#Ink rings pt 1 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astrcmoni · 3 days ago

Text

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller II ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

☆ series masterpost: I II III

pairing: billie eilish x sex-hotline-operator!fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring.

wc: 19.8k…..chat

warnings: top!billie, bottom!reader, phone sex, guided masturbation (r!receiving), dirty talking, fingering(r!receiving), cunnilingus (r!receiving), r! is described to have tattoos and nipple piercings, cussing, let me know if i’ve forgotten anything.

authors note: if you haven’t read pt 1 i suggest you do to understand what’s going on, it’s linked up above. but y’all don’t understand how long this took me. never doing this again (i say as pt 3 brews in my notes app🧍🏾‍♀️) ☆

phone call style story — reader is in bold italics, billie is in blue italics.

————

thursday 2:25 pm

the room is enveloped in near-darkness, save for the faint glow of the projector casting moving shadows on the walls, the images dancing faintly before fading into obscurity. a grainy forensics case study plays on the screen, the narrator’s monotone voice threading through the silence like a low hum. images of crime scenes flicker: shoeprints etched into mud, a blood-streaked knife gleaming under harsh light, diagrams of trajectories drawn with meticulous precision. the air is thick with a strange stillness, broken only by the whir of the projector.

you’re seated at a lecture table in the middle of the room, the glossy surface cool against your forearms. your notebook lies open, pages crisp and lined with the neat curves of your handwriting—cornell notes style, each section meticulously labeled. the ballpoint pen you’ve been gripping bears faint smudges of ink, a quiet testament to earlier focus. your belongings are arranged with an almost obsessive precision, each item carefully placed to avoid encroaching on your classmates’ space.

but your mind drifts, untethered, as if caught on the hook of a voice that lingers in the back of your thoughts. a certain caller has been invading the quiet hours of your nights, her words weaving themselves into the fabric of your mind. the way she asks questions—casual but deliberate, coaxing details about your life with a quiet intensity. she tells you about herself too, the cadence of her voice shifting when she delves into stories or spirals into laughter, the kind that leaves you grinning like a fool. sometimes the conversations are light, like skipping stones across water, but often they sink deeper, pulling you both into rabbit holes of thought. and then there’s the flirting—her tone dipping just enough to leave you wondering if it’s intentional or simply her nature. either way, it stirs something in you, a warmth that unfurls in your chest, spreading through your limbs like the first sip of hot tea on a cold morning.

subconsciously, your fingers begin to wag the pen back and forth. the faint tapping against the notebook creates an uneven rhythm, a soft staccato that fills the empty spaces of your wandering mind. the sound is muted, almost soothing—the thwack of plastic meeting paper, the rustle of shifting pages. it’s erratic, mirroring the restless energy simmering beneath your surface, your thoughts leaping from one idea to the next before circling back to her voice.

your eyes stray from the projection, sweeping across the dimly lit room. your classmates sit scattered like statues in varying states of engagement—some scribbling notes with mechanical precision, others half-hidden behind their desks, their faces lit faintly by the glow of their phones. the soft rustle of pages and the occasional stifled yawn add texture to the quiet. your gaze drifts to professor talis, who sits at her desk, bathed in the soft glow of her computer screen. the light highlights the contours of her smooth, golden-brown skin, her curls tumbling gracefully over her shoulders. her thick glasses perch neatly on her nose, catching the faint reflections of the video playing on the board. the snug burgundy sweater she wears looks like it holds warmth, hugging her frame in a way that seems almost comforting.

your attention slides to the clock hanging on the wall, its face faintly illuminated by the dim light. the second hand trudges forward in slow, deliberate ticks, each movement stretching time until it feels infinite. the soft hum of distant chatter blends with the faint scratching of pencils, a quiet symphony of distraction. the pen in your hand wavers, the motion gradually slowing as your focus narrows. the countdown begins—seconds trickling away like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. freedom feels close but distant, just out of reach, and all you can do is wait.

suddenly, the vibrations of your phone ripple through the table, a faint hum cutting through the quiet. a few heads turn toward you, their eyes glinting with muted curiosity in the dim light. the attention feels sharper than it should, and you arch a brow, your head jerking slightly forward in disbelief.

“what?” you mutter under your breath, the word laced with a sharpness you didn’t bother to hide. your gaze flicks to the nearest onlookers, daring them to explain their sudden fascination. it’s not like you’re in middle school—and honestly, have they never heard a phone vibrate before?

ignoring their stares, you reach for the device, its smooth surface cool against your fingertips. unlocking it, you glance at the screen, squinting slightly as the glow cuts through the dimness. one notification stands out, breaking through the shield of your do not disturb focus mode:

1 new email notification from: Maggie Baird

tapping on the alert, you’re directed to the email, the words staring back at you in bold clarity.

hello,

i hope you’re doing well! i just wanted to send a reminder about our appointment today at 2:45. please let me know if you’re still able to stop in or not.

have a great day!

best regards,

maggie baird—guidance counselor

your fingers move automatically, the soft taps of your typing blending into the faint rustle of papers and distant murmurs.

hi!

yes, i will still be stopping by your office today to finish our discussion. see you then.

as you hit send, a voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, calling your name. your head snaps up, eyes scanning the room for the source. the voice echoes faintly, too soft to pinpoint, and you find yourself searching faces, your gaze darting from one corner to the next. then it happens—an unexpected thud against your cheek, rough paper colliding with your skin. your nose scrunches instinctively as your eyes flutter shut, the crumpled projectile falling to the desk with a dull plop.

turning around, you lock eyes with carson, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. her dark curls frame her face, slightly tousled, her sharp green eyes narrowing as if to say, really?

pushing your chair back, you scoot closer to the table behind you, leaning into the shared space until her whisper reaches your ear. the cool touch of her necklace brushes your skin, a fleeting sensation that sends a shiver down your spine.

“why the fuck was that so hard when i’m right here?” she whisper-shouts, her voice edged with teasing indignation.

“shut up,” you reply, your voice low and tinged with amusement despite yourself. “what do you want?”

carson shakes her head, her grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. the familiarity of the moment settles between you, warm and grounding. memories flicker to life—move-in day, your freshman year, the sterile air of the dorm buzzing with unfamiliarity. you still remember walking into the shared space, anxiety twisting in your stomach, only to find her already there. her stuff was unpacked, books stacked neatly on the desk, posters pinned haphazardly to the walls. she sat cross-legged on her bed, her bright green eyes meeting yours with a warmth that immediately put you at ease.

“hey,” she had said back then, her voice steady and inviting. “welcome home.”

something between you clicked that day, an invisible thread tying you together in a way you never questioned. even now, years later, the bond feels effortless—natural, like it’s always been there. you don’t say it often, maybe not as often as you should, but you’re grateful. her presence is an anchor, a quiet reassurance in a world that so often feels unsteady.

“seriously, though,” she whispers, her grin softening. “you’re so dramatic.”

“you’re the one throwing shit,” you counter, your lips twitching into a smirk.

the moment feels suspended, a pocket of light in the dimness of the room, the weight of everything else temporarily forgotten.

it made sense that she was at school on a basketball scholarship. carson had shown you her highlight reels more times than you could count, pulling them up on her cracked phone screen with that same smug grin she always wore when she knew she’d impressed you. her stats were insane—double-doubles, clutch shots, and a level of confidence that could light up any court she stepped on. she was damn good, and she knew it. but it wasn’t just her skill that kept you showing up to every game—it was the way she played, like every shot, every layup, every defensive steal was a conversation she was having with the universe. it was impossible not to get pulled into her orbit.

since the day you two met, you’d been inseparable. carson’s energy was magnetic, and from the moment she greeted you in that shared dorm room, you knew she’d be the kind of friend you could count on for anything. you became her shadow, and she became yours—whether it was late-night study sessions fueled by vending machine snacks or impromptu karaoke performances in your tiny dorm bathroom. you showed up to every one of her games, screaming your lungs out from the bleachers, your voice blending into the roar of the crowd. it wasn’t long before you decided to join the university’s cheer team, if only to have an excuse to be closer to the action—and closer to her.

but it wasn’t all fun and games. you were there when she tore her ACL sophomore year, the anguish etched across her face as she sat on the bench, the season slipping through her fingers. you’d sat with her in the hospital waiting room, holding her hand while she blinked back tears, offering nothing but your quiet presence. and when things got hard for you—when the weight of school, life, and your own fears felt too heavy—carson was there, cracking jokes, pulling you out of bed, and reminding you that it was okay to stumble as long as you kept going.

“so basically after the banquet tomorrow—”

“—seminar,” you interrupt, the corner of your lips twitching into a smirk.

“whatever, same thing. they both serve free food, do they not?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. “anyways, before you rudely interrupted me, are you going to the thing tomorrow?”

“what thing?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as you shift slightly in your seat.

“do you not check the gc?”

“oh… no. i muted y’all forever ago,” you admit, stifling a laugh and keeping your voice low to avoid disturbing the rest of the class.

“my god,” she groans, dragging the words out like a dramatic sigh. “anyway, they wanna go out tomorrow—to some club or whatever—after we get back from it.”

“um… i’ll let you know,” you say, turning back toward the front of the room. “i’m supposed to meet with my counselor today about some ta thing, so i’m not too sure just yet.”

before she can respond, your attention is drawn back to the projector screen. the narrator’s voice cuts through the background noise, monotone but heavy with implication.

“this pattern of blood spatter indicates a medium-velocity impact, likely from a blunt object. note the size and direction of the droplets.”

the words sink into the stillness of the room, the imagery vivid and clinical. you feel a strange sense of detachment as your eyes flicker between the screen and your notebook. the notes in front of you blur slightly, your thoughts wandering back to carson’s offer, the muted buzz of her words still lingering in your mind.

you pause, underlining a key phrase in your notes, the ink dragging softly against the page. your eyes flick back to the screen, narrowing as you try to absorb the image—splatter lines branching out like veins, chaotic but telling a story if you looked closely enough. you force yourself to focus, blocking out the creeping edges of distraction that threaten to pull you under.

outside, a low rumble of thunder rolls, faint but steady, like a distant warning. someone shifts behind you, their chair letting out a sharp squeak that pierces the silence.

“pause the video.”

the screen freezes on an intricate diagram of blood spatter. the jagged pattern is unsettling in its precision, almost artistic in a morbid way.

professor talis speaks up, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “alright, let’s take a moment. can anyone tell me why this particular pattern rules out a high-velocity impact?”

the room falls into an uneasy quiet, the kind that stretches too long and grows heavy. a few students drop their gazes to their desks, avoiding eye contact like the answer might leap off their notebooks and save them. someone in the back coughs, the sound echoing faintly.

your pen stills in your hand. you know the answer; it’s on the tip of your tongue, almost reflexive. and you know she knows you know it. but the thought of speaking aloud—the weight of all those eyes on you—makes your throat tighten. you drop your gaze to your notebook, hoping the moment passes.

professor talis lets out a soft sigh, laced with disappointment. “no one? fine. look at the size of the droplets. high-velocity impacts—like from a gunshot—create a fine mist. what you’re seeing here is much larger, which tells us—”

“—that it’s medium-velocity, probably from something like a bat or a pipe,” you mutter under your breath, the words escaping before you can stop them.

the professor’s head snaps toward you, her sharp gaze locking onto yours. “exactly. speak up next time, ms. you know this stuff.”

you nod faintly, a flicker of heat rising to your cheeks. you glance at carson, who’s leaning back in her chair with an amused smirk, mouthing the word ‘damn.’ you roll your eyes at her, the corner of your lips twitching.

“alright, class dismissed,” professor talis announces, motioning for someone near the door to flip on the light switch. the room is suddenly bathed in a harsh, sterile glow, and a collective groan ripples through the class as everyone shields their eyes. you squint, blinking repeatedly, trying to adjust as the light burns away the comfortable dimness.

“don’t forget your assignments are due next monday. no excuses,” she continues, her tone firm, no room for negotiation. “you’ll thank me when you’re out there solving cases. also, remember that class is canceled tomorrow, and for those of you attending the seminar, be there no later than 11:00 a.m. sharp. dress in business attire. i’ll email your tickets tonight. have a good rest of your day, and i’ll see some of you tomorrow.”

the room erupts into the familiar chaos of end-of-class. chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and faint murmurs of conversation fill the space. you shut your notebook with a soft thud, sliding it into your bag. as you reach for your phone, the screen lights up with a notification: final notice: payment overdue.

your stomach twists, a sharp pang cutting through you, but you swipe the notification away quickly, jaw tightening. you pull on your zip-up jacket, the hood going over your head almost instinctively, a flimsy barrier against the world. slinging your bag over your shoulder, you make your way down the lecture stairs, your sneakers scuffing lightly against the floor.

as you push open the heavy door, the rumble of thunder outside greets you again, this time closer, louder, like a promise waiting to unfold.

you push open the heavy door of the building, stepping into the dimly lit hallway, your hood falling as you cross the threshold. the rain that had soaked through your jacket still clings to you, a cold, damp reminder of the storm outside. you glance down, swiping your shoes against the coarse floor mat, the sound scratching faintly against the quiet. the hallways stretch out before you, dim and hushed, the flicker of old fluorescent lights overhead casting a muted glow. the rain outside drums steadily against the roof and windows, the rhythm echoing down the empty corridors like a distant heartbeat.

your sneakers squeak softly with each step as you navigate the polished floors, leaving faint wet prints in your wake. the air smells faintly of books and wood polish, mingling with the crisp, metallic tang of rain. as you approach the office, warm light spills into the hallway from the narrow opening of the door, a soft beacon in the otherwise subdued space.

you pause, lifting your hand to knock lightly against the wood, the sound barely audible over the rain outside.

“come on in!”

the voice is cheerful, familiar. pushing the door open, you step inside.

maggie sits behind her desk, her silver hair pulled into a loose bun, strands escaping to frame her kind, lined face. the desk is cluttered with papers, framed photos, and a half-empty mug of coffee, the scent faintly mingling with the room’s warmth. she looks up as you enter, her smile bright and inviting.

“ah, just the person i wanted to see. please, sit down.”

you ease into the chair across from her, the worn leather creaking slightly under your weight. “thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

she waves a hand dismissively, leaning back in her chair. “you’re fine. i heard you’re looking for a teacher’s assistant position?”

“yeah,” you say, adjusting your bag on your lap. “something flexible, if possible. my schedule’s already packed, but i really need the extra money.”

maggie hums thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard as she scrolls through files on her screen. “well, i think i have something that might work. the music department is looking for a t.a. it’s mostly administrative—grading papers, organizing lesson plans. nothing too heavy.”

your brows furrow slightly at the mention of music, a faint unease creeping in. “music? i’m a forensics major.”

maggie lets out a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling. “relax. you don’t need to be a musical prodigy. besides, the professor is great. my daughter, actually.”

you blink, her words catching you off guard. “your…daughter?”

she nods, the pride evident in her smile. “yeah. billie eilish—well, i guess she goes by professor o’connell now. now listen, she’s a bit unconventional, but she’s brilliant and easy to work with. i think you’ll like her.”

your thoughts race, uncertainty tugging at you, but you nod slowly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “well…i mean, if you’re sure…”

“i am,” she says confidently, leaning forward. “trust me, you’ll be fine. she’s expecting you in, oh, about ten minutes.”

maggie scoots her chair back, bending slightly to pull open a drawer. she rummages for a moment before withdrawing a manila folder, sliding it across the desk toward you. “here are all the details of the position. you’ll go over them with billie and make any changes where you see fit. just remember to keep an open mind. and don’t be late—billie’s not a fan of tardiness.”

you take the folder, the paper cool and smooth beneath your fingertips, and slip it into your bag. “thank you so much, maggie.”

“anytime, sweetheart. good luck.”

you offer a small smile before stepping back into the hallway, the warmth of the office fading as the cool air of the corridor greets you.

wandering through the halls, your eyes scan the doors, searching for the name. the polished brass plaque catches your attention, glinting faintly under the dull light: o’connell. the name sits bold and formal in black lettering, an unassuming prelude to whatever waits behind the door.

you hesitate for a moment, fingers brushing over the strap of your bag, before finally reaching for the handle.

you take a deep breath, the cool air of the hallway settling in your lungs before you raise your hand to knock. the sound echoes faintly in the quiet, the weight of anticipation tightening in your chest.

“come in,” her voice calls out, smooth and measured, carrying an edge of curiosity. your stomach flips as you push the door open, stepping inside.

she stands at the front of the room, her back partially turned as she writes on the whiteboard, her movements fluid and precise. a black pen is tucked behind her ear, and a neat stack of sheet music rests on the table beside her. the room feels alive despite its simplicity—soft natural light pours in through tall windows, painting golden streaks across the floor. a piano sits in the far corner, its polished surface reflecting the greenery of several plants scattered throughout the space.

then she looks up.

blue eyes meet yours, bright and clear, framed by gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. her gaze is steady, assessing, but there’s warmth there too—a smile softens her expression as if she’s welcoming you into her orbit. “hello. you must be the new t.a.”

your tongue feels thick in your mouth as you nod, your voice barely audible. “yeah. that’s me.”

it hits you like a tidal wave—her voice. it’s her. you freeze, the realization flooding through you in a dizzying rush. she doesn’t seem to recognize you, doesn’t give even the faintest indication that your paths have crossed before, but that only makes it stranger. surreal, almost, to stand here in front of her.

you’d always wondered what she looked like, your mind crafting endless versions of her face over the past weeks to fill the blank spaces in your memory. but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for this.

she’s beautiful in a way that words can’t quite hold, like trying to capture sunlight in your hands. her oversized tan button-up hangs loosely on her frame, paired with dark wash jeans that sit low on her hips, the fabric pooling slightly around her ankles. her hair falls in soft, dark brown waves down her back, glinting faintly in the sunlight. she’s both effortless and breathtaking, a contradiction you can’t help but admire.

and her eyes—sharp, yet gentle—trail over you, taking in every detail. they seem to glow, crystalline and piercing, cutting through your casual exterior. suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of your own appearance, of the worn sweater and faded jeans you’d thrown on without a second thought. you feel exposed, wishing you’d cared a little more about how you looked.

“have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk as she moves to sit down. her voice is soft, but there’s a firmness to it that tells you she’s used to being listened to.

you slide into the chair, your movements careful, and pull the folder from your bag. placing it on the desk, you watch as she flips it open, her fingers brushing lightly against the papers. the motion draws your attention to the ink scrawled across the back of her hand—delicate lines of black, faint smudges at the edges, as if she’d been too focused to stop and wash it off.

as she begins to explain your responsibilities, you try to focus on her words, but your eyes betray you. they wander over her face, lingering on her lips. they’re full and soft, a natural pink like the petals of a plumeria flower, and you can’t help but wonder what they might feel like against your own. the thought startles you, heat creeping up your neck.

her voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back to reality. “is everything okay?” she asks, her brows knitting together in light concern.

you blink, shaking off the haze. “yeah, sorry about that. can you repeat that?” you force a small, nervous laugh, rubbing your palms against the rough fabric of your jeans before leaning in slightly, hoping to seem more attentive.

she doesn’t answer immediately. instead, she watches you, her fingers idly tracing the edges of the papers in the folder. her head tilts to the side, the movement subtle but thoughtful, her gaze narrowing slightly.

her tongue darts out briefly to wet her bottom lip before she pulls it in, biting gently on the skin as if she’s considering something. the moment feels heavier than it should, the silence stretching thin between you. you shift under her gaze, the weight of it pressing into you, as if she’s trying to read something just beneath the surface.

“what?” your brows knit together as confusion flashes across your face, your eyes darting around the room in search of some unseen answer.

“nothing,” she huffs softly, amusement laced in her tone, though her gaze remains sharp. she leans forward, closing the distance slightly, her arms resting on the desk. her presence is magnetic, drawing you in even as her words send a ripple of unease through your chest. “i’m just wondering… do i know you from somewhere?”

you freeze, the air seeming to still around you. her question hits you like a sudden drop, the ground vanishing beneath your feet. a chill skates down your spine, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. you inhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to collect the fragments of your composure. your voice feels foreign when it finally escapes, a careful balance between indifference and denial.

“no, i don’t think you do. i’m sorry.”

silence unfurls in the space between you, thick and palpable. billie doesn’t move, her blue eyes narrowing slightly as they search yours. there’s a quiet intensity in the way she looks at you, as though she’s trying to piece together a memory just out of reach. her lashes frame her gaze, softening its sharpness, but the weight of it is almost too much to bear.

her eyes shift, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck. they linger there for a moment too long, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. then, like a current, her gaze flows down your arm, pausing briefly as if something there caught her attention. her movements are so fluid, so unassuming, you barely register them before she straightens, her focus shifting back to the file in front of her.

