#i operate on listening to songs that sound good to my ears. if it all sounds the same i wont like it regardless of what the song is

[grimm-writings]

on my hands and knees begging you to write that legally blonde idea… obsessed with the idea of reader thinking chil wants to get back w his ex vs chil just wanting to be friends and crushing hard on reader

take it like a man!

…ft! chilchuck x fem! reader

…tags! fluff, reader is into fashion

…wc! 2294

…notes! chilchuck tims and emmett forrest are the same to me (my type). this is so incredibly self indulgent thank you for enabling me anon.  a lot of dialogue is paraphrased from the song/show, such is the way of songfics. enjoy!

Oh, how Chilchuck wished he could say no to you.

He didn’t know what he was expecting from you and Marcille’s ‘sweep your wife off her feet operation’, otherwise shortened to SYWOHF which Chilchuck pointed out was an awful name for a campaign.  You elected to ignore him.

In actuality, he really wanted to just do this his own way.  What he had in mind was just to pay a visit and talk things through.  As those with a little womanly touch, you and Marcille knew that wouldn’t be enough.  Chilchuck had to prove he was serious about this – that he really wanted his wife back in his life!

Seeing how excited you were showing off your step by step plan… he didn’t have the heart to tell you that he really just wanted to remain friends with her.

So, here he is.  Having his eyes covered by your hands as you guide him through the busy streets of… who knows where.

“Almost there,” your breathless though excited voice reaches his ears, “I promise!”

You finally slow to a stop, and Chilchuck also gets the chance to speak about his thoughts on this.  Simply being, “this is pointless.  We don’t need to be doing all this.”

Scoffing, you fold your arms.  “Don’t be like that!  A conversation isn’t the only way to win her over.”

“No,” Chilchuck starts, “but it would sure make me look desperate!”  He swats your hands off and away from his face.  His back is turned away from the building you’re arguing outside of, not even bothering to see what you’re doing.

You frown.  Chilchuck doesn’t easily get so frustrated with you.  That’s what people usually say – if anyone can convince him to do anything, it’d be you.  “Chil,” you try to appeal.  You even try physically reaching out, hand hovering over his shoulder.  “Work with me here.  We can do this in a way that will prove yourself, and let her know you’ve changed.  For the better.”

Chilchuck listens to you, sparing you a sidelong glance as you go on with your speech.  “You make it sound like we’re in some romance novel.  This isn’t ‘for the better’ I just want to talk to her.”

“No you don’t, you want her back in your life!”

“Well…!”  Chilchuck stutters at how blunt your words are.  You are way too observant for your own good.  He never knows how to talk to you cooly when you do this.  “Well, of course I do!  And I can do that by slowly building up trust between us again, without rushing anyone.”

Where Chilchuck expects begging to follow through with your scheme, you simply look at him with a cold expression– colder than he’s ever seen you wear.  “So you have the chance to run away again if things get too much?  Sacrificing your integrity?”

You’re both lucky this little nook in the streets was away from most crowds.  Save for the passersby' conversations, the silence would have been strife with weight.  Chilchuck opens his mouth, then closes it again.  He repeats the action, and tries to use his hands to communicate his thoughts to no avail.

He settles for turning away from you in angered shame, fists balled at his sides and tips of his ears growing red.  “...I guess.”

You smile, knowing you have swayed the half-foot to your side.  Even in the dungeon, your debates went this way.  Chilchuck would present a cynical, logical approach whilst you were more realistic – something your appearance doesn’t really match with.  Chilchuck thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not like he’d say that to your face.

Hearing your confident hum, Chilchuck sighs and turns back to you.  “Why do you always have to be right?”  He complains about this constantly.  You always seem to one-up him in ways he can never prepare for.

“I don’t have to be,” your attitude and voice returns to its usual, jovial form, “when I’m with you, I just am!”

You reach over to Chilchuck once more right as he’s about to make a scathing comment back at you.  His face is a bit too close for comfort with a wooden door, an entrance somewhere.

“You trust me to help you impress your wife, don’t you?”  You ask, with a clear sense of finality.

Chilchuck doesn’t think he has much of a choice in the matter.  “...Of course,” he responds honestly but you can hear his voice waver.

He can practically sense your smile from behind.  “Then don’t stop now.”

You wish you could say without a spot of bias that you were 100% supporting the operation at hand.  In actuality, it came with a heavy sacrifice of your own feelings remaining unsaid.  Of course you just had to fall for the semi-married man.  You have already tried to move on, from distracting yourself with an operation like this, to asking Izutsumi to pummel your head with a rock (which she was very close to doing).

This will have to do.

It was like magic, how the environment of the building interior rushes through you.  Chilchuck even feels it, his large eyes blinking as he drinks in the sight.

“...Where are we?” he asks, almost dreamily.  A beautiful ceiling lamp shines onto coloured wallpaper.  The scent reminds him of the kind of perfume Marcille would use.  It’s strangely… alluring.

You lean your face over Chilchuck’s shoulder.  “Oh, nothing much.  Just the most trendy half-foot exclusive clothing store in Kahka Brud.”  You can easily sense Chilchuck’s shock from this position – amusing you greatly.  “Here.”

You stand up behind Chilchuck again, massaging his shoulders.  “Just take a deep breath, and let it sink in.  We’ll be here for a bit so get used to the smells and lights.  Feel how it draws you in.”

“I’m feelin’ it alright,” Chilchuck responds, moreso about how he has no idea what convinces people to remain in these environments for so long without feeling overstimulated.

He already feels hot with how you’re handling him.

You move around so you’re in front of Chilchuck.  “Listen, I know this can be… overwhelming,” you start, giving the understatement of the century, “but think about who you’re doing this for.  Swallow your pride and… pick out anything you think is nice.  I’ll do the same.”

Chilchuck nods, about to set off, but not before you take his face, squishing his cheeks a comedic amount so he’s forced to pout and look you in the eye.

“Promise me you won’t run.  Take it like a man, alright?”

You let him go, and Chilchuck swears the heat on his body is from the stuffy maze of clothes stalls.  As he navigates the first selection of half-foot men’s clothes he sees, he tries to ignore the thoughts that seem to non-stop course through his brain.

He’s largely unsuccessful.

What are you getting out of this?  Some sort of second-hand pride at bringing together two estranged lovers?  Wait ‘til you find out the truth – that those aren’t where his true feelings lie.  Why can’t you leave well enough alone?

Why does he let you string him along with every plan you come up with?

You arrive back with a couple of blazer–pants combos, calling out Chilchuck’s name as you do so.  Damn, you sure are speeding through the process.

“So, I took the liberty of picking some of the more fancy kinds of suits.”  You hold them up in your arms.  “Whaddya think?”

“Suits,” Chilchuck repeats dryly, in disbelief of how far you’re taking the idea of impressing a woman.  He looks through each of the three upon seeing your determined expression.

He points at the pale pink option.  “Absolutely not.”

He gestures to the navy one with a thinner fabric.  “I like this one.”

Finally, he only spares at a glance at the creatively patterned suit.  “I think I’d sooner be fed to wargs than be seen in that.”

You assemble each of the selections in order of preference.  You muse, “I see, I see…  Something refined but masculine.  Much better than your ‘tattered chic’ look.  Like an old book forever trapped in a library.”

Chilchuck furrows his brow as you run off again.  “Wh– What’s that supposed to mean, jerk?!”

He sighs.  He watches you as you make a few more choices again, before Chilchuck tries to distract himself looking at ties.  He’s come this far.  He should trust in your instinct.  It hasn’t failed him– or anyone yet.

So what the Hell?

Before Chilchuck knows it, he’s handed the acutely sized down, perfect combination of blazer and pants, and he’s stuffed inside a changing room.  He’s instructed to change into the whole thing.

As he does so, you can’t help but pace.  This is it.  This is the winning goal to help him impress his old flame.  It’ll be like an academy romance – falling in love all over again like you’re teenagers.  You sigh longingly.  If only you can be there, in her place.

“You’re gonna look great!”  You converse with Chilchuck through the curtain.  “You’ll become a whole new man, promise!  You’ll bloom like a rose!”

“It’s just clothes,” Chilchuck, in his usual cynicism, calls back.

You return with a raspberry.  “Don’t be such a Debbie-downer.”

“Wow.  No one’s called me that since grade school.”

“Maybe not to your face.”

Even without looking at him, you can imagine the scoff and eye roll he must be giving you, interrupted by a small choke on his own spit.  “Is this the price?”

“Ignore that!” You quickly respond.  “It’s my treat!  Come out, come out, I wanna see you!”

Better to gloss over the fact you worked hard to do this for Chilchuck with a high budget.  No doubt he’d tease you or outright refuse it.  You open the curtain and pull Chilchuck out by his arm.  He quickly adjusts himself and you both stand in front of the wall length mirror.

“...Woah.”

It’s said naturally in sync.  Both of you hardly recognise the brunette half-foot in the form fitting suit and tie.  With a bit of hair maintenance and more time to actually make himself look presentable… 

“I look like Laios on a good day,” Chilchuck jokes.

Your breath caught in your throat, you can only let out, “y-yeah.”

You pray he doesn’t notice how enthralled you are in his appearance, if slightly ungroomed.

Once the moment passes, Chilchuck makes himself comfortable by loosening his tie and undoing a button or two, then putting his arms where they usually are behind his neck.  “But it’s just me.”

Without hesitation, you find yourself speaking without meaning to.  “Is that not the best part?”

Chilchuck looks at you in confusion.  “What?”

“I-I mean…” you trail off.  You look nervous.  That’s rare for you.  Usually you always had something to say.  Now you look like you’re trying to figure out how to word something in a specific way.  Why?

You move behind Chilchuck to smooth down some of his hair.  “You may look more charming but… this is all you.  Your choices, your style…  It reflects who you are on the inside.  That’s the magic of fashion.”

Chilchuck laughs a little, mostly at his own cluelessness.  He can’t believe he’s underestimated a simple shopping trip.  “Thank you,” he says, with complete sincerity.

“No.”  You shake your head.  “This is not a gift.  I’m just… This is me thanking you for how you let me get away with so much.”

Your hands land on his shoulders, and Chilchuck’s fingers find their way to interlace with yours.  For just a few more moments, you look at yourselves in the mirror.

Catching yourself, you step away from the situation – from him.  “Well?  Come on, you need to buy this.  I’d want to marry you if you took me out looking like this!”

The half-foot flushes red.  You got to know what you’re doing to him.  “That’s not really—”

“Chilchuck.  Please.”  You place your hands on your hips, looking dead serious.  “You look hot.”

…Well, he can’t argue with you.  If you really think that, then who is he to deny it?

“Fine.  I’ll get it.”

You smile that cocky grin Chilchuck has grown to love.  “That’s our man.”

Leaving the shop was like a breath of fresh, unperfumed air.  Chilchuck would nearly fall to his knees and start kissing the ground if he paid too much attention to how his legs ached.  The post shopping trip fatigue is really hitting him.

“I enjoyed this,” he however admits.  “Maybe women are onto something when it comes to clothes.”

“That’s why you should always listen to whenever a woman is speaking,” you wisely advise, making Chilchuck nod with a slight snort.

He stops at a crossroads, where you go back to his place, and he goes back to his.  “You can trust that I will now.”

“Good.”  You sigh in relief knowing your venture was successful.  Maybe too successful, because now you may lose him.

Chilchuck keeps looking at you with affection.  You can’t say you haven’t noticed how he keeps sparing you glances, mostly throughout the shopping trip.  Maybe he has warmed up to you?

Still, neither of you can stop yourselves at this point.

You approach, and for a hopeful second, Chilchuck tilts his head a bit to the left, eyelids lowering and leaning into you.  Your arms wrap around his middle.

Your face nuzzles into his neck as you hug the man tight.  Chilchuck is still for a few seconds.  A hug.  Right.  Of course you’d want a hug…  He responds in kind.

“See you soon, Chil. I wish you luck.”

“Y-Yeah.  Luck with the lady.”

Your happiness comes with a heavy sacrifice of Chilchuck’s feelings remaining unsaid.

He’ll take it like a man.

[outerrimhours]

Kinktober Day 31

Kinktober Day 31 : Phone sex with Ghostface

Title: Before the Devil

Pairing - Ghostface X Female!Reader

Prompt - Phone Sex

Word Count - 3,798

Warnings - NSFW 18+ (18+ minors DNI), everyone in this fic is 18+,  murder, stalking, blood play, phone sex, dirty talk, dub con, threats, toxic interaction, pure digusting halloween filth. 

AN/ Posting this a day early, because I haven't posted in weeks. This was my big finale. Transcribed from a wonderful NSFW audio on Pornhub btw, by HarpyVT. All of the unfinished Kinktober days will be posted in November. Thank you all for celebrating this holiday with me.

Song - Psycho Killer by Talking Heads

You flipped through the static channels of the radio, voices hastily peaking through until you heard the newscasters voice. 

“The police have yet to apprehend the armed suspect, and advise that you take extra caution when locking up at night. The victims suffered multiple stab wounds and lacerations, but the survivors all said the same thing; they received a call from an unknown number moments prior to their attack. Local authorities have increased the amount of service operators available to respond to emergency calls and ask that you report any suspicious phone activity.” 

You flipped to another channel, soft music swimming through your cerebral cortex like a wakeful dream. The home had a warm feeling, inviting, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way your heels clicked against the wood as you walked to the bathroom. You wanted to freshen up before he arrived. 

Undressing felt nice, dress hitting the floor quickly, before allowing the faucet to run.  The warmth of the water enticing all of your senses. You allowed your eyes to close briefly before your cell phone rang against the countertop. It was vexatious, the sound, but whoever was on the other line could wait. Probably just the pizza boy. 

And then it rang again.

Frustrated at the disturbance, you pulled yourself from the warmth to step out of the shower, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”, the voice asked, but you promptly hung up, not recognizing the intonation. 

As you wrapped the cotton towel around your soaking barness, you innocently assumed that would be the last interaction. Wrong number, obviously.

And then it rang once more. 

“Can I help you?”, you nervously demanded. 

“That was pretty rude”, the gravelly voice replied, “Look, I know you’re probably panicking, don’t worry…”

You were undoubtedly apprehensive, squeezing the towel tighter to your chest. 

“As long as you listen to me, you’ll get out of this alive”. 

You knew in that moment what you were truly facing, the masked voice, the devil on the newscast. Your legs felt unstable, heart bashing against the confines of its cage in panic. 

“Let’s play a little game”, he said in response to your silence, “This game only has three rules. That’s simple enough right? 

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice, the way he licked his lips in anticipation. It was as if he were standing right behind you. 

“Rule number one, you don’t hang up. Rule number two, you answer any of my questions honestly, and rule number three..you follow my instructions.” 

When the voice on the other end didn’t receive a response, he added, 

“Do you understand?”

Your throat felt dry, forcing down the lump in your throat to whisper a frightened “Yes”. 

“Good”, he said, “Now, is there anyone other than the poor pizza boy coming over tonight?”

“No”, you lied, briefly sitting the phone against the marble to quickly dress. 

“No? Good.”

Your hands were shaking, tears daring to spill down your cheeks as you opened the door. Bare feet pattering until you reached the entryway. The door was ajar, allowing the chill of the night to creep in and wrap itself around your bones. 

You dared to peek through the crack, bile curtailing and rising to meet your esophagus. The innocent life depleted on the concrete, slumped against the stairs in a pool of coagulating blood. 

You gasped, choking down a sob. 

“Hey”, the voice soothed, “I can tell you’re scared. There’s nothing to be afraid of…” he paused, the tone almost reassuring, “As long as you follow the rules. Now I want you to reach into his pocket and take out his phone”. 

“Why did you kill him”, you wailed, unable to tear your eyes away from the blue staring back. 

“Why’d I kill him? Well..you see..he saw me out of the corner of his eye when he rang the doorbell. Do you understand now? He was so focused on saving himself, he wasn’t going to tell you a stranger was stalking nearby. He was heartless. So, I borrowed your pizza cutter, and fixed that little problem.” 

The stranger scoffed on the other end, almost in disbelief you would question him. 

“You should be thanking me. I’m not planning to do that sort of thing to you..after all.., I’m not an animal. I washed the pizza cutter already. It’s by the sink. Now open up his phone.”

The crystal glass was splattered with the remnants of the boy, staining your skin when you reached for it. 

“It’s locked”, you said, looking away before the lunch you had earlier in the day made its way up your throat. 

“Use his finger silly”, the voice laughed playfully, oblivious almost to the true nature of this reality before turning darker once more. 

“Dial the number he last called and tell them everything is fine. He just drank too much on the job and saw things. Tell them you're his friend! And DON’T even think about asking for help…I am always right behind you after all.” 

You hesitated. Could you call the police? You considered. 

“I’m waiting”, the voice muttered impatiently. 

So you dialed. 

“Good girl.”

Your voice shook at the lies you were telling. An innocent life beneath your feet. 

“See”, he chirped, “That wasn’t so hard was it? You’re off to a great start! Now.., go back to the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of wine.”

“Okay..”, you swallowed.

“I..don’t like how nervous you sound. I wanted to have a little fun, that's all. You’re making me look like the bad guy here. I never planned to do anything bad to you. I promise. You’re just oh so pretty...”, the voice mused. 

The silence was deafening, even as he spoke, the sound of your footsteps against the hardwood. To the left of the sink was the wine cabinet, so many choices, grabbing for one with shaky hands. 

“Soo”, he continued, voice gruff and grainy through the phone, “grab a glass and just relax.”

If you were to die, at least you would be tipsy off the good stuff, pouring an eerily color of burgundy into the glass. 

“Good girl”, the voice beamed, “Now, say your name.”

The wine was bitter, tartness soaking into the buds of your tongue, and you almost choked on its fruitfulness at the question. 

“Why?” 

“Why? Because, I want to hear you say it, that’s all”, he mused innocently, just to add

“And.., because I want to know who I’m looking at.” 

“How”, you stuttered, apprehensively looking in every direction. 

“You were very meticulous in setting up those security cameras, you even set one on the fridge. What were you hoping to catch? Someone raiding the fridge”, he laughed, “So tell me..”, he whispered, voice growing darker,  “what’s your name?”

So you did, the word feeling so personal all of a sudden, as if the stranger was taking the most important thing about you. 

“I like it. It suits you.”

“Alright, what’s yours”, you asked, the wine in your bloodstream making you bolder. 

“Ghostface”, the stranger joked, “do you like my name too”, his boyish laugh tickling your ears. It was almost unsettling how innocent he sounded. It wasn’t what you expected a homicidal maniac to sound like. 

“How sweet”, he whispered, the t clicking off his tongue in the most seductive way. The way he allowed his tone to change so quickly was so..ominous. 

“Now”, he growled, “about that security camera, I have a better..idea of where to put it. Take it off the wall, and..bring it to the bedroom. We’re gonna continue our little game there.”

You gripped the countertop, knuckles whitening at the force, before chugging back the wine. You were apprehensive, angry. 

“Hello”, he yelled, enraged, “I’m watching you! You’re being so difficult about this. I’m your guest aren’t I? So, where’s your sense of hospitality?”

You regretted his anger, fearful of the consequences.

“Are you in there”, you whispered, eyes closing, fearful of the answer. 

“No,” he teased, “I’m not in the bedroom. I’m close, I’m..close, that’s all you have to know. I’m close enough to end the game, if you don’t play”, he whispered, almost aroused at the idea of your disobedience. Your death. 

So you listened, gliding up the stairs to the door on the right. 

It was dark, say for the street lights peering through. You half expected for your attacker to lunge.

“Now, set it up”.

You placed the camera on the dresser, perfectly angled toward the bed. 

“What do you want with me?”

An annoyed laugh scoffed on the other end, “I told you already, it’s just a little game.”

“Now, sit on the bed, and take your clothes off��.Slowly,” he whispered,  “face the camera while you do it, I want to see everything.”

The wine had gone to your head, being drunk was a fool’s anesthetic, putting the primitive self in command, when it is the worst captain of all. Were you really wet at the idea of him watching as your straps slipped over the smooth skin of your shoulders, the way the fabric slipped down your body and to the floor, exposing the lingerie underneath? Meshed greens and speckled golds adorning the fabric. 

There it was again, the boyish laughter so perfectly encapsulated in the phone, goosebumps forming along your flesh at the sound. 

You could almost see his smile, “I like what you’re wearing underneath”, he teased, “It’s rather extravagant isn’t it? Are you sure you didn’t make plans with somebody tonight? Or…do you just like wearing that sort of thing underneath?”

He giggled. 

“I knew I picked somebody fun”, he replied, when your answer was no. “I’m so glad you decided to play. Now take it off. OFF,” he demanded. 

“There’s no one here but you and me right? Now look at us, so well acquainted already right? Don’t worry, I’m taking everything off too. Maybe if you're good, I'll even show you. I bet you're wondering what the man behind the voice looks like.” 

You unclasped the bra, allowing the fabric  holding the swell of your breasts to fall, nipples already hardening at the exposed chill. You swore you could hear him gasp, so quiet, almost unnoticeable, and when you pulled the band of your panties down over your hips, he sounded almost breathless,

“Good girl.” 

“You’re very good at this game”, he whispered, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you were aroused out of fear..or the way he praised you when you listened. 

“It’s almost like you’ve..played it before. You know what I want now.., don’t you? 

When he whispered, it was as if he were there right behind you, every letter perfectly pronounced on his tongue. 

“Look straight into the camera, and spread your legs”, he was so breathy, as if he had to restrain himself as he watched you, every t sitting perfectly on his tongue. 

You were sticky and oozing when your fingers met the entrance of your cunt, he stopped you.

“Ah ah, don’t touch yourself there quite yet, aren’t you an eager one. I want you to show off your body, take your hands..”, he breathed, “slid them down over your neck, to your hips, show me that beautiful figure…, I know you can do it, with what you were wearing underneath, I know you’re a little..freak? I know you know how to have a good time. Allllll by yourself. So show me..” 

Your eyes fluttered at the feeling of your hands, so lightly, almost like a feather ghosting over the curves and dips of your body, you hated to admit you loved the way his voice sounded, the way it changed as he watched you. His exasperated sighs, the sensual articulation, the boyish desire. 

“I want to watch everything, I want to watch you”, he sounded so whiney in the most magnetic way. Sometimes you almost forgot he had blood on his hands, until his voice grew darker and reminded you what he was capable of. He could so easily switch to the darkness. 

“That’s right, put on a show for me. Like your life depends on it. I wanna see you shiver while you do it. Because you’re afraid, or because you’re aroused. I don’t care. Both do it for me. And you’re gonna cum for me, whether you like it, or not.”

You swallowed harshly, unable to look in the camera as you touched yourself. The threat almost sobering you.  

“Spread your legs a little bit more”, and so you did, allowing the camera a perfect angle of your soaked cunt. “Just like that, I’m getting so hard for you. You’re doing so well, you’re playing so well. Now..underneath the bed, I have a little present for you.” 

You adjusted hesitantly, reaching underneath to find the object of his reference. 

“Wait..”, you whispered, holding the container in your hand with aversion. 

