jupitersmuse777

[jupitersmuse777]

What I got out of daisy jones and the six

[jupitersmuse777]

Shelley Duvall, 1970s

[jupitersmuse777]

You make loving fun.

(Warren Rojas x Model!reader)

Summary: You and Warren have an unconventional first date. Featuring drugs, kisses, and some light theft.

Alternatively: For you and Warren’s first date you guys try (and succeed) to steal a bike and get chased by a cokehead :)

Warnings: period typical drug use. Making out and suggestive themes towards the end.

Part 1|

You were asleep when Warren called you.

After you got off work you all but collapsed in your bed, uniform still on, and drifted off without remembering you had a call to wait for. When you woke, it was to your sister shaking you with a vigor.

“What,” you gasped, shooting awake, “what’s wrong? Is there a fire?”

“What? No. Some guy is on the phone asking for you!” April whispered, as if Warren could hear her all the way from the phone in the kitchen.

“Some guy…?”

And then you remembered. Warren. You and Warren totally had plans. Before you could even think, you were scrambling out of bed, racing to the phone and cradling it to your ear.

“Warren, hi.”

“Hey mama,” his voice crackled through the phone, “we’re still on for tonight right?”

You felt your face heat at the sound of his voice. Even through the telephone, you couldn’t help but he a little awestruck by him. “Yeah, yeah of course.” You said softly, “when should I be ready?”

“Me and the guys will probably swing by at nine, if that’s good for you. Was that, uh, your sister?”

You sighed, “Yeah, sorry if she gave you any grief, she’s been kind of a little shit lately ‘cause someone stole her bike.”

Warren laughed from the phone and you smiled, his joy was contagious, “Nah, man she’s funny. She told me I needed a password if I wanted to talk to you.”

You groaned and ran a hand over your face. That little shit. “What was the password?”

Again, Warren laughed, you could hear his smile as he spoke: “Magic mushrooms.”

This time it was you who barked out a laugh, “I guess we know what she’s been doing with her afternoon. How’d you even guess that?”

“I just started spit firing a bunch of words, took like like 30 minutes but—“

“You were on the phone for 30 minutes??”

“Well I sure as hell wasn’t going to get off until I could talk to you, so, yeah.”

And Jesus, how did he say such sweet things so nonchalantly? You wondered if his heart beat a hundred miles an hour when he said them just like yours did when you received them. Did he even fluster?

“Well, it’s a good thing you did. Here let me get you my address..”

-

You and Warren stayed on the phone another hour after that and, wandering to your room to get ready, you felt left with a new sense of warmth. Truth be told you hadn’t really know how to feel about tonight. Warren had gone from unavailable to available so quickly made you feel as if you stumbled onto some fantastical twilight where everything was upside down and—

“So what was that all about?”

You recoiled in the seat of your vanity, “Fuck April!”

April just rolled her eyes, “I was sitting on the bed this whole time, that’s your fault you didn’t see me. C’mon who was that guy?”

You turned back to your mirror in faux annoyance and started picking at your makeup. You felt bashful about the whole thing and you were reluctant to say it out loud because you knew her reaction would feel like an avalanche. Glancing at her from the mirror, you couldn’t help but sigh. The look on her face told you she wasn’t going to shut up about it until you told her which, was probably worst than the reaction.

Reluctantly you muttered, “do you…do you remember grocery store guy?”

April gasped, “no fucking way.”

You regressed into a heap against your vanity, face heating before adding a measly: “we have a date tonight.”

You couldn’t see her but her surprised little grunt told told you all you needed to know. “Holy shit, no way. Wait, isn’t he married? Are you going on a date with a married dude? Maybe mom was right, maybe LA is turning us into sinning demons..”

You recounted, quickly, the story from this morning. “I don’t even know if it’s really a date though. I mean he technically hasn’t given any indication that he likes me.”

“Are you dumb—“ April started.

“No but listen! He invited me with all of his friends. Just because we have good banter doesn’t mean he’s into me, he could just be looking for friends.”

Her silence made you glance at her through the mirror, only to find her looking at you like you were insane, “no offense but you’re really stupid.”

“Hey!” For good measure, you chucked your eyeliner pencil in her general direction, “so rude.”

April threw it back with a vigor, “I said no offense! I just mean, realistically no guy our age is looking for friends.”

