#with every new life taken. the numbness inside her grows but it's not enough to make it second nature for her

[lovinglin]

The trio, to some extent, are very much so bad influences to Lara

[painted-bees]

[edit: this is a bit outdated, now! You can read the full narrative of these events over here!]

The water between the Discovery Islands, off the coast of British Columbia, is perhaps the sleepiest, most uneventful little corner of the entire Pacific Ocean. It’s a perfect little cradle for the marine life that abundantly lives there. And so, when something peculiar does occur within the tranquil archipelago, it is never to be dismissed.

Which is why, when an enormous bubble that rose up from the depths between Vancouver Island and Quadra Island went wholly unreported, locals were easily persuaded into believing that their memories of the sudden tidal swel--which swallowed their shorelines in the middle of the night and claimed no victims--was a phenomenon of mass delusion.

With little to nothing in the way of consequence following that strange night, it was easy to fall back onto the knowledge that things such as tsunamis simply cannot occur in isolation among the dense cluster of quiet little islands. Magritte and Rafael, however, were not so unchanged by the events that took place.

Magritte remembers how the icey bite of the water numbed her oyster-torn palms. She remembers imagining the finger of a monkey paw curling when she finally got to see the dorsal fins of the orcas that everyone but her had been so fortunate to spot from the Smelt Bay shoreline. They were close enough to touch, but she could not bring up her arms. She remembers singing, in poorly ragged notes, to Orion who remained aloof and uncaring among the rest of the stars in the sky.

Whether Magritte’s memories of being swept out to sea that night are real or hallucinatory in nature, life in their little island cottage was never quite the same afterwards. Magritte had spent the following week in bed, recovering from a fever–and all the while, Rafael would frequently hear her calling his name in a hoarse, tired voice from the yard outside. Her silhouette could, for fleeting moments, be seen breaking up the moonlit boughs of the evergreen forest bordering the property. And, she would sing…a ragged, slightly nonsense song which sounded as though it had been composed as a futile weapon against a fading consciousness.

It should have been unnerving. In fact, it could have been wholly upsetting. Though it sounded perfectly like her, Magritte was not out there beckoning him. She was upstairs resting, safe and cozy. Still, the doppelganger called and crooned. It met Rafael’s consciousness not as an ill omen, but as a wandering curiosity. His name met him as an inquiry, the ragged singing as an attempt at conversation. He responded by leaving an offering of tea and cookies at the foot of the porch steps leading into the side yard, where thought he had occasionally caught a glimpse of her inconsistent contours against the foliage of the forest.

He didn’t wholly believe that the phantom Magritte outside actually existed. In the mornings, the mug of tea would be tipped over, and the cookies taken away by the local wildlife. But, that empty plate was encouragement enough for him to keep up the little ritual, at least until Magritte–the real Magritte–was back on her feet. And indeed, once Magritte had returned to her energetic self, the shadow of her that lurked by the treeline every night prior…fell silent and unseen. 

Until Magritte invited it inside.

It did not speak, but held them with a swallowing gaze. So slender, so gentle mannered. It had approached Magritte with an armful of fish; an apology. Magritte invited it in, and Rafael prepared a late dinner for the three of them.

 It became the new evening ritual; it would arrive at the cottage with a fresh haul from the sea, Magritte would invite it inside, Rafael would make dinner from whatever it had brought them. Each night, its appearance changed little by little into something less vaguely otherworldly. Or, perhaps, they were simply growing more familiar. It taught them the song that Magritte had sung to Orion (she had, herself, forgotten the lyrical genius of her delirium), and they recomposed it into a jovial, drunken shanty together. They introduced their peculiar houseguest to mp3s, fleece-lined sweaters, and strawberry rhubarb ice cream, and in exchange, it brought them uniquely shaped shells and foraged trinkets from the bay.

These nightly visitations continued until, at last, it–she adopted a name she had heard and liked; Cortes.

And, she stayed that night until morning, and until the morning after that, and the morning after that, and…so forth.

[climbthemountain2020]

Hope of Spring

Chapter 1

Find this also on Ao3!

Summary:

"Penny decided that perhaps with her injuries treated and some rest, she could at least find out where she was. If he wanted to hurt her, he seemed like he had more than the means to without luring her further into his house.

Taking another breath that she felt tugged every single one of her ribs around in her chest, she braced herself and walked forward into the dark hallway."

OR

Penny Briggs crash lands into the Spring Court and must figure out where she fits into this strange but familiar new world.

Winter was Penny’s least favorite time of year.

First, it was cold. Which was fantastic for being tucked inside, warm, and watching something on her laptop while shoving takeout down her throat at a pace that would put Olympians to shame. But it was less fine when she was trekking the obnoxious distance from her work building to her shabby street parking seven blocks away. She’d been working there for five years, yet they still didn’t seem convinced enough to spring for her to get parking within a reasonable distance.

Second, her skin was dry as corn husks, no matter how much lotion she wore. The Northeast in the winter was a nightmare for her thin skin. Her hands would crack and bleed, and it made her miserable for the entire span of October through March. The static wasn’t helpful either. It had been so incredibly dry the last month that Penny shocked herself stupid just about any time she made contact with anything.

Third, it was dark. It wasn’t even that late, but winter had taken the sunlight from the world, as it did every year, making every one of Penny’s cherished moments outside of work a dark hellscape for the following few months. She hated never seeing the sun, and even more, she hated seeing the sun from the window at the end of a hallway while she slaved away on another event for which she would never get credit. She had always loved the idea of event planning–when she was little, she would sit next to her father’s desk in the cool basement, listening to him click away on his computer. She would organize pretend galas for all of her stuffed animals and fill her father’s legal pads to the brim with very particular details for each.

