#I am getting a second pair because they are on sale

[liesonthefloordramatically]

I don't remember who recommended Julia Bo when I was searching for shoes last summer, but A. I did wind up getting some and they rule and I get compliments on them all the time and B. they're having a Black Friday sale today, so if you are a dandy struggling through the wasteland of "everybody stopped selling Oxfords during the pandemic"...

[lis-likes-fics]

A Deal’s a Deal

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Gold!Reader Word Count: 11.7k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing, smoking, oral (f and m!receiving), dom/sub themes, degradation, virgin!reader, gun kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, Tommy is mean and she wants him to be ... A/N: So this was absolutely filthy and I will not apologize. I am American, but I used to British spelling for (as many of) the words that I caught because sometimes I like it better and it also just fit more for the fic. Also, when I say “gun kink”, I mean gun kink. This is filthy shit. Who knows? I may consider writing a second... Enjoy.

Keen eyes were the first thing Tommy noticed as Aberama Gold walked onto the yard, a sly smirk set in place among blond hair and a suit likely just as expensive as his own. The way his eyes surveyed the yard, examined every inch he could without touching any of it, even stopping by Charlie for a word, made Tommy aware it was for more than just surveillance.

Aberama finally approached, his men following after with their own vigilance. "I just took a look around. I like this place," he announced. "Fire for melting silver, canal to get it away." He stopped in front of him, well out of reach but just as imposing as the growing headache Tommy felt nagging at the back of his head. "How much?"

Tommy took a long look at him, still as a statue as blue eyes pierced through blue eyes. He considered not even regarding the question, moving on to more pressing business and pretending it had never been asked, but he knew better. Arthur drank from his flask.

"Nothing you see here is for sale, Mr. Gold."

He disagreed. "Oh, everything's for sale. Everything."

Tommy pinched his cigarette between his fingers, bringing it to his lips but not quite slipping it through yet. Aberama spilled the rest of the tea in his cup into the fire, which roared with the fuel to its flames.

"You tell Mr. Strong I'm going to buy his yard." He didn't leave room for debate.

But Tommy didn't care. "This yard has been in his family since they settled." He moved the cigarette between his lips.

"But I've decided to make it a part of our deal."

There was a long pause as the men stared each other down, testing the other's strength, their tolerance of cold eyes. The sounds of metal and fire and cups on tables next to them filled the silence and fueled the suspense of a standoff.

"Charlie?" Tommy finally spoke, calling to his uncle. "Charlie, come here." He obliged with a sigh. As he stood next to him with a dirty rag to clean dirty hands, Tommy continued. "Gonna spin a coin for your yard, Charlie."

Frustration was quick to settle at his words. He dropped his hands at his sides. "You're goin' to what?"

Tommy didn't spare him a glance, never breaking contact with Aberama as he spoke. "If it's heads, Abbie here takes all of this with my blessing."

"Tommy?" Charlie warned, upset.

"And if it's tails…" he considered for a moment, gesturing to Aberama with his cigarette in hand, "I fuck your daughter, Mr. Gold."

Aberama's grin fell. Arthur laughed, a stifled laugh into his arm at the offer. Tommy's demeanour did not change.

Now, Tommy was a smart man who did his research. He knew all about Aberama Gold's family, but more specifically about his daughter—and, even more specifically, about his oldest. He knew she was a primary school teacher, how that came to be, he was sure it was with the help of her father. He knew she was Aberama's firstborn, born from another woman he'd fallen for but lost too quick to be left without love. Lastly, he knew she was without a husband, or even a suitor with the potential of wedding bells. With how beautiful you had been rumoured to be, he didn't understand it.

He was shocked he hadn't already had you yet.

"You have three daughters, I hear, and Y/N is the oldest and also the prettiest, so I'll have her. So make her part of the deal and spin against the yard." He replaced his cigarette between his lips, putting his hands in his pockets.

Arthur was still amused. The same could not be said for Charlie as he stepped closer. "Tommy, for fuck's sake."

Tommy fished for a coin in his pocket, flicking it over. "Here, you toss the coin, Mr. Gold."

He caught it easily, staring down Tommy before moving the coin in his palm to examine it thoughtfully. Then he smiled, a slow smile spreading over his lips, ready to call a bluff.

Tommy shook his head, just as serious and solemn as before as he took in his grin. "No." He shook his head, raising a finger to point at him with grim intent. "Please don't believe this is a joke, the coin to us is sacred. Yes, Arthur?"

"Sacred," Arthur agreed, his eyes as still and as menacing as his brother's.

They continued to stare. Aberama continued to think.

Tommy gave his warning. "You toss that coin, you take a bet before witnesses, and if I win…"

"Then we'll insist that the terms of this agreement…" Arthur tried again, "wager are fulfilled."

Tommy's eyes held a threat. "Toss the coin, Mr. Gold."

Aberama considered, setting the coin on the crook of his finger and propping his thumb underneath. He contemplated, debating himself and his luck silently as the sounds of metal and fire raged against the silence and pulled the tension taut. Loud, defeaning.

"Tommy Shelby, OBE," he mumbled, still considering. Tommy saw the moment of decision behind his eyes before it reached his face. The challenge, the question of "Perhaps?" warring in his mind. Aberama smiled a small smile. "I'll take your wager."

The Shelby boys tilted up their heads.

Aberama flipped the coin into the air, watching as it twirled and twirled and twirled. The coin made its descent into his hands and he sighed as he closed his palm and slapped it onto the back of his hand. The coin seared his flesh as he stared at Tommy, hoping to see the right side of the coin staring back at him when he unveiled the result.

They stared, tense. "Well?" Tommy raised a brow.

Aberama removed his hand.

And his luck drained as he stared down at the coin tails up to the world.

He lingered for a moment, feeling the eyes on him burning into his skin just as the coin did. "...Congratulations, Mr. Shelby," he breathed. He took the coin and showed the boys. "Tails."

Tommy's lip twitched, although it was hardly susceptible to the eye. "Tails," he repeated, his voice darker than before. He readjusted his stance, regarding Aberama as he spoke to the uncle at his side. "Go on back to work, Charlie. Your yard is safe."

Charlie stepped closer, asking the question as though he was whispering it just to him. "Are you actually going to fuck his daughter, Tom?"

Tommy still didn't look at Charlie, watching Aberama intensely, as if to remind him that this was all his fault.

People seemed to forget who he was. They seemed to forget that you shouldn't fuck around with Tommy fucking Shelby, OBE.

"A deal's a deal, Charlie," he said. "Isn't that right, Mr. Gold?"

He stared back with fire in his eyes. "Aye, Mr. Shelby."

~

The cab slowed to a stop in front of the large estate you were an expected guest in. Looking out of the window and through the dark, your stomach flipped at the prospect of the meeting you were meant to attend.

Your father had told you that the infamous Thomas Shelby was interested in meeting you. You were grading loads of papers at the time when you stopped to look at him, frozen in confusion. You asked him why and he brushed off the topic like he hadn't even brought it up, giving you a time and date and leaving it at that.

And now you're here, staring at his house and feeling the anxiety of how this evening would go as you stepped out of the car and watched him drive off. You fixed your dress, straightened your spine, and released a breath before beginning the looming evening with a walk up to the door through the dark, guided only by the lamps outside.

You clicked the knocker three times, waiting with your clutch held tightly in front of you. As the door was pulled open, you were somehow relieved to be met with an older woman. Though her blue eyes were shocking and her quirked brow was intimidating, she offered a kind smile and you were put to ease.

You really shouldn't have been as anxious as you were. You were a Gold and a gypsy—if something bad was going to happen to you, you would know and you wouldn't be there in the first place.

But this was Thomas Shelby, and you were terrified. He was rumoured to be the devil himself.

The woman opened the door wider. "Hello." She looked you up and down before stepping aside. "Come in."

You thanked her quietly, walking into the house and glancing around. It was nice. "How may I help you this late in the night?" she wondered, clasping her hands behind her as she awaited your answer.

"Um…" You smiled bashfully but not without the air of respect you've grown into and been taught to demand. "I don't actually know why I'm here. My father, Aberama Gold, sent me to see Tommy Shelby. I am to have an appointment with him?"

She hummed, "Of course. Wait here while I go fetch him." She began to walk off before correcting herself, looking back at you with a respectful smile. "Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?"

"No, thank you."

She left.

You stood in the foyer, twiddling your thumbs atop your clutch as your heart skips in your chest. With a calming breath, you steadied yourself, closing your eyes and waiting patiently.

You swung a foot out, taking a step forward as you wandered farther down the hall to see inside the main room. It was large, decorated sparsely with paintings and tiny statuettes. You didn't get a good look.

When she came back, she was not alone. Turning at the sound of shoes descending stairs, you saw him.

He still wore a suit. Although his jacket was removed, his timepiece was still in place connected to its chain. His sleeves were rolled up—you weren't sure why you noticed that so clearly.

He stared at you with a cigarette between his lips as his cold, blue eyes pierced your soul. Your heart jumped again. Anxious.

He watched you, looking you up and down and taking you in. He brought his hand up to remove his cigarette from between his lips, releasing a long, smoky breath. The look in his eyes shook you.

"Thank you, Mary." His voice was deep as it rumbled in his chest. "You can go to bed now."

Mary looked you up and down briefly. She bowed her head. "Yes, sir."

You didn't break eye contact with Tommy as she ascended the stairs. Even when she was completely gone, he didn't look away. The intensity of his gaze was hard to keep up.

You looked away.

"Come," he finally spoke, walking down the rest of the stairs and meeting you. He lingered in front of you for a moment, as if he just wanted a closer look, before continuing to move. You willed your feet to do so, following slowly behind him.

He took you to his study just off from the main room, pushing the door open to allow you inside. You entered silently, glancing along the room to take it in. He had a library, a burning fireplace, plenty of sofas, and a large wall of windows. The drapes were already drawn for the night, and the large room was illuminated by a small chandelier. You set your purse on the nearest table.

You watched Tommy walk toward his desk in front of the windows. He leaned on it, crossing one leg in front of the other. He stared at you again, and you quickly became frustrated with his gaze as you sighed gently and stood across from him, keeping plenty of distance.

Silence stretched on as he continued to stare and smoke, and you were growing impatient as you stared back. The longer he watched you, unyielding, the more you felt the need to squirm. It was only when you broke his eye contact again, like you had before on the stairs, that he decided to speak.

"Do you know why you're here, Miss Gold?" he asked.

Now that this was finally going somewhere, you sighed. "Y/N, and no," you replied.

He raised his brows. "What did your father tell you, Y/N?"

You shrugged. "That you wanted to meet me and nothing else." His vagueness was really beginning to frustrate you after enduring all of that staring. Why had he stared for so long?

Tommy hummed deep in his chest, looking you up and down with a little nod of his head. He put it bluntly as he gestured toward you with his cigarette. "Your father lied."

It was your turn to raise your brows. "I'm sorry?"

Tommy reached behind him to put his cigarette out, stifling it against the ashtray on his desk. "Your father flipped a coin for a bit of property and lost. In return," he looked at you again, speaking slowly, "he gave you to me to fuck."

Your heart was slamming into your ribcage at the knowledge. Images of such a thing flashed behind your eyes, and your throat went dry. You looked down at your shoes for a moment, blinking rapidly as you stretched your jaw. "I-I don't understand," you confessed, releasing a humourless chuckle and licking your lips. "He… he wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't he?" he shrugged. When you didn't reply, he furrowed his brows. "Why else would you be here?"

You still didn't respond. He allowed you to process, though part of you felt like he was enjoying all of this, and you did not.

The anticipation started at your heart and spread through your body as it made a home in your chest, curling and writhing there in a bundle of anxious energy.

You swallowed thickly, "Are you going to hurt me, Mr. Shelby?"

He considered your question, mumbling quietly to himself as though he was mocking you, "Am I going to hurt you?" His eyes raked over your body, considering something silently in his head before he spoke again. "Come here."

You didn't move, otherwise frozen in place as you stared at him. Your disobedience seemed to astound him for a moment as he raised his dark brows and pointed to his shoes. "Here. Now." His voice was deeper with the command. He left no room for defiance.

Your body responded before your mind, not eager to see what would happen if you refused a second time. Your feet took you carefully toward him, slow steps treading the space between you until you were hardly a foot apart from him. His expression seemed to ease then, just enough to tell you that you were close enough now.

He took in your face from this distance. You could almost feel his breath. He spoke to you in a low voice, one that rumbled deep in his chest and resonated with you.

"I am a devil, but I'm no monster." Where you expected a crook of his finger to lift your chin, he gave you his hand to take a hold of your jaw and pull you close. "I won't force myself upon you, but if you agree to this, I will not be gentle. So, yes… I am going to hurt you."

You didn't respond—you couldn't. His words echoed in your mind and your mind warred with your body over what you would do in response and, thus, created none. You were frozen, staring at him as he held your face in a slight grip and held your attention in a much tighter one. You forget the fire burning smoke up its chimney. You forget the rows and rows of books lining the shelves of the office. You forget the clothes on your back, for his stare had stripped you bare for him to see.

He let go of your face, but you were not sure how well your brain registered that as you lingered in the same position, gripped in the same attention.

"If you want to leave," he said after a moment, "you'd better walk out of that door right now under the lie that the wager between your father and me was fulfilled. Hell, I'll even make you a cup of tea while you wait, and you can be on your way."

You considered that option. It would be like you never even came—except you did. And you knew you did. The stain of his stare, the hole he had burned into your clothes, into your skin, would never wash away. You would feel it every hour of every day as a reminder of the time you met the Tommy Shelby and lived not to tell the tale.

"But if you stay…" the corner of his lip twitched up at the idea, his pupils darkened and his voice deepened, "you're not leaving until I say you can." Even with their simplicity, his words made you shiver.

"Now, I will ask you once and one time only…" he leaned forward, his head very slightly tilted, his nose nearly brushing yours, "Are you leaving?"

As if you could say no with him this close to you. As if you could say anything with him this close to you.

Your options were idiotic.

Leave and live with the memories you gained here—the closeness, the silent obedience, the cold stare you could never wash from your soul. You would always feel it, feel him. He would never go away, plaguing your mind like a ghost of what could have been.

Or…you could stay. You could stay here and see what happened. You could let him ravage you, let him tear you apart and lick at your flesh and bone as he took you under his primal gaze. You could succumb to the ice in his eyes and let the burn of his touch mix together in some powerful, searing concoction. You would never wash his stain off, no matter how hard you scrubbed, but some part of you was alright with that.

And Tommy seemed to see that in your eyes.

He was amused as he shook his head, leaning back and away from you. He was teasing, you knew it now, heavily amused by the tiny reactions he earned from you as he pulled away to make you suffer a hint of withdrawal. It was with that distance that you realised you'd fallen in his trap, gone in too deep to turn back and be rescued from this tragic and ungodly addiction.

"No, you're not," he said—and, for a moment, you forget what he was talking about. "I can see it in your eyes, the same look your father had before he flipped that coin. You want to know what'll happen if you stay."

You seemed to snap out of it almost as you took a step back, establishing a bit more space as he revealed things you didn't want revealed. In doing so, you proved his point.

"You know exactly what happens if you leave. You go back to your regular life as a school teacher with siblings and a father to take care of." He chuckled silently, and you clenched your teeth. "No, you want to see how far this will go."

He raked his eyes over you for the hundredth time, and he knew the rumours were true. Pretty eyes, pretty lashes, pretty lips, pretty blushy cheeks. There was not a flaw on you that he could see. You were a beauty, an unconquered beauty he intended not to leave uncharted.

You looked away from him, glancing down between your feet and your hands and anywhere but his face as you processed his words, digesting them for what they were—the ugly truth you wished you could throw a blanket back over, swept back under the rug and hidden from view.

Tommy tilted his head as something dawned on him.

"Are you a virgin, Y/N?"

You kept your eyes on the ground, like you were watching his shoes—which you probably are—and shook your head. "I change my mind. You can call me Miss Gold." He could almost laugh at the idea, in fact, he almost did laugh. You brought yourself to look at him, your eyes stern with poorly hidden dismay. "And if I was?"

It made sense. No husband, no suitor, no time for one anyway. His lip lifted very slightly in the corner, and it felt like he was laughing at you. "The proper phrasing is 'and if you are?'" He leaned in, taunting you. "Because you are, Y/N."

You huffed to keep your eyes from fluttering at the effect he had on you. "How do you know?" you asked, doing your best not to sound as upset as you were. Your best was very poor.

He breathed a silent chuckle. "Because if I say the word 'sex'..."

You licked your lips and shifted your weight to your other leg, realising your mistake as soon as you made it but not showing it. You glanced away from him, and that was when you showed the realisation of your second mistake.

He pointed at you, ever amused. "You do that."

You thought for a moment over a way to say your next words without confessing anything—even if you knew it would be rendered unnecessary, as he seemed to read you like an open book.

"What if I did want to see what would happen?"

He inclined his head, lifting a brow. A small huff of a breath made up a tiny chuckle at your words. "Look at you," he said. "A good girl so bored she wants a go with a gangster."

You shrugged a shoulder. "All my family's gangsters and gypsies. It's in my blood."

He stared at you, cold and frozen like a statue. You stared back, gaze darting from eye to eye.

"In your blood," he muttered to himself.

You had no time to process what happened next. All you felt was his hand on the back of your neck and then your cheek against the cold wood of his desk. You groaned at the suddenness of it, stunning you completely—especially when his body pressed against the back of yours, crushing you against the desk and keeping you there.

Your breath was erratic, your pulse loud in your ears. Everything had happened so quickly, you were still catching up. The only thing that grounded you was the cold shock of something against the back of your head and the cock of a gun in your ears.

It was all suddenly very real—the anticipation, the suspense. You held your breath.

"Maybe I lied," he rasped in your ear, his voice just as dangerous as his gun to your head. "Maybe I want to see what's in your blood instead, eh?"

Your lips parted as shallow breaths passed between them, loud in your ears but likely nearly silent to him. You swallowed hard, frightened and exhilarated. "You're not going to kill me, Mr. Shelby."

"Oh, yeah? Why is that?" He seemed to press the gun even closer, trying to scare you some more. But you were a Gold, and guns to heads were not as effective to you as it might have been to someone else from a family that wasn't yours.

"Because you want to see what will happen."

Surprised by your answer, he scoffed. "Maybe you are a whore." He pushed his hips harder into you, thus pushing you harder against the desk. The edge of the wood cut into your thighs, aching and proving very uncomfortable. A strained breath grunted from you.

You smiled slyly, looking back at him as best you could. "Which is it?" you chuckled, "Whore or virgin?"

He took pause, shaking his head as he uncocked the gun. "No," he chuckled darkly. "Just a twisted little girl who gets off to guns at her head."

Your smirk dropped, amusement gone at his words. You furrow your brow, thoroughly upset that he would accuse you of something so crude. "I don't."

"No?" he asked before leaning in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and making you shiver. "Then why are you so wet?"

You stilled. You hadn't realised it until he said it, the wetness between your thighs, the arousal hiding beneath your thundering pulse. That tingling sensation of simmering lust was now weighing down on you like an anvil, a terrible sentence you wanted to escape but found yourself physically incapable of. Your legs trembled, but you couldn't tell if it was from the ice or the fire rushing through your veins. God forbid it be both.

Your silence made him smirk against your ear. "You really are," he scoffed again. "That was just a guess, sweetheart."

You huffed, doing everything you could to avoid clenching your thighs. With how close he was to you, his body pressed against you so tightly, he'd surely feel it. The shame was thick enough as it was.

"Fuck you," you spat.

He was not fazed by your aggression. "I intend to."

With a sudden burst of defiance, you pushed yourself up from the desk, turning around to face him. Your faces were so close, breathing in each other's scent as the both of you refused to back down. You heard him uncock his gun, tossing it onto the table behind you without breaking eye contact.

"This isn't the first time I've had a gun to my head, nor will it be the last," you told him. "And it's definitely not the first time a man's expressed his desire to fuck me."

"But it's the first time he's been able to, eh? Because before you had Daddy's protection." His hand landed on your waist, roughly pulling you toward him so your bodies were touching. It was useless to try to hide to fluster he put you in, but you did your best anyway. His voice was nearly a growl. "Well, where is he now?"

You shook your head, breathing shallow breaths. "I don't need his protection."

His smirk was small and taunting as he stared at you, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

"You do from me."

His lips crashed down upon yours as he pulled you close. Your surprised gasp was cut off, silenced by his harsh kiss. The feeling was foreign but not entirely unwelcome. Even as the force of his lips had his teeth smashing yours, cutting into the top of your own lip and greeting you with the taste of blood, you welcomed it.

You kissed back, moving your lips with his and following his lead but doing no more than that. Even if you had already compromised yourself, it would help not to encourage him.

When he pulled away from you, you chased his lips and felt the shame of it hot on your cheeks. He smiled at your eagerness, even chuckled at your breathlessness as he shook his head.

"My, my," he goaded. "You really do want this, you twisted little whore."

You shivered at his words and still denied. "And if I don't?" you countered, practically staring at his pink lips and proving him right.

He shook his head. "You should've walked out that door."

He kissed you again, silencing you once more until his lips had a moan clawing up your throat. He placed a hand on your chest, pulling you forward just a slight from turning you in one arm and shoving you back.

You stumbled backward, catching your footing again as you stared at him between the long distance he had put between the both of you. It surprised you and now you were trying to put your mind back in order, as though it hadn't been scrambled enough from his kiss.

"If you want to go so badly, prove it to me." He pointed to the door, urging you to leave with dark eyes and darker words. "Run. Run away, before I catch you."

You stared at him, catching your breath and contemplating. He was giving you one last chance for an out, one last chance to turn away and forget about tonight.

But you could never forget what happened here, especially not now, and not ever. Staring back at his dangerous eyes, you made your choice, knowing there was no turning back.

So you would prove that you wanted to stay as you trudged the distance between you and closed it with your lips on his, addicted to the taste of him—the taste of danger and intrigue and all things twisted in the world.

His hand cupped the back of your head as he opted to devour you, allowing your fingers to work at the buttons of his vest to remove it. You gasped into his mouth and made your decision before your inexperience could talk you out of it, separating from his lips only to kneel down before him with your eyes locked on his.

Amazed by your initiative, he encouraged you by leaning his hips out as you worked at his belt. You fumbled for a moment too long before you finally got his trousers open, finally reaching what you were aiming for as you pulled him from his underwear.

You stared wide-eyed at him as you took in the sight of his cock, the tip flushed red and the vein along the underside pulsing with his well-disguised lust. You looked up at him, finding him staring back down at you with those cold, dark eyes.

"Well, go on then," he mumbled as you continued to stare, conflicted between different courses of action.

Your body heat seemed to rise at the realisation that you were staring like a fool. You swallowed thickly, reaching a hand up and wrapping it gently around him, gliding your thumb along his tip and feeling a little more confident when his unyielding eyes fluttered. You continued on, rubbing your thumb at the head of him before stroking your fist along the length of him, up and down in a steady rhythm as you navigated what he liked and didn't like.

One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, urging you forward as your face pressed into his hips with the warmth of his cock on your cheek. Slowly, you kissed it, your lips gliding along the length as you took in the unfamiliar sensation. You slipped your tongue through your lips, licking along the side until you reached his flushed tip. Kissing the slit at the head of his cock, the bead of pre-cum there spread over your lips as you darted your tongue out to lick it.

You opened your mouth at the taste, setting his tip on your tongue and shivering at the feeling as you closed your lips around it. You built yourself up for it as you felt his heavy stare at the top of your head, bobbing your head slowly back and forth as you took the smallest bit more with each comeback. As he reached the back of your tongue, that tickling feeling in your throat began to tease you before the threat of gagging became too much to try to pass through.

By now, his cock was glistening with your saliva. As you looked up at him with eyes beginning to tear from your efforts, he stared back, lost in the pathetically illusioned look on your face. "You can't be done already," he said, his fingers tangling in your hair.

You spoke breathlessly, "Tommy–"

"No," he shook his head. "Not Tommy. You call me 'sir' while you're sat there on your knees with my cock in your mouth. You understand?"

You took in his authority, deciding whether or not you would listen. You began to scoff, "I'm not–"

"You will," he said finally, giving you that look that demanded respect. You knew, staring at him now, that he held the key to your pleasure. If you wanted to feel good, you would have to obey. As much as that annoyed you, it thrilled you all the same as he continued to look down on you like he was.

Your jaw ached with resentment, but you knew it was a front, you fighting the submission you were not meant to have. But you wanted it. You wanted him to break you down to some common whore, to strip you of your importance as a Gold and turn you into his plaything. But it was so firmly embedded, you would just have to keep fighting against it.

But that didn't matter right now, not with you on your knees with his cock in your hand.

"I can't do it…sir," you replied.

He raised a brow. "Can't do what?"

He was taunting you, insulting you by trying to make you say something you didn't want to say. It sat on your tongue like venom. Admitting what you classified as "it" felt like a new kind of torture.

"What is it you can't do, eh?" he questioned, even smirking at you like he knew he held all the cards. Because he did.

"I can't…" you swallowed thickly, bowing your head.

"No, no," he tsked, lifting your head with his hand in your hair to force you to look at him. And he wasn't lying before—he wouldn't be gentle. "Look at me and tell me what you can't do."

You huffed, speaking in a squeak of a voice. "Can't… take it all."

"What was that?"

"I can't take it all," you repeated, not yelling but not whispering either.

He smiled at you then, an evil, nasty smile that you wanted to wipe from his face. "That's all?" he questioned, laughing when you broke his eye contact. "Well, sure you can. Let me show you."

The exchange was promptly ended as his hand in your hair guided your head back to him as you took his cock in your mouth again, and he pushed you down, inch by inch, back onto him. You felt his tip pushing into your mouth, deeper and deeper on your tongue until he brushed the back of your throat. You gagged around him, feeling the sensations of the invasion rushing down your spine, resting in your belly and tingling all over.

As your nose brushed against his pelvic bone, your eyes welled up as tears spilled over your cheeks. He shushed you as you gagged on his cock, your throat adjusting around the intrusion. His hips bucked a couple of times, pushing his cock further until he could go no deeper. When he pulled out, you took as much air into your burning lungs as possible before you were interrupted by a few coughs.

As much as you wanted to slap him for the assault on your throat, one look at the pleasure on his face calmed the fire of frustration and fed the ache of arousal between your legs.

"Don't– do that again," you huffed, still catching your breath as you leaned forward on your knees to take him into your hot mouth again. You didn't go nearly as far again as you licked along his length, suckling around his cock and laving your tongue along his tip and the vein on the underside.

