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ittybittyfanblog · 3 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry. (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment.

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream.

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off.

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black.

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications.

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending.

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts.

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

… You cave on the fifth day.

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment]

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours.

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me.

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word.

Dont shut me out.

Please.

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams.

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them.

You set your phone down.

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops.

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered.

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb.

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling.

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out.

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space.

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then.

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll.

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will.

––––

“Hey, you okay?”

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.”

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Anytime, darling.

I mean it.

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?”

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store.

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath.

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent.

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain.

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor.

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back.

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most.

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make.

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes.

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button.

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless.

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision.

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized.

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing.

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does.

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope?

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far.

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin.

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red.

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark.

And unread mail. So much unread mail.

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you.

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you.

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being.

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps.

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red.

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues:

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating.

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you?

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break.

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you.

You’re afraid of what’ll come next.

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him.

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you.

As if he’d allow such a thing.

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

…

And just like that, he concedes.

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other.

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even.

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?”

“Of course.” Whatever you want.

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head.

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart.

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound.

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him.

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other.

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact.

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched.

“My lo—”

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.”

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt.

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?”

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?”

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine.

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily.

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke.

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption.

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks.

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling.

I love you.

I love you in ways that consume me.

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you.

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.”

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop.

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading.

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone.

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.”

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise.

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?”

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did.

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his.

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.”

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time.

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent.

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating.

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you.

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours.

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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piroulinewafers · 11 days ago

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𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: colonel not-so-boyfriend-yet gets dragged through a kbeauty store by his childhood friend and realizes that watching her swatch lip tints is way more dangerous than any sort of mission he's been on.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: caleb x fem! reader

the city was noisier than caleb remembered—streetcars rolling by with that grating mechanical whine, shop signs buzzing faintly under the midday sun, the idle chatter of shoppers drifting through open-air cafés and storefronts. he should’ve been overwhelmed. too bright, too many voices, too much movement for someone fresh off the vacuum-quiet corridors of a farspace fleet cruiser.

but he wasn’t watching the city. he was watching her.

she walked half a step ahead of him, tugging him through the crowded sidewalk with the easy confidence of someone who knew where every cute corner shop and discount sticker was hidden. her cardigan had slipped off, revealing her bare shoulder beneath the tank top she wore. she paused in front of a storefront that glowed soft pink through frosted glass and turned to him, her expression hopeful.

“can we go in, gege?” he didn’t respond.

“it’s just a quick stop,” she said, already reaching for the door. she already knew his answer.

caleb lifted the strap of her frilly pink tote a little higher on his shoulder, the my melody charm bouncing cheerfully against his brass-plated rank pin. He didn’t say a word. just nodded and followed her in.

the inside was a pastel wonderland—shelves lined with color-correcting primers and bunny-shaped hand creams, rows of lip tints in neat, candy-colored arrangements. she made a beeline for the display near the center, already reaching for a tester with the kind of care he usually reserved for handling orbital detonation triggers or his gun.

caleb leaned his weight subtly against the edge of the display as she reached for tester after tester, and he let his eyes wander—not across the room, but to the tiny tubes scattered across her palm.

he watched her quietly, one gloved hand resting on the edge of the display as the other held the soft bag by its tiny satin handles. her fingers—smudged faintly with colour from earlier swatches—curved delicately as she unscrewed a rose-toned lip tint. it was a warm, dusky shade, with just enough red in it to remind him of how her cheeks looked when she got worked up over one of his teases.

she swatched it gently across the inside of her wrist, brows pinching in focus, then dabbed a bit with her fingertip and patted it onto her lower lip. the motion was unhurried, thoughtful—like she was trying to be precise, even though she probably didn’t realize how her bottom lip jutted out slightly in concentration. caleb couldn’t look away.

she was everything.

she always gravitated to the same shades, though she liked to pretend she was exploring something new. bare grape, custard mauve, peony ballet… he knew them all. not because she told him—though she sometimes muttered the names under her breath like they were secrets—but because he remembered.

he noticed. and now, watching her dab a warm rosey tone onto the curve of her lip with the tip of her pinky, he added this one to the mental list, too. he’d never forget it. just like he couldn’t forget the way she glowed under the soft store lights, like her whole world had been made of pastels and perfume and she’d still managed to drag him into it, heart and all.

the plush cardigan, the soft pout, the cinnamon-sweet scent that lingered in the air around her—every part of her was stitched into his life in a way he didn’t know how to unpick. she had always been there. and now, more than ever, he wanted to stay in her orbit.

he beckoned her closer, voice low. “come here.”

she blinked up at him, hesitant, swiping at her lip like she thought she’d smudged it. “what?”

“just testing something,” caleb said, his tone deceptively serious. “i need to know the wear-power. longevity. field test, if you will.”

she narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious. “what sort of field test?”

he tapped the side of his cheek, expression maddeningly neutral. “riiiiight here.”

her mouth parted in the tiniest gasp, colour flooding her cheeks. “y-you’re joking.”

“i’m in full uniform, baby apple,” he said, leaning in just slightly. “i never joke.”

she stood there frozen for a second, cheeks burning, then made an exasperated little noise in her throat.

“you're the worst,” she muttered again—then very quickly, very lightly, leaned in and pressed the barest kiss to his cheek.

he didn’t move. didn’t flinch. but his entire heart stuttered in his chest like someone had cut the oxygen flow. it wasn’t even that she’d done it. it was how she’d done it. shy. soft. sweet. and still pouting, like he’d tricked her into surrendering some part of herself she wasn’t ready to admit was his.

“you’re blushing,” she whispered accusingly, looking anywhere but his face. and she was right, a faint, peachy flush had settled upon his faintly freckled cheeks.

“so are you,” he said simply.

she whirled around and stomped toward the register, flustered, clutching the little box of lip tint like a weapon. he followed with a lazy pace, letting her get ahead. but the moment she reached into her pocket and tugged out her wallet, he acted.

a subtle flick of his fingers. a twist of the air pressure. the wallet slipped right out of her grasp and tumbled to the floor.

she blinked down at it, startled. “huh?”

“oops,” he said, already handing his credit card to the cashier.

“caleb—hey, no. please, you’re not—don’t you dare pay for—”

“it’s already done,” he said, not even turning to look at her as the scanner beeped and the receipt printed, credit card glinting mockingly between his fingers.

“besides, i’m the one doing the field test. consider it... part of my data collection, yeah? you were always so interested in this sorta stuff when you were younger.”

she let out a strangled huff, crouching to grab her wallet with a muttered curse and refusing to look at him for the next minute straight.

he watched her pout all the way to the exit, still red in the ears, still flustered, still clinging to the tiny pink bag now tucked snugly under his arm. she was ridiculous. completely unreasonable.

entirely his.

and caleb didn’t need a fleet of soldiers or the quiet stars of the vast space to tell him:

this was home.

reblogs and interactions are v appreciated ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

#caleb x reader #lads caleb #caleb x you #caleb x mc #caleb x y/n #caleb x fem reader #xia yizhou #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #love and deepspace

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cameronsbabydoll · 1 month ago

Text

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER EIGHT

WARNINGS — rafe is a bit controlling, possessiveness, fingering, they take a bath together — mdni 18+

You wake to the soft pressure of Rafe’s hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. His voice, low and firm, pulls you from your sleep.

"Time to get up," he says. "We’re going shopping."

You blink at him, still drowsy, trying to make sense of the words. But before you can say anything,

Rafe drops a neatly folded outfit onto your bed: a delicate white camisole top, a soft pink cardigan, a polka dot skirt with a high waist, and ballet flats to match. The soft, girly fabrics stare up at you, and your chest tightens slightly.

“Put it on,” Rafe orders, his voice low, like it’s a command, not a suggestion.

You slide out of bed, the clothes feeling foreign against your skin, but somehow, you feel more delicate in them. Maybe it’s the softness of the fabrics or the way they fit perfectly. As you get dressed, you can’t help but admire yourself for a second in the mirror. The outfit’s a little out of your comfort zone, but it fits, and you kind of like it.

You’re still adjusting to the feeling when Rafe glances at you with approval.

"Good," he murmurs, though you can’t read his tone. "Let’s go."

—

As you get into Rafe’s Rolls Royce, you feel almost like you’re stepping into a different world. The leather seats are cool, and the car feels massive compared to your own tiny one. Rafe slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine, and immediately his hand finds your thigh. It’s possessive, heavy, and you can’t help but feel his control over everything—the way he drives, the way he talks, the way he touches you.

His fingers rest on your leg, never squeezing, but enough to remind you of his presence.

"How do you feel about today?" he asks, his eyes focused on the road. His voice is casual, but you can feel the weight behind it.

“I’m excited,” you admit, glancing out the window.

You’ve never really been into shopping like this, but the idea of a day in his world—surrounded by luxury and designer everything—makes your heart race. It feels like you’re stepping into a life you’ve only seen in movies.

He glances at you for a second, his lips curling slightly as he makes a turn. "You should be."

Rafe pulls up to the first boutique, a high-end designer store you’ve only heard of in passing. You can feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach as you step out of the car and onto the sidewalk. This is it. This is what it means to be in his world.

He leads you inside without saying a word, his hand still holding yours as he guides you through the racks of clothing. The fabrics are expensive, delicate, and everything about the store screams money. You feel like you don’t belong here, but Rafe doesn’t seem to care.

He’s already picking things out—luxurious dresses in soft pastels, silk blouses that shimmer under the lights, perfectly tailored skirts. There’s no hesitation in his movements, no doubt about what he wants you to wear. And as you try on each piece, you can’t help but feel more like a doll being dressed for his amusement.

"Try these on," he says, handing you a delicate Chanel dress, the kind you’ve seen on red carpets but never thought you’d touch.

Your fingers tremble as you slip into the fitting room, the dress soft and luxurious against your skin. When you step out, Rafe’s eyes flicker with approval, but there’s something in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Perfect," he says, and just like that, the dress is his. You don’t get a say in it.

But as the day wears on, you start to lose yourself in the experience. The jewelry—Van Cleef bracelets that sparkle like stars, rings that feel too heavy on your fingers, a Chanel bag that you can’t help but love even though it’s way out of your league. Rafe insists on buying it all for you, and you can’t bring yourself to argue.

When he drapes the jewelry around your neck, his fingers linger just a second too long, and you feel a rush of heat in your chest. It’s like you’re part of something larger than yourself, something you don’t quite understand, but something that feels... right. Rafe’s world is brimming with wealth, with control, and in this moment, you’re his—whether you like it or not.

—

By the time you return to his penthouse, you’re exhausted from the shopping, but there’s still a sense of excitement bubbling in your chest. Rafe’s eyes are colder than usual, but there's something almost possessive about the way he looks at you as you get out of the car.

When you step into the house, you notice a familiar voice echoing from the living room. One of Rafe’s business partners is there, sitting on the couch, clearly engaged in a conversation. Rafe doesn’t seem to care that he’s there, and he waves you off with a casual gesture.

You finish putting everything away, your mind racing as you glance around the room at the piles of bags, the dresses hanging in the closet, and the sparkling jewelry scattered across the vanity. It all feels surreal, like a dream you’re not quite sure you belong in. But despite the unease bubbling in your chest, there’s a small part of you that can’t help but feel grateful—grateful for the way Rafe’s been spoiling you, even if you don’t fully understand why.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you try to shake off the nervous energy. That’s when you hear the sound of his voice downstairs, muffled by the closed door, talking about something you’re not quite able to hear. You bite your lip, unsure of what to do with yourself. But then an idea sparks.

You glance at the lingerie set you had tried on earlier in the day, the delicate fabric hanging in the bag. Rafe had insisted on picking it out himself—just one more thing he’d claimed for you. You hesitate for a moment before making up your mind.

You slip out of your clothes and into the soft, intricate lingerie—a lace bralette and matching panties in a soft shade of pink that make your skin glow. You stand in front of the mirror for a moment, smoothing the fabric over your skin, and your heart races.

You don’t know why, but there’s something about the idea of thanking him—of doing something for him to show how much you appreciate everything he’s done—that makes you feel a strange mix of excitement and nerves. You stare at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you’re even doing this right.

Taking a deep breath, you walk over to his bed and sit on the edge, trying to steady your nerves. You tuck your legs beneath you, heart hammering in your chest as you wait for him.

Minutes pass, and every sound seems to make your skin prickle with anticipation. You can hear Rafe’s voice getting closer, and then the sound of his footsteps on the stairs makes your heart race faster.

The door to your room creaks open, and he steps inside. His eyes immediately fall on you, sitting there nervously, dressed in the lingerie he had picked out. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything—he just stands there, eyes dark and unreadable.

You can feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, as Rafe walks slowly toward you. He doesn’t speak until he’s standing right in front of you, his gaze flickering over every inch of you. There’s something in his expression—something deep and hungry—that makes your breath catch.

“You really want to thank me, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with something unspoken.

You swallow, your throat dry. “I just... I want to show you how much I appreciate everything.”

His lips curl slightly, a slow, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, without a word, he reaches for your hand, gently pulling you up from the bed. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his fingers trailing down to your jaw as he holds your gaze, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away.

"You’re mine," he says, his voice soft, but the command in it is undeniable. "You don’t have to thank me, doll. I already know."

And just like that, everything between you feels charged. His fingers find your waist, guiding you closer, and as his lips meet yours, you feel the weight of his touch grounding you, pulling you into something deeper than you expected.

You melt into him, your heart racing as his hands move to your back, pulling you closer, like he’s claiming you all over again. You can’t help but give into the feeling—the way his presence overwhelms you, the way he makes you feel more his with every passing second.

As the kiss deepens, you forget everything but the warmth of his embrace and the way he makes you feel.

You find yourself melting into Rafe's strong embrace, your body molding perfectly against his muscular frame as the kiss intensifies. His lips move demandingly against yours, stoking the flames of desire that have been building since you first arrived here. You can't help but surrender to his dominance, your own hands coming up to clutch at his broad shoulders.

Rafe's fingers tangle in your hair, gripping it lightly as he tilts your head to deepen the angle of the kiss. His tongue delves past your lips, claiming every inch of your mouth, leaving you breathless and wanting. The taste of him is intoxicating, and you feel your head spinning with the force of it.

Your heart pounds wildly against your ribs as Rafe's hands begin to wander over your curves, mapping out the swell of your breasts through the thin lace of the bralette. His touch ignites sparks of pleasure that race through your veins, making you ache for more.

Lost in the haze of sensation, you barely register the sound of fabric tearing. The cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you gasp, breaking the kiss momentarily. Rafe takes the opportunity to trail his mouth down to your neck, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

"Fuck, baby," he growls against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking gorgeous. I can't keep my hands off you."

You can only whimper in response, tilting your head to give him better access to the column of your throat. Rafe takes advantage, sucking and biting at the delicate skin, marking you as his own.

His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing the globes roughly as he presses your body flush against the hard length of his arousal. You can feel every thick inch of him through the confines of his slacks, making your core throb with need.

Rafe's fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and in one swift motion, he tears them away, baring your most intimate place to his hungry gaze. The cool air against your heated flesh makes you gasp, your thighs clenching together instinctively.

But Rafe is relentless in his pursuit, his hand delving between your legs to cup your sex. His fingers find your slick folds, slipping easily through the dampness gathered there. You cry out at the sudden contact, your hips bucking into his touch.

"Fuck...you're so wet already," Rafe rasps, his fingers stroking through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

You can only moan in answer, your body trembling with need as Rafe's fingers circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you see stars. Your hips grind down against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Rafe's other hand slides up your side, cupping your breast and kneading the soft flesh. His thumb and forefinger find your nipple, pinching and rolling the hardened peak, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," Rafe commands, his voice low and rough with lust. "Tell me how badly you need me."

You're panting now, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. "Please, Rafe... I need you inside me. I need to feel you...“

Rafe growls in approval, his fingers plunging deep inside your tight heat. "Fuck, you're so tight... so perfect. I can feel you squeezing my fingers... can't wait to feel you squeezing my cock."

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them to hit that special spot inside that makes you scream. Your inner walls clench down around the invading digits, trying to draw them deeper.

Rafe's thumb finds your clit again, rubbing hard circles around the sensitive nub. The dual stimulation has you teetering on the edge, your body drawing taut like a bowstring ready to snap.

"Come for me, baby," Rafe orders, his voice a dark command. "Let me feel you come apart on my fingers...“

—

After everything, Rafe’s touch was still electrifying, even as he carried you gently toward the bathroom. You barely noticed how he moved with ease, his strong arms holding you close as he navigated through the grand space, your head resting against his chest. The luxury of his bathroom felt almost too much—too much for someone like you, but it was his world, and now it felt like yours too.

