#i sometimes pull up ideas in my notes app and go

[thursdaysyme]

i have an idea for a rottmnt comic but i fear only people with siblings would understand but also only people with siblings that are all close bc i don’t know how imma explain this one i fear

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (4) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neigbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael are catching up on home duties, tackling laundry and now grocery shopping. As you joke around in the aisles, having fun together, you’re suddenly interrupted by someone Michael knows. The encounter leaves Michael quickly defending himself, insisting that he doesn't have feelings for you, while you start to wonder if your playful behavior gave the wrong impression.

Word Count: 2880

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s)

Authors Note: Hello! This is prob gonna be my last post for now just because these last two weeks of May I am absolutely SLAMMED. Hanging on by a thread at my job, but I got 10 days left. I’m ready for summer. I’ll be back sometime beginning of June. Very sorry. Again thank you for all the love!!! This is gonna have to hold y’all over for a minute. - ryn

“Guess you had the same idea as I did,” you chuckle as you stand in the doorway of the laundry room.

Michael looks over his shoulder as he tosses his scrubs into the drum of the washing machine.

“Hey,” he smiles.

With your basket on your hip and holding it with one hand, you move towards the washing machine next to him.

“You’ve been neglecting home duties too?” you ask, popping open the washer and tossing in your clothes.

Michael lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Is it that obvious? I’ve been running on empty lately—just trying to keep up.”

He measures out the detergent, pours it in, shuts the lid, and turns the knobs with a practiced motion before starting his load.

“I have a mountain of stuff to do…I have to go grocery shopping,” you say, rubbing your forehead as if just remembering.

You toss in a couple of detergent pods and close the washer with a quiet thud and start the machine. 

“So do I,” Michael replies, leaning his back against the washer. “My fridge is completely empty”

There’s a small pause. The hum of the machines fills the space. You glance sideways at him, then back at your basket.

“We could go together…after our laundry's done?” 

” you offer, your voice gentle, almost careful.

You’d found excuses to spend time with Michael—more than just him stepping in to help. Taking you to dinner when Aiden flaked, fixing your jammed window, carrying that heavy shelf box up to your apartment and assembling it. As much as you appreciated all of it, something had shifted.

Your friendship with Michael was growing into something solid, something you looked forward to. You found yourself craving his company, wanting to be around him more than you ever expected.

It wasn’t because you needed something. It was because being with him felt easy, calm, and real.

You wanted more than just passing chats in the lobby or quick moments in the elevator. You wanted time together that didn’t need a reason.

So when you suggested grocery shopping, it wasn’t about the errands—it was about spending time with him. Just being.

He looks over at you, the smile returning—this time slower, warmer. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

—

You and Michael walked into the city’s grocery store, reusable bags in hand. The automatic doors whooshed open, letting in the familiar scent of produce and deli meats. Michael grabbed a cart, glancing over at you with a small smile.

“Alright,” he said, rolling up his sleeves a little. 

“What’s first on your list?”

You pulled out your phone, scanning the notes app. “Eggs. Bread. Fruit. Veggies. Stuff for dinner. Oh—sprinkle of junk food” 

He laughed. “A sprinkle?”

“Okay maybe more than just a sprinkle”

“How about you?” you asked, glancing over at him as he steered the cart forward.

“Pretty much the same as you…Minus the actual planning. I just sort of walk around until something calls to me.” He shrugs

You gave him a look. “So you’re a wander-and-wing-it kind of shopper.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright then,” you said, nudging the cart playfully. “Let’s start with my list, and if something speaks to you along the way, you can toss it in.”

The two of you start in the produce section.

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you spotted them. “Look at the tulips!”

Without thinking, you stepped closer, admiring them. “I love when they’re still closed or just starting to bloom. Not fully open—just that halfway point…”

You glanced back at Michael, smiling softly. “They’re my favorite flowers.”

You continued walking, not noticing that Michael had lingered for just a second longer.

As he passed by the cart, he glanced at the flowers again, filing it away.

Tulips. Half-bloomed. Your favorite.

He made a mental note.The two of you wander through the aisles. You grab the things on your list, while Michael picks up whatever catches his eye, things he wants, not necessarily things he needs.

You talk mostly about food. What you like, What you don’t and a few things in between.

In aisle nine, you spot a bag of Nutella Biscuits, your absolute favorite. Your friend had gotten you hooked on them.

You reach for the last bag on the shelf  and so does he.

Fingers brush.

Neither of you pulls away. Your hands linger, resting lightly over the glossy packaging.

The air shifts, quiet, still charged.

“Hey, I saw those first,” you say, raising a brow.

Michael smirks. “Pretty sure my hand got there first.”

“These are my favorites.”

“They’re my guilty pleasure.”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh don’t think I won’t fight you for these, old man—because I will.”

“Oh, you think you’re so funny,” he scoffs out a laugh.

You quickly yank the bag toward you. “Mine!”

“Come here!”

He steps forward, catching you around the waist, gently pulling you back against his chest. His arm wraps around you as he tries to grab the bag from your hands.

You shriek out a giggle. You twist and thrash against him, laughing, still clutching it. “Michael!”

“Hand it over!” he laughs

“Robby?” a voice calls suddenly from the end of the aisle.

You both freeze. Still tangled together. 

 Dana Evans, his colleague and charge nurse. His friend, the closest thing he had to a sister, stands there at the end of the aisle, eyebrows raised at the scene in front of her.

“Dana—” he says, startled. He quickly lets you go, the playful teasing evaporating as his hands fall to his sides.

“Hey,” she says, walking over with a grocery basket tucked in the crook of her arm.

You glance at Michael. There’s a flicker in his eyes, like surprise, maybe discomfort. His posture stiffens, the easy playfulness from a moment ago gone.

It almost feels like he doesn’t want her to see you together.

And that… stings more than you expect.

“Who’s this?” She asked to move closer to the two of you. 

You step in quickly, offering a polite smile and introducing yourself “…I'm his neighbor. Just… a friend.”

You don’t mean to sound awkward, but the words come out carefully, almost rehearsed—like you’re making sure they land a certain way.

Was she someone he was seeing? And here you are, being too playful, too comfortable with him. You didn’t mean to cross any lines, to overstep any boundaries. That wasn’t your intent.

“Right..” She nods. “I’m Dana,” she smiles, but gives Michael a look. 

You felt out of place—like maybe you had crossed a line after all. Like you were standing somewhere you didn’t belong.

You hold out the bag, whacking him in the stomach with it, not on purpose just out of being flustered. “I uh.. I don’t want these anymore. You can have them.” 

Michael blinked, taking the bag from you, confusion flickering in his eyes as you started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he asked, noticing the shift in your tone, in your posture.

Without meeting his eyes, you kept straight, not looking back “I just remembered—I, uh, need to grab something from another aisle.”

It’s a lie, you both knew it was, you don’t wait for a response as you turn the corner, needing more distance than biscuits.

Michael he calls after you, he watches disappear, the forgotten bag of Nutella biscuits still in his hand.

Your voice, your expression, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes—it all hit Michael harder than he expected. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to introduce you to Dana before you slipped away.

His attention goes back to Dana. She had only laughed. “Oops. Didn’t mean to scare her off…”

“She probably thinks we’re dating,” Michael muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “With you eyeing her down like that.”

Dana shot him a look. She threw a hand up, still grinning “That’s your fault! You didn’t introduce me fast enough! I run to the grocery store for oat milk and walk into aisle nine to find my friend pressed up against a woman, playfully fighting over cookies!”

She begins to get noisy.

“So who is she?” She was waiting for him to give her more information about who you are and the moment between the two she witnessed. 

Michael rolled his eyes and placed the Nutella biscuits into the grocery cart with a little more force than necessary. “Dana, don’t start—” knowing what she’s thinking. 

“Oh, come on!” Dana said, nudging him with her elbow. “Robby, she’s cute! You’ve clearly been spending time with her. How long has that been going on?! How come you never mentioned her?” Dana asked, with a smile on her face

Michael let out a breath and maintained his composure, pushing the cart forward a few inches. “Because Dana, nothing is going on. She’s just my neighbor.”

“She looked a lot more than a “neighbor” when I entered the aisle.” Dana said with a knowing look, cocking her head in the direction you’d disappeared.

He rolled his eyes.

He started pushing his cart, turned down the next aisle, hoping the shelves of canned goods might somehow end the conversation. “Dana, please drop it.”

Dana wasn’t going to drop it. She fell in step beside him, her gaze sharp. “So you’re seeing her?”

He froze, picking up a can of beans off the shelf, his fingers brushing the label like it held the answer. “No, I’m not seeing her. She has a boyfriend” 

Dana arched her brow. “That didn’t answer the question. You’re not seeing her—but are you wanting to?”

Michael didn’t respond right away. He turned the can in his hand, then returned it to the shelf, avoiding her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, she’s got someone.”

“But you don’t,” Dana pointed out, a note of challenge in her voice. “And last I checked, play fighting over cookies and laughing like that isn’t how you act with someone you’re indifferent to.”

He gave her a look, sharp and tired all at once. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“I’m reading what was right in front of me. Body language doesn’t lie, Robby”

Michael exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’s easy to be around, okay? She’s funny, she’s sweet. I like her company, but we’re just friends. I'm not trying to mess with someone who’s already in a relationship. I just help her out with stuff, you know be a neighbors ” 

Dana softened just slightly. “That’s not what it looks like on my end”

“Think what you want Dana, but she and I are friends. That’s all. Nothing more.”

He started pushing the cart down the aisle, leaving her standing behind. “I gotta finish shopping,” he muttered—and find you, he thought.

“We’ll continue this conversation later, Michael!” she called after him.

“No we won’t, Dana!” he yelled back in a sing-song tone as he turned into the next aisle.

—-

You were in the freezer section, staring at the wall of ice cream like you were deep in thought about flavors, though your mind was still spinning from the moment with Michael and awkward interaction with the woman Dana.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him approaching with the cart.

“So ice cream was that important, huh?” Michael said, pulling up beside you. “That’s what made you run off?”

You didn’t look at him right away. “I didn’t run off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, you kinda did. You didn’t even give me a chance to introduce you to Dana.”

“I didn’t want to be in the way…” 

“You weren’t in the way” 

Silence falls between the two of you. 

“So you and Dana?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but the question comes out a little too pointed.

“I work with her,” Michael replies. “She’s the dayshift charge nurse—”

You nod, not really sure what to say, or what exactly you’re feeling. You weren’t trying to pry. Not really. 

Then it hits you—a wave of guilt, sharp and sudden. You start replaying the moment in the aisle. The laughter, the teasing, the way you’d been so at ease with him. If Dana was someone he was seeing, the whole scene would have easily been misread. Maybe you were too comfortable. Too close. You hadn’t meant to cross a line, but now you’re afraid you had.

Before the guilt can fully settle in, Michael speaks again—his voice softer now, his eyes steady on you, like he already knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.

“Dana’s like a sister,” he says, and somehow, it’s like he’s reading your mind.

His tone is calm, even—but there’s a quiet urgency there, tucked just beneath the surface. Like he wants to be sure you hear him. Like it matters that you believe it.

You look at him “Oh… I thought you two were…”

“I know what you must’ve thought,” he interrupts gently, “but it’s not like that. Our coworkers joke that we're ‘work spouses,’ but she’s just my friend. We’ve known each other a long time. That’s all.”

He doesn’t really know why he feels the need to clarify all of that to you. He shouldn’t care what you think. But deep down, he does for some reason. 

A beat passes.

“Are you… seeing anyone?” you ask, your voice softer this time. You don’t know what made you ask. Curiosity, maybe since the two of you were sorta on the topic. 

“No,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. “I haven’t dated in a while.”

There’s a quiet honesty in the way he says it. Not embarrassed. Just real. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a second, neither of you says anything.

You wondered how he was still single.

Michael was kind. Steady. The kind of man who listened, who remembered little things, who made you feel like you mattered. He wasn’t flashy, but he didn’t need to be. Just being around him made you feel calm.

Any woman would be lucky to have him.

He seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t make you question where you stood. Who would show up, say how he felt, and mean it.

You let the thought pass. 

“So…should I get Mint Chocolate Chip or Cookie Dough?” 

“Mint”

“Alright, Mint Chocolate chip it is” you open the door in the freezer section, and placing it into the cart. 

——-

“Here, let me get those—” Michael reached for your reusable bags  along with his at check out. 

“Michael, stop,” you said, trying to swat his hands away. “I can carry my own groceries.”

“I know you can,” he said, easily slipping them from your grip. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“They’re heavy, and—Michael, no—”

“Stop arguing with me and just let me carry the groceries,” he said, giving you a pointed look.

You huffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “Fine.”

He smiled, victorious. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

The two of you walked back to the apartment, climbing the stairs to the sixth floor, reusable bags in hand—well, in his hands. You stopped in the hallway, right between your doors.

“Thanks tagging along with me,” you said, turning toward him. “And for carrying my groceries… which, I’m more than capable of doing.” You take your bags from his hands. 

“Thanks for letting me tag along, and I know you can carry your own groceries,” Michael said, his voice low and easy. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

“Oh—before I forget,” Michael said, reaching into one of his reusable bags.

He pulled out a small bouquet of tulips, their soft petals just beginning to open, one of the bouquets you were admiring earlier. 

You gasped. “Michael, what? When did you get these? I was with you the whole time!”

“I have my ways,” he said with a teasing grin.

You looked at him, touched. Your pout wasn’t sad—just soft, surprised, the kind that tugged at the heart.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful” 

“Oh, here—take these,” he says with a grin, holding out the Nutella cookies like a peace offering, but his eyes are still challenging.

You shake your head. “You take them.”

He scoffs, clearly amused. “Well, you fought me for them.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Technically, I didn’t win.”

“Neither did I,” he says, shrugging like it's no big deal, but the tension in the air suggests otherwise.

A beat passes. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eye, you suggest, “How about we rock-paper-scissors for them?”

“Alright, you’re on,” he replies,

You both set your bags down with a soft thud, the hallway around you oddly quiet as you face each other.

The air feels a little charged as you both prepare. The competitive energy lingers in the air. Michael steps back, getting into position with an exaggerated stance.

“Alright ready?” He asks.

You nod in response.

"Rock-Paper-Scissors-Shoot!" you both say in unison, your hands moving in perfect sync.

You take a deep breath and throw your hand out confidently—rock.

His hand, paper, covers your rock.

“Haha! Sucker!” he cackled, snatching the bag from the ground and holding it over his head like a trophy.

You gasped, mock-offended. “You are the worst!”

“I am the champion,” he corrected, already walking in a victory strut toward his door. “Rock? Really? Rookie move.”

You shook your head, laughing as you scooped up your bags. “Enjoy them — I hope they go stale before you open them.”

He glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. “Joke’s on you. I’m opening them now.”

And with that, he tore open the bag, popped a biscuit into his mouth, and held another one out toward you — his smile softening just slightly.

“Want one?” he offered.

You hold out your hand, and he rattles the bag to get one out for you. 

“Thanks,” you said, biting into the biscuit.

You held out your hand, and he gently rattled the bag until one slid free. He placed it in your palm like it was something more than a cookie.

“I’ll see you later, Michael.”

You unlocked it, picked up your bags, and stepped inside.

“I’ll see you around,” he called, turning toward his side of the hallway.

The door closed behind you, but the smile stayed — along with the taste of chocolate and something just a little sweeter.

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967 @lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg

Across The Hall (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

[goddamnitmahtin]

Jason is a Teenage Dad

Woke up to see my phone open to my notes app and all it says on it is:

Jason is a Teenage Dad

- Jason is 15 and fucking dies.

- Clockwork shenanigans

- Jason drags his body out of the Lazarus

- Meets the eyes of a 3 year old Danny playing with the Joker’s decapitated head.

- Jason takes the child home. It is his now.

So, obviously, I gotta write about it. Enjoy this post based on the vision of delirious 4 am me.

……………….

Clockwork was bored. You would think the ability to see everything everywhere all at once would be overwhelming but it’s actually boring. There’s no suspense when you always know what’s going to happen. But that was all part of his job as the Ancient of time.

Every universe was scripted out. Each one was slightly different from the last, but it still had the same major things in there. For instance, there was always a Gotham in every universe. Sometimes the city itself, sometimes a comic book about the place as if it were fictional. The same with Amity Park except that one universe made it an anime instead of a kids show which was…. A choice.

Most of the time Clockwork just had to make sure that catalyst events happened no matter what the timeline. Like the adoption of Jason Todd. Or the death of Danny Fenton. The meteor that killed the dinosaurs. Stuff like that. Universes that didn’t have enough catalyst events like that tended to implode on themselves if some new event didn’t take its place.

Clockwork was looking at a universe at the moment that was definitely close to being expired. Could he let it happen? Sure. He could. But that wouldn’t have been much fun to watch.

In the universe he was looking at currently, Danny Fenton has all but disappeared at least according to the locals of Amity Park. Which wasn’t that bad. Easily fixable. However the much larger problem was that Jason Todd just died the wrong way. In most universes where his death took place, it always happened that same way as it was a catalyst event for that universe. Jason gets beat up by the joker and then dies in an explosion. Then he gets revived and healed by some assassins in a pit of really fucked up ecto. Standard procedure.

