#computer forensic notes

[forensicfield]

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 A Picture of a Cat.

Spencer Reid x Forensic!reader

main masterlist

Summary: After months of emailing back and forth, you finally meet the person you've been chatting with every day. Then you realize that Spencer is not just a girl's name.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. with spencer of the early seasons very much in love in mind. the reader has a cat and has little faith in men (literally me, sorry). SO MUCH chaos and maybe lack of communication but happy ending. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This is pretty chaotic and not particularly serious😭 It might be best not to try to make sense of it. They're just two idiots in love, really.

To say that Spencer was dying of nervousness was not enough to describe his true feelings.

From the moment he woke up this morning without any mail from you in his inbox, he began to feel that his day was going wrong and that it was becoming an endless nightmare. He had lost count of all the times he had checked his mail at work, hoping to see even a one-line message from you to calm his anxiety.

As someone who had received your good morning every day without fail for the last four months that you had been talking to each other daily, he was completely taken aback and couldn't quite put his finger on why. Perhaps he had said something to offend you, or maybe you were just not feeling the spark anymore. But astonishingly, none of your numerous emails that he had taken the time to reread on the jet indicated any cause for concern.

Everything had been so positive with you recently, and he was grateful to have someone to talk to, even if it was through a computer, every time he finished a challenging case and his mind just wanted to focus on something else. He found great comfort in reading about your day and your thoughts every morning, as if it were his newspaper. Even the pictures you always sent him of your cat sleeping in cute poses, eating, or doing anything else made him smile and gave him the idea of adopting a pet, even when he had never thought about the possibility of it before. You always helped him realize some desires he hadn't previously considered.

But suddenly he didn't have any of it. Nothing at all.

Reid's gaze fell once upon the computer on his desk, and his face was illuminated by its light as he reopened his email page for what might have been the thousandth time that day. His fingers tapped over and over on his knee in an attempt to calm his nerves as the page loaded at a slow pace. He took the opportunity to look at the time on the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. It was ten o'clock at night, and yet, once again, there was no trace of you among his messages.

His heart stopped for a second when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he had to close the page he had opened on his computer at full speed before he could even realize who it was.

“Hey, take it easy, kid.” Derek said gently, removing his hand from his shoulder and stepping back a step. His eyes fell on the computer screen, and he was intrigued. “What were you watching?” He asked, with a playful smile.

“N-nothing.” Spencer's voice trembled beyond his control, and he quickly rose from his chair, trying to shield the computer with his body.

You had been his best-kept secret for quite some time, and he was content with that. He enjoyed the idea of maintaining a certain level of privacy in that aspect of his life, as something just between you two. It was more special and romantic that way.

“Nothing? Is that what they call those things now?” Derek inquired, his tone teasing but not unkind. The boy blushed a little, unsure why. “I must admit I'm surprised.”

Reid had to think for a few seconds to figure out what his colleague was talking about, but even before he could understand, Morgan had started speaking again.

“Anyway, turn that off.” He said, pointing to the computer and settling his bag over his shoulder, ready to go. “Someone's waiting for you in the boardroom.”

Almost automatically, Spencer frowned and watched him, waiting for him to provide more information or at least laugh if he was making a joke. However, that didn't occur. Derek didn't laugh at him or anything of that nature.

“Go, Reid. It might be best not to keep the girl waiting.” He gave his friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile before heading off on the way to the elevator.

A girl? Waiting for him? How?

Spencer took a moment to collect his thoughts, attempting to grasp the meaning behind Derek's words and the circumstances surrounding the supposed visitor. With a measured pace, he stepped away from his desk and proceeded down the hallway, heading for the boardroom with a contemplative demeanor.

As he opened the door and cautiously stepped inside, he was met with the most glorious sight of his life, the one he had waited so long for, the one that now quickened his pulse and seemed to bring him back to life after feeling dead all day.

You.

Standing at the table, looking intently at the various maps and data scattered around the round table in the center of the room. So deep in thought that you were not even aware of his presence. As pretty as in the pictures of you that he had seen.

He couldn't help but let out a little "oh my" at the sight of you. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he could hear it from across the room, or maybe his ears were just ringing from the blood rushing to his head. Reid stood still, looking at you, amazed. He could see how the light touched your hair and how you bit your lip as you concentrated on organizing the papers and a folder in your hand. It was real. It had to be real.

“Hi.” His voice suddenly startled you, making you realize that you were no longer alone and that the door was now open.

You look up from the documents you are examining and see him by chance. It takes you a moment to realize that he works there, and only by the FBI badge in his pants pocket.

“Hi.” You responded after giving him a very obvious visual scan.

Your voice.

It was the first time he'd heard you speak, and it was just as he'd imagined it would be.

“I’m-” You extended your hand in a cordial manner to introduce yourself, but he interrupted.

“I know who you are.” He spoke quickly, smiling at you. “I...I...you are...” Reid cursed himself for stuttering the sentence as his tongue suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth.

“Okay…I'm waiting for someone.” You said it politely, but your tone showed your anxiety.

Oh, you didn't know it was him.

Spencer let out a laugh to relieve the growing tension, but it came out sounding like a cough. He wanted to hit himself. Why was he acting like a child? He was an agent, for God's sake. His job was to talk to complete strangers every day and do entire profiles without getting nervous. He found it hard to understand how that was changing so much now. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak more clearly.

“Yes, I know.” He replied, sounding a bit nervous. His voice was a little shaky, as if he was straining to get the words out.

“Do you know if this person is coming?” You were standing there with your arms crossed, trying to see if anyone else was coming after him.

At that moment, a look of confusion came over his face. It had not even crossed your mind that it might be him. And although it was to be expected and totally understandable since you had never seen a picture of him, Spencer still felt a twinge of pain and insecurity inside. Perhaps you expected him to look different, or at least not look like a kid playing federal agent.

Maybe it would have been helpful if he had sent you a picture of himself when you sent yours. That way, you might have had a better idea of what to expect. But you were very understanding of his insecurities and lack of comfort with the photos at the time. So he thought everything would be fine anyway…he was so wrong.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before speaking up. “Actually, it's me.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to hide how nervous he was, with little success.

As soon as he said it, you looked surprised, your mouth slightly open, and then you laughed.

“That's pretty funny.” You said it with a slightly uncomfortable smile. When you realized he wasn't laughing, you added, “Good joke.”

Seeing your reaction, Spencer felt the urge to shrink back and disappear, as if that action could erase the last few seconds of your memory and also erase the feeling he suddenly had of having screwed up in an unfamiliar way. He felt his chest tighten as you asked him again if the person you were waiting for was coming. Was it so hard to believe that he was the person you were talking to? The one who earned your trust and affection?

“I spent several hours on a plane, so please let me know if your colleague is coming.” You spoke again, your tone conveying a hint of disappointment and fatigue. “If I'm a nuisance and Spencer doesn't want to see me, I'd appreciate knowing that.”

Hearing you say his first name gave him an unexpected shiver. It sounded so pleasant and intimate. He took another deep breath and forced herself to speak clearly.

“Wait, he does want to see you.” He paused for a moment, realizing he sounded a bit ridiculous. “I mean, I do. I'm Spencer.”

You're momentarily taken aback, unsure if the guy in front of you is joking. His nervous expression suggests otherwise, and you even entertain the possibility that he might be crazy.

Oh my goodness, you were all alone on a practically empty floor of the FBI offices with an insane agent.

“Just let me know if she's coming or not, please.” You said, taking a few steps back to be at a safe distance from him.

His mouth was so dry he could only manage a soft, hoarse whisper. “She? Did you think I was a girl?”

“You?” You furrowed your brow, feeling more confused and uneasy.

At last, he had a suggestion and reached into his pocket to retrieve his badge, holding it out to you in a gesture that seemed to convey innocence.

“I’m Spencer Reid.” He said, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he was caught off guard by the peculiar turn of events.

You looked at the badge, confused, and slowly looked up, looking into his eyes closely for the first time. You studied his face intently, not really believing it.

“Are you Spencer? My Spencer?” You asked.

When you said “my,” he felt a flutter in his chest. His brain was trying to tell him not to get too invested in the moment, but the vulnerable part of him was moved by the way you said it, like he was all yours. There was a special air of affection there that he liked.

“Yes.” He replied, almost in a whisper. “I am.”

You had to take a moment to process the information, eyes glued to his as you tried to make sense of it. Little by little, you come to understand. This was the person you had been talking to every day for months—the person with whom you had shared your fears, stories, and dreams. Yet you hadn't even asked him for a picture or a call—anything that would have made you realize that he wasn't a woman. It seems almost unreal to you to have fallen into such a confusion.

“I sent pictures of my cat to a man?!” Was the first thing you thought, and it managed to come out of your mouth clearly, in an indignant tone. “I said you were my soulmate!”

Now you were the one who sounded insane.

He stood there for a few moments, looking at you and seeing the different emotions on your face. When he finally spoke, his voice had a hint of insecurity in it.

“Yes…but your cat is cute, and you take good pictures.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit nervous. “Did you know that the evocative power of images is widely studied? They can help us verbalize and even rescue forgotten memories and stories from our collective memory and-” He silences himself. “Sorry.”

When he fell silent, your brain couldn't do the same, and thousands of hard-to-filter words began to appear. You had a strange feeling in your chest, a mixture of familiarity with the way his ramblings sounded to you, just like the emails you loved so much, and confusion about the whole situation.

“This is so strange.” You said to yourself, pacing around the room a couple of times. “I was so stupid-”

He observed you with great interest, trying to discern the thoughts and feelings that were likely swirling in your mind. He could empathize with your confusion, as he was also uncertain about the circumstances. He couldn't blame you for feeling bewildered. You had embarked on your journey with the expectation of meeting a girl named Spencer, but instead, you encountered him. You had envisioned a lovely girl, and you found him—a simple individual, a nerd who had been told on numerous occasions that nerds lacked charm.

“No. You're not.” He said, attempting to manage his desire to bridge the gap and offer solace. “It was a misunderstanding. I should have provided you with more information.”

“How would you even start a conversation by saying you were a man?” You let out a laugh to yourself. “I would have stopped talking to you instantly.”

The sentence hit him right in the heart.

The two of you had the opportunity to communicate by mail when your boss asked you to send reports on several of the autopsies with similarities you had done to the BAU. It was then that a picture of your cat was sent in the middle of the files. Spencer was the one who received it and made an attempt at a joke after your long apology. And then another, and another, until you ended up talking for four months until now.

But if you had known from the beginning that he wasn't a woman, you wouldn't have bothered to get to know him at all.

“I...I don't know what to tell you..” He admitted, sounding a little more vulnerable. “But why did you think I was a woman?”

After a moment's thought, you said. “Your name made me think of a girl I knew in college. And you...you were so nice and sweet in your emails that I found it hard to believe that a man could be like that through a screen.”

When you shared how you perceived him through his emails, it seemed that a certain vulnerability came to light. The situation had turned the tables, and now he was the one standing there trying to process the information.

“I thought I finally had a friend. You know what my job is like...and yours is just as all-consuming.” You spoke again, having to sit for a moment in one of the chairs in the place, trying to calm down. “It would've been great to have someone who understood me as a friend.”

He felt a pang in his heart at your words and was instantly reminded of the times you'd confided in him about how isolated you felt in your lab, surrounded by dead people and computers.

“You can still do that.” He replied without thinking. “I’m still the same person as before, just different packaging.”

For you, it was much more than that. First of all, you trusted him in the beginning because you thought he was a girl; that's why he understood you so much and you had that special connection.

Hell, you'd even told him how bad your period was, and he'd understood so well. He'd given you tips and facts that you didn't know that were beyond your expectations of what the average man knew.

“I mean, I'm still someone you can talk to.” He continued, his hands moving nervously in his pockets. “Unless you...unless you don't feel that way anymore.”

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded almost whispery and gentle. He couldn’t help but lift his gaze from the floor to you, feeling how his body relaxed just a bit with the soft sound of your voice.

“No, no. I still want to talk to you…if you’re my Spencer.”

“I am, all yours.” He replied with a smile.

[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!

[missbunnybunny]

『𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘.』

𝕿𝖜: somno, yandere, stalking, breaking and entering, fem-reader,non-con, manhandling, dubcon, overstim, Pervert!choso.«🛑𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸🛑» I think that's all.

NOTE: I don't know what I wrote. Not edited. Let me know if I missed anything.

You're desperate for a roommate. Entering your first year of college, you decided to find an off-campus apartment.

Thus, the reason why you're so desperate, you can't pay the bills yourself!

A friend recommended posting an advertisement online. So you did just that, asking for a roommate close your age.

Choso answered your ad, and after some questions, you decided that he was perfect. He was majoring in forensic.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: Who convinced you to get cameras for the apartment. " It's to make sure nothing happens. I wouldn't twant you getting hurt." He assured you.

But he doesn't tell you that he set up a few small ones in your room. He didn't want a random man with you in there.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: who has a collection of videos of you changing. His favorites are when you try and fail to muffle your moans when you pleasure yourself.

He strokes his length at the same pace your fingers pound your hole. Whimpering your name with a fucked out face.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: Gets brave and enters your room when you're deep a sleep. Removing the covers and taking pictures of your figure.

Your sleeping choices are an oversized t-shit and shorts. The shirt scrunched up, making you look delicious.

Fuch his getting hard just thinking about it.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: Who for nights on end just takes pictures of your clothed figure. Until it's not enough, he lifts your shirt and moans softly when he sees your perked up nipples.

Taking pictures of his hands squeezing your soft mount, his cock in between them. An electric pleasures shot throughout his body, at the feeling.

He takes pictures of his mouth around your cute lil nipples.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: Who slides your shorts just enough to see your clothed flower. He runs his finger against your slit, feeling a sticky pool form.

Who can't take it and uncovers your cunt, taking up close pictures. Some spreading your folds, some with his tip kissing your entrance.

He takes videos of how he ate you out like you were a 5 star meal.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: Who takes a video of his length rubbing against your fold, your honey coating his member as his hips buckle.

"Y/n-Ah- s-so good." He mumbles in a trance. His self-control slipped with every movement.

He knows it's wrong. But you feel so good to stop.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: Who takes his length and slowly begins to slit you open, sleepy moan and whimpers left your lips. Choso records the action, a perfect view of where you both connect.

He slowly fucks you, until he feels your walls flutter and constrict around him. He had to bite his shirt to stop himself from waking you up.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: Who has you coming on his cock, he want to desperately cum inside you but he pulls out before he spills his seed on your stomach.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: who cleans you and puts your clothes back. He exists your room, and he turned to his so he could masterbate to the video over again.

God, your face was so devine, drooling, and with your back arched. He wished he could fuck you silly, and have you past out around his length.

He secretly made your pleasured filled face his wallpaper.

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊!𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔: Who pretends he didn't fuck your sleeping body and carries on like normal. He continues to fuck you in your sleep, he feels a sense of pride when you complain about being soar the next morning.

You were doing homework in your room when your computer died. "Choso, can I use your computer?" You asked as you exited your room.

Choso called out in the affirmative from the living room. Entering choso's room, you quickly found his computer.

It was a large desktop with two screens. Signing into your Google docs, you continued your writing.

While typing your hand accidentally moved the mouse, opening a tab. Quickly going on to close it, not wanting to invade choso's privacy.

You froze, staring back at you was a video. One that had a setting that looked like your room, with shaking hand, you pressed play.

It was a view of someone entering your room before your sleeping figure came into view. You watched as choso began to touch your body.

The door to choso's room opened, and in walked the man himself.

Choso looked froze in his spot while you looked at him horrified. The video plays in the background.

Everything becomes a blur. Your body springs out of the chair. As choso moves closer to you, you make a room for the door.

But he catches you. His hand covers your mouth, and the other holds your waist, intrapping your arm.