"The hell I won't," he mumbled, not the biggest fan of your telling him what to do but not necessarily put off by the idea. His hand remained a tangled mess in your hair as you continued to suck and lick and kiss.

You weren't expecting it when he pushed you down the second time, but at least you knew what to expect as you shut your eyes tight and took it, accepting the twisted pleasure that blossomed in your belly until he pulled out of your mouth again, keeping you back as he groaned.

You wiped your mouth off, staring at him with wet eyes and breathing through an open mouth. A deep breath exhaled from his lungs as he hoisted you to your feet, searching out your lips to bring you into another kiss. He turned you both around and pressed your back into his desk as he continued to kiss you roughly, pushing you back until you collapsed on the dark wood.

You gasped in surprise but barely had time to process as his lips continued to attack yours. His hands grasped the neckline of your dress, encouraging shivers down your spine. When he suddenly ripped and ripped at your clothes tearing them off you like a beast, you gasped and watched him turn your dress to rags.

It wasn't long before you were bare in front of him, save for the pantyhose hiding nothing from him. Then those were gone, too. Your hands instinctively flew to your body, trying to cover yourself up. There was really no reason for modesty, not now that you had already seen his cock and had it shoved down your throat, but this was entirely new and you would have rather liked a warning beforehand.

"Don't cover yourself now," he said as he entwined his hands with your own and pulled them away, spreading you out to see every inch of you with those hungry eyes. Your body trembled with the feeling of his eyes on your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, whimpering quietly at the mix of emotions ruling you.

Where some would take pity, Tommy just smiled darkly and tsked gently as he leaned forward and began kissing your neck. Your mouth fell open as your eyes fluttered to see him. A slight moan caught in your throat escaped at the sensation of lips to skin and your hands struggled where he restrained them, wanting to touch him again.

His kisses were not so patient after a moment as teeth began to scrape skin, sucking and nibbling on flesh in order to mark uncharted territory. The pleasure it gave him to know that no man had ever done this to you before was intense, driving him crazy with lust, a desire to claim you as his hips cant into your own, pushing you further into the desk and otherwise hurting you—if you had not been so preoccupied with his kiss.

You moaned into the air when his hand tightened around your thigh, squeezing roughly as he groped and kneaded the flesh. His other hand busied itself around your throat and tilted your head off to the side, sitting securely there but not quite squeezing the same. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist nonetheless, though you didn’t know whether you were trying to make him stop or keeping his hand there, wrapped around your throat and effectively putting him in charge.

The hand on your thigh travelled up, smoothing along your skin until he reached your hip. It never stayed there, moving back down as his fingers brushed over your exposed cunt. Your breath stopped in your throat when you felt his fingers ghosting over your lips and gasped when you felt his middle finger slip between them before biting down hard on your lip in an attempt to silence yourself.

His lips brushed your ear as he spoke in his low tones. “You like being touched by me? Eh?” A whimper left your throat when his finger pressed into you, pushing past your folds and into the warm, wet feeling inside of you. You clenched around it, the feeling foreign and but so good. "You're practically a whore now. I did buy ya after all—cost me a penny."

Your legs trembled as he stretched you out around his finger, a second playing at your pussy before carefully joining the other. "A penny?" you stuttered. "I personally think I'd be worth at least two."

"Well, let's see then," he said, lifting his brows as he pulled his finger out of you.

You whimpered, granting him an annoyed expression at the absence of his touch so soon. "See what?"

"If you taste good enough for two pennies."

You stared at him as his lips kissed your chest, sucking on your nipples on the way down and continuing on down to your thighs. A shocked yelp came from you when he bared his teeth around a chunk of flesh, only soothed when he kissed over it.

He gripped your thighs and pulled them over his shoulders, taking your hips in his hands and pushing himself up so your body was nearly folded in half. He didn't stall you at all as he buried his head between your thighs, licking and sucking on your folds as he shoved his tongue between them.

Your head flew backward, banging against the table. You hardly noticed, even with the full throb at the back of your head, the slight dizziness in your brain. Your hands flew to his hair, tangling in dark strands and tugging him forward. His tongue was just as skilled here, commanding your body to his every will, as it was during his speeches while he commanded armies of men to join in his cause or to intimidate against their own.

One hand left your hip to play with your cunt, toying with your clit. He pushed two fingers into your fluttering hole, swirling his tongue around your clit as you moaned for him to continue.

"Fuck," you mewled, closing your legs around his head and digging your heels into his back. He didn't seem to care, not until you messed up. "Please don't stop, Tommy."

But he did. His fingers and tongue retreated as he pulled back, straightening his back and letting one leg fall from his shoulder, though he kept the other firmly held to his chest.

You whined, looking at him with shallow breath. You watched him lick his kiss-swollen lips as he stared at you with black eyes. The emotions in your belly swirled between lust and frustration and fear and intrigue. He was so intimidating and you wanted more. You wanted him to keep kissing you, to keep dragging his tongue along your wet pussy. But you also wanted him to push you into the floor and take you from behind, his hips slapping into you, his hand planting your cheek against the cold floor, his mouth whispering filthy things in your ear.

"Please," you whimpered, too desperate to care about how pathetic you sounded.

He lifted a brow, saying nothing and staring. When you tried to sit up to reach his face, he pressed a hand into your chest and pushed you down roughly, leaning forward himself to paralyse you with his dangerous glare. Even with his hand on your chest, you tried to sit up still to kiss his pretty lips but he wouldn't let you. Your thigh ached from the position.

"Please," you whispered again, a broken moan as the lack of pleasure became too much, welling in your chest and making your body tremble.

He tilted his head.

You let out a shaky breath, moving your free leg outward to spread yourself even wider for him. "Please, sir," you concede. "Please keep going. I want it."

He didn't continue. His eyes bore into yours and you shuddered. With a gentle huff, you handed over the last of your dignity. "Please, sir, I need it."

He lingered there for a moment longer before smirking. You thought he was going to kiss you when he leaned forward, but instead he took your bottom lip between his teeth and but down before returning to his previous position between your legs.

He began again with the same intensity, devouring you as though you were his last meal. You whimpered and moaned and cried from the pleasure he forced into you. As he shoved his fingers into you, spreading them apart and thus stretching you wider, suckling on your clit and kneading it with his tongue, a coil tightened in your belly as everything seemed to follow.

Your moans built to whining breaths—too high and pitchy to be real—but genuine nonetheless. He didn't let up or slow down, drunk on the taste of you and too far gone to stop just yet, not without his reward.

The warm, wet feeling of his mouth became too much, the suckling of his lips even moreso. You squeezed your eyes tight, arching your back as a loud moan ripped from your throat. Your breath was rough and forceful as it rasped in and out of your throat, and your hands clenching in his hair tugged and tugged as his tongue continued to work. The pleasure took siege of your body, attacking every nerve ending until you were naught but a pile of flesh and blood and bone.

The high slowly descended to bring you back to Tommy Shelby's study, his tongue at your pussy a distant sensation in the back of your mind before it burnt with oversensitivity. You tugged at his hair, grunting as you pulled his head away to catch your breath.

His chin glistened and his lips were plump with blood as he stared at your recuperating body. He pulled his fingers from your fluttering pussy, taking them between his lips to taste you.

"Too much?" he asked, not in any way sensitive as he stared. "What, it feels too good, it hurts?" All you could do was nod. He breathed a laugh. "Have you ever touched yourself before, love?"

You didn't have it in you to be shy as you shook your head. He didn't take that answer this time—not humiliating enough, you supposed.

"Eh?" he urged, lightly smacking your arse to get a proper answer.

You grunted, shaking your head. "No, sir."

"That's your first time cumming then," he said more than asked, watching your dazed eyes slowly return to the dull bite of their natural rebellion—though he knew he broke you down enough for it to be too weak to matter.

He still awaited an answer. "Yes, sir," you obliged.

"Well, congratulations," he said. "Most men don't know how to please, so most women don't get to cum."

You disregarded his comment, still stuck on the aftershocks of pleasure as your eyes wandered the room. You whimpered when he licked you again, suckling around your clit and earning a jerk from your body.

He sat up, moving your legs off his shoulders like they were nothing important to him. He wrapped a hand at the base of your skull and pulled you up to sit. "Come here," he said, bringing you close to his face. "Have a taste."

He pulled you forward and crashed his lips against yours, too rough but just as amazing as all the rough ones he'd given before. The taste of you was strange but addictive as you came back for more, even as he pulled you away.

Tommy backed away from you, leaving you bare and hot on the desk. His hair was a mess, and he licked his lips again. He gestured toward you. "Stand up." You did as you were told, steadying yourself on unsteady feet. "Turn around."

As you obeyed, he came up behind you and pushed you onto the desk again, just as he'd done before. You grunted at the impact and clenched your thighs at the effect it had on you. You hated how good it made you feel, his treating you so roughly, without a care to just how rough. You hated even more how much rougher you wanted him to be.

Your prayers may have been met with extremity when you felt his gun to your head again as he spoke into your ear.

"I could kill you," he considered, pressing the gun further.

Your heart kicked up, and the adrenaline took over as his unwavering voice promised your demise. You held back your moan and responded, "But you won't."

"Why not?"

"You need me," you insisted. He laughed. "It's true. You kill me, well I'm Daddy's favourite. There'll be war. You make me go, I'll just keep coming back to finish it. You fuck me now, your wager is fulfilled and you get to fuck a virgin. What man doesn't want that, eh?"

Oh, you were good. Even if he was going to kill you, your words were enough to persuade him otherwise. He pressed the gun into your temple and the clicking sound of him clocking it reverberated in your ear. You moaned a long, deep moan as you clenched your thighs tightly together.

He smiled, laughing quietly to himself as he shook his head. "A proper whore, you are."

"Then fuck me, sir. That's the purpose of a whore, isn't it?" You gripped the edge of the table when he pushed his hips into you, aching that same spot on your thighs from before and making your lust all the worse.

He lingered, the cold barrel cocked and ready. You held your breath and awaited his decision before he removed it from your head. You sighed gently, missing his warmth when he stepped away from you.

Your hips jolted when the cold tip of his gun pressed to your pussy, spreading your lips apart to see you still wet for him. With the gun still cocked, your heart pounded against your ribcage and you felt the anxiety building deliciously in your body. He hummed, considering something in his head. You stayed as still as possible, certain your breath was loud as you wondered what he was thinking.

You heard him kneel, hyperaware of every sound he made behind you. His hand nudged the other side before he was leaning forward to taste you again.

You whimpered. "You're a dirty whore for being this wet," he said. You bit down on your lip.

He stood again and bent himself over your body. "You got my gun dirty," he tutted, shaking his head like he was scolding you as he shoved the barrel in your face. You could see your arousal gleaming off of it, shaking at the sight of it so close. "Clean it up."

You didn't move, paralyzed by fear. He didn't like that. "Clean. It. Up."

You let out a wavering breath, "Yes, sir." You leaned forward slowly, not even certain you were actually moving, and stuck your tongue out the slightest bit. You shut your eyes, making contact with the gun and a tiny whine slipped.

He watched you do as you were told, licking your slick from his gun and loving every second. A tear slipped down your cheek, slow and beautiful. He kissed it from your skin as you cleaned the gun.

When he deemed that you'd done well enough, he uncocked it and put it away. Your body relaxed, all of the pent up energy inside of you calming a slight as the threat of so much danger lifted from you.

He slipped his hand around your throat and leaned into your ear again. "Such a good girl, crying for me" he husked in your ear. "I'm gonna make you scream."

You felt the head of his cock push between your folds, coating himself in your slick, and there was plenty to go around. He straightened his spine as he took a hold of your hips, just as rough as you were expecting, before he shoved his cock into you. You moaned loudly as the harsh drag of his cock invaded your cunt, stretching you out around him.

"Fuck," you cried, gripping the desk harder. He held you steady as he fucked into your tight pussy, snapping his hips in and out of you without sparing a second for you to adjust. The slick you'd gathered would have to do.

You clenched down on him, thighs aching and trembling and becoming too much already as the tears built in your eyes.

Chants and cries of "yes" and "more" and "harder" spilled from your mouth and into the air, a loud and filthy cacophony of blasphemous praise. He held you down and he held you still, dominating your body as your new god as he ruined you for any man.

"You want more? Sure you do, so desperate for a fuck," he taunted, his harsh words accompany the harsh smacks of his hips. It was loud and continuous and it felt so good. "Such a dirty little thing, filthy and twisted. You like having a gun to your head, you like me being mean to ya. Where's all that pride gone, eh?"

The tears streamed down your face, decorating you in a way that Tommy could only describe as "beautiful".

"That's right. Cry for me, little whore," he grunted.

You did. Your thighs hurt and your throat is sore and your fingers ache from grasping the desk so hard, but you cried for him and the overwhelming pleasure, a depraved sound he fed from.

One of his hands left your hip to toy with your clit as he pressed his chest to your back. He bit the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, cruel and uncaring, before kissing the spot like an absent-minded apology. Your voice was raspy as he drew quick circles at your clit, chasing your next high as though it were unattainable.

And who knows? With Tommy, it might be.

"More," you begged, despite the loss of breath in your lungs, despite the haze of your mind. You chased the pleasure, pleading for it to swallow you whole as you took all that he gave you. "Please, sir, more." He cursed under his breath.

That crashing high from before curled in your belly again, hot and searing, like molten lava. You shuddered when it erupted, squeezing around his cock as you nearly sobbed. "Ahh, fuck!" Your head went fuzzy at the sensations as you gushed around him, sucking him in tighter.

Tommy grunted, his hips stilling before he pulled out of you. You thought he was done, but he seemed far from it as he wrapped his arm around your midsection, lifting you from the table and turning. You thought he was heading for the sofa, instead he lowered you to the ground on your hands and knees, which shook with the aftershocks of an orgasm you were still recovering from.

He pressed down on your back, pushing you onto the floor so your hips were angled up. He grasped your waist, smacking your arse once and earning a cut-off shriek.

He steadied you before burying his cock in you once more, sighing from the warmth your body provided. You whimpered at the feeling so fresh after cumming, slowly adjusting to the pleasure as he fucked into you with the insistence of a starved man.

Once you settled into it again, you moaned into the sensitivity, easing the rock of his hips rubbing you against the floor with your palms planted on the wood. It was cold and hard but the way his cock brushed in and out of you was so electric that you didn't care.

"There we are," he said, guiding your hips quickly as he pulled you in against him. "Fucked on the ground where you belong. Don't you agree?"

You struggled with nodding—though you knew he wouldn't accept it anyway. "Yes, s– Ah!– sir." He rutted into you, his thrusts almost animalistic, and he kept on.

He leaned forward, bracing one hand next to your head as you reached out to grab it. His breath was loud in your ear, full of broken moans disguised as heavy grunts.

"Good," mewled. "Feels good, sir."

"Yeah?" he asked, a particularly harsh slap making you whimper. "You want more, you pathetic whore?"

"Please, sir."

"So polite all of a sudden," he spoke breathlessly.

When he pulled out of you again, you thought you'd scream. But he eased you up to flip you onto your back, standing on his knees and staring down on you. You watched him unbutton his shirt, undoing each button one by one until he was able to shed it from his arms. You stared at the bare skin of his chest, taking in his tattoos, his muscles, the light patch of hair.

Grabbing you by your legs, he pulled you into his lap after leaning back. He set your legs over his shoulders once more, guiding himself back into you before he leaned forward. Your legs ached from being put in this position so much—but hell if you cared, because when he seated himself fully inside of you, the moan you left out was deep and guttural. He reached so much deeper than before, brushing a spot inside of you that set your body ablaze.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close as his hips snapped into yours. His thrusts were shorter in this position, grinding into you and brushing that spot over and over and over again. You whined and moaned through every moment of it, your eyes tearing up and the tension in your muscles building.

Your hand splayed out over his cheek as you tilted his head toward your face, wanting to watch him as he fucked into you. His eyes gazed at you, the intimidation from before not quite as cruel as it melted into the intimacy of the moment. His forehead pressed against yours and you breathed in each other's air as he shoved your hips together.

The sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you were intoxicating, filling the air with a filthy cadence that mixed with the carnal pleas on your tongue and the raucous groans on his.

"Look at you," he said, planting his hand next to your head once more as the other held your hips up for the right angle. "So desperate, pathetically beautiful."

You gave him a drunk smile, looking between his eyes and lips. "You think… I'm beautiful?"

He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, shutting you up with a rough thrust. Your head fell back and exposed your neck, which he graciously nipped between his teeth.

You yelped when the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit again, sinking into a breathy moan as you looked between your bodies to see it. You looked back up at Tommy, allowing him to do as he pleased with your body, succumbing to his touch.

"Fuck," you breathed, clenching around him at the feeling of your aching clit being stimulated again. You weren't sure you could cum again, but to hell if you weren't going to try.

Your arms wrapped around his back as your nails took root in his shoulders, scraping down his flesh to find purchase for the overwhelming passion. The sound Tommy made was nearly a moan, which he covered with a hiss as he clenched his teeth.

You kissed him, lips bruising, teeth clicking, tongues flicking as you drank the pleasure. "I'm gonna cum again, sir."

He raised his brows, though his rhythm was wearing. "Oh, you think so, do you?"

You corrected yourself, kissing him again to add in your favour. "Please, sir, can I cum again?"

His grin was almost sinister as he regarded you. You were learning, and fast. His unsteady hips rocked you back and forth on the ground, and his breath was timed with each little thrust. You could tell he was going to lose it, so close to joining you as you encouraged him by clenching and squeezing, sucking him into your cunt and getting him addicted to it.

"Fuck, yes. Go on and cum for me, sweetheart," he groaned, giving you the permission you needed as the pleasure washed over you like a wave of fire.

Your back arched, your weak moan stuttered in your throat, and you couldn't help but utter his name as the ecstasy shook you. Your cunt fluttered around him, and your moan continued until it melted to helpless little whimpers which then dissolved into each breath.

Tommy buried his face in the crook of your neck when he came after you, growling in your ear and his muscles tensed under your hands. His hips rutted into you, sinking in nice and deep and putting you in a position that would have been fairly uncomfortable, had you not been so devoured by his deep fucking that you hardly even noticed. All you could feel was the pressure of his body on yours and the feeling of his hot seed spilling into you, your cunt so tight around his cock that you milked every drop.

Slowly, his muscles loosened and his grip on your hip let up. He sighed, a long, deep sigh that released the rest of his tension as he began to straighten his back again. You stopped him, wrapping your hand around the back of his head and pulling him down for one more kiss. This one was so soft, a slow kiss that rendered your body useless. Everything was limp and lazy as the tender kiss changed the entire dynamic of the night.

It lasted longer than it properly should have as you both came in for more, treasuring it, cherishing it, until it had to come to its imminent end. He pulled away from you, staring at your face for a moment longer before he sat up, pulling out of you and making you shudder from the sudden loss and the even more sudden chill.

You stayed on the floor as he walked toward his desk and tucked himself back into his underwear. Your eyelids were heavy, drooping down as you lacked the strength to stand. As Tommy picked up his case of cigarettes, he looked at you over his shoulder, still laying there. Your legs were still spread out, your pussy dripping with both your cum on display and your arms framing your head. You'd passed out.

Tommy rubbed his cigarette between his lips before he lit it. His eyes never left you as he took the first puff before discarding the light and walking over to you. He knelt, tucking his hand under you to take you into his arms and set you on the sofa. He readjusted your body, your legs closed and one of your arms covering your chest.

He stood there a moment. You looked peaceful as you slept—absolutely debauched with your messy hair, tear-stricken cheeks, and swollen lips—but peaceful. Your face nuzzled into the cushion, and your lips twitched with whatever was going on in your head.

It took more than he would like to admit not to brush the apple of your cheek as he cleared his throat quietly. He picked up his disregarded shirt and draped it over your shoulders before choosing to walk back to his desk. He sat down and sifted through some files he pulled from a drawer to busy himself.

He didn't keep track of how long you slept or how long he sat there. He hadn't realised when he dozed off, tired out from you and from work.

You stirred from your place on the couch, opening your eyes and wondering why the floor was so soft. It took a moment to remember where you were, why you were naked, and why your thighs were so sticky.

Taking a deep breath in, a familiar scent filled your nose as you noticed the shirt over your body. You sat up slowly, pulling it to your chest and taking another deep breath. The scent made you dizzy, and you slipped it over your arms. The shirt was big on you, hanging low as you pulled it closed around your body.

Your body ached as you moved to stand, running a hand through your hair and stretching your sore limbs. Why were you so sore?

You took two steps, examining the floor and taking in all the clothes—scraps and fully intact—laying there, before you looked up and saw him. Tommy was passed out at his desk, bracing his face on his arms as he slept.

The events of that night flooded into your mind all at once and suddenly, everything made sense. You looked down at your dress of scraps again with a frown as you picked it up, rolling your eyes before using it to wipe away the cum glueing your legs together and discarding it back to the floor.

You padded over to Tommy, glancing over him and silently making your way to the window to peek behind the curtains. It was still dark out, so you hadn't slept long.

You returned to Tommy, lifting up his half-burnt cigarette and putting it out properly in the ashtray it was sitting in. You stared at him, watching him sleep.

You never thought the devil himself could ever look so peaceful.

You couldn't help yourself—you reached out and brushed some of his hair from his face. You just wanted to see him a little clearer. In doing so, he woke. It wasn't a slow waking like yours. His was fast, nearly startled as his eyes opened and his sharp inhale shocked his senses. Before he could jolt up to his feet, his blue eyes found you and his dark brows almost convinced you that he despised you as he granted you a hard stare.

But his expression shifted at the sight of you, after he'd properly taken you in and recognized you. He blinked away and sighed, sitting up slowly and leaning back in his chair. He tilted his head as he looked you up and down before reaching for his case of cigarettes again.

He picked one out, rubbed it between his lips, and lit it up in silence. And, in silence, you took it from between his lips and set it between your own. He stared at you, lips parted and amused—though, you had to look closely to notice.

"Apologise."

You stared at him with a raised brow, blowing out a billowing breath of smoke. He was surprised you smoke.

He looked you up and down before sighing and leaning back again. "Alright, I'll bite," he said. "What for?"

You took another deep breath before moving it again, blowing it out before gesturing toward him with his cigarette. "You called me pathetic."

"You are pathetic."

"And you called me a whore."

"You are a whore."

"You called me a pathetic whore."

He opened his arms, shrugging as he watched you. You raised a brow and blew out some more smoke.

"Apologise."

You weren't harsh as you said it, and you didn't look particularly hurt. In fact, you looked like a fucking angel dressed in his shirt, smoking his cigarette, and demanding he apologise for something you so obviously enjoyed.

He gave in, smiling as he rolled his eyes. "I apologise for calling you a pathetic whore…even if you are a pathetic whore."

You watched him for a moment, considering whether you'd accept his apology.

"I also want you to apologise for pointing a gun at me. Twice. And then touching my fucking cunt with it."

"No." He said it so simply, so finally. There was no way you'd get him to budge. "You liked it too much."

You thought about that and shrugged. Fair enough.

"I also–"

"Shut up and come here," he said, turning toward you with his open legs and arms.

You smiled and stepped between them, letting him take hold of your waist—even if you were still sensitive there because you didn't want to give up the affection. You guided the cigarette back between his lips, your fingers pressing against them as you did. He smoked it before taking it out and staring at you, blowing the air out as he thought.

Tommy reached into his pocket, digging around to pull out a coin. He handed it to you, and you shook your head at him. "That's not funny," you mumbled, stifling a laugh.

"Congratulations, you're worth two pennies."

"Fuck you," you laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I've already done that." You laughed again, shaking your head and ignoring the warmth in your belly.

You stared at him, rubbing the coin between your fingers as you toyed with it. He watched you think to yourself, biting your lip as your eyes so obviously flicked between his eyes and lips.

"Thank you, Tommy," you told him softly. "I needed this."

His smile faltered slightly as he continued to watch you. He sighed, unaware of his thumbs stroking patterns into your sides, "I didn't do it for you… but I'm happy to have helped."

You chuckled weakly, half-hearted. Looking down at the penny, you smiled slowly and held it up. "How about a wager?" His subtle amusement encouraged you.

"If it's heads…you get me a new dress because you ripped mine to shreds."

He let out a small scoff, shaking his head gently.

"And if it's tails…" you smiled. You lifted your leg, slipping into his lap as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His hands found your arse, pulling you forward so your bodies were flush against each other. Your eyes fluttered as his cock brushed your pussy, already exciting you for the probable future. You focused on him again, "...you fuck me again—this time naked."

He smiled and nodded his head. "Toss the coin, Miss Gold."

You licked your lips as you readied it between your thumb and finger. Your eyes locked for a moment between moments, drinking each other like forbidden wine. You flipped the coin into the air, watching as it twirled and twirled and twirled. The coin made its descent, you caught it, and you took a moment to close your eyes and hope before you let it show.

You couldn't hide your elation as you picked up the coin and showed him. "Congratulations, Mr. Shelby," you smiled. "Tails."

"A deal's a deal." His hand wrapped around the back of your neck and he pulled you in, "I would've fucked you otherwise." He kissed you in a mix of the roughness and sweet tenderness from earlier.

Between breaks, you sighed heavily. "Thank God because I need you," you confessed, kissing him again.

You undid his pants once more, this time pushing them down his legs and finally ridding him of them. He let you wear his shirt, refraining from admitting just how much he liked seeing you wear it.

The kiss was a mess as you devoured one another. He rocked your hips in his lap and you moaned at the pressure as his cock spread your lips apart. "Fuck, this is gonna be a long night," you hummed.

"Shut up and ride my cock," he demanded, not nearly as harsh as before but just as breathless as you now.

You smiled. "Yes, sir."

Peaky Blinders taglist: @lyarr24​ @runnning-outof-time​ @goblinjnr Tag yourself here...

[beomiracles]

Hiiiiii! I've been your avid reader for a long time and i got the courage to finally ask about a request. Congratulations BTW! ❤ I just want to request a fic about Yeonjun. The clip where he removed his maroon vest and slowly unbuttoning his short with a fvcking smirk plastered on his face. 😭 if you know the clip i am talking about, please i beg youuu. I beg you for a president-secretary council trope. I want him to be the most gentle president he is but quiet aggresive on bed. Like, he loves back scratches, neck biting and hickey. (I am begging you, excuse me, because I am ovulating 😔😔😔) And please do iclude that clip if possible, thank you so much, i love you and your works! ❤❤❤

-🦭 white seal

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... hehe white seal anon wtf ily :( I never even knew I needed this Yeonjun until today ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

wc -> 1.4k

pairings president!yeonjun x secretary!reader (afab) warnings unprotected sex, creampie, marking lots lots, hair pulling, semi-public

Choi Yeonjun had this aura around him, it was almost like he was glowing. You think it was that glow that made people feel drawn to him. His gentle and kind nature, it usually got him what he wanted. The press conferences, the interviews, the marketing, Yeonjun knew how to persuade people into following him. He never raised his voice, not once, and he always approached anything with a smile. 