However in the universe Clockwork was looking at, Jason died due to the crowbar. There was no bomb. Infact, Batman didn’t even arrive to the scene until much later than he did in every other universe. The strangest part though, was that after killing Jason Todd, the Joker threw him into the Lazarus himself. There was no downtime or buffer. This kid was going to be alive again by the end of the week and unless Clockwork did some timeline adjustments, it was enough that the entire universe was inevitably going to fall apart.

Obviously fixing it wouldn’t be hard to do. If he did it the easy way. To rewrite Jason’s death. But that was kind of boring. So, Clockwork had a better idea.

…

Jason gasped suddenly and he felt liquid enter his lungs. He opened his eyes to see green. All around him. Shit, if he inhaled anymore liquid he could drown. So he started to try to swim towards what he thought was the surface. His body felt odd and disconnected from his brain making it hard to move but he kept going. He had to keep going. He didn’t want to die.

Finally, he felt his hand break the surface and latch onto a ledge. He pulled himself out of the green glowing Lazarus, trying to cough up as much liquid as possible.

Memories started to flood back to him. The fight. His mom. The Joker. The fucking crowbar. And most notably, no Batman. Batman never came. He was going to kill B for that.

Jason took a few deep breaths and let himself look around. His eyes immediately locked onto a child. Looked to be about 3. Pale with black hair and blue eyes. The boy was sitting with his legs crossed, covered in blood. He was playing with… something?

Jason couldn’t help but worry for the kid, hoping he did t fall into the pit. It was a dangerous place to be especially alone. Jason sat up to get a better look.

The moment he did, he saw the toddler’s eyes dart right into his own, the blue overpowered by a sudden glow of green. Lazarus green. A look of fear ran over the boy’s face as he froze in place.

Jason felt something in his chest churn, almost as if he could feel the fear dripping off of the child. He didn’t want to scare him. He didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted to get them both somewhere a bit more safe.

Jason stared at the boy, trying to not look menacing. He wanted him to know he could trust him. He felt whatever that new something inside his chest was also try to reach out. Jason didn’t notice when his own eyes turned green, but he did notice that the boy’s attitude shifted very quickly.

The toddler’s eyes went back to blue as the look of fear mostly washed out of his face. There was still some apprehension but it seemed that the two of them had silently come to an agreement of sorts that they were not enemies at least.

Jason looked down from the boy’s eyes and into his hands and whatever animosity Jason had within him was completely washed away. This kid had been through something horrific. In the toddler’s small arms was the decapitated and now decaying head of the Joker. Jason’s murderer.

Jason suddenly felt like this child in front of him was more important than anything else. Whatever he had gone through to land him in this place with that head was fucking over. Jason was going to protect this kid until the day he fucking died. Again. This child had gone through unimaginable things and Jason inherently knew that even though he knew nothing about this kid’s story, he was was going to be one of the very few who could really understand what he was going through.

“What is your name?” he asked as softly as he could.

The boy quietly responded in almost a whisper, “Danny.”

This kid was his kid now. To hell with wherever he came from. Jason was now a dad.

…

Bruce was distraught. Devastated. Completely inconsolable. Jason, his son, was dead. The Joker had confirmed it with a video of him laughing over the dead body. That was a week ago now. Bruce didn’t know what to do. He failed Jason. He wasn’t there when he should have. He couldn’t save him.

He had gotten delayed when he found out where Jason had gone and tried to go after him when a kid he’d seen at a few galas before, Tim was dropped out of the sky landing right on top of him with a post it note safety pinned to his back. He ignored it at the time as he was a little preoccupied.

After he got up again after the initial shock and realized it was just a kid, he tried to calm the nerves of young Tim who described watching his die and then being teleported into the sky and dropped. There was a chance that if Batman’s body hadn’t cushioned the fall, he would have been seriously injured.

He knew he couldn’t leave the young kid there by himself. And he knew that he had to find Jason. He didn’t want to bring him along either but the boy insisted that he wanted to come. Was it smart? No. Did he end up bringing Tim with him? Well yes. He was running out of time after all.

But Batman didn’t make it. The place was empty except for the dead body of Jason’s mother and a lot more blood that was undoubtedly his son’s.

Bruce was currently lying in his bed. He hadn’t gone out to do anything except for patrols. It was the only thing he could focus on. It was the the only thing he could bring himself to do. Bruce Wayne had the time to grieve for Jason Todd. Batman on the other hand did not have that. He had to remain vigilant and consistent. More importantly he had to find the Joker and send him away for killing Jason. Which would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t completely disappeared.

Bruce stared at the nightstand. It had the post it note that Tim had on his back when he fell. He had read it hundreds of times. But he didn’t want to believe it. It was just more proof that Jason was dead.

He took the post it note from the nightstand and read it again, hoping it was different. It was not.

Take this kid home. He’s Robin now :)

…

Tim didn’t really know what to do. His plans had come to fruition much faster than he had anticipated. After watching g his parents die, he had sworn to himself that he would find Bruce Wayne, the Batman, and convince him to let him help fight the evil of the city. But he didn’t expect that the moment he made that decision he would he plucked off his feet by unseen hands and then suddenly dropped from the sky.

That was over a week ago. Now, he was sitting on a large sofa in Wayne Manor. He was thinking. All he really had time to do was think. He had seen his first crime scene at Batman’s side and afterwards was brought back to the manor. He was left alone. He hadn’t seen Bruce hardly at all.

He wanted to do more. Go out and help with something. Anything. But Alfred wouldn’t let him go anywhere. So all he could do was think.

Did anything that had happened since his parent died make any sense? No. Joker deviated from his MO. But why? It was so different than anyone would have expected. There was no spectacle or epic battle with the Batman. He was just gone with a dead body behind. Nothing else.

And that was AFTER Tim was teleported into the middle of the sky. If he just had more resources, maybe a computer or some books that he could dive into to, he could figure it out. There had to be SOME reason. Right? But he had already checked the books in the manor library and Alfred wouldn’t let him into the poorly hidden Batcave. He only had his own thoughts.

He would grieve his parents with that time but he could also just as easily do that later. Besides, he had already decided he was going to become a vigilante and help the Batman. And most importantly, there was a puzzle in front of him that he wanted to solve more.

…

Jason knocked on the door the manor. He was nervous to see B again. Since according to newspapers he had been gone for a week. He knew his dad was gonna be mad that he went to see his mom. And mad he was gone so long. Jason knew he was going to get chewed out for it but he just wanted to be home. Especially since he was going to need help raising Danny. He didn’t know how adoption worked and Jason was only 15 but he was sure B knew how to do all that.

Danny was currently in his arms. He was so small compared to Jason now. Before he had died, he was wasn’t nearly this big. Jason had muscle sure but he was still relatively lean. Now, Jason was built more like a brick house. His shoulders were wider than a typical doorway and he was much taller, at least 6’4.

Danny was sleeping at the moment. He still had the Jokers head in his arms. He hadn’t been able to convince the kid to let it go. Which was fine. Jason didn’t really know what to do with it anyways.

Some shuffling was heard and then the door opened. Alfred was staring back at him.

“Hey sorry I was gone,” Jason said, not really sure what else to say.

Alfred looked from Jason to Danny to Jason, double take on Danny. His face was hard to read. Jason was kind of nervous.

Alfred stepped out of the doorway. Behind him was B.

“Jason!?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

Part 2 Part 3

[astrcmoni]

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller II ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

☆ series masterpost: I II III

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

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

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

wc: 19.8k…..chat

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

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

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

————

thursday 2:25 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 new email notification from: Maggie Baird

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

hello,

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

have a great day!

best regards,

maggie baird—guidance counselor

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

hi!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so basically after the banquet tomorrow—”

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

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

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

“do you not check the gc?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“pause the video.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“come on in!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“anytime, sweetheart. good luck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

then she looks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah, i have a couple.”

“oh? where?”

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

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

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

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

“unless i’m having sex or something”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i just bruised my fucking piercing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do you trust me?”

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

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

“i’mma need you to say it, babe.”

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

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

“just wanna help you out, okay?”

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

“good. what are you wearing?”

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

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

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

“can you lift your shirt for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i know it does, mama.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“take off your panties for me, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i know it’s you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new transactions — 3:15 am

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the night stretches on, heavy and endless.

friday 8:45 am —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shake your head. “no, thanks.”

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

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

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

“did you learn anything new?”

“not really.”

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

“you look pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you know what i mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“can i kiss you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nod lightly, your throat tight with anticipation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[etesians]

“I’ve just had a thought.”

Kei looks up from his phone, eyes drooping, the hour you’ve spent lounging on the couch rendering him immune to the fact that his neck is bent at a disastrous angle against the armrest. It has you pulling him forward, taking the pillow from under your neck to stuff under his, but it’s a fine trade. Now you can lay against the warmth of his chest and settle into what Kei calls the pre-nap—or, what he used to call it, back when he was still too embarrassed to simply say that he wanted cuddles.

“Woah, careful there," he can't pass up the opportunity to start with. Then, "Good kind or bad kind?”

You hum. “Sickeningly domestic kind.”

“So… good,” he decides after a beat, setting his phone down on the coffee table.

Those long, gentle fingers you love slide into your hair, and it’s a wonder how they’re always able to sate an itch that only manifests itself mere seconds before the touch, just so they can be rubbed away by him and him alone; suspiciously wizard-like. “It’s not like I’m opposed to any of that… Since it’s you.”

Aww.

“Honeycakes—” you coo obnoxiously, disguising his name in the endearment, which gets you exactly what you'd expect—the full moon's circumference of his palm eclipsing your vision, his grip light as he smushes your face around for a while, unable to rid himself of the urge. When he lets go a minute later, you share a mirrored look of contentment, all stupid smiles and rolling eyes, before you settle your ear over his heart and he resumes massaging your scalp.

Whatever video he was watching drones on in the meantime. Something about a supermoon coming up and dropping temperatures… Partly rainy with a high of seventy-three degrees and a low of sixty-eight and—wow, he really got sucked into watching the weather channel... Such old man behavior. But it’s quiet enough to tune out against the steady drum in his ribs, so you both leave it be.

“Your idea, baby.”

“Oh, right. So I was thinking—y’know, when we start buying stuff for the house…”

“Mmhm?”

“For utensils, what if we found the same forks you grew up using, and the same spoons I had, so that our future kid'll have pieces of both of our childhoods already built into theirs? It’d be like our own little mismatched set.” "You're right..." It's quiet for a moment. Then Kei blows out a breath, his mind positively sunnier with the image. “That is sickeningly domestic.”

You open your mouth to defend the idea—because it is a good idea, notes-app worthy, even—when he tacks on, “I’m not saying no. God, you’re just so cute sometimes...” the words followed up by him pulling on your cheek. “Is that why you kept hovering by the drawers when we visited my mom? ‘What if’ my ass—you already found them on google, didn't you?”

Your bubbling laughter gives you away. Because he’s right—they’re in your amazon shopping cart as you speak, just waiting on his two cents.

“What about chopsticks, then? And knives. And spatulas.”

Spatulas? You raise a brow.

Kei only shrugs in response.

“The rest can be new. I don’t want all of it to be us holding onto old things,” you pause. “But my star curtains are non-negotiable.”

“They have holes in them.”

“Those are the cutouts! And you even said they were pretty when the light’s seeping through them.”

“Okay, yes, they are pretty," he relents, setting his glasses down by his phone. Silencing the weather report with a slide of his thumb. “But furnishings aside, we’d still be missing one thing…”

“Tsukishima Kei, I know exactly what you’re thinking…” You find yourself being rolled onto your back, his pupils pushing the golden-brown of his irises to the outer rims as they dilate. “And the answer is no.”

“What?” Kei smirks, almost sing-songy as he trails kisses down your collar. He’s not actually gunning for that part of your life together yet. Key word—yet. You’d both agreed to preserve the first year of your marriage for just the two of you. Figuring out the ins and outs of buying a house together and all the legalities that came with it had been hard enough on its own.

Everything after your one-year anniversary, though, is completely fair game.

“You’re the one who brought up a little Tsukishima…”

[starsinthesky5]

Do Joe and Songbird have any pet peeves about the other person or just little thing that they do that get on each others nerves?

Obviously we know they’re obsessed with each other, but everyone gets a little irritated when you spend so much time together, especially living together. I think even their bickering would be cute. Like an old married couple already.

a/n: this is adorable

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

ohhh they definitely do. like they’re madly in love, fully obsessed, but they’re also in each other’s space 24/7—sharing bathrooms, kitchen routines, sleep schedules. so of course there are little things that drive them nuts, but it’s the kind of irritation that’s endearing—never serious, always laced with affection. their bickering sounds like background music, soft and familiar, like two people who couldn’t imagine life without each other.

she’s got a little running list in her notes app called “joe burrow crimes (affectionate)” because for all his golden retriever charm and quiet softness, the man is not without his little habits that drive her up a wall. but like…lovingly. with a kiss and an eye roll.

he leaves his socks everywhere. seriously. bedroom floor, couch cushions, sometimes even under the kitchen table. she’s convinced they multiply like what the hell, how does he have so many pairs? “are you shedding?” she teases while tossing them into the laundry basket with mock offense.

he doesn’t fully close cabinets. just leaves them cracked open. she’s like, “what is this, a horror movie? close the door, burrow,”.

he steals her skincare. but only the expensive stuff. and when she calls him out, he acts like he has no idea what she’s talking about while using her eye cream right in front of her.

he has a specific sigh when she’s running late. not mean or impatient—just this soft, put-upon exhale that says “i love you, but we were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago,”. she always catches it and goes, “don’t sigh at me, quarterback,” which makes him grin.

his alarms. he sets four. and he snoozes all of them. she’ll be blissfully asleep and then—brr-brr-brr—cue him fumbling blindly for his phone, muttering, “just five more minutes,”.

“you said that ten minutes ago,”.

“no i didn’t,”.

“i have time stamps, sir,”.

and somehow, somehow, she’s always the one fully awake, groggy and grumpy, while he’s dozing off again with his face in her shoulder.

joe’s got a short list of pet peeves about her, and they’re all wrapped in that boyish, lovesick frustration—the kind where he’s pretending to be annoyed but his eyes are literally heart-shaped the whole time. like he’ll mutter something under his breath, but then immediately pull her into his lap or kiss the top of her head like he can’t stay fake-mad even if he tried.

she’s a chronic light-leaver-on-er. like they’ll get into bed and he’ll have to do a whole lap around the house turning things off. “i swear, you’re afraid of the dark and just won’t admit it,”.

she talks to herself constantly. like full-on commentary—narrating her skincare routine, whispering lyrics while she scrolls, talking herself through what to eat like it’s a high-stakes debate. he’ll walk into the room and be like, “are you on the phone?” and she’ll go, “no, just chatting with my brain.” drives him insane in the cutest way. he'll say, “baby, who are you even talking to?”. and she'll say, “myself. i’m a delight,”.

she hoards mugs. he once opened the dishwasher and counted seven of her mugs, all half-drunk, scattered from different days. “you’re running a cafe in secret, aren’t you?”.

she never finishes TV shows. they’ll be five episodes in and then she just…moves on. “we are not starting another series until we finish the last one,” he’ll say, and she’ll smile like, “sure,” before playing the pilot of something completely new.

she never puts her phone on the charger. and it’s always when they’re about to go out or need directions. “my phone’s on 2%!” she’ll gasp. joe just closes his eyes and breathes real slow, already plugging it in for her. “it’s like you want to live on the edge,”.

but the thing is? every pet peeve ends with a kiss on the cheek or a smirk across the room. they tease each other, roll their eyes, poke and prod—but it’s never cruel. they’re those people who bicker while folding laundry or doing the dishes, all while staying so ridiculously in sync. it’s old-married-couple energy, for sure—half flirt, half roast, all love.

[oofmybad]

I loved your GOAT Talk imagine! Could you do one where Billie and reader are on Hot Ones Versus?