She was right but you didn’t want her to know that so, you changed the subject, “I can’t believe you made him guess a password for thirty minutes, you psycho.”

April just laughed smugly, “had to see if he was worthy. Can you stop avoiding the subject now?”

You clicked your tongue and deflated. “What if…what if it doesn’t work out?”

Your last relationship had honestly left you a bit put out.

“Eh, if it doesn’t work out you can always fall back on model guy. And you have a good experience to show for it. Not everything has to be bad all the time.”

“I guess you’re right.” You admitted, testing your head in your hands. Not everything had to be bad all the time was a nice sentiment.

“Yeah I know I am. Let me fix your hair.”

-

In the end, April beat you to the door. You’d fallen over trying to wrestle her down, one shoe on and the other in your hand and from there she’d been able to beeline right for the door.

You heard her, as you were hopping on one foot trying to get your left shoe on, say hello promptly followed by: “password?”

“Okay! That is enough from you, April,” You asserted, shoving her out of the way and closing the door, “I swear she’s the evil twin.”

When you turned around it was to…Warren.

Warren who looked really, really good.

He was leaning against the railing of the apartment smiling at you like you were the best thing he’d seen all day, a cigarette hanging from his mouth and you just. You had to remind yourself that this was the same Warren that had been coming in every week for a month. Just because he was beautiful and single didn’t mean you had to freak out and act like an idiot.

“Look at you,” he teased, “you clean up nice.”

It made you relax, the familiarity of it.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, rockstar.”

-

Climbing into the van, you found two boys, one of which was behind the wheel, and a girl. You’d sort of thought when Warren had said his friends were going to come as well, that it would just be you and a bunch of guys. You were relieved that wasn’t the case which must have shown on your face because the girl smiled wide and—in a shockingly British accent—introduced herself as Karen.

Warren, who climbed in after you and settled an arm around your seat introduced the driver as Graham and the other boy sitting across from him as Eddie.

“It’s nice to meet you all, uh, I listened to your album. You guys are really good.”

Really good was kind of an exaggeration but you like their music and, honestly that was probably all the counted.

Eddie grinned at you, his smile wide and slightly cheshire-like, “Thanks. You know we just went on tour…”

You leaned further into Warren, prompting him to idly run his fingers along your bare shoulder. It sent shivers down your spine despite how warm and firm he was against your skin. You shook your head and tried to focus—it wouldn’t do anyone any good if you were zoning off all the time.

“So I heard,” you said, laughing a bit while taking the blunt that Karen was offering you. You didn’t smoke much and, as you took your first drag, you hoped that you wouldn’t make a huge idiot of yourself.

Inhaling his own smoke, Eddie looked at you through his lashes, “you know, I’m shocked a girl as clean cut as you would agree to go out with Warren.”

Ah. So this was a date.

“Oh, Eddie,” Karen scoffed immediately after he finished his sentence, “don’t be a terror.”

Eddie waved his hands around as if to say: What? I didn’t even do anything wrong. “I’m just saying, he usually strikes out.”

“Man,” Warren laughed, feigning nonchalance but, you could see how his eyes shifted to the side.

You guessed that Warren was probably content to leave the jab at that but, you were frankly sort of irritated that Eddie would insinuate that sweet, oh-so-lovable Warren couldn’t so much as get a date. As you passed Warren the blunt (which he took with a lopsided grin and a wink) and settled into his side further, you looked Eddie up and down and decided that a little friendly fire couldn’t hurt.

“Was your date meeting us at the beach?” You asked idly looking down at your nails.

“What?” Eddie asked, brow creased in confusion.

“Well I mean since you’re such an expert on dates, I just figured you’d have to have one…”

Warren whistled from beside you and you couldn’t help the slight upturn of your lips as you watched Karen stifle a laugh into the cuffs of her sweater.

Eddie opened his mouth, seemingly to say something but before he could Graham intervened.

“Okay! We are officially at the beach so, no need to continue this conversation!”

-

The party was in full swing when the five of you showed up. People were playing music by the fire, dancing, smoking—you felt slightly like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds there was a plastic cup with some type of liquor in it and you sipped on it happily as you followed Warren to a seat next to the fire, resting your back against a log.

“So,” you yelled over the music, “How’d you guys know about this? I feel like I never find out about fun stuff.”