You were no different, and you quickly fell for his charms as you applied for the position that would get you the closest to him.  — You had just never imagined that being his secretary also meant being bent over his desk as he pounded into you from behind. The glow previously surrounding him would completely evaporate the second he hiked your skirt up above your waist. It was like he became someone completely different. Someone you loved. 

Cheek pressed against the cool wood of his office desk, your knuckles had since long turned white as they gripped the edge of the table harshly, your nails were surely leaving dents against the clear paint. One of Yeonjun’s large hands on your lower back keeps you still under him as he snaps his hips against yours, the sheer force he used threatening to make your eyes roll back. 

“Rethink the sales plan?” He scoffs to himself, his free hand snaking between your thighs to rub harshly against your clit, making you yelp as you screw your eyes shut. He shakes his head, a breathy laugh ripping from his throat. “Rethink it?” — “Do they think this is some kind of charity work?” He grunts as the hand between your legs moves to the curve of your ass, gently caressing it before he digs his fingers into the soft flesh. 

You could clearly recall how it all started. It was barely past 10am and you had gone through about a fourth of today’s tasks. Scheduling and rescheduling both interviews and meetings was almost like fitting pieces into a disorganized puzzle. — The large doors to his office had been ripped open with such force that you had flinched in your seat. Glancing up just in time to see Yeonjun kicking them shut with his feet, his hands already working on unbuttoning his shirt when his gaze met yours. 

“Desk, now.” Was all he had said and you scrambled to your feet as you scurried over, immediately dropping any current task on your hands as you carefully bent over the clean wood. You knew better than to ask what had happened, and even though your curiosity was at its peak, you bit your tongue in better judgment. 

Yeonjun had quickly discarded both his tie and blazer, his shirt halfway open before he gave up with a groan, large hands grabbing ahold of your skirt as he pulled it up along your thighs. Quickly yanking your panties down to your knees, his fingers wasted no time in coating themselves in your already pooling arousal. — During your first week here you had found out that he wasn’t one for foreplay, especially not when someone had pissed him off. 

That was how you found yourself like this, tears welling in your eyes as your teeth threatened to break the skin on your lips. Yeonjun’s pace doesn’t waver for even a second and his grip on your ass is bound to leave a mark. “Fuck babe, what do they want from me?” He seethes as he buries himself deeper, his cock brushing up against every inch of you. “I…I don’t know..” You splutter between gasps and he huffs behind you. 

The ever monotone sound of his phone ringing makes your eyes snap open as a small chill runs down your spine. Somewhere above you, Yeonjun lets out an exasperated groan as he reaches for the small device. When your wide eyes meet his he gives you a stern look as he motions for you to stay quiet. Before you have the chance to realize what he’s about to do he presses the device against his ear, a small “hm?” leaving his lips as his hips snap against yours once more, his brows drawing together at the way you clenched around him. 

Clasping a hand over your mouth you choke down your whines as you hear the faint voice of someone else on the other line. Yeonjun sighs as he pulls back, just enough to where his tip remains, before he slams back into you, making the pencils on the desk rattle. “No, I’ll get around to it later”, he mutters as his free hand trails across your back, pushing up beneath your shirt and you shiver. 

There’s a brief pause as he stills inside of you, and you almost wanted to cry at the lack of friction. Whatever the person on the other side was saying it had to be important. The frown on his face only deepens as he sighs, “tell them that I’ll get back to them.” — “No of course not, tell them that I would be happy to”, his voice is light and cheerful, the voice he used when he was working, the voice that got people on his side. 

“Ah, thank you. That would be wonderful, yes.” 

The second the call cuts he slams his phone against the table right in front of your eyes and you flinch. “Piece of fucking shit”, he grunts as he pulls out of you, two hands on your waist as he hoists you up and flips you over, making you face him. Your hands find his shoulders on instinct as he pushes himself inside once more, and you moan as you let your head fall back. 

“Why the fuck do we even have them hired?” His teeth graze the skin of your neck as he peppers your skin in harsh kisses, his frustration easily simmering out into the angry red marks he leaves on your body. You don’t reply as your sharp nails dig into his shoulders, trailing down his back with such force that you think it might hurt, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he groans against your skin, his cock twitching deep inside of you. 

“Fuck do that again, babe.” He breathes as his pace only increases, one of his hands rooting themselves in your hair, his tight grip causing a burning sensation to spread throughout your scalp. The feeling has your nails digging further into his back as Yeonjun pulls the skin of your neck between his teeth. 

His thrust slowly grows jagged and his free hand moves down to stimulate your clit as he urges you to finish alongside him. You cry out as you pull him closer, inevitably pushing his lips against your own. At first you freeze, while the two of you were intimate more than often, kissing was something you rarely did. Thinking you had overstepped, you were ready to pull back when he suddenly kissed you back, the grip on your hair preventing you from shying away. 

With a small moan you feel yourself throb around him as your climax hits, and you shudder against his lips. A harsh and final snap of his hips makes him groan as he releases himself inside of you, the hot sensation clouding your thoughts as he continued to fuck his cum back into you. — Within seconds he was hard again and you whimpered at the uncomfortable overstimulation. 

“Reschedule all my meetings for today.” 

“Never thought you’d make it”, Taehyun says as Yeonjun takes a seat next to him, quickly calling the bartender over to order himself something to drink. “No?” He muses as he runs a hand through his hair. — “We’ve been here an hour already”, Beomgyu adds as he sets his empty glass down against the bar counter. 

Yeonjun rolls his eyes as he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up. “Got held up at work”, he shrugs as he receives his drink. “You seem to do that a lot”, Beomgyu mutters as he too orders himself another round. — Taehyun on the other hand had gone completely silent as he studied his friend’s now exposed forearms. 

“What the fuck happenend to you?” He motions toward the angry red marks trailing down his arms and Yeonjun cocks an eyebrow toward his skin, images of your sharp nails flashing across his eyes as a smirk grows on his lips. 

“Ah, this? Just the cat.”

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[yellowjestertfs]

The Billionaires secret

“Hi there. Find what what you were looking for?” I ask in my customary upbeat yet soul-dead customer service voice.

“I think so. Going to give this one a try.” She says handing me a copy of a book called The Billionaire’s Secret from the romance section. I can see why she picked it, on the cover a man in a suit lay on a bed with the buttons of his dress shirt undone showing off his impressive six-pack and strong hairless chest. Brownish red eyes smolder seductively outwards from a masculine face. High cheekbones, soft lips, and a wide square jaw adorned with black stubble that connects to a short-styled head of black hair.

“I’m Bridget by the way,” she says, obviously a bit embarrassed to see me eying up the cover. “Oh, and this is Dan.” She says gesturing at the man standing a few paces away, engrossed by some mobile game on his phone. 

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” I scan the book. “That will be $17,” I say. 

She glances over at Dan, he doesn't seem to notice so she retrieves her credit card from her purse and taps it against the machine. “I don’t know why I expected him to offer.” She tells me in a conspiratorial whisper “He’s broke. I mean not that it matters to me, but it would just be nice to date a wealthy man or one who at least pays attention to me.” 

Customers often confided in me. I wish I could say it is because of my open honest face or charismatic demeanor but it probably had more to do with a book I once ate about a bartender people told all their secrets to.

I look around. There are a few consumers browsing the book shelves and my manager is sitting at his desk in the back, no one close enough to notice. Bridget seems sweet, too sweet to be with a man like Dan. Poor girl just wants to escape with some fiction, so why not indulge her a little.

“Did you get a chance to check out our books on sale?” I ask Bridget diverting her attention away. She looks over at the shelf I pointed at giving me enough time to crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and begin.

I place my hands over the cover of the book and it springs open, the pages start to turn themselves slow at first then speed up. Words start to flow from the book as the pages flip past. The letters lift from the page like a sticker being peeled, floating into the air to spin around me. They form a cyclone of black ink as the pages that flip by are left blank.

I feel the lines as they flow off the paper. The first line reads. “Kustav tower is 400 stories tall, rumor has it, it’s smaller than Dane Kustav’s dick.” 

I directed the words towards Bridget’s boyfriend. The ink splashes into him, absorbing into his gray hoodie but leaving no mark. None except for the fact that his basketball shorts start to thrash like a wild animal is trapped inside. Dan didn't look up from his phone even as his dick doubled and then tripled in size to match the one described in the book Billionaires Secrets.

I tried to be sparing with my abilities. Fiction is great so long as it stays fiction, otherwise you have evil robots or sparkly vampires running around. Still, every once in a while my heroic urges will take over and I am called to help someone with my power to bring words to life. Bridget is one of those people.

More words flowed off the page. “Dane Kustav is well dressed at all times. One would be hard-pressed to ever see Dane not in a suit. If one did see him without a suit, it would be in the bedroom where they would be very, very hard pressed indeed.”

The words spin around me once then drift over to Dan again on an invisible wind. This time his clothes were affected by the words. His grey hoodie which he wore with the hood up, melted off his body, the threads unwinding then rebinding themselves into a far higher quality dress shirt and black jacket complete with a blue tie. His shorts became black dress pants and his sneakers a pair of brown loafers. The outline of his much larger dick was clear in his new tighter pants. A few seconds passed with no changes then, slowly his tie undid itself and each of the buttons on his dress shirt opened so that he was sporting a matching look to that of the man on the cover of the book. Unlike the cover, however, Dan lacked the chiseled face or body to pull off the open shirt. His slight gut and saggy, hairy chest made the outfit look awkward rather than sexy.

Bridget looked up from the sale rack and glanced at her half-nude boyfriend with a chagrined glance. In her mind, he was always dressed in the finest clothes even if he still acted like a man-child.

“Dane Kustav towered over everyone be that in stature or in business.” 

I directed the words into him. Dan shot upwards, his modest 5’10” frame becoming a proud 6’3”, clothes growing to match. And though it wasn’t visible Dan’s head was also filled with business smarts he had lacked before. The game on his phone shifted from Fruit Ninja to Hey Day.

The pages continue to flip, their words leaving the page to float in the air under my command.

“Dane Kustav's muscles were like that of a brass statue, smooth, hard, and golden. Each curve could only have been sculpted by the hands of an artist for nature could never make anybody so perfect.”

I look over at Dan’s soft pudgy body. Not the words I would use to describe him, at least not yet. I float the sentence to him.

Instantly Dan’s belly flattens. One by one his abs pop into being as if pushed out from the inside like one of those pop-it toys. His man boobs visibly transmute from fat to muscle, perking up and then growing into a strong chest like that of the man on the cover of the book. Inside the sleeves of his dress shirt, his arms thicken into a pair of round vascular biceps while his legs below do the same. A tan, like oil spreading over water seeps across his body until his exposed muscles really looked like sculpture bronze turned to life. The few hairs that had looked sloppy before now lent his body a rugged masculinity.

Bridget looks at her boyfriend with a new lust. Her hands start to roam his abs and chest but Dan, still on his phone, only bats them away. 

Man-child indeed, a man in the body, a child in the face and the personality. I divert my attention back to the flipping pages looking for words I could use to fix that. The book is reaching the end, and the main character, assistant to the billionaire, has finally seduced her boss in a very steamy scene. High-class writing it is not, but at least it gives me plenty to work with.

“I ran my hand down his sharp square jaw.” 

I throw the words at him. The shape of his face shifts to be more masculine.

“He looked at me through squinted sexy amber eyes.”

His eyes shift from a pale blue to an amber so rich it almost looked red. He finally looks up from his phone and deep into Bridget's eyes. She returns the stare with a smile. 

“He brought my hand up to his cheek, I felt each bristle of his short sharp stubble.”

Dan moves Bridget's fingers up to his face which is now covered in a sexy two days' worth of growth.

“Then he kissed me with his soft sensual lips hard enough to make me weak in the knees.”

The words flow off the page and into him. His lips grow pillowy and pink and interlocked with Bridget’s. He wraps his muscular arms around her, keeping her steady as she collapses into him. 

“I warp my fingers into his jet-black quaffed hair as I prepare for him to take me.”

His hair gains a stylish cut and is dark as pitch, body hair and stubble do the same. Bridget greedily runs her hand through his new dark dew.

“He smelled like sports deodorant, woody cologne, and sex. I wanted nothing more than this man to take me.”

The bookstore fills with his scent. I am surprised to find myself turned on by the whole thing. I have reached the end of the book, the final page.

“It was then that I learned the billionaire's secret.”

This was the good stuff. I leech the words off the page and send them to Dan, or rather now, Dane.

“His secret wasn’t that he was hot, or rich, or could make any girl swoon.”

Their kiss intensifies. Dane started to undo Bridget's blouse.

“No, the billionaire's secret was.”

Suddenly Dane pulls away.

“The billionaire was gay.”

“Sorry Bridget,” Dane says taking a few steps back and looking at her with sudden realization. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

His eyes wander over to lock onto mine, rich amber orbs seeming to really take me in. He winks. “You thought, I think that could work. What are you doing after this?” He asks smoothly “Want to go get coffee in Paris on my jet? My treat.”

[luveline]

For the Eddie/Roan/reader series have you written the first time Eddie and reader say I love you to each other? And if not could we get a little blurb for it? Like maybe Roan says it to reader first and Eddie is all like damn, I think I love her too and is just all heart eyes 😍🥰 please and thank you! This series it literally my fav 💕

thank you for your request beautiful ♡ eddie and roan—the munsons tell you they love you for the first time. fem!reader

Eddie's wearing the brand new pair of jeans you got him and feeling like a kid at Christmas. Seriously, this has to be the fucking life. Beautiful daughter, great Uncle, a home he's proud of and a job he doesn't mind, and now he has you, and you like him enough to bring him presents. What the fuck. 

They were on sale, you'd said easily, dropping them in his lap with a kiss hello on the cheek. He'd been reading on the porch, didn't hear you coming until you were already there. Where's Roan? I got her a nightie, is that okay? 

Said nightie flares pink around Roan's knees as you twirl her. She's standing on the green play table, every rapid footstep wobbling the hollow plastic. In each flash of her face before she turns away, Eddie sees himself —same sugary brown eyes, same smile. You're laughing, the nervous, overjoyed kind, 'cos you both know you shouldn't be doing it but you're not the one who has to say no to her. (Not that Eddie does it as often as he maybe should.) 

The jeans you got him are surprisingly soft. They're straight cut and need a little adjusting, but beside that they're perfect. Eddie really, really likes being thought of, trying to squeeze a thank you in between girly giggles. 

"This is super dangerous!" you warn Roan, drawing circles over her head with your joined hands.

"This is super fun!" Roan corrects, squealing as you speed up.

One too many spins has her losing her footing, but you'd been expecting it, and you catch her without any fuss. "Woah!" she yelps.

"Woah, I got you," you say, pep unfailing. You're getting better at carrying her, pulling her up your side to rest on your hip.

Roan giggles but otherwise goes quiet, not talking, only laughing as she looks up into your welcoming face. You cushion her legs on your arm so she doesn't fall, your smile turning puzzled. "You okay?" you ask, giving her a bounce like she's much younger than she is, a baby in need of comfort. 

"I love you," Roan declares, planting a kiss on your cheek. 

"I love you, too," you say without hesitation. Your gaze flickers to Eddie's, but it's not long enough for him to gauge any one emotion. 

Roan hums like this has answered a question and puts her arms down on your chest, not quite hugging you, not not hugging you. Your fingers spread over the small breadth of her back. You steal a moment, pressing the fat of your cheek to the top of her head. "Princess," you murmur, "that's so nice. Thank you for telling me. I knew you loved me because you're always showing it, aren't you?" 

"I am?" Roan asks. 

"I think so." Your smile turns bright, the parentese tone you've been learning like sugar on your lips as you say, "Ooh, I love you so much, beautiful girl! Let's have some cookies to celebrate." Your smile lands on Eddie. "Can we?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, of course you can."

You put Roan down. Eddie's lovely daughter immediately takes your hand and together you walk to the kitchen, little steps. Eddie stands there thinking to himself for a few seconds, new jeans and your big heart, a thousand things.

"Hey!" he calls, rushing into the kitchen after you. "Wait a second, Y/N."

You stare at him with wide eyes, hand stopped where it's extended to the kitty cat cookie jar. "Don't tell me there's, like, a fake spider waiting to jump out at me. I can't take it again, Eds, my heart will explode like that freaky movie." 

"I love you," he says. Smiling big, not particularly afraid to say it. He's known for a while, but Roan saying it so easily reminded him. He should let you know. 

You don't react with any subtlety. Roan's confession was easy, water off of a duck's back, you said it back fast. Now, you're still. Your funny smile is in a pouting frown, your eyes soft with emotion. "Yeah?" you say. 

"Yeah. I love you." 

"Well I love you too," you say. 

Eddie nods nonchalantly, a show, saying, "Yeah, I know," before he drops the facade and crosses the kitchen for you. Roan giggles as he picks you up in a hug, wrenching you from side to side. "You should know already–" 

"I do!" you say, wrapping your arms around his neck jubilantly. 

"Then why are you asking?"

"I wanted to hear it again," you say.

Eddie smiles into the skin beneath your ear. "I love you. Duh." 

"Duh," you say, sounding about as happy as he's ever heard you while he pulls his head back to grin at you. 

Roan laughs and pats at Eddie's thigh to be picked up. He grabs her under her arm with some effort and you help to bring her up into the hug. "I love you, too, daddy."

"You should definitely know I love you," Eddie says to her. He tells her enough, three times a day or more. He tells her he loves her when they're brushing her teeth, when they're putting their shoes on, when they're driving home from school. He tells her between mouthfuls of spaghetti and through laughter, Love you, weirdo. "Is this, like, lame if I start telling you both all the time, or am I allowed?" 

"Definitely allowed," you say quickly, eyes bright with enthusiasm. 

"For sure!" Roan cheers. 

Eddie can see the possibilities now, I love you shouted from car windows and down the phone, said into your neck and the palm of your hand. He doesn't know why he didn't say it sooner. 

[bevanne46]

How to Build a Fabric Stash without Breaking the Bank

Fabric can be expensive but it doesn’t have to be.  If you are not stuck on Name Brands or Specialty Fabric Store Exclusives here are some ways to build your fabric stash without costing an arm and a leg. I have made many beautiful quilts using various fabrics from various supplies. And I believe that the quality is not just in the fabric you use but also in your stitch work and seams sizes. If your seams are less than a ¼” they will not hold (personally I prefer to use a ½” seam allowance). If you are not securing your thread ends, your stitch work is going to come undone. So be sure to watch these things too.

Look for fabric at your local Thrift Store (Goodwill, Value Village, etc.)

I have found some wonderful fabrics in various sizes, notions, storage items and more at my local Thrift Stores. I have even found unfinished quilt tops that I have brought home and added a backing to then quilted. Remember that almost any size fabric remnant can be added to other remnants to make some wonderful scrappy quilts so save your own remnants after making a quilt, you may be able to use it later in another quilt.

Look for local Fabric Sales held by Quilting Guilds in Your Area.

We have 2 near me every summer.One charges $2 per pound for any fabric. The second one charges $2 per yard for any fabric. Both also sell batting, notions, books, machines, tools, and more.

Look for fabric on Facebook Marketplace, Nextdoor and other sites.

I sell extra fabric on Marketplace and Nextdoor. I have also found several ladies near me selling fabric that I have purchased. And some I have purchased with shipping to me.

Look for older 100% Cotton Sheets at your local Thrift Stores.

Back in the 1800’s and early 1900’s, Quilts were not show pieces. They were real functional blankets that were made from any and all fabrics they could get, usually used clothing. I think there is no reason why we cannot still do that instead of buying expensive fabrics. I have often used clothing, sheets, curtains, and other linens to make some wonderful, usable quilts. And there are some wonderful patterns you can use for quilts in bedsheets from the 1980’s and 1990’s. Note: I always wash anything from a Thrift Store before I use it.

Watch for Fabric Sales and Coupons for Joanns, Hobby Lobby and other Fabric & Craft Stores.

I know some quilters believe that the fabric from Joanns & Hobby Lobby is poor quality but I have not found any bad fabric from these stores.  We do not have a “Quilting” store close to me and because I’m handicapped, I will not drive an hour or more just to buy expensive fabric.  If I did that, I wouldn’t be able to afford to quilt.  I will also buy fabric from Walmart but I am more careful with my selection there as most fabric at Walmart is good but I have had one or two pieces that I felt were poorer quality.

Watch for Fabric Sales and Coupons for your Local Quilt Shop.

Quilt shops will also have occasional sales and/or coupons so if you prefer to shop at these locations take notice of when they have sales. Also ask if they ever give discounts to seniors or military.

Use New or Older Clothing.

I have made a lot of beautiful Memorial Quilts from a loved one’s clothing and T-Shirt quilts. I will use jeans, work shirts, uniforms, flannel, cotton, polyester and even some knits.  These can be a little trickier to work with because they are often stretchy fabrics but they will add a wonderful texture and visual variance to your quilts.  I recently found a pair of cotton pants with Mickey Mouse on them. I fell in love with them because they were so colorful, and I love bold colors. I found several other cotton fabrics that matched the colors in the Mickey pants and made a bold colorful quilt!

Rethink Your Backing Fabric

No one ever said your quilt backing had to be all New Cotton. You can use Fleece, Flannel or Bed Sheets as well. On many occasions I have found some wonderful fleece blankets on clearance and used these for my quilt backing.  Joanns right now has a great clearance sale on Flannel fabric. The best part about using some of these is that you can get then in a wider width so you may be able to make your backing in all one piece instead of 2 or more like when using regular cotton (unless you want your backing to be in various colors/patterns).  You can also use new or older cotton bed sheets for a quilt backing. Again, you can make your quilt backing in one solid piece with a sheet!

Check the Clearance Section for Your Favorite On-Line Stores

I have several on-lines stores that I love to shop from (e-Quilter, Missouri Star, etc.) but sometimes they can be expensive so I always check the clearance section of these stores. There are times I will find some beautiful fabrics on clearance so will purchase it then look for matching piece everywhere else so I can get the best deals. Also check for on-line sales from Joanns, Hobby Lobby and other on-lines stores that sell fabric and/or sheets.

Check Out Your Local Garage, Moving and Estate Sales

I have found some of the best deals at moving and estate sales because often the seller is willing to bargain with you. I once found an estate sale where a family was selling off all their mother’s quilting and sewing items because she had passed away and none of then sewed. There was more fabric and notions than I would have used in a year so I found lots of thread and items I purchased at a great price.

Note on Batting

I know that many quilters believe that the only batting you should use is expensive cotton batting. I disagree.  There are many forms of batting. Cotton/Poly blends, Polyester, and Fleece. I love cotton batting but cotton will break down quicker than polyester and I want my quilts to last a lifetime so for most of my quilts I actually use Polyester more often than not. I have taken the backing off many older quilts to do repair work and the cotton batting inside was all balled up and a real mess.

Now when I am doing the Quilt-as-you-Go method I use a Fleece batting. The fleece can be cut into smaller pieces, fabric added to the top and then sewn back together to make wonderful quilts. And the batting doesn’t get stuck in my machine.

Shop Around for your batting to find the best deals. Sometimes Joanns has a sale on batting but the best price I have found so far has been Walmart on-line.  I can buy a 96” x 9 yard Bolt of Poly Batting for just $30 on Walmart on-line. This bolt will make 4+ quilts depending on the size of the quilt and I will have lots of left overs for smaller projects like pillows, etc.  For me the best part is that because it’s 96” wide, I don’t have to piece together my batting before I can sandwich my quilt!

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 14 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - When Spencer’s drinking gets out of control, he reaches out to a friend for help. He makes a series of decisions for the sake of his own mental health.

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

A/N - I don’t know how finals work so I just made it up. Also questions detailed for Spencer’s therapy are taken from real life therapy questionnaires.

Warnings - arguing, drinking, drunk Spencer, one night stand, mentions of protective sex, swearing, slight alcohol abuse, AA meetings, mention of past drug addiction, therapists, talk of depression, Spencer gets angry at Taco, mentions of dog urine and faeces, therapy questionnaires, mentions of affairs and divorce, mentions of schizophrenia.

WC - 5.7k

Chapter 14 - Forever Winter

He says he doesn't believe anything much he hears these days,

He says, "Why fall in love, just so you can watch it go away?"

He spends most of his nights wishing it was how it used to be,

He spends most of his flights getting pulled down by gravity.

Professor Monroe did not return to work on Monday and so Spencer had to spend another week with you. 

It was finals week which meant longer hours, more time having to be spent together. It made the long, awkward silences more uncomfortable, the withering looks more grating. 

He tried to focus on the fact two days after he’d put in the offer on the house it had been accepted, and less than twelve hours after that he’d agreed an offer on his own home. 

Between finals, the tension with you and getting the ball rolling with his house sale and purchase, Spencer was stretched extremely thin. 

He still tried to give his all to his girls but his evenings were spent with papers and forms and all kinds of other legal nonsense that Maeve had taken care of last time. 

Honestly, he was exhausted. And it didn’t help matters that every time he saw you his heart shattered a little more. 

He thankfully made it through the last week of the semester with his sanity still just about in check. He was packing up his office for the summer when there was a knock at his door. 

“Come in,” he stood up straight as the door opened and you tentatively walked inside. 

You clutched your purse close like it was your only lifeline. 

“Was there anything else you needed before I head out?” You asked politely, but there was a hint of frustration in your voice. 

“Uh no I don’t think so. Have a good summer I guess.” He replied, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

You nodded curtly and turned back to the door but before you could leave Spencer spoke again.

“Do you want to maybe grab a coffee? I’d really like to just clear the air.” 

Your back straightened as you slowly turned back to him. 

“I, uh…I have plans.” You shrugged, rolling your lip between your teeth. 

Your facial expression told Spencer all the things you weren’t saying. 

“Oh,” he croaked. “You have a date?” 

“Not a date…not really. I’m just having dinner with a guy I went to college with. S’not a big deal.” You continued gnawing on your lip. 

“Wow, good to see you’ve bounced back so fast.” His lips drew into a tight line and he grabbed his satchel off the desk, swinging it over his shoulder and heading for the door,  

“It’s not like that.” You huffed, holding your hands out to stop him as he went to pass you. 

“Sure it’s not.” He rolled his eyes. “So while I’ve been missing you every second of every day you’ve been reconnecting with an old college “friend”. Super, just super.” 

You grabbed him by the shoulders when he tried to pass you again and shoved him backwards a little. 