HOT ONES Versus

i love this request!!! it’s so nice writing out videos she’s done - just takes so long lol. but it’s a good excuse to watch the videos back teehee :P

warnings: fluff, suggestive jokes, not proofread

a/n: hi gang! i had my tattoo today, it was only five hours long so not too bad. i had planned to write a ton of requests while i was there but i ended up getting my right arm tattooed so no can do, whoopsie!

~~~~~~~

“you spin first baby, you wanted to” billie points to you across the table.

you take the hot sauce wheel between your fingers and spin it. after many turns it lands facing billie.

“you go first!” “my turn” you and billie say at the same time.

to your left, there is a stack of cue cards placed face down. you pick one up and begin to read out the question.

“as a songwriter, there’s a constant need to document your inner-most thoughts and feelings.” you pause to tsk, “read your last notes app entry out loud” you wince at billie.

“ruh rohhhh” billie sings, clearly unable to remember the last thing she wrote in there. she fishes her phone out of her back pocket and brings it up to read from.

her leg bounces in anticipation as she makes her way to the app.

suddenly, out of nowhere, billie lets out her signature loud cackle, throwing her head back in the process.

“yall! it’s a quoute from my dad” billie goes on to explain the context of the note before revealing what it actually says:

“your mom says i have bird eyes” she laughs, making you laugh with her.

she continues, “and that i look like a baby dinosaur”

“what the fuck, maggie?!” you chime in, “way to woo him” you joke.

“look at mom!” billie point over to maggie behind the cameras while laughing, “she’s like, ‘yep!’”

you notice that maggie is also filming the scene, so you decide to tease her about it, “she’s also filming as though there aren’t a hundred cameras in here. you know, just to get that magic shot” you quip.

billie laughs with you, before going on to read out the next question for you. “i just released my latest project, hit me hard and soft, were there any arguments while i was working on the record?” she reads out, looking to you once she’s completed the question. she takes off her glasses now, hoping to get a better look at you.

“ummm” you think, “yes” you say plainly.

billie laughs at your short sentence, “you gonna give any context to that, or?”

“i would come in the room a lot while you were recording a take and mess it up. that would piss you off” you say. billie laughs heavily in agreement.

“let me defend myself, though” you put a hand up, “i cant knock ‘cause that makes a noise, but i can’t just come in ‘cause that distracts you. so what exactly am i meant to do?”

“um, not come in” billie says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“bil, you were recording for like two years. sometimes i needed you” you explain, making eye contact with the cameras, looking for comradery.

“hell yeah you did” billie says like a twelve year old boy, turning your sentence dirty.

“shut UP! i did not!… well-” you trail off.

“sorry mom” billie giggles. you just grit your teeth in maggies direction, making an ‘eek’ face.

“ok next question pleaseeeee” you sing out, trying to move on from the now awkward conversation.

you pick up another cue card and read it out to billie.

“in addition to being a grammy award winning singer, you’re also a style icon. rate these classic billie fits on a scale from 1-10.”

“jesus christ” billie huffs.

you pull up the first image of her in a camo vest and grey sweatpants, already giggling at her.

billie deliberates, “one to ten? we’re gonna give that like a… three.” she goes on, “i had the idea, the idea was there, but the execution was off. it really doesn’t look good on, though.”

“was that at laneway?” you ask.

“mhm, in perthhhhhhh” she says questioningly, causing you to make fun of her cadense.

“p-u-r-r-r-r-r-th?” you spell out before picking up the next image.

“aw this was cute” you comment.

“that was cute. that’s like a 7/8. anything anime is like the coolest shit ever.” billie answers, “anytime i have a shirt with an anime character on it, it’s the coolest shirt i own.”

holding out the next image billie jumps in, “oof. this was a person who’s shit did not stink.”

“uhhhhh” you disagree, “she was, in a word: mean”

“hahahahaHAHA” billie laughs in her baby voice, “that’s not true!“

“don’t even, bil. you hated me back then” you mock pout.

“no i didn’t, i could never hate you” billie attempts to defend herself but you cut her off regardless, “you can and you have, bil.”

the two of you continue to score fit pictures, before billie gets too embarassed to continue.

she reads out the next question.

“as a fellow producer and songwriter, you’ve worked with everyone form justin bieber to kid cudi. name one person you’d never want to be in the studio with again” billie laughs out at the end of the question, a mischevious look on her face.

“hehehe” she devilishly chuckles.

“oh no” you hesitate to answer, already having someone in mind.

“yeah! YEAHHH!” billie screams in triumph, happy you’re gonna have to eat a death wing.

“um… um….” you blow a big puff of air out, “i don’t wanna punch down.”

“savage, y/n” billie quips.

“well?! i could punch WAY down” you laugh. “…sure, sure, i’ll eat a wing.”

you go to take a nibble out of the soy meat, the heat already hitting you like a cloud of smoke.

“woah! that was a fat bite, baby” billie exclaims.

“i’m hungry” you mumble back as you chew, but make sure to cover your mouth.

“careful with your eyes, pretty girl” billie warns you. you’re sat their with your hands out, palms to the sky, consciously putting them nowhere near your face.

“mmm, that’s yummy!” you shimmy your shoulders as you eat and go to pick up the next card.

“couple test! i’m going to write down my answer, and you have to guess my response. guess wrong and eat a death wing” you say the final part in a faux suspenseful voice.

billie chuckles at that.

“what is my favorite billie eilish song?” you ask.

the two of you both pick up ypur white boards as you ponder on your answers.

“i have no idea-“ billie beginds to say.

“dont over think it” you butt in.

“new or old?”

“new-ish” you reply, tryna help her out.

billie’s face shows utter confusion as she answers, “you like so many of my songs though”

“of course!”

“i mean, maybe skinny?” billie confirms her guess.

“good guess! it’s what was i made for”

“awww, you cutiepatootie” bille coos at you, “i literally forgot that song existed” she laughs.

“how?!” you question her, “i literally play it everyday.”

“i wanna eat a wing!” billie interrupts you, whining in her baby voice. the two of you really should have eaten before you go here.

“well you got it wrong so go ahead, baby” you laugh at her childish behavior.

“oooo, yum dude” billie comments once she’s taken a bite.

the director speaks to you from behind the cameras, “y/n, why did you pick what was i made for?”

“well,” you think on it, “i got to tag along with billie. we became part of the barbie entourage which was such a fun group to be part of. i just liked leeching” you joke.

“how’s the spice hitting?” the director goes on to ask billie.

“it’s great. just a little hard to think” she smiles at the camera.

now her turn to read a carsd, billie reads aloud, “couple test!” in a voice of mockery.

“what is my biggest fear?”

“surely it has to be something being under your bed. or furniture in general. you still jump up into bed from three feet out.”

“close! good answer. but nope. it is the salt monster” billie corrects you.

“oh yeah!” you laugh, clapping your hands in enjoyment.

“ok. fuck” you huff, preparing to eat another wing.

“i thought you were gonna get that one” she says

“sorry” you mumble as you take a bite.

“dont say sorry, my love. i just feel bad you have to eat another wing” billie reaches her hand out across the table for yours.

you smile at her kind ways.

“that one wasn’t so bad. the first one just lingers for so long. at least it’s yummy soy” you ramble on with your mouth full.

while you read out the next card, billie sits across from you, watching your mouth as you read. her own mouth is slightly swollen from the hot sauce. she looks how she looks in the bedroom… you shoudn’t be thinking of this right now.

“rank these artists form most to least tanented” you furrow your eyebrows as you speak, knowing this will be a tough one for billie.

“woah! who?!” she asks you, looking frightened already.

“tyler the creator, lana del rey, childish gambino, and justin bieber”

“i dont know if i can do it” billie shakes her head.

you nod understandingly, “ok, well, eat a death wing then.”

billie picks up a wing, bringing it to her face to smell it before she takes a bite. she hesitates and says, “it’s the lips that are a problem. the mouth is fine.”

“really? yeah, they do look a little red my love” you tease her.

billie goes ahead and takes a bite, doing her best to avoid her lips.

“you eat like a horse” you casually observe her, just saying what’s on your mind.

“hey! rude!” billie shouts back.

“not normally, just, with your lips all curled up like that” you scoff.

“mmm, yum!” billie expresses with her hand. “what’s awesome about hot ones is when the interview is over, we get to KEEP suffering.”

“true, true” you nod.

“alright,” billie says, “wildcard.”

as she says it, horns start to blare around the room, startling you both. you look utterly exhausted by the commotion whereas billie looks like a deer in headlights. she turns her head to the direction of the noise, her whole body jumping in a fright.

“what the fuck, dude” you say to the director, tired of their antics.

billie begins to read out another card, “it’s trajish- it’s a trajish- WOAH!” but her words come put as complete jibberish. clearly the spice is getting to her head.

you tease her blunder, “purrrr, exactly what i was thinking, bil!”

“shut up” she glares at you, “it’s tradition around here to put a little extra on the last wing. you and your opponent can add an extra dab to your final wings now.”

you simply let out a long sigh at the suggestion and take a sip of water whilst billie takes off her flannel.

“what’s the question?” you interrogate billie.

“give me a second, mama” she glares at you again. “don’t smile at me… challenge your other half to a compliement battle. first person to smile must eat a death wing.”

taking another chug of water, you say nothing, but silently hope for the pain in your mouth to ease. you just stare in front of you blankly.

“dude this is so sad” billie says, “i don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“that’s sweet, but not true” you side eye her.

billie’s mouth falls wide open and she kicks your leg under the table in annoyance at your innuendo.

“see! she’s even kicking me now” you make eye contact with the cameras.

the director steps in, counting you two down to your compliement battle.

“1… 2… 3… go!” he says.

billie goes first, “you’re the most talented person i know.”

no smile from you, the game continues.

“you’re a fast driver” you scoff, your face still neutral, “you’ve never been in a car accident, right?”

billie looks up and to the side, “um, nope. but is that even a compliment?”

she continues, “you’re the smartest person i know.”

“bil, i feel like you already said that.”

suddenly, all of your hearing goes black, all you can hear is a high-pitched ringing in your left ear. “i’ve gone deaf in one ear!” you cackle.

billie’s head shoots up like a meercat, she peers around the room looking for reassurance that you’re ok. her eyes fall on you now, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

you giggle the pain away, playing it off with a blasé “that’s crazy.”

billie begins to giggle alongside you, no longer worrying for her baby, but finding it funny now. she proceeds to put an extra dab of hot sauce on your wing, no regard for your recent injury.

“holy shit, billie. that’s so much” you take the wing and wipe some of the sauce off onto billie’s wing.

maggie cackles from behing the camera.

“uhm…” you think, “you look good in the DUMBEST fucking clothing” you ‘compliment’ her.

at this, billie lets out the loudest cackle, your favorite laugh of hers echoing around the room.

knowing she’s just lost, billie goes ahead and picks up the final wing.

“i laughed too, though” you pick up a wing as well, in solidarity.

“are you good, though?” billie checks in with you.

“it cant get worse” you shrug.

billie raises her eyebrows in a ‘for real?!’ look, “it can! it totally can.”

“well, bone apple teeth” you cheers your wings together

“love you” billie says before she takes a bite. as soon as she does, “ugh! that’s disgusting!”

“it’s a tie!” the producer calls out.

“a tie?! i didn’t take one sip of drink the whole time!” billie tries to bargain her way into a win.

“you’re so competetive” you roll your eyes, “billie, who doesn’t have enough trophies…” you joke, “congratulations, this is yours” you hand her the trophy.

billie holds up the plastic chicken wing triumphantly and makes a speech, “thank you so much for having me on the show…”

her sentence trails off and she just looks around the room for a long pregnant pause. the room fills with laughter at her comedic timing.

“stream hit me hard and soft… i’m like feeling the need to tell you all the people i’ve ever hooked up with for some reason” she rambles on.

“ahahaha” you burst out laughing.

billie goes to take a bit of the trophy but to no avail, “oh my god! you didn’t even make that a little bit edible.”

at his, the room erupts into applause and you two have finished the interview.

“good job, baby” you congratulate billie on her win.

“thanks, love” billie stands up and walks over to you. “are you ok?” she asks.

“i think i have hot sauce in my eye” you laugh while rubbing your eyes.

“come here” billie commands as she dips a clean serviette into her ice water. she goes to wipe your eyes and clean them out.

“better?” billie questions you, your face cupped in her hand.

“much” you cheese before leaning in for a kiss.

billie steps back and goes back towards her seat before yelling in a silly voice, “should i eat the last one… or nah?!”

you laugh at her, stopped by her hurling her chair into the distance.

“steve from blues clues throws a chair into the liminal space” you joke, causing billie to keel over in laughter.

[floralcyanide]

― ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴊᴀᴠɪ

After realizing you've had enough of being single, you decide to branch out further into your romantic life on a whim. What you don't expect is to meet someone as a result. or ; In which you converse in letters and phone calls with Javi Rivera, an active-duty military man.

part two

↝ pairing: Javier "Javi" Rivera / Fem!Reader

↝ warnings: long distance, reader has anxiety, kinda slow burn?, kissing, mentions of death

↝ word count: 5.3k

↝ author's note: I enjoyed writing this so much. this is the first time I've written something this long in a while. I hope ya'll enjoy! there will definitely be a part two and it's gonna be spicy so be prepared. (;

masterlist ⋇ divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Your dating life has reached a new low. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge- none of them work for you despite your incessant attempts. It’s so bad that your friends have set you up on blind dates, all of which fail or turn into what people like to call situationships. You end up wasting your time on someone thinking it’s going great, and then suddenly, it ends in a fiery crash or sometimes plain old rejection. You’re so tired of dating. Even your university campus has no luck in the dating pool. But then, one night (after drinking too much box wine and scrolling through dating apps begrudgingly), your best friend has an idea.

“Have you ever like, dated long distance?” they ask, swirling their wine around their glass.

“Not really,” you shrug, taking a sip from yours, “I feel like it’d be harder than dating someone close by, which is already a lot.”

“True,” they sigh, “Ooh! Maybe use one of those pen pal apps?” 

“Pen pal apps?” you raise an eyebrow, locking your phone before tossing it on the couch in disgust, “What am I, nine years old?”

Your best friend rolls their eyes, “It’s not something just kids do, you know. A lot of people make genuine connections through letters. It’s a lot better than Tinder or some shitty dating app at this point. You may as well try.”

“I guess you’re right,” you glance down at your phone, “I’m running out of options here.”

After Googling and scrolling through search results, you hum, “Maybe I could do one of the military pen pal programs. That seems promising.”

“Yes! Get you a military man!” your best friend squeals, and you can’t help the giddy smile that grows on your lips.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you say, and your best friend shakes your shoulder excitedly, “But if it doesn’t work out, I’m just going to die alone, I guess. At this point, it’s less stressful.”

Your best friend snorts, “If we make it to thirty and we’re both still single, we could get married.”

“I love you, but if I had to spend the rest of my life with you, I’d probably go insane.”

“You have some killer jokes, kid. You’re already stuck with me, so sorry.”

That following day, you do a deep dive into all things pen-palling. You decide to sit down at your desk and type up a letter, but it feels too wrong like it needs to be handwritten instead. So, you move your laptop aside, pull out some notebook paper and a pencil, and start your first letter. Except, you aren’t sure what to say first. Then, when you start writing, your handwriting annoys you, and after that, you think your tone is off. You end up scrapping half a tree by the time you start actually writing a decent letter. You introduce yourself and state where you’re from, explaining you’re in college and what you wish to do after graduating. You don’t dive into too much detail but give enough away so your possible pen pal has something to respond to. You also sprinkle in some questions for them to answer as well. You reread your letter, finally satisfied with what you’ve written, before folding it and sliding it into an envelope. You go back to your phone to see where to send the letter, writing down the location along with your name and address on the front.

Life goes on for a little while, and you actually forget you sent a letter to some random person in the military until one day, your best friend is sifting through the mail you tossed onto your counter.

“Uhh, what’s this?” they call out from the kitchen as you surf through Netflix in the living room.

“What’s what?”

“You got a letter from some dude named Javier?” your best friend says it as more of a question than a statement.

You scrunch up your nose and eyebrows in confusion before finally settling on a show you and your best friend have seen a million times already, walking into the kitchen.

“Let me see.”

Your best friend hands over the letter, and you scan the envelope carefully. Javier Rivera. It doesn’t sound familiar to you, but then you notice where the letter is from.

“Oh shit,” you flip the envelope over and tear it open.

“What is it?”

“It’s the pen pal thing!” you say, voice raised in shock, “I didn’t think someone would actually respond.”

“Oh yeah,” your best friend nods, “I forgot about that. I figured you chickened out on it because you never mentioned it again.”

“I didn’t chicken out,” you trail off, taking in the meticulous handwriting of the letter.

Dearest Pen Pal,

Thank you for sending your letter. I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much it meant to me to receive it. I’m Javier, but everyone calls me Javi. I’m the same age as you and have been to college myself. I joined the military for personal reasons, but I haven’t regretted it yet. Your career path seems interesting, and I hope you succeed in the rest of your studies. 

Your best friend hovers over your shoulder, also reading the letter.

“He seems cute,” your best friend giggles.

Javi answers some of your random questions and goes on to say he anticipates your next letter. He also says that if you’d like, he’d send a photo of himself next time. Your best friend has a field day with that.

“Oh my gosh! What if he’s hot?” they gasp.

“Who knows? I wouldn’t care if he wasn’t, anyway. It’s cool to talk to someone I’ve never met over letters.”

“True. But bonus points if he is hot.”

You scoff as you fold the letter up and put it back in the envelope.

When your best friend leaves later on, you immediately bolt to your desk and write your letter. 

Dear Javi,

I’m glad my letter found you well. Thanks for the hope in me, I definitely need it. College is fun, but it’s super exhausting. I don’t think I asked in my last letter, but where are you from? Also, what did you major in while in school? I’d love to see what you look like and put a face to your name. What military branch are you in, and what do you want to do with your experience when you’re back in the States? Sorry for all the questions again! I’m just super curious about things. If this letter reaches you sooner than later this time around, I hope you have a great Thanksgiving.

