he’ll react as he peels the paper back to reveal the picture on the front of the box.

Wayne’s brows contort in a mixture of confusion and amusement as he stares down at it for a moment before a guffaw rips from his throat. “What is this, kid?!” he turns his accusatory gaze toward Eddie. “You sayin’ I’m old and sickly?”

“You are old,” Eddie quips back, plush lips slanted in a smirk. “But, no.” His amber-brown eyes flash to yours. “It’s ‘cause of y/n.”

Wayne’s crinkled face swings to you then, and you smack Eddie lightly in the stomach in silent chastisement of his vagueness. “It’s ‘cause I work in healthcare.” You speak for the first time, voice small, gaze dropping to the picture in Wayne’s hands. It shows a mug in the shape of an orange pill bottle, complete with a white ridged rim to depict the child-safety lid and quite accurate in its mimicry of a prescription label, though the patient’s name is a clearly fictional ‘Mr. Java Joe Espresso.’ “It was Eddie’s choice,” you defend, pursing your lips against a smile when your boyfriend knocks you playfully with his elbow.

Wayne lifts the box closer to his nose to peer at the writing, finally huffing amusedly through his nose. “All right,” he concedes, and as he places it on the island counter behind him, you pull out his second and final gift. At the sight of the crumbly peach cobbler, Wayne looks considerably more enthused. “Now that’s more like it.”

Eddie helps you gather three plates, loading them with slices of cobbler as Wayne sinks into what must be his preferred armchair with a bone-weary sigh. You pass one to him, thumb on the spine of the fork to keep it from slipping as he takes it. “Thank you, darlin,’” he says, and you settle next to Eddie on the couch, sinking into his side.

It begins, you suppose, the way all introductions to family typically begin. “So, how’d you two meet?”

You nestle into Eddie’s side, fork playing with golden crumble and soft fruit as Eddie’s smoke curls gently against your cheek. “Through a mutual friend,” he says, and his voice is so calm and even that you feel the tightness in your belly ease. Eddie’s palm finds your knee, a comforting weight that warms your skin through your jeans.

“The first time I saw him, he was on stage,” you pipe up, one finger running against the textured bottom edge of the ceramic plate, the lip upon which it rests. “He was…”

You pause as you remember it: that black and white, the gash of red, the aggressive ink of his torso against pale quartz, the press of his lips to the mic, the enchanting smoke of his voice. You hadn’t known how to describe your impression of him that day in the dressing room when you’d met Eddie for the first time, but you know now. “I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard,” you say, sweet as the peach cobbler you’d brought his uncle, and Eddie’s fingers tighten against your leg, squeezing slow, pressing once, twice, and then again.

The curve of Wayne’s mouth gentles beneath his grizzled salt-and-pepper beard. “Ain’t he something, though. My boy.”

You nod your keen agreement. Though you’re angled toward Wayne and Eddie is behind you, you can feel the warmth of his blush without looking. “Y/n works in pediatric medicine,” he says quickly. “She helps sick kids all day. And she can sing, too. Got the voice of an angel.”

Now it’s your turn to flush, and what ensues is a fierce competition of deflection as both you and Eddie brag on each other to his uncle, trying to divert the attention from yourselves. It’s a valiant effort that leaves Wayne positively tickled as he looks back and forth between you until he finally holds up his hands for mercy. “Look, I get it,” he interrupts, “you each think the sun shines out the other’s ass. Consider me convinced.”

Eddie snorts, wrapping his arm around your bashful shoulders as they try to scrunch up to your ears. Unable to concede without winning, he plants a loud smacking kiss to your cheek, grinning manically as he leaves you positively burning. “Eddie!” you hiss as Wayne chuckles, squirming your discomfort but oh, so sweetly blooming nonetheless.

You’re surprised to find that the afternoon spent in Wayne’s company slips by as quickly as snow melts from sun-drenched branches. The man is gruff but so easy in his way that you’re comfortable before you know it, sinking deep into Eddie’s side to swing your foot idly and suck sweet pie filling from your fork. You’re perfectly content to listen to them banter through updates about Wayne’s life and Eddie’s, about the shop and the band and the friends Wayne remembers from Hawkins. You’re a little worried the sudden absence of Chrissy might come up, considering how she was such a long-time fixture in Eddie’s life, but Wayne is far more tactful than Eddie can sometimes be, and your concern never comes to pass. You’re both fascinated and thoroughly delighted by the anecdotes they share, silly stories of Eddie's childhood and recollections of times long past but fondly remembered. You talk about yourself when prompted, telling Wayne about your family, your work, and your interests, falling so far into the contentment of this exchange with the Munson men that by the time the sun has begun to wane, you find yourself genuinely disappointed that the visit is over.

Wayne tries to send you off with the remains of the cobbler, citing his nephew’s sweet tooth, but Eddie is adamant in pointing out that Wayne's is just as big. Well wishes are exchanged; soft plans and promises are made to see one another again soon. "You should come and see us next time," Eddie throws over his shoulder on his way to the door, "once we have our own place."

"Yes," you add eagerly, "We can take you to the bakery where the cobbler came from. They make really great cannolis, too, if you like those."

Wayne claps an open palm against his nephew's shoulder, eyes crinkling with his grin. "You better treat 'er good, son," he says sincerely. "She's a keeper."

Your voice is so firm, firmer than it's been all afternoon, that the Munson men nearly startle with it. “No.” They both blink at your vehemence, but you turn your resolute gaze to dark curls and quartz skin, pink lips and amber eyes. “He’s the keeper.”

You look at Eddie, and you know what your eyes are saying: that he's the only one that can make you flutter and bloom, that every sweet drop of succulent fruit spilling from your tongue is for him. You know you've peeled back your layers and shown your green. And when that gentle pink spreads over his cheeks— when Eddie's expression softens, glowing with bashful pleasure, pride, and adoration— you find it's quite alright that you’ve let these two men see all the way down to the center of you.

The asphalt of the bar's parking lot is worn and cracked, but you know it so well you don't have to look down to avoid the potholes when you skirt around the side of the building, heading towards the back. Your eyes quickly find where Eddie's van is parked alongside the wall, but you don't approach it; that isn't why you've ventured here. Instead, you head right for that gray door set into crumbling brick, the one with the light that floods it from above, illuminating its chipping paint. Your duffel brushes against the flakes as you rap quickly, glancing around tensely until the door cracks open to reveal a familiar dirty-blonde mop and blue eyes.

You pass the bag into Gareth's waiting hand, voice low and intent. "We still good?"

"Yeah," he says a little breathlessly, darting a quick look over his shoulder before his face whips back to you. "Head back during 'Around the Fur.' Tania will show you where to go."

You nod, and in a flash, he's gone. You twist the handle, bracing against its weight, and with your careful guidance, the door thumps gently closed.

A handful of minutes later and you're seated at your normal spot at the bar, sipping on soda water mixed with grenadine for color to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Your normal spot is in the front corner directly beside the hinge-top, so you can sit up there when the weekend crowds make it difficult to see from a barstool. Thursday isn't typically a busy day, but tonight's occasion is special, so the place is already buzzing even though the performance isn't supposed to begin for another forty minutes. You're facing the bar rather than out towards the crowd, chatting idly with Jimmy as he makes drinks for customers. You're trying to distract yourself from the bouncing of your knee and the nerves making your leaves shake restlessly, but it's hard when your eyes keep catching on the black streamers behind the bar.

You'd spent winter, spring, and summer watching Corroded Coffin slowly grow from regular performers at a single bar to a healthy rotation at half a dozen, from averaging one show a week to four, from modest crowds of screaming fans to immodest crowds of a whole lot more. Eddie was beyond pleased, as were Gareth, Jeff, and Brian, and you'd relished in their success with your consistent presence at their shows at least once a week, more if you could swing it. Of all the places Corroded Coffin plays, this bar— despite its dingy, seedy visage— is still your favorite because it had been the first, the beginning of everything for them and for you. It makes sense why Eddie had chosen here for the festivities tonight, and you were grateful for it because of that intimacy. Still, even with all the shows you've seen, you've never been as nervous as you are for this one.