“Yeah, it’s what you think it is. It’s blood.” His voice was shaky with arousal, “Take it in your hands and touch yourself again.” 

The metallic smell was sobering, sickening. You hesitated. 

“Why are you hesitating?”He scolded.

“Who’s is it”, you questioned. 

“Who’s? Does it matter? Will you stop playing the game if I tell you? Will you end the game if I tell you?” The frustrated tone in his voice lowering back to a whisper, the wet squelch of his cock between his hand filling your ear. It almost made you forget the way he lashed out. 

He breathed out, voice shaky, at the site of you obeying. The cold, sap like liquid trailing over every crevice of your body, painted by your fingertips. 

“Good girl,” he praised, holding back soft gasps.

“Touch..every single inch of yourself for me. Pay attention to every part of your body, all the grooves that no one else pays attention to. I want to see it, I want to pay attention to it, all the little secrets that you keep.”

The stranger was so aroused, his throaty, mellifluous gasps allowing your own arousal to seep through. You loved hearing his little gasps. 

“Show me what makes you grip the sheets, show me what makes you throw your head back in pleasure”, soft moans peaking through with every sentence, “ And I will watch..every..single..moment of it. Every streak you paint on yourself is like a confession, because you may act afraid…you may act…like you don’t like this…but what you really really don’t want is to admit it. You don’t want to admit that you’re giving in. You don't want to admit that you’re enjoying yourself. You don’t want to admit that you wanted this.  You want to keep all these secrets, hidden from yourself, but look, look at you painting your whole body red. Look how good you look in red, all these streaks adorning you like a goddess. Touch yourself like nobody ever has. I want you to squeeze your breasts, touch your nipples the way you want to, not the way anyone else wants you to. The way you wanted. The way only you know it.”

And so you did. Cupping and squeezing the flesh, allowing the sharp squeeze of your nipples to make your back arch. 

“Slide your hands down your thighs the way you want to. And drag your fingers down your waist to touch your inner thighs, tighten your legs as you brush over that sensitive spot, dig your nails into your skin, and mark yourself up. Arch your back as you make your way back to your neck..and wrap your fingers around it and choke yourself, like I wish I could. Push so hard that the blood stains your skin.”

You gasped softly at the feeling allowing you to cut your airflow shortly. 

“Do it so hard it hurts”, the voice softly cried. 

“Remember, I said I wanted you to cover every single inch. And don't forget anything and don't worry I’m not judging you. I'd never judge you. Whether you choose to have a taste, rub it on your lips. I’m not judging you. In fact, I'm right there with you. I'm enjoying everything with you. Beautiful. You are absolutely stunning, darling. God, I can't hold back any longer. Now rub your little clit, and make sure you keep your face in the camera. Lose yourself, make those beautiful, agonizing moans, for me.”

The praise, the way the boy made you feel so important. How fucked up could you truly be? By the time your fingers reached the perfect little bundle of nerves, you were so sensitive, biting your lip and savoring the metallic liquid stained over the skin. Your back arched at the feeling, cunt glistening even in the moonlight. 

“Oh!” He moaned softly, “Just like that.” His little hushed moans and gasps as the spit surely coating his cock, squelched, causing your own soft sighs to escape. You loved how innocent he sounded in his own pleasure. 

His imperceptible cries and whines at the pump of his cock, losing himself in the way you touched yourself to his voice. 

“You are such a good girl, aren't you? Agh..”, he cried, “You look so pretty in red. Oh.., agh”, You too wanted to cry out in pleasure at the sounds he made. So innocent, boyish little whimpers. 

“Fuck”, the voice on the phone cracking, grunts and cries of pleasure filling every sense as you played with yourself. Eyes closed, picturing the way he would look next to you. 

“Mmm, fuck, agh.” He roughly swallowed, losing his breath as his hand sped up, and you whimpered at the sound. 

“Put your whole pussy on display for me. Get fucking closer, get closer to the camera and show off. Come on, show me, show me, show me. Oh!”, He begged. 

You loved it. You had never been so wet for anyone, and all you had was his voice. Every cry, whimper, moan, and gasp that left his pretty lips sending you closer to the edge. The dominance he exuded extinguishing with every little sound he made. You felt so proud. You wanted to know how he would look underneath you, eyes big and wide, looking up at you like you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen. 

Fuck. 

Your fingers entered, cunt clenching at the fullness, although you knew it wasn’t enough. Surely you would feel even more full with him inside of you. 

You loved the way his voice cracked, higher pitched with every curse he cried. He sounded so pretty. 

“My little devil, aren't you?” He whispered, “ You little devil. Oh f-..keep looking at the camera. Keep looking. Mphm, I can’t get off unless I’m looking at your pretty face. Did you know that? It’s all part of the game. I have to look at you. I have to watch you. I have to see you.”

You grew impossibly wetter with every confession. Finger curving with every pump. 

“Look at yourself in the mirror too. Oh, watch yourself. Watch yourself fucking touching yourself for me.”

His pumps slowed with every groan, “Do you hear that? Do you hear how hard I am for you?”

You moaned, gasping for breath as you watched the way your fingers disappeared inside of your pussy. The pornographic sound of his cock thrusting in his hand. 

“Agh, how much my fucking cock is leaking for you. Only a pretty, dirty, naughty girl can do this for me. Only someone like you can get me this hard. Oh, and look how wet you are.” 

With every word his voice grew quieter, desperate.

 “Come on”, he whispered, “take all of that and rub it on your thighs. Taste it, taste yourself.” 

You loved the way your arousal tasted on your tongue, so salty and pure. 

“I did this all for you. I did all of this for you. Aren’t you grateful I picked you? 

“Yes,” you cried, circling your clit faster at the moans leaving his lips. He sounded so close. Coming so undone. 

“Of fuck. I’m so fucking wet”, he cried, gasping for breaths. His heavenly whimpers, voice cracking with every moan. 

“Keep moaning for me. I want to hear you, I want to hear you, I want to hear you so badly, I want to hear your screams, your moans, your whimpers, your cries, every single sound your body makes”, he begged. 

The thrusts of his cock grew sloppier as his boyish little cries rang out. 

“Look at you, so pretty, so fucking pretty, so fucking pretty. Can you hear that? This precum in my hands. Don't I sound so aroused? All for you. Only for you!” 

Every cry and whimper and moan, it was truly all for you, and you did feel so grateful. 

You were both so close.

His gravelly voice as he thrusted in and out of his hand, it made you cry in pleasure. 

“Spread your fucking pussy lips for”, He slurred. You obeyed, allowing a growel to slip through his lips. 

“Let me see inside. Fuck, rub your little clit, rub it with your bloody, guilty little fingers. Confess to me, confess to me what a bad girl you are. Oh!”

“There you are”, you praised at his sloppy, forceful thrusts. His wildly high pitched moans. You bet he looked so pretty, lips parted, eyes so big and wide. 

He was gonna cum, you could tell by the frequency of his moans and perfect grunts. His whimper higher pitched than ever. You moaned wildly at the little boyish sounds he made. So perfect in every way, only for your ears. 

“Im gonna cum” he cried, “Cum with me.” His voice grew more forceful, the innocent whimpers turning into the man you knew earlier, the aggression as he spoke, no longer a beg, more so a demand. “Cum with me!”

Only for the moans to continue, you allowed your release to wash over you at the sounds he made. Cum pooling and dripping from your cunt as your heart raced wildly. It was so blindingly perfect, you almost forgot where you were, the situation you were in. Until that same, maniacal laughter rang through. Oh how easily he could switch.

“That..that was a  very good game darling. Good job. Good job. Thank you for playing with me”, he laughed, catching his own breath. 

“And a word of advice”, he sighed, you could almost hear the resentment as he rolled his eyes, “You didn’t forget did you? That you broke one of the rules. You lied. You said that nobody else was coming by tonight. You forgot to tell me. You forgot to tell me not to kill him. Now, time to run little rabbit. Afterall, this isn't your house is it? Do you remember now?”

The last thing you heard before the dial tone from him hanging up. 

Taglist: @samspenandsword @acatalystrising @sharpbarnacle @kraytclaw @adikas-world @the-good-shittt

[fbfh]

I swear my love language has to be teaching someone how to dance. You're hanging out with Dave in his room, procrastinating doing your homework, and you're wearing one of his flannels, something that makes his heart flip no matter how many times he sees it. It just does something to him, seeing you in his clothes. It really drives home that feeling that you're his, that you want him. And you do. You really want him. You scooch closer to him, finally setting down the notes you've been pretending like you're going to go over. "I can't believe prom is so soon..." you muse, thinking about the conversation you had with your friend about it earlier. "Oh, yeah... it's totally crazy." He says, hoping you don't catch on to the fact that he totally forgot about prom at all. In his defense, he never thought he'd get a date, or go to prom at all. "Uh, when is it again?" He asks, and you remind him of the date. His stomach sinks. He and Big Daddy have been planning a sting operation for weeks on that exact night. "So, you gonna take me to prom? Get a little corsage, take awkward pictures, laugh at everyone taking it too seriously...?" You muse playfully. Prom. With you. That... that actually sounds really nice. Shit. "Uh..." he fumbles for an answer, "I mean, I can't even dance. I'd just embarrass you," he says, and it’s true. He can't dance, and probably would just end up embarrassing you. You let out a sweet laugh that makes his stomach twist as you grab your headphones and pull him off the bed. "It’s really not that hard, dancing is basically just swaying and bouncing." You give him one of your headphones and put his hands on your waist. Yours are warm on his shoulders, and he feels his cheeks flush at how close you are as some old song starts playing. He's stiff as a board, trying to match your movements. "See?" You say, voice soft, and he starts to relax into your touch. "Not so bad." The late afternoon sun streams in through the windows, making you glow like an angel. You look so pretty, especially up close like this. You smell so good too. Your skin is soft where his fingertips slipped under your shirt. The singer's voice echos through one ear while the other listens to the profound silence in his bedroom. It's just you two up here, alone together in your own little world. You smile up at him and he lets out a soft, flustered giggle. He looks at you with those sparkly puppy dog eyes, admiring everything about you, like you hung the stars in the sky by hand. His mind wanders to how pretty you'd look at prom, all dolled up and fancy, just to dance with him like this, in front of everyone. It's still crazy to Dave that you like him at all, much less as much as you do, and he's still surprised every time you kiss him or hold his hand in public. Prom... with you. The music swells and you run your hands over his shoulders, drawing a wistful, shuddering sigh out of him. He had no issues about missing prom until now. He's going to have to have a really difficult conversation with Big Daddy later about rescheduling some things, because in this moment, he knows there's no way he's missing this with you for anything.

[shadowglens]

like kerosene (on a flame of doubt)

fandom: read dead redemption 2 warnings: canon typical violence, blood and gore characters: alma mcarthy (oc), john marston, dutch van der linde, arthur morgan, assorted original side characters word count: 7,826 overview: alma mcarthy joins the van der linde gang, circa 1891 BEFORE READING: please open in a new tab as it's very long and tumblr formatting is terrible on dash 😭

1891, Wyoming

“I want those stalls all mucked out before lights out, you hear?”

Alma rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might disappear into her skull. “I ain’t your servant, Jeremiah. Do it yourself.”

“Listen, girl.” The slapping of his boots through mud bounced between the walls of the livery as he stormed towards her. “While you are under this roof, taking my gold and tending my horses, you will do what I goddamn fucking say.”

Evening was drawing near. Distantly, if she strained her ears over the sound of her associate’s - sorry, boss’ - incessant droning, Alma could hear a pair of coyotes calling to each other in the nearby hills. One of the horses in the stall closest to her stamped it’s foot with a huff, whether at the threat of wildlife or Jeremiah, Alma wasn’t sure. She absently reached to hush it as the man’s squelching boots finally brought him to stand before her. 

His cheeks were crimson, a vein popping on his forehead and disappearing all the way up into his receding hairline. The horse, a beautiful roan mare, was now at the front of her stall and huffed sharply enough that Jeremiah’s neckerchief fluttered. “Wasn’t I fucking clear, girl? Pick up the goddamn rake and get to work.”

Jeremiah Owens wasn’t a particularly kind man, in the grand scheme of the things. He only knew how to yell or curse, smelt not-so-faintly of manure, and Alma was fairly sure he had never bothered to remember her first name. Girl this, girl that. Still, she fought the urge to stamp her foot like a petulant foal. He had never laid a hand on her, for starters, and shouting aside, he had given her free use of the small loft space above his office. Right now, he was the only thing separating her from the warmth of this livery and the rain-soaked emptiness on the horizon outside. 

“I’ve gotta do up the papers for those mustangs,” she snapped, biting down the fire in her gut. “Mr Darlington was due to send one of his boys tomorrow mornin’ for them, or did you forget?”

That was the other reason she liked Jeremiah. When she’d turned up on his doorstep just under nine months ago, looking like a starving rat no less, he hadn’t just offered her a job - he’d brought her in on the less-than-reputable side of his operation. More than that, he’d let her help with it. Storing and feeding horses was one thing, but a horse fence was an entirely different beast. A lucrative one, too. She knew he had a few hundred gold stored somewhere in the basement of his house, she was sure of it. 

“I ain’t smooth-brained, girl.” Again, she rolled her eyes. Again, he glared. “The papers are already organised. Just muck the stalls out.” At that, he stormed back the way he’d come, no doubt to the comfort of his small house up the way. 

“O-kay boss,” she sing-songed, mostly to piss him off. 

To his credit, he didn’t bother turning back around. 

In truth, Alma didn’t mind the cleaning. It was mindless, sure, and it left her muscles aching every night in her sorry excuse for a bed, but at least it kept her busy. Didn’t give her too much time to think. If she had time to think, she started remembering, and that led nowhere good. 

She worked her way through the stalls as the daylight finally slipped away below the horizon. The roan mare was a legit purchase on Jeremiah’s part, currently the only one in the livery. A group of men had brought in a trio of mustangs a few days ago, beautiful beasts captured from somewhere over the mountain, and then there was the stallion. 

He was a huge Thoroughbred, proud, a striking blood bay colouring. Alma was sure he’d been nicked from one of the local ranches, but it wasn’t her or Jeremiah’s jobs to ask those kinds of questions. Either way, she’d be sad to see him go, even if he would fetch them a fortune. He was magnificent. 

Alma had reached his stall, and was about to sneak him a sugar cube, when something clattered to the ground at the opposite end of the stable.

The stallion jerked away from her hand, startled, as Alma too spun on the spot. 

Her hand went to her hip on instinct. Her revolver, as always, was holstered. Jeremiah had fought her on it for about a week before a wannabe gunslinger had held them both up over ten dollars. She’d been armed while working ever since.

The livery was deathly silent. 

Most of the lights were off by this time of night, only one illuminating her end of the stable and one in Jeremiah’s office. The office where the sound had, undoubtedly, come from. Alma crept in that direction, keeping her shoulder tight against the stall doors and the shadows they cast. There was only one place Jeremiah ever was at this hour, and it for sure wasn’t working. Lazy bastard.

A shape darted past the office window. 

Fury, at being robbed, at being stolen from, gripped Alma, and before she could think of any common sense she was sprinting for the door. 

The hinges were always loose and creaking, and even her slight frame sent the door slamming open as she barrelled into it. The shape turned out to be a person as the door also slammed into them, sending them careening into the far wall with a shout. Alma twisted, revolver drawn.

It was a man, scrambling to his feet while one hand gripped his nose. There was blood covering his chin and throat. She couldn’t see much of his face through his curtain of dark, greasy hair, but she could hear him cursing under his breath.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Alma snarled, gun aimed between his eyes where he was leaning back against the far wall. 

“You broke my fucking nose!”

She took a step towards him, gun still up. “You were trying to steal from us!”

He shifted, spat a glob of blood in her direction. He spoke like a street rat, kind of looked like one too, but his clothes were just a little too nice to be one of the petty thieves Alma was used to seeing around town. The leather of his boots, though now muddied, was clearly well looked after, and the holster for his own revolver looked well made. Maybe he was from a gang? Jeremiah had grumbled that there were a few that rode through every so often, but usually they brought good business to the livery.

“What do you want?” she snapped. Back in the stables, she could hear the mustangs cracking a fuss at all the commotion. 

He scoffed. “Your money. What, are you simple?”

“Fuck you!” Alma glanced quickly at his gun - still holstered. “Give me back anything you’ve taken. Now!”

Despite the gun pointed at his forehead, he had the audacity to laugh. “Or what? You probably don’t even know how to use that thing.”

Oh, this greasy fucker. 

The Alma from five years ago would’ve baulked at even holding a gun. Her Pa had taught her how, of course, but she’d been a proper little girl back then, with parents who loved her, and a warm home to run back to if things got too hard. 

Five years was a long time.

The man’s left arm, the one not gripping his broken nose where it was still streaming blood down his face, twitched closer to his holster.

No you don’t.

Alma shot him.

“Fuck!” he screamed as the shot rang out through the office and livery and the land surrounding it. The horses cried out, an owl scattering from the rafters and into the trees beyond at the sudden noise. His body slammed back against the wall, broken nose long forgotten as he clutched helplessly at his shoulder and the rough line the bullet had drawn through his skin. He was lucky she’d only grazed him and not put it between his eyes.

Alma stormed up to him, lunging, and before he could react she had his revolver in her free hand. “I said, give me back anything you’ve taken!”

She could hear Jeremiah shouting for her up at his house.

The man dropped to the ground, one shaking hand held palm-out as the other tried to stem the bleeding. Alma was close enough that she could see the sweat on his brow and the wide-eyed look on his face, like a startled filly. It was barely a flesh wound. He really hadn’t thought she’d shoot him.

Belatedly, she realised he was barely older than she was, maybe even the same age. More a boy than anything. Just like she was barely anything other than a girl.

“ - all of it!” he stammered. She hadn’t realised he’d been talking. “Get away from me, you psycho!”

He’d emptied the small satchel at his hip, sending an assortment of trash and stolen goods scattering to the floor. A few wads of cash, a stack of fraudulent papers that Alma had hand-written herself, a pack of cigarettes, a few twigs and rocks, a tin of gun oil that looked like it was nothing but dregs, and a little pocket knife. She took the cash and papers, thought for a moment, then pinched the cigarettes too even though she didn’t smoke.

She glared at him, raising both guns again. “I’m the psycho?”

“You shot me!”

“You deserved it,” she said, backing up to slam everything back onto the desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the drawers all sitting wide open. Subtle. “Now get -” she started, breath caught at the adrenaline coursing through her veins, “now get the hell out of here before I really shoot you!”

The man - the boy - just stared at her. His nose, thankfully, had stopped gushing blood all down his front, although now his arm was stained russet too. His shirt was well and truly ruined.

Alma marched over to the window he’d apparently crawled through and slammed her hand against the frame. “Are you deaf?! I said go!”

That seemed to shake him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. She tracked his every movement across the office, guns still razed, and simply glared as he awkwardly tried to clamber back out the window with only one good arm. She slammed the butt of his own gun against his back as he went, sending him tumbling into the mud outside.

He cursed, stumbled and slipped, before righting himself and sprinting for the edge of the property. If she squinted, she could make out the shape of a horse hidden just beyond the treeline. 

“And don’t come back, you bastard!” she screamed after him. 

Jeremiah chose that moment to burst into the office, door slamming open the exact same way it had moments before. “Alma!”

She leant back against the wall beside the window, a gun still gripped in each hand, and raised an eyebrow at her boss. “So you do know my name.”

“What happened? Did I hear a gunshot?” He eyed the leather-wrapped revolver in her right hand. Alma almost laughed when she realised he was only in sleep pants. Maybe the old geezer did care after all. “Where did that come from?”

“A gift from a thief. Don’t worry, I chased him off cause, unlike you, I care about this business.” 

Jeremiah just gawked at her. “You shot him?”

“Would you rather I let him take all your cash and papers and everything not nailed down?”

“Well, no, but …” he only then spied the blood smeared on the wall and floor. “Hells, girl. How many times did you shoot him?”

Alma scoffed at him as she inspected her new revolver. “Just once, barely. I’m not a monster.”

...

One of Jeremiah’s cousins, Gregory, came by the next day to help shore things up in the wake of the attempted robbery. The man was Jeremiah’s opposite - tall, rotund, intimidating - which Alma supposed was a good thing. It’d hopefully scare any other would-be thieves off, at any rate. 

Not that they had to worry. The next few days were entirely uneventful. Mr Darlington sent a few boys down to pick up two of the mustangs, and paid triple what they were realistically worth without batting an eyelid. Jeremiah had made her hide the Thoroughbred out back before their arrival, just in case their suspicions rang true.

Alma had also convinced Jeremiah to let her man the fence after her little display the other night. That’s where she was that morning, perched on a stool behind the cut-out in the wall with her head propped up on one hand, when a man on a beautiful white stallion came trotting down the path. Even from a distance, she could tell she wouldn’t like him. The moustache alone put her off.

“Why, good morning to you miss!” he cawed. In the morning sunlight, the red of his waistcoat shone like rubies. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

Alma just stared at him. “I suppose.”

“Quite an establishment you’ve got here.” He hitched his horse by the post at the livery entrance, then waltzed over to where she was perched around the side. For a new customer, he sure knew his way around. 

“It ain’t mine, sir,” she said, fighting to smooth her brow against a brewing frown. “Can I help you?”

He was right before her now, smiling with too many teeth and his silly slicked-back hair. “Forgive my manners. Dutch van der Linde.” The hand he held out was tanned, roughened, yet adorned with rings of all metals that glinted as he moved. An unusual combination. When she simply looked from his hand to his face and back again, the man - Dutch, apparently - simply smiled and shifted to clutch at his gun belt with a hip cocked. “I was hoping to discuss a proposition with you, if you’d be amenable?”

Oh boy. “Unless it’s to sell that pretty horse of yours, sir, the answer’s no.”

“Now, now miss, don’t be so rash.” Alma felt herself tense, toes curling in her boots where they were hidden behind the counter. She could image Jeremiah in her ear, insisting that she be amenable to all customers lest she drive away business. She forced herself to breathe as Dutch kept yapping. “I’m here to propose an offer to you, specifically. You see, one of my boys said he ran into you a few days back, said you had a bit of a … disagreement?”

Any pretence of her being a good salesperson flew out the door at that. So the greasy fucker was back to haunt her then. She pulled her revolver from the holster at her hip before she could stop herself, jumping off her stool in the same moment. Trust her luck that the moment Gregory was nowhere to be seen was the moment she needed him. 

Dutch, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he held up both hands in surrender. Still smiling. Still too many teeth. “Easy miss, I’m not here for what you think. Like I said, I have a proposition.”

Alma scoffed. Kept her revolver raised. “My mumma didn’t raise no fool.”

“I can see that. But I truly mean you no harm.” Dutch breathed out a laugh, or maybe it was a grimace? Alma could quite read the way his face twisted. “From the looks of John’s nose and shoulder, she apparently also raised quite a fighter.”

Was this the boy’s - John’s - father, then? Uncle? Alma supposed there was a bit of a resemblance with the dark hair, but it had been nighttime. Maybe she was misremembering. “Yeah well maybe you need to teach your boy some proper manners. Didn’t you hear it’s rude to accost a lady in the night?”