You wrap up your letter, albeit a little shorter than the last one, and slip it into your mailbox ASAP. This time, you won’t forget you sent it.

When the following letter arrives, it’s early December. You hastily remove your scarf, coat, and wet snow boots at your front door before opening the letter immediately. When you pull the letter from the envelope, a photo falls onto the floor. You pick it up, and it’s a small picture of who you assume is Javi, all decked out in his military uniform. Okay, your best friend was right on the money, he is pretty cute.

Dearest Pen Pal,

I had a decent Thanksgiving. I hope yours was better than mine! I’m from Miami, Florida. I went to school in Muskogee, Oklahoma, and while I was there, I studied weather phenomena and chased storms. It was a whole thing, but I’ll get into that later. And I don’t mind all the questions. I think it’ll be fun getting to know each other. 

Javi explains what branch he’s in and also admits he doesn’t know what he’s going to do after the military as of yet. He talks about his Thanksgiving and wishes you a Merry Christmas if he doesn’t get to communicate with you before then. You decide to send a photo of yourself back to him, digging out your Polaroid camera when you go to your bedroom to respond to his letter. You touch up your makeup a little and make sure your hair isn’t absolutely a mess before taking a photo. Sitting down to write your letter, you aren’t sure how to react to the photo Javi sent. You don’t want to be weird, but you also want him to know that you think he’s attractive. 

Dear Javi,

I love the photo you sent, and you look pretty dapper in your uniform. I’m sending a picture of myself, too. Chasing storms sounds very interesting. Please tell me more about that! 

You rattle off some things you have done while in school, talking about the places you have traveled to over the years and the people you’ve met. You gush about your best friend, especially. 

So far, you’re probably the most intriguing person I’ve talked to, Javi. Not everyone can say they’re a storm chaser, you add. 

You polish off your letter, which ends up being two pages long (three if you count the back on the first page, too.) You neatly fold up the paper and slide it into an envelope. You don’t expect a reply until New Year because of the amount of mail that will be coming in and out of the base. Javi is stationed on the other side of the country from you and may be moved out of the country if needed. 

As you expected, it isn’t until a month and a half later that you receive a letter from Javi again. It’s a long letter- a few pages total this time. The letter is in a Christmas card, and it’s signed by Javi. You immediately hang the card on your refrigerator door so you can look at it daily. He talks about how his holidays went, how all the guys on his base called home or were able to FaceTime their family. Javi asks how your holidays have gone and showers you with compliments over the photo you sent him. You can’t help but feel your stomach flutter at his words. 

Over the next few months, you and Javi write back and forth diligently. You know just about everything about Javi, and he knows almost everything about you. You feel like there’s something he’s keeping from you, possibly the storm chasing he had brought up, but you don’t push it. He will tell you when he’s ready. And there’s also some stuff about your life you’d rather wait to explain as well. In your last letter, you wrote your email and phone number so that Javi can communicate with you in other ways. You’re able to guess how long it takes the letters to get to Javi, so around the time you expect them to get to him, you’re giddy. You anxiously await a phone call or email any day now.

It’s August when your phone rings with a call from an unknown number. You have had such a long day- school for several hours, then work immediately after in the evening. You can’t help but wonder who could be calling at 9 pm. You make yourself comfy on the couch with your favorite beverage before answering the phone.

“Hello?” 

“Hi, it’s Javi. Is this the right number?”

You nearly choke on your sip of drink, “Oh shit. Hi! Yes, this is the right number!”

Javi laughs from the other end, and you decide you want to hear that laugh again so badly. 

“Sorry I’m calling so late over there. The phone was surprisingly available, and I got your letter today saying I could call. So I did,” Javi said.

“It’s okay,” you shrug, even though he can’t see, “I just got home from work, actually. So perfect timing.”

“Great. How was your day?”

The two of you spend about an hour on the phone, relishing having an actual conversation in real time.

“I’m so glad to finally hear your voice,” Javi says after a natural pause in conversation, “That’s not too cheesy, right?”

You snort, “It kind of is, but it’s cute. I’m glad to hear your voice, too.”

After another ten minutes, Javi sadly admits that he has to hang up since it’s almost dinner time where he is. 

“We should talk again sometime if you’re able to,” you smile, biting at your fingernail nervously.

You hope he calls again, but letters will always suffice just fine.

“I’ll try my best. Maybe sometime next week?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, pulling the phone away from your ear so you can silently kick your feet in excitement.

“Alright, then. Talk to you later,” Javi says.

“See ya,” you grin, and the call concludes.

It isn’t the following week that he calls, but the week after that. Javi discloses that he sent a surprise in the letter he just mailed. He also slips up and says it’s almost his birthday, and you immediately have an idea. After your long conversation on the phone, asking some questions here and there about certain things he likes that you didn’t already know before, you decide to send Javi a package.

You send a postcard from your home state, some non-perishable snacks, socks that were his favorite color that he could wear when not on base, notebooks he could write letters in, some fun pens to go with the notebooks, and a birthday card. After signing it, you leave a lip print on the card just to test the waters. You’ve come to really like Javi over the last year, and you wonder if he likes you back. Sometimes, he’ll be flirty in letters or over the phone, but nothing too crazy. Nothing that gives you alarm bells that he likes you in the way that you like him. So, you’re taking a leap of faith. 

A few weeks after sending the package, you get Javi's phone call while doing some class work at your desk. You spin around in the chair aimlessly as you answer the phone.

“A kiss, huh? That’s cute.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little something to remind you of me,” you say.

“It’s definitely not nothing,” Javi teases, “I think you want to kiss me.”

 Your ears grow hot at the sound of Javi’s voice deepening in playfulness.

“And so what if I do? There’s nothing you can do about it,” you bite back with just as much playfulness.

“Are you sure about that?” Javi says, a knowing lilt in his voice.

“What do you mean?” you furrow your eyebrows, stopping the chair from spinning entirely so you can focus.

“I’m most likely coming home for Christmas this year, but I still have to work out some stuff,” Javi says, an edge of excitement in his voice, “I’d like to possibly see you.”

“Oh,” you say, your voice squeaking, “Really? You want to see me?”

“Of course I wanna see you,” Javi chuckles, “We’ve been corresponding for a while. I’d like to finally see you in person.”

You suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up, but in a good way. You’re sick with nervous excitement. 

“O-okay,” you grin, “I’ll be finished with the semester at the beginning of December. Depending on when and where you want to meet, I can ask off from work.”

Javi has family not too far from where you live, and he wants to stop and see, so the two of you agree to meet in a city that’s basically halfway. December 20th is the day you’re supposed to meet Javi after a year of conversing through letters and over the phone. Who would have thought, right? That some random idea from your best friend would have led you here? Speaking of which, your best friend is beside themselves with excitement just like you. You called them immediately after hanging up with Javi.

“When you get married, make sure to thank me!” they say half-jokingly.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, trying to stifle a grin, “What if we don’t like each other when we meet, though? What if it’s awkward? What if we don’t have anything to talk about? What if-”

“Hush!” your best friend shushes you, “It will go fine. It will go great. In fact, you’re going to have a splendid time.”

“I guess you’re right,” you sigh, eyeballing the photo of Javi you have pinned to your corkboard over your desk.

“I’m always right,” your best friend giggles.

It’s now the end of your semester, and you’re beyond excited for a few reasons. In a week, you meet Javi, and this coming Spring semester is your last. So, for the time being, you’ll be finished with college. You come home from your final exam and start making a packing list. You’re staying at a hotel in the city where you’re meeting Javi for a day or two, depending on how things go. You have so much to do before going on the mini trip that if you didn’t have a list planned out for everything, your head would surely fly off your shoulders. You have to wrap gifts for your friends and family, pack your bag, clean your apartment, and put up decorations for the party you and your best friend are throwing for Christmas. 

Deciding to surprise Javi, you get him a gift for Christmas. It’s a wool sweater you think will fit nicely and a beautiful, deep color that you figure will compliment his skin tone. You carefully put the sweater in a robe box, taping the sides shut and signing your name on the tag before putting it under the Christmas tree. You managed to put up the large tree by your lonesome and didn’t kill yourself doing it, so you considered it a win. After wrapping a few more gifts and stuffing them under your tree, you check the time. It’s a little past dinnertime, and you decide it’s probably best to finally pack your bag for tomorrow. 

A melatonin gummy is definitely in your future so you can get some sleep, or else you’ll toss and turn in an anxious fit all night. After finishing up packing as lightly as you can muster, you settle into bed. When you wake in the morning, you get a text from an unknown number, which you assume is from Javi’s cell, letting you know he is getting on his flight. You almost quite literally jump out of bed before hitting the shower and getting ready. You take your time fixing your hair and makeup, picking out a cute but comfortable outfit for your 2-hour drive. 

After getting your belongings and the gift inside your car, you shoot your best friend a text letting them know you’re leaving your apartment and that you’ll text when you get to the airport. Taking a few deep breaths, you crank your car and head off. You are deep in your thoughts the entire ride, not evening singing along to your music most of the time. What if Javi decides he isn’t impressed by what he sees? You try to push away your anxiety as you near the airport. Finding parking after circling around for a while, you hurry to grab the gift and go inside. It’s hectic, considering it’s five days until Christmas, but you get through TSA without a hitch. You find the coffee shop where you and Javi agreed to meet and sit at a table in the corner. You scroll through social media, trying not to panic. You text back and forth with your best friend for a while until you receive a message from Javi saying he’s landed. Suddenly, an icy, numbing nervousness runs through your veins. You take a deep breath and tell yourself it will be okay, and everything will be fine. 

You decide to meet Javi at his gate and return to the coffee shop. Getting up from your seat, you shake yourself off a little before walking to the gate where Javi is to exit his flight. You aimlessly check your phone every five minutes out of anxiety. People start to leave from the corridor, dragging their carry-ons with them. Suddenly, you spot Javi walking out with the crowd, his face turned downward at his phone. When he looks up, he has to do a double-take when he sees you. You can’t help the grin that plasters your face.

“Hi,” Javi grins back as he approaches you, taking in your appearance fully for the first time, “Is it okay if I hug you?”

“You don't have to ask, silly,” you roll your eyes playfully, setting the gift by your feet before allowing Javi to pull you into him.

You wrap your arms around him, your nose buried in his shoulder. He’s dressed in his uniform, much to your delight, meaning you get to see how handsome he looks in person. 

“Don’t tell me that’s for me,” Javi gives you a jokingly dissatisfied look when he pulls away from you, his eyes darting to the gift beside you. 

“Would you kill me if it was?” you say, picking it up and handing it to him.

“Nah,” Javi waves you off, leaning down to dig in his carry-on for something, “Besides, I got you something, too.”

“Javi,” you drag out his name in annoyance, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did. It’s Christmas,” Javi smiles, secretly enjoying how you say his name in person.

You both go to baggage claim and the coffee shop before opening your gifts. You and Javi match each others’ stride, your hands accidentally brushing against one another a few times. Finally, Javi decides to throw caution to the wind and grabs your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. You glance down before smiling at him, trying to hide how giddy you are from the simple gesture. When you arrive at the coffee shop, you sit in the same corner you were previously in and settle in your seats.

“So,” Javi slides his gift over to you, pulling his toward him, “What’d you get me?”

“Why don’t you open it and see?” you lean over the table in wait, your smile from earlier still not quite leaving your lips.

“That I will do,” Javi says, carefully opening his gift.

“This is a lovely color,” he pulls the sweater out and fully takes it in, “Very soft. You did a great job because I love sweaters.”

“I’m glad you love it,” you sink into your seat with relief.

“Now, open yours,” Javi pushes your gift in your direction with a single finger. 

“Is it going to explode in my face?” you joke as you pull the wrapping off.

“I swear it won’t,” Javi laughs.

You open the box to reveal a beautiful necklace with your birthstone dangling from the chain. 

“This looks expensive, Javi. Please tell me you didn’t spend an arm and a leg on this,” you gasp.

“No promises,” Javi shrugs, getting up from his seat and walking behind you, holding out a hand for the necklace, “May I?”

You gently place the jewelry into his palm, lifting your hair so Javi can put the necklace around your neck. His fingers brush your skin lightly as he clasps the chain successfully, “There we go.”

Javi sits and admires how the necklace falls onto your collarbone with a glimmer in his eyes, “Looks beautiful on you.”

You’re nearly this close to being on the floor, curled into an inconsolable ball. Instead of doing that, you cover your face in embarrassment. 

“Gosh, thank you for the gift, Javi,” you move your hands from your face, “I wasn’t expecting something so stunning. I would’ve gotten you something slightly better if I had known.”

“You can’t sit here and tell me this wool sweater wasn’t pricey enough. It’s okay, you know. Besides, I like giving gifts I know someone will love; the price doesn’t matter.”

You sigh, shaking your head with a smile and resting your chin on your fist, “Whatever you say, Javi.”

Javi mimics your position but reaches his other hand out to wrap it around your wrist gently, “I love it when you say my name.”

You stare at each other momentarily, just taking each other in. It had been a year of wondering what Javi was like in person- how tall he was, how he smelled, how he carried himself. You realize he has a million freckles on his face that you never noticed in the photos he sent. Javi brushes his thumb over your pulse point, and you’re close to losing your composure. You’re both so wrapped up in drinking each other in that you nearly jump out of your skin when the barista calls someone’s name for their order.

You compose yourself, but Javi lightly chuckles at your facial expression.

“I’m super awkward sometimes, but you know that already,” you try to joke about the situation instead of dying of shyness. 

“It’s okay, I think it’s cute.”

“You’re going to make me turn into a puddle if you don’t stop,” you cover your face again, the tips of your ears burning.

Javi just laughs again. You realize his laugh is better in person than over the phone.

Over your order of coffee and iced tea, you and Javi decide to have a proper dinner later on in the day. Both of you are pretty tired and would appreciate refreshing yourselves at your respective hotels first. You hold hands again while exiting the airport and offer Javi a ride to where he’s staying.

“It’s just a walk down the block. I’ll be fine.”

“But it’s cold,” you frown.

“I’ll live, I promise.” Javi pulls your head to his chest before planting a kiss on the top of it.

Your body grows warm at the endearing gesture, “See you later?’

“See you later,” Javi smiles before making his way out of the parking garage.

You immediately call your best friend when you get in the car and discuss how the initial meeting went while on your way to the hotel.

“Did you kiss?!” they squeal.

“Not yet,” you say, “I don’t expect anything to happen today. We held hands, though.”

“Spicy!” your best friend says, “Next thing you know, you’ll be having kids.”

“Will you ever be quiet?” you jokingly ask your best friend.

You take a well-needed nap after checking into the hotel, setting an alarm for an hour from the time you laid down. When you wake up, you notice it’s snowing outside. The place Javi wants to take you is a few blocks away from his and your hotels, and you figure you’ll enjoy the snow during your walk.

You fix your makeup a little and add some final touches here and there to your face and hair before deciding on one of the skirts you brought. A thick sweater and some tights are thrown with it, and you’re ready to go. Javi shoots you a message asking if you’re ready, and you respond quickly before leaving the hotel. The evening is pleasant, with the snow falling softly for the entire duration of your walk. When you arrive at the restaurant, Javi is waiting for you at the door, as handsome as ever in some black slacks, a dress shirt, and a heavy petticoat draped over his shoulders. He wraps an arm around you as you both enter the restaurant, where you’re immediately whisked away to a table with a nice view. Wine is ordered, and you take a moment to drink Javi in as he sits across from you. You nearly have to pinch yourself to believe this is real and actually happening.

“So,” you lean forward, hand tucked under your chin, “You never told me about your endeavors while in college. I’ve been dying to know about that storm chasing you brought up but never knew when to ask.”

Javi smiles, “Yes, it was a very wild time in my life. I don’t talk about it often. What did you want to know?”

“Why did you do it? Just curious.”

“Well, Javi clears his throat, “It was actually my best friend Kate’s idea. She had this big project that required extensive information about storms and tornadoes in particular.”

“Gotcha,” you lean back in your chair, “Ever see any scary storms?”

“We saw a few, but the scariest one was a five on the Fujita scale. It didn’t end very well for us,” Javi casts his eyes down.

“You don’t have to keep talking about it if you don’t want to,” you reach out your hand to put on top of Javi’s, sensing the topic is touchy.

“No, it’s something you need to know about me. So I’ll tell you,” he explains, “It was me, Kate, and three of our other friends, Addy, Praveen, and Jeb, working on the project together. We didn’t anticipate the tornado to be as strong as it got, and everyone but Kate and I ended up dying as a result of being caught in the storm.”

“I’m so sorry, Javi. That sounds scary and awful. I’m glad you made it through that,” you frown, and Javi meets your eyes for a moment.

“Sometimes I wonder why I’m one of the ones who survived. It bothered me a lot, so much that I decided to drop out of college and go into the military. I needed some stability in my life after that.”

“I understand,” you say, “We can talk about something else if you’d like. I know this is probably hard for you to think about.”

The rest of the evening is spent laughing over stories of Javi and his late friends and the ones he’s made in the military. You tell him wild stories of you and your best friend, some of which he couldn’t believe. After a few too many glasses of wine, the two of you decide to call it a night. 

“I had a wonderful time,” you say as Javi hooks your arm with his, and the two of you leave the restaurant.

It’s still snowing lightly, and the temperature has dropped significantly. You pull your coat closer to your chest. Javi notices and opts to wrap his arm around you, pulling you into his side to warm you. 