“hm… well then,” she murmurs, her tone light but her expression unreadable. she leans back in her chair, the black leather creaking softly beneath her. a beat passes, the air taut with unspoken tension, before she continues. “does every monday, wednesday, and friday at five pm work for you?”

you nod quickly, your movements stiff and mechanical, and she doesn’t press further.

she begins listing your responsibilities, her voice smooth and measured as she explains your duties. you force yourself to focus on her words, but it’s a losing battle. your responses are clipped, your gaze fixed firmly on the desk in front of you. if you keep it brief, keep it distant, maybe she won’t look too closely. maybe she won’t connect the threads dangling between you.

by the time the meeting wraps up, your nerves are frayed, each passing second an exercise in restraint. billie leans forward again, extending a hand across the desk. “looking forward to working with you.”

for a moment, you just stare at her hand, your heart pounding in your ears. then, slowly, you reach out, your fingers meeting hers. her hand is warm, her skin smooth but not without the rough edges of callouses. the contrast between your hands strikes you—her strength tempered by an understated softness, your own fingers trembling slightly as you fight to maintain control.

her thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles, whether intentional or not, and the contact sends a jolt through you. goosebumps rise along her arm where your nails graze her skin, the faint gleam of your top coat catching the light.

“thank you,” you mumble, your voice barely audible. you pull your hand back quickly, tucking it close to your side like it might betray you.

with a hurried goodbye, you slip out of the room, your chest tight and your thoughts in chaos. the hallway feels too quiet, the walls pressing in as you all but sprint away. each step echoes, a reminder of what you’ve left behind and the weight of what you can’t seem to outrun.

back in your apartment, billie’s voice lingers like a song you can’t get out of your head, looping endlessly in your mind. you toss your bag onto the couch and make your way to the bathroom, craving the solitude and stillness that only a hot shower can bring.

you tie your hair back loosely, fingers trembling slightly as you strip off your clothes. stepping into the steam, the water cascades over your skin, scalding but grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos in your chest. the scent of your lavender body wash fills the air, soft and calming, like a fleeting embrace in the midst of a storm. you close your eyes and focus on the sound of the droplets hitting the tiles, willing the tension in your shoulders to dissolve, willing your nerves to spiral down the drain along with the suds.

after a few long moments, you twist the knob, and the water stops, leaving behind silence and steam. wrapping yourself in a towel, you step out, the cool air prickling against your damp skin. you move to your bedroom, the ritual of moisturizing your skin a temporary comfort. your favorite lotion, thick and sweet like vanilla and brown sugar, lingers on your fingertips as you rub it into your arms and legs.

the clock on your nightstand glows 3:47 in vivid red, mocking you with the hours left until your hotline shift begins. you sigh, pulling on a pair of soft, worn pajamas, their familiarity soothing. the silence presses against your ears, heavy and unrelenting, so you turn on your tv, letting the hum of your favorite show fill the void. but even with the characters’ voices playing in the background, your thoughts are loud, relentless.

you drag yourself into the bathroom to begin your hair routine. from under the sink, you gather your tools: the flat iron, heat protectant, parting comb, rollers, and duck clips. the motions are automatic, practiced, almost meditative.

your thumb brushes against the flat iron’s switch, flicking it on. the red light blinks steadily as it warms up. you spray heat protectant onto your hair, the mist clinging to the strands, giving them a subtle sheen. when the iron’s light turns green, you pick it up and run it carefully down each section of hair. the heat transforms your coils into glossy, silken strands, the steam curling in the air like whispered secrets. you follow each pass with your comb before rolling the ends of your hair up to the roots and clipping them in place with a metallic duck clip.

the process repeats, your hands moving on autopilot, but your mind drifts elsewhere. you replay the meeting over and over, analyzing every glance, every word. the way her eyes lingered on you, searching for something just out of reach. does she know? or is this all some cruel coincidence?

your alarm buzzes sharply, jolting you from your thoughts. the clock now blares 6:20. you finish the last section of your hair, securing the roller in place, before turning off the alarm. as you set the flat iron down, another sound cuts through the room—the sharp trill of the phone. it’s the hotline.

your stomach flips as you hesitate, staring at the flashing light. finally, you take a deep breath, slip on your headset, and settle into the familiar rhythm of your persona.

thursday 6:32 pm — incoming call from +1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, california)

“hello, and thank you for calling the pulse network. this is star speaking.”

“star,” billie’s voice flows through the receiver, warm and honey-smooth. “how’s my favorite voice tonight?”

your heart clenches. it’s always like this when she calls, the way her voice sinks into your skin and leaves you aching for more.

“i’m good,” you reply, fighting to keep your tone steady. “you?”

“exhausted,” she admits, a soft chuckle following her words. “it’s been a day. i just got a new t.a., which i’m so grateful for, but she was so quiet. i think i scared her off.”

your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t speak. she’s talking about me.

“maybe she’s just shy,” you manage, your voice careful, measured.

the conversation flows, her voice a melody you know too well. she talks about her day, her words curling around you like smoke, hazy and intoxicating. you fall into the rhythm of your usual calls, her laughter tugging a small smile from your lips despite the weight in your chest.

when you mention your new nails, she perks up, her tone playful and teasing.

“tell me everything. what color? shape? i need details, star.”

her curiosity pulls you in, her warmth easing the tension in your shoulders just enough to let you breathe. for a moment, it feels normal—like it always has, like she’s just a voice on the other end of the line. but beneath the surface, you can feel the cracks forming, the weight of your secret threatening to shatter everything.

“baby?” she calls out, her voice soft, low, and dripping with a kind of warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

the little nickname stirs something in you, a flutter of wings in the pit of your stomach, delicate and chaotic.

“hm?” you hum, your tone nonchalant, though your pulse skips just slightly.

“i’ve always wondered if you had any tattoos or anything.”

her question catches you off guard, and you smile faintly, letting out a soft breath as you lean back in your chair.

“yeah, i have a couple.”

“oh? where?”

her tone shifts—curious but edged with something playful. it pulls a light laugh from you, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your desk.

“um… i have one on my spine, another in the middle of my boobs, like, on my sternum. there’s a few others, but i always forget about them. they’re mostly in places you can’t really see unless… you know.”

“unless what?” her voice takes on a teasing lilt, and you can hear the smirk tugging at her lips, even through the line.

your own lips curl as you lean forward slightly, your tone dipping into something slower, smoother, deliberate.

“unless i’m having sex or something”

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. you hear her breath hitch faintly before she responds, her voice low, sultry, matching your energy effortlessly.

“just might have to take you up on that offer.”

your side of the line goes quiet for a beat, her words lingering in your head like smoke. you swallow hard, the heat blooming in your chest spreading lower. ever since this afternoon, your thoughts have been consumed by her. seeing her for the first time—her sharp blue eyes, the casual confidence in the way she moved—was enough to get your mind reeling and your body betraying you in ways you hadn’t expected.

you sigh softly, the sound escaping without permission, and lean back in your chair.

“you okay over there?” her voice breaks through your haze, tinged with genuine concern.

“yeah,” you say quickly, then pivot. “do you have any tattoos?”

“just six,” she says, her tone easing back into its usual calm rhythm. “not a lot. i have a back tattoo, one on my hip, two on my thigh, one on my sternum, and then everyone’s favorite—the one on my hand.”

she describes them casually, but her voice is warm, soft around the edges, and it paints vivid images in your mind. your thoughts immediately flash to the tattoo on her hand. you’d seen it earlier, the intricate details trailing over her skin. it had you thinking thoughts you shouldn’t, imagining her hands tracing over your body, exploring every sacred inch of you.

a low sound escapes your throat—something between a groan and a hum—and you don’t even realize it until the silence stretches between you.

“what was that?” her voice is teasing now, a quiet laugh slipping through, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“nothing,” you murmur, shifting in your seat. as you adjust, your elbow brushes against the desk, and the edge presses uncomfortably into your chest. a sharp pain shoots through you as it hits your nipple piercing, and you wince, sucking in a breath.

“what’s going on over there?” she asks, half-laughing, half-curious.

“nothing,” you say again, trying to brush it off, though your voice is tight. you bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as the sting subsides, but your thoughts remain tangled in her—her voice, her hands, her presence.

this is dangerous, you think. and yet, you can’t seem to pull yourself away.

“i just bruised my fucking piercing.”

“what piercing?” her voice perks up, curiosity spilling through the line. there’s something in her tone—teasing, intrigued—that makes your stomach twist, heat curling under your skin.

you hesitate for a moment, then let it slip. “this damn nipple piercing. don’t even know why i got it.”

you didn’t, really. it was one of those impulsive decisions—your freshman year of college, sitting cross-legged on your dorm bed while your ex convinced you it’d be fun and cute. you remember the way she had grinned, her enthusiasm contagious, and before you knew it, you were booking an appointment. carson came with you, holding your hand and laughing the entire time, but she didn’t stop you either.

“you’re full of surprises, star,” billie says, a soft laugh weaving into her words. it’s a laugh that warms you, but it also disarms you, makes you feel more exposed than you intended. “but seriously, take care of yourself. that sounds painful.”

her concern lingers in the air, brushing against you in a way that feels intimate, like a hand on your shoulder or the press of her fingers tracing over your skin. you shift in your chair, biting your lip as her words replay in your mind.

“and how do you suggest i do that?” the question leaves your mouth before you can catch it, hanging there like a thread pulled loose.

there’s a pause on the line, just long enough for your heart to stutter, and then she speaks. her voice drops, soft and deliberate.

“do you trust me?”

your throat tightens, and you nod instinctively, even though she can’t see you. “yeah.”

your voice is quiet, a little unsteady, but honest. and in that moment, the walls of your room feel smaller, the distance between you and billie shrinking with every word exchanged.

“i’mma need you to say it, babe.”

her voice is steady, low, and commanding, the kind of tone that roots itself in your chest and refuses to let go. even though she isn’t physically there, you feel her presence like a weight, tangible and pressing. the air around you thickens, charged with an unspoken tension.

you hesitate, your pulse thrumming wildly against your throat. “i—” the words catch, sticking to your tongue. then you swallow hard and try again. “i trust you, billie.”

“just wanna help you out, okay?”

there’s a softness in her words now, a reassurance that wraps around you like a warm blanket. you nod before realizing she can’t see you. “okay.”

“good. what are you wearing?”

her question catches you off guard, even though deep down you already sensed where this was headed. your fingers toy with the edge of your desk, and your heart kicks up a notch.

“just a t-shirt and some sleep shorts.”

the admission feels simple enough, but the way her pause lingers on the line makes your skin prickle with anticipation.

“can you lift your shirt for me?”

her words come out smooth, velvet-coated, and they sink into you like the slow pull of a tide. the apprehension you’ve been holding onto tightens, coiling low in your belly. but there’s something magnetic in her voice, something that compels you to follow.

“mhm.” your response is soft, barely audible, but you know she hears it.

your hands find the hem of your shirt, your fingers grazing the fabric. the motion is slow, deliberate, like the weight of her voice has made everything else move in molasses. you pull the shirt over your head, the cool air hitting your skin in contrast to the heat that’s creeping up your neck and chest. carefully, you fold it, laying it down on the desk beside you like it’s something sacred.

the room feels quieter now, more intimate somehow. the faint hum of the tv in the background, the occasional creak of the apartment settling—all of it fades as you wait for her voice to return.

“now i want you to rub your tits for me, be nice and gentle to them. touch your nipples and tell me what kind of jewelry you got, baby.”

her voice is like a current, slow and unrelenting, pulling you into its depths. your body responds before your mind catches up, your hands moving instinctively to the soft curve of your chest.

your fingers skim along your skin, warm and pliant, before you focus on the sensitive peaks. a sharp inhale escapes your lips as your fingertips brush over the hardened buds, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. you tease yourself, tugging lightly, your movements deliberate yet tender.

“they’re, um—” your breath hitches, the words tumbling out unsteady. “they’re hearts, silver diamond hearts.”

you let the image sink in, your hands still working against your skin, and it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something unspoken.

“mm—i just know they’re so pretty, how does it feel?”

her voice is low, almost a whisper, and yet it feels like it’s wrapped around you, coaxing you to give in.

“feels good, billie.” your voice is barely audible, your words coming out in a soft, breathless rush.

“i know it does, mama.”

the way she says it, smooth and confident, sends a warm flush through your body. it’s intimate, intoxicating, the kind of connection that feels like it exists in its own universe.

your hands falter slightly, your touch growing lighter as you bask in the way her words linger. the heat building under your skin seems to sync with the cadence of her voice, every syllable pressing against you like a soft, unseen touch.

you let out a quiet sigh, feeling the tension ebb and flow like waves against the shore, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

before you know it, her voice shifts, becoming softer, more intimate, like a low hum in the quiet night. her words settle over you, warm and heavy, weaving a haze you can’t escape—not that you want to. the rhythm of her voice is hypnotic, each syllable pulling you deeper into the moment, blurring the edges of your thoughts.

you let your head rest against the cool wood of your desk, eyes fluttering shut as her tone wraps around you like a secret only the two of you share.

billie’s breath hitches on her end of the line. the image of you—at your desk, bare skin glowing in the dim light, your hands exploring what she so desperately wishes she could—floods her mind. it consumes her, making her ache with a longing she’s unprepared for. her free hand trails absentmindedly to her chest, pressing lightly against her own skin as her voice dips lower.

“now i want you to touch the most sensitive parts of yourself,” she murmurs, the words rolling off her tongue like honey. “your lips, your neck. go slow, baby, there’s no rush.”

“okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, caught between hesitation and desire.

you start at your lips, your thumb brushing over the softness, tracing their shape as if committing them to memory. the sensation is subtle but electric, and you can’t help but imagine her doing the same—her hands, her mouth, leaving trails of warmth across your skin.

your fingers drift downward, grazing the curve of your neck, lingering where your pulse flutters beneath your skin. your breath catches as you press lightly, letting the heat of the moment seep into every nerve.

you let your hands travel further, down to the valley of your chest, the softness of your skin against your fingertips grounding you even as it sets you alight. every motion feels deliberate, each touch sending ripples of warmth through you. your fingers tease the edge of your waistband, a small gasp escaping your lips as you hover there, caught between restraint and surrender.

“you’re doing so good, mama,” billie murmurs, her voice rough around the edges now, her own breathing heavier than before. “how does it feel?”

you hesitate, swallowing hard before replying. “it feels—good. it feels so good.”

her voice comes again, softer, more urgent, like she’s right there, close enough to touch. “keep going for me, yeah? take your time.”

her words push you forward, her presence on the line the only tether you need. it’s electric, raw, and completely hers.

“take off your panties for me, love.”

her words wrap around you like a velvet ribbon, smooth and enticing, tugging at something deep within you. your teeth catch your bottom lip, nerves and anticipation tangling into one as her voice lingers in your ear, low and commanding.

“oh, well, you see, i’m not wearing…any.”

you pause, letting the words hang in the air, the silence heavy with implication.

“oh?” her response is slow, deliberate, and laced with a smirk you can practically hear. “that makes everything easier then. go ahead and slide your shorts off for me.”

your hands tremble slightly as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. you peel the fabric away from your skin, the motion slow, deliberate, almost reverent. the dampness at the center is undeniable, the evidence of your arousal making your cheeks flush. you’re thankful for the black fabric, a small mercy in an otherwise vulnerable moment.

as the shorts fall away, the cool air in the room caresses your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you. it’s like the atmosphere itself is alive, charged with the tension billie’s voice weaves around you.

“are they off?” her voice is soft but insistent, each word settling deep into your core.

“yeah, yes, they’re off,” you exhale, the words barely audible, your breath catching as you shift slightly in your chair. the air presses against your skin, the sensitivity almost too much.

“look at you,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with praise. “being such a good girl for me.”

her words hit you like a warm rush, the praise melting into your chest and pooling low in your belly. a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, the sound vulnerable and raw.

the line crackles with a silence that feels anything but empty, the connection between you tangible even through the phone. it’s as if she’s right there with you, her presence wrapping around you, guiding you, pulling you closer to a kind of surrender you hadn’t anticipated.

“i want you to slowly feel the skin on your legs. stroke your inner thighs, tease yourself a little,” she whispers, her voice like silk unraveling across your skin.

you don’t hesitate, your hands gliding downward, fingers skimming over the smooth expanse of your thighs. the touch is light, tentative, as if testing the waters of your own restraint. goosebumps ripple in the wake of your movements, the coolness of the air mixing with the warmth pooling inside you.

your breath comes out uneven, a shaky exhale that echoes in the quiet room. the ache low in your stomach intensifies, spreading like a slow burn, and you can’t help but press your thighs together for even the smallest semblance of relief.

“like this?” your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but the need in it is unmistakable.

“just like that,” billie purrs, her tone soothing yet commanding, each word pushing you further into the haze she’s crafted. “take your time. let your fingers linger. don’t rush it, love.”

your hands obey without thought, fingertips trailing along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. the sensation is electric, every nerve ending alive and sparking under your touch. you let your fingers wander, brushing higher, closer, teasing yourself with a deliberate slowness that borders on torture.

the tension in your body coils tighter with every passing second, and a small whimper escapes your lips. it feels as though the distance between you and billie is nonexistent, her presence palpable even through the thin crackle of the phone line.

“you feel good, don’t you?” her voice dips lower, rich and smoky. “i bet you’re dripping for me already.”

her words make you gasp softly, your body arching involuntarily as her confidence washes over you. she knows exactly what she’s doing, her tone laced with equal parts encouragement and command, pulling you deeper into the moment.

your fingers falter for a second, trembling as the ache inside you becomes almost unbearable. you bite your lip, the metallic taste grounding you briefly as your mind swims in the intoxicating warmth of her guidance.

“god, i wish i could see you right now. i know you look so good, thighs spread apart, pussy all glistening and wet— all because of me.”

her voice is molten, dripping with desire, and it feels like it wraps around you, constricting and coaxing you all at once. her words settle low in your stomach, feeding the fire that’s been building steadily, threatening to consume you.

“billie, please…” the plea escapes your lips in a shaky breath, barely audible, as your body trembles under the weight of her voice.

“want me to fuck you?” she asks, her tone soft yet firm, a tease wrapped in promise.

“mhm.” the sound is a desperate whimper, raw and unfiltered, and your nails dig into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, an attempt to anchor yourself as your mind spirals deeper into the heat of her words.

the room feels smaller, the air heavier. every sound, every creak of the chair, every whisper of breath feels amplified, blending into the symphony of your need. your thighs ache from the tension, the pressure of your own touch almost unbearable as your body responds to her commands.

you can picture her smirk on the other end of the line, that knowing, cocky curve of her lips, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. it’s maddening how her presence can fill a space she isn’t even in, how her voice alone can undo you piece by piece.

“good girl,” she murmurs, her praise sending a jolt through your chest, straight to the core of you. “keep going, don’t stop now. i want to hear all those pretty little sounds you make.”

her words feel like a tether and a push all at once, keeping you grounded even as they push you further out of control. your breath hitches, a quiet moan slipping past your lips, your body moving instinctively, chasing the release she’s guiding you toward.

the way she says ‘good girl’ loops in your mind, a mantra that fuels every movement of your hands, every desperate whimper that escapes your lips. the ache inside you grows sharper, an unbearable tension building and building, and all you can think about is her.

“shit- go ahead and touch yourself baby, wanna hear how wet you are.”

taking your index and your middle finger, you spread your folds apart, before you dip your middle finger to touch your slit. coating your finger in your salivating ecstasy, you swipe up and down on your pussy. the sound of your slick wetness echoing throughout the room. touching your bundle of nerves your rub it in circle motions, pushing down on it just slightly to get the right amount of friction.

billie closed her eyes and tries to steady her breathing as she hears you on the other end, practically begging her to fuck you. and she wish she could do it too, take her time with you to touch you properly and to make you come undone as many times as she wanted to.

“oh my, fuck babe.” a string of curse words slips from billie’s lips, and you can feel her breath hitch through the line. there’s something about hearing her react that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can tell that the sound of your moans and the atmosphere in the room have her completely captivated. every sound you make, every little shift, she’s there with you in it, even if it’s through the phone.

billie shifts, her voice quieter now, like she’s trying to keep herself steady. “i want to feel you so bad… but for now, this will have to do,” she murmurs, her words trailing off with longing. lying on her bed she sat up against her head board, shoving her hands down her sweats and playing with her own clit, the pads of her pointer and middle finger gently rub steady, figure 8's against her nub as she tried to match your pace.

you imagine her lying back, the soft glow of her room casting faint shadows, just the sound of her voice filling the space. you know she’s doing the same thing you are — wanting to be closer, but for now, savoring the distance in the only way she can.

your eyes squeeze shut at the thought, the image of billie crystal clear in your mind. she’s on her knees, her lips slightly parted, her tongue teasing and deliberate. her thumb would press against your most sensitive spot, slow circles coaxing pleasure from you as her eyes stay fixed on yours, sharp and unwavering, like she’s committing every flicker of your expression to memory. you’d tangle your fingers in her soft hair, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her breath against your skin, every moment searing itself into your mind.

a low moan slips past your lips, involuntary and raw, as you shift in place, letting the image take over. the ache inside you grows, pressing against the edges of your composure, and you can’t help but imagine how her touch would feel—how every word she’s murmured would finally come to life under her fingertips.