Choso threw you both onto the bed, your body displayed on top of his. He kept you caged so you couldn’t run from him.

" shh, shh. It's okay, you know I wouldn't hurt you."He whispers seductively into your ear.

You try and struggle your way out of his grip, tears treating to fall. Your ass rubbed against his crotch and onto his growing bulge.

His hips thrust involuntary, in search of any pressure he could get. He whimpers in your ear, making you flush.

His hand that was wrapped around your waist slipped to your shorts. He tugged them down, gaining a startled yelp from you.

His fingers danced over your slit before plunging into your gummy walls. His pace was rough, making your back arch and muffle moans.

He can feel as your greedy hole clamps on his fingers. His palm rubs over your peal. It was over stimulating, and your eyes began to cross.

Your mind is going blank, stars behind your eyes. So much was happening at once, choso was finger fucking you while he humpped you like he was a dog in heat.

Trying to seek any pleasure he could from you.

He whispered, moaning your name, calling his good girl. The coil in your tummy snapped, and you twitched and convolced around his fingers.

Choso freed his hard on. Without warning, his tip began to kiss your entrance before he thrusted into you.

Your body twitched forwards, trying to escape the stimution, but choso's hand over your mouth was firm. Keeping you in place.

Your moans were like angelic calls to him, begging him to continue.

His shaft assaulted your G spot as he plunged roughly into your warmth. His hand snaked around your waist again, giving him a stable hold.

The new grip made it easier for him to abuse your womb. With every thrust, his length and girth made you stuffed.

His movements became uncoordinated as he reached his high. Your tummy tightened as the coil started to tighten.

Your mind was becoming mush, too cock drunk to think right. Choso rubbed your clit before giving it a pull.

The action broke you, pleasure electrocuted your brain, snapping your coil, and you came undone top of choso.

Choso removed his hand from your mouth, gripping your waist tightly as he pounded into you before stuttering and painting your warn walls white.

Unfiltered moans and whines left your over pleasuered body. Choso turned your face towards him and kissed you.

It was a hungry kiss, and he pumped more of his warm seed into you. Giving you a few more thrusts to make sure you didn't spill a single drop.

"Ah-G-good girl. So good f-for me." He says out of breath, almost slured before he pulled out.

His seed and your honey mixed into a puddle into the sheets. By now, you had passed out.

"Next time, let's do a sex tape." He chuckles at your sleeping face.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes (to go on a date with a dead guy) chapter 5 progress

“Hey!” Duke hollered, as soon as Jason put the key in his door. “Welcome back, loser!”

Danny huffed out a laugh. 

“Hey yourself,” Jason called out, holding the door open and making sure Danny got in before he closed it behind them. “Scruffy little brother, this is Danny. Danny, this is Duke.” 

“Wait, what?” Duke skidded into the room on socked feet, eyes wide and mouth grinning in confused delight. “I didn't know you had any friends!” 

“Oh, we're not friends,” Danny reassured him easily, missing Jason's scowl. “Just dating. So there's still no proof that he has friends.” He winked obnoxiously. 

Jason could see the moment Duke shut down and rebooted twice as excited. 

Christ. He quietly cursed to himself and ducked his head to hide the burning in his cheeks as Danny bounced over to hold his hand out. He was never beating the allegations of favoritism after this, Jason sighed. 

Danny was a little sun spot when he chirped, “Nice to meet you, I hear you're the generous distributor of games?”

“Yeah, that request makes sooo much more sense now.” Duke met Danny's hand with a friendly slap and then went in for a hug. Jason cringed at the familiarity- but apparently it was the right move. Danny went for it, backslapping Duke amiably. They separated. Danny thoughtfully held Duke at a distance, hands on his shoulders. 

“I see. So, you're my true opponent?” At Duke's nod, Danny smiled with a few too many teeth. He leaned in to hold intense eye contact. “Gonna kick your ass,” Danny vowed. 

“You can try, old man,” Duke shot back. They separated with grins. “I’ll set up. Jason, your taste is so much better than I thought it would be.”

Jason made an offended noise. “Wait, what?” 

Duke gestured at him with one lazy hand as he unlatched the top of his backpack and started withdrawing games. “I figured you would exclusively date super serious tough types.”

“... I'm tough,” Danny said morosely.

Jason resisted the urge to cackle. He didn't disbelieve it at all! Size wasn't everything. But the uh, the big baby eyes and slumping shoulders really weren't selling the toughness.

Duke shrugged, brutal and unconcerned with the damage he was leaving in his wake. “I was thinking more like a forensic accountant who collects rocks and cage fights literally just for the fitness benefits.” 

Jason took a moment to consider that theoretical accountant. He would date that person. They sounded well rounded. It was a sensible career, a chill hobby, and a reasonably active lifestyle. What was wrong with that? He frowned to himself. What was Duke even implying??

“I would date that accountant,” Danny reluctantly admitted. He seemed disgruntled about it. “I don't cage fight, sorry to disappoint. You can't imagine how much my sister would kill me if I tried.” 

“It's fine,” Jason reassured, making a mental note of a sister and the potential for quantifiable subsequent deaths. “Me either.” 

He could, though. He thought about it for a moment. He'd kick so much ass. That would be a fun way to give Bruce a heart attack. 

Duke snorted, but thankfully said nothing else. Jason didn't want to hear what Duke thought about his odds in cage fighting. Jason knew what was in his heart and that it was fighting potential. 

The game Duke and Danny settled on was a multiplayer racing game. Jason dutifully tried. His car bounced along and beat out all but one of the computer's characters. He endured two rounds before he bowed out and leaned back to watch the other two trash talk each other. 

Honestly, these games were repetitive and pretty boring. Jason zoned out and stretched. He was laying his arm along the back of the couch before he realized that was a bad idea. 

He froze, forearm just barely brushing against the back of Danny's neck. Danny… didn't seem to care. 

Well. Jason let his arm relax. It was only weird if Danny thought it was weird. 

Duke glanced over out of the corner of his eye and gave Jason a cat-faced smirk. Jason raised his hand just enough to show off his favorite finger. 

“Hey, gimme a min?” Duke said. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Liar. Sneaking liar, Jason thought fondly. He was going to try to spy and see what they did when he left the room. 

Danny hit the pause button and let the controller drop to the sofa. “Yeah, go piss girl,” he drawled. 

Jason cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Duke just laughed, so that must have been some kind of reference. He clambered over the back of the sofa and gave Danny's shoulders a light push on his way past. 

Danny went with the motion and bumped into Jason with a giggle. Jason endured it patiently, bemused but enjoying that they were both happy. 

The bathroom door shut behind Duke. 

Danny leaned further into Jason and contorted his neck at a frankly precarious angle to look up at him. “Are you having fun?” He checked. Danny's ear brushed against Jason's chest in a way that he was hyper aware of. There was line of concern between his eyebrows that Jason kinda wanted to smooth away with a thumb.

[gyllenhaalstuff]

nah cuz mean david loki is hella hot but then when he’s in you he completely melts and whines like a bitch

I’m gonna rip my hair out.

Bother

- Detective Loki

This gif makes me cum sorry

Summary: Seeing you talk back to him, David gets more bothered than he should, in ways he definitely shouldn’t.

Warnings: arguing, degradation, groping, semi public sex, mirror sex, change of dynamics, David is pathetic, piv sex, unprotected sex.

Word count: 1379

Notes: Hey, so this is ass. I still wanted to give this a try even though I’m not very good at writing mean characters. Hope you find it alright still xx :)

══════════════════

If there was one thing David liked, it was being in control. Or at least feeling like he was. However, this didn’t mean that he never lost it.

Working for him entailed being bossed around a lot. There was never a moment to catch your breath, but continuous tasks, one after the other, for 8 hours straight. File this paper, call that department, email the forensics, go through the CCTV footage, copy this transcript. Through all of this, David remained stoic and stern, even though his wandering eyes told another story.

This way of work didn’t usually bother you; in fact, it was nice not being bored. But on bad days, God, you wanted to rip David’s head off. And if he got frustrated enough, his clothes too. On this particular day, you couldn’t make yourself do anything but stare at the wall and linger by the coffee machine. It got on David’s nerves; it was obvious by the way his forehead vein showed with the clenching of his jaw. With his work ethic, he couldn’t wrap his head around your slacking. He also couldn’t wrap his head around why this made him want to push you up against the wall instead of slamming your head into it. The latter bothered him the most.

“You didn’t send out that email,” he pointed out when you came back from the coffee machine, again, cup in hand. “Sorry, I’ll get to it. Just tired today,” you excused yourself; he didn’t seem to care. You weren’t weak, but getting told off felt horrible, so you complied. “We’re all tired today,” he mumbled back as if to say, ‘I don’t care if you’re tired. Do your job.’

You sat back down in the uncomfortable office chair, put your coffee on the desk, and opened your computer back up. Dear Pavlikovsky,. Regarding the skin cells collected from the steering wheel in the Finch case… You could finally think of words and actually put them into text. But life wasn’t going to be that easy, so to even it out, your elbow knocked your coffee cup over, spilling its contents across your desk before you were able to catch it. “Jesus Christ,” David sighed, “Can you do anything?” Like you needed to hear that, like you weren’t already pissed off at yourself and him. “I’m trying here!” you said back, accidentally raising your voice at him. He didn’t like that, not at all. “Yeah? Well, you should try harder,” he countered, matching your volume.

This was your final straw. You got up and left the room, making a straight line for the restrooms. Fuck this job, fuck David, and fuck Pavlikovsky. You pushed the door open and stepped into the tiled room. All the stalls were empty this time of day, thank God. You turned on the sink before splashing your face with water, drying it, and sighing. You closed your eyes for a few seconds, trying to collect yourself. 1, 2, 3, 4… But then the door opened, which was weird since you were the only woman left.

“Hey, no need to barge out like that.” Sigh. His voice was lower, but neither kinder nor calmer. “Why not?” You looked at him through the mirror, and for once he didn’t look like a dictator waiting to point fingers. “Because I like to be respected,” he explained while stepping forward, standing a foot behind you. He looked down on you in the reflection, with his arms crossed and eyes blinking compulsively from frustration. “Why should I respect you if you don’t even like me?” Maybe you should have kept quiet, but it was time to rip off the band-aid anyway. He snickered at this, at you. “I don’t dislike you.” David felt himself abandoning his morals as he took a step forward, pressing his crotch against you. “But I can’t stand you constantly disrupting me.”

Why he did this, he had no idea. Or he knew why he wanted to; he just didn’t understand how he could have. But as you had abandoned your tasks and disrespected his orders, his mind had gone elsewhere while his blood rushed to his groin. Control was slipping away.

It took a second for you to register what was happening, widening your eyes once you realized that your laziness wasn’t going to be punished but rewarded. You weren’t complaining about the change of events, not at all. In fact, this might get you back on track. Seeing this authoritative man fighting to keep his composure had arousal swirling in your stomach. His nostrils flared as his breathing deepened, seeing his crotch pressed up against you.

“I won’t stop you,” you admitted even though you still had some anger lingering. David looked relieved for a moment, a rare sighting. He placed one of his hands on your ass, making you lean your upper body against the sink and press back up against his erection. “Do you always slut yourself out like this?” he asked you, but didn’t back off. Instead, He pulled your pants down and squeezed the exposed skin.

Even though you had a hard time understanding his thought process, you didn’t question him. Especially when you saw him undo his pants in the reflection. You weren’t going to ruin this. You backed up against him once again. He hummed quietly through gritted teeth, still trying to maintain control.

“You did this,” he pointed out; it almost sounded like a threat, before pulling your panties down. The sight stirred him up, made him twitch in his boxers. He ran a finger through your folds, scoffing at your wetness, making you blush with embarrassment. He pulled his cock out, stroking it a few times before lining himself up. His breath grew shaky when your wetness warmed his tip; his eyelids even fluttered. He was slipping out of it.

He pushed in and whimpered like a bitch as your warmth hugged him. You couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You weren’t the slut here; he was. Getting riled up seeing you pissed off and then following you to the bathroom, hoping he would be granted some relief, that's pathetic.

He was moving inside of you slowly, too slowly. Realizing how weak he was made you take the wheel. So you pushed yourself onto his cock, without warning or concern. His nails dug into your hips as he whined at your sudden move. His mind kept telling him to keep his focus, to not lose himself. But he did. He was expecting to fuck you, not to be fucked. His plan had crumbled.

His hips made weak thrusts as you fucked yourself on him, mindlessly moving. The view in the mirror made your stamina feel infinite. His furrowed brows and slack jaw. And the cries spilling from his mouth were like a drug, making everything electric and your brain fuzzy. David thought he was going to melt into a puddle; he hadn’t had sex in so long he had forgotten how fucking good it could be.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he mewled and gripped your skin tighter, forgetting how strong he was even when he was being pathetic. His hands would come to leave purple bruises on your hips. “You’re a weird fucking guy, David.” You scoffed as you tried to keep your tone strict amidst your struggling breaths. To your surprise, David’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at your words. Regret built in him, which for some reason made his arousal do the same, making him feel even more ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled in his strained, high-pitched, whiny voice.

You upped your pace, making him fully moan. His noises bounced off the cold tile, echoing through the room. His hair was a mess; strands were falling down over his face. You almost felt proud, betting very few people ever got to see David like this.

He came with a loud whine; it almost sounded more like a sob. The fact that you had your superior cumming inside of you was a rush. You backed away from him, pulling off of his cock. “So this is why I bother you,” you turned around and huffed, “Just let me know next time you're horny so I don’t have to make a scene.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Announcing the Picks and Shovels book tour

This week only, Barnes and Noble is offering 25% off pre-orders of my forthcoming novel Picks and Shovels.

My next novel, Picks and Shovels, is officially out in the US and Canada on Feb 17, and I'm about to leave on a 20+ city book-tour, which means there's a nonzero chance I'll be in a city near you between now and the end of the spring!

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865908/picksandshovels

Picks and Shovels is a standalone novel starring Martin Hench – my hard-charging, two-fisted, high-tech forensic accountant – in his very first adventure, in the early 1980s. It's a story about the Weird PC era, when no one was really certain what shape PCs should be, who should make them, who should buy them, and what they're for. It features a commercial war between two very different PC companies.

The first one, Fidelity Computing, is a predatory multi-level marketing faith scam, run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest, and an orthodox rabbi. Fidelity recruits people to exploit members of their faith communities by selling them third-rate PCs that are designed as rip-off lock-ins, forcing you to buy special floppies for their drives, special paper for their printers, and to use software that is incompatible with everything else in the world.

The second PC company is Computing Freedom, a rebel alliance of three former Fidelity Computing sales-managers: an orthodox woman who's been rejected by her family after coming out as queer; a Mormon woman who's rejected the Church over its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment, and a nun who's quit her order to join the Liberation Theology movement in the struggle for human rights in America's dirty wars.

In the middle of it all is Martin Hench, coming of age in San Francisco during the PC bubble, going to Dead Kennedys shows, getting radicalized by ACT UP!, and falling in love – all while serving as CFO and consigliere to Computing Freedom, as a trade war turns into a shooting war, and they have to flee for their lives.

The book's had fantastic early reviews, with endorsements from computer historians like Steven Levy (Hackers), Claire Evans (Broad-Band), John Markoff (What the Doormouse Said) and Dan'l Lewin (CEO of the Computer History Museum). Stephen Fry raved that he "hugely enjoyed" the "note perfect," "superb" story.

And I'm about to leave on tour! I have nineteen confirmed dates, and two nearly confirmed dates, and there's more to come! I hope you'll consider joining me at one of these events. I've got a bunch of fantastic conversation partners joining me onstage and online, and the bookstores that are hosting me are some of my favorite indie booksellers in the world.