Eddie looked at Karen who looked at Graham who just shrugged, “some girls from the beach invited me, said I could bring some friends.”

Karen and Eddie immediately launched into teasing Graham, something about getting lucky, but your attention was captured on Warren who was offering you a fresh blunt. You took it happily—you were so totally getting blitzed tonight.

Warren leaned forward to light it and only then did you realize how close the two of you really were. From here, you could see how long his lashes were, the way he bit his lip as he focused on the little roll of paper and grass. Once it was lit, he looked up at you and, for a single moment, you thought he’d kiss you. Instead, he just exhaled through his nose and tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips setting you on fire as they slid over the sensitive skin there.

When he pulled away, the two of you were still connected at the shoulders and you reveled in his warmth (it was actually quite cold on the beach and you were severely underdressed). It was all you could focus on as you inhaled and exhaled a few times. All that your mind could keep up with was Warren, Warren, Warren.

“So, what do you get up to other than being a supermodel working at a supermarket,” Warren asked after you’d decided you were done with the smoke.

Still sipping on your cup you shrugged, “I paint.”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he nudged you, “Picasso over here, huh? What can’t you do?”

You smiled at his enthusiasm, but your attitude with your art wasn’t as hopeful as his. “I’ve been trying to get my stuff out but, ugh, I don’t know it’s harder than I anticipated.”

“I know what you mean,” Warren sighed, bringing the blunt to his mouth. Your heart fluttered at the indirect kiss, at the way his mouth wrapped around the tiny roll just as yours had earlier, “band just barely broke out and now we’re on this weird indefinite break. I’m guessing modeling wasn’t the reason you came out to LA then?”

You shook your head, overwhelmed by his interest in you. “Modeling’s fun, I guess, but it’s not like a long term thing, you know? The industry doesn’t have much use for you if you’re all…wrinkly.”

Warren hummed, “good thing you’ll probably be the hottest old person alive.”

He said it so nonchalantly, so deadpan, that you couldn’t help but laugh. “Shut up,” you said, pushing him lightly, “you’re so dumb.”

He nudged you back, his mouth grinning oh so close to yours that, if you just leaned in a little your noses would practically be touching. “Maybe I’m dumb or maybe, I’m a time traveler from the future here to tell you that you’re going to be the hottest grandma the world has ever seen, eh?”

You snickered, “You? A time traveler? Yeah right.”

“Hey! I’m serious, man, I’m here from the 90s to tell you about what a hot grandma you are.”

You leaned back against the log behind you, throwing your head back in silent laughter. Warren followed you as you did, his eyes soft. The closeness (and probably also the pot) made you dizzy. You had the disorientating impulse to reach out and cup his cheek in your cold hands.

“I’m not going to be grandma age in the 90s, you shit. I’m not that old.” You laughed, faux annoyance that even you could admit came out fonder than you’d anticipated.

You were so close, and he was so beautiful with the wind playing with his hair. It was like some integral part of you was drawn to him, all you wanted to do was be near him.

“Well,” he muttered softly, eyes trained towards your lips, “you probably shouldn’t listen to me anyways. I’m high.”

You were still smiling when he leaned closer, his hand at the base of your waist. You could feel the tickle of his exhale, and you reveled in its warmth. And then, before he could lean in fully you paused because—

Because there was a guy, in frankly the dumbest outfit you’d ever seen, loading your sister’s fucking bike into his truck.

“Are..are you okay?” Warren asked, clearing his throat and pulling away.

“Um,” you croaked, not taking your eyes off the bike.

Warren’s brows furrowed and then he hesitated once before looking behind him. The man hadn’t gotten into his car, instead leaving into one of the nearby buildings across the street of the parking lot.

“Hey, you’re kind of spacing—do you need water?” He’d removed his hand from your waist and was already starting to get up but you grabbed him before he could.

“No! Uh, no. It’s just—look do you see that red truck over there?”

He followed your gaze, “The-the fucked up Ford?”

You nodded. “I think that’s April’s bike. In the back.”

Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe it was the fact that you guys were on the same fucking wavelength but, simultaneously you both had an epiphany.

-

“Are you sure you can get up there by yourself?” Warren whispered.

There was no warmth or light from the fire in the parking lot and you were colder than ever but you were also buzzing.

“Yes,” you whispered back, already clabbering into the truck bed, “just keep watch, okay?”