He set you down softly by the tub, the water already running, steam rising in slow curls from the surface. You watched in awe as he adjusted the temperature, glancing back at you with a soft smile that didn’t quite match the intensity you had just shared.

Rafe turned to the tub, pouring a touch of body wash into the water. It swirled, the scent of something deep and musky mixing with the floral undertones of the bath, but before you could even gather your thoughts, he was right there again, rubbing a gentle hand across your back.

He guided you into the water, the heat surrounding you, as his fingers skimmed over your skin, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, feeling his strength in the softness of it. It was comforting in a way that made your chest tighten, as though you were being held together again after falling apart.

“You’re not asking enough questions tonight,” he teased, his voice low as he reached for the body wash again. You giggled nervously, unsure what to say.

“I—like what kind of questions?” you stammered, unsure of what he meant.

He chuckled, rubbing the body wash in circles on your back, his fingertips just grazing the edge of your spine. “The kind of questions you’d ask a man who’s just claimed you, sweetheart,” he said, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

You shivered slightly, unsure of where to go with this, but feeling the connection between you deepen as he rinsed the soap from your skin. Your mind was racing with the simple and silly things you wanted to ask, but the words caught in your throat.

“Are you always this gentle?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You could hear the smile in his voice when he answered.

“Not always,” he said, his hands roaming down to your legs, washing them slowly. “But with you? I can’t resist.” He paused, his voice turning softer. “You like it, don’t you?”

You nodded, though words were hard to come by as you relaxed into his touch, the warmth of the bath and his presence making everything else fade away. His hands continued to work over your skin, tender but strong.

"You're so innocent," Rafe muttered, more to himself than to you, before he turned your face toward his and kissed you, his lips soft against yours for a moment before his touch deepened again.

The bath continued in a quiet intimacy, the tension between you both easing. His care was unspoken, but it was there in the way he kept you close, in the way he made sure you felt safe, even when everything about him—everything about you—felt a little bit reckless.

He gently rinsed your hair, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp with care, making your head spin in a different way than before. You were lost in it, in the calm, in the feeling of being cared for. Maybe you didn’t fully understand everything about him yet, but in moments like this, you didn’t need to. You just needed to let yourself be with him.

When he finished, he helped you out of the bath, his hands steady as he wrapped a plush towel around you. His gaze lingered on you, as though memorizing the way you looked after everything—still soft, still innocent, and yet now, in his arms, belonging to him more than ever.

"Rest, sweetheart," he said, voice still low, but full of that same intensity. He led you back to the bedroom, carefully settling you into the sheets, as though he was claiming you in every way, not just in body, but in heart.

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astrcmoni · 4 months ago

Text

ೃ❀࿔ sweet surrender ೃ❀࿔

MASTERLIST

synopsis: so…basically you and billie fuck, but like sweetly. ( i don’t feel like writing a proper synopsis)

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 11.2k….it goes up every post i swear😓

warnings: cussing, soft switch! reader & soft switch! billie, nicknames, fingering (both receiving), cunnilingus/oral (both receiving), scissoring, talk of orgasm/cum, aftercare..i think that’s it lmk if i missed something.

authors note: your weekly bedtime story is here…why this kinda eat hold on🫦, who wanna recreate this with me🤨 (jk jk…unless)

soft light spills into the living room, a warm, flickering glow from candles scattered like secrets in the dark. their flames whisper, gentle and alive, from the coffee table and shelves. the scent of vanilla and sandalwood curls through the air, weaving into billie’s perfume— grounding, familiar, like home found in a person. the tv glows faintly, its screen casting soft shadows as it flickers with old reruns of i love lucy— a memory stitched to your childhood, to moments spent with your grandparents. the grayscale images shift and shimmer, the faint crackle of audio tugging you back, making you feel like you’re sitting in the past.

you’re stretched out on the couch, body languid and unwound, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, cradling your head. your legs sprawl lazily across billie’s lap, the fuzzy fabric of your socks brushing against each other in a slow, absent rhythm. the anklets on your right ankle sway with each movement, their gold bands catching the light like small constellations. her thumb traces soft, looping patterns against your bare thigh, the warmth of her hand seeping into your skin. her touch is unhurried, deliberate, each stroke sending quiet sparks through your nerves, grounding you in this fragile, perfect moment.

billie leans further into the cushions, her black plaid button-up hanging loose over a white undershirt, sleeves rolled carelessly to her elbows. silver chains and dog tags glint faintly against her chest, their edges catching the candlelight. her rings shift and gleam as her fingers move, the brim of her cap tilting forward, shadowing her face. but you see her, clear as day— the way her lips curve into the smallest, softest smile, the kind that speaks of quiet contentment, like she’s found something she didn’t know she needed.

you’re dressed in something equally soft— a low-buttoned teddy brown colored cardigan draped over a spaghetti-strap tank, paired with fluffy shorts that skim your thighs. the contrast between you two is striking: her laid-back edge against your cozy simplicity. but in this moment, it doesn’t matter. this is your space, your sanctuary, and all that fills your mind is how perfect this feels. how the air between you hums, tension so palpable it feels like the room itself is holding its breath.

her gaze shifts, and you feel it before you see it— the weight of her eyes settling on your face, studying you with the same intensity you’d reserved for the tv moments ago. turning your head, your eyes meet hers, and the world narrows. her gaze is deep, blue oceans pooling with something that feels too heavy for words. it’s the same look she gave you the night you met, six months ago, in some dimly lit club in l.a. where the music was too loud and the air was too thick, but none of that mattered.

you remember sitting in the corner, a drink in your hand, your feet aching from dancing too long. and then she walked in— quiet, unassuming, but magnetic in a way that pulled all the air out of the room. her presence was effortless, the way she carried herself a study in contradictions: cool and commanding, yet soft and inviting. you’d noticed her almost immediately, the dark fall of her hair brushing against her cheekbones, the way her eyes swept the room like she was searching for something. and when her gaze landed on you, it was like being found.

she crossed the space between you two with purpose, her voice low and steady as she introduced herself. there was no pretense, no false charm—just something raw and real. her dark hair fell into her face as she leaned closer, her words slipping through the noise like a secret meant only for you. and just like that, the thread between you tightened, drawing you closer without effort or explanation.

what started as late-night conversations and quiet companionship turned into something you couldn’t define but couldn’t let go of. it was soft nights spent in each other’s company, your laughter mingling with the sound of her playlists, the kind of intimacy that feels like breathing. and then, one night, everything changed. it was quiet, like the shift of the tide— a hand brushing too close, a glance lingering too long. and when her lips found the curve of your neck, the world tilted. the air sparked, the room blurred, and all that existed was her. that was the moment it became inevitable. that was the moment it became everything.

now it’s become a regular thing, these quiet nights wrapped in each other’s presence, existing in a rhythm that feels almost too easy. no schedules, no expectations—just the way you both fold into each other, however and whenever you want.

“ricky! you can’t be serious!” lucy’s exasperated voice bursts from the tv, the laugh track bubbling up to fill the room, the sound bouncing off the soft glow of candlelight.

you smirk, turning your head slightly. “are you even trying to watch the show?” your tone is teasing, but there’s nothing sharp in it—just warmth, just the comfort of familiarity.

“why would i want to do that,” she murmurs, her lips curving into the faintest smile, “when my girlfriend is right here?” her fingers squeeze gently against the plush of your thighs, the cool metal of her rings biting against your warmth. the contrast is startling and grounding all at once, like her touch is meant to anchor you here, in this moment.

“you comfy?” she asks, voice softer now, almost like the question is more for her than you.

“wouldn’t be sitting here if i wasn’t.” your fist curls under your head as you shift, propping yourself more comfortably. the action presses your body further into hers, the space between you almost nonexistent now. a soft smile tugs at your lips as your gaze meets hers fully, your eyes locking in a way that feels heavier than it should.

she lets out a low groan, the sound rumbling in her chest and spilling into the quiet. “you’re always talking, huh? why can’t you just say yes like a normal person?”

you shrug, the teasing glint in her eyes pulling a soft chuckle from you. “where’s the fun in that?”

her hand slows, her touch shifting from absentminded to something more deliberate. her fingers slide from the outside of your thigh to the tender skin on the inside, her movements light but intentional. her gaze drops to watch the path her fingers trace, her focus sharp and quiet, like she’s lost in her own thoughts. faint whispers fall from her lips—soft, incoherent murmurs that seem to spill out without her even realizing.

and you’d be lying to yourself if you said her touch didn’t make your breath hitch, didn’t make the air feel just a little heavier.

“huh?” your voice breaks through the haze, low and teasing. “i need you to speak up, my love.”

her hand stills, her thumb pressing just a little harder into your skin, the faint pressure pulling a spark of heat up your spine. she looks up at you, and her gaze is different now—something deeper, heavier, like the weight of an unspoken truth. her thumb resumes its path, slow and deliberate, but her eyes remain on yours, studying you in the dim light.

it feels like she’s memorizing you—every curve, every shift in your expression, every shallow breath you take. and in the quiet hum of the room, you feel it again: that thread pulling tighter, wrapping around you both, binding you closer than words ever could.

“you’re so unfair, you know that?” her voice drops an octave, thick with something unspoken, the sound wrapping around you like velvet.

your eyebrows lift, a subtle quirk that dances between curiosity and teasing. “i am?” your voice is soft, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

her head dips in a slow, deliberate nod, the silver of her chains swaying faintly with the motion, catching the warm glow of the candles. shadows flicker across her face, her expression unreadable but her eyes speaking louder than words.

“how so?” you breathe, your playful smile blooming fully now, your tone light but laced with something deeper, something knowing.

her free hand moves, fingers grazing the side of your knee, the touch light as air yet impossible to ignore. her fingertips trail back down, her movements slow, deliberate, like she’s mapping every inch of your skin. “you sit here,” she murmurs, almost to herself, her words dragging in the air between you, “looking like that… looking at me, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

her voice sends a spark straight through you, a thread of heat winding itself tight in your chest. a laugh escapes before you can stop it, light and airy, your body jolting with the sound. “what am i doing, baby?” you ask, your voice dipping into something soft, sweet, and maddeningly coy.

her hand lifts, leaving your skin cold in its absence. she drags it up to her face, her palm covering the flush that spreads like wildfire across her cheeks. your voice—the way the nickname falls from your lips, slow and deliberate—undoes her. it’s the low tilt of your eyes, the subtle curve of your lips, the ease with which you say it, like you know exactly what you’re doing to her.

a deep groan escapes her, muffled by her hand, her body sinking further into the couch like she’s trying to hide from the weight of it all. your laugh spills out again, fuller this time, bubbling over as her flustered state only seems to grow.

her eyes cut to you, sharp but soft, like she’s annoyed and enamored all at once. her hand slides down her face slowly, the motion deliberate, landing softly beside her. she exhales, her head tilting back slightly, her cap casting shadows across her flushed face. “you’re impossible,” she mutters, the words carrying no real bite, just the lingering weight of her vulnerability.

and you smile, a warmth spreading through your chest as you take her in—the way she tries to compose herself, the way her gaze softens despite the tension in the air. because in this moment, with the light flickering and the world quiet, it’s just you and her. and that’s all it ever needs to be.

your stomach tightens at the way she looks at you, with longing and desire etched so plainly across her face. her voice curls around her words, low and deliberate, leaving a trail of warmth on your skin. but you hold your composure, tilting your head slightly, letting your cardigan slip further off your shoulder. the exposed skin feels cool against the air, but the weight of her gaze sets it alight. your eyebrows lift, an unspoken challenge lingering between you, as you wait for her answer.

before she can speak, her hands find the underside of your calves, her grip firm yet gentle. you let out a surprised yelp as she pulls you closer in one smooth motion, dragging you across the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your thighs slide against the fabric, your breath hitching as her hands settle there again, warm and commanding. the sudden proximity leaves you breathless—your faces so close you can see everything: the deepening blue of her eyes, their edges dark with lust, the faint constellation of freckles scattered across her skin, like stars glimmering faintly against a quiet sky.

you notice the way her lips part, soft and plush, glistening slightly as her tongue darts out to wet them. she catches her bottom lip between her teeth, tugging it briefly before releasing it, her gaze locked on yours. she exhales sharply through her nose, the sound low and ragged, her breath fanning warmly against your face.

“you’re so pretty,” she whispers, her voice thick with a quiet ache that sends a shiver down your spine. “it’s not fair. you’re driving me out of my mind.”

your lips twitch into a teasing smile, the heat rising to your cheeks impossible to ignore. “yeah?” your voice is soft, a little breathy, but still teasing as your hand moves up to cup her cheek. your thumb brushes gently across her skin, and you keep your eyes locked on hers, unrelenting, daring her to close the distance.

“yeah.” her voice is barely above a breath now, her face tilting ever so slightly as her lips press into yours.

her kiss is slow at first, deliberate, her lips moving against yours like she’s savoring every second, every taste. her hand slides further up your thigh, her grip tightening just enough to send sparks racing along your nerves. the weight of her free hand against your face steadies you, her thumb grazing the edge of your jaw as she pulls you closer, deeper into her.

your hands find their way to the back of her neck, fingers threading through the soft strands of her hair, your thumbs brushing the skin behind her ears. you tug her closer, her groan reverberating through you, a warm, low sound that seems to settle deep in your chest. her hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you into her lap, the shift effortless, like you were always meant to be there.

your legs straddle her hips, your knees digging into the cushions on either side of her as her hands find your waist. her thumbs draw lazy circles there, the light pressure grounding you even as her kiss grows hungrier. her teeth graze your bottom lip, tugging lightly before her lips crash back into yours, leaving you breathless.

your fingers tighten against the nape of her neck, nails dragging lightly against her skin, and she shudders under your touch, a sharp intake of breath escaping her. the sound makes your heart race, the heat between you two building, the world fading into the soft glow of candlelight and the quiet hum of your shared breaths. nothing else exists but her—the weight of her hands, the press of her lips, and the quiet intensity that burns between you, igniting something you can’t name but never want to end.

the taste of her is intoxicating, the faint trace of mint on her lips mingling with something sweeter, deeper—something that pulls you under, leaves you wanting more. every kiss feels like a promise, slow and deliberate, building into something that leaves no room for air, no room for doubt. her hands find the hem of your cardigan, slipping beneath it, the cool press of her rings on your skin like tiny shocks of electricity that ripple through you, making your breath hitch.

her lips part from yours, trailing a path of warmth and want from your cheek to your jawline, each kiss deliberate, unhurried, like she’s memorizing you in pieces. when she reaches your neck, she pauses, breathing you in, the scent of your laundry detergent mixing with the soft trace of vanilla candles and the rich warmth of your body butter. “mm—mama, you smell so good,” she murmurs, her words vibrating against your skin before she presses another kiss there, teeth grazing lightly.

your fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of her neck, nails grazing her scalp, earning a low, drawn-out moan from her. the sound alone makes your stomach flip, heat blooming low in your belly. she bites down, just enough to make your breath stutter, her tongue soothing the sting, but before the bruise has time to settle, you pull back.

her hands are quick, catching you instinctively, clasping behind your back as though to steady you, to keep you close. her brows furrow, the expression subtle but telling, her lips swollen and slick from your kisses. she’s looking at you like you’ve just shattered a moment she wasn’t ready to let go of, confusion pooling in the depths of her blue eyes.

“what’s wrong?” her voice is low, threaded with concern, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to catch her breath.

a grin spreads across your face, slow and teasing, as you bite your bottom lip, suppressing the laugh bubbling up in your chest. “we’re not fucking on this expensive-ass couch, babe,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully, the lilt of your voice light and teasing.

she blinks at you, a beat passing as your words sink in, and then the corners of her lips twitch upward into a grin, crooked and lazy. “seriously?” her tone is laced with amusement now, the sharp edge of desire softened but not gone. “you don’t trust me on your couch?”

you shake your head, the grin still playing on your lips as you make a small sound of disapproval. “not in this outfit, i don’t.” your fingers find the flannel draped over her frame, brushing the fabric lightly as you fluff it out, your touch featherlight and deliberate.

she laughs, a low, throaty sound that rolls through you, her messy brown hair swaying as she leans back slightly, her hands returning to your hips like they belong there. the tension between you shifts, still heavy but now threaded with playfulness, the kind of ease that makes your chest feel lighter. “ you really don’t wanna stay out here?”

“um…no,” you say, letting your gaze flick around the room before meeting hers again, your eyes glinting with mischief. “besides, i’m just saying, if we’re gonna fuck, i’m gonna need more space than this, babe.”

her grin widens, crooked and endearing, her eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

“dead serious,” you reply, your voice steady, your expression a mix of challenge and amusement.