“You don’t get to do this,” you spat. “You don’t get to be mad at me for moving on. We broke up because you’re in love with someone else, Spencer! What am I supposed to do? Pine over you? Make myself miserable and wallow because you didn’t love me the way I love you? You don’t have the right to be mad, Spencer.”

“I have the right to be whatever I want to be.” He bit back. “Clearly you didn’t love me as much as you claimed to if you can move on so fast. I was married for a long time, I’m allowed to have complicated feelings about that. But my feelings for my ex in no way diminished my feelings for you. There’s no rule book on love Y/N. Just because I still love my ex-wife doesn’t mean I don’t also love you. Have a good summer, and have a wonderful time with your college friend.” 

He pushed past you and you let him go. He swung open the door so aggressively it bounced on its hinges and hit the wall. You stepped out into the corridor after him and couldn’t stop yourself yelling after him.

“Go to hell Doctor Reid!” 

You saw him slow his pace briefly, as though he might turn back and reply but he didn’t. He forced himself to keep walking. 

And once he was out of sight, your first tear escaped your eye. 

***

The music thrummed through the speakers, vibrating down the walls, through the floorboards and up through the soles of his shoes. 

It pulsed and pumped like a frantically beating heart, filling his veins with a nervous energy which manifested in his constantly jiggling left leg and fingers drumming against the table top. 

His free hand which wasn’t tapping the table was grasped around his glass as he raised it to his lips and swallowed down the amber liquid. 

He slammed the empty glass back on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I’m getting another drink.” He yelled to be heard over the music and went to stand but a hand on his arm stopped him. 

“I think you’ve had enough, Reid.” Emily replied just as loudly. 

“Weren’t you quitting drinking anyway?” JJ asked him. 

“I thought this was supposed to be fun. I’m not having fun.” He groaned. 

After dropping the girls at Maeve’s he’d called JJ and asked if he could come over, not wanting to be alone. 

She’d informed him it was girls night, she, Emily, Penelope and Tara were going out to a club on one of their rare Friday nights off. 

The next thing she’d known, Spencer had invited himself along. 

He was four scotch’s deep and it was already going to his head. All four women were incredibly worried about him. 

“What if we dance? Dancing’s fun.” Penelope tried. 

“I hate dancing.” Spencer shook his head. “I’m getting another drink.” 

This time when he got up no one tried to stop him. The four women exchanged glances as he pushed his way through the crowds towards the bar. 

“I’m worried about him.” JJ shook her head sadly. 

“Me too.” Garcia agreed. 

“He just needs to blow off some steam. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Tara shrugged, sipping her wine. “Not much of a ladies night.” 

“Let’s go dance while he’s distracted.” Emily suggested and the others nodded in agreement. 

Spencer didn’t see them go, too busy trying to get the bartender's attention. His head was spinning and he felt like he could taste the music, it was so loud. 

But the more he drank, the less he thought about you and your date-not-a-date. The more scotch he consumed the less he pictured you rolling around in bed with some college friend you’d never mentioned before. 

The more alcohol he indulged in, the less his heart felt like it was breaking. 

He ordered his drink and took a large sip of it, relishing in the way the alcohol burned as it slid down his throat. 

When he turned away from the bar there was a set of large brown eyes staring right at him. 

The woman the eyes belonged to was tall and curvaceous, shoulder length blonde hair and a smile directed right at him. 

She moved closer to him, her hips swaying as she walked. When she reached him, she placed her hands on his shoulders, moving her face close to his ear so she could be heard when she spoke. 

“Hi,” she breathed against his ear. “I’m Lauren.” 

“Spencer,” he replied, his free hand finding purchase on her hip. 

“I saw you with that group of women, one of them your girlfriend?” 

“Nope, no. Just friends. No girlfriend.” He swallowed, his hand gripping the glass shaking a little. 

“That’s good to know.” She giggled, pulling away from his ear and looking down at his lips which were parted slightly. 

He knew this was a terrible idea, so far past terrible in fact. But he also couldn’t help himself. Lauren was beautiful, seductive and clearly interested in him. And maybe she was just what he needed to take his mind off of things. 

He raised his drink to his lips and downed it, placing the empty on the bar behind him. One hand still on her hip, his now free one cupped her cheek, brushing his fingertips against her skin. 

“You got a problem with me kissing you?” He smiled at her. 

“Not at all.” She smiled back before he was soon slamming their lips together. 

The last thing Spencer remembered before the alcohol took over was grabbing her by the hand and leading her towards the door, the two of them fleeing together into the night. 

***

By the fourth time Taco barked, Spencer forced his eyes open. The mangy dog was sitting on the floor next to his bed, glaring at his owner with his beady little eyes. 

“Go away,” Spencer grumbled, his head immediately starting to throb. “You aren’t going to starve. Just need a little more sleep.” 

He pulled the duvet over his head and ignored Taco when he barked twice more. He groaned into his pillow, his stomach turning and head pounding.

Taco barked again and Spencer half considered getting up just to kick the dog until he was silent. But the dog was the least of his concerns. 

“Can you shut that thing up?” A female voice came from behind him and Spencer sat up and whipped around so fast the whole room spun.

Her blonde hair was tangled on the pillow and the sheet was slung around her waist, her bare chest on display. 

“What the fuck?” He panted, lifting the sheet and looking down at his own naked body beneath it. “Oh fuck, did we? Shit!” 

He lept out of bed and the woman grumbled while he tried to locate his boxers. 

“Why are you being so loud?” She whined. 

He found his underwear and pulled them on before turning back to her. 

“You need to leave, now.” He told her, her eyes fluttering open. 

“Well that’s rude.” She pulled the sheet over her body. 

“This shouldn’t have happened. We shouldn’t have…fuck!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Did we use protection?”

Lauren sat up against the pillows, eyes blurry and hair messy. 

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I was as drunk as you were.”

“Are you on the pill?” He glared at her. 

“Yes.” She huffed, 

“But you don’t know if we used a condom? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m such a fucking idiot.” He started pacing, hunting the room for a used condom or a ripped packet. 

“What is your problem?” She groaned, rubbing her eyes and causing her mascara to flake. 

“My problem? My problem!” He raised his voice even though it hurt his head to do so. “My problem is I have two kids that were born from a combination of too much alcohol and forgotten condoms. Fuck, how could I be so stupid?” 

“You have kids?” She frowned. 

“Yes! Why do you think I live in this giant suburban hell hole?” He continued to search the room. 

Lauren glanced around the room, she hadn’t noticed last night how feminine his bedroom was.

“Jesus Christ, you didn’t tell me you were married!” She spat, swinging her legs out of the bed. 

“I’m not married. I said I have kids.” He found the trash can in the corner and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the used condom sitting on top. “Oh thank fuck.” 

“You’re telling me a woman doesn’t live here?” She scoffed, locating her clothes and starting to dress. 

“A woman used to live here, I haven’t decorated. I’m moving out…it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. You need to leave.” 

“Don’t worry I’m going.” Lauren dressed as quickly as she could. “I did not sign up for this.” 

She was soon throwing her heels back on and found her purse tossed on the dressing table which she grabbed before leaving the room. Spencer followed her, still wearing only his underwear and motioned her downstairs towards the front door. 

“I, uh, I don’t mean to be an asshole,” he swallowed as he unlocked the door. “I really wasn’t in the right frame of mind last night. I’m sorry.” 

“Whatever,” Lauren clucked as the door opened. “It is what it is.” 

She weaved past him and out of the door, heading down the front steps as the gate opened and someone started up the path. Spencer closed his eyes and leant back against the door jamb. 

He didn’t watch as you encountered the scantily dressed blonde halfway down the path. He refused to look as you gave her a once over and as Lauren rolled her eyes. 

“I thought you said a woman didn’t live here?” Lauren called back to him. 

Spencer’s eyes shot open and he looked guiltily between you and her. 

“It’s not…I know this looks bad but it’s not…” He groaned, wanting the world to swallow him whole. 

“Wear a ring, asshole!” Lauren spat and before he could explain, she was strutting away on her too high heels.

You glared at him from the path, not wanting to come any closer as the rage bubbling through your veins might cause you to physically hurt him. 

“Hi,” he shrugged meekly. “I really wish you’d shown up like, two minutes later.” 

“You really are something else, aren’t you?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You called me sixteen times last night, left me five voicemails telling me how much you missed me and now I show up here and see some bimbo leaving your house? Jesus Christ, Spencer, seriously?” 

“I…sixteen times?” He frowned, he didn’t remember calling you once let alone sixteen times. 

“Yes,” You nodded, taking a few tentative steps closer. “I even left dinner earlier, I walked out on a nice evening with an uncomplicated, charming man. And I actually came here today because I thought, maybe, maybe we could work on things. And then I see her leaving and it certainly doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened between the two of you.”

He followed your gaze when you gestured up and down his nearly naked frame. He grimaced, wrapping his arms around his torso as his cheeks flushed. 

“I was…drunk. Really drunk and I made a really bad judgement call. But in my defence, I was upset, ok? I was sad and so I drank and I couldn’t stop thinking about you and your college friend and I figured a one night stand might take my mind off of things.” He shrugged with a deep sigh. “It didn’t mean anything, I swear.” 

“I don’t care, Spencer.” You shook your head. “I’m glad I saw her actually, because now I know it was a huge mistake coming here. We were never going to be able to work things out. Your one night stand saved me from more heartbreak.” 

“Just come inside, let's talk.” 

“No.” You shook your head, taking a few steps backwards. 

“Y/N, please?” He begged, stepping out of his house. 

“No, no. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I have to go.” You continued walking backwards while Spencer carried on towards you. 

You bumped into the gate and quickly turned to open it.

“Y/N, wait, please!” He hurried towards you, but you were already back on the street, running towards your car. “Y/N! Wait….please? Fuck!” 

He yelled, running his fingers through his hair. He glanced across the street where his neighbour who had been tending to her yard was staring at him. Of course she was, he was the crazy man screaming after a woman wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Morning Mrs Lopez.” He offered a tight lipped smile and meek wave before turning away from her and retreating back inside. 

Once the door was closed he fell back against it, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Just when things seemed to be as bad as they could get, he kept making them worse. He couldn’t seem to do anything right lately. 

Drinking as much as he was certainly wasn’t helping matters. He thought he’d had it under control but maybe he was wrong. 

He was falling apart at the seams. He needed to do something, needed to make a change before his anger and his sadness ripped his whole life apart. If he continued on this self-destructive path he could lose everything, his girls included. 

And they deserved more from him. 

It was time he took a good, long look in the mirror and made a change. It was time for Spencer Reid to start thinking about himself and make some drastic changes before his life wound up upside down. 

No more drinking. He had to put a stop to that before it had a chance to escalate, he knew all too well the perils of addiction. 

He dragged himself back upstairs and found his cell phone, pulling up his contacts and locating her number. He sat on the edge of the bed while it rang a few times, soon her breezy voice was carrying down the line.

“Reid, hi. Where did you go last night, we were worried about you?” 

“I’m fine, everything’s fine.” He tried to placate her but then he sighed. “Actually that’s not true. Nothing is fine.”

“What’s wrong?” She quickly panicked down the line.

“I need your help.” He sniffed, his eyes welling with tears. “I hate to have to ask you this with your history with your ex, but I don’t know who else to ask. I can’t keep on like this, I really need to get sober. Would you…would you go to a meeting with me?” 

There was a pause of silence while his words sunk in and he worried briefly she would shoot him down. But soon enough she was speaking.

“Of course I will, Reid. Of course I will.” Tara Lewis replied, that calming tone of hers wrapping him in a comforting blanket.

“Thank you Tara. Thank you so much.” He sniffed again, a few tears escaping. 

“I’ll have a look online and find something nearby ok? I’ll text you the details.” 

“Ok,” He nodded, closing his eyes. “Tara?”

“Yes Reid?”

“Please don’t tell anyone. They’ll only worry.” 

Tara didn’t think it would help him to hear how worried they all were about him already. Instead she agreed and soon they were both hanging up the phone. 

***

It had been over fifteen years since Spencer set foot in some kind of meeting. Back then, when he’d been going through his dilaudid addiction, he’d attended a few meetings at Beltway Clean Cops. This was his first time going to such a place with civilians.

But he’d been a civilian himself now for a long time, so he guessed it made sense.

He spent most of it sitting in the back with Tara, clutching her hand while others spoke. Towards the end she encouraged him to go up and speak.

Despite his awkwardness, public speaking had never phased him much. Not usually anyway. But standing up at that podium and having to talk in front of a room full of addicts was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of his life. 

He made eye contact with Tara who gave him a soft smile and a nod of motivation. 

“Uh, hi, I’m Spencer.” He began, not taking his eyes off of Tara.

“Hi Spencer.” The room spoke in unison.

“I, uh…I suppose I’m here because I have a problem. I don’t want to use the word addiction because I don’t think I’m at that stage yet but it’s certainly heading that way.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Years ago I had a problem with dilaudid, I haven’t used in over fifteen years. I don’t know that I can say I was sober though, because I still drank from time to time. 

Over the last year that drinking has gotten heavier. For a long time I didn’t think of alcohol the same as I did dilaudid, it seemed so harmless in comparison. But I think I’ve started replacing one vice with another and if I don’t stop drinking entirely it is going to get to a point where I can’t stop. 

I have two kids, two little girls and I am their primary caregiver. Lily is seven and Daisy is fourteen and old enough to know that I am struggling. Their mom and I were married for thirteen years before she dropped a bombshell that she’d been having an affair for three years. I guess I’ve not been the same since. On the weekends I don’t have my girls, I tend to drink to numb the pain. 

I know I need to make a change, even if only for my daughter’s. So I came here in the hopes of quitting drinking before it’s too late for me.” 

He took a deep breath once he was finished. He hadn’t planned to say all of that but he found when he started talking he couldn’t stop. 

Tara was smiling at him with pride and she started to clap which caused the rest of the room to join in. 

Spencer felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment and he averted his gaze down to the podium. He hurried away while the applause continued and kept his eyes on the floor as he made his way back to his seat.

As soon as he sat down, Tara took hold of his hand and he glanced at her. She was smiling brightly at him and if he wasn’t mistaken, he swore she had tears in her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mouthed at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

He smiled in thanks and turned back to face the front as another speaker took to the podium. 

Truth be told, he was proud of himself too. 

***

Tara took him for lunch after the meeting and he regaled her with all the sorry details of what happened after he left the bar last night, including you showing up at his house. She listened patiently, giving input where necessary and never once judging him. 

After they ate, they went for a walk in the park for a while until it got a little too hot and they found a bench in the shade of a large tree. 

“A while ago you mentioned to me about seeing a therapist.” He spoke without looking at her. “I think it’s probably a good idea.”

“I have some friends in the field, I can give you some numbers.” She watched the side of his face.

“Yes please, that would be helpful.” He played with his hands in his lap, slowly turning his head to look at Tara. “You know, Daisy asked me if I was depressed and I honestly think that’s the first time I’d ever really thought about it before. That’s what this is right? Depression.” 

“Most likely.” She nodded slowly. “But I think with the right combination of therapy and medication you’ll be just fine, Spencer.” 

“You think it gets better?” He asked, rolling his lip between his teeth somewhat violently. 

“I know it will get better.” She took hold of his hand once more and held it tightly. “You’ve had a rough time, life has not been kind to you. But you deserve to be happy again and you will be.” 

“Thank you.” He sniffed.

“For what?” 

“For today, for everything really. If it weren’t for you and the team and my girls, I would have crumbled a long time ago.” 

“If you ever do crumble,” Tara squeezed his hand. “You can be assured we will all be there to help you pick up the pieces. That’s what family is for.” 

A tear escaped his eye and he was quick to bat it away. Tara continued to hold his hand while they sat in silence, watching the world pass them by from the park bench. 

When they parted ways, she gave him some numbers of therapists and he promised to call her if he felt the need to drink again. He had to admit he felt a little lighter by the time he returned home that evening. 

But then he walked in his door.

In the state he’d been in that morning he had forgotten that leaving his shit for brain’s dog alone all day would be a terrible idea. He’d also forgotten to feed the mangy thing. And boy had Taco protested. 

His couch was almost entirely ripped to shreds, the leather fabric clawed and scratched apart. The one remaining couch cushion Taco hadn’t already destroyed was now ruined, in a pile of fluff on the floor. 

He’d knocked over the coat rack and torn apart Spencer’s favourite navy blue pea coat. The coat rack had clearly knocked into the wall and left a dent behind, one more mark he would have to fix before he moved. 

On top of that there was a yellow urine stain in the middle of the living room and as Spencer moved further into the house he found Taco had also defecated at the bottom of the stairs. 

He ignored the mess and the dog, because if he didn’t he might actually strangle the mutt, and headed through to the kitchen. He opened the back door and Taco sprinted into the yard. 

He put food down for the moronic creature, wanting nothing more than to open the back gate and let the dog run free, he could tell the girls he accidentally got out. He cleaned up the pile of faeces in the hall and scrubbed the carpet of urine. 

He left the back door open while he trudged upstairs and was met with yet more destruction caused by the dog. 

Thankfully Daisy and Lily’s bedroom doors had been left shut but he’d failed to do the same with his own. One of his pillows had met the same fate as the couch cushion. He’d managed somehow to get the book off of Spencer’s nightstand and torn that to shreds, ripped pages littering his bed. 

He’d turned the trash can upside down and the used condom was laying in the middle of the room.

“Gross, so gross.” Spencer groaned, picking up the garbage, condom included and throwing it back in the trash. “I swear to god I am going to put you down myself, Taco.” 

In his ensuite, Taco had pulled his towel off of the back of the door and urinated on it. 

He snatched it up and marched downstairs where he tossed the soiled towel into the washing machine. Taco was back inside, happily eating his kibble without a care in the world. 

“Something needs to change.” He spat at the dog even though he couldn’t understand him. “I am not putting up with this.” 

Taco, not surprisingly, didn’t reply, instead carried on eating. 

Spencer closed the back door and slumped through to his living room, falling down on his trashed couch. 

He pulled out his cell phone and typed a quick text message. 

📲 To: Luke Alvez - Hey man, I don’t suppose you know any good dog trainers? This fucking creature is going to be the death of me. 

He hit send, before pulling out the list of names Tara had given him earlier. She’d put a little star next to one name in particular who she thought would be a good fit for Spencer. 

Before he could change his mind, he dialled the number. 

“Hello, you’ve reached the office of Doctor Maria Sanchez, Hannah speaking, how may I help?” A chipper female voice came down the line. 

“Uh, hi. A friend of mine gave me Doctor Sanchez’s number. I’d like to make an appointment I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. 

“Ok, sure. You’d need to fill out a questionnaire but if you give me an email address I can get that sent over to you. You can just email it right back and Doctor Sanchez will review it and be in touch.” 

Spencer exhaled before reeling off his email address. A few minutes later he was hanging up. A reply from Luke awaited him. 

📱 Do I know any good dog trainers? You offend me, Reid. Who do you think trained Roxy? I’d be happy to help corral your pup. Just been called in on a case but I’ll hit you up when I’m back.

He put his phone down and exhaled deeply. He was starting to make strides. He was moving house, he’d gone to his first meeting, he was looking into a therapist and sorting out his nightmare dog. 

The next thing on the agenda was to buy a new couch. 

***

The following morning he opened his computer in his office and faced a four page pre-therapy questionnaire.

It started out simple enough, his name, date of birth occupation, current employer and his home address. Relatively straight forward stuff. The first set of questions were about his parents, what his childhood was like and a section to detail any siblings.

It wasn’t easy to fill out given his family history, but he managed it. It was the next section in which he started having issues. 

If married, please give the name and age of your spouse and the date of your marriage. If you have been married before, please write the names of your former spouses(s) and the date(s) of that (those) marriage(s).

Briefly describe your marital relationship(s). 

God-fucking-damnit.

He tried not to let himself think about what he was writing, just let his fingers glide across the keyboard without giving it too much thought. It was easy enough to type out her name and age and the date of their marriage. It was the second question he had difficulty with. 

He swallowed thickly as he started to type in the allocated box.

I became separated from my wife over a year ago when she informed me she had been having a three year long affair. We later got divorced. Before her affair we had a good marriage, for the most part. I wasn’t always home a lot due to my job but we were happy I think. I guess that’s not true though because if that were true then she wouldn’t have cheated on me. We have not remained on good terms. 

He started typing about his girls but then his eyes glanced at the next question and realised that was better saved, so he deleted that part and moved onto the next box. 

Please give the names and ages of all children and stepchildren, whether or not they are living at home.

Daisy Reid, fourteen / Lily Reid, seven. They live at home with me and stay with their mother every other weekend. 

He stopped typing to take a sip of coffee while he glanced at the next question. 

Do you or anyone in your family have a history of depression or other mental illness? Were any ever hospitalised for this? 

He closed his eyes and let out a staggered breath. He’d thought the actual therapy would be the hard part, this was supposed to be a walk in the park in comparison. He had another sip of coffee and began to type again.

My mother suffers from schizophrenia and I made the decision to institutionalise her when I was eighteen. 

Short and simple. He didn’t want to dive too much into this. But then the next question almost forced him to shut the computer down entirely and retreat back to bed. 

Have you or any member of your family ever had a problem of misusing alcohol or drugs? Who and for how long? Is there a current problem? 

He let out another breath, shaking his head at the computer as if it was somehow the device's fault. 

I had a problem with dilaudid between 2006 and 2007. I have been clean since but have recently realised I use alcohol as a coping mechanism. I am going to meetings and trying to get sober. 

The following few questions were about his educational history and his physical health which were much easier to answer. The next section was about his concerns about therapy and what he hoped to achieve from it. All fairly straightforward. 

The last section was a list of fifteen statements in which he was supposed to mark on a scale of 0 to 3 how often those problems had affected him in the last week, zero being none at all and three being severe. He took a breath and just tried to hurry through them. 

Feeling lonely 3

Low motivation to get things done 2

Trouble concentrating 3

Fatigue 3

Worry 3

Trouble falling asleep 3

Awaking during the night with problems returning to sleep 3

Tension in shoulders, neck or chest 3

Irritability 3

Thoughts of ending your own life 0

Feeling guilty 3

Feeling hopeless 3

Feeling worthless 3

Sexual concerns 0

Body discomfort 0

At the very least he hadn’t answered three to all of them, he thought, grimacing at his answers. Before he could talk himself out of it he replied to the email and attached the form, hitting send and not letting himself dwell on the answers he’d given. 

He sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee, knowing he needed to go out and buy a replacement couch before he picked the kids up tomorrow. He didn’t enjoy the idea of them seeing the destruction their stupid dog had caused. 

It took him almost an hour of sitting at his desk, staring at the wall until he finally got his legs to cooperate and he stood up. Before he left the house he shut Taco in the kitchen, hoping to contain the mutt's cataclysmic behaviour.

And then he drove out to the district to a furniture store and reluctantly picked out a new couch, paying extra for the privilege of having it delivered the same day and for having them haul his old one off, before driving back home and waiting for them to show. 

His therapy application played on his mind all day, that and the fact he really wanted a drink. He didn’t call Tara, not wanting to bother her while they were on a case and just hoping he could stave off his cravings until it was time to pick up Daisy and Lily. 

@andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @muffin-cup @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @foxy-eva @kbakery @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @loonalockley @shamelessfangirl-3 @redbulldinner @derekm24 @pinkiceee-prose @werewolfbansheelove @mindbelova @angelicasworld

[sprinkler-ashes]

gorgeous // aaron hotchner x reader

gorgeous

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

in which you’re jack hotchner’s teacher, and you are utterly enamored of his dad. loosely based off of taylor swift’s song “gorgeous.”

words: 2.4k

warnings: everyone thirsting over hotch lmao

a/n: thank you all soooo very much for 600+ notes on my last fic!!! here’s another small taylor-inspired fic. It’s short, sweet, and i left it open for a part 2 in case i want to write it – we’ll see. i really wanted to get more out for you guys, but spring semester started, i fell back into constant work, and now am getting over the flu, which totally sucks, but is giving me a slight break to write. thanks for reading <3

you make me so happy, it turns back to sad

there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have

you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad

On most days, you loved your job. You were a first grade teacher and truly loved all the kids you had as if they were your own.

However, on some days – you really despised your job.

Dealing with the parents was sometimes your least favorite part of your job. It was usually mind-boggling to you at how some of these people had the sweetest and smartest kids, but they, the parents themselves, could be absolutely awful. It wasn’t all of the parents. In fact, there were some you really liked, but there were definitely a couple bad ones.

As much as you didn’t like dealing with some of those bad parents during conferences, you weren’t a fan of days like today – a Saturday bake sale at nine in the morning to raise money for an end-of-the-year field trip coming up at the end of the school year in just a couple months. The PTA was over the bake sale, which meant you had to deal with some of the most insufferable women you had ever met on what was supposed to be a day off.

“I told you, Stef, she’s just with him so she can get that life insurance check when he finally kicks the bucket – you watch and see if I’m not right,” the woman next to you, Kelly, said. “Poor Charlie, I hope he gets away from her before she snatches every penny he’s got.”

You wanted to scream. You weren’t sure how you were going to deal with this for another – you checked your watch – two hours and thirty-eight minutes even though the bake sale was only supposed to be three hours long. How had it only been twenty-two minutes?

 Kelly was the resident gossip while Stefanie, Stef, was her best friend and head of the PTA. Kelly’s son wasn’t in your class, but Stef’s twins were both in your class. Even though you didn’t even teach Kelly’s kid, you saw her often because she was always at every single school event.

“Stef, are you listening to me?” You heard Kelly ask.

“Did you know Mr. Hotchner is here?” Stef asked excitedly.

Your head perked up at hearing that. You pretended to fiddle with the homemade brownies wrapped up in front of you while you listened.

“That man is so beautiful. I just want him for myself,” Kelly replied. “I’m glad he made it today, so we have something nice to look at.”

You couldn’t disagree with Kelly there. Aaron Hotchner was the dad of one of the kids in your class, Jack, and a member of the PTA. He was the Unit Chief of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit and was often gone on cases. Jack’s mom had died a while ago, close to two years prior, and Jessica, Jack’s aunt, was usually the one who would drop him off and pick him up.

In fact, you had only met Jack’s dad a couple times – three, to be exact. The first time you met Jack and Aaron was at the school’s open house event right before school had started. The second time was the first parent-teacher conference of the year. The last time you had seen him was purely by luck in the grocery store one evening.

Kelly wasn’t wrong – Aaron Hotchner was insanely attractive and every woman in the PTA knew it. It honestly seemed like everyone knew it except for Aaron himself. You watched as he helped Jack give change back to a man who was buying a cookie at the booth he was at. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him give his son a high-five after the man had left.