Dutch laughed properly then, glancing to his feet for a moment as if to collect himself before lifting his gaze back to Alma. His brown eyes assessed her. “Now, there is fire in you, miss. I knew I’d like you. ”

“The feeling’s not mutual.”

Another laugh shot from him, short like gunfire. “Hah! Now, where was I? Oh yes, I came to thank you for not killing John on sight, the boy was foolish to steal from such a … reputable establishment such as this one.” He waved his hands at the livery in question with an eyebrow raised. “I’d also like to offer you a job, of sorts.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m already gainfully employed, if you couldn’t tell.” Alma glanced behind her, hoping fruitlessly that one of her associates would actually be found in their place of work when she needed them. Alas, all that greeted her was the beautiful Thoroughbred with his ears perked in her direction. She kept her revolver gripped.

Dutch, apparently oblivious to her distraction, or perhaps not caring, soldiered on. “But does this place truly bring you satisfaction? Purpose? You’re clearly an intelligent young lady and have a mind for business and horses, and I just happen to find myself in need of someone with such talents.” He reached into a pocket of his coat, slowing as he saw her grip on her revolver tense, before producing a few pieces of paper. He gently placed them on the counter between them. Alma couldn’t help but gape a little when she recognised her own handiwork. “I’ve seen how you operate. Smart idea, faking the papers to get a higher price. I bet you’re making a killing out of the rich fools around here.” He paused again, for dramatic effect or to assess her reaction, Alma wasn’t sure. “Wouldn’t you rather put your skills to better use? Me and mine can offer you that and more.”

Alma fought the urge to ask where he’d got the papers from. “Let me guess? By ‘better use’, you mean scamming people for you, rather than this business? You must think me a proper idiot, just like that John of yours.”

It was an insult, and she’d meant it as one, but Dutch only kept smiling. Something in his eyes had sparked. “Think bigger! The government would see us civilised, chained up, would see our freedoms taken away. The rich folk around here no doubt deserve to lose some cash to you, sure, but a woman with your talents could be doing more than taking coin from a few oblivious ranchers. You and me and the others in my community? We can make a real difference.”

Surely he was a fool. The government? His community? Alma had seen how the law and the government treated people who didn’t fit in, people who lived outside the confines of society, and it weren’t pretty. As much as she hated the system sometimes, she had no desire to slide back into the fear she’d only just managed to crawl out of. 

Then again, what had her parents gained by being dutiful citizens? They’d been happy, for a time she supposed, but what were they now other than six feet under with no gravemarkers for Alma to visit? They’d done what they were told, had tried to live the great American dream, and it had torn them up and spat them back out like they were nothing. 

Worse than nothing. 

Still. Going in guns blazing surely wasn’t the solution either. No matter how many big, pretty words people like Dutch used to decorate it.

Gregory had apparently decided to finally do the job his cousin had asked him to, and Alma could hear him trudging through the stable in her general direction. She forcibly shook herself from her thoughts and perched back on her stool. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m mighty fine sticking to scamming the rich folk around here. Thanks, but no thanks.” She rested her revolver on the counter between them. “Now, if you don’t have a horse to trade, I think it’s time you left, sir.”

If Dutch was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. He simply smiled and held his hands in mock surrender, rings glinting again. “Well, if you change your mind, my associates and I will be in town for the next few days. We’ll be in the saloon, or nearby at the very least. You have a good day, Miss …?”

Alma bit the inside of her gum. Threw caution to the wind. “Alma McArthy.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss McArthy.” Dutch started walking backwards to his pretty horse with his pretty waistcoat and perfectly styled hair, and smiled. “Think about my offer?”

“Don’t count on it,” she called after him.

Gregory was beside her now, leaning over her shoulder to glare at Dutch’s receding form. His horse was small, fast no doubt, but he took his time trotting back up the path and over the rise. Alma kept her gun out until he was fully out of view.

“He give you any trouble?” Gregory grumbled, arms crossed. They were as thick as small trees.

Alma sighed, rubbing at her forehead. “Nah. Just … wanted to sell me something. I told him to sod off.”

“Hmm. Good.”

...

Alma was tossing and turning up in her loft above Jeremiah’s office, as she had been for the past few hours, when the gunfire started.

She tumbled from her cot, landing with a thud while her eyes adjusted to the near-pitch darkness. 

Another gunshot. Glass shattering. 

She fumbled across the small space for her gun belt, her revolver and the boy’s still tucked in their holsters. Lunged, then, for her coat where it hung on a hook haphazardly nailed into the far wall. The off-white of her sleep shirt near-glowed in the dark; even with her coat tugged on, her knees were still exposed. 

Another gunshot, another, another. Screaming. The horses were whinnying. 

A bullet shot through the wall of her loft, sending a spray of splinters towards her. Alma threw herself backwards on instinct, heart a drumbeat in her ear, and almost tripped over her boots where she’d left them scattered at the end of her shift. The whole livery was writhing as if in pain, had come alive with screams and gunfire. 

“Serves ya right!” someone - not Jeremiah or Gregory - was shouting over the cacophony. “Thieving scum!” 

It had been a relatively quiet few days, besides that boy trying to rob the place. Surely Dutch hadn’t returned? He had been a pompous ass with a stick a mile up his ass, but he hadn’t seemed to have any ill-feelings towards her or the stable. 

Alma went to make for the door, thought better of it, and tugged open the window instead. It was still at least a few hours before sunrise, the sky more stars than anything, and her eyes were still stuck with sleep. She couldn’t spy movement in the nearby treeline, but from this angle she could see figures darting about towards the front of the livery. 

“Come out here, you fucking coward!”

“Burn the place to the ground!”

“Flank them!”

It wasn’t too high of a drop, maybe a few metres. 

Another spray of bullets cut through the loft floor.

Alma jumped.

The grass and mud cushioned her fall enough that she didn’t snap both ankles on impact, and she never thought she’d be praising mud in her entire life. She made to run, slipped, fell flat on her front, and her sleepshirt was well and truly soiled now. Her mind unhelpfully supplied an image of the boy as he’d fled, bloodied and muddied as he’d been, as she now half was, and she cursed at herself. She could taste manure.

“Get the fuck outta my property!” That was Jeremiah. Alma raced to peer through a ground floor window, the glass shattered by bullets, and spied him crouched behind a stall with his rifle gripped in shaking hands. He was in the same state of undress as she was. “You good for nothing inbreds!” 

The remaining mustang was rushing its stall, as if in hopes of breaking free, and Alma could hear the roan mare crying out at the top of her lungs. Movement caught her eye towards the entrance, and she caught sight of the Thoroughbred’s tail disappearing out the stable doors with someone atop him. 

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Alma left her window behind and crept further along the outside wall, until she could just make out one of the men that had been decorating the livery in bullet holes. He was tall, criss-crossed with scars and looked as if he too had slipped in the mud at some point. Even through the grime and the black dots of her panic-riddled vision, she would recognise the family crest stitched into his coat collar anywhere.

The Darlington’s.

Well, shit.

The quickly-receding outline of the Thoroughbred disappeared over the rise. Alma wanted to punch something, shoot something, wanted to set the whole damned lot of them on fire. It was their own faults for being so complacent in guarding their property. Now, not only had a couple of hundred dollars worth of gold just run out of the livery, but it had left a trail of bullet holes in its wake. 

“ - pay for this!” The Darlington’s, those who weren’t in the process of also stealing the remaining horses, were still exchanging gunfire with Jeremiah. The mustang was giving them more trouble than it was worth, but a duo of fools were trying helplessly to muster it into submission while also avoiding getting a bullet between the eyes. 

“Darlington’s just lucky his whole goddamned stable isn’t here!” Jeremiah shouted. “Ain’t my fault he can’t keep his own things nailed down.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole!”

The roan mare was halfway out the door now, a rider grasping for her mane as they hoisted themself atop her. The swarm of gunmen was actually less than Alma had initially thought. She pulled her revolvers, crouched, aimed for the nearest idiot’s forehead.

Gregory was tackling the man into the muck before she could fire.

The two men went flying. Gregory was twice the man’s size, if not more, and easily had his opponent straddled with a fist flying towards their face before Alma could even blink. Once, twice, he slammed his fists down, spit and blood flying with every impact. Once, twice, she heard something crunch. 

Alma shifted her focus to one of the men trying to tame the mustang. Breathed. Fired. Unlike with the boy, she aimed properly this time, and the man crumpled satisfyingly as her bullet tore through his chest. The mustang reared back at the sudden freedom, sending the other man scattering away to avoid a hoof to the temple. 

Jeremiah seemed to be gaining ground too, his rifle picking off another Darlington. Alma should try to flank, get behind - 

Screaming.

Distantly, she recalled a gunshot. 

When she twisted, Gregory was looking right at her. He was still straddling the now-twitching corpse beneath him, his fists mangled messes, and his entire front was drenched in crimson. Not from his victim, though, she realised. Alma jerked forward on instinct, her body no longer her own, as she watched half his internal organs pour out of the newly-carved hole in his gut. She wasn’t sure if she was screaming. It didn’t matter. The thud of his body toppling to the mud forced her to her knees.

“You fucking bastards!”

Laughing. “Payback’s a bitch, Owens!”

“You fucking bastards!”

Hooves thundered past. The mustang, maybe. Alma forced herself to move, to throw herself behind the cover of a stall, as the gunfire kicked up again. Jeremiah was still cursing, still shouting, still firing.

She shouldn’t care so much. She’d known the man for barely a day. Her fury built, threatening to swallow her whole. He’d barely said two words to her. She wanted to kill something.

All at once, the sound came rushing back to Alma. The livery felt as though it was falling down around them. She spat out the taste of bile that had thundered up her throat, adjusted her grip on her revolvers, before standing and picking her next target. Most of the Darlington’s had fallen back to the stable entry, what with all the horses now having been properly stolen. There were still enough of them to be a threat though. Alma managed to clip one man’s shoulder, almost got another in the chest before he dived for cover, sent one falling back with a hole between the eyes.

Jeremiah cried out, deeper in the stable. Alma spun; despite the carnage, she could just make out his balding head through a hole that had been blasted through the stalls. A shadow was looming beside him. Seconds later, she could fully make out the man that had crept through the back door. 

The gunfire stopped as Jeremiah clearly struggled against his attacker. Alma, any hope of stealth long abandoned, sprinted for the pair. Gregory’s corpse. The rancher’s corpse. Her parents' corpses. Gregory’s corpse. The rancher’s -

She’d almost made it to them, had her revolvers raised, when someone slammed into her. 

Manure came rushing up to her, and for the second time that night she was rolling in it, hay and shit caught in her hair and coat. The bare skin of her legs tore against the debris of the livery floor. Her attacker, a wiry man with copper hair, immediately flipped her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died before it could erupt from her throat as he slapped her hard enough that the stars were suddenly inside the stable.

“Now, now, who’s this, Owens?” the wiry bastard asked, smiling as he grappled with her flailing arms. Not again, not again. “She’s a little young for a whore, ain’t she?”

Jeremiah had slumped back against the stable wall, but the fury in his eyes could have burnt them all to the ground. “Get off her, you sick inbred!” 

Her wrists were now pinned above her head. Alma could feel the cool evening air on her legs as her sleep shirt rode up. Someone else had moved to grab her feet where she had been kicking them. Not again, not again.

The man that had attacked Jeremiah now leaned over her boss. He had a bloodied knife in one hand. “I was gonna put this little lady out of her misery, but I think I’ve changed my mind. After all, who’s gonna keep this place running, once all that blood catches up to you, huh old man?”

Alma screamed, writhing, and earned herself another slap. 

The man with the knife wandered over to Alma then. Dark hair swung in his face as he crouched beside her and held the butt of his knife to her temple. His breath smelt of tobacco when he said, “We’ll be seeing you mighty soon, little lady. In the meantime, lights out.”

Darkness.

...

By the time she woke the next morning, her head was pounding so hard she could barely see straight, the livery was burnt to its foundations, the horses were all long gone, and Jeremiah was a cooling corpse laid out beside her.

...

Everyone stared at Alma as she burst into the saloon.

The place was quiet, which she supposed was to be expected given it was barely midmorning. Too early for the nearby ranch hands, too late for the drunkards. A small gaggle of men were half-heartedly playing poker in the corner; the sight of her dripping blood and stinking of manure in the entry grinded their conversation to a halt. 

She wasn’t sure if she recognised anyone. She didn’t care. This town, and these wretched people, would soon be lost on the horizon behind her.

“Jesus,” the barkeep shouted at her across the room, “get lost, girl, before I throw you out myself.”

Alma ignored him.

She hadn’t bothered to change out of her soiled sleep shirt. Couldn’t, not with the livery burnt to the ground along with any of her belongings. They’d left Jeremiah’s house standing, for some reason, but the place was better left to be the mortuary it now was. The rifle slung over her shoulder was the only remnant of the place she’d had the heart to grab before making the long walk into town. Her hair was a matted mess down her back, and her knees were still lazily oozing blood where they’d been scraped raw on the stable floor. A drowned, beaten rat likely looked better.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest. Alma was sure her jaw might snap in two at any moment with how hard she had been clenching it since waking up a few hours ago.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to flee after a massacre. Any respectable, well-mannered girl of society would scarcely be seen in public alone, or at least without a good reason, lest it bring scandal. For Alma, she felt almost called to it, like a compulsion she just couldn’t shake. Always catastrophe. Always running. Always one. One day she was sure she’d run out of horizon to swallow her up. Either that, or her own fury would do it for her.

“Did ya hear me, girl? I said get lost!”

She had the rifle pointed at his forehead before he could blink. “Shut up,” she snapped, even as the sound of guns suddenly being drawn ricocheted through the saloon, “before you make me lose my goddamn fucking temper.”

“Put the gun down!” one of the patrons yelled.

The barkeep raised his hands, leaving his dishcloth to fall forgotten to the floor. “Woah, easy there missy.”

Alma chewed on her gum to still her raging thoughts. “There’s a man in town, said he’d be nearby for the next few days. Dark hair, moustache, fancy clothes. Goes by Dutch. You know him?”

The other patrons were still shouting at her. The barkeep’s eyes kept dancing between her, the rifle, and undoubtedly the guns pointed at her own head. “I ain’t answering no questions with a gun between my -”

“Do you know him?” A piece of her spit landed on his cheek.

“Who’s asking?”

Alma risked glancing to her right, towards the back of the saloon, and there in all his pretend finery was Dutch Van der Linde. The pomade in his hair was still stiff as bricks, and his outfit remained largely unchanged from when she’d seen him a few days ago. His boots were muddied at the edges, but at a quick glance he didn’t seem any worse for wear. Definitely not like he’d been involved in a major shoot-out or arson attack. 

Dutch’s gaze was cold where it landed on her. One of his hands was gripping his gun belt casually, although she didn’t doubt he was quick on the draw. It took him a moment, his eyes bouncing around her face, before they sparked in recognition. “Miss McArthy, is that you? By God you look miserable.”

“It’s been a long day.” Alma glared back at the barkeep, her nose scrunched, before begrudgingly lowering the rifle. “I’d say thanks for the assist, but I figure you probably deserved the bullet.”

The barkeep, for his part, seemed less phased without a gun in his face. “I weren’t lying, girl. Get the fuck out of my establishment. You ain’t welcome here no more.”

“Or what?” she spat, Dutch forgotten for the moment. “You’ll call the sheriff down on me? That good-for-nothing asshole couldn’t even jerk himself off if he tried .”

Someone coughed out a laugh by the stairs.

“Now, now, what Miss McArthy means to say,” Dutch said from where he’d suddenly walked up beside her, “is thank you for your incredible hospitality. We were just going, weren’t we my dear?”

“Don’t put -”

Dutch gripped her forearm. “Weren’t we?”

There were too many guns surrounding her, and she wasn’t a total fool. She’d have to find someone else to beat her anger onto. Maybe Dutch and his perfect little waistcoat would do. The look he was sending her made her insides boil enough as it was, but she eventually relented and let him drag her towards the back door.

They passed the stairs and another soft laugh escaped one of the two figures leaning there. Dutch wasn’t even looking at her as he led them outside, but called over his shoulder, “Come along, boys.”

“Real charmer you’ve got there, Dutch. I’m surprised you two didn’t get along better, Marston.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Alma waited until they were outside proper before wrenching her arm free. She still had the rifle gripped in one hand, and spun with it loosely gripped to glare at the trio. Dutch had stopped to assess her with his arms crossed, hip cocked as usual, and despite the commotion inside there was the ghost of a smile on his face. The young man beside him was as tall and broad as an oak tree, with hair like dirtied sand and a healthy spray of stubble across his jaw. He was in the process of jabbing a younger man beside him, who was all wiry limbs, dark hair and - 

“You?!” Alma shouted, stomping a step forward. 

The boy - John, if she remembered Dutch correctly - flinched back on instinct, which just seemed to make the tall man laugh. 

“Stay the hell away from me!” John shouted in the same moment that the tall man laughed, “Watch out, Marston, or she’ll skin ya alive.”

“There will be no skinning,” Dutch said with a sigh as he stepped between them all, and Alma wondered again if he was the boys’ father. “Miss McArthy, this is Arthur Morgan.” He indicated the tall man, who was still laughing under his breath. “And we all know you’re well acquainted with young John Marston.”

She just glared at them. John glared right back. Alma didn’t miss the way he rubbed absently at his shoulder.

Dutch apparently took that as an invitation to continue. “Introductions aside, I must ask, Miss McArthy, what brought you to be in such a state of disarray? I’m understandably thrilled that you’ve come to discuss what I offered but, I’ll admit I wasn’t convinced I’d ever see you again.”

There wasn’t any pretty way to describe a slaughter, she knew that from experience. Judging from the copious weapons strapped to the three men before her, she figured they weren’t squeamish. Still, she’d rather not think about it. “People change. It’s human nature, in case you weren't aware.”

He laughed. “That fire’ll sooner get you into trouble you can’t fight your way out of, miss.” He took a step towards her, hands in his pockets. “The truth?”

She glanced at John and Arthur, but they were both leaning against the back of the saloon, spectating. Fabulous. 

“You said you and your ‘community’ were out to make a difference. That you help people, take from the rich, that kinda thing.” She swallowed the bile and fire in her throat. “Turns out those oblivious ranchers you were talkin’ about weren’t so oblivious after all.”

Dutch, for his part, did look genuinely struck as the truth settled in his mind. “The stables?”

She shrugged, indicating her ruined form. “What’s left of it is standing right here.”

“I am sorry, miss. Truly.”

Alma scoffed. Began to pace, rifle still white-knuckled in front of her. “I ain’t here for your sympathy. I came for your help.”

“Dutch is many things, Miss McArthy, but he ain’t a god.” Arthur leaned forward as he spoke, his face half obscured by his hat. “Can’t turn back time, I’m afraid.”

She fought the urge to walk up and hit him. “You think I’m simple? I’m no fool.” He held up his hands in mock surrender as John snickered beside him. She turned her gaze back to Dutch, who hadn’t entirely dismissed her. “I know who did it. I know where they live. You help me settle this debt, I can make it worth your while.” 

“As sorry as I am to see you in such a state, Miss McArthy, my people and I don’t operate on revenge.”

“Bullshit you don’t!” she snapped, stepping so close she could smell Dutch’s cologne. “You’re outlaws, aren’t you? A gang? Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you lot are. ‘Community’ my ass.”

Arthur took a tentative step away from the wall, the line of his shoulder suddenly sharp. Dutch simply held her gaze, and when he spoke his voice dripped of barely-contained venom. “You’re walking on mighty thin ice, miss. Best you don’t stomp too hard.”

“I ain’t judging you. We all do what we need to get by. Hell, I’m not saint.” Alma indicated her blood-stained clothes. “I know what you are though, what you do.” She jabbed a finger into his chest despite the way he towered over her. “You said you like sticking it to rich folk. Help me do that and I can guarantee you coin for your trouble.”

The little patch of grass behind the saloon was quiet for a long moment. John had started pacing a little, still scratching at his shoulder. Arthur was watching Alma’s hands where she was gripping the rifle.

She knew she had Dutch hook line and sinker when he tilted his head, all predator. “How much coin are we talking, exactly? And from who?”

“At least a few thousand, probably more.” Arthur whistled at that. “The Darlington’s own a big ranch west of town. Follows the river, has the big fuck off homestead planted in the middle. You’ve probably seen it. They took all our horses before sparking their matches, and I’m sure there’s a few more on the property worth pinching. Their Thoroughbred stallion alone would fetch you seven hundred.”

Dutch raised an eyebrow at her with a hand on his hip. “So you expect us to not only break into a heavily guarded ranch, but also walk out of there with multiple horses that we’d then need to resell? And the establishment where we’d do such a thing just got burnt to the ground.”

John was looking at her like she’d hit her head.

“You’re outlaws, aren’t you? Surely you do this sort of thing all the time?”

“Not exactly,” Arthur said, but he was scratching his chin in thought. “I know the place, Dutch. Hosea got talking to one of the ranch hands yesterday at the store. Could be worth our time.”

“Of course it’s worth your damned time!”

 “I’ll be the one who decides that, thank you miss.” Dutch planted a hand on her shoulder. “After we do this, and it pans out, what do you say about my offer? A young lady like you would be wasted on the streets in a backwater dump like this, and I’d hate to see you suffer.”

The man was as slimy as a snake and half as pretty, but Alma wouldn’t pretend that the offer wasn’t … tempting, especially given her current circumstances. Her mumma had always warned her away from trusting powerful men, especially those with only illusions of it, but what choice did she have? She’d been burned before, and she’d likely be burned again. If they didn’t do it, she’d surely just do it to herself.

His questionable company and fashion taste aside, Dutch didn’t seem entirely insane. Arrogant, prideful - sure. At least in that regard he was honest about his intentions. Jeremiah had been a weak man, at his core, and Dutch seemed as far from weak as you could physically get. Arthur, too. John … well he didn’t count.

Alma looked at Dutch and sighed. “So you’ll go to the ranch?”

“Let’s just say you’ve sold me on the idea,” he said with a smile, squeezing her shoulder where it was still gripped in his hand. “Besides, you were right. I do like knocking rich folk down a peg or three, especially when we profit from it. It’s good for my soul and pockets.”

A chill wind rushed between the buildings. Alma remembered her state of undress, and ached for warmth and a home that no longer existed. When she met Dutch’s eyes, she saw burning. 

“If it pans out. We could all be riddled with bullets in a few days.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss McArthy!” Dutch laughed, clapping her on the back. “Arthur, see about getting the young lady cleaned up and fed, won’t you? We’ll head back to camp and start talking out this plan.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” John shouted, eyes wide as saucers. “You’re letting this psycho stay, just like that?”

Alma spat back, all venom, “Says the greasy rat who smells like he crawled out of a gutter. What are you good for anyway, besides annoying everyone?”

Dutch just rolled his eyes and walked off, calling after John over his shoulder. Arthur met Alma’s eye with a smirk, before turning to ruffle John’s dark hair where he still stood, gawking. 