A hand on your shoulder draws your attention from Jimmy to green eyes shimmering with iridescent powder, and despite your nerves, you beam as you spin on the stool to embrace your friend, muffling your eager greeting into her auburn hair. She shimmies you in her grasp, squealing her enthusiasm as you rest your chin on her shoulder, meeting familiar hazel eyes beneath an artfully disheveled fringe. Tan fingers run through the strands as Steve waits to greet you with a broad, lopsided smile, though you’re both diverted when his girlfriend steps away to survey you, her nose wrinkling in confusion. “Is that what you’re wearing up there?”

You look down at your cream dress with its sweetheart neckline, extending a foot to examine one delicate ballet flat. It’s very in line with what you’d typically wear, both to Eddie’s shows and otherwise. You squint at Karoline skeptically, about to explain when Steve beats you to it. “Kar,” he says, fondly amused, “it’s a surprise, remember?”

Steve looks to you, and you nod your confirmation, holding up your virgin drink as you add, “All for the illusion. I worked everything out with the guys. You’ll see.”

In typical dramatic fashion, Karoline actually smacks her forehead. “Duh,” she says, chuckling self-deprecatingly, and you surge with admiration for her ability not to let anything embarrass her. She leans into Steve’s side, who wraps an arm around her comfortably. “Of course you have it all planned out. It’s gonna be the best birthday present Eddie’s ever had in his life.”

You smile, though you feel your nerves mix with bashfulness. “Well, I don’t know about that,” you hedge, but you pout when you see Steve shaking his head in exasperation, hazel eyes locked on you. “What?” you ask, crossing your arms tight in your lap, feeling a little exposed under his gaze.

But that hazel isn’t dulled like briny mud or sharp with bitterness. Instead, Steve just huffs a wry laugh as his lips curl knowingly. “Yeah,” he says quietly, fondly, and it pierces through the self-consciousness. “She’s right, y/n. He’s gonna love it.”

Though you don’t reply, your gaze softens, and you know Steve can read the gratefulness there. “Come on, Kar.” He nudges his girlfriend gently, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand one last time before they head off into the gathering crowd. You squeeze back, taking strength from their support before they slip away.

Steve and Karoline aren’t your only friends here. As you sip your drink and the sweet fizz of the flavored soda water dances on your tongue, you remain facing the room, eyes scanning the sea of bodies that buzz with impatient energy as they await the start of the show. Slowly, some other beloved faces emerge from the anonymity: Tara and Lisa nestled snug in the middle, Penny in the back corner, as far from the stage as she can manage to avoid the potential of Eddie spotting her. Their presence is a temporary balm for your nerves, offering silent support despite the distance. Part of you wishes they were right beside you, but you’d told them to stay away; you didn’t want to risk tipping Eddie off, valuing the sake of your surprise over the comfort they’d provide you.

It hadn’t been easy keeping your plans from Eddie, though you’d been determined to do it, knowing the payoff would be worth it. It took weeks of frantic last-minute meetings with the guys you could only swing when Eddie was working overtime (which he never remembered to tell you about ahead of time), weeks of singing the same song over and over in your empty apartment, snatching moments of opportunity in those tiny gaps before Eddie’s return would have you falling mute. You practiced relentlessly, knowing you’d chosen a challenging song, one that would not only showcase but stretch the limits of your skill. You wanted your performance to be perfect, but not for the crowd, though that was, of course, a factor. Mostly, you wanted to impress Eddie, to show him how tall you’ve grown with his tending. And after all those weeks of scheming and sneaking, weeks you’d spent on edge knowing one small misstep from anyone involved would have Eddie— blessedly, cursedly intuitive Eddie— poking at you relentlessly until he’d pried the secret from your clamped lips and ruined everything… somehow, he’d never caught on. And now, as the bar’s lights dim almost to darkness and the stage billows with haze that drips like liquid smoke onto the floor below, it’s finally time.

Watching Eddie perform always takes your breath away, but this time feels different. When he mosies up to center stage, strumming the two chords of the song they’d chosen to open with tonight, the crowd’s raucous cheering matches the broad, wolfish grin on his face, sharp and black and utterly delighted at the electricity in the air. The energy stirs you too: blood thrums hot in your veins, washing you with heady anticipation as Eddie’s dark eyes find yours like they always do a moment before he presses his plush lips to the mic. “Hey,” he purrs, and feminine shrieks fill the air, mixing with the clash of drums and the grinding of Eddie’s guitar. This is familiar, too; when he knows you’ll be there, Eddie always starts the set with the same song. “This town don’t feel mine,” he croons, and the flutter of your wings surges from the pit of your stomach up to your ribcage, stirring your green to restlessness. Not just because of what this means to you— it always means something that Eddie begins with the song you’d told him you liked most the first night you’d met— but also because you know that tonight, you won’t just be looking up at him, watching him from below. You’ll be joining him up there, allowing yourself to be perceived.

Nonetheless, you smile at him, hoping the curve of your lips doesn’t tremble before he looks away. Once he releases you, your shoulders sag, relief rushing as you reach absentmindedly for the dainty gold chain around your neck, rubbing your thumb against the textured object hanging there as you watch the guys perform. There’s rarely a moment you aren’t wearing the red and white shell, so the gesture has become nearly automatic, a soothing repetitive motion you turn to whenever Eddie isn’t near. It doesn’t quite settle your nerves now, but it carries you through the next couple of songs, keeping your fidgeting from becoming obvious. And your nerves are almost forgotten completely when Eddie turns around for the first time to show off the new ink on his back, an early birthday present to himself he’s debuting for his fans today: a pair of dragon wings curving across his shoulders and down to his waist, shifting as he continues to strum during the breakdown. The screeches that accompany the reveal are nearly feral, and you giggle when you see the tell-tale quiver of his shoulders that tells you he's trying not to laugh.

You’re okay until Gareth whips his sweat-damp mop of hair, beating out the distinctive hits that begin Around the Fur. No amount of self-soothing could quell the wave of adrenaline that rushes through you then, rustling your green like a gust of tumultuous wind. You take a deep breath before you slide off the stool, and your legs are nearly jelly beneath you as you press through the sea of bodies, cutting a laborious path toward the back of the crowd. Resisting the rising claustrophobia, you make a large circle around to the other side of the stage, slipping into the corridor that leads to the bathroom. It��s blessedly wide and empty, cavernously echoing with the reverberations of Brian’s bass and Gareth’s kick drum. You savor the relief of being freed from the crush of damp bodies for just a moment before striding down the hallway, bypassing the bathrooms and heading directly to the door that leads backstage.

Sure enough, just as Gareth had promised, his girlfriend Tania is there to collect you, her eyes wide with focused intent as she leads you to the dressing room she’d prepared. You rush after her, heart pounding as she ushers you inside and closes the door. “We’ve got about five minutes before you need to be at the side stage,” she says, striding over to the rack as you step out of your flats and lift the hem of your dress at the same time. You shed your clothes hastily, eyes locked on the outfit that hangs from the bar, the one she’d helped you pick last week. It's all black and comprised of a mix of textures, some tight, some sheer, topped with leather and accents of silver to match Eddie’s chains. More daring than you’ve ever worn and perfectly curated for this moment.

Expertly, Tania gathers the fabric of your thin tights in her fingers, rolling them down for you to step into. Together, you clothe your body in the rest: the short, tight dress, the sheer mesh turtleneck that layers beneath it, the tall boots that tie over your knees. You swap your dainty gold studs for dangling silver swords, lifting your arms so Tania can clasp the buckles of your harness belt over your chest and around your waist, tugging gently on the straps and stepping back to ensure it’s sitting right. She nods sharply, satisfied, glancing at her smartwatch. “Two minutes for makeup,” she says, and though your face flashes with nervousness, obediently you sit, folding your hands in your lap as she snatches up the eyeliner from the beauty counter beside you. With a tightly-knit brow, she lines your lids using quick, fast strokes, smudging the liner expertly with the side of her thumb before twisting open a tube of burgundy lipstick. She takes her time with your lips, surveying you clinically afterward before her black lips split in an eager grin.

