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lepusrufus · 3 years ago

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To bargain for immortality pt.6 END

There were little things, really, that ended up putting her doubts and theories to rest. Nicole hadn't been an active person since she was five, so the occasional mild fatigue didn't stand out from her normal routine. The headaches that came and went or the tiredness that accompanied nights when she didn't get enough sleep were simply chucked to her body adjusting to its newfound immortality. Sometimes it takes longer for the Cadou to fully settle in, Esteria had reassured her, talking from personal experience as her own mutation took close to two years to be done changing her body.

All the doubt was wiped from her mind when she woke up one evening, the day after another particularly unpleasant experiment run with Miranda, with a splitting headache. It soon turned downright nauseating and hasty steps took her to the bathroom connected to Cassandra's bedchambers, where she all but doubled over, as much as her position leaning on the sink allowed.

Her initial plan was to simply splash some cold water on her face, but that soon went out the window when her throat and mouth were invaded by the familiar sensation of thick blood coming and pouring out. The white porcelain got stained in dark crimson as her heart seemed to beat painfully against her ribcage, making a small whimper escape blood stained lips. This experience in and of itself was not unfamiliar by now, but her own body apparently taking offence to simply existing was a new and unwelcomed development. An attempt to take a deep breath was made, but that only seemed counterproductive as it sent a stinging ache through her chest, so she settled for holding her breath until the pain subsided. A few shuddering intakes of the oxygen her body seemed to scream for later, the room and her reflection finally seemed to stop spinning.

Her eyes landed on the crimson mess in the sink and she let out an exhausted sigh, but before it could be cleaned, the bathroom door that she had left ajar creaked open.

"Heyy- ooo that looks bad," Daniela's voice came from her side, tone as over the top as always with the grimace that pulled at her features.

"Oh this? What do you mean, just a normal Thursday evening," Nicole replied, voice dripping with sarcasm and hands still shaking on the faucet when she turned on the water.

The other redhead didn't seem phased, presumably being Bela and Cassandra's sister does render one immune to sarcasm. Instead she shrugged and occupied herself with her sister's collection of perfumes that were placed on an adjacent counter.

Nicole gave her a look through the mirror while trying to splash some water on the remaining blood stains. "Did you… need something?"

"Dumbass number one and two are practicing some sword fighting in the garden. Thought you'd like to see," came the reply complete with an eyebrow wiggle that gained her a playful shove.

"Give me a minute to change," Nicole said, finally pushing herself off the sink when the nausea subsided back to a mild headache and her face was free of crimson trails.

As promised, when they entered the back garden that stood between the castle and its extensive vineyard, the faint clinking of metal against metal could be heard. It raised in volume as they made their way to an area where a few logs had been set on the grass, that made perfect sitting spots around what the sisters reclaimed as their small personal arena dedicated to occasional training. The vine covered statues and bushes with colorful leaves made for a pleasant spot to simply spend time in too, her wife currently dressed in light training gear and sword fighting coming as a big bonus to the beautiful surroundings.

The moment Cassandra's eyes landed briefly on her, a characteristic smirk pulled at her lips, their ashy tone left visible from the choice to skip lipstick for the time being. Their sparring match got cut short by a sudden low swipe at Bela's feet, that knocked her off balance and sent her on the trampled grass underfoot.

"Show off," she grumbled at her younger sister when offered a hand to get up. She took it, but continued to glare daggers at Cassandra as she dusted off her pants.

Not that the middle sister noticed, having turned and came up to her wife for a tender good morning kiss. She let the hand not occupied by the sword's handle rest on Nicole's cheek, eyebrows pulling into a frown upon noticing the tired look in emerald eyes.

"Are you feeling well? You look pale."

"Yeah yeah-"

"Oh just some mild gut-puking in the form of blood all over your sink," Daniela interjected, giving a fake innocent shrug when Nicole turned to glare at her. "You might wanna get a maid to clean it up, she did a shit job of it."

"I did not!" Nicole protested.

"You forgot the underside," Daniela hummed. "That was some mad splatter there."

She was rendered mute as the youngest sister moved to the small fence portion that was turned into an impromptu weapon holder to choose something and take Cassandra's place in another sparring match. Her glare was interrupted when she noticed her wife's worried expression.

"It's fine, just a mild headache now," Nicole sighed as she brought a hand up to interlace their fingers and pull Cassandra with her so they could both sit where Laura and Anita were. "Any chance I'm getting another performance? Since I missed the last one," she then said, a sly smile making its way on her lips.

That got Cassandra to grin, fangs glimmering in the early evening's soft light in a way that anyone else would find downright menacing. "Of course," she answered, eyes momentarily moving to her sisters.

It looked like Bela was winning, despite Daniela choosing her preferred twin swords that she wielded with an odd mix of grace and chaos. A slip past her guard and a hit with the ornate hilt of Bela's sword was what it took to put an end to their match, the youngest sister stumbling forward and breaking into a swarm before she had the chance to fully lose balance and fall face first into the dirt. She reappeared in front of the blonde, tongue stuck out and nose scrunched in an annoyed grimace, complete with a middle finger. If the Dimitrescu sisters had one thing in common, it was that all three of them were the world’s biggest sore losers.

"My turn to kick her ass," Cassandra perked up, picking up her well polished gladius.

Daniela, still miffed about her previous loss, didn't offer her the grace of getting into a proper stance. A flash of flies later, the clanking of metal ringed around them as Cassandra pushed her back.

"We said no swarm!" Bela called out from where she had found a seat on the grass, right in front of Laura.

The youngest rolled her eyes but complied, the buzzing completely dying down in favor of quick swipes and blocks. What Cassandra might've lacked in speed, she more than made up for in an impeccable defense, being near impossible to get near her body even with the apparent advantage of having an extra sword. Their fighting came to a standstill soon enough, with Daniela unable to get near while also being too quick to let any major hit land.

"My ladies."

Alexandria's voice called out from the entrance of their little makeshift arena, distracting Daniela enough for her sister to quickly swipe at her feet not unlike she had previously done to Bela.

The Steward flinched for a second when a long frustrated growl was heard from the youngest, but cleared her throat and did her best to keep up her characteristic poker face as she addressed Nicole. "Mother Miranda's assistant is here for you."

Her face fell, annoyance and dread both bubbling in her chest at having her pleasant day cut short not even two hours after waking up. She got up and exchanged goodbyes with the rest of her family while grabbing Cassandra's free hand in a silent demand to see her to the door.

On their way out, she decided that old jeans and a slightly oversized shirt that had survived her high school days was an attire appropriate enough to being tortured. It should've been concerning how at peace she had become with that idea, at least to any person with a sound mind. She never declared her sanity intact though.

"I'll see you later," she told Cassandra once they were at the heavy doors of the castle's main entrance, a thumb slowly tracing her jaw.

Emma was impatiently waiting for her just outside and blame the slight inherent meanness she had learned to let free since becoming a Dimitrescu, but Nicole took immense pleasure from the woman's uncomfortable grimace when she pulled Cassandra down in a deep kiss that went on for ten seconds too long. Small victories in the face of doom.

---

Nicole choked out a sob that walked the fine line between crying and screaming when the knife that looked way too big for the woman's hands came down at her elbow's joint with a gut wrenching crack.

It felt like Miranda had an unbeatable talent to never disappoint when someone thought she had reached the peak of inhumane with her experiments. The poisons were dreadful as was everything before that. The test on how well she can heal bullet wounds from the previous day had been downright cruel, only stopping after the results that showed how only a bullet through the head can incapacitate her for a while. Today's experiment on regenerating limbs was starting to eat away at Nicole's remaining sanity. It obviously started small, with fingers, but Miranda was always so keen on pushing limits.

She turned on her side with the remaining hand pressed to tear filled eyes and nails digging into skin as she desperately tried to find some sort of distraction from the pain and tingling that felt like static in her veins. Her temples were already throbbing with a headache and her vision was spinning due to the nausea. Miranda and Emma were having some sort of conversation to the side, but it felt distant through the deafening ringing in her ears as she put all her effort into not throwing up due to the sheer shock her body was going through.

The amount of time she laid there sobbing completely evaded her, not bothering to keep a mental track nor raising her head towards the clock mounted on the wall. She just wanted the healing to move and get it over with.

By the time she was mentally prepared to stomach the sight, her hand was already stitching together muscles covering the newly reformed bone, together with the beginnings of skin close to the incision. She tried moving her finger and flinched into a whole body cringe at how utterly wrong it felt.

The door creaking open took her attention away from the unsightly muscles twitching as they got placed together and into their places.

"Lord Heisenberg is here," announced a man, donning a white lab uniform not unlike Emma's.

"Just on time," Miranda perked up, a dangerously gleeful look in her eyes.

She got up, leaving the assistant with the job of timing Nicole's healing as she went to greet Karl. It went on for almost another torturous minute before the tell tale click of the timer and Emma noting it down marked that her arm was once again whole.

"How- how long was that?" Nicole asked, tentatively moving her hand. Good as new, with the exact same mobility function and sensitivity. The only thing missing was the beige nail polish applied just the night prior.

"Five minutes and twenty," the woman replied, not looking up from her paper.

Another few minutes of silence passed, that Nicole spent flexing her fingers. A bit of hot rage coursed through her veins when she noticed her ring finger, the matching band she and Cassandra had having been left on the desk upon entering the lab. At least Miranda had the decency of not slicing her hand off with the ring still on it, but she still wanted it back.

It wasn't long before Miranda came back, motioning for her to follow. "Come," she said, waiting for Nicole to push herself off the hospital bed and onto her feet.

A small burst of dizziness later, she was standing and shaky legs were taking her towards the woman. "Can I get my ring back now?" She did her best to keep the edge out of her tone, too tired to face her wrath.

Miranda simply thought for a moment before waving a dismissive hand at her. "Fine, it won't be in the way anymore."

Nicole wasn't sure if that was good or downright horrifying.

Most of the rooms in the underground maze of corridors were unknown to her. The structure twisting and turning in dizzying patterns that were enough to disorient anyone not familiar with the layout. Not to mention the occasional tunnel that stretched for entirely too long that led to one place or the other from the town above.

Nicole found herself following Miranda through one such unknown area, the corridors new to her but the look not dissimilar to every other part of the underground structure. If it weren't for the numbered plaques on the door, she wouldn't even be able to tell this was a different area than the ones she's seen before.

Miranda pushed open a door and led her inside. It was definitely more spacious than the labs and the space was mostly cleared out save from a few tables lining the walls and some cabinets. The only thing at the center was Lord Heisenberg and a long metal table, leather straps fastened to its sides and a circular saw blade attached to a machine above.

Nicole took a couple stumbling steps back, hips hitting the corner of a table and rattling the papers placed on it. It seemed to peeve Miranda, who grabbed her wrist impatiently.

"Come now, we don't have all day," she said while slowly dragging her towards the table.

With every shaky step, her knees felt like jello under her and her ears started to ring anew with the panic and dread settling like ice in her veins. Her legs finally gave way under her and she fell to her knees with a pathetic sob.

"No please. Please I can't," she said, one hand meekly grabbing at the goddess' lab coat.

Miranda bent down on one knee, brows furrowed in the feign concern that only she could have perfected to such an art. "We have to," she started, voice so soft one could easily believe it belonged to someone else. "We must know the limits of your regenerative abilities. You said it yourself that you want to know them."

She had but not like this. Not like this.

"Then use anesthesia. Please just don't-" she choked out a sob before the end of her phrase. Not that it was going anywhere, it was just a pathetic attempt at bargaining for less suffering.

Surprisingly enough, there were few instances since coming to the Village when she felt truly and utterly terrified. Anxious and afraid? Sure. But not even Lady Dimitrescu hiring her, or Cassandra taking an interest in freaking her out or even getting shot made her feel the dread she was feeling then. She would've rather spent eternity on the cold hard stone under her knees than budge an inch.

Miranda pursed her lips and lifted her chin with one hand, expression like a mother hearing her child make an outrageously unattainable request. "You know that will interfere with the results."

"Then local anesthesia," Nicole suggested, holding onto some kind of feeble hope by a thread.

The goddess seemed to actually consider it for a moment before shaking her head. A hundred meek protests and cries fell past Nicole's lips and on deaf ears as she was pulled up by the wrist and back on track towards the metal table. Miranda was incredibly strong despite her rather short stature, so any attempt at pulling back was completely useless.

Once at the room's center, she pushed Nicole against the table, frowning when she refused to get on. With a sigh, she grabbed her chin once again, putting slightly more force in the gesture. Both a warning and witness to her growing impatience.

"If you keep still it's going to be much less painful," she promised, though the validity behind her words were doubtful.

Though there was something in Miranda's tone that almost demanded to be believed without question. It may have been the inherent authority that came with being almost divine, a goddess in all ways that truly mattered. Or something else entirely, common to every piece of the Megamycete's web, down to the finest and farthest roots.

With a barely visible nod, Nicole pushed herself onto the cold surface of the table. It was far taller than she was so Karl had to spend a few good minutes readjusting the leather straps on the sides until they were in the right positions to wrap tightly around her limbs.

"Uh… sorry kiddo," he said in a barely audible whisper as he fastened a strap around her forehead. "Here," he pressed a folded cloth to her lips, that she bit down on to at least try to not crack any teeth.

He seemed almost as much of an unwilling participant as she was, lips pulled into a tight line under the scruffy mustache. The only one seeming rather gleeful there was Miranda.

The leather was digging painfully into her skin, the belts having been tightened slightly too much to prevent movement. Not to mention the uncomfortable position, with her hands tied above her head and starting to feel numb. Her head also seemed beyond foggy, the shallow breaths she was taking doing a poor job of providing her body with oxygen, to which it protested with a heart painfully beating against her ribcage, almost as if the small parasite that nestled around it was taking offence itself.

Another sob shook her body, deafened out by the metal sound of the circular blade when it was turned on. Thankfully it was clean. At least Nicole hoped as much. And sharp. If she was going through this she prayed that she would at least be granted the mercy of a clean cut as opposed to shredding of skin and muscle with everything underneath.

She shut her eyes when Miranda raised her shirt enough to expose her abdomen and, as the saw forcefully came down, screams were muffled both by the cloth in her mouth and the deafening roar of the saw.

---

The feeble knock on heavy ornate doors was answered by the tall woman positioned on guard duty that night. Nicole did not remember her name and at the moment it was the least of her worries.

She took a handful of shaky steps inside before clearing her throat in an attempt to not let her voice waver. "Cassandra?"

"Out hunting with her sisters and the other ladies," the woman answered promptly.

Nicole simply nodded once and made her way into the castle as the heavy thud of the shutting doors echoed around her. Her movements seemed on autopilot, eyes only focused enough to watch her step as she made her way through the familiar path up to her wife's bedroom. She barely registered passing through the first set of corridors, the paintings and priceless decor she had grown accustomed to every day becoming a background blur.

She felt downright dreadful.

Her ears were still ringing slightly and exhaustion made her limbs feel heavy and aching with every step. The headache from earlier was also back in full swing and throbbing painfully at her temples.

A quick look at a golden clock mounted on the wall in the main hall reminded her that it was near dawn so the rest of her family must be on their way home.

She flinched, a small jump that threatened to throw her off balance, at the heavy footsteps that came behind her. Throwing a look over her shoulder she saw none other than Lady Dimitrescu, her mother in law, making her way under the low arch of one of the doors leading into the spacious room. Thin black eyebrows were pulled into a frown at the sight of the much smaller woman, hunched over and all but shivering, with dark circles under her eyes having taken an almost purplish hue and dried tear streaks on pallid cheeks.

"Oh hi," Nicole greeted with a wry smile. "I thought you were out hunting."

Alcina waved a hand dismissively, eyes still focused on every minuscule shake of her shoulders. "Paperwork had to be taken care of."

At the explanation, Nicole let out an oh and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to politely book it up the stairs and under the mountain of blankets on Cassandra's bed. There was no escape, it seemed, as a large hand came to gingerly rest on her shoulder, leading her further in and towards one of the plush couches lined in front of the barely lit fireplace. "Come sit," she offered, face softening in a gentle motherly smile.

Nicole just nodded absent mindedly, sitting barely on the edge of the white cushions decorated with a beautiful intricate floral pattern. She passed clammy hands on her jeans, now covered in fine powdery ash from the crystallized remains of the discarded half of her body after she retrieved them following the night's experiments. A disgusted grimace pulled at her lips, deciding then and there that the pants had to be burned as soon as possible.

"How did the tests go?" Alcina asked, taking her attention away from the ruined piece of garment and being met with distant eyes.

"Good," Nicole whispered, but before the word could even be fully out of her mouth a sob shook her entire body, coming out accompanied by choked out gasps as she all but doubled over in an attempt to make herself smaller than she already was.

The Lady's eyes widened at the sudden outpouring of emotion, so uncharacteristic for the woman in the few years she had been part of her family. "Oh child," she whispered, hands resting protectively on small shaking shoulders.

"Did-" Nicole started but interrupted herself with another shuddering gasp. "Did she- do the same thing to-... to you?"

Alcina grimaced, expression unseen by the smaller woman currently curled in on herself in her arms. It had been so long since her infection, the pain caused by her body acclimating to the Cadou a distant memory. Something that would forever remain seared in her mind however was the cruel ice in their goddess' eyes as she ran test after dreadful test, pushing the limits of her body to see how much she can actually heal. It had taken months to finally be content with the results, after her body's defensive response had been mutating and turning into the giant hungry beast she kept carefully at bay from that moment on. Instead of answering, Alcina decided that the better option was to rub her back slowly, not unlike she had done to her own daughters countless times before, to bring some comfort.

"You will get through this," she promised, unwavering conviction in her tone.

---

Date: 20th May 2012

Subject: Nicole [REDACTED] Dimitrescu

Mutation experiments - 5 (Regeneration- 4)

Testing the limits of regenerative abilities - regrowing body parts

Subject can regrow limbs (arm, served from elbow - 5'20'') and regenerate after being cut in half. If the body is cut with a 50/50 ratio, the upper half will regrow the lower half, prioritizing brain activity and the Cadou's placement. If the proportions are different in favour of the lower half, the upper one may still be the one taking priority; results vary. Up to 80% of body mass can be regenerated. If more than that is destroyed (eg. dissolved using acid) subject will presumably crystallize and enter a dormant state like others infected with a Cadou.

The discarded body parts crystallize and disintegrate into a stony/ashy mass.

---

Miranda's enthusiasm seemed to slowly dwindle after a few more experiment runs, the same effects John Abbott's mutations that caused his untimely death coming to knock at Nicole's door every so often.

"You see," the goddess had said the last time she had called Nicole down in the underground labs. "John was missing the healing abilities, which led to his infection slowly corroding away at his body until his death. You can heal, so you won't die, but the negative effects are still present. So try not to get hurt too much too often," she finished, not even sparing her a glance.

And that was the last Nicole had seen of Miranda, at least as far as one on one experiments went. The woman would still pay the castle a visit every so often, sitting down with Alcina for a glass of wine and having the rest of the family joining in on occasion, when their discussions didn't stray too far into matters of their cult.

She was right too. There were days when a migraine would rudely wake her up in the morning, or when her chest seemed to ache to the point where she was sure the parasite that made its home around her beating heart was trying to escape. The Cadou truly was a wretched little thing, constantly at odds with her body's defenses and trying to slowly but surely cause damage to the point of death. But if there's one thing that very same parasite had bestowed upon her was just… being really good at not dying. The healing abilities were in a continuous cycle of repairing any and all internal damage the infection may have caused on a not so good day. Those times had her doubling over the nearest sink, or suitable container if unlucky, a waterfall of blood carrying all the damaged tissue that had been replaced flowing from her lips in crimson rivulets.

A cruel fate, one may think. Not her though, for the knowledge of how her family had helped her through the change was at the forefront of her mind each time she had to sit down due to a burst of dizziness. Cassandra rubbing gentle circles on her back while she was coughing up the clogged blood in her throat grounded her beyond belief. Then, when everything was said and done, there was always something to get back to. A short vacation originally meant for business but that Alcina would always prolong for just a couple days so they could all spend some quality time away from the Village and the cult and Miranda's scrutinizing ever watchful eyes. Or the season's first hunting trip, the genuine glee on her wife's face never growing old to her. Even life's more mundane events, like the weekly movie night that had half the family groaning at Esteria's choice of vampire media. Rinse and repeat, forever under the castle's imposing towers and inside ornate inviting rooms, always warm and welcoming, always feeling like home to her.

If that was the price she had to pay for eternity, then so be it.

---

Subject Name: Nicole Dimitrescu

Cadou Affinity: Favorable

Brain Functions: Normal

Subject can regenerate at an incredibly fast rate, although healing slows down with loss of consciousness. Shows a similar mutation to John Abbott; able to detect illnesses by specific smells. The latter mutation causes the Cadou to have adverse reactions, causing internal damage that is however kept at bay with the regenerative abilities.

An unfit vessel for Eva.

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #mother miranda #karl heisenberg #to bargain for immortality #fanfic #lady dimitrescu #tw torture #like big fat tw for this one

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

Note

Last one, I promise. MonsterHunter!Bucky or Steve where you’re the rare creature they’re after. You don’t have to write any of these, I just feel like you would appreciate these 💕 keep up the good work giorno, I’m so proud of you bb❤️

Thank you for your requests, hun! I haven’t worked on other ones, but I’m happy to present you this story 😌❤ Hope you’re going to like it!

Daughters of Persephone

Pairing: monster hunter!Steve Rogers x vampire!Reader

Warnings: yandere-ish Steve, kidnapping, death of minor characters, mentions of torture and suicide, gore (a severed head), general vampire stuff.

Words: 4109.

___________________

Suddenly waking up in the middle of the night, you fell down your bed, desperately trying to turn on the small lamp on your bedside table and reaching too far, soon ending on the cold floor. Trying to get up, you hit your head on the table and moaned. Saints, what on Earth was happening? You barely realized you were laying on the floor in the dark, but you knew for sure you were woken up by someone's agonized cry.

Who was that? The closest rooms to yours belonged to Iriya and Alice since mother lived in the north wing in a room she once shared with her late husband. Who screamed? Was it Iriya? Why was she screaming in the middle of the night? Was it just a nightmare? You had no time to think, finally standing up and rushing to the door, abandoning the idea with the lights: window curtains in the corridor had never been kept closed, so you would be able to see something thanks to the moonlight.

Hurrying to the point you ran barefoot, shivering in the dark - the floors had always been cold despite mother doing her best with all those expensive carpets - you reached Iriya's room and banged on her door, hoping it was just a nightmare.

'Iri-"

Before you called her name, the door opened by itself, and you froze in fear: Iriya was always closing her door at night, explaining that it all started when drunk Alice mixed the rooms and then woke her up with her angry shouting. Why was the door open? Was it better to go find mother rather than go there all by yourself?

No. What if Iriya needed help right now? You couldn't risk it.

Nervously getting in, your fists clenched painfully, you peaked inside your sister's room only to find her beheaded, her body laying on her spacious bed, Iriya's head on the carpet with her face caked in blood, her mouth open as if she was still screaming, pleading for help. Despite total darkness, you could see the white bedsheets soaked in her blood, the rich crimson fluid seeping through the fabric and dirtying the floor. You felt the bile rising in your throat, almost throwing up and barely containing yourself.

Iriya was dead. She was dead.

You were horrified to the point you could hardly move, your hands trembling as you wept, then getting on your knees and trying to reach out to Iriya's head but failing to do so - you didn’t have the courage to take her head in your hands, blood spreading further and almost reaching your long cream-colored nightgown Alice always mocked you for. You needed to run and find help. The murderer was still in the house, you were sure.

The thought of burglars breaking in had crossed your mind before, but you had never imagined some madman to get into your house and kill your poor older sister in such barbaric, horrible, revolting way, cutting her head off as if she was a character in some sick videogame. Why would anyone do this? How could they murder a harmless young woman sleeping in her bed?

You needed to get to Alice. The murderer could already be there.

Letting out a loud cry, you got back on your feet, hanging on to the large dark jacaranda drawer with nice thin metal legs - mother had it customized specially for Iriya on her 20th birthday. Thinking what would mother say once she saw her daughter with her head chopped off, you covered your mouth with your hand, unable to hold your tears. How could it happen? Who could commit such atrocity?

"Alice? Alice!" You could see the light coming from beneath her door.

Kicking it with all your force, you prepared for the worst, ready to jump at whoever you saw, but the only one there was Alice herself standing close to her desk. She was holding a revolver in her hands.

"Alice, Iriya-" You muttered, unable to say your sister was dead out loud and just pointing to the corridor with your shaking hand. "Iriya, she..."

"I know." Your other sister said through gritted teeth, her eyes still on the revolver she was holding. "It's not like I'm deaf."

You always had a hard time understanding her even when she was perfectly sober and in a good mood. Alice was strange: she reminded you of girls in Nirvana's music videos, either pretty angry or too energetic for you to keep up with her. She had been drinking as long as you could remember her, always silently protesting against mother's lifestyle and probably having a grudge against her and you. When you asked Iriya if you'd done something that upset her she just brushed it off, saying the youngest sister had always been a little monster in the family.

Now she looked like a monster, too.

"It wasn't you, right?" You whispered, holding your hands against your mouth. "You didn't do it to Iriya, did you?"

"Of course, I didn't!" She shouted angrily but shut her mouth as she saw you trembling, all of a sudden her expression guilty and grim. "Sorry, it's too late to explain. I don't have much time."

You nodded eagerly through tears, holding the door and ready to leave, "We need to run!"

You didn't miss a dark chuckle escaping Alice as she smiled at you bitterly, bringing the revolver's barrel to her head, her hand not shaking the slightest bit. "No. I've been waiting for this opportunity for a long time, and now is my chance."

Your head was spinning from shock and confusion. Iriya's chopped head, her bed full of blood, Alice pointing the gun at herself... Was everyone mad? Were you mad? Was it some nightmare you were seeing in your sleep? It felt damn real.

Seeing your horrified expression, your younger sister lifted the corners of her mouth, a broken smile on her face. "I'm sorry it turned out that way, but no one of us has been given a chance. This is how things have to end."

"Alice, please-"

"I have a full magazine. I know it sounds terrible, but after I'm done you have to shoot yourself, too. Believe me, it's the best you can do."

Before you opened your mouth to ask for an explanation and demand her to stop, Alice had pulled the trigger right in front of your eyes, blood and something that reminded you the insides of her brain smearing the wall to her left. While you screamed louder than you ever done in your entire life, her body landed on the floor with a loud thud, the left side of her head completely destroyed as you stared at the bloody mess, red liquid gushing out of the deep wound.

You felt like you were losing your sanity, crawling to her and cupping her head, unable to believe your eyes. She couldn't do it to herself. She has never seemed suicidal! What would she end herself like this? What did her words about some chance meant? Was it really her who cut off Iriya's head?

Wrapping your hands around her shoulders, you tried lifting her suddenly heavy body, crying and demanding your sister to stand up and stop pretending. It just couldn't be true. This madness couldn't be happening.