Truthfully, you hated him. Not because he had ever done anything to you – actually, it was because he hadn’t done anything to you.

“Do you think he’ll ever remarry?” Kelly asked Stef. “If so, I hope it’s one of us.”

“You, me, and every woman here,” Stef said with a laugh. “Oh my goodness, Kelly, he’s coming over here. Fix your hair! It looks like a bird’s nest.”

You felt your pulse start to race as you glanced up to find that Stef was, indeed, right. Aaron was coming over, his eyes trained on you with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed casually in jeans and a crewneck sweatshirt. It was different from the usual suits you saw him in. Seeing him without a tie felt almost criminal.

“Good morning,” he told you, not paying attention to the other women near you, his eyes trained solely on you. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Jack wants to know if you’ll come join his booth for a moment. It won’t be long.”

You silently it wasn’t obvious that his gaze on you was affecting you the way that it was. His job was literally to profile people – you just hoped he wasn’t profiling you right now. “Yeah, I’d love to. Do you mind taking over this booth while I go over for a bit?”

“Go right ahead, honey,” Kelly told you. She lowered her voice, “I’d go anywhere with him, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just going to see Jack’s poster.”

Kelly grinned. “Whatever you say.”

You shook your head, avoiding eye contact with Aaron and watching as both the women gave him a smile and little wave while you maneuvered from out behind the table you were standing at. “Lead the way.”

He gave you a small smile as he removed his hands from his pockets and led you over to the table him and Jack were assigned to. “I know you’re miserable, so I thought I’d help you escape.”

You were about to ask how he knew you’d rather have been doing anything else other than Stef and Kelly gossip, but you closed your mouth as soon as you opened it. “Really? You were profiling me? Here?”

That earned you a laugh out of him, which you now claimed as your favorite sound you’ve ever heard. “I don’t think it would’ve taken a profiler to see that you weren’t enjoying yourself.”

“Did you guys not get assigned with anyone else? It was supposed to be three to five people per table,” you mentioned as you two had finally reached the cookie booth that Aaron and Jack were over.

“We did, but they didn’t show,” Aaron replied to you, his hand lightly touching your lower back as he guided you behind the table where Jack was awaiting, causing you to elicit a sharp intake at the contact. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said in your best attempt at a nonchalant tone. If he doubted you, he didn’t press further. “Do you want me to ask around and see if I can get someone to come work the cookie booth with you guys?”

Aaron shook his head. “We’re holding up fine. Right, Jack?”

“Miss Y/L/N!” Jack shouted coming towards you as he held out his poster board that was just about as big as he was and filled with hand-drawn pictures of cookies. “Look at my sign! Daddy let me stay up late to make it.”

You crouched down to his level. “It looks awesome, Jack!” you told him excitedly, gaining a smile of your own as you watched his spread wide. “You did a great job!”

“Thanks! Can you put it back in front of the table, please?” He asked you politely. You nodded and took the poster back from him and placed it back in its rightful spot in front. “Daddy, can I go talk to my friends? I’ll be really quick, I pinky-promise.”

“Yes, but don’t be too long. We have cookies to sell,” Aaron told him.

You both watched as Jack’s little legs carried him just right in front of the table you were at. He was only a couple feet away, but you noticed Aaron’s eyes watching him, making sure he got there safely and that the adults working that table saw him.

“He thinks the world of you. I think you’re his favorite person,” Aaron told you.

That made you grin. You weren’t supposed to have favorites as a teacher, especially with kids as young as the ones you taught, but Jack was definitely one of your favorites. He was a sweet kid and was even reading on a fourth grade level. He caused no trouble and was a friend to everyone.

“He’s a great kid. I think the world of him also,” you said, your eyes locking with Aaron’s. Your breath hitched. How was someone this gorgeous? “But I actually think you’re his favorite person. He tells everyone about you and what you do. You’re his hero.”

Aaron grinned, and it was a sight you hadn’t seen before. You’d gotten smiles from him before, but never anything this big. You refrained from quite literally melting onto the floor. To be honest, you weren’t sure how you were going to last another minute standing here with him. He was so attractive you could barely even look at him.

If you said you didn’t have a teeny, tiny crush on Jack’s dad, you would be lying, but he was off-limits. For one, you were his son’s teacher. You’d really convinced yourself that there was no way he would want someone like you. There was nothing wrong with you, but you two were supposed to have a strictly professional relationship.

“Have you tried one of the cookies?” Aaron asked you, motioning to the cookies that laid on the table in front of the two of you.

“I haven’t,” you replied. “Did you bake all of these?”

“I had some help,” he sheepishly admitted. “Penelope, one of my co-workers, she helped me. As soon as we got back from a case last night, she came over. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to bake this many cookies by myself.”

“You made all of these last night? And after a case?” you asked incredulously. The entire table was covered in cookies of various different flavors. You were seriously impressed.

“Yeah, but it was no big deal,” he brushed it off. “I didn’t want to miss the bake sale. Plus, like I said, I didn’t do all of it.”

Was there anything this man couldn’t do?

You laughed. “I’m sure you’re probably wishing that you did miss the bake sale.” You gestured around the school parking lot that was set up. “I can count on one hand the number of things we’ve sold. I told Stef that a chilly February bake sale wasn’t a good idea, but she doesn’t really listen.”

“No, I’m glad I’m here. I really wanted to be here,” he said, looking directly at you.

This man knew how to take your breath away without even touching you or really even saying anything. You really understand now why all the PTA moms spent so much time gossiping about him.

“We’re glad you could make it,” you said breathlessly, offering a smile. “Really, Mr. Hotchner, I know how busy you are, so all of us are thrilled that you could find the time to help out.”

“Call me Aaron.”

This man was genuinely going to drive you crazy. You were an adult, so why did talking to Aaron Hotchner almost make you drop to the ground?

Before you could say anything else, Jack was back. “Did we get any more customers?”

“Not yet, buddy.”

Jack frowned. “Ah, man. But the cookies are so good!” He turned to you. “Miss Y/L/N, why is no one buying anything?”

“I’m not sure, Jack. Hopefully, we’ll get some more customers later.”

“I hope so,” he said sadly. “I really want to go on the field trip.”

You once again crouched down to his height – something you did often when talking to any of the kids. “We’re working really hard to make the field trip happen, so don’t give up hope, okay?”

Before Jack could reply, you noticed people coming towards your table, so you motioned for Jack to look. “Look! There’s some customers coming. You ready?”

Jack nodded excitedly as he turned around and eagerly started to await the arrival of the people nearing. You smiled at his excitement and took a step back, letting him take control, but you were going to keep watch to make sure he was doing everything correctly.

 “I can see why Jack likes you so much.”

You smiled. The greatest compliments you could receive was from parents telling you their kids – the kids you spent more time with than your own family — liked you. Some days were tough, and it would feel like you weren’t in the right profession, but that feeling would go away any time a parent was able to confirm that their child really enjoyed you teaching them.

“Thank you, Mr. Hotchner, but I should probably get back to helping out Stef and Kelly,” you told him as you looked around to see more people filing in. “It seems we’re starting to get a little busy.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry to keep you busy. Jack just wanted you to come over.”

Jack turned around. “Yeah, I did. Daddy wasn’t happy that we didn’t get to work a table with you. He called Miss Stef a-”

Aaron’s eyes went for a split second before he said, “Jack, turn back around and sell your cookies.”

Jack did as he was told and Aaron awkwardly ran a hand through his hair as you replayed what Jack said back in your head. Aaron wanted to talk to you. He wanted to work with you today. It could’ve meant anything, but you were currently feeling like a kid on Christmas morning.

Aaron cleared his throat. “I guess Jack wasn’t the only one that wanted to talk to you.”

You suppressed a grin, gaining the courage to look Aaron in the eyes. “And I guess Jack wasn’t the only one I came over here for.”

[twosides--samecoin]

Plz I’m begging, can you give me an enlightenment of what a modern Maccready would wear. I’m dying to style him modernly and have no clue what he’d wear 🙂‍↕️

Hey gamer, thanks for the ask!

RJ grew up in Little Lamplight. The real life version is Luray Caverns, nestled 75 miles away from DC and protected by Shenandoah State Park and George Washington National Forest. I grew up in a town with a teen pregnancy problem where people wore RealTree Camo to prom. I now live a couple hours from Luray, so I feel Modern RJ is someone who I could have gone to high school with.

He grew up country as fuck - there's not an ounce of city slicker in RJ. All the street smarts he has is because he was observant enough to earn them. When he says he's from DC, it's because he knows it's the closest city he grew up near that anyone in Boston's gonna recognize. His fashion can't be bought in Georgetown or the Prudential Center, unless the trend of the day is blue collar chic being sold to the rich.

Modern RJ was the kind of country kid who's teenage uniform was a green flannel and a Master of Puppets Metallica shirt. He was the kind of scrawny where he was 130 pounds soaking wet and 2% body fat and wore the same blue jeans from ages 14 through 17. His second fave shirt featured Iron Maiden's Live After Death.

He cherished them; like many country kids who feel a bit different from their peers, he clung to his band shirts. You wouldn't catch him dead in Carhartt and RealTree unless he literally died while hunting. Not that he wasn't proud of his friends, or ashamed of where he was from - he just dreamed of getting out. Band shirts represented something bigger, a Great Beyond; a world he wanted to travel, a life he was priced out of living as an orphan from Virginia.

Buying clothes is not something RJ enjoys - he's a single dad and feels a level of guilt attached with spending money on himself, knowing how much grocery money would be wasted on a leather jacket and pair of jeans (speaking of groceries, RJ has a family of three to feed - Duncan insisted they keep that damn German Shepherd who followed RJ home from his mechanic shift at the Red Rocket). He's still driving the same red rusted-to-fuck '96 Chevy Silverado that he kissed Lucy in for the first time, the same one that drove them out of Virginia. Maintains it himself since he can get the parts at cost.

Though he's frugal, Modern RJ is picky about his fashion. His closet isn't one that features abundance. His clothing is utilitarian; earth tones in a range of faded browns and greens, duck canvas, twill denims with no stretch. A heavy mechanic jumpsuit for work. The coolest colours he wears are grey thermal shirts and a blue shearling jacket when in colder weather. There's an olive green jacket he likes in the springtime. He prefers a tough, protective pair of leather boots for everyday footwear. For casual shoes; given the choice between Chuck Taylors and Vans, he'd wear whichever was on sale, but preferably the Chucks.

He has a few long sleeve button-downs out of an eye-rolling necessity for job interviews. He hates wearing ties and has never owned a suit. Before she died, Lucy gifted him a brown shearling leather jacket to wear on his motorcycle.

He's most comfortable wearing his old green flannel and band shirts. Otherwise, he can be found wearing a white t-shirt and blue Levi's every now and then - Lucy always liked Bruce Springsteen.

When you grow up can't-rub-two-pennies-together poor, it means you appreciate the material things in a different kind of way. RJ's clothing is all about emotional comfort and memories; he's afraid to let go.

I loved writing this! Thanks for sending me the ask, anon! The people demand my RJ brainrot and I aim to please <3 Thanks again & have a great day :)

BONUS: An outfit mod I am working on for RJ!

[greenishghostey]

Dungeon Master meet Prop Master | part 1

Pairing: Eddie x Drama Club!reader 

Summary: A D&D nerd and a drama geek finally cross paths in their little shared paradise realm - the drama storage room of Hawkins High School.

Warnings: None! Just a good, wholesome meet-cute. There is some suggestive language but nothing is graphic/explicit.

Word Count: 4,639 words (this took on a mind of its own super fast)

Author’s Note: I’ve seen a few fics floating around where the reader is part of the drama class but I hadn’t seen a fic where reader is more behind the scenes, thus spending a lot of time in the drama store room - aka The Hellfire Club room. Also, the official title of the person in charge of props is ‘The Prop Master’ so that worked too perfectly. I couldn’t not go down that route. I was a drama kid in high school so I am definitely projecting a bit but at least I’m being creative with it.

I would like to say a little thank you to @manicpixiedreamcurl , @punk-in-docs​ and @luveline​ whose works and amazing writing styles inspired me to get back into writing after a really really long spell of writer’s block.

/// Part 2

The best part of being in charge of the props and the set for the drama club was the fact that you got to keep the coveted storage closet key. Maybe it wasn’t the greatest honour to the others in your club, but that closet and the rehearsal room were your domain. It’s where all the stuff was, the mass of stuff you had accumulated since freshman year for the club. Miss Butler had told you just last week that the place was “starting to look like a dragon’s hoard,” she’d spoken with her usual encouraging smile, so it really lit a fire under your ass. 

The rickety shelves were weighed down by stacks of old books you’d found in second-hand stores, some of which were actually pretty good - The Hobbit and the first three Oz books being your current favourites. The floor was cluttered with random small pieces of home decor you grabbed from yard sales around Hawkins - the old ladies of your neighbourhood had basically thrown the lamps, ornaments and doilies at you. There were a few pieces of large furniture that had been in the closet long before you were let loose in it - the usual set dressing stuff, small wooden desks, chairs, dusty rugs.

Your favourite piece that had greeted you as prop master was that big, ornate wooden chair - more like a throne - that you barely got to touch because the Dungeons and Dragons club’s leader had basically called permanent dibs. Eddie Munson was known to be a lot of things around the school and had been for what felt like forever. Freak, creep, cultist, asswipe - all the classics. However, to you, he was a chair hog, but that was about it. You’d never really put stock into the satan-murder-super-cult schtick that everyone and their mother spewed. He was the head of a roleplaying game club with its own fun little shirts, so how harmful could he be? 

For how much time you spent building, fixing, or organising props in the theatre room, you would assume Eddie would have crossed your path much more. But you guys always seemed to miss each other, and he was hard to miss, even on a good day. Fridays were Hellfire Club nights, so you would always have to just head straight home after last period. The rest of the week was fair game, and he never dared to stay on school grounds longer than he had to. You’d seen him tearing out of the parking lot yesterday. He nearly rear-ended Carver’s car while blasting Mississippi Queen - part of you wished he had taken the back off of the jock’s car; Jason was a bitch. 

It was Thursday, and you were perched by old plywood and canvas backdrops, surrounded by various shades of brown and grey paints - glasses on because this job was gonna require 20:20 vision or as close as you could get. Miss Butler wanted to direct a show-stopping production of The Crucible this year, so you were getting started on some very sad-looking colonial church backgrounds. The painting had always been one of your favourite parts of your role. Sure, brown and grey weren’t the most exciting colours ever, but you had to give yourself some credit; you really knew how to create faux, mouldy wood grain. Working in total silence just wasn’t gonna work, though, so you dug your cassette player and headphones from your backpack and welcomed the silky rasp of Patti Smith to accompany your Arthur Miller-ifying activities.

With ‘So You Want To Be’ blaring in your ears, you didn’t notice when the door to the theatre room was thrown open, and Hawkins High’s resident super senior rushed in. 

Eddie quickly started busying himself with the usual Hellfire set dressings dotted around the room. He usually set up on Friday afternoon but had some “business transactions” to deal with before the weekend, so after-school Hellfire feng shui it was. Eddie had dumped his backpack against the plywood backdrops behind his throne and started rummaging through scraps of notes, general lint and some old food crumbs to find his good set of metal dice. They always sank right to the bottom of the bag just when he needed them. 

A loud thud bellowed through the theatre room, quickly followed by Eddie’s voice cracking into a yell. 

“Son of a-!”

You shot up from your spot and felt your eyes widen at the metalhead, who was currently hunched under a piece of Saint Basil’s Cathedral, “Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay? I am so so sorry!” you scrambled around the backdrops to heave up the fallen pieces. They weren’t heavy enough to do any damage, but you’d been nearly crushed by them plenty of times. Cardboard, canvas and plywood are a bitch.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. Just dinted my spine is all.” Eddie groaned, rubbing his back and stretching like some old man. “Knew you guys hated me using this room but wasn’t expecting a full-on assault.” He actually looked like he might have been injured from the rogue Cathedral piece. Maybe you were just used to things falling on you or stabbing yourself with craft knives. 

“Eddie, I’m really sorry. Do you want me to get some ice? The nurse might still be in her office, so I’ll run - I’ll be like 5 minutes, yeah?” You were scrambling for ways to make sure Eddie knew you were sorry. Rambling, really. God, you pride yourself on seeing past his mean and scary persona when others didn’t, but you’d gone and basically winded him with a church tower. Maybe if you took the hallways that the janitor had already mopped, you would be able to pick up speed and slide to the nurse’s office. 

Eddie took notice of your frantic state, eyes shifting around the room and towards the door, shoulders bunched up - you looked like the really nervous stray cat, Frankie, that wandered around the trailer park. “Hey, hey. I was just messing with you, specs,” he chuckled lightly. It was a new experience for him to see someone, let alone a girl, get worked up on his behalf in any capacity. Usually, he’d get an insult at worst or a grimace at best. He stood up straight and did a small half-spin so you could see for yourself that he was, in fact, fine. “See, I’m a-okay. Little offended at getting smacked by a church, but hey, it was gonna happen eventually.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” You huffed, a smile sliding across your lips, “fuck you, Munson, I thought I’d actually hurt you!” you swatted him with the paintbrush you’d put in your back pocket, a few specks of grey paint hitting his jeans. You turned to make sure everything was secured to avoid another workplace accident. Then, you heard him laugh, it was something between a snigger and a giggle, and it was actually kind of sort of cute. What fresh hell was this?

“Fuck you,” he said, in a high-pitch, mimicking voice - Eddie had jokes now. Brave of him. “Fair enough. I’m sorry I made you worry about little ol’ me.”

“Wasn’t worried. More frantic concern,” you tried to shrug off his playful comment. It did bring a little heat to your face, but he didn’t need to know that. “What are you doing in here today anyway? It’s Thursday; you’re a day early.”

“Ah yeah, well, I’ve got some important business to attend to tomorrow so…” his voice trailed off as he leaned against the edge of the long table. He could have just said drugs, you were quiet around school, sure, but you weren’t a total square. Possibly more of a square with rounded edges. 

“By business, you mean weed?” You asked. 

“Yeah, weed.” Huh, he sounded a little bit discouraged in his reply but quickly covered it with a chuckle and a smirk. Typical Munson. “You wanna buy or?”

“God, no. I mean, I'm not judging it, but it’s not really my thing. One of my friends said she’s gonna buy from you for Willis’ party on Saturday, though.” Penny had been raving about scoring some weed for that party since Monday. She’d only smoked a handful of times in her life, but the guy she had her eye on was like a chimney attached to a house on fire. His name was Chris or Keith or something that started with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’. All you knew is that he was a glorified benchwarmer for the basketball team and had ‘sexy’ hair - Penny’s words, not yours.

“Is that the redhead chick who makes you run lines at lunch when there’s a play? She’s bought from me before but didn’t know what papers or filters were.” He couldn’t hold back a snigger when remembering how he had to explain the fundamentals of a joint to the poor girl. 

Eddie’s laugh was nice, you decided. You couldn’t find a word to describe it other than nice at that moment. Penny could take being thrown under the bus for a minute as long as you got to hear him laugh again. She’d made you read as Romeo one too many times, so, if anything, this was like karma. 

Wait. 

How did he know what you got up to at lunch? Penny was sometimes a little too loud when she got really into a monologue but you usually distracted yourself with your sandwich and soup when that happened. But Eddie had noticed. He had noticed the heavy-handed performance of your friend, but more importantly, he had noticed you. God, what if he had heard your crappy take on the witches from Macbeth? You’d done voices. 

“That’s her, yeah. Her name’s Penny. If you call her “chick” she’ll go nuclear. Just warning ya.” You needed to keep this conversation on track. You liked talking to Eddie. It felt easy. Like you’d always thought it would. “She’ll buy from you, but it’s for this dude she likes.” 

“Awww. That is so gross.” He replied in an airy, cooing tone. You’d moved to join him at the table, getting yourself comfortably seated. You really didn’t want to go back to painting. Eddie was actually kind of funny, and not in his usual loud, antagonistic way - you did still enjoy that, obviously, but seeing a new side to a pretty guy wasn’t something you were gonna complain about. 

“You going to Willis’ this weekend? Since pennies and some other drama nuts are, I’d assume you are to make an appearance?”

“Drama nuts, huh?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look genuinely miffed at the comment. He was right, though. Everyone knew theatre kids were fucking nuts. 

“It’s not a bad thing. Everyone’s a nut about something - sports, drama, music, sometimes math for whatever unholy reason.” He was now sitting on the table with you, leaning back on his forearms like he was getting comfy to stay there for some time. God. 

“And what are you a nut about exactly?” 

“Getting an answer about your party attendance, if I’m honest.” Oh. 

True be told, Eddie didn’t flirt all that much. When he did, it was usually to get a rise out of people or make them uncomfortable. But he’d had at least one eye on you for a while now. You were cute, which was the first thing he noticed - all big wireframe glasses and funky sweaters with weird patterns on them. 

The more he glanced your way, though, the more he liked. You were definitely the most level-headed of the drama nuts, reining in their impromptu lunch rehearsals. You were always jotting down notes in your little red, paisley-patterned notebook with “WORK STUFF” written on the front. You also snorted when you laughed at one of his comments in history like a month ago, so that had done a number on him for at least a week.

You were a little weird, honestly. But, he liked weird. Weird looked good smacking him in the spinal cord with theatre backdrops. Maybe you could smack him in other, more friendly, situations. That’d be cool. 

“Oh? You’ve got some lines, huh? I thought the charm was only for the jocks and Miss O’Donnell?” 

“My charm has many layers, thank you very much,” he smirked, the expression taking up his entire face. This guy’s Dante’s Inferno of charm was gonna have you ready to lose layers if it kept up. Wait, what cesspit of your brain did that thought crawl out from?

“Okay, okay, noted. Back to the weed party. Not really my kinda scene, too busy, too loud.” You smiled, a little sad at your confession. Big parties had never really been your thing, even when it came to birthday parties in elementary school. A cast and crew wrap party was always fun but you knew everyone at those, so it took less effort. Penny had been nagging your ear off for the past two weeks to “let your hair down,” but you knew you’d wind up being a buzz kill, regardless of what hairstyle you went for.

“The weed party? I’m gonna steal that one, specs. Could use it for my summer sales and marketing scheme. Business ventures aside, what is your scene if it isn’t weed parties?” He giggled a bit when he spoke. You weren’t going to be able to forget ‘weed parties’, but, hey, it could be an inside joke between the two of you, like friends. 

“Well, this, more or less. It’s all like my own big extracurricular craft project, I guess.” You said, gesturing around the theatre room, glancing towards the storage closet door, the backdrops, the variety of sword props you’d made for Othello last year, and stacks of old paper that you had meticulously aged. It wasn’t much of a “scene”, but theatre was your life. Creating all of those little details that could elevate a play and bring it off the page alongside the actors was a great feeling. Most people didn’t understand why you liked painting backdrops or making stuff out of plywood or foam. Penny tried to. Bless her heart, but maybe Eddie would get it. Maybe he could peek behind the curtain and understand.

“Wait. So like, you make all of this stuff? Dude, seriously?!” Eddie lept up from the table quickly and dashed towards the “weapons bin” - it was the name you’d lovingly given to the big crate that was full of fake swords and daggers from previous productions. Miss Butler loved a good Shakespearean tragedy to get her thespians ready for their future Tony award nominations. Eddie rummaged through the crate and pulled out one of the more “adventurous” pieces you’d made. The blade itself was pretty basic, made from some foam with a wooden base to keep the shape and covered in metallic paint you borrowed from your dad. The handle and guard were what you were really proud of. And, apparently, so was Eddie. 

It was an aged gold colour, made to look like the metal had been held numerous times but was still well-crafted. You’d taken way too much time to shape the handle to look like finger grips had been hammered into the gold. There were detailed patterns etched into the guard that you’d done with a craft knife at your kitchen table. It had been a bitch to work on since you’d stabbed your fingers a lot, but it looked fucking sick. Eddie held it like it was real, like it was a gift bestowed upon him by the gods themselves. 

“You’re telling me you made this?” He spoke earnestly. It was the first time you had ever heard him sound that way. His big, dark eyes felt like they were scanning your whole body, not just your face. 

“I don’t handmake everything, but the swords and other stuff that’s production-specific, yeah, I have to make it.” 

“This sword. This sword, here. It’s the fucking crown jewel of our Hellfire campaign right now,” he stated. He’d started running his hand along the fake blade while maintaining eye contact with you and wearing an awestruck look. This must have been another layer of that charm he mentioned because warmth was crawling up your neck. There was an innuendo about stroking a sword rolling around in her head, but you weren’t ready to embarrass yourself that quickly - things were going too well.

“The Sun Strike. The most sought after and powerful magical sword. The guys are gonna use it to destroy this cursed rogue knight dude. Or, at least, that’s my plan. The new freshmen might fuck it up; who knows.” He swung the sword around as he told you all about the tale of the weapon, spinning it around in his hand. Eddie was so weirdly unpredictable - the scary satan worshipper could go sword tricks and was grinning like a big goof.

You didn’t speak for a few moments. You just stared at him and the sword from your perch on the table. This guy really was insane but in the best way possible. He looked like an excited little kid with your prop in hand. 

Your parents had always supported your passion for building and crafting pretty much anything your little mind could think of - you’d once made a magic staff out of a gross tree branch you’d found on a hike. However, they never really got the enjoyment and sense of pride that crafts gave you. Breathing new life into something that might otherwise be viewed as mundane or as nothing. Transporting even the smallest object back in time to any period with some paint, some brushes and a whole bunch of all-nighters. 

It was more than just fun. It was more than just a hobby. And Eddie Munson, of all people, seemed to understand that loud and clear. He’d even named one of your creations. How adorable was that?

“Hey, specs? Specs? Sorry, I should have asked to use your stuff. I didn’t know any of this was actually made by some-”

“No, no. Do not say sorry. Nuh uh,” you yelled, moving towards Eddie and grasping his upper arms. “The Sun Strike. That name is way cooler than anything I could come up with, so no sorry’s. And - and it's magic? Like good magic or bad magic?” Your quiet shock was long gone, and you started shaking Eddie by the shoulders. The bright grin on your face was infectious as Eddie stared at you, his expression slowly matching yours once the reality of your questions had set in. You were excited and asked him about D&D and liked the sword's name. Eddie had never been concerned about how smoking would affect his breathing, but you had him near gasping for air. 

“Good magic, don’t worry. The best kind, actually. Like the light of the world, that type of stuff. Crafted by the fair hands of a Sun goddess herself.” Eddie explained with a lopsided smirk. Fuck, he was so proud of that piece of lore now; he could use it as a line on a cute girl. That had never happened before. 