“You’re ready,” she says, and the surety in her voice almost makes you believe it.

Backstage the floor is a mess of wires which you step over carefully like they're landmines. You hover in the wings with a fluttering heart as you wait for your cue, the muted mic growing slippery in your hands. It feels suddenly surreal to be here, gazing at the band from this new vantage point. You can see Gareth wailing on the drums, Brian’s thick fingers working the bass, Jeff’s head bobbing as he hunches over the keys, but your eyes are drawn time and again to the front lights glowing on the sweat-slick skin of Eddie’s back, burnishing his dark curls to deep, rich brown as the wings on his back shift and roil. Beyond him are blurs of movement, the undulating shapes of indiscernible bodies captivated by his performance. As you see the flash of hands reaching from that sea of dark, you feel a sudden shiver of doubt prickle up your spine. Eddie’s been performing for years; he commands the stage with ease. What if you, in comparison, are lackluster? What if the crowd is disappointed by your sudden intrusion? Doubt settles heavy in your stomach.

What if they don’t like me?

The sudden thought has your head spinning, but there isn’t time to dwell on that because Gareth’s beating on the cymbals, and the song is ending, and Jeff is speaking, voice hoarse with exertion but forming the words that seal your fate.

“—as you all might know, today is a special day. Today, this motherfucker right here turns twenty-six.” Eddie’s curls whip as he looks at Jeff, a shared manic grin splitting their faces as the audience whoops and hollers for him.

“You’re fuckin’ old, dude!” Gareth shouts, loud enough to be heard even though he isn’t mic’d, and there’s a wave of laughter.

“Oh, fuck off, man,” Eddie’s amplified voice is sharp and loud, nearly startling, and you duck back slightly so he won't see you, heart hammering as he twists to give Gareth the middle finger. The words could be angry, but he’s smiling, and his voice warms to match it. “No, but honestly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather celebrate one more year of dodging the grave than right here with all of you, in the place this whole fuckin’ mess really took off, with the guys who made it happen—” From behind, you see Eddie’s head turn towards the bar, towards where you’re always sitting. “And—” when his voice falters, you know he’s noticed you aren’t there anymore.

Jeff cuts in quickly. “And we’ve planned a special treat for you.” He pauses dramatically, teeth flashing into a smug smile. “A special treat for you, Ed,” he clarifies, and you don’t have the luxury of watching Eddie’s head whip toward him again because that’s your cue.

You lift your chin, and as you move out of the shadows, each successive step allows the glare of the front lights to illuminate you more and more: every dip and curve of your body, every sway of your ample hips as you approach your boyfriend from behind. It takes a moment for the crowd to realize what’s happening, and once they do, you hear the realization wash over them in a tittering wave. You thought you’d known what it would be like to be on stage, to have all those eyes on you, staring, boring down to the most minute details of your appearance. But it’s one thing to know it and quite another to experience it. And the doubt, the nervousness, the fear, the self-consciousness— they’re suddenly all laid bare in the harshness of the unforgiving spotlight you’re walking into.

You keep your eyes fixed on black and white, the reason you’re here. They run over Eddie’s slack arm hanging at his side, over those chunky rings and ruddy knuckles, over the tapestry of dark ink, the way the curve of his shoulder slopes into the cords of his pale quartz neck, the curl of his damp hair against his cheek. The moment feels longer than it lasts in reality, the time between the audience’s noticing and Eddie’s, and you use it to caress him with your gaze, to memorize the flutter of his dark lashes and the rise of his bare chest as he finally starts to turn.

The moment whittles down to nothing but the look in those honey-brown eyes as Eddie finally sees you, a look powerful enough to wither the depth of your doubt. You flick the switch on the side of the mic as you walk toward him, illuminated fully now, light gleaming off the smoke and silver of your armor, armor that matches your beloved’s. The armor is his, but your voice is all your own when you finally speak.

“Hi, Ed,” you say into the mic, and your voice is velvety like a hush of wings but also rich like sweet, ripe fruit.

Eddie’s plush lips hang open as his eyes dart over you, unable to settle, his face slack and stupefied, brown eyes impossibly large in his pretty face. There’s a moment of silence before he replies almost dazedly, “Hi, sweet girl.”

A wave titters through the crowd again, murmurs of recognition, encouragement, and disappointment alike— disappointment, perhaps, from some of the girls that didn’t realize Eddie was taken— but they don’t matter now. Because the whole reason you’re here is staring at you like he’s trying not to pinch himself to check if he’s dreaming. In the face of Eddie’s slack-jawed awe, you smile. “Happy birthday, Eddie,” you say, and Jeff starts the track for Passenger.

It seems to take a moment for Eddie to understand what’s happening— that you’re not only on stage with him, dressed the way you’re dressed, looking the way you look, but that you’re holding the mic to your lips, not retreating as the song begins. He misses the first strum but scrambles to catch up as Gareth starts the drumbeat, fingers moving but eyes locked on you. And you’re looking back at him, looking back until your eyes slip closed so you can sink into that familiar headspace and let the rest of the world— the stage, the lights, the stares, the crowd— fall away. Until it’s just you, your voice, and Eddie’s song, the song you’re singing to him.

“Here I lay, still and breathless; just like always, still I want some more—”

It’s exactly how you’d sounded in the quiet of your apartment, breathy and haunting, but even better now with the microphone’s vocal effects. You sink into the comfort of your weeks of practice, letting that carry you through to the final line of the verse, the last moment of gentleness before the song intensifies.

“Now to calm me, this time won’t you please—” your brow scrunches and your voice surges up as you drag out the words, “—drive faster!”

The grinding of the guitar, the thrum of the bass, the fury of the drums— they fill you up like Eddie’s smoke voice, like the light in his eyes and the rasp of his calloused hands against your green. You channel it all as you sing the chorus, pouring out your passion for all to see.

“Roll the window down, this cool night air is curious. Let the whole world look in, who cares who sees anything? I’m your passenger. I’m your passenger.”

With Eddie, you’ve grown tall and strong. For Eddie, you’re blooming right open, finally unafraid to be perceived.

You’ve given Eddie a precious gift, and he intends to thank you, to ensure you know that you belong to him.

He’d been on you the moment you both walked through the front door, hasty and needful, fisting his broad hands at your inner thighs and ripping your thin tights to shreds to expose your heat. Your desire rushed hot and thick as he dragged you down to the ground, burying his face in your pussy right there on the dining room floor, too hungry for you to wait for the bedroom. He devoured you, relentless despite the writhing of your hips and your fists tugging at his curls in a grip that must have been painful.

You came the first time on his tongue.

Afterward, he’d lifted you in his arms and carried you to the bed you share, laying you gently across the down comforter as your chest heaved with your panting. He undressed you tenderly, working you back up unhurriedly, pressing teasing kisses to every inch of your skin until you were squirming and needy again. Then, when you were ready, Eddie fucked you deep and slow, tucking your knees to your chest, his guitar pick swinging to brush against your skin with every grind of his hips until you came a second time on his cock, shuddering and whimpering.

And now he has you on all fours, face down, arms curled atop the sheets as his hips smack against your ass, making your doughy flesh jiggle. He’s clutching your hips so tight you know there’ll be marks tomorrow, little oval bruises that act as evidence of his passion for you. It only makes you burn hotter for him. As do his words— his smoke that you inhale eagerly with heaving breaths until it coils rich and heady in your belly.

“—so fuckin’ sexy up there, singing my song like that. Got me so fuckin’ hard, babe, I could’ve fucked you right there on that stage—” You whimper, pushing your hips back, his praise motivating you to take him deeper. “Oh yeah,” Eddie groans, raspy with approval. “That’s it, sweet thing. Bounce that perfect ass on me.” He starts to fuck into you harder as you obey, rocking back against him until the claps echo alongside your whimpers and his low, breathy sounds of pleasure.