BOSTON (Feb 14): Boskone, 4PM, Westin Boston Seaport District

BOSTON (Feb 14): Brookline Booksmith with KEN LIU, 7PM, 279 Harvard Street, Brookline

VIRTUAL (Feb 15): YANIS VAROUFAKIS, sponsored by Jacobin and hosted by David Moscrop, 10AM Pacific, 1PM Eastern, 6PM UK, 7PM CET

MENLO PARK (Feb 17): Kepler’s Books with CHARLIE JANE ANDERS, 7PM, 1010 El Camino Real

LOS ANGELES (Feb 18): Diesel Bookstore with WIL WHEATON, 630PM, 225 26th Street, Santa Monica

SEATTLE (Feb 19): Third Place Books with DAN SAVAGE, 7PM, 17171 Bothell Way NW Lake Forest Park

TORONTO (Feb 23): Another Story, 630PM, 315 Roncesvalles Ave

NYC (Feb 26): The Strand with JOHN HODGMAN, 7PM, 828 Broadway

PENN STATE (Feb 27): Kern Auditorium, 7PM, 112 Kern Building

DOYLESTOWN (Mar 1): Doylestown Bookshop, 12PM, 16 S Main St

BALTIMORE (Mar 2): Red Emma’s, 2PM, 630PM, 3128 Greenmount Ave

DC (Mar 4): Cleveland Park Library with MATT STOLLER, 630PM, 3310 Connecticut Ave NW

RICHMOND (Mar 5): Fountain Bookstore with LEE VINSEL, 6PM, 1312 E Cary St

AUSTIN (Mar 10): First Light Books, 7PM, 4300 Speedway/43rd

BURBANK (Mar 13): Dark Delicacies, 6PM, 822 N. Hollywood Way

SAN DIEGO (Mar 24): Mysterious Galaxy, 7PM, 3555 Rosecrans

BELFAST (Mar 24) (remote): Imagine! Festival with ALAN MEBAN, 7PM UK

CHICAGO, Apr 2: Exile in Bookville with PETER SAGAL, 7PM, 410 S Michigan Ave, 2nd floor

BLOOMINGTON, Apr 4: Morgenstern Books, 6PM, 642 N Madison St

PDX, Jun 20 (TBC): Powell’s Books (date and time to be confirmed)

I'm also finalizing plans for one or two dates in NEW ZEALAND at the end of April, as well as a ATLANTA date, likely on March 26.

I really hope you'll come out and say hello. I know these are tough times. Hanging out with nice people who care about the same stuff as you is a genuine tonic.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/06/picks-and-shovels-tour/#19-cities-plus-plus

[hxney-lemcn]

The Riddle of Love — Gotham! Edward Nygma x gn! reader

summery: Edward's interest shifts to someone who indulges in his love of riddles.

tw: bullying (?), kristen kringle is a warning all her own in this fic, implied rejection (not really tho, Ed's just awkward).

a/n: I hope so much that I wrote all these characters correctly. I have riddler fever rn and really wanted to write for him, but I've always been scared that I'd write him too ooc. I think I did good tho.

wc: 3.1k

Master List

��What is it that no one wants to have, but no one wants to lose either?” I asked. I already knew it was a lost cause. Edward Nygma was the smartest man I had ever met. Dorky? Yes. Nerdy? Absolutely. Smart? Incredibly. So trying to impress him at his own game wasn’t exactly the smartest move. Yet, the first time I gave him a riddle to solve (which he solved ridiculously fast), I don’t think I’d ever seen him so happy. So I continued to scour the internet in my free time to try and find obscure riddles. 

Although this riddle wasn’t that obscure. I was running out of riddles to find, and I sure as hell couldn’t make my own. 

“A lawsuit,” Eddie replied without missing a beat, still focusing on testing blood samples. 

I couldn’t stop the pout that formed on my face, “It’s not fair how smart you are.”

I didn’t see Ed’s lips twitch up, how the praise I didn’t think twice about saying impacted him more than he’d like to admit. It was quiet for a few minutes, and I looked back down to the papers I had brought with me. Sometimes, I found myself working in the forensic lab when I could. One of the perks of being a criminal data analyst. I could make my notes on paper, and then just copy them into the computer later. 

Since I was a data analyst, I was in the record archives often. I was acquainted with Kristen Kringle, which obviously led me to Edward Nygma. She would complain about him if I came in after he had left. At that point I didn’t know him, but I also found her complaints unfounded. I’d let her vent, but I’d also speak up for him, which made her glance away in what I assume was guilt. Then there were the unfortunate times that I’d walk in on his awkward flirting. I’d just tensely put away or take the files I needed for my research and leave them to it. 

But after enough times, I’d caught him in the middle of one of his riddles. An easy one, probably to dumb it down for Kringle so she’d be enticed to answer it in the first place. Yet he had caught the attention of the wrong person. Although that didn’t seem to put a damper on his mood. He only sent me a tight lipped smile with a little ‘ding ding ding!’. That’s how I was caught hook line and sinker. His mannerisms were oddly endearing to me, and that’s how our odd little friendship formed. 

I was brought out of my reverie as Eddie shuffled over to his microscope, “I am a nine lettered word and rhyme with perfection; I am another name for love. What am I?”

I blinked, not ready for a riddle, even though I always should be in the presence of him. I looked up from my work, and I noticed how Eddie was sweating, his cheeks flushing a bright red. I tapped the metal table anxiously, the word love had thrown me off my game and my brain felt empty of anything else. I mumbled words under my breath that rhyme with perfection. 

“Deception, reception, perception,” I mumbled, yet none of them fit the rest of the rhyme. The longer I took, the more anxious Eddie seemed to get. “Affection. Oh! The answer is affection!”

Ed cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses, “Y-yes, that is correct. G-good job.” My proud smile fell into a more awkward one, thinking over the implications. That riddle sounded like one he’d save for Kringle. Was he running out of riddles as well? The thought alone was preposterous. It was tense for a bit. And when I realized I had nothing left to do but input the current data I had on some wanna be gang leader. The sad part is I knew that the cops aren’t going to be the first ones who get them. 

Even though I needed to leave, it felt wrong for some reason. To leave the situation after Edward had seemed to admit something in his unique way of sharing. I didn’t want to assume his feelings, yet I knew he also wasn’t one to just state them willingly. Biting my lip anxiously, I decided to just do it. 

Walking over towards Ed’s hunched form, I leaned down to place a light kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see ya later Eddie.” Then I booked it out of the room, leaving behind a very flustered dork. 

It wasn’t much later in the day when Doctor Lee Thompson entered my office. It wasn’t much of an office. The dark walls made the space feel enclosed, and it barely fit my desk and the few cabinets it held. Yet I didn’t mind it since it was a space for myself. Lee, on the other hand, was another acquaintance whose office was nowhere near mine. She’d only come to my office for a few reasons, if it was work related (which was rare since our departments weren’t similar), or if it was personal. Sometimes she fessed that it seemed I needed some company, that it would do me no good to spend all this time alone in my office. Other times…it was on a more personal note, about Eddie and I’s relationship. 

She plopped a candy bar on my desk, a placating move that was all too familiar.

“You must’ve done a real number on Ed,” She smirked, sitting on my desk. Due to the tiny size of the room, and the nature of my job, I didn’t have a seat for guests. 

“What do you mean?” I asked. Deep down, I knew exactly what she meant. I knew Edward was an awkward man, and his experience with flirting was an ultimate zero. Yet it was hard to imagine that he was still affected by a small gesture of affection… Okay maybe the gesture wasn’t that small, for either of us, but still! 

Lee’s smirk widened, “I think you know exactly what. Poor little Ed kept stumbling over his words when I brought you up. Something must’ve happened.”

I unwrapped the candy bar as she spoke, wanting to avoid any thought of the earlier moment. Looking back it was so awkward and a terrible attempt at…what? Flirting? Was that my intention? I didn’t even know my own intentions! 

I took a bite from the candy bar, savoring the sweet flavor before having to explain the painfully awkward memory. When I managed to explain the event, Lee couldn’t stop herself from chuckling, causing me to finish my candy bar with a bitter look. 

“That sounds like something you’d both do,” She smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” I huffed, trying to fight off the flush of embarrassment I felt. 

“Nothing,” She sighed wistfully. “But you two really take your time, huh?” 

“Shut up,” I scowled. 

“Okay, okay,” She threw her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll stop teasing…for now. But seriously, I think you two would be cute together.”

I let out a childish groan, “I get it. Is there anything else you need?” 

“No,” She smiled as she stood up. “Just wanted to see what had Ed all wound up.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart skipped a beat at the implication. As Lee saw herself out, my mind kept racing. What was Ed doing right now? What was he thinking about? Did he really care enough about my opinion, about my affection, that he was still affected by it? I stared at my computer screen, the cursor blinking mindlessly. Glancing at the time, I scowled as I realized I still had 30 minutes left to my shift. The idea of going home, having a relaxing dinner and then maybe treating myself to a warm bath. 

…

That was only the beginning. It seems that Eddie’s admiration had shifted from Kristin Kringle to me. It was flattering, to say the least. At least to me. Once I gained Ed’s attention, I seemed to have gained his colleagues attention as well. Typically, I didn’t work with the officers, I’d research criminals, then that data would be added to the files. So when I walked past James Gordon and Harvey Bullock, I never thought twice. But when Ed had waved at me, that cute tight lipped smile on his face as I waved back, a smile of my own adorning my face, it drew the attention of the two detectives. 

"Careful Ed,” Harvey mocked. “Don’t wanna scare them off.” Jim only glanced up briefly, not interested in the situation in the least. I watched as Ed’s smile twitched for a second, Harvey’s words seeming to get to him. I felt my smile slip, not liking how they treat him in the slightest.

“He…didn’t do anything wrong,” I shrugged, before waving goodbye, making my way to the record archives. Not only them, but even Kringle was looking at me more than just as a person to vent to. 

“I feel sorry for you,” She stated, adjusting her thick rimmed glasses. Her hazel eyes held their usual air of judgment as she placed some files back in their spots. 

“Why?” I asked, flipping through to find the person I needed. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asked, raising one of her perfectly maintained eyebrows. “Edward’s got his eyes on another victim.” I frowned, anger bubbling within me at the way she always found new ways to insult him. 

“I wouldn’t describe it like that,” I managed to grit out. “I find the sentiment sweet.”

“Wait,” Kringle paused, turning to look at me with disbelief. “Do you…like him?”

I sighed, finding it hard to focus on the task at hand with this irritating conversation, “Would there be something wrong with that?”

“Isn’t it kind of weird how fast he switched?” She asked, a hint of jealousy in her tone. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he loses interest in you.”

I slammed the cabinet shut in a bout of rage, leaving the room before I do something I may regret…or lose my job over. As I exited, my scowl worsened when I realized I didn’t even get what I needed. 

“Hello!” Edward’s excited voice greeted me as I entered the break room. When my gaze landed on him, I felt my expression soften, my shoulder’s relaxing. His brown eyes were so expressive, that silly smile on his face never failed to melt my heart. 

“Hey,” I muttered back. Looking over the options in the vending machine. Just get something to eat, and hopefully I’ll feel better. 

“Is…something the matter?” He asked, fidgeting with his glasses. I let out a long sigh as I sat across from him at one of the few tables. 

Taking a bite of my snack, I took some time to gather my thoughts and feelings, “Sometimes I just hate people.”

His eyebrows raised, nervously fidgeting with his tie, “Th-that’s…understandable.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, finally cooling down. “Someone was just saying some really mean things and it got to me.”

Edwards’ demeanor changed in an instant, a frown replacing his smile, and his eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of concern and anger, “Who?”

I blinked, “What?”

“Who insulted you?” He asked, fists clenched. This wasn’t what I was expecting. He would get annoyed, yeah, but he’d always just stew in it until he calmed down. And he was barely angry when I was around, which was something I was proud of. So seeing him react so harshly was unusual. It made me feel a bit appreciated, that he cared enough to get this angry over it, yet it was also unsettling.

“They…they were insulting you,” I clarified, rubbing my arm awkwardly. “And trust me, I was ready to do some things that would’ve gotten me fired.”

Ed blinked, calming down drastically at the revelation, “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “I swear if she says one more damned thing about you I’m gonna…” I strangled the air, the only way I could express how frustrated her insults made me.

Edward fake coughed, his cheeks tinged a light pink, “I assume you mean Miss Kringle.”

I paused, hoping it didn’t hurt that his past interest was still as rude as ever. “I didn’t even manage to get the files I needed,” I grumbled, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

“...I can get them for you,” I felt my heart crack. Was he still interested in her? Was that why he was so ready to go into the den of the woman who so readily insults him? 

“Oh, no you don’t have to do that,” I shook my head. “I’ll just have Lee do it.”

Ed blinked, seeming to think over something before standing up, “I’ll be right back.” Before he was fully out the door he paused, “Whose case files did you need?”

I couldn’t help the tiny grin at how eager he was as I gave him the names of the people I needed files on. Yet that smile fell. Was he really so excited to get a chance to see Kringle that he almost left without knowing what files he needed? I finished my snack, getting a drink from the vending machine while I was at it. My mind continued to make up terrible scenarios that could be happening at that moment. How she could manage to crush Ed’s precious heart even more than she’s already managed to.

Ed was back quicker than I realized. It took him less than ten minutes! He set the files I needed on the table, that tight lipped grin on his face as he waited for my input.

“Oh! Thank you!” I thanked, flipping through the files to make sure they were all there. “She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

“No,” He replied simply. As I met his gaze, that’s when I finally realized that he was truly over Kringle. I should’ve felt disturbed at how intense his gaze was, at how strong his emotions seemed to be when he wasn’t even trying. Yet I only felt flattered, important, and wanted. Emotions I wasn’t completely used to, and caused my heart to stutter at how strong my own emotions were becoming. 

Standing up, I leaned in and kissed his cheek again, this time a bit more confident then the last time I did. I waved goodbye as I walked out with the files he gave me. I felt pride swell within me as I watched Eddie become a flustered mess as I left. It was a good mood lifter as I watched him fumble with his usual nervous ticks, before he was finally out of my sight. 

…

Edward’s courting tactics only seemed to grow after that. I wasn’t sure what changed him to do so. I could only speculate that Lee had something to do with it. She kept stopping by my office, asking how Ed and I were doing like she hadn’t just seen us the day before. I can’t lie, I was reveling in the attention that Ed was giving me, and I could tell he’d revel in my attention as well. A mutual pining on both sides. 

Normally, I’d be okay with that. Too scared to try and push things forward. Edward Nygma was different. He was just so…amazing. I’ve never felt so strongly towards someone. He was sweet, attentive, smart, and overall lovely. I couldn’t just settle for pining, I wanted to experience what it would be like as his lover. 

Which led me to this horrendous mess up of a confession.

I dressed up a bit nicer than usual, hoping to impress the cute dork. I felt confident in myself, an emotion I don’t feel regularly. I greeted Lee, who seemed like she guessed the occasion and sent me a wink when I walked past. 

“Hey Eddie,” I greeted, setting a cup of coffee down on the counter.

“Oh! Hello,” He greeted me, smiling. “You seem chipper this morning.”

Nudging the coffee towards him I smiled back, “It’s a good day today. I got you a coffee.”

“You didn’t need to,” Ed replied sheepishly, not used to people giving him things. 

I only shrugged, “I wanted to.” I tapped the counter I was leaning on as nerves started to slowly creep through me. So, before my anxiety could get the best of me, I blurted out, “What is mine but only you can have?”

With furrowed eyebrows, Ed actually paused to answer a riddle for the first time during this little game we had. His eyes flitted around the room, like he was trying to avoid the answer. I know he was smart enough to figure it out, so the fact he was taking so long to answer caused my heart rate to spike from anxiety. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I was reading the room wrong. I blame Lee for feeding me a wrong understanding. 