“Was that pre-established, or did you just make that up for me?” You laughed, not giving a single shit about what the answer was because you were a fucking Sun goddess. Now that you had calmed down, you made sure to let go of Eddie before you gave him minor whiplash. You were also becoming increasingly aware that being so close to him was feeling a little too nice.

“Nah, ‘fraid to say that I came up with that when I first saw it last year. But how about we change your name from ‘specs’ to ‘sunny’? How does that sound?” It almost amazed Eddie how easily he was laying it on thick with you. 

“Keep ‘specs’ gives me the chance to redeem a name from middle school. Besides, one of the other girls in drama gets called Sunny, so no dice.” You were cursing Sunny to high heaven in your head. Her real name was Mary-anne, and she only got the nickname because her last name was Sunderland. But, you didn’t need to start gaining a God complex over a fake sword, so ‘specs’ you would have to remain. 

You and Eddie continued to talk about your projects and if he had worked them into his campaign. Funnily enough, he had only used the gold handled sword since he’d never had a real inspection of the other treasures in the theatre trove. You were starting to grasp the fundamentals of D&D, and you could clearly see how fun it could be. What Eddie did with his club was sort of similar to you and the drama club - transforming, transporting, reviving. While helping him move some new stuff into place for Hellfire Club the next night, you both fell into a calm rhythm. You would suggest setting and props that could work for what he had planned in the session, and he would ‘hm’ and ‘haw’ about the place for them. You’d given him a few more fake weapons - two daggers and a wood-cutting axe - along with some weathered books and candlesticks. 

This Hellfire set was one of the best you’d worked on, and it wasn’t even for the drama club. It was still just as theatrical and imposing but was also cosy and welcoming. Kind of like Eddie, you’d realised. After the evening you had spent with the town pariah, you were even more against the vile opinions people held about him. He was a huge cheeseball, inside and out. You had handed him a huge, beat-up, leather bound bible, and he nearly shrieked with excitement as he put it on the table. Behind the hair, the leather and the bite was one of the sweetest guys ever. 

Eddie lounged back in his ornate, dark wood throne, surveying the upgraded Hellfire Club set-up. Candelabras, weaponry and some gothic patterned fabric draped over the ladder against the back wall. The place had never looked so right, so good. The best addition to the room, however, was you. You, organising the extra boxes and crates to clear up the space around the long table. You, who was giddy while dashing around the room and trying to get the fantasy-medieval-heavy metal aesthetic just right. 

“Gotta hand it to you, specs. You can craft a damn good set. Very metal.” He chimed, giving you a soft round of applause from his throne. 

“It’s all pure, raw talent, Munson.” You stated, standing proud with your hands on your hips and smiling smugly. Eddie was still glancing around the room with a look of childish wonder on his face. He’d put on the lights and bathed the room in a cosy, honey glow. You couldn’t help but notice his eyes. Wide, burnt umber, and so full of appreciation. This doe-eyed metalhead was past the point of doing it for you. You could feel the budding beginning of a crush - hadn’t had one of those since freshman year when Patrick McKinney was your biology partner for, like, two weeks. 

“You know, I used to think you were just a chair thief. I’ve wanted to put that huge thing on stage for ages, but now I’d feel bad if I accidentally tainted its reputation.” You gestured to Eddie’s throne - you were more willing to call it that now. 

“Well, I called dibs like a year before you even started here, so there. This bad boy is dripping in my glamorous reputation. I mean, look at this butt groove.” Eddie proclaimed, standing up quickly to reveal a pretty impressive imprint in the leather seat. You were being encouraged to inspect his ass, and who were you to pass up an opportunity like that. His dark jeans hugged his legs subtly and were definitely doing him favours. “Also, it’s 6:30 now, so we should probably think about vacating the premises. Higgins gets antsy if he senses that I’m around for too long.” 

“Shit, it’s that late already? I gotta get home. I promised to watch MacGyver with my mom after dinner.” You quickly grabbed your backpack from behind the backdrops, only for some of its contents to spill onto the floor - your tapes, some almost dried-out pens and your copy of A Wizard of Earthsea. 

“Oh ho, what you got there, specs?” Eddie, ever the gentleman, gathered up your stuff but didn’t hand it over right away. A chance to see what kind of music you were into? That was far too valuable. “Some Patti, a solid choice. And… Yes. Unexpected, but I’m pleasantly surprised. Didn’t peg you for a prog rock kind of gal.” God, he was annoyingly good at this. Making you flustered but still comfortable - making you want to match him toe to toe.

“I like cool ladies and funky guitar riffs. I’m very easy to please.” 

“Noted.” He grinned. The bastard grinned from ear to ear. And you ate it up. “Anyway, you need a ride home? It’ll be dark out by now, and you can even have stereo privileges.”

Riding your bike home in the dark was always a dicey experience. You’d done it a few times after staying late at school accidentally and ended up walking most of the way since you were too worried that a car would run you off the road. Plus, Eddie had a van, so getting your bike home would be easy too. 

And control of the music? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

“That’d be great, actually! I live over on Fletcher; I think it’s kinda close to your place.”

“It’s on my route. So, let’s make like a tree.” Eddie picked up his backpack and headed towards the door, nodding for you to follow. 

You had to restrain yourself from practically skipping through the halls. Staying late for theatre stuff was always fun, but it did start to get a little lonesome. Theatre kids in Hawkins loved being on stage, but they weren’t huge fans of being behind it. 

But Eddie. He was on the stage, behind it and in the goddamn audience. He had a sort of omnipresent energy that followed him around. Most of the student body saw it as annoying, obnoxious or just plain evil, but you knew better. He was passionate - that was the best word for him. He was passionate about his game, he was passionate about his music and- 

“Specs? This your sweet ride?” Eddie asked, ringing the bell on your bike. It was a dull, low ding - your bike was old as balls, and so was the bell. 

“Yep. That’s her. Gorgeous, right?” You boasted, slapping the bike seat. The bike had been your mom’s many moons ago, and while it was a senior citizen, it was still a great shiny silver. Isopropyl and a wire brush kept her pretty. 

“Maybe a little old for my tastes, but got the silver fox thing going, which is doing- something for me.” There he went again - the invitation, the tease to keep the banter going. You were about to quip back at him when he hauled your bike onto his shoulder. He held it so carefully even though it was just a bike. “Van’s across the lot, so I’ll carry the old girl. Come on.” 

You just nodded, maybe a little too excitedly, but better than talking with your foot in your mouth. You jogged a little to catch up with Eddie, falling into a brisk pace with him. It was early October, and the wind was starting to get its bite back. 

But you couldn’t help but feel a little warmer when you watched Eddie awkwardly shift himself and wrestle to get your bike in the back of his van. 

[galexystern]

call me

pairing; eddie munson/fem!reader

rating; t

warnings; dialogue-fic, swearing, pining, fluff, angst, dialogue-heavy fic, no use of y/n

word count; 8.5k

desc; you meet eddie just before he goes on tour. can you two survive the long-distance and his rising fame?

a/n; this is based on an idea i wanted to happen to me a couple days ago

read on ao3 / masterlist

Everything is going to (your very rushed, reorganized many times) plan when you get waylaid by merch.

It catches just the corner of your eye, and then it’s all you can think about. Of course you want a t-shirt from the tour, how could you forget that? You’d saved money especially for it.

So you divert your path and go to stand in front of the table. It’s not very busy, but there seem to be a lot of people manning it, six when you count. But only two are in the venue’s uniform, and the other four are in plain, rocker attire. You check your watch again—you’ve done it so many times today you almost don’t even register the numbers anymore—and realize it’s probably the opening act. They’ve almost certainly already played, since the main act must be coming on any minute. Your gaze darts over them—they’re cute, a little nerdy, but they look nice—before your anxiety reminds you how late it is and hones your stare in on the merch.

You’re taking up precious time debating when someone from behind the table calls out, “Hey! You need some help?”

You look down to meet the gaze of a boy about your age, with long, wavy black hair and eyes that look like your favorite kind of milk chocolate. He’s smiling, expectant, and you jerk when you realize you haven’t said anything back.

“Oh,” you rush to reply, “I’m just trying to decide between two shirts.”

“Which ones? Maybe we can help.” There’s a daring, mischievous look in his eye that makes you step forward and take up the challenge, despite never having done so before with anyone else.

“A and C.” You point to them.

All six people turn around to study them. A is a simple silver-on-black style of the band’s logo and the tour dates and cities on the back. C is a picture of the band from an album cover, also with the dates and cities on the back.

“Tough choice,” the metalhead—because he clearly is one, with his leather jacket, Dio denim vest, black skinny jeans, and chain belts—muses.

You hum and nod. “Hence the indecision.”

“I think I’ve seen more people buy the second one,” another boy from the opening band says, with red hair and an interesting distressed plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off.

“Maisie, crunch the numbers, please,” a third member requests, with a cropped afro and his own worn leather jacket.

A venue employee takes a look at her clipboard, and you all wait anxiously as she tallies the sales. “A has sold the most,” she finally says.

The last boy from the band, with curly hair and an Iron Maiden shirt you like, rubs the shoulder of the second boy, who seems oddly sad by his prediction being wrong. The first boy, the metalhead, turns back to you. “Well, there you go,” he says with a flourish.

“I guess A it is then,” you reply.

“Wait,” he interrupts, making everyone pause. “You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“What? It was one of the options I picked out.”

“Sure, but when it came down to it, you knew which one you wanted and that’s not it. Am I right?” He gazes at you, both cocky and nervous, if that’s possible.

You look back, wondering how he could tell, before answering, “You’re right.”

He claps his hands in triumph. “Knew it! Andy, will you please bag up shirt C for this lovely lady?”

You blush a little as the other venue employee glances at you. “Size?”

“Large, please.”

He nods and grabs the shirt, folding it nicely before putting it in a bag. “That it?” He’s set your shirt on the table by the register.

You nod but then the metalhead says, “Sure I can’t tempt you into buying one of our shirts?”

You look at the limited options for their band, apparently named Corroded Coffin. The style is cute and you like their logo, but like every other piece of merchandise at the table, it’s too expensive.

“Maybe if it was twenty dollars cheaper,” you joke as you give your hard-earned and specially saved cash to Andy. “Besides, I haven’t even heard y’all play. Can’t buy a shirt for a band I can’t sing along to.”

The metalhead’s brows furrow. “You didn’t hear us? We were pretty loud.”

You laugh. “I just got here. Today has been a shitshow.” Andy hands you your change and the bag.

“What happened?” This boy is asking like there’s not five other people around you and you’re not at a concert merch table, and you kinda like it.

“Work just kept going and going, every time I thought I’d get outta there at a decent time they kept adding things for me to do. And then the El stalled at one station for fifteen minutes, I was dying in the heat and humidity down there. Not to mention all the stairs I had to run up and down.” You’re rambling, but he’s nodding like he’s enraptured.

“Wow, that sucks. I’m sorry that happened.” His lip quirks up. “Though I’m more sorry you didn’t get to hear us play.”

You smile. “Do y’all have a record out? Maybe I can get it after my next paycheck.”

“Gareth,” he orders, and the plaid-vested boy hands him a record. The metalhead presents it to you. “Here. On the house.”

Your jaw drops a little. “What? I can’t take that.”

He laughs. “I think we’d all rather have more people hear our stuff than make money right now. Right, boys?” Gareth and the leather jacket boy nod, while Iron Maiden looks doubtful, until his band mates slap his shoulder and he nods too.

“Oh, well, thank you. That’s really nice of you.” You take the record from him and tuck it between your arms, cradling it like it’s precious.

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” he replies. “That’s Gareth, Grant, and Jeff.” They all wave and you smile. You’re not sure which is Grant and which is Jeff but you can learn. You give them your name as well. “Fitting,” Eddie says.

You cock your head in confusion.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He grins when your cheeks get redder.

“Thanks.” Your voice is barely there.

Then there’s a bunch of loud screaming and the starting of a rock song. You gasp. “I gotta go!”

You’re about to rush away when Eddie shouts, “Wait!” You stop and look back at him, face surely revealing your anxiety about getting inside. “Come with us,” he continues. You give him a suspicious expression, so he adds, “Backstage. You can watch from the best seat in the house. And you might be able to meet them.”

You gape at them for the second time in five minutes. “Are you serious?”

“Totally.” Eddie looks at his band, who all nod in agreement. “Come on.” They step out from the table and move towards a back door. You look at Andy and Maisie, clearly asking them if this is legit and you’re not about to be murdered, and they both smile and nod. Reassured, you run after the boys in a daze, entering a dark labyrinth of hallways.

“Which is it?” Eddie hisses.

“Third door,” someone answers, sounding annoyed, like they’ve had to do this many times today.

Eddie locates the right door and opens it, letting light spill into the corridor. You follow the boys through it and into the backstage area, which is much more normal and dirty than you’d expected. They lead you all the way to the wings of the stage, music getting louder with every step, until you’re looking right at the lead singer, bouncing around onstage. You stare in amazed shock, closer to your idols than you ever have been before.

“Pretty good, right?” Eddie murmurs from his spot beside you. You nod in disbelief.

It takes you until the end of the opening number to settle down, and then you’re engrossed in the music. You sing all the lyrics and dance to the beat, not a care in the world. This is better than your wildest dreams of how you thought tonight would pan out. Eddie stays next to you throughout the show, and you two sing and dance along together, having more fun than you thought possible. He’s adorable when he lets go, just enjoying himself, and your desire to kiss him grows as the night goes on.

You’re suddenly nervous when the band finishes before their encore, wondering if they’ll come to your side, but thankfully they go to the other one, and you don’t have to introduce yourself in the approximately two minutes before they go back on. But when the set’s really over, encore done, the band does head your way offstage. You stumble into Eddie, who grabs your upper arms so you don’t fall as the band members walk past you. You try not to stare like a crazy fan, but it’s a losing battle. At least none of them look at you.

When they’ve gone, you breathe deep. “Oh my god,” you whisper.

Eddie laughs in your ear, voice low and spine-tingling, and you realize you’re still in his space. You step forward, missing the warmth of his hands, and turn to him. He’s smiling like you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Have fun?”

“Oh my god,” you repeat at a normal tone, and he laughs again.

“Let’s go meet them!”

“Oh my god!" You say for a third time and Eddie snorts.

“You might want to remember some more words by the time we get in there,” he suggests. You nod and he takes you out of the wings and to the green room. He turns around before opening the door. “Lemme just make sure they’re cool with it. Can’t have them yelling at you, sweetheart, when it’d be my fault.”

You blush while you nod, too much happening to wrap your head around. He disappears inside and you try to calm down, get your composure back before meeting your favorite band.

Then the door is opening, and it’s like slow-motion as Monochrome is revealed.

It’s a little anti-climatic, to be honest, as the members are sitting around in a small, ordinary room that’s not even green. But they are all looking at you in interest. You glance at Eddie, who nods encouragingly, and step inside gingerly. “Hi,” you squeak out, immediately clearing your throat before giving your name. “I’m a big fan.”

“Well, thank you for being a fan,” Connor, the lead singer and guitarist, says.

“And thanks for coming to the show,” Dan, the drummer, adds.

“I was really excited for it,” you reply.

Leon, the bassist, asks, “Did we play your favorite song? I love asking that question.”

You nod. “‘Rush’ is my favorite. I wasn’t sure you guys were gonna do it.”

Dan looks thoughtful. “It’s not one of our more popular tunes but we like it.” You smile at his smile.

“Obviously, me too,” you joke, and Dan laughs a little.

“You know, I wasn’t sure, so thanks for clearing that up,” he replies sarcastically, making you giggle.

The door closes loudly, startling everyone. You all look at Eddie, who seems sheepish enough. “Sorry,” he mutters, but there’s an edge to his tone that makes you think he doesn’t fully mean it.

“You want something to drink?” Dan asks.

“Oh, I don’t need anything.”

“Seriously, we’ve got plenty of stuff.” He stands and goes over to a mini-fridge tucked into a corner. He opens it and you see rows upon rows of cans, beer and seltzer and whatever else.

“Um, okay, maybe a beer?”

“PBR or Coors?”

You wrinkle your nose at the options, making everyone laugh. You redden as you answer, “PBR, I guess.”

“Lesser of two evils?” Leon teases. You nod while Dan grabs the can and opens it before handing it to you. You thank him and he winks.

“So how did you guys feel about the show?” Eddie asks, causing Dan to smoothly step away. You look at the metalhead and take a sip, noting his clenched jaw and balled fists. He seems to realize you’ve noticed and shoves his hands into his pockets.

You hide a smile against the lip of your can. Dan’s cute, and being a member of your favorite band gets him plenty of points, but he was never the one you had a crush on (that honor went to Leon) and he’s a bit too old for your liking. Eddie’s jealousy is flattering and entertaining, but ultimately unnecessary. He had you back when he read you like an open book about the shirt choices.

Connor smiles in response to Eddie’s question. “It was good. I think the crowd had a great time.”

“Shouldn’t we be asking our number one fan over here?” Dan says, turning to you with a playful smirk.

“It was amazing!” You gush, and the band chuckles. “You guys are so good live. You should do a live record.”

“Top secret,” Connor leans close and you look at him eagerly, “there’s one in the works.”

You squeal a little, beaming. “I can’t wait.”

“You’re cute, honey,” Dan says easily, with a grin that could make any other girl’s knees weak.

“Thanks!” You reply, trying to sound innocent and like there’s nothing to read into, because you definitely don’t want to read into it.  You glance at Eddie, and thankfully he can still read your mind, because he walks over to you after seeing your slightly panicked expression.

“We should let them rest. I’ll escort you out.”

You’re nodding halfway through, and walking ahead of him to the door. He opens it for you and you turn around to say goodbye to the band, complimenting them again and setting your mostly full beer on a random surface. Dan has a lightly disgruntled face, but waves with the rest of the band. You let out a breath when the door closes behind you and Eddie.

He places a hand on your shoulder gently. “You okay?”

You look at him, nodding. “Thank you. I know it’s probably not normal behavior but…”

“No need to explain. I can see when a girl’s creeped out by a guy. Happened to me plenty of times.”

You hope he’s joking but it seems like he’s not. You frown. “That can’t be true.”

He walks you down the hallway. “Believe me, sweetheart, it’s true.”

“But you’re so cute and nice and thoughtful,” you exclaim, face heating at your words.

But Eddie just smiles kindly, his own cheeks dusted with pink. “Thanks. Things were just different in high school.”

You hum in understanding. “High school sucks and girls are bitches. I’d know, I was one.”

Eddie looks at you with skepticism. “You? A bitchy girl in high school? Doubt it.”

“I may not have been a mean girl cheerleader but I hurt my share of feelings.”

“Who hasn’t? It’s a wonder we made it out alive with all those raging hormones.”

You laugh. “We were in the trenches, for sure.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you two head back into the darkened maze of back corridors. “What are you doing now?” He asks.

“I’m in school. I go to U of I Chicago.”

He whistles lowly. “Impressive.”

“Whatever.” But you’re blushing again, and hoping the low light is hiding it. “What about you? Did you go to school?”

He snorts. “Nice of you to think that. It took me three tries to graduate high school. The guys and I tore outta there and came here to pursue what we loved.”

“That’s admirable. It’s also sweet that you've known each other so long. And it paid off.”

“Yeah.” He says it like he still can’t believe it, which is adorable. “This is our first tour. We can’t wait to get on the road.”

Disappointment settles in when you realize this is the first date of the tour, and the rest are around the country. All you can do is nod in response, not even caring if he can’t see it. He rushes ahead to open the last door, and you walk out to where it all began: the merch table, which is now empty.

“Well,” you say heavily, “thank you so much for all this. It was so nice of you to do that for a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger. I know your name and what school you go to. We’re friends now.”

You giggle. “You make it sound so ominous, like you’re gonna kill me later.”

“I’m not gonna kill you.” He looks horrified at the way it sounds like he absolutely is, making you laugh more. “Promise! I won’t!”

“I believe you, Eddie.”

He sighs in relief. Then you’re staring at each other awkwardly.

“I guess this is goodbye.” Your mouth twists, not wanting to leave him yet.

“Yeah.” He sounds just as sad as you feel. “You think I could maybe get your number? Call you sometime?”

You brighten. “Yes! I’d love that.”

“Great! Here.” He pulls out a tiny notebook from his pocket, as well as a pen. He flips to a blank page and then gives it to you, and you write down your name, phone number, and a smiley face before handing it back. He glances down and grins at it. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You give him an abrupt hug—you two fit together just right—and then walk away backwards. When you’re at the top of the stairs, you make a “call me” gesture and smile when he nods eagerly. You watch him until he disappears from view.

You sigh happily. You can worry about the sadness of never hearing from him tomorrow. Tonight, you’re going to replay the entire encounter and go to bed smiling.

;

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Eddie. From Corroded Coffin?"

"Oh my god, hi."

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I never thought you'd actually call me. You know, you're busy on tour and probably never get any time off. Plus, plenty of other fans to meet and woo."

"You're right, we are pretty busy and don't have much time off. But we're not being held hostage. Besides, all the fans weirdly just want to meet Monochrome. No idea why."

"That's bizarre. I always wanted to meet the opener and not the main act."

"Exactly, it's just not normal."

"But it's good otherwise?"

"Yeah! All our sets have been amazing. Speaking of which, have you listened to our record yet?"

"Yup, a couple times. I really like it."

"I knew you would. And we have another one coming out this Friday."

"No way! I'll have to go buy it after work that day."

"No need. If you'll tell me your address, I'll send you a free copy."

"You sure you don't want it just to murder me?"

"Scout's honor. Not sure how meaningful that is seeing as how I was not a boy scout, but all the same."

Laughing, you give him your dorm address.

"Thanks, sweetheart. We'll send it out ASAP."

"No rush, honestly. You're already being so kind by sending it for free."

"We'll charge the postage. Nah, we've got it covered. You only have to worry your pretty little self with listening to it."

"Promise I will. Thanks."

"No problem, princess."

"So where are y'all tonight?"

"Des Moines, Iowa."

"No wonder you called me. You were that bored."

"Honey, I've been wanting to call you since we met. Just had to work up the nerve. Wasn't sure if you'd remember me."

"Of course I remembered you. Haven't really stopped thinking about it, you know. You, I mean."

"That's really sweet, angel. Honestly, this tour would be a lot better if you were here. Living with six other boys is not a fun time, let me tell you. I thought I was messy, but I've got nothing on these guys."

"Maybe you can steal some stuff and sell it as payback."

"That's not a bad idea. Anyways, what are you doing?"

"Studying."

"Gross. I'm sorry."

"Ha ha. It's not too bad. Authors just put too much meaning into their books. I can't remember all of it."

"You've got this, sweetheart. If you can remember all of Monochrome's lyrics, you can remember this."

"But I like the lyrics a lot more than this."

"Lemme just go ask if they can write a song about whatever you need to memorize. That way it'll be both. I'm sure Dan would be on board."

"Are you jealous, Eddie...I just realized I don't know your last name."

"It's Munson. And no, I'm not jealous."

"Good. You don't need to be."

"That's good to know."

"I'm sure it is."

"Well, I gotta go, pretty girl. Can I call again sometime?"

"Yeah, you can call anytime."

"Okay, great, I will. Not at all hours of the night, but a normal time. And we can talk if you're free."

"That sounds good."

"Okay. I guess...good night then."

"G'night, Eddie."

;

"Hello?"

"Hey, angel."

"Hi, Eddie!"

"How are you?"

"I'm good. I got your package! Thank you for both the record and the shirt, I wasn't expecting it."

"No problem, sweetheart. How'd you like it?"

"It's so good. Been listening to it nonstop."

"Aw, thanks. We're proud of that one."

"You should be! Are you selling it with the other merch?"

"Yeah, we just got the copies yesterday and started selling them tonight. They didn't sell out but we sold some."

"That's good. Maybe you can tell them I think it's really good."

"'Hey, everyone, this girl I really like loves our new single so you should buy it too'?"

"Yeah, exactly. And I'll tell all my friends, 'Hey, a band with this boy I really like came out with a great single, listen to it'."

"Perfect, we'll make up a sign and everything."

"As you should. What city are you in now?"

"Phoenix, Arizona. It's hot as shit down here."

"I don't think I fully understand the tour map. What's next?"

"I think Las Vegas."

"Maybe y'all can detour and see the Grand Canyon on the way there."

"That'd be fun. I've never been out west before this trip."

"Me either. Send me some postcards."

"Maybe on our next tour you can come with and see them for yourself."

"Already planning the second tour, are we?"

"Nowhere to go but up, sweetheart."

"If you headline the next tour, who would you choose as opener?"

"I don't know, that's a good question. There's a couple bands we've played with in Chicago that would be options. I think we'd like it to be a local group."

"That'd be really sweet. Though maybe it could be not all guys this time?"

"Ugh, yes! I didn't know this was possible, but it's gotten worse here. Our bus smells like dirty socks and no one seems to mind or notice."

"Gross. I'm kinda glad I'm not on this tour with you."

"We'll have candles and air freshener ready for the next one."

"Think the candles might be a fire hazard, but it's a nice idea."

"Someone needs to have it."

"You having fun otherwise?"

"Yeah, we've been writing a lot while on the road. Come up with a couple new songs, stuff for our first album. We'll probably polish and record it when the tour's over."

"That's so exciting. Can't wait to hear it."

"Of course, you'll hear it before it comes out, so it'll be a little rough."

"Doesn't matter to me, just wanna hear it."

"You will, pretty girl. First one outside the band."

"What about your friends?"

"You think I'm gonna let those twerps hear the unfinished stuff so they can make fun of it? Nah, they'll get the finished product."

"That'd be mean of them."

"It's be good-natured but all the same. I don't wanna hear it. I only trust your critiques."

"What about like, producers and such?"

"Yeah, I guess I'll listen to them too."

"Probably a good idea."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Alright. What have you been up to?"

"Just school and work. It's definitely getting colder up here. All the leaves are changing and you can crunch them when you walk. And I'm excited to watch Halloween movies."

"Oh, man, I love scary movies. What's your favorite?"

"Probably The Shining. Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall are so good in it."

"A+ choice, honey. Mine's Poltergeist."

"Ooh, that freaked me out when I saw it. Haven't rewatched it since."

"Aw. Maybe we can watch it together. That way you can cower behind me if you want."

"I'd love that, as long as you don't laugh at me."

"I'd never laugh at you, angel."

"Good. You're not allowed."

"Oh, is that a new law?"

"Yes, they just passed it. The 'Can't Laugh at the Girl You Like' Act."

"Fitting name. Could be shorter."

"Well, I could've used my name but then it wouldn't apply to everyone and it really should."