“you’re so perfect,” billie’s voice hums through the speaker, her tone soft but rough around the edges, laced with the kind of restraint that makes your heart pound harder. “keep going, baby. let me hear you.”

her own breathing hitches slightly on the other end, breaking the rhythm of her steady voice. it’s as if she’s right there with you, matching the pace, letting the connection between you stretch taut like a thread pulled to its breaking point. the sound of her—soft curses under her breath, the quiet rasp of her voice—sends shivers along your skin, and it’s almost too much.

the room feels charged, the air thick with a tension you can’t name but don’t want to escape from. every word she says pulls you deeper, every second on the line feels like a lifetime wrapped in her presence, and for now, that’s enough.

“holy shit. you sound so fucking good for me. so fucking perfect.”

her words spill through the phone, low and gravelly, threading through the quiet of your room. each syllable feels like a caress against your skin, pulling you deeper into the moment, and your fingers obey without hesitation, working in rhythm with her praise.

“feels so good, billie, fuck. you feel so good.” the words tumble out of you, shaky and raw, your voice catching on the edges of your breath.

“wish i was there so i could help you, baby.”

it’s then you notice it—her breathing, uneven and rushed, broken by faint, muffled sounds. you hadn’t really picked up on it before, but now it’s all you can focus on. the soft, rhythmic moans slipping through the line, the faint wet sounds beneath her breath, as if she’s right there with you, mirroring your every movement.

your chest tightens at the thought, a spark of heat running through you. the ache builds, sharp and unrelenting, driving your fingers to move faster, each motion more desperate than the last. the air around you feels heavy, charged with anticipation, and every inhale is shallow, quick, feeding the fire that billie’s voice has set ablaze.

“oh baby, billie—i’m gonna—please—just—fuck,” you whine, your voice breaking with the force of it all, your words spilling over each other in a rush. they don’t make sense, but nothing does in this moment except the way she makes you feel.

“that’s it, baby,” her voice trembles, heavy with want and barely contained restraint. “let go for me, love.”

and that was it. the sharp edge of release tore through you, pulling a low, penetrating moan from your lips. your body trembled as waves of heat rolled over you, your fingers working instinctively to draw out every last ounce of pleasure. billie’s name fell from your mouth like a prayer, soft yet desperate, as you made a mess of yourself, utterly unraveled.

your chest heaved, the rise and fall rapid as you tried to steady your breath. the world around you felt hazy, distant, like everything had faded into the background except for the sound of her voice spilling through the line.

“good job, baby, you did so good for me,” she murmured, her tone soft and full of pride. on the other end, you could hear her breathing too, uneven and ragged, her words laced with the remnants of her own high. her praise wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you, until—

she says your name. not just your name but the one that feels heavy, official. the one you thought she didn’t know. it rolls off her tongue like it belongs there, smooth and deliberate, shattering the fragile bubble you’d built between the two of you.

your heart stops. your breath catches. a chill races up your spine. “what did you just say?”

silence follows, thick and suffocating, stretching out like a chasm between you.

“nothing,” she quips, too quickly, the edge of something unreadable in her voice.

your tone sharpens, cutting through the quiet. “billie.” it’s a warning, low and steady, but laced with an undercurrent of unease.

her next words are quiet, almost hesitant, yet certain in a way that makes the floor feel like it’s slipping out from under you.

“i know it’s you.”

the world tilts, panic surging in your chest like a tidal wave. heat floods your face, and suddenly the room feels too small, too suffocating. “i—i have to go,” you stammer, the words spilling from your lips without thought. with shaking hands, you rip the headset off, your pulse thundering in your ears as you end the call.

the silence that follows is deafening, but your heart continues to pound, the realization settling over you like a weight.

you sit there, frozen, staring blankly at the wall as your mind races in a chaotic loop. how could she know? what does this mean? the questions tumble over each other, relentless, leaving no room for answers. leaning back in your chair, your eyes dart around the room, searching for anything to ground you, but instead, they land on the vanity mirror across from you.

your breath catches. there it is. that damn butterfly tattoo etched delicately behind your ear, its wings trailing faintly onto the side of your neck—a design you often forget about until moments like this. the same tattoo she had been staring at earlier today, her gaze lingering just a beat too long.

with an aggravated huff, you reach out and spin the mirror around, unable to look at it any longer. the sight feels accusatory now, a reminder of your slip, your vulnerability. you shove the chair back with a screech and hurry to the bathroom, the need to cleanse yourself and your space overwhelming. the cool water against your skin is sharp, but it doesn’t quiet your spiraling thoughts.

as you clean the chair and pull your clothes back on, the fog in your mind thickens. panic churns in your chest, mingling with an odd cocktail of shame and unease. you know she didn’t mean to make you feel this way, but the weight of it lingers all the same.

then, your phone buzzes, yanking you from the haze. the screen lights up with another call, but your focus is fractured. with trembling fingers, you force yourself to answer, masking your nerves with the practiced ease of someone who knows how to play their role.

meanwhile, across the city, billie is pacing her room, her hands raking through her hair, disheveling the strands until they’re as chaotic as her thoughts. she knows she’s messed up—badly—and the regret is gnawing at her. she grabs her phone and dials the hotline again, but there’s no answer, only an echoing silence that fuels her desperation.

unable to sit with her guilt, she opens the app and sends a payment—your expected earnings for the session she interrupted, plus a tip. the amount is significant, but it feels insignificant compared to the words she can’t seem to say. she types out a brief note to accompany it: “i’m sorry. can we talk tomorrow?” her finger hovers over the send button before she taps it, watching the transaction disappear into the void.

you, however, keep moving through the night, each call leaving you feeling more drained than the last. panic still lingers in the corners of your mind, intertwined with the sting of dejection and the unsettling sense of vulnerability. though you remind yourself that her intentions weren’t malicious, the leftover shock clings stubbornly, refusing to fade.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide you’ve made enough for the night. with an exhausted sigh, you shut down the hotline, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. the room falls into darkness as you flick off the lights, retreating to your bed and mindlessly flipping through channels, hoping for distraction.

but then, the soft chime of your phone breaks the silence.

new transactions — 3:15 am

+1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, ca) - $350.00 + $550 tip, notes: “i’m sorry. can we talk tomorrow?”

+1 (254) 783-0184 (dallas, TX) - $79.72

+1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC) - $153.68

+1 (201) 508-3416 (bayonne, NJ) - $220.65

+1 (216) 347-0517 (cleveland, OH) - $37.54 + $35 tip

your eyes skim over the notifications, your attention halting at the first one. you know it’s her. your chest tightens, a mix of gratitude and hesitation washing over you. the tip is generous, overly so, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. not now.

with a sigh, you lock your phone and set it face down on the nightstand, the screen now dark and unyielding. rolling onto your side, you close your eyes and try to will yourself to sleep, but the thoughts keep creeping back in, tangled and persistent.

the night stretches on, heavy and endless.

friday 8:45 am —

the next morning drifts by in a haze, the weight of the night before pressing into your chest like a stone. billie’s slip-up loops endlessly in your mind, her voice saying your name with the kind of familiarity that shouldn’t exist. it feels like a quiet earthquake, shifting everything beneath your feet and leaving you unsteady.

but the day doesn’t care about your turmoil. you have a packed schedule: the forensics seminar in san diego is a top priority, and you can’t afford to let your personal life bleed into your professional one.

the seminar stretches on far longer than expected, the clock’s hands spinning faster than they should. presentations drone, conversations pile up, and you lose track of time between networking and handshakes. by the time you finally make it to your car, you’re already behind. your first day as billie’s ta looms, and you’re cutting it dangerously close.

frustration bubbles in your chest as you toss your heels onto the passenger seat and swap them for your sneakers. the drive back to los angeles feels like a blur, the highway unwinding like a taut ribbon, city lights flickering in your periphery.

when you arrive on campus, you’re out of breath, your sneakers tightly laced, your bag slung over one shoulder. the music department’s doors creak as you push them open, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. billie’s office waits at the end, her name etched on the placard beside the door.

you steel yourself as you approach, forcing your posture to straighten and your expression to settle into something neutral. you can’t afford to let last night’s mess seep into today.

when you step inside, billie looks up from her desk, a polite but cautious smile flickering across her face. she cradles a mug of tea in her hands, the steam curling up in soft tendrils.

“you made it,” she says softly, her voice careful, like she’s testing the waters.

“yeah,” you mumble, your voice flat as you drop your bag onto the chair nearest the door.

she gestures toward the kettle on a side table. “i made some tea if you want.”

you shake your head. “no, thanks.”

the silence that follows is thick and awkward, settling over the room like a dense fog. you take a seat and reach for the stack of papers she’s prepared, diving into the grading without so much as a glance in her direction. your pen moves methodically, the scratching of ink against paper the only sound breaking the stillness.

billie tries to bridge the gap with small talk, her tone light but tentative. “how was the seminar?”

“fine,” you reply curtly, not looking up.

“did you learn anything new?”

“not really.”

then she says something that makes your hand pause mid-motion, the words slipping out so softly they almost disappear into the air between you.

“you look pretty.”

the warmth of her voice lingers, curling around you like smoke, uninvited but hard to ignore. for a moment, your resolve falters, heat rising unbidden to your cheeks.

“thanks,” you murmur, forcing the words out before returning to the papers in front of you. your hand moves faster now, as if the quicker you work, the less you’ll feel.

the air grows heavier with every clipped response, every wall you put up. you feel her eyes on you—watching, waiting—but you refuse to meet her gaze. instead, you pull out your phone, scrolling aimlessly through instagram, letting the stream of curated stories and fleeting glimpses into other people’s lives distract you from the weight of your own.

you wish you’d said yes to carson yesterday. you imagine yourself anywhere but here, laughing over drinks or walking aimlessly through the city, free from this suffocating room and its unspoken tension.

your phone finds its way back to the desk, face down, the screen going dark like the mood in the room. you shuffle through the stack of papers, forcing your focus back to the words in front of you, but your mind keeps drifting. billie’s presence sits heavy, her silence louder than anything she could say.

the papers in front of you blur, the words melting into indistinguishable smudges as your pen moves mindlessly across the page. the ticking clock on the wall grows louder with each second, the steady rhythm grating against your nerves. billie’s presence feels suffocating, her quiet, measured breaths and those occasional glances prickling at your skin like needles. no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the feeling of her eyes on you. still, you keep yours trained on the stack of papers, determined to maintain a veneer of professionalism.

the silence between you is brittle, threatening to crack. it’s billie who finally breaks it, her voice soft but resolute. “are we going to talk about it?”

“talk about what?” you respond, keeping your tone as even as you can, your gaze fixed on the paper beneath your pen.

“you know what i mean.”

your fingers tighten around the pen, and you press it harder against the page, the words blurring even more. “there’s nothing to talk about.”

she exhales, and the sound carries frustration, an edge you’re not sure you’re ready to face. “you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“i can, actually,” you reply sharply, the bitterness in your tone slipping out before you can stop it.

“no, you don’t,” you say, louder this time, your voice firm, unyielding.

the next words that leave her mouth hit like a slap. “quit acting like a dick.”

your pen freezes mid-stroke, the ink bleeding into the paper. your head snaps up, and you glare at her, the tension between you thick enough to choke on. “excuse me?”

billie doesn’t back down. she crosses her arms, leaning slightly forward, her posture tense. “you heard me. we’ve been talking for weeks, and now, after one awkward call, you’re acting like i don’t exist.”

a bitter laugh escapes your lips as you scoff, shaking your head. “it’s not that simple.”

her gaze sharpens, her blue eyes piercing through your defenses. “then explain it to me,” she presses, her tone walking the tightrope between firm and gentle. “because from where i’m sitting, it looks like you’re punishing me for something that caught both of us off guard.”

her words dig under your skin, unearthing emotions you’ve tried to bury since last night. frustration bubbles over, spilling into your voice. “it’s not just that, billie,” you snap, the pen slipping from your fingers as you lean back in your chair. “you called me by my name. my name. you knew who i was this whole time, and you didn’t say anything. do you even understand how messed up that feels?”

her shoulders slump slightly, and her expression shifts, guilt softening the sharp lines of her face. “look,” she starts, her voice quiet now, tinged with regret. “i know it’s weird. i know i screwed up. and i’m sorry for what i did—how i handled it. i should’ve told you the moment i recognized you, but i didn’t know how. i didn’t want to scare you off. but can we stop pretending like this is something it’s not?”

you blink, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air between you. her gaze is steady, unwavering, and there’s something vulnerable in the way she looks at you, like she’s peeling back layers she’d rather keep hidden.

she shifts forward, resting her arms on the desk, the smallest flicker of hope breaking through her hesitation. “let me make it up to you. dinner, my place, my treat. no games. just you and me talking. figuring this out.”

you hesitate, her voice hanging in the space between you like an open door. her sincerity wraps around you, tugging at the edges of your resolve.

your lips part as if to respond, but the words stall in your throat. the clock ticks on, and for a moment, the room is silent again, the kind of silence that feels like it could break at any second.

“dinner?” you repeat, your voice laced with skepticism, narrowing your eyes as if the word itself might betray some hidden meaning.

“yes, dinner,” she replies, her voice softer now, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, delicate like a promise hanging in the air.

you study her, eyes tracing the lines of her face, the subtle shift in her posture as she waits for your response. it’s a soft invitation, yet you can’t shake the weight of everything that’s been unsaid. after a long, pregnant pause, you finally sigh, the tension in your chest letting out with the exhale. you push back your chair, the screech of it against the floor sharp in the quiet room. “fine. but this doesn’t mean we’re good.”

billie’s smile falters for a moment but quickly steadies, her nodding serious and thoughtful. “fair enough. but it’s a start.”

the silence settles between you, a thick, almost tangible thing as you gather your things. her presence lingers in the room, and though she tries to mask it with the faintest smile, the tension that hangs between you is nearly suffocating. you sling your bag over your shoulder, your hand brushing against your phone before you glance at it absentmindedly, letting it slip back into your bag as you head for the door.

the rain greets you before you’ve even stepped outside—a heavy, relentless downpour that blurs the view through the glass doors, transforming the world into a watery smear. you pause, groaning softly, the cold air that seeps through the doorframe making your skin prickle. you glance at your car parked on the far side of the lot, the distance mocking you. of course, it had to rain today.

“you’re not seriously planning to drive in this, are you?” billie’s voice drifts toward you, a note of concern threading through her words as she steps closer.

“i’ll be fine,” you respond quickly, clutching your bag tighter as if it could shield you from the storm that’s waiting to soak you through.

billie steps into your space, the jangle of her keys cutting through the tension between you like a knife. “i’ll drive you.”

you turn to face her, shaking your head in reflex. “that’s not necessary—”

“it’s pouring out there,” she interrupts, her voice more insistent now, the firm edge of authority slipping through. “you can barely see five feet ahead. i’m driving.”

you hesitate, biting back a retort as the sound of the rain intensifies, slamming against the roof like a million tiny fists. it’s a losing battle. the rain’s not letting up, and as much as you hate the thought of being trapped in a confined space with her, you know she’s right.

“okay,” you mutter, your voice thick with reluctant acceptance. “but this doesn’t mean anything.”

billie chuckles, a low, quiet sound that wraps around the words you’d just said. she shakes her head as she opens the door for you, the soft creak of it almost drowned out by the rain. “whatever you say.”

the ride to billie’s house is quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the roof, the sound almost hypnotic in its repetition. the low hum of the heater fills the car, but it can’t seem to chase the chill away. you keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching as the city lights smear into streaks, the glow of them soft and distant against the blackened night. billie’s hands rest on the steering wheel, her fingers tapping lightly, a subtle movement that betrays the rhythm she’s hearing in her head.

“you okay over there?” her voice cuts through the silence, soft and tentative.

“i’m fine,” you reply curtly, your gaze never leaving the blurred world outside, unwilling to meet her eyes.

billie doesn’t push, her focus shifting back to the road ahead. you can feel the weight of her unspoken words pressing in the space between you, but she doesn’t say anything more. when she finally pulls into the driveway of her house, the rain is still coming down in sheets, relentless, unforgiving. she parks the car, the engine’s hum dying as she cuts it off. for a beat, there’s only the sound of the rain, a quiet, natural backdrop to the tension that clings to both of you.

she turns to face you, her eyes steady, searching, but she doesn’t speak.

“wait here,” she says, her voice a quiet command as she grabs an umbrella from the backseat. with a swift motion, she steps into the downpour, her silhouette swallowed by the rain for a brief moment before she circles around the car, opening your door. the umbrella hovers above you, a delicate shield against the storm. the gesture catches you off guard, something soft in it that you hadn’t expected, but you mumble a quiet thanks, stepping out and letting her guide you, her presence warm against the cold night, toward the front door.

inside, you take in your surroundings, your eyes tracing the clean lines of the sleek, modern design of billie’s home. every corner seems intentional, every surface polished. the walls are lined with awards, their golden surfaces catching the soft, ambient light, gleaming proudly like trophies of a life lived in the spotlight. you swallow a quiet surprise, suddenly feeling out of place.

“so, you are rich,” you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them, the weight of them hanging in the air.

billie’s soft laugh meets your ears, a musical sound that feels oddly comforting in this unfamiliar space. “i wouldn’t say rich,” she replies with a shrug, leading you further inside. “comfortable, maybe.”

before you can muster a response, the soft pattering of paws against the hardwood floor catches your attention. a gray pit bull pads over, his tail wagging enthusiastically, his nose already working overtime as he sniffs at you curiously, his eyes bright and welcoming.

“shark,” billie says with affection, her voice warm as she crouches down to scratch behind his ears, the bond between them clear in the way she speaks. “he’s friendly.”

you lower yourself to the dog’s level, extending your hand so he can get a proper sniff. when he finally accepts you, his head tilts slightly, and you give him a gentle scratch behind the ears. “hey, big guy,” you murmur, the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as his tail wags harder, thumping against the floor in a rhythm that feels oddly like approval.

when you stand, you catch billie watching you. her gaze is intense, but there’s something there—something unreadable—that makes your chest tighten. she quickly looks away, clearing her throat as if trying to shake off a thought. “wine?” she offers, her voice casual, though there’s a subtle vulnerability in the gesture, as if the invitation is both a question and a subtle apology.

you nod, and she pours two glasses of deep burgundy red wine, the liquid catching the light as it fills the glasses, a dark promise in each drop. she hands you one before moving toward the kitchen. “i was thinking we could cook something simple. nothing fancy,” she adds, her voice laced with an easy kind of familiarity.

you follow her into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she opens the fridge. she stares at its contents for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as if the answer to some silent question isn’t immediately obvious. a defeated sigh escapes her, the vulnerability in it making you pause.

“i honestly don’t know what i’m doing,” she admits, the words tinged with an unexpected embarrassment, her voice soft but sincere.

you smirk, your gaze fixed on her for a beat, before you set your glass down with a quiet clink. “need some help?” you ask, the playful edge to your voice masking the way her admission makes you feel, like you’ve just uncovered something real.

she glances at you, her eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place, before a faint look of relief spreads across her features. “yeah,” she says with a small, shy smile. “that’d be great.”

you gesture to your outfit, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the space. “do you have something i can change into?” you ask, your voice quiet. “i don’t want to ruin this.”

she blinks in surprise, then nods. “oh, yeah, of course,” she says quickly, before disappearing down a hallway. when she returns, she’s holding a pair of sweats and a hoodie, the soft fabric a far cry from the sleek, polished atmosphere of her home. “here,” she offers, her voice gentle, but there’s a warmth in the way she looks at you as if she’s seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time tonight.

you change in the guest bathroom, the soft fabric of billie’s sweats and hoodie carrying the faint, comforting scent of her detergent. it lingers around you, mixing with the quiet hum of the house as you slip back into the kitchen. when you re-enter, billie’s eyes flicker over to you, a fleeting moment of something unreadable in her gaze, but it lingers just a second too long.

“you clean up nice,” she teases, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her voice light but edged with something you can’t quite place.

you shrug, rolling up your sleeves, the fabric brushing your forearms. “shut up and start chopping those veggies,” you reply, a hint of challenge in your voice, but there’s a softness to it, too.

as the two of you work, the tension from earlier seems to dissolve, like fog lifting under the morning sun. easy conversation flows between you, and the kitchen, with its warm lighting and rhythmic sounds of chopping, feels more like home with each passing moment. you tell her about your ups and downs as a college student—the late-night study sessions, the sneaky runs past your RA’s when you had to hide things you weren’t supposed to have. you share how you were a cheerleader only because of your best friend, and how, despite your excitement to graduate, there’s a gnawing fear deep down—because school, for all its stress and chaos, is all you’ve ever known.

billie listens intently, her eyes fixed on you, absorbing every word as she watches you bring a pot of water to a boil, adding a pinch of salt, and then sprinkling in the penne noodles with practiced ease. her gaze flickers from your eyes down the line of your nose, tracing the curve to your lips—glossy, slightly parted as you speak—and then to the tattoo peeking out from behind your ear. she finally makes out the design—a swirl of blue and black butterflies etched into your skin, delicate and intricate.

it’s funny, but in that moment, she realizes she’s feeling like those butterflies—fluttering around in her chest, her stomach tight with something she can’t name. watching you in her kitchen, making dinner in her clothes, feeling like you belonged in this space, made her feel… domesticated. it was a feeling she wasn’t used to, something scary but good.