“I…uh…” Ed stuttered over his words, sweat dripping down the side of his face. Shit, shit, shit! I shouldn’t have said that. He does know the answer, I found it online easily, he obviously knows. He doesn’t feel the same and now he’s trying to find a way to politely reject me. 

“Nevermind!” I exclaimed, trying to quell my nerves by getting the fuck out of here. “Stupid riddle! Never needs an answer. I should get to work.”

“W-wait!” Eddie called out, making me stop in my tracks. So close yet so far. “I can be a fruit, I can be on a calendar, I can be important, and I can be forgotten. What am I?”

Turning back around, I watched as Eddie picked at his nails. We both seemed like complete messes at the moment. It was hard for me to think of anything due to my previous failure of admitting my feelings. I bit my lip awkwardly, trying to stop myself from making any more of a fool of myself.

“I…I’m not sure Eddie,” I chuckled solemnly.

Clearing his throat, he adjusted his glasses before admitting, “A date. W-would you accompany me on one?” I stared at him with wide eyes, unsure if I heard him correctly.

“Y-yeah! Of course I will!” That tinge of embarrassment was quickly overpowered by exhilaration. The smile that stretched across my face almost hurt with how big it was. Eddie’s smile was also wide as he still couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Is…is tonight okay? Dinner? 7 o’clock?”

“That sounds perfect.” 

And to make the moment better, I kissed his cheek before parting, excited for what the night held for us.

[wanderingmind867]

My ideas for The Riddler (Edward Nygma/Nashton):

Edward Nashton was a child born into an abusive household. His father, James Nashton, regularly beat him and his mother. His only justification for beating his son was that "he was too big a smartass". Edward had OCD and ASD, and his father beat him for displaying syndromes of such disorders. This contributed to Edward's future mental instability. His mother was also no better. She was a frail coward, who simply had grown resigned to the abuse over a lifetime of receiving it. So she never stood up for her son. She wasn't malicious, but she wasn't helpful either. She was just there.

As he grew up, Edward constantly talked about how he wanted to be a professor or teacher at a prestigious academy (so he could share his knowledge with the world), but his father wouldn't let him go a "Job fit only for women or pansies", and he insisted Edward become a Cop. Pretty much beat that lesson into Edward, too. So this is how edward ends up joining the GCPD as a forensic analyst. It was never what he really wanted from life, but he's resigned to it being all he can expect.

While working with the GCPD, Edward learns about the first Riddler. You see, there used to be a famous crime lord in the 80s and 90s known as the Riddler. He terrorized Gotham for at least a decade, ruining the lives of all the normal gangsters (like the falcones, for example), but he just disappeared one day. No one knew where he went… That is, until he suddenly reappears one day. Note: (This is the Riddler of the telltale games, possibly mixed with a bit of The Puzzler from Batman 1966).

This Riddler figure leaves a strong impression in Edward's mind (especially since edward is assigned to help the gcpd and the us government investigate his crimes). Another man obsessed with puzzles and riddles, except he was able to channel his skills to make something of himself. Even after the original Riddler dies, he lingers in the brain of Edward Nashton. He hides this from his coworkers (scared of being judged), but the fascination is there.

I'll try and skip the middle part of the backstory: Edward works for the GCPD for a while after the Riddler case, but his personal life slowly begins to go downhill. His mother dies, so he has to attend her funeral. This gets him first hand seats to more of his father's abuse. He then tried to ask someone out for lunch, only to get rejected and laughed at. Finally, he hears some of the other people on the force mock him (saying he's too socially awkward and weird). These unfortunate events eventually begin to wear on his psyche, until he eventually snaps. They all build up and wear on his mind, until he can't take it anymore.

This is the birth of The Riddler. Using his forensics knowledge and computer skills, he hacks into the gotham square billboards, and he taunts everyone with a riddle. By the time anyone figures it out, it's too late. All the GCPD officers who mocked him (plus his father and the person who laughed in his face) have been kidnapped and taken to a secret location somewhere outside the city. Batman has 24 hours to find them, or they all die!

Edward really thought he'd planned the perfect crime, but Batman eventually catches him and all his hostages. This copycat of the original riddler, except way crazier. One thing we have to keep is frank gorshin's bizarre cackle. So yeah, the riddler is a cackling madman who can go from stone cold and serious, to maniacal and deranged. The Riddler's back, and he's better than ever before!

PS: I never mentioned this above, but Edward has a rivalry with the Cluemaster (Arthur Brown). This is because they both want to be seen as the one true legitimate puzzle based supervillain and/or heir to the Riddler name. They have a begrudging respect for each other (edward did like arthur's tv show, and arthur admires edward's skill with riddles), but they're still rivals and opponents.

[kenziesimsblog]

SIMS 3 YOUTUBER LEGACY

SIMS 3 YOUTUBER LEGACY

FOR THIS LEGACY YOU CAN CHOOSE WHERE YOU LIVE BUT MUST BE A CITY CELEBRITY WORLD FOR GEN ONE PLEASE NOTE NOT ALL OF THIS INFORMATION OR TRAITS/GOALS FIT THE YOUTUBERS!

GEN 8 WAS A FILLER BECAUSE I COULDNT THINK OF ANYONE THEY HAPPENED TO POP UP ON MY RECOMMENED !

GENERATION 1- TARA YUMMY

you grew up in a rural town moving to the big city as soon as you got the chance , your confident with yourself and love to be social what does the city life hold for you?

STYLE PREFERENCE - Y2K

TRAITS - social butterfly, irresistible, party animal, dog lover and vegetarian

LIFETIME WISH- blog artist

GOALS

run a 5 star blog

get a partner have a few kids THEN BREAK UP no marriage yet

go clubbing every saturday night

adopt a dog -your a party animal throw birthday parties every weekend

throw parties for holidays sometimes -do not eat meat your a vegetarian

become a five star celebrity

when you reach 8 days before elder status get back with your ex and have a private wedding with your family

complete your lifetime wish then gen complete

OPTIONAL IF YOU HAVE THE MODELING MOD JOIN MODEL CAREER AND MASTER MODELING SKILL*

GENERATION 2- SAM AND COLBY

your parent was kinda of a party animal they never really grew up as soon as you reached young adult status you left.

STYLE PREFRENCE - DARK ACADEMIA

TRAITS- adventurous, night owl, rebellious, loves the outdoors and easily impressed

LIFETIME WISH- paranormal profiteer

GOALS

meet your best friend in high school and stay friends your whole life -pull pranks -when your first move out have atleast 2 roomies aside from your best friend

move out of roomie house with your best friend -join ghost hunting profession with bff

fall in love with co worker or bestie

get married fast

have as many kids as you want

must have triplets {can cheat this}

complete lifetime wish

GENERATION 3- STURNIOLO TRIPLETS

you and your triplets have always been close and its hard to move on

STYLE PREFERENCE - STREETWEAR

TRAITS (only give to main heir) - good sense of humor, friendly, schmoozer , excitable, and vehicle enthusiat

LIFETIME WISH- reach max influence with all social groups

CAREER- self employed

GOALS {follow with heir}

stay close to other triplets

you all move in together -you go to uni for fun ultimately dropping out

meet partner in uni

join any freelance career -only have one kid

be extremley close to child and partner

GENERATION 4- SIMPHORA (WRITTEN BY @simphoraa)

Name - Simphora °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𐦍༘⋆

Description - You like to call yourself the “Jack of All Trades”, and eh.. you may not be actually considered one. But, you have a lot of interests, passions, the undying urge to explore new things, and acquire more knowledge and skills. Go show the world what you’re truly capable of!

Aesthetic - Luxurious Baddie

Traits - Ambitious, Dramatic, Computer Whiz, Hopeless Romantic, Workaholic

Lifetime wish - Forensic Specialist: Dynamic DNA Profiler

Goals:

Enroll in University and major in Technology

Live off-Campus and have one roommate

Get the disliked relationship with your roommate, and then find a reason to kick them out

Earn the Technology Degree

Reach level 10 in the Law Enforcement Career (choose the forensic branch)

Master the Logic skill

Create a Online Dating Profile

Fall inlove quickly with someone from the Online Dating website

Play video games once a day

Become a streamer, and livestream every Friday night (this is optional because you need to download the streamer mod from ModtheSims)

Befriend some supporters

Have as many kids as you want

GENERATION 5 - FLORYDA (WRITTEN BY @florydaax)

your life was cozy you wanted it more!

TRAITS- bookworm, cat person , clumsy, loner and socially awkward

LIFETIME WISH- the cat herder

CAREER- Lawyer (custom career by missyhissy) or law enforcement

GOALS

Join the Ballet/Dance after school activity as a child

Get a parttime job at the supermarket as a teen -Go to university and get a degree

Have at least 2 cats -Get married to your first boyfriend/ partner

Have 2 kids

Buy and read books every week

Master the Social Networking and Writing skills -Complete the lifetime wish and reach the top of the career

GENERATION 6- MR BEAST

you had a good life and you want to make sure others do to even if yours goes downhill

STYLE PREFERENCE= COMFY/ CASUAL

TRAITS- good, lucky, nuturing, ambitious, and charismatic

LIFETIME WISH- leader of the free world

CAREER- political

GOALS

donate to a charirty every week -do any opportunity that earns money or relationships

you meet a partner in high school but they cheat on you

your single for a while, until you meet a single parent

become close to them and there child

adopt 2 strays

adopt a kid

play a lottery when you can

your partner suddenly dies take in there kid'

have atleast one kid with your partner before they die

never remarry

complete lifetime wish

never have a bad relationship or distant friends

GENERATION 7- CATALEAH

you love animals and want to save them all

STYLE PREFERENCE - COTTAGECORE

TRAITS- animal lover, eco friendly, loves the outdoors, socially awkward and green thumb

LIFETIME WISH- the ark builder

CAREER- horseman

GOALS

get your first animal as a gift from your parent

have two of each animal that lifetine wish says

farm animals optional

master gardening skill

have a "perfect" garden

go to equestrian lot

learn to ride horse

be close to every animal

meet another animal lover

be close to your kids you lost your parents

complete lifetime wish

GENERATION 8 - CARLO AND SARAH

you want the perfect love life

STYLE PREFERENCE- FANCY

TRAITS- hopeless romantic, family orenited ,artistic, friendly and neat

LIFETIME WISH - surronded by family

CAREER- FREELANCE ARTIST

GOALS

meet your best friend in high school

when you graduate go to france

find your partner there

they move to town you get married

have 5 kids

do a family activity every holiday

throw many parties

complete lifetime

DONE

TAG ME IN POST I WOULD LOVE TO SEE!

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 5: So That’s What It Means

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: Steve finds out something he’s been wondering for awhile

Word count: 3,594

Content/warnings: Kissing, thigh grinding, nice det. Lang, mean det. Walker, soft!Decks, strong!Decks, mentions of death and murder, light mob themes, secrets, old ladies who love to objectify young men, swears, misogyny, pet name usage like one singular time

Author’s Note: Hehehe I’ve been waiting for this one. Turn it up!

I’d love it if you dropped a comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think!! (Otherwise, I’m just screaming into the void by myself, which is fine, but I like it when the void screams back)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Just when Steve thought things couldn’t, they got worse. At least on the business end of things. Lloyd seemed like he was closing in. The previous death of that employee from his salon was followed by a string of half a dozen, all working for him and Bucky in different capacities. It included their civilian services, as well as those involved in the undercover operations. This was bad, and was only going to get worse if there wasn’t a plan to step up and put an end to the series of turf wars they’d found themselves in.

On the bright side, which still wasn’t technically great under the circumstances, all these occurrences meant he got to visit the precinct more and see you.

Yours and Lang’s desks were stacking up with cases. They all seemed related, but you weren’t quite sure how yet. And for some reason, you kept seeing Steve coming in for quick interviews. It’s not like you really wanted to complain, though. You wanted to see him, and you were happy for it to happen since this increased work load was making you too exhausted to do more of it outside the station.

As you were doing data entry in your lab with the door cracked open, you saw a tuft of blond hair move into your field of vision above your computer screen. A smile instantly graced your face, but you kept your eyes on the results.

“Steve. Hi. Get into trouble? It’s like you’ve got permanent residence at Lang’s desk.”

Steve laughed and came in, closing the door behind him. “Eh, not quite, but if I’m being honest, as much as you know I like Scott, I wish I were here more often just for you instead of these unending cases. Speaking of which, you have a minute?”

You nodded, still typing on the keyboard while you listened to him. “Yeah, let me just get this in really quick, then I’m all yours.”

His fingertips tingled at that and a warmth rose from his chest to his throat. Oh how he wished that was true. He wished you were his, but more than that, he wished that he could be yours. All of him. But that wasn’t something he was ready to discuss yet. You knowing his whole self. Things were going too well right now for him to mess it up by dropping that bomb on you. It wasn’t the right timing.

As you slipped your gloves off and went to wash your hands, Steve locked the door behind him and took a step forward. You dried your hands and came over to meet him, looking up into his eyes. Oh how you wanted to swim in them; a pool of peace amongst the craziness outside. Despite how busy Steve always seemed, time with him made everything else go away.

“So what do you want to ask me?” You rocked forward on your toes, happy to focus on anything but work for a second. Right, that’s what it was, definitely not excitement to see him, even though your heart was racing and your legs felt restless.

“I wanted to know if you were busy this weekend. Maybe you and I could do something.” He looked between your eyes with a smile, but it was slowly falling in anticipation for your response.

You winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “Unfortunately, I am really busy this weekend. I’ve got some guests I’m hosting. But you’ve at least caught me right now. And I’ve got a bunch of free time next week. I can text you my schedule later.”

Steve nodded, leaning closer to you. “You’re right. I’m happy to at least have you for right now. Even if it’s just a few seconds.”

You couldn’t help the way your body was drawn in just like his. Or the way your hands traced up the front of his suit, which was honestly growing on you, the feeling of the expensive fabric surprisingly pleasant. Or how your fists gripped his lapels tightly and pulled him close, down to your level. Or the way your lips hovered closely to each other.

Steve whispered in the closing space. “Seeing you sometime next week for much longer would be great. You let me know as soon as you can.”

In your affirmation of his request, your lips brushed against his while his one hand snaked around your waist and the other came up to your cheek. Your fists grew tighter, needing him infinitely closer.

Normally, Steve would mind the potential wrinkles of his designer suit. He was wearing his favorite today, mostly because he knew he’d run into you. But if that damage was coming at your hands? Hell, that made it all better.

Your eyelids fluttered shut, which Steve took as his signal to do the same, his lips softly pressing against yours. The kiss was sweet and careful, tentative, yet venerative. It was short, and interrupted way too soon for your liking by a knock on the glass of the lab door, where you had luckily closed the blinds before.

The two of you pulled away with a breath of a laugh, looking down at your feet before looking up again with a smile at the other. Steve spoke first.

“I, um, I should probably go.”

You nodded, mouth still slightly agape as a remnant of the moment. “Yeah. I’ve got a lot of work to do. And you’ve got…”

“Meetings,” Steve finished for you. You forced a small smile.

“Yeah, always meetings.” It was true. Every time a moment was cut short, it was meetings, but this small talk was also so you could make it seem like you weren’t just kissing a civilian in your lab. Whoever was on the other side would at least hear voices, not lip smacking, although the kiss was nothing like that. Steve slowly backed the two of you towards the door to start heading out, but he still wanted to take advantage of you letting him hold you for as long as possible.

“But to double check, you’re really not free this Saturday?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m totally booked. But if I’m remembering correctly, I could probably swing something in the middle of next week. Like Tuesday? Maybe Wednesday? Is that too weird? I’ve got all evenings off, so any time that’s good for you is good for me.”

Steve smiled, or more like beamed at the thought of you offering up all your free time to him, but still spoke softly, breathily, a hand still on your back. “Yeah, that works. I’ll text you.”