“Oh, little Johnny Marston here is good for lotsa things. Failures of plans, entertainment, target practice -”

“I hate you both,” John grumbled as he stormed off after Dutch, who had already disappeared around the corner. 

Alma couldn’t really find it in herself to laugh, not crusted with blood and manure as she was, but in another life she would have. As it stood, she just slung the rifle back over her shoulder and winced as the movement caught on her bruised side. The pain made her remember Jeremiah and Gregory, slaughtered and left to rot in the sun, and she had to swallow bile for the third time that morning.

If Arthur noticed, he thankfully didn’t say anything. “I think you and me are gonna get along just fine, Miss McArthy.”

In the almost-midday sun, the blue of his eyes glinted. “I wouldn’t be so sure, not with the company you keep.” He laughed under his breath. “And … just Alma is fine, if it’s all the same to you.”

He waved a hand in the general direction of the main street, and Alma down a nearby alley beside him. His shadow engulfed her. “‘Course. Let’s get you cleaned up and pretty before we all get shot by your ranchers tomorrow.”

“Don’t blame me for being realistic. And they ain’t my ranchers. I’d sooner see ‘em gutted like pigs for what they did.”

Arthur looked at her with a raised eyebrow, shaking his head, but kept pace with her as they headed towards the local hotel. “Miss Grimshaw is gonna love you.”

...

Two days later, Alma was fleeing the Darlington ranch with a few hundred dollars in her pockets and a freshly stolen mustang mare underneath her. A week later, she was halfway across the state with a gang of outlaws known as the Van der Linde gang. 

And that, as they say, is that.

...

TAGLIST:

@nokstella, @celticwoman, @florbelles, @zahra-hydris, @arborstone

@kibellah, @carrionsflower, @fenharel, @daerans, @fashionablyfyrdraaca

@loriane-elmuerto, @imogenkol, @knakrack, @roguecritter

[lazypanartist]

Bullied! Reader x Giacomo Headcanons

I saw one of these, couldn't stop myself! Might also be drawing Gia in the school uniform but you can't prove anything

Warnings: spoilers, mentions of bullying, probably OoC, no beta, not necessarily canon compliant

Notes: set ~1.5 years before the main story, I've been feeling Very Bad™ the last few days, so it's kinda disjointed I think

-----

It's not uncommon for bullying to happen at the academy

It's ALSO not uncommon for the teachers to ignore it

You yourself had seen it happen..

Popular people like Eri beaten down as someone new came by

Ortega getting bullied for his family's wealth, how "easy" he must have it

You, though?

You were in the majority

People being bullied for their interests..

Or for being "weird"

Mela for her attitude

Atticus for his obsession with ninjas, as well as his craftsmanship

And Giacomo for his interest in music

Books slapped out of hands, items swiped off desks

Name calling and harassment followed you wherever you went

But you weren't the only one

You were approached with the idea of Operation Star by Eri one day, after a bad bout of bullying

Of course, you were all too eager to accept

It wouldn't have done you any good to turn it down

And besides, who doesn't want to get back at their bullies?

So, you were in

Modified school uniform? Check

Fancy shades? Check

A cool pose? Check

A catchy sign-off? Check

All set!

You met Giacomo at the execution of Operation Star: the pushback against the bullies of the Academy

He just laughed when he saw you with Eri, offering you a grin and a hand

He pulled you onto his Starmobile before turning his attention back to the plan

Glancing towards you every once in a while as the cowards fled the area

The operation didn't take too long, and the newly minted Team Star rolled out into the night

---

It didn't take any convincing for you to join Segin Squad

Giacomo welcomed you with open arms

While Eri sat laughing at how obvious he was being

He asked you to help him run the squad

Help train newbies

Recruit other people you'd seen get bullied

And go on supply runs into Cascarrafa out of uniform

Whenever the squad bosses had to meet up on their own, he trusted that you'd keep the base running in his stead

All in all, a great relationship built on trust even before a confession

He shared his love for music with you, having you rate new tunes before he showed them to anyone else

Wasn't hard, with you by his side almost all the time

In turn, he'd listen to your interests, lending an ear and some praise

Honestly s2g Mela and Ortega already thought you were dating at this point

Atticus is the biggest shipper lmao

---

Giacomo definitely confessed first

He'd been hiding a new song from you for a few days, saying he wanted to perfect it instead of letting you listen to the WIP

Not too incredibly surprising, but he was putting a lot of effort into making sure you couldn't hear it

The grunts outside his tent alerted him every time you came over, instead of parting to let you pass

He snapped his laptop shut every time you came near him

AND he wouldn't let you scroll through his playlists!!

At all!!!

After about two weeks of this, he had another of the grunts find you and direct you to his tent

He almost sheepishly handed you his headphones, making sure they were settled on your head before he pressed play

The intro started similarly to the Team Star theme, then dropped

(IDK the specifics of music or it's making, so. Bare with me please)

He made sure to include similar structure and rhythms to ones you had pointed out in his other work

At the end of it, instead of an encore, his voice sounded from the headphones

"Y/n, I've been meaning to tell you for a while, but.. I like you. As more than a friend or right-hand man. Would you be willing to be my partner?"

You took off the headphones, smiling at him

And that was all the answer he needed

---

Bonus:

Mela and Ortega had to give Eri and Atticus money.. both had bet on you two already being together

Atticus called it puppy love, while Eri just laughed and said you would've told her if you had been dating

Which is how the bet came to it's conclusion

[madaboutmunson]

Cryptic Cupid - Part 2 - Steve's POV

Part 1 | Part 3

Probably worth warning that this one is 6K, might split it up at a later date

Sequel to Raspberry Riddle So this is set in a government-operated hospital after the events of season 4 but everyone is alive.

Each part has a different POV, Robin, Steve, and Eddie.

================================================

It was good timing that Eddie had woken up when he did because Robin was away on holiday for the next two weeks with her family.

When Steve wakes up the very next morning, still groggily half asleep, he does the same thing he always does, he opens his room door and then opens Eddie's, then goes about his morning, grabbing some breakfast before heading back for his morning workout.

He puts in the new tape and is midway through his routine before he hears a different noise, it sounds like coughing, and Steve turns to look through the doorway into Eddie's room and can see him moving.

Steve rushes over, but once he gets to Eddie's bedside, he realises he's laughing, albeit weakly, and mostly hidden by the mask covering the lower half of his face, but still. Steve beams at him but feigns insult and folds his arms, "I hope you aren't laughing at me, Munson."

Eddie shakes his head and lets out a weak laugh again, slowly lifting his hand to his ear.

"The music?" Steve asks with interest.

Eddie nods ever so slightly. It must be all he can muster. Steve turns his head towards the doorway and listens. He'd had the music on for a while now, but he usually listened for a beat and ignored songs as a whole.

How did you know 'cause I never told

But you found out I've got a crush on you

The words you read, my heart's been displayed

You found out I've got a crush on you

Steve is glad he's turned away from Eddie as he ingests the lyrics the woman is singing. He feels his cheeks ignite with embarrassment, and he silently curses Robin under his breath and realises this is why she collected all the other tapes. He dreads to think about what else might be on here.

Steve takes a deep breath and turns back to look down at Eddie, and he's just about to make a protest about this not being his tape, but all that he manages is "Robin's" and a hand wave because when he turns back, he's met with the full intensity of Eddie's soft stare. The dewiness of his eyes makes his irises look like sparkling chocolate pudding.

He isn't sure how but Steve's brain kicks back into gear, "Anyway, sorry if I woke you. Want me to close your door?"

Eddie shakes his head in a no, but he taps his chest lightly and points up.

"Want me to help you sit up?" Steve tries, and Eddie nods slightly again.

Steve finds another pillow, places it ready above Eddie's head, then negotiates his arms through the many wires and tubes attached to Eddie and takes hold of him. Before he moves him, Steve says, "If it hurts, just tap me, ok?

Eddie nods, the corners of his eyes creasing, due to a hidden smile Steve hoped.

Being this close to Eddie was both a dream and a nightmare to Steve. He was finally holding him in his arms, but he felt weak against him. Steve quickly pushes the pillow behind Eddie, so he's supported and gently releases him.

"That all ok?" Steve whispers unintentionally like his brain has decided that speaking any louder might cause harm to the fragile beauty next to him.

Eddie nods, pushes the nurse button with one hand, then taps and squeezes Steve's arm lightly in thanks before waving him out of his room gently.

Steve returns to his workout in his room, and when it comes to pull-ups, despite now being flanked by a fussing medical team, Eddie gives him a little wave and smiles when they remove his mask for tests and food, as the woman on the tape sings.

Your eyes tell me how you want me

I can feel it in your heartbeat

I know you like what you see

And Steve promptly goes to showboat, as if spurred on by the lyrics, and attempts the one-armed pull-up he had seen in his book. He almost makes it, but maybe due to the sweatiness of his palms from nerves, he slips and falls to the floor.

For a second, he's absolutely mortified, but then he hears a clattering and a very scratchy voice call out his name, and it's almost music to his ears. Steve gets to his feet and looks to find a very apologetic Eddie, an upturned tray of food and a nurse covered in some of it. Eddie must feel Steve look at him because he glances, smiles a little sheepishly, and looks away under his hair.

Steve moves out of the doorway, heads into his bathroom, silently does a celebration dance and punches the air before hitting the shower and getting ready for the day.

Steve picks up his new crossword puzzle book and lies on his bed, occasionally peering through the doorway to see what is happening with Eddie. He seems to have eaten something. They washed and dressed him and changed his bedding. His wounds are starting to scar already, and Steve thinks they look worse than his own. The whole time he sees Eddie interacting with the team of people, a constant slight flush of embarrassment rests on his cheeks. Eddie was such an independent guy, and waking up to being able to do very little must be hard for him to deal with.

Once the team is done, Eddie goes back to sleep. All of that must have taken it out of him. Steve loses time in his puzzles but continues occasionally checking on Eddie. One time he was too still, and Steve went in to check the monitors against the printouts he had folded up in his pocket.

The machine name, crude drawings of the displays, and the words good and bad next to each. A quick check round and all signs point to good. Steve leaves the room folding up his paper and almost bumps straight into Wayne, smiling from ear to ear, "Afternoon, Ste. I heard it's gonna be a good 'un", and he embraces Steve tightly with uncontainable joy. 

Wayne pulls out of the hug, the vast smile still plastered on his face and eyes brimmed with happy tears, maybe some relief. "I can't believe he finally woke up, and it's because of you, sunshine boy!" He pats the side of Steve's face, "Thank you."

Steve is swamped with a lot of emotions all at once. He pushes them all down so he can escape into his room to feel them, "Well, you know, it was just a guess that paid off. It was Dr Graven, really."

Wayne tilts his head at Steve, "He said you were modest about your smarts". Steve's stomach completely flips over, and he steps out of the way to let Wayne through. Had Eddie mentioned him to Wayne before he went on the run?

Steve steps through his own door and turns back just in time to see Eddie's eyes open and his hand reach for his Uncle. Wayne almost completely collapses across Eddie in relief, tears streaming down his face as he runs his hand over Eddie's hair and face, quietly repeating, My boy.

Steve moves to the side of his room that can't be seen through the doorway. He leans against the wall for a minute or two. He wonders what it's like to be loved that way, so fully or unashamedly. He was sure his parents would have turned up if they thought he was in any real danger of dying, but at the side of his bed every day, even when it seemed hopeless, probably not.

Wayne had shown Steve more affection in the last ten minutes than his parents had in the previous year, possibly longer. Steve had tried to obtain that level of affection through friendships and romantic relationships. He felt he had that friendship bond with Robin and Dustin certainly, but there was just that little something missing, which Eddie had given him at Scoops.

Eddie built Steve up, and it still worked, even if it was a bet between Robin and Eddie. Steve hadn't felt that confident in a long time, bold enough to make a small move. 

Then that monster happened. Steve just got busy with work and life. He didn't forget about Eddie. He just thought maybe he'd missed his chance. 

Then fate gave him back to Steve but under the most trying situation of being on the run from the whole town and fighting a supernatural being. Steve had thought there wouldn't be much time for such trivial things as revealing feelings or flirting, and it seemed he had been half wrong, at least. Maybe because Eddie had nothing left to lose, he had shamelessly flirted with Steve, touches, getting in his space, lingering stares that said almost the opposite of the words leaving his perfect mouth.

Steve slides down the wall a little with a soft, quiet sigh. He'd been sure that he wouldn't get another chance. He was convinced that in that upside-down trailer park, that was the end of that.

Then the fates intervened again, and here he was in the same building, together until one of them left.

He should really do something with a chance like this. Maybe he could rekindle some of that playful flirtation at Scoops. He had tried a little earlier, and it didn't work out…or had it?

Sure, he didn't get to peacock in front of Eddie as he wanted, but he got his attention and concern. Steve looks over at his crossword book. He could do what Eddie had done for him. Build him up.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind. Everyone that has clearance to do so visits Eddie. Wayne stays for the entire time, only leaving the room to give Eddie some time with his bandmates and Hellfire, which means Steve got a flying visit from Dustin, Lucas and Mike. With them was news of the rest of the group that couldn't visit. Everyone, other than Max, seemed to be doing well. At least she was stable like Eddie had been, but Eddie hadn't had his mind broken apart as Max had. He hoped El could figure something out.

People start to peel off home, and there is a knock at Steve's open door. It's Wayne, but he looks like he's about to leave too. He looks up at the bar in Steve's doorway, "Got sumthin' for ya, champ. Eddie said you might have more use for them than he has, as he won't be performing for a while" Wayne pulls a set of black leather studded fingerless gloves out of his pocket and hands them to Steve.

Steve instinctively raises his hand to refuse a kindness he feels he doesn't deserve, but Wayne stops him before he can say anything, "Listen, the boy can't say or do much right now. Let him give you these as his thanks for now. Otherwise, you can march yourself in there an' tell him directly you rejected his gift. You can deal with that look," Wayne chuckles, "Ahm sure you know the one I'm talkin' about."

Something in the way Wayne says that hits a little differently. Steve realises he's talking about that hurt puppy dog look Eddie gives out when he doesn't get his way, but the way Wayne looks at Steve is as though he can read that he's now close enough to be powerless against it.

Steve accepts the gloves, "So you just happened to have a set of these on you?"

Wayne just smiles at him, "You'll be realisin' soon enough, if not already, that he likes to have his favourite things close by. So for things that can't travel themselves, it's better to have multiple copies on standby where you can" Wayne reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few uniform hair ties, identical guitar picks and two identical lighters. He splits the contents giving half to Steve, "Lemme give ya a head start there."

Smiling in thanks but also with a heavy helping of bashfulness, Steve realises that Wayne is more than onto him.

Wayne gives him a gentle nod, "Until tomorrow, sunshine", and he leaves, looking through the door at a sleeping Eddie one more time.

Once Wayne is out of sight, Steve checks the monitors with his folded reference papers. They were all still good. He sighs with relief and heads back to his room, closing Eddie's door softly behind him.

The next three days followed a similar pattern, except that Eddie seemed to get exponentially better daily. He can eat more food, he doesn't need the breathing assistance so much, his vitals were all improving, and superficially he was looking much more himself too. Of course, it was still hard for him to talk, but when visitors weren't around and Eddie was awake, Steve tried to be the best source of entertainment he could be.

Whether that was using Eddie's doorway as his own personal stage, miming being wrestled away by some unknown fiend, using a lift, being trapped in a box, sometimes a bad version of a tap dance or moonwalk on his way past.

But his favourite times were just being next to Eddie. He'd help him sit up and hand him his book to read, and Steve would sit next to him with his puzzle book. Steve was surprised at how nice it was to sit quietly with someone doing independent things.

Steve tries to put his build-Eddie-up plan into action. A tester, if you will. Eddie is sitting up in his bed, beside him, mask on, reading a choose your own adventure book.

Steve overemphasises his confusion by tapping his pencil to his lip and scratching his head, "Eddie?" 

Eddie hums back, still reading his book.

"Can you help me with a crossword clue?" Steve asks, holding his book closer to him so Eddie can't see it or the little sheet of paper on which he'd been writing his own clues.

Eddie puts his bookmark in and closes his book turning to meet the waiting gaze of Steve, "So…umm", Steve completely forgets what he has just read on the paper when their eyes meet, like Eddie's huge laser eyes just zapped the words he was holding in his brain out of existence. He turns quickly back to the paper in his book, "Yeah, so it says, Food item mice care for, possibly?"

Eddie grabs his notepad and pen. He's capable of talking, just it hurts to, and he likes to save talking for when the band get here because contending with three other people meant they often didn't wait for him to finish writing when they were excitedly talking about something.

Letters?

"Oh, three, then five, it looks like", Steve adds more confidently, exchanging a glance this time.

Eddie starts writing again.

3-5

(Food item)

Mice care for

He stares at the words for a minute, then raises his pencil in the air and writes in big letters with a big smile.

ICE CREAM!!!

"Oh yeah! That totally works. Thanks…er…buddy" Steve had almost dared to use a pet name but lost it at the last moment. He pretends to write the word in, but with his confidence shot, he elects to leave Eddie for a little while, maybe.

"I'm gonna go use my bathroom," Steve says, pointing towards the doorway, unable to look properly at Eddie, but he feels a tap on his arm. He turns to Eddie, who gives him one long blink, then points to his chest and down.

"You're tired? Want a nap?" Eddie nods gently and lifts his arms towards Steve, who is very much trying to keep his ecstatic grin turned down to an accepting smile. With a lot less in the way of tubes and wires, it's easier to get a hold of him. Eddie is almost helping a little by putting his arms around Steve's neck to hold himself up whilst Steve removes the backing cushion and lowers himself down with Eddie. He then releases Steve from his grip, letting one arm flop down to the bed, the other he puts the fingertips to his chin, then lowers his hand in an outwards and down motion towards Steve. Who isn't sure what it means, but he smiles back anyway, "Want me to close your door?" He asks, and Eddie nods weakly in reply. Steve leaves and shuts the door behind him. It was time for his tests anyway.

As usual, Steve's results are, for the most part, better, in some areas, probably due to his daily workouts, but his hearing is still not great in his right ear, especially. 

"Will I lose my hearing in it completely?" Steve asks, his face contorted with concern.

"We would honestly hope not, but it seems to be related to head injuries you've sustained over time, so maybe be a bit more careful in that department," the nurse says, packing away their equipment. Then, they pause for a moment and look at Steve fully, "You know, maybe if you wanted to, you could encourage your friend across the way to work out with you?"

Steve looks surprised, "You think he's ready for that? He can barely sit up or lie down unaided."

The nurse's eyebrows jump in surprise, "Yes, of course, I mean, when he's ready." They pack up faster.

Steve eyes them curiously and then shakes it off, "You check in with Eddie sometimes, too, right?"

"Er…yeah…why do you ask?" The nurse replies almost a little nervously.

"Do you know what this means?" Steve asks, waits for the nurse to look at him, and then replicates the hand gesture that Eddie made to him. He presses his fingertips to his chin and pushes his hand outwards and down towards the nurse.

The nurse's shoulders untense, "Oh, that. It means thank you."

"Oh, well…" Steve repeats the gesture at the nurse with a laugh, and she smiles back.

"You want to learn another one?" She asks

Steve nods enthusiastically at her.

With one hand, she makes a thumbs up, places it in the upturned palm of her other hand, raises them together, and says, "Help."

She lowers them down as if to start over and pushes the hand arrangement up and towards Steve, "Help you", then resets back to the start before moving them up and towards herself, "Help me."

Steve copies her with a big smile, "Thank you", he says and signs it at the same time, "Do you have a book of them or something?"

She looks awkward for a second, and it's puzzling Steve, "You know I did have a book, I just don't know where it is, but I can get you a copy for tomorrow. Does that sound ok?"

"Yes, that would be amazing!" Steve is so excited he will be able to understand Eddie a little better, and they might be able to talk more whilst he's resting his voice.

The nurse tags out as the Psychologist tags in, "How are we doing today, Steve?"

"Good, really good today," Steve says with a smile.

"Would you say your mood has improved since Eddie returned to us?" She says, settling into the chair opposite Steve, and looking over her notes, probably from last time.

"Very much so!" he says enthusiastically. He hesitated a moment, thinking back to what Dr Graven said, "Not that it hasn't caused some other differences too, maybe not for the better?" Steve is trying his best but expressing himself emotionally is not one of his skills.

"Go on," She says gently, clicking her pen, the nib poised hovering above the paper, and Steve can't take his eyes off it. He suddenly feels nervous, "It's ok, Steve. I make notes about everything so that I can give a balanced assessment. No one here thinks you're crazy. We know what happened to you all was very real."

Steve's eyes finally pull away from the pen to his hands resting on the knee of his crossed-over leg, "So, when Eddie wasn't awake. We were all waiting for him to wake up, right? But we all kind of knew he was safe with all the machines plugged into him, right?" Steve nervously rubs his thumb against his index finger, and his leg bounces.

"And now he's awake?" She prompts him to continue.

Steve lowers his voice, "I'm worried he'll…um…go back under again, or that curse thing will happen, or he just won't wake up again, or he'll have something terminal because his wounds look much worse than mine."

"Well, it's normal to be worried, Steve. You just have to think about where you are and that people are on standby here twenty-four hours a day. You're both safe here" Steve can hear her attempt to reassure him, but the voice nagging in his head is relentless.

"Yes, but for how long?! Forever?!" He half shouts with a snap, then looks around nervously again, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you." Steve says with an earnest apology. For comfort, his hand goes straight to the graph printouts in his pocket,

"Let me ask you this. How do you think Eddie is doing? Is he getting worse in your eyes?" She asks, with a graceful tilt of her head. Her phrase in your eyes makes Steve feel a little nervous. In his eyes, Eddie was something else entirely.

"Er…no", he manages to reign in his thoughts, "He's making great progress, it looks like, other than a few minor things."

"Like what kind of things?" She volleys back.

"Well, his voice and strength," he says quickly, "He might not look it because of his build, but he was weirdly strong. Our friend Dustin said her tore a chain link fence off with his bare hands, he hit one of those bat things with an oar straight outta the park, he carried amps to the top of a trailer and…yeah, he was strong'' Steve keeps that one, what happened in the boathouse, to himself. That's when he realised how strong Eddie was and how terrified he was. It was almost like he didn't see Steve at all.

"Was he stronger than you, would you say?" She asks, and Steve knows she's probably asking about just physically, but he can't help thinking about everything Eddie had been through in his life, then to be plunged into a very real hellscape, and he still had the time to make people laugh, give them hope, support them, give them more time…

"Yeah, he definitely was", Steve answers finally.

"Do you miss talking to him?" She asks with a smile.

Steve huffs a laugh and sighs as he reclines in his chair a little more relaxed, "Well, that is a complicated answer" Steve blushes a little.

"Complicated how?" She locks eyes with Steve, who looks down at the floor with a smile.

"I enjoy talking with him. Sometimes he says things that make me feel good about myself, you know? But then sometimes…." Steve shakes his head and bites his lip, "...sometimes he says things that make me feel…well…a little…." Steve feels the heat rise in his face again as he folds his arms around himself.

"Uncomfortable?" She offers.