“are you just gonna watch, or are you gonna help too?” your voice breaks the quiet as you turn to look at her. your eyes catch hers, a spark of mischief in the air between you, before she crosses her arms over her chest, leaning casually against the corner countertop to the right of you.

“nah,” she smirks, her gaze flickering over you with a softness that doesn’t quite match the playful tone of her words. “you seem to be doing just fine.”

her hand reaches for her glass, bringing the wine to her lips. it’s a moment of indulgence, a slow sip that fills her senses with its velvety smoothness. there’s a burst of ripe, dark fruit on her tongue—blackberries, plums, black cherries—interwoven with subtle notes of red currants and raspberries. the taste, rich and elegant, almost too perfect for this moment, feels like it’s been made for her.

with a dramatic roll of your eyes, you grab a knife, holding it out playfully. the tip points at her, aimed at her stomach. “chop,” you say, a teasing edge to your voice as you wave the knife between her and the cutting board sitting on your left. “go on.”

with an exaggerated huff, billie snatches the knife from your hand and moves over to the chopping board, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. you turn your attention back to the sauce, rifling through her spice cabinet with a sense of purpose until you find the seasonings you need. you set them on the counter, the familiar weight of the bottles grounding you in the task at hand, but you can still feel her presence—like a quiet hum in the room.

turning on the burner, you grab a smaller pot and set it on the stove, tossing in the ingredients for the pasta sauce, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the air as you give it a gentle stir.

“shit—” you hear billie say, her voice tinged with frustration. glancing over, you see her holding a knife the wrong way, hovering over a green bell pepper like it’s some sort of adversary she’s unsure how to defeat.

“okay, stop,” you say, setting your spoon down and walking over to her. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”

billie chuckles, stepping back with her hands up in mock surrender. “i told you i don’t know what i’m doing. you’re the one who offered to help.”

you roll your eyes, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrays the irritation you’re trying to suppress. “hand me the knife.”

she obliges, her fingers releasing the blade with a soft sigh as she leans back against the counter. you take it from her, the cool handle fitting easily in your hand, and begin slicing the bell pepper with practiced ease. her gaze is unwavering, like she’s studying you—watching every movement you make, as though your hands hold some kind of secret she’s trying to unravel.

“stop staring at me,” you mutter, without looking up from your work.

“can’t help it,” billie replies lightly, her voice almost like a tease. “you’re kind of fascinating.”

you pause mid-slice, glancing up at her. the look in her eyes is softer now, less playful, more… something else. something that makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not sure you like, a fluttering feeling that you can’t quite place.

“focus,” you murmur, turning your attention back to the vegetables, hoping the distraction will keep your mind from wandering.

billie chuckles softly, her presence like a quiet hum behind you. she moves closer, her body edging up to yours until she’s standing just behind you. her hand brushes against your waist—delicate, light, but enough to send a small shock through you as she leans in closer to watch you work. you slice the pepper into thin, even pieces, the knife gliding through with ease. you reach for a piece and turn slightly, offering it to her.

instead of taking it from your hand, like you expect, billie angles her head down. her lips brush against the tips of your fingers as she slides the pepper into her mouth, her eyes holding yours in a quiet challenge. you freeze, heart skipping a beat, watching the way she lingers just a second too long.

“is it good?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“yeah, thank you.” her voice is soft, a low hum that sends a thrill down your spine. at this point, her hands have found their place on your waist, steadying herself as she lingers close. before you can process it, she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, the brush of her lips light but warm. the world seems to slow, and you freeze, the knife hovering mid-air over the cutting board.

“i—” billie starts, pulling back quickly, her breath catching as she realizes what she’s done. “shit, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean—”

“no, it’s okay,” you interrupt, your voice soft, almost a whisper. the words come out before you can stop them, and there’s an honesty in your tone that surprises you. “i… kinda liked it.”

billie’s eyes search yours, her gaze searching for something you’re not sure you’re ready to give. there’s hesitation there, a quiet storm of uncertainty in her expression. after a beat, she nods, her hands lingering on your waist for just a moment longer before she steps back, her touch slipping away like water through your fingers.

you continue making dinner, the soft sizzle of the sauce simmering filling the kitchen as you stir occasionally. the rhythm of the task is soothing, the casual clink of utensils against the pan blending with the low hum of conversation. you find yourself laughing at billie’s dry wit, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel forced, just two people sharing space and time.

dinner is served shortly after, and the two of you settle at the small dining table, the warm light overhead casting soft shadows around the room. the atmosphere is relaxed, easy—surprisingly so. billie is funny, her sarcastic quips balanced by moments of genuine curiosity about you. her questions are casual, but there’s something deeper beneath them, an earnestness that feels refreshing.

“so,” she says, taking a sip of her wine, “why forensics?”

you shrug, twirling a piece of meat on your fork, contemplating your answer. “i’ve always liked puzzles. figuring things out, piecing them together. plus, it’s practical. there’s always work for someone who can solve problems.”

billie nods thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considers your words. “makes sense. seems like you’re good at that—figuring things out.”

her words hang in the air for a moment, and you can’t tell if she’s talking about more than just your career. her gaze softens, and you look down, focusing on your plate, suddenly aware of how close she is, how much weight is in that quiet compliment.

“what about you?” you ask, finally breaking the silence, your voice steady but curious.

“what about me?” billie tilts her head, a playful edge to her tone.

“why did you become a teacher? you clearly don’t need the money, so tell me.” you pause, laying your fork down and resting your elbows on the table, folding your hands together and propping your head up on them. “don’t hold back.”

billie huffs out a light laugh, twirling her fork slowly on her plate, the motion almost absentminded as she takes her time answering. “uh… well, music’s always been something i’ve loved. and i will love it till the day i die. but the fame that came along with it…” she trails off with a deep sigh, her eyes flicking down to her plate. “that wasn’t something i necessarily loved. don’t get me wrong, i love my supporters and i’m forever grateful for them, but at times it would get overwhelming. i suppose…”

her gaze shifts away from you, her focus distant as she stirs the food on her plate. it’s as though she’s not just talking to you but to herself, too. her words are soft, laced with a kind of exhaustion that speaks of a life lived too quickly. “just kinda got burned out too quick and i wanted to disappear for a while. but i still wanted to actively share music with others—besides, you know, my friends and family and such. so i took some online classes, got my teaching license, and my mom told me a job was open at the university, so i took it.”

a beat passes as you take in her words, and you can’t help but wonder what it must be like, having to leave behind something that once lit you up because the world took too much from you. it’s hard to imagine, but you get it, in a way.

“would you ever publish music again?” you ask, the question floating between you two like a breath.

billie leans in slightly, her voice dropping as if she’s about to reveal a secret. “i’ve actually been working on something,” she says, her smile contagious, her eyes lighting up. “i can show you later.” she clears her throat, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms, trying to play it off as no big deal. “i mean, if you want. it doesn’t matter.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “i would like that. a lot.”

the conversation moves easily after that, with billie washing the dishes while you dry them, not letting her refuse your offer. you laugh at her protests, the rhythm of it a kind of unspoken dance you both slip into. there’s a comfortable silence between you, broken only by the occasional clink of glass or the soft hum of the running water.

once the dishes are done, billie suggests watching a movie. you hesitate, glancing at the clock, but ultimately agree. you settle onto the couch with a glass of wine in hand, the cool glass offering a little relief as you sip and settle into the cushions. the movie plays in the background, but neither of you is really paying attention. the sound of the film blends with the quiet, comfortable hum of each other’s presence, and it feels as though the world outside could just slip away for a while.

billie sits close—closer than she needs to. her arm rests casually on the back of the couch, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. you try to ignore it, focusing on the screen, but it’s impossible not to feel the heat radiating from her, a subtle electricity in the air between you.

“can i ask you something?” she says suddenly, her voice low and quiet, barely above the hum of the movie.

you glance at her, your heart skipping a beat. “what?”

“can i kiss you?”

the question catches you off guard, like a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you blink, your mind racing. “i—”

“it’s okay if you don’t want to,” billie adds quickly, her voice softer now, pulling back just slightly. “i just… i wanted to ask.”

you don’t know why, but you nod. maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you—her blue eyes soft, earnest, like she’s searching for something in you that she’s not sure of. it feels like the right thing to do, even if your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest.

billie leans in slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, her movements deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. when her lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, tentative—like she’s testing the waters, unsure but hopeful. your breath hitches, caught in the moment, and for a brief second, you forget how to move.

but then you’re kissing her back, your hands finding their way to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, soft and searching. it’s like the world narrows to just the two of you, everything else fading into the background.

one kiss turns into two, then three, until you’re both breathless, tangled in each other. billie pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“come with me,” she murmurs, her voice a low, coaxing whisper, her hand finding yours and gently leading you down the hall.

her bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. everything in here feels like an extension of her—a chaotic yet comfortable blend of soft fabrics, scattered music sheets, and mismatched furniture that somehow all comes together. a record player hums quietly in the corner, its melody filling the space with a quiet intimacy.

she turns to you, her hands resting on your waist as she searches your face for any sign of hesitation. you reach up, your fingers grazing her cheek gently, hoping to ease the worry that flickers in her eyes. leaning close, your breath ghosts over her lips, your nose brushing against her own, the air warm between you two. your eyes flicker to hers, a silent question hanging there—are you sure?

her left hand slides to the side of your neck, her thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before she pulls you closer, her lips brushing against yours again. this kiss is deeper, more insistent. her tongue swipes over your bottom lip, soft and teasing, before gently nipping at the skin, asking for permission. you open your mouth slightly, giving her access, and she takes it, her kiss hungry and tender all at once.

she trails soft kisses from the corner of your lips down your throat, each one sending a shiver through you. your hands find their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingers. her hand leaves your neck, moving to rest on your hip as she begins to trail her lips down, marking your skin with slow, wet kisses.

you gasp softly as she moves, her lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. she pulls back just slightly, meeting your lips again in another kiss, this one more urgent, as if the world outside has ceased to exist. her hands slide beneath your hoodie, the cold metal of her rings brushing against your side, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her touch. your breath catches as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours, each touch feeling like it has a life of its own.

she grabs the hem of your hoodie, lifting the fabric slowly, her fingers grazing the skin of your abdomen as it slips over your head, leaving you in just your bra. the cold air of her room nips at your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“so beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, reverence in every word. her hands are back on you in an instant, sliding up your back until they rest just beneath the band of your bra, her touch tender and warm.

her compliment stirs something inside you, a small, involuntary smile curling on your lips. you reach for the collar of her shirt, fingers trembling ever so slightly as you gently undo the buttons one by one, taking your time.

billie watches you, her gaze softening as you brush your thumb across her collarbones. she feels a warmth in her chest that’s unfamiliar yet comforting. you let your hands trail over her chest, down her stomach, stopping at the hem of her blue shirt. your eyes meet hers, a silent question in the softness of your gaze, asking for permission. she nods, her eyes flickering with something deeper.

her breath catches in her throat as you move, tender and deliberate, as though each movement is a quiet reverence for her. you reach for her chains, your fingers sliding beneath them to tuck the necklaces inside her shirt, and then you lift her blue polo over her head, the fabric sliding against her skin. you toss it to the side, leaving her in only a simple white undershirt.

a soft smile plays at her lips, one that’s almost shy, before she presses her palm gently to your cheek. without thinking, you lean into her touch, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. she leans in again, her lips finding yours, and a low groan escapes her as she feels the softness of your lips against hers, the warmth between you two pulsing.

her hand slides down to the drawstring of your sweats, tugging them gently as she guides you toward her bed. she sits down on the edge, pulling you on top of her, your legs straddling her lap. her hands move instinctively to your thighs, rubbing them gently through the thick fabric, grounding herself in the feel of you beneath her.

you press your lips to her neck, starting just behind her ear, then trailing down, each kiss lingering softly against her skin. the wet sound of your kisses fills the air, each one leaving its mark. billie’s hands move slowly, exploring the curve of your lower back, her fingers grazing over the tattoo you spoke of the night before. the intricate design sends a shiver through you as her touch leaves goosebumps in its wake, her fingertips tracing its path upwards.

her hands reach the clasp of your bra, the delicate touch of her fingers working to undo each hook, slowly and carefully. when it finally comes undone, the cool air meets your skin, and your nipples pebble slightly in the change of temperature. a small breath escapes you, the sensation both electric and tender.

your kisses on billie’s neck slow to a languid pace as her fingers toy with the bars piercing your nipples. a soft gasp escapes your lips, your breath hitching as you angle your face into the curve of her neck. your nose grazes the damp trail left by your earlier kisses, and the air feels thick, charged with her presence.

“that feel good, huh?” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, tinged with a laugh as she feels your body respond to her touch. “been wanting to play with these since yesterday.”

her words send a flush coursing through you, the confession settling warm in your chest. gently, she shifts you, her hands firm yet careful as she turns you over and lays you on your back. the comforter beneath you gives way, soft and cool against your heated skin, and your body trembles just slightly at the sensation.

you look up at her, through the fringe of your lashes, her face framed by the golden glow of the bedside lamp. her blue eyes are soft yet intense, locking onto yours as a warm smile spreads across her face. her hair falls like a curtain around you, strands brushing your cheeks, shielding you from anything that exists outside this moment.

“is this okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, careful, as though one wrong move could shatter the sacredness of the moment.

you nod lightly, your throat tight with anticipation.

“remember, i need you to say it for me, mama,” she presses, her tone dipping lower, melting into the air between you.

“yes,” you whisper, your voice steady but barely audible. “it’s more than okay, billie.” your arm lifts, delicate yet sure, wrapping around her neck to pull her closer. your lips meet hers, the kiss slow and deliberate, an exchange that speaks louder than anything you could say.

she hums against your lips, a sound that vibrates through you, before trailing her mouth back to your neck. she kisses you there, leaving traces of herself as she moves lower, her lips ghosting down to your chest. when she reaches the curve of your breasts, she pauses. her breath fans over your skin, sending a shiver through you. the peaks of your nipples stiffen under the coolness of her breath, a soft gasp slipping past your lips.

darting her tongue out, she licks at your right nipple, her tongue circling the bar before pulling it between her lips. her left hand moves to your other breast, her fingers pinching and rolling the sensitive bud. the push and pull of her attention leaves you breathless, and when she releases your nipple with a soft, wet pop, her saliva glistens against your skin in the dim light.

her mouth finds its way to your other breast, mirroring the same motions—sucking, licking, teasing, until your body arches toward her involuntarily. the noises escaping you feel foreign, unbidden, like they’re pulled from some deep, hidden part of you.

her lips trail further downward, leaving a line of kisses over your navel, her hands pressing into your sides to hold you steady. as her lips pause between the valley of your breasts, her gaze lifts to yours, a soft flicker of recognition crossing her face when she notices the small tattoo etched there. she presses a kiss to it, reverent and unhurried, before pulling back slightly to take you in.

she sits up, her eyes never leaving your face as she watches the way your body writhes beneath her, your chest heaving, your lips parted in a series of soft moans that sound like a melody only she gets to hear. her hands move deliberately, halting at the waistband of your sweatpants. her fingers brush against the material, teasing, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger.

her lips curve into a smile as she leans down, her voice low and teasing, warm against your ear. “can i keep going?”

her question lingers, patient, unhurried. her fingers hover at the edge of your waistband, waiting for your answer. and in her eyes, you see nothing but care, nothing but quiet, consuming need.

sitting back up, she watches you beneath her, your body writhing against the comforter, each movement punctuated by soft, needy moans that flood her ears like a song she never wants to end. her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as her fingers toy with the band of your sweatpants, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, dragging the moment out.

“can i?” her voice is soft, low, like a secret meant only for you.

your chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, your voice trembling as you whisper, “yes, please, baby.”

the grin that spreads across billie’s face is equal parts wicked and tender, her eyes never leaving yours as she hooks her fingers into the waistband. she drags them down, her movements slow, deliberate, as if unwrapping a gift she’s been waiting too long to open. inch by inch, she bares you to her until your sweatpants are discarded, tossed carelessly to the side. all that’s left is the thin barrier of your underwear, and the wet patch at the center betrays the need pulsing through you.

“shit—someone’s getting worked up,” she teases, her voice thick with amusement as her fingers brush against the damp fabric, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“shut up,” you mumble, heat rushing to your face as you squirm beneath her. your legs instinctively press together, your core aching for more as she continues her tormenting touches. “just take it off already,” you whine, your voice dripping with impatience.

a cruel smirk tugs at her lips as her fingers curl around the waistband of your panties. “what? i can’t take my time with you?” her words are taunting, dripping with feigned innocence as she slides the fabric down even slower than before.

“no, just—fuck,” you hiss as the cool air hits your bare skin, your body arching slightly at the sudden contrast. unable to take it anymore, you grab her by the neck, pulling her down into a kiss that’s harder, more desperate than any of the ones before. her lips crash against yours, and for a moment, all you can feel is her—her weight, her warmth, the way her body presses into yours.

her hands plant firmly on either side of you, her fists digging into the mattress to steady herself. as the kiss deepens, your hips rut upward, the heat of your bare skin grinding against the rough denim of her jeans. the friction sends a jolt of pleasure through you, a muffled whine escaping into the kiss as you seek more.

billie pulls back, her breathing uneven as her hand slides to your side, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ass. her other hand presses gently against your hips, pinning you back to the bed with a firm but gentle touch.

“have patience,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your cheek as she peppers it with soft, lingering kisses.

“i can’t,” you groan, your voice cracking under the weight of your need.

“you can,” she counters, her tone firm but laced with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, “and you will.”

her eyes meet yours, a silent promise shining in the blue depths. billie wants nothing more than to give in, to lose herself in you completely, but she holds back. she wants this to last, wants to savor every second, every sound, every tremble of your body beneath hers. you deserve that much—more than that.

she dips her head, her lips finding the crook of your neck as she resumes her journey downward. every kiss is purposeful, unhurried, as she maps your body with her mouth. her lips trace the delicate line of your collarbones, pausing to place a lingering kiss at the hollow of your throat before moving lower. she trails kisses down the swell of your breasts, her hands sliding over your sides as she presses soft, reverent kisses to each nipple.

she continues downward, her lips brushing over your ribs, your belly, the dip of your navel. her hands smooth over the curve of your hips, grounding you as she moves lower still. when she finally reaches the soft mound of your cunt, she pauses.

her chin grazes you lightly as she hovers there, her breath warm against your skin. the anticipation hangs heavy in the air, your body taut beneath her, every nerve alive and waiting. her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her lips curving into a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“so fucking beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible, like a prayer spoken only for you.

“well hello there,” she murmurs, her voice low and dripping with mischief, her blue eyes flicking down to where your core glistens, wet and aching for her touch. the sight alone seems to mesmerize her, her lips twitching into a crooked grin as she drinks you in. leaning forward, she presses slow, deliberate kisses to the inside of your thighs, her lips soft but her teeth sharp as they leave faint marks in their wake. her thumbs brush tender circles on the sensitive skin, grounding you and setting every nerve alight all at once.

“you’re so mean, making me wait like this,” you mutter, your voice shaky with anticipation as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch her. the sight of her there—her head between your thighs, her hair messy, her lips swollen—sends a shiver down your spine.

“no, i’m not,” she counters with a sly smirk, sitting back just enough to pull her shirt over her head. her bra follows, tossed aside carelessly, leaving her bare before you. her tattoos catch the soft glow of the light, a stark contrast against her pale skin. “i’m just taking my time with you, that’s all.”

you let out a frustrated whine, your eyes raking over her now-exposed chest. “exactly, and that’s so—fuck,” your words cut off in a sharp gasp as her lips finally make contact with your pussy. her tongue brushes over your clit in a fleeting touch, just enough to send a jolt through your body.

she doesn’t stop there. her mouth moves with intent, her lips pressing kisses all over, her tongue darting out to taste you. it’s not rushed; it’s sensual, almost like she’s savoring you. she moans against you as her tongue flicks over your entrance, dipping in briefly before sliding up through your folds. the vibration of her voice sends waves of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but arch your back, chasing the sensation.