“Okay. Fuck. Fuck you’re so crazy.”

“Don’t go getting cold feet on me now Warren, we’re officially partners in crime.”

Once in the truck bed, you bent down to examine the underside of the rusty blue bike. All you needed to check for was—

And there it was. Property of April D. scrabbled on the bottom of the down tube.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered mostly to yourself but Warren jumped anyhow.

“What, what is it?” He whisper-yelled in your direction.

“It’s mine.”

The bike was a piece of shit but it was April’s and you’d be damned if this freak stole your bike and got away with it. Quickly, you tied your hair up and prepared yourself to hoist the bike out of the truck.

“Okay,” you began, quietly “I’m going to lower it down. Do you think you can grab it?”

Warren nodded. Your heart was beating right out of your chest. You were standing in a the back of a thief’s car and you felt crazy but you also felt more alive than you had in years since you moved to LA and you couldn’t help but feel like nothing would ever top this situation.

With great difficulty you lifted the bike and fed it carefully over the edge, arms shaking until, finally, Warren grabbed into the front tire. It was eerily silent. The only thing you could hear besides the breeze was the blood rushing through your ears and heaving breathing that you’d come to realize was your own. You couldn’t help but feel like you were doing something wrong. Even though it was your bike.

“You got it?” Warren asked.

“Yes,” you croaked, “hurry.”

Once the bike was safely on the ground you leaped over the edge of the truck and stumbled, clumsily into a hug. You felt crazy. You felt good—amped up and freaked out and giddy all at once.

“Woah,” Warren grunted as he caught you and then , softly, “hey.”

You smiled, big and bright, “hi.”

You wanted to kiss him so badly. This was the perfect time, the perfect time to do it, you thought. All bundled up in his arms, it would be wonderful and both of you would be full of adrenaline because you just liberated the fuck out of your bike and it would feel so good and—

“Hey!”

And fuck because that was definitely the owner of this truck.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” The man yelled, breaking into a run from an across the street.

“Go, go go,” you gasped, but Warren just stood there frozen like an animal playing dead.

It took a few frantic shoves to get him to spring into action and before you knew it, the two of you were sprinting down the street, the opposite way of the van. The man was chasing you, not even bothering with the bike, at full speed screaming like a maniac that he would ‘fuck you guys up.’

You were running out of stamina fast. You didn’t know if this guy was coked out or what but he showed no signs of slowing down and you were pretty sure if you and Warren tried to run for much longer the man would gain on you, and quickly.

There was an alley up ahead and you decided to take your chances. Grabbing onto Warren you yanked him to the left and dragged him behind a trash can, hoping to all the gods you’d ever heard of that the man wouldn’t follow you.

Miraculously he didn’t. Miraculously he ran right pass you and, once you were sure he was far enough to have turned the corner, you urged Warren up and ran in the other direction—back to the parking lot.

“Fuck,” you gasped, hands on your knees, lungs burning when you finally made it back to the van.

“Oh my god,” Warren wheezed, “man—fuck man I thought we were dead.”

You half-wheezed and half laughed, “we need to get the fuck out of here before that guy gets back.”

Warren nodded and opened his mouth but before he could, you watched as his eyes caught on something, “is that—“

It was. It was April’s bike. Still there, next to the thief’s truck.

You looked at him in silence, taking in his flushed cheeks and severely dilated pupils. He seemed to be looking at you with the same face and before you knew it, the both of you were sprinting into action.

Warren threw his keys at you (which you caught and felt cool about) and then grabbed you firmly around the shoulders.

“Open the back of car while I grab the bike, quick.”

And you did just that, as soon as you finished fumbling with the keys he was there with the bike, looking around frantically. You helped him load it into the back, trampling over some awry pillows and then the two of you, a mess of giggles, and nerves threw yourselves in with it.

You were breathing heavily, back against the floor, psyched out beyond belief. You guys had done it. You’d successfully, and without dying, stolen your bike back. You couldn’t see anything, the only light the one coming from the moon that filtered through the windows, but you could feel Warren next you breathing just as heavily. His arm was pressed against yours, your hands overlapping. You wondered if his heart was beating as fast as yours, if what he was feeling in this frenzy of absolutely everything was as euphoric what you were feeling.

“We just stole a bike.” You whispered into the silence.

“Yep.” And then he was turning over and pressing his lips to yours.