Steve looks between her face and the floor quickly, "Yeah, kinda, but not in a mean way, I don't think…so um…I appreciate not hearing those things…well as often, you know?" But, of course, Steve had no idea if he was articulating this well or not, so whether she knew what he was talking about was a bit of a mystery to him.

"So just sometimes, then? You like it when Eddie says something that makes you feel, as you put it, uncomfortable, sometimes?" She asks gently with a small smile, which gives Steve a bit of faith that she knows what he is talking about.

"Yeah, sometimes. Believe it or not, before all of this, he would talk. A lot. All the time. About things, I had no clue what he was yapping on about, honestly. Usually, on a tabletop somewhere," Steve gestures up at an imaginary Eddie on top of his bedside table, and then Steve feels a little solemn. Eddie used to get so hyped after one of his speeches, the way he'd sit back down self-assured in his seat, with a smug little smile, sure he'd put the world to rights. "He probably misses that" Steve's inside thought becomes an outside one.

"Walking on tables?" She smiles big at Steve.

He laughs and shakes his head, "Probably. I kinda just meant the talking. Eddie's very good with words. He ran that game" Steve clicks his fingers over his head to encourage the words his way, "The dragons game, you have to be an excellent storyteller and think on your feet to do that. Well, that's what the kids say anyway."

"Do you think you're good with words, Steve?"

"Hmmm, I try, often fuck…oh sorry", he covers his mouth with his hand.

"That's ok, Steve. Carry on."

"Well, point proven", he laughs, "I often mess up, is what I meant"

"Would you like to be a more eloquent speaker, Steve?"

"Yeah, I think that would be pretty good."

"Why?"

Steve starts to count on his fingers, "Well, you sound smart. It makes the things you say more interesting. You can describe things better. When people are upset, you have, like, wise things you can say to them that help."

"And you think you aren't those things?" She asks, and Steve shakes his head and bows it a little as he looks down.

She rips out a page of note paper and writes on it:

Smart

Interesting

Descriptive

Wise

She hands it to him, "I want you to try and think about times when you've been these things and just make a note of them. If you need help, ask your friends or family. Sometimes the people around us see things that we can't or occasionally refuse to see in ourselves. No time limit, just something to think about," She says as she looks at her watch, "Anything you want to talk about before I go, Steve?"

"Is this all…um…confidential?" Steve asks in a whisper pointing between himself and the Psychologist.

"Yes, unless I feel you pose a threat to yourself or anyone else here." She adds, crossing her hands over her lap.

"Threat as in, like harming people, you mean?" Steve tries to clarify.

"That's right."

"Are you religious?"

"Nope. Just science for me" She smiles back and waits patiently.

Steve chews on his bottom lip, "Do you have any strong beliefs around marriage or dating, stuff like that?"

"Not especially. I feel as though you are dancing around something, Steve. You're quite safe to talk to me about anything."

Steve looks her over. He just can't tell. Was she going to be homophobic? If he told her, would he be seen as a threat? 

"One of my friends…um…doesn't like the opposite sex…they only like the same…." Steve watches her face intensely as he talks, looking for even a glimmer of disgust, but she simply nods, "is that bad, or would it be considered a threat?" 

She shakes her head, "No, not at all."

Steve smiles and relaxes his tensed upper back and shoulders, "What we were talking about earlier, the being uncomfortable…."

"When Eddie says certain things to you?" She assists

"Yeah, I think he makes me feel that way because I like him, you know, like-like him" Steve swallows and waits for her to say something, anything.

"Have you told him that?"

"Not in so many words, no. About a year ago, there was a kind of…um…confession on my part, at least, but I can't read him, so I don't know if he feels the same? Like, he flirted with me, I think? But then I think he's like that with everyone, you know?"

"What happened last year?"

"I was working in the new mall, and the girl I worked with, Robin, and Eddie had a bet that I wouldn't serve him first if there were a girl at the counter, and he would come by often and give me these riddles to solve, and I wrote him one back, but he replied, in his own way, that he solved it, but he didn't mention it again, you know? So I don't know if this is a one-way thing or not" 

"Would you like it if Eddie reciprocated those feelings?"

"Yeah!" Steve realised how quickly and enthusiastically he said that and immediately tried to reign it in, "Yeah, I mean, whatever, I guess it could be cool, maybe."

"Why?"

"Well…um…" Steve pulls at his collar

"What I mean is, what makes Eddie the person you want to reciprocate those feelings?"

"Well…er…he's smart and not shamed to be himself. So funny sometimes. Even if he is being a little annoying, it's difficult to be mad at him for long. He's talented. He's also kind. He looks after people and brave. Then the more obvious stuff like he's handsome."

"What is it visually about him that makes him handsome to you?"

Steve looks thoughtfully around the ceiling, "Well, he's got this smile, well he has many, but this one is so big and bright like it lights up a room. Then his eyes, wow, like the richest, deepest darkest chocolate silk pies, well you’ve seen them, you know, right?” Steve shrugs his shoulders and gestures at her with a little laugh before miming headlights with his hands “surrounded by these long beautiful lashes, and his hair when the light catches it, it's full of all different tones of reddy-brown, like mahogany and chestnut, and…" Steve stops, folds his arms across his chest, realising she got totally lost in Eddie for a moment, "and a bunch of other stuff."

The psychiatrist smiles and taps her pen on the piece of paper she handed to Steve, “Descriptive”, she sits back in her seat.

“Yeah, but that’s like one thing”, Steve laughs.

“You think Eddie expresses himself well, and is all those things on your paper?”

“Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows at Steve, “All the time, about everything?”

Steve pauses, “Well…no, I guess not” a small smile of pride appears shyly on Steve’s face, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything, Steve. I just asked you a bunch of questions you already had the answers to” She smiles sweetly at him, “Anything else for today?”

“No. I think I’m good. Let’s end on a good note today.”

She taps Steve’s paper as they stand for her to leave, “Wise.”

Later that evening, after visiting hours, Steve makes his way over to Eddie's room to say goodnight, turn out the light and close the door for him.

He notices Eddie isn't wearing his breathing mask, and Steve can see an unobscured big smile just for him, but then Eddie points at his notepad that he's holding up to Steve.

Wanna stay for a while? Not sleepy

Steve grins back, "Sure, let me grab my book" he quickly collects his crossword book and pencil and then returns to Eddie and his stack of books, "Which one do you want?"

Eddie adorably wrinkles up his nose and mouth in thought, tilts his head, and then quickly scribbles something on the pad.

Carrie

"You want to read a horror book right before you go to sleep? Are you sure that's wise?" Steve asks, his words painted with a fresh coat of concern.

Eddie smiles, shaking his head, makes a show of rolling his eyes and nods at Steve.

"Well, alright then, don't say I didn't warn you," he says as he hands the book to Eddie, the i-told-you-so look already on his face before the aftermath. Eddie reaches up, pats Steve's face, and then signs thank you at him.

Steve settles into the chair that seems much closer to Eddie's bed than usual. He figures it's from when Wayne was here and started a new crossword.

He's not far into it before he glances at Eddie's book. Steve can usually lose himself in his puzzles but today was different. He was charged up with some extra energy or confidence. He notices a piece of paper between Eddie's fingers at the back of his book, probably his bookmark. Steve recognises the handwriting on it being that of the Psychologist, but he can only make out one word peeking out over the top of the book:

Liked

Steve wishes he could take back being so nosey. What if that list was like his? Did Eddie really think he wasn't liked? Steve swears his heart squeezes because he's so mad at anyone that made Eddie feel unliked. He knows he shouldn't bring it up, so he does something else. He also uses his own list as a bookmark and puts it partially sticking out of the top of his book so that if Eddie glances over, he might see it.

"Say, Eddie, you couldn't help me with another clue, could you?" Steve asks, playing up the confusion in his voice as he looks at Eddie, who is still reading but nods.

"Bore a lad with something cute, eight letters," Steve asks, and Eddie bookmarks his page, enabling Steve to catch a glimpse of another word:

Success

Oh god, he thinks he's a failure. Steve swallows hard, trying to keep the intense emotions at bay. He's trying to build Eddie up, not bring him down.

Eddie is scribbling away on his notepad and frowns for a second before shaking his head a little and showing the pad to Steve:

ADORABLE

"I know I am, but what about the crossword?" Steve answers with what he hopes is cute confidence, and it must work because Eddie smiles and rolls his eyes.

"Ok, let's see…." Steve trails off, pretending to fit it into his crossword by writing in the answer for a totally different clue, "That's perfect!" Then, finally, he turns to Eddie and signs thank you.

Eddie's eyes go wide and are joined with a smile of surprise. Steve goes one step further and points at Eddie, "You" he signs help towards himself, "help me."

Eddie's eyes light up with excitement, and Steve feels his heart blossom inside his ribcage, releasing a thousand fuzzy feelings straight into his brain. Then Eddie's expression reverses. He looks mad and snatches at the paper sticking out of Steve's book, which he just manages to pull out of his reach in time.

Eddie scribbles on his pad,

THE SHRINK?

Steve nods at Eddie.

YOU DONT THINK YOURE SMART?????

Steve shakes his head in a no.

YOU GRADUATED!!! 

Eddie taps at his pad so hard the pen leaves a hole in the page.

YOU ARE NOT STUPID

"And you are very liked, Eddie!" Steve replies pointing at Eddie's paper.

TRADE?

"Ok," Steve says, carefully handing over his piece of paper to Eddie, who snatches it away from him and starts reading, his eyes zig-zagging over it before he flicked his own list at Steve like it had lost all meaning to him now he had Steve's. Eddie's hand moves to his jaw, and he looks deep in thought before grabbing his notepad again.

Steve looks at Eddie's list.

Liked

Success

Athletic

Rich

He can't believe what he's reading. Eddie was liked, not just liked, almost worshipped by the hellfire club.

He was extremely talented at many things Dustin had relayed to Steve, like guitar, singing, storytelling, writing, and business. Ok, dealing drugs was not the ideal business to be in, but he made it work.

Athletic?? The man ran, swam and rode a bike for his life. A death-defying triathlon and he thinks he's not athletic?! 

Rich, sure maybe he didn't have that in respect of money, but in life, in love, in care, Eddie had it all.

"Eddie, you can't seriously think you aren't these things?" Steve says in genuine confusion.

Eddie lifts Steve's list and angrily flicks it, so it makes a pop sound, and he goes back to scribbling on his pad.

Steve writes his thoughts next to each word on Eddie's list. By the time he's done, Eddie is waiting, a piece of notepaper in his hand that he's waiting to exchange. Steve nervously obliges.

He takes a deep breath and opens up the paper,

SMART - YOU FUCKING GRADUATED, AND DUSTIN SAID YOU FIGURED OUT THE RUSSIANS WERE INSIDE THE MALL

INTERESTING - THIS IS RIDICULOUS. ALL THE THINGS YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH AND EVEN HOW YOUR BRAIN WORKS ARE FASCINATING. YOU HAVE A LOT TO OFFER IN CONVERSATION YOU JUST NEED TO SPEAK UP MORE AND DON'T LET ASSHOLES (MOI INCLUDED) TAKE ALL THE SPOTLIGHT

DESCRIPTIVE - BUCKLEY SAID THE CONVERSATIONS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE REACH LEVELS OF LABYRINTHIAN COMPLEXITY, AND THE WAY YOU TALK ABOUT THE KIDS IS LIKE POETRY.

WISE - YOU KNEW TO GO DOWN THERE FIRST. IF ANY OF THE REST OF US HAD, WE MIGHT NOT HAVE STILL BEEN ALIVE BY THE TIME EVERYONE ELSE SHOWED UP, AND YOU TOLD ME NOT TO BE A HERO, AND I DIDN'T LISTEN. NOW LOOK AT ME.

It might not have been meant as such, but Steve reads that last line as a command and looks at Eddie. He is reading his own bit of paper, hand over his mouth, but he seems a little blurry. That's when Steve realises his eyes are filling up with tears, which he wipes away quickly and tries to compose himself.

He knew he couldn't because he still didn't know the lay of the land, but Steve had the overwhelming urge to reach out and pull Eddie so tightly to him. In thanks, in solidarity, in adoration, in appreciation, in want, in love. 

Eddie turns to him and signs a happy thank you, Steve repeats it back to him, and though Eddie is smiling, Steve sees his bottom lip tremble. Then, Eddie very rapidly yawns and wipes his eyes.

"Feeling tired now?" Steve asks gently. Eddie nods in response, "Alright then", he says as he gets up, leaving his book, list and pencil on the chair, taking the book from Eddie and putting it back for him. Steve feels Eddie's eyes on him the entire time, and when Steve looks back at him, he expects Eddie to look away like he'd been caught, but he doesn't. Instead, Eddie continues to look at Steve.  

It's not an intense glare or stare. Steve could probably only describe it as the first time you see something, like at a zoo or something. He's watching, observing, analysing something like that, Steve guesses.

Locked in that shared gaze for a few seconds before he could break free and gather his things from his chair, "Well, goodnight, Eddie. Thank you for writing that. I appreciate it. It's help-" Steve's words are cut off because Eddie's hand is on his arm, resting on his bicep so very gently. The sensation of barely touching sent goosebumps down the back of his arm.

Once Steve's eyes move from his own arm to Eddie, he signs help me, then points to his own chest and points down.

"Oh sure, Sorry I forgot," Steve says with a laugh, puts his things down, and as usual, puts his arms around Eddie, removes a pillow, and lowers him down to the bed. 

Around now, Eddie's arms typically release him and drop to the bed, this time, they do not, and as Steve lifts away from Eddie slightly, he feels Eddie's hands move across his back to his shoulders in an even gentle pressure. Steve can't help himself and looks at Eddie, whose eyes are already waiting for him. 

The moonlight streaming through the window makes Eddie's face look like it was made from pearl, and his eyes are dark and twinkling like the depths of space. Steve is so close he can feel the moisture of Eddie's breathing against his cheek, and it is unbelievably tempting, but he's still unsure. Eddie's eyes flit down to Steve's mouth, and Steve instinctively licks his lips. This was crazy. Steve's wants and conscience duke it out in his mind. Maybe Eddie felt vulnerable, and Steve should definitely not capitalise on that.

Steve doesn't know what to do, so he opts for what he hopes is a safe and respectful middle ground. He pulls back a little more, and Eddie's expression changes to a happy smile of acceptance, but his hands stay in contact with Steve's arms as they move down towards the bed. Dextrous cold fingers were warming up against his skin which was getting increasingly warmer in this position. Finally, Steve tilts his head up and gently kisses Eddie's forehead, "Goodnight, Eddie", he whispers softly and runs a hand over Eddie's hair before standing up to gather his things and return to his room.

[angrypedestrian]

The timing is finally right and I can respond to a tagged prompt!! @explosionshark tagged me asking for 5 songs I'm into recently, so let's see if I can actually remember any of them. I finally subscribed to a streaming service (Apple), so I've been digging into all sorts of random music corners I don't normally spend too much time in, so a couple of these picks are real big, obvious songs, but fall under the category of I don't think I've ever listened to this on headphones before??? Which is a very particular fun kind of novelty. For me.

GODDAMMITALL by The Wonder Years The Greatest Generation is ten years old and I am consequently made of dust. But this b-side that TWY unearthed and re-recorded like the two tracks they did celebrating The Upsides and Suburbia, I've Given You All..., is honestly probably one of the top five TGG tracks, which is saying something. TGG is my (and MANY others') favorite wonder years record, and this song fits in so squarely that I almost lose my mind every time I think about it. Like come on "I'm a sweater that you've given to Goodwill, or lied about and sent to the landfill" is a LINE. Also I am going to rip my vocals cords to shreds screaming the GODDAMMITALLs on that last chorus when I see them in the fall. Def Leppard-Photograph File this under one of those "I never listened to this song with headphones for the first 33-ish years of my life" songs. The production on this song is just fucking insane. It's SO tight. I recently read a theory breakdown of this song that Stereogum did, which I only understood maybe 50% of, but even with that 50%, I learned so much about why this song works the way it does. It is perhaps THE perfect hair metal song. IT JUST SOUNDS SO GOOD GUYS. THE ARPEGGIO GUITAR IN THE CHORUS.

The Pharcyde-Passin' Me By Another one of the I never listened to this on headphones before songs. I was introduced to this track via the Aggressive Inline video game soundtrack in the early 2000s (1. I know of ancient extreme sports video games you have only dreamed of and 2. yes I am one of the whitest people alive on earth). I always enjoyed it, but I had no context for it, and was just much more walled off from hip-hop when I was a young teen. But this song fucking slaps and the sampling in it is unparalleled. And the "my dear, my dear, my dear, you do not know me but I know you very well" verse lights up my brain in the best fucking way.

Hot Mulligan-The Song Is Called What It's Called I was always fine with Hot Mulligan, and enjoyed a lot of their songs, but never really got them. I am just too old and decrepit, and not young and hip enough to listen to the number 1 hot new band, but with this record I finally got it. Or HM is old enough now and has been at this long enough to make something more appealing to my ears, which is obviously what every band should strive to do. But this song in particular does it for me. It's mostly a road song, which I have a love for, but it just feels like a particular distillation of everything this band has been building towards their whole career. Why Should I Watch is a special one, and I hope whatever legacy they leave remembers it that way.

Bad Operation-What Keeps Us Moving This. Is. New. Tone. There's no other band out there doing what Bad Operation is doing. They coined a term for a new wave of ska, one that is truly diverse, accepting, and engaged in away it hasn't been since 2 tone in the 70's. And they did it while making the BEST ska of this decade, if not this century. They are my favorite current ska band, melding so many influences, remaining political in a direct way that still integrates with their music, and just making shit you can DANCE to. Also this is A Summer Song, fucking rock this shit at your next barbecue! No one is doing what Bad Operation is doing, I hope they make 75 more records, and also that I can finally see them live soon.

Tagging anyone who wants to do this, but @unsungfury, @pivitor, @whatthehelliswrongwithhim, if y'all want to, I am particular interested in your answers!

[itisaterriblelove]

“HEY BABY, I’M IN THE PARKING LOT.” 

One of the very best things about being friends with someone for so long and so completely was that Elle didn’t even bother to ask any questions. We could operate on the same brain frequency sometimes. I knew that if I showed up to anyone else’s place at this time of night – well, okay, morning because it was fucking one am – there would at least be a couple of inquiries about my sanity or, in DK’s case, some grumbling about interrupting his cuddles with Jemma Moss. He could be such a selfish asshole sometimes, I swear. And stingy with his cuddles, too.

But because Elle loved me and was literally the best person in the universe, I only had to wait eight minutes before she came out of her dorm building carrying her purse and a blanket because the air had started to catch a chill. Her eyes were still wide, a shimmering green, so I knew that I hadn’t woken her up.

She yawned when she pulled my truck door open and hopped in, but her smile was soft and warm when she looked over at me and kissed me on the cheek. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

I shrugged a shoulder instead of answering aloud and cast a wry grin in her direction. She was well versed in my spontaneous bouts of insomnia so I knew that I didn’t really have to explain it to her. On nights like these I always showed up to her place and we picked a random direction to drive in until I found a spot that felt like a good place to stop. She was usually the navigator, I was the driver, and we just kind of let fate do whatever it wanted with us. 

“I’m controlling the playlist,” she announced and pulled up my phone to start rifling through her options. “And whenever you want to tell me what’s wrong, I’m all ears.” She didn’t bother to give me a chance to object to her decision to dj, so I already knew that it wasn’t a fight that I was going to win tonight.

It was fine. We both knew that I didn’t really mind.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I countered while she poked around on my phone. There was nothing on there that she couldn’t see and, anyway, her biometrics were hooked to all of my things. Because Elle was the person who was responsible for wiping my searches clean if I died unexpectedly or fell into a coma or some shit. So the government wouldn’t think I was on some serial killer schtick if shit went down… I was just curious, damn!

“My brain just won’t stop,” I made a turning motion with my hand and she nodded in understanding. “Why were you still up?” 

“Sketching out a design for a new dress,” she beamed at me and my heart turned over. I fucking loved the way her designs gave her so much joy. “I just finished up when you called, so perfect timing. Ohhh!” She squirmed, excited all over again, and pressed onto the screen with her finger. “Secret music!”

I chuckled because I recognized the playlist immediately after hearing her words, as my own guitar sounds came streaming through the truck speakers. “These are not secret, baby. Just unfinished.”

“Yes, but you’ve never played them for me,” she cut an accusing look at me from the corner of her eyes and I didn’t bother to dispute it. Okay, so, we didn’t have any secrets. That was true. But fuck. I hadn’t ever played her this particular set of songs probably for a reason. And not one I wanted to delve into, so I just didn’t bother to respond.

Elle got quiet as she listened and I concentrated my attention to the road ahead of me instead of categorizing her reactions to the sporadic hints of lyrics and ever-switching melodies playing through the speakers.

She was a quick study, so by the time the playlist repeated Elle was humming along. “These are good, Gav!” She smacked my leg lightly in what I knew was admonishment for keeping them from her. “I didn’t know you were writing your own stuff. Why doesn’t the band play any of these?!” 

I hummed, but I could feel the rush of heat sliding down from my cheeks to my neck. “Eh… Cressida’s pretty particular about the mood of our songs. These don’t really fit.” They weren’t love songs, exactly, but they weren’t… not… Cressida and Aidan had some kind of ban on love songs.

Besides I didn’t want to fucking share them.

The songs weren’t about being in love. They weren’t. But they were whatever the fucking platonic adjacent of that was – the way that I felt about my friends. The ones that I knew I would keep forever. So, yeah. They were kind of personal and the irony of Elle softly humming along was not lost on me.

“Your singing’s not so bad. We could go on the road together,” she teased, bumping her shoulder into mine, and I grinned back at her. It wasn’t the first time she’d said something similar or that I had agreed to it, either.

“I thought that was already the plan.”

“Unless you dump me for DK. He gets kinda pouty every time I say we’re going to have our own two-man band one day.”

“Yeah, yeah. That fucker doesn’t know how to share,” I scowled playfully out the windshield, seeing a nice little turn ahead that looked like exactly the kind of place that I wanted to stop.

“Only him?” Elle teased, aghast. “I’m pretty sure he’s in good company with you on that front, mister.” 

I made an affronted sound as I found my spot and pulled over. “The fuck, Elle? I resemble that remark.” 

She giggled as she swung her door open, following my lead. “You really, really do.” She hopped down and clapped her hands. “Okay! Now for something lighter!” And she switched the music to a really pop-y boy band that I absolutely fucking refused to admit I knew the name of and started belting out the lyrics with her arms thrown wide.

I turned the music up a bit and followed her out, glancing up at the sky with a long sigh. It was a beautiful night out and there probably weren’t too many of them left. I knew once the cold really seeped in it wouldn’t let up again for months and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

But tonight the air was decent and the stars were bright, and I was in the company of my absolute favorite girl in the fucking world.

“Sing with me, Gavin!” Elle crowed, taking my hand, and so I danced with her and joined my voice with hers as we used the truck’s headlights for illumination under the stars.