“billie,” you whimper, your voice breathy and desperate, as her nose grazes your clit with every movement. she doesn’t respond with words, just another moan as she pulls you closer, her hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging at the roots as you rock your hips against her face. “oh my god,” you gasp, your thighs trembling as her tongue flicks in a way that leaves you breathless. her nails dig into your skin just slightly, a grounding sensation amidst the overwhelming pleasure.

she pulls back, her lips shiny and swollen, her chest heaving as she looks up at you. “you taste so good,” she mutters, her voice husky and dripping with want. without breaking eye contact, she lets her tatted hand slide down, her fingers taking over where her tongue left off.

her fingers tease your slit, slick and warm, before sliding one inside you with ease. the stretch is slow, deliberate, as her thumb brushes over your clit in lazy circles. “feel good, baby?” she asks, her voice soft but commanding, her eyes watching every little twitch of your body as she works you open.

“yes,” you gasp, your head falling back against the pillows. your walls clench around her finger as she curls it inside you, brushing against that perfect spot that makes your breath hitch. she smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction, and leans back in to press a kiss to your thigh, murmuring, “good girl.”

“this okay?” she whispers, her voice gentle, almost reverent, as her movements still for a moment. her other hand glides over the curve of your stomach, her thumb tracing soft circles on your skin. her blue eyes, vast as oceans, hold yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

you nod, breath hitching as you adjust to the fullness of her. “yes,” you murmur, your voice trembling, and it’s all the confirmation she needs. she slides another finger inside you, slow and deliberate, the stretch sending sparks of pleasure rippling through you. her pace is unhurried, her focus solely on the way your body reacts to her, the way you fit around her fingers like she was made for this—for you.

“oh, fuck, billie,” you gasp, your head falling back as you watch her fingers disappear inside you, coated in your slick. she groans softly at the sound of her name falling from your lips, her pupils dilating with a mix of desire and awe. she’s certain she could fall apart right here, just from the melody of your voice and the way you tremble beneath her.

your moans grow louder, mingling with the obscene, wet sounds of her fingers working you, the rhythm steady but maddening. her sheets are damp beneath you, the evidence of your ecstasy pooling there as her pace quickens. “so pretty, baby,” she breathes, her voice thick with affection and hunger. “everything about you… so fucking beautiful.” her free hand slides down, gripping your thigh to hold you in place as you buck against her touch, desperate for more.

your hands find their way to her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pull her closer. the kiss you give her is fierce, messy, and desperate, your lips crashing into hers like waves against the shore. her teeth graze your bottom lip, and the sensation pulls a whimper from you, the sound only spurring her on. her fingers drive into you faster, her palm brushing against your clit with each stroke, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

you break the kiss, your lips still brushing hers, your breath mingling as you struggle to form words. “billie… i—mmm…” your voice is a broken whine, your brows knitting together as you feel the knot in your core tightening, threatening to snap.

her gaze locks onto yours, and you try to shield your face, embarrassed by how undone you’ve become under her touch. your hand flies to her face, an attempt to cover her eyes, but she’s quicker. she grabs your wrist, gently pulling it away and lacing her fingers with yours. she presses a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your hand, her voice like a balm as she whispers, “don’t hide from me, mama. i want to see all of you.”

her words unravel something deep inside you, and the knot in your belly finally snaps. your climax crashes over you in waves, your body shaking as she guides you through it, her fingers never faltering. “that’s it,” she coos, her lips brushing against your temple as your hips jerk against her hand. “so good for me, baby. just like that.”

your head falls against her chest, your body pliant and trembling as you come down, your breath ragged and uneven. she slows her movements before withdrawing her fingers, careful not to overstimulate you. you shudder at the loss, but the sight of her lifting her hand to her lips makes your breath hitch all over again.

billie closes her eyes as her tongue flicks out, wrapping around her fingers and savoring the taste of you. a low moan escapes her throat as she licks them clean, her expression one of pure satisfaction. “you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with affection, and the words settle deep in your chest, grounding you in this moment with her.

your back hits the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin as you stare blankly at the ceiling, the swirl of your thoughts almost deafening. the quiet hum of the night fills the space, but all you can focus on is the weight of the moment, heavy and impossible to ignore. billie’s eyes flick over to you, her thumbs brushing lazy circles into your sides as her brows knit together, concern softening her features.

“you okay?” her voice is gentle, like the question might break you.

truthfully, you don’t know. you had crossed a line you swore you’d never even approach—crossed it, leapt over it, and now here you were, tangled in the aftermath. you had met, and fucked, one of your clients. and god, the worst part wasn’t even that. the worst part was the undeniable truth humming beneath your skin—you wanted to do it again. and again. and again.

“mhm,” you hum, but it’s weak, barely audible. your voice doesn’t carry the conviction you need it to, and the room falls silent again, thick with tension. your mind races, spiraling through a maze of scenarios, consequences, and excuses until her voice cuts through the noise.

“it’s getting late.” her words are quiet but pointed, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. your eyes dart around the dim room, finally landing on the clock glowing faintly on the bedside table. 2:57 a.m.

“shit—i’m sorry,” you stammer, bolting upright, scrambling for your clothes like an instinctive reaction. but before you can even find your shirt, her hand presses softly against your back, grounding you.

“no, i—i was going to ask if you’d like to stay. for the night.” her voice wavers slightly, and she looks away for a moment, her vulnerability showing in the flicker of hesitation in her gaze. when her eyes meet yours again, there’s something there—hope, maybe? or just a simple longing.

you hesitate, your heart thundering in your chest. everything about this feels complicated, feels wrong, and yet, there’s a pull in her voice, in her gaze, that makes you want to say yes despite all the reasons you shouldn’t. you search for excuses—she’d have to drive you back to your car; it’s late; it doesn’t mean anything—but none of them feel convincing enough to leave.

“okay,” you whisper, the word hanging in the air like a secret. her lips curve into a soft smile, and she moves quickly to grab you extra clothes and swap out the bedding. “thanks,” you murmur, and something in her expression softens even more.

the pillow feels too soft under your head, your back turned to her as you try to steady the rhythm of your breathing. you hear her moving around the room—shutting off the television, switching off the lights. the quiet returns as she slips into bed beside you, and for a moment, you feel the faintest brush of her arm, hesitant, like she wants to reach for you but stops herself just short. the space between you feels heavy, unspoken words hanging in the air.

“goodnight, billie,” you whisper into the quiet, your voice barely carrying. your eyes close, but your thoughts don’t stop—they churn and twist, loud and relentless.

“goodnight, star.” her voice is soft, like the nickname itself is fragile and intimate, and it’s the last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog @hopingforgoodblogs ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish gf #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x black girl #billie eilish x black reader #billie eilish x y/n

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staticbleeding · 5 months ago

Text

⛧°。 ⋆Waiting on the Stars ⋆°⛧

+:｡.｡　teen Stanford Pines x gn reader　｡.｡:+

Part 3 is here y'all!! I'm tempted to keep a majority of the story in Ford's POV. Let me know what y'all think! warnings : strong language, suggestive language, the usual teen shit pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

1972 What happens when Ford's chance to ask you out is right in front of him? Will he grab it and run? Or will his time run out?

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Ford's POV

"Hello?"

What do I say? God their voice is so pretty. Do I hang up? No that's creepy.

Thoughts race through my head. Fear and anger crashes over my body like waves. Finally the reality hits, I need to say something.

"H-Hi (Y/N)?" I stutter out finally.

"Ford? Hey! How'd you get my number?" Their voice rings in my ears as a blush raises throughout my face.

"Stan. He saw you left your notebook in class today and let me call to tell you..I promise I didn't look through it at all! Just your..number." I feel myself mentally cringing at how creepy all of this could sound.

"Oh shit. I didn't even notice! Thank you!" They laugh and thank me, I feel my heart begin to beat faster. Not out of fear or anxiety, but of something else.

"Oh it's nothing! Just..buddies looking out for each other...not assuming we are buds or anything! Just a phrase..yeah phrase." I say and look up seeing Stan shaking his head and laughing. A silent glare is directed at him.

"Of course we are! Looking out for each other. Speaking of which, um would you like to meet up sometime this weekend so I can get it back? Not like a date or anything." I hear their voice quiet down at the last part. My heart tightens up and my stomach drops.

"SO like a date?! Oh he would LOVE to honey! I'll make sure he dresses all fancy for ya. Flowers and all! I like you already! He will pick you up tomorrow at 7 alright?" My mother's voice rings out through the line. I turn around towards the living room and see her sitting in her usual chair with the phone in her hands. She looks up at me and blows a kiss before getting up and walking away like she didn't just say the words I have been so scared to say out loud so nonchalantly. Oh God please let the floor open up and just swallow me whole.

"A date!? Oh! Um if Ford wants it to be a date..then yeah." I hear (Y/N) say into the phone.

"Excuse her! I am so sorry! I..is a date alright? Don't feel pressured to say yes at all! It is completely understandable if not." I cover my face with my free hand and quietly say into the speaker.

"I would love a date with you Ford..." I hear them speaking but after those 8 words leave their mouth I can't focus on anything else but my heart beating faster than it ever has. This can't be real. I am going on a date with them. An actual date. With the prettiest person to ever step foot into this town!? Oh stars what if I mess this up? I feel myself start to lose my mind to worries and anxiety. Tuning out everything except my own voice.

"Do I need to tell you the address again Fordsy?" I hear their laughter I have come to love so much, slowly bring me back into reality.

"Shoot! Um sorry yeah. Wait let me get a ink pen," I run around the kitchen finding something to write it down, "Okay continue please."

Writing down every number and word they say, brings this entire thing to reality. I am going on my first date ever. Do they know this is my first date? What do they even like? Where do I acquire flowers for a date?!

"So..tomorrow at 7?" A smile coats their voice so sweetly I can't help but smile back as if they can see it.

"Yes. Tomorrow at 7. I will..see you there!" With that we say our goodbyes and hang up. Finally a steady breath finds my lungs and fills them up.

"See!? Wasn't that hard Sixer. Just needed a push." Looking up I see my brother and my ma giving each other a high five. Rolling my eyes, I watch as ma goes to look for a suit that will fit me. Stan looks at me and tells me I can use his cologne that "all the ladies love it on me, surely it can help you". I can't help but smile a little. Silently thanking them for the help. I slowly walk to my room and find myself laying in the bed I have spent countless night dreaming. Dreaming of how I can ask them out, maybe the stars heard me? If I ever visit the stars, I will have to thank them. A big smile finds its way to my face. Maybe everything will be okay.

The next few hours are spent with Ford's eyes wide open. Imagining everything that could happen. Many thoughts circle the Young man's head. 'The possibility of this date going completely perfect is slim to none' , 'What do we do?' , 'I have to impress them. make them want to do this date thing again'. Ford slowly drifts off to sleep imagining the chances of this working out. Stan creeps into the room and smiles at the twin asleep cuddling against a pillow. A smile on the older Pines brother, bigger than Stan has ever seen on the usual stoic and serious face.

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Ahh! Chapter 3! Sorry for the shorter chapter! Didn't want to put the date and the phone call all in one. Gotta stretch it out wink wink. I hope you all are as excited as I am for the date.

#stanford pines x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines #ford pines x reader #stanford x reader

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honeylullaby · 1 month ago

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I don’t believe in God, but I believe that you’re my saviour PT. 2

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Unbeknownst to Rupert, you are in serious trouble…

Title derived from Sailor Song by Gigi Perez.

18+ FANFIC / Protective, soft Rupert, all the good stuff. Reader character aged at 21. Injury mentions. Featuring Bas! Read Part 1 here. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

Streams of canary yellow begonias & flamingo pink carnations lined the fading oak stables, the rising sun washing a peaceful glow over Penscombe Court. With knee-high leather riding boots protecting your feet, you pulled open the stable door and almost jumped out of your skin at the sight of an olive-skinned, dapper man, tinted shades hiding his eyes and wrapped tightly in a khaki gilet. “Good morning, babe. Didn’t frighten you, did I? Awfully sorry. Rupert said I could keep Bessie here.” Basil Baddingham beamed, blessing you with a glimpse of his dazzling pearly whites. Bessie was an Arabian horse — regal & imposing, with a striking chestnut colour and an ink black mane. “She’s so gorgeous.” You purr, running your hand over the top of Bessie’s head. “You can ride her if you want.” Bas winked towards you, surveying the apprehensive expression washed across your face. There was something so awfully compelling about Basil that meant you struggled to oppose him.

Less than twenty minutes later, you were bounding across the extensive fields of Penscombe Court, chilled wind rippling through your golden hair — exhilarated and elated. Bas rode alongside you, the smaller horse he was riding struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of Bessie. “Oh come on, Bas! Scared to race me?” You roared as you careered down the bank. Basil chuckled to himself as he patted his horse, urging it to catch up. Before it had chance, Bessie neighed thunderously, subsequently followed by a blood-curdling scream. “Hurry, boy, go!” Basil howled, patting his horse and steadying himself as they bolted down the embankment, and he jumped from the horse’s back before it had time to cease its speed. The scene that greeted him was one of inconceivable horror that he would never forget. You were sprawled across the ground, nose bloodied, arm bent in an anomalous manner & breathing shallow. “Dear God, Rupert is going to fucking kill me.” He groaned under his breath, darting over to you and kneeling at your side.

“God, babe. I’m so fucking sorry.” Basil panted, reaching out to stroke your muddied face but hesitatingly pulling away. Basil was right, Rupert was going to go ballistic, to say the least, but he had to be told. Pulling his bulky telephone from his gilet pocket, he prodded in Rupert’s number with trembling digits. It was ringing for a painstaking length of time, before Rupert answered, half-way through a chuckle. “Hello? Bas, what’s wrong?” Rupert answered, trying to make coherence from Basil’s distressed ramblings.

Dressed only in an unbuttoned, unironed white shirt, beige trousers and black wellington’s, Rupert hurtled from the majestic doors of Penscombe Court, thick mud flying from beneath his feet. He had never sprinted so fast in his life. Sprinting down the bank, he gasped — dumbfounded and horrified at your utterly mangled state. “Angel!” He almost whimpered, sinking into the mud beside you and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry, Rupert, I-“ Basil began, stood yards away with his hand clamped over his open mouth. The look in Rupert’s eyes was one of unbridled rage. Throwing himself to his feet, he stormed over to Basil, lifting him from the ground with fistfuls of his shirt. “What the fuck were you doing?” He spat, but Basil could only splutter and gasp in a stupor. “Taking her out riding, without asking me, when you knew I wanted to? And, worse so, not fucking looking after her!” Rupert continued to roar, fury bubbling through his veins like a steaming kettle reaching boiling point. Basil’s head was hung lowly in shame, unable to provide reasonable explanation. “I’m SORRY, Rupert. I didn’t know!” Was all he could muster. Before long, Rupert was unreservedly apoplectic, howling obstreperously to his Robin, his helicopter pilot — he needed him there immediately.

Comprehending the desperate urgency in Rupert’s voice, Robin complied — the silk black helicopter whirring above, wind projecting from the blades strongly enough to almost knock Basil onto his back.

Opening your eyes was difficult, lids heavy with sleep and your head spinning drowsily. After a few moments and through narrowed vision, you took a moment to survey the surrounding scene. Tucked firmly into bed, your typically flawless golden hair was tied behind you, matted and coated in dried blood. “Good morning, angel.” Rupert whispered, leaning over from his wooden seat at your bedside and kissed your lips gently. “Hello, my love.” You groaned groggily, eyes opening wider. Your hands had numerous cannulas and monitors plunged into them, but the room was secluded and clad in orange velvet. “Where on Earth am I?” You questioned, confused panic rising through your voice.

“You’re in the best place for you. Cost a pretty penny, but I can’t deny that you’re worth it.” Rupert joked, smiling in a gentle, solemn way that you had never seen before. “But why?” You interrogated again, winching sharply as you sat up. “Fucking Bas took you riding. Bessie must’ve got frightened, and bucked you off. Pretty nasty, utterly terrifying to watch. You handled it very elegantly though, I hear.” He informed you, reaching beside him and brandishing quite possibly the most adorable teddy bear you had ever seen, and an enormous box of chocolates. “Oh, I love him!” You beamed, your usual sunshine tone filtering back into your voice.

“Now don’t scare me like that again. We have many more years to drink and fuck away together, I can’t have you falling off horses constantly.” Rupert joked riskily, but was wholeheartedly relieved when you grinned back. “Oh, stop it, Rupert. I love you.” You mumbled, eyes closing and drifting softly back to sleep. “I love you too, angel.” He replied, gently kissing your soft forehead again.

#rivals #rivals disney+#rivals disney #rivals hulu #rivals fanfic #rivals smut #rivals fanfiction #rupert campbell black fanfiction #rupert campbell black x reader #rupert campbell black #rupert campbell black fanfic #rupert campbell black smut #rupert campbell-black #alex hassell

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jwirecs · 1 year ago

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RECOMMENDED BTS FICS OF JULY 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my bts recs of july! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Alcohol Free || @blue-jisungs💕✅

↳ in which your best friend yoongi gets to know your secrets while you sip on various drinks. with each one, he’s more shocked… and amused.

Nothing’s Changed || @hoseokhasmyheartxx🔞💕💔✅

↳ You and Yoongi have been best friends since college. The rest of your friend group wants to go on a couples’ trip, leaving you and Yoongi to share a room. But to your surprise, your room only has one bed… will the two of you be able to get through the week without letting the other know how you feel?

The Love Plaza || @mayolive-writes🔞💕✅💯💯

↳ Needing to take a break from the long trip to college, you and Jungkook are forced to stay at the only lodging available within 70 miles, a love motel. And much to Jungkook’s dismay, there’s only one bed.

Til You Make It || @jinkookspencil💕💔✅💯

↳ jungkook is startled when you call him in need of a favor... to play his dream role - your boyfriend - for a day...

Bet On It || @minisugakoobies🔞💕✅💯💯

↳ What's a little wager between enemies? How about if it's your body on the line?

Lovin' You Right || @kookslastbutton🔞💕💔✅

↳ Your new badass neighbor won't leave you alone. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

5+1 || @joon4eva💕✅

↳ five times you wanted to tell Namjoon you loved him + the one time you finally did.

Baby Fever || @95rkives💕✅💯

↳ what was supposedly a peaceful morning stroll in the park, an unexpected encounter triggers namjoon’s intense desire for a baby, turning him into an adorable, baby fever-filled mess.

Cherry Flavored || @jjksblackgf🔞✅

↳ You bet with your boyfriend that he can't handle more than five minutes of your tongue, but Jungkook never turns away from a challenge. You'll make sure to keep him in his place.

Moving In || @dreamescapeswriting💕✅

↳ (this was an anon req to the writer, short summary: yoongi leaves his stuff at oc's apartment, slowly moving in. shts too cute man)

Panties Over Pastries || @genkima💕✅

↳ you and your lovely boyfriend, Jungkook, decided to have a baking date planned for today ! I wonder how it turns out..

Spicy 'N Sweet || @thvhoe🔞💕💔🔄💯💯💯

↳ Jeon Jungkook is the perfect guy… to piss off your parents. He’s buff, inked up and the definition of their worst nightmare but hey, when love comes knocking on your door there’s not much you can do. It’s not like you planned on falling for him… it just kind of happened, and honestly, you're not even mad about it. Not at all.

The Boxer's Girlfriend || @i-am-baechu🔞💕💔✅

↳ Jeon Jungkook is known throughout Korea as the top boxer. He’s swift in his attacks and calculated with everything. He’s dangerous in the ring but he was also dangerous to his girlfriend, Y/N L/N.

Cat Got Your Tongue? || @jessikahathaway🔞💕💔✅

↳ You were exhausted from schoolwork and just needed a chance to unwind. Jungkook, campus fuckboy, offers his services to help alleviate the stress from studying but is he going to cause more stress than he relieves?

Cherry || @peachypinkygloss🔞💕✅

↳ Jungkook has a crush on you and he does everything to conquer your heart (like eating your pussy whenever and wherever he feels like it).

Bunny Buns || @kittyscupcakeandbunny🔞💕💔🔄

↳ Jungkook needed to hide. He was on the run. And what better place for a bunny hybrid to hide then a Bunny coffee shop? How could he resist? You smelled sweet and looked nice. All it took was one smile of yours and a bunny bread and he was on all fours for you.

Moon || @hobeemin🔞💕✅ Pt 2.

↳ (theres no summary, and i suck at summarizing, but im a sucker for hybrid fics so that says sometime.)

Break My Mind's Eye || @flowerwrites06🔞💕✅

↳ Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Diamond Trail || @flowerwrites06🔞💕✅

↳ The theft of his most elusive and mystery possession leads to a web of trickery that threatens every large syndicate in the country. (alternative: Yoongis’ prized possession is stolen but he’s not the only gang leader being betrayed)

Distraction || @melancholy-of-nadia🔞✅

↳ After a series of circumstances leads you to be the assistant/right-hand woman of Bangkok's local thief/gang leader Min Suga, you're diligent in fulfilling your role in helping him take down Detective (& Underground Mafia Boss) Agust D. What you didn't expect in this role, was to catch your own boss reading p*rngraphic material during his free time and finding out there are consequences to distracting him.