“Okay.” You didn’t even realize the way you bit your lip when you nodded, the slightly harsher sensation holding nothing to that of his soft lips. You were granted another soft smile under sparkling eyes.

“Okay. Goodbye, Sweetheart.”

Steve gave you a kiss on your hairline, reaching behind him and unlocking the door as quietly as possible so whoever was on the other side didn’t know it was locked in the the first place. Goosebumps took over your body at the whole thing. The pet name, the forehead kiss, the actual kiss. Luckily, they were under your lab coat, so he couldn’t see how much he truly affected you. Steve dropped his other hand from you, the warmth from them replaced by the air conditioned lab environment too quickly for you liking, before turning and opening the door. He excused himself to walk past the two detectives on the other side, Lang wearing a smirk and Walker, a scowl. Once he passed though the two-person wall, he turned back to wave goodbye to you with a wink and a salute.

You did your best to hide your smile at that, biting at the inside of your cheek and focusing on the detectives in front of you. If there was one thing Walker could do, it was kill a mood.

“Detectives. How can I help you?” You opened the lab door all the way for them to come in. Lang stood in the middle of the room with a file folder while Walker leaned up against one of the tables, something you’d told him not to do several times. Well, it’s his problem if a solvent eats though his ugly collared shirt, not yours.

Lang handed you the folder, still barely smiling at what he knew he’d interrupted.

“Got another case, Decky. Sorry to keep piling them on like this, but we just can’t figure out who’s doing all this. Or at least we don’t have enough proof yet.”

You grabbed the folder, flipping through the pages, before you dropped it over on the desk by your lab computer, the one surface in the room that was lean-safe, but Walker didn’t seem to care about that. You let out a dramatic sigh, crossing your arms. “Okay, thanks. I guess I’ll get back to work, then. I’ll let you know when I have the time to get though that.”

You gestured towards the case with one of your shoulders, but Walker slammed a fist on a table. You didn’t even care about his quick anger and poor intimidation attempt. He probably shouldn’t touch that surface with his bare hands, either, but you guessed he’d find his own punishment for it sooner or later.

“Is something wrong with that, Detective Walker?”

He walked over to you, his looming presence replacing the same space where Steve previously was, but this time it was much less enjoyable, so you took a large step back, holding out your hand. “Chill for a second there, buddy. Give me words.”

Walker huffed before looking at Lang, not even you. “Do you seriously trust her with this string of cases when she was just in here privately talking with one of our suspects? This case is important and I’m not gonna let her screw it up because she can’t keep her legs closed.”

That sent you over the edge. This entire time, Walker had been trying to undermine your abilities. He’d been doubting you, and blaming you for every one of his responsibilities that went wrong. And now, not even directly addressing you for the unfounded accusations.

“Walker, I’m sure there’s good re-,” Scott began to speak up before you cut him off.

“What I do in my lab is none of your business if I still serve you the data you ask for. There has never been a single occurrence where I’ve fraternized with a true suspect of an open case, and this is not me starting now. Plus, that is absolutely inappropriate for you to insinuate. Some of us take our jobs seriously and hold the law with regard. I kindly suggest you fuck off unless you want to know what the floor tastes like.”

Walker stood still, continuing to face Lang through your entire monologue, which may have been smart for him, because if he looked into your eyes, he would’ve turned into dust from the burning glare. Scott looked at you with a smile, content with the way you were able to shut Walker up and shut him down. He simply nodded in a thankful gesture, before guiding Walker out of the lab and giving you a thumbs up.

Before you knew it, Saturday was here and you were preparing to host your guests. You’d set out a veggie tray and everyone was arriving one-by-one until a single person was left to wait for. She was coming late, probably after dinner, anyway, so the rest of you got to it for a few hours, laughing and snacking in your apartment.

Steve was busy like there was no tomorrow, because if he didn’t keep working, there might not be. He was constantly relaying commands and shifting things around. The weekends were a busy time for him in general, so he was lucky when he’d gotten the time to spend with you before, but now it was seeming impossible. Luckily, he was sure he’d make it work to line up with your free time next week. He had to.

Steve was racing through city streets to another meet-up when his phone rang. It was Bee. She hadn’t called him too often at all. In fact, all he’d really been getting from her recently were short, sporadic texts. This had to be important, then, so he picked up right away.

“Hey, Bee, what’s going on? Long time no talk.” He was expecting to have a good conversation with a good friend. Someone he got along with, but she seemed frantic.

“Hey Steve, no time for formalities, I need your help.” Steve instantly locked in at that statement. Was she in danger? Why would Bee call him and not Bucky?

“Okay, shoot.”

“I just got off the phone with Bucky, but do you know where Decks is? I’ve been calling her all evening and she hasn’t picked up.”

He continued weaving, but started to slow down due to his focus on the conversation.

“Last I knew, she was having a weekend in. She’s hosting a bunch of guests at her place. Some sort of party I think. Why? What’s going on?”

Steve sent a short message to Sam to either take over or reschedule the meeting. If something was wrong or Decks was in danger, he needed to rush to her. Personally.

“Um, I kind of need her to clear her schedule for next Saturday to come back and win a game of pool.”

Steve wanted to stop in his tracks at that but kept going just in case.

“What? A game of pool? Why just for that? That’s so random. And even so, you don’t think you could win? Or me? I think we both could play pretty well.”

Bee laughed on the other end of the line. Sure, there were a lot of details she was leaving out, but there also seemed to be a lot he didn’t know for how much time he’d been spending with Decks lately. “Oh Steven, you sweet, naive, summer child. No, and I’ll tell you more about it in a second. But are you getting close?”

“Yeah. I’m in the car now. Just a few blocks away from her place. What does this all have to do with? Why does Decks have to play? Is she really that good?”

“Just move quickly. I need to know if she can do it because otherwise I’m not sure if I’ll have enough time to find someone just as good. She’s actually the best. Bucky will fill you in on everything else, but the farm kind of hinges on it. And for your information, Decks is good at all games. I thought you knew that. She’s like, literally a pinochle world champion and a great card dealer and definitely would’ve beaten you at pool that night at the bar if she wasn’t trying to be nice. We used to always say she should’ve gotten a PhD in game theory.”

Steve was taken aback at the onslaught of information. “Wait a second, you bet the farm!? And Decks plays pinochle? That well!? Is that-“

He was sprinting up the steps to the apartment now, not wanting to take the time to wait for the elevator. He reached the door finally and knocked, faintly hearing ‘come in, Marge’ from the other side. Who on earth is Marge?

He cracked open the door to hear the loud sound of chattering, but not before he smiled at the vase of flowers sitting on the kitchen island. The ones he had sent the past week. His head turned toward the dining room table and all sound stopped as he was met with several pairs of eyes.

Steve gasped and dropped his phone from his ear in shock, seeing a familiar woman in a green visor at the table surrounded by old ladies, dealing cards. “Oh my gosh. Card games. Deck of cards. So that’s what it-“

He pulled the phone back up to his ear again. “Hold on, Bee. I’ll call you back later. I’ll take care of all of this...just. Let me tell her, okay? I’ll handle it because I don’t think I can get into the details without telling her everything. And I want it to come from me.”

He hung up the phone and put it in his jacket pocket before looking toward the table again with his grandest, albeit partially forced this time, smile.

You were focused on dealing cards to your game group, the old ladies surrounding you at the table like they did every so often when you had the time to meet up. A few rounds had come and gone, but your partner, Marge, still wasn’t here since she had a family event that she said she’d be coming from. That was fine, and now you’d be expecting her any minute.

You heard a knock on the door, which must’ve been her. Upon seeing the door open, though, you could tell it definitely wasn’t a little 70 year old lady with white hair in her signature yellow cardigan. It was a tall blond man about your age, decked out in expensive black material.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Your eyes were wide in surprise. He was on the phone, but promptly hung it up after taking a survey of the room.

The old ladies piped up. “Yeah, Steve.” “Hello, Steve.” “Nice to meet you, Steve.”

Steve sheepishly waved at the women sitting around the table across from you. You turned to your sides to see them all making flirty eyes, especially the lady sitting to your left who still hadn’t stopped waving. “Janet, hop off. He’s here for me.” You looked back at Steve. “Wait, you are here for me, right?”

Steve looked around before looking at you again with an awkward chuckle. He was still partially out of breath from how quickly he got here, but it was finally settling. “Hi ladies, um, yeah, it’ll just take a second, though. Can we talk in another room?” He pointed over his shoulder.

You nodded and took off your hat, grabbing his hand and dragging him into your bedroom, softly closing the door. You stood with your back against it, palms pressed flat as if when you moved, the ladies on the prowl would come flooding in to steal your man. Steve turned around back towards the door to look at you. “I’m sorry for just showing up.”

You straightened from your slouched position on the wall, placing a hand on his chest. He seemed a little stressed. “No worries, I just wasn’t expecting to see you today. Is everything alright?”

Steve didn’t want to ruin your day, so he held it in for now. “Um, yeah. Was just in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d take a chance and visit. I realized you’ve never seen it, so would you wanna come over to my place this week? Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday? We’ll play some pool? Bee’s asking if we can come back to the farm this weekend. Figured you and I could practice so we can win with our eyes closed.”

You laughed and smiled, leaning closer to him. “Sounds good. I’ve got this entire coming weekend off, too, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Probably a mercy schedule with the hours I’ve been pulling lately.”

Steve couldn’t help but lean in, matching you, as he nodded. “I bet. I can’t wait to spend more time with you this week, though.”

His arm was bracing him above you on the door. He knew he should’ve held back, not pushed it farther until he could lay everything on the table for you to see, but how could he resist when you were looking at him like that. Eyes wide and wanting, happy almost, even though he dropped in unannounced, something he knew you historically weren’t a fan of.

He was close enough to share a breath, so you leaned on your toes and were met by him leaning down. As the two of you kissed, Steve knew he should stop it in the back of his mind, but it all just felt so good, so he kept going, tongues dancing. He needed more, kissing down your neck and nudging his thigh between yours as you began to grind against him, gasping for air and moaning softly at the pleasurable sensations surrounding you. You wanted to keep going, too, until you remembered the several people just in the other room, waiting for you. “Steve, I, uh… as much as I really, really like this, I have some guests to host. Also, I thought I had told you this was a no-work-clothes-zone, but since you’ve got to go anyway, I’ll let it slide. Pick this up Tuesday?”

He pulled away and nodded, a somber softness in his eyes, taking in the last time you might look at him like this before he had to tell all. He loved the way your were poking at his suit jacket, playfully scrunching your nose, but still locking eyes with him. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, no problem. Walk me out?”

“Of course.”

You grabbed his hand and walked him to the door as all the ladies in your dining room whistled, and oohed and ahhed at him. As he stood in the hallway, the door just cracked enough for you to fit through and hopefully deter the wondering eyes of your card group, Steve left you with a kiss on the cheek.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Did you catch it? Did you catch where the nickname came from? Yeah, I knew you would. Smarty pants.

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[fandomgirlz01]

By Your Side

(CSI: NY) Reed Garrett X Reader

Imagine on my fandom Instagram?: No  

Prompt or Request or Requested Prompt?: No

Style of Writing: Fic (Potential Future Series)

Edited: Yes

Word count: 5,204

Ko-fi

Masterlist

Warnings here

Listen to the story be read out loud here {coming soon}. 

Post Date & Time: May 20th 2024 at 11:14 PM

Summary: When Reed accidentally gets involved in something his friend died for the reader (his girlfriend) comes home to a very scary situation. Later they each help each other through forms of grief. 

Authors Note: There will be a lot of time skips and it mostly follows Reed’s story line in the show with just a few minor (very minor) changes to it. This will be part of a future Reed series, for now though please just enjoy this part as a little sneak peek to the future series.

Reed’s Pov:

“Did you talk to Mac like you wanted to, babe?” Y/n, my girlfriend, asks as I talk with her on the phone while walking up to our campus dorm room building. 

“Yeah, I did. Told him everything I knew,” I answer her and she sighs, making me imagine her frowning. 

“Reed, baby. Are you sure you should be getting involved with this?” she queries in worry as I open the door to the building. 

“I’ll be fine, babe. It’s for Brian. You know he’d do the same for us,” I beg her to understand and she sighs. 

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” she tells me in a sad tone and I stop walking up the stairs for a moment. 

“Babe. Mac won’t let me get hurt. I’ll be okay,” I calmly inform her in hopes of calming her anxiety. 

“How’d you even get into the lab, isn’t it hard to get into?” she asks and I smirk as I start walking up the flight of stairs again. 

“I told them I was family and they let me in,” I inform her and she giggles. 

“And they let you in?” she parrots in disbelief and I smile even more as I let out a chuckle. 

“That they did,” I reply to her in a smug tone and she laughs as I imagine her shaking her head in disbelief. 

“That’s crazy. It’s the top forensics building in New York and they just let you in if you say you’re family? Shouldn’t their security be a little better than that?” she asks in an amused tone that makes me chuckle and shake my head. 

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” I ask and we both laugh. 

“Now I’m second guessing my future line of work…” she jokes and I shake my head. 

“Awe, don’t do that, sweetheart. It’s all you’ve wanted growing up. I’m sure not much actually happens where they need hard core security there anyway,” I comfort to the best of my ability and she laughs. 

“Oh. Okay… I guess I won’t drop out of class,” she jokes and I chuckle, shaking my head at our playfulness. 

“Anyways… When will you be home?” I ask her and she hums. 

“I’ll be home in about a half hour, tops, honey. I promise,” she swears to me and I smile, shaking my head as I continue my walk up the stairs to our dorm room. 

“It’s okay, babe. I know work is demanding sometimes. We’ve talked about this. All I care about is that you come home safe,” I inform her and she giggles, making me smile.

“Ok. Well, I’ll see you in half an hour babe. I love you,” she tells me and my grin grows as I unlock the front door. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” I respond and before I know it, she’s hanging up. 

I chuckle, shaking my head as I pocket my phone and finish unlocking the door before going into our room. I walk in and pull my bag over my head as I close the door, but I’m immediately in defense mode as the room feels off. I look over at my computer and find a sticky note stuck to it. 

At first I’m relieved, thinking y/n had just left me a cute note like she always does, but when I get closer it’s clear my laptop screen has been broken and as I read the note my stomach drops: keep your story quiet. 

I walk up a little closer as fear now courses through me and next thing I know, I feel a presence behind me. I quickly turn to look at what it is, but as soon as I do I’m punched, making me fall back to the floor. The person keeps kicking and punching me, but I can’t make out who it is because they wear a solid white mask. 

I try my hardest to fight back, but after a few hits to the head everything becomes blurry so I try to curl into myself and hide away. The person keeps kicking and I keep trying to move away, but to no avail. Soon before I know it, the person stops and I look up at them as black spots slowly fill my vision. The last thing I see is the person leaving the dorm room before finally my eyes close. 

Reader’s Pov: 

I smile as I walk up to our dorm room building, glad that my manager let me go home earlier than I was supposed to. I tiredly but happily drag myself up the stairs to surprise my boyfriend. Once I get closer, my smile falls as I see the door is cracked open. I immediately start to worry, seeing as Reed never leaves it open and I carefully push it the rest of the way open. 

“Reed,” I gasp out when I see him crumpled up on the floor.  

“Reed. Baby?” I call him again as I drop my bag aside before getting down onto my knees next to him. 

I shake him and he doesn’t respond so I turn him over. I gasp as I see his face clearly beaten and bruised up. Immediately I stand back up and at first I feel a little dizzy, but I push it off to walk over to the desk. Quickly I search for the card I know Reed has. It takes a few minutes, but I find it and hold it up. I quickly dial the number and it rings for a few minutes. 

“Hello? How can I help you?” A voice asks through the phone and I pause. 