"Please, please!" You kept weeping, your nightgown soaked in her blood as her head laid on your lap. If body wasn't warm and heavy, you could believe it was all a nightmare, a frightening dream you saw, but Alice's empty eyes staring at you were making you painfully aware of your insane reality.

You cried so hard you missed the heavy steps of the intruder, realizing someone's here only when he opened the door and came in as if he weren't bothered by you screaming at all. It was a tall, wide-shouldered man in his thirties, his hair shining like gold in the bright light of Alice's room, a sharp blooded knife in his hand - the one he used to cut Iriya's head off. You reacted surprisingly fast, reaching out to revolver laying on the floor close to your sister's lifeless body, and tried shielding her as if it mattered, as if she didn't take her own life minutes ago. Your head was hurting, your thoughts mixed up: you barely understood what was happening, but you knew this man wasn't here to help, standing in the doorway with a stony expression on his handsome face while you pointed Alice's revolver at him, your hand shaking.

Who was he? What did he want from your family?

"Go away," you cried, hoping he wouldn't get closer. "Go away! You won't have her!"

You clenched the fabric of your sister's black tee, barely seeing the figure of the intruder as tears were making everything seem blurry.

The man was silent, staring at you with a blank expression as if he weren't interested in cutting off Alice's head and then murdering you, too. He made no attempts to come closer, although he didn't leave the room either, simply standing on his place and not moving an inch while you struggled to keep what remained of your sanity. Could you ask your mother for help? Should you yell so she'd hear you? Would it be better to challenge the murderer yourself since your mother certainly wasn't a super soldier to deal with someone like him? No, no, you couldn't shout to catch your mom's attention. Even if she'd hear you from the other side of the building, you couldn't let her end up just like your darling sisters. You needed to shoot the man.

But as you kept your gun aimed at him, you slowly realized you couldn't do it despite him clearly being a culprit of this madness. It just wasn't in you. You weren’t made to kill other people. Maybe that's why Alice told you to shoot yourself? Maybe she knew you couldn't protect anyone even if you had a gun in your hands?

"Please, don't touch her." You pleaded him, your hand aching from holding a heavy revolver for so long. "She didn't do anything bad. Please, please just go."

"On the contrary." The man suddenly said, and you froze on your place, frightened to the core. "She was the epitome of bad, but it wasn't her fault. Can’t blame the both of you for what your mother has done.”

“Mother?”

Looking at his blood-stained black pants and leather boots with dry blood on them, you opened your mouth but didn’t utter a word, watching his grotesquely big figure relaxing against the wooden frame, a silver cross hanging from his neck, drops of blood on the shining metal looking like dirt. Oh God. He didn’t do anything to mother, did he? He didn’t kill everyone in the mansion, did he?

Wailing like a wounded animal, you kept your gun aiming at the man, praying for him to just leave, vanish, let you call the ambulance and police, let anyone come and help you. What did he wanted? Money? Mother kept them in the bank like any other human being. Did he want her jewelry? Her collection of antique service? He didn’t have to kill your mother and Iriya for it, they would give him anything willingly if he didn’t hurt anyone. Who was this lunatic? Did he do something to Alice, too? He did, undoubtedly. She wouldn’t commit suicide just like that. She might have had issues with alcohol, but your younger sister had never been suicidal.

... however, well, considering you barely remembered what had happened before your fall from the bridge, she might have been.

“Sorry, little girl.” The man suddenly said, landing on the floor and dropping his knife as if he weren’t planning to attack you - you were much doubted it, though. “I know it’s not your fault. You’ve been for how long with the family? Around three months, correct?”

Still shielding the dead body of Alice with yours, you whispered, tears still falling down on your nightgown wet with your sister’s blood, “What are you saying?”

A dry chuckle escaped him as if he knew you were gonna reply exactly like you did, his left cheek resting against his hand caked in crimson fluid, but it didn’t seem to bother him much as he rubbed his skin with his dirty fingers, smearing the blood.

“I’m saying your darling mother adopted you when her second daughter had committed suicide just like Alice. Couldn’t stand what she had to do to stay alive after she was turned, you know?”

Gritting your teeth, you felt the rage raising deep within your chest: the bastard had the audacity to mock your family and you after he had probably killed everyone but you in the mansion. He probably tried to make you drop your revolver and finish you off as fast as he could and run before the police arrives - if anyone was going to come at all. You lived all by yourself with no one but a cleaning lady coming once a week to help you take care of the mansion; it was Friday evening, and people would start wondering why both Iriya and Alice stopped attending university only after a couple of days. Police will probably discover your bodies only when they start to rot.

Clenching the gun in your hand, you pointed it directly to the man’s head, ready to pull the trigger. If you were gonna die or lose your sanity tonight, you had to make sure you kill the murderer of your family before. You could do it. You had to!

“I won’t make it difficult for you.” The man said calmly, seemingly unafraid of your gun. “One day you woke up here with no memories whatsoever, and that creature played a role of your loving mom, saying how she’s scared about you after some incident has happened. She forbade you to leave the mansion because it was doctor’s orders purely for your own sake. Of course, she said something about a rare genetic decease and forced you to drink your medicine before every meal like your sisters, didn’t she?”

Yes. Yes, she did. Although she refused telling you what had happened to you, later Iriya confessed you jumped off the bridge because of some bastard you loved once you figured out he only dated you because of your mother’s money. Of course, they destroyed all your photos with him and anything he gave you so nothing would remind you of that despicable man. You didn’t question it. You didn’t question your mother’s decision to make you study at home just so she could keep an eye on you. It was reasonable: what mother would leave her daughter unattended after a suicide attempt? Naturally, you didn’t question her words about the genetic decease running in the family thanks to your blue blood ancestors marrying within a family. In the end, both your mother and sisters were taking the medicine every meal.

How did he know that? Was he spying on your family?

Oh. A silver cross, a knife made with something that look a lot like silver, cutting the heads off... this madman thought he was a vampire hunter. He was a lunatic who had murdered your family because he decided you were vampires!

“Are you mad?” You shouted angrily at him, unable to believe someone would go so far for something so stupid. “Do you think mom gave me blood, and I couldn’t figure it out?”

“You think she’d give you pure blood to make you freak out?” The man grinned at you, and you felt nauseated: he was fucking insane. “Of course, she didn’t. She diluted it for you and added some supplements, sweeteners and artificial flavors.”

“You lost your mind.”

“Huh, you wish, little one.” He cocked his head to the side and took off his cross, you raising your gun and almost firing it at his sudden movement, but the stranger did nothing else, throwing the cross closer to you. “If you doubt my words, just take it. It’s pure silver. Your mother didn’t stand it, did she? Probably said something about it bringing bad memories.”

Yes, she did, but thinking it was because she was a vampire who could burn herself with silver was ridiculous. What, now all women wearing gold were considered monsters?

“Why would I do that?” You said, your damp from tears cheeks finally becoming dry. “What if you put some chemical on it?”

“Then it would burn me, too.” Showing you his hand, he proudly demonstrated you his fingers that looked perfectly well.

Maybe you were really going mad, but you had touched the cross laying close to Alice's arm and immediately regretted it since it stung as if it was hot as a frying pan on the stove. What was that? Why did it hurt? Unable to believe it, you grasped it in your hand and cried out, dropping it and bringing your hand closer - a large burn was spreading out on your skin, bleeding on the floor, your blood mixing with your sister's. How did it happen? What was that?

"See? That what happens when a vampire touches silver," before you opened your mouth, the stranger continued, "and no, vampires aren't scared of sunlight or garlic, that stuff is straight from the novels."

Crying from pain, your hand shaking, you still didn't lower the revolver despite your other hand already starting to hurt from having something so heavy for a couple of minutes. No, it couldn’t be. He tricked you, surely. Vampires didn't exist! Besides, how would mother get so much blood to feed all of you? It's not like some truck was delivering you blood packs from the hospital every day! And, of course, you had never seen any other human being coming to the house other than a family doctor treating you and a cleaning lady. Where would the blood for your medicine come from?

"Your mother has a nice dungeon with a few iron maidens, little one."

Bullshit. It was all bullshit! Did he expect you to believe your kind, intelligent, loving mother who donated money for building a school in the village would kill innocent people? It was outrageous! From the day you woke up after the incident she had been nothing but a caring parent, always worried about your wellbeing and willing to give you everything you asked for. A week ago you joked about getting some super expensive haute couture dress for your graduation ceremony, and the next evening your mother invited you to her cabinet with her laptop open to show you the designers she found suitable to make you a dress. A woman like her just wasn’t build for murdering others.

The man snorted, “I can show it to you, actually.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You whispered, your other hand now clenching the gun, too. “If you won’t leave, I will shoot you, and no jury would convict me after they found out you cut off Iriya’s head.”

“I wouldn’t be violent if I could neutralize her any other way, but Iriya had accepted her vampire nature a long time ago. Alice, on the other hand, ended her own life. I didn’t do anything to her; it was her own choice.”

“It’s a lie! If she really hated us all for being vampires, why didn’t she do anything? She had a gun, she could shoot us!” Desperate, you yelled at the man seemingly unfazed by your behavior and waiting calmly when you’d get back to your senses - if it was possible in a situation like this, your sister’s body long cold on the floor.

“I bet she wanted to, but, you see, Stockholm syndrome is a funny thing. After 5 years in the family she grew to love her mother and sister, this always happens at one point or the other. I think she probably loved and pitied you, too, since she couldn’t prevent her mother biting you.” There was no pity in his voice, but you could see something compassionate in the way he looked at you, a girl who had no idea who she had become or who she was before that, getting mixed up with dangerous creatures feeding off humans like cattle. “Bet she was scared of the mother, too. But when the opportunity presented itself, she decided it was enough and shoot herself before I came for her head.”

His words were scaring you because it was all making sense now: her addiction to alcohol mother could do nothing about even with all her money; that attitude of hers as Alice had always been unhappy and never agreed to anyone; her constant desire to be left alone and locking herself in her room...

“But why would mother bite us in the first place? What would she need daughters for?” Getting overprotective to prove all this wasn’t true, you asked him.

“All ancient vampires like your mother were human once. They have the need to reproduce as much as we do, but what they don’t have is a physical ability. So, at one point they want to adopt a human and turn them into a vampire, raising them like their own. I’d find it sweet if only they weren’t making more blood-sucking bastards killing people.”

“I DON’T KILL PEOPLE!”

Your deafening scream could probably be heard even in the garden, but you didn’t care, your aching hands gripping the revolver with 5 more bullets in it. You had done nothing wrong in your entire life! You didn’t hurt anyone! You didn’t break into someone’s house to cut off people’s heads! You were just a girl who had now have to live on her own after all your family was brutally murdered by some lunatic thinking you were vampires. It was him who was a true criminal, not you!

“Sorry, little one. I know you don’t, but it doesn’t change the fact you will have to sustain on human’s blood, and then I will have to take care of yo-”

Unable to listen to him anymore, you moved your hand a bit to the left, and the revolver fired, bullet getting into the wooden drawer, a poster with Alice’s favorite rock band hanging on it. “Just move once more and I’ll shoot you. I swear I’ll shoot you! Get out and leave me alone!”

But before you had time to react, the man had disappeared from your sight, and the next second you felt his hot hand on your throat, the other one forcefully taking a gun out of your arms as you screamed, crying and shaking beneath the stranger who felt even heavier on top of you than he looked. Why was this all happening to you? What have you done? Would he cut off your head just like Iriya’s?

“Mama! Mama!” You shouted, crying, his grip suffocating you. Knowing he would have no issues murdering you, you had nothing better but to plead for your mother’s help even though she had been most likely dead. “Mama, p-please... argh... hh... mama...”

If you could look into his face, tears not blurring your vision, you’d see Steve’s expression distorted with what seemed like guilt or maybe empathy when he was slowly, but surely making you lose consciousness, his knife laying on the floor far from you. Did you think he got pleasure from murdering little girls like you? Well, he might have been happy while killing the creature calling yourself your mother, but not the daughters, never the daughters.

You had finally fainted, your body now close to your sister’s. Unlike her, you were still alive, and watching your lay beneath him, unarmed and harmless in that nightgown covered in blood of your beloved ones, Steve thought he may have leave you alive - you really were new to the family, it couldn’t be more than 3 months since you had been bitten. Maybe there was something he could still do. He heard Tony found a way to stop the turning mid-way.

Anyway, keeping a pretty girl like you didn’t seem too bad. You certainly wouldn’t like waking up in his lair, but it was still better than ending up with your head cut off, wasn’t it?

Grabbing your revolver with a couple of silver bullets, Steve showed it into his pocket and carefully lifted you up, his knife in its sheath. Carrying you like a bride, both him and you drenched in blood, the man quickly disappeared in the corridor, heading to the dungeon beneath your mansion. His job was done.

_________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @caffiend-queen @ninefuckingoneone

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #yandere #mcu #requests #mcu fanfiction

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Healthy Competition***

Regé-Jean Page x Reader x Trevor Noah

Warning: Cursing. SMUT. Threesome. NSFW AT ALL. DP. Oral.

Words: 5k

Summary: Non-Covid world. End of Summary.

Note: I cannot be stopped. This is my first dip into either of these two on here. I tried to talk myself out of this, but I have no self-control. This is probably an acquired taste, but fuck it, I wrote this for my sanity.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy this.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG ❤️❤️

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

**Slightly Interactive**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A toast to Regé, our good friend who we’re out celebrating tonight. Every guy should hide their girlfriends tonight because Mr. Steal your girl has arrived,” Trevor teased.

Regé snorted and dropped his head back, laughing at his friend of almost ten years. He was absolutely ridiculous.

“Mate, you think you’re hilarious, don’t you?”

Trevor shrugged, “I mean, I am the comedian here, so--.”

He shook his head. “You’re not a very good one,” he teased back.

“Well, your tastes are slightly askew than the rest of the world. You are British after all,” Trevor quipped, making him and their shared friends bust out laughing.

“Oh, shut up. You’re the only one who has a problem with me being British, though we all know my Zimbabwean side would outperform your watered-down South African any day. The ladies prefer full strength over all else,” he slid home.

Trevor laughed loudly, slinking to the side as he snickered. He knew he had him but knew Trevor would have some comeback. This was their usual banter.

“Why do I smell a wager coming on? I feel like you’re saying you can get any woman in here to choose you over me.”

He knocked back his drink with a smile. “Maybe I am saying it.”

He watched Trevor gulp down his drink as their friends looked at each other with a cautious eye.

“All right, enough. Y'all remember the last time this happened,” Adam interjected.

“The last time? How about every time,” Marcus added before he took a sip from his glass.

“Remember that girl in Brazil, that one we met on Ipanema Beach, she owned the beach shack,” Adam reminded.

He remembered, and a few seconds after he did, he saw when Trevor did. His snickers returned.

“There was nothing wrong there,” Trevor pointed out.

“Yeah, because you won, proceeded to rub it in all night.”

“You couldn’t even bother to close the door of the shack. You just wanted me to hear her,” he said, shaking his head as the memory washed over him.

They’d gone back and forth with her all night. Each of them laid their game out, charmed her, put in their best work. He went to grab them all another round of beers and came back, and her small shack was shaking as her moans filled the night sky. Trevor’s laugh brought him out of his thoughts, making him roll his eyes.

“See, that’s why we’re not doing this,” Marcus finished.

“You’re not still salty about that, Regé, are you?”

He shook his head and raised his hands. “Not at all. you win some, and lose some.”

“One day, the two of you are going to pull this on someone who will make you two the competition,” Adam professed, making he and Trevor laugh.

“It’s not like we swindle anyone, there is consent, and everyone knows what to expect and not expect,” he threw out as he stood.

“Where you going?”

“Refill,” he said, holding his glass up to show its empty state.

He walked out of their section of the VIP area toward the VIP bar slipping through the crowd, making sure to not bump into anyone. When he was mere steps from the bar, someone bumped him from behind, sending him lunging forward, knocking into the back of someone else. He heard a gasp and automatically thought he’d spilled someone’s drink. Sliding beside the stranger, he leaned closer.

“I’m so sorry.”

You turned to him, pulling an oversized candy cane from your mouth. Instantly his eyes dropped to your mouth and that candy cane that slowly revealed itself to be several inches long. When he clocked that it was about seven inches or so that you’d pulled out of your mouth, he lost every single thing he was thinking, even his bloody name.

“Mmm, almost went too far,” you said, with a smile before you put the tip of the candy cane into your mouth. He instantly wanted to put something too far.

He watched you raise your glass to your lips before you put it back to the bar’s surface, and in went the candy cane. He was speechless, and it was something that rarely happened.

“Uh—I’m—sorry.”

You smirked and swiveled the stool to face him again and perched the candy cane to the side of your plump painted lips, and spoke. “You said that already.”

The way the red, white, and green colors of the candy cane looked with your lipstick made him wonder how other things looked with it. Clearing his throat, he looked away to behind the bar where all the bottles of liquor rested. He wasn’t trying to decide on what he wanted to drink. He was trying to gain some composure.

He heard your snort beside him. “Cat got your tongue?”

He looked to you, zeroed in on your eyes, and rose a brow. “What’s got your tongue?”

You smiled slowly, then pulled out that damned candy cane making your lips make that juicy puckered kiss sound.

“This candy cane at the moment.”

You stared at him as if silently daring him to say something to it. He smiled and nodded his head. “You brought a candy cane to a club?”

“It came with the drink,” you said, bringing the confection to the red-tinted liquid before you.

He watched you stir the liquid and return the candy cane to its rightful place—against your tongue for you to lick it slowly. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. It was a damn candy cane.

“What can I get you?”

Before he could speak, you did.

“You look like a fun guy no matter what that crisp accent says. May I?”

He studied you for a few moments, then shrugged before he motioned for you to go ahead. You trailed the candy cane along your bottom lip as you looked over the bottles that lined the wall. You looked like you were in deep thought, and he made a note of how adorable you looked with your perfectly crinkled eyebrows, pursed lips, and fist resting on your jaw.

“Okay, I just need to know two things,” you began.

He smirked and sat on the stool next to you. “And what is that?”

You turned to him again. The crossing of your legs brought his eyes down to see the tempting split in the dress you wore. The luster of your skin raised the temptation he was feeling. He imagined how his hand looked on your body. It was the wrong thought at the wrong time because it made it impossible for him to look into your eyes again. He did, though, and when he did, he saw the mischievous glint in your eyes. He knew then, you were dangerous.

“Your name and favorite color.”

“Why my favorite color?”

“If you tell me red, chances are you like strawberry undertones. If blue, maybe a blueberry or blackberry.”

“What if it’s orange?”

“Then we should end this conversation now and go our separate ways because no one can pull off orange anything.”

He snorted and laughed. He liked you.

“Safe to say red is yours?” he nodded to your drink as his clue.

“Wrong, but this is about you. So tell me.”

“Regé and grey.”

Your eyes widened. “Regé as in reggae music?”

He nodded but didn’t speak.

“Wow, nice. I thought it was something stuffy like Albert.”

“Just ’cause I’m British?”

You smiled and shrugged. “And your favorite color, Regé, is grey.” I’m tempted to say grey isn’t a color, but okay. He’ll have that fifty shades of grey cocktail you tried to give me earlier.”

“Uh-oh, something fruity, huh.”

“Let’s add an extra shot for Mr. adventurous,” you added.

Turning his attention to you, he licked his lips and watched you devour that candy cane.

“What’s your name?”

You smiled and pulled the candy out of your mouth. “Y/N.”

He held his hand out for yours and waited for you to take it. Once you did, he shook it, never taking his eyes off of yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

You didn’t speak for several moments, and he wondered if he should have kept that to himself.

“Yes,” you said.

“Yes? Yes, what?”

You sucked the candy cane back into your mouth and took a sip of your drink. “Yes, I’ll let you buy me another drink.”

Ten minutes came and went, then fifteen, and he was in no hurry to go back to his friends. Your conversation was entertaining and titillating. You held his attention easier than any other had. Not to mention everything you did had his heart pounding. Once you’d finished that damn candy cane, your glass was what brought his attention to your mouth. When the drinks were finished, his eyes roamed your exposed shoulders, cleavage, and thigh until his palms itched to touch.

“I see what’s been holding you hostage, over here.” Trevor’s hand rested on his shoulder as he stood to there to his left.

“Hostage? Hardly,” you responded with a smile.

“I’m Trevor,” he said, holding his hand out to you.

After a few seconds, you took it and let him shake it.

“Trev here is a good friend of mine,” he began before taking a sip of his third drink. “Meet Y/N.”

Trevor smiled again. “What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

He couldn’t help but smile. He knew the game had begun. However, he’d had a twenty-minute head start. He watched Trevor order you another drink before suggesting you moved from the bar to go back to their section. You didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t know what you’d decide.

“I’ll meet you there. I have to freshen up,” you said, pointing toward where the restrooms were.

He pointed to where their section was before you walked off.

“May the best African win,” Trevor said, holding out his hand, making him roll his.

~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

You made sure to reapply your lipstick and rearrange your hair as you inspected your face. Pleased that your products were holding up, you stood there just staring at yourself, making a plan. They thought they were slick, you thought to yourself.

MSG Fifi: He looked hooked.

You smirked.

MSG: He’s hot.

MSG Fifi: So is his friend. What’s the plan?

You thought for a few moments because you hadn’t decided yet.

MSG: I’m going to go have a little fun. I’ll let you know.

You adjusted your dress then walked out of the bathroom. In the loud club again, you looked around, trying to remember when they’d pointed. You didn’t remember. Suddenly you felt a body behind you and a hand on your hip.

“Lost?”

The sexy British accent told you just who it was. Smiling, you bit your bottom lip, deciding you liked how he felt pressed up on you.

“What if I said I was?”

You could feel his breath at your ear and smell the hint of grape and vodka.

“I’ll find anything you want me to,” Regé groaned, making you tilt your head back to look at him over your shoulder.

“Anything?”

He smirked then licked his lips. “I’m not if not a gentleman. Anything, Y/N.”

The look in his eyes had you frozen in place, wishing he’d bring his large hand lower. You scoffed and got yourself under control

“Good to know,” you said before walking away, leaving him to follow behind you.

Once Regé led you to the VIP section, Trevor stood holding your drink to you. Having not been born yesterday, you asked a passing waitress for a fresh drink. Neither of them took offense. When you sat, you were in the middle of both men and able to appreciate the beauty that you both were. They could have passed for brothers, and when they assured you that they weren’t, you relaxed a little more.

After an hour, you’d learned quite a few things about both men. You leaned that while Regé had this overwhelming sensual vibing coming off him, he tended to hang back physically, but his eyes were all intensity, and you could tell he preferred words. When it came to Trevor, he approached things differently. He was a flirt through and through, and you could tell he preferred touch.

They were both like opposite sides of a coin, and you couldn’t decide which side you preferred. Some days called for heads and others tails. One thing was sure; they were both feeling you, and neither of them could hide it. It was in the way Trevor touched you with sly touches and in the way Regé reacted when you went close to him to whisper something or bit your bottom lip.

Two hours and countless drinks later, you still sat there with the two men, and you’d all but made up your mind. Regé leaned to you and whispered in your ear before he met your eyes. Nodding, you took his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor. Once you got to a semi-secluded spot, the song changed to Teyana Taylor’s new school version of Tell me what you Want, and you watched him bop to the beat while keeping on point. You were impressed.

Regé spun you around, so your back pressed to his chest and his hands wrapped around you. he smelled incredible, almost as incredible as he felt. That was when your movements synced together and slowed. You were now swaying from side to side. You began circling your hips against him and let him hold your hands in the air as you got into it. Regé came to your ear and whispered.

“Tell me what you want.”

Your panties were instantly wet. Fuck, you thought. In front of you, you watched Trevor approach the two of you. Once he was in front of you, the song changed again, and the slowest, sexiest tune came on. The lights in the club changed to a deeper hue of red. Trevor came so close that his face was just inches from yours. His hand wrapped around the small of your back, pulling you against him.

Goddamn, you thought as he moved your body how he wanted it. Your eyes met, and Trevor’s hand clasped your jaw in his large but soft hand. Slowly he slid his hand across your skin before you felt a hand on your hip spin you around. Your back was now pressed to Trevor’s chest while Regé was the one who was now inches from your lips.

The two men sandwiched you between them, each focusing on different parts of you. Trevor’s hand was wrapped around your abdomen, searing absentminded circles on the material of the dress you wore, while Regé’s was squeezing your hip, sinking in his fingertips, so they marked you. Trevor’s jaw pressed to your ear, which Regé’s was resting against your cheek on the other side of your face. You doubted anyone could tell where you began and either of them stopped. When you felt a pair of lips press against your right ear, your breath hitched in your throat.

Pulling back slightly, you gazed into Regé’s sultry almond-shaped eyes, and your hand balled the fabric of his shirt at his waist, hoping to control yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” Regé repeated.

Fuck it; you thought as you brought your lips to his kissing him with the scorching energy that was between the three of you. Regé delved his tongue into your mouth, wrapping it around yours, and it was then his hand slid lower on your hip and snaked back to your ass. As he cupped it, you released a moan unable to contain it any longer. When he sucked your tongue, you pulled back and nibbled his bottom lip. His moan caught you off guard and only fueled your steadily uncapping desire.

You felt Trevor behind you begin to pull away from you, no doubt feeling like the loser of their masculine competition of the night. That was when you pulled from Regé’s lips and pulled him back to close the space he’d created. You had both men’s undivided attention, and the power you felt was unmatched. Bringing your lips to Trevor’s, you kissed him with the same fire you had Regé seconds ago.

Again, you held control of this kiss. Trevor allowed you to decide just what you wanted to do, and it was probably going to be his downfall for the night. You bit his bottom lip, and his moan swam in your mouth, making you eat it like a succubus taking his life force. The decision was made.

You pulled away and found their eyes on you. Smirking, you turned with their hands in yours and led them through the crowd. You were thankful you’d decided on the club inside the hotel rather than the other one you and Fifi were thinking of. Once in the hotel’s lobby, you beelined it to the elevator bank and wondered if they were at this hotel too. As the elevator doors opened, you stepped on and waited for either of them to press a button. This was their turn to make a decision.

You pretended not to notice them give each other a look before Regé stepped forward and pressed nineteen. You smirked and rode up in silence. Interestingly enough, the elevator made no stops until it came to the nineteenth floor. You let them lead you, this time keeping a few feet behind them. You could feel their angst as they exchanged looks every few steps, no doubt trying to formulate a plan. It’s funny they still thought they were in control.

The two stopped at the door at the end of the hall then opened it. Regé was the one holding the door open, and Trevor stood on the other side, letting you walk in. You glanced at both men, smirked then walked inside. You walked toward the bar you saw in the corner, then took up two bottles before you continued walking through the suite. You knew the layout was similar to yours, so you just walked where you expected the bedroom to be.