Wishes || @i-am-baechu🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ After a long day of classes, Min Yoongi decides to take a break at the music hall that has become his second home. He walks in with his cigarette lit and his blank expression quickly changes when he sees a girl playing his piano. The moment their eyes meet, their lives become complicated and Yoongi blames himself for her future pain. Was the love we had honest? (i dont have a gang!au banner so its going in with the mafia!au. also yall already know im a huge sucker fore mafia/gang au's along with hybrids. its currently on going, but i know that i will be on a roller coaster while reading this series)

Devoted To Trouble || @jeonsweetpea🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ In which the whole world finds out Jungkook is Spider-Man, but he doesn’t care about anything but you. OR Can you survive seven days of Jungkook pining over you while his identity is exposed to the world? (i dont have a spider-man!au banner, but spider!kook????? when yoongi said that this man will annoy him even at the age of 100, lord where is the lie. but also, we love a persistent & annoyingly cute man.)

For Glory || @mono-moonchilds🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ A fight to the death. No rules, no refs, and nowhere to run.

Monachopsis || @personasintro🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ after receiving unpleasant news that doesn’t allow you to grow your family, your husband comes up with an idea that unfortunately involves his brother whom he despises (wasnt too sure what au this fic would fall under but i say it goes under the parent au cause min yoongi gon be a father whether he likes it or not.)

Seven || @joonberriess🔞✅

↳ “You know night after night, I’ll be fuckin’ you right,” or: “Girl hold on my baby daddy calling again.”

Unconditionally || @rmsrkive💔🔄💯

↳ for the past three, almost four years, it has only been you and your twins after having been abandoned by your ex-boyfriend. you expected it to remain that way for the rest of your lives until one day you accidentally run into one of his bandmates at the park

Way Back Home || @solemnreads🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ "please tell me this isn't what i think it is" he asks you with tears in his eyes. you look down at the sight of your son with an oxygen mask on his face while your daughter is sleeping on the couch near the wall. you look into his eyes, broken and sad. you've dreamt of this day for years, wondering how he would react. but here you are, hoping he could've meet the twins under different circumstances. "yes...they're your children."

Wrong Time || @spideyjimin🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ meeting ten years later the girl he deeply fell in love with is something Jungkook never thought would happen. But here you are, standing before his eyes with a bright smile on your face as you walk through the massive lobby of his company. At that exact moment, he realizes that the two of you fell in love at the wrong time but is now the right time?

Added Color || @bangtansmaus💕💔✅💯

↳ Yumi was perfectly fine with not finding her soulmate yet. she never really cared about the idea of soulmates. she’s fine with just running her bakery and living with her brother Jimin and their two best friends Jungkook and Taehyung.

Do check out all of the other BTS Fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts angst #bts enemies to lovers au #bts established relationship au #bts best friends to lovers au #bts friends to lovers au #bts social media au #bts dad au #bts mafia au #bts hybrid au #bts friends with benefits au #bts fic recs #bts recs

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glassrowboat · 10 months ago

Text

Silken Shadows (Pt.1). Pantalone.

Summary: You had many customers, many clients. Regulars even. They dragged you along to dinners, to drinks at bars as they chatted about something you couldn't care less about, and to parties of all sorts. All something that came with the job. What you weren't expecting, however, as you stood on the corner of a side walk cursing the chill in the air as you waited for the latest job to come pick you up was a Fatui Harbinger. Well, you were told it would be a big money job.

Word count: 4300+

Authors note: I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but probably less than fifteen chapters? But someone had to give this old man some love, so I took it upon myself.

Also, the reader is a hired date for anyone who needs specifications.

Link to series

Shards of glass sat around him like glistening stars as a pale light streamed in through the large windows of Pantalone's office. Nonexistent constellations were to be found in what was scattered around him in his own personal galaxy. Bits and pieces are as large as one's finger and others as tiny as diamond inlaid in a ring. The only difference being: it wasn't gold encasing a jewel that shined under every twist of the wrist as it reflected a candle's flame, but a wooden floor. One he had taken great pride in picking out once upon after first receiving this office.

Time had scratched its lacquered surface.

How typical.

Another thing he can't control. Just like the natural instinct to grit his teeth so tight, Pantalone can hear them grinding against each other in protest, crying out for some form of mercy.

It made his jaw ache. Yet his lips still twisted into a smile.

They had to.

Even if Pantalone couldn't help but want to physically recoil at his own image, his reflection in the glass at his feet. An aged label with yellowed spots attached to what was left of the bottle, an 817 vintage from Fontaine, the only thing blocking where his narrowed eyes would be in this warped copy.

All the while, one thought kept replaying in his head, repeating like a broken record slotted on a gramophone: that damnable woman.

Signora canceled on him.

Right before a banquet that was supposed to be quite the occasion at that.

It would have given him just the perfect chance to introduce the frosty diplomat, his fellow Harbinger, to a colleague of his. A man just as like minded as Pantalone when it comes to the exchange on mora. A fellow businessman, to put it in simple terms. Someone who also speaks in the turnover of gold from one hand to another.

A man who could prove beneficial to Pantalone had the right opportunity to familiarize himself but man but all the ‘Fair Lady’ had to say, in as arrogant sounding voice as she could muster, for that Pantalone was sure, was that she's being shipped away to Inazuma soon. For the gnosis in accordance with the last meeting's conclusion, of course.

That, however, didn't change the fact that she wasn't leaving right away.

There was time she could use, to leverage if she so wished, but now he was left with a tree that wished to bear no fruit. There would be no sweet taste of a win today, of another deal secured at this rate. What a wasted opportunity.

Not to mention, he was still expected to show up with someone on his arm in accordance with the invite marked with a check right on the box for a plus one.

All that right after La Signora didn't even bother to sit down, to go through the proper greetings and laybe even have tea with him to share this bit of information. Rather, she stormed in as Pantalone was drafting out a contract, unfortunately startling him in the process as the door slammed against the wall behind it. It was enough to have the ink scrawled out under his hand smudge as his hand curled around a black fountain pen at the idea that her uncaring actions would leave a dent in the drywall.

Surprise. It was never an emotion he cared for, but it was all he was being given today. Or at least that's how it seemed.

The floral scent of the ink he specially ordered to refill this pen the last time it emptied out from pages upon pages of tireless work that had led to an ache in his hand was the only thing to sooth Pantalone's otherwise swirling mind as he figured out where to go from here.

That here has led him to Columbina.

Her saccharine smile when he slipped into the music room was familiar, something he was as used to as a well-worn book as she held up a singular finger. Asking for one moment more.

The song on her lips quelled only when she was ready.

Besides, it would be unbefitting to ask her to stop with the nonsense already as her voice rose to the heights of the pure white room. One never cuts off the star of a stage, on or off of it. Columbina had a way of bringing the notes to life, of making any eye believe you could see the sheet music she had long since memorized to the point someone might just believe they could see those ever perfect lines of five weaving around columns all up until Columbina took her final bow.

Pink and black hair covering her face still as his hands clapped together, the metal bands wrapped around his fingers, causing a small ring each time they collided. “Wonderful as always, Damselette.”

“I am always exultant to have a proper audience.”

Her head rose from its low hang with a grace only she could have. Every action she took was akin to a bird flapping its wings to soar among the clouds. Fitting for a dove.

“As much as I would like to sit down and show you proper respect and courtesy, Columbina, I am afraid I am too short of time for such a luxury.”

The event is, after all, tonight at 8 o'clock sharp, and while Pantalone has always heard it's fashionable to arrive late, it was never a practice he appreciated others participating in. He wouldn't deign to be the outlier to such a basic rule when there was no need for such.

He didn't need to arrive late to get anyone's eyes to fall on him in rapt attention. The citizens of Snezhnaya knew what his time was worth. As for those who did participate in such boorish behaviors? Simply put, they were not worth the precious minutes that could be delegated elsewhere.

“First and foremost, are you otherwise preoccupied this evening?” Pantalone asked.

Columbina turned her back to him with ease, fingers fiddling with the sheet music before her as she scribbled something down he could not see. Not that it mattered. If it wasn't the very notes she was just singing, it would be an indent on the piece written in a language far older than he.

“Now, what would you want of me that requires I not be ‘preoccupied'?”

“That Marquess in the West, you and I both know the one, has come to the main city for a short reprieve and is holding an event.” As Pantalone spoke, he stepped further into the room, taking care not to scuff the white floors with his own black shoes. “One that does not require a show of a song, but I'm sure they would not deny it if you offered.”

A gentle series of clicks continued until he was standing beside her.

“So, you want me to act as your substitute plus one since the one you originally planned to invite canceled on you at the last minute. Is that it, Regrator?”

Her tone had Pantalone wanting to click his tongue, but he resisted the urge.

“A regretful circumstance I shall have to amend in the future. If you agree to my proposition, that is.”

“The Fair Lady truly pulled that lavish rug under you. Something I do not see often.”

Pantalone kept from looking down at her, instead keeping his eyes instead fixed on the musician's stand, his gloved finger ran over. It would be lace covered eyes and ribbons galore as usual. Nothing he hasn't seen before at every harbinger meeting or the times they cross paths through the ornate halls of the palace, most of which have him catching the sight of her scuttling into this very room.

The faintest layer of dust now coated his finger that had Pantalone itching to grab the handkerchief tucked away in his pocket to wipe it off.

The Damselette always did tend to scare the maids off.

“As stated before, I am currently lacking time. Your answer would be most appreciated.”

“Oh, right, that.” Columbina mused. “Steak dinners, champagne, maybe even chatter amongst people who are delightful company. Just like my plans for tonight with Arlecchino.”

Of course she didn't lead with that.

That means two possible options off his already lackluster list of those to invite along.

The last words Pantalone was given before he walked out with a bow of his head to the higher ranking harbinger was “I hope you find someone to fill the empty seat beside you tonight.” Only for the song to continue on like nothing happened, like nothing interrupted, like he didn't even come in at all.

He made sure to leave the door cracked open on his way out.

Sandrone was all the same, giving him a no. The only difference was she spit the words out like venom the moment his fist knocked on her workshop's door and she flung it open with a flourish, covered in oil and the finest grinds of aluminum that flew in the air. It had him cleaning his glasses off as he walked away.

Lenses punched between the fine fabric of his handkerchief as he went over what to do from here.

If it wouldn't reflect poorly on his image, Pantalone would just show up alone. Wave it off and say his date was busy. Yet here he is, arm twisted. Social expectations are truly the bind that holds us all as he couldn't simply message the Marquess on the fly with something along the lines of ‘I couldn't dain to bring a date after my plus one canceled on me.’ Signed the Ninth.

If it wouldn't come across as poor care for attention, bringing his most trusted secretary along would be a viable option. That is if that very employee wasn't a married man who was only just rambling about plans to take his partner out for dinner earlier this very day. It was their five year anniversary being married, as he recalled. He had even given the man a gift in congratulations.

The other two under his care were off dealing with some less than stellar business Pantalone couldn't afford to take them away from. At least not at this given moment in time.

Dottore would at least prove to be an entertaining option. One segment or another would likely get stuck along his side, maybe even the one with the pink bow tie, and it looks like he's ready to bite the finger off anyone who approaches.

No, best not.

Little options left. If any.

At this rate, his arm would get stiff as it's tugged and twisted into position.

Well, there's always the place a certain man, a debtor, mentioned last time. His whining was just the perfect pitch that made it hard to ignore as Pantalone's guards tore apart his shack of a house apart in an attempt at finding the funds he was due. Only a measly fifty mora that would prove no use in taking. One can not pay if they can not work as starvation tears them apart from the inside out. (or at least that's what Pantalone will say when the man stops showing up to work out of the blue). The excuse? He went to one of those houses in the area.

Exchange time for a woman's company. Nothing he hasn't heard before. Nothing he isn't familiar with. The Northland Bank served customers of all walks of life.

The name, however, was one that rang a bell in Pantalone's head. One that sold a woman's time over her body.

This is what he has been backed into? Truly?

Still, he called the guard that was stationed by the doors he just walked though, fingers snapping to get this individual's attention as Pantalone told them to find a messenger. The need to tell them to be quick about it would be nothing short of an unnecessary addition. They knew that well enough by now.

Steps filled the hall just as the creaking of loose floorboards did. They had long since needed to be replaced but actually getting around to hiring someone to do that had been waved off time and time again that everyone had since learned to simply live with being woken up in the middle of the night by someone trying to get a cup of water.

Loud and clear with each echo.

Making the hand that wrapped around your arm and pulled you up off the stool, just another thing you expected as a shrill voice cried out to get your attention. Scratched and broken from what was no doubt the cigarettes The Madame might as well switch out for her meals filling your ears while she jabbered about whatever had her coming to you this time.

That being: a job.

It was no wonder then why a wet rag was being shoved into your face, trying to wash- or better yet- scrub off the powder on your face. Messy blobs of green and pink having been painted on your eyelids the same way a crayon would a child's coloring book, only becoming more of a mess to handle at this treatment as your nose scrunched up as the fabric rubbed against you.

“Wash this shit off your face and give it a real try, kid. Don't know why you keep letting the bucket girl apply makeup on you.” That old hag barked out. In as good of a mood as any as she pulled her hand back to finally give your skin some reprieve. “And try to keep yourself lookin’ real good. This client has some big bucks to spend, and I don't need you messing it up like last time.”

“You always know just what to say.” You retorted as you snatched the rag away from her to wipe the eyeshadow off your face properly. Gently.

Even going so far as to lean down to get a proper view from the vanity and its cloudy mirror to make sure there wasn't a speck of makeup left.

“This ain't your usual crowd, kid, but you're going to high tail it out of here in your best dress and meet this guy two blocks from here so some carriage can pick you up.”

“Ahh, one of those guys. I'm on it. And do me a favor and don't bully the ‘bucket girl' while I'm out.”

It wasn't a surprise when the Madame threw a quick “no promises” over her shoulder as she left the room, leaving you to get ready. Brush already in hand as the door slammed shut. Most likely her doing, but you chose to think of it as a simple draft of wind as the bristles brushed through a soft pad of pink.

The same pink of the gloves you currently dawned. Fingers twitching with each passing minute to keep blood pumping through the digits you were breathing on, trying your best to keep yourself as warm as possible while standing at the usual spot for clients that needed to pick a girl up a few blocks away from the Marmeladova house.

Sure, they had their reasons, but it always came across as the clients having no sense of decorum for a freezing lady. A frozen tundra of a nation, yet they still expected you to stand on the street like a hooker trying to call in her five hundred for the night.

How charming.

Not.

It was when you were pacing back and forth, kicking up bits of powdered snow with every step, did the rolling of the carriages passing by on the street lead to one stopping right before you. Wheels turned stock still as the lines behind painted a clear path right to you. It's not an accidental pullover by some temperamental horses then. Though if you only looked, such a thought wouldn't have even crossed your mind in the first place.

A carriage with golden accents, horses with shining leather straps, a coachman in clothing that looked actually weather appropriate, and a Fatui symbol stamped right before you. Like the sign to a haunted house as the other girls drag you inside, claiming it will be fun, only for you to walk out annoyed and grouchy at the lackluster experience.

Something told you this wouldn't end that way.

A footman, or at least you assumed that's what he was when he was wearing the Fatuus emblem and one of those masks you see the soldiers wearing so openly while walking around without a single care in the world besides holding their heads high pulled the ornate door before you open.

A hand held out to help you up along the steps that had a nice coat of snow dusting them only knocked away by the heel of your boot while ducking inside the red velvet walls. Instantly, you could tell it was warmer in here from the moment you sat down. The thing probably insulated for what reason would you put yourself through the agony of the cold when you can simply buy your way out of it?

At least, that felt like a fair comparison as your eyes met those of a man you've only ever seen in the newspapers. Most of which were fished out of the trash from nicer neighborhoods to use as kindling, but that face was unmistakable.

“Lord Harbinger.” You found yourself saying as you greeted the figure before you. Your own words sounded like they were coming from another's mouth as they were drowned out by the curses flying across your mind. Faster than any bird in the sky or whizzing bullet as he greeted you back.

The shock of it all had you a reeling mess, but not enough so to miss the ice tune of Pantalone's voice as he said “A pleasure to meet you, miss.”

In the very least, this would give you a decent idea of where you stood in this dynamic.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Your hand was held out between you both on instinct, hanging there for a moment under the small lantern that lit the carriage with the curtains closed shut. Like a barrier to the outside world.

The shake was strong, sturdy, and his leather gloves did little to help you figure out anything about this man the public didn't already know.

An example being how he'd surely have a writer's bump. A man whose bread and butter is contracts surely knows how to hold a quill. How curious. Not as much, however, as the Lord Harbinger wiping his hand off on his jacket the moment yours left his. A folder occupying the other he was holding out to you.

“Read this over and try your best to memorize the names inside.”

With little to no choice otherwise, you took it from him. The folder failed to bend back under your touch as you opened it, not even when your gloved fingers rubbed the material between them as the names were run over again and again in your mind. Good quality, as he expected, as you took in the long list.

Far too long actually.

“I expect you to remember as much as you can, but I'll be there to assist you all the while.”

Your eyes flicked up to look at him, meeting his gaze over the folder. “Assist me all the while?”

“I am to be attending an event tonight. Do I need to piece out more for you, or can you truly not ascertain things for yourself?”

Something about his smile rubbed you wrong. You were once taught that if someone was truly smiling, out of joy, or some bull along the lines of being a happy person naturally, their eyes would have wrinkles creasing at the sides. His lacked that. Though it was hard to tell exactly if that was the case when they were closed.

But could a smile so freely given from a Harbinger be…? It's best not to finish that thought. He's still your client.

“Don't doubt me just yet. I haven't even had the chance to prove myself.” You said, matching his smile in turn.

“Then please, don't disappoint. First, however,” you could barely catch his eyelashes moving when the wheels started to turn again at the simple rap of his knuckles against the carriage roof.

Whatever that meant would prove little to mull over as you leaned back into the cushions.

You later learned that was him giving you a look, or as close to one as Pantalone could manage behind those thick spectacles of his you were tempted to break as he walked into a dress store, picked something off the rack, and stated it would be what you were going to wear tonight. No input from you, no double checking to see if it fits. Not to mention, the fabric had been irritating you from the moment it adorned your skin.

How you wanted to claim it rested upon your body like silk, but it was more like that one scratchy blanket you always get stuck with as everyone else steals the nice ones.

At the very least, it was pretty. Had a decent range of movement, too, as the Lord Harbinger dragged you along by the arm he interlocked with his as you were met with new face after face.

Some of the names you could recall reading only an hour prior, others not so much.

Giant grins.

Pretty women with ornate hair styles.

Champagne glasses.

The moment you picked one up, Pantalone plucked it from your hands and hissed as low as possible for only you to hear “I am not paying you to drink.”

This was nothing unusual, the event, that is. Pantalone is a whole other story, but you have been to many parties of all sorts during your time. This was just another rich boy party with underhanded remarks and fancy cheeses.

One that dragged on far too long for anyone's liking.

At some point during the night, you just barely caught the richest boy himself telling someone who asked about you that you were just a friend. One that he met through your father, a fellow businessman he had worked with shortly before the man unfortunately passed. How you're only back in town visiting. That he couldn't pass up the opportunity to bring you along.

And it kept like that until the point you were tempted to peel the bandages off the back of your heels after they had been slipping on you the past hour. Peeling from your skin like a piece of string on a fine shirt just begging to be pulled. The thought of them still plagued your mind as Pantalone bowed to the same man you were first introduced to that night again, an individual who took no shame in the jewels hanging from his tailcoat and the golden ring with some odd emblem on his pinky. Wishes of a splendid night on both their tongues as the two of you departed.

It was only when you were both back in that carriage, you suddenly have a lot more appreciation for as it gave you a chance to rest your aching feet, did any words pass between you two again.

Pantalone, a man who was short and concise with you, but had plenty to say to those folks in the hall as they stuffed their faces with meat as they all sat around tables covered in cloth the same thickness as the blankets you use every night. Who made it clear before you even stepped past the threshold of the mansion (though it looked more like a cheap attempt at copying the opera house's architectural style) that you would speak only when spoken to. Interrupting the few remarks you did say when it was just the two of you during those sliver of moments someone wasn't coming up to sing his praises.

It's not like you weren't used to being treated like arm candy. Maybe that's why you truly couldn't care less as he sat in the seat across from you without daring to break the silence, to say anything, until you did.

“I was right about you. You are a rather smarmy individual.”

His hand that had been messing with the fabric of the curtain blocking you both away from any prying eyes trying to peek inside the windows came to a stop with a soft sigh from his lips. Pantalone's hands still pulling it taught, the same way you did on a wrinkled shirt to see what it would look like perfectly pressed and ironed when he spoke.

“How does an escort like you even know that word?”

“How does a Harbinger like you end up with no options for a date besides one you have to hire?”

The second the question left you Pantalone's head tilted towards you in such a slow, deliberate manner you knew you should have kept your mouth shut. Unfortunately, knowing when to do that isn't a trait that comes as easily to you as it does others.