“you’re such a diva, you know that?”

“and yet, here you are,” you shoot back, the smirk tugging at your lips impossible to hide.

she groans, loud and dramatic, but the spark in her eyes betrays her excitement. her black hat tilts slightly as she stands, her movements easy and fluid. “lead the way,” she mutters, her voice still low but threaded with anticipation.

you slide off her lap, your hand slipping into hers, fingers lacing together as you tug her to her feet. her grip tightens, grounding you for a moment before you turn, the soft patter of your feet against the floor the only sound as you lead her to your room.

you smile, the energy between you two shifting again, this time in a direction you both have grown to know so well. every step carries the weight of the unspoken tension that’s lingered between you, each echoing softly in the quiet as the anticipation coils tighter. when the door clicks shut behind you, the atmosphere thickens, the air charged, electric. it feels like stepping into a new world—one that belongs only to the two of you.

you turn to face her, letting your eyes rake over her frame, unhurried, deliberate. really looking at her feels like a privilege, like witnessing art up close. billie stands there, her plaid button-up shifted slightly askew, the white crop top beneath clinging to her in all the right ways. the silver chains around her neck glint softly in the low light, catching your attention like they’re daring you to touch them. her rings shimmer as she flexes her fingers, the subtle movement making you want to trace their paths over her skin. she stalks closer, slow and measured, the faintest smile curving her lips, but her eyes give her away—darkened with desire, the hunger in them mirroring your own.

you toss your head back with a groan, overwhelmed by the way she looks at you, by how effortlessly she owns the moment. “oh my god, you’re so fine. like, what the actual fuck,” you whisper, half to yourself, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

billie’s lips part as though to respond, but you don’t give her the chance. instead, you close the distance, your lips colliding with hers in a kiss that’s urgent, desperate, all-consuming. her hands find your waist almost immediately, the heat of her touch burning through the fabric of your cardigan as her fingers trace the outline of your frame with a reverence that makes your knees weak.

your own hands slide up her chest, palms pressing against the cool press of her chains, the metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. your fingers reach the buttons of her shirt, and you work them loose one by one, savoring the soft hitch of her breath with each undone clasp. her lips never leave yours, the kiss deepening with every second, every layer of fabric removed between you adding fuel to the fire.

when the last button falls free, her shirt slips open, revealing the soft curves of her stomach beneath the hem of her crop top. your fingers ghost over her skin, tracing the faint lines of muscle, dipping lower to the curve of her belly. your touch brushes against the delicate silver of her belly piercing, the small charm swaying lightly, catching the light. the sight of it, the subtle movement, makes your breath catch.

billie lets out a soft moan, the sound rippling through you like a wave, her body trembling beneath your hands. your nails scrape lightly against her skin, just enough to make her gasp, the sharp intake of air like music to your ears.

your hands move upwards, palms grazing the curve of her chest before sliding even higher, finding their place on her shoulders. your thumbs brush back and forth over her exposed collarbones, the motion slow, deliberate. her breath hitches, her lips parting as her head tilts back slightly, giving you an unobstructed view of her face. the way her brows knit together, the flush spreading across her cheeks, the faint sheen of sweat gathering at her temple—it’s all so breathtaking, so unguarded.

you can feel her body reacting to every touch, her soft moans and sharp gasps filling the space between you, grounding you in this moment. her hands find your hips again, her fingers digging into your sides just enough to leave you craving more, her touch equal parts grounding and electrifying.

your hands wander down her back, tracing the planes of her body, mapping her with a devotion that feels almost sacred. every dip, every curve, every inch of her feels like it’s yours to discover all over again. her skin trembles beneath your touch, her reactions beautiful and raw, each sound she makes wrapping around you like a melody, pulling you deeper.

you marvel at her—at the way her body responds to yours, at the way her moans become softer, more desperate as your fingers glide lower again. there’s something intoxicating about the way she melts into you, like you’re the only thing that matters, the only thing tethering her to this moment.

but billie being billie, she’s always so impatient. “oh my god—” she breathes, her voice trembling as her hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, pulling you into another searing kiss. it’s hurried, electric, but beneath the urgency lies something deeper, something tender. her lips press against yours like she’s afraid you might slip through her fingers, and for a moment, nothing else exists but the heat between you.

her hands find your waist, fingers curling around the fabric of your cardigan as she moves, never breaking the kiss. step by step, she guides you back until the edge of the bed presses against the backs of your legs, sending you tumbling softly onto the mattress. billie follows instantly, her body hovering over yours, the weight of her pressing you gently into the bed as her lips trail back down to your neck.

she takes her time, scattering a mix of hickeys and featherlight kisses along your skin. her lips drag over the curve of your throat, her breath hot and uneven as her teeth graze you ever so slightly, each nip leaving a trail of heat in its wake. her hands are everywhere and nowhere at once, fidgeting with the buttons of your sweater. but her frustration mounts quickly as the fabric refuses to cooperate, her movements becoming more frantic with every passing second.

“fucking hell—” she mutters, voice low and husky, her breath hitching as she sits up slightly, straddling your hips. her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, grounding herself as her fingers tug impatiently at the stubborn clasps.

“what?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows to see what’s wrong, your own breath catching at the sight of her disheveled hair and flushed cheeks.

“these damn buttons, babe. why did you decide to wear a sweater?” she grumbles, her lips pressing into a thin line as her fingers fumble. the frustration is written all over her face, but there’s a fire in her eyes, a hunger that makes you ache in the best way.

you bite back a laugh, your heart swelling at how adorably flustered she looks. “hey, be gentle. this is my favorite cardigan, okay?”

her hands pause for just a moment, her gaze flickering up to meet yours, lips parting as if to argue. but then she groans, a soft, almost desperate sound escaping her. “i don’t care. i’ll buy you another one—just take it off,” she whines, her voice trailing off, heavy with need.

her yearning is palpable now, written in the tension of her shoulders, in the way her fingers twitch against the fabric, in the way she looks at you—like she’s starving, like you’re the only thing that could ever satisfy her. but there’s something more behind her frustration, a depth to her longing that catches you off guard. it’s not just about the physical connection; it’s about being completely, utterly yours in a way that words could never fully express.

you take her hands gently, stilling their restless movements as you guide them away from the buttons. “relax, babe,” you whisper, your voice soft but teasing as you take matters into your own hands. your fingers make quick work of the buttons, sliding them free one by one with practiced ease.

billie watches intently, her gaze flickering between your hands and your face, her breathing shallow as the sweater falls open, the fabric slipping from your shoulders to reveal the fitted spaghetti-strap tank beneath. the hem of the top has ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of your stomach and the tiny diamond piercing that glints in the low light. her eyes darken as they trail upward, lingering on the curve of your breasts peeking over the neckline.

“see?” you murmur, your voice soft and playful as your eyes meet hers. “you just have to be gentle sometimes.” a small, knowing smile tugs at your lips, and for a moment, all the tension eases, replaced by something sweeter, something that feels like an unspoken promise.

billie swallows hard, her lips parting as if to respond, but the words don’t come. instead, her hands move back to your waist, her touch gentler this time, almost reverent as her thumbs trace slow circles against your skin. her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her gaze fixed on you like you’re the most captivating thing she’s ever seen.

“i guess,” she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper before grabbing you once more, pulling you into another kiss. it’s softer this time, slower, but no less intense. your fingers thread through her hair, the strands silky against your fingertips as you accidentally knock the baseball cap from her head. it falls behind you, landing on the comforter with a soft thud.

without breaking the kiss, you reach back blindly, your hand swatting around until your fingers brush against the cap. grasping it, you pull it forward and carefully place it on your own head, twisting the brim backward in one fluid motion. it’s a small gesture, playful and unassuming, but the effect it has on billie is immediate.

her breath catches, a sharp inhale that seems to echo in the quiet room. her hands tighten on your waist, gripping you as though the sight of you in her hat has stolen whatever composure she had left. her lips part, her pupils dark and blown wide with desire as she stares at you like you’ve just set her entire world on fire.

“you… fuck,” she breathes, the words spilling from her lips in a low, shaky exhale. her voice is thick, raw, dripping with something primal, something almost desperate.

you don’t miss the way her hips press into yours, the way her entire body reacts to the simple act of you claiming her cap like it’s yours now. it’s intoxicating, the rush of power and intimacy swirling between you like a storm neither of you can control.

her hands are on you again, roaming your body with renewed urgency as she tugs at your cardigan, sliding it off your shoulders with a rough but measured pull. your undershirt follows shortly after, the fabric soft as it glides over your skin, leaving you in just your bra.

your own hands are anything but idle, sliding beneath the hem of her black-and-white flannel. your nails skim her skin, drawing goosebumps in their wake as you work the shirt off her arms. the flannel slips to the floor in a quiet heap, followed by the white crop top she’s been wearing. the cotton clings briefly before you pull it over her head, her chains catching the light as they fall back into place, swaying gently against her chest.

the air is thick with the weight of the moment as you both stand there, stripped down to bras and pants. the silver of her chains glints with every rise and fall of her chest, her breathing heavy and uneven. the cool metal contrasts sharply against the flushed heat of her skin, a juxtaposition that feels almost poetic.

her hands slide down to your thighs, her palms warm as they press into your skin, urging them apart. her body fits perfectly between them as she lowers herself, her lips returning to your chest. she trails kisses over your collarbone, her mouth soft and deliberate as she works her way downward.

her fingers glide up your torso, slow and steady, until they find the clasp of your bra. with practiced ease, she slides the hooks free, the tension releasing as the straps slip loose around your shoulders. she hooks her index finger beneath the center of the fabric, the touch deliberate and teasing as her lips venture lower, kissing a steady path toward your navel.

your breath hitches as you feel the cool metal of the ring on her finger. it drags down your sternum in a maddeningly slow motion, the chill of it sharp against the warmth of your skin. she pulls the bra along with it, the fabric slipping away to leave you completely exposed.

billie’s lips don’t stop, their pace shifting between urgent and languid as if she’s memorizing every inch of you, leaving no part of you untouched. her hands follow the curve of your body, reverent and hungry all at once, like she’s trying to make up for every second she’s ever spent without you.

“you think it’s cute to play with me like that?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, though the hunger in her tone is unmistakable, wrapping around you like smoke.

you don’t answer right away. instead, you reach down, fingers grazing the cool metal of her chains, the links warm from the heat of her skin. they clink softly as your touch trails lower, over the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her chest, down to the subtle rise and fall of her abs. her muscles tense beneath your fingertips, and you deliberately let your nails drag lightly, just enough to leave a tingling path in their wake.

“i think you love it,” you whisper, your voice soft yet edged with challenge, your lips curling into the faintest smirk as you look up at her.

she doesn’t dignify the statement with words; her response is instant and all-consuming. her lips crash against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs in a kiss so searing it sets every nerve in your body alight. her hands grip your hips with a desperation that makes you dizzy, pulling you into her as if she can’t get close enough. the weight of her body presses against you, grounding you, tethering you to this moment as your fingers slide up into her hair. the strands are soft against your skin, and you give a gentle tug, earning a throaty groan that vibrates against your lips.

“fuck,” she breathes when she finally pulls back, just enough to look at you. her chest heaves as she takes you in—the way your bare chest glows in the soft light, the hat perched on your head backward, your lips kiss-swollen and parted. her blue eyes burn as they trace over you, drinking in every detail like she’s trying to commit it to memory. “you’re so perfect,” she murmurs, her voice raw, almost reverent. “you don’t even know.”

her lips find your neck again, moving with purpose. she lingers at your pulse point, where her teeth graze your skin just hard enough to make you gasp. the sting is fleeting, soothed almost immediately by the warmth of her tongue, and the combination sends a shiver down your spine. your back arches involuntarily, pressing you closer to her as a soft, unbidden moan escapes your lips.

her hands explore you with a sense of ownership, gliding over your body as if she’s mapping you out, committing every curve, every reaction, to memory. her touch is deliberate, possessive yet achingly tender, like she’s determined to make you hers in every possible way.

when her lips descend lower, trailing a line of heated kisses down your neck and over your collarbone, your breath catches. the anticipation is electric, each kiss leaving a spark in its wake until she reaches your chest. she pauses there, her movements slowing as her eyes flick up to meet yours. for a moment, the world stills. the vulnerability in her gaze is raw and unguarded, a quiet question unspoken between you, and your heart stutters in response.

slowly, she leans down, pressing featherlight kisses along the curve of your breast. her lips are soft but purposeful, the contrast making your body hum. when she finally takes your left nipple into her mouth, the warmth of her tongue against your skin sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. your gasp is sharp, filling the room, and you feel her smile against you.

her hands knead your thighs as her mouth continues its deliberate exploration, the cool metal of her rings biting into your skin in the most delicious way. she takes her time, savoring every reaction, as if each gasp and whimper from you feeds something deep inside her. every touch, every kiss feels like a promise—silent but unbreakable, binding the two of you together in a way that words never could.

“billie,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need, your left hand pressing against the bed behind you, propping yourself up as your right grips the back of her head, guiding her where you want her.

she hums against your skin, the vibration seeping deep into your bones, a shiver running down your spine like a whisper of fire. “say it again,” she murmurs, her voice dark, smooth, commanding, drawing out every syllable as if it’s a secret just for you.

“mm—billie, baby,” you repeat, louder now, desperate, the words tumbling from your lips like a prayer, and it’s enough to drive her further, spurring her on. her lips continue their slow, relentless descent, teeth grazing, biting in all the right places, leaving marks that will linger into tomorrow. she revels in the thought of you carrying her with you, a part of her left behind even when she isn’t there.

by the time she reaches the apex of your thighs, your body is trembling, every inch of you electrified, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. billie pauses, her lips brushing against the soft skin just below your hip bone, and you feel the tender press of her breath, her hands gently coaxing your legs wider. she looks up at you, and the sight of you—skin flushed, chest heaving, her cap still perched on your head—makes something fierce stir in her. her voice is low, rough, as she speaks, the words laced with a hunger that matches your own. “sweetheart, you’re everything i’ve ever wanted.”

you’re too far gone to respond, but the way your fingers tighten in her hair, tugging just enough, says everything she needs to hear. her hands knead the inside of your thighs, her touch light, teasing, before she slides your shorts and underwear down in one smooth motion, discarding them carelessly. a sharp gasp slips from you as the cool air brushes against your skin, the dampness of your pussy already betraying your need.

her middle finger hovers over your slit, teasing you just enough, before she presses a kiss just above where you ache for her. the soft, teasing pressure pulls a frustrated whimper from your lips, and billie smirks against your skin, her own desire too fierce to be denied for long. without warning, she gives you exactly what you’ve been begging for.

her lips press against your clit, light, teasing kisses that send shivers through you. then, her tongue darts out, slipping between your folds with a slow, deliberate motion, tasting you. the sensation causes your back to arch, a soft cry escaping your lips as her hands slide down your right leg, propping it over her shoulder, opening you up further. the taste of you, mixed with the soft jangle of your anklets brushing against her ear, makes her moan, the vibrations sinking into your pussy, intensifying the pleasure.

her mouth moves with a rhythm so perfect it feels like she’s made for this, her lips and tongue working together in a dance that makes every nerve in your body hum. your hand drifts down to the side of her face, fingers brushing against her cheek as you tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. she lays her head on the inside of your thigh, leaving one last lingering kiss on your clit before her fingers take their place. her middle finger teases your entrance, slick with your essence, and she spreads it gently through your folds, rubbing you with a slow, sensual rhythm.

the room fills with the sound of your soft cries and her low groans, the air thick with the need building between you. her hands grip your hips, holding you in place as you writhe beneath her, your body trembling with the overwhelming sensation. “my girl’s so pretty…” she murmurs, her voice dripping with lust. “gonna cum for me, mama?”

you nod, the wordless answer spilling from you as you can barely form coherent sentences. “yea—‘m gonna cum—fuck…”

“yeah?” she teases, her voice thick with pleasure, as she removes her fingers from you, making you whine in frustration. but she’s quick, taking her middle and index fingers—both slick with you—and tapping them lightly against your clit before thrusting them inside. your eyes roll back, the sensation overwhelming, and you shut them tightly as a moan rips from your throat. the cold metal of her rings against your skin, the sight of her inked angels curling around her fingers, is enough to make you gush, your body trembling beneath her touch.