Finding it easily, you walked in and found some music on the bedside table system, another easy feat thanks to apple music coming with every room. You pulled two chairs in front of the large window of the bedroom. You then walked to both of them and led them each to a seat.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You smiled at Regé’s sweetness and went toward him to sit on his lap.

“Would you like me to leave?”

He shook his head.

“Then tell me what you want.”

His lip quirked up at the side. He had to remember his words to you a little while ago.

“Will you give it to me?”

You kissed him again. as soon as your lips touched, his hands were cupping your ass, pulling you closer onto his lap. You felt the strain of his manhood against his jeans, and the anticipation had your sex quivering. Groaning, you pulled away and walked to the window. You put the bottles you held on the floor and turned to them.

“Since you like competitions so much, the first one to move loses.”

Trevor and Regé looked at each other quizzically. They didn’t get it yet. You untied the neck of the dress and slowly brought the straps down, careful not to allow it to fall from your body yet. Though the light in the room was scarce, you could tell the desire in both men’s eyes. You walked to Regé then turned your back to him.

You swayed your hips from side to side to the rhythm of the music bringing yourself down to the floor before coming back up to bend in front of his face. Peeking behind you, Regé’s jaw was clenched so tightly that you thought it had to hurt. You stood and swayed again to the sounds of Sabrina Claudio. In no time, you were lost in the music bringing your hands to the back of your neck, letting the straps hang around your waist.

Turning to them, you heard both audibly exclaim.

“Fuck.”

The accents were entirely different but sexy nonetheless.

“Something wrong?”

You stood between Trevor’s legs, topless, and circled your hips while doing your best snake charmer dance. You deemed it was acceptable because neither of them gave any indication otherwise.

“You’re gorgeous,” Trevor whispered.

You could see his hands clenching the arm of the chair and wondered just how much control he had in him. You pushed the dress off your hips and stood there in your thong.

“Fucking hell,” Regé uttered when you turned your back to them. Using the strong knees you were blessed with, you brought yourself low and popped a baby twerk, not wanting to give either of them a heart attack. Every time you changed the direction of your hips, you looked over a shoulder to watch them watch you. They looked absolutely tortured.

You walked to Trevor and stood there but stared at Regé. You motioned for him to come to you, and in seconds, he was by your side. You kissed him, taking the time to tease him with each passing second while noting he was a great kisser.

“Lay right there,” you said, pointing to the spot between your feet. Regé obeyed, then you dipped down to your knees, your sex hovering over Regé’s mouth. You were about to speak, but shock cut you off.

Regé wrapped his arms around your hips where your thighs met them and buried his face between your legs.

“Oh fuck!”

That was not the end of your shock because seconds later, you felt a wet velvety tip brush against your lips. You opened your eyes and came face to face with the impressiveness that was Trevor’s dick. You opened your mouth to speak, but a sharp stab of pleasure between your legs prohibited it. Your mouth fell open, and Trevor pushed himself into your mouth.

You almost laughed. They were the dream tag team. The room quickly filled with moans and groans as you pleased Trevor and Regé pleased you. The way his tongue flicked against your clit was quickly bringing you closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night. You knew if they had anything to say about it, you’d have more.

“Shit, your mouth—it’s—incredible,” Trevor panted, rolling his head back.

Not relenting, you bobbed your head faster on Trevor’s cock, taking him as far as you could. He grabbed your head and held it in place, then fucked your mouth, making you gag every so often.

“Uuuug!”

When he released your head you continued the pace and moaned on his flesh from the pleasure Regé was giving you but also the pleasure you got from giving it to Trevor. When you felt gentle nibbles, you pulled back and gasped, then began using your hands.

“Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, mmmm!”

Regé sucked your clit into his mouth as he reached up to one of your breasts to pinch your nipple. Following suit, Trevor did the same to the other, and that pushed you over the edge. Your screech was loud as it filled the room and probably the hall outside. Bucking your hips against his mouth, you rode his face as it was meant to be ridden.

When you rolled off of Regé and collapsed to the floor, the men stood and surrounded you. Regé went to your head while Trevor between your legs. You watched him sheath himself with a condom before he met your eyes.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded before you reached to palm Regé’s pulsating and impressive member. As your mouth slid along Regé’s length, Trevor’s slid inside your heated core, stretching you deliciously before filling you perfectly with his thickness.

“Good god,” Trevor whispered, hovering over you to catch his breath.

“You’re so tight, Y/N,” Trevor moaned, beginning to circle his hips.

With a full mouth, you were unable to speak and instead used the pleasure you felt to return it tenfold to Regé. His head lulled back while his jaw dropped, and he grunted, sending the last few inches of his need into your throat. You fought your gag the best you could. Trevor then sped his thrusts. Each time he connected your bodies, your breasts swung, and your sex clenched around him, gripping him like a vise.

Soon your moans and mumbles made it almost impossible to properly enjoy what Regé had to offer, so your hands to make up for the job your mouth couldn’t do. Trevor’s thrusts got rougher, and in seconds you’d come for the second time. Using your feet to push him off, you stood and crawled onto the bed. While lying there, you watched both men slowly approach you. Regé was the one between your legs this time while Trevor was beside you.

Trevor wrapped his lips around a pert nipple, then sucked, licked, and nibbled it. As your mewls spilled from your lips, Regé still had yet to move an inch. He kneeled there, rubbing the tip of his cock across your soaking slit.

“You’re so wet. Show me, Y/N.”

You slinked your fingers between your legs and dipped one inside to show him the evidence of your overwhelming arousal. He smiled, then sucked your finger into his mouth before he thrust forward in one powerful move.

“Fuck!”

The men ravaged you, one with their mouth and the other with their skillful appendage. Where Trevor was girthy and nicely proportioned, Regé had been blessed with girth and an overabundance of length. It didn’t take much for you to come again and again and again. When you rolled onto Regé to take control, you took your time crippling Trevor as he stood in front of you.

The room was sweltering, and your bodies were slick with sweat, so every move the three of you made, the sound of bodies rubbing together echoed throughout. If it wasn’t the slickness of skin, it was the squelching of your wetness as they plowed into you or you rode them into oblivion.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The feel of both men nestled snugly in your tight trove was close to have to see stars. You crashed your lips to Regé, who was underneath you while Trevor was behind. He pumped more vigorously into you, making you pant and whine with each connection. Trevor, not being the one to be outdone, slammed into you, coaxing that spot in you that you knew would soon have you combust into a million specks of dust as you floated the galaxy.

“I’m coming,” Regé and Trevor both shouted as if competing for who could say it louder. You rocked your hips against Regé while slamming back onto Trevor. You intended to bring both men to their knees, but after a few movements, you realized that you’d come undone just as ferociously.

“Come for me, Y/N!”

Shivering, you tried to ignore the command as you repeated your actions over and over. Underneath you, Regé bit your nipple, and behind you, Trevor your shoulder. Either way, these men intended to sear their marks into your flesh. Something about that was so fucking hot. You sped your movements, and that was when your body shook.

“Fuck!”

Both men shook with you and released such loud grunts and groans that rivaled your own whining. Your orgasm was expected but what was not expected was how long it continued. After a minute, you were still coming with both men still trying to secure themselves as deeply into you as possible. Both thrust into you once more, and that was all you could handle before stars erupted behind your eyelids, making you clench around both of them.

Trevor and Regé gasped and hissed before the three of you dropped onto the bed. You were between them as all three of you tried to catch your breaths.