And this was why we took these drives on my sleepless nights. I knew that when I got home my head wouldn’t be unsettled anymore. Instead I would just feel like everything was exactly as it should be, even though I also knew there would be a niggling part of me wishing things could stay exactly like this forever. Just never fucking change.

It was a fool’s hope, for sure, but I could afford to hold onto it for just a little longer yet.

[sopeecoffee]

Dial me up

Yoongi was diligently working at his studio when he got a phone call from an unknown number.

On the other end of the line? A not-so-truthful telemarketer trying to scam him.

pairing: sope genre: pwp, modern au tags and warnings: explicit 🔞 bttm!yoongi, top!hoseok, arguing, phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk word count: 5k

Read on AO3 ♡

Read under the cut ⬎

•

Yoongi had been struggling with a particular song all afternoon.

Sometimes inspiration hit him suddenly, like a truck. It winded him and pushed him to pour it all into something before it seeped between your fingers and escaped his grasp… But then he was left the next day with a demo so messy he had no idea where to even begin with remastering.

That's where he was, where he'd been for the past five fucking hours, staring into his computer screen until he went cross-eyed and felt like he bordered on insane.

That's also when his phone made the unfortunate decision to ring.

He felt frustration bubbling under the surface of his skin, crawling from just beneath his shoulders and slowly up his neck. He didn't think, brain too fried to even read the unknown caller ID displayed on screen before swiping the green circle.

“Yes, hello?”

“Good afternoon," a chirpy voice he couldn't recognise spoke against his ear. "I’m Jung with Venture Life. How are you doing today, Mister Min?”

What the fuck was Venture Life?

“Uuuuuh good?” He said cautiously.

“That’s great to hear! I’m contacting you regarding your car insurance. It says here your contract with your current provider is about to expire and we wanted to walk you through our service package. Do you have the time right now?”

Something itched in Yoongi's mind. It was either the way those words were spoken, or the way they didn't watch up. He quickly opened his browser and typed the company's name in the search bar. Many results, to be sure. None of them positive.

Interesting.

“Time? Sure, I've got time,” he replied coolly.

“Great, so-”

“Just not for scam calls.”

“W-what? Sir, please, this is very serious!” The man sounded agitated. It gave Yoongi a sick sense of satisfaction. You fuck around, you find out, right?

“Yeah and so are the articles on my computer screen right now. Two million Won per customer on average, huh? How do you sleep at night.” Righteous indignation tasted good, especially after a shit day. And when he heard the man sigh on the other end of the call, Yoongi smiled cheekily to himself.

“Damn, you’re quick with it, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know Mr. Scammer, it seems pretty basic to me.”

“I’m not a-”

“Not a what, Mr. Scammer?”

The man was getting impatient, clicking his tongue and huffing in frustration.

“Listen, we practically only have old people on our database. They don’t know how to operate a computer.”

Database? Where did a company even find a database as specific as that? Social media? No, that had too widespread of an age-range, and much less an abundance of the elderly.

“Where’d you get it from?”

The man sighed. Yoongi could almost envision him rubbing his face with his free hand as he leaned back on his desk chair.

“Online pawnshop. Grimey looking website. You’d have to be sixty-five years-old to put your personal information into that thing.”

Oh.

“Or maybe a twenty-two year-old dumpster diver," he admitted. "What about you, though? Surely you’re old enough to know that the elderly deserve better than some smooth-talking prick stealing their retirement money.”

“This smooth-talking prick is just trying to put food on the table. At least I’m not… Diving in dumpsters.”

Yoongi cringed.

“That was weak, man.” 

“Fuck you," he said, exhasperated. "Those old men put anything interesting up for sale for it to be worth putting your phone number in it, Min?”

“Yeah, they did. Though I only expected to receive a cassette player and a CRT television, not some-”

“Sweet-talking prick,” the man offered, a bitter grin evident in his tone.

“Wow how self-aware," Yoongi commented sarcastically. "How’d you know?”

When the man replied, he was quieter, something particular in his voice lingering in the air and making stomach flip.

“Y’know your voice isn’t half bad, either.”

“I-I," he found himself stuttering, taken aback. "I wasn’t flattering you.”

“Too bad, I took it as such.” He sounded almost casual in his cockiness. Yoongi couldn't help but let his aggravation rise up once more.

“How big is that damn head of yours?”

“Just big enough.”

Yoongi sat quietly for a few seconds, blood rushing in his ears as his cheeks grew red. Was this guy for real right now? And why did it sound so tantalising when he spoke in that tone, darker and more playful than before...

No, he had to play it cool. There was absolutely no way he could let this complete stranger take a hold of him, especially after trying to scam him and worse yet, interrupt his precious work. 

Yes, he had his priorities in order.

“... Right," he drawled. "Is that what the ladies tell you to make you feel better?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t take girls home." He spoke confidently, but Yoongi couldn't understand why. Who would admit to something so brazenly? But he kept going, sure he would reach him if he prodded enough.

“Yeah, I gather they run away from you before you get the chance.”

But no, it didn't touch him. Instead, he scoffed.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you-” Something clicked in his mind suddenly. “Oh.”

He was gay.

Like Yoongi.

“Mhmm,” he confirmed, just as laid back as before.

Well, this was just as much Yoongi's territory as it was the guy's. He could go all day.

“Well, in that case is that what the boys tell you to make you feel better about your totally very big enough head of yours?”

He clicked his tongue, growing frustrated.

“Why are you so difficult?”

“Why’d you call me in the middle of my fucking work?”

“For someone who’s so busy, you sure talk a lot. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah, I sure love having my money stolen,” he rolled his eyes.

But he was right. Sure, Yoongi now had a personal vendetta against the guy and wanted to piss him off just as much as the man had pissed him off. Sure, he wanted to hear the man ripping his hair out for trying to get the better of him just because the shitty website he used sold his data to the highest bidder. It wasn't his fault the specific brand of cassette player he needed for one of his experiments was completely out of commission and impossible to find, save for one fifty-something old man on that vintage marketplace.

It was, however, completely this Jung guy's fault for getting him riled up and ready to fire.

And he seemed just as riled up, though. It was exactly what Yoongi wanted.

“Oh, your money, of course," he replied just as sarcastically as Yoongi. "I haven’t mentioned your car insurance in quite a while, have I? Would you like me to go back? We have many services you can choose from, but we suggest the premium package.”

Yoongi grinned to himself.

“How fascinating," he mocked. "I gather it costs two million Won?”

“Wow! I see you’re already familiar with the wonderful services our company offers! I love a man who comes prepared…”

Yoongi bit his lip, trying to contain his smile. He hated to admit it but the guy was a lot of fun.

“I’m sure you do, Mr. Scammer.”

He was quiet for a second. Then-

“Has anyone ever told you you sound like a car purring?”

Yoongi stilled, heart beating rapidly in his chest. He tried to sound aloof when he replied, but his voice wavered at the end.

“Not you too…”

“Not me what?”

“I get the cat thing often,” he mumbled, tracing the inseam of his jeans as though the strange man over the phone wasn't seeing right through him.

“People call you a cat?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well," he laughed. "You sure are feisty like one.”

“Bite me.” He rolled his eyes. And the stranger chuckled again, more muted and seductive.

“Maybe I will.”

Yoongi sat up a little straighter, face going red.

“Excuse me?”

“Too much?” The edge in his voice was then subdued, kinder and more patient. Yoongi licked his lips and considered the absurd, albeit not unwelcome situation. He hated to admit it, but the stranger was affecting him. There was no doubt about it. Be it the tone of his honey voice or the cocky confidence of someone who knew how to unravel another man with practised ease, it made Yoongi melt little by little. Which frustrated him, quite frankly. It should not be possible for someone so infuriating to be capable of making him blush so deeply.

Too much? the question echoed between his ears, laid back but careful. It wasn't too much, not at all. If anything he wanted more.

So he followed his instincts and let the man continue.

“... What do you want.”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know what you look like, but you sound hot. I’d definitely take a bite out of you.”

Yoongi felt his stomach flutter. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. You sound hot? Could the man hear how ridiculous he sounded?

“You’d go that far for someone from their voice alone? A little pathetic don’t you think?” Posturing was all Yoongi could do to save face after so openly allowing the man to continue his antics.

“You say it’s pathetic but you’re thinking it’s actually kinda charming,” he smiled through the receiver.

“Don’t you have other people to scam?" Yoongi pushed. "Isn't that what you're getting paid to do? Because you're definitely not getting paid to hit on people, that's for sure.”

The man sighed dramatically.

“Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, that’s why I fuck pretty twinks on company time. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

Yoongi's jaw was slack as he digested those words, at the way he turned the slogan into something so raunchy and uncomfortably close to the truth.

“You’re so brave, Mr. Scammer," he kept pestering despite the spark growing between them. "Is that the best line you and your scammer co-workers could come up with for your union?”

“Nah, this is all me. Wanna hear more?”

Yoongi closed his eyes and imagined for a brief moment the man was speaking close to him, against his ear. The way his voice was so warm, the way it rasped when he was playful, the way it would slide from high to low in an instant. It sent a shiver down his spine.

“I’d really rather not, for my own sanity.”

He hummed.

“Your claws are really sharp, Min.”

He clenched his fist, feeling his blunt nails raking over his skin.

“I get that often, too.”

“Oh, you do?" There was a mean edge to the man's voice. God, he loved a mean man. "For you to be so pissy I can’t imagine you getting much action lately.”

Yoongi tutted. 

“You some kind of expert on how much dick pretty twinks get?”

“Just a lucky guess.”

The smile in his voice was so sexy, made Yoongi want him so badly.

So he decided to open the proverbial door just a tad, in hopes the man would continue until he saw stars.

“Tragically you are lucky indeed, Mr. Scammer,” he pouted as he admitted.

“I did give you my name, you know?" He said softly once more. "You can use it.”

“Oh, you actually gave me your real name? And you criticise me for putting my phone number into a shady website, Jung.”

“It’s technically a real company, Min," he kept smiling, unaffected by his taunting. "I have to give you my real name.”

“Technically," Yoongi scoffed. "You lecture me over my online safety practice but you work on the frontlines for a company getting sued for fraud." Then, more sardonically, "crazy how it’s still running at this very moment. You'd swear they'd be trying to cover their tracks.”

The man laughed.

“Crazier than the way you keep dodging me?”

Yoongi bit his lip, smile spreading too wide, cheeks burning too red.

“Absolutely, Jung.”

“Sure sounds nice coming from those lips.”

Yoongi imagined the stranger – Jung – lazing back in his desk chair with a lazy smile on his lips, legs spread just enough for them to look supple and mouth-watering. He imagined him resting his palm on his stomach, then running it slowly down to his crotch. He imagined the edges of his lips curling up at Yoongi voicing out his name in his deep baritone. The run-around was enticing, making his heart race.

He'd think the fact Jung was a complete stranger, someone he didn't even know the appearance of, would be enough of a reason for him to be put off by their predicament. But if he thought hard enough, he could see the faults in his rationale. Sure, he didn't know what Jung looked like, but they knew more about each other than his one night stands ever did. And he had a better grasp on Jung's spunky attitude than he did of any person he'd made out with at the club.

Not to mention the fact Jung was on the job. That only made it hotter.

“What do you want,” Yoongi asked once more. No more playing. He wanted to hear it from Jung's mouth.

“What do you look like?” Jung retorted instead.

Yoongi didn't know what to say at first. Where could he even begin?

“Hum... Black hair?" He tried. Jung hummed, guiding him to continue.

"It's a little overgrown, covers my eyes. Thinking of letting it grow out like those movie stars in the west.”

It felt a little vulnerable, saying something so menial to a stranger who wanted him, something he'd only conversationally mention to his friends over take-out dinner after one of them asked why he let it fall over his vision.

Jung didn't hesitate.

“I bet you’d look real pretty. And already do.”

It couldn't be true, because Jung didn't know him, but it made Yoongi blush just the same. He tried deflecting with a laugh.

“Sure.”

“What else?” He asked curiously. Yoongi looked down to himself, trying to find something to describe.

“Dark eyes, I guess. Dark brown. And my skin’s pretty pale, too, since I don’t really leave the house or my studio much.”

He sounded small to his own ears, the embarrassment getting the better of him, but making him smile regardless.

“Studio?” He seemed to have perked up.

“Yeah, I make music.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. I dance.”

Yoongi grinned.

“Really? What type?”

“Hip hop. Street dance.”

“Shit. Me too,” he said enthusiastically. “Music wise, I mean.”

The excitement in both their voices was palpable, Yoongi's chest swelling at their mutual closeness with a subject so personal to him. 

“We have a lot in common,” Jung mused.

Yoongi couldn't agree more as he tried and failed to calm the fluttering of his heart.

“Your turn,” he changed the subject, placing the spotlight on his flirty counterpart. “What do you look like? Aside from probably being ripped from b-boying.”

Jung laughed.

“I’m not ripped.”

Yoongi hummed, unconvinced.

“Sounds like something someone ripped would say.”

Still giggling, Jung continued.

“Anyways- I dyed my hair a medium brown recently. I think it looks pretty nice. Compliments my skin, I've been told.”

Yoongi couldn't deny how appetising that sounded.

“Tan? You sound like you’re out a lot.”

“You bet.”

“They make you do laps around campus like in highschool?”

“Pff. Hell no. I’m not in college for dance anyways.”

“Oh, what for, then.”

“Physiotherapy.”

Yoongi frowned, but it made a lot more sense. A dancer studying physiotherapy who worked at a scam company, the only place that would likely hire him. Heck, it was probably the only place with a flexible schedule.

“That’s really cool.”

Jung sighed.

“It’s for my parents more than myself, but I made sure I picked something useful for my dancing.”

He sounded tense, like the subject stressed him. Yoongi couldn't blame him - he knew that pressure first-hand.

Perhaps he should lighten the mood.

“Hmm. Sounds like you should be using company time to study, then. Medicine is no joke.”

Would he find it amusing? Or was it too sensitive of a subject, Yoongi wondered.

The lighthearted chuckle on the other end of the receiver made him smile in relief.

“You sure love bringing back comments about my dick, Min," he teased. "Just say the word.”

His heart raced.

“What word?”

“Say you want it," he stated. It wasn't the playful and excited tone it was mere moments ago. No, it was darker again, more promising, more dangerous and inviting. "I promise I’ll be nice... If you want me to.”

“You think you’re hot shit, huh?” Yoongi couldn't help but provoke despite the thrill that ran up his spine.

“You like it?” It was almost rhetorical, spoken with a grin that Yoongi mimicked.

“What do you think, Jung?”

"...You want to know what I think?"

Electricity sparked through his limbs, his core. The question was so honest in what it was, what it promised to become. Yoongi was in it now, and he knew it. And God, it was embarrassing how simple words and a teasing tone could affect him.

"I do," he took the bait, bracing himself for the words Jung had in store for him.

He made a little sound of approval over the phone and then proceeded.

“I think you’re a brat. I think you like riling guys up and frustrating them until they crack and fuck their frustration out on you senselessly. I think you pretend to be uninterested because you’re shy and feel the need to act tough to cover it up. I think you want someone to see through it and reach out, to push you until you admit how desperate you are to get fucked." 

Then, like he hadn't just dismantled him completely and left him bare, he asked with feigned innocence.

"Did I get that all right, Min Yoongi?”

Yoongi shivered at the words, felt his cock swell at the raw, unfiltered way Jung delivered his eerily accurate dissection of how he behaved with men he wanted. He felt naked, so exposed and god, if it wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever been told.

His ears burnt, his heart hammered against his ribcage and the throbbing between his legs had grown with every word that had been uttered. His thighs quivered from the way his growing arousal sent sparks that radiated throughout his limbs and the hand he'd left on his thigh travelled slowly up. His fingers grazed bleached denim until he felt the tough sewn fabric over his crotch. He pressed down to alleviate some pressure, hearing the way that sweet, devilish voice took him apart in a tone so mean, yet so comforting.

Did I get that all right, Min Yoongi?

"Y-yeah." He breathed, a little too vulnerable.

Jung chuckled.

“You’re already touching yourself?”

Shit.

“Maybe," he replied bashfully. His hand rubbed over himself again and he felt his toes curl at the sensation. It almost felt like an act of defiance, like he wasn't supposed to touch himself until he was given permission. But perhaps that was merely the type of power Jung had over people.

“Are you sitting right now?" He asked calmly, smiling as though he didn't have Yoongi under the palm of his hand. "At a desk?"

“Y-yes," He looked to the side. "I have a sofa, though.”

Jung laughed.

“Fancy. That’s good. Lie down on the sofa for me, if you can?”

It was framed as a question, allowing Yoongi as much leeway as he needed for his comfort. It was endearing.

He stood up and quietly cursed as he quickly adjusted the uncomfortable, tight state of the front of his jeans. He took off his slides, set his pillows against the arm rest and got himself comfortable.

“Okay. I’m lying down,” he spoke up.

Jung was quick to respond.

“Take your pants off.”

“Completely?”

“Yes.”

He unbuttoned and zipped down, breath faltering as it dragged over the sensitive, swollen flesh of his dick. Then, he lifted his butt off the couch and dragged his pants off his legs, together with his briefs. He dropped the items on the floor and looked down at his own state of undress.

He wore a black hoodie with minimalistic red text over the front, a few sizes too large so it covered the tops of his legs. It contrasted starkly against his pale, flushed thighs, and especially with his quickly hardening cock.

“Done,” he announced with anticipation.

“What’s your cock like? Pretty like the rest of you?”

Yoongi flushed further, huffing in disbelief.

“You don’t know if I’m pretty.”

“I’m sure you are,” he replied confidently. Yoongi didn't know if it was frustrating or captivating. Probably both.

“Sure… My cock’s normal I guess," he offered. "A little on the shorter side, maybe? It’s a bit thick though, I think…”

Jung chuckled.

“You think?”

Yoongi frowned, feeling embarrassed.

“S-shut up.”

“Don’t worry, it’s cute," he said with a wide grin. It was driving Yoongi crazy how he could hear it so clearly and yet couldn't catch a glimpse of it. He was a sucker for a nice smile, especially when attached to someone as magnetic as Jung.

"I wish I could suck you off," the man continued. "Wish I could feel your thighs tremble under my hands.”

“Too bad,” Yoongi said in an act of rebellion. He couldn't help it, it was too easy.

Jung clicked his tongue.

“Be careful…”

His tone had gotten darker again, sharp and ready to fire.

Yoongi pressed his thighs together, gently squeezed the pink head of his cock.

“Oh yeah? Or what.”

He heard Jung exhale.

“I’ll shove my cock down your throat and keep it there until you can’t breathe.”

Yoongi bucked into his own fist unconsciously and gasped. The thought was so dizzying, as was the build-up. He truly wanted nothing more than this stranger's cock in his mouth as he held onto his hair tightly and made Yoongi take all of him. All because he misbehaved. He deserved it.

“Fuck,” he whined, easing his grip on his dick and feeling precum dribble onto his fingers.

“Touch yourself slowly," Jung assured, contrasting his previous bite. "Don’t rush.”

“What about you?” He asked a little too eagerly.

“I’m doing the same.” Yoongi wished he could see it. He thought of this stranger with golden skin stroking his cock languidly, athletic body making his stomach and thighs slim and wiry. He wondered how Jung imagined him, too. Did he picture his overgrown dark hair fanning over his eyes messily? Did he picture his pale fingers wrapped around dark pink flesh? Could he guess his cherry lips were pretty and parted as his breathing stuttered with every stroke?

“What are you gonna do to me?” He almost pleaded.

“I want you to finger yourself a bit," Jung instructed. "Want you to feel a little full, pretend it’s me. That okay, Min?”

Yoongi shook his head despite nobody being there to see it.

“Yoongi. Call me Yoongi. Please.”

“Okay Yoongi." He bit his lip. It sounded so good coming from those lips. "I want you to wet your fingers real good. Use as many as you usually do.”

“How would you know if I did this to myself often?”

He couldn't help but smile to himself as he bent his knees and lathered his fingers in saliva.

“You don’t?” The question was genuine, confusion etched clearly in his voice. It made Yoongi giggle.

“I have toys to do it for me," he explained, the pad of his middle finger circling his entrance. "Better angle.”

“Naughty,” Jung said playfully.

“More like resourceful.”

And with that, Yoongi plunged in, body accepting the intrusion easily. He thrust it in and out gently, acclimatising himself to the sensation before adding his ring finger as well.

Meanwhile, Jung hummed to himself, considering what Yoongi had said.

“How big are the things you fuck yourself with?”

“Big enough,” he said confidently, albeit a bit strained. He thrust both fingers eagerly, quicker, loving the way his sensitive hole fluttered around his digits. Still, the angle wasn't the best, and Yoongi wished the other was there to do a better job of reaching that lovely spot in his body.

“Not ambitious?" Jung teased. "What if I’m bigger than the stuff you have at home?”

“Cocky bastard,” he bit back, as if it didn't turn him on further.

“You have quite a mouth on you.”

“Too bad you’re not here to keep it busy.”

“Shit," he gritted out, just as strained as Yoongi was. "You can go faster, baby.”

He obeyed, fisting his cock once more and shoving his fingers faster into himself.

“Aah- Shit.”

“Are you thinking about my fingers in you?" Jung asked, a little out of breath. "I could fill you up nicely. They’re pretty slim but they could still fill you up and stretch you nice and good. Can reach where you might be struggling to right now.”

As his hole stretched around his fingers, cock sensitive and leaking, Yoongi whined. He pictured Jung's faceless body between his open legs, fingerfucking him until he was open and wet and ready for him. He'd curl his fingers deep inside of him and make him see stars until he was left shivering on the couch. He didn't care if they weren't as thick as his own, that really didn't matter, but it was a great visual to add into his mental folder.

“Pretty fingers are good too,” he sighed, breath growing heavier as his pleasure escalated.

“Hm. Glad to know. My cock’s fuller though. Might hurt a little bit going in if I don’t prep you well enough.”

Yoongi's head was swimming, hips stuttering into his fist once more. He sounded so reassuring and kind, but he was a menace, purposefully riling him up. Jung understood just exactly what he liked and how he wanted it, and was teasingly dropping those breadcrumbs in front of him.

He wanted the man in him right then, splitting him in half in the cock he promised to give. He didn't care if he was playing it up for the fantasy, anything would make him feel good and full compared to his own fingers in his lonely studio.

“Hurting can be good too," he said, voice small and needy. "Just a little is good.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you until you’re at your limit?”

Yoongi wanted to know what he was feeling, how close to climaxing he was, how affected by Yoongi he was. His voice was growing raspy and airy, exerted from his effort. Yoongi moaned, wishing the proposition to be true, picturing it as he fucked himself.

“Please, Jung,” he whined, heat pooling low in his gut as his climax neared.

“Hoseok,” the man offered. "My name is Hoseok."

Yoongi didn't think twice.

“Please, Hoseok. I want you so bad...”

“You beg so nicely... Do you also get on your knees or would I have to push you a little?”

“Push," he groaned, tightening his fist around his cock. "I bite.”

Hoseok laughed lightheartedly.

“Hopefully not there.”