You groaned into him because finally, finally you were getting what you wanted. The pressure of his lips was so absolute and real that it left you spinning. Warren tilted his head, parting his lips and swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. That was all it took for your brain to seemingly malfunction because it was just so perfect that you felt like you could die. For the first time all night you were hot, burning even, your senses frazzled with a sense of want that you’d never felt before.

Warren pulled away and you whined at the loss, “is this okay?” He asked quietly, “probably should have asked that before but I mean you seem like—“

Your brows furrowed. You wanted to keep kissing.

“Warren,” you interrupted, “this is good, it’s—kiss me again? Please?”

You hoped you didn’t sound as desperate as you felt but as he leaned in, this time with a new fervor you found that you didn’t really care. Warren brought one of his hands to your cheek and stroked the curve of your jaw with the rough pad of his thumb. You nearly choked at the feeling, lit anew with the need to be closer, to be near him forever.

Still reveling in the feeling of the way Warren’s lips moved against yours, you fisted the back of his shirt in attempt to get him closer to you. Warren seemed to have the same idea and snaked the arm that wasn’t cradling your face around your waist. The two of you were flush together now, his leg slotting between yours and he groaned as you pulled away for air, biting on his bottom lip as you went.

“You’re crazy you know that?” He panted, chasing after your lips as you pulled back.

You hummed in agreement, not really caring about what he was saying, and met him in the middle. He let you happily, lapping into your mouth greedily and whining when your own tongue brushed over his.

You never wanted this to end. You felt like you could sit like this forever and ever in the back of the van injesting nothing but Warren. It just felt so good, so perfect. His curls under your fingers, his arm locking you in place as the two of you devoured each other with a mixture of desperation and want and need. It was pure adrenaline. It was anticipation. It was euphoria.

Of course, that was when Karen yanked open the van doors.

You and Warren spring apart but it was obvious what you guys were doing. Your hair was a mess on your head and Warren’s mouth was stained red from your lipgloss and both of you were breathing way to heavily to have been doing anything but making out.

“Oh my god!” Karen guawffed, “in the van that we all share?”

Before either of you could say anything, Eddie with his face all twisted into confusion spoke up. “Where the fuck did that bike come from?”

-

A/N: IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG OMG. I got carried away yall.

[jupitersmuse777]

Guys I want to post my fics on Ao3 but I’m so scared of the curse. Do y’all have any crazy stories of stuff that happened to you after uploading on there??

[jupitersmuse777]

Why did all my progress not save when I tried to save my draft are you kidding me bro 😭😭😭 an hour of my life wasted

[jupitersmuse777]

Honey, I want you like yesterday.

(Warren Rojas x model!reader)

Fluff!!!! I love the idea that Warren is a nervous wreck and that’s why he smokes so much.

No use of y/n

Warnings: Not proofread sorry.

Summary: Warren meets you at a grocery store and can’t help but be smitten.

|Part 2|

Warren wouldn’t tell anyone this, but he hadn’t started offering to get groceries out of kindness to Camilla. Sure, the first time he went it was because he felt like it was the least he could do after covering for Billy but now? Now he went to see you.

The first trip had gone as shitty as you could imagine, Warren didn’t really know where anything on the list was (except the messily scrawled cigarettes and booze that Graham had added to the bottom before Camilla could see) so, he figured he’d ask for help and miraculously, there you were, long waves of hair neatly assorted into twin braids at the base of your head.

“‘Scuse me.” Warren requested, and—jesus Christ you were fucking hot.

You put the food you were stocking down onto the cart and cocked your head, looking around uncertainly when Warren did nothing but gape.

“Did you, uh, need help with something?”

Warren: I just remember thinking I was having a stroke, man. Big eyes, pouty lips..yeah I thought I was dying. I mean I was high as balls so I’m probably exaggerating but in the moment it was real, man.

“Okay…” you trailed off, face morphing from curiosity to discomfort, “I’m just going to go now…”

“Wait!” He cried out as you turned around, he actually really needed these groceries, “uh—I need this.”

And then he shoved the entire shopping list into your hands.

Fuck.

You looked at the paper and then back at him and blinked. “This is a shopping list.”

“I don’t really know where anything is,” Warren laughed.

“Really? Cause you seem to have found the alcohol just fine.”