"I'll be sure to let everyone know about the new amendment."

"Please do. We need to get the word out."

"Gotta go, princess. The boys wanna talk about a new song. Jeff says he has this amazing idea."

"Okay, let me know if it's any good. Call me later, handsome."

"I will, pretty girl."

;

"Eddie?"

"Hi, angel. Sorry I didn't call yesterday. We were up all night designing the cover for our album and we were dead on our feet all day. I crashed right after the show, didn't even watch Monochrome's set."

"No worries. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I got A's on all my finals!"

"Wow, congrats, honey! Knew you would."

"You always say that, but you can't see the future, Eds."

"Maybe not, but I know you're good at what you do."

"Just like you. I hear the new single is selling out everywhere."

"Yeah! Ever since they played 'Think About You' on the radio, they're going like hotcakes. And audiences seem to know the lyrics to it, they sing along when we play it."

"That's awesome. It has to sound so good onstage."

"It does. Is this what famous bands hear all the time? Because I get why they'd be into it."

"Don't forget us little people when you skyrocket to the top of the charts."

"I couldn't forget you, sweetheart."

"Good, because there was another law passed about it. The 'Don't Forget Where You Came From' bill."

"Is that right? It's a good thing I have a good memory."

"Very, otherwise you'd be arrested in no time."

"What are you doing, angel?"

"Finally just relaxing. I'm going to be chill all break, I swore that to myself."

"You deserve it. You've worked so hard all semester."

"Thank you. Though I wish I could see you."

"Me too. This tour feels like it's going on forever. Don't get me wrong, it's amazing and I love it, but it's kind of a lot. I wish I could just be there and take you to the movies or something."

"That'd be nice. Would that be our first date?"

"Nah, our first date was the concert. This would be our second."

"I see. Where are you, anyways?"

"Dallas."

"Wow, y'all really went north and then immediately back down south?"

"I guess so."

"I'm not sure whoever put this schedule together knew what they were doing. Like how—"

"Hey, angel, I'm sorry but I gotta go. The boys are demanding we go out to celebrate and refusing to leave without me."

"Oh, okay. Well, have a drink on me, I'm proud of y'all."

"Thanks, sweetheart. Talk to you soon."

"Bye, Eds."

;

"Hello?"

"Hey, princess."

"Eddie? Are you okay? I haven't heard from you in a couple of weeks."

"Yeah, I know, we're fine. Everything's just been crazy since our single blew up. Now paparazzi are following us too and fans keep mobbing us at the merch table. We're thinking about just not doing that anymore."

"Wow, that's...cool. As long as y'all are safe."

"We are. Monochrome got more security for us now. I think they're a little upset we're getting so popular."

"Well, it is their tour, after all."

"Right, but we can't help it, you know? People like our stuff."

"Mhm."

"What are you doing?"

"Break ends in a week so I'm just getting everything ready for the spring semester. Also planning my birthday."

"Your birthday? When is it?"

"February 14th."

"Aw, you're a Valentine's baby?"

"Yeah, and I've never had a crush during it so I'm excited for this year."

"I'll be sure to call you, honey."

"Good. Um, are you gonna be calling less now? So I know."

"Possibly, not sure yet. It's a whirlwind over here."

"I bet. I'd just like to know so I don't plan for the calls anymore."

"I'll let you know ASAP, sweetheart."

"Thanks. So where are y'all?"

"Philly. We play New York tomorrow!"

"That's exciting."

"We've been waiting for it all trip. The set is gonna be electric."

"I hope so. Uh, Eddie?"

"One second, babe."

"Okay."

"Sorry about that. What's up?"

"Do you know what date you'll be back in Chicago?"

"I don't exactly know. Lemme get back to you on that too."

"Alright."

"Sorry to cut this short, doll, but I gotta run. Call you later."

"Bye—“

;

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby."

"Oh, hi, Eddie."

"How you doing?"

"Fine. How's the tour?"

"Amazing. Everyone loves us. We get mobbed just going to our hotel now. It's wild."

"Wow, that's crazy."

"I know."

"Where are you?"

"Boston."

"That's fun. I love Boston."

"Yeah, it's cool. Don't have much time for sightseeing."

"Ah."

"What are you up to?"

"School's been crazy, we just went in running apparently."

"Damn."

"Still planning my birthday. I'm gonna host a party, I think."

"That sucks."

"What?"

"Sorry, honey. That was directed at Grant. Birthday party, sounds fun."

"Yeah, you're still gonna call, right? Talk to my friends? They think I'm crazy and like, lying whenever I talk about you."

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll do that."

"Okay. You sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry."

"Alright."

"Gotta go, babe. See you."

"Okay—“

;

"Hello."

"Angel!"

"Eddie."

"Yeah, it's me!"

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little. But how are you?"

"What?"

"I asked how you were!"

"You wanna know how I am, Eddie?"

"Uh, yeah, that's why I asked."

"Okay, here's how I am: You missed my birthday."

"No, I didn't! I'm calling you now!"

"It's 3am on February 15th, Eddie. My birthday is over."

"It's close enough!"

"You had a full twenty-four hours in which you could call me and you couldn't manage it. So no, it's not close enough."

"Wait, are you upset?"

"No, I'm just peachy."

"Good—"

"Of course I'm upset, Eddie!"

"Oh."

"Oh? That's all you have to say?"

"Uh..."

"Look, I know we're not dating or anything, and you don't owe me anything. But I was so excited for you to call. I told all my friends they'd be able to talk to you and then you stood me up. You know how embarrassing that is? On both your birthday and Valentine's Day and in front of all your friends who don't believe you? They gave me pitying looks all night. I couldn't bear it."

"I'm sorry—“

"Yeah, right. I really liked you, too."

"I like you too—“

"Oh, give it up, Eddie. I know Corroded Coffin is huge now because of your big single. All the magazines can talk about is when you're coming out with your debut album. You're bigger than little old me now, and I get it. I just feel like a fool for thinking this could be different."

"It is! It is different!"

"Is it? Tell me how."

"..."

"This is how I see it. You liked me when we were on the same level. You called me every other day because you thought you couldn't do better. And now, with your song at the top of the charts and people mobbing you all the time, you've realized you can do way better than me. Pretty, skinny blondies are throwing themselves at your feet now, right? Girls with perfect teeth and perfect skin and perfect bodies and perfectly plastic personalities, and you have your pick of the litter. So you stop calling me so you can hang out with them instead."

"No! Well, kinda—"

"That's what I thought. I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"I...I miss you."

"Eddie, do me a favor."

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me again."

;

"You've reached my voicemail. You know what to do!"

"Angel, it's me. Eddie. Will you pick up?"

"You've reached my voicemail. You know what to do!"

"It's Eddie again. Are you screening my calls? Can you answer so I can explain?"

"You've reached my voicemail. You know what to do!"

"Okay, you don't have to answer. I understand why you won't. I just wanted to say I'm really sorry. I should've called you on your actual birthday and I shouldn't have been drunk when I did it. I did really wanna talk to you and wish you a happy birthday, because you deserve it. I would've really liked talking with your friends too. You talked about them so much I feel like I know them already. I think I could've made them laugh—“

"You've reached my voicemail. You know what to do!"

"Wow, your voicemail time limit is short. Um, I'm sorry I stood you up and all your friends thought I was an asshole. I have been an asshole, I'll say that. I know I've been acting like one when we talk. Our calls have definitely been shorter lately, and I'm sorry for that. It's not that I didn't wanna talk to you, it's just been crazy here. That sounds like a lame excuse, but I barely have time to take a breath let alone do anything else—“

"You've reached my voicemail. You know what to do!"

"But I should've called and talked more. You're important to me and I still really like you. You were right, more fans have been coming up and weirdly propositioning us, but I don't want any of them, I swear. They can barely hold a conversation, and all I can think about is talking on the phone with you for hours, never running out of things to discuss. And I love all our inside jokes, like the new laws and talking about this weird schedule—"

"You've reached my voicemail. You know what to do!"

"I just wanna talk to you all the time. And I miss you a lot. I still wish you were here with us, and not just because boys are pigs. I wish I could kiss you. I lie in bed awake at night, regretting not kissing you the night we met. I wanna see your smile again, and hear your laugh. I wanna take you to the movies, sweetheart, and protect you if anything is too scary. And I wish I could hug you like all the time. Shit, I'm running out of time—“

"You've reached my voicemail. You know what to do!"

"This is the last one, I swear. I'm so, so sorry, angel. Will you please pick up so I can keep pleading my case?"

"Hi. I’m probably home. I’m just avoiding someone I don’t like. Leave me a message, and if I don’t call back, it’s you."

"Hi, sweetheart. Nice new greeting. I know you don't like me right now, and I know you're still screening my calls, but I like hearing your voice. I miss talking to you so much. We're in Toronto tonight. The boys and I didn't know we had to have passports for Canada so management had to work overtime to get us some. They're not fans of us right now, but they got it done. I'm not my biggest fan right now either. I'm sorry again. I miss you."

"Hi. I’m probably home. I’m just avoiding someone I don’t like. Leave me a message, and if I don’t call back, it’s you."

"Hey, angel. The tour's almost over, last show tomorrow in Indianapolis. It's really close to my hometown and I'm not loving it. All my friends and family have moved out of town so there's nothing left there for me, just bad memories. I really wish you were here with me. I'd tell you all about it so I'm not the only one holding them anymore. Not that I want to give you the burden too, but so you could be closer to me. I miss you tons."

"Hi. I’m probably home. I’m just avoiding someone I don’t like. Leave me a message, and if I don’t call back, it’s you."

"Princess, the tour is officially over. I'd love to say I'm coming home, but management is flying us out to L.A. to record our album. I don't know why we can't just do it in Chicago, but it's not up to me. L.A. freaks me out. Famous people are so weird and no one has anything behind their eyes. I wish I could see your face, you're so beautiful to look at. I can always see the gears turning in your head. I always want to know what you're thinking."

"Hi. I’m probably home. I’m just avoiding someone I don’t like. Leave me a message, and if I don’t call back, it’s you."

"Honey, this whole process is a nightmare. Everyone is so up our asses to get this done when we told them we weren't ready. I wanted to come home and play these songs for you, if you'd hear them, and keep workshopping. Now it just sounds unfinished. I'm not sure what to do. I wish I could talk to you. You always have the best solutions. Maybe they'd pass a law for it. The 'Don't Pressure Your Band' Act. But I'd bet you'd have a better name for it."

"Hi. I’m probably home. I’m just avoiding someone I don’t like. Leave me a message, and if I don’t call back, it’s you."

"The album is done, sweetheart, and it's shit. They pushed us too much and it sounds terrible. We heard the final cut and refused to let them release it, demanding that they let us take a break and then come back to fix it. Our new agent is a real bulldog, and she scared them into accepting. Plus, I have a song I've been thinking about that I wanna add. I hope you're doing okay and midterms went well. I know you aced them. Miss you like crazy."

"Hi. I’m probably home. I’m just avoiding someone I don’t like. Leave me a message, and if I don’t call back, it’s you."

"Angel, this is a warning. God, that sounded bad. I just wanted to let you know that we have a single coming out next week and it's about you. It's all good, I swear, but so you're not blindsided. We fixed the album and added this song, and the studio loved it so much they made it an immediate single, which is a nice feeling, I guess. All I hope is that you'll listen to it and give it a try. Give me another try. I probably don't deserve it but I'll do anything."

"Hi. Now you say something."

"New greeting, that's promising. I hope you liked the single, pretty girl. I meant every word of it. I miss you so much it's nuts. Life is so boring without you in it. Our album comes out in a few days. They're throwing this big release party but I'm not excited. If you're not gonna be there in a gorgeous dress, making fun of all the rich people with me, what's the point? I hope you're kicking ass on all your assignments. Miss you."

"Hi. Now you say something."

"Hey, angel. Party went okay. I left early. I hear sales are doing well, but I don't really care about them. I'm just sitting in this hotel room wishing you were here with me. I miss you so much. Do you think about me as much as I think about you? I can only hope so. I'm sorry for everything."

"Hi. Now you say something."

"Alright, sweetheart. I can take a hint. This will be my last voicemail. I just wanted to let you know that we're coming home tomorrow. I cannot wait to be back in Chicago. And even if you never talk to me again, I know I'll feel better just being in the same city as you. I hope you ace your finals, because I know you will. Have a great summer, angel. Do you remember when we used to write H.A.G.S. in our yearbooks as shorthand for that—Hello?"

"Hi, Eddie."

;

There’s a knock on the door. You stare at it for a few seconds, and then take a deep breath and open it. On the other side is Eddie Munson.

His hair is different. Still long, but with a more flattering cut, and you can see his pretty brown eyes now. He looks mostly the same otherwise, besides the bags under his eyes and worn-out and exhausted expression. You feel a pang. All that shit he went through in L.A. obviously took its toll.

His gaze roves over you like he can’t get enough. “Hey, angel,” he breathes reverently, like you’re actually angelic.

“Hi, Eds.” You step out of the way and gesture for him to come in. He walks inside, stopping and shifting nervously in the small space. You close the door and turn to face him.

You can tell he’s itching to explore but he keeps his attention on you. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

You bob your head. “Get here okay?”

“Yeah, no fans or reporters in sight.” He sounds relieved by the statement.

“Leave it to your hometown to remind you that you aren’t special.”

He exhales a small laugh. “For sure.”

“You need something to drink?”

He shakes his head. “Just wanna talk to you.”

“Okay.” You bring him into your room and shut that door as well. You sit on your bed and look at him expectantly.

He’s looking around your room in interest, but remembers his goal pretty quickly. He sits next to you. “How have you been?”

“Good. Got mostly A’s and one B on my finals. Picking up more shifts at work now that it’s summer.”

“That’s awesome. I always knew you’d do well on them.”

You smile a little. He did.

He takes a deep breath. “Princess, I’m really sorry for my behavior this past year. I took you for granted and I shouldn’t have, it wasn’t right. Not to sound cliché but the fame went to my head a little. Growing up in a small town where everybody hates you and thinks you’re a freak doesn’t prepare you for a lot of attention on you. It was nice in the spotlight for a while, until I realized I was losing myself, not to mention you. You gave me a wake-up call, sweetheart, one I really needed, and I thank you for that. You brought me back down to earth.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m sorry your friends think you’re crazy for saying we know each other. I’m sorry for acting like a douchebag on the phone near the end there. I’m sorry I didn’t spend enough time talking with you. I’m sorry I didn’t consider your feelings.

“I wish I could go back and do so many things over. I’d kiss you that night at the first concert. I’d take a picture of you and keep it in my guitar case. I’d beg you to come on tour with us. But I can’t turn back time, so all I can say is that I never want to hurt you like that again and I promise to try not to. I can’t promise I won't because it’s impossible, but I want you to know I’m going to work really hard to prevent it. If you give me another chance.

“I missed you so much this whole time. I felt like I was going crazy when I couldn’t talk to you. It didn’t feel like anything mattered if you weren’t there to enjoy it with me. I’m not trying to guilt-trip you or anything. Honestly, the world was just duller when you weren’t in it. You brighten everything up, honey. I hope I can brighten things for you again.”

You sit with his words for a while, long enough that he starts fidgeting nervously next to you. When you feel like responding, you say, “Thank you for the voicemails.”

There’s surprise on his face when you look at him. “Um, you’re welcome, angel. I felt like I had to keep talking to you.”

“I’m glad.” To your mild horror, the words catch in your throat and tears start to threaten to fall. Eddie can tell and tentatively grabs your hand. You gaze at him, vision getting blurry. “I missed you too.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, and pulls you forward. You bury your face in his chest, relishing in the smell of his body wash and cigarettes and faint thread of weed. You cry against him, tears and snot soaking into his shirt, but he doesn’t move away, just cups the back of your head sweetly. “I’m sorry. Honey, I’m so sorry.”

You keep going until you’re all cried out, sniffling and wiping your face in embarrassment. But when you look at him, he’s smiling kindly, no judgement in his expression. “Will you kiss me now?” You ask wetly, feeling like it’s way overdue and the only thing you want to happen right now.

“Absolutely,” he murmurs. He holds your face in his hands like you’re precious, and leans forward slowly until your lips finally touch. It’s light and chaste, but it’s also warm and soft, and it feels right. When he breaks away, he looks at you like you saved his life (and maybe you did). “Wow.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, definitely feeling what he’s feeling. “We should’ve done that ages ago.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” he replies and you laugh. “And now I’m gonna have a hard time not doing it.”

“Well, you can do it whenever you want by my account.”

He lights up. “That means we’re okay? We can start up again?”

“You think I’d let you kiss me if we weren’t?” He chuckles at your expression.

“Maybe you were just trying it out. Seeing if it was worth it,” he says.

“Hm,” you feign thinking about it and he knocks his shoulder into yours. You grin. “I think it is.”

“Good.” And with that, he kisses you again.

When you part, you’re laying on the bed together, you resting on his chest while he rubs your back. “I’m sorry L.A. was shit,” you murmur, tracing the designs on his shirt with your fingers.

He hums. “Yeah. I’m sure it’s like, a rite of passage for bands to go through something like that.”

“Doesn’t mean you should’ve.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Maybe they should make a new law about it.”

“The ‘Leave New Bands Alone’ bill.”

“Exactly. Told you you’d come up with a better name than me.”

You snort. “Can’t say that’s better but it’s certainly another option.”

“So, angel, what’s the plan for summer?”

“You tell me. All I’ve got going on is work.”

“Well, management wants to send us on another tour for our album, but we negotiated that we need the summer off. Apparently sales are doing so well that they don’t mind.”

“Then it seems you have a completely free summer.”

“From work, sure. But I have a lot of dates to make up for.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, with this girl I really like. Her kisses make me feel like I’m on cloud nine.”

“She sounds great.”

“She is. Actually, she’s pretty fantastic.”

You smile as he lifts your chin gently and kisses you again.

;

“Hello?”

“Hi, Eds.”

“Angel! Are you finally here?”

“Yeah. I still can't believe you flew me out here. First class was too much. And this hotel room is super nice.”

“I know, right? Only the best for my girl.”

“I know you didn’t book this, babe.”

“You don’t know if I demanded the best of the best because my amazing girlfriend is gonna be visiting me a lot.”

“I guess I don’t but I seriously doubt it.”

“Well, I guess we’ll never know. All settled in?”

“Yup. Plus, I wore your shirt so free publicity."

"What would we do without you?"

"Perish, I guess. Are y’all gonna be done soon? I’m starving.”

“Soon, baby. Sound check just finished and we’re packing up now. Should be there in the next fifteen. Is it cool if Carly comes along?”

“Of course! I'm so glad you picked her as your opener, she's so good."

"She's better than another pack of dudes, that's for sure. And she's so nice."

"I know, I love her."

"More than me?"

"Obviously not, but don't tell her. I can’t wait to see you.”

“You too, beautiful. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you more.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s very possible. They actually just passed a law about it. The ‘Your Girlfriend Missed You More Than You Missed Her’ Act.”

“Is that so? Well, I heard they passed another new law, the ‘Your Boyfriend Loves You More Than You Love Him’ bill."

“Damn, I gotta work on getting them to repeal that, because if they don’t I’m going away for a long time.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll protect you.”

“Good. Speaking of which, we gotta watch some Halloween movies this weekend.”

“Totally down for that. Ready for that Poltergeist rewatch with me?”

“Why did you think I segued from you protecting me to scary movies?”

“Duh, stupid of me, honey.”

“It’s alright, my love. We’ll work on that.”

“Wow, you’re so good to me.”

“I only give what I get, baby.”

“Ugh, I can’t wait to kiss you.”

“Me too. I also can’t wait for you to kiss me.”

“You’re gonna get so many kisses, angel, the band’s gonna hate us.”

“Good thing they have a separate room.”

“Bold of you to think I’ll stop kissing you when we’re out of the room.”

“I wouldn’t mind being a tabloid cover if it’s headlined ‘Rockstar Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin goes in heavy on the PDA with hometown girlfriend’.”

“How do you come up with all these good lines?”

“I don’t know, it’s a gift.”

“Well, you are gifted, baby. Hey, we’re all packed up and heading out now. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay! Just hurry or I might fall asleep on this plush bed.”

“That won’t stop me from kissing all over your face.”

“Oh, good, then.”

“Okay, the boys are fake-gagging at me for that last line.”

“They’re just jealous.”

“You’re telling me. I’m gonna hang up now, okay? Can’t wait to see you, angel. I love you.”

“Me either, baby. Love you.”

[somuchyoudontknow]

CAA is omnipresent?

A wonderful friend has dug up some interesting information that I am about to share about CAA.

Jan 2023: The move cements the separation of their assets from the pan-European Wild Bunch AG film group, which was created in 2015 out of the merger of their original French company Wild Bunch and Germany’s Senator Film and is now majority-owned by German entrepreneur Lars Windhorst. This means Wild Bunch AG no longer owns its 20% stake in the independent standalone international sales company Maraval and Chioua and their 15-strong team launched in 2019 under the banner of Wild Bunch International (WBI). The company is now been majority owned by Maraval and Chioua and its staff, with CAA also holding a 20% stake. The pair are in the process of securing a new name but the public dropping of the Wild Bunch moniker marks a decisive move for them and their team as they continue to build the new company.

DEADLINE: Wild Bunch International has existed as a standalone company since 2019. Why have you decided only now to split from the iconic brand name you created in 2002 but no longer own? BRAHIM CHIOUA: When we created Wild Bunch International in 2019, Wild Bunch took a 20% stake in exchange for allowing us to use the Wild Bunch brand in our name under a signed three-year agreement. We had a second commercial cooperation deal for the same period under which Wild Bunch International continued to sell and manage Wild Bunch’s international catalogue for a fee, and also had access to the group’s back-office services, for which we paid a fee. This deal came to an end in November 2022 with a get-out clause for both parties. We opted to buyout Wild Bunch’s equity share.

DEADLINE: You have always worked closely with CAA. How does this move impact your relationship with the agency?

MARAVAL: CAA has been an historical partner and they allowed us to start the new company three years ago. Our relationship is probably one we are the most proud of because this goes beyond a simple business relationship. Together with Roeg Sutherland’s team, we built a unique business model of synergies and connection in term of promotion, financing , talent representation that benefit the talent and the producers we are working with such as Alice Diop, Nadine Labaki, Claire Denis, Rebecca Zlotowski, Ladj Ly, Jacques Audiard or Gaspar Noé for example.

DEADLINE: As well as continuing to work on international sales, the new company seems more directly involved in producing... MARAVAL: International sales is no longer our only activity. We’re much more involved as active co-producing partners whether it’s through Le Collectif 64 or Wild West. It’s not like in the past when a company such as Fidelité would come to us with a film, and we would say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Now, we participate in the development, financing and packaging of projects. Changes in the industry meant we had to reformat ourselves. We don’t have to sell the films produced by Getaway Films, Wild West or Le Collectif 64 because with those companies we’re wearing a co-producer hat with an active role. We need to find the best solution for each film, which won’t necessarily involve us selling it internationally on a territory basis.

Source:

It's interesting that WBI separated from WB AG in November 2022.

In the end of March 2023 they revealed their new name Goodfellas

February 2023: Still WBI has boarded sales on Amelia's children

November 2021: Former NBCUniversal Vice Chairman and CAA Co-Founder Ron Meyer Named CEO of Wild Bunch

So, CAA has 20% stake at Goodfellas (former WBI), their partner WB AG is run by a former CAA co-founder Ron Meyer. Another ex-CAA co-founder Michael Ovitz is one of Jinx partners. Omnipresent CAA

More about WB AG:

It looks like transatlantic cooperation, that's why pairing up an American actor and a European actress makes sense to attract not only domestic but also an international audience. As we know Chris is not well-known in Europe, if he wants more international fame and financing for the Kelly project from a non-US company, this pr rl might be a good chance for him.

Industry people have been informed about WBI and WB AG deal since 2019, Seb and Aly, Chris and Lily, and now Chris and Alba appeared in 2020. Actresses are from Europe.

The industry is changing due to many factors. Chris is trying to survive like many actors. He doesn't have his Marvel role too. It's a new start for him, he needs to build a solid foundation. Industry-wise, he is not RDJ or DJ, he doesn't have a pull to make people go to watch his movies as a lead, he needs pr.

Chris' case is also different because of Amelia's children and his 2 movies. And we don't know about Jinx marketing plans.

[alectoperdita]

WIP Wednesday

This may be the best part of sugar baby AU if I'm honest. Continuing from the "interview" snippet I posted forever ago.

---

Katsuya shrugged with a lazy roll of his shoulders. "You paid for the hour, Kaiba-san. How we spend it is up to you. 'Sides, I get the sense you don't care for the desperate and clingy ones. If you've already made up your mind about me, I doubt there's anything I can say to change your mind."

Seto's gaze dipped to Katsuya's chest again, focusing on the neatly knotted crimson-pattern tie that popped against the white of his form-fitting shirt. The color appeared to be his sole concession to his profession, because it was too garish for conventional office settings.

"Do you own a suit?" he asked.

"A few. They kinda run the gamut in style. I do try my best to dress to both the occasion and my client's tastes. My closet might be even bigger than yours. Occupational hazard." He laughed again. His body language was relaxed and open, signaling he had nothing to hide. Except for the fact that everything he did was purposefully calculated.

The tension bled from Seto's shoulder. Client; the verbiage reframed their conversation on more familiar grounds. Katsuya was offering a service, and Seto was considering purchasing. Neither harbored delusions as to why they were here. This meeting was due diligence.

"What about a tuxedo?" Seto locked eyes with the man once more.

"Hmm. Don't got one of those. But I can rent one if there's the need."

Seto clucked his tongue in disapproval. "No, it'll need to be bespoke. Otherwise, it'll look shoddy."

For the first time, Katsuya's forehead creased, but he papered over it with an overly bright grin. "Does that mean I got the job? If you have something specific in mind, you can lay it all on the table. I'm flexible in many ways."

The innuendo and double entendre should annoy Seto. But that was a host's job, right? To flatter and flirt? He should consider himself lucky that Katsuya didn't do so in a manner that grated on Seto's nerves.

Far from it.

He wouldn't go as far as to say he was charmed by the host. But Katsuya was unexpectedly sharp, both in his wits and looks. Seto could certainly find far worse company for an evening social. "Next month, I'll be attending a charity gala. At present, I lack a plus one for the evening."

Katsuya's expression turned coy. "I would love to help you with that, Kaiba-san. I'm a rage at parties, especially corporate gigs." He winked.

"This isn't any 'corporate gig.' It's a black-tie gala with a formal wear dress code," reminded Seto.

Katsuya jutted his chin stubbornly. "I can handle it. I talk to people from all walks of life, y'know."