Your eyelids were heavy, your limbs tense, muscles tight, and between your legs sore. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. So you didn’t.

~~~~~~~

-The Next Morning-

When you opened your eyes, the sun had yet to rise from behind the high rise next to the hotel. It took several moments for your vision to return clearly. When it did, you looked around, recognizing you were not alone. You felt a body nestled to your back and one in front of you. You froze, not wanting to stir anyone awake. You didn’t want a whole morning after thing. This was not what this was. It took you some time to slither from the clutches of the gorgeous men you’d spent the night with.

Once free you stood there for a few moments and took them in. Trevor was on his side back to the window completely bare assed. It was a nice one too. His arm was thrown over his head leaving only part of his face visible. He looked adorable asleep. Regé was on his back, one arm over his head tucked underneath the pillow he rested his head-on. That was where your head had laid, right on his chest as if it belonged there.

You shook off any attachment that was trying to creep its way in. You didn’t often do things like this, matter of fact, this was downright as rare as a blue moon. However, you hated the cliché of women who got attached after clear one night stands. You never wanted to be one of them because you knew for a fact men always laughed at them. You wouldn’t be that cliché, you thought to yourself. You gave the men one last look, then turned to gather your things.

Once dressed and inside the elevator, you smiled to yourself. They really thought they picked you up when in fact, you’d heard their friendly competitive banter and decided a little fun was in order. Seeing how the night went, it was safe to say you were the real winner.

MSG Fifi: Everything okay?

You smiled to yourself.

MSG: Pussy put their ass to sleep. Call me, NyQuil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @caramara3 @night-of-the-living-shred @mauvecherie @areubeingserved @queenoftheworldisdead @ramp-it-up @i-just-like-fanfics @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @wondersofdreaming @koko-michelle

#risk it all fic #regé jean page #rege jean page fanfiction #trevor noah #trevor noah fanfiction #black fanfiction #healthy competition fic

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grilledcheeseandguavajelly · 4 years ago

Text

“If You Fall, I Will Catch You, I’ll Be Waiting” -- Billie Dean Howard x Reader

This one is LONG. Like. Really long. But it’s Billie Dean, so can you blame me?

Special thanks to @shineestark for proofing this for me and dealing with my constant worrying, and to @thatgirlintheleatherjacket for proofing also, but most importantly for being so encouraging and convincing me to post this after having it locked away and deeply protected.

Words: ~20,000

Warnings: ANGST. A lot of it. You’ve been warned. Also, a teeny tiny mention of blood.

~Enjoy, little peaches~

(And please go easy, because this one is literally my heart smeared down on paper)

Being with Billie Dean was a whirlwind of a life, constantly running and spinning and dancing across not only your relationship but her career, new shows getting picked up, old shows getting cancelled— the rollercoaster of emotions that came with press and premieres and red carpets and ever-changing schedules.

It had been brilliant. She was the brightest light in the universe, and you felt lucky to be included. But the fact that she loved you? Couldn’t keep her hands off of you and was so supportive of you and absolutely worshipped you, inside and outside the bedroom? It was more than you ever thought possible. More than you ever thought you deserved.

You took every second of it as a blessing, but about eight months in you started getting reckless with your time. Started taking it for granted and really just losing yourself in every moment. You were no longer hyper-present, taking in every minute detail of every second of your day with her, but rather you sank into the comfort of her constant presence beside you. The normalcy of her hand on your waist, the warmth of her quick kisses behind your ear every time she leaned down to whisper something to you. At first, they had all been a shock, setting you on edge and fueling your pounding heart. But now they were a comfort— a part of who you were and who the two of you were together that you could no longer comprehend your life without.

She was always with you. Always right there when you needed her, even if she was halfway across the country or halfway across the world. Because sometimes it worked out like that. She had to leave for a week or two at a time. And you would never ask her to sacrifice her career for you. At first it had been agonizing, every minute away from her like needles in your heart. But she was always right there, calling you and Skyping you and letting you snuggle into the familiarity of her voice until the tears subsided and she was finally home.

Things had progressed from there, as your relationship had progressed. You started getting more comfortable with those small stretches when she was away, and she started growing more comfortable with fucking you over the phone. Because sadness at her absence had turned to a desperation of want. And instead of crying during your chats, you found yourself breathlessly whispering her name, and she would always be right there, ready to give you whatever you needed, ready to catch you as you lost control and tumbled head over heels in love with her.

It got to the point where most of your friends didn’t know you without her. Even if they were old friends, Billie had become such a constant in your life that it was expected the two of you were together. You rarely went anywhere without her, she rarely went anywhere without you. You partied together, you went home together. You started living together, so you started shopping together and walking together, and about a year in you started looking for houses together.

A year and a half in, you found one. Bought it right there on the spot, and christened every room by the end of the night.

You spent the next two weeks unpacking boxes, moving your lives into this new space and decorating it together. As a team. As partners. Equal thoughts and equal compromises. A life together, forever.

The night you finished unpacking, Billie got a phone call. Billie got a job. Billie had to move to London for a year if she signed the contract.

You told her you would go with her. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could find a new job. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could sell the house. She hadn’t asked.

She told you to go to sleep, pressing kisses to your hair and pulling you in so close you almost couldn’t breathe. And by the time you woke up the next morning, she had made up her mind.

You thought for sure she would turn it down. That’s just the kind of person she was. You thought for sure she would tell you that you were too important and that she didn’t want to cut a slice out of this life you were building together. You were prepared to tell her that she should go, that you wouldn’t dare get in the way of her following her dreams. But she had decided. You knew her well enough to know that she had decided the moment she hung up the phone. And there was nothing you could do.

You could never fathom asking her to sacrifice her career for you, and yet she had sacrificed you for her career in the blink of an eye.

A quick procedure and you were surgically removed from her life. You couldn’t go with her. She was leaving you behind.

You didn’t comprehend it. Not really. But she had decided and it had happened.

And then it had ended, and you were alone.

You were left with this aching, gnawing need chewing at your heart. It ate at every fiber of your sanity, picking at the strings of your being and unraveling them, one by one.

Your life came and went in flashes, none of them linear. Tiny glimpses of moments completely overpowered and drowned by this heavy emotion that you had no name for.

It wasn’t sadness, hurt, or grief. It wasn’t depression or pain or numbness. It was all of it and exponentially more, bound together so that you couldn’t feel one without the other, and you couldn’t feel any of it at all.

Days went by like that, scenes cut from a movie that you didn’t recognize. Because life didn’t look like life without her.

Without her.

You didn’t know how to carry on without her. And that’s what hurt the most.

You were hurting alone.

She was the only person you wanted. Really, truly, deeply. Your friends came over and brought you food and cleaned your kitchen and sat with you while you cried. But you honestly couldn’t be sure who they were. All of them blended together, just like the days did, and with the color taken out of your world, everything sat in different levels of shadow and you honestly couldn’t even make out their faces.

Some tried to talk to you, others let you be. But they were all pieces of a puzzle that you couldn’t connect. A glimpse of someone sitting across from you and handing you a tissue. A flash of someone in your kitchen, working at the sink. And the front door closing, over and over, one by one as they all left. The pieces didn’t fit together, but you didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to form a full picture of a life without her.

But you knew you could, if you tried. And that’s what scared you the most. Because what would that picture even look like? What would you see there besides empty space and emotion dark as tar. Sticky, thick, dragging you down and suffocating you and blinding you until you couldn’t find your way back to the surface.

They asked if you wanted to see her.

You said no.

Time ticked by slowly, and they kept coming over, and they kept asking.

And you kept saying no.

She wasn’t here. She was gone. She had left and picked up her life and kicked you out of it. Turned around and walked away and left you bleeding out onto the floor.

Around the fortieth time they asked, you snapped, rage taking over at the semblance of thought that they would dare assume you would be fine Skyping with her when they knew, they knew you needed all of her. That you didn’t want to hear her voice, not pixelated and distorted and morphed. You didn’t want to see her. You didn’t want to talk. And they should have known better than to keep pushing you like this.

Eventually your screaming dissolved into sobs, all of your emotions hitting tenfold as they pinched at your vulnerability like a nerve.

You had mumbled something along the lines of “I couldn’t Skype her, I couldn’t bear it”, and that’s when you heard your friend speak. Actually heard someone speak for the first time in who knows how long.

“No, Y/N. Not Skype. She’s back. She came back.”

You blinked at your friend for what felt like years, letting her words sink into your mind. Carefully, delicately.

“She’s... back?”

How much time had gone by? How long had you been sitting on your couch? How long had it been since you had showered? It couldn’t have possibly been a year already. You had lost all sense of time, but there was just... there was just no way. Impossible.

And you were right. It hadn’t been. According to everyone else, it had only been three weeks.

Billie had been back for two.

Billie had been asking to see you for two and a half.

According to everyone else, she had called them all and asked to see you. Multiple times. Every day. They had taken your phone from you at your request pretty early on, your fear of spamming her with messages greater than your need for her to call you. Somewhere in the back of your bleary, broken mind, you had realized that you needed a clean break. That realization had dissolved as want nestled it’s way into your soul, but by that point your phone was gone. Hidden. Taken. And you were utterly alone, whether you liked it or not.

But now, with the realization dawning and your friends asking you again if you wanted to see her, you still said no.

You had detoxed in this house the two of you were supposed to share. It was full of negative energy and hurt and loss, everything inside of you expelled in each room, the toxicity of it filling the air and seeping into the walls. You had curled into the furniture you had picked out together, clung to any remnant of her smell, of her memory.

But you didn’t want her back in the house. You didn’t want her back in your life.

You needed her back in your life more than you needed to breathe.

There were a few hours spent hyperventilating, your friends stroking your back and pushing the hair from your face and getting you water. But none of it helped like Billie would. They didn’t know you like Billie had.

They dropped it after that. They didn’t ask you again. And you settled back into your shadowed world with the realization that you had lost your chance. They had tried, she had tried, and in your attempt to salvage what was left of your heart, you had pushed them all away.

Your friends still came over, still brought you food and inevitably threw it away, untouched, the next morning.

Nothing really changed. Nothing really could.

The hurt doubled, knowing that she had been back and you had said no. But according to one of your friends, she had left again. And you were right back where you had started. In this big empty house that didn’t really belong to you, with nothing but your loneliness to burrow into at the end of the night.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You couldn’t have known. Three weeks had felt like two lifetimes, and a day felt like an hour. The clarity that had come with your rage had dissolved back into fragments, your days pieced together in small glimpses of television and whoever was coming or going this time.

Doors opening, doors closing. Shifting on the couch, more tears. Change the channel. Fall into a restless sleep.

Over and over again.

Until one day you were woken by a voice. A low, raspy voice etched with concern.

“How long has she been like this?”

You thought it was your mother for a moment, with the way the voice broke at the end of the question. Thought they had finally had enough of you and gotten her a flight over. But no. It couldn’t have been. It didn’t sound like your mother. It didn’t sound like anything.

She was the sound of your entire universe.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for some sort of doctor. Understanding that you hadn’t eaten in ages and you were probably hallucinating.

But it didn’t feel like a hallucination when the couch dipped by your ankles. It didn’t feel like a hallucination when fingers brushed the stray hairs from your face.

You knew it wasn’t a hallucination when tears immediately fell at the familiarity of her touch. The warmth that always followed in her presence. The soft sound of her breathing.

“Y/N...?” she tried softly, and you almost flinched at the way she said it. You had forgotten how special your name sounded when it came out of her mouth.

You were buried under three different blankets, pushed down into the couch because you hadn’t been able to get warm without her. And now it was to your benefit, because all you had to do was tuck your face down, just a bit, and no one would be able to see you crying.

Except your shoulders were shaking, just enough, and your friend, whichever one it was, noticed.

“I think this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked you to— I think you should go.”

But she didn’t move. Her fingers did, tracing your hairline and moving down your shoulder, still covered with the blanket. But she didn’t move.

“Just let me stay a bit longer,” she whispered. “Just let me... I just want to look at her a bit longer.”

And suddenly you felt like you were dead. Like you had died and stepped outside of your body and were watching your own funeral. Everyone you had loved watching your lifeless form and grieving some kind of irrevocable loss.

Except you weren’t dead. You could still feel. You could feel the warmth of her fingers, despite how hesitantly she touched you. You could feel the way she shifted on the couch, so subtle you shouldn’t have been able to.

And you felt her breath catch when you opened your eyes, staring at her through tear-starred lashes.

It was blurry, the world around you, and you didn’t know if it was from tears or lack of food or the fact that she was really there. Right there. An arms length from you.

Billie Dean Howard.

Your head started spinning and every emotion you had felt since she left coated the next, wrapping you in a never-ending, expanding bubble of pain and sadness just waiting to be punctured and popped.

All you could think to do was turn, eyes finding your friend, still blurry and still shadowed, despite how bright Billie had been just seconds before.

“What is she doing here?” you managed, finding your voice through the mess in your mind. “I told you I didn’t want to see her.”

You felt Billie stiffen on the couch, and she spoke at the same time as your friend.

“She knew I was back...?”

“We were so worried about you, Y/N. We didn’t know what to do. You weren’t eating, you were barely talking to us, you—“

And then the humiliation came, embarrassment that you had been this distraught by Billie’s leaving and she was finding out about it. She would know how broken you had been. So you lost your temper. It was the only way you could fathom protecting what was left of your heart.

“I told you I didn’t want to see her. What part of that do you not understand? I don’t want her here. I don’t want her on my couch, I don’t want her in my house, I don’t want her in my life! You had no right to bring her here, to just show up without—“

A hand on your ankle startled you from finishing your sentence, and you looked down to find tears in Billie’s eyes, her perfect acrylics scratching lightly against the blanket.

You jerked your foot back on instinct, tucking your knees to your chin as you pushed yourself up against the arm of the couch.

You wanted to scream at her for touching you. You wanted to growl and narrow your eyes and talk to her through gritted teeth. But you couldn’t bring yourself to direct any words at her at all. Not with the way your brain flipped itself inside out and warred with you heart at the very sight of her.

“Could you give us a minute?” Billie asked, eyes never leaving yours, and after a brief moment of your friend opening and closing her mouth, after she looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t read and you shook your head as you pleaded with her silently not to go, not to leave you, she nodded at Billie and left the room.

A moment later you heard the front door close, and then she was gone.

A long silence stretched, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you could actually hear the grandfather clock ticking in the foyer.

Time passing. A cruel joke.

Every second with her sitting across from you felt longer than the days, weeks she was gone. And you had forgotten that time was like this with Billie. It stretched. The universe never let you miss a moment, absorbing everything, breath by breath, blink by blink.

You stared at her from behind the safety of your knees. Watched her nails pick absently at the edge of the blanket beside her. Watched her mind turn and her nostrils flare as she swallowed down sentence after sentence.

There was nothing to say. There was nothing to be said.

She had said enough when she had left, telling you that you were important to her, but not important enough. Not as important as her career. Not a big enough part of her life.

Well, big enough for her. Just not as big as you had imagined you were. Hoped you were. Assumed you were.

Assumed. And look where it had gotten you. Abandoned in a house that was too big for your life alone. Too big for your life with her. But your relationship had always been just a little bit larger than average life.

Another beat, and then Billie got up off the couch. Just like that her warmth was gone. Again. And you thought for sure she had given up and would leave. Just like she had done before.

But instead she walked behind the sofa, crossing the room and opening the curtains. It wasn’t until she pulled the first set open that you realized the sun was still up.

You had watched the light filter in through the foyer windows and then filter back out again as night fell. You could see the hallway by the front staircase from your place on the couch.

But you had never actively kept track of the time or the days, the soft light from afar fading into the background just like everything else.

“You really shouldn’t sit in the dark like this,” she started, pulling the rest of the curtains open. “It’s not good for you.”

A dry laugh fell out of you. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me anymore.”

And just as you looked over at her she froze, hands hovering over the last set of curtains as her brow popped up.

“Well well, she speaks.”

“Well well,” you spat back, eyes narrowing. “She’s not in London.”

A sigh, and then she was crossing back to the couch and kneeling next to you. Her hand came up only to fall away again, acrylics digging into the seam of the sofa. Tears welled in her eyes as they searched your face. And when she spoke, it came out strangled and broken.

“How could I be, when you’re here?”

You could feel her breath on your face, but she didn’t feel that close. Maybe she was panting, maybe you needed her closer. Maybe both. But she smelled crisp and dirty, like smoke and sage and something so uniquely her. And you didn’t understand how something so soft could feel so much like coming home.

That’s when the tears started. That’s when you lost hold of your composure. Because you weren’t home. She was back, she was here. The two of you were sitting alone, together, in this house you had built. Together.

But it wasn’t a home. It was a magnet for everything that had gone wrong in your relationship, from the argument to the loss to the memories of her packing her bags and walking out the front door to the taxi, leaving you standing in the foyer in one of her shirts and a pair of your favorite socks, the world ripped from underneath you like a magic trick gone wrong. Because you didn’t stay standing. The trunk closed and the taxi drove off and you crumpled to the floor, only dragging yourself to the couch after your knees went red from the tile.

Her hands on your face brought you back to the present, and you almost jerked away. But as soon as they had come they were gone. Your cheeks were suddenly dry and she was wiping her now wet fingers down her shirt.

Billie stared at you, her expression so open and vulnerable and questioning, but there was a hesitance laced under it all. You had let her touch you now, but you hadn’t before. You wanted her to touch you again, but you weren’t sure how you would respond. So she watched you. And you watched her. And there was a moment where you almost reached for her hands. Almost.

But then her eyes flicked down to your lips and you shifted, swallowing as you turned your head away from her.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

Fingers on your knee, stroking softly. “I know.”

You pulled your leg from her grip, glancing over at her.

“You should have let me go with you.” A pause. “I wanted to go with you.”

And then she sighed, sitting back on her heels. Her fingers twitched over the blanket.

“I don’t...” she tried, fingers twitching again as her brows pushed up. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

At that you turned to face her fully, looking at her incredulously. “How was this ‘doing the right thing’? You left me here, Billie—“

“I know.”

“—all alone, in this big, stupid, empty house that we picked out together. This was supposed to be our place. Our life. And we hadn’t been unpacked for five minutes before you up and left! And all for what, a job?!”

Your voice had risen and you were sitting up on the couch now, teeth bared as all of your pent up anger, all of the hurt that had melded to your bones, came boiling back up to the surface.

Billie flinched at your words, and as her brows furrowed she stood, flicking her nails and smoothing out her pants as she walked to the other end of the couch. Distance between you. Again. Comfortable. Heartbreaking.

“You were the one who always said you wouldn’t interfere with my career,” she started, voice hardening. “You were the one who told me to ‘do what I wanted’ and ‘follow my dreams’. So I did. And now suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Because you just left.”

She whirled on you. “You think I don’t know that?! You think this wasn’t hard for me? For Christ’s sake, Y/N, I only lasted eight days!”

“And then you came home.”

“Yes.”

You swallowed, fighting the tears pricking at your nose. “And then you went back again.”

She paused, fingers flicking absently as she processed what you had said.

“What? No— I didn’t... Y/N, I didn’t go back.”

Her head tilted and her brow furrowed, arms crossing protectively in front of her.

“They told me—“ you started, but then she was right there, cutting you off.

“I didn’t go back. I couldn’t go back. Not without you.”

Your heart stuttered and you forced yourself not to notice, tucking your knees to your chest again. Putting something solid between her and you and the feelings that were starting to seep into the soft places of your heart. You hadn’t known there were any soft places left.

“I came back for you...” she tried again, her voice breaking.

But you didn’t react. Didn’t respond. You couldn’t. What were you supposed to do? Dive back into her arms and tell her you would cross the world with her and give up everything for her? You had tried that once, and look where it had gotten you. You wouldn’t do it again. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

So you watched her. Watched her watch you, watched her fidget. Watched that swagger that was so much a part of who she was crack and falter as her fingers twitched yet again.

“Say something,” she whispered, her brows pushing up. And when her teeth dug into her perfectly painted lip, you found your voice again.

“You should go get a cigarette,” you started, swallowing as you shifted further up the couch.

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not smoking in our— in your— in this new house. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You ignored the way your heart fractured at her corrections, shaking your head slowly.

“I know you want one, Billie. I can see your fingers twitching. Go get a cigarette, you’re fine. The air in here is already so fucking filthy.”

She paused, hesitated, looked at you like she used to. You had never liked her smoking habit, but you never really said anything. Especially if she was at a friend’s house or at a party. But if you were out to dinner or over at your family’s, she always used to look to you for permission. She never asked, she simply looked at you. Always the same way. Brows up, eyes wide, tongue pushing against her cheek.

You nodded, warmth shocking your system at the familiarity of it all.

And then she was walking away. But this time, just as the memories and the hurt and the ache returned, she paused. Stood in the doorway. And tried for a smile as she said, “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.”

She was gone before your tears fell, sobs shaking you as you doubled over your knees. Those were the words you had been longing to hear for so long. For so long. And now she was back, and she was saying them. And she was saying all of the things you had wished she would have said in the first place.

But dents had been made, scars had formed. And your mind had placed a nice, hard, steel cage around your heart to keep anything from hurting it, ever again. So you couldn’t feel the kindness, couldn’t feel the warmth. You were protected from her. From now to forever. And nothing would ever be the same again.

It took her longer to come back than you thought, giving you time to get your emotions back under you and steady your breathing. You swiped at your eyes, taking long, deep breaths to clear your lungs. Ever since she had left, it felt like there was something squeezing your chest, keeping you from breathing in all the way and forcing the air out of you faster than you could get it in. It all added up to a constant feeling of suffocation, like you were dying slowly. Breaths getting slower and shorter little by little until maybe one day they just stopped.

Except now you could catch your breath. You told yourself it was the setting sun through the window. Not Billie. Because it couldn’t be. You refused to let her have that kind of control over you anymore. You at least got to dictate your own breathing.

Except you didn’t.

You heard the front door open and then heels clicking against tile, and you braced yourself for her presence again. But no matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared you to see her face again, walking through this house again. It was almost worse than the first time, because this time you knew it wasn’t a dream.

This time she was here, and you knew she was coming around the corner, and she looked even more beautiful than before with her signature cigarette between her fingers and the sunlight streaming against her hair from the window.

You blinked at her as she stood against the other end of the couch again, pulling her lighter out of her pocket. You watched as she flicked it open, held her cigarette between her perfect fingers. And that’s when you noticed her nails were powder blue.

Billie always stuck to peaches or corals. She rarely went for cool colors. And when she had left, they had been blush pink. Which meant that she had gotten them done at some point. She had changed, evolved while she was gone. Kept moving. And when her eyes flicked down your form and a sadness clouded her features, you realized that you were still in the same shirt and socks you had worn when she walked out the door. Her shirt.

Hers.

She tapped the tip of her cigarette into the tray on the side table, and you realized again that you hadn’t moved that either. You had never had that moment where your feelings turned to anger at her, where you ran around your house and smashed everything that she had left. You never felt the need to.

And it struck you, as you watched her take the first drag and sigh out the smoke, that you didn’t know why. Because you had been angry at her. You were still angry at her. Weren’t you...?

“I thought you were smoking outside,” you said, scrunching your toes into the couch to ground yourself.

Billie paused mid drag, fingers stuttering on the couch. “Oh, I— I thought you said I could smoke in here, I didn’t mean to—“

“No no,” you cut her off, shaking your head and hugging your thighs. “You’re fine. You were just out there for a while so I assumed...”

And there was that word again. Getting you into just as much trouble as before.

A hum, and then Billie spoke. “I was telling Michelle to go home.”

You startled, realization settling in for what felt like the hundredth time in moments. Everything was clearer now, the world dropped back down around in you in full color, and all of the pieces were starting to come together, whether you liked it or not.

“That was Michelle?”

Billie’s brow creased. “You didn’t recognize her?”

“No I did, I just— I don’t know, wasn’t thinking.”

Another hum. You swallowed, the sound warming you in a way that made you feel overly-exposed.

“Why did you tell her to go home?”

The corner of her mouth twitched then, but it almost seemed sad. It wasn’t in that familiar, knowing way that she always covered her smirks. It was cautious, like she was afraid to be happy. Afraid for things to go back to normal. Afraid to tell you the truth.

The silence stretched and she sat down on the edge of the couch, careful not to displace your blanket. But your legs were still safely tucked against you as you watched her, so she crossed her legs and leaned against the arm of the couch, cigarette still smoking in her hand.

She answered you with a soft, “I don’t think we need her between us anymore,” but you barely heard her. You were too taken with the way she was sitting on the couch. Just like she always used to sit on your couch, the way she used to smoke against the side of it as you curled in next to her. And yet still stiff. Still waiting for something to open up all the way. You didn’t know what.

She watched you, eyes narrowing.

“What?” you spat, automatically on the defensive. She flinched, lowering her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just... Are you okay?”

You scoffed, brow furrowing. “Are you kidding?”

She waved you off. “No, never mind. It was a stupid question.” Another drag. “I’m just worried about you.”

A long pause. You didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? That you didn’t want her to worry about you? That you didn’t need her pity? That you were fine? All lies. So you settled on the only point in your emotional road map that you could adequately comprehend.

“You shouldn’t have sent Michelle home.”

“Why not?”

You looked to the curtains like you would be able to see the street. Like maybe Michelle would still be out there and would intervene. Like maybe she would grab Billie and leave and you could shut the curtains and shut out the world again and go back to your sunken limbo of not feeling anything at all. It was better than the hurt and the warmth that came with Billie’s presence in front of you.

It was easier.

“Y/N?” Billie prompted, and you looked back to her. “Why not?”

And then something splintered inside of you, because she was prodding at you like you were a child. Like she used to when she had owned every part of you and had ultimate responsibility of your heart. But she didn’t anymore. You had grown exponentially in these last three weeks, and you didn’t need her treating you with such care. You wanted to argue. You wanted to fight. You wanted to get the last of your hateful energy out so that you could feel some semblance of peace again. So that you could quiet its incessant buzzing and bumping in your chest.

“I don’t want you here, Billie. She was just trying to protect me. You shouldn’t have come.”

“She was the one who told me to come over.”

“Bullshit.”

“She did. And so did Angelica.”

Your fingers twisted in the blanket. “Angelica knows you’re here?”

Billie nodded slowly, tapping her cigarette in the tray again. “I’m staying with her.”

Dread dropped into your stomach like lead. Angelica was your best friend. You were sure she had been over here almost every day, if your memories were aligning correctly. And the entire time, Billie had been staying at her house? Impossible.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression nonchalant. “For how long?”

But you couldn’t meet Billie’s eyes, so you traded that for picking at a loose string on one of the throws you were buried under.

“Y/N,” Billie started, but you didn’t look up at her. Not until you felt her hand on your ankle again. Keeping you pinned, pulling you down into the couch. “I had nowhere else to go.”

And that’s when you lost it. The last shred of patience disintegrated and you pulled your foot away, shoving the blankets off of you so that you could really, properly get in her face.

“Nowhere else to go?! Billie, you should have come back. I was right here. Waiting for you. ‘Nowhere else to go’ my fucking ass. You were scared. You were being a coward. You really feel so bad? Really?”

“Yes, of course, I—“

“Because you couldn’t even find the courage to drive five minutes down the road and face me yourself! You say you’re sorry, yet you’ve been hiding behind Angelica this entire time, and I’ve been here, alone—“

Your voice broke over the last word and you sniffed against your tears. You hadn’t noticed them falling, but suddenly everything was blurry again and you were so, incredibly hot.

“I wasn’t hiding, they told me not to come over here!” Billie countered, cigarette forgotten as she leaned forward on the couch. “You really think I wanted to spend two and a half weeks in her spare room?”

“Well, you said you wanted to live with me, and then you changed your mind in the blink of an eye because of a fucking job. So I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Don’t start with that again,” Billie screamed, vaulting off the couch. And before you knew what you were doing, you were right there with her, pushing yourself up and gesticulating wildly.

“I’m not starting with anything, Billie! That’s what happened. That’s why I’m upset.”

“But I came back, Y/N. I fucking came back!”

“So what?” you growled, teeth bared.

Billie snarled right back, stepping forward and waving her cigarette. “So what? I lost my fucking job! I gave up everything to come back here, and you’re acting like you don’t even care—“

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do!” Billie’s free hand caught at your wrist as you threw your hands up, and you stuttered, her perfect nails digging into the soft skin there and holding you in place.

Time froze. You couldn’t hear the clock. All you could hear was Billie’s breathing and the pounding of your own heart. Maybe the pounding of her heart, too. She had gotten impossibly close to you in the span of your short argument, and when you looked from her to your wrist and back, you saw her eyes flick down to your lips again.

This time, you licked them. Just because. Just in case. But she didn’t move.

“I don’t care,” you panted, nostrils flaring as you met her hot stare.

She shook her head lightly, curls bouncing. “I don’t believe you.”

And you were sure she could feel your pulse racing against her palm where she held your wrist. Your fingers twitched.

“Why not?” It came out as more of a whisper than anything. You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to be quiet. Not to speak over the way your heart was thundering in your chest. It was trying to tell you something, and you wanted to listen. But you weren’t finished with your conversation. You weren’t finished with her.

“Because,” Billie started slowly, loosening her grip on your wrist and hesitantly threading your fingers together. “You used to say that you loved me. And if you ever truly meant it, then I know that you care.” A soft squeeze. “And that you never stopped caring.”

You swallowed, staring down at your hand in hers between you. How many times had you done this? How many times had she taken your hand, or you hers? And how many times had it made you feel like you could do absolutely anything?

“Of course I care,” you breathed. And when you looked up at her, there were tears welling in her eyes.

One fell, and you swiped it away with your thumb before you knew what you were doing. Cupped her cheek before you knew what you were doing. Leaned into her, impossibly close, before you could think. Before you could stop yourself.

Your eyes fluttered closed at the warmth radiating off of her and you paused just centimeters away from her mouth, noses nudging together. A beat, an instant, and then she was there, hand on your jaw as her lips met yours.