“I had a great time, too,” Javi grins. 

He walks you to your hotel, and you thank him for dinner. 

“Heading out in the morning?” you ask as the two of you stand outside the hotel entrance.

“Yes,” Javi says, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, “I’m seeing my aunt and uncle and then heading to Miami for my parents and sister.”

“That’s good,” you nod, “I am having a Christmas party with some friends and family in a  few days, and I’m looking forward to it.”

“Sounds fun,” Javi says, and you notice the two of you don’t really want to depart quite yet, but you must.

“You should probably get back. It’s getting cold and late,” you nudge Javi’s arm with yours.

“Yeah, I should,” he trails off, his eyes not leaving yours.

For a moment, you stare into Javi’s eyes, taking in their color and the length of his eyelashes. Before you realize it, you’re both leaning in. Javi slides his hand up your neck to cup your face, his skin warm despite the freezing air. He guides your face to his, his eyes fluttering shut as he gently presses his lips to yours. Your eyes close, too, and you allow Javi to take control of the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. When it’s time for air, you both pull away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Javi whispers, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Same here,” you say, playing with the curls at the nape of Javi’s neck.

“I should get going,” Javi frowns, “But I will definitely keep in touch the best I can over the next few days.”

“Okay,” you say, “Enjoy your Christmas.”

Javi begins to walk away, and you turn to go inside your hotel. But then Javi pauses, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Wait, what are you doing New Year's Eve?” he asks, and you can’t help the grin that sneaks up on your face.

“Depends. What are you doing?”

“Anything with you.”

[lilgarbitch]

The Voice of an Angel- Matt Dierkes

Part One

Pairing: Matt Dierkes x PornBlog!Reader

Cw: Smut, Masterbation (f and m), sappy freak!Matt

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: Doing something a little different. The story seemed to work best if I wrote time in phases, so I hope it doesn’t ruin it😬 And I couldn’t tell you where this idea came from. I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone write something like this, but I did the best I could❤️ I hope you enjoy

Tags: @xmads-omensx @dontwantthemoney @theanarchymuse95 @badomensgoodomens

Y/N | Wednesday 2:36 PM

Kicking off the floor and rolling my chair over to my computer, I plug my phone into the cord and begin transferring the audio file. I should really get a microphone for this, but I’m still somewhat new to this… Yeah, I definitely need to start doing research on vamping up my equipment.

I plug my headphones into the laptop once the file was finished so I could listen back over the audio, making sure it’s suitable to be posted. I live alone, and literally just made all of these noises out loud, but I still get a little weirded out playing it without headphones and need to be able to listen to every detail, making sure there were no weird noises in the background.

Clicking on the file, my voice starts playing through. It took some time for me to get used to hearing me say certain things and make these noises, hell, it took me a good while to even hit ‘record’ when doing this, but once I got enough praise from people online, it just became routine. 

My slightly over exaggerated moans and whimpers fill my ears, and I can’t lie, I was pleased with the quality. IPhones have good microphones. It sometimes even picked up the sound of my vibrator or how wet I was based on how close I had the mic to me, and my followers always enjoy that.

After spending about twenty minutes editing out small distracting background noises, I opened Twitter and connected the file to a post, captioning it, "You know exactly how to pull these pretty sounds from me,” before hitting post and then proceeding to do the same for my tumblr blog. 

Almost instantly, my phone starts going crazy from those who have my post notifications on, and I read every comment with a smile on my face.

It may seem weird to many people, but I truly enjoy doing this. I get to turn a common activity into a side hustle, and it pleases both guys and girls when they find my pages. And most of them are the sweetest when they reply. They’re usually all horny replies, but unless I post something that instigates them to degrade me, they always choose to be super sweet.

I scroll through some replies and the likes from my followers, and even some who always come back but choose not to follow me because they don’t want others to know. It was nice seeing repeated faces. Like I created a space for them to feel safe to be open about something so lewd. 

That’s when I got a notification from my Cash App that’s linked to my accounts, causing a small smile to form on my face when reading the name. ThotxPleaser had been a loyal follower for a while now. He’s following my Twitter, Tumblr, subscribed to my Patreon, and here he is again, sending me a gift. 

ThotxPleaser- $250

Sounded beautiful as always, Angel❤️ 

I really wished that his gift had caused a bigger smile, but I knew this anonymous person’s actions too well by now. He usually gave me a sweet nickname, but today he just used my pseudonym, Angel, and it wouldn’t be worrying, if he also didn’t send the donation right after I posted, again. He always tried to send appreciation ‘when he had the chance,’ even commenting that he was too busy sometimes and felt bad for seeing my posts so late, so it was abnormal that he was so on top of it for the third post in a row, almost as if he was waiting for my posts as a pick-me-up. I know that was cocky thinking, but he’s said before that my posts have made his day, giving me a grateful gift to prove it, so it wasn’t that far off of an assumption. I just hope he’s doing okay.

Matt | Wednesday 2:59 PM

I crash into my bed with a groan. We’re getting everything situated for tour next week and I’ve been working my ass off doing almost all the work. The boys and our team do the best that they can, but I’m the one they run to when problems surface, and with the dates coming faster and faster, everyone is running rampant with anxiety and constantly on my ass needing help with the most obvious things. I know we’re all stressed but every part of my job other than actually getting them on that tour bus is done. 

I told them all to give me at least the rest of the day off to unwind. Any problems that come to head today can easily be fixed tomorrow. I warned them that I was switching my phone to Do Not Disturb so even if they tried to contact me, I won’t answer.

It was a lie, though. I would never actually do that to them and hopefully they know that. I just need them to understand and leave me be for at least a few hours before I burn out. And, of course, almost right as I thought that, my phone went off. 

With a loud groan, I turned my phone over and glared at it, trying to read what the hell the problem was now, but then my heart skipped as I read the notification. 

Angel💋 

You know exactly how to pull these pretty sounds from me

My breath hitched as I read it and I instantly felt blood rush to my other head. This had to mean that she finally posted a new audio clip. I instantly clicked on it, desperately needing to hear her to put me in a better mood. My fingers eagerly tap at the back of my phone as it takes a minute to load up Twitter, but when it finally does, I see the audio file and click ‘play’. 

I shove my face into my pillow and place my phone next to my head as I let her voice and moans fill my ears. As the audio plays, I can feel myself getting harder. But I am too fucking tired to do anything about that right now. I truly just needed to hear her sweet voice in a time like this. I could listen to her for hours. It doesn’t matter if it’s her talking dirty or making these sweet noises. Hell, she could start a damn podcast and talk about the weather and it would still make my day. Something about her voice always brought me out of any rut that I’m in. 

The audio ends and I finally look back at my phone. I debated on playing it again, just to hear her, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to show her some gratitude and appreciation. 

I open up Cash App, using the account that wasn’t under my real name, and send her a simple note. I didn’t have enough energy to put too much thought into it, but she deserved something after boosting my mood. After I sent it, I closed my phone and shoved my face back into my pillow, this time with a small smile. Within minutes, I was out like a light, dreaming of what she could possibly look like, and having a chance to actually have her speak to me, just to be able to hear more of her voice. 

Y/N | Saturday 6:23 PM

It’s been a few days since the last donation from ThotxPleaser. I try to post a few suggestive posts a day if I’m in the mood, and every single one was instantly liked by him, but that was it. No flirty comments, just what seemed like he was already on his phone when I posted and a simple like. I know I shouldn’t worry about a random follower, but he has always been so sweet and supportive. Plus, as creepy as it may seem, I end up paying close attention to my supporters, and it was obvious that he was acting different than usual. 

I tried pushing the worry out of my mind the best I could, not needing to stress over a damn audio blog supporter, but I couldn’t help the fact that my mind wandered, thinking of what could possibly be happening in his life that he was too busy to show his usual appreciation, but still forcing him to be one of the first likes on every single post, audio or not. What could he possibly be dealing with that made him seem like he was so busy that he barely had time to do much, yet he still went out of his way to give me a hint of support? Fuck, I’m sounding insane. Am I overthinking this so much that I truly believe this man was using my moaning audios and lewd posts as his main form of serotonin? God, I need to fix my ego. He’s probably just losing interest and slowly weaning me off his attention…Okay, Y/N, he’s a fucking follower. He doesn’t care about ghosting you. You’ve never even spoken. Why are you so obsessed anyway?

I let out a groan, getting annoyed with my own thoughts. I realized that I was staring at the ceiling, worrying about someone I don't even know, so I quickly sat up and grabbed my phone, hoping that doom scrolling could help distract me…and make me feel less embarrassed.

I open Instagram and my eyes instantly land on the story bar. I scroll through the orange and green circles, hoping to find someone interesting, when I finally do. Matt Dierkes had a new story. I click on it and instantly giggle, seeing that, of course, it was another raccoon meme. Since this was my personal account, I liked his story and went on with doom scrolling.

After seeing only reposted memes and people living their best life, I realized this wasn’t going to give me the entertainment I needed. I close the app and look at my others, before opening Tumblr. Matt was still on my mind. I always found him so cute. I’ve enjoyed Bad Omens’ music for a while now, and definitely found the boys attractive, but something about their tour manager had always caught my eye. He said whatever he wanted and enjoyed things without judgment. I really liked how unique and undeniably him he let himself be.

I try to scroll through my feed, but with him still in my mind, my fingers trailed over to the search bar and I found myself looking up another fanfiction about him. 

After a few…okay maybe a little too many one shots and short stories since I was free tonight, I landed a quite…spicy story, leading me to decide this was the perfect time to create more content. 

With the story playing in my mind like a movie, I set my phone up and hit record. I was too lazy to grab a toy, and was definitely worked up enough that I could easily get this done manual style. Lying back, I slipped my hand down my pants with his face flashing behind my eyes. In the story, he had a little more dominant energy, so I began imagining him taking what he wanted.

My breath picked up as I felt his hands sliding up my thighs, using enough pressure to keep them held to the sides. He had this almost hungry look on his face as I stared down at him. His fingers finally reached the hem of my panties before powerfully yet gracefully sliding them down, like he was teasing me, making me wait. 

I could feel his warm calloused fingers grazing over the softness of my thighs as they trailed towards my core. I began to squirm in anticipation, desperately wanting to grab them and bring them where I needed him most, but I knew if I did, he’d find a way to punish me. 

Finally his hand reached the apex of my thighs and I gasped as he grazed his fingers through my folds. 

I’m getting too desperate, I have to get this little fantasy sped up. I start circling my clit and letting out a soft whine. 

His tongue passes through my slit before finally focusing on the bundle of nerves. My breath picks up as he perfectly laps at it, occasionally circling it with his tongue. As he adds more pressure, I can feel myself getting closer. I look down and see his face between my thighs, causing a small gasp to escape my lips. Once our eyes meet, I let out a breathy moan as my head falls back against the pillow. I can’t control the noises leaving me, the sound of his tongue lapping at my wet core and the image burned into my mind of him staring up at me causing the pleasure to intensify.

As I reached my peak, my mind overwhelmed with ecstasy, I forgot where I was. 

“Ma-“ I let out, before quickly gasping and covering my mouth, hoping I could play that off as a gasp of pleasure and not shock at me almost ruining my audio by saying his name. After catching my breath, I stop the recording and sit there. 

Fuck.

Matt | Saturday 9:47 PM

The guys and I were hanging out at Noah and Jesse’s house, telling ourselves that we needed a night off to relax and leave the stress behind for a few hours. Everyone’s mostly packed and we have at least tonight to just forget about everything, so they were all a few beers and shots in and it was getting kind of rowdy. I made sure to keep my eye on everyone to make sure they didn’t do something stupid. 

I was sitting on the couch as the rest of them either destroyed the kitchen, trying to drunkenly make snacks, or hung out in the backyard, just chatting or getting excited over revisiting places on the tour they enjoyed. I was silently watching them all, using this time to try and force some relaxation into my mind, knowing we agreed that we could take a break from work. I know I could have done this at home, but doing anything with these boys was better than doing it alone, since I could always end up hunched over in laughter at any moment.

I stare off, listening to them loudly argue over which cheese to put in a grilled cheese, and just let my mind wander over how life has been going lately. Thinking about what still needs to be done and what fun things I could try to do before I was slaving away for 3 months on tour, since even when I tried my hardest, I couldn’t push the thought of work away. But then I was pulled out of my thoughts by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that Angel had posted a new audio. God, this is exactly what I needed right now. A small smile formed on my lips, but I quickly went back to a straight face, not wanting anyone to see and question who made me smile or find out that it was a goddamn porn blog. 

I glanced around the room, making sure that everyone’s attention was occupied, before sneaking my way off to the bathroom. I close and lock the door behind me and pull out my Airpods. I know the house was loud, but the thought of them hearing her voice coming from the bathroom was not something I wanted to deal with. 

I put an Airpod in and click on the notification. Once it loaded, I pressed play on the audio. It was a short one, but it was definitely enough to put me in a better mood. Instantly, her sweet sounds filled my ear. Soft airy moans played through my Airpod and I could feel myself growing in my pants. I debated whether it was weirder to jerk off in their bathroom or to leave the bathroom with a hard on, and decided on the latter. 

As her voice played through my headphones like a beautiful melody, I reached my hands down and pulled the waistbands of my shorts and boxers down, letting my growing cock spring free. I turned my hat around, pushing my hair back to keep it out of my face as I leaned my hips against the sink and gripping the edge with one hand. I wrapped my other hand around the base and firmly gripped it. 

She let out soft whimpers with an occasional ‘Fuck’ and I leaned down and let a trail of spit reach my tip, biting back a groan as I collected it and used it to slicken my movements. It was just the perfect amount of lubrication to move at the pace I needed without making any noise. 

I brought my shirt to my teeth and closed my eyes, biting down as I fought back the noises collecting in my throat. I was close to biting through my lip and I didn’t need to get a noticeable mess on my nice tee. Explaining the teeth marks in the fabric would be easy, if their drunken asses even noticed. Her breath picked up, a telltale sign she was close, and that itself caused a tightening in my stomach. I listened to her moans getting higher and higher, subconsciously pumping myself to the beats of her breath. But then, she let out a moan I had never heard before. They were usually whiney and breathless, but this time she used her full chest voice, moaning out a ‘Maa-‘ before gasping and finally letting out her usual whiney sinful moan as she came. 

Something in my brain took that personal. It sounded too close to her moaning my name for me to prepare for the instant rush of pleasure taking over my body. I quickly cupped a hand over my tip as my eyes rolled back, my mind replaying that single sinful syllable over and over as I spilled into my fist. 

I probably bit a hole in my shirt with how hard my teeth clenched as I forced the deep loud moan from coming out. But I didn’t care. I had to hold my weight up with the sink behind me and force myself to catch my breath through my nose as the pleasure in my stomach lasted longer than it ever has before. 

After a few moments, the feeling of my cum threatening to drip from my hand caused me to finally open my eyes and drop my shirt from my teeth as I spun around and turned on the sink. I quickly washed all the evidence down the sink and tucked myself back into my pants before looking up.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, grimacing in post-nut clarity as it hit me how gross what I just did was. Not me jerking off to her, that was normal, but the fact that I had gotten so obsessed that I couldn’t wait until I got home to listen and react. 

I hung my head as I thought about how the fuck I was supposed to get through tour if I couldn’t stop myself from listening to her audios, but also definitely wouldn’t have a way to hide my reaction from them. I just wish I could hear her in any way other than something so erotic. That could hold me over. As long as I didn’t pavlov myself into getting hard just at the sound of her. 

I reach up and fix my cap before grabbing my phone and sending her a like and a comment. 

ThotxPleaser- Could never find a better way to make my day, beautiful. 

I softly laughed at myself as I sent it. I knew I was a freak. She probably thought I was a creep the way it looks like I stalk her with how fast I respond to her posts. But I couldn’t care less. She brought me a happiness I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t the context of her posts. It was her. And I had to show my appreciation, even if I just looked like one of many horndogs in her comments and donations. 

Wait…That was it. 

I fumble with my phone to open up Cashapp, before realizing how long I’ve been in the bathroom. I make my way back to the living room as I think of the perfect way to ask. Sitting down, I debate on the most convincing price to get her to even think of helping me out here. Tour starts Tuesday and with us all together, missing a chunk of change won’t be a problem. I go back and forth in my thoughts for a few minutes, writing and rewriting my message until I think it’s perfect. Finally, I send it and cross my fingers. 

ThotxPleaser- $1,000

All I want is to hear your voice more. Talk about your day, how the weather is treating you, or rant about a TV show you’re watching. I’d listen to you forever. All I ask is if you’d be willing to send me voice memos here and there to get me through my days. Name your price, sunshine. 

PART TWO

[sowhat-whynot]

write a hamzah x reader pregnancy journey and cute moments and headcanons and how happy he is to have a daughter in the end!

Pregnancy journey headcanons!

a/n: this request is so cute omfg and hamzah is such a girl dad im so glad this was requested.

dad!hamzah x fem reader

──★ ˙ ̟🐇 ꩜ .ᐟ

⊹ When you told Hamzah you were pregnant, he was very shocked but he then got so excited to become a dad. He hugged you for minutes before letting you go “oh my god y/n this is crazy” he said before pulling you into a kiss.