“Hello?” The voice asks again and I blink. 

“H-h-hi, is this Mac Taylor?” I stutter out into the phone and he pauses for a moment. 

“Yes. This is he. May I ask who you are?” he asks and I look over at Reed. 

“I’m Reed’s girlfriend. He, uhh… said this morning that if anything happened to call you,” I quickly explain in a panicked tone. 

“Is Reed okay? Are you?” he asks me and I pause as I look down at Reed, now getting choked up. 

“I’m okay. I came home to our door open and him on the floor,” I explain as I hold my tears back so he can understand me. 

“Okay, listen to me. I’ll be there as quickly as I can and I’ll bring some others with me. Is he unconscious?” he asks me and I hold back another sob. 

“He is. I tried calling out to him and even shaking him, yet no response,” I inform him as I bite my lip, staring down at Reed with tears constantly welling up in my eyes. 

“Ok. Just stay with him. Me and a couple officers will be there in a few minutes, okay?” he calmly tells me and I continue to stare at Reed, not responding. 

“Can you do that?” Mac asks me again and I quickly straighten my back. 

“Y…yeah. Please get here quickly,” I reply as I now get onto the floor next to Reed. 

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he quickly promises before we both hang up. 

I sit against the side of our bed and lightly pick Reed’s head up to lay it in my lap. I hug his head close before leaving a light kiss on his forehead as I finally let the tears fall. 

“Reed. Come on, baby,” I gently coo to him in hopes he’ll start to stir awake. 

“Come on Reed. Please open your eyes for me,” I gently plead with him as I rub his hair back from his forehead. 

I sit with him for a few more minutes before suddenly he lets out a low groan. I perk up and gently shush him as I continue to rub his hair back. 

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. You’re okay,” I coo softly to him as he slowly comes to. 

It takes him a bit, but finally he fully comes to and when his eyes are fully open, he starts to squirm in my arms. He freaks out for a minute, but calms when I hold his head so he can see it’s only me. 

“Shh. It’s only me, babe. You’re okay… you’re safe. I’m right here,” I calmly murmur to him as I rock us back and forth lightly. 

“No. You can’t be here. Th- they might come back…” he fights me again and I shake my head. 

“No one is coming back, Reed. You're okay and I’m okay. Mac’s on his way,” I inform him as I continue to play with his hair and he immediately calms again. 

“I’m sorry you came home to me like this, babe,” he groans out and I shake my head. 

“It’s okay, honey. I’m with you through anything, you know that,” I promise him and he smiles sadly up at me. 

“Reed,” a voice calls out, making me look up to see a man standing at our door. 

“Hi, Mac,” Reed replies with a sheepish smile. 

“He’s in here, guys,” Mac calls down the hall before walking into the room. 

“Hi. I’m Mac,” introduces himself to me and I smile lightly at him. 

“I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Reed,” I explain and Mac smiles. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, although I wish it was over lunch or breakfast instead of this,” Mac comments and Reed laughs lightly. 

“Yeah, that’s my fault,” Reed comments with a sheepish smile that also seems to be full of pain. 

“Do you wanna get up?” I ask Reed and he gives me a light nod. 

“Ok. Come on,” I nod back before standing by myself and getting ready to help him up. 

I help him until he stands with Mac helping from Reed’s other side. Once he’s standing, he staggers ever so slightly and I hold onto him tighter before he moves to sit on the bed. One of the paramedics that came with Mac walks over. Once Reed sits, the dizzy feeling starts to creep up again and now I stagger a bit. 

“Whoa. Babe, sit,” Reed tells me as he holds onto my hand. 

“Hold that thought,” I reply before rushing to the bathroom on the other side of our room. 

“Babe?” Reed questions as he gets up and rushes in after me. 

I drop down onto my knees in front of the toilet and my stomach releases the dinner I had before work. Reed quickly rushes to hold my hair back and rubs my back soothingly. It takes a few minutes, but soon I finish and sit back against Reed. 

“Babe. Are you doing okay?” he asks me with a furrowed brow. 

“I’m fine, honey. I think I’m just in shock mode. You know me. Let’s go back out,” I tell him as I wipe at my lips before standing and cupping some water into my mouth. 

“Are you sure?” he asks me and I nod. 

“Let’s go,” I reply before pulling him back out to the bed. 

“Babe. Sit,” Reed commands as he pulls me down next to him. 

“Okay. Let’s take a look at the injuries,” the paramedic comments as he pulls out a few things from his bag. 

The paramedic quickly looks him over, checking his eyes and has him follow the light. Then he checks Reed’s ribs for any that may be broken. Soon the paramedic packs his stuff back up and stands. 

“Okay, son. I think you are okay. Nothing major, just a few bruises, a concussion, and a few broken ribs. All should heal within the next month,” the paramedic informs Reed who nods and sniffles. 

“Make sure to put something cold on that forehead bruise and maybe that eye,” the paramedic finishes off before nodding to Mac. 

“Wait…” Reed calls out before the paramedic can leave. 

“Yes?” The paramedic questions as he turns back to Reed. 

“Can you please look over my girlfriend? She’s been having throw up episodes and dizzy spells,” Reed explains and I quickly try to hide the widening of my eyes by looking towards the fridge. 

“Reed, baby. I’m okay. I told you it’s just the shock, it’ll wear off. Really, I’m fine,” I tell him before turning around with a soda. 

“Are you sure, ma’am? I don’t mind giving you a look,” the paramedic butts in and I fight the huff I want to let out. 

“Oh. Thank you, sir, but really, I’m fine,” I deflect and the paramedic seems to get the clue. 

“Ok. Have a good rest of your night then,” the paramedic bids his goodbye, leaving before Reed can say anything. 

“Here, babe, put this on your face,” I tell Reed as I hand him a can and he gives me a look of disbelief. 

“What?” I ask when he doesn’t take the can. 

“You should have gotten checked out,” he tells me and I sigh, shaking my head. 

“Reed. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m okay. A little shaken from finding you unconscious on the floor? Hell yeah. Other than that, I’m fine. I have a doctor's appointment set up tomorrow, remember?” I tell him and he sighs, shaking his head. 

“I just want you to be okay,” he whispers out and I smile softly as I sit down next to him. 

“And I am. So let’s get you in the same boat, okay?” I ask him as I reach forward and squeeze his hand. 

“Okay…” he agrees softly before pulling me into his side. 

“Here, baby. Put this on your face,” I almost command as I put the soda into his other hand and he chuckles. 

“Okay. Okay,” he agrees as he wraps his fingers around it and pulls the can up to his face. 

“Are you two sure you're alright?” Mac asks and we both look up at him. 

“Yeah. I think we are,” Reed tells him before putting the soda back on his face. 

“Reed. I want you and this beautiful girl of yours to stay at your parents’ house tonight,” Mac tells him, pointing at him. 

“Yeah. I’m keeping y/n safe,” Reed comments as he takes the can from his face and stands. 

“This is my first Geraldo, you know. Beat up for a story. Making my girlfriend have a freak out when she just wanted to come home and sleep,” he explains as he looks at himself in the mirror next to our bed. He rubs at his face before I stand just a bit to smack his hand away from his face. 

“What’s this about?” Mac asks him as he leans over the desk and uses tweezers to take the note off the broken screen. 

“I have no idea. You know, I’m not even writing on the Kings and shadows. My piece is about students paying other students to take their exams for them,” Reed explains as he sits back down next to me and I cuddle into his side when he puts his arm around me. 

“Brian Miller know this?” Mac asks as he closes up the yellow envelope he holds. 

“I told him as soon as he told me what he was writing about,” Reed replies with a head nod and Mac pauses as he looks at our floor. 

He soon moves and bends down to it. He uses the tweezers to pick up what looks like a crumb of some kind and lifts it up to his face. 

“Let me see the bottom of both your shoes,” Mac tells us and Reed nods. 

“Yeah… ow,” Reed winces as he lifts his leg and I rub his chest lightly before lifting my own. 

“See, Brian and I, we were pretty competitive,” Reed explains and I scoff. 

“Pretty, baby you were more than competitive, admit it. You know I’m right,” I jump in and Reed looks at me before laughing. 

“I mean, she’s got a point… anyway, like I told him I wouldn’t mention him in my piece if he quit,” Reed goes on with his explanation again, wincing as he switches legs for Mac to look at. 

“But he said he’d already agreed to take two more exams. Then he was out,” Reed ends his explanation as now both his feet are down again. 

Mac looks over my first foot real quick, then I switch to the other and he looks at that one too before letting me put them back down. 

“Eddie Williams and Thomas Brighton were Brian’s last two clients,” Mac starts and Reed puts his head down, letting out a low ‘Yeah,’ as he does. 

“But only one of them had reason to want both stories killed,” Mac ominously comments as he stands up and puts the envelope in his pocket. 

After Mac and the rest of the CSIs left our apartment, we quickly packed our bags before heading to Reed’s parents’ house. Now we lay on his childhood bed together and Reed rubs my back lightly. 

“I’m thinking of going to Brian’s funeral…” he comments out loud and I move my head so I can look at him, letting my chin rest on his chest. 

“If you want to go, baby, we’ll go. When is it?” I inform him and he smiles softly at me. 

“How did I get so lucky?” he asks me as he rubs my arm ever so lightly and I smile. 

“I think I’m the lucky one,” I inform him and he smiles again, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“How about we’re both lucky?” he asks in a cheeky tone and I grin, giggling. 

“Agreed. Now, when’s Brian’s funeral?” I ask him and he pauses. 

“Tomorrow afternoon…” he admits, almost like it’s a bad thing. 

“Why do you say that like it’s bad, babe?” I ask him and he shrugs. 

“I mean… you have your appointment tomorrow, right?” he asks me and I perk up, sitting up fast. 

“Babe? What’s wrong?” he asks me with confusion and worry written all over his face. 

“I have something for you. I was going to give it to you tonight, but then everything happened,” I quickly explain as I dig around in my bag for the small gift I have for him and his face relaxes. 

“Babe, you didn’t have to,” he denies, shaking his head as I finally pull the small gift bag out of my bag. 

“Oh, but I did. Open it. I think you’ll be plenty surprised. I know I was,” I tell him as I sit on the bed with my legs curled up behind me and bite my lip. 

He starts to open it and soon before I know it, he’s pulling the little onesie out. He pauses to read it before looking up at me. I smile a shy, worried smile as he looks at me in awe. 

“Babe, is this real?” he asks and I giggle, nodding as tears well up in my eyes. 

“I had the same reaction. I know we said we’d wait till after marriage, but I know you’re the only one for me and I’ve known that since 4th Grade,” I ramble as I play with a loose string on his blanket. 

“Babe-” he starts, but I quickly cut him off. 

“That’s what the appointment tomorrow is for. First scan…” I trail off before I let out a gasp as he uses his finger to guide my face up to look at him. 

“Honey, I’m not mad. I’m elated, like you said I’ve seen us together since forever,” he tells me softly as he rubs my cheek ever so slightly and the tears start to fall. 

“I love you Reed, so, so much,” I inform him softly as his eyes fill with tears too and he wipes at one that falls down my cheek. 

“I love you too, so, so much pretty girl, always,” he replies, rubbing my cheek and I grin. 

He sets the onsie and its bag aside before turning back to me. He pulls me back into the hug and kisses my forehead before slowly laying both of us back down onto the bed. He lightly rubs my arm that lays across his stomach along with my lower back. We lay there for a few minutes, both grinning ear to ear as he now rubs light circles on my stomach, making me laugh every few minutes when it tickles a little. Soon he leaves another kiss on my forehead as he moves back to just rubbing my arm. 

“I was also thinking of asking Mac where mom was buried,” he mumbles out, breaking the serene silence as I draw shapes against his covered stomach. 

“If you want to, honey. I think it’d be nice to know,” I agree with him and he sighs. 

“It’s just… I wanted you to meet her just as bad as I did myself. It might… be the only way for me to introduce you and myself to her,” he explains and I shake my head. 

“Reed, baby. That’s very sweet, but you don’t have to explain to me. I get it, I know you,” I softly tell him as I lay my chin on his chest to look at him again. 

“And I’d love to meet her, although I’m very sure she’s looking down on you and watching over you,” I tell him softly as I reach up and caress his face. 

He leans into it before kissing my palm and a tear falls from his eye. I quickly catch it and wipe it away. He shakes his head and I smile softly at him. 

“What?” I ask him as he just stares at me like I hung the stars just for him. 

“I think she sent me you, knowing I’d need you. So she sent your stubborn little self my way…” he tells me softly and I huff. 

“I wasn’t that stubborn…” I fight back with a roll of my eyes. 

“Oh yes, you were. Still are. I remember your little first grade self marching up next to me and little Hero Mckinley telling him he should laugh at someone who clearly needs help and pushing him,” he jokes with a smirk and I roll my eyes. 

“Well he was making fun of you! I wasn’t just going to stand by and let my best friend get made fun of. Plus, he’s the one that egged me on,” I grunt as I cross my arms and Reed chuckles. 

“And who the hell names their kid Hero then teaches him to be an absolute asshat? Like that’s just stupid. Heroes are supposed to be the one saving the day, not the villain. I mean it’s literally in the name,” I complain and Reed laughs, making me slap his shoulder. 

“I mean, I can’t say I don’t agree with you, baby. He was the absolute worst,” he adds with a dramatic eye roll before shaking his head and I sigh. 

“Really, he didn’t wanna be pushed, he shouldn't have been bullying you and other kids, let alone tell me to fight someone my own size,” I add on and Reed laughs again. 

“Really, he shouldn’t have. You’ve always been good at taking down people half your size…” he agrees though his laughter and I shake my head. 

“Damn right you are, baby. He should have known not to mess with you,” I tell him and he grins as his laugh dies off. 

“See I told you, she must have sent you my way. Must have known that little me would be a sissy pants,” he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and I sigh. 

“Reed, you weren’t a sissy pants. You were an only child and you were seven years old,” I deadpan and he chuckles. 

“So were you!” he fights back and I shake my head. 

“Yeah… but I had two brothers… who still like to kick my butt when they see me. I literally had to learn to fight back,” I humorlessly tell him with a raised eyebrow and he pauses. 

“Yeah, I guess that changes things a bit…” he comments and he chuckles when I smack him again. 

“Ya think?!” I playfully ask him as if he’s stupid only making him laugh again.

“I really do think mom sent me you though,” he seriously informs me when he’s done laughing. 

“Well, maybe she knew we were made for each other, then. I know myself that we are,” I tell him and he smiles. 

“I love you, you know that?” he asks me and I smile softly. 

“Yes, I know that, and I also happen to know that I love you just as much,” I reply to him and he smiles before stretching his neck just a little bit to kiss my nose. 

I giggle and scrunch up my nose, but kiss him back when he kisses my lips next. He then lays back and I cuddle in a little closer. 

“Sleep honey, sleep, we’ve had a very long day,” he informs me and I nod sleepily against his chest. 

“Very, very long indeed. You sleep too, Reed,” I tell him in the most stern tone I can manage though my sleepiness and he chuckles. 

“I promise, baby. I will,” he replies and it makes me grin before my eyes slowly close as sleep soon takes over. 

I hold onto Reed’s arm as we walk out of the church behind the family and the pallbearers. He stops at the top of the stairs and puts his hands in his pockets as he lightly kicks the ground with the tip of his shoe. I squeeze his arm and he takes his opposite hand out of his pocket. He grabs my arm lightly and squeezes it back as I lean against him. I nuzzle into his side and turns to me, giving my forehead a kiss before leaning his cheek against of my head as I close my eyes. 

I open my eyes again and see he’s tearing up again as he watches them put the coffin in the hearse. I rub his arms for a few minutes before he gives a small nod of his head. 

“Mac’s over there,” he comments and I look up at where he nodded. 