“uht uht gotta look at me, baby.” her words are hot against your thigh as she pumps her fingers inside you, your cum dripping down onto her digits. you struggle to open your eyes, the pleasure so intense it makes it hard to focus, but when you do, you meet her gaze—her blue eyes darkened with lust, locked on yours through the fluttering of her thick lashes, her stare searing into you with an intensity that makes everything else fade away.

your hands reach to the back of her neck, fingers trembling as you try to pull her face back to your cunt, guiding her with the desperate urgency building in your chest. billie doesn’t hesitate, her fingers curling inside you, flexing in a ‘come here’ motion, and the sensation makes you moan once more, a string of curse words tumbling from your lips, breathless and broken.

without missing a beat, she places her mouth back on you, her tongue lapping at your juices in long, slow strokes, her fingers moving in tandem, creating a rhythm so perfect it threatens to unravel you completely. each movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, the euphoric feeling almost too much to bear. your hands scramble for something to hold onto, your fingers desperately clawing at her skin as you start to break, your body trembling under her touch.

your release comes like a tidal wave, crashing over you with such intensity it leaves you gasping, your body shaking as billie fucks you through it, her steady pace never faltering. “my sweet girl, doing so good for me,” she murmurs, her voice low and possessive as her mouth pulls away from you. you watch, breathless, as the taste of you drips from her chin, glistening in the dim light like a mark of ownership.

but she doesn’t stop, not until you’re completely done. her fingers remain inside you, caressing you softly through the lingering tremors, her touch almost reverent as you come down from your high. through hazy eyes, you watch her lift her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste you, her eyes fluttering closed as she moans softly at the sensation, savoring the taste of you like it’s the most exquisite thing she’s ever experienced.

billie watches you as you slowly return to yourself, your body still trembling lightly, chest heaving with each shallow breath. the sight of you—flushed, glistening with sweat, her hat still perched on your head, tilted just enough to give you an air of control—makes her heart race in her chest. she swears she could combust from the sheer magnetism of you, the power in your presence, the way you hold her with just a glance.

you catch your breath, a lazy smile curling on your lips as you gaze down at her, fingers trailing lightly over the smoothness of her neck before you grasp the chains, tugging her up until your faces are barely inches apart. “your turn,” you murmur, your voice low, thick with desire. the words send a shock straight through her, and she swallows hard, nodding with a hunger that matches your own as you push her back onto the bed.

billie’s breath hitches as you straddle her hips, her hands instinctively finding purchase on your thighs, gripping them with a tenderness laced with urgency. the weight of you on top of her, combined with the dark intensity in your eyes, ignites something deep within her, setting her whole body on fire. you lean down, your gold necklace glinting between you, and let your lips trail along her jaw, kissing her in a slow, teasing rhythm that makes her shiver beneath you.

“keep the hat on,” she breathes, her voice trembling, breaking slightly as anticipation clouds her every word. “please.”

you smirk against her skin, the corners of your lips curling with a mixture of mischief and adoration. your fingers graze over the silver chains around her neck, following their curve before sliding lower. her bra clings to her, damp with sweat, and you take your time peeling it off, savoring each moment, each inch of skin exposed to you. her breasts, her toned stomach, the glint of her belly piercing, all draw you in. billie groans when your nails trace lightly over her nipples, a shudder running through her before your hands travel lower, gliding over her abs, the sensation making her grip your thighs tighter.

“you’re so beautiful,” you murmur, voice thick with awe, your fingers brushing delicately over the piercing. you dip your head, placing a kiss right above it, before trailing your lips back up her chest. billie lets out a soft curse when your mouth finds her skin, kissing and nipping along her collarbone, your lips moving with reverence as your hands roam across her body.

the rings on her fingers clink softly as she grips the sheets beneath her, trying to stay grounded, but it’s impossible when your nails graze her chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, or when the ink on your skin brushes against hers, creating an electric contrast to the softness of your lips. her head tilts back, a low moan escaping her, your name falling from her lips like a whispered prayer as you continue to worship her, exploring every inch of her with maddening focus, leaving no part of her untouched.

and then you lean back slightly, hands settling on the waistband of her jeans, your gaze locking with hers in a silent question. billie nods quickly, lifting her hips to help you slide them down. the sight of her—bare, vulnerable, completely at your mercy—makes your heart race in anticipation.

your fingers trace the contours of her tattoos as you kiss your way down her body, moving with purpose, savoring every sound she makes, every tremble of her muscles beneath your touch. your nails brush lightly over the dragon inked into her skin, a sensation that sends a shiver through her, while your tongue lingers on the cursive “hit me hard & soft” tattoo, tasting her, each movement slow and deliberate.

when your lips finally reach her most sensitive spot, billie’s back arches off the bed, a low groan escaping her as her hands fly to grip your hair. her movements falter when she sees you—hat still perched confidently on your head—looking up at her like this, all control and hunger in your eyes.

“jesus christ,” she groans, her voice breaking, the words barely coherent. “you’re gonna kill me.”

the sound of her surrender only spurs you on. you let your nails trail lightly up and down her thighs, teasing her, your touch languid and calculated. with a satisfied smile, you pull back, a thin string of her slickness attaching itself to your lips. billie watches, her eyes hazy but still alert, brows furrowed slightly in confusion. you shake your head gently, crawling back to her, your lips capturing hers in a kiss, letting her taste herself on your tongue.

a moan slips from her as she savors the moment, her hands pulling you closer. you shift your position, straddling her, grinding your body against hers as you break the kiss to adjust the cap on your head, the motion subtle but commanding.

a small, playful smile spreads across your face, a light laugh escaping you as you take her in, her face glistening with your essence. her eyes, clouded with desire, wander over you as you hover above her, your lips bending down to nibble and lick at the skin of her neck. your bodies align, a slow and deliberate grind causing a wet, audible sound as your slickness meets hers, the sensation of your clits kissing sending electric shocks through both of you.

billie’s hands leave the sheets, finding purchase on your body, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other skimming the curve of your back as you move against her, slow and deliberate, savoring the intimacy of each motion. each shift sends a jolt of electricity through both of you, the friction of your bodies igniting a deeper craving with every passing second.

the pressure builds, subtle but undeniable, as your clits brush against one another. the sensation is intoxicating, the heat of her body against yours becoming a drug you can’t get enough of. her fingers slip into your hair, gripping the roots, tugging gently to pull you from the sensitive spot on her neck, forcing your gaze to meet hers.

you whine softly, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to focus, the sensation of her pussy against yours overwhelming you. the feeling of her so close, so perfect against you, makes you ache, your body begging for more, even as you’re already on the edge of losing control.

“i need you to look at me,” billie breathes, her voice a soft plea, but you’re too consumed by the rush of sensation to fully register her words. your body is a storm of fire and need, and it’s all you can do to hold on.

she tugs your hair again, harder this time, and the sharp pull makes your eyes snap open, catching the intensity in her gaze.

“there she is,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky, “need my pretty baby to look at me, okay?” the words break through the haze of pleasure, and you nod, your breath coming in short gasps, teetering on the edge of your release.

“oh… billie…” your voice trails off into a soft whimper, your body trembling under the weight of it all.

“i know, mama, come on. cum for me sweet girl” she coos, her hands moving with purpose now, one finding the side of your throat, the other gripping your hips, guiding your movements with steady pressure. the cool metal of her rings presses against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat flooding your body. her tatted hand caresses your neck, her thumb gliding along your jugular, a rhythm that mirrors the frantic beat of your pulse, squeezing lightly every so often, grounding you in the moment, urging you closer to the edge.

both of your moans grow louder, more desperate, the sound thick with need and the pull of release. your movements are rhythmic, steady, as you bring her closer and closer to the edge, her rings catching the dim, sultry light with each twist of her wrists.

and when she finally falls apart, her body goes rigid, every muscle tense, before she lets out a long, drawn-out cry, her release crashing over her in waves. you don’t stop. your hips rock back and forth, chasing your own high, each thrust a mix of need and pleasure, the sensation of overstimulating her clit pushing you further. her name spills from your lips like a prayer, each syllable a whisper of devotion, and you feel yourself unravel, your own release flooding over her, warm and consuming.

when billie finally collapses back against the pillows, her body trembling beneath you, she pulls you with her, your weight sinking into her as her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. her hair sticks to her damp forehead, but the dazed expression in her eyes quickly melts into one of pure adoration. the softness in her gaze is all-consuming, making you feel like you’re both in this space where time has stopped.

you sigh, your chest still heaving as you bury your face into the crook of her neck, the cap brushing gently against her jaw. her fingers find their way to your back, scratching lightly, grounding you as you try to catch your breath. your fingers trace shapes over her collarbone, the coolness of the chains brushing against your fingertips, dragging them back and forth.

her touch sends a tremor through you, and as she turns her head to press a soft kiss to your forehead, you feel anchored, her love a steady force that calms you. she holds you close, and for a moment, everything else fades.

you smile softly, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face, the motion tender. “you okay?” you murmur, your voice gentle as your fingers trail down her cheek, the warmth of her skin grounding you.

you roll yourself over, your body shifting to settle against hers, your chin resting on her chest. the soft rhythm of her heartbeat lulls you, a soothing pulse against your skin. your fingers graze the sides of her neck, the touch absentminded but intimate, each stroke of your nails a quiet reassurance, offering comfort in the stillness.

she nods, a lazy smile tugging at her lips, her hair tousled, sticking up in places, a wild mess of strands framing her face. her blue eyes are still hazy, but they sparkle with adoration, that soft, tender look that makes your chest ache. “more than okay,” she whispers, her voice a quiet murmur, as though she’s still lost in the moment. “you?”

“never better,” you reply, your voice low and warm, bringing her down for a gentle kiss, your movements slower now, more deliberate. your hands cup the sides of her face, your thumb brushing gently over her lips as you try to erase the remnants of the passion you shared, as if it could all be wiped away with the lightest of touches.

a hearty chuckle bubbles up from her throat, the sound rich and warm, filling the space between you. the vibrations of her laughter send a current of heat through your body, and you fight your own smile, not quite managing to keep it at bay. “stop laughing at me,” you say, your voice a teasing whisper, though it holds no true reprimand. “you’re so pretty…” you trail off, your thumbs now wandering over the delicate curves of her face, brushing over her smooth skin, memorizing every inch of her softness. her eyes follow your movements, wide and full of affection.

“oh, is that why you were screaming like that?” she teases, her voice playful, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. your smile falters, and you stare at her, blinking, trying to process her words. the playful shift catches you off guard, and in an instant, you quickly remove your hands from her face, sitting up sharply.

“okay, cause see, now you ruined the moment,” you grumble, but there’s no true bite to it. you can’t suppress the giggle that rises in your chest as she laughs. her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back toward her, her fingers locking behind you, caging you in, and you instinctively grab onto her biceps, the muscles flexing slightly under your touch. you steady yourself, feeling the solid warmth of her, the strength beneath the softness.

“you were all like, ‘oh billie, please—fuck me.’ ” she fake moans, her voice high and exaggerated. your eyes roll back, and you can’t help but laugh at her poor attempt to mimic you, the mockery both endearing and ridiculous.

“oh, shut up! i was not. besides, don’t act like you weren’t worse. as if you weren’t loving it,” you retort, your tone playful but full of truth. you jab a manicured nail lightly into her chest, the sharp point making her flinch slightly, before you press the flat back of the chains against her sternum, the cool metal a contrast to the warmth between you.

“i wasn’t, it was mid. i’d rate it a 7.5,” she says, her shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. the glint in her eyes tells you she’s just playing, enjoying the way your attention sharpens on her every word.

your eyes widen in exaggerated shock, and you lift the cap off your head, fingers brushing against the brim that’s now facing backward. you point to your hair, the strands sticking up in all directions, messy and unkempt. “so who did all of this? hm? baby, tell me?” you tease, your voice soft but full of challenge.

she licks her lips, the slow motion of it drawing your gaze, and her eyes flutter closed briefly as she takes in the way the nickname rolls so easily from your tongue. “i don’t know, but it definitely wasn’t me,” she says with a playful tilt of her head.

“it wasn’t you? okay, bet.” you place the cap next to you, feeling a small sense of humor bubble up. leaning down, your body hovers halfway over hers, your arms stretching out to the side to grab whatever article of clothing you can find. you return with her plaid button-up in hand, the fabric soft in your fingers as you shrug it on, its warm scent wrapping around you like a reminder of her.

“what are you doing?” she asks, eyes following your every move, her fingers instinctively tightening around your waist. it’s a subtle sign, but one that doesn’t escape you—she doesn’t want you to leave.

“i’m taking my 7.5 ass somewhere else,” you say with a grin, your voice light but purposeful. you reach behind you, trying to unlock her hands, but she holds tight, not giving an inch. “…girl… the fuck—let go of me, you heathen.” you tug once more, and with a small sigh, she releases her grip, though you can feel the reluctance in the gesture.

billie groans dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with a hand draped over her face, hiding from you as if the drama of it all could somehow shield her. you laugh, grabbing the cap and tossing it playfully at her, the hat landing perfectly on her face, obscuring her vision of you. with a last glance, you rise to your feet, your body lingering in the moment, letting the warmth between you both settle before you finally make your way to the door.

she sighs contentedly as she removes the hat from her face, knocking it lightly to the side before pulling your comforter around her. the soft, plush fabric wraps her up like a cocoon, the weight of it a comforting embrace. her head sinks into the fluffy pillows, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she reaches out, grabbing the remote on your dresser. with a quick click, the tv flickers to life, a random cartoon playing softly in the background.

time passes slowly, the quiet moments stretching on, and soon enough, she realizes you still haven’t returned. “babe!” she calls out, but there’s no reply. she calls your name again, louder this time, her voice cutting through the stillness of the room as she waits for you to respond.

“no, billie! leave me alone,” you drag your words, the irritation clear but fake, she can tell. a grin plays at the corners of her lips.

“hurry uuuup,” she mutters, her voice muffled by the pillows as she rolls over onto her stomach, pressing her face into the softness. the fabric feels cool and feathery against her skin, and she closes her eyes, letting herself drift for a moment.

she senses you walking back into the room before she hears the jangle of your anklets, the soft sound alerting her to your presence. the quiet clattering of objects against your nightstand follows, the rhythm familiar, like a soft heartbeat in the background. she hears you move toward the bathroom, the water running as you clean yourself off, and then the sound of drawers opening.

after a moment, you walk over to your dresser, the creak of the wood under your fingers as you grab a fresh pair of underwear and bottoms for yourself. she can hear the rustle of fabric as you grab the same for her, along with a black wife-beater tee she had left over a while ago, the soft cotton now carrying your scent, familiar and comforting. it makes her smile softly to herself, the mundane moments with you somehow making everything feel right.

shuffling over to the bed, your hand traces the curve of billie’s back, fingertips brushing against the inked lines etched into her skin, the swirls of tattoos a story in themselves. your nails leave a faint trail, and the goosebumps that rise on her bare skin are a silent response to your touch. the warmth of the rag in your hand contrasts with the coolness of her skin as you gently lift her face, tilting it just enough so she faces you. the rag meets her face with a light dab, and she sighs softly, the heat from the cloth making her eyelids flutter closed in contentment. you’re careful, gentle, as you wipe away any remnants of the moment that clung to her skin.

when you’re finished, your thumbs move to her cheeks, coaxing her eyes open slowly, her gaze still soft and clouded with affection. they find yours, blinking a few times before she’s fully focused, the warm affection clear in her eyes.

“roll over,” you murmur, voice soft, coaxing, and she responds with a low whine, reluctant but not unwilling.

“billie, move. i need you to roll over,” you say again, your voice taking on a slight edge as your fingers slide from her back to her stomach, gently pressing against her ribs. with a soft grumble, she shifts, her body moving slowly, obediently. you reach for the covers, pulling them down her legs with delicate precision. the fabric slides like silk under your hands, and you move the rag to a new spot, gently wiping any trace of slickness from her skin.

you close her legs softly, your touch lingering for a moment as you toss the rag aside. your hands move to her arms, guiding her to sit up, your fingers brushing over the smoothness of her skin, trailing down her arms like a whispered promise. you hand her the clothes with a soft gesture, the fabric cool to the touch.

billie looks at the clothes for a long moment, her expression thoughtful, before her gaze shifts back to you. you’re already standing, dressing yourself with slow, deliberate movements, and with a sigh, she does the same, pulling the clothes on with the same quiet grace. there’s a calmness in the air, a quiet intimacy shared between you both.

turning around, you move toward your desk, the sound of your footsteps barely audible against the soft hum of the room. you grab her signature blue water bottle and your own, the cool plastic in your hands a brief contrast to the warmth still lingering between you both. a charcuterie board filled with light snacks follows, the delicate arrangement of cheeses, fruit, and crackers a comforting touch. you place them carefully on the nightstand, the soft click of the items settling on the wood the only sound that breaks the silence.

stepping in front of billie, you watch her as she works the tee over her shoulders, the fabric sliding smoothly against her skin. her fingers move to adjust the chains, making sure they lay perfectly over her shirt. she does the same for you, her fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck as she tugs at the necklace, positioning it just right over your collarbone. the gentle touch makes your pulse quicken, though she’s unaware of the effect she has on you in this moment.

“thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft and full of affection. she presses a quick, tender kiss to your lips, her fingers slipping between yours, the warmth of her hand settling against yours like it belongs there.

you lean down, grabbing her jug off the sleek nightstand, handing it to her with a soft, knowing smile. “of course. now drink up,” you say, the words light but the meaning behind them deeper than either of you can put into words.

billie raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. her lips twitch, pulling into a mischievous smirk. “bossy,” she teases, her voice a soft lilt.

“okay, and?” you challenge, a small grin tugging at your lips as you meet her gaze. the look you give her is enough to make her snicker, the sound light and carefree, filling the space between you. she takes the bottle from your hand, her fingers brushing over yours before she lifts it to her lips.

she drinks slowly, her throat moving in rhythmic swallows. you can’t help but watch, entranced by the sight of her. when she pulls the straw from her lips, she suddenly collapses back onto the bed, dragging you along with her, the movement fluid and easy. your head falls against her chest, the steady beat of her heart like a comforting lullaby. her hand rests against your side, moving slowly up and down, tracing patterns on your skin that send a shiver through your body, just as it did earlier. the intimacy of the moment is overwhelming, soft and warm like the glow of the room around you both.

“aww, you made a little charcuterie. you’re so cute.” she says, her voice softer now, the teasing lightness replaced with something deeper, more affectionate. she looks down at you, her eyes warm with tenderness. you shy away, half-laughing, as she peppers kisses all over your face, each one a little sweeter than the last. “oh my god, billie, why are you like this?” you mutter, half-embarrassed, but the affection in your voice betrays you.

she pulls back, her gaze never leaving yours, filled with nothing short of adoration. you can’t help but notice the way the soft light catches in her eyes, making everything around you feel like it’s fading away. it’s just her and you, in this moment.

you meet her gaze, your heart doing that stupid little flutter thing it always does when she looks at you like this, when she makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to her. “because, i love you,” she says softly, the words falling from her lips like they’ve been waiting to be spoken for so long.

a bashful smile weaves itself onto your lips as you bury yourself further into the warmth of your bed, the soft sheets and blankets wrapping around you like a cocoon. “i love you too,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, but it holds everything — all the things you’ve never had the words to say.

billie smiles, her expression softening even further as she leans forward, the distance between you vanishing in an instant. her lips press against yours, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that says everything words can’t. it’s a promise, a reassurance, and in that single moment, you both know exactly how much you mean to each other without needing to say another word.

the two of you drift off slowly back into your normal routine, wrapped up in each other, the space between you shrinking with each passing moment. you pick at the snack tray, the small, comforting bites feeling like nothing more than an excuse to keep touching, to keep sharing this quiet space. conversations flow easily, from the silliest of things — the kind of random banter that only you two could share — to deeper thoughts that weave between the cracks of the mundane. there’s a moment when the two of you spill tea about the latest gossip, laughing so hard your sides ache, but even in those lighter moments, there’s something grounding in the way you fit together.

the earlier passion, still lingering like a sweet ache in your bones, gives way to something quieter, more intimate. the heat fades, leaving room for a tenderness that wraps around both of you like a soft blanket. the love you share, now resting in this peaceful space, is just as powerful, but it moves with the calm of a river, flowing beneath the surface, steady and unshakeable.

this, you think, as she holds you close, her breath warm against your skin, the rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat a lullaby in your ear — this is what home feels like.

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

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

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sturnswiftie · 2 months ago

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matt can't believe you've showed up to one of his fights... again.

⤸ 『one』 ⟶ 『three』

the last thing matt expected when he scanned the crowd was to see you again.

but there you are, standing in nearly the same spot from the first fight you’d attended, hands clasped together like you’re nervous—for him? his gaze drops briefly to the sweet little cardigan hanging loosely over your frame, the smooth skin of your chest that your cami leaves so beautifully exposed. you’re dressed softer than everyone else, sticking out like a sore thumb, and somehow you don’t seem to notice.

his gaze shifts to your face again, and when your eyes find his, he doesn’t miss the way they light up with excitement—with admiration. it makes him exhale sharply through his nose.

you’ve got to be fucking kidding.

he tears his gaze away, rolling out his shoulders while refocusing. you’re a distraction. he doesn’t have time for distractions.

the fight goes by fast—his opponent isn’t much of a challenge, and matt doesn’t care to drag it out. he fights efficiently, landing each hit with the same cold precision he always does, and when it’s over, he barely even glances at the crowd as he steps out of the ring.

still, he feels your eyes on him the entire time.

he doesn’t have to wonder how long it’ll take you to find him. he’s only just wiping the sweat off his face when you appear in the locker room, your nerves so palpable that he doesn’t have to turn to know you’re there, waiting. buzzing.

“hi.”

your voice is quiet, a little hesitant, but still tinged with that same too bright enthusiasm. he barely glances at you, instead dragging a towel down his face and tossing it into his open bag waiting on the bench.

“y’lost, kid?”

you blink, confused. “what?”

irritation ripples down matt’s spine, and he bites the inside of his cheek. it takes a split-second for him to gain control of his emotions before he’s lowering himself down onto the bench, the wood creaking with his weight. a sigh leaves his mouth like it isn’t worth explaining, but he does so anyway because he has a feeling you won’t get on without one.

“didn’t think this was your thing.” his voice sounds like a deep hum as he busies himself with the task of unwrapping his hands, boredom reflecting in his dull eyes.

your hesitation is clear. matt can feel how uncomfortable you are, taking note of the way you tuck your hands into the sleeves of your cardigan from his peripheral. he might feel guilty if he wasn’t so fucking confused by you showing up here again.

after a moment of uncomfortable squirming, you finally produce a small, “i wanted to see you fight.”

he lets that sit for a second before huffing out a quiet laugh. “yeah? and?”

when he looks up, the last thing he expects is the way your pretty face brightens a little, like you’re relieved he isn’t immediately brushing you off. “you were amazing.”

he ignores the immediate urge to squint at you, instead a smirk quirking the corners of his mouth as he tilts his head. the way your eyes dart to his bare chest isn’t lost on him. “y’always get this excited watching guys beat each other up, or just me?”

your lips part slightly, caught off guard, and then—like clockwork—a flush creeps up your neck. “that’s not—i just meant you’re really good.”

matt hums, unimpressed. he grabs the towel from his bag again, turning it over once before dragging it over the back of his neck. “didn’t take you to be a fan of this kind of thing,” he snorts.

“i’m not,” you admit, shifting on your feet uncomfortably at the sarcasm in his tone. then, softer, “i just wanted to see you again.”

that makes him pause, one hand on the zipper of his bag. you watch as he turns his head, slow, a look on his face like you’d just said something real stupid.

he doesn’t say anything at first, blue eyes squinted slightly, incredulous. he looks like he’s trying to figure something out, and you’re not entirely sure that he succeeds before he’s finally standing from the bench looking almost perturbed.

“you make a habit of this?” he finally asks, the sight of his cold features momentarily disappearing when he pulls a white t-shirt over his head before he’s elaborating, “showin’ up for guys you don’t know?”

matt watches as your face flickers with something—confusion, maybe even a little embarrassment—but you don’t back down.

“i just... wanted to see you again.” your nose points towards the air a little bit, as if trying to show him you’re standing your ground, but he sees the way you falter with the repetition of your earlier sentiment. you’re embarrassed and intimidated. unsure of yourself. he’s been trained to see that kind of thing, just not in people like you.

he studies you for a second, something heavy settling in his stomach, then exhales sharply through his nose. “right.” his tone is flat, unreadable, and he watches in real time as you seem to curl in on yourself, somehow appearing even smaller than before.

the boxer turns without another word, pushing through the metal door and letting it fall shut behind him—ending the conversation. he only allows himself a split second to glance back just once, just long enough to see you still standing there with your hands curled into your sleeves like you aren’t sure what just happened, before his jaw is flexing and he’s turning away from you entirely.

as if on cue, camilla’s voice cuts through the moment, appearing by his side like a magnet. “took you long enough,” she teases, smirking softly. she hooks her arm through his, and when he doesn’t react, she leans into his side, the ring girl surprised at the way he lets her latch onto him, completely unaware that his mind is entirely elsewhere.

even as he leaves, he can still see you—standing there alone, too soft, too eager to watch him fight, and way too disappointed by his departure.

matt clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

what a weird girl.

©sturnswiftie

divider by; @issysh3ll

#©sturnswiftie #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo drabble #✧.*『matt hours』 boxer!matt #✧.*『matt hours』 sunshine!reader #✧.*『boxer!matt x sunshine!reader prompt』

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pboogerswbb · 19 days ago

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SO IT GOES - chapter 14

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual language, arguing and emotional abuse, ANGST (I HAVE NOT PROOFREAD THIS GUYS OK) Wordcount: 5,8K A/C: SHE'S BAACK, thank you for being so patient and understanding because this has been a long time coming. I'm sure you guys probably feel the same when i say my life for the past couple weeks has been consumed by hoops so i've been writing less. i'm back on that grind tho. in 24 hours paige's last game as a husky will be over and my god, i can't even put into words how badly i want this for her, for all of them. she's earned that natty and i truly believe that we can get it. i have her to thank for all of this - each and every one of you. i love writing and i never thought so many people would enjoy my writing. it's completely transferred my dream of writing a book someday from a childish fantasy to reality. seeing all of you enjoy my writing has CHANGED MY LIFE and it's all thanks to you and this blonde basketball player. i'm so grateful for her and she deserves everything. please Lord, give it to her <3 i love all of you ty for bearing with me.

flashbacks are in italics, as always

Before London

The dents on the pillow have formed a pattern on my cheek, pressed tightly on the light pink cotton. It takes me a moment to remember the reason behind the burning of my eyes, or why my cheeks feel wet. Oh right. My memory soon returns, the tightening in my chest reminding me of my brother’s silhouette narrowing in the airport as he walked away. Perhaps I wouldn’t have been so upset, but it was a hard day. A day I just wanted to be over. My wedding day. Or what would’ve been if it hadn’t been for that day in February, where I finally mustered up the nerve to pack my bags.

My joints ache again, and instinctually my arm reaches for Paige, for comfort, for the person who had become my home. But she’s not there. I can’t feel the weight of her anywhere on the couch. Opening my eyes, I look around adjusting to the afternoon light.

“Paige?” I mutter, sitting up and rubbing my tired eyes. The humming of the AC is all that answers my call. Confused, I wrap my cardigan around me tighter, tip toeing on the cool hardwood, looking for any sign of the blonde. I check the kitchen, the bathroom - no one. The bedroom door is ajar, an ominous sign of something coming. The gentle drizzle outside taps against the window, taunting me.

“Baby?” I ask, my stomach stirring already. The uneasy silence responds again. Pushing the door open, I reveal an empty room left just as I did this morning. Until my green eyes travel to the bed, a cream coloured card placed neatly on the sheets. I’d recognise the card anywhere. Still, before I can think my feet walk to the edge of the bed, eyes welling up before my mind comprehends what’s happened.

“Paige?” I cry out again, my voice shaking and weaker than before, eyes staring at the wedding invite laid out on the striped cotton of the sheets. I couldn’t tell why I called out her name, I knew she wasn’t there. That she’d be far gone, furious. It’s what Paige did, hid the big emotions with anger and a temper.

My shaky hands reach for my phone. Texts from Trey, Lala, my brother telling me he made his layover. None from the person I missed. I stand there, staring at the wall, calling over and over. Must have been five or six times before I give up and throw the phone on the bed. Screw this.

Sliding my slippers on, I hurry out the flat, making up the flight of stairs until I’m behind that all too familiar door above mine, knocking on it urgently. My body works as if on autopilot, I’m not thinking anything through. I’m not even sure what I’d say if she opened the door. What was there to say?

I’d love to tell Paige there was no reason why I never told her I was engaged. That it was just a minor detail I had forgotten about. But considering all our conversations surrounding my life and Jasper, it only dawned on me now that not telling her had been a calculated move on my part. Frankly, because, as much as it scared me to admit, I felt ashamed. Paige thought so highly of me - selfishly I enjoyed it. If she knew I was about to marry the man that treated me like shit, I’m sure she’d never think of me the same. Maybe she might even realise she could get away with treating me like that too. I knew if I showed my true self, she would never be with me. She would never love me. No one could ever love me. This I knew as surely as I knew the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.

My watery eyes glance at the clock on the wall. 5:48PM. He’d be home any minute. I rub my chest in circular, smoothing motion. Like my mom used to. Calm down Zari. With shaky hands I keep throwing clothing after clothing into different bags, yellow, beige, red fabrics flying around the room. There’s no time to zip them up, I had to leave. I knew if he showed up I’d become aware of how truly weak I am. I’ll never get away unless I leave now.

I carry three bags downstairs, overflowing with makeup, photo albums, everything I deemed important. The set of plates I spent a fortune on seemed irrelevant right now. I lean over the small notebook on the table by the front door, tears wetting the page. I flip a new one.

Gripping onto the pen like a lifeline, I scribble the words that were true.

We weren’t made for this Jasper. I’m sorry.

Lower lip trembling, the memories of this very notebook fill my head. The way the loving, gentle notes of a young happy couple turned bitter and violent so suddenly. I didn’t understand what happened. Jasper was always kind, gentle, patient but the moment we moved in together, it’s like a new Jasper appeared. Narcissistic, manipulative, controlling, gaslighting. I knew all this - I knew he was all those things. Still, I loved him. More than anything.

As I slide the gold engagement ring off my slender finger, the sound of a key sliding into the lock interrupts my thoughts.

“Hey Zari, I got some Chine-” Jasper murmurs, suddenly stopping when he sees the scene. It doesn’t take him long to put the pieces together, the last omen the engagement ring sitting pretty on the side table.

“What is going on?”

I quickly wipe tears away, wanting to back down, to fold. I wasn’t sure I was brave enough for this.

“J-Jasper,” I sob, watching him reach for the notebook.

“You’re leaving me?” He asks, brown eyes quickly welling up. Suddenly my heart throbs with pain.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, sniffling.

“B-but the wedding. What about the wedding?” The curly haired man asks, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. Suddenly flashes of the early days, the innocent crush, the tension of the small touches and the hidden giggles overwhelm me. How could I leave this man. I loved him. I always would. There was no denying it.

“Jasper,” I gasp. “W-we both know that we’re not happy.”

“I’m happy,” he exhales, turning to me with sad eyes, hands reaching out to mine. I flinch, pulling away.

“No, Jasp-”

“You’re afraid of me?” He asks, shocked and sad.

Yes.

“No, darling. No,” I reassure him, reaching for his hands. “I just don’t think this… works.”

We’re both crying, my thumbs soothing over his soft skin.

“No,” Jasper whispers, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no. Izara, no,” he sobs, getting on his knees in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist, head leaning against my lower stomach. He’s clutching to me like he might die without me. It makes me feel sick. Guilty.

“Jasper,” I cry out, grabbing his arms. “Please get up.”

“You can’t leave me,” he answers weakly, wetting my sweater with his tears. I take a deep breath, looking around the house we’ve shared together, realising that even with all the good, there was always so much more bad.

“No Jasper, get up,” I muster all my strength to say this, pushing his hands off me and taking a step back. Suddenly, the tears stop, his face changes from emotional to cold, detached. He gets up from the floor, rubbing his jaw in the way he did when he was furious.

“Huh,” he nearly chuckles, looking at the floor. “Of course, you think you’re better than me. Think you can do better.”

“No, Jas, that’s not how I think. I’m jus-”

“Shut up bitch,” he spews out. “All fucking females are the same. Nothing’s good enough.”

I’m taken aback. I had never heard him talk like this.

“You really think anyone’s ever gonna want you?” Jasper asks, his words like spiders weaving webs into my brain. “With your nagging? No one’s ever good enough for you. Nothing is. You just think everyone needs to do whatever you want.”

“That’s not true,” I say, but barely believe it myself. Maybe he’s right.

“Really? Who would put up with you?” He says condescendingly. “Who would love you?”

I’m silent, ears ringing but not loud enough to blur out his words.

“Go ahead, leave. You’re gonna come crawling back when you realise no one else will stick around.”