You gasped at the sensation, so familiar and yet so, so new. She tasted different, sharper, like the first time you had ever kissed her. The quick, unthinking kisses had all melted away and you had forgotten what she felt like, what her breath felt like filling your lungs, how plush her lips were.

Velvet, sliding and working and nipping and sucking.

Home.

And that’s when the reality of what you were doing crashed back down around you. Just as her fingers hooked behind your ear and you felt the sticky end of her cigarette brush your cheek. Just as her other hand squeezed yours and she pulled you in closer. You broke the kiss, practically shoving her off of you.

Her eyes were dark as she blinked at you, desperation sliced with hurt. Disappointment. Realization.

“We can’t,” you panted, shaking your head and pressing your fingers to your temples. “We just... We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Billie tried, reaching for your wrist again and smoothing her thumb over your pulse point. “Please...”

“No, Billie,” you practically screamed as you yanked your hand from her grip. She startled, stepping back. “We can’t just— You can’t just come in here and act like nothing has changed!”

She sniffed, and this time as a tear fell she caught it herself, swiping it away and shaking her head out softly before nodding.

“Right, no. Of course.” A broken smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of you again and building that barrier back up. “You weren’t thinking.”

She shook her head, a sad smile making her lip tremble. “Right.”

“Just like when you left,” you added for good measure, knowing the sting would come, but that hard part of you feeling like she partly deserved it.

“Alright, I heard you,” she said again, sniffing against tears. Another fell and she swiped it away almost before you could notice. “Do you... Would it be alright if I used your restroom?”

Your restroom. Not the. Not our. Your.

You nodded, gesturing to the hallway. “Of course, it’s just down—“

She held her hand up, forcing a smile as another tear fell. “I remember, thank you.”

And then her heels were clicking and the door shut and she was gone.

You stood frozen to the spot for a moment, ears ringing as you fought a shiver from the memory of her touch. And oh, how you missed the way her thumb always ghosted over your pulse point. The way she always pressed kisses to those sister points on your neck after whispering in your ear. The way her hand would hover over your heart for just a second too long when her fingers danced and teased and kneaded over your breasts. Always your pulse points. The most delicate part of you. The most intimate, because they led straight to your heart. It was as close to your heart as she could physically get, and her touch always got exponentially more possessive there, even in the tiniest brushes against them. As if to say, “this is mine.” As if to say, “your heart belongs to me, and I am keeping it irrevocably safe.” As if to say, “I love you.”

And that’s when you moved.

Your feet were dragging you to the kitchen before you knew what you were doing, throwing open cabinets and wrecking through drawers to find your phone.

Because you wanted to know. You needed to know.

It hadn’t been that well-hidden. Or maybe you just knew this house better than you thought you had, even after pretending for three weeks that you were somewhere else entirely. A stranger in a strange place, to protect your heart in whatever manner you still could.

You stood on your tip-toes, reaching into a bowl on the top shelf. But when your fingers wrapped around your phone and you pulled it down in victory, you paused. One little tap to the screen. That was all it would take. And you would know in an instant if she had been telling the truth.

A deep breath to center yourself, to re-solidify the mantra that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t really care. You had already lost her once, so you couldn’t really lose her again.

You couldn’t lose her again.

You tapped the screen, squinting as it lit up. And then your eyes went wide.

Your phone was full of so many notifications that they had stacked up on each other. You didn’t even have to count. Your phone had kept track of them all, displaying the numbers proudly. Almost impatiently.

252 missed calls. 189 voicemails. 378 texts.

All from her.

You did the math as quickly as you could with the way your head was spinning and your heart was hammering in your chest.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Which meant... roughly twelve calls a day. Right? And texts— twenty? Eighteen?

You made the mistake of swiping at your lock screen and opening your messages. And the last one, the last one...

If you could only know how much I regret leaving you. I can’t live with the thought of losing you. I love you. I’m coming over. Please don’t say no.

Oh my god...

Your head spun as her words swirled around you, and suddenly the weeks of not eating and not drinking enough and crying out every ounce of energy inside of you caught up with you.

Black spots coated your vision, tinged and closing at the edges, and then your head grew too heavy to hold up and you were falling, falling straight onto the tile floor.

You thought you heard someone call your name, but it was too far away and all you could think of was Billie.

Billie, Billie, Billie.

Arms around you caught you tight, holding you up and keeping you steady. And as the world righted around you, you heard her.

“Hey, shh. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Deep breaths. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to shrug her off of you. You wanted to turn around and yell at her that she didn’t have you. Not when you had needed her. That she had left, and it was too late. And that you could never forgive her.

But you knew it was a lie, and your body knew it was a lie. And so the words stayed locked in your throat, melting away with every soft stroke of Billie’s hands on your arms, with every kiss she pressed to your hairline.

“I’ve got you,” she sighed out, and you thought she almost sounded relieved. Relieved at catching you in time, relieved to have you in her arms again. Relieved to finally be able to take care of you, to help in some way after causing so much searing pain.

Her name left your mouth in a breathy whimper, and you felt her mouth press against your ear.

“I’m right here. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

A kiss, right below your ear. Soft, delicate, directly on your pulse point. Just like she used to. Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

“I’m never leaving you again,” she finished, her voice thick with tears. “I—“

But she cut off, her fingers tightening around you as she physically stopped her heart from speaking. You knew what she was about to say. Her “I” always pitched just a bit higher on that phrase, threading with the other words to make them sound like a symphony.

Maybe it was because she was holding you so tight. Maybe it was because your back was to her, held against her chest as she supported you. Maybe it was because you didn’t have to look her in the eye, and you could pretend, like you had so many nights, that she was just a figment of your imagination, born to help you fall asleep.

Or maybe it was because you had wanted to scream it at her since the second you heard her voice, and every minute of every hour that had passed since she arrived.

The words tasted sweet as they bubbled up your throat, out of control and so, so different from all of the bitter hate you had been spewing at her.

And then they fell out of you, squeezed out by her arms hugging you tightly to her, welcoming you home.

“I love you, too...”

She froze behind you, and you felt her heart stop. Actually stop it’s steady beating against your back for the longest of seconds.

Her breath hitched and the tiniest sound came out of her, and then her face was buried in your neck and she shook with sobs, hot tears falling against your skin and soaking through your shirt.

You let her stay like that for a moment, her sobs doubling in volume as your hand came up behind you and found her hair.

She was squeezing you so tightly, her fingers digging in as she held you to her, like you were a figment. Like you were a dream.

And that’s when you realized that she must have conjured you up in her bed when she was away, just like you had, to help her fall asleep. That’s when you realized that you had been haunting her, just as she had been haunting you. Maybe not as much, because she was in a new place with a new home and a new job. Or maybe more, because the memory of you would have faded over time, whether she liked it or not. Smoke in a glass, tipping and spilling and dissolving into thin air.

You didn’t realize that your heart could still break. You had thought it was already shattered and stepped on and crushed to dust. But it broke again in that moment, in a different way.

You had assumed this whole time that she had abandoned you. That she had picked up her life and left you behind and moved on. But you hadn’t considered that maybe, just maybe, she had been hurting in the exact same way you were. And while you had to cope with being abandoned, she had to live with the knowledge that she was the one who had left. It was her decision. It was her fault.

This time, when your heart broke, it broke for both of you. For the pain she had caused you, sure. But also for the thought of her, in a strange city, all alone and longing for everything she had lost.

Over two hundred missed calls. She knew what she had done, and you hadn’t even been willing to try to hear her out.

Billie was still crying behind you, holding onto you for dear life. You turned in her arms, shushing her, and she desperately cried out “no” at the movement before her fingers tightened on your waist in realization that you weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t shoving her away.

You just wanted to look at her.

In another life, in another world, you didn’t think you would have ever wanted to look at her again. But that world was shrouded in darkness and hurt and loss. And this world, set right, was starting to weave itself back together around you. A world of light and growth and love.

A world of forgiveness.

You wiped at her cheeks, ducking to catch her gaze.

“Billie,” you tried softly, brows pushing up.

Her eyes were rimmed red when she raised them to yours, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

She sniffed, forcing up her wall of composure and setting her posture straight as she hummed questioningly.

Your fingers shook as you swiped at her cheeks, trying your best to preserve her dignity. Because you knew what you were about to ask, and you knew it would change everything.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Her nose twitched and tears welled again, and before words could form she was pulling you to her, shaking her head urgently against yours and pulling her fingers through your hair.

“Yes,” she croaked before clearing her throat. “Yes. Of course. Always.”

You hugged her then, really properly hugged her until her breathing evened out and her grip on you loosened, just so. But when her hand came up hesitantly and ghosted over your spine you pulled away, clearing your throat and looking anywhere but her.

“I should, um...” you tried, glancing up at her before walking back to the couch. You grabbed at the heap of blankets, piling them into your arms and moving past her once more, through the kitchen to the laundry room. “I should probably shower. Do you want to order dinner?”

You heard her answer “sure” as you threw them in a basket, too exhausted to comprehend doing laundry. But too self-conscious to fathom leaving a mess on the couch. On all of the new furniture that the two of you hadn’t even broken in yet.

“What do you want?” she called, and when you made it back to the kitchen, she was already typing on her phone.

She glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way her lips pulled into a smirk.

“Thai,” you both said in unison, and she nodded, popping a soft “yep” before pulling out a barstool and sitting as she continued to type. Too casual. Too normal.

“I-I’m going to go shower,” you tried, ignoring the way her brow creased in concentration as she scrolled through her phone. Ignoring the way she flicked her bangs back into place as she pulled her phone to her ear.

She nodded. “I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” she murmured, smiling as you passed by her.

And then you were up the stairs and peeling her shirt over your head as the water heated up.

You tested it as you slipped out of your socks, turning it just a bit cooler so you wouldn’t overheat.

It had been three weeks since you had showered. Three weeks. Why your friends hadn’t dragged you off the couch and locked you in the bathroom, you had no idea. But you must have looked awful. You must have smelled awful. And Billie was still right there, eager as ever to hold you and kiss you and press herself right up against you.

If that isn’t love.

You brushed the thought away, relishing the warm water washing you clean. Washing all of those toxic emotions off of you, purifying your life from the outside in. A fresh start. Clean. New. Try again.

You washed out your hair as quickly as possible, desperate to shave and unwillingly giddy at the thought of Billie waiting for you downstairs. You didn’t want to be, but you couldn’t help it. Not to mention that you were starving.

Your stomach growled as you shaved under your arms, grimacing at how out of hand you had let yourself get when you were normally so keen on being silky smooth. It was when you felt your most confident. Your most beautiful.

Memories of Billie’s fingers tracing up your legs danced across your mind as you shaved, the way her nails used to scratch and leave those little pink lines. Just a bit too rough, especially if she caught someone eyeing you when you were out, or after a premiere when she had to keep her hands off of you for hours.

And then a specific memory, unbidden. The time at the Emmy’s when she had pulled you into the bathroom and fucked you senseless because you were wearing a dress that was cut too low and hugged your hips too tight, and she’d had to keep her hands to herself since morning. The feel of her mouth on you that night had been different, just like it had been different tonight.

Her mouth.

You cried out as the razor skipped over your skin, digging into your thigh and leaving a nice trail of red in its wake.

“Ow, fuck, shit.”

The water stung, but you let it run over the cut, wincing and digging your fingers into the wall.

“Y/N?”

You jumped at Billie’s voice inside the bathroom, scrambling to cover yourself. Made sure the curtain was fully closed.

“Y-Yeah? What’s wrong?”

You heard her murmur “just one sec” before she raised her voice over the sound of the shower.

“They’re out of bean sprouts. Do you still want pad thai or do you want curry instead?”

Your thigh stung against the cold air as you backed yourself into the corner of the shower, so you didn’t even have time to register that she remembered your order. That you hadn’t told her what you wanted. It had only been three weeks, but she still remembered.

“The pad thai is fine,” you called out, watching the blood drip down your leg. “Just—“

“No tofu, I know,” she finished for you, and you heard her repeat your order over the phone.

You bit down into your lip as you wiped down your cut, muffling a whimper.

But you must not have been as quiet as you thought, because just as Billie finished with a “that will be all, yes. Thank you,” and made to leave, her heels stuttered on the tile, the clacking amplified now that you weren’t lost in your own thoughts. Now that you were focused intently on her.

“Y/N?” She tried again, her voice infinitely softer now. “Are you alright?”

You dropped your head back onto the tile, fighting tears at the throbbing from your leg.

“Yeah— yes, I— I just cut myself. I’m fine, it’s not that bad.”

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move, either. And you could feel the tension growing between you.

The last time you had cut yourself this badly, you had called out for her and she had been in the shower with you in a second, pressing her palm against the gash and peppering soft kisses across your face to keep you from crying. Cooing sweet nothings in your ear as she bandaged it up and got you tucked safely into bed. That had been at her old house, in her old bathroom. A lifetime ago.

And now, she was so close. Right there. You didn’t have to call for her, she had heard you. But everything had changed.

“Do you need help?” she asked softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep your heart from cracking.

“No, it’s fine. I just- would you mind leaving so I can hop out and get a bandaid?”

Her heel tapped. Once.

“No.”

Your eyes flew open. “No?”

And you could practically see her shaking her head, her shadow blurred by the thick shower curtain.

“No,” she said again, and this time she sounded closer. “I told you I’m not leaving you again, and I meant it.” A beat. “Here.”

And then her arm poked through the curtain, towel clutched between those perfect acrylics.

You backed away from her on instinct before forcing yourself to take a breath. She was just trying to be kind. She was just trying to help.

So you pulled the towel from her fingers, shutting off the the water, and although her hand disappeared, her shadow remained. Just across from you.

You patted yourself dry the best you could as you avoided the trail of blood, and wrapped the towel tightly around yourself. Made sure you were decent. Pulled back the curtain.

Billie’s eyes went wide and you immediately checked yourself over to make sure you hadn’t left a piece of you exposed. But no, you were completely covered.

“What?” you tried, voice wavering as her eyes pulled down your form.

She glanced back up at you before shaking her head and averting her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just— Nothing.”

“No, Billie. What is it?” You prodded as you stepped carefully from the shower. Grabbed a tissue and dabbed at your cut.

“It’s just,” she started, eyes tracking your every movement. Blurred, hazy. “I forgot how beautiful you look freshly showered.”

You felt your cheeks burn, and you were grateful that your face was ducked as you focused on cleaning up your cut. You cleared your throat against the lump forming there and threw a sarcastic, “was I really that disgusting before?” to deflect the compliment.

She smirked, fingers twitching, and then her hands were on your arms and she was pushing you down onto the closed toilet seat with a soft “here, let me help.”

It had been easy enough. You had directed her to the bandages, and she found them quicker than you anticipated, kneeling in front of you and pressing her hand over yours on the tissue.

You watched her work, hand frozen under hers as she pulled at the tape with her teeth. Ignoring the fact that she was situated right between your thighs. Ignoring the fact that you were completely naked under your towel, pressed down between your thighs to keep yourself covered. Keep yourself protected.

Billie tugged at your fingers and you lifted them before you could think. And then the tissue fell away and your breath caught because god it looked so much worse now that you were out of the shower. Puckered, angry. Blood still pooling.

You watched Billie, her fingers hovering over the wound. Watched her mask a grimace. Watched her lick her lips. Watched her eyes track from the gash up your thigh, before she cleared her throat and reached for the gauze. You knew what she wanted. You could see it in her face. She always kissed you when you were hurt, emotionally or physically. Always brushed her lips over some piece of you to let you know that everything would be okay.

Like she had by the couch. When she hadn’t wanted to let go.

You didn’t realize she had already cleaned up the gash until you heard her rustling as she put the antibiotic away. Her fingers worked over your legs gently. Always so careful and delicate with you.

Until her hands found your knees, falling there thoughtlessly, and pushed them apart.

It wasn’t much. It should have been nothing. But you were so acutely on edge, exacerbated by the fact that you were naked beneath the thin fabric wrapped around your body. How many times had she done this before? The sensation sent a shock of heat through you and straight down to your core, memories of that hungry expression she constantly wore when she was right here, under completely different circumstances, with a completely different agenda, flooding your mind. You couldn’t think about it now. Not when she was so close. Not when you were completely exposed and she would be able to smell what she still did to you—

Her fingers trailing up your inner thigh brought your attention back and your hand locked around her wrist before you could think. Holding it in place as you stared at her incredulously.

She shushed you, glancing up as she gently guided your knees back apart. “I just need to tape the top, okay? Almost done.”

And that’s when you looked down at your thigh, perfectly bandaged and nowhere near as high up your leg as you thought it had been. You were hypersensitive to her touch, too on guard. You needed to take a deep breath.

Before you knew it you were dressed in clean clothes and sitting opposite Billie on the floor around the coffee table. Something about sitting at the dining table felt too formal, and something about sitting at the breakfast nook too casual. So when she had dropped the bags of food on the coffee table, you had simply sat down. Right there.

It was silent, with the occasional polite “how is your food?” breaking the stillness that had settled. You were so consumed with your food that it wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that awkwardness settled in.

You hadn’t realized you were staring at Billie’s plate until she quietly asked if you wanted a bite. And the question went right through you. Whenever the two of you ate, especially Thai food, it was more of a share and care kind of deal. Usually the plates would sit somewhere between you, you picking off of hers, her picking off of yours. Both of you too consumed in the company to care about portions and manners. And sometimes, depending on how long it had been and what kind of a mood Billie was in, her fork would twirl in your noodles and she would feed you bites herself, smirking as your lips closed around the fork and kissing you nice and slow after you’d finished.

You swallowed down the memories with a sip of water, shaking your head.

And Billie nodded for what felt like the hundredth time since she came back, that sad smile morphing her face and clouding her eyes.

You ate the rest of your dinner in intentional silence, unable to meet her eyes. There were a few times, just a few, where she would reach for a spring roll, and on the way there or on the way back, her hand would hover over yours. Almost. Just barely.

But it was always gone as soon as it came.

Part of you wished that she would just do it. Break the wall and hold your hand so that you could know if you were comfortable with it or not. Because you didn’t know. And you couldn’t be the one to start it if you were only going to pull away a moment later.

You watched her hands, one tapping against her glass as the other methodically brought her fork to her mouth. Her mouth. Her perfect mouth.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of it, her nails, the way she stirred and scooped her curry. And her lips, plump and plush and swollen slightly from the spice. The dip of her jaw as she swallowed.

Her eyes stayed pinned to her plate, and every once in a while she would shuffle herself and readjust her legs underneath her. Perfect posture, perfectly proper. Perfectly Billie.

As much as you could’ve watched her eat for days, as much as you were grateful for the stolen glances and the long moments where you got to just look at her, reacquaint yourself with the way she moved and breathed and lived, dinner had to come to an end. And by that point, you were so tired from the day that you were almost glad to go to sleep.

You pulled fresh sheets from the linen closet, making your way to the couch as Billie cleaned up the dishes.

“I’ll sleep down here, and you can sleep in the bed,” you tried, fluffing the pillows and folding out the sheets.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Billie scoffed, and you almost cut in. Almost let frustration pin to your heart as you told her off about how there was no way in hell you were sleeping in the same bed as her. As you reminded her that she had gone and left you and now you could handle yourself. But she simply continued with, “you’ve been sleeping on this couch for weeks. You deserve a good night’s rest. I’ll take the sofa, you take the bed.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell her the truth. That you didn’t want to sleep in that huge, king sized bed. That you hadn’t ever slept in it without her. That you couldn’t sleep in it without her. But she was smiling so softly and already pulling the sheets from your hands, tucking them into the couch and making a tiny little home for herself.

So you left, only pausing as you hovered in the doorway, turning and watching her settle down into the couch — the same couch you had mourned the loss of her in — so delicately and uniquely her.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, trying for the best smile you could muster. Because there was so much left unsaid and undone and it was the end of the night already. Tomorrow was a new day, and it would no longer be the day she came back. It would be the first day of sorting out your feelings and putting your life back together.

The first day of deciding whether or not she would be included in that.

Three hours of tossing and turning, and you still couldn’t sleep. The sun was gone and the stars were up, and you watched them through the window as you tried to get comfortable. As you sorted through your thoughts.

But the sheets were too cold, and you were frozen to the bone, despite getting up multiple times to add more layers.

And all you could think of was Billie. On a loop. Coming back. Kissing you. Bandaging you up. Downstairs. Right downstairs. Right there. So close. So far.

Billie. Your Billie.

Over and over and over.

Eventually the thoughts grew too heavy and there was no space for anything else, not in that bloody, empty, frozen bed.

Frozen in time. Frozen in isolation.

Somehow, even though you hadn’t touched it since she had left, any semblance of her was gone. It didn’t smell like her. The sheets weren’t worn in yet. There wasn’t even—

You paused, eyes tracking over her pillow again and again as they caught on something glistening there.

And without thinking you reached up, pulling a stray hair from the fabric.

The gold glinted in the moonlight and you ran your fingers over it absently, relishing how smooth it was. Remembering how good it felt to have fistfuls of it against your tender palms as her mouth left hot, sticky marks anywhere she could reach.

How it had felt brushing against your neck just hours ago as she cried into your shoulder.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of crying yourself into some semblance of sleep. Three weeks of deep aching for Billie by your side. Three weeks of begging the universe to be back in this bed, with your Billie wrapped around you. Making deals and rationalizing and trying to compromise with an entity that you couldn’t understand for some semblance of your normal back.

And now she was back. She was right downstairs. Directly below you. And somehow you were still here, alone.

What were you doing?

You took a deep breath, twirling the strand of hair between your fingers. If you did this, there was no going back. If you asked, you couldn’t kick her out five minutes later.

You could, you thought, but your heart broke at the notion.

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to have to. The question was, did you trust her enough to think that she would respect your space and your boundaries and not try anything funny.

This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous.

Your feet hit the floor a second later, crossing the room and opening the door and padding down the stairs before you could think.

This always happened late at night. You never thought, only felt. And tonight it was amplified, your want screaming louder than any rational boundary because you hadn’t slept, hadn’t really, truly slept in three weeks.

You finally had a full meal in you, but all it had done was set you further on edge. Made you ache for a time that was long pushed to the past. A time that was so close for your future. All you had to do was reach out and grab it.

Whispering caught your attention and you paused just short of the doorway, inching closer and peering around the wall.

Billie was stretched out on the couch, hands pressed to her eyes as her mouth moved over words too soft for you to comprehend. And an ache twisted at your stomach, because you had forgotten.

You had forgotten that she talked to herself when she was particularly upset. That she would mumble and mutter and block out some of her senses until she could get her thoughts straight. It was something she had done since she was little, she told you once, the voices in her head constant and too loud, forcing her to speak her mind aloud just so that she could hear her own thoughts.

You had forgotten. Forgotten. And tears pricked your eyes as you realized that you never wanted to forget anything about this woman ever again.

Ever again.

Billie took a shaky breath, a sob pushing out of her as her knees curled to her chest. She cried quietly for a moment, body shaking softly in the darkness.

You wanted to run to her. You wanted to comfort her. You wanted to hold her and rock her and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

Except you didn’t know if it would. And you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to her.

Suddenly you felt like you were prying, intruding on a moment that was too private and too personal.

So you bit your lip, taking a breath and turning to leave.

The floor creaked under your foot.

Shit.

You froze just as Billie‘s breath hitched.

“Y/N?” she whispered, and goosebumps ripped out over your skin because it sounded like a wish. It sounded like hope.

You could have left. You could have gone back upstairs and pretended like it had never happened. You were already behind the doorframe. She couldn’t see you. But what if she heard you again? What if the stairs squeaked and groaned and she came out to see you fleeing back up the steps?

Stupid, idiotic new floors that hadn’t settled yet—

You heard a sniff, a rustle, a sigh, and you realized it had been too long. You had hesitated too long.

The mumbling started up again, and something inside of you fractured. She wasn’t sleeping. She hadn’t been. She had been crying and reasoning with herself and overthinking, her brain obviously too loud for her to fall into any semblance of rest. Just like yours had been. Just like you had done for three weeks, wishing and hoping and begging that she would come back. Just for a moment. Just for an instant.

And now she was here.

In your mind, when she came back everything went straight back to normal. She said just the right things and the world opened back up and you ran into her waiting arms with kisses and “I love you”s and millions of promises exchanged in seconds.

But it hadn’t been like that. It couldn’t be like that. Not after everything. So it had been like this. And you were taking it one step at a time.

One step at a time.

A deep breath, and you gripped your hand around the doorframe, walking slowly, quietly around the corner.

She was still curled on the couch, fingers carding through her hair as her mouth moved around words.

This time, her hands weren’t over her face. This time, she saw you.

Billie immediately froze, sitting up on the couch and scrambling to wipe at her eyes, to push her hair back into place. She tucked it behind her ear, and your mind flashed back to the first time you’d ever seen her do that. Her acrylics digging through curls and tucking them back as she eased down between your thighs, pushing them open and kissing them slowly. Hot, sticky kisses and deep red marks from her nails. It wasn’t the first time she had eaten you out. It wasn’t the thirtieth. But it was the first time she had pushed her perfect appearance out of the way so that she could focus on pleasuring you. It was the first little way she had said “I love you”, let her guard down and been completely open with you. In her own way.

And here she was, doing it again.

You pushed the thought aside as her voice cut through the still air hanging in the darkness.

“Is everything alright?”

It was raspy, but not from sleep. It was raspy because she probably hadn’t stopped talking the entire night.

You swallowed hard.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you started, unsure of what else to say. What were you supposed to say?

What did you want to say?

She chuckled, sniffing again and wiping delicately at her nose. “Me neither.”

There was a long pause, ice creeping down your skin as the words churned over and over in your head. You should ask. All you had to do was ask.

Billie cleared her throat. “Did you want to watch tv? I can move, we can switch—“

“Come to bed with me.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you didn’t even know if you had said it right. Phrased it right. It might have come across completely wrong because you hadn’t actually thought. The only thing you processed was sheer want, and your request was born of that. Want of her. Want of company. Want of everything to go back to the way it had been. Before.

Billie hesitated, and you watched her fingers twitch against her sheets. All of this darkness, all of this gloom, and you could still see her fingers twitch.

You were too focused on her.

You were only focused on her.

“Are you sure?” Billie tried softly, but she was already standing, pulling the sheets off with eager eyes.

Your heart stuttered. Backtracked.

“N-Not like that. I just— I was cold and I couldn’t sleep and I—“

But then Billie was there, crossing the room and wrapping you in a tentative hug as she shushed you.

“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep, either.”

You nodded, pulling yourself from her embrace. Coughing around the lump forming in your throat. Because you had asked. And she had been willing, and there was no going back now.

You had expected her smile to fracture when you pulled away, but when you looked up at her you realized that she hadn’t been smiling. She didn’t look happy, or relieved. She looked exhausted.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to. She was doing this for you. Because you had asked.

And as she turned you around and prompted you out the door with a soft “let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” you suddenly felt like a child. Foolish. Small. Again.

You only made it halfway up the stairs, Billie trailing close behind, before stopping mid-step and turning to face her.

She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes pinned to the stairs, and just as your gaze landed on her she glanced up, realizing that you had stopped, and practically ran smack into you.

Your arm came out on instinct, holding her steady, and she offered you a weak smile.

“I’m alright,” she tried, and then her eyes moved past you up the stairs as she nodded expectantly. “Let’s go—“

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. And you hated the way you instinctively chewed on your lip, fingers digging into her arm to keep yourself grounded.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied smoothly, making to move past you. But you squeezed her arm, holding her back.

“Billie, I mean it.” You stared at her. Blinked. Took a deep breath. “Please don’t do this just because you feel... sorry for me. I don’t...” Another breath. “I don’t want your pity. I just wanted some company.”

Your company.

You expected a smirk. You expected a witty remark. But instead something like confusion etched down her brows, mixing with a flash of hurt in her eyes.

“I don’t pity you,” she murmured, shaking her head.

You scoffed.

And then her fingers on your chin, tilting your face up to look her in the eye. And you were caught. Caught in her grip, caught in her stare.

“I don’t pity you,” she said firmly, fingers tightening. “I missed you. That’s all.”

That’s all. Like it was nothing. Like you missing her hadn’t completely ripped you to shreds. Like it hadn’t taken every piece of your sanity and flipped your world into another dimension. Like it hadn’t ended your existence as you had known it.

But there was something soft in her eyes, a depth there that you hadn’t realized was missing. And another memory came.

The two of you on these steps. Not far from where you were now. Her hands flitting over you as you went before she grabbed you and pinned you to the wall, her hand coming to your throat for a second before fingers tucked under your chin and forced your face up. Forced your wide eyes to meet her lust-clouded ones. And the way she kissed you, like she was devouring you.

“Mine. Such a good girl.”

Your fingers twitched on her arm, eyes flicking down to her lips. She watched you closely, calculating. And when her eyes tracked down your face, you knew she was remembering the exact same thing.

Something hot pooled in your stomach and suddenly, suddenly, you needed her mouth on you more than anything.

You tilted your chin up, following the push of her fingers. Licked your lips. Brushed your thumb over her arm. She was right there. Right in front of you. Inches away.

Please.

And then she pulled away, shaking her head out and clearing her throat as she brushed past you.

“We should— you should get some sleep,” she amended, flicking her bangs back into place as she walked.

And you couldn’t help but stare at the way her pants hugged her hips as she went, swaying gently.

Her pants.

She hadn’t changed out of her clothes.

You practically ran after her, following her into the bedroom.

“Do you want to change?” You blurted out, and she was already halfway into the bed.

She turned to look at you, exquisitely lit by the stars from the window. Eyes glassy.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. You need sleep. Come on.”

She patted the bed and you shook your head, moving to the dresser and finding some sort of shirt and short set that matched. Handed them over. And the hesitance there, the way her teeth pinned into her bottom lip, everything aligned at once.

She was afraid you were going to change your mind.

That’s why she was rushing you to bed.

You offered her a small smile, pushing the clothes further into her grip.

“Go change.” A pause. A nod. “I’ll still be right here when you get back. I’ll still want you in bed with me.”

Billie let out a soft sigh, nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