“You wanna go talk to him?” I ask and he nods solemnly. 

Reed takes his hand out of his pocket and reaches down to mine, gripping it softly as we walk down the steps. 

“Hey, Mac,” Reed greets his somewhat surrogate dad as we come to a stop. 

Mac spares a look over at the casket as the pallbearers push it the rest of the way into the hearse. Reed chokes up again as he too watches and I start to choke up as well. I rub my cheek lightly against his shoulder while holding his hand a little closer for comfort. He pulls his hand away from mine so he can put his arm around my shoulder. I nuzzle into his neck as I try to hide my face and he squeezes my shoulder. 

“I wanted you kids to know that we’re going to make an arrest,” Mac informs us and Reed lets out a long sigh. 

“Good. I’m glad,” Reed comments, squeezing my side lightly as he lets more tears flow. 

“Maybe I should have just turned Brian in for cheating, you know?” Reed adds on as he starts to cry even more and I squeeze his side with the arm I have wrapped around his stomach. 

“He would have been kicked out of the university, but he never would have been in that hedge maze,” Reed finishes his thought with even more tears running down his face and I kiss his cheek lightly. 

“You’re taking a lot of responsibility, Reed,” Mac comments and Reed shakes his head. 

“It’s ‘cause I feel bad… I feel I shoulda stopped him. I feel like I shoulda done something, but…” Reed trails off as he looks down for a moment and I hug him a little tighter. 

“I’m gonna miss him,” Reed comments and I finally let out a broken sob. 

“Goodness, Reed. I’m gonna miss him too,” I add and Reed hugs me closer as I cry into his shoulder. 

“I know, babe. I’m so sorry,” Reed tells me as he rubs my lower back and I shake my head. 

“Don’t you dare say that. It’s not you who should be sorry. It’s whoever killed Brian who needs to be sorry,” I sternly tell him, hoping it’ll change the way he’s thinking. 

“I’d listen to your girlfriend. She speaks the truth,” Mac tells Reed and he lazily points at me. 

“She always does… look, we gotta go,” Reed tells him. “We’re gonna head over to the cemetery before y/n’s doctor's appointment,” Reed informs him and he nods solemnly. 

“Reed, if there’s anything I can do for you two…” Mac sympathetically promises us, Reed looks at me for a moment and I nod at him. He looks down for a second, thinking it over before looking up. 

“I’d like to know where my mom’s buried,” Reed finally asks and Mac looks away, sighing for a moment. 

“She wasn’t…” Mac somberly states and Reed sighs before turning to me to lean his forehead against me. 

“Her body was never found. No trace at all…” Mac explains in a tone of melancholy before pausing. 

“But they’re…” he tries to continue, but stops to sigh. “We’re still looking,” he finishes, looking away as his own grief hits him. 

Reed sighs before letting go of me and taking a few steps forward. He reaches out and pulls Mac into a hug. It takes Mac a second before he hugs back and squeezes him a bit with both hands. Reed sniffles as he and Mac hold each other in the hug for a few minutes before hesitantly parting. Reed steps back and puts his arm back around my waist, pulling me into his side. 

“Thanks for everything,” Reed gives Mac his appreciation and Mac nods. 

“Ok. Then we gotta get going. Ready, babe?” Reed comments as he turns to me and I raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh! Can we, ahh, do lunch or breakfast tomorrow?” Reed asks and Mac smiles softly. 

“Yeah. Of course. Just text me the time and place,” Mac agrees with a smile and Reed nods happily. 

“Ok then, we’ll see you tomorrow, Mac,” Reed promises with a smile and Mac nods. 

“See you tomorrow, kids,” Mac replies and Reed gives him one last nod before starting to walk away. 

After leaving Mac we quickly head to the subway and get on. We ride it all the way to the street my doctor’s office is on before getting off. 

“Are you excited, babe?” I ask Reed, who squeezes my hand. 

“Of course I am. What kind of question is that?” he jokingly asks and I playfully roll my eyes. 

“Oh of course, I’m so sorry,” I reply with a grin as he opens the door and holds it open for me. 

“Let’s go see our baby,” he tells me with his own grin as I walk through the door. 

The End…

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[galaxygolfergirl]

Watcher's Expenses

I didn't major in accounting: I took three classes and it grinded my brain to a fine powder. However, after graduating with a business admin degree, being a former eager fan of their videos, and from a cursory glance over their socials, there's a lot to consider in their spending behavior that really could start racking up costs. Some of these things we've already noticed, but there are other things I'd like to highlight, and I'll try to break it down into the different categories of accounting expenses (if I get something wrong, let me know. I was more concentrated in marketing 🤷‍♀️). I'm not going to hypothesize numbers either, as that would take out more time than I'm willing to afford-- you can assume how much everything costs. Anyways, here's my attempt at being a layman forensic accountant:

Note: All of this is assuming they're operating above board and not engaging in any illegal practices such as money laundering, tax evasion, not paying rent, etc.

Operating Expenses

Payroll: 25+ staff salaries and insurance

Overhead Expenses

CEO/founder salaries

Office space leasing or rent (In L.A, one of the most expensive cities in the US)

Utilities (water, electricity, heating, sanitation, etc.)

Insurance

Advertising Costs

Telephone & Internet service

Cloud Storage or mainframe

Office equipment (furniture, computers, printers, etc.)

Office supplies (paper, pens, printer ink, etc.)

Marketing costs (Social media marketing on Instagram, Youtube, SEO for search engines, Twitter, etc. Designing merchandise and posters, art, etc. )

Human Resources (not sure how equipped they are)

Accounting fees

Property taxes

Legal fees

Licensing fees

Website maintenance (For Watchertv.com, Watcherstuff.com, & Watcherentertainment.com)

Expenses regarding merchandising (whoever they contract or outsource for that)

Inventory costs

Potentially maintenance of company vehicles

Subsequent gas mileage for road trips

Depreciation (pertains to tangible assets like buildings and equipment)

Amortization (intangible assets such as patents and trademarks)

Overhead Travel and Entertainment Costs (I think one of the biggest culprits, evident in their videos and posts)

The travel expenses (flights, train trips, rental cars, etc. For main team and scouts)

Hotel expenses for 7-8 people at least, or potentially more

Breakfasts, lunches and dinners with the crew (whether that's fully on their dime or not, I don't know; Ryan stated they like to cover that for the most part)

Recreational activities (vacation destinations, amusement parks, sporting activities etc.)

The location fees

Extraneous Overhead costs (not sure exactly where these fall under, but another culprit, evident in videos and posts)

Paying for guest appearances

Expensive filming & recording equipment (Cameras, sound equipment, editing software subscriptions, etc.)

The overelaborate sets for Ghost files, Mystery Files, Puppet History, Podcasts etc. (Set dressing: Vintage memorabilia, antiquated tech, vintage furniture, props, etc.)

Kitchen & Cooking supplies/equipment

Office food supply; expensive food and drink purchases for videos

Novelty items or miscellaneous purchases (ex. Ghost hunting equipment, outfits, toys, etc.)

Non-Operating Expenses

These are those expenses that cannot be linked back to operating revenue. One of the most common examples of non-operating expenses is interest expense. This is because while interest is the cost of borrowing money from a creditor or a bank, they are not generating any operating income. This makes interest payments a part of non-operating expenses.

Financial Expenses

Potential loan payments, borrowing from creditors or lenders, bank loans, etc.

Variable Expenses

Hiring a large amount of freelancers, overtime expenditure, commissions, etc.

PR consultations (Not sure if they had this before the scandal)

Extraordinary Expenses

Expenses incurred outside your company’s regular business activities and during a large one-time event or transactions. For example, selling land, disposal of a significant asset, laying off of your employees, unexpected machine repairing or replacement, etc.

Accrued Expenses

When your business has incurred an expense but not yet paid for it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(If there's anything else I'm missing, please feel free to add or correct things)

To a novice or a young entrepreneur, this can be very intimidating if you don't have the education or the support to manage it properly. I know it intimidates the hell out of me and I'm still having to fill in the gaps (again, if I've mislabeled or gotten anything wrong here, please let me know). For the artistic or creative entrepreneur, it can be even harder to reconcile the extent of your creative passions with your ability to operate and scale your business at a sustainable rate. That can lead to irresponsible, selfish, and impulsive decisions that could irreparably harm your brand, which is a whole other beast of its own.

My guess at this point is that their overhead and operation expenses are woefully mismanaged; they've made way too many extraneous purchases, and that they had too much confidence in their audience of formerly 2.93 million to make up for the expenses they failed to cover.

It almost seems as if their internal logic was, "If we make more money, we can keep living the expensive lifestyle that we want and make whatever we want without anyone telling us we can't, and we want to do it NOW, sooner rather than later because we don't want wait and compromise our vision." But as you can see, the reality of fulfilling those ambitions is already compromised by the responsibility of running a business.

And I wrote this in another post here, but I'll state it again: Running a business means you need to be educated on how a business can successfully and efficiently operate. Accounting, marketing, social media marketing, public relations, production, etc; these resources and internet of things is available and at your disposal. If they had invested more time in educating themselves on those aspects and not made this decision based on artistic passion (and/or greed), they would have not gotten the response they got.

Being a graphic designer, I know the creative/passionate side of things but I also got a degree/got educated in business because I wanted to understand how to start a company and run it successfully. If they’re having trouble handling the responsibility of doing that, managing production costs, managing overhead expenses, and especially with compensating their 25+ employees, then they should hire professionals that are sympathetic to their creative interests, but have the education and experience to reign in bad decisions like these.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my TedTalk. What a shitshow this has been.

[mariacallous]

A Manhattan Federal Court judge on Friday extended the temporary restraining order that bars staffers from the so-called Department of Government Efficiency from accessing US Treasury Department data—which attorneys general from New York and other blue states have slammed as an unlawful threat to privacy—while she considers whether to impose a longer-term injunction.

After hearing some two hours of arguments, Judge Jeannette A. Vargas told lawyers for New York and allied states, and their opponents from the Department of Justice, “I do find good cause to extend the TRO as modified.” Vargas said she would soon issue her decision, but not today, to “give the court time to consider” the issues.

While the proceeding largely maintained the status quo, it also lifted the veil on just how little is known about DOGE’s access to information—and where it went.

When Vargas asked Jeffrey Oestericher, the Justice Department attorney representing Trump, on Friday whether any DOGE-accessed information had been shared outside of the Treasury Department, he said: “The short answer on that is we don’t presently know.”

“We’re performing a forensic analysis. What we can tell from the forensic analysis thus far is there were emails sent outside Treasury,” Oestericher said. “We do not know [the] content.”

Vargas asked: Wasn’t this problematic from a privacy standpoint?

“The short answer is no,” Oestericher said.

“During this time that the DOGE team members had access to this information, there were extensive mitigation efforts in place to prevent this precise harm.”

But Oestericher admitted at another point, “We candidly admit that there was some measure of increased risk, but we took all appropriate mitigation measures to mitigate that risk as much as possible.”

Vargas’ decision came six days after New York and allied litigants were granted a temporary restraining order that ultimately prohibited the Treasury Department from giving DOGE hires and special government employees access to sensitive data and computer systems. Donald Trump tapped Elon Musk to head DOGE, an agency the president created under the auspices of rooting out fraud and governmental waste—despite a dearth of evidence indicating fraud.

In issuing that temporary restraining order early February 8, Judge Paul A. Engelmayer said that the states suing Trump and Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent would “face irreparable harm in the absence of injunctive relief.”

Engelmayer noted that Treasury’s new policy, enacted at Trump’s direction, appears to allegedly “[expand] access to the paytment systems of the Bureau of Fiscal Services (BFS) to political appointees and ‘special government employees.’”

This, Engelmayer reasoned, represented a “risk that the new policy presents of the disclosure of sensitive and confidential information and the heightened risk that the systems in question will be more vulnerable than before to hacking.”

Engelmayer also said in his written decision that the states suing over Treasury’s policy change “have shown a likelihood of success on the merits of their claims, with the States’ statutory claims presenting as particularly strong.”

The complaint against Trump and Bessent repeatedly cited WIRED’s reporting that revealed how a 25-year-old engineer named Marko Elez, with ties to Musk, enjoyed read and write access to two Treasury Department systems responsible for virtually all payments made by the federal government. Tom Krause—who is on the DOGE team despite being CEO of Cloud Software Group—was also granted access to these capabilities.

Two sources told WIRED that Elez’s privileges allowed him not just to read but also write code for two of the most sensitive US government computer systems. These include the Payment Automation Manager and Secure Payment System at the Bureau of the Fiscal Service (BFS). These systems, which are kept on a secure mainframe, control government payments that total more than 20 percent of the US economy, WIRED previously reported.

In court papers filed February 13, New York and allies allege that Trump and his Treasury Department don’t even contest that states have a “clear and reasonable interest in protecting their confidential bank account numbers and other sensitive financial information, including details and amounts of payments, from unauthorized disclosure.” But this information was disclosed to two DOGE members, they claim, violating “numerous laws and regulations.”

New York and other states argued in that same filing that BFS’s development of “mitigation strategies” to reduce risk was testament to the “substantial and imminent” danger. They say that at least on one occasion, Elez was “mistakenly provided with ‘read/write permissions instead of read-only.’”

“But even with the more restricted ‘read-only’ access, Elez still had ‘the ability to view and query information and data’; in other words, he had access to the States’ sensitive financial information.” Despite the fact that Elez resigned when asked for comment by The Wall Street Journal about racist social media posts, the government didn’t provide any reassurance that he didn’t participate in improper activity, New York and its allies alleged. (Meanwhile, Musk suggested in a post on X, his social media platform, that Elez would be rehired, writing: “He will be brought back. To err is human, to forgive divine.”)

Andrew Amer, an attorney in New York state attorney general Letitia James’ office, said Friday that Elez and Krause “have no lawful job duty to access this information.”

Despite the government’s insistence that Elez was in a “sandbox environment” when he had access to the code, which they insist minimized risk, Amer said that wasn’t all that comforting.

“We know that the same engineer took screenshots of the data in the data system and that he may have given those screenshots to his supervisor,” Amer said.

Amer said the Justice Department’s insistence that Krause only had “over-the-shoulder access” didn’t inspire much confidence either.

“The fact that we don’t know if any information went beyond Treasury is a red flag that causes concern about the ethics issue,” Amer said. “This is especially important, as we do have people, especially Mr. Krause, who is simultaneously employed elsewhere outside Treasury.”

“You have somebody who’s been given access to source code within the bureau whose other job is CEO of one of the world’s largest software companies.”

“We are here because the states’ banking information has been accessed— that has happened,” Amer said at another point in court. “We know that the people who accessed it have been somewhat careless in the way they handled it.”

Amer also rejected any notion that DOGE acolytes’ access was normal. “This was not a Treasury function, this was building a new automated process to apply an ideological litmus test to funding requests. There’s nothing typical or normal in terms of Treasure functions about that.”

Trump’s camp has contended that his opponents are trying to thwart the White House’s right “to exercise politically accountable oversight of agency activities and to implement the president’s policy priorities.”

Treasury Department officials are responsible for liaising with the United States DOGE Service, which needs to have access to BFS systems, they argue, “to perform their Presidentially-directed mandate of maximizing efficiency and productivity, including ensuring data and payment integrity with respect to the 1.2 billion transactions and over $5 trillion in outlays handled by BFS,” they said in court papers.

Red states including Florida, Georgia, and Alabama have also entered the fray to show support for Trump. They contend in court papers that blue states’ opposition to DOGE meddling is unconstitutional. “This case involves an unprecedented assault on the separation of powers and the President’s authority under Article II of the Constitution,” they wrote. “Ultimately, Plaintiffs here are upset because one set of bureaucrats in the Executive Branch have access to data that they believe only other bureaucrats in the Executive Branch should have access to.”