“N-no!" Yoongi stammered. "No, I just meant-”

“I know, I know, it’s okay," he reassured gently. "Would you like me to bite you too? For real though?”

“Hng- yeah. I love it.”

“Bet you taste so good. Neck, shoulders, even your thighs.”

Yoongi was growing incoherent the closer and closer he reached his orgasm. Hoseok's words were striking him deep, as did his own fingers working their way in his body. The picture of the dancer between his legs grew more vivid as he imagined him leaning down and tasting his skin. It set a flame alight in his body, moans filling up the room.

“Yes, please. God, so good...”

“You like how it hurts?" He mocked. "I’m sensing a pattern.”

“Please, Hoseok…”

“I wish I could," he pressed. "I’d make it so obvious you were with someone. Mark you all purple and red. Would make you feel so good, just the way you want it.”

He hastened his pace, treading right on the edge with his jaw hanging open.

“Hoseok, I’m, I’m-”

“Go ahead, cum for me," Hoseok told him, breathing heavily and struggling to keep his voice even. "Cum around my cock. You feel so good around me too, Yoongi...”

He came with a gasp, shuddering violently as cum spurted all over the pale skin of his thighs.

On the other end of the receiver, he heard Hoseok grunt an expletive under his breath before moaning long and drawn-out, no doubt imagining he was deep in Yoongi's tight body. And Yoongi kept pumping his cock with a loose fist as he heard him climax, eyes closed, picturing Hoseok over him, bodies close as he groaned in Yoongi's ear. The remaining bits of cum dripped down his hand before it came to a stop, but he barely paid it any mind. He was panting, as was Hoseok over the phone, both quiet as they caught their breath.

“Wow,” Yoongi broke the silence, limbs feeling like jelly.

“Yeah,” Hoseok agreed, a winded little laugh mingling with his words.

“Hoseok.”

“Yoongi.”

They tasted each other's name on their tongue.

“You do this with all your unsuspecting customers?”

Hoseok snickered.

“My elderly gullible customers? No thanks.”

Yoongi pressed his lips in a pout.

“Maybe you do, though. I'll have you know my friends call me grandpa to clown on me.”

“So I fucked both a cat and a grandpa?" He feigned shock. Yoongi rolled his eyes. "A grandpa cat? How crazy is that?”

“You’re so silly.”

“You haven’t hung up though.”

He fought back a smile.

“I almost did. So many times.”

“And yet here we are. My killer charm never fails me.”

“Look at that, the urge to hang up has returned! Funny how that works.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like it.”

Hoseok laughed brightly. Yoongi wanted more of it.

“I really do," he admitted. "So, Yoongi, wanna give your phone number to another unreliable source?”

He laughed, forearm coming up to cover his eyes in disbelief. At the man he spoke to. At the situation he was in.

Still, the answer was as obvious as it was easy to confess.

“Maybe I do.”

•

I hope you enjoyed! 💗

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[nayeonline]

My Top 15 Kpop Songs of 2022

(15) 'Tank' - NMIXX

I have disliked many NMIXX songs this year, but 'Tank' was not one of them. It's gloriously weird, and is the perfect earworm. You will almost certainly hate it upon first listen, but within hours of hearing it, it will echo in your mind until it's all you think about.

(13) 'After LIKE' - IVE

I did this song SO DIRTY in my review. I thought its sampling and speed would be its downfall, but here we are, with it at number 14. This song can only be described as glorious - it's the midpoint between third generation and fourth generation, it’s the culmination of all of IVE’s work so far, it’s the epitome of kpop. And yet, it’s only at 14. That shows how good 2022 kpop has been.

(14) 'Blue Flame' - Le Sserafim

The first of many Le Sserafim entries on my list, ‘Blue Flame’ playfully shows off the group's undeniable potential. It’s lilting and mesmerising, low key and relaxed, and the girls’ vocals dance around the beat with pseudo–naivety.

(12) 'Still Life' - RM

RM’s ‘Indigo’ album is pure magic, but ‘Still Life’ has stuck with me more than any other track. The song’s defiant euphoria is delicious, and Namjoon’s ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude works so well. This song laughs in your face, and then pulls you onto the dance floor. It’s a reminder to take life less seriously, a message that many of us, including myself, need to hear.

(11) 'Impurities' - Le Sserafim

‘Impurities’ is ‘Blue Flame’ at 1000%. The whimsy and delicacy are even more so, and the whole song is like falling into another dimension. It’s like an acid trip in the best way. Chaewon shines on this song, demonstrating a softer side to her we don’t usually get to see.

(10) 'Generation' - TripleS AAA

The immediacy of ‘Generation’ has consumed all my thoughts. I don’t care if the lyrics are meaningless, because this song is pure, addictive joy. It immediately brings a smile to the face - and it demands you dance. It’s a small pocket of teenage perfection.

(9) 'Cookie' - NewJeans

I know it’s problematic, I know it’s kind of odd, I know, but I can’t help loving this song. ‘Cookie’ is constructed perfectly, and keeps you unbelievably hooked, despite its minimalistic sound. NewJeans never miss.

(8) 'DM' - fromis_9

We forgot about ‘DM’ too quickly. While this song reinvents nothing and explores no new territory, it does pop to the highest degree. It’s a feast for your ears from the first to the last second. I literally have no critiques, it’s a flawless pop song.

(7) 'ANTIFRAGILE' - Le Sserafim

OH MY GOD. Everything about this song makes me ascend to another plane of existence. The languid vocals, the squeaky beat, the CHORUS, the dance, EVERYTHING. Chaewon is the beating heart of this song, but it's Kazuha that ties everything together into one of the greatest girl pop songs of the fourth generation. It shouldn’t work as well as it does, but I’m not complaining.

(6) 'Heart Burn' - Sunmi

This song has been on my mind since release. I don’t even truly know why I love it so much - sonically and vocally it isn’t insanely unique, but somehow the whole package forms a song that is utter perfection. Sunmi is an enchantress on this track.

(5) 'Glitch' - Kwon Eunbi

The 8-bit production, Eunbi’s soft vocals, the reinvented anti drop, the thrumming bass - this song is a recipe for perfection. Every risk it takes pays off to the point where they aren’t even risks anymore, just the perfect choice for the song. The UK garage sound works wonderfully with Eunbi, and I pray she returns to it. And fuck me the final chorus of the song is pure, divine magic.

(4) 'Anywhere But Home' - Seulgi

The entirety of Seulgi’s ‘28 Reasons’ album is artistically flawless, but ‘Anywhere But Home’ has something the other tracks don’t. It operates within the space between melancholic and exhilarated, between desperate and careless, and it works so well. Let’s not leave this masterpiece in this year, it has the longevity to keep it afloat for many years to come.

(3) 'Forever 1' - Girls' Generation

It is physically impossible to listen to this song and not dance. Its energy is indescribable - it’s a celebration of SNSD’s legacy, and even if you are a new fan of them like myself, it makes you feel like you were there in 2007 when ‘Into The New World’ changed the industry forever.  Girls’ Generation are beyond iconic, and this song solidified what we already knew - SNSD are the queens of kpop.

(2) 'Hype Boy' - NewJeans

One night, all the stars and planets aligned in a once in a lifetime event, and on that night, one of the greatest songs of all time was created. ‘Hype Boy’ is an instant classic. It’s timeless, it’s playful, it’s the most familiar song to ever exist, it’s A FUCKING LIFESTYLE. And yet, it’s at number two. What sort of god given instant smash hit could possibly beat out fucking ‘Hype Boy’? What kind of group could even do that? Who else, but NewJeans themselves.

(1) 'Attention' - NewJeans

I clearly remember the first time I heard this song -  it was like 5pm and I opened youtube, only to see a new music video on HYBE’s channel from a group I didn’t recognise. I clicked, and watched it, and instantly I fell in love. I listened to it on repeat, and then spent the rest of the evening desperately searching for the little information about this group that was available. I checked spotify every day for when this song would be uploaded, and when it blew up about a week later I couldn’t be happier. ‘Attention’ has it all. The production, the vocals, the originality, it’s all unbelievably good. Within a week NewJeans became my favourite fourth generation group, and every day they rival Twice to be my ults. NewJeans are my rookies of the year, and their debut album is literally my favourite kpop album of all time. Their first comeback is only around the corner, and I can’t even imagine the hits on that album. Congratulations NewJeans, you’ve stolen my heart along with the hearts of the entire kpop listening community. I can’t wait to see what you do in 2023.

[audio-luddite]

Weird shit.

I guess Tumblr uses AI that is quite stupid. Actually I object to the term AI and suggest using SI as "simulated intelligence" is more accurate. Like simulated vanilla versus actually the seed pod of an exotic tropical orchid. Kinda similar but absolutely not the real thing.

Reason is the post just following this one. I will look at my scribblings from outside tumblr to see how it looks from there. To one side suggestions appear. Beside my discussion of phonograph tone arms appeared undertaker (death professionals) equipment, Mercedes car parts, devices to assist old people pick up stuff, cable supports and something in Arabic, and another in Thai? Not at all related to anything I write about.

I am sure my tags had nothing to do with that. So Tumblr reads the text and somehow derives that utterly random stupid stuff is related?

Maybe it just had a bad day. A cosmic ray hit a bit register and off into random land. That sure promises peace and prosperity when our computer overlords come to power.

Anyway to business.

I am being tempted. The QUAD 405 amplifier is an elegant example of iconoclastic thinking. It dated from the late 1970s and was respected by the golden ears of the time. It had its limitations which are usually attributed to the limitations of the QUAD ESL 57, and later ESL 63 speaker. Those were darlings of golden ears for decades. This amplifier could drive them which is impressive, but had current limiting and stuff to keep from hurting the ESL 57.

This amp used what they called current dumping. The main signal was carried by a Class A amplifier. When more power was needed big brawny (for 1979) transistors would pour in the amps to help. The output was compared to the input but the correction was made only to the class A part. That is sort of like Feed Forward rather than feedback.

One of the objections "some people" have to feedback is that the correction is to a signal that has already gone by so is never right. Alternatively they say the circuit is flawed so sending a correction signal back to go through the same flawed circuit will never make it perfect. I guess the speed of light is just not fast enough for them.

A new product called the Benchmark AHB2 power amplifier pays royalties on a patent by THX Inc. for a feed forward scheme that to me sounds exactly like the old QUAD idea.

So there always seems to be a QUAD 405 or two listed in various places. There is one listed in my area for $800 bucks which is generally market value. It is a Mark 1. I just saw a Mark 2 listed for $420 bucks. It has a physical blemish or two but operates. Hence I get twitchy.

There are several kits from reliable sources that offer upgrades and restoration. The current limiting can be modified. Better OP Amps are available. The power supply can be fixed and upgraded. And all that can be done for reasonable money still well under $800 market value.

I am curious. My current set of amplifiers are a similar design vintage. But the QUAD is an outlier. The design is compact, basically simple and like the song says it's a "go your own way" design. There are many out there so there is a healthy fanbase and technical support. I would like to compare it to mine. Then I could sell it. I have no actual desire to own it. I would like to hear how it sounds when it is in good shape.

Right now my system is powerful, detailed and relaxing to listen to. I can just listen to my music. That really is what this is about.

But I am a nerd.

[musicarenagh]

Unveiling the Artist Behind ‘Show Me The Gold’ Holly Roseanna The music of Holly Roseanna literally shakes you up with an explosion of power and soul that just cannot be ignored. Her latest jam "Show Me The Gold" mixes appeal with an infusion of Scottish hip hop that will make you love the flavour of Holly's witty, tongue-in-cheek approach. With every piece of the music you experience, you discover a person whose heart and mind are in everything she does, putting lyrics that linger even long after the last song ends. Holly's "Prima Donna" EP was directly form a time that she spent looking inwards and figuring herself out. Through her songs she touches on all the ways relationships, ups and downs, break ups and resilience can get to her. 'Holly's music is driven by bold female fervor and teeming with splashes of fury and silliness, to which she adds an electrifying flair. Within this exclusive interview, Holly lets us look at the creative process by which she operates, the music influences that shape her sound, and the directions in which she intends to move. She returns to her earliest memories of using music as a family tradition and leads us through the way leading to her personality development over all the years through multiple collaborations. And now fasten your seat belts as we remove the covers of what makes Holly Roseanna a real live tick - the songs of her stories and the passion that drives her every step. It's time to be touched by Holly's bright spirit as she not only will sing through her songs, but also reveal her life story. Listen to Show Me The Gold (ft. Empress) below https://open.spotify.com/track/2sl9AZqZ0bjelqiXqk4IUm?si=91e88ff5c18b4abe Follow Holly Roseanna on Facebook Spotify Youtube Instagram Tiktok What is your stage name Holly Roseanna Is there a story behind your stage name? Roseanna is my middle name! My mum and dad were massive fans of the band Toto, hence the name Roseanna. Where do you find inspiration? From other artists! I usually feel inspired to write something after hearing something I love by another musician. What was the role of music in the early years of your life? My first introduction to music was singing to The Sound of Music when I was little. Then I started to ply the Cello when I was in Primary School. Once I learned to play guitar at 14, the rest was history and songwriting came fairly naturally to me. Are you from a musical or artistic family? The musicial genes are strong in my family. My dad is a fantastic guitarist, my uncle is a bassist and my auntie plays the violin. My grandad was a fantastic singer and so was my great-granny - she even sang for the Queen! Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? My family have always been very supportive and have always encouraged me to get out there and share my music with the world. [caption id="attachment_55242" align="alignnone" width="2000"] My family have always been very supportive[/caption] How did you learn to sing/write/to play? I taught myself guitar and went to piano lessons for a few years to try and learn some music theory – which I wasn’t very good at! I prefer to play by ear. What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? My first gig was Jack White and the Raconteurs at the Edinburgh Corn Exchange when I was 16. I was in love with him at the time! How could you describe your music? This EP is angry and sassy with a touch of silliness! Describe your creative process. I normally start off my songs as an instrumental piece before the lyrics come. I normally write a bassline, then drums then add in chords and then any other embellishments until I have a groove. Occasionally I will start off an idea for lyrics – I decide what the mood for the song will be (i.e energetic, sad, a ballad) then I’ll take it from there and try to create a soundscape which suits the theme. What is your main inspiration? Writers who write about unusual and interesting topics, rather than just stereotypical songs about love and heartbreak.

What musician do you admire most and why? Kate Bush and Andre 3000 – some of their lyrics are real poetry and very interesting – they both know how to think outside of the box and are hugely musically talented too. Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? Yes, definitely, when I first started off, I wrote girly love songs on the acoustic guitar. I find that style a bit cringey and embarrassing now! Who do you see as your main competitor? I try not to compare myself to other artists as we all have a totally different set of circumstances. I compete with myself all the time though! What are your interests outside of music? I love pole dancing and making stained glass art. If it wasn't a music career, what would you be doing? Music is only a hobby for me and I have a full time job in events management! What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? Not having enough time – if I had more time to excel in my skills I’d be a better artist for it. https://open.spotify.com/artist/498kl8ymY7RsvM3RHCjTvA If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? It doesn’t pay particularly well, that’s for sure! Why did you choose this as the title of this project? I chose the title ‘Prima Donna’ to reflect the heavy and sassy nature of the tunes. I feel like a Prima Donna when I sing them. What are your plans for the coming months? I have a few gigs coming up with my cover band, Siren, and I’ll preparing for my next release! Do you have any artistic collaboration plans Not on the horizon, but for this release I really enjoyed collaborating with Empress who’s an amazing Scottish hip-hop artist and rapper. What message would you like to give to your fans? I hope you all love the EP and stay tuned for some more music which will be released very soon!

[missmouse25]

The Hunt - OC writing piece

please enjoy this sort of enemies to lovers story. i would recommend you listen to this song to get the vibes for the beginning of the story. first person pov // 1065 words // tw for alcohol comsuption and threats of violence.

---

“I was wondering where you were. You doing ok? I’ve been noticing a distinct lack of daggers to my throat recently.”

“I’ve been busy.”

The room is crowded. Men in suits all talk to each other in an act that would make Shakespeare blush. Waiters pace the edges of the room with their noses in the air.

And of course, out of everyone that the world could throw at me, it had to be him.

“What could you possibly be so busy with that you haven’t had time to try and kidnap me?”

“Keep your voice down!” I hiss at him.

He simply shrugs and pushes his dirty blond hair back.

“I’ve been working.”

Nimbly, I relieve a waiter of one of his glasses of champagne and empty half it before the poor man has even had a chance to turn away.

“Surely your work can’t be more important than me,” Dante huffs as he removes the drink from my hand; much protest follows. “Plus, I thought I was your work.”

If I didn’t know any better, one would think the tinge of sadness in his voice is genuine.

“You were my work, six months ago. Now give me back my drink!”

Dante holds it not even a full arm’s length above his head but I still have to stand on tip-toe in an attempt to retrieve it.

A cocky smile plays on his lips. There’s a glint of mischief in his dark brown eyes that only grows as the band strikes up a new song

There’s barely time to blink and I find myself on the dance floor with my body pressed flat against Dante’s chest. At first, instinct tell me to get out and fast.

But the more I struggle, the closer he gets and the tighter his grip.

“Don’t cause a scene now, Miss Harding,” he whispers into my ear and it makes me want to gag. “We wouldn’t want to ruin your operation.”

“You ruined my evening simply by existing, Mr Price.”

To my great dismay, he’s right.

‘Listen to the music,’ I tell myself and let Dante take control of our movements.

As expected, he’s a good partner. A short while ago we started our own sort of dance that lasted five months. He’d been excellent then, of course this would be no exception.

“I do miss you; you know.”

“No, you don’t.” I don’t let myself go completely as he dips me. “You miss the thrill of being hunted.”

“True.” He smiles a stupidly handsome smile. “No one is quite as good at being a predator as you are.”

Almost as if on cue, when Dante lifts me back into place, I lock eyes with my target.

“And they never will be,” I retort, spinning myself out of his embrace. “If you really want to see me again, just do what you did last time.”

“What? Get into debt with your boss?”

It’s my turn to smile as I begin to walk away, leaving him alone on the dancefloor.

“Exactly.”

~

“Juniper, get in here!”

Its not the words that make me flinch. His voice is the equivalent of drinking jagged rocks from a broken glass.

���Yes, boss?”

The office is dark, save for one dingy desk lamp that looks like it’s through a lot in life. The casino owner in front of me looks much the same.

“It seems that an old friend of yours has missed you,” he says, sliding a picture across the table top. “Can’t seem to keep his hands clean in my establishment.”

There’s a glare on the photo, but I don’t need to look to know it is.

“How much does he owe?” I ask, already standing up.

“Enough to push him to the top of the wanted list.” The boss looks at me in the dim light with dead eyes. “Do whatever you have to, Juniper.”

~

Sitting on the balcony, I can see half the city - the lights twinkle as if they’re alive and want to break free from the world they live in.

The sound of the front door opening catches my ear. It takes him a moment to realise that something in his house isn’t quite right.

“Hello?”

“I’m on the balcony, love,” I tease.

I turn to look at Dante as he steps out of the apartment and into the darkness of the night.

“I see you’ve helped yourself to my booze.” He gestures to the glass in my hand.

“It’s compensation. You made this far too easy.” The wine goes down a treat. “Last time we did this, you went on the run immediately. So, imagine my shock when I discovered that you’re still in the same complex as before.”

Dante leans against the doorframe, an amused expression crosses his face. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up and the black tie around his neck is hanging undone.

“Oh, come on, Miss Harding,” he says, laughing a little. “You know I’ll be gone in the morning. This as a curtesy call.”

“For who? Me or you?”

Finishing the last of my drink, I stand in front of my target. It would be so easy to grab him right here, right now, and do whatever I felt like. Drag him crying back to the boss. Let him go and enjoy the hunt for a little bit longer.

Or I could throw all that out the window, or rather off the balcony, and do what I actually want to do.

“Here’s a proposal for you, Dante.”

“Ooh, take me on a date first.”

“I’ll give you a head start. I know I’ll find you in the end. But in the meantime, at least for tonight…”

Dante cocks his head, waiting.

Grabbing the loose end of his ties, I pull him down and kiss him.

~

In my half sleep state, I hear the door click shut. Golden morning light seeps through an open gap in the curtains, hitting me directly in the face.

‘Bastard did that on purpose,’ I think to myself as I sit up.

I know he’s gone but still I look at the empty bed next to me. A yellow sticky-note pops out against the white sheets.

‘Catch me if you can 😉 – D’

“Fair enough, Mr Price,” I say to myself as a smile spreads across my face.

“Let the hunt begin.”

[stu-evans]

Seal Deluxe Edition

Let me take you back, dear reader, to 1991. Operation Desert Storm arrived in Kuwait, The Soviet Union began to dissolve the USSR, Grunge is about to take over MTV, the enigmatic Freddie Mercury sadly passed away and my beloved Tottenham Hotspur won the F.A Cup (thirty one years later and I’m still waiting for another WEM-BER-LEE victory) 

Riding the crest of a musical wave however was Henry Olusegun Adeola Samuel AKA Seal. ‘Killer’ a song written alongside acid house DJ and producer Adamski was all over the pubs, clubs, radio stations and Ministry Of Sounds. Despite the single being released a good year before the album came out, it was still a certified banger by the time this debut album was released. It still remains a massive dancefloor tune and has stood the test of time, still influencing the dance masses to this day. 

Killer, however, is only one track, and to dismiss the rest of this record would be doing Seal and those who have worked on this record a major disservice. The beginning starts with exactly that ‘The Beginning’ is a great way to start the record, it introduces us to what we’re about to hear. There’s soul, RNB and dance laden hooks through the song and Seal’s voice, pure like golden honey is at the fore ‘The music takes you round and round, hold on to the love’ he pleads as the outro leaves us with an aching acoustic guitar. 

This album has a lot of heavy influences on it, listening back with older ears as they are now, I can pick up a country feel on ‘Deep Water’ it’s a really heavy song ‘a shade of pain and then we die’ it is mournful, sad and yet quite beautiful. I’d forgotten this song existed, shame on me. 

As strong as the aforementioned ‘Killer’ is, I was always more of a ‘Crazy’ fan. It is almost the elder relative, it is still a dance floor classic but it has a deeper meaning ‘in a sky full of people only some want to fly, isn’t that crazy?’ hell yes it is. This song still moves me, and surely that’s the definition of classic. 

The production on this record still stands up to this day. At the helm was Trevor Horn, who not only produced the album but released it on his own, newly formed, record label  ZTT Records. Horn declared this record as a turning point in his career and it is easy to hear why, tracks like ‘Whirlpool’ seem pretty simple but dig deeper and you’ll hear gospel and soul flowing through the speakers. 

The album was famously released twice, Horn was not happy with with original version so decided to remix a few of the songs, most noticeably on the song 'Violet' and reissue the album only a few months after the original had been in the shops.

It would be fair to say some the songs haven’t aged so well ‘Wild’ doesn’t live up to its name at all, but to be fair on the deluxe edition the live version definitely has the funk the recorded track lacks. ‘Future Love Paradise’ also seems to lack the drive I seemed to recall it once having. 