And as she slid into the bathroom and shut the door, as you crawled back into bed and pulled the covers around you, you weren’t sure if she was thanking you for the comfort of the clothes or the comfort of consistency.

You barely had time to take a sip of water before the door opened again, and you had to physically stop yourself from staring at her legs. It had been too long since you had seen them exposed like that. You almost forgot how beautiful they were.

You could never forget how beautiful they were.

Billie pulled the covers all the way back, only pausing to give you a questioning look. To double check.

You nodded.

And then the two of you were laying down, covers tucked up to your chins and too much space between you. You stared out the window, chewing your lip at the silence.

It was so much better, and yet infinitely worse.

“Thank you for... coming up here with me,” you whispered, fingers picking at the sheets.

Billie hummed.

“It’s just, the sheets are so cold and—“

She shushed you, cutting you off. “You don’t have to thank me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Tears pricked your eyes then, at the loss you had endured, at finally having her back in your bed. At the inevitable space that separated you, growing by the second as the silence amplified. You hadn’t thought you’d had any tears left to cry.

Stillness settled in, and you let yourself focus on the sound of her breath, rising and falling and rising again. Watched the constellations dance from the window. Thought back to buying this house, and how Billie had specifically pointed out what a great view it would be. She knew you liked to sleep with the curtains open. She knew you liked to watch the universe go by.

A soft sigh and Billie rustled, and you thought maybe she had fallen asleep.

A warmth threaded through you at the thought that she could do that. She felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in the midst of all of this mess.

But just as you felt the exhaustion creep up, just as you started matching your breaths with hers and imagining her heartbeat beneath your ear, just like you had tried to do every night for the past three weeks, her hand covered yours under the sheets.

You startled, whipping your head around to face her.

But no, she was asleep.

God, you forgot how angelic she looked when she was sleeping. The moonlight making her hair almost silver, her face buried in her pillow and half covered by curls. Peaceful. Soft.

You almost pulled your hand away. Almost slid it out from under hers and turned away. But then she squeezed, just so, and brushed her thumb over your knuckles, back and forth and back and forth. And before you knew what was happening you threaded your fingers with hers, sank into the comfort of her touch, and fell into a thick, heavy sleep.

You woke in a fog, dazed by sunlight streaming through the window and tangled up in Billie’s warmth. Her strong arms were wrapped loosely around you and you snuggled further into her chest, nuzzling your nose against the soft skin there. Her arms tightened, just so, and you blinked the sleep from your brain, running your foot up the smooth curves of her calf as you pressed soft kisses to her skin.

She smelled of smoke and sage. Just like home, just like she always did.

You buried your face closer to her chest, opening your eyes on bare skin streaked in gold, and a black lace bra barely containing the swell of her breasts when she was laying on her side like this.

You hummed, groggily kissing and biting and licking hot lines up the edge of her bra as she stirred. She murmured your name, half-asleep. The way she always did when you woke her up like this, your legs tangled in hers and your mouth eager to darken the marks that had faded from the night before.

The night before.

Why couldn’t you remember the night before?

Nails pricked at your scalp as her fingers carded through your hair. Lazily. Absently. Tightened, just barely, and tugged you up.

You happily obliged, tracing your fingers down her side and flicking your thumb over her bra as you kissed up her chest, sucked messy marks up her neck. You hummed again as she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, leaning up and nipping at her pulse point.

And then her fingers twined with yours, her thumb rubbing lazy circles against your own pulse point as her lips ghosted across your hairline, over your eyelids, down your nose. Hovering just inches from your mouth.

Her thumb pressed against your wrist. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I own this.” As if to say—

Her fingers skimmed over your inner thigh, catching on something and sending a sting up your leg.

Your eyes flew open, realization hitting you like a train, full force.

Your bandage. Last night. Yesterday. All of it.

Billie blinked slowly, confusion clouding her already sleepy expression. But she must have seen the look on your face, because a split second later, clarity sharpened her eyes and she pulled her hands off of you so quickly that you could have burned her.

You scrambled back in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. To put something between you and her for the millionth time in just a few hours.

“I—“ Billie stuttered, looking around the bed and fumbling for something. And as you watched her, watched her ribs twist under her bra, you said the only think that you could think of.

“Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

Your eyes were wide as she scrambled, face lighting as she found what she was looking for and leaned over the side of the bed.

“I got hot in the middle of the night, I’m sorry, I—“ She pulled the discarded shirt from the floor, slipping it on quickly and tugging at it. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t just— you shouldn’t—“ you fumbled at words, heart pounding over everything that had just happened. At the taste of her still stuck in your mouth. “You can’t just take your shirt off like that, Billie. Come on.”

“I said I was sorry!” she countered, voice elevated as her chest heaved. As she stared at you.

You stared right back at her, swallowing hard around your pounding heart. Watched the way she bit into her lip before her mouth fell open again around her panting.

And then you were on her, and she was on you, arms reaching for you as you launched yourself across the bed and crushed your mouth to hers.

She pulled you so tightly to her that you thought you would suffocate, not to mention the way her mouth was clashing against yours, teeth and desperation as she sucked the air from your lungs.

Her hands were everywhere, sloppy, needy. So unlike how she normally touched you. But yours were the same. Dragging over every inch of her just to feel her again.

You could feel her heart pounding against yours as you raked your nails over her back, and she gasped into your mouth, giving you a break to bite at her lip and hook your fingers under her shirt.

“Get this stupid thing off,” you panted, yanking and pulling, up, up, up.

Billie leaned back, ripping it up over her head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled, and then the shirt was back on the floor and she had an arm around your waist and you were being pushed down into the mattress, Billie’s thighs hugging your hips as she pinned you down.

“Billie,” you begged, raking your nails over her arms before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her down to your mouth.

Her lips were so soft, so urgent, and you couldn’t help but whine into her mouth, yanking at her hair and making her gasp.

“God, fucking hell,” she breathed, kissing your jaw for a split second before moving back to your mouth. Like she couldn’t get enough of you.

You didn’t want her kissing your jaw. You wanted her mouth directly on yours. The most intimate way to say the most intimate things. Hot and messy and broken by ragged breathing. Desperation into action. Kissing you, kissing you, kissing you.

“I love you,” you breathed, not even sure you said it out loud. Halfway convinced she sucked the words right out of your chest.

And she kissed you harder, her tongue pushing and fighting with yours.

“I love you, too.” Panting, breathing, grabbing, holding. “I love you, too.”

Something deflated at those words coming out of her mouth. Some kind of tension between you, because you hadn’t been sure. She had left and she had gone and you honestly hadn’t been sure anymore.

But now she was back. And she was saying it. And the air lightened and the sun brightened and the last barrier lifted from your heart.

Her kisses slowed down, tongue dancing with yours instead of fighting it, her fingers loosening on your waist and skimming up your sides.

“Billie,” you gasped, toes curling at the sensation.

And then she broke away, pressing her forehead to yours and nudging your noses together.

And the way she was braced over you, taking up your entire field of vision. Taking up your entire world.

A tear fell onto your cheek and you startled back to the present, hands coming up to swipe at Billie’s eyes before you even registered she was crying.

“Hey,” you tried. She shook her head softly, closing her eyes. But you caught her cheeks, cupping her face in your hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

A sniff, and then she looked up at you, her perfect facade fractured once again. Eyes rimmed red, a flush in her cheeks from whatever she was feeling. From whatever she had been feeling just moments before.

“I don’t know how to apologize to you,” she breathed, and her voice broke. “I’ve been over it and over it in my mind, and nothing that I could say will ever be good enough.”

You shushed her, cooing as your swiped at her fresh tears. But she batted you away.

“Don’t—“

“Billie,” you chided, hands finding her cheeks again and forcing her eyes back to yours. Tear-stained. Glassy. “It’s going to take a long time for you to find the right words. Just like it’s going to take a long time for me to trust you again.”

She ducked her head, a sob pushing out of her throat.

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, continuing. “But we’ll get there. You’ll apologize and I will forgive you. Eventually.”

She dropped her head to your shoulder, body shaking as she cried. Your hands came up immediately, one pulling through her curls while the other rubbed over her back.

“It’s okay, Billie. It’s okay. You’re back now and we can start figuring everything out. Step by step.”

A slight nod against your neck and you smiled. Because you meant it. Something had settled and healed in the warmth of the morning, and you were ready. You were ready to try.

“Now how about we go make some breakfast, and you can start at the very beginning. Tell me everything from your perspective.”

Billie led you down the stairs, your fingers twined with hers as she tugged you along. Your eyes tracked down her back, still bare. She hadn’t bothered to put her shirt back on. You had silently pleaded with the gods that she wouldn’t. And you thanked them now as you watched her shoulder blades roll with every step.

You didn’t miss the way her pace stuttered when she passed the spot where she had pinned you last night. Didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched.

By the time you had pulled out eggs, peppers, and tomatoes, and scrounged for some frozen bacon, Billie had left sage to burn in every single room downstairs.

“Who knew you had so much negative energy to expel,” she teased, coming up behind you and pulling the eggs from your hands.

“What can I say,” you countered, turning your head and grabbing the eggs back. “You bring out the worst in me.”

Billie let out a low chuckle, her free hand falling possessively to your hip.

You tutted. “Hands off while I cook.”

She groaned, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You can’t kiss me like that and then tell me not to touch.”

Your brows hit your hairline, images flashing through your mind of the hundreds, thousands of times she had done just that to you. “Oh, I can’t?”

She laughed then, a real, full laugh that warmed you instantly from the inside out. And you popped her with your hip, bumping her out of the way as you grabbed a bowl down and cracked the eggs.

You didn’t notice her opening the wine fridge, didn’t notice her pull down two wine glasses. You were too engrossed in cracking the eggs, not making a mess, catching the shells. It wasn’t until you were washing your hands in the sink and Billie’s arm wrapped around your waist that you noticed the wine glass in her hand.

You checked the clock. “It’s ten in the morning, Billie.”

“Let me cook for you, hm?” She pressed a soft kiss to your neck, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

You shook your head, making to move back to the eggs, but her hand splayed out on your stomach and she held you against her.

“Billie,” you warned, that familiar warmth pooling in your stomach again. And this time, you were mildly afraid of it. Because you didn’t know if you were allowed to want her. Didn’t know if you were supposed to give in to her that easily.

She pushed the wine glass into your hand and pulled you around the bar, dropping you onto a stool.

“You just sit and enjoy your wine. Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do.”

Half of you wanted to protest. Half of you knew she was right. And there was a small part of you, growing by the second, that was remembering how much you loved watching her cook.

You watched her over the rim of your wine glass, grinning as she glanced up at you.

“That’s the Pact,” she murmured, her brow popping up as she busied herself cutting up peppers.

You almost choked. “We were saving it for a special occasion.”

She smirked, licking her thumb clean. “This seems special enough for me.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the flush that burned in your cheeks. Billie dumped the eggs and vegetables into a pan, and then she grabbed her own wine glass and clinked it against yours.

“To new beginnings,” she said softly, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“To my lover coming back to her senses and realizing she can’t live without me.”

Billie laughed, her mouth falling open into that perfect smile, and you raised your glass, chuckling around your sip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you said after you swallowed, and you watched her eyes go wide as she swallowed her own sip.

“Shit.”

“I told you.”

Billie set her glass down, stirring the contents of the pan as they sizzled. “We definitely should have saved that for a special occasion.”

You slid out of your seat, drawn to her like a magnet and refusing to be so far away from her for another second. It was like everything had melted away, with every minute that ticked by. Everything was going back to normal, and you had a feeling it was going to be a lot easier to forgive her than you had initially thought. Especially with the way your soul was responding to hers, cracking and popping and drawing your body to hers almost against your will.

You wrapped your arms around her waist as she stirred. “What happened to ‘this seems special enough for me’?”

She chuckled low in the back of her throat, turning her head to kiss your nose. “I meant like an engagement.”

“Ah,” you teased, brows popping up. “Should I expect a proposal?”

And then she kissed you properly, mumbling a soft “you wish” against your lips before removing the pan from the stove and setting it on the counter.

You kissed her again as you giggled, desperate to get another taste, another piece of her affection. You had missed this, giggling into kisses and dancing around the kitchen, hands constantly wandering and pinching and flitting over places they shouldn’t.

Billie broke the kiss, nudging your nose. “Go get the plates, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t help your slight bounce as you crossed the kitchen, the pet name making your fingers itch. A second later and you were back, two plates in hand. Billie divided the contents of the pan evenly between the two, and you set them down at the bar.

There was silence for a few moments, the meal from last night running through your mind on a loop. How you hadn’t taken a bite from her plate, let alone let her touch you. And just minutes ago you had been wishing she would sit you up on the counter and kiss you like she meant it. Like she used to.

Billie cleared her throat, breath suddenly shaky. “So, should we talk now, or...?”

You swallowed your sip of wine, letting out a long sigh. Shook your head softly. “Billie...”

She wasn’t looking at you, staring down at her plate as she absently stabbed at her eggs. “I don’t know why I left. Why I thought I could leave you. Just leave you here, alone. I don’t— I don’t know why I did it.”

You could hear her breaths quickening, the tears sticking in her throat.

“Billie, we don’t have to do this right now,” you said softly, hand finding her knee and stroking over the dips there.

“No,” she said firmly, and you startled. “You deserve an explanation. I just don’t have one. Not one that excuses what I did.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse,” you started, and she did look up at you then, the suave, swaggering woman who had just made your breakfast buried under the burden of her emotion.

“I think I didn’t know how to ask you to come with me.”

You shook your head again. “Billie, you didn’t have to ask. I told you—“

“No, I know,” she sighed, fingers flicking over her fork like a cigarette. “I know what you said. But how was I supposed to ask you to give all of this up? Your life, your family, your friends, just to move across an ocean with me?”

“Just?” You repeated, brows furrowing. And now tears were forming in your own eyes. “Billie, do you realize how much you mean to me? Do you realize that I would do anything for you?”

She shook her head, swiping at a tear as it fell. “But not this.”

“Yes, this.”

“No,” she said again, her hand covering yours on her knee. Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Not this. Because what if it ended up being nothing? What if it was a waste of time and a waste of money, and— What if nothing came of it, and you ended up resenting me for pulling you away from your life, your job. For nothing?”

Time froze around you, ice threading through your veins. You tried to take a breath, but there was no air as realization settled down. As your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I could never resent you,” you tried, hand frozen under hers.

She shook her head, taking another sip of her wine. “You don’t know that.”

But no. You did know. That was the one thing you knew over everything else on this earth. Because even when your heart was shattered to pieces and you were only and solely blaming her, you still couldn’t resent her. You couldn’t, even though you absolutely tried.

“Billie,” you breathed, still frozen in place on your barstool.

Her thumb brushed mindlessly over the back of your hand. “And what if you came with me and you didn’t like London? Or hated your new job, or—“

“Billie,” you said again, more forcefully this time. And this time, she looked up at you. “Kiss me.”

Her eyes widened, just so. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes as the truth melted around you, melted into you, melted the ice in your veins and set your heart pounding. “Please—“

She lunged forward, hands on your face as she kissed you deeply, fervently, intently. And you kept melting, melting against her, hands coming up to grip her shoulders and pull her closer, closer.

She hadn’t left you behind because she didn’t care about you. She had left you behind because she was trying to protect you. She was worried about you. Because you were her first priority. She wouldn’t sacrifice your happiness for hers.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against your lips, and you stood, pressing yourself flush against her.

“Shut up.”

You kissed her hard, the new angle making it easy to take control. And when you licked at her lip, she opened her mouth easily. She tasted of wine, of nice, expensive wine, the spice of the peppers warming your tongue. You couldn’t help but hum into her, tucking your fingers behind her ears and pulling her mouth impossibly closer.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled against her lips, gasping as she let her teeth graze over yours.

And then her hands were on your waist and she uncrossed her legs, pulling you between them. Her mouth hit your ear, hot and sticky and low. “You want to try that again?”

A groan fell out of you. You couldn’t help it. Not with the way her nails were digging through your shirt and her thighs were hugging your hips.

Her lips trailed from your ear down your jaw, licking over your pulse point. She nuzzled her nose there, humming. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I’ll never leave you again.” As if to say—

“I love you,” she breathed, and you felt her sigh into her kisses, pinching your soft skin between her teeth and sucking over the sting.

Your fingers found her hair, raking through it. Desperate. You melted until you were burning, scorching need running from your fingers to your toes, pooling between your thighs and making it hard to breathe. You had missed that feeling. You had thought it was gone forever. But here it was, burning you alive. Back with a vengeance.

You wiggled your hips against hers and she moaned into your neck.

“Billie,” you breathed, fisting her hair and tugging. Her hands started wandering then, up your shirt, over your thighs, any piece of you she could find. But it was different than this morning. Something between the messy way her nails had raked over you, so needy, and the way she normally touched you, so carefully. Thoughtfully. An artful plucking of every one of your strings.

“God, I missed you,” she sighed, pressing a hot kiss just over your heart. And then your shirt was rucked up and she was kissing down the line of your bra, tongue flicking out under the fabric as she glanced up at you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as you squeezed your thighs together. “You can’t look at me like that.”

She chuckled against your skin, fingers tight on your ribs as she held your shirt up. “Or what?”

You yanked on her hair, pulling her back from your stomach as you leaned down and kissed her. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

“It’s ringing a vague bell,” she panted against your mouth, breaths coming out in hot little puffs. And then she dove forward again, catching your mouth with hers and kissing you roughly.

“Please,” you begged as you broke for air, hands falling to her shoulders as your thumbs ran along her collarbones.

She shivered. You knew how that got to her. And when she spoke, there was a need laced under her usual confidence. “You haven’t asked for anything, sweetheart.”

You growled, shoving her back so she was pinned against the counter. Your mouth hit her neck and you weren’t gentle, biting hard as she gasped, her hands gripping into your sides.

“God, baby, go easy.”

“No,” you mumbled into her skin, all of the need and want that had surfaced at her absence, the longing and pining and wishing and hoping, for her, bubbling back to surface and burning you everywhere she wasn’t touching you.

And she read your mind, her hands tracing over your back as you marked her, sliding down over your ass and kneading.

“Billie Dean Howard,” you gasped into that space between her breasts, biting down on the fabric of her bra to keep yourself from moaning. “You have thirty seconds to get me to a horizontal surface before I push you down on your knees right here—“

And then she was up, backing you out of the kitchen and down into the couch.

“Shirt off, now,” she growled, ripping at the buttons as she straddled you.

You smirked against her sloppy kisses, helping her get the buttons undone. “Yes, ma’am.”

She moaned, leaning back on her thighs and letting her eyes rake over you as your shirt fell open. You couldn’t help the flush that crawled up your chest, that dove straight between your thighs.

“God, I missed the way those words sound coming out of your mouth.” Billie shook her head as you bit into a grin. “How did I ever think I could live without you?” She murmured, fingers sliding up your stomach almost reverently.

Your hands covered hers, squeezing softly before moving them up, arching your back and leading her to the clasp of your bra.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whispered, holding onto her eye contact like she would vanish if you blinked. Because somehow you still felt like she wasn’t real. Like you were going to wake up and she would be gone. But the warmth of her fingers as she unclasped your bra proved you wrong.

A tear fell as Billie leaned over you, kissing across your chest as she pulled your bra out of the way. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

You thought you heard her mumble something like “exquisite” as she ghosted her lips over your nipple, but then there was a loud click and the front door opened, and voices flooded your foyer.

“Y/N, we’re here.”

“Just making sure you’re still alive.”

Your eyes went wide and you shoved Billie off of you, scrambling to re-hook your bra.

“Shit,” you muttered, Billie fumbling with the buttons on your shirt and doing them up as you pulled your fingers through your hair. “Shit, shit, shit.”

There was a split second before they came into the room, a split second where Billie reached up and adjusted your collar to no doubt cover a mark that she had left. A split second where you both looked at each other, fighting smiles as you settled down onto the couch, her on the arm, hand finding your thigh.

And then Angelica and Michelle walked into the room, clearly shocked to find you sitting up, and clearly shocked to find Billie still here.

“Should we have called?” Angelica mused, her brow popping up.

Michelle stopped in her tracks right behind her, an impressed smirk on her face. “So, do we just not wear shirts in this house now, or...?”

And that’s when you realized that Billie was still only in her bra.

Your heart stuttered and you glanced over at her, but she was already talking to your friends, her hand tightening, just barely, on your thigh in reassurance.

“...honestly would have thought me not coming back last night would have been a clear enough sign that everything was alright.”

Angelica scoffed, moving through the kitchen and stabbing at some of the abandoned eggs. “I don’t know what happened,” she mumbled around a bite of food. “You could have killed each other for all I know— Fuck, these are good.”

She took three more bites as Michelle set her stuff down on the counter and walked to the stove.

“I’m assuming you’re going to make this bacon, yes?”

You coughed to cover a snort as Billie’s nails dug into your thigh.

Her mouth hit your ear. “You distracting, little—“

You hummed, hand coming to cover hers. “You were the one who insisted on cooking. It’s not my fault you can’t focus. I laid everything out for you.”

“Listen—“ Billie started, lips already twitching up into a predatory smirk. But then Angelica’s voice cut through the room.

“So you got her to eat?”

“And shower, by the looks of it,” Michelle finished as Angelica spun a wine glass in her hand.

“And I see we’re day drinking?”

You rolled your eyes, getting up from the couch to take the glass from Angelica before she took a sip.

“So we’re staying, right?” Angelica asked as you set the glass down, looking to Michelle.

“Oh yeah, definitely staying.”

“Oh, no no,” you chided, grabbing them both by their arms and dragging them back towards the front door. “I don’t think so.”

“Kicking us out already? God, you two really can’t keep your hands off of each other.”

You flushed, glancing behind you to find Billie smirking as she rose to follow.

“How about the two of you shut up?”

“How about you say thank you for taking care of your sorry ass for three weeks?”

“And for covering for you at work,” Angelica added.

You chuckled, hugging them both tightly.

“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“Probably die in a hole of self-pity,” Michelle chimed in, and Angelica nudged her.

Your brow raised and you felt Billie behind you before you heard her, leaning back instinctively as her arms wrapped around your waist.

“You know,” you started, thumb brushing absently over Billie’s arm. “If you two are nice to me, I might just invite you over for a thank you dinner tonight.”

“And if not?” Angelica teased, Michelle practically dragging her out the front door.

“We’ll see you at seven!” Michelle called, Angelica shoving at her and pulling keys from her back pocket. “You’d better have wine left!”

You waved, laughing as you shut the door behind them. As soon as it clicked, you felt Billie’s hands on your waist.

“I’m not going to lie, part of me will miss staying with them.”

You turned in her arms, brow popping up. “Oh yeah?”

Billie’s lip twitched over a smirk. “Jealous?”

“And what if I am?” You replied, breath hitching as Billie’s hands slid up under your shirt, pinning you against the door. Her mouth found your neck in seconds, sucking and licking and kissing over your pulse point.

“I seem to remember you begging me to fuck you a moment ago,” she purred, and your eyes fell closed, fingers tightening on her waist.

“Please,” you whined. And you felt Billie smirk against your skin.

“So needy for me already, hm?”

You nodded, pulling her impossibly closer. “Always.” Your hand fell to her hair, holding her in place. “God, please, Billie, just—“

A loud banging on the door made you practically jump out of your skin, and Billie sprung off of you, cursing.

“What the fuck?” You muttered, pulling your shirt down and looking to Billie for the answer. She shook her head, flicking her bangs back into place. You peered through the window by the door. And immediately rolled your eyes.

“What?!” you growled as you yanked the door open, eyes landing back on your friends.

“I forgot my phone,” Michelle apologized, sliding past you and giving Billie a soft wave.

Angelica sighed. “Honestly, Y/N. Against the door? We didn’t even make it down the driveway.”

“It’s not my problem you’re a slow driver, Angie,” Billie chimed in, sidling up next to you.

“And we didn’t have time to do anything against the door, because you two—“ Michelle slid back past you, phone in hand. You waved your finger between them. “—you two can’t seem to leave me alone.”

Angelica laughed, shaking her head. “You’d better be glad we didn’t leave you alone, or you wouldn’t have eaten for three weeks.”

Michelle slid her phone into her back pocket as Billie’s hands wrapped around your waist and her mouth found your neck.

“You’re only alive because of us,” Angelica tried again, obviously looking for another thank you. But you couldn’t focus with Billie’s fingers sliding against your stomach.

“I’m not waiting for you to leave, Angie,” Billie chimed in again, pressing a kiss to your neck. “It’s been three weeks. You’re lucky I kept my hands off of her this long.”

Michelle dragged Angelica away with a soft “ew, ew come on,” and Angelica rolled her eyes as she was tugged back to her car, pointing at you.

“I did this! You owe me!”

“Mhm, yep, I’ll be sure to thank you in my next acceptance speech,” Billie called, spinning you in her arms and kissing you properly.

You melted into her, wrapping your arms up around her neck and threading your fingers through the hair there.

You heard the car start, and then Angelica’s voice screaming “get a room” as the engine faded off.

Billie broke away from you then, reaching out and shutting the door.

“If only we had a room,” she teased, pulling your hips against hers.

You smirked. “Or two.”

“Or three.”

“Or four—“

You cut off with a squeak as Billie’s hands hooked under your thighs and she picked you up.

“I guess the only question now is which one, hm?”

You hummed, scratching your nails against her scalp. “Or in which order.”

Billie did thank Angelica during her next acceptance speech. It was a speech for an award she won, for a job that she had gotten only because she had left the London job. You didn’t realize, as you sat at the table with her costars and watched her shine up on that stage, light bouncing off of her smile just as brilliantly as it was bouncing off the gold statue in her hands, that this award would be one of seven. That this job that she had gotten because she had decided to stay with you would sweep her career to heights that you couldn’t have even imagined. Soon, you would be dating an A-list celebrity. Soon, your lives would change. Soon, everything would be different.

But as you sat in that uncomfortable chair and gazed at the love of your life on one of the proudest moments of her life, absently twisting your engagement ring over your finger as you always seemed to do when Billie was on your mind, all you could think about was how lucky you were. Blessed. Utterly spoiled.

Because Billie was yours. Billie was yours, and you were hers. Unequivocally. Forever. And no matter where this award took her, no matter what happened next, none of that would change. Billie Dean Howard had come back to you. She would always come back, be it an hour or two months. Billie would always be standing right next to you. Right by your side.

Time after time.

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @pradababey @mssallymckenna + @raleigh-ocean (because we’ve been talking about this for too long)

#billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean x reader #billie x reader #ahs #ahs murder house #ahs hotel #ahs apocalypse #ahs billie dean howard #american horror story #ahs fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs fandom #ahs imagine #angst #hurt comfort #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

Note

Every time I watch episode 9 I think, for some reason, about what a long plane ride it is from Vermont to England and how Dani must of felt on that plane knowing she was going to her death and how Jamie must of felt on that plane ride, knowing what she was about to find. Not necessarily looking for an entire fic here, just wondering your thoughts on how long that journey was for them both and their mindset?

She’s fading. She can feel it--the past six months have served as more than a warning, of how it will go in the end. Moments vanishing into hours without her consent. Hours becoming days before she can blink. She’s fading, all the pieces that once were Dani Clayton being wiped slowly--slowly--slowly away like a wet cloth across a blackboard.

She moves as quickly as she’s able, knowing there isn’t much time left. Knowing the moments-hours-days in this unplugged reality can only end one way. One way that is acceptable, anyway.

The Lady would prefer otherwise. The Lady would prefer another method, another road taken. Every day, Dani gets a little closer to walking that road. Every day, the Lady gets a little closer to the surface.

She almost has a face, some days. Almost has a self, some days, beyond anything Dani has been able to make out over the years. Sometimes, she opens her eyes and watches blue eyes, long lashes, hair so dark, it’s nearly black tumbling across a sharply beautiful face, and she thinks, This will be me. If I let it. If I let her. No more Dani Clayton. No more love of Jamie’s life. Just this woman, whose red lips turn up at the corners like she knows a secret Dani would kill to keep buried.

She boards a plane. A nearly twelve-hour flight to London, they say, with expressions that suggest so much more. You don’t look so good, Miss. You don’t look so good at all. Can we call someone to travel with you, to make certain you aren’t alone?

Not alone, she thinks hollowly. Haven’t been alone in so long.

The last flight she boarded was so different. The last time on a plane, over a year ago, with Jamie at her side, had felt like one final bid for freedom. She hadn’t even cared where they were going--had just run her finger up a globe with her head turned to the side, heedless of where she’d land. Didn’t matter. Jamie’s hand over hers, Jamie’s ring caressing her skin, had been enough.

The Lady followed her, of course. She’s been outrun by too many ghosts, never once able to pull ahead in the race for her own sanity. She knows by now--knew, even before the not-quite-face started appearing in every pane of glass--there would be no escaping. A sacrifice willingly made is only legitimate if it is driven to completion.

But she’d thought--hoped--desperately needed--more time. More time with Jamie. More time burning popcorn, and lazily cherishing Sunday mornings in bed, and trying to wrap gifts the night before Christmas with Jamie bustling over mulled wine in the next room. More time. You get only so much, and she’s had so much more than she’s earned, but still--

I wish, she thinks, and does not allow herself to go further. If she finishes that thought, it’ll all change. If she finishes that wish, she might turn around in a London terminal. Book the first flight right back. She imagines herself turning up on the doorstep, imagines Jamie’s shell-shocked face on the other side of the lock. Jamie, pulling her close, whispering into her hair that she is still here, still her, still pushing toward a future both of them can see growing thin.

I wish, she thinks, and does not finish. She leans her head back, lets her eyes close, letting Jamie’s sleepy smile play across her memory. The memories are really all she has now, for this final day. This final bid for Dani. She ought, she thinks, keep her eyes open. She ought, she thinks, drink in every color the world has to offer. The sunrise. The storm. The grass, the architecture, the human laughter which ties the world together on even the worst day. She ought to keep the world firmly in hand as long as she’s able.

But it’s memory that wins out, in the end. She’s so tired. Maybe this is the Lady’s gift to her--maybe this is the Lady being kind, in her own horrific way. Not tucking Dani away, not really; Dani is terrified to let her hands off the wheel even for a moment, terrified she might wake to a plane in an unresolvable nosedive. She holds on, knowing it’s only for a little longer, knowing the exhaustion has to win out eventually--and knowing, even still, there is this one thing left to do.

No; she does not allow herself to be tucked anywhere. But the memories are stronger than the daylight stretching out beyond the plane carrying her home. The memories are stronger than the airline stewardess with her nervous eyes, than the drink cart rattling by, than the offer of food. Dani closes her eyes, and she is--

--in a bathroom, Jamie’s shirt soft around her shoulders, Jamie’s hand firm around her upper arm. Jamie, eyes refusing to shed tears, Jamie, lips trembling, Jamie, reminding her she will stay, she will stay, she has to stay--

--in a hotel in New York, skin stained with the neon of city lights strobing through the window as she kisses Jamie, as she keeps her eyes on Jamie’s face, as she watches Jamie cast her head back and arch into her hands--

--in a restaurant in Paris, cigarette smoldering between her fingers as Jamie’s hand slides around her ribs. Jamie’s thigh relaxed beneath the stroke of her fingers, Jamie’s perfume mingling with her own from the careless, easy way Jamie had leaned her head against Dani’s shoulder on the cab ride over--