Warren was going to jump to his own defense—for Christ sake he was shopping for a pregnant lady that had to make him less laugh-at-able—but when he looked up he could see a slight tilt of your lips and realized, with some of a start that you were trying to be funny. Actually, maybe it was the pot but this whole situation was very fucking funny.

“Hey, man you know you’re kind of funny.”

You shrugged, “let me help you with this list.”

And so, you walked with him through the entire store, helping him find all the stuff on Camilla’s list.

“So, what do you do?” You asked, struggling to grab a bottle of honey off the top shelf.

Warren, deciding he’d watched you struggle long enough, reached above you, plucking the container with ease and dropping it into the cart, “I’ve been cleaning boats for the last few weeks.”

“That’s actually kind of cool, uh, do you like it?” You asked, seemingly flustered.

“Fuckin’ love it, actually.”

“It must be nice, outside by the beach. You want to be a boat manager the rest of your life?”

You were just so cute. Looking down all focused on finding whatever the fuck, trying to make conversation. He had to shake himself from this fluster, you were making him all hot and mushy.

Warren cleared his throat when you looked over at him expectantly, realizing that he’d let too much time fly by, “nah, I’m in a band but we’re on a break right now.”

You hummed and suddenly, Warren wanted very much to impress you. “We actually just ended a tour a few weeks ago. Maybe you’ve heard of us, were called the six.”

Warren: She could not have given less of a fuck, I’ll tell you that. All she said was ‘I’ll have to check you guys out’ but, like, she said it in a way that made it seem like she definitely was not going to check us out.

By the time you led him to the checkout he’d learned that that you were born in San Francisco, and moved out to LA with your sister, and that you didn’t really like your job but the money was good and the work was easy so you stayed put. And the whole time Warren had this feeling that he knew you from somewhere, that your presence was familiar in some way.

As you scanned the Cheerios it hit him, “Hey wait I know where I’ve seen you before!”

You froze, “…do you?”

He barked out a lazy laugh, “I totally saw you on a Levi’s billboard!”

To that you smiled shyly, and brushed a lock of hair behind your ears. “Uh, yeah I model on the side sometimes.”

“Hell yeah you do, you were the best one on there, man.”

You smiled awkwardly, hanging the last of the stuff to the bag boy, “Thanks. Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Warren: I couldn’t tell If I was striking out—at the time she was very hard to read. I figured she probably wasn’t interested, bombshell like that.

-

Now, a month later, he was still picking up the groceries for Camilla trying to work up the courage to just ask you on a date. Sober, high, a little mix of both, it didn’t matter: he was still pissing him pants just thinking of making things awkward.

He found you, pen and clipboard in hand, taking inventory at the breads section, his cart already half full.

“Hey Warren,” You said, not even turning around, “how’s the baby?”

Smiling lazily, Warren leaned up against one of the isles and crossed his arms, not-so-discretely knocking over a bag of bread and hoping you wouldn’t notice,“How’d you know it was me?”

“You’re the only one who comes in at 11AM on a Sunday smelling like pot and cigarettes, dude.”

You still hadn’t turned around, instead bringing your pen up to your lips while you counted how many wonder-breads were left. He felt his mouth go dry—Jesus what he would do to be that pen. You were like a siren, he thought, and he was a hopeless doped up sailor with no self control. Huh, that would actually be a really good line for a song. It was kind of starting to make sense why all Billy did was write about Camilla.

“Really?” Warren managed, swallowing thickly.

You turned around and laughed, “Nah, this is LA, everyone smells like weed. I saw you rounding the corner. You too rockstar to pick up that bread?”

He snickered, god he loved a funny woman.

You put the loaf of bread Camilla always requested—some whole grain healthy bullshit—into the cart while he placed the fallen loaf back on the shelf, then went right back to your clipboard, “let me know when you need to be rung up, ‘Kay? I just gotta finish this inventory really quick.”

“Yeah, sure.” Warren agreed, begrudgingly moving on to get the rest of the stuff.

-

Maybe this was a bad idea, Warren thought solemnly. You’d already scanned, like, three things and hadn’t said a word. He should have taken an edible. Or like 3 shots. Honestly even a line probably would have helped. He decided he needed a cigarette and before he could even think about it, he was lighting one up.

You paused, reached over, and plucked it right out of his mouth.