Closing the album then is ‘Violet’ a beautiful 80′s influenced soul ballad, hints of Cocteau Twins (I seem to recall Seal declaring himself a fan)  it drifts along with spoken word in the background, not in an Alexander O’Neal way thankfully. Has this record stood the test of 31 years? Yes and no, in some parts it sounds as fresh as it did back in 1991 and in others not so much. Now about that bloody Tottenham Hotspur and winning the F.A Cup...... 

The extras in this deluxe edition offer a peek into the late 80′s and early 90′s dancefloor. The William Orbit remixes are the ones that stand out for me (much as his work with Blur is my favourite of theirs) get your glowsticks out for KIller. There are A LOT of remixes, seven versions of Crazy alone! If remixes are your bag you’ll be in heaven. 

The live album was recorded at The Point in Dublin and does showcase Seal’s wonderful voice. It is a lovely addition and one I’d recommended checking out over the remixes, especially ‘Violet’ and ‘Show me’ 

As a trip back to 1991 this album wouldn't have been my first choice (Ten & Nevermind ruled my world back then) but as a more mature listener I really enjoyed the record and of course I dived in and listened to 'Kiss From A Rose' straight after. It gets my Seal of approval!

7/10

[finlascl]

How to reset philips gogear mp3 play

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY HOW TO#

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY UPDATE#

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY UPGRADE#

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY SOFTWARE#

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY PC#

We advise you to copy any files that you want to keep to the hard drive of your computer. How to restore the factory settings of a GoGear?ĭuring this process, all files on your player will be deleted. Wait a few minutes after the device shuts down and then power it back on. The device forces itself to shut down after you press the Reset button. Try pressing the Reset button on the lower-left side of the Philips GoGEAR media player using a straightened paper clip or any other long, thin, solid object. If you don’t know where your music files are, click on the Start button at the lower left of the screen and select Music from the list to open the default location of your music files. How do you reset a Philips GoGear media player? How do I put music on my Philips GoGear Vibe 4gb Go to the location of the music files you want to put into your GoGear Vibe. Continue holding the “Play” button down until the Repair Device dialog box on the screen displays a progress bar, meaning it’s detected the device. Power down your Philips GoGEAR device, hold down the device’s “Play” button and then connect it to your computer using the USB cable that came with the device. How do I connect my Philips GoGear to my computer? Are there any problems with the Philips GoGear?įrequently encountered Philips GoGEAR media player problems include the device locking up, users forgetting the screen unlock pattern, the device not being recognized by your Mac or PC, and more. Plug the player into a different USB port.

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY PC#

If your PC does not recognize your player, please try the following steps: Make sure your computer’s operating system is up to date with the latest Service Packs and patches. Why I cant connect my MP3 player to my computer? Do a soft reset by inserting a pen or another small object into the reset hole. After using your device for a while, you may experience memory corruption, which may be caused by an. Pull down the power button until the Philips splash screen appears on display. The Philips GoGear MP3 player allows users to carry and listen to their music almost anywhere. You may have failed to pull down the power button long enough. How do I unlock my Philips MP3?Ĭharge the player by connecting it to your PC. The problem with the product is that it says it comes with a carrying case and sport ear buds. The sound is great, size is perfect, and overall its user friendly. To do a soft reset, locate the reset button on your device (usually placed in a pinhole at the back) and press it with a pointed object like a pen until it shuts down. The philips gogear raga sport is a overall good product. Right-click the songs to copy to the player, select “Add to Device” and then click “Philips GoGear” to download music to your player. Hey there You can try resetting your Philips GoGear mp3 player 4gb. How do I transfer music from my computer to my Philips GoGear?Ĭlick the “Music” link under “Library” to view the songs copied to the library.

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY UPGRADE#

A dialogue box will pop up click Upgrade to start the upgrading of the firmware (Please do not disconnect the jukebox during the upgrading process as this interruption may damage the firmware!). Launch the Device Manager at Start->Programs->Philips GoGear HDD->Philips GoGear HDD on your PC. /rebates/2fc-f2fXC0000119672fhow-to-restore-the-factory-settings-of-a-gogear-player&.

Insert a small pin or other sharp object into the reset hole located on the back of the player.

How do I reset my Philips GoGear player if it freezes?

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY HOW TO#

How to restore the factory settings of a GoGear?.How do you reset a Philips GoGear media player?.How do I connect my Philips GoGear to my computer?.Are there any problems with the Philips GoGear?.Why I cant connect my MP3 player to my computer?.How do I transfer music from my computer to my Philips GoGear?.The open source firmware project Rockbox has added initial support for the GoGear SA9200 series, and runs well on the HDD16x0 and HDD63x0 series. Newer GoGear devices, such as the GoGear Aria and GoGear RaGa use Media Transfer Protocol for synchronization as well as the USB mass storage class. /rebates/2fc-f2fXC0000118702fhow-do-i-reset-my-philips-gogear-player-if-it-freezes&.

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY SOFTWARE#

The GoGear ViBE, however, does not need any external device synchronization: no specific software is needed, and adding music files to it is as easy as putting the files in the right directory in a USB mass storage device. The original GoGear series (SA32xx) requires ArcSoft Media Converter software to transfer video files, however, audio files may be transferred via driverless file transfer over USB. GOLB and openGoGear are two such utilities for Linux.

#HOW TO RESET PHILIPS GOGEAR MP3 PLAY UPDATE#

This is done automatically by a modified version of Musicmatch Jukebox included with the player, but alternative software has been developed to update the database. Like the Philips ShoqBox, the GoGear HDD0 xx series of audio players are USB mass storage class devices and therefore support driverless file transfer on most systems however, files transferred via this method will not be available for playback as they must also be added to a SQLite database.

[kindahoping4forever]

Feedback // Ashton Irwin

I've been sitting on this fic for a minute so thank you to everyone who's patiently waited for me to post it (shoutout to Sly)! This story was really just me getting inspired and clowning after Ashton's "Down To Earth" IG stream back in April. As always, thanks to @cal-puddies for the invaluable guidance as I tried to pare my writing style down into a pwp format (try being the operative word, 3500 words is still the best we could do lmao).

Warnings: Distracted Boyfriend!Ash, oral sex on a male, moderately rough unprotected sex (on the red leather couch) including mild dirty talk, brief choking and a spank or two.

Word Count: 3535

Masterlist // Ko-Fi and New 2021 Taglist linked above

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

"Baby! I didn't know you were home!"

You turn around to see Ashton in the doorway of the bedroom, voice as cheerful as the yellow beanie covering his head.

"Didn't hear you come in," he comments, walking over to you.

You slide your arms around your boyfriend’s neck with a sigh. "Rushed up here, phone was about two seconds from shutting off," you explain, greeting him with a tender kiss.

He watches as you kick off your shoes and yank your bra off under your shirt, tossing everything haphazardly in the direction of the closet before flinging yourself on the bed. "Tough day?"

You groan, dragging your hands over your face before extending your arms, encouraging him to join you. “Eh, not great and very long,” you report, giving a satisfied sigh when Ash climbs on the bed and immediately pulls you on top of him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You do the same and the both of you lay quietly in this prone embrace for several peaceful moments before you break the silence. “How about you, how was your day?”

You feel him shrug under your body. “Can’t complain,” is his simple reply.

“Make anything cool?” You prompt, knowing he’s being low-key because he thinks you need to chill out, not realizing nothing relaxes you more than listening to him talk about his passions.

“Hmm… anything cool...” Ash giggles, hugging you closer. “I dunno, got a good start goin’ on this one track that could be pretty cool, got a nice vibe.”

You raise your head up to look at him and scratch your fingers across his beard, you’re so glad he decided to let it grow again. “Yeah? Tell me more.”

He hums as you continue to rub his face. “Only been at it for a couple hours, ‘s just a track for now, we’ll see what I can do with it,” he breezes, moving your hand from his face to his mouth so he can kiss it.

“Well, whenever you feel like you need a fresh pair of ears, I’d love to hear it,” you enthuse, moving to lay at his side.

He turns to give you a bright grin. “Yeah? A little in-house focus group?” He teases, leaning in for a sweet kiss that starts to get needy the longer it goes on.

You pull off his hat, running your fingers through his long hair as he moves to kiss along your neck. “Don’t know if you know this but I’m a big fan of your work,” you tease back.

He kisses your lips again, biting a bit as he pulls away to quip, “We talking ‘bout my music or something else?”

You giggle, deciding that indulging this frisky mood is exactly how you would like to unwind tonight. You inch closer, pulling him back into a kiss and he responds eagerly, hand coming up to massage at the base of your neck like it always does. For the next few minutes, the only thoughts in your mind revolve around Ashton, how he feels, how he tastes and where you need his mouth or hands on you next.

When you let out a moan at the way his fingers are gripping your skin under your shirt and he doesn’t press himself against you in response, you can tell he’s gotten distracted. You laugh knowingly against his lips, “You’re back to thinking about that song now, aren’t you?”

He looks at you with a sheepish smile. “I was actually still workin’ and came up here just to grab a hoodie when I found you.”

You playfully push him off of you, shaking your head. “Dude, you should’ve told me! You know I’m not one to fuck with The Process,” you admonish, scrunching your nose up at the trail of kisses he pecks over your face as he sits up.

“Nah, my brain needed a break and my girl needed me, it worked out perfectly,” he insists, rubbing your arm affectionately before getting off the bed.

He quickly fishes his desired sweatshirt out of the closet and pulls it on over his t-shirt, mussing his hair even more than you already had. He walks back over, ready to kiss you goodbye when you sit up on your knees to stop him. “I was serious about giving it a listen if ya want,” you say, smoothing his hair down before resting your hands on top of his inside his hoodie pocket. “If you’re not ready that’s fine but just FYI I‘m interested.”

Ash grins at you, squeezing your hands before using them to pull you to your feet. “Aww, you know you’re my fave audience, baby,” he gushes, reaching to grab his hat off the bed. “Let’s go give it a spin.”

“Well. As much as you can ‘spin’ a computer file,” you mutter, trying to annoy him just because it’s fun.

As you head for the door, you hear him snort behind you a split second before he grabs you, sliding his beanie on your head far enough to cover your eyes; you burst into giggles as he playfully bumps into you, passing you in the hallway. “Smart ass,” he grumbles, voice still smiling.

Ash makes it down to the basement first and starts clicking on files and flicking switches, excited to play his work for you. You stop at the foot of the stairs and survey the room with wonder. Multiple guitars - electric, acoustic, bass, 12-string - are strewn across the room, cables run from his computer to the adjacent room where he houses his drums, food delivery containers line the coffee table; he’s clearly been down here since you left this morning.

While he sets up, you make yourself useful, setting the guitars back in their racks, stacking the food trash; when you’re done, you start to drag a chair over to the computer when you notice he’s staring at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“What are ya mad at me or somethin’?” He scoffs, patting his legs and looking at you expectantly.

You smirk and take a seat in his lap, watching closely as his long fingers fly over the keyboard, hand adeptly working the mouse, making a few final adjustments to the track. You hear a quiet “there we go” under his breath and then he’s settling in, pulling you back against him and rubbing over your thighs as you wait for the song to begin.

It’s a simple demo so far - layered background vocals, drum and bass, some synth, a little guitar line here and there - but he’s right, it’s definitely a vibe. You’re pleased that his reflection is visible in the computer screen, you love seeing him grooving behind you, pursing his lips and nodding his head along to the beat as you feel his fingers tapping along on your waist while he holds you close.

The track is short and before he can even ask your opinion, you tell him to play it again; his face lights up at your request and he proudly complies. When it finishes this time, you shift to look at him and smile. “That’s wild you did that all yourself and in such a short amount of time,” you marvel. “See, I was right, you did do something cool.”

Ashton laughs, kissing the side of your head as he leans forward to reach the keyboard. “You think so? Well, what’s really cool is this…” He starts clicking around again, isolating the different elements and revealing which sounds are electronic and which are live instruments, which section he thinks he’ll write lyrics over tomorrow, where he’s thinking of pasting in more guitar.

You respond when appropriate but mostly you just listen intently, watching fondly as he animatedly details his thought process; this is why you offered to come down here with him, this is the best part about being his “fave audience.” You love his music but more than that, you love how much he loves his music.

He stops mid-explanation of a section to tinker with it, clearly having a brainstorm right in front of you. You curl into his chest, observing quietly as he cycles through effects and begins stacking tracks. He chews his lip, deep in thought as he lets the song play again and you can't help but press a few kisses to his jaw.

Ash continues his work and you continue yours, moving from his jaw to his neck; your kisses eventually become more heated, with you adding tongue and even teeth to the equation. You suck his earlobe into your mouth, wiggling his earring with the tip of your tongue and finally he pulls away, chuckling, "Baby, come on."

You shrug, playing with his hair. "I just love watching you work."

He laughs, "Then goddamn, baby, let me work!" He growls as you nip at his throat and you smile to yourself because you can tell he's already rethinking his request.

"Seems like you shoulda thought about this before you invited a girl down to your basement to listen to some dreamy space pop alien makeout jam," you tease, relishing the feeling of his laughter vibrating his throat under your tongue.

"Can I get you to leave that review when this goes up on iTunes?" He cracks, finally turning his attention to you.

"I might be persuaded," you flirt, humming with victory as he pulls you into a hungry kiss.

Ashton wastes no time returning the affection you showed him, lips devouring yours, hands quickly making their way under your shirt to lazily massage your tits. You’re mid-moan, his fingers just about to make it inside your waistband when suddenly he’s pulling away.

It takes you a beat to realize what’s happened, your body confused by the sudden absence of his touch. You open your eyes to see him busy at the computer again and it’s so absurd to you, you have to laugh.

“Two minutes,” he says half-apologetically, half-distracted, squeezing your thigh but not taking his eyes off the screen.

You smirk to yourself, immediately aware of what your next move is. “Take as long as you need, baby. When genius strikes, you gotta go for it,” you state ominously, not that he notices. Nor does he notice you sliding yourself off his lap and onto the floor between his legs.

You run your hands up and down his thick thighs before letting your touch wander to the front of his jeans, palming over his crotch, happy to find that at least part of him was interested in your makeout session. You can’t decide if you’re more amused or annoyed by his focus but it’s not until your hand is on his cock, freeing him from his pants that he tears himself away from his project.

“Excuse me, ma’am, can I help you with something?”

You lock eyes with him as you stick your tongue out and dramatically lick your hand, coating your palm with saliva before giving his cock a tight squeeze and beginning to stroke him steadily. “I also had a genius idea I was just following through on,” you shrug. “Might take a little longer than two minutes, though, I’m a bit out of practice… my boyfriend’s been pretty busy.”

Ash giggles wildly, both at your joke and your audacity. “You’re crazy, I’m literally about to be done with… fuck…” His retort is interrupted by you, eyes still trained on his, licking long stripes up the sides of his cock, sucking gently at the head before licking your way back down.

“Go ahead and finish your work, baby, I’ll just keep busy until you’re done,” you insist, mischief in your eyes as you look up one last time before taking him into your mouth.

You hear a sharp inhale, a softly chuckled “fuckin’ ridiculous” and then finally, mouse clicks as he attempts to get back to it. You do your best to distract him, bobbing up and down enthusiastically, sucking loudly, humming around him, making sure he knows how much you’re enjoying your task.

It only takes a minute or so for him to get sidetracked by your efforts. “This is a shitty home demo I’ve spent all of 90 minutes on, there’s no way it’s so good you just had to have my cock right here and now,” he insists, struggling to keep his voice steady, not wanting you to hear how affected he is.

You pop off, gingerly playing with his balls as you zing back, “I dunno babe, you guys had plenty of shitty songs on your first album and from what I’ve heard, you did more than alright in the pussy department.”

Ashton’s laughter quickly turns to a strained moan as you slide back down on him, letting him hit the back of your throat. “My bad, didn’t realize I’d shacked up with a groupie,” he jokes. You silently congratulate yourself as you notice him flexing his hand into a fist, knowing he’s trying to keep himself from pressing down on your head.

You pull off him again, making sure to let the spit cascade from your mouth as you smugly reply, “Like I said before: big fan.” Before he can even think about responding, your mouth is back on him.

You’re not surprised he attempts to resume working again; you’re both stubborn, it’s a wonder anything ever gets resolved in your relationship. You can tell he’s trying his best to stay on task but the whispered curses under his breath give him away. As a last resort, he turns the volume on his speaker up a few more notches, hoping the track will drown out the exaggerated choking sounds you’re intent on making.

A few moments later, he reaches down and yanks his beanie off your head. “Fuckin’ bright yellow bouncing over my crotch is hard to ignore,” he grumbles. “All I see is my hat, looks like I’m suckin’ my own dick for all I know.”

You can’t resist continuing to rib him. “How is that not your greatest fantasy? Your favorite person giving you your favorite pleasure?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, did you want to blow me or roast me?”

You give him your brightest smile and reply, “Unlike you, I’m pretty good at multi-tasking.”

A brief cackle and a clipped “alright” are all you hear before you’re being hoisted up off the ground, thrown over Ash’s shoulder and carried over to the couch across the room. You squeal with surprise and delight as he unceremoniously dumps you on it, briskly strips you both of your clothes and promptly bends you over the red leather.

He nudges your knees further apart, pressing you against the back of the couch. “Of course you’re this fuckin’ wet already,” he teases, breath hot on your neck as he runs himself through your folds. “You think that’s from my cock down your throat or from you winding me up so much?”

Whatever clever comeback you’d thought up dies on the tip of your tongue because suddenly he’s sliding his cock inside you and now that’s all you can care about. You whine as he quickly establishes a vigorous pace, one hand bracing himself against the couch, the other reaching around you, down your torso to reach your clit. “How’s this for multi-tasking?”

A few breathless cries of his name are the best you can manage as he relentlessly plays with you, somehow in perfect rhythm with his rough thrusts, sending your whole body into sensory overload.

“Or how ‘bout this?” He growls, moving his hand from between your legs to your throat, fingers offering just the slightest amount of pressure, knowing it’ll drive you crazy wondering if and when he’ll add more. “Don’t got any more funny jokes for me, baby?”

You moan at his taunting, placing a hand on top of his on your neck, trying to get him to squeeze harder; he refuses and his denial makes you moan even louder. "Jesus, Ash," you pant, pushing back against him to egg him on. “Feels so fucking good.”

You're so caught up that you don't even notice his song is still playing over the speakers until a few moments later when Ashton suddenly pulls out of you, muttering to himself as he grabs the remote from the coffee table and shuts the music off.

Confused, you look back and see him amusedly shaking his head. "Yes, I was still producing that in my head, don’t start," he giggles.

You fall back on the couch, laughing in disbelief. “We’ve gotta get you some hobbies, buddy, that’s insane.”

He snickers, laying you on your back and settling on the couch behind you, pulling your leg over his hip. “I don’t think fucking you counts as a hobby,” he jokes, gripping his cock and slipping it back inside you.

“Not with that attitude,” you quip, a little more breathlessly than you meant to but with how slowly Ash is rocking into you, you can’t help it.

You tilt towards him, angling yourself to pull his mouth down to yours; you’re feeling overwhelmed and you need him close. His tongue traces over your lips, his kiss the familiar reassurance you need in this moment. “Ash…” You whimper quietly, closing your eyes and savoring the feel of his beard grazing your skin.

“I know, baby, me too,” he soothes, cradling you tighter against him. His hips begin to pick up speed and his hand moves to knead your breasts and tug at your nipples before travelling further down.

Ashton rubs slow, tight circles on your clit, stopping to give your thigh a light smack when you start raising your hips a little too eagerly, bucking up in an attempt to get him to move at a speed more to your liking. You moan first at the realization that he’s going to keep teasing you like this and then again, louder, at the sharp slap of his palm that once again comes down on your skin.

“You’ve got a nice tone tonight, baby, I should get you to lay down some vocals for this track,” he jokes, choking back a moan of his own when your surprised laughter causes you to clench around his length.

You chuckle smugly at him, “Not so funny all of a sudden, huh?”

You feel yourself getting closer so you start rolling your hips along with his, murmuring at the feeling of him deep inside you; you grind against his hand playing between your legs and as he finally amps up the pace, your release becomes closer and closer to reality. Your breathing syncs with his in a needy, staccato rhythm that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in his song.

“Is this what you wanted?” He huffs out. Typically when he asks you that while he’s buried in you, there’s a tone of arrogance or punishment behind it but right now as he holds you, your sounds continuing to meld together, it couldn’t feel farther from that.

“Yes, Ash, god yes…” you breathe, reaching to hold onto him as your orgasm overtakes you.

Ashton keeps driving his cock inside you, whining slightly at the feeling of you pulsing around him. You cry out, not realizing how loud or long your moans are until you hear his voice in your ear, gently lulling you back down.

He’s still moving inside you, hips beginning to stutter and when you hear his breath catch, you know he’s there. You tuck yourself into him, cooing, “Come on, Ash... fill me up, babe.” Three strokes later and he’s pumping his cum inside you, gasping your name. He slows his movements, heavy breath underscored by a contented hum as you caress his bearded cheek.

He leans in and kisses you passionately, completely enveloping you, possibly your favorite feeling in the world. He exhales loudly and keeps holding you, kissing over your face tenderly.

You giggle as he indulges for a moment before reluctantly pulling away, reaching for the takeout napkins on the coffee table; he attentively cleans you up and quickly settles back onto the couch, pulling you on top of him.

You lay together, blissed out, while you play with the necklace hanging down on his chest and he strokes over your hair.

“Hey, sorry I gave you such a hard time,” you smile. “Didn’t realize how much I wanted your attention until I didn’t have it anymore.”

He looks at you, amused. “Honestly didn’t notice you acting any differently.”

You jab his side. “Also sorry I talked shit about your first album, I do actually like it quite a bit.”

Ash cackles, tracing designs on your back. “Oh good, I was worried that was going to be what finally drives us apart,” he cracks.

You snicker, nuzzling your head into his chest. You enjoy a few quiet moments together before he begins softly humming an unfamiliar melody and you smile, knowing his creative wheels are turning again.

You lift your head up again to offer one last apology. “I’m sorry I once again disrupted The Process.”

Ashton laughs mischievously, running his hands down your body. “I mean… overall I’d say this was some pretty valuable feedback.”

————-

Thank you to everyone who has signed up for the taglist, both for the support and the lovely (occasionally hilarious) feedback! If you haven’t signed up yet, the form is linked above! (If you signed up and your name is crossed out or not listed, I was unable to tag you, please check your blog settings and either re-sign up or send me a message letting me know you allow mentions now) @notinthesameguey @cxddlyash @2fangirl4u @cashtonasfuck @talkfastromance4 @itjustkindahappenedreally @saywhatnow07 @mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @pxrxmoore @findingliam-o @fedorable-killjoys @trix-arent-for-kids @olivia-foster-irwin @saphseoul @calmsweetcreature @onthecliffside-mgc @feliznavidaddycal @himbohood @maggiesupertramp @wiiildflowerrr @karajaynetoday @ashtonangst @sunshineeashton @aladyofalbion @youngblood199456 @xsongbirdx @loveroflrh @fairytrice @calumrose @irwindoll @polycashton @in-superbloom