⊹ You & Hamzah decide to surprise Mandy & Martin with a baby shirt saying “I ♡ my aunt and uncle” and they looked at you guys confused. “Are you guys fucking with us?” Mandy gasped in realization. Martin was so excited and he quickly hugged Hamzah. Mandy got up and sobbed into your arms.

⊹ Ever since the day Hamzah found out you were pregnant, he would not let you do anything yourself. “Hamzah i dont need help grabbing a plate” you say. He just wants this pregnancy to be as smooth as possible :(

⊹ Once your belly starts noticeably growing, he will not keep his hands off it. Every night before bed, he’ll put his head against your belly and say “goodnight baby, mommy and daddy are waiting for you”. This will never fail to make you smile it also just makes you love him more.

⊹ After finding out you’ll be having a baby girl, Hamzah is thrilled to become a girl dad because he knows he’ll be the best father to her. He even has girl names he keeps on his notes app!

⊹ Mandy & Martin will sometimes come over to gift you guys baby toys, dresses, and blankets for the baby. Kinda like how they gifted cat necessities to Hamzah.

⊹ Weird food cravings start happening and Hamzah had learned his lesson and it was to not make fun of your cravings. He did that once and you ended up in tears. You thought he found you disgusting it’s crazy how hormones can change people so quickly.

⊹ On days where you feel tired and sick, Hamzah always tried his best to make you feel better like showering you with kisses and compliments. After all, you are carrying his baby.

⊹ Days before giving birth, Hamzah is going crazy and he’s nervous, he’s acting like he’s the one giving birth.

⊹ As soon as you both hear your newborn’s cries, Hamzah kisses your forehead while holding back tears. He’s so proud of you and is so happy his daughter is here 😞

⊹ He is so freaking obsessed with her and he feels like his world is complete. And yes she did inherit her dad’s curls!!

⊹ Hamzah knows how tired you are after sleepless nights so he prepares milk for the baby, changes diapers, and even cleans the house while you and baby sleep. What an angel…

⊹ Sometimes you even catch him sleeping on the bed with the baby sleeping soundly on his chest and you will snap a pic every time!

⊹ Red & Blue are also great with the baby and find her relaxing to be around. They even get close to sniff her head hehe.

⊹ Months later when your daughter starts crawling, Hamzah is quite sad to see her grow, he swears she was just born 2 days ago….

⊹ One day you woke up from a nap finding that the house was oddly quiet. You walk into the living room, calling out Hamzah’s name but got no response. Your worry washes over when you hear laughter coming from the backyard. Sure enough, you found Hamzah playing with his daughter and Red & Blue. The sight was so beautiful, you didn’t wanna ruin the moment, so you end up watching from afar with the biggest smile on your face.

Yes i did get this idea from Lana Del Rey’s lyric from “how to disappear” - “i’ve got a kid and two cats in the yard” 😞

──★ ˙ ̟🐇 ꩜ .ᐟ

save me dad!hamzah save me please

[naturesapphic]

Idk if u saw the interview of the hot chicken wings with billies but Can u write a fic with Billie and un doing this interview!! And like billie letting yn win bc she loves seeing yn happy! (I don’t know if u should do it with little yn or « big » yn so u decide!!!!)

Hot Ones: Versus

Billie eilish x fem!reader

Warnings: cussing, fluff, Billie being a little simp for her girl

Word count: 1,967

“You spin it baby. You’ve been wanting to.” Billie said with a teasing smile on her face. I leaned over to spin the hot sauce bottle and it lands on Billie. “You go first bils!” You said excitedly as Billie smiles at your cuteness. “Yep it’s my turn. Go ahead and hit me with it mamas.” Billie said confidently. “As a songwriter there’s a constant need to document your innermost thoughts and feelings. Read your last notes app entry out loud.” I ask and Billie smiles as she pulls her phone out of her baggy pants. “Ruh roh.” She sings out in a funny voice you love so much.

Billie starts to go through her phone and lets out her loud laugh that always makes you giggle. “Y’all it’s a quote from my dad.” Billie says and keeps laughing. “I was talking to my friend nat the other day and nat said you literally have the most beautiful eyes I’ve seen except for maybe your dad.” Billie explains and you agree with her. “Your mom has really beautiful eyes too.” You said and Billie agrees with you. “100%. Most beautiful eyes ever for two parents. Anyway I was telling my dad this and he goes your mom said I have bird eyes.” She said while sticking her pointed finger up making you laugh. “Then he said and that I look like a baby Dinosaur.” Billie giggles out and you kept laughing, almost losing your breath.

You looked over to see Maggie laughing and agreeing with Billie. Billie looked over and saw her mom agreeing and Billie points to her “she’s like yep. She’s like yeah.” Billie says as she looks back over to you. “Okay my turn!” Your girlfriend says excitedly as she picks up one of the cards and starts reading. “Can you guess one of the pet peeve’s Billie has of you.” She said out loud and you looked at her shocked. “I didn’t know you had pet peeves over me!” You said gasping dramatically as Billie looks around nervously. “Uhhh not really but there’s this one this you do that I absolutely hate and it’s because finneas does this too.” She explains and you immediately knew what she was talking about. “Me and finneas will put our feet up on stuff a lot.” You said and Billie nods as she giggles.

“A lot of the time finneas is barefoot while you usually have your socks on. Sometimes y’all will wear your gross shoes and have y’all’s feet up still.” Billie explained and went ahead and moved some of the food away so she could prop her feet up to show everyone how y’all do it. “And my face is like right there.” She laughs out and puts her feet down. It was now round two and it was your turn now to ask her another question. “In addition to being a Grammy award winning singer, you’re also a style icon. Rate these classic billie eilish fits on a scale of 1 to 10.” You read out and Billie groans as you gather the pictures together. “Jeez…” she mutters to herself.

“We’re gonna give that like a three.” She said about the camo outfit. “I had the idea, the idea was there. I had grey sweatpants on, I had a camouflage vest. It really doesn’t look good on though.” Billie explained and you gave her a pout. “I thought it looked amazing on you bils!” You said and Billie felt her cheeks heat up at your compliment. “This is cute!” You say as you pull up the next picture that was of Billie wearing a sailor moon outfit. “That was cute. I give it like a 7/8. All things anime is like the coolest shit ever. I feel like anytime I have a shirt that has any sort of anime character on it, it’s the coolest shirt I own.” Billie explains and you nod your head in agreement. You put up the next picture and the both of you ooh at it.

“This was a person whose shit did not stink.” Billie said while you gave her a confused look. “Well she thought her shit did not stink.” She corrected as you smiled at her. “I remember walking around this specific event being just like I am absolutely the sickest person in the world.” She said as she told the story of the photo. This time billie went over and picked up the next one which was her “assassin’s creed” outfit she wore. “Oh look it’s the assassin’s creed look!” You said while giggling. “It’s kind of hard. I feel like that’s an eight. This is so embarrassing.” She said as she looks around the room.

“Now it’s my turn to ask you. What’s the worst celebrity you’ve ever met?” Billie asked and you sat there quietly for a while, trying to think of an answer because you didn’t want to eat the hot wing. “I’m trying not to punch down.” You said not really thinking and Billie laughed. “Try not to punch down did you say?” She said confused. “Yeah I could punch way down.” You said giggling and the two of you laughed. You whined a bit as you couldn’t come up with an answer so you take a bite of your chicken wing. “Whew…that’s hot…but it’s really yummy. It’s probably because I’m hungry as fuck.” You said while wincing slightly. “Same.” Billie agreed as you picked up a card to ask her a question. “Couple test. I’m going to write down my answer and you have to guess my response. Guess wrong and eat a death wing.” You said dramatically.

“What is my favorite song of yours baby?” You ask and she makes a thinking face as she starts to write down her answer but then stops and then goes back to writing again. “Do you have it?” You asked and she nodded as she picks up her board and shows you her answer. “Nope that’s not it baby. But that one is one of my favs but it’s y/f/b/s (your favorite Billie song).” You replied and Billie lets out an ohhhhh. “That’s a great answer babygirl.” She says and you feel your cheeks become redder and it wasn’t because of the chicken. “I wanna eat a wing” Billie said in her baby voice she does and you coo at her. “Well you did get the answer wrong sooooo…take a biteee babyyy.” You said smiling as she gets excited to eat it.

She takes a decent bite and makes a mmm noise. “This is fire.” She says and you laugh loudly as she enjoys it. One of the people behind the camera asked if the spice was kicking in yet for her. “I think so. It’s getting a little hard to think.” Billie states and does a little smile and burps which makes you chuckle at her behavior. “You’ve never been shy about giving credit to your early musical influences. Now that your heroes have become your peers. Rank these artists from most to least talented.” You ask and gave her a shocked expression to which she matched that expression with you.

“Ooh….who?” She asked you and you grimaced at what you were about to say. “Tyler the creator, Lana del ray, childish Gambino, and Justin Bieber.” You said and Billie groaned. “Oh my God….most to least talented?” She asked and you nodded. “I don’t know if I can do it.” She said and laughed nervously. “Well baby eat a death wing im afraid.” You said and she grabbed her vegan wing. “It’s the lips that are the problem. The mouth and tongue is fine.” She said as she goes in and takes a bite on the top. You decided to eat one since you were starving and you regretted it. “Fuck! That’s so fucking hot…” you breathed out as you felt like you were gonna pass out. “You okay mamas? You can have milk or water if you want. It’s what it’s there for.” She said softly as she looks at you with worry.

“Yeah no I’m fine baby it’s okay. Let’s keep going.” You reassured her and she nodded. She picks up a card and it read a wild card and as soon as she said it a airhorn was blasted which made the two of you jump. Billie looked terrified and you started cackling at her face. “What the fuck dude!” You exclaimed and Billie shook her head in disbelief jokingly as she tries to read the card but was having trouble getting the words out. “It’s tradition around here to put a little extra on the last wing. You and your opponent can add an extra dab to your final wings now.” Billie read aloud and you groaned. Billie tied her hair back and took off her jacket while you took yours off and put your hair up as well. “What’s the question or challenge we have to do?” You ask as you just wanted to get this over with.

“Don’t smile at me. Challenge your partner to a compliment battle. First person to smile must eat a death wing.” She read and the both of you dreaded what was to come. “Baby this is so sad…” she said breathlessly. “Ummm…you have the most beautiful eyes mama…” she said and you kept your face neutral. “You are the most talented person I know.” You say to her and you saw her lips twitch up for a second but it never turned into a smile. “You are an incredible driver even though you drive fast as fuck.” You said and she holds in her giggles. “You are hot as fuck.” She said and you put your hand over your lips so you wouldn’t smile. “You always look good in the most bizarre clothing.” You said but you let out a laugh as did Billie.

“Well we both laughed so here we go but are you okay though princess?” Billie asked you as the two of you picked up a wing. “It can’t get any worse.” You replied and Billie shook her head laughing. “Oh but it totally can mama.” She warned and you took a deep breath. “I love ya.” Billie said and you said it back. The two of you ate pretty big bites and the two of your were dying by the end. It was clear that Billie had won since she didn’t drink anything but in her eyes you had won. She grabs the trophy and hands it to you while you looked at her in disbelief. “You deserve it mamas and plus I love you a whole bunch.” She said and you coo at her.

She leans over and tries to take a bite out of the fake wing and makes a disgusted face. “Oh my gosh…you didn’t even make that a little bit edible” she said as she pushes the trophy closer to you. “Baby what the fuck.” You laugh out and stand up as Billie stands up with you. You end the video with the two of you saying goodbye and that was that. Even though Billie could have gotten the trophy, there’s not one thing she wouldn’t give/do for her girl.

A/n: this took me so long to do so please like, comment, reblog everything lol thank you to the anon who requested this. I hope they enjoyed it and I hope the rest of y’all did too. Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y’all!

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter Five

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 3.4k+

Chapter Warnings: pretty tame chapter , some anxiety feelings , mentions of pregnancy (not reader) some sadness but also fluffy reader x bucky moments all up in here! enjoyyy

A/N: hello? is this thing on...*taps on mic*... HELLO! it feels like forever since i posted an update but here we are and here we go!! tysm for your comments and all interactions it truly keeps me in love with writing and creating :3 💖

series master list

<- previous chapter - next chapter ->

The long fluorescent lights of the hospital cafeteria buzzed softly overhead Y/N as she was sat at the staff table , carefully balancing her half-empty coffee cup on her bouncing knee. 

She’d been running on only pure adrenaline all morning , from bouncing from one surgery to the next nonstop , and now she finally found herself surrounded by her co-workers , the small talk and laughter at the table a welcome hum in the background of her exhaustion.

She shifted slightly in her seat , feeling the dull ache of healing bruises and marks beneath makeup and clothes. 

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror that morning had shown the faint shadows of them still doing all they could to continue to linger on her soft skin. But she’d been taught and learned all the right angles and the right ways to hold herself so no one would see what was left behind.

Across from her , Emily , a nurse she’d gone to basic med school with for a couple years , leaned forward , pulling her brown hair into a messy knot and clipping it securely with a pink claw clip as she let out a big sigh.

 “God , I’m starving. Do you know what the cafeteria has today? If it’s that sad lasagna again , I’m about to start a petition.” Emily swivled her head to try and peek at what was being dished out to the staff for lunch but was out of luck with where she was sitting.

Y/N laughed softly at her threat and replied. “I think it’s chicken pot pie again,” glancing down looking up the hospital’s meal schedule on her phone.

Emily groaned , dropping her head. “Ugh , not any better.” She leaned back in her chair , closing her eyes. “I need real food today. Something that tastes like it was made by love and someone who actually knows what they are doing.”

A spark of memory and idea lit up in Y/N’s mind , and she remembered Bucky’s offhanded comment the last time she’d spoken to him—“Lunch is on me whenever you want.” 

The remembrance of that kind and warm offer still lingered , like a small glow in her chest. 

She hesitated for just a second pondering the thought , then spoke up.

“I might have an idea on where to get lunch,” she said , glancing around the table. “I know a place—Buck’s , that restaurant over by fourth and main.           My… friend owns it , and he said he’d be happy to have us come by for lunch sometime on him. I can go pick it up , if you guys want.”

The reaction was immediate—Emily’s eyes lit up with joy and as she sat up straight. 

“Are you serious? Buck’s is amazing! Oh my God , yes , please!” 

Noah , one of the interns , perked up. “I’ve never been. Is it really that good?”

“The best,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Trust me.”

She picked up her phone again telling everyone to text what they wanted in their group chat, and soon enough , the orders were being rattled off , one by one. 

Pasta primavera for Misty the nurse in cardiac-peds , the grilled salmon for Peter , a couple hearty salads for herself and Noah and of course a burger for Emily that she swore was the best in the state. 

Y/N noted it all down in her notes app , then fingers tapping out a text to Bucky to let him know she was coming by.

As she stood to leave , Peter , her young intern still stuck with her for the month , scrambled to his feet. “Mind if I tag along?” he questioned , eyes wide and earnest. 

“I want to see this place everyone and especially you keep talking about.”

“Sure Pete ,” Y/N smiled , hoisting her bag over her shoulder nodding to the door. “Let’s go.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The drive from the hospital to Buck’s was a short one , just a few streets and a couple stop lights here and there , but Y/N felt the tension in her shoulders ease with each street away from the sterile halls and the low-level chaos of the ER she was helping out in , lots of severe trauma patients this morning. 

The sky overhead was bright with early spring sunshine , and she let the soft warmth of it settle over her skin , trying to quiet the restless thrum of her heart as she drove.

Peter chattered beside her about the morning’s surgeries they did , his excitement a balm to the darker thoughts she’d been fighting. 

She offered small smiles and nods of encouragement but her mind half-focused on the conversation , half on the knot of nerves twisting in her stomach at the thought of seeing Bucky again.

The restaurant slowly came into view, warm and inviting with its rustic wooden sign and the big doors that always made her smile. 

She turned off the radio , grabbed her things and hopped out of the car walking to the entrance. She pushed it open , the soft jingle of the bell above the door greeting them , announcing their arrival.

Bucky was right there , behind the bar , talking to one of the servers when he heard the little bell. 

He looked up hearing shuffling and footsteps , his face lighting up instantly with that easy , lopsided smile that had always made her feel like she was home.

“Hey , doll,” he called out cheerfully , wiping his hands on a dish towel as he stepped around the bar crossing the room to them. “You made it.”

“Hey,” she said back , feeling the warmth in her chest spread out just a little more and of course him using the nickname did not help die down the feeling swirling either. 

“Everyone at the hospital is dying for some and I quote “real good food.” she giggled, making quotation marks with her fingers. “ So I hope you’re up for the challenge.”

He chuckled with her , a soft sound that made the space between them feel brighter and alive. “Always.” 

His eyes flicked to Peter , Bucky cocked his head slightly to the side with question , as Peterwas busy scanning the restaurant with wide eyes. 

“Who’s the little guy?” He asked , looking at Y/N now.

“Oh–sorry , this is Peter. My intern for the month. He wanted to see the place for himself.”

Bucky smiled , “Nothin’ to be sorry for doll.” 

He offered his hand out , and Peter shook it with the nervous excitement of someone meeting a minor small town celebrity. 

“Nice to meet you , man,” Bucky said , grinning. “I’m Bucky.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “Nice to meet you sir , t-this place is amazing. It’s even cooler in person.”

Bucky laughed again , and Y/N felt herself relaxing , the normalcy of it all a wave of relaxation and niceness she hadn’t realized she needed so badly.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They placed their own orders along with their co-workers , Bucky jotting them down on a note pad with quick practiced ease. 

As he moved to the kitchen to hand his chef the orders and start the preparations , he leaned in close in passing  , enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne , warm , woodsy , familiar. 

“You’re not in a rush , are you?” he asked quietly only her able to hear his low tone. “If you’ve got time , stick around a bit. Food’ll be ready soon.”

“I’ve got time,” she smiled , and the words felt like a small gift thanking herself for rescheduling her proceder for the day before , so she could be here now.