“What's your name again?”

You told him, shared it without second thought before you could take a moment to step back and recall he had been the one introducing you to everyone all night. He had known your name but asked anyway.

Well, you'll have to remember that trick for later use.

“It is an honor to properly be introduced to you, Lord Harbinger.”

With a smile, you held your hand out to him, repeating the same action as before. Two can play at this game, you thought as you waited for him to comply, to play along, and take it. And like a fool, even if it was just in good humor, he did.

If he was going to wipe his hand off again this time, you'll give him a damn good reason.

Your grip turned tight, unyielding, to ensure Pantalone couldn't simply pull away. Making sure, just as he might with each mora coin, he pinches between those fingers, that there's no possible chance to let it slip away as your lips pressed to one one of his silver rings.

It was cold against your skin, but no more biting than the words you were expecting as you silently dared him to say something.

Between the rocking of the carriage and the low light of the lantern between you two you couldn't help but notice that was the first time you've seen his eyes all night.

#Pantalone x reader #pantalone #genshin x reader #x reader #hoyoverse #genshin impact #fem reader #genshin impact x reader #regrator x reader #banner by cafekitsune

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imclimbingthestairsoforthanc · 8 months ago

Note

Okay! Thank you! 😭

I’d really like to know how finrod acts when hes in love with reader or has a massive crush on reader, like Headcanons for that situation or maybe like a fic where he gets all happy and giddy when reader is in the room, how he always tries to stick by readers side and always tries to spend more time with them, always praising them, slowly confessing his love in different ways.. (not nsfw!)

Thats all!

Thank you! (Again)!😭💖💖

*I rly hope this made sense cuz English isn’t my first language*

makes perfect sense and I love this request. its my first time writing Finrod and honestly Im so in love right now. this is just part one but there will be a part two coming :) i hope you like it

By The Sea - Finrod x Reader (Pt. 1)

Finrod finds more than he expected when taking a long holiday to his mothers home in Alqualondë.

A/N: for certain ..... purposes ..... making finrod do they same thing I do when im nervous, i went ahead and gave him his fathers rings

Finrod wanted to be sure that his name was at the top of the list to petition for the new project you proposed to be approved. He wasn’t quite sure exactly what the project was; all he knew was that it had something to do with ship construction and the royal family, and if his name in black ink was enough to keep you around, then write away he would.

It did not, in fact, keep you around. Finrod wasn’t sure why he thought it would. You were, after all, an architect, and visits to the royal court in the great hall were likely few and far between. After about a week and a half since the proposal–when he first was enamored with you, Finrod decided that he needed to do something.

“I have never heard a bigger lie,” said Artanis coolly.

Finrod shrugged. “It’s the truth,” he said, “They never gave directions to the worksite.”

Artanis sighed. “Why do you need to know anyways?”

“I have been tasked with checking up on the progress for the foundations of the project.”

Artanis cut her eyes. She didn’t believe him, but directed him to the worksite nonetheless.

Finrod went north for hours upon hours, it seemed; it was not even one hour. He could hear the wind cut through the fabric of the tents and the waves crash onto the rocky shores. The closer he got, the harder it was for him to think of something to say to you. He could call out your name, but then decided that would be too casual. Besides, you might think it strange that he held on so dearly to your name after a meeting so brief one couldn’t even call it a real meeting. He could introduce himself, but what would he say after that?

“Hello,” came a rich voice, and Finrod realized that deep in his thoughts he stumbled right upon you.

His clothes felt hot and his ring felt tight around his finger. He wondered if his hair had turned to frizz, as it tended to do with all the sea salt in the air. It was all he could do not to stutter.

“Hello,” he replied, “I am Finrod of the house of Finarfin.”

A moment passed.

“I know who you are,” you said. He wondered if you meant to be so harsh until you spoke again, voice softened, “What can I help you with?”

Finrod swallowed. “I have been tasked with checking on the progress on the foundations of the project,” he said. The lie barely slipped through his teeth.

“Really?” you said with a polite smile and twitching eyebrows that betrayed your confusion to the golden-haired prince, “They sent someone out two days ago.”

“Ahh,” Finrod said quietly, “Well there must have been some confusion.”

“I see.”

The silence was tangible. You swallowed. You remembered who he was–Findaráto Ingoldo, firstborn of the crown prince of the Falmari–how could you forget? You’d been dreaming of him since you’d seen him last Tuesday, but now that he was here, all those clever, witty things you said to him as you dreamed of meeting properly seemed to have left you.

Finrod watched your eyes dance to the scene behind him–when they were not glued to the opening of his shirt collar–and wondered what you were thinking about. It was probably the project at hand; but could it be him, as little as you were acquainted? Finrod had taken everything, however little it may be, you gave him when he saw you first last Tuesday and ran with it. You had not left his thoughts.

It occurred to him after a moment of awkward staring that maybe the conversation was over–the silence had gone on awkwardly long. He tried to think of something–anything–to say. Nothing came.

“Well, then,” he said, “I’d better get going. I’ll leave you to it; again I apologize for the confusion. I hope I have not disturbed your work.”

He didn’t want to leave.

“Not at all,” you said, too quickly for your liking, “You can stay as long as you like.”

You didn’t want him to leave.

He gave you a nod, and you cutsied before he turned to go. You turned back to your workbench, half disappointed that he left so soon and half excited that he came. You let out a shaky breath.

“In that case,” came the voice that you hopelessly couldn’t get enough of, “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed, would you? I would very much like to see the ‘hands-on’ aspect of this process.”

You turned and tried to hide the excitement in your eyes. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Finrod blushed. You drank in the sight. If the pink that spread across his cheeks was the last thing you ever saw, you’d be content.

***

“He is perfect in every way,” you said to Earwen, who, to your surprise, decided to take the weaving of the sails upon herself. You hadn’t expected the daughter of the king to engage so closely with the project, but, you supposed, if it was her talent and passion, so why not?

“I cannot get enough of him. I hope he never stops visiting me.”

Earwen smiled, “Will he visit for the celebration?”

“Of course, Your Highness” you said confidently, “He is the son of the crown prince! He wouldn’t miss it.”

Finrod was royalty, yes, but deep down you knew he’d come even if he wasn’t. Months of sitting in silence with two pairs of feet dangling in the salty water and choosing cold bread over a hearty dinner fit for a prince told you that even if you were dismissed from the project and cast to the jagged cliffs and treacherous temperament of the sea to the north, Finrod would come for you.

The door creaked open to reveal none other than Finrod himself.

“Fi–my prince,” you said politely, forgoing first-name use in mind of the royalty next to you.

Finrod didn’t seem to care. “There you are!” He said, “I have been looking for you. The eggs on the rocks by the lower dock have hatched!”

“Have they?”

“Yes,” he said, “And they have the loveliest silver down. Will you be free after six?”

Your hands stopped their movement, “I think so, but I–”

Finrod took your hand, as he always did when departing, and planted a hasty kiss on it, “Great. I will meet you then. You must see them!”

He ran out before you could answer. You giggled at his excitability and looked over to Earwen.

“Is that him?”

You smiled sheepishly and looked away.

“Yes,” you said. If you saw the smirk that played at her lips you would have seen that she knew more than she let on. “Absolutely perfect.”

#the silm fandom #the silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #silmarillion #finrod #finrod felagund #finrod x reader #findarato #ingoldo #findarato x reader

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feyhunter78 · 2 years ago

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Rings of Power Masterlist

Key: 🔥= NSFW 💕= My favs

Elrond Peredhel:

Snapdragons -> Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13

Reader Inserts:

Spilled Ink and Married Bliss🔥

A Herald and His Knight (Elrond x NB reader)🔥

The Princess and the Herald🔥💕

Another Use for his Writing Desk🔥

SFW Alphabet

NSFW Alphabet🔥

Put Your Head On My Shoulder

Flattery and Breakfast

Durin and Disa: Matchmakers Extraordinaire, Pt 2🔥

The Object of All His Desires💕

Ice Skating Gone Wrong

The Day's End

Wedding Braids

Jealous Elrond Headcanon

Jealous Reader HC

Valentine's Day HC

Two Ripples in a Pond💕

Sleeping among the Scrolls

Accident Prone Princess💕

Dad!Elrond Headcanon

Elrond and Sick Reader HC

Long Day W/H Elrond HC -> Moodboard made by the lovely @emmyspov

Rough!Elrond Smut HC🔥

Elrond & Physically Affectionate Reader HC

Writer's Block!Elrond x Reader HC

Curious Minds

Take my Hand💕

Sit Down🔥 Pt 2🔥

Elrond Wedding HCs

Protective Prince

Purity in the Hurricane (Francesca by Hozier inspired)

Courage and Comfort Sparring Sessions

Fratboy!Elrond: HCs, Poolside, Birthday

Elrond Snippets:#1

Gil-galad:

Reader Inserts:

The Queen's Father

The High-King's Love

Isildur:

Decadent Moments🔥 No Betrothed? Good.🔥

#meg's masterlist #rop #rop fanfiction #elrond x reader #elrond x oc #elrond x maeria #elrond rop #rop elrond #young elrond #elrond x you #young!elrond #young elrond fanfic #gil galad x reader #ran out of room on the other one so now it has its own place to live #isildur x reader #rop isildur

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shezzabee · 8 months ago

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Ineffable Slices of Life pt. 1

“Ah, there you are.” Aziraphale barged into the room with seemingly no consideration for the passed out demon inside. The bastard.

Said demon groaned — it might have been a plea for help or to be left alone.

“Here I am. You found me,” Crowley said, voice sleep-rough as he flipped on his back. “Gold star, angel.”

Aziraphale closed the door with a soft click, the sound seeming to echo in the quiet room.

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley watched him as he stood there for a moment, his hand still on the doorknob, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. Ask me, Crowley urged silently. Ask me what I’m doing in your bed. Again.

Just when Crowley was about to tell him to sit down, Aziraphale moved towards the bed.

Crowley stilled, but he merely walked past it, and sat down on the armchair near the window.

Far enough away to be socially acceptable, the Aziraphale in his head said, but close enough for pleasant discourse.

Crowley rubbed the meat of his palm over his eyes. He must make quite the picture, splayed out on Aziraphale’s bed, limbs sprawled, his normally perfect red locks devilishly disheveled.

On a normal day, he’d show more decency around Aziraphale. He’d pull down his rucked up shirt, blink the sleep out of his eyes, take care not to leave ring stains on Aziraphale’s centuries old mahogany side-table.

None of the days lately have been normal.

“Drinking alone, I see.” Aziraphale glanced pointedly at the two empty wine bottles.

“Mn, yeah, you were busy. With Jim.” Crowley blinked, bleary-eyed, at his wristwatch. 11:40 am. Plenty of time to continue getting sloshed the rest of the day. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“That was hours ago,” Aziraphale said, frowning slightly.

“You bought him a gift.” Lot of good an exceedingly sulky nap did him, it seemed.

“Well, I thought he’d enjoy it,” Aziraphale said, all puffed up and proud.

“…What was it?” Crowley asked, because clearly he was an idiot who relished in torment.

“Ah, a beautifully bound journal. With a soft leather cover and the most exquisite, high-quality pages. I've included a rather lovely fountain pen as well, with ink that subtly shimmers with intent.”

“You wot,” Crowley turned to look at him, his lips twitched. “you miracled it?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t a proper miracle. Merely a… helpful suggestion.”

“A suggestion for an amnesiac archangel to write down his deepest and darkest thoughts?”

“That would be playing it rather fast and loose with the term ‘amnesiac’, don’t you think, dear?”

“Does he even know how to write?”

“Well, of course —”

“Not it.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Not it, what?”

“I’m not doing it. I’m not teaching bloody archangel Gabriel who may or may not be faking, how to write. You’re it.”

“No one is it, he knows how to write. I think.”

Crowley blinked at the ceiling, his silence laden with doubt.

“He knows how to read.” Aziraphale pointed out a bit tetchily. “It’s perfectly safe to assume writing is still a skill-set he possesses.”

“’S kinda hard to imagine Gabriel possessing any skills other than being a downright bast —”

“Crowley.” The tone was so chiding, it almost made Crowley want to cough up an apology. Almost.

“Are you really that troubled over it?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nah.” Crowley blinked again (he was doing an awful lot of blinking), the faint brush-strokes on the ceiling were starting to form long-forgotten shapes. Were those symbols? “If he does write something, we could read it.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Don’t act like that wouldn’t be playing out precisely how you’d hoped.”

“I’m sure I’ve no idea what you mean,” Aziraphale countered primly.

“You might as well have sat him down and ordered him to write everything he remembers, at gunpoint.”

“I would never —!” Hand over his heart, Aziraphale managed to give him a look that was both scandalous and impish.

“Yeah, no, ‘course, a miracled fountain pen that gently coaxes its handler to write whatever comes to mind is a much more ethical approach.”

“It encourages creativity and introspection without any undue influence. Perfect for someone rediscovering themselves.”

Crowley snorted. “Leave it to you to passive-aggressively send his Holy Highness to therapy.”

“Well, sometimes we all need a bit of gentle encouragement, don’t we?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed, then he pushed himself up on his elbows, giving Aziraphale a look of mock horror. “Therapy, angel? Are you suggesting we go all touchy-feely and introspective? What’s next, group hugs and trust falls?” He shuddered theatrically. “Honestly, you read too many books.”

“You mean to tell me your reaction to all of this has been completely reasonable?”

“Has yours? You’re harboring a fugitive archangel in your bookshop!”

“We’ve been over this. You agreed it was the right thing to do.”

Crowley flopped onto his back, fingers interlaced over his chest. Perhaps if he couldn't see Aziraphale, the fear and anger gnawing at him might stop.

“Unless you didn’t agree,” Aziraphale frowned, lips pursed in displeasure. “But then — why did you come back?”

“You know why,” Crowley suddenly felt a profound weariness, right down to his bones. “Naivety was never your colour, angel.”

The silence that followed felt stifling. Crowley lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Those were definitely ethereal symbols up there, giving him a proper headache.

He wondered how he was supposed to wriggle out of this mess now. There was no chance he was dancing again. One indignity per century was more than enough to endure.

Finally, Aziraphale said quietly, almost shyly, “Do you want to see your present?”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens aziraphale #good omens crowley #good omens brainrot #ineffable idiots #ineffable fanfic #fanfic #good omens s2 #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale and crowley #writing #writers on tumblr #aziracrow #ineffable spouses

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mamamittens · 2 years ago

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Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 2)

Masterpost, Part 1

Platonic Whitebeard Pirates & Reader-Insert (with glasses)

Warnings: Platonic Yandere behavior and yes, the kidnapping is still actively occurring. If yandere content disturbs or otherwise unsettles you, I deeply suggest you do not read this series and block the tag "oh sweet child of mine" as well as "one piece yandere". Though mostly framed in a humorous way, it is still very toxic and problematic behavior that you should, in no way, entertain in real life from anyone.

Stay safe and enjoy.

Word Count: 1,540 (would be longer, but I didn't want to have this transitionary chapter be squished in with meeting Whitebeard and settling in)

When you became a marine, you had considered what you would do if you ran afoul of pirates. Assuming they didn’t kill you outright, that is.

In none of these imagined scenarios did you picture yourself awkwardly curled up in a med bay on one of the ‘junior’ Moby Dicks. As it turns out, Fire Fist and The Phoenix were running a small supply run simultaneously to another junior vessel since none of the surrounding islands could accommodate the Moby Dick herself—the Yonko ship being so absolutely massive for her crew and captain. A young man with a blue mask over his eyes ‘Masked Deuce’ was wiping your face and inspecting your nose for any damage that hadn’t been healed with a critical eye. Fire Fist was somewhere else—likely getting food for himself if his gluttonous behavior was any indication—while The Phoenix appeared to be starting your medical file.

That… was probably not good. The slim possibility that you were going to just be ransomed seemed to dissolve with every scratch of ink he added.

“Well, aside from some possible malnutrition and exhaustion, you seem in good shape. Not what I’d expect of a marine in these parts, though I guess they didn’t care too much about your physical condition.” Deuce placed a firm hand on your shoulder and smiled. “If you’re interested, we can get you into good shape in no time! Or maybe you’re interested in pursuing something else? Oyaji has plenty of resources we can use.” You couldn’t help but grimace and tug on your hat.

“I uh… I’m a marine?” You said, wincing at the questioning tone. “I didn’t enlist for the uniform, you know… I… I’m supposed to try and arrest pirates. Not… join them.” You explained awkwardly. Deuce just laughed while The Phoenix snorted softly.

“Everyone adjusts differently. You’ll love it here eventually.” Deuce winked before handing you a set of clothes to change into. The shirt was emblazoned with Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger.

You were rather at a loss for words. You… well, you couldn’t exactly fight them. You knew that. But you felt rather like the world had tilted dramatically the other way on it’s axis while you weren’t looking. The only way this could get more bizarre is if Fleet Admiral Sengoku called you and congratulated you for the successful adoption and your new, very criminal, pirate-Yonko family.

“Bring-ring. Bring-ring. Bring-ring.”

Oh god, you weren’t ready!? Please no?!

Horrified, you scrambled to pull the snail from your pocket, The Phoenix sliding up and leaning on the bed as you answered.

“Ensign—”

“Where the hell are you?! Ensign Williams was found, thoroughly beaten mind you, on the ground! You were assigned to be his partner!” You almost wept with relief that you were just getting torn a new one.

“A-Ah—W-Well, I-I attempted to flee with Ensign Williams when The Phoenix was spotted with Fire Fist but was… very unsuccessful.” You admitted lamely as one of the men responsible for your plight gave a placid smile, his eyes fixed on you with a horrifying intensity. Though you had no idea what for. If he was pissed you answered, he was more than welcome to take the call himself at this point.

“And why not, Ensign?! Your orders were quite clear!”

“Because I was captured instead?” The snail sputtered.

“Then escape and return to base!” The operator screamed. You were nearly in tears, your day successfully having gone from bad to absolutely the fucking worst.

“How?!” You whispered in horror, practically seeing the dry response in The Phoenix’s eyes.

Run and I will scoop you up with my talons and fly you all the way to Oyaji myself.

The receiver was plucked from your hands and you were torn between thanking your captor or trying to get it back. In the end, you did neither.

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening. Feel free to mail us their last paycheck because they won’t be returning. Consider this their resignation.” The snail blanched.

“On who’s authority, you filthy pirate!”

The Phoenix grinned, all teeth and eyes narrow, sapphire slits.

“Their new big brother.”

It would almost be inspiring how confident he sounded if he didn’t say it like he was declaring that your kidney would taste delightfully delicious.

Any response was cut off by him lifting up the transceiver shell and crushing it with his bare hands.

His smile turned much more friendly as he set the traumatized snail down, but the edges still seemed… feral. He ruffled your hair, knocking off your marine cap in the process.

“Get changed and wash up properly before dinner. It’ll be a few more hours before we meet up with Oyaji. Ace will make sure it’s burned.” Overwhelmed and horrified, you couldn’t help the slight whimper.

“…but I like my uniform.”

The Phoenix paused, giving you a slightly pitying smile as he gave you a side hug, blue fire flickering over the both of you. Any other circumstances, it would feel warm and reassuring.

“I know it’s a lot, kid. But you’ll be fine, I promise.” He paused looking down at you. “The hat’s gotta go, but, I tell you what, how about you keep this, yoi?” He tugged the blue neckerchief loose and placed it on top of your ‘new’ clothes.

Against your better judgment, you were a little touched at the suggestion.

What is your life now? You’ve been kidnapped, forcibly made to join a Yonko crew, and now you feel touched because one of the commanders is letting you keep a token of your job?!

Whatever.

You’d just get issued a new uniform later.

If you ever get away from this crazy ass band of pirates.

“I do like the color…” You added lamely, unwilling to push the argument considering how laughably easy it would be for him to force the issue. And then you’d have nothing left of your own.

“I like the color blue, too, yoi.” You looked at him with a frown. Glancing at his shirt.

“Not purple?” The Phoenix blinked, surprised at your dry response before chuckling.

“Alright, sassy pants. Get marching.” He smirked, shooing you to the bathroom to get changed. Flush and embarrassed, you escaped before he could say anything else.

Now… did your new pants even have pockets big enough for your animal treats?

--*--

Surprisingly, the new clothes fit well. Roomy enough that you didn’t get weirded out that they had your exact size but small enough that it wasn’t going to fall off of you anytime soon.

Your marine blue neckerchief was tied around your right wrist. The only part of your uniform you got to keep besides your shoes.

Any blood was gone from your hands or face but Fire Fist still felt the need to inspect them, playfully pinching your nose to see if it hurt still. Upon seeing that you were in perfectly fine shape, and freshly clean, he beamed.

“I can’t wait for you to meet Oyaji, he’s going to be happy to have a new kid running around. It’ll be a while before you get assigned to a division, but don’t worry, they’re all pretty great! Well, not as great as mine, but still!” Fire Fist laughed boisterously as The Phoenix rolled his eyes, lightly smacking Fire Fist’s head.