--in their kitchen, a ring hidden in a pot, Jamie’s eyes widening with understanding as it clicks home that Dani is doing this, Dani is certain, Dani knows this is the thing to do even as she’s running out of time to do it. Jamie’s hands in her hair, Jamie’s thumbs on her cheeks, Jamie laughing and crying and kissing her all in mad, perfect joy--

--in the back room of The Leafling, Jamie shushing her, listening for the knock at the door that says they ought to have opened back up after lunch twenty minutes ago. Jamie shushing her, and sighing, and giving up any pretense as Dani kisses her neck, hand slipped between trouser and skin, not caring the least about time as it marches on--

--on a plane. She is on a plane, and the plane is touching down, and time is unraveling around her faster, now. She feels the world bend and twist, as though she is walking not on solid ground, but upon shifting waves. If she loses focus for even a moment, she might forget--might forget a woman cannot walk on water, might forget and sink under before she’s ready to go.

Could she ever be ready to go?

She calls a car, wishing almost that it could be a dark-haired man in glasses and a leather jacket who steps out to help with bags she has not brought. She calls a car, and closes her eyes in the cold sunshine to wait, and she is--

--in an apartment barely furnished, takeout containers spread across the floor, Jamie’s head in her lap. Jamie, saying, “Christmas in Vermont--know it’s silly, but I feel like I was always supposed to be here.” Jamie, leaning up to kiss her with breath tinged with wine, the giddy anticipation of a new life dancing along her tongue as it slides between Dani’s lips--

--in a bedroom no longer her own, tears running down her cheeks, Jamie’s pinky notched around her own. Jamie, in shades of blue and promise, saying, “D’you want company? While you wait for your beast in the jungle, do you want--” and pressing lips to white knuckle in a knight’s oath--

--in a hallway, vibrating with need, wishing she could find the words to coax Jamie into another night. Just one more night, she thinks, knowing it could never be enough. One more. And one more. And one-- as Jamie is kissing her with sweet promise, Jamie guiding her hands up to hold tight, Jamie saying, “There are other nights, and there will be...”--

--in a grove of glorious flowers, rain sweet on the air, feeling as though this is what it is to jump--to fly--to bury her hands in Jamie’s hair and linger in every inch of her skin, her jacket pulled tight between her fingers, her hips bumping into Dani’s like she never wants to be apart from her again as she recognizes, “Once in a blue goddamn moon, I guess”--

-in a kitchen filled with the mundane ease of afternoon meal, of new friends and new charges, a woman strolling in as though she has nowhere to be and no rush to find it, her eyes meeting Dani’s with the simple certainty of oh, hello, you--

--standing at a lake. She is dressed, she notes with distant alarm, in a tight red dress unlike anything she’s ever owned. She is dressed for a show no one else will see. A moment, she thinks, given to the Lady without realizing. And still, she wound up here. Still, her legs carried her all this way. The Lady had allowed it, or Dani had mandated it, but either way: she is here, now.

She is here, and she wishes. She wishes with everything she would not allow herself on the plane over. She wishes, and she dreams, and she knows she could not for all the world put Jamie through it. Even now. Especially now.

She is twisting the ring, as she begins to walk.

She is holding the ring, as the waves lick higher.

She is gripping the ring, as her shoulders, her neck, her head vanish beneath the waves.

And this, here, a final gift--from the Lady, or from Viola, or from the magic of the night Dani Clayton gave up her future to save a child from this very fate. One more sweet moment granted, as she closes her eyes, as she lets the cold seep into her bones. Her lungs are quiet. Her heart does not pound from her chest. She is--

--in a bed with someone she has chosen, for the first time. In a bed, with someone who helps banish the shadows, just a little. In a bed, with Jamie’s hair curling between her fingers, Jamie’s skin sliding warm and supple against her own, Jamie kissing every part of her she’s never allowed anyone else to grace. Jamie, asking if she’s all right. Jamie, asking if she’s sure. Jamie, already loving her in ways she can’t yet know will punctuate her entire life.

Jamie, holding her tight as she breaks, swells, breaks again. Jamie, kissing her brow, tasting her skin, testing the weight of her as she rolls them both over and takes the lead. Jamie, smiling with wonder, eyes dilated, body seeking contact as they move between soft sheets.

Jamie, falling asleep not upon finishing, but in the middle of a conversation. Jamie, who has been asking about school, about favorite movies, about Dani’s first look at the stars and last time being sick, as though she’s trying to pack a lifetime into a single night. Jamie, punctuating every sentence with fingers tracing Dani’s every scar, every freckle, every beat of a heart that already sings Jamie’s name.

Jamie, falling asleep mid-word, pushed tight against Dani as though making of herself a talisman against the dark. Jamie, breathing soft and deep and even.

Jamie, with her now, with her always, with her until the very last.

Jamie.

There is, at last, peace.

#ask #fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #dani clayton #well. it's not quite what you asked for #but it's certainly what I couldn't help #you're welcome. or I'm sorry. probably both

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ka-za-ri · 4 years ago

Text

Descent Pt. 7

Hi! I spent the last three days writing this chapter by smashing my head against the keyboard! I hope you enjoy! Also, SURPRISE! Lucifer!

Chapter Index and Obey Me! Masterlist: here Ao3 Mirror: Here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

Pairing: Simeon x Lucifer x Reader Genre: Smut Wordcount: 6,200 ish Tags: Angst, Self harm/Self Mutilation, threesome F/M/M, Voyeurism, spitroasting Summary: Simeon asks for forgiveness and for a helping hand to finish his book.

Drip

He could ask for your forgiveness all he wanted, but you were under no obligation to give it to him. It was to be expected that you would pull away from him as soon as you awoke. It didn’t surprise him at all when you couldn’t bear to stand his touches. He deserved it for pushing too far.

He could ask for forgiveness, but God had long forsaken him.

Distance made the pain more tolerable. As long as he turned his mind off from everything else, he could imagine that it had all been a terrible dream that fueled his writing. If he focused everything he had to the sound of fingers on the keyboard, he wouldn’t have to think about the way you choked out his pen name, the despair in your eyes or the tears streaming down your face when you begged for mercy. He didn’t want to think about how shameful it was for him to be elated to see those desperate expressions from you.

He didn’t ask if your cuts and wounds were healing well. He knew they would. The inperceivable amount of magic he had used on you while you were passed out in his arms would ensure that. The only thing he wasn’t sure about anymore was his relationship with you and how you felt about him after what he put you through.

You managed to somehow keep things cordial. Despite what happened, you were both professionals in your field. Deadlines didn’t change just because of a botched session. You still had to read through his words and relive everything he did to you. It was mandatory to stay objective and help him create the most immaculate product possible. In the end, it was all about business and you had learned long ago to separate work from your personal life. It was just unfortunate that your personal life had also become your work with your current project.

The distraction of work didn’t stop the pain though. It didn’t stop you from waking up covered in a cold sweat every other night having dreamed of those dangerous dark eyes. You hadn’t gone to see him ever since that day, not like you really could. You weren’t sure if you really wanted to see him again. Work was piling up, the world around you kept spinning even if yours had stopped momentarily. Regardless of what your feelings were, you needed to run to keep up with the world and didn’t have time to think of yourself.

The scars he left behind healed well, they left no marks except for the invisible ones he carved into your heart that day. You could still feel the cold steel of the knife being dragged slowly across your skin, right at your ribs as he spelled his name, made you his and owned you for a brief moment in time. The cuts to the corners of your mouth and tongue healed remarkably quickly without leaving any blemishes. But the ghosting feeling of something cold and sharp never seemed to disappear along with the scabs.

Days melded into one another. You were able to bury yourself into work, wrecking whatever sleep schedule you normally had to distract yourself from reality. Piles upon piles of manuscripts all melted into one another and you slowly lost track of who wrote what along with the remnants of your sanity. The crinkle of paper as you turned pages was the last physical reminder that your reality was intimately tied to Simeon regardless of how much you wanted to get away from him.

Distance made things easier to bear. The need to stay separated was mutual. Simeon had a lot to reflect on and a lot to do. For the most part, his manuscript was done. The only thing he had left was the concluding chapter. He couldn’t bring himself to write it. Every time he put his fingers on the keyboard, he thought of you and everything you had done for him along with everything you did with him. His book had became an oddly intimate look at his desires and the inevitable end that he needed to write.

His eyes ached from staring at the screen for so long. The blinking cursor on the document taunted him. No matter how many times he wrote and rewrote, the ending wouldn’t come out right. He needed you the most, yet he could not rely on you when you were so far away. Toys had gotten him so far, but describing the intimacy of affection between two humans felt like an insurmountable task. There had to be away around it. The heavy burden of sin weighed on his shoulders as he warred with himself. His name, his reputation, all for the fall? It was impossible.

He had to see a way through it.

Until he could figure it out; he deserved every little bit of scorn you threw at him. Every passing day, hour, minute, and second that went without being in contact with you drained him. The color in his world slowly disappeared until there was nothing but the black text on white paper.

It started just at the corner of his vision. In his dark office, it was easy to ignore when his focus was on the words in front of him. It was easy to pretend nothing was wrong when he went to get a cup of tea. But, the change was definite and true. Soon enough, he wondered just when did he own so many mugs in various shades of gray.

Ah, so this is what it’s come to. I suppose it’s fitting.

He could feel his senses slowly seeping away from him, ashamed of everything he did. He held the facade of an upright and chivalrous angel, but internally he was a husk of himself. Somehow, he had managed to become a demon without falling from grace. He supposed it should have been considered a miracle. It meant that not all hope was lost. If he applied himself, then surely he could claw his way out of the hole he created.

If.

If only he cared enough to do such a thing. Living as a shell seemed to be so much easier than pretending he was immune to human temptation. In pursuit of a perfect craft, he lost himself to all the allure the human realm had to offer. Two steps away from the gates of Hell, there seemed to be no turning back. Sacrifices had to be made in order to obtain perfection. Perhaps selling his soul to the devil was the last option he had to achieve it. It would be a worthy price to pay.

Pain made it easier to bear the weight of sin. It wasn’t a modern method by any means, but it brought him closer to the light once more. He repented with every crack of the whip upon his back, every scar he inflicted on himself. For every drop of blood he shed, he returned to the good he dedicated so much of his life to. The injuries would heal within a day, but the lingering ache would linger across his skin. The pain made him forget you and remember who he was. He was good. He was good.

He was good.

The most poignant thing he learned in the world of humans was the emotion of fear. That deep terror within him stirred as he thought of losing everything he had with change. After centuries of living, Simeon never doubted his powers or his wisdom until he had his finger hovering over your contact number to call and beg you for help. His hand shook while he stared blankly at the screen in front of him. He was so close to the end, yet so far away from the one person who would get him there. He was better than this, but he didn’t want anything greater than what he had created with you.

His simmering desires for you convinced him to call while the last vestiges of his goodness prevented him from making the call. He lost track of just how many hours he berated himself mentally all the while staring at numbers on his phone screen taunting him to take those last few steps to Hell.

And then. A light in his darkness.

[SMS: Do you need help?]

You knew exactly why he had been ignoring all your emails and your attempts at contacting him. You had needed your own time to heal and process everything that happened. Nearly a month had passed without a peep from him and you sincerely started to wonder if Simeon was alright. He canceled an unprecedented number of appearances and interviews. The PR mess that followed from that was enough to make you lose a full week of sleep. You didn’t blame him though, after you left his home that night when the storm finally passed, he seemed so tired.

You didn’t want to push the issue if you could help it. The book was almost complete. You had read it so many times over in your editing you swore you had a majority of it memorized. With only the final chapter missing, you could predict where his story was going, and the man rarely ever strayed from his outlines. An intimate and loving scene with his protagonist and her love interest who saved her from the clutches of evil was in order.

With the nature of the subject and were your relationship had just taken a turn to, you weren’t surprised at all he hadn’t submitted anything to you. Three days before your final deadlines and he still hadn’t contacted you. It was so uncharacteristic of him to turn in his work late; you had to take the initiative to get him to finish on time. So, it was a fair amount of despair that you sent that text, asking him if he needed help. Even if you skin crawled just thinking about being touched by him, you needed to do your job.

You clenched your phone, waiting for the screen to light up, your knuckles turning white from the force of your grip. You didn’t want to do this, but you had to. Someone had to be the adult and take one for the team. With Simeon’s name being so revered, it was clear to you that the minor sacrifice of your comfort for one more session with him would be worth it in the end.

So why couldn’t you stop yourself from crying?

The way he lilted his voice when he chased you still haunted your dreams at night. No matter how many blankets you wrapped around you could save you from the chill of that dreaded cold knife he dragged across your skin. There was no point in distancing yourself from him. Despite what happened, he was good. Having spent years working with him, you were sure you had a firm grasp of who he was as a person.

“Do you trust me?”

“I do...”

[SMS: come see me when you can]

You let out an earth shattering sigh. Whether it was from relief or from fear, you didn’t know. What you did know that it would all be over soon. The stress of the book, the anxiety you felt about Simeon, the pain that spread across your chest every time you thought about him, all of it would be over as soon as you got to see him again and figure it all out in person.

There was a terrible little part of you that was so curious about how he was going to solve the last piece of the puzzle to his book. The only way to find out was to go see him.

“What a surprise. A call from the great Christopher Peugeot himself.”

“Listen.”

“I am. Go on.”

Simeon sighed, already regretting the call he was making. After receiving your text, he wracked his brain for a solution to the ending of his book. He was so close, he could feel it; but the guilt he felt towards you prevented him from taking what he craved. It was after much agonizing and staring blankly at a wall that the idea struck him. He’d have to take matters in his own hands and direct the ending himself.

For that, he needed an extra helping hand.

Which is what landed him in the situation he was in at the current moment. Bargaining with the devil to help him. He didn’t think he’d stoop so low to pull on old connections. Yet, there he was, on the phone with someone he hadn’t spoken to in decades.

“I need your help…” Simeon admitted, still struggling with voicing his needs.

“Well, I assumed as much if you’re making the effort to talk on a personal line. How long has it been since I gave you this number? Twenty? Thirty years, now?”

“Twenty-seven, but that’s besides the point.” Simeon could feel the inkling of frustration creeping into his voice. His old friend always had the ability to pull out the worst in him. Spending over half a century in the human realm, they managed to stay out of each other’s hair for the most part.

His friend chuckled on the other side of the line. “Alright, what can I do for you?”

“Are you free this weekend? I uhm… I need some help with the last scene of my book.”

“Oh? The great Christopher Peugeot himself needs assistance from me? I’m flattered you’d consider me.”

“Just call me Simeon, Lucifer. Stop playing around.”

“I’ll clear up my schedule. I wouldn’t miss the chance to help you.”

Simeon sighed. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or terrified that Lucifer agreed to help him out. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Oh, I know.” Lucifer was practically singing on the other end with smug excitement. “Should I prepare for anything in particular?”

“I… Uhm… I can explain when you get here.”

“Always the mysterious one...” Lucifer chided, chuckling softly. He didn’t push the subject any further and Simeon was glad for it. “From what I’ve seen from the press releases of your upcoming title, I can only assume I’ll need to wear my best underwear.”

“Do whatever you want. I’ll see you this weekend.” Simeon grumbled before ending the call. His face felt like it was on fire. He didn’t think he had hit rock bottom until he made an agreement with the devil.

It was truly unfortunate that the devil was the only person he could trust with this task.

“Oh, welcome! Come on in. We’ve been waiting.” The actual CEO of Akuzon was the last person you expected to see when you arrived at Simeon’s home that weekend. To say you were stunned was an understatement. You were stuck standing at the doorway, mouth agape and eyes wide, looking like a fool. It took a surprising amount of prying to get you to move past the door and into the home.

Simeon was already hard at work in the living room, typing frantically while Lucifer ushered you in. The grin on his face was full of mirth and amusement. It was clear he knew exactly the effect he had on people and he wasn’t pulling any punches when it came to throwing the weight of his power around.

“Simeon and I go way back.” Lucifer explained, taking a seat once he was sure you weren’t going to faint from shock. “When he asked me to help him out, there was no way I could deny him.”

Your words needed to catch up with your brain as the pieces started to clicked together. All you could manage was a lame “Ah.” You nodded slowly, looking back and forth between the two men, waiting for someone to confirm your suspicions.

Simeon finished typing and finally looked up. It seemed like he wanted to approach you, but he stayed put, unable to bring himself to get closer to you without your permission. “I cannot ask for you to trust me again. Not after what I put you through. I… I still need help with the last chapter of this book. So, I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but would you be comfortable with putting your trust in him?”

You blinked rapidly digesting what Simeon was proposing. You slowly turned your head to look at Lucifer who was casually lounging in his seat, his head resting on his propped up arm. A knowing smirk on his face while he waited for your answer. He practically exuded endless charisma and carried himself as every bit of the CEO he was. It was hard to deny his charm and you felt yourself nod before you could really process the gravity of your situation.

You hadn’t realized the anxious pressure in your chest relieve itself when your brain finally grasped the fact that you wouldn’t be at risk with seeing that side of Simeon again this time. This was a new partner, a new experience, a new touch, a good touch. You could do this.

There was still the hurdle of getting over being intimate with a man you had only seen in headlines. You expected that to be a rather difficult hindrance to the authenticity of the scene Simeon wanted to write. After all, it was supposed to be a soft and loving scene, nothing like what you had last gone through. Managing that with a stranger seemed to be a rather tall task.

Lucifer didn’t seem bothered by what he needed to do at all. Having been filled in with the gist of the situation, it was easy to slip just a hint of charm magic into his words to coax you out of your shell. He smiled, taking off the casual blazer he had on to reveal a perfectly fitted dress shirt hugged his frame in all the right places. Well, he doesn’t spare any expenses when it comes to looking good, no matter what the circumstances. Duly noted…

“Come here.” He beckoned, tilting his head and calling you over with just that motion.

Your body moved on its own, drawn to his aura, entranced by his name and his looks as well as his natural allure. When you locked eyes with him, it was as if Simeon wasn’t even in the room with you two anymore. The world faded away and you felt a warmth spread across your chest where the anxiety once was. He effortlessly made you feel safe somehow and you found yourself sitting in his lap without being asked to. He placed his arms loosely around you and the air between the two of you was absolutely electric.

You only noticed Simeon again when he walked over and adjusted his friend’s arms. He mumbled to himself as if possessed. He was present in the moment, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, writing his book while he posed the two of you in the ideal scenario. You could hear him come up with dialog on the fly, guiding Lucifer’s hands to your lower back to cradle you gently in his lap. With a little more direction Simeon had Lucifer rest his head at the crook of your neck. “I need you two to pretend to like each other… Please...”

You could feel Lucifer smirk against your skin, his lips just brushing against your pulse point when he spoke. “Oh, I won’t need to pretend to like her.”

You suppressed a shiver. Lucifer’s breath was so warm and his cologne was so cloying it made you feel rather lightheaded. There was an element of unspoken shame between the three of you. Allowing a stranger into what you had already established with Simeon felt so wrong. To do this with an old friend of his no less, there was distinct sense of sin about it the scene that felt rather right given the circumstances that lead up to it.

It was a blessing that Lucifer was so naturally handsome and mesmerizing. You were sure if it had been anyone else, it wouldn’t have been so easy to feel at home in his lap. His long fingers playing at the hem of your blouse while he pressed soft kisses at your neck. If you remembered the sequence of events of the book correctly, the main character had just been saved by her ‘husband’ who happened to be an assassin given the same target at she had been. You needed to put yourself in the protagonist’s mind, pretend that the man in front of you was as precious as a spouse and as marvelous as a savior.

Lucifer fell into his role seamlessly, kissing your skin as if he had almost lost his most treasured possession. His embrace tightened just enough to draw you closer to him. It was easy to tilt your head to give him more access to your neck. The way his lips played across your skin was so tender and soft, you sighed in satisfaction just from his kisses. Instinctively, your hands went to his shoulders, pulling him towards you, encouraging him to keep going further.

You could hear Simeon typing on the other side of the room; the usually distracting sound of the keyboard was negligible compared to the sound of Lucifer’s breathing so close to you. His teeth nipped the shell of your ear and you shied away out of habit. He chuckled softly, licking your skin and humming in approval at your reactions.

You weren’t sure how someone so suave was allowed to exist. He was barely doing anything and you were absolute putty in his hands within an hour of meeting him. He had been completely correct, there was no need to pretend you liked one another. The innate attraction was there, all you needed to do was react to his lead. “Lucifer...” you breathed, testing how it felt to have his name fall from your lips.

The verdict? It felt right.

Lucifer glanced over to where Simeon sat, catching the heated glare that was fixed on him. He couldn’t help but beam in self-satisfaction, knowing that the angel very much wished to be the one in the scene and not him. He turned his attention back to you, eliciting more breathy moans out of you. He said he was going to help with the scene; he never said anything about being mindful of relationship between you and Simeon.

“I like those noises you make. Make some more.” He demanded, slipping his hand under your blouse to finally get a handful of your skin. His touch left a trail of fire across your nerves. It felt like it had been years since you were last this close to anyone; it only made you more receptive of anything he did to you.

Lucifer was meticulous in his ministrations. He made sure to take his time exploring you with his hands and lips before moving onto the next step. It was almost torture how slow he was taking it. By the time he worked the first button off of your blouse, you were ready to rip his shirt off him.

“Kiss...” Simeon said from his seat. His voice curt and short as if he was directing a scene from a movie. “Kiss her before you do anything else.”

Lucifer was quick to comply. He had been hesitant in claiming your lips with his own, but with the approval of Simeon, he lost no time in taking your breath away. With one hand at the back of your head to keep you steady, his lips brushed against your own, seeking tentative permission before he went further. The warmth of his body enveloping you so gently made you melt and accept his kisses eagerly. His tongue traced your lips before delving into your mouth, tasting you for the time.

You moaned, breathing deeply through your nose as he overwhelmed all your senses with just his lips and tongue. While one hand held your head firmly in place for him, his free hand caressed your cheeks, your neck and your collarbone. While he swallowed all the pretty little noises that came from the back of your throat, he continued to work off the buttons of your blouse. Your clutched onto his shirt, unable to break the kiss even if you felt your head spin from lack of oxygen.

By the time all the buttons of your blouse had come undone, you were a breathless, whimpering wreck for him. He pulled away and admired just how swollen your lips had become from all the kisses. “Beautiful.” he praised, making your whole body heat up from the simple compliment. “Think you can help me out of these clothes? It’s gotten pretty warm in here.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice to help him. As much as you wanted to savor the moment and really draw out the intimacy between the two of you; you were also desperate to see what he looked like under that dress shirt. You licked your lips at every inch of skin you exposed, your eyes glittered with glee as you uncovered his chest and abs.

As soon as his shirt was completely open, he went back to exploring your body with his lips. His kisses trailed down your neck, to your chest and right to the outline of your bra. “Ah, silly undergarments… They always get in the way of fun.” In one swift motion, he slid his hands under your bra, freeing your breasts and also divesting you of your top along with it as it went over your head and arms. For a second, you felt distinctly vulnerable under his gaze and moved to cover yourself, but his hands kept your arms at your side.

You squirmed under his touch, your brain completely blank as he lavished you with attention. Lucifer noticed the freshly healed cuts on your skin and made sure to give them extra affection. He did it partially to stay in character, but mostly to spite Simeon who was definitely fixated on the scene he orchestrated. He was getting too much enjoyment out of pulling the most lewd sounds from you all the while the angel watched, unable to participate. The control he had over the both of you was absolutely exhilarating and turned him on more than the kisses and fondling.

Lucifer pushed you to lay on the couch, settling himself between your legs and hovering over you. The opened ends of his shirt tickling your sides briefly before he leaned in and took your nipple into his mouth. His tongue laved at the sensitive skin, coaxing it into a perky little bud before moving onto your other breast and doing the same. By the time he was done with that task, you were sure that the knee he had pressed up against your crotch could feel just how wet you had gotten.

Looking down between the two of you, you were grateful to see he wasn’t completely immune to the scenario. The impressive bulge in his pants at least proved to you he was enjoying this as much as you were. Pulling him into another searing hot kiss, you tugged at his hair, rolling your hips against him. You didn’t care that Simeon was watching, with Lucifer, you could get what he would never give you. “Fuck me.” you whispered, barely believing you were making such a demand.

“With pleasure.”

The rest of your clothes came off in record time. The need for a release was almost unbearable. Just seeing Lucifer’s cock spring out of his boxers made your mouth water. You were more than happy to spread your legs for him, giving him all the access in the world to seat himself in you.

But, it seemed he had a different idea for you. Turning you to face Simeon on the other side of the room, he pulled you up to your knees and slid into you from behind, groaning as your cunt greedily accepted every inch of him with no resistance. “Let’s give him something to write about.” he suggested right before making you see stars with his cock.

Being filled with an actual dick and not a toy was an experience you had missed so much. There was nothing better than the warmth and the feel of a real cock sliding in and out of you. Toys could only simulate so much, nothing could compare to what Lucifer was giving you. “Oh… fuck.” You gasped, leaning against his chest for support.

His hand grabbed your hair, pulling you flush against him as he rammed his whole length into you over and over again. His breathing hitching every time you squeezed around his cock. “Oh yeah, that’s a good girl.” he praised. “Look at how hot and bothered he is.” Lucifer brought your attention to the author across the room. His fingers frozen across the screen as his eyes were glued to the scene you were creating with his friend.

You didn’t want to look, but everything Lucifer said was a command you could not disobey. Glancing over, you were blessed with the image of Simeon, blankly staring at what you were doing. His expression completely unreadable, but his eyes were dark from just how blown out his irises were. His hands that were supposed to be on the keyboard stroked his clothed cock in time with every one of Lucifer’s strokes.

The feeling of shame washed over you as you saw just how pitiful Simeon seemed so distant from the two of you. His heated gaze was fixated on the spot where Lucifer and you were so intimately joined. Lucifer continued on railing into you, his hand wrapped around your waist and teased your clit, drawing you closer and closer to your climax. You couldn’t even think about the guilt you felt in your gut as Simeon was forced to observe you. All you could focus on was just how good Lucifer was with his cock and how close you were to coming undone.

“Think we should let him join us?” Lucifer’s voice was like the devil on your shoulder, voicing all the things you couldn’t say out of embarrassment. “He’s always been bad at saying what he wants.”

You didn’t have time to respond as all the pleasure came to a screeching halt. Just as you felt like you were going to cum, Lucifer pulled out of you, making you whine and whimper in need. “I… what… I...”

The smile he gave you was soft, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. There was a devious glint in them while he waited for you to compose yourself.

“What? Why did you stop? What happened?” Simeon busied himself with sitting up straight again, hunching over his computer as if he hadn’t just been stroking himself to what was in front of him.

“I got bored.” Lucifer stated plainly, getting up and leading you over to the author who was furiously typing away, trying to the capture the scene he just witnessed. “I thought you might like to join in the fun...”

“That… that wasn’t the agreement.”

“I’m bending the rules a little.” Lucifer shrugged and gently pushed you down on your knees in front of Simeon. You crawled under the folding table he set up as a makeshift desk. It was a snug fit, but not entirely too uncomfortable. “I’m sure we can all benefit from a little more fun, right?” He laced his hand into your hair and gently, but firmly pushed you towards Simeon’s bulge.

You didn’t even need any encouragement to start working on freeing Simeon’s cock from the confines of his pants. The man above you couldn’t protest, the need to feel you and the need for release overriding his scruples he had worked so hard to maintain. “I… You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.” You said firmly, licking your lips when you got your hands around his length and pulled it out, giving it an experimental pump. With just that simple touch, Simeon hissed and rolled his hips up to meet your hand. “And it looks like you want to, as well.”

“Let’s see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.” Lucifer encouraged from behind you. “If you do a good job, I’ll make sure to finish what I started.”

You were more than eager to wrap your lips around the tip of Simeon’s cock, licking and swirling your tongue around the tip. Your hand pumping the length of his cock you couldn’t fit in your mouth just yet. Simeon’s moan encouraged you to keep going, taking more of him into you until he hit the back of your throat. Lucifer’s hand in your hair was soon replaced with Simeon’s as he held onto you, setting the pace as your head bobbed up and down his cock.

You moaned into his dick, sending vibrations down his length and making him shiver. His grip in your hair tightened and he pushed your head further down his cock, wanting you to take all of him. With a bit of an initial struggle to suppress your gag reflex, you relaxed enough to take every inch of him with just a little coaxing. Soon enough, your nose brushed against his coarse pubic hairs every time he made a full pass down your throat.

“Amazing...” Lucifer breathed, lining himself behind you to enter you again. Just watching Simeon fuck your mouth had heightened the sexual tension in the room into something palpable. He timed himself to enter you at the same time Simeon was at his deepest down your throat. “Time for your reward.”

Your screams of pleasure were muffled by Simeon’s cock being stuffed into your mouth. Lucifer taking your cunt again made you nearly lose consciousness for a second. Simeon’s grip in your hair became almost painful as the two of them worked in tandem to fuck you senseless.

It felt like there was an unsaid agreement the moment the two of them started to move. As soon as Lucifer pulled out of you until just the tip of his cock remained in your pussy, Simeon would be fully seated down your throat. The moment Simeon’s dick slid out of your mouth just enough to give you a chance to breathe, Lucifer would ram his whole length back into you, making you forget to take a full breath before the cycle continued once again.

It was a dizzying experience and the orgasm that had been abated for the time being built itself back up to be something explosive. The two of them played your body like a toy meant for their pleasure. All your holes were meant to please them; and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Lucifer’s fingers once again found your clit, bringing you right up to the edge within a few passes of his digits across the sensitive nub.

“Cum for me, beautiful...”

His voice was magical, pushing you right across the threshold into your climax. You moaned into Simeon’s cock, causing him to also unload his cum down your throat. Even if it was hard to breathe, the lack of oxygen only seemed to enhance the high you had been brought to. Lucifer only needed to thrust into you a few more times before his own pace stuttered and he came, releasing his hot seed into you and completing the euphoric feeling of climaxing.

Simeon was the first to regain his senses, carefully pulling out his spent cock from your mouth. Even if you did your best to swallow all of him, some of his cum mixed with your saliva and dribbled down the corner of your mouth to your chin. He carefully wiped away what he could with his thumb before pulling you in for a kiss.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry… Please forgive me…” He begged in between kisses. He could taste himself on your lips, something he didn’t expect to enjoy as much as he did. With every kiss, the color returned to his world, the grays that permeated his every existence faded the more time he spent with you. Without you, he wasn’t himself anymore; that much he learned.

Ah. So this is what forgiveness feels like...

Lucifer pulled out of you once he softened enough to do so. He was about to say something rather snide, but he also didn’t want to ruin the moment of reconciliation between the two of you. So, he decided to save it for later. He waited patiently for you to reassure him everything was going to be all right before speaking up.