Peter , already enchanted by the place and its atmosphere , spoke up and offered to help carry the orders when they were done. 

He took a seat at the bar on a stool , chatting with one of the servers who was around his age , leaving Y/N standing by Bucky as he moved around the kitchen helping speed things up , checking on sauces and tossing fresh herbs into a sizzling pan

The smell was heavenly making her take a deep inhale and exhale.

It felt… safe , she realized that all too well , watching him move like it was muscle memory ,  with such care and purpose. Like stepping back into a time where their lives were something soft and good.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

A little while later , the large door swung open emitting the soft jingle of the bell above , pulling her from her thoughts. Walking in was Sam Wilson , his easy grin lighting up the whole room with his beaming voice. 

“Bucky Barnes , you still making the best damn lunch in this city or what?” he called out , and Bucky laughed, shaking his head , coming out from the kitchen to greet him with a back-slapping hug.

“Hey Sam ,” Bucky’s smile was wide, and Sam caught the rare look on his friends face immediately. 

“Sam , this is Y/N. Y/N , Sam. And that’s Sam’s wife , Inaya.”

Sarah gave Y/N a warm , welcoming smile as he wrapped an arm around his wife. “It’s so nice to meet you ,” Inaya greeted her voice warm and soothing , reaching out to shake her hand.

“You too ,” Y/N said , feeling that same gentle ease settle over her shoulders looking at the pair.

The conversation flowed surprisingly easily between them as they all stood together near the bar and kitchen , waiting for the food to be done. 

Sam was quick to slip in a joke here and there , Inaya’s laughter filling the space like music throughout the space. 

Y/N even found herself laughing sometimes too, feeling the tension ease out of her like air from an overstretched balloon. She had to admit Sam was pretty funny.

When the orders were done and packaged up , she handed Peter the bags , warm and fragrant wafting the air , scents of garlic and fresh grilled meat making her stomach growl loudly. 

“Here , take these back to the hospital , okay? I’ll be along in a little bit. My schedule’s free and open until later tonight with Mrs. Evanson.”

Peter nodded , carefully balancing the bags and boxes in his arms. “Sure thing. Thanks , Dr. Y/N.” He nodded and to the group and smiled to Bucky as he left the restaurant catching the uber they called him earlier.

She watched him go , the door swinging shut behind him making the bell ring out again , and then turned back to find Bucky who was already pulling out a seat for her next to him. 

“Come on ,” he said , a quiet warmth in his voice. “Sit. You’re not leaving here till you’ve had something to eat.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They all easily settled into a booth tucked into the corner by the pool tables , the late afternoon light streaming in through the windows and turning everything inside a yellowy golden.

Bucky set plates in front of them pasta for Sam , a warm soup for Inaya , a simple but delicious grilled cheese for himself he whipped up , and the fresh salad she ordered earlier.

For a while , the group just… ate. Talking about nothing and everything between bites. The topics were mixed about the weather , then to the restaurant , steering next to the little details of life that didn’t have to be important to matter.

Inaya , ever the curious extrovert , leaned forward at one point gesturing her spoon to her and asked , “So, Y/N—are you single?Married?”

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest slightly making her swallow hard. She could feel Bucky’s eyes burning on her, the weight of them very much there.

She took a sip of her water and took a small breath putting on a soft smile looking at Inaya. 

“No I um…,” she began, her voice catching just a little. “I’m engaged. To… my fiance , his name is Tyler.”

There was a pregnant slightly uncomfortable pause , just long enough for the weight of those words to sink in. 

Sam offered a polite smile , Inaya’s brows lifted in quiet surprise. “Well then , congratulations,” she said gently.

“Thank you,” Y/N managed a nod , though her smile felt brittle , her hands clenching hard around her fork. 

She didn't dare look at Bucky as Inaya continued asking her questions , she just couldn't.

Inaya’s gaze flicked to Bucky and then back over again to Y/N. “How long have you two been engaged?”

“A while now ,” her voice soft but unpredictable , and almost apologetic. She forced another smile , though it didn’t dare to reach her eyes. “It’s… complicated there's been some bumps , some on and offs but um it was a beautiful proposal…Paris.”

Bucky’s hand reaching for a napkin paused for just a moment in midair at her confession , but he didn’t say anything out loud. He didn’t push. Didn't command more from here. Just watched with that quiet understanding in his  blue eyes that always seemed to cut straight through her walls.

Inaya , sensing the sudden heaviness shifting in the air , shifted the conversation gently to herself and Sam hoping to lighten the tone. 

“We just found out we’re expecting our second ,” she said, her hand dropping to rest lightly on her still flat stomach. “It’s… exciting. A little scary. But mostly exciting.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Y/N said looking at Bucky whos mouth was open and patted Sam on the back whispering something to him. 

The sincerity in her voice colored her cheeks as she beamed. “Congratulations you two”

“Thank you ,” Inaya smile warm and genuine leaning to kiss sam as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders

. “Do you… do you want kids, Y/N?”

The question just sat idle and still in the air between them , thick and loaded. 

Y/N felt the breath catch in her throat , tears immediately springing in her eyes, her fingers curling tighter around themselves as they lay in her lap.

She didn’t look up at Inaya or Sam. Instead , her glassy gaze slid to Bucky seeking any amount of quiet comfort he could maybe give her. He was already watching her with that same quiet intensity.

Being a mom was one of her biggest dreams in this world. To have a squishy soft pink baby that looked like her , to have a sticky toddler fill her home with songs and little feet pattering. God , she wanted nothing more in her life. Yes , she accomplished being a well known and established head of cardio surgery in her hometowns hospital but to be a mom , to have a kid with B–

Tyler. To have a kid, her own baby, her own child , she wanted nothing more , but life was cruel and she didn't know–.

“I-I don’t know,” she said, responding leaving her inner fight of spiraling thoughts. 

The words coming out in a near-whisper. “I… I used to. But now… I don’t know.”

The sadness in her voice and the answer she gave was like a sharp blade , and Bucky felt it deep in his chest , a dull ache he couldn’t name. 

When they were together as kids , before graduating , before Bucks , before Tyler they talked and planned their own family all the time. Bucky grew up with 2 sisters and a home full of chaos and laughter so of course he wanted a family of his own one day. And even more if they were with his girl. 

And she grew up an only child with more scars then tickles given in her home. Making her want to share the love she had so deep and tucked inside she never could pour out. She wanted a few kids , they talked about names , some age gaps they preferred between kids and silly things like who would change the diapers or who would master late night bath time. But she truly wanted it with him , their love.

In that moment Bucky reached out , his hand sliding over her leg and brushing lightly over her knuckles on her lap—just for a second. Just enough to remind her she wasn’t alone right now and he was there for her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They moved on to safer and smaller topics after that. Sam told a story about his oldest son’s soccer game yesterday—how he’d run the wrong way down the field , scoring a goal for the other team and then bursting into tears when he realized. 

Inaya laughed so hard holding her stomach she nearly choked on her tea , and even Y/N found herself letting out a laugh at the thought of the poor Wilson boy trying his hardest , the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her.

It felt good , this exact very moment. It felt normal. And she clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Eventually , the plates were cleared away , the afternoon light growing softer as the sun began to dip toward the horizon behind buildings. 

Sam stood up stretching , clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “We should get going,” he said , glancing at his wife  with a soft smile. “You need to rest honey.”

“Yeah , yeah” she  said , standing with a little grunt as he helped her up. “Thanks for lunch , Bucky. It was amazing , as always.”

“You know you and your family are always welcome here ,” Bucky grinned as he helped her with her coat.

He turned to Y/N then , his smile softer. “You heading out too or staying a while longer?”

“Just for a bit ,” her voice gentle. “I’ve got a late shift tonight, but… I like it here too much to leave just yet.”

He nodded , his eyes holding hers for a long , quiet moment. 

Sam and Inaya said their goodbyes , Inaya pulling Y/N into a gentle hug that smelled like vanilla and something warm underneath. “It was so good to meet you,” she said softly.

“You too,” Y/N agreed , her voice warm and sincere , despite the lingering feelings she had in her chest.

As they turned to leave , Sam winked at Bucky , his grin wide and knowing. “I’ll see you at the dinner,” he called over his shoulder , his voice light.

Bucky chuckled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Then they left , the door closing softly behind them bell jingling , and Y/N stood there for a long moment , feeling the quiet of just them in the restaurant settle around her like a cozy blanket.

She let out a slow breath she didn't know she was holding , feeling the weight of the afternoon— the laughter and the quiet confessions and the warmth of old friends. And in that stillness , she felt… almost okay.

Almost.

Bucky moved back behind the bar , wiping down the bar counter with a rag , a nervous habit he started doing when the place opened.

 He didn’t say anything just yet , didn’t push. Just worked in the easy, practiced way he always did and knew to handle her , like he knew she needed a minute to gather herself.

She watched him , the way the fading sunlight caught in his chestnut hair, the way his shoulders moved beneath the soft flannel of his shirt. And for just a moment , she let herself believe in the possibility of their being something softer, something better.

When she finally spoke up for the first time since the couple left , her voice was quiet but steady.

 “I should probably head back soon,” she said , her fingers playing with the straw of her empty cup.

He looked up , meeting her gaze with that quiet secure intenseness she knew so well. “Okay , I’ll see you at the dinner,”  his voice soft but with a hint of asking. 

“Yeah,” she said , her lips curving into a small , real smile meeting her eyes. “I’ll see you there.”

Then he stepped forward , striding to her , wrapping her in a hug that was warm and careful , like he was afraid of breaking her.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” he murmured against her hair smelling her sweet shampoo.

She nodded , pressing her face into his shoulder for a moment. “I will,” she said softly. “I promise.”

When he let her go with that , meeting his eyes again she saw there was a look in his gaze that made her chest thump. 

It couldn't be what her mind told her it was.

Before she did or said something she would regret she quickly slipped out of their little bubble through the door leaving , stepping into the late afternoon light , it continued painting the street in warm gold hues as she stepped back into the chaotic bubble popping world that called her outside.

-end

If you want to be added/removed to tag list message me or comment <3 (sometimes it can get lost in comments but im trying my best!)

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

Taglist: @cupid4prez @valyriantarg @mgchaser @rosylnsworld @iyskgd @starstruckfirecat @vicmc624 @sebastians-love @1000shipsnh @liaverse37 @alex-cheraya

[phoenixs-fandoms-and-writings]

Will You Go Out With Me?

Fandom: Kick-Ass

Pairing: Dave Lizewski/Fem!Reader

Plot: You and Dave are hanging out at his place when he asks you out. However he doesn't so much as ask as blurt the question out.

Notes: I don’t own Kick-Ass or Dave Lizewski.

I do not give permission to anyone to repost or translate any of my stories. I also do not give anyone permission to feed my stories through AI or to be posted to any third party website or app. If anyone sees any of my work posted anywhere but here or my AO3 (simplyreflected), then it has been posted without permission.

Read on AO3 here.

After you’d both finished your classes for the day, you and your best friend, Dave, hung out at his place. You were so happy to be eating pizza with your best friend, both of you enjoying each other's company as you watched a movie both of you loved. After you both finished eating the pizza, he moved the box to the side of the bed, saying that he’d take it out after the movie finished.

The two of you had been close for a long time. Sometimes people thought the two of you were a couple, not that you cared. You loved Dave so much.

It was at that moment, you felt his fingers curl around yours, until he was holding your hand. It was such a nice feeling. You liked how his hand felt in yours.

You couldn’t help it when you blurted out, “Will you go out with me?”

Your eyes widened as you realised what you had asked, and just as quickly, you blurted out, “no, don’t worry about it. I swear we’re good as friends, but you’re so cute and amazing and I love you-”

You were cut off when you felt Dave squeeze your hand and sit up before cupping your cheek with his other hand, “I would love to go out with you.” He smiled shyly as his cheeks reddened.

You leaned forward and kissed him, hopefully letting him feel how much you want to be with him. You smiled into the kiss before you pulled away, smiling from ear to ear. He wrapped his arm around your back and pulled you down to him. You leaned on his chest as the two of you lay there enjoying the feeling of being close to each other.

When you finally managed to regain your breath, you looked into his beautiful and very expressive blue eyes, as you told him, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He started to open his mouth to say something, but you carried on, “I don’t know when it happened, but I know that for the last year at least, that I’ve had a crush on you. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by asking you out, but I wanted to on a few occasions.”

“Does this make you my girlfriend?”

“I’d like that, if that’s what you want.”

“That is definitely what I want,” he whispered. He leaned forward and placed his hand on your cheek. “Is this ok?”

You nodded. “Yeah, Dave. It definitely is.”

He leaned forward and you met him halfway, where the two of you shared a first kiss that was just as sweet as he was to you.

[saveahorserideaneddie]

Married Buddie Headcanons

==========

This came about from an ask by @mattsire and I have FINALLY gotten around to sitting down and typing them out— i would like everyone to know i now have a note in my notes app full of these with no context

==========

- everyone assumed buck would be the bridezilla, but in reality he was pretty tame compared to eddie who using the subtle excuse of “i never got to do this with my first wedding” to get his way on everything

- buck constantly made suggestive jokes about their wedding night in the weeks leading up to it, but when the night finally got there, buck passed out as soon as they reached the hotel room; eddie thought this was super adorable

- they don’t spoon in bed; they will spoon on the couch watching tv (alternating big spoon/little spoon) but when they lay down to sleep, they prefer to face each other so that the last thing they see before sleep and the first thing they see when they wake up is each other

- buck wakes up first every morning to make breakfast— he’s a big morning person anyway and he loves to cook for his boys— he absentmindedly hums or lightly sings as he cooks breakfast, and eddie will stand in the dining room, hiding behind the wall, to listen. buck has never caught him to this day.

- buck loves driving and eddie hates it, so more often than not eddie is buck’s passenger princess in the Jeep.

- eddie remains very professional when they are at work; there is the occasional stolen kiss, hand holding under the table, kiss on the cheek/forehead, but for the most part they stick to simply sitting next to each other whenever they can- their knees often pressing together. At home, however, eddie hangs off buck like a koala; as soon as he realized his feelings for buck, he could not get enough of touching/holding on to buck as often as he could, whether it be holding hands at dinner, wrapping his arms around buck from behind and tucking his chin over buck’s shoulder (or vice versa), cuddling on the couch, laying his head in buck’s lap, leaning his head on buck’s shoulder

- buck and eddie cannot agree on a shower temperature; they have only attempted the forray into sharing one time and ended up bickering about the temperature before eddie gave up and let buck win— they’ve never tried since

- eddie slips into saying spanish sweet-nothings to buck constantly, buck taking the time to learn all of them whenever he heard a new one

- buck will sometimes pull eddie close in his sleep so that their chests lie flush against each other and he can feel eddie’s heartbeat.

- they love going all out for their anniversary; fancy restaurant, night at a hotel, grand gestures. eddie likes to spoil buck and buck lets him because he knows how much eddie likes it

- buck is intento on following the anniversary gift list by year; hiding a secret clipboard on which he plans all future gifts for eddie as new ideas come to him (for their first anniversary, buck had gotten eddie a paper-scrap art piece that was a portrait of chris)

- eddie followed the anniversary gift list for their first anniversary only when he gifted buck official adoption papers for chris

- eddie kept his paper vows and keeps them in an antique box that was passed down from his abuelo; alongside it he keeps a small wallet-size photo that buck had taken of them early on in their friendship

- buck made a scrapbook photo album of their wedding and keeps it displayed on the coffee table as a coffee table book

- ik some people like the buckley-diaz hyphenation (and i am absolutely not against that at all) but i am one of the Buck Diaz girlies who hc’s that he drops Buckley altogether

- he and eddie have complimentary tattoos on their ring fingers; buck has an “E” for eddie, and eddie has a “B” for buck.

- buck also got a linework tattoo based on a photo of him, eddie, and chris tattooed on the left side of his chest, over his heart; in the same spot, eddie has “e-c-b”

- they both have their wedding date tattooed under their chest ones

- even after a fight, they don’t sleep apart, because buck has nightmares and can only be grounded by eddie holding him; eddie has nightmares too, but they are less frequent than buck’s

- their wedding bands are simply gold bands, but inside they are engraved; inside buck’s it says “have my back any day” and inside eddie’s it says “and you can have mine”

[lihhelsing]

Part 4 - Catfish Steddie

Author's Note: This part turned out to be bigger than I expected, so I also decided to take this to AO3. I'll update when I have the link, but I'll keep posting over here too, and doing the tag list at the end. Thanks for reading! Look out for two more parts after this one!

Now on Ao3

It's not that Steve didn't care that someone was using his face to catfish people. He knew, from how little Eddie wanted to discuss it, how it affected him. How it messed with his self-image and his ability to trust others. 

Steve could feel it in the way Eddie always seemed to be ready to bolt from him. He offered something real and then pulled back again. It was a slow back and forth that Steve didn't mind, because he knew what he wanted. 

Eddie. He wanted Eddie. 

He felt the way he retracted every time Steve complimented him, hiding behind jokes or self-deprecating comments. Steve tried to reassure him, and he felt like he was winning. 

But when Eddie called the catfish number, that he still had on his phone under Steve's name for some reason, it was like every inch they had walked towards each other had disappeared. Eddie retracted again, as if he was certain he was reading the situation right when he possibly couldn't be. 

"I don't understand," Eddie says at first and Steve tries reaching out for him, seeing the exact moment Eddie flinches away. 

It hurts more than he can admit. 

"Eddie, let's talk about this," Steve says, but he can see it in Eddie's eyes, how he just wants to run out of there. 