He’s looking for a reaction, growing more and more frustrated when I don’t give it to him. I merely stare at the wall blankly, tears falling down my cheeks.

His anger is rising, jaw clenching and the veins in his neck throbbing. “I loved you when no one else would. Me!” He screams, spit landing on my face as he does, his hot breath on me. “I’m the only one that ever will!”

The front door bursts open, Kiran panting and out of breath. I had called him in a panic. Told him I’m finally leaving Jasper.

“Oi, get off my sister you knob,” Kiran yells, grabbing Jasper and pushing him against the wall by the stairs.

“Kiran!” I yell, grabbing his jacket but he shakes me off, holding onto the collars of Jasper’s shirt.

“Been waiting for this day since I met you,” Kiran scoffs, keeping Jasper against the wall with ease. He was much stronger. “Never wanna see your face again, yeah? Stay the fuck away from us.”

“Kiran,” I command with authority, finally getting the attention of my brother. His hazel eyes flicker to me, the grip on Jasper’s collar easing.

“Let’s just go,” I say weakly, grabbing one of the bags that had fallen on the floor. Wordlessly, Kiran lets go of the curly haired man panting, back flush against the wall as he watches my brother pick up the rest of the bags, opening the door for me. One more time I glance at Jasper, wondering if he’s right. I wasn’t easy. I was a handful, high maintenance. But a lifetime of being alone and unloved was better than spending each day afraid of my own fiance.

The arena is buzzing with scrambling and rushed footsteps, the media team gathered in the tunnels going through what needs to be done today. Trey’s been talking the past 15 minutes, going back and forth from describing the details of his weekend to what questions I should be asking what players. I don’t hear him, staring at the pale brick wall and picking the skin of my lips. I haven’t slept, the heaviness of my eyes reminding me of how exhausted I felt. My body felt tense, shoulders aching, all the seams of my clothes itching against my skin making my heart pound.

I had been knocking and knocking behind Paige’s door, but there was no answer. She hadn’t replied to my messages or calls, and I had barely seen a glimpse of her as we travelled to DC, and those few times she had been avoiding my gaze like the plague - acting as if I didn’t exist. That’s exactly how I felt. Like I finally got proof of what I’d feared. That Jasper was right.

“And then I thought, Zari. Zari?”

I don’t hear, face blank and the dark circles underneath my eyes visible.

“Hey,” Trey pulls on my sleeve, my head snatching to him. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my face exhaustedly. “What were you asking?”

He looks at me for a while, face filled with worry. “Uh, just if you got that interview with Satou done?”

“Oh, yeah,” I hum with a smile, though it physically pains me to lift the corners of my mouth, lower lip trembling with the idea of how the blonde was behind that brick wall I had been staring at, preparing for the game against the Mystics. Maybe if I stare for long enough she’ll sense me, come out, and let me explain.

“Thank you Zari,” Trey says softly, “let’s head out, game gonna start soon.”

“Uhh, I need some water first,” I mumble, waving the rest of the team away. In reality I didn’t care. I just wanted to stay behind to catch Paige. To make her listen to me. God, why didn’t I just tell her?

The Dallas Wings finally exit their locker room, one by one coming out in a neat line, making final adjustments to their jerseys or hair. Paige is the last one, closing the door behind herself. Suddenly I fix my posture, opening my mouth to talk.

“Paige, can you help?” Satou asks before I have the chance to say anything, her sports bra strap somehow twisted around her jersey.

“‘Course,” the blonde smiles, as if nothing had happened. No dark circles, no shaky hands. She seems like herself, like my absence had no effect on her. Meanwhile the devastation of not having her around was making me hurt everywhere, unable to eat or sleep.

Without even glancing my way, she walks over to the taller girl, fingers working to untangle her. I stare and stare, but no words come out. There’s nothing I can say. I feel like a scolded child who had come back home after failing a test. My green, tired eyes watch Paige, her ponytail flicking off her shoulder as she chats easily with her teammate, without a worry in the world. There, on her long neck where I’d kissed many times, is a bright red mark.

My heart drops, alarm bells going off in my mind. Suddenly it’s becoming very clear why she hadn’t been home all night, why she hadn’t picked up her phone no matter how many times I called. Because she had been too busy wrapped up in some other girl.

“Zari! Was that interview okay?” Satou asks with a bright grin, Paige still working to release her jersey, pretending as if I’m not there.

My eyes well up, tears threatening to spill as I stare at the two girls. Swallowing loudly, I bury the shakiness in my voice and put on a fake smile, slightly too perky to be real. “Yeah, it was perfect. Would you excuse me?”

I push past the girls, biting down on my lower lip. The moment I’m out of sight, the first tears slip down my cheeks. I need to find a bathroom - anywhere to fall apart in peace.

“And another three for Bueckers! Unbelievable!”

The crowd is on their feet as I jog backwards on the court, sneakers squeaking against the hardwood. 29 point game. Ever since the breakthrough game against Seattle Storm I’d been a different player, dropping at least 20 points each night. Chris had finally understood what I needed to be coached. Tough love. It’s what Geno did to make me great. It’s what I needed.

“And the Wings win, defeating the Mystics on their home court!”

I jog back to Chris, my teammates ruffling my hair to congratulate me on another great game. Me and Arike had quickly become an increasingly efficient pair, already being praised all over. The chemistry between us had grown immensely and I truly felt like she was already a sister to me. I had become comfortable wearing Dallas colours, the jersey fitting me just right.

But even with the adrenaline pumping and the crowd roaring I could feel the tightness in my chest and the stirring in my stomach. I could feel it, Izara’s eyes on me, watching for every move. It killed me not to look her way. It wasn’t a punishment or some sort of childish game (though I was known for the silent treatment I gave to those who upset me). I just couldn’t sort through my emotions. Hurt, anger, betrayal, confusion - all of those had been stirring in my mind all night, made their way into my dreams and haunted me even while I slept. It all concluded only to a single question: Why didn’t she tell me?

I had all of this wrong from the start. We were never what I thought we were. It never meant anything to her. That was the only answer I could find. That me, Paige Bueckers, who would die for this girl was nothing more than a rebound. Just something to get her mind off things until she returned back to England, just an experiment until she’d go back to Jasper. Normally I wouldn’t have minded. I get to love on a pretty girl without attachment for a few months before getting the chance to get sick of them? That would’ve been heaven to me even just six months prior. But Izara was different. Izara was everything.

“Paigey!” Aaliyah smiles wide as she approaches me, wrapping me into a tight, sweaty hug.

“Liliiii,” I grin, resting my head on the taller girl’s shoulder. She had hit me with a nasty block, making me tumble down hard in the second quarter but all was forgotten now. It was strange not sharing a jersey or a team with her, but playing against her was nearly as much fun.

“Baby rookie!”

“Yo I’m older than you,” I groan, pushing her off me. She laughs, wiping the sweat off her arms.

“That was a good game,” Lili laughs, squeezing my shoulders. “Looks like you’ve been in the weight room finally.”

“Bro,” I groan, shaking her off lightheartedly. “You wanna come to dinner later? Whole team’s going.”

“Sure,” Aaliyah smiles looking at me for a while. “Look at us huh,” she sighs, smoothing over the Mystics jersey sitting on her body.

“Crazy huh,” I repeat almost sadly, the nostalgia of our days playing at UConn together, the ease of it.

“Who you think Geno was rooting for?”

I scoff. “The Wings, I got him a natty,” I say like it’s obvious. Aaliyah rolls her eyes, grinning slightly.

“Whatever, I know he missed me last season.”

“We all missed you,” I chuckle, sitting down on the bench behind Chris. The taller girl follows me, taking a seat beside mine.

“So, I heard you got a girl?”

My cheeks flush red, a lump in my throat growing at the reminder of Izara. I chew on my lower lip before kissing my teeth, leaning back.

“Uhh, where’d you hear that?”

“KK told me, said you’re in love,” Aaliyah chuckles, poking my bare knee. I smile, of course she did.

“It’s a little, uh, complicated I guess,” I mumble, looking around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Ion know if I’m made for that shit right now.”

“Ion know if you’re made for that at all. It takes work,” Lili laughs, throwing her head back to chug some water. “And talking. You’ve never been good at that.”

Immediately, my eyes glance away onto the court, my head turning to avoid her words. I open my mouth to protest, but stay quiet. She’s right. Even yesterday, even with how much I cared for Izzie, I had no desire to hear her out or to talk it through. To me it might as well be over.

“Miss, we’re here,” the cab driver wakes me from restless sleep, my head leaning against the window. I rub my eyes, glancing at the view of the very familiar front doors of my home building in the scorching afternoon sun. The early flight back home had been just as awkward as the 24 hours before, me and Paige doing everything to avoid each other. It’s funny, it seemed as if we were just as bad at hiding our wrath as we were hiding our relationship. If you could even call it that. I suppose it never was.

Everyone seemed to be aware of the tension between us, Amanda, my assistant producer offering to do content with Paige for me, Arike trying to make it better and get me to come to dinner with the team. It seemed everyone wanted to make it right for us. Even Twitter was filled with rumours of our falling apart based merely on a video where Paige walks by me without touching, or even glancing my way. I never even realised what a rare occurrence that was.

As I step out of the cab, Paige’s one pulls up to right behind mine. I watch as the blonde girl climbs out, grabbing her bags from the trunk while my driver lifts the heavy suitcase for me. It seemed ridiculous, the entire way our cars trailing one another yet we refused to take the same one. I suppose I better get used to it, that this is what it will be like for the rest of the season in Dallas.

I lift my sunglasses onto my head, pushing back my dark curls. Paige is in basketball shorts and a UConn T-shirt, clearly nostalgic from getting to see Aaliyah yesterday. I watch as she lifts the strap of her bag over her head, letting it fall onto her shoulder before adjusting her glasses. The shirt is tight on her arms and upper back, the muscle weight she’d gained in the past couple months already apparent on her slim build. I liked to think I had something to do with that, with the way I was feeding that girl on the daily.

My green eyes practically stare, the cab driving away though I barely notice. Still, she won’t budge, won’t look my way. As if I don’t exist the girl grabs her bags and walks into the building, the red mark on her neck faded but still a cruel reminder of how unlovable I actually was.

Holding back tears I soon follow after, giving Paige enough time to get inside before entering the elevator. I press on the fifth floor, adjusting the cream coloured sweater hanging loosely on my body, revealing the tan on my right shoulder. I couldn’t believe she was acting like this. I thought I meant more - she certainly had made it seem so. Like I meant everything. And she gave up this quickly?

Anger seethes beneath my skin, bubbling and replacing the sadness. Who does she think she is to treat me like this? Just sleeping with some other girl? Not even letting me explain? Not being mature enough to tell me it’s over? She at least owed me that. I needed her to look me in the eye and tell me.

The elevator doors slide open on the fifth floor. My floor. But I don’t step out, my finger reaching to spam the button with the large six on it, impatiently tapping my foot waiting for the elevator to move again.

The moment the doors open again I’m stepping out, my suitcase getting yanked with me. I beeline to Paige’s apartment, pounding on the wood of her door. No answer. She was pretending to not be home. As if I just didn’t see her five minutes ago.

“Paige!” I yell, overcome with anger enough to forget all my inhibitions or to care about the other neighbours. “Paige Madison!”

I keep knocking on the door, my knuckles turning red against the wood. “Paig-”

Finally it opens, the blonde standing there dumbfounded, a towel hanging off her waist and her upper body only covered in a sports bra.

“You crazy?” She says, only irritating me more.

“Now you listen to me okay Paige Bueckers,” I start, brows furrowed in anger. “I do not know who you think you are, but you can not treat me like this. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I really am. But you didn’t even give me a chance to explain! What, you just throw me to the side that easy? Make me think I actually matter and then at the first adversity you run and go fuck some other girl like I’m nothing to y-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Paige asks, tightening the towel around her waist. “Whatchu talking bout some girl?”

I scoff and cross my arms over my chest, nodding towards the tall blonde. “You think I’m stupid too? Everyone can see your neck.”

“My neck?”

Paige’s brows furrow as she touches the skin on the red mark, rubbing it, eyes widening in realisation. “This is from my bag, the strap made it red.”

Suddenly I feel dumbfounded, stupid even. My ears turn red as I look around, a nice older couple from upstairs making their way down the staircase slowly. Paige and I smile awkwardly at them, the blonde sighing and nodding her head.

“Come inside Iz,” she sighs.

Exhaling loudly, I shake my head, still way too angry. “No. You’re lying. You weren’t home the other night, I tried knocking. Or were you just ignoring me? Like you’re some sort of child?”

“I was at Rike’s and Lala’s.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ask them,” Paige says matter of factly, grabbing her phone from the side table. “Go ‘head.”

I don’t even touch the phone, mostly because I don’t want to be proven wrong in front of her. So I divert.

“Why are you acting like this?” I ask, annoyed.

Paige chuckles bitterly, rolling her eyes and grabbing the door. “I’ma go shower, Ion got time for this.”

A jolt runs through my chest, making my hand grab the door handle. I knew her enough to know her annoyance was only covering up for the hurt I caused.

“Paige,” I sigh, looking up at her with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. Please, let me explain. Please.”

The blonde throws her head back, looking up at the ceiling. She takes her time contemplating.

“I dunno,” she mumbles, almost like to herself. “Not much you could say.”

“Let me try,” I offer softly, begging to God she’d look back at me.

“Ion like being played with,” she suddenly replies, voice breaking just enough to hear. “Don’t wanna be a rebound or something. Some sorta experiment or some shit like that Iz, I just, I don’t want that.”

“It’s not like that, just let me come in Paige.”

Finally, the blonde lets go of the door, turning her back on me and walking into the bedroom. I step in, dragging my suitcase with me. Enough adrenaline pumped through my veins that I couldn’t feel the exhaustion in my body.

Soon she emerges, sweatpants replacing the towel around her waist. I stand awkwardly by the entrance, as if I hadn’t been nearly living in this apartment the last month or so. Wordlessly, I follow the taller girl into the living room, both of us taking seats on the opposite sides of the couch.

The silence that falls upon us is filled with tension and regret, the steady hum of the AC and quiet sounds of the road somewhere below making its way inside. She still won’t look at me, and it’s breaking my heart.

“Paige-”

“You were engaged?” She interrupts me.

I swallow, before nodding. “I was.”

Paige licks her lips, nodding too. “You left him?”

“Couple weeks before I flew in.”

She takes a deep breath, mulling it over in her head.

“And I was just sumn fun to do, right?”

“Wh- no. Why would you think that?”

“Just sumn to fuck around with,” she adds sternly, not interested in answering my questions. I’m quiet, chewing on my lower lip.

”No, Paige-”

“Some sorta experiment before you got back to your straight girl life in London?”

“Fuck you.”

I get up from the couch, heavy steps walking towards the door, my heartbeat loud in my ears. It’s making me dizzy, the blood rushing all over my body.

“You’re just leaving ‘cause you know I’m right,” Paige follows me, her voice angry.

I turn to her, tears burning in my eyes, pooling over my dark bottom lashes turning them wet and black. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to find out!” I yell. My voice sounds strange, strained, angry. I never yelled. But something about it felt almost good. It was liberating to not think.

“Find out what?” Paige spews back, blue eyes watching me standing by the front door. The distance between us felt a million miles away. “That I mean nothing to you?”

“That I’m unlovable!”

The truth crashes into us like a wave against rocks on a shore, leaving only silence in its wake, as if we’re both drowning beneath it. My blue eyes lock into her green ones as they suddenly fill with tears. A tender pain pulses in my chest as Izara breaks down in front of me, crouching on the floor as her petite hands cover over her crying face. But she can’t hide the sniffles and quiet sobs escaping her mouth.

Guilt washes over me. What was I thinking? Why did I say any of that? I dig my blunt fingernails into the palms of my hands, trying to distract myself from my heavy conscience. Did she really feel like that? It was hard to believe that Izzie, perfect, mature, funny, kind, generous Izzie could ever feel like that about herself. It made no sense to me.

“Hey,” I mumble. My voice now is soft and comforting, a stark contrast from before. I walk over to the crouching girl, sliding down the wall onto the ground right by her. The anger I felt for the past few days simmered away as quickly as it arrived. “Izzie.”

My fingertips reach for the skin on her arm, brushing against it gently. Finally, Izzie lowers the hands covering her face, lifting her gaze to look at me. Her face is puffy and red, long dark lashes wet.

”Why would you say that?” I ask, my heart breaking at the thought that she really feels this way.

Izzie laughs in a self-deprecating manner, shrugging. ”It’s true.”

I shake my head. ”It’s not.”