Warren couldn’t even process that you’d just taken a much needed cigarette out of his mouth and threw it in the trash because, holy shit, you’d never been that close before. Your fingertips had brushed his nose as they retreated to toss the cigarette in the trash and, dear god, his heart was beating out of his chest. Your hands were so, so delicate, it’d probably feel amazing to have them tangled in his hair. Or resting on his chest. Or, even better, his di—

“Sorry,” you said shyly, snapping him out of his spiral. “smoking isn’t allowed in here.”

Right. He knew that. Great fucking job Warren.

“Is everything okay?” You asked quietly, eyes shifting down to where his hands were shaking a little.

He had to do it, he had the perfect opportunity—if he chickened out now he’d have to wait for an excuse to hang out again and that would probably take forever. Look at him, blushing over the tips of your fingers brushing his nose as if he didn’t have groupies lining up to fuck him.

“Warren?”

He jolted, “Yeah—I’m totally groovy. I was just wondering. My friends and I are going to this bond-fire thing at the beach tonight, I thought maybe you’d wanna come with?”

Your brows furrowed. Fuck, maybe he’d misread the situation. Good god why didn’t he take a hit this morning. Why did he decide to do this sober? What delusional ghost from Karen’s freaky room had crawled up into his body and possessed him to not be high?

“Just us?” You asked, looking up at him with curiosity.

“Yeah,” he said softly, leaning in. Maybe this wasn’t a total fail, maybe it was salvageable,“I mean like I said the band will be there but, yeah, you’ll be my guest.”

You looked to the side, a bit disappointed.

Warren: like I said man she was really hard to read those first few months. I couldn’t ever tell how I was doing with her. I think that was part of her allure at first. You just couldn’t help but want to be liked by her. To finally understand what was beneath her eyes.

“I don’t think that would be such a great idea.” You muttered. Stiffly bagging the groceries with an annoyed huff.

Warren deflated but he was content to leave it like that. The last thing he wanted to do was make you more uncomfortable than you already were but he couldn’t really understand why you seemed so peeved by it. God forbid a guy try to pick up a hot, funny, amazing, talented (and did he mention hot?) model. But then, and thank for your outspokenness, you said: “Oh, c’mon stop, get that face off your face. You have a wife. Frankly I’m not that type of girl and you shouldn’t be that type of guy.”

What.

All Warren could muster without bursting into laughter was “Pardon? Is this one of those weird subtle jokes you do?”

You huffed, “what do you mean? I don’t see why this is funny, actually.”

Holy fuck, he thought, she actually thinks I’m married.

Warren ran a tanned hand down his face, not even trying to him the toothy smile conquering his face, “I’m not married.”

You froze, mouth agape. “What do you—are you joking?”

“I’m serious I’m not married—why do you think I’m married?”

“You-you come in every week with a grocery list titled: ‘for Camilla!’” You sputtered, “stop laughing! What else was a supposed to think! Combined with all this baby talk I just—oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”

“I’ll tell you what, you are something else. I’m not even wearing a ring.” Warren cried, literally wiping the tears out of his eyes.

You crossed your arms, “You’re wearing a ring on every finger, one of them could be a wedding ring.”

Warren held up his left hand. “This is a lion head.” He said, referring to the ring on his fourth finger.

“Maybe—maybe you have eccentric tastes,” but not even you could convince yourself and now you were both laughing like a bunch of idiots, garnering weird looks from your co-workers.

“Man, Camilla is my roommate,” Warren explained after the laughter had died down, “I just figured I’d get groceries cause she just had a baby and she still cooks for us.”

Your put your head in your hands out of embarrassment. “Jeez, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Leaning on the counter Warren smiled, the laughter putting him at ease, “Well, I know how you could make it up to me…”

You leaned too, mirroring his position and suddenly the atmosphere shifted with an intimacy that had Warren’s cheeks heating and his heart stuttering in his chest. Under the florescent lights, you looked like an angel.

“And, how is that?” You teased.

“Come to the party tonight?”

You smiled a big genuine smile and, in that moment Warren just knew you were something special.

“Well, alright. If that’s the only way to get you to forgive me…” you laughed, scribbling your number onto the back of his receipt, “call me we’ll work out the details.”

“Okay,” Warren said breathlessly.

“I’ll see you later, Warren.”

And god, wasn’t that the best melody his ears had ever heard.