"Why do you have two phones?"

"It's not my phone," Steve says calmly. Eddie's not calm. 

"It's in your house. Your couch!" his voice comes out a little strangled, and he jumps from the couch, the other phone still gripped hard in his hand. 

"Can I see it?" Steve raches his hand, but Eddie shakes his head. "Please. It's not mine, I swear."

But Steve can see how his words go through Eddie and doesn't really make an impression. It's just words, especially if he doesn't try to see how crazy it would be. Why would Steve invite Eddie over to his place and not hide the phone better? 

Why would Steve be so careless about the whole thing? 

"Eddie, I swear. This phone is not mine. I have no idea what's-"

"I have to go," Eddie says, his hands are shaking and Steve wants to hold him and make him listen but Eddie is not in the mood to listen and Steve can't force him so he just nods, lets the fight leave his body and Eddie hurriedly gets his things and leaves. 

Before closing the door, he drops the phone on the table and doesn't look back. 

Steve thinks his heart could explode from how fucked up he feels right now. 

x

It's not really surprising, but Steve doesn't sleep at all. He tries a couple of password combinations and when he gets to Chrissy's birthday, the phone unlocks in his hands. 

Steve is scared as he scrolls through it. 

Robin always seemed nice, even if they weren't all that close. Sometimes Steve even thought they were friends. He didn't have much experience with those and most of his friends were kids that he used to babysit when he was in high school, but he thought he and Robin could've been friends, somehow. 

Maybe he was wrong. 

But when Steve pulls on one of the only apps he sees on the phone, he feels… 

He doesn't know how he feels as he looks at a profile with his picture and name on it. There are a bunch of chats in there and he sees himself flirting with lots of girls - and guys. 

He doesn't remember mentioning to Robin he's bisexual, but she must've picked up on it for some reason. Steve doesn't mind, he feels comfortable with his sexuality but he doesn't feel comfortable with a bunch of people thinking they are talking to him when in reality… 

It's not surprising that he doesn't get much sleep, really. 

x

Steve is in his room when he hears the front door unlocking. It's still before nine and Robin doesn't usually come home that early on the weekends. She likes to spend the day with her girlfriend Chrissy and Steve gets it. 

He listens carefully as she walks inside, doesn't even stop to take off her boots, so Steve hears the click, click, click as she moves through their tiny apartment. He hears rustling sounds and then.

"Shit," Robin's voice is low, muffled by the closed door. Steve thought a lot about how to do this and yet he feels sick to his stomach. "Where the fuck did I put it?"

He gets up and slowly makes his way to the door, opening it a little. 

"Robin?" he asks. Her head snaps in his direction and she looks panicked. 

"Steve? What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep. Is everything ok? You look-"

"Yeah, yeah! Everything's great," Robin forces out a smile. "I just forgot something Chrissy really needed and you know her, she gets really mad at me and I need to fix it, otherwise she will hate me forever and I-"

"I don't know."

Robin frowns. "What?"

"I don't know her. You never… Introduced us."

Steve doesn't know what he's saying, but neither does Robin. She looks frazzled, on the verge of a breakdown. Steve can't say he's not enjoying it, though. 

"Well, we should. You know, do something, the three of us!" Robin is talking frantically now, her voice taking on a high-pitched tone that shows Steve how desperate she is. "Anyway, we can decide on that later! Don't worry about me, just go back to sleep! I'll be super quiet!" 

She finished her sentence whispering and smiling at Steve, but he doesn't buy it. Her smile is completely fake and her hair is a mess, sticking up to all sides. 

"Ok," he says, playing along. He moves to close the door and Robin isn't even looking at him anymore. She's kneeling on the ground and looking under the couch. "Oh, Robin?"

She almost hits her head as she looks up at him. 

"Did you happen to be looking for this phone?"

Steve holds it out for her and she squints her eyes, processing, and then all the color gets drained from her face. 

Steve can't say he hates it. 

x

Robin fidgets nervously with her hands as she and Steve sit side by side on the couch. The phone is almost burning a hole through their table and Robin hasn't tried anything too crazy like grabbing it and running away. 

Maybe even someone like her can tell when she lost a battle. 

"So… Care to explain?"

Steve tries to keep his tone neutral but from the way she flinches, he knows he failed. Robin takes a deep breath, then another. 

"I'm sorry," she says, not looking at him. Steve raises a brow.

"For what? Catshing people? Using my picture and my name without permission? Lying to my face?" He sounds so angry he barely recognizes his own voice. Steve is not a guy to get really angry, he's good at taking a punch, but this feels… Too much.

Robin shakes her head. "All of the above?"

The worst of it is that Steve wants to laugh. Robin looks outright miserable and his entire chest feels heavy when he remembers how Eddie looked at him, but this is too crazy for him not to laugh. 

"I'm really sorry Steve, I didn't mean-"

"Can you just… Not? Just tell me. Why? Why me?" He says sharply and has to pinch his hand to try and get himself in check. He already knows there's nothing Robin can say that will make this ok to him. 

It's not only that she lied to him. She used him to lie to other people. She hurt other people. But she made Steve think he was doing something wrong. She watched Steve try and try and try knowing she would never let him in because she couldn't stand the guilt. 

Robin sighs dramatically. 

"It started as a joke, I swear. When you first moved in, I kept telling Chrissy how you looked like a hot model from a magazine. How I had never seen a guy so good looking in my life and mind you I don't like guys. But you're… You know, objectively attractive."

"Uh… Thanks?"

"Chrissy found that super funny. She said you must've been one of those guys who were always hooking up with girls and I agreed. Like, it took me six months to gather the courage to ask Chrissy out and I still wasn't sure she was going to say yes, and then Chrissy was saying how you probably didn't have this problem because anyone would say yes to you."

Steve frowns at her. Robin has a tendency of rambling and talking really fast and Steve feels he's not following. 

"So it was a prank?"

"I mean… Yes! At first. Chrissy and I wanted to see what it was like to be you on Tinder. You know, how many people we would match with, so we just swiped right non-stop. On the next day, there were thousands of messages for you."

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and he sees a faint dust of pink on Robin's cheeks. She's embarrassed. 

"Chrissy laughed and moved on, but I kept thinking about it and I started talking to people there because why not? It was kind of addictive, being someone else. I know it's wrong and honestly I have no interest in anyone other than Chrissy, but it was fun to like, make up this whole persona and just see what people would do. I was curious about life as Steve Harrington. It must be easier than trying to flirt as, you know, me."

"And Chrissy doesn't know?"

Robin shakes her head. "She thinks I dropped the whole thing, but I couldn't. So I got a new phone, I deleted everything from my phone and I just kept going. I wanted to know how long it would take people to want a date. I started analyzing data, and I thought it would be a good study subject. But it's like I said… I only have eyes for Chrissy. I don't even like men. It was just… A test, I guess."

Steve exhales. He has to be honest, this is way more complicated than he thought it would be. It still doesn't make it ok, and it still confuses the hell out of him.  

"Robin, this is fucked up."

"I know ok? But there's just this… Adrenaline thrill. Of creating a personality for you, talking to people and seeing how they act, how they flirt with someone that looks like you. I never experienced any of that because I'm awkward and weird and I like girls. I told one of my professors I was doing it and he said it was fascinating. I couldn't just drop it. He wouldn't let me drop it. He kept saying how I had a chance of a lifetime with it and I just… How the fuck do I say no to that?"

Steve knows it still doesn't make it ok, but he's starting to feel sorry for Robin, so he tries to hold on to the anger. It's easier that way than if he tried to understand her. But there's still this one thing that doesn't make sense. 

"But how the hell did that evolve into you setting up a date with Eddie? And that's why you kept telling me to not go out with him isn't it?"

And that… That felt awful. He liked Eddie. He had liked him from the start and because Robin fucked up he had felt a little unsure about asking him out. When she finally speaks, she's not looking at Steve. 

"I didn't set up a date with him. I knew I could never do that because there was no way I could keep up the farce if I started doing it. But I should've been more careful. One of the pictures I set up on your profile had the coffee shop in the background. It didn't take a genius to make the connection, but I never thought he was just going to show up like that!"

"Well, that does sound like Eddie," Steve pointed out and he was assaulted with mixed feelings. An ache spreading on his chest as he thought he might never see Eddie again. Because of Robin. 

"I panicked when I started getting weird messages from him saying like 'surprise' and 'stop messing around' and I didn't get it. I sent a bunch of question marks and Eddie never got back to me. I figured it out after you told me what had happened and, well, you know what happened next."

After that, Steve stays silent for a long time. Robin keeps fidgeting with her hands as if she's waiting for a death sentence of something. 

Steve feels… So many things. He's mad at her, of course he is. But the frustration right now feels so much bigger. Even if Robin thinks it's easier being like him, Steve is tired of all that comes with it.

And Eddie was the first person in a long time that saw Steve in a different way. Sure, he might've started talking to not-Steve for his looks, but right now Eddie knew him. And Steve wasn't ready to let that go. He had no idea how to fix it and his head was pounding with lack of sleep and Robin was… Talking. Always fucking talking. 

"Robin!" he said, his voice going up an octave and making her shut her mouth. He got up from the couch and pressed the heels of his hand on his eyes. "I'm just… Please delete the whole thing. I don't care what you're going to tell your professor, but I'm not your little experiment. I just wanted to be your roommate. Maybe even your friend.But right now I just… Just leave me alone, please."

Steve walks to his room without looking back and he only hears when Robin leaves the apartment, a couple of minutes later.  Previous | Next

[morganski-19]

The One With the Second Date

“Ok, I’m not sure what I was expecting to happen in the end,” Ryan explains as they leave the theater, “but it wasn’t that.”

Nancy laughs. “It was a stereotypical romcom, they were always going to end up together in the end.”

Ryan and Nancy walk down the sidewalk. Ryan’s hands shoved into his jacket pockets while Nancy’s are at her sides.

“I just think that she was much better with the other guy. They had way more chemistry.”

Nancy nods with another laugh.

They come to a stop outside of a parking garage. Ryan turns toward her. “My car’s in there,” he points awkwardly to the garage.

“My bus stop is right over there,” Nancy points across the street.

Ryan lets out a nervous huff. “You know, we didn’t really get to talk much tonight. With seeing a movie and everything. My parking’s for the whole night. And there’s this nice ice cream place around the corner that we could go to. If you wanted to.”

Nancy smiles. “Sure.”

“Sure?” Ryan looks generally surprised. “Sure, yeah ok. It’s this way.”

He leads them across the street and down one block. Turning at the corner and halfway down, there is a small ice cream shop. They walk in, a family and one other couple at the tables. But otherwise, it’s empty. Nancy looks at the options, debating which to choose. While Ryan immediately knows what he wants and asks the employee. One scoop of vanilla and one cookies and cream. Making sure to note that they needed to be rung up together but were in no rush.

When Nancy chooses the honey vanilla flavor, Ryan beats her to register to pay.

“You know I can pay for us at least once,” Nancy jokes. She instead pulls out a few dollars and slides them into the tip jar.

Ryan laughs. Taking back his change and dumping it into the jar as well. “It was my idea, so it’s my money.”

Nancy walks over to the table in the corner. “So, I need to plan the next date and then I get to pay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan stutters. There’s been a nervous energy with him all night. “That would work.”

“I promise I don’t mean anything by this question, I’m just generally interested. Why are you so nervous? We’ve already been on one date.”

Ryan sets down his ice cream, rubbing his palms on his pants. “I’ve been on what seems like hundreds of first dates. It’s down to a routine at this point. But as far as second dates go, there’s only been a few. And most of those times, it never went anywhere else, and I was back on the app the next morning.”

Nancy nods, showing that she’s listening.

“I get that’s just how dating can be, sometimes. Especially through dating apps. But I just want something that lasts more than a week or two, you know?”

“I do.” Nancy stares down at her ice cream. “I kind of gave up dating for a while for the same reason. It was just horrible date after horrible date. So I gave up.”

“What made you try again?”

Nancy sighs. Debating how much she should tell. “My best friend, who also lives across the hall from me, got a new girlfriend.”

“Oh,” he says. With a mix of shock and concern.

“There’s nothing there, I promise. Back when we were in college, there was a phase where we both liked each other but didn’t know. Part of me kind of always harbored those feelings for her, but it was time to finally let them go. Whatever we could have had was over, it was time to recognize that.”

“And you though going on a dating app would help with that?”

Nancy lets her hands fall into her hands. “That makes me sound like an asshole. I swear that I didn’t agree to go on a date with you just to get over my stupid feelings. They played no part in deciding to go on a date with you.”

Ryan reaches across the table and gently pushes Nancy’s hands out of the way. “I believe you, for what it’s worth. We’ve all been there at some point.”

“That makes me feel a little better.”

“I appreciate you being honest with me. I,” he pauses. Taking a deep breath. “I really like you, Nancy. You’re probably the best person I’ve met on one of these apps.”

Nancy smiles. “Same here.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Finishing their ice cream and heading outside again. When Ryan goes to shove his hands into his pockets again, Nancy stops him. Taking his hand into hers. They walk back to the street where they would need to part ways. Nancy waiting for the bus and Ryan crossing the street to his car.

“Would it be ok if I drove you home?” he asks. “It’s dark and way better than a bus.”

“Yeah, that would be ok.”

She follows him to his car and directs them to her apartment building. He finds a spot down the street and parks. Planning on walking her to her door. With full explanation that she can tell him no.

Instead, she rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. Waiting for him to get out. He does, stumbling over his step a bit.

“So, for our next date,” Nancy talks as they walk up the stairs. “I was thinking that we could to this Mexican place I love.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

“And it’s my idea so my money, right?” She stops in front of her door. Facing him.

He laughs. “That was the deal.”

Inside of Steve and Robin’s apartment, Robin is staring through the peephole. Having heard Nancy come back and got curious. That’s all, curious.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve asks. Looking unenthused.

Robin shushes him. “Nancy is back from her date. She’s talking with the guy outside the door.”

“Let me see.” Steve pushes Robin out of the way, looking through the peephole. “Oh, he’s cuter in person.”

Robin slaps his arm. “Don’t encourage this.”

“How am I encouraging this? I’m behind a door, she can’t hear me. Also, it’s too late for that. I was there for the pre-date crisis.”

“And she still went out on the date?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah well, she seemed to really like the guy. Argyle even did his weird stalking thing he does and found nothing bad. He checked out.”

Robin pushes Steve out of the way again, looking through the peephole once more. “Oh no, she’s doing that face. You know that face.”

“I am well aware of the face.” Steve leans up against the wall next to the door. “Why is this bothering you so much? She’s allowed to date if she wants to.”

“I don’t know,” Robin groans. Letting her forehead thunk against the door. “She just deserves so much, and she’s been on so many dates and none of them have been good. I’m just . . .  looking out for her. That’s all.”

Steve hums, disbelieving. Pulling out his phone.

Steve: I think Robin is jealous of Nancy’s new guy

Eddie: Oh wow, what a shocker

Eddie: Do you not remember the two-hour long pity session she conveniently had after Nancy had the first date

Steve: They’re out in the hall right now, Robin can’t stop looking at them through the peephole

Eddie: Can’t she just pretend to take out the trash like a normal person

Steve: Are you going to go do that now?

Eddie: Yes

Eddie: I need to see this guy in person

Back in the hall, while all of that was ensuing, Nancy and Ryan were saying goodbye. Not exactly making any moves toward it. Until Eddie opens the door, with a half full bag of trash in hand, interrupts it.

“Oh, hey, Nance. I didn’t hear you get back,” he says, nonchalant. Looking over at Ryan with fake shock. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Nancy sighs, catching onto Eddie’s play. “Ryan, this is my roommate Eddie.”

Ryan holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man. Nancy’s told me about you.”

“Same here.” Eddie shakes his hands. “I’m just gonna, thank you.” He steps in between them to head down the hall to the trash shoot. Leaving them alone again.

“I should get going,” Ryan says, pushing his hands into his pockets again. “It was really nice to see you again.”

Nancy smiles. “Yeah, it was. I’ll text you later when I’m free.”

“I’ll be looking for it.”

There is a break of silence. Expectation in the air. Ryan shrugs in the direction of the stairs. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh my god.” Nancy stops his from walking away. Grabbing his face and pulling him down. Pressing a kiss to his lips. He’s shocked for a second, before pressing into it. “Have a good night,” she says after pulling back.

Ryan steps backward, a blush covering his face. “Yeah, uh, yeah. You too. I’ll text you later. Yeah. Bye.”

He turns to walk down the hall while Nancy snorts to herself. Eddie comes back around the corner with a teasing smile.

“Don’t even start, Munson.” Nancy walks into the apartment.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything.” He closes the door behind them. “I was just merely observing.”

Nancy glares at him while taking off her earring. “Observing?”

“He seems nice,” Eddie teasing tone.

“He is nice.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

“There it is.” Nancy walks to her bedroom. “Night.”

Eddie leans on the back of the couch. “No, I wanted to do the after-date gossip.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” She closes the bedroom door.

Eddie sighs, pulling out his phone to see many new texts from Steve.

Steve: Holy shit, she kissed him

Steve: Robin is not taking that well

Steve: She’s trying to play off her jealousy as protectiveness

Steve: Maybe we should warn Nancy about the tirade she’s going to get tomorrow about the dangers of kissing random men

Eddie: I don’t know, the guy was pretty respectful about it

Eddie: He was smiling like an idiot when I passed him in the hall

Eddie: And Nancy seems happy about it

Steve: This is going to be both entertaining and a pain in the ass

Eddie: Agreed

Eddie: I take it Robin isn’t going out tonight then

Steve: Sadly not

Steve: There goes our plans

Eddie: Damn, I kind of really want to kiss you right now

Steve: You know

Steve: No one is ever in the laundry room this late

Eddie: I could do some laundry

Steve: Meet you there in twenty

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot, @dreamercec, @dreamy-jeans137, @morallyundefined