“They gotta get used to the crew first, Ace. Don’t jump the gun so quickly or you’ll hurt their feelings.”

Ah yes. Their biggest concern in this whole debacle.

Your feelings.

Cause fuck the law, that’s why. And everything else for good measure.

But also your feelings, because if that was actually a concern they would have left you with your asshat partner and a bloody nose.

… your previous circumstances does not, in fact, justify kidnapping and forced recruitment.

You are a marine damnit! Maybe not a strong one, or even a great one (yet), but there has to be a line somewhere!

“Ahah~! Right, sorry! Here, we’re having soup! It’s not as good as Thatch’s food, but we’re getting back too late for dinner so it’ll have to do. He’ll want a little more warning to pull out all the stops anyway.” Fire Fist laughed, handing you a bowl of hot soup. It smelled good, but despite your hunger, you were still a little thrown.

“…Does he often want to impress captives?” You whispered, more to yourself than anything. Fire Fist paused and actually flushed, laughing to himself.

“Sort of, yeah. He kept trying to feed me while I tried to kill Oyaji for over a hundred days, you know!” You blanched, horrified.

You had forgotten that little tidbit, although most of Fire Fist’s recruitment into the Yonko crew was a mystery, you had overheard that bit.

Suddenly, your prospects of getting out of this scot-free seemed… unlikely.

If being a marine isn’t a deterrent, and neither is many murder attempts, then what the hell could get you out of this? Fire Fist kept laughing as you caught The Phoenix’s eye.

He seemed darkly amused and very much aware of your predicament.

He clapped your shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t worry about it so much. You’ll figure it out.”

Somehow, you don’t think he was talking about escaping.

#one piece yandere #platonic yandere #reader insert #oh sweet child of mine #yandere marco #yandere ace #whitebeard crew #yandere whitebeard crew #reader: I'm a proud marine!#Marco: That's nice sweetie it's time to eat now tho #Ace: it's not so bad when you stick around #Reader: that's what I'm afraid of #marco the phoenix

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arthurrei07 · 10 months ago

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actverse / take on killer!sans / pt. 1

tws: implied d0mest1c a6use, bl00d, v10lence, curse words.

ship: nightkiller.

“…Boss is calling you.”

Killer took a moment to scoff out of his nose, almost like a snort but in exhaling manners. He spared a glance at Horror, his eyes narrowing as that crooked grin did not leave his stitched lips—scooting back from the table as his chair squeaked against the wooden flooring.

“This,” Killer’s fingers gently pressed on the side of the dish, “belongs in the trash.”

Horror’s eyebrows softly knitted, his eyes turning away from Killer and to Murder. Killer’s teeth bared — his lips not shifting from the smile, the black bloodstains being visible to any eye, “Of course. Alright, big guy.”

He raised his clenched hand up in the air, the clean fork shining under the dim light. Killer left the fork onto the table, the metal clattering around until it finally stopped.

Killer took one single look at both of their faces, the expressions—oh, the expressions. Almost gave him enough enjoyment to leave their sorryasses alone to rot. But he wasn’t done.

His neck took two cracks to turn to the staircase, eyes wide bulging as the streaks of negativity filled in his pitch black eyes, streaming down in some straight lines on his cheeks, “Enjoy your rat meat meal. Absolutely delicious, right?”

He heard some hitching on Horror’s breathing, and Murder uncomfortably moved in his place. Killer snorted, his feet stepping up to the stairs.

The wood creaked as he pushed his body up and up, feet one by one changing places on the stairs. His ear twitched as the cold air drifted through somewhere and onto his face, clearing his wet hair away from his mouth and eyes.

He helped himself up to the top stair, orbs looking around to see which room’s door was wide fucking open, making him freeze to his guts—and it was Nightmare’s.

“Killer.” That bastard was standing there, staring at him.

“What am I being accused of this time? Hm?” Killer snickered, his voice coming out rather hoarse and strangled. Blood ran up to his mouth, stopping his giggles in the middle. He nearly frowned, his taste buds tingling with the sharp taste of iron—then expectorated into his mouth and spat it harshly on the floor as black splat onto the ground. He huffed, eyes back onto Nightmare’s face.

“Let me guess,” Killer said, that stupid smile occupying his own face, “I failed the mission. Oh but Musty reported me to you, because I not only failed the mission, but I failed against that little Fae twink of your damned brother.”

Killer suddenly gasped out, his bandaged hand raising up to his mouth, showing that he had remembered something — a shock apparent on his face. Then his arm fell completely limp on his side, head slightly tilting to the left as his eyes refilled with the negativity, “I almost forgot, can you believe that? I also broke Murder’s arm, and insulted Horror’s cooking. Oh! But you already know those, huh?”

Nightmare’s shitless face—Killer wanted to break every single bone on his pretty little face, and to break them dirtily. Oh, how would he have enjoyed seeing him scream in agony, down on the floor — dying and in pain. But thank the Gods above, the trio of the brothers always returned. Not even a single damage to their body; not a busted lip, not a crooked nose, no nothing. Thank Error and Ink, right?

“Pathetic. Desperately pathetic, I am.” Killer mumbled.

“What are you exactly upset about, Killer?” Nightmare asked, his stupid teal pupil looking directly into Killer’s eyes.

“Funny question, Nightmare,” Killer spat out his name as if poison, his lips almost trembling as they forced the stitches, “Maybe the fucking contract you got my soul with. Does it ring any bells? Hm? No?”

Killer’s head perked back up, the water droplets dripping on his bare shoulders. “If I had not made that deal with you, I would have been the most powerful Fae to ever exist. The most dangerous. The most deadly.” Killer dreamily sighed, an obvious sarcasm toned in his exhale, “Maybe then I would be able to get rid of the blue asswipe.”

“You would have died if you had not made the deal. Remember,” Nightmare’s voice was calm, and Killer had to physically hold himself back from not attacking his goddamn ass, “you destroyed your own territory. You basically saved yourself from your end by making the contract.”

“I should have died, then. It’s better than being your favorite toy to play with.” Killer left his weight on the other leg, a soft shift of position causing him to get easily irritated.

“What do you want me to do, Killer?” Nightmare offered, voice hinted with aggression, “Help you create your family again? Get rid of Chara for once and ever? Make you live like princes, high and above — without any fears or disorders? Tell me, what do you want?”

“You tell me. What do I want?” Killer bit back, his lips still on their ugly grin and—he just hated it, Gods, he wanted to get rid of his complete face, “What do I want, Nightmare? What do I look like I want? Your dick? Your money? No. I want to get rid of you. I want you to die in a ditch, slowly and painfully.”

“And why do you exactly want it? Because I hit you? Or because I remind you of Papyrus every time I look dissatisfied, disappointed and frustrated?”

Killer’s eyes studied Nightmare’s face, every bone structure, his lips and nose, his… eyes. The different shapes of pupils, the different colors. He was absolutely beautiful. And Killer wanted that. He wanted to be pretty. He wanted to be charming. He wanted to be powerful. And maybe then, he would be content with his damned existence and cursed body.

“You are already flawless.” Killer got taken aback, but well, Nightmare could read minds after all, “You are attractive, drop dead gorgeous, even. A simple busted lip and a crooked nose won’t change anything about your face.” Killer slightly flinched, his grin fading away from his lips as Nightmare took a step closer — his hands gathered behind him, “You are incredibly talented and powerful. I saw you grow the roses near the Tree of Feelings with just your bare hands, and believe me when I say this, I have not seen anything like those white flowers in my thousand years of being. You have an amazing talent at using your knives, and any weapon at all — you almost seem too angelic when you use them. Especially against Murder.”

Killer’s eyebrows furrowed, his black orbs following Nightmare’s every move as he stepped closer and closer to his person, “You are just telling me what I want to hear.”

Nightmare paused in front of Killer, his head slightly piping down to make an eye contact with him. Killer’s dialed pupils followed Nightmare’s muscles softly budge into something kind, a gentle smile forming on his black lipsticky lips.

Killer hated his smile more than he hated his own.

“Is it so?” Nightmare cooed, his arms dangling on his side for a moment before he reached for Killer’s face, his bruised cheeks fitting right into Nightmare’s palms as he cupped them tenderly, thumbs rubbing onto his cheekbones, “Do you really think that I am just flattering you?”

Killer’s teeth gritted, and he yanked himself back from Nightmare, “Don’t fucking tease me, you bastard. I will obliterate you.”

“As you wish.” Nightmare’s arms sagged on his sides for a second, then he tucked them into his pockets.

They stared at each other, eyes not leaving one another.

…Killer was the one who cut the eye contact. He sighed from his nose, arms crossing on his chest as he leaned against Nightmare’s torso — getting wrapped with his arms.

Killer blinked twice, the wet layer in his eye clearing. The negativity streaks on his cheeks slowly cut — and a single circular pupil shone out of the darkness.

“Glad to have you back.” Killer felt Nightmare’s voice tingle on his chest, reaching Killer’s ears as his soft breathing filled his mind.

“…Yeah. Glad to be back.”

Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

Nightmare Sans belongs to @jokublog

Murder/Dust Sans belongs to @ask-dusttale

Horror Sans belongs to @sour-apple-studios

Actverse belongs to me

#fanfic #undertale #killermare #nightkiller #killer sans #nightmare sans #murder sans #horror sans #dust sans #dreamberry #tw implied abuse #tw implied violence #fanfiction #dreamtale #killertale #actverse #undertale au

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hauntedparadisebandana · 1 year ago

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141 x drummer!femreader

Summary: fanboy soap drags the group to a downtown bar to see his favorite band member play live.

Pt 1/2

Warnings: swearing, implied scent kink??, Mentions of drinking, Y/H means your height

[The pov's switch in this story]

*7:00 pm, downtown bar*

The bell rings as the group enters, doors shutting behind them, they stand there, taking in their surroundings. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, the lights above are dim, giving the atmosphere a chill vibe. The group takes a seat in a booth near the stage.

"Why are we here again?" Grumbles ghost, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. He was forced to come on the groups adventure downtown.

"We're here to see the band play. They're one of my favorites." Explains soap, being the ring leader of the trip, excitement coursing through his viens.

"Couldn't you just listen to their music back at base?" "But it wouldn't be the same, plus now I get to see 'em live." Ghost huffs at his response, leaning back into the seat. He always ended up on soaps trips, whether he wanted to or not.

"What's the band called? I may have heard of them before." Says gaz leaning in.

"The Deck, a total of five people, each named after a card. They mostly play rock/metal, and a few of 'em can sing. My favorite member is the drummer."

"Hm, never took you for the metal head type, soap." Quips price, coming to set down their drinks, then popping a seat by gaz.

"Well, ye learn something new every day, gaz what time is it?" "It's 7:20, are they playing soon?" "Yep, they play at 7:30 once every week at different bars in town, at the end the drummer gives away her pair of drum sticks she used to play that night, if im lucky she'll give them to me."

This gets a reaction out of everyone, ghost chuckles lightly while price and gaz lets out hearty laughs. At this soap's face flushes red, getting embarrassed, "What's so funny?"

"So the drummers a girl huh, sounds like you're a bit of a fan boy." "Am not!" "Are too! You even know what time they play each week! And that the drummer gives away her sticks, whats next, their favorite colors, foods?"

Soaps flushes more, face red as a tomato as he leans back and turns away, "You know what, gaz, I officially hate you." "So you do know all that! Admit it, you are a fan boy!" "You are such a dick! I only know because they said it in an interview!"

Price laughs at soap and Gaz's bantering, getting a little chuckle out of ghost as well.

"Don't worry soap, it's cute how much of a fan boy you are for the drummer," gaz leans in and starts to pinch soap's cheeks, cooing and babying him; earning him a swift punch to the arm.

"That's enough out of you two, they're coming."

"What? No joke?!" Soap whips his head around to look at the stage. No one's on. When he turns around, gaz is laughing into his hand, and price hides his smirk in his glass of whiskey.

"Captain! I thought we were cool, now yer teasing me too?"

"Sorry soap, couldn't resist, but they're coming on for real this time" as he points to the stage the members bring out equipment, setting up quickly as possible, when they finish and take their places. The singer up front, the guitarist to the right, drummer on the far right. On the other side is the bass and second guitarist to the far left. The group could see the appeal, she was hard to miss.

"Soap, if you don't stop staring so hard, your eyes might fall out of your head." gaz laughs again, placing a hand on soaps shoulder.

"Just look at 'er tattoos! They're awesome. "

You could see ghost perk up at 'tattoos' she has officially piqued his interest, but he didn't want to show it, so he just stared at her intricate ink. Her most visible tattoos are on her arms, one arm is a full sleeve, the other arm has scattered tattoos. There is one peeking above her neck line of her shirt, it goes down between her breasts. Ghost nodded slowly, taking in her appearance. She was special, different, the whole band was, and the group liked that. Slightly extroverted, and bold, ready to fuck shit up.

"Aint she a sight for sore eyes" price mumbles, taking a longer sip, the thoughts coming faster than he can drink. "Ghost I can tell you're thinking, You looking at her too?" Says price quietly, taking another sip of whiskey, it turns out ghost can't hide his emotions from everyone,

"She's different..." "That she is," Price chuckles,

"I told you guys, she's cool,"

Suddenly the main lights turn off, and the stage lights come on, illuminating the band. after the singer gives introductions they begin to play. It seems as if the group controlled the bar entirely, the music was bassy, compelling, loud; and the people seemed to like it, as most sung along screaming. The drums and guitar had a solo part, and soap almost melted, gaz just laughed at him. Soon, the song was over, the last echo of sound was heard and the bar erupted into yells, claping and whistling.

By the end of the songs, the group was tipsy, with soap and gaz almost on the edge of being drunk. The group sits there in awe for a moment. The experience was new. "I'll say, that wasn't half bad, I like their style." Price crosses his arms.

"Yeah, you picked good soap," Ghost nods to soap. "I knew you would come around ghost! They're good, right? The way they play is amazing!" "Uh oh, he's fanboying again." "I'll kick your arse."

*y/n pov*

I wipe the sweat off my forehead, taking a swig of water. Me and my band mates smile and wave taking in the praise, the excitement. "Now it's time for the fun part, y/n, pick the lucky winner for tonight's sticks."

I smirk and quickly look around, I spot a booth close to the stage. A total of four men sat there, all looking at me. They're all cuties at that. The one sporting a mohawk had a twinkle in his eyes; a true metal lover at heart, I assume. I nod to the leader, hopping off the stage quickly making my way to the booth. The guards follow close behind, ensuring my safety. As I got closer, his eyes go wide. I take the guy with a Mohawk hands, giving him my drum sticks, my glossy lips form a grin as he stares at me, like a child meeting santa for the first time.

"You're tonight's lucky one." I smile at him sweetly, nodding to the rest of his table mates. Up close, everyone is rather handsome, their eyes drilling into my face, focus y/n. I make my way back to the stage, putting up my equipment, getting ready to leave.

*pov, 141*

Soap sits there, jaw slack and eyes wide. Gaz busts out laughing for the third time this night, and price smirks. "I-I got 'er sticks, I really got 'er sticks!" He exclaimed

"You sure did soap,"

"I don't know if anyone noticed, but damn she smells good," adds gaz. "Her smell is strong, sweet." "It's intoxicating." Ghost mumbles, rubbing his temple, the bourbon was finally getting to him. Her smell is like a sweet musk, hard to rub off, hard to get rid of. He remembers the way her bracelets and bangles jingled, sweet music to his ears. Fuck. He could feel something straining.

"'er voice is sweet too.... and her smile, shes really cool." "Oooook fanboy soap has gotten delirious." "Am not!" "Are too! Stop denying it!" "Whatever!" Their words slur a bit. Maybe they were a bit drunk after all.

Price sighs, rubbing his head at the twos antics. "I'm grabbing another drink, care to join?"

"Yeah, I'll go, but just to move around. I've been sitting so long it feels like my ass is glued to the seat." Gaz complains, holding his head in his hands.

"Let's go." The entire group gets up to get drinks, soap gasps as he spots y/n. She took her shirt of some time ago, now only in a sports bra, showing off her rad back tattoo. She stands with her hands in her pocket. The second guitarist is also standing, leaning against the booth talking to her, laughing.

"You should've seen the way he was looking at you! It was like looking at a kid seeing gifts under the tree."

"I seen his expression, I thought he was gonna get emotional and start crying right there as I gave him the sticks!"

the guitarist smirks glancing past y/n, "speak of the devil, it's the kid on Christmas and his group."

"Oh hush spade, leave the man alone."

We get closer to hear y/n hush the guitarist, we sit at the bar near where they stand, away from her and the guy, too drunk and weary to make decisions. Plus, the band's guards were close by, best not to piss them off. The guitarist continues to look over at us

"You know you guys can stand by us right, join us, we don't bite....well, I do but y/n doesn't." He pulls y/n in by the shoulder, to which she punches him.

"Don't listen to this jackass, come, it's safe to sit over here." She waves us over, inviting us to join her, those same bracelets and bracelets making the same sweet noise.

*y/n pov*

Theres a bit of an akward silence for a moment, I tap my hands on my thighs. Its then broken as the guy to my right speaks up, his voice rough and deep, smooth around the edges. It sends a shudder through my body, the smell of cigar smoke and cologne fills my senses.

"These are my men, ghost, gaz, and soap, I'm price." Each one nods and greets me as price says their name. Spade always being a dick has to speak up,

"So the kid on Christmas is soap, hm," he takes a sip of his drink, I pinch him after he says this.

"ignore him, so, what brings you guys downtown tonight..." I say, taking spades cup and taking a sip of whatever he's drinking.

"Well, our buddy soap here wanted to come see you guys live." Gaz grabs soap by the shoulders, shaking him.

"See us live hm? You a big fan?" I grin, looking soap right in his eyes, questioning him.

"Well-" "He's a huge fan, he knows the times you play, where you play, he even watches the group interview-" "Yes, I'm a fan," he says, cheeks red. Hand slapped over gazs mouth to hush him.

I put down my glass, "Oh, well we love very dedicated fans, don't we spade." "Mhm, love em'"

I lean back, looking at the two. The big one to my left, ghost, speaks up.

"Your tattoos..."

"Hm, what about them?" I look up at him, fuck he's tall, about 5 inches taller than me, as I'm Y/H. He looks about 5'10-6'2, well built, pure muscle, and oh that accent... he could easily crush me-

"Where do you get them done..." those eyes

"I do most myself, others I get a friend to do. I run a tattoo shop in my spare time."

"You have talent, y/n" price speaks up, smiling at me.

"Oh you flatter me," I joke, placing a hand on my chest. "No really, you play in a band, run a tattoo shop along with doing your own tattoos? That's pure talent that deserves recognition."

"Why thank you price," I laugh, running a hand through my hair, getting it out my face.

He nods down at me, I look at him. I see something shift in his expression, it was dark, hungry, I don't question it one bit; getting that all to familiar feeling in the bottom of my stomach. I squeeze my thighs. His eyes are a deep shade of blue, all of theirs are blue, except for gaz, his are a pretty shade of rich brown

"You smell really good..." gaz perks up,

"Ah, that's my perfume, strawberry poundcake, got it as a gift."

"..." Gaz soon has the same aura price had, hungry, wanting. I catch onto this quickly. Feeling my stomach jump I avert my eyes, looking for a distraction. Maybe he's just drunk...

"Hey y/n we need to head out, ace is tired of waiting and hes starting to bitch about it." Thank fucking god

"Ace is tired of everything" I sigh turning back to the group. "I gotta run boys, but me and the group will be down here tomorrow around 7:00 for an off day, if you wanna join."

"Sure lass, we'll join ya" soap nods eagerly, getting the others to agree even in their drunken states.

"Ok that's great! See you soon." I turn on my heels to run after spade who had started leaving without me. Face flushed and the feeling still in the pit of my stomach. Still feeling their eyes drilling into my back, I slide out the bar doors.

#mwii #i accidentally posted this from my que #finished #kyle gaz garrick #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod imagine #cod x reader #cod mw2 #i should sleep

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inevitably-johnlocked · 2 years ago

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hey i hope you had a nice day, do you have some parentlock fanfic recommendations? im currently running out of fanfictions regarding this trope and need some new stuff🙏🏼🙏🏼

Hey Nonny!

Ah, not much, I haven't been doing much new reading lately so all the lists I do have are about 6 months old the latest... Hmm. Let's make a new list and go through my MFL list, because I once again don't have a different list of stuff I've read ready, so let's give y'all a nice long list today :) These are all the fics that have been tagged with "Parentlock" based on the author descriptions.

Feel free to add more, friends!

EDIT: THIS HAD TO BE SPLIT UP, SO YAY I HAVE LISTS FOR THREE WEEKS!!! :D I had a lot more Parentlock MFLs than I thought, so I hope you enjoy Parentlock for the next three weeks, hahahha!

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PARENTLOCK Pt. 4A (MFL, 0-25K w.)