It’s fairly commonplace for Eddie to make you cum twice, but your third orgasm has long been elusive. You’ve typically found yourself too sensitized for it, your clit too puffy and raw for even Eddie’s light, careful touch to be pleasant. But something seems different tonight. Maybe it’s the thrill of performing successfully on stage with him, or the patience with which he’s playing your body so expertly, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s not touching your clit directly, that it’s just his heavy balls swaying rhythmically against your lips, a slight slap that makes you tingle every time you push back to meet his steady thrusts. Whatever it is, you can feel the cinders of your arousal build back up again under his faithful attention, and you drag your teeth against your bottom lip, relishing in the feeling of him behind you.

His fingers had been pressing bruisingly into your hips, but now Eddie’s grip softens and shifts, his broad, calloused hands rubbing wide circles over your ass as he praises you again. “Have I ever told you,” Eddie says musingly, his voice low and edged with teasing, “how goddamn gorgeous your ass is?”

He plays idly with your cheeks as you chuckle. “Only all the time,” you say, and the sound of your laugh hitches when he grabs two handfuls of your pliant flesh, pulling your cheeks apart as he continues to fuck you steadily. When he continues to hold your ass like that, and you hear a low groan, you rush with heat as you realize he must be watching himself disappear into your heat. You imagine what he sees: his cock, thick and flushed pink, engulfed over and over down to the hilt by your slick, puffy pussy. Your entrance is stretched tight, dragging with him slightly as if reluctant to let him go when he pulls his hips back. You flutter at the thought, squirming in his hold as your cinders catch to a low flame again, now for the third time. You can feel your thighs sticking to his on every thrust, can hear how wet you sound, and you’re suddenly envious of his view—

“Shit, baby,” Eddie breathes, and the heat in his voice makes you pulse. “You’re so fuckin’ messy, coating my whole dick. Pussy’s so creamy, just wanna—”

You’re left with no warning before his thick length is suddenly and abruptly pulled from you, leaving you mournfully empty as you feel the bed shift and lurch behind you, jostling your knees. Eddie isn’t gone from you long, though, as you quickly feel his breath puff hot against your skin before he licks a broad stripe up your pussy.

You sigh at the feeling of his tongue on your puffy lips, which is so gentle it’s almost a relief compared to the, admittedly, delicious pounding you’d just been receiving. Eddie groans his eager satisfaction as he tastes you, and you answer back with a moan of your own, widening your knees and settling into the new sensation. Your hips jerk slightly when his chin bumps against your sensitized clit, but Eddie doesn’t linger there long. Instead, after laving your entrance thoroughly, tasting you until he’s satisfied, he merely starts at the apex of your heat, dragging his tongue briefly along your clit on his journey up to your entrance. Up, slowly and steadily and deliberately— up to your entrance but then past it, because Eddie just keeps moving up, up, up, and he doesn’t stop until his tongue has dragged across the tight pucker of your hole.

You burst instantly with flutters, with fire that licks your belly and leaves your head rushing at the unexpected feeling of Eddie’s tongue there. It’s not something you’ve never done together, but it’s not something you do all the time, and the novelty of it feels both naughty and profoundly thrilling. Your breath deepens as you wait, muscles tensed as you feel Eddie’s breath puff warm against your skin again, but this time at that delicate, sensitive spot between your cheeks. The anticipation is torturous, and involuntarily, you feel yourself clench and flutter at the feeling. Eddie hums low in his throat like he’s both satisfied and amused at your reaction, and you’re near to a whine when you feel his tongue— broad and firm, warm and wet— as he licks your ass again.

Your whine melts to a breathy gasp as Eddie’s calloused hands land on your cheeks, his thumbs prying them apart for better access as he pushes his face closer. The way he’s licking you here isn’t the same as the way he licks your pussy. With your pussy, Eddie varies the pressure and the rhythm, sometimes swirling and sometimes sucking as he plays with your lips and your clit. Now, each stroke of his tongue is even and consistent, predictable almost, like he’s slowly devouring an ice cream cone.

But oh, is it effective. Before long, you’re whimpering, a high sound of feminine need, louder when you feel one hand leave your cheek and Eddie fills your pussy with two fingers, curling them deliciously so your hips buck. He ignores your clit, working you with his fingers in time with his broad tongue which swipes against you again and again, dragging warm and wet over your puckered hole. Your fingers fist in the bedding as your hips begin to shift, tiny circles that match his movements. His fingers continue, but you feel his tongue pause so he can croon, “Aw. It's like that, huh?”

Eddie’s voice is smug, knowing, and it only twists you tighter, making the flame of your desire burn brighter for him.

“Fuck, Eddie, that feels so—” you break off in a desperate whine, very undeniably affected by what he’s doing.

"I know, baby, I know.” Eddie chuckles, licking your ass through his laughter, and the breathy sound of his amusement shouldn’t be arousing, but it is. “You were winking at me back here. Couldn't resist.”

He keeps licking you, long, measured strokes that he times with the push and crook of his fingers until you’re desperate for him to stretch you open again. This feels good, really good, but the flame growing in your belly— the burn of your need— can only be sated by one thing. “Ed,” you plead, “please, please fuck me again— need your cock now, need you—”

No matter how much he might tease and play with you, Eddie can never resist the sweetness of your voice when you beg for him.

You feel the bed shift behind you again, Eddie’s knees brushing the inside of yours as he straightens up and shuffles closer to you. You feel his head firm and spongy against your puffy lips, and though his length has been left neglected for a while, if anything, he’s even harder now as he pushes back inside you. The thought that Eddie was just as aroused by licking your ass as you were to feel him do it makes you shiver, pleasurable tingles racing up your spine as he slides thick and hot back where he belongs inside you. The stretch is delicious, as is the rasp of his wiry hair against your clit when he grinds in slow and firm, pressing as deep as he can go.

“Mmm—” you push back into him, widening your legs to lower the angle just slightly, and Eddie hisses as he nudges against the end of you.

“Feel good?” he rasps, kneading your thighs as he circles his hips languidly, letting you enjoy the deep press of him inside you. “Is my cock makin’ you feel good, sweet girl?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “yeah, Eddie, I love your cock, baby. You make my pussy feel so good.”

He sighs harshly, and you flutter and tingle with pleasure as he pulls back and thrusts forward sharply, punching a delighted moan out of you. “Yeah, Eddie, like that,” you say, voice thick and sticky with your need for him. “Fuck me like that.”

He thrusts into you once more, slowly building up his pace until he’s fucking you evenly like he was before, holding your hips in his broad hands. His cock stokes the burn in your belly, filling you with steady pleasure that is making you feel good like you’d told him. But after his tongue, the air of your bedroom is cold on your hole, slick from Eddie’s spit. And you’re just realizing you really miss the feeling when something hits you there— something wet and warm that lingers for a moment before beginning to slide, guided by gravity to drip down the delicate skin between your ass and your entrance.

Eddie’s spit.

You’re just recovering from the realization that Eddie has spit on your hole when you feel the calloused pad of his thumb press against it, rubbing you there as he maintains the pace of his hips. You moan, arching your back and rocking eagerly into the feeling of him massaging you with his thumb while he fucks your pussy. Before you know it, you’re panting, nearly squirming with your desire for more— more cock, more thumb, more touch, more something.

Your desire is purring within you, making your answer to Eddie’s question come quick and easy. “You want my thumb inside?” he asks, and immediately you’re nodding, the tingling fire of your arousal bursting to life again.

You know that nodding isn’t really enough to confirm what you want, but a little vocalization is all you can manage. “Mm-hmm,” you hum, voice wavering as your body rushes with anticipation.

“Shit, that’s so hot,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you whimper when he pauses in his movements, both his thumb and his hips as if he needs to stop entirely in order to concentrate. And then the pressure against your hole steadily and evenly begins to increase.