"Including the prime minister?" asked Seto, arching an eyebrow in question.

Katsuya's mouth opened, then snapped shut again. It was gratifying to see him caught off-guard, even if for only a short while. "Okay, you got me there. Never rubbed elbows with the PM before," he acquiesced, then straightened his posture again. "You said I need a tux, right? I'll go check out some places as soon as you confirm the time and date. The reservation system is first-come, first-serve. Can't guarantee my availability otherwise." Then with the hint of a predatory smirk, he added, "Or I can block off the whole night for you."

There it was: the hard-sell paired with time pressure. Basic sales tactics, but Seto didn't begrudge him that. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Seto's neck and into his collar.

"Why would I need the whole night?" he asked flatly.

For some reason, Katsuya's grin widened a fraction. His expression hung on the edge of leering, complete with hints of bedroom eyes. "I am full-service. If you catch my drift."

Something warm nudged his pinky. Seto jolted, wide eyes flying to the tabletop where Katsuya's fingertip brushed against his knuckle. The first fleeting instance of direct skin-on-skin contact. It was electric. He fully expected the other man to remove his hand, but the seconds dragged on and Katsuya's finger remained flush on Seto.

"Full-service," repeated Seto. His voice sounded distant, hundreds of kilometers away. "Good to know."

[plain-as-pandemonium]

Questions and statements: what did draw you to bedannibal in the first place? At which point of watching the show did you go “yes these two!”? Is there anything else you particularly enjoyed about the show?

QUESTIONS AND STATEMENTS!!!!! 🥰🤩🖤😁

(thank you, darling, and so sorry it took a minute 😘)

*ahem*

short answer: it wasn't until my second (close, considered) watch of the entire show that i passed The Point of No Return™️, following which these two took up remuneration-free residence in my braincase without the possibility of removal

long answer, which requires centrifuging my psychic cocktail shaker to separate a number of ingredients and their relative contributions to the severity of my brainrot, to-wit:

the importance of thomas harris's written works to adolescent!me

the all-consuming crush i had on gillian anderson whilst at uni

my documented predisposition in adulthood to Fannish Thoughts and Feelings about clever, self-contained, calculating female characters who could kill you and might decide to do it

particularly when said female characters have partners who will stop at nothing to protect and care for them

now, combine all of those ingredients and you will have what amounts to Fannish TNT.

however, the fuse on said TNT remained unlit during my first watch of nbc hannibal, which i picked up as a dvd box set in the sale sometime in 2018, i think? i enjoyed it, of course, but i didn't feel the need to go looking for fic about it, let alone start writing any of my own.

it was maybe a year or two later when i chanced to reconnect with @galacticcoyote, a friend from my previous fandom, who mentioned she was working on a longfic involving some characters from this show hannibal, had i seen it? i had, i said. because we had previously beta read each other's works, she asked if i'd be willing to look this one over, maybe help work out where to go with it? absolutely, i said.

it was an immense privilege to read that work, which i still hope dex will one day post because it is amazing. i was probably not much help in reviewing it, sadly. however, as part of my beta-reading due diligence i rewatched the show with a more ... let's say ... analytical/storytelling eye.

that's where they got me.

the match was struck, the fuse burned down and BOOM. my hyperfixation fixed itself good.

on that second watch, it was the vulnerability and trust of hannibal's therapeutic relationship with bedelia that really got me. for therapy to work, you have to be willing to reenter dark and painful places in your mind, places you locked up for a reason, and then you have to examine what you find there. and you have to know that the person who is guiding this examination can a) handle whatever comes out and b) help you handle whatever comes out. hannibal may be a monster, but he's also a person with a greater-than-average amount of trauma. their early sessions must have convinced him to trust her, that she was worthy of his trust, and they must have helped him somehow because he tried to bind her to him with the whole neal frank thing and then he refused to accept her retirement. thinking about how they got to that point, as well as filling in gaps in the canon timeline of their relationship, has provided me many happy hours.

that's what drew me to them as a pairing, and what keeps me thinking and writing about them: vulnerability and trust. because no matter what they're doing--sitting in therapy, covering for each other when the fbi asks questions, getting on a plane together, kissing each other goodbye in florence--you have two powerful, amoral people who nevertheless look to each other when they need help. who place their soft, unmasked, unveiled, unarmoured essence in each other's hands and say, "this is where i am weak, please don't hurt me." for an imagination like mine, that is a line of magic powder to be inhaled over and over.

as for what else i liked about the show? i loved the fact that the creators went all in with the cerebral/visceral pretentiousness of it all. i love all the symbolism, all the layers. i love the fact that they didn't dumb anything down, which is so often the case in modern media where films and tv are meant to appeal to the widest possible audience. i love that it's like literature you can watch. is it perfect? no. there's plenty to criticise. but i appreciate a tv show that doesn't talk down to its audience. that's rare.

[d1gnan]

here's a little deep dive on the fight club necklace / my process in general hehe

i put like way too much thought into all my jewelry and this is about to be the most in depth ive actually ever gone about my process so sorry in advance 4 how long winded i am

(and if ur new to my jewelry i get everything secondhand and i upcycle so i source from places like estate sales/thrift stores/antique malls/ebay/shop frum peoples personal collections etc )

i think the necklace and the original paper street bracelet i made speak the same visual language as the paper street house pretty well because i sourced most of it from some of my oldest and most visually ornate jewelry finds.

a lot of the beads from this one are actually from this really dope older lady i knows collection/more specifically from a costuming warehouse in nyc and the jewelry is just so ornate and crazy and out of style, i imagine they were once worn by the kind of people that wouldve gotten their soup peed in so its kind of fun to reclaim them for something like this

when i went to go look thru my stash i was specifically thinking of chipping wallpaper and pulling anything that evoked that to me-kind of corny for a second, but i love beat up old houses visually and theres something so cool about the juxtaposition of ornate/destroyed. layerS and layers of beautiful print made sad and irrelevant by its surroundings. these (the houses and the jewelry) were luxurious and cool and trendy at one point and now theyre completely obsolete and funny. i honestly think the whole thing screams tyler durdens philosophy also

( a beautiful thing destroyed, the performance of put-togetherness+ wealth, putting stake in material goods+trends only for them to be completely stripped away by time )

but anyway yeah when u put these glamorous old things together with stuff like keys and charms that don't match and mix gold/silver, you get this really lived in and sick junk drawer effect, and when you pair pale whites with pale greens it can kind of give a souring/moldy/aged look

little more specific callouts tho for references (left to right)

golf club charms r pretty obvious

the green engraved stone i grabbed immediately because it gives the old wallpaper feeling i was going for

theres this golden charm that's kinda like a kitschy grandma charm, it says "1 minute/1 hour/1day/1week/1year/1leapyear/1century" and i put that as a reference to "this is your life and its ending one minute at a time"/"i am jacks wasted life" and i also think it works on another level/kindamatches with fight clubs irony since its like supposed to be a cutie love commitment idk at least 2 me hahaha

the little step ladder charm and the key i added so that it would read as yeah a dirty old unfinished house/kinda a visual junk drawer..the key i got at an estate sale (i got a bunch and had to make key soup to clean them all)it opens something somewhere

the dog vaccination tag is there both as a reference to the guy that they threaten but then also slightly as a nod to the narrators wacked self esteem the whole like puppy dog obsession aspect IDK

theres a little P and S charm for paper street

the freshwater pearl at the end and the plastic bone shaped bead are kind of supposed to give teeth/bones like subconsciously, i tried a kind of similar thing when i made jewelry based off of pearl from X and tried to make like a rotting looking necklace

theres a little coke bottle cracker jack toy on there too, if ur trying to condense fight club into symbols, glass bottles pop up in my brain so i wanted to find something like that and i got lucky. theres also a little green telescope cracker jack toy thats kind of rusty and i picked it up for how well it matched what i was going for visually but i feel like it could also be a space monkeys thing

any way thanks for looking at this, like i said this is the deepest ive ever gone into depth about my process, but this is why im so drawn to creating jewelry it feels like taking a picture or finishing a puzzle i just do it in a really specific way and it always feels fresh and new when i start a new project, (i definitely dont always have this much to say i promise) but any way hope this was cool

[abitterboy]

Valentine's Day Baby

Reader x Han Jisung Smut

Summary: You have a little surprise for your boyfriend for Valentine’s Day.

Pairing: DomFem Reader X SubJisung

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: DomSub dynamic, teasing, swearing, punishments, degrading kink, praising kink, nicknames like baby, good boy, pervert, and bitch, licking, oral m and f receiving, slapping, preexisting rules in dynamic, edging, sex without protection, riding, cum eating, overstimulation (I think that’s all but correct me if I’m wrong!)

Shopping online was a pastime of yours that you enjoyed partaking in almost every day. Of course, your bank account didn’t allow you to purchase something every day, but it didn’t stop you from looking. Today you were looking at something special for Valentine’s Day. You were looking for red lingerie. Jisung has always thought you looked the most beautiful in red and you figured why not get something sexy in his favorite color for you? There were many selections on the website you clicked on, and it was slightly overwhelming. You didn’t want to get something that would be too hard to put on or too hard to take off. The whole point of the lingerie is to be seductive, not to be confused with strings and random fabric. You added a few sets to your wish list and after you had accumulated about six, you went to your wish list and looked through them to decide which you liked. After looking for about 10 minutes and realizing there was a buy one, get one half off sale on the site, you decided on two sets. After all, you could always use the other set at a different time. You put in your credit card information and ordered them, anticipating their arrival for the day before Valentine’s Day.

February 13th

The package arrived at your front door and the moment you saw the delivery truck leave you ran out to grab it. Once you had the box in your room, you ripped it open and took out your purchase. You wanted to try it on to make sure you knew how it would work on your body. You tried on the first set and because it took you about 10 minutes to figure it out, you decided it would not be the set you wear tomorrow. Moving onto the next set, you found it much easier but it could be due to your newfound experience having put the other one on just a couple minutes before. It hugged your body perfectly and accentuated everything you needed it to. It wasn’t the most supportive but it looked beautiful. 

You stood in your mirror and admired yourself for a minute. Seeing how good you looked, you snapped a photo of yourself, but not of your full body, just of your upper thigh that had a garter on it that attached to thigh highs, and the waistband of the lacey underwear. You captioned it “I have a surprise for you tomorrow baby boy” and sent it to Jisung.

About five minutes later, you saw that Jisung had opened your messages. When he didn’t text back immediately, you knew that he was stunned. You and Jisung have done many things sexually but you’ve never worn lingerie for him. He had expressed wanting to buy you a set a couple of months ago when he saw one at a store that you were shopping at, but you reassured him that he didn’t have to. He asked if you were sure and when you said yes, he kind of made it sound like he was joking the whole time. You knew damn well he wasn’t joking and his lack of response proved that. A couple more minutes passed and you had a feeling his eyes stayed on the photo the whole time. You texted him again and when it said read immediately, you knew that you were right. 

“Are you flustered, baby? Like what you see?”

He started typing a few seconds later.

“Yes I am and yes I do. 

I need to see more.”

You scoffed and smiled at his request.

“Not even a please? How rude.

Bad boys don’t get what they want.

Your impatience is disgusting”

When you hit send, you weren’t even given 10 seconds before he immediately typed back.

“Please.”

“I'm sorry for being rude.”

“I’ll be patient. Thank you for showing me.”

You smiled at his instant submission. He knew he couldn’t win, and he knew that you could do whatever you wanted to him. That includes doing absolutely nothing. You loved the power you had over your boyfriend in sexual aspects. You sent him a text back.

“Good boy. 

I’ll make sure to reward you tomorrow.❤️”

February 14th

Jisung was going to take you out to dinner so you had to get ready. You took a shower and washed your hair. Once you got out, you did some skincare and applied a little bit of makeup to your face. You slipped on the lingerie and then put on a little red dress. The length of the dress showed the thigh highs, but almost made them look like tights, so you were kind of grateful for that. While you wanted to tease Jisung, you didn’t want everybody to know. It would be kind of embarrassing for people in a restaurant to know that underneath your casual date night dress, you had on a set of lingerie. You threw on a small jacket and sat on your couch waiting for Jisung to message you that he was there. Once Jisung arrived, he messaged you and you got up to walk to the door of his car. When you got out your front door you could see he was waiting at your car door to open it for you. Jisung saw you and his eyes widened and a small gap formed between his lips. He was dazed by you and that’s exactly what you wanted him to be. You walked up to him and gently placed a kiss on his parted lips.

“Are you wearing-?”

His voice almost broke at his last word, and he choked up as if the word lingerie was a curse word he wasn’t allowed to say. You looked him in the eyes and raised your finger to your lips, motioning for him to keep quiet and mind his business, until you were ready to show him. He understood and proceeded to open the car door for you to get in. Once you were seated, he closed it and made his way to the driver's seat. The drive to the restaurant was no longer than 15 minutes and while you two conversed, as usual, there was a nervous look on Jisung‘s face anytime you caught his eyes on you.

The restaurant was beautiful. They had decorated for Valentine’s Day, but instead of tacky paper hearts and pink streamers, they had very classy decorations that fit the expensive aesthetic the restaurant already possessed. Dinner went great and by the time you two finished eating, you had already managed to tease Jisung little by little. Simply by placing a hand on his lap and rubbing his thigh or speaking really close to his ear so your breath lightly touched his sensitive earlobes, you knew exactly how to make the boy tick. Lucky for him, he remembered the rule you had established. He was not allowed to touch you no matter how much you teased him. Seeing as he listened to that rule, you knew you would have to reward him, and you were more than happy to.

“Let’s go baby so you can get your reward for being so good tonight.”

Jisung quickly paid the bill and got into the car. You try not to distract him on the car ride home, not wanting him to look away from the road and endanger the both of you. You kept your hand on Jisungs right thigh though, asserting your dominance, without saying even a word.

Once you got to your apartment, you unlock your door and grabbed Jisung. You used his body to close the door as you pressed him against it. His tie tangled between your fingers and wrapped around your hand as you bought his face down toward yours.

“ Would you like your reward now baby boy?”

Jisung let out a breath and responded by shaking his head yes. You held his chin in your hand and reminded Jisung of your other rule. 

“You answer me when I ask you a question. So speak baby.”

“Yes, I want it.”

“Say please.”

“Please.”

Jisungs voice came out in a whimper as he moved the rest of his body closer to you hoping to finally feel your body against his. With his answer, you proceeded to smash your lips onto his, crashing both of you back against the front door. You raised your left leg up around his waist and tapped his hip, motioning for him to lift you. Jising quickly lifted you by your legs and you parted with his lips to breathlessly utter the word “room” to direct him to where you wanted to go. The kiss resumed as he walked to your room but once Jisung got there, you pulled away again and jumped off of him, leaving him in your doorframe confused. 

You grabbed his tie and sat Jisung down on the edge of your bed.

“Wait here, baby.”

When you hopped off of Jisung, you had dropped your purse at the door frame so you walked back to get it and get out your phone. He looked at you lost, thinking “why would you need your phone right now?” Jisung waited though, knowing that no matter how impatient he is he still can’t do anything without your permission. 

Your phone suddenly started playing music and Jisung realized you were setting the mood. The music was smooth and slow and sexy. You connected the music to your room speakers not even a second later and then proceeded to place your device down on your dresser. Locking eyes with Jisung, you made your way over to the boy that looked at you with his desperate puppy dog eyes. 

“Aw baby look at you. I haven’t even touched you and you already look wrecked.”

He leaned into you and you pushed him away, keeping him sitting upright. 

“Remember the rules, baby. You can't touch me unless I let you.”

Jisung let out a breath and nodded his head in confirmation. With that, you slowly hiked up your dress a bit more and climbed onto his lap. He was already painfully hard so you could feel his dick underneath you as you moved your hips slowly on top of him. 

“You’re so hard, baby. Do I turn you on this much just from kissing you? How pathetic.”

You whispered in Jisungs ear and he rolled his head back as his eyes rolled back too. You bit the bottom of his ear and then licked up the earlobe, feeling him shiver right after. 

“Answer me, baby.”

“Yes. You turn me on so much from any touch you give me.”

You smiled and kissed from his ear to his lips but didn't kiss them. You pulled away just before and grabbed his face once more.

“Are you pathetic?”

Your smirk was practically evil and your eyes burned into Jisung as his dick twitched and he responded.

“Yes. Yes, I’m so pathetic. I'm your pathetic bitch.”

“Yes, yes you are. Good boy.”

Jisung moaned because as you spoke, you rolled your hips on his clothed cock again. Your tongue found its way to his neck as you licked and sucked on his pretty skin, hoping to mark him as yours as you’ve done so many times before. The sensation sent his head back even further, almost knocking him off balance. You caught him by his hair and pulled him back up to face you.

“I’m gonna ruin you, baby.”

You started stripping off his clothes, starting with Jisungs tie and then unbuttoning his shirt slowly. Every time you unbuttoned a button, you kissed down his torso, sending shivers down his body. You made sure earlier to keep your fan on in your room to make the room cool by the time you got back home. This made sure that your warm lips would affect him more and cause Jisung to writhe under you. Once the top half of him was fully naked, you hopped off of his lap and proceeded to undo his pants. You wanted to strip him completely.

As you pulled down Jisungs pants, you made sure to graze your fingers on every part of his skin that you could; you even placed kisses, right on top of his still-clothed erection. He kept his hands behind him, both to hold himself up and to keep him from touching you. With your head lowered towards his dick, you decided to take your teeth and use them to pull down the waistband of his boxers. He was now completely naked and entirely exposed in front of you. 

You loved it.

He loved it. 

You stepped back from Jisung to look at him in his naked form. You always knew Jisung was beautiful, but there was nothing more beautiful than seeing him desperate and naked on your bed. His dick stood up and you couldn't help but look at it before looking into his eyes again. His chest heaved as he continued to breathe heavily, anticipating your next move. 

You decided it was time to give him what you know he wanted. You turned away from him and looked back, locking eye contact. His gaze seemed almost nervous as he looked back at you. Your eye then lowered to your back as you stripped off your jacket and watched it drop to the floor. Jisungs eyes also followed the fabric as it hit the ground. He looks back up once it lands and you proceed to take off the straps of your dress slowly, peeling them from your shoulders and pulling your arms out from them. The dress has a zipper so you slowly unzip it to partially expose your back to Jisungs gaze. Once it's unzipped fully, you cling it to your body before releasing it. It falls right at your feet and Jisungs eyes didn't follow the cloth this time, instead, they stayed directly on your body. 

The red lingerie looked beautiful and left nothing to the imagination. Your ass was completely out of the thong and the thigh highs looked so sexy to Jisung. He wanted to just fuck your thighs when he saw them in the red garments which was something he's never even thought about doing before now. He had to stop himself from grabbing you but his hands shifted before he could think and you heard.

“You wanna touch me, baby? You wanna feel me up? What a fucking pervert. Are you a pervert baby?”

“No, I'm not.”

“Oh really? So you don't wanna touch me even though I said you can't?”

Jisung didn't know what answer you wanted and knew that the wrong answer could be bad for him.

“Yes I do wanna touch you. 

“So you are a pervert?”

“Yes, I am a pervert”

“Good boy, being so honest. You can touch me wherever you want for one song.”

Jisung couldn’t believe it.

“Oh look ones starting now, go ahead baby.”

Jisung took this as an opportunity to grab you by your thighs, pulling you towards him. He wanted to feel the lace on your body so he did that first. Groping every part he could while kissing you, you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth and tease him some more. 

“Look at you so eager. What a selfish little pervert you are wanting to touch me all over.”

Your tantalizing words didn't stop Jisung at all as he squeezed your thighs. Then he started to rub his fingers over your right nipple through the bra and grab the other breast with his other hand. You moaned a bit and chuckled at Jisungs desperation and that's when he placed your clothed breast in his mouth. His tongue ran over your nipples and his teeth bit down on the clothes skin. In your pleasure, you arch your back and moan his name.

“Ah- Jisung.”

He looks up at you with his pleading eyes hoping that him using his mouth is okay since you didn't exactly state that it was. 

Your pleasure made you temporarily forget but your dominance didn’t. You slapped Jisung across the face, forcing him to let go of your chest.

“That wasn't very obedient of you. You’re not being a good boy. And to think I let you touch me. Get on your knees, bitch.”

Jisung fell off the bed to his knees and looked up at you, You raised your leg to rest your foot on the bed, exposing your barely clothed pussy to Jisung who was practically drooling. 

“Since you were impatient, I'm not gonna please you just yet. I had planned to suck your cock but your impatience stained my bra and now it's the wrong color. You're gonna need to make my panties match.”

You slapped him again before grabbing his jaw and lowering your head to him to speak in his face.

“Go on baby. Make it match.”

Your hand grabbed the back of Jisungs head and forced him to put his face into your pussy. He took the hint and started licking up your cunt right over the thong. A moan combined with a laugh as you felt him lapping at you desperately, wanting to taste you on his tongue. You pulled him away from your crotch by his hair and moved your panties aside so he could get full access. You pulled him to face you and spoke.

“What do we say?”

“Thank you for letting me touch you and please you.”

“You're welcome baby now get back to it.”

Jisung quickly latched onto your clit, sucking it and flicking it with his tongue. You’ve cum on his face many times before due to his skillful tongue and loved how eager he was to fuck you with it. He licked stripes up your folds and stuck his tongue in your hole, flicking inside of it and burying himself as deep in you as he could. His hair was still held by your hand and every time Jisung hit your sweet spot, you latched on harder causing him to moan which only made you feel better. The vibrations made you get closer than you expected as you felt your lower body start shaking over him. He kept relentlessly flicking your clit with his tongue and making you shake, knowing exactly what he was doing and wanting to please you so you would be proud and please him. 

“Baby I'm cumming, don't stop.”

A few seconds later you pushed his head fully into your pussy and came all over his face. His tongue cleaned you up as you came, helping you ride out your orgasm and then over-stimming you. You pulled him away from your crotch and saw his face a mess with watery eyes and your cum all over his mouth, dripping down his chin and onto his neck. He smiled at you and you smiled back at him.

“Good boy. Now get on the bed.”

Jisung got up from the floor, slight redness visible on his knees, and sat back on the bed. You threw his body back and made him lay down fully. Jisungs eyes stayed on you as you lowered your head to his thighs. You placed soft kisses on his inner thighs and sucked lightly to create little red marks on him. When you got to his dick, you looked him in the eyes before licking a strip up his cock. He winced in pleasure and his back arched a bit at the contact. You put your tongue back on his cock but only to lick stripes up it, knowing that it would tease him and make him more desperate to be in your mouth.

“Pl-please.”

His whine was low but you heard him clearly. You grabbed his dick with your hand, roughly, and he jolted up with a whine.

“Use your words, baby. What do you want?”

“Please. Please suck me off.”

The desperation made you smile wickedly at the boy you had in your full control. His voice shook and it caused you to get wetter and wetter. In the blink of an eye, you wrapped your lips around Jisung. 

“Ah! Thank you- thank you so much!”

Jisungs moans got louder as you sucked his cock further down your throat, swallowing around him and moaning to send vibrations. You kept going up and down on his dick and loved watching his body writhe under you when you fully deepthroated him. He was shaking and you knew he was close so you did what you do every time he's about to cum from a blowjob.

You let go.

Jisungs whines were almost childish as he started losing his build-up. His face was scrunched up and tears welled up in his eyes. You climbed up his body to his face and put your hands on his cheeks as you fake pouted at him. Your tongue licked up his face as you took away his tears and his mouth parted in pleasure at you licking him. Jisung opened his eyes to see you smiling at him.

“I’m gonna ride you now. Your reward for being so good is that you get to cum inside me. You ready baby? What do we say?”

“Yes. Yes, I'm ready. Thank you, thank you.”

You climbed back down his body and stood in front of him to fully undress. Once you were fully naked you climbed back onto him and hovered your core above his cock. You took your hand and grabbed his dick, running it along your slit before teasingly lowering yourself to only take in his tip before raising yourself off of him again. You did that a couple more times then slammed yourself down on Jisungs dick fully. He moaned out loudly and his eyes shut harshly before opening again to allow himself to see you resting on his dick. Jisungs eyes were barely open but the view he saw was hot enough to make him cum on the spot.

You started riding his dick, moving up and down and rolling your hips every now and then. You started out slow, teasing him a bit as you moved forward to suck on his chest. His nipples were always sensitive so you bit down on his left as you pinched his right. His breathy moans were music to your ears so you started to pick up your pace and moved your hips faster. His size was perfect for you, filling you up perfectly and causing you to moan along with him. The jolts of his body made it a bit hard for you to keep yourself latched on his chest so you stopped sucking on him and sat back up to ride him faster.

Your speed picked up and Jisung grabbed your thighs in reaction. You let this slide because what you had in store for him would be punishment enough for his misbehavior. He held your thighs as you bounced up and down on his cock. He could feel himself on the edge and whined louder before speaking. 

“Ple-please let me cum I-i’m gonna cum!”

You didn't respond at first and kept riding him, knowing he would hold it until you said he was allowed to. His face scrunched up and you pitied him. 

“Go ahead, baby. Cum for me.”

He gripped your thighs and moved his hips into you a couple of times, matching your pace, and came inside of you. Your core was filled with his cum as he continued to shoot inside of you and you stopped moving. He groaned until he let out his last bit of cum. Then you started moving again. 

His torso shot up, catching him off guard. He put his hands behind him and rested on his elbows. Jisungs abs flexed as you kept viciously slamming down on him, causing his overstimulation to intensify. 

“Ah! Stop.”

His voice was weak and desperate but you knew if he really wanted it to stop that he would use your safe word. You kept slamming down on him, taking his cock in as much as you could. His dick got hard again but it was almost painful for Jisung. Your movements caused tears to fall from his eyes and he could do nothing to stop you from riding him till you were satisfied. 

“I’m gonna-“

“I told you you're allowed to cum. That's your reward baby. So cum.”

He came for a second time in your cunt and you rode him for his entire release and then came on his cock. Your orgasm shot through you as you threw your head back and scratched Jisungs stomach. He fell back and groaned at you flexing around his sensitive cock, completely fucked out.

When you were done cumming, you lifted yourself off his dick and stayed hovering to watch the cum Jisung shot into you fall over his dick. You stuck your fingers in your pussy and took some of his cum mixed with yours out before shoving it in his mouth. Jisung moaned around your fingers and cleaned them off with his tongue. 

“Good boy.”

You got off of him and put your hand on his cheek before kissing him and tasting the cum on his lips. 

“You did so good, baby. Happy Valentine's Day.”

Jisung smiled up at you and put his hand on your face too. His tired eyes looked almost closed and he hummed happily before speaking.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Love.”