“So, you think you got the scene?”

“Yeah… I think we got it. Do you think we can make the deadline?”

You looked up at him, feeling satisfied and elated in a way you hadn’t felt in so long. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

#Obey me #Obey Me Simeon #Obey Me Lucifer #Simeon x reader #Lucifer x reader #Simeon x Lucifer x Reader #Obey me Smut #Obey me Fanfiction #My writing #i'm trash you're trash we're all trash #we're finally getting to the super fun bullshit!#Shall we date obey me

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years ago

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i’m still here. (a)

☙ pairing: bakugou x reader / bakugou x kirishima

☙ theme: angst

☙ cw/tw: profanity, grief/mourning, emotional distress, slight talk of wanting to die, could be seen as unhealthy grieving but there are no right or wrong ways to grieve, talk of death.

☙ a/n-request: so here it is, the spontaneous continuation of ‘i’m here’ - i just couldn’t help myself, I needed to get this out of my system. It hurts for a bit but I promise it gets better - also hope you don’t mind the end pairing, baku needs love and he deserves to be happy with that person.

It’s been four months and Bakugou is - well he’s as good as he can be.

Sometimes he likes to think that the days are getting progressively better but then he finds himself awake way past the hour of midnight, walking around the house aimlessly and searching. Searching for something that he doesn’t even know. After a few more hours of talking to himself and cleaning random things, eating a small snack, Bakugou finally finds himself in bed tossing and turning until sleep finally takes him.

Izuku and Kirishima have become his rocks and practical caretakers.

They check in on him constantly but in a way that isn’t overbearing. Both of them make sure that their friend doesn’t stay holed up inside the house for longer than needed by becoming gym buddies, dragging him out to guys’ nights with them and the squad. Bakugou goes without too much resistance. Of course he rather stay in and wait for something that’ll never come but he knows he has to keep his sanity and he knows that you would kick his ass for sulking and wallowing in grief for too long. So he goes and by the end of the night, he’s always happy that he did but he’ll never admit that to the two idiots he calls his best friends.

And more than anything, Bakugou is grateful how they have never brought up the topic of … moving on. Because they know better - everyone does.

Of course everyone agrees it’s way too soon to even consider Bakugou trying dating again but not only that, anyone who knows the guy knows that he probably never will even think about trying to find anyone else. You were it for him.

You weren’t like everyone else.

It’s cliche to say but you were indeed special - you completed Bakugou in the ways he was imperfect and flawed yet you still loved those parts of him. His edges were still rough and brash but you somehow softened them without changing truly who he was because well - you loved him for who he was and the way he was. Such a fucking sap you always were.

Bakugou doesn’t move to a new home, he doesn’t want to or need to. Your home wasn’t massive; it was the perfect size for just the two of you.

And it was only a few weeks ago that he finally found the strength to part with your belongings. It was a rough day but thankfully the whole squad was there. Kirishima may or may not have tried to bribe them with beer and food but obviously it wasn’t needed, they were gonna be there for their friend no matter what.

Starting out, Bakugou was okay while packing everything. Everyone reminisced on fond and happy memories of you. Izuku and Kirishima felt a sense of relief from seeing the blonde genuinely smiling a few times and hearing his laughter. For a moment they thought everything would go smoothly for the rest of the day but nothing ever really goes smoothly when you’re saying goodbye to what’s left of your deceased spouse.

It was when Mina and Sero started to pull out of the driveway in the U-Haul that Bakugou bolted out the door after them. Kirishima and Izuku were right behind him and barely managed to catch him before being hit by a truck.

The three of them rolled around on the black-top road, all shouting and crying.

“Let me fucking go you pieces of shit! Fuck!”

Kirishima bared his teeth, trying to fight back his own sobs from the heart wrenching sight of seeing his best friend like this.

“Kats, please calm down, don’t do this!”

Bakugou only growled and tried to blast off an explosion in his face but Kirishima knew better and hardened his skin to block it. Izuku choked on his own tears and ended up using black whip to help pin down the uncontrollable blonde, despite him and Kirishima being over 200lbs and holding him down the best they could.

“Kacchan, you could’ve just fucking died, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“I don’t fucking care … let me … I - I can be with her.”

Izuku and Kirishima both went rigid at those words and looked at each other with tear filled eyes before resting their weight on top of their broken friend in a pile there in the middle of the road. For the next half hour they all stayed there, crying and holding Bakugou together until he finally exhausted himself and didn’t fight about Kirishima picking him up and carrying him back inside.

“Kats I don’t care if you hate me for doing it but I’m calling a professional tomorrow. We love you … I love you man but we can only do so much for you. Please … just let us help you. We can’t lose someone else we love.”

Izuku nods in agreement and they bring Bakugou to the bedroom and tuck him into the bed like a child. He doesn’t complain or try to bite their heads off for it.

“We’re proud of you for today Kacchan, please know that. Y-You still have the important things,” Izuku sniffles as he places a worn-looking rag doll cat in Bakugou’s arms. “You’ll always have the important things.”

Kirishima tries to smile as Bakugou turns his back to them and cuddles the item close to his face. It's instinctive and totally against his control but Kirishima reaches out and combs his fingers through Bakugou’s hair and it gives him hope when he feels the blonde relax under his touch.

“Try to get some rest Blasty. We aren’t gonna leave you alone so if you need anything, we’ll be here.”

A few weeks and plenty of therapy sessions later, Bakugou is back to doing okay. He’s back to being able to stay home alone without needing Izuku or Kirishima crashing on his couch. He returns to work and some days it helps while on others it hurts.

It’ll take more time to get used to Kirishima being his new side-kick but as long as it's him, he’ll be okay.

Life slowly but surely starts to get easier … until those nights like tonight where Bakugou is wide awake at four in the morning. It’s been a while since its happened and truly Bakugou is exhausted but he just can’t sleep - he doesn’t mind though. It’s nights like these where he’s glad to still be awake with tired eyes and body because it’s nights like these where you come to him.

It may be crazy but Bakugou is adamant that you’re still there sometimes, your spirit at least. And when he's exhausted and delirious enough like he is now, you’ll become more than just memories and a presence. Soon enough you start to become real again and he can feel you holding him close and petting his hair. Feel those soft kisses on his lips and all over his face and neck. Bakugou can see those bright eyes again and feel your own warm skin against his in bed.

And even though he really is getting better at all of this, he still has his moments. He’s only human after all. A human who lost the most precious and important thing in his life so tragically. So no one can blame him for feeling the things he does and for having a down moment - hell even his therapist reassured him of that.

‘Everyone grieves in their own way and these occurrences don’t mean you’re crazy. Just as long as you see them for what they truly are and know that eventually they will end.’

It hurts to think that these will end so Bakugou cherishes them and prolongs them for as long as he fucking can. He gives into the phantom feelings, finds comfort in them. Then he starts to hear you and you talk to each other. He tells you how some days he’s okay and others he just misses you so fucking much and he doesn’t want to go on, he wants to be with you.

In those times you quiet him with kisses and hums, telling him it’s not time yet.

“The world needs you,” is whispered upon his skin and it makes him groan in disagreement.

“Fuck the what the world needs - I need you!”

You chuckle and lightly flick the tip of Bakugou’s nose and he wishes it hurt like it used to.

“You don’t need me Katsuki, if anything, I’m not what you need at all right now … at least not like this,” you speak quietly but still smile. “But you will always have me. I’m all around you.”

Bakugou pouts and you brush your thumb over his bottom lip before looking down and taking his hand in yours. Your finger traces the hard edges of the wedding band that’s now a matte black color after he found a jeweler who was able to add a small amount of your cremains into the material of it.

“You literally take me everywhere you go and even before then, I’ve never left you. Someone’s gotta watch over your crazy ass. I’m just glad Red is there to help me out.”

Bakugou smirks and moves to nuzzle the crook of your neck, his hair tickling the underside of your jaw and causing you to giggle and hold him tighter. The sound pains him and Bakugou starts to softly cry. You hold him even tighter and he holds you with a death grip.

That feeling is returning in him and he hates it. It’s overwhelming and it's cold. It’s hopelessness.

“How am I supposed to keep doing this? I don’t want to spend four more months like this … I don’t want to spend years like this … fucking - tell me how I can get you back, I need you … I fucking need you so much, I can’t - “

“Shh, baby breathe, I'm here - you know I’m always here.”

Bakugou frowns hard and buries his face into your chest to muffle the heartbreaking sob he lets out, his fists start to smoke and he shakes his head.

“But you’re not! You’re not fucking here!”

He pulls away from the pillow he’s burning now in order to breathe and scream out in agony. Bakugou continues until his vocal chords feel raw and there’s a giant hole in the wall above the headboard from him repeatedly punching it. Looking down through teary eyes, Bakugou notices his knuckles are bloody and throbbing in pain. A few minutes pass and he’s on his knees hunched over in the middle of the bed, sheet-rock is crumbled all around him on the covers and he sighs, wiping angrily at his tears.

Soon the feeling of fingers in his hair, scratching against his scalp soothingly causes Bakugou to deflate and he sinks back as you hold him close, back to your chest and your cheek pressed against the top of his hair. He clings to your arms around him. Tears roll from his irritated and red eyes, snot down his nose as he sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” you both whisper out in unison.

You press kiss after kiss against soft ash blonde hair, against ruddy warm cheeks and tear filled eyes. Bakugou suppresses his whimper, he can feel what's coming and he doesn’t like it.

“Call him … you need him right now, do this for me please,” you speak upon the side of Bakugou’s neck.

Bakugou grunts and leans over to grab his phone from the nightstand, laying down on his side in the process. You move with him and place yourself before him to hold close, letting his arms wrap tight around you. The ghosting of fingers against his cheekbone makes Bakugou look down at you with red tired eyes. He can see the choice in your own and can feel it in the way you lean in and kiss his lips so softly that it feels like air before pressing your forehead against his.

“You’ll be okay Katsuki, I know you will. Just - breathe for me; and always know that I’m right here baby,” you whisper while placing your palm to the space over his heart.

Bakugou’s bottom lip trembles and he nods. He shifts to press his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of strawberries and cream that's ingrained in his senses as his eyes squeeze shut before kissing the top of your head and letting out a long breath.

“I’ll be okay.”

When his eyes open, Bakugou swallows the lump in his throat and eases the death grip he has on the charred pillow. He sighs and swipes a finger across the screen of his phone and moves to lay on his back, pressing the device to his ear.

It rings only a few times before a raspy voice is answering with concern.

“Kats, what’s wrong?”

Bakugou looks up from his newspaper and cup of coffee when the door to the backyard opens. He smirks and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and watches as Kirishima and Ghost both come barreling in. The giant mastiff is slobbering and panting, so is Kirishima, except the slobbering part - well sort of.

“Whew - oh hey sleeping beauty,” Kirishima gleams and takes a step towards where Bakugou is seated at the kitchen counter, lips puckered and arms open wide.

He’s stopped by a finger to the mouth, halting him from going any further.

“Don’t even think about it, you’re disgusting!

Kirishima gives those stupid puppy eyes that everyone, even himself, were always weak to and a whimper coming from below makes Bakugou look down to see Ghost also giving her own literal puppy eyes.

“You’re both pathetic, there’s no way I’m - oof!”

Bakugou is tackled off his seat and onto the ground by Kirishima, knocking his glasses off in the process. Ghost joins in and smothers him in an abnormal amount of slobber as she licks his face excitedly and Kirishima kisses his cheeks - which, gross, he doesn’t even care that he’s kissing where there is drool. But Bakugou can’t help cackling and grinning as he tries to shove them off.

“Both of you fucking stink, get offa me! You need baths!”

Kirishima smirks and pulls away enough for Bakugou to wipe his face.

“I’ll make you a deal Blasty, I shower then give this pretty lady a bath - if you make us breakfast!

Kirishima firmly pats and pets the giant dog, looking at his boyfriend with a playful light in his red eyes.

Bakugou sighs, “If it’ll get you gross animals off then fine!”

Smiling victoriously, Kirishima sits back on his knees and helps with pulling the dog away. She quickly forgets about them and trots off to her toys in the living room. Kirishima offers his hand, Bakugou takes it and together they stand from the floor.

Bakugou rolls his eyes but smirks and playfully pushes at Kirishima’s shoulder. His wrist is caught and Kirishima pulls him in for a hug. It’s sticky and sweaty but a smile forms on his face and Bakugou accepts it without question, along with the gentle kiss to his temple.

“Slept okay?”

Kirishima asks, running his fingers through Bakugou’s hair when they pull away from their hug. Bakugou leans into the touch and nods.

“As good as I could with two giants hogging the bed and snoring loud enough to shake the fucking walls.”

Kirishima chuckles and takes Bakugou’s hand, letting his thumb brush over the black band that still remains on his finger, he smiles fondly at it.

“I’ll take that as a ‘I slept great babe!’”

Bakugou snorted and patted Kirishima’s chest, leaning in to kiss his sweaty cheek before lightly pushing him away and wiping the salty taste from his mouth.

“If you want breakfast, you better get your rank ass in the shower and hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Aye, aye captain!” Kirishima salutes with a massive smile and turns to jog out and towards the bedroom.

Shaking his head with a smile, Bakugou picks up the mess of his forgotten newspaper on the counter. He skims over the front page and smiles at the picture taken of him and Kirishima. Their backs face the camera, Kirishima’s arm around Bakugou as they look upon the cherry blossom tree that was planted in your memory at one of your favorite parks. It had bloomed just in time for the one year anniversary of your passing and there were numerous gifts left around the trunk of it from fans and friends.

Bakugou runs a finger over your printed name on the paper and for the first time since that one night, he feels you pressed against him, hugging him close from behind and pressing your cheek to his back. Smiling, Bakugou rubs at your hands over his stomach and he looks up when he hears Kirishima walking back into the kitchen with a question that he doesn’t hear.

The redhead looks him over confused at first and Bakugou just gives him the softest and fondest smile, still rubbing over the space of his stomach and Kirishima’s eyes widen. He crosses his arms and leans against the fridge, smiling at Bakugou while he states softly.

“She’s here.”

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Forever With You

Sam Giddings (Until Dawn) x Emo!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Death, Mourning, Swearing, Slight Gore

Genre: Angst

Summary: Living with knowing that your life was basically given back to you from near-death thanks to the demise of a loved one is the closest feeling to death with your heart still beating. Sam now knows that. The whole group knows that. Good thing friends stick together even after death.

Requested by my lovely Until Dawn Anon. Hi babyy! I hope you enjoy the read and I sure as hell hope this isn’t the last request of yours I’ll be writing. We’re business partners at this point LOL. Love you ❤❤❤

QUICK NOTE - Some elements of this fic, by request of Until Dawn Anon, have been inspired by a certain drama series. I’m not gonna name it to avoid spoilers for both the show and this fic, but whoever’s watched the show will recognize which show is being referenced.

Sam’s POV

“You’d make a mean hunter!“ Chris comments as Y/N lowers the shotgun after shooting her mark for the fifth time.

“Nah, I’d never hurt animals.“ She gives him a sincere smile, “But I appreciate you thinking I have the proper skillset.“

We’re waiting for the world’s slowest cable car to make its way to our station, aka the lower station so we can meet up with the rest of our group, assuming that any of them are already there.

When I arrived at the station Chris, Ashley and Y/N were already there. They were sitting on the benches outside the station, waiting for me. I was actually supposed to take the same bus as them but something came up right as I was about to head to the bus station, forcing me to take the bus an hour after theirs.

“Sam, I will never forgive you for this, I swear!“ Y/N says, standing up from the bench and heading in my direction, “You let me thirdwheel alone! I mean, I could only survive watching these two beat around the bush for so long!“ She lowered her voice when she said that, giving the couple us two and Josh call Chrashley a quick glance over the shoulder.

I took her hands in mine almost instinctively, “Aw, I’m sorry. But look on the bright side: the love radiating off them is so strong it kept you warm as well!” It was true, her usually freezing hands were not so frozen. Still colder than a person’s should be, but not yet to the point of provoking concern.

She smirked, rolling her eyes, “You know I’d rather freeze to death than have love keep me warm.” She spat the word ‘love’ as though it was poisonously bitter in her mouth. Luckily, before I could say anything more, Chris dragged us to the makeshift shooting range he had found at the side of the snow covered clearing.

It didn’t take long for him and Y/N to start getting competitive with one another, like the not-blood-related siblings they are, so now Ash and I are observing their little competition of who can hit the most marks with the smallest amount of prep time. It’s obvious Y/N the one winning, but Chris isn’t the quitter type so while she is shooting even the smallest of pebbles in the snow we point out to her, he’s still aiming for the hanging sacks of sand and the glass bottles.

With the two of them being so immersed in their ‘competition’, Ashley and I are chatting while remaining a safe distance away from the shooting pair - Chris especially. Y/N has at least slight experience in the field. Being at the distance that we are, we are also out of earshot for them. So, both Ash and I bring up the obvious topic that never remains unspoken - RELATIONSHIPS.

“You and Y/N have been really close as of late. Finally making things official?“ Ash nudges the conversation first as she adjusts the beanie she’s wearing.

I sigh, a white cloud created from that breath of something between disappointment and dread, “We’re not even unofficial. We’re just friends.“ I take the opportunity to take a teasing stab at her, “I’m not luck enough to have my...“ I make quotation marks with my fingers, “’crush’ feel the same way about me. Unlike you.“ I smirk at her, noticing the color of red appearing on her cheeks despite the cold breeze that’s caressing every inch of exposed skin, making it worryingly pale.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Sam. For both of those statements.“ She says diplomatically, scanning the shooting duo with a quick once-over. “She isn’t as reserved when she’s with you. I know you don’t notice, but everyone else does. She’s different, warmer even, with you.“ I expect her to go on, explaining her situation with Chris, but she doesn’t.

As much as I’d like to get her to go on and spill a little of what she feels about Chris, even though everyone and their grandmothers already know, I can’t help but let my mind go down the rabbit hole of ‘what if’s. I’m not oblivious nor blind, I can see the way her demeanor changes around me in comparison to, let’s say, when she’s around Mike. However, she’s ‘warmer’ with Josh, Chris, Matt and Ash as well. It’s called friendliness. It’s no secret that she’s never been too fond of Emily or Jess or Mike. The friendliness of a person can so easily be taken out of context when someone’s crushing on them.

And Y/N’s friendliness especially. This girl hates romance. Absolutely hates it. The word ‘love’ itself gets her annoyed and bothered to the point of discomfort sometimes. I have never tried to probe and try to figure out why. I say I haven’t cause I respect her privacy, but truth be told I am scared. I want to believe there is a small part of her that still wants to experience a romantic relationship, a love connection, and I’m afraid that prodding the subject would shatter all the hopes I have.

How did I end up falling for this dark, broody, Catwoman like emo girl? - I have no idea. It was only natural if you ask me. I think I’m not the only one who’s so whipped by her, but I could never be sure. I mean, how could someone NOT fall for this raven badass: black hair, eyes just a shade lighter than black, tattoos - perfect combination of beauty and brains. And balls, she’s probably the boldest person I’ve ever known or will ever meet. What really caught my attention when I first laid eyes on her was the way she shined. Literally. I don’t mean that as a cheesy metaphor - the girl is always covered in jewelry that reflects the sunlight perfectly. She mesmerized me from day one. She made me a big hypocrite - I was always the one to tell Chris and Ash to make a move, to confess their feelings, and now here I am, in their shoes as though they have cursed me.

“Hey, eagle eyes! Our ride’s here.“ Ash announces, handing Chris his backpack as they fall in step, walking side by side around the station.

Y/N falls in step with me, elbowing my ribs gently, “Slow down, let’s give them some privacy.” She slows her pace to a frustratingly slow walk and I oblige, “I don’t usually say things like this, but they are really cute.”

We’d be really cute

Wait, where did that thought come from?!

“Yeah, I know.“ I say through the fog of confusion that has taken over my brain. “They sure are.“ I clear my throat, trying to hide the fact that my own mind just shocked me. Damn, what is happening to me? What is this crush doing to me? It’s exhausting and terrifying but....I don’t want it to stop.

* * *

“It’s ok, baby. You’re ok.“ Y/N’s voice echoes in the eeriness of the mines.

How did this night make a swerve for the worst so suddenly. All of it, all the horrors just piled up so suddenly. We’re fearful of our own shadows at this point. We are terrified of each other as well. We’re all in a fragile and vulnerable state, with out sanity hanging by a thread. We are all slowly losing ourselves more and more, the events of the past few hours and the hours to come dragging us in the depth of this seemingly endless void of terror.

And then there’s Y/N. Mike, her and I have just found Josh who was having some sort of hallucination-riddled breakdown in the mines. While Mike and I stood aside, contemplating our next move, Y/N didn’t waste any time hesitating. She ran right to his aid and literally pulled him out of his horrific delusions, wrapping her arms around him tightly, murmuring words of comfort as he cried on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. For everything. I should’ve done something...I should’ve saved them.. I shouldn’t have done this to you guys.“ Josh’s sobs tear my heart to pieces. Seeing him like this is like watching a disaster happen right in front of me, but I’m incapable of doing anything to prevent it or aid help the people affected by it. I’m helpless, I can just stand aside and watch. Watch as he falls apart and Y/N desperately trying to keep him together as if she’s strong enough to carry such duty on her shoulders.

“It’ll all be over soon, it’ll all be ok. Hannah and Beth know it wasn’t your fault, Josh. We forgive you too. Please, don’t do this, at least not now.“ Just as she says those word, an inhuman screech comes from somewhere in the distance behind us, accompanied by another shortly after which came from right up-front.

Good thing we don’t have to head in either of those directions, not that we’re safe no matter which path we take. We’re walking through thigh deep water which could be hiding anything below the surface yet we wouldn’t know because it looks more like ink than water. We’re not the most discreet nor quiet as we move forward, taken that we are doing our best to push through with letting out as little curse words and sneers due to the inability to feel our lower body.

My foot hits something solid and rather sharp, most likely a large stone, causing me to let out a loud hiss before I could stop it. I freeze, listening on the noises surrounding us, expecting those screeches to emerge from behind the nearest wall and put an end to this torture we’re enduring.

I nearly jump out of my skin when a hand wraps around my wrist gently. My first instinct is to pull away, all my muscles tensing as I try to take a step back.

“Hey, hey relax. It’s ok.“ Y/N’s voice is unusually soft and sweet, just like when she was comforting Josh. It’s the voice she uses when aiding a hurt animal, or calming a weeping baby. “You’re ok, nothing bad will happen to us, ok Sam? We’re making it out of here.“ She’s carrying the mom role, the older sister role, the nurse role and the pillar we’re all leaning on for support. She’s keeping it together so we can too.

Her hand moves down to mine, unfolding my fingers that I’ve curled into a tight fist due to the uncomfortable sensation of being half frozen and half numb. He holds my hand open while quickly slipping off a ring from her pointer finger and putting it on mine. It has a small brightly blue rock on it. I recognize it right away - it’s the only ring she wears permanently. She changes all her other accessories, but never this ring. I can swear I’ve heard her joke that she’d like to be buried with it when the time comes.

“The lady that gave me this ring said it symbolizes the courage to carry on while carrying the world on your shoulders, and that really stuck with me.“ Her tone takes me to a different place, somewhere nice, safe and warm. Her words wrap around me like a safety blanket, for a moment letting me forget everything: the past few hours, the present and the yet to be determined future. “I have a feeling you need that courage more than I do.“

I nod but I’m physically unable to look up and meet her eyes. My gaze is fixated on her hands, which I’ve never felt so warm, holding mine as though it’s made of porcelain.

“If you keep going at this rate, all your jewelry will end up on me.“ I fish the necklace from underneath my hoodie, holding the charm so she can see it.

It’s a necklace she gave me right before she went on her first forest ranger training program. We weren’t sure if we’d see her again when we were at the train station saying goodbye. She said there was a chance of her staying at the camp to fully devote herself to what she wanted for her future. Thankfully though, she returned about four months later. I remember how hard I had to fight my tears that day. I should’ve know it would be useless - Y/N notices everything. That necklace, a beautiful blood red circular pendant hanging on a silver chain, was her saying ‘see you soon, hopefully’. I haven’t taken it off me since.

“I’ve already written it all to you in my will.“ She gives my hand a squeeze before letting go and continuing forward. After a brief return to the present reality I follow, making sure to always be an arm reach away at most from Y/N. Being within close proximity to her makes me feel like it will be alright. I mean, she said it would be, and she’s never wrong.

We enter an area where the water isn’t as still anymore. It rushes towards this small cliff where it creates a waterfall, pooling in the lower level in the form of a deep lake. The water is way higher there and the ground at the bottom is not reachable.

“Let’s try not to get pulled.“ Mike declares, his walk now more of a struggle just like everyone else’s “If we can reach that wall without dying we should be ok.“

We all nod, more as a way of reassuring ourselves than a response to his statement. We are less than fifteen feet away, I have a strong belief we can make it.

Ten feet away. We’re almost there.

And then we hear it - a deafening screech. It’s right next to me.

We turn to see that monster grab Y/N by her throat, throwing her into the water. Before we even have time to react, it’s too late. The thing has once again picked her up, holding her high above the surface of the water. She looks at me, her eyes screaming the way her vocal chords can’t. The fear has silenced her.

The wendigo’s other hand pierces through her chest, pulling her heart out.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She can’t be gone! WHY HER?! Why couldn’t it be me?! Why am I still drawing breath when she just let out her last one?! WHY DID IT GO FOR HER?! Is it because it knew that’s the quickest way to kill me?! TO KILL ALL OF US?!

The wendigo throws Y/N’s body over the cliff and into the deep lake below right before it climbs one of the stone walls and leaves our sight. It didn’t see any of us. We were too frozen to move even if we tried, of course it didn’t see us.

“We..- we gotta keep moving. Sam, come on. It’s over. She’s gone. We can’t help her.“ Each word shakier than the last, but still like sharp stabs right through my chest. Mike has taken hold of my arm and is leading me towards the wall we are supposed to climb to get out of here and back to the lodge.

* * *

I don’t remember climbing the damn thing. I don’t remember the way back to the lodge. I can faintly recall the pained cries of everyone in the basement when Mike told them what happened. All that time I couldn’t utter a single word. I couldn’t comprehend what had happened. It all happened so out of the blue and it was over so quickly, like it wasn’t the end of a human life. Like it didn’t matter and it wouldn’t have any lasting effects on anything that followed. As though her death wasn’t worth to be remembered.

It all sunk in only after I was out of that hell-hole lodge, the flames dancing in front of my eyes, surrounding the structure that within its walls held several of those monsters, one of which was the one that killed Y/N.

Y/N

Thinking of her got me to look down at the pendant of the necklace around my neck, the fire being reflected off its smooth red surface. Like a pool of blood in the middle of a forest caught by a wildfire.

See you soon, hopefully

I take one look at those woods, my heart sinking at the thought that behind those trees there’s an entrance to the mines. The mines that are now the resting place of the girl I loved. The girl that deserved better.

“Sam, they’re here. We’re safe. They’re saving us. It’s finally over.“ Mike’s words are nothing but a faint echo at the back of my conscience.

What’s on the front lines of my mind is that phrase - See you soon, hopefully. I’ll be seeing her soon. But not through death, she would never wish that upon me or anyone.

She’ll come back. She won’t let this be the end. She’s too stubborn.

“SAM!“ The screams fail to reach me completely as I run as though my life depends on it. My feet barely touch the ground, my instinct leading me to the nightmarish depths of this mountain.

I will not allow it to be your resting place, Y/N!

I jump from the top of the wall into the shallow water, letting the water drag my shaky form towards the cliff. With zero hesitation or doubt, no regard for the filthiness of the water or the horrors that may await me below its surface.

It’s pitch black. I can’t see or feel a thing. My body feels like it’s being stabbed by thousands of needles, causing it to go numb. I push my lungs to their limits, testing every cell of my body, begging them to not fail me.

The discourage starts settling in, accompanied by the pain that’s spreading throughout my chest due to the lack of oxygen. I’m just about to swim to the surface to breathe when I see it.

A glow. More of a reflection, actually. The reflection I was talking about earlier. The minimal light that’s pushing its way into the mines has made it to this depth and is being reflected by a metal ring connected to a pale hand.

Dizziness and pain all but forgotten, I push myself to swim lower, grasping the hand and giving it my all to pull it up. I only realize I’m above water when air enters my lungs in large gulps. It takes me a second to take in the fact that I’m holding the bloody, pale, unmoving body of Y/N with a hole through her chest.

“Please...“ I beg through gasps for breath, “Please open your eyes, live. Oh God, a wendigo or not just...just please come back to me, Y/N! Come back to take me with you!“

Despite my words of desperation, my screams of agony, I know they are in vain. I know she wouldn’t come back even if she could. She would rather stay dead than return as a threat to her friends with the risk of actually hurting them. She would never bring harm to her loved ones.

Images flash before my eyes: The hurt in her eyes when Josh’s scheme was revealed; Her comforting Ashley while Chris was out with the Flamethrower Guy; Talking Mike into putting the gun away and not shooting Em; Her standing up to Emily, grabbing her arm before she could hit Ash; Her comforting the disoriented and scared Josh we found in the mines; Her looking at me a second before her death.

There are two scenes that have been permanently engraved in my memory: Seeing her shining form for the first time and seeing her ink-like eyes, filled with terror for the last time.

* * *

We’re sitting in a room with bright neon lights and security cameras in each corner. I don’t remember how I got here. I don’t even remember leaving the mines. We were all given a change of clothes and a blanket. They offered us food and something to drink to refuel our bodies but after those horrors we saw, non of us are able to hold anything down. Josh was taken to a separate room the moment the helicopter landed and we haven’t seen him since.

I’m sitting on a bench next to Chris and Ashley, opposite Mike, Jess and Emily. Poor Jess has had it the roughest out of all of us. She has been drained of all emotion, her face isn’t even pale - more see-through. Mike’s arm is protectively wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her close. Matt and Emily are holding hands, unable to say anything to each other. Chris has Ashley tightly wrapped in his arms as though he’s prepared to protect her from anything.

And I’m alone.

I saw a black body bag being unloaded from the helicopter. I knew whose body it contained. No one dared say a word about it. We had run out of tears and words at that point.

I keep my head hanging low, my eyes fixated on the white tiled floor beneath my feet. The lights are too bright compared to my pitch black world. It’s all just empty and meaningless now. Looking back, I should’ve taken my own advice and spoken up about how I felt. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed much, maybe everything would’ve been different. And that’s the real torment - I will never know.

I straighten up, squinting at the artificial blinding lights, resting my back against the wall behind me. As I’m doing so, I catch a glimpse of something shiny in front of me.

My heart leaps.

It’s such an irrational reaction to something so simple. So ordinary to anyone else.

The shine is coming from the light reflecting off the chain Mike’s wearing around his neck. A familiar chain I’ve seen on someone else.

“That’s Y/N’s.“ I bark at him angrily, gaining his attention, “Why do you have it?!“

“Sam...“ Chris’ hand rests on my arm, “We all have something hers. She was sentimental, remember?“

‘Was‘. That change from ‘is‘ to ‘was‘ is killing me. And the ease with which everyone has accepted that Y/N is now a thing of the past.

“She gave me a bracelet.“ Ashley shows me her wrist

“She gave me this cool watch...“ Chris rolls up his sleeve, “I’m glad it survived all the crap it was put through with me. Not a scratch.“

“She’d haunt you if you scratched it.“ Matt smiles but his eyes are dull with sadness

“She’ll haunt us regardless.“ Emily says, “I hope she does.“

The rest of the crew shows the pieces Y/N left them of herself and it’s the most heartwarming while also heartbreaking feeling. The room has a different atmosphere all of a sudden. We are seven people, each with a soul of our own and a piece of Y/N’s.

As long as all the pieces are near each other, she’ll be alive and present. She’ll live on to watch over us and guide us. She’s probably looking down at us right now, relieved that we made it out. Overjoyed that Chris and Ashely are finally where they’re supposed to be - in each other’s arms. Glad Matt and Emily have found a stable middle ground. Proud of Jess for what she survived back there and happy she has found safety in Mike’s embrace. And what does she feel about me? As I said, I’ll never know, I can only hope she heard what I said to her back in the mines.

Assumptions aside, her message is crystal clear and leaves no room for speculations:

As long as we’re together, she’ll be with us. Forever.

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