You arch your back further, encouraging him with your posture and the little breathy sounds you let spill from your lips as you pant. He pushes in steadily until the tip of his thumb pops inside you up to the first knuckle, and the breach has you clenching on him instantly. "That's it, baby. Take it,” Eddie husks, and the smoke of his voice settles low in your belly, mixing with the heat of your fire as he starts to thrust his cock into you again.

As he resumes his pace, splaying the rest of his fingers along one cheek to hold onto you comfortably, you find yourself nearly overwhelmed by all the sensations— the rasp of his wiry curls against your heated lips, the lewd shlicking sounds of your wetness as he pounds into you, the pleasant sting of his thumb and the delicious stretch of his cock, the feeling of being breached and filled by him in two places instead of one. Your flames twist high, flaring hotter and hotter until you’ve turned into a whiny mess— lips parted, brow scrunched, eyes screwed shut as you twist the comforter in your fists and bury your face in it. It doesn’t stop your whines and moans, though they’re muffled now, uttered into the soft fabric beneath you.

“Ah-ah—” Eddie’s rasp is chastizing as he bends over your back, his hot, sticky chest now flush with the breadth of your shoulders. As he does, incidentally, he presses further in: his cock bullies up against the end of you and his thumb slips deeper, stretching you as you stutter a moan into the comforter. He grips your hair to turn your head, pausing for a moment to press his palm lightly against the side of your face for emphasis. "Don’t do that,” Eddie pants, pushing himself up with one hand against the bed before grabbing hold of your hip and fucking into you again, his other hand still firmly gripping your cheek with his thumb buried inside. “Wanna hear every sound out of those pretty lips.”

You’re officially a wreck now. Panting, moaning with every breath, mouth open and drooling against the bed, face hot and flushed as he pounds you, brain empty of anything but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You look up at him, glassy-eyed and adoring, and he groans raggedly, face pinching as he sees just how fucked out you are. "Jesus Christ, you look so—” He breaks off in a grunt, dragging his teeth against his plush bottom lip before groaning, “fuck, m'close, but I want another one from you. Can you give me one more, sweet girl?"

Your nose skims the sheets with each thrust as you rock with Eddie’s movements, teary eyes locked on his pretty face: the flush of his cheeks, how his damp curls kiss them as they sway; the plush of his swollen lips as he swipes his pink tongue across them; the shadow of his jaw and the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows thickly; the look in his brown eyes, heavy and hazy, molten to deep honey as he watches you take him so well like the good girl you are. Your thoughts are sluggish, melty with the heat of your desire, the flames that lick up your abdomen. It takes you a moment to realize Eddie has asked you a question.

Can you give me one more, sweet girl? Will you let me make you cum again?

Your focus hones to the stretch of him filling you, his cock pumping hot and thick in your pussy, his thumb and splayed fingers holding you in place. And as you think about it— think about how pretty Eddie looks, how his cock feels inside you— you find yourself wanting one thing. You want Eddie to cum. You want to see the way his brow pinches and his mouth falls open, to hear his smoke voice high and tight as you make him moan, to feel the way he holds you as he twitches and pumps warm cum deep inside you, claiming you as his.

Your bottom lip drags against the comforter as you close your drooling mouth, and you bite it through a tiny, petulant whine of protest at the realization that waiting for your orgasm means having to wait longer for Eddie’s. “Eddie,” you whine, brow crinkled pleadingly, trying to urge him toward what you desire. “Want your cum in me.”

Eddie huffs, cheeks pinking further, eyes darkening at the petulance in your voice. “Yeah, baby?” he husks. “You want my load?”

Your eyes widen hopefully, an expression of earnest, cock-dumb need. “Mm-hmm,” you hum, whimpery and urging again. “Please cum in me, Ed.”

Eddie can never resist your pleading, but this time, your words make his brown eyes flash. He chuckles breathlessly, expression lighting with mischief. And you should have been prepared, but you’re too gone to notice, so it takes you entirely off-guard when Eddie purrs, "I know what you really want, y/n. You want me to fuck a baby into you.”

Instantly, you burst with tingling flutters; you gasp sharply as goosebumps rush along your back and arms, racing up your spine to tingle in your scalp, tightening your nipples and leaving you reeling. It’s not something you and Eddie have discussed before, and you aren’t expecting how affected you are by the thought of Eddie giving you a baby. You shudder, a full-bodied and unmistakeably obvious physical reaction to his words, one you have no hope of stifling.

Eddie groans, deep and low in his chest as he feels and sees your reaction to his words. “Shit, you do, don’t you? I fuckin’ knew it.”

He sounds smug but excited, and you can’t help but feel embarrassed by the strength of your sudden desire. Because you do want that— in just the same way as the first time you had your mouth on him, when Eddie asked you if you wanted his cum. Though the suggestion hadn’t consciously occurred to you before, you realize it has been there, buried deep down like the seed that has since sprouted and grown tall under his careful tending. A hidden desire that now has been exposed, leaving you open and vulnerable.

But then Eddie’s smoke voice gentles, sounding so sincere as he says, “I can't wait to see you, y/n.” The fingers clutching at your hip ease, and your breath hitches as Eddie slides his calloused hand down to cup the soft of your stomach, holding you, supporting you in an embrace seemingly at odds with the way he’s fucking into you. “Gonna be so gorgeous. Belly all round, tits so big… beautiful, sweet girl.” You feel your green quiver and bloom with the strength of your love, but also with this poignant, sharp longing that floods you.

He’s right behind you, holding you, inside you. Eddie couldn’t be closer, but you still want more.

His voice is growing huskier, grittier, hoarsening with desire as he keeps talking. “I want everyone to see you. To see how incredible you are. They’ll see you, and everyone will know…” he breaks off in a grunt, chest heaving, words a little shakier as he continues, “they’ll know I fucked you full of my cum. I want everyone to know you’re my girl. I want them to know you’re mine."

That’s the more you’re yearning for: Eddie claiming you, filling you, marking you not just with bruises from his fingertips and his kisses but with his seed, with the evidence of your shared love growing inside you, sheltered by your body. A piece of Eddie and a piece of you, forever entangled. And as you hear each successive word, your longing twists tighter and your flame burns brighter and hotter until it’s tingling between your hips, driving you toward that elusive place you’ve already visited twice tonight.

Eddie’s fucking you hard and fast now, wound tight, seemingly stirred by his own words. “Is that what you want?” he pants. “You want me to give you a baby, y/n?”

You do. You really do. You want it so bad you can’t even speak beyond a broken, keening noise in your throat. “Tell me,” Eddie urges you, brown eyes nearly desperate. “Please, tell me you want it.”

Through your gasps and whimpers, you force out the words in a choked sob, only for him. "I want your baby, Eddie, I want—"

Your orgasm surges up so quickly your words cut off in a scream, and you cry out desperately, high and hoarse as it rushes through you. Longing and pleasure, desire and devotion, a combination so intense that you lose control of your body, swept away by an all-encompassing wave that has you twisting your fingers in the sheets and writhing, twitching, spasming on Eddie’s cock. You don’t even notice when he pulls out his thumb; your pussy flutters wildly as he holds on tight to your hips, wide-eyed and nearly overwhelmed by the vehemence of your reaction.

The illusion of his control shatters. Eddie’s hips stutter as he starts to whine, and now, he’s almost as much a mess as you are, though you’re too far gone to notice it. As you start to come down, all you can hear is his wavering smoke voice, choked and raw. "Oh, my God— good girl, you’re so— so good, my girl, oh shit, g-gonna make me cum, oh fuck, I-I’m—"

Eddie keens desperately, whiny and high, a beautiful broken sound of desperation as he finally spills inside you, filling you and filling you and filling you.