”See, that’s the problem,” Iz sighs, running her hands through her dark hair and staring at the floor. ”You put me on a pedestal. You think too highly of me. I’m not that person. I’m not the person you think I am.” Her voice is breaking, words coming in between deep breaths to calm herself down.

”You gotta gimme a lil more credit than that,” I say.

Izzie shakes her head, wiping the snot off her nose. ”I just fooled you like I’ve fooled everyone. But Jasper knew. Yeah he was awful but I deserved it. Because I’m awful too.”

”Whoa, no Iz, don’t say that baby. Never say that.”

”It’s true,” she cries softly, green eyes staring at her own hands. ”I’m controlling and particular and I don’t know how to compromise and I can’t handle change in plans or routine, I need to plan the foods I eat a week in advance for crying out loud!”

”And I love all those things about you,” I’m quick to reply because it’s true. ”Iz you’re not a bad person.”

”I am.”

”No, Jasper just got you fucked up ma, that’s not you at all.”

”He’s the only person who ever knew all of me,” she sniffles, wiping her dark hair off her face.

”Then show me Iz,” I plead, eyes locked on her face. ”I wanna know all of you.”

Izara shakes her head, finally glancing at my eyes. ”No, you’ll hate me.”

”I could never hate you,” I mumble, heart aching so badly I can’t help myself when I wrap my arms around the girl and pull her onto my lap. She lets me, resting her head in the crook of my neck as she sobs into it. I hold her like that, rubbing her hair and back, comforting her on the cool floors of my apartment. My faded grey UConn shirt becomes wet with Izzie’s tears but it’s okay. It’s the least of my worries.

”I mean it Iz, I just wanna know you,” I reassure her, whispering into her hair. ”Could never push me away baby.”

”I’m just scared,” she finally admits, pulling back to look at me. Our gazes meet, and I feel a strange jolt of something stronger than I've ever felt for anyone rushing through my body. It feels strange, but good, whatever it is.

”I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Paige. I was just scared that you wouldn’t want me like that. I’m just someone’s damaged goods-”

”Don’t say that shit. I want you, Ion care about your past. Wanna make this work with you.”

Izzie swallows, licking her lips before leaning in for a gentle kiss. I feel as if I can finally exhale, tasting her salty tears on her lips.

”Me too,” Iz murmurs against my lips. ”I’m done being scared.”

For a moment far too short we merely kiss, making up for the lost couple days until Izzie pulls back again.

”Wh- what will we do when, you know, the season ends?”

Oh right. The dreaded question that had been haunting me ever since I realised I couldn’t bare life without her.

”We can do long-distance for a bit, money isn’t gonna be a problem so we can just fly back and forth, right?” I suggest carefully.

Izzie’s listening to me wide eyed, hanging onto every word.

”And then, I dunno, Linda really likes you. I’m sure you could get your job back next year. I mean if you want.”

”Yeah, maybe,” she nods. ”She does like me.”

Who wouldn’t?

I smile down at the girl, a grin growing onto my face at my thoughts. ”We could also just run away and get married. Getchu that visa ma.”

Izara laughs (and I think finally), slapping my arm playfully.

”You’re such a lesbian,” she giggles and I nod proudly.

”So are you mama,” I grin. ”With the way you’ve been eating pussy I’ma say just as much as me.”

”Paigeuh!” She gasps, sitting up on my lap. ”Besides, no one loves eating pussy like you do.”

”Mm, that’s right,” I smirk, pulling her into a kiss. Izara giggled against my mouth, the vibrations sending jolts to my heart. ”Lemme eat you.”

”Stoppp,” the pearls of her laughter echo around the apartment as I kiss on her neck, nibbling it playfully.

With a struggle, I get us both up from the floor, carrying the girl to my bed with ease. She pulls me on top of her with a needy whine, kissing me lovingly. I hold her carefully, like she’s made of frail porcelain, my hands brushing against her sides.

Izzie pulls away to breathe, fluttering her green eyes at me. I feel like I could burst. The idea that she genuinely felt unlovable broke my heart. I had to convince her otherwise. Make her see what I saw. My sweet, beautiful, kind and hard headed girl.

”Paige?” Iz whispers, her nails brushing against the back of my neck causing goosebumps to rise.

”Yeah baby?”

”Am I your girlfriend?”

Time stops, much like my heart, a shaky exhale involuntarily spilling out.

”D-do you want to be?” I ask carefully, my voice hoarse.

”I don’t want to force you in-” she stutters

”I want you to be my girlfriend Izara.”

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escapismbook · 1 month ago

Text

ESCAPISM

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female)

→ AUs: non idol!au→ Genre(s): dark romance, smut, mature, mafia

→ Trope(s): professor-student, forbidden romance, dark, slow-burn, seductive, mafia,

→ Rating: mature/explicit(this is mature/explicit content, so you have been warned.)

→ Word count: 4.9k

→ warnings + triggers: explicit smut, (female) OC is innocent and pure and Yoongi is desperate for her.

→ Author’s note: Escapism is a dark romance—intense, poetic, and deeply atmospheric. It explores desire, deception, and the pull of the forbidden. This story contains mature themes, including:

• Drug use, Strong language, Explicit scenes, Mentions of S.A, Violence, Dark Themes, Crime Elements, Alcohol, Club setting, Obsession, Possessive, Protective Love, Emotional.

This story is also written by two authors. Both working on the two couple. Please read with caution. For those who stay, welcome to a world where love and darkness intertwine.

Dedication:

Reaches out to cup your cheek, "now be a good girl for me."

(Don't forget to like and comment.)

A small note:

When you see the italic font, it means they are speaking in Korean.

CHAPTER ONE | DANTE'S INFERNO Songs for chapter: The Weeknd | Life of The Party Massive Attack | Angel

The night was thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and slow-burning tobacco, the kind of humid, lingering darkness that clung to the skin like a whispered secret. It was mid-May, and the city pulsed with nocturnal life, a symphony of distant horns, murmured conversations, and the low thud of bass bleeding from the club's depths.

Min Yoongi stood at the edge of the alleyway, cigarette balanced between his fingers, ember glowing like a dying star. He exhaled slowly, smoke curling around his sharp features, dissipating into the night air. The weight of the day sat heavy on his shoulders, though he wore it well—loose black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins along his forearms. He didn't belong here, not really, and yet, he was the city, carved from its bones, his presence an extension of the world that lurked beneath the surface.

The club's neon sign flickered above him, Kitty Gang, a name that masked its true nature. To outsiders, it was just another place for Seoul's restless youth to waste themselves in music and alcohol. But Yoongi knew better. He was part of the blood that kept it alive, an undercurrent of power that hummed beneath the polished floors and dimly lit VIP rooms. He had no intention of being here longer than necessary—just one last cigarette before heading back inside, before returning to the inevitable.

The he saw her.

Aalia Vito Hong stood near the entrance, caught between two figures, a quiet presence in the chaos. Her friends —because this is what they wanted to be, young and careless, unaware of the beast they had led her to. They laughed between drags of their cigarettes, their voices light and easy.

"You better not be drinking!" She gave her friend a stern look.

Sol Jin laughed and reached her fingers out to pinch her friend's cheek. "I'm not," she said. "I promise." Aalia gave her a funny side-eye and hummed.

Yoongi could see that she did not belong at a place like this. It was in the way she held herself, in the way her hands curled into the sleeves of her cardigan as if seeking warmth, in the way her gaze flickered to the street, as if making sure nothing would come at her through the shadows of the alleyways. There was something hesitant about her, something untouched. Innocent. And that made her stand out more than anything else.

His gaze traced the lines of her silhouette—long, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, skin catching in the dim light, eyes dark pools of something unreadable. She wasn't trying to be seen, wasn't dressed for attention the way the others were, and yet Yoongi found himself watching her, drawn by something he couldn't quite place. She was still oblivious to how he was watching her from a far.

He took another drag, let the smoke fill his lungs before releasing it in a slow exhale. He dropped the cigarette, crushed the ember beneath his shoe, and entered the club once again.

Kitty Gang was alive with heat and sin. Strobe lights flickered in a rhythm that mimicked a pulse, casting electric shadows over bodies lost in the music. The air was thick—perfume, alcohol, sweat. The kind of place that thrived on indulgence and secrecy, where the walls knew more than the people inside ever would.

He had no interest in any of it. He moved through the crowd like a shadow, unseen, untouched, until he reached the back of the club. A private corner, dimly lit, where he could observe without being disturbed. He leaned back into the leather seat, rolling his sleeves up further, revealing the ink that traced along his forearm—subtle, yet a silent reminder of who he was. Of where he came from.

He wasn't here for pleasure. He was here because his friend, Jimin had asked him to be.

Jimin, the owner of Kitty Gang, one of the few people he could call a friend. Like him, Jimin had his hands in more than just business. Kitty Gang was but a beautiful, constructed illusion hiding something far more dangerous. It was a place of sin.

Time passed in a slow blur, an hour or more of nothing. Just bodies moving, music pressing against the walls, the clink of glasses from across the room. Yoongi stayed still, detached, nursing a single glass of whiskey, uninterested in anything beyond the burn in his throat.

Then, he moved.

He slid out of the booth, weaving through the crowd with effortless precision, shoulders brushing against strangers without a second thought. He didn't belong to their world, and yet, it shifted around him, making space. The bar was crowded, neon lights casting blue and violet hues over the polished counter. He reached for his drink order –

And then –

A soft collision. A sharp intake of breath.

Someone had stumbled into him.

He turned, already prepared to dismiss whoever it was—until his gaze met hers.

"I am so, so sorry," her posh british accent fell from her lips, and he stopped breathing for a moment.

He didn't respond immediately. He was stunned into silence as he took in the sight of her in. The way her face flushed red from the embarrasement of colliding with him, the way her gaze remained steady on his, not averting. There was something fearless about the way her eyes held his, like she was not the least intimidated by him.

It amused him.

He didn't mind the face that she had crushed into him. In fact, he found himself relishing in it, in the way her smaller frame compared to him.

"Oh," she shook her head, relising that she spoke in english. She appologies again, this time in Korean.

He quirked a brow at the sound of her vice, from the accented English to Korean added a new layer to his intrigue. There was a certain elegance in the way she spoke – a sort of smoothness.

"Apology accepted," he responded in englsih. "No need to be so formsl, though. You can lose the '-yo.'"

She laughed. It was soft, a sound he found himself curiously drawn to. There was something about the way her lips curved into a smile that made him want to hear more of that laugh, to see more of that expression.

He returned the smile, a subtle upwards movement at the edge of his mouth. He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked this happy to collide with him.

His gaze flickered over her face once more, taking in the details he could see in the light, the soft curve of her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips.

"I should go!" Her words were alsot lost to among the 4/4 kick drum beat of the music, yet he still could hear her. He leaned in, close enough for her to hear him without having to shout over the music.

"So soon?" he said, trying to sound disinterseted, to not let her hear the mild ciriosity in his voice.

"I have to find my friends!"

He considered for a moment, observing the way she looked around, clearly searching for the girls he had seen her standing outside earlier with. Her eyes were fixed on the sea of bodies, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. He allowed himself a moment to study her, to take in the way she bit her lip in thought, the way her hands fidgeted against the fabric of her cardigan.

"Can't they wait?" his tone was light and casual. He knew from the moment he saw that she was not like the others. She was untouched by sin. Did she know that Kitty Gang was the nine circles of hell? Did she know she was in the land of Gods and Monsters?

Her phone lit up in her hand, and he watched as she unlocked it.

He watched silently as she checked her phone, his gaze flickered from her face to her hands. Despite the loud music and flashing lights, she seemed almost calm, her attention entirely focused on her phone.

He watched her lock her phone and place it inside her bag, beforer his gaze returned to her. He thought for a moment before gesturing to the left sight of the bar were there was a larger room with leather sofas, chairs and tables. And all the way in the back there were a few booths just hidden in the shadows.

"Join me?" he asked, his voice bearly audible iver the pulsating msuic. There was a nonchalantness in his tone as if the invitation was mearly a casual suggestion. But his gaze was stready, a subtle hint of intrest dancing in his eyes.

Her lips pursed to the side as she looked at him. "Um..." she trailed off.

He could sense her hesitation, her uncertainty at the suggestion. There was a pause, a moment where she seemed to be weighing her options, and he found himself curiously awaiting her response. Even in the dim lighting, he could see the subtle changes in her expression, the way her brows furrowed ever so slightly, the way her gaze flickered between him and the rest of the club.

Nevertheless, he waited, his eyes still fixed on her and his fingers tapped against the edge of his glass, silently counting the seconds. But then he noticed something. Her eyes shifted over his shoulder, and there was an uncomfortable look in her eyes.

He followed her line of sight, turning to look over his shoulder just slightly enough to see. He saw a man standing on the other side of the bar, his eyes fixed her her like a hawk.

He didn't like it. In fact, he hated the way that man's eyes moved over her figure while smirking as if he was planning to approch her soon. He turned back to her, just in time to see her small, subtle smile, a silent agreement to joining him at his table.

Yoongi nodded but first turned to the bartender and leaned over the bar. "Him," he shifted his eyes to the man. "Out." The bartenter gave him a nod. He waved his hand, and two buff-looking men dressed in black grabbed the man, pulling him away as Yoongi led her to his table.

The booth was in a secluded corner of the club that offered a small respite from the chaos. The atmosphere was different here, the music subdued, and the shadows darker. He watched as she sat down slightly across from him, his gaze lingering on her movements, noticing the way she fidgeted with the sleeves of her cardigan, the way her eyes roamed the area.

She noticed the pack of opened gummy bears, a bowl of fresh tantarins and a few glass bottles of water.

He reached for his glass, taking a mesured sip of his whiskey before setting it down again. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but rather heavy with unspoken words. He let the silence hang in the air for a moment longer, his gaze studying her face in this better lighting, his eyes tracing the lines of her features, the arch of her brows, the curve of her lips. He wanted to hear more of her voice, that soft British accent that had caught his attention.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leand back agasint the leather sofa of the booth. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Aalia," she extended her hand out towards him, a force of habit.

His eyes fall to her hand and then back to her face. He smiled at her gesture and reached out to shake her hand. "Aalia," he echoed her name quietly, letting it roll off his tongue. It suited her. His gaze remained on her, his eyes studying the way she was sitting, so small in the vast booth. She looked young, yet there was a certain maturity in her eyes, a quiet wisdom in her expression.

"Yoongi," he introduced himself as well.

She smiled. "Nice to meet you, Yoongi." He couldn't help but notice the way the smile lit up her face, making it softer and her eyes shined brighter than any city. She was a stark contrast to the atmosphere of the club, a breath of fresh air in the smoke and chaos. And he found himself wanting to see more of that smile, to hear more of her voice.

They broke the handshake, and Yoongi crossed his arms once again. He tried to keep his expression casual, trying not to betray the gorwing intrest within him.

"Do you come here often?" the words slipped out before he could stop them.

And then he heard it, her laugh. It had caught him off guard. It was one of those contagious laughs. The kind that made you want to draw it out of someone over and over again. Yoongi found himself grinning at her reaction, the way she acted as though his question was the most ludicrous thing in the world.

He found himself unable to look away as her laughter echoed around them, his gaze fixated on her face, the way her almond-shaped eyes almost closed, the way her nose scrunched slightly and the way her cheeks pushed her cheekbones up.

"No," Aalia managed to say through her laugher.

He raised a brow at her response, surprised by the simplicity of it, the hosenty. He thought maybe she was going to lie and say that she was a regular.

He tilted his head. "So, this isn't your regular Saturday night, huh?"

"Mm-mm," she shook her head. "And no matter how much I want to, sneaking out of this club is not exactly on my list tonight. My friends are kind of my ride."

He raised an eyebrow at that. So, she had no escape route. she was trapped here, with her unreliable friends and the loud thumping music. In a way, it was pleasing to know she had nowhere to go. It seemed to match her innocent, untainted nature. "I could give you a ride home," he offered. "If you want?"

She laughed again, and his heart skipped a beat. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said. "But thank you."

He couldn't help but be amused by her immediate rejection, the way her laughter danced in the air. "Why not?" he asked.

Aalia gave Yoongi a small smile and shrug. "I don't know you."

He nodded. "You don't know me," he repeated, his voice low and seady. "Fair enough. But how do you expect people to get to know each other if you always deny them?"

"What makes you think I deny people the chance to know me?"

He stared at her, studying her face, the innocent in her eyes, and the soft curve of her lips as she smiled. "I don't know," he said. "Something tells me youre the type of girl who keeps herself guarded."

"Are you writing yourself a novel there?" she smiled and tilted her head.

He smirked at her words. "I'm just making an obervation," he replied. "I doubt I'm too far off the mark, am I?"