“This type of fiddling around with the President’s prerogatives asks this Court to insert itself into core Executive decision-making regarding policy and personnel. The President is working to combat what former President Biden’s administration identified, at minimum, as hundreds of billions of dollars in fraud,” they wrote.

[valiantverses]

The Azrael Series: Chapter Two

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader Slowburn/Sort of Enemies to Friends to Lovers)

°°°°°

Summary: Task Force 141 is assigned a new member to deal with Makarov for good. Highly-skilled, brutally efficient and devastatingly competent, Ghost has met his match - and finds himself at odds with the SAS Fraternization Regulations as getting to know you makes him re-evaluate a life he never thought to allow himself.

CW: Canon-typical violence.

°°°°°

@beansproutmafia @chinuneko @agustdpeach @murder-hobo

Introduction 1 2

"We've not gotten much out of the drive m' afraid. We've got cyber forensics and analysts going over the files - far as Makarov's movements, we've got nothin' of note."

The briefing room's atmosphere was a degree short of despair. Papers strewn about, stale cups of coffee and tea haphazardly pushed to the side as Laswell's Toughbook blinked to life, showing the results of the hard won drive the 141 had retrieved a couple of days prior.

Ghost had opted to stand during the meeting, taking up his usual spot with a full view of the room. Most of the team had elected to sit around the metal tables, the briefing now on its third hour - not quite as brief as one would hope, he thought.

He watched Gaz lean back into a stretch, arms opening wide and settling at the back of your chair. You glanced up at the sergeant briefly before turning back to the neatly stacked piles of documents in front of you, poring over the mind-numbing reports and occasionally making notes.

Your integration into the group - Johnny and Gaz, anyway - had not been seamless from his observations, but the sergeants had been as open as could reasonably be expected from their personalities, and you seemed to be reciprocating - or trying to, anyway.

"Ach - not even in the emails? Employee profiles?"

Johnny piped up, unable to hide the annoyance that darkened his features. Ghost had noticed the Scot had been mellower in recent months. Maybe even years - ever since Zakhaev, at least - the burden of their profession was a continuous wear and tear on the mind and soul for those who hadn't locked away parts of themselves like he had. Like his boots, gloves, tactical vests, the work pushed and pulled at soldiers, clawing and scratching till it had to be replaced, patched up, or discarded.

Conveniently, Ghost mused, replaced, patched up, or discarded were the same three fates most soldiers stumbled into.

Johnny knew what this job meant, had experienced it firsthand, and still continued to shoulder the responsibilities. Ghost was intimately familiar with the drive to push through and respected that need - even if it meant watching a part of his comrade wither away.

Laswell sighed, rubbing her temples as she looked up from her computer to meet Johnny's eyes.

"All legitimate, tracing back to businesses or third party contractors."

"All fer nothin' then, was it?"

Price, who had opted to stand as well with his arms crossed, chose this moment to speak up.

"It's hard to imagine the ultranationalists just went and gave up after Zakhaev's death."

At this, Soap leaned back a bit, shifting his whole attention on to price. Ghost remembered reading the reports, how shattered Soap had been over Zakhaev when he got back from S.A.S. recon in Mexico.

"We know Makarov is well trained in counterinsurgency from his time in Airborne and the Spetznaz, but there must be a link somewhere - you don't move weapons and people on the scale he does without having some kind of paper trail."

You chose this moment to speak up, hand still carefully taking down notes as you pored over the files in front of you.

"You mentioned contractors. May we have a list?"

Laswell glanced up at surprise at you before switching to a different tab. It was true that you hadn't been particularly vocal in your time at the base, keeping your distance from most of the upper brass.

"Gutter cleaners, vehicle upkeep, insurance inspections, air conditioning installation, occupational health and safety reviews, catering-"

He watched you smile, that was that same wry smirk, the same twist of the lips that pulled at your face and made your eyes quirk in such a way that-

He jerked his head to the side, keeping his eyes trained on Laswell's computer.

"Couldn't imagine air conditioning would be on my list of priorities, in a winter desert."

Wordlessly, Laswell pulled her laptop closer to her, instantly beginning to pore over the emails sent by the air conditioning company. Price and Johnny shared a look when Laswell made a hum of approval.

"Seems this company uses a really simple order form template, copy and pasted- not really something you'd expect of a company taking orders at this volume."

Gaz reached over, leaning over the table to point at the screen.

"Subject: Notice of equipment upgrade. In our ongoing efforts to enhance the performance of our air-conditioning units, Our technicians will be overseeing the delivery and installation of a package containing the latest components aimed at optimizing energy efficiency. Your cooperation during this upgrade process is greatly appreciated."

He whistled, leaning back in his chair. "They've 'upgraded' their air-conditioning 11 times in the past 4 months.'

You didn't even acknowledge the discovery, still buried in the files. It strangely grated at him, this nonchalance of yours- but surely it was better than the callous sort of arrogance many soldiers at your level possessed? He respected good soldiers, especially those fighting alongside him. But you... there was something different about you.

He was aware of the glaring hypocrisy, to question someone's integrity because of the walls they put up when he himself wore a mask to distance himself from who he was outside of the battlefield.

But you wore a different kind of mask.

He had noticed, during brief moments where your professionalism didn't so much crack as it distended- like a rubber band warping after being pulled apart too strong. There was a smouldering fire beneath the glacial shell of duty you wore. It flickered sometimes, a molten glint in your eyes or a wry quirk of your lips, hinting at a real live breathing person within.

That ferocity had sparked your first clash in the mountains, tangled limbs and shared breaths in thin air, his gaze tracing the map of your face as he tried to determine your motives, whether or not he could trust you. Then there was the hangar, your quiet confidence grating against his need for control. An unlikely pair, yet you'd executed the mission flawlessly. Rolled with the punches and gotten through it all.

Though his face betrayed nothing, his mind buzzed with thoughts as he went over your latest interactions - outrage at your audacity, annoyance at your nonchalance, and a strange reluctance to let go of the distruption you caused, one he wouldn't- couldn't, try to understand the root of.

Beyond it all, he had to admit, was a begrudging sort of respect.

"8 payments have been made this quarter alone to the HVAC company - all worth tens of thousands."

"Drip feedin' Makarov's extra curriculars I take it- any ID on the company behind it Laswell?"

"Northwest of the Caucausus mountains. I'll clear it through Shepherd."

He saw your lips quirk down into a frown at Laswell's words, clearly unhappy about something. He tore his eyes away, accidentally locking gazes with Price, who tossed a raised his eyebrow his way. He maintained eye contact, unwilling to look away first and crossing his arms when Price shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

"We should-" it was the first time he'd ever heard you sound even the tiniest bit hesitant. "We should look into Makarov's known contacts. See who's benefitting from his actions that may be flying under the radar. All of them, even known hostile connections."

There was an implication to your words that Ghost didn't like, and he voiced it.

"Looks like we're already drownin' in information and more questions than answers. Want to send us on a wild goose chase when we don't even know if there's a goose to chase, do ya?"

He could see your jaw tense the tiniest bit as you turned to him, eyes hard.

"All I'm saying is that - paramilitary operations do not function in a vacuum, sir. Terrorist attacks require weapons, and those weapons require logistics to distribute, processing, manufacturing - everything does. The fact that we've run into nothing might suggest we're being walled off from information by design."

There was it- that spark, like flint and steel crashing together. He approached the table, placing both hands on it as he lowered himself to look at you directly in the eyes. When he spoke, his voice was rough, taking on a gravelly quality.

"We've been working on this for years and you've been here a month- if you could focus on your job instead of speculating on facts that aren't there maybe you could actually get the job you were assigned to do done, sergeant."

"Yes, sir." You gritted out, lips thinning. He could see in the tenseness of your shoulders that had he not been your superior this discussion would have been more drawn out.

But your words were beyond inflammatory - they were dangerous and put into question the very foundation of the chain of command that the operation was centered on. You would have to learn that these were thoughts best kept to yourself - it was clear to him that you lacked experience and maybe even the humility that came from working with teammates.

Relaxing his shoulders, he turned to regard the group, realizing that several pairs of eyes were now glancing between you and him with varying levels of confusion and surprise. Laswell, closing her laptop with a neat click, spoke first.

"I think we got it. This corporation has two locations- we'll do some recon and get a plan going, try and positively ID any key people. Great catch, Azrael. I sense this is something big."

You shifted the tiniest bit, simply nodding in response. He hadn't seen you handle direct compliments very well - the military did acknowledgements at most.

You remained quiet for the rest if the briefing and the dismissal after, studiously going over old files, not meeting his eyes again.

"LT! I think we need ourselves a little celebration to welcome our little Sherlock here, aye?"

You mumbled a bit, shuffling as the Scotsman draped an arm over you and patted your arm.

"Just identified an anomaly in the information- is all-"

"None of that now, gawn yerself! We got an ol' teammate comin' with us, Roach, I reckon you'll like 'im."

"I think it would really help your case if you could speak English, McTavish." Ghost remarked, dryly. He had been ready to leave and stretch his legs after leaning up against cold concrete for closing in on 4 hours.

"Alright- not sure about drinking, with the mission coming up soon, but I'll go."

"Ach pure brilliant, so it is. Gaz! You're drivin'! No fun juice for you m'fraid."

There was a groan from inside the communal area, then a smattering of mutters of which if Ghost were a betting man, he'd say could give any sailor a run for their money.

"What d'ya say LT?" He turned back to two sets of eyes, yours a strained sort of amusement, before he leaned back and rested his hands on the straps of his vest.

"Fuckin' hell. You're buyin', Johnny."

There was outraged sputtering, so Scottish it was indecipherable, before he turned to leave. His eyes locked with yours for a split second, assessing. Then he broke connection and made his way back to his barracks, his mind lingering.

He wondered what you were like away from it all.

Away from Azrael.

You seemed like more of a person than he allowed himself to be - but that remained to be seen.

Tonight, the echoes of questions would be drowned at the bottom of a bottle.

°°°°°

Translation for the Soapese:

Gawn yerself: Go on yourself (You're doing really good)

[junosswans]

Batfam headcanons: Report Writing

I was thinking about nonsense then it occured to me "how would the batfam write their mission/patrol report?" Like, they must have very distinct personal style that you could recognise even through the standard bat-computer font. So I wrote this!

Dick: When Dick was still Robin, he absolutely HATED writing reports. "I write enough reports at school, B-man! Why would you make me write more??" He would attempt to wriggle out of the task by bribing Alfred with snacks or offering to do chores in exchange, because anything is better than sitting straight in front of the computer and typing (they usually indulge him and let him be). He'd also slip in a few swear words and gloss over details when he HAD to write something. His reports were short and written in a slightly childish manner. However, after becoming Nightwing and moving out, his report have made drastic improvement because hey, you definitely get a lot of practice in writing admin papers as a cop. His writing style is now concise and straight to the point, filled with professional jargons and divided in clear bullet points. All the photos are properly numbered and labelled, in a typical forensic science style. (Though admittedly, he still hates writing reports. But it's something that he wouldn't let his siblings know.) He's however, chronically late in submitting his reports, because he always has a lot of things to do and he has a bad case of procrastinating when it's something he dislikes.

Jason: Jason entered the clan with a lot of anxiety (Will I be accepted? Will I ever measure up to Dick?) And a lot of insecurities. So he treats report writing very seriously and is very detailed and thorough. He tries his best to adhere to the format Bruce gave him, and would triple check his spellings and grammars (another insecurity of him). As Red Hood, he still writes his reports (reluctantly) in the same cautious manner, and he would spend a lot of time profiling the victims and the perpetrators, because it always feels personal to him. He sympathises with both sides, understands their struggles and darkness intimately, and it shows in his written report. His reports on the person of interest's background and psychological analysis is always the most detailed and on-point. He writes in paragraphs usually, and he has a broad vocabulary that leans more on the literary side. Tim comments that he feels like he's in highschool lit class whenever he needs to read Jason's report for something, since Jason's prose always has a poetic and emotional tone to it.

Tim: Tim writes his reports dutifully and very seriously, but his seriousness doesn't always translate to a piece of good report. As a kid who has the tendency to ramble, is nosey, AND has photographic memory, Tim's reports are filled with details that nobody knows whether they are necessary. He would go off and transcribe all the dialogues he heard (including the passers-by), list out all the items in the nearby trashcan, and note down how the fast food shop down the corner has a buy-one-get-one-free promotion on hotdogs. He digresses a lot, but since his eyes for details did help crack a case once or twice (definitely more than that), Bruce lets it slip. His formatting are a mess, sometimes using bullet points and suddenly switch into paragraphs and then somehow becomes a tree diagram, his reports are definitely an eyesore (Bruce, regrettably, doesn't let this slip). As Red Robin, he's made a lot of improvements on his formatting (company paperwork does that to you) and is a bit more brief, but he still has the tendency to note down the oddest things in his reports. His reports also has the most amount of photos.

Cass: Cass is still pretty new to this whole writing thing and computer thing, so she gets a lot of leeway in her report writing. She is allowed to hand this work to others (if she's on a teamed mission), or use photos, pictures and handwriting/doodling to make her point (Bruce would later code & transcribe them to make them searchable on the database). Though given the freedom to not do the work (which her siblings are deeply envious of), Cass actually likes to write her version of reports as she treats this as an opportunity to practice her literacy. Her reports look like a collage journal with very sparse, simple writing. She also has the tendency to just put in a few seemingly unrelated keywords and let others figure out the significance behind them. They're usually very insightful and useful to the case. She also likes to draw in her reports, which everyone finds endearing. Babs taught her how to draw scientific diagrams and label the items, which she puts good use to. Since she's very observant to the human anatomy and body language, the family relies a lot on her reading when there is multiple suspects.

Damian: As "the proper heir to the robin title", Damian has a no-bullshit attitude on his reports. He submits them on time, is clear in his writing, and the format is impeccable. He has a very goal-oriented view on things, so his reports tend to focus largely on the outcome of cases instead of the process (a polar opposite to Jason's and Tim's reports). He would write a lot on how and when the culprit was captured, and the consequences that await them, while some other members tend to focus more on the process of deduction and puzzle-solving. Somedays, when he is particularly annoyed with others, Damian would slip in complaints into his reports and make sure everyone KNOWS he's upset. It's like a public call-out post.

Babs: As Batgirl, Babs writes the clearest and most condensed report out of everyone, cause she learned the best from her father. She has a keen eye on analysing material evidence, and would notice the smallest scratch on things and document them faithfully in her report. She likes to use abbreviations however, and that often confuses Damian and Cass ("what does OAN even mean?? Is that a type of wire??"). Sometimes she'd abbreviate the weirdest things just to confuse everyone else and they can beg her to explain them. As Oracle, she doesn't write any reports. YOU write reports to Oracle.

Steph: Steph is passionately against the idea of report writing. In her opinion, if she delivers the result there shouldn't be a need to write pages long of boring, bland descriptions on how that result is achieved. To various degrees of success, she would bribe others into doing the work for her ("work smarter, not harder, baby!") But when she has to write something, she would write in a very casual tone and often types with voice input. Therefore, her reports are filled with odd typos and occasionally hilarious choice of words (not because she couldn't be professional, but she doesn't want to be). Bruce is mostly frustrated but is also secretly glad that she's not forcing herself to do something that she doesn't want to. And she is true that she always delivers.

Duke: Duke is mostly neutral towards the aspect of report writing-- he's not particularly fond of it, but he understands that it is something important. Thanks to his superhuman vision, Duke is very alert in observing his surroundings and the environment. He would map out very detailed diagrams about building structures as well as machine components, which makes his reports very reliable when it comes to any kind of crimes related to alien items and technological innovations. Duke also has a large network from his Robingang, so he's very informed in the rumours and hearsays on the streets. He would include most of what he's heard in his reports so that others could follow up on them at night.