In the aftershocks of your pleasure, the warmth of Eddie’s cum brings a sense of peace and completion. When he chokes on a moan, rutting his hips against your ass as he shakes and trembles, you press back into him, sighing as you feel his cock twitch and jerk rhythmically with his release. If you had the energy, you’d push yourself up so you could press your back against his chest and thread your fingers in his curls to cradle his head, but after three orgasms and more than an hour of intense love-making, you’re feeling utterly exhausted. Luckily, Eddie’s feeling the same desire for closeness as you are— you hum, eyes blinking heavy-lidded as he drapes his sweaty torso over your back and wraps his firm arms around your middle, holding you close.

You relish the press of Eddie’s chest against your back, the frantic beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath, though his weight quickly becomes too heavy for your trembling, boneless arms. You push out a whimper and he gets the hint, pulling out and collapsing onto the bed in a heap beside you. Quick as you can, you turn towards him, fighting against the protest of your sore muscles to shimmy closer until you’re enveloped by his heat. You tangle your limbs together, ignoring all else: the sweat that makes your skin stick everywhere it touches, the mess of cum leaking from your pussy onto the comforter as you shift, the slightly-uncomfortable poking of his half-hard cock against your soft tummy. Because you don’t care about those things when you can gaze into the tired, sated eyes of the man you love, caress his cheek, kiss him softly, and hold him close, knowing this moment can last as long as you like.

You lay there basking in the glow until Eddie begins to untangle you, choosing to ignore your petulant grunt aside from a quick fond chuckle he huffs through his nose when he rolls off the bed. Your head flops back to the mattress, and you drift into that place just at the edge of dreaming, the distant sound of running water a fuzz of pleasant white noise in your ears. When the mattress dips, it pulls you out of it, and you stretch luxuriously across the bedding as you feel a warm, damp cloth against your inner thighs. You hum, rolling onto your back and spreading your legs for him, smiling up at Eddie as he cleans you gently. “Thank you,” you say, voice quiet and sleepy and sated. Eddie’s curls tickle your cheeks when he ducks to press a kiss to your lips. You frown suddenly in realization. “Hey,” you say, still quiet but a little more awake now as his lips pull away, dragging yours with them slightly. “Wait a minute. It’s your birthday— I should be taking care of you.”

Eddie flops down next to you, eyes sparkling as he grins, and you wonder how he can still have so much energy after fucking you for hours. “You’re right,” he says, “it is my birthday. And I wanna take you somewhere.”

Your frown turns from consternation to confusion. “You wanna take me somewhere for your birthday?” When he just nods, gazing at you hopefully, you soften. “Okay,” you hush through a smile, playing with a lock of his curls. “Of course. Where do you wanna go?”

Those plush lips twist a little sheepishly. “Well, it’s kind of far. Not that far,” he rushes, “it’s within driving distance, but… it would take a couple hours.” You don’t understand his hesitance until he adds, “And we’d need to leave soon.”

You squint. “How soon, Eddie?”

He grins, and there’s an edge of intentional charm in it, like he knows you can’t resist him when he’s being cute. “Um, in like… three hours.”

Your brows flash up. “You mean we’d have to leave at three in the morning?” When he looks at you, those pretty brown eyes all big and wide and pleading, it’s almost disgusting how quickly you relent. “Let’s do it,” you say, and the sparkling, crinkly-eyed beam that lights his face is an instant reward.

You and Eddie weave back together to steal a brief naked nap, waking with snuffles and pulling on warm comfortable clothes before rubbing the crust from your eyes. You make a pitstop in the living room so Eddie can check on Smaug the bearded dragon; you smile fondly as your boyfriend croons over him while Smaug blinks lazily, looking up at him from inside his elaborate glass enclosure.

“We should feed him before we go,” Eddie says, and your lips curve with a smile.

“How about a treat? Then we can give him his mealworms when we get back,” you suggest, giggling when Eddie wraps you in his arms, shuffling you forward with little steps over to the fridge. You pass him the small container of mushy strawberries, watching as Smaug snatches them up with his pale tongue, mashing the fruit with little smacks of his tiny jaws.

And as you prepare to head out, a sense of childish giddiness overtakes you at the fact that you're leaving in the middle of the night when it feels like the rest of the world is asleep, off on an impromptu adventure to who-knows-where. You turn to Eddie to see him bundled in his sweatshirt and thick joggers, lanky frame covered by swaths of soft fabric, his feet stuffed in his untied Reeboks. He jams a beanie over his wild curls, tugging until it’s arranged how he wants it, snug but not quite straight. You consider asking Eddie where he's taking you, but as he carefully fits a second knit beanie over your head, tongue poking between his lips as he adjusts it against your forehead, you decide you’d rather leave it a surprise.

You don’t need to know where you’re going; it’s enough to know who you’re going with.

Still, you can’t say you’d expected to end up where you are.

By late September, no one is looking to visit the beach. Certainly not at five in the morning, and especially not when the gate to access the park at the edge of the island is closed.

No one except Eddie Munson, that is.

To be fair, he hadn’t expected it to be gated off, though that was, in fact, his own oversight. But you had driven two hours to get here, and it is his birthday—well, the day after his birthday now— so it doesn’t take much coaxing at all to convince you to let him park on the sand half-concealed behind some scraggly trees and help you hop the gate.

It's quite a bit colder here at the shoreline than it was in the city; the salt air is gritty and harsh against your cheeks, and you're glad for the beanie keeping your ears protected as Eddie slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his warm side. It's cold and dark, but luckily, Eddie seems to know where he's going, illuminating your path with the flashlight on his phone. When the lighthouse looms out of the dark, towering red and white and still as a silent sentinel at the edge of the ocean, you assume that's where he intends to take you. But instead, Eddie skirts around it, leading you from concrete to sand before hopping spryly onto a low, flat rock that leads to the jetty.

Only then do you become wary. You'd been faithfully following along after him so far on this adventure, but the thought of feeling your way along giant rocks in the pitch black with nothing but the stars and your phone to guide you is unnerving. You squint, trying to gaze down the line of large, dark stones to see how far they go. They seem to stretch on almost endlessly. You shiver with apprehension as you imagine turning around to see the distant pricks of civilization at the shoreline, surrounded on both sides by the rush of the undulating sea, entirely exposed to the unknown.

But Eddie is holding out his broad hand, silver rings gleaming in the moonlight. Even in the dark of twilight you can see the rough callouses on his fingertips, the familiar scars of toil and dedication to his craft. You see the leather bracelet that wraps around his thin wrist, the strong tendons that disappear under the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

You look from his hand to his face, and even in the dark, there's light in Eddie's eyes.

"Come on, sweet girl," he says. "I got you. We'll go slow, okay?" His lips tilt with an earnest smile. "It'll be worth it," he murmurs. "I promise."

It is so worth it.

Every uncertain step, every slippery rock, every gap, Eddie guides you over with patience and care. Eddie's fingers hold yours tightly, growing slippery with the salt spray on the wind but never faltering in their firm grip on you. Carefully, slowly, you step from flat stone to flat stone, following in Eddie's steady, sure footsteps until the tightness in your chest eases. The jetty extends on forever, but you and Eddie tackle it bit by bit. You watch the sea play in the divots between stone as gradually, the sky lightens. It softens slowly from deep, dark velvet until, by the time you've reached the end of the jetty, it's bloomed into the cool, pale blue of approaching dawn.

Eddie goes before you, scuttling down the last few steps and holding out his arms for you. His hands close around your waist as you hop from the jetty to the sand, and you take his hand as he guides you to the strip of beach at the end of the island, edged by untamed green. You know deep down that you and Eddie are not the first to be here, but it almost feels that way. It feels as though you’re both removed from it all, claiming a little oasis for your own at the back of the world.

Cold seeps through your leggings as you sit, and Eddie flops ungracefully to mirror your position: legs bent, sneakers digging divots into the pliant sand, forearms resting on knees. The sea breeze plays with your hair beneath your beanies, but you’re used to its chill now, and you can feel the warmth of Eddie’s body right beside you— not quite touching, but close enough to keep you from shivering. You sit there quietly for some time, sitting side-by-side with Eddie, staring out at the sea. There is peace in watching the waves crash into foam that spreads thin across the beach, carrying delicate stones that dance when it recedes back into itself, only to return again and again.