She held her index and thumb apart. "Meh," she squinted her eye playfully, and he couldn't help but chuckle. Her innocent and playful attitude was infectious. He found himself intrigued by the contrast between her demeanor and the way she tried to keep her guard up.

"You're quite something, Aalia," he whispered under his breath in amusment. The way he was looking at her was as if he was looking at a Sandro Botticelli painting. He wondered what it would take to break that facade, to see what was hidden beneath the surface of that sweet smile. "So," he sighed. "Why did you come here if you're not the clubbing type?"

"Because my friends didn't want to leave me alone," she explained. "And...they wanted to see what I was like at a club."

"Which is?"

She sighed deeply. "I want to sleep."

He couldn't help but smile at her blunt honesty. There was something so enduring about the way she didn't care about the club's atmosphere the way she was more intrested in getting hom and sleeping. But deep down, dispite how dark Kitty Gang was, Yoongi was happy she was dragged here tonight. After all, if her friends had not taken her, they would've never met.

"And what would you be doing if you had not come here tonight, Aalia?" he asked in amusment.

"I would have ordered chicken shish kebab, read a book and then I'd fall asleep."

He laughed at her response. It was so simple, so mundane and yet, it was the most refreshing thing he heard in a while. Most people here were concerned with appearcenes, shallow chatter, drugs and meanignless hookups. "That's it?" he is tone was playful.

"Yep," she smiled cheerfully and proudly.

He leaned back into the booth, his arms still crossed over his chest. He tilted his head slightly as he looked at her. "Are you always like this?'

She knew what he was asking, and she gave a small shrug, "I'm sure the other girls here are the same," she said. "You just have to get to know them."

He wanted to roll his eyes. She was so painfully naïve, it almost made him want to burst out laughing. "Oh, you sweet summer child," he smiled. "You don't think everyone here is just looking for meaningless fun?"

"If getting drunk and dancing is meaningless fun," she held her hands up in surrender. "Hey, I don't judge. You do you, boo."

Her response caught him off guard, the unexpected nonchalance of it like a splash of cold water.

He smirked, amused by her attitude. "You're naive." his tone was tinged with a hint of admiration. He found himself strangely drawn to the innocence she carried with her, as if it beckoned to something within him. His gaze steaded on her as he continued - "and somehow incredibly endearing."

A moment of comfortable silence hangs over them, and he found himself simply admiring the way the faint lighting catches the gleam of her eyes, how her long hair fell down her back, and the shorter pieces framed her face and the way her part. "Are you even old enough to be in here?"

She laughed out loudly. Other would have tried to impress him with a giggle, hand over their mouth while batting their lashes. But she sat there, throwing her head back and laughed like she didn't care. "Does that laugh an aswer to, 'old enough,' or 'not old enough?'"

"A lady does not reavel her age," she said.

And he couldn't help the smirk tugging in the corner of his mouth. "In that case," he sighed. "I suppose I'll have to guess."

Aalia's brow shot upwards as she looked at him while smiling. She watched how he studied her for a moment, his head tilting from one side to the other as he thought. He bit down on the side of his bottm lip and inahled sharply. "Nineteen?"

She tilted her head, a silent answer that he was wrong.

"Hmm," he raised a finger to his chin. "Alright, if not nineteen, then twenty?"

She pressed her lips togther, scrunched her nose and shook her head.

"Twenty-one?"

"Mm-mm," she shook her head. "I'll tell you; twelve."

He raised a brow, clearly knowing she was teasing him. "Now it all makes sense," he nodded, playing along. "Your innocence, the naivety and your clear lack of life experience."

"Hey!" she laughed as she grabbed a gummy bear from the pack and threw it at him. The gummy bear hit his chest and fell into his lap. His smiled at the sound of her laugh. 'God, her laugh,' he thought to himself. "I'm twenty-two," she admitted finally. To say that he was relived would have been an understatment. He was enjoying talking to her.

"You're the fisrt guy to talk to me for so long," she laughed.

Yoongi found himyself chuckling at her words. It was an unexpected admission. Most women would claim to have men talking to them constantly so they would appear desiable. But not her. He couldn't help but be intrigued. There was something refreshing about her honesty, her authenticity. "I find that hard to believe," he scoffed, and she laughed.

He watched her subtle movements with curious eyes, the way she swayed to the beat of the music without even realizing it. The way the dim lighting cast shadows on her features, making her look almost dream-like. He took another sip of his whiskey, his gaze never leaving her. He was inexplicably drawn to her, to the innocence that radiated from her like a faint glow.

'Take that step, you're the life of the party.'

He was trying to imagine her in the middle of the crowded dance floor, and he begain to wonder – want to see what she would look like. He wanted to se how she would move and look under the pulsing lights. "Do you dance?" he asked, his tone casual, as if the question was a simple curiosity rather than desire.

"I don't feel comfortbale dancing in places like this."

"Not even with me?" he asked teasingly.

Aalia squinted her eye playfuly. "Especially you," there was a hint of flirtation in her whispered tone.

He chuckled, finding her response endearingly honest and sweet. "So, no late-night parties?" he asked, and she shook her head. "No drinking?"

"God, no," she laughed.

The words slipped out his mouth before he could think to stop them. He wanted to test just how far her purity went. "You're a good girl then, aren't you?" he asked, his tone was a shade lower. His mind started wondering what other things she haven't done yet, and the thoughts made his throat go dry. He cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "So...this is your first time at a club, then?"

There was innocence written all over her and he couldn't help but find himself ewanting to see more, to find out just how far her purity extended, to what lengths she would go to remain pure and innocent. The thought of it alone was overwhelming, like a drug he couldn't get enough of.

He leaned in closer. "No drinking, no parities, no dating, huh?' he said again, his eyes fixed on her face, hoping for a reaction. He hoped that this was all just a joke. That she was only messing with him, but she only shook her head.

He was mesmerized by the innocence radiating from her, the way she confirmed it all, he wanted to take her away all to himself.

"No kissing?"

She blinked and her eyes widended, as if she was slowly realising the game he was playing. "No kissing?" He asked again. "No touching? Nothing?"

She only blinked again.

He smirked at her reaction. He was already addicted. The thought of her not being touched, unsullied by anything and anyone was enough to make him crazy. He leaned in closer, his hand reaching out to trouch her face, to feel the smoothness of her skin. His fingers traced along the soft skin of her cheek.

Her lack of flinching to his touch was both pleasing and maddening. He ran his thumb over her lips, his touch was gentle, like she was a crystal ball and he did not want to drop it. Touching her like this made his heart race. He wanted to throw her on the table and ruin her for anyone else.

He wanted her in every sense of the word. He was a man starved, and she was a banquet laid out before him. "No one has kissed you before," his voice was rough and low. "No one has tasted your lips before." He wanted to be the first, to be the only one to kiss her. His hand on her cheek turned her face upwards so she was looking into his eyes.

He moved along the leather sofa of the booth, drawing even closer to her. "Just how innocent are you, really?" he asked. "Have you ever been this close to a man before, darling?"

A low chuckle left his lips at her lack of response. "You're trembling," he said. He allowed for the moment to hang in the air, relishing in the way she looked. He could only imagine what she would sound like moaning his name, begging for more.

His fingers ran through her long hair, marveling at the softness. "It's adorble," he said. "How pure and innocent you are."

Yoongi leaned in, closing the fianl distance between them, his lips met hers in a soft and tentative kiss. He could feel her inexperiance in the kiss. She wasn't moving her lips, but she wasn't pulling either. It was driving him wild. He pressed his lips more filmly agasint hers, his tongue darthing out to sweep across her bottom lip in a silent request. His hand, cupping her cheek tighter as the other went to her waist, bringing her over his lap to straddle him.

A low groan cralwed in his throat when she settled on top of him.

He broke the kiss briefly, his gaze flickering up to meet hers. He could bearly restrain himself. He wanted to take her right here, in the dark corner of Kitty Gang with a crowd of people just a few feet away.

He leaned in again, capturing her lips in another kiss, this time more demanding. His tongue seeking entrance, but he didn't want to have to tell her. He gripped her hips, tugging her even closer, making her gasp, and he took the opportunity to taste her tongue.

Aalia gripped his shoulders tighly, her body trembling against his, and it only served him to deepen the kiss. Yoongi's hand moved to her thigh, while the other gripped the back of her head, holding her in place, his fingers lost and tangled in her hair.

He didn't want to, but he needed to break the kiss to breathe. He saw how her chest rised up and fell down in short quick breaths. The golden necklance sitting around her nack glistned in the dim lights, and his fingers dug into the softness of her thighs.

His lips moved to her neck like a magnet being pulled where he left a trail of kisses, his teeth grazing against her pulse. He could feel the rapid beating of her heart under his lips. He sunch his teeth into her skin.

"Aahmmn."

Yoongi smirked agaisnt her skin, his grip on her thigh tightened as he heard her soft gasp of a moan. He licked over the sensitive skin of her neck, his tongue darting out to sooth the faint mark from his teeth.

She was shaking – trembling like a leaf. He pulled back to press his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. He took in her flushed cheeks, swollen lips and her widened eyes with that innocent look in them. It all made him want to devour her, to ruin her completely.

He caputred her lips I another kiss. He didn't care that they were in a public setting, that they barely even knew each other. All he knew was that he wanted her. He needed her. He was almost feral with the need to take her.

He abruptly pulled back from the kiss, cupping her cheek with one hand. "Come home with me," he said, his voice a raspy whisper. It sounded more like a plea than a request. He was past the point of caring about propriety, or decency. He wanted her.

He made her shift in his lap, and something pressed between her legs. It made her suck in a sharp and deep breath. "Can you feel it?" he asked, his voice still rough and gravelly.

He didn't even bother waiting for her to answer, and he kissed her again. Min Yoongi knew that if he did not take her out of her, he was going to take her right on the sofa in the booth, and he wouldn't care who was watching.

"Come home with me," he repeated again. "Please."

"AALIA!?" Sol Jin yalled from a far.

Yoongi felt her freeze in his arms, the sudden interuption breaking the spell he was under.

Reluctantly he loosened his grip on her, letting her get off him when all he wanted to do was tell her to be quiet and wait for her friend to leave so he could have her. But he didn't.

He watched as she crawled over the sofa, grabbing her bag and smoothed out her skirt and blouse. He watched her walk away, his eyes following her every movemnt. He was left feeling fustrated and unsatisfied, the need to take her was still burning in his veins. He wanted to follow after her, to pull her into a corner or even just his car and finish what they started. But he couldn't. She had already disapeared.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself, but his mind was consumed by thoughts of her, Aalia.

(You can read ESCAPISM on AO3 so you can read the chapters there in order)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64009903/chapters/164201557

#escapism #bts #bts suga #min yoongi #suga #dark romance #smut #suga smut #yoongi smut #mafia #bts mafia series #bts smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic

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moonstruckme · 8 months ago

Note

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic.

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?”

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on.

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow.

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.”

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.”

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit.

“Then why not wear something shorter?”

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.”

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach.

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching.

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.”

Spencer nods. “I believe you.”

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before.

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh.

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.”

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.”

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?”

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.”

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?”

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.”

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet.

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?”

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply.

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.”

You blow out a breath. “I want to.”

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too.

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide.

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.”

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?”

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.”

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder.

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.”

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.”

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.”

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?”

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably.

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely.

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back.

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bearforcecaptions · 3 months ago

Text

The lights flickered again.

They always did when someone new arrived. That soft, pulsing glow that ran through the walls, like the place itself was exhaling in anticipation. I leaned against the squat rack, waiting. I didn’t know how long I’d been here—days, weeks, years? It didn’t matter anymore. All I knew was that when the lights pulsed like that, someone else was about to walk through those doors, confused and scared, their life about to be rewritten.

This time, the man who stumbled in couldn’t have been more out of place. Middle-aged, thin, with the kind of stooped posture that came from decades of working hunched over desks or shelves. He was wearing a gray cardigan over a button-down shirt, neatly pressed khakis, and polished loafers that echoed slightly on the gym’s smooth floors. He carried a leather satchel in one hand, clutching it like a lifeline, his wide eyes darting across the mirrored walls and rows of gleaming equipment. He looked like he should have been walking into a library or an academic conference, not… here.

“What on earth?” he muttered, his voice low, trembling. He stood frozen for a moment, taking in the scene—the endless rows of dumbbells and machines, the clinking of weights as the other men in the gym worked through their routines, completely oblivious to his arrival. The mirrors reflected his thin, nervous frame a thousand times over, distorting him until he seemed swallowed up by the space.

I pushed off the rack and crossed my arms, watching him. It was always the same—panic first, then denial, and finally, acceptance. But everyone fought it differently.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You lost?”

He spun around, startled, his satchel swinging slightly. He was older than most of the people who showed up here—maybe mid-forties, with thinning brown hair streaked with gray at the temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that made his pale blue eyes seem even more anxious. His face was lined, but not unpleasant, though it had that soft, academic quality that suggested he’d spent more time reading than living.

“I… yes, I think so,” he said, his voice shaky. “I was just leaving work, and I—” He paused, frowning. “This isn’t right. Where am I?”

“You’re in the gym,” I said simply, gesturing around us. “You didn’t mean to end up here, did you?”

“No, I…” He trailed off, looking around again. “I was leaving the library, locking up for the night. I stepped out the back door, and then… I was here.” His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It never does,” I said. “But you might as well put that bag down. You’re not going anywhere.”

He frowned, clearly not understanding. “What do you mean, ‘not going anywhere’? There’s always a way out.”

“Not here,” I said, leaning back against the rack again. “Every door leads back to the gym. You can try them all if you want, but it won’t make a difference.”

His mouth opened to argue, but he stopped himself, looking at me like he thought I might be messing with him. I didn’t bother explaining further. It was always easier to let them figure it out for themselves.

He did. For hours, or maybe it was minutes—it was hard to tell. He tried every door, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the gym, even peering behind some of the machines like there might be a hidden escape route. Each time, he ended up right back where he started. I watched him, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d realize there was nothing else to do.

Eventually, he slumped down on a nearby bench, his satchel abandoned on the floor. His cardigan was hanging off one shoulder now, his button-down damp with sweat from all the pacing. He looked defeated, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“I don’t understand,” he said, mostly to himself. “This is impossible.”

“It’s not about understanding,” I said, walking over. “It’s about accepting. There’s nothing to do here except work out. Sooner or later, you’ll start.”

He gave me a sharp look, like I’d insulted him. “I don’t belong here,” he said, his voice firming slightly. “I’m a librarian. I haven’t set foot in a gym in years.”

I shrugged. “You’re here now. And there’s nothing else to do. So unless you want to sit and stare at the walls forever…”

He didn’t answer, just looked down at his hands, his thin fingers twitching slightly. After a long pause, he stood up, walking over to one of the machines with a hesitant, almost resigned air. He stared at it like it was some alien contraption, his head tilted slightly. Then, cautiously, he sat down and gripped the handles.

The first push was awkward, his arms trembling as he tried to move the weight. He was clearly out of his element, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. But he kept at it, his jaw tightening with determination. He didn’t look at me again, too focused on the machine.

The changes started slowly. At first, it was just his posture—his shoulders squared as he worked through his reps, the slump in his back disappearing. His movements became smoother, more confident, as though his body was remembering something it had never known. His arms, once thin and weak, began to fill out, the first hints of muscle appearing beneath his pale skin.

His cardigan slipped off completely at some point, forgotten on the floor, and his button-down shirt started to cling to his torso, the fabric tightening as his chest began to expand. He frowned, tugging at it absently, but he didn’t stop. His khakis were next, the legs stretching taut against his thighs, which were visibly thickening with each push. By the time he moved on to the free weights, the khakis had morphed into gray Nike sweatpants, snug around his growing legs.

I watched as he grabbed a set of dumbbells, his hands gripping the metal with more confidence than before. His biceps swelled as he curled them, the veins in his forearms becoming more pronounced. His button-down had somehow transformed into a tight maroon T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, the sleeves straining to contain his growing arms. The hem rode up slightly, revealing a set of abs that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

He paused mid-rep, frowning as he caught his reflection in the mirror. “Is it just me, or do I look… different?” he asked, glancing at me.

I smirked. “You’re changing. Everyone does.”

“What?” His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t sound as panicked as I’d expected. He turned back to the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he examined himself. “I mean, I do look better, don’t I?”

“Sure,” I said. “But that’s not all that’s happening.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He flexed his arm experimentally, a grin spreading across his face as he admired the way his bicep bulged. “I haven’t looked like this since college,” he said, his tone lighter, almost excited. “No, I’ve never looked like this.”