As the pale blue of the sky begins to deepen to orange at the horizon line, you finally speak, your voice quiet and creaky from disuse. “Sunrise on the beach, Ed?” You slant a teasing glance at him. “This is a pretty sappy birthday gift.”

In the deepening light you can see that Eddie’s soft nose is stung pink from the cold, and he sniffles and wrinkles it before returning your glance. The sea wind is playing with his curls, turning them frizzy and wild and free. “Well,” he says, just as quietly, because in this oasis at the back of the world, there’s no need to raise his voice. “A while ago, I took a walk on the beach with this chick in Miami. Thought I might wanna do it again. See the sunrise with her this time.”

You try to bite back the wideness of your smile, but Eddie sees right through you, down to the heat in your cheeks and the sparkle of adoration in your eye and the verdant green of your soul. He shows off his dimple, grinning at you, pleased as he unfolds one arm to pinch your chin in his strong but gentle fingers. He looks at you for a moment, dark eyes dragging over your face in a soft caress before his thumb draws across your skin. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you say, thick and melty like honey. “I love you, Eddie.”

There’s soft pink on Eddie’s face. There’s the orange light of dawn in his eyes. “I love you, too,” he says. “I love you more than anything.”

You don’t try to stifle your smile that time. Instead, you direct it toward the sea, toward the rising sun, the cleft of brightness that emerges from the dark toil of the water. You lean your temple against the soft plush of Eddie’s shoulder, and he straightens his elbow to rest it again on his knee. You extend your arm, and he extends his, sliding his rough palm along your soft one and shifting his fingers ‘til they’re intertwined with yours.

Dawn is breaking, and you’re thinking about the beginning of things.

You don’t turn to look at him, because then, your courage might fail. “Earlier,” you say, small and quiet, almost a whisper, “was that just dirty talk? Or…?”

You don’t need to clarify further; Eddie knows what you’re referring to. His smoke voice is quiet when he answers, but it isn’t unsure. “No,” he says. “Not just dirty talk, sweet girl. I do want that.” His thumb strokes across the back of your hand, and its rasp leaves tingles in its wake. “Soon, if that’s what you want.”

Your blooms sigh. Your fruit is plentiful, more than enough to share. “I do,” you say, and Eddie turns his face to rest gently against your beanie.

His chin skims cold along your forehead, but his breath is warm as he murmurs, almost to himself, “Just wanna marry you first.”

The sun rises, and as you watch the new day dawn, the promise of the future has never tasted quite so succulently sweet.

#blueywrites #tkym #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction

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bvtbxtch · 7 months

Text

Jealous Guy | Eddie Munson

Day Nine of Kinktober

Summary: Steve Harrington is persistent with his advances towards you during the Hideout's Halloween party. Your co-bartender, Eddie, doesn't like the fact that you don't shoot him down right away.

wc: ~2.7k

Pairings: Bartender!Eddie Munson x Bartender!Fem!Reader, A Steve Harrington Cameo

Warnings: some more porn with a plot y'all so 18+ MDNI!!! Public sex, choking, slapping, oral (f receiving), fingering, hickeys, hate fucking (if you squint), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), cum eating (very briefly), Jealous meanie Eddie, PDA

In collaboration with my darling @darknesseddiem. Please make sure to tune in to their half of Kinktober later in October!!

a/n: hey y'all I have finally caught up to all of my work that I did in advance so this baby was written in the span of two hours and has not been proof read so if there are any mistakes, no they're isn't!

Eddie Munson wasn’t the jealous type. Far from it. His jaw wasn’t clenched because Steve Harrington was flirting with you. And it definitely wasn’t because you weren’t turning him down like most regulars. Maybe you needed the tips? Fuck, Eddie thought he would give you a hundred dollars to stop talking to the retired King of Hawkins high, especially because the Hair’s eyes were like magnets, drawn to your cleavage in your black lace corset. He hated to admit, but the madonna costume you sported for the Hideout’s Halloween Howler suited you. Your tits were pushed up to the gods, your hair big and curly with a bow on the side, and your tulle skirt barely covered your ass. Your legs were lengthened by fishnets and slouchy boots. Your signature smoked out liner and plum lipstick matched your costume perfectly. Steve was dressed up like a werewolf. Eddie rolled his eyes when he saw the jock walking in with Robin and Nancy behind him. But, maybe you were into guys that did costumes. He looked down at his sliced up Hideout shirt and he scoffed thinking about his own pale face. You had laughed at him when Eddie chastised you for not knowing he was a vampire, but now he felt self conscious. He continued to pour tequila for the group of screaming girls in front of his section of the bar while you chatted up the werewolf on your side. Eddie heard you purr “this one’s on the house” and touch Steve’s arm, and the metalhead just about short circuited. Eddie could admit that you were attractive, and that he was thankful that the two of you had gotten closer over the past few weeks. He eyed the blondes in front of him that had been eyeing him the whole night. He hastily poured shots, three for the girls in front of him and one for himself. He pushed the shots in front of them and downed the tequila down his throat. He screwed his eyes shut and the only thing he could see in the darkness was the interaction that the two of you had when closing the bar last week.

Your face was screwed into a frown as you wiped up the last inch of your side of the bar. You leaned against the bar with a sigh. The night had been long and busy, but Eddie’s eyes always found you, whether you were clearing and wiping tables throughout the bar, fixing broken pool tables with a hip check, or serving your regulars at the bar. He also noticed how your eyes raked over him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

“Rough night?” Eddie asked.

“Ah, well, if you consider getting your ass grabbed by that fucking Creel guy over there” you gestured your thumb behind you “then yeah, pretty rough. The prick hasn’t left me alone since. Sincerely thinking he’s gonna be waiting at my car when I leave.” You laughed and shook your head. You didn’t notice Eddie’s face hardened and his cheeks flush red while you recapped your night. He breezed past you, eyes glued on the offender, your eyes followed him and panic made your chest heave when Eddie slipped past you and out from behind the bar.

“Where are you going?” you questioned. Eddie’s eyes met yours but they didn’t soften.

“I’m going to take care of it.” Eddie didn’t give you a chance to stop him. He grabbed the older man by the collars and pulled him out the front door. Within minutes, the mop headed man walked back in the bar shaking his fists which were bruised and covered in blood. You yelled out to Eddie and ran to him, cupping his hands.

“What did you do?” you gulped.

“I fixed the problem.”

You spent the last half an hour of the now empty bar being open with Eddie sitting on a stool with you in between his legs. You smelt like floral perfume and Jack Daniels. Eddie felt his heart fall to his knees as you made purchase in his space. You couldn’t help but steal glances at the boy in front of you. You had always thought he was cute and mysterious, but now that it was just the two of you, he looked soft, almost innocent (which was ironic seeing the situation you were in). His pearly complexion was littered with soft brown freckles. His hair frizzed around his head like a halo. As you cleaned up his hands you noticed the subtle muscle the boy had. His biceps flexed slightly under his black tee and his tattoos flexed as he pulled away in pain. You would squeeze out small apologies.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone touching you again, as long as I’m here.” Eddie murmured, too shy to say anything too loud and scare you away.

“Thank you, Eddie. You didn’t have to do that.” Your eyes flickered to his lips and you pulled yourself in closer to him. He tilted his head down to meet your lips. As they dusted against yours, you pulled away, unfortunately remembering where you were. Eddie cleared his throat and hopped up from the stool and thus ended your encounter and conversation for the end of the night. He didn’t even walk with you through the parking lot like normal - he hopped in his van as soon as the clock struck 3am and screeched onto the highway. Did you do something wrong? Were you making up signals that he was sending you? He wanted to kiss you and you wanted to kiss him - but after work where you could tell him how you felt.

Eddie’s eyes flickered open and he shook his head, erasing the thought from his mind and the alcohol from his tongue. He turned to see you eyeing him. When your eyes met, you rolled yours and turned back to the customers in front of you, Steve not too far down the bar. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, or maybe it was the fact that Eddie was jealous, but he strutted up right beside you and puffed his chest out at Steve, who was, very obviously, making heart eyes at you.

“Hey man, are you finished ordering? Because we got a crowd and you’re taking up bar space.” Eddie grumbled at the perfectly manicured quaff of hair standing before him. He wasn’t lying per se, there were quite a few patrons that night, but they weren’t all waiting for their drinks.

Steve scoffed at him and made eyes at you; you scoffed and rolled your eyes at Eddie and turned back to the older woman dressed up like a devil. You couldn’t stand being close to Eddie since your interaction last week, you thought you might not be able to handle the rejection, or any advancements that he would make towards you. It didn’t however stop you from shutting him out completely and trying to move on. You spoke to Eddie without turning to face him.

“Steve is my guest, he’s allowed to sit at the bar if he wants, Eddie. Take the stick out of your ass.” You chuckled as you heard the man behind you gasp. Eddie looked to Rick, working tables and signaled him to take over the bar. You suddenly felt a bruising grip on your arm as you were dragged towards the back entrance of the bar and to the break room and out the back door.

“What the fuck Eddie!” you spat.

“Tell him to fucking leave.” Eddie demanded. His voice was low and calm, but there was a fire in his eyes.

“Are you kidding me?” You laughed in his face. “Don’t tell me Eddie Munson is Jeal-” Your words were lost in your throat as Eddie slammed his hands against the wall beside your head and caged you within his arms.

“Did I stutter?” Eddie's eyes were dark and you couldn’t read his expression. You searched and waited for him to leave, or to say something to you, but he stilled; his face mere inches away from your face. You had to resist the urge to pull him into a kiss, but your heart thumped and you felt like you were going to suffocate. You needed him to move, to do something. Without warning his lips were on yours. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t longing like your other kiss was supposed to be. This was primal - territorial. He was letting you know who you belonged to.

It was a gnashing of teeth and tongues, but you couldn’t help but moan into him. The release that you had been longing for, that thread between the two of you had gotten so tense, you were happy it finally snapped. Eddie’s mouth trailed down your neck. You whined while he sucked a hard hickey by your pulse point. You hoped Eddie would soothe the pain radiating from the spot, but there was none. This was not about being sweet or gentle. He wasn’t trying to win you over. He knew he had won - he was just taking what was his and making sure you and everyone else knew it.

“E-Eddie” you moaned. “We can’t do this now…” Eddie detached his mouth from your throat and replaced it with his hand. He added light pressure to stop your words in their tracks.

“You don’t tell me what to do. Now you’re going to be quiet and you’re going to listen. Or you’re going to push me off and never fucking talk to me again.” He bored into your eyes, waiting for you to move against him and trot back through the door to the blaring music on the other side. But to his surprise, you grabbed his wrist that was choking you and pushed down harder. Eddie’s expression flickered from domination to surprise to complete arousal. He pressed into your neck, eliciting a moan from your lips as you felt dizzy.

Eddie trailed his hands down your body as he sank to his knees. He hastily pulled your thigh up on his shoulder and pulled your fishnets apart by your core. To his amusement, he could tell there was a wet patch on your panties, even in the dim light. He slapped his ring finger across your clothed pussy, sending shocks up your body and leaving you yelping in pleasure.

“Did I get you all worked up, doll?” Eddie slapped again, making your legs heave. “Or did Harrington get you all hot and bothered?” Eddie’s eyes looked up at you expectantly. “Answer me!” He barked.

“It’s for you, Eddie… All for you” you moaned.

“Good answer,” he smirked. Without hesitation, your panties were pulled to the side and his mouth was on you - and he sucked down hard. You cried out and the man looked back up at you pointedly. You bit your lip as you watched him probe your pussy with his tongue. You looked around hastily, desperate for more contact, but petrified someone was going to drive around to the back of the parking lot and see you - or worse, your boss would come out for his smoke break.

“Eddie” you gasped. “We’re gonna get caught!” Your body language didn’t match the panic in your voice. You bucked against Eddie’s face, making the boy moan. He took one of his big hands and pressed against your abdomen, pinning you to the wall.

“Then be a good girl and cum for me,” Your world went fuzzy when you felt Eddie’s tongue press into your throbbing hole. Your mouth formed a wide o as you gasped for air. Eddie felt like he was going to bust in his pants at the way you clenched around his muscle. He needed to see you fall apart for him and then he needed to mark you as his. He replaced his tongue with his fingers and migrated his mouth up to your sensitive clit. You bit down on your lip as your orgasm barrelled towards you. Eddie reached up and put his free hand in your mouth. You moaned into his dextrous fingers and sucked down hard. Eddie’s pornographic moan sent vibrations through you and threw you over the edge. Eddie lapped at you like you were the last thing he was ever going to taste. He stared up at you, watching how you came undone. When he felt the shaking of your thighs subside, he dropped your leg and flipped you over so your cheek was pressed against the cool brick wall. Eddie’s large hands pressed into your hips, assuring you would have fingerprints to remember him by in the morning.

With a couple of pumps at his angry cock, and he pressed into your spent pussy, giving you minimal time to adjust to his stretch. You didn’t see it, but you could feel that Eddie was exceptionally well endowed. His cock filled you deliciously and your breath hitched against the wall. Eddie gave you a brief pause to breathe when he was fully sheathed inside you. You both paused with heaving chests as headlights passed the side of the building, but turned away from the two of you. Eddie pulled out completely, making you whine at the emptiness; but you didn’t have to wait for long to be filled again, because Eddie slammed fully into you, eliciting a yelp. His veiny hand snaked around to your neck and pressed down again.

“I told you to be quiet,” Eddie chided. “Let me fill you up and you can go back to your fucking boyfriend” Eddie’s words felt like venom in your ear. You felt like you could barely speak, Eddie didn’t let up his pace.

“Hmph… not my… boyfriend” you managed to rasp out. Eddie let out a dark chuckle.

“No, huh? Would you let Steve touch you like this? Would you let Steve taste you? Would you let him choke you, doll? Do you think he could make you cum like I can?” Eddie pounded into you harder and tears threatened to spill out of your screwed shut eyes.

“No, Eddie. Fuck!” You cried.

“You gonna cry over him, doll?” Eddie sneered. He wanted you to feel bad, but more importantly, he needed to know that you chose him - and that this isn’t a one time thing, you will continue to choose him.

“Eddie!” He could feel you fluttering around him again, you were close. He could feel the knot in his own abdomen tightening. He thrusted into you harder, hitting your g-spot and making your hands fly to the wall in a weak attempt to ground yourself.

Eddie thrust with every word he spoke: “You’re. Not. His. You’re. Mine.” You nodded and Eddie put more pressure on your neck. You both groaned as your climaxes hit. Eddie’s hot ropes of cum painted your insides - his dick twitching sending you past pleasure into overstimulation. The hand that was still on your hip helped hold your shaky legs up.

You felt Eddie’s soft hair rest on your exposed back. You both were too fucked out for words. Begrudgingly, Eddie pulled out and flipped you over to face him. You were flushed and your eye makeup looked more smudged than it did before. Eddie traced his thumb over your cheek to wipe a dark blot of watered down mascara off your cheek. You shifted underneath his gaze, his cum spilling out of your spent pussy.

“You’re gonna go inside and finish the night and I’m gonna drive you home so we can talk, okay?” You shook your head quietly at him. He peered down to your lower half. He pressed his fingers back into you to push both of your essences back into you then pushed your underwear back into place. He looked at you once he removed his fingers and popped them into his mouth. You stared aghast, with your jaw slacked.

“And I’m going to serve Harrington for the rest of the night. Got it?”

“Got it” You peeped. You straightened your skirt and rolled your shoulders back as you swung the door to the bar open. The Time Warp bled out into the October air. You turned back to Eddie and flashed him a small smile, then you were gone.

Eddie smirked as he pulled a cigarette out from behind his ear. Yeah… Harrington was going to have a pretty shit rest of his night.

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