Unfortunately, in practice, it hadn’t turned out to be all she’d wanted. At least not at her current company. PlanCo was the first to reach out to Penny after college when she’d sent a sweeping parade of resumes out everywhere she could. She hadn’t bothered being picky, thinking this was a job to start her off and she’d be moving on before she even had a chance to get sick of it. She’d live in her childhood room in her father’s house, save money for a year at this starter job, and then she’d move out and move on to bigger things. She would “grow up”, and find a life that really called to her.

Life had other plans. Nine months into her tenure at PlanCo, her father had suddenly become ill. Without anyone else around, it fell to Penny to ensure that he was taken care of, and that meant she stayed local. While there was money to afford his care, he needed assistance with tasks around the house, and there was only enough money to cover his care. If there had been any possible way to quit and be with him, she would have, but she needed to keep working this job to afford other necessities. Thankfully, the company allowed her the time she needed to take him to appointments. They even let her stay home with him when it became clear they were coming close to the end.

She hated thinking about her father. She’d mourned and she’d grieved, and she’d loved him fiercely. But losing her mother at eight had all but numbed her to the pain of loss in a way that left her feeling like she was doing this wrong, that she was made wrong. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d experienced death so closely before, or maybe it was having such an innate knowledge that death had been coming for her father. Part of her even felt like maybe things were better with him gone. Penny had watched him miss her mother so painfully for so many years. Who was to say that they weren’t together again now? And if they weren’t, at the very least, neither of them was hurting anymore. Only Penny was. Maybe she knew that if she stopped and slowed long enough to mourn properly, she was worried she would never stop.

For a while, she thought she would sell the house her parents had owned and move on like she’d originally planned. She would move to a bigger city and try her hand at her career on a larger scale. Nothing was stopping her, especially now that nothing was keeping her here. But Penny just…didn’t. She found herself 26 years old and exactly where she’d been at 20. She stayed in the house her parents had loved on the outskirts of the city, she kept the pictures on the walls, she kept the same job with the same clients and the same people and the same window at the end of the hall where, when she worked, she could catch glimpses of a world outside.

Penny felt like she had been stuck in one spot and everything had moved on without her. Her friends had moved out of their hometown long ago. Not one of them close enough with her to keep up with past social media posts and occasional texts. She found the dating pool to be absolutely abhorrent, as evidenced by failed date after date. So, Penny worked. When Penny finished working, she went home, ate alone, watched shows alone, showered alone, and slept alone. She was stuck in a stasis that she wasn’t sure she could have escaped if she’d ever bothered to put in the effort, which she hadn’t.

And it was winter, which made everything worse.

Penny trudged the last little bit to her car, kicking out at a block of dirty, frozen snow on the ground for good measure. She knew she was being petulant, but the weather and darkness and drudgery had put her in a foul mood. The drive home was short, only a ten minute drive, but she drove in silence. She pulled up to her home, softly illuminated in the glowing streetlights, and wondered if maybe she should get a pet of some sort to help break up the evenings. No, that would be unfair to the pet she thought, wryly. It was just her alone, as she stuck her key in the old wooden door and gave a grunt as she pushed her way through it.

Everything in the house was old and rickety, but she couldn’t bear to–or afford to–change any of it. It was built in the 1920s, and though her parents had made some updates over the years in their time there, it was still a disaster anytime something broke. It all reminded her so much of her parents, though the sharp sting of grief seemed to be less present now when she stared at the items that reminded her of them.

She’d packed away and donated many things in the time since her father died, but for the most part she left things as they were. She used his mugs and wrapped herself on the couch in the blankets he’d favored. She left the pictures of him and her mother, gazing lovingly at each other, on the mantle for her to see. Her favorite, dead center, of the three of them at a bonfire on this very property–all smiling and filled with joy and toasted marshmallows. Perhaps this didn’t help her inability to move forward, but she felt comforted to keep things how they were. She couldn’t have her parents here, but she could still feel that love every time she came home.

Penny changed into her home uniform of sweats and a t-shirt while her leftovers reheated in the microwave. She lit a candle on the windowsill over the sink, put her work bag in the closet, and grabbed her favorite socks from the dryer. She filled a massive water bottle, covered her spaghetti in an ungodly amount of parmesan, and walked over to the couch where she could promptly wrap herself up and pull up a show on her laptop.

This life of hers was lonely, but it was predictable. Penny always knew where she was going to be and when. She knew her house like the back of her hand. She knew her job, bland as it may be, like second nature. Penny knew exactly what steps to take every day because Penny always took the exact same steps. To be honest with herself, she hated it. She desperately wished sometimes that she could step into that new life she’d so vividly imagined herself having one day, something that could force her to move forward. She hated being stuck here, and she hated even more that she had not done anything to make herself change it. She was embarrassed by her inability to act, even as miserable as she was.

With a sigh, Penny left the empty bowl of spaghetti on the coffee table and brought her laptop to her bed, turning lights out as she went. She would watch a few more episodes and pass out, just like she did every other night this week and every week. She snuggled down into the dark, the only light filtering in from the street lamps outside, and she wondered what it might be like to push herself. Maybe she could start small, maybe even this week. It didn’t have to be a big deal–just some online job postings here and there. She sighed deeply and rolled onto her back. How did I get to the point where making a change equates to applying to more endlessly boring jobs? She rubbed her eyes in exhaustion, both physical and mental.

She shut her laptop and rolled over under the covers. Things could be different. I need things to be different.

As the dregs of sleep took her, the last thought flitting through Penny’s head was of bonfires like the ones she used to have as a child, vivid enough to taste the smoke in her mouth.

_____________________

Penny felt like she had barely drifted off before she jerked awake with a start to the sensation of falling. In the split second it took her to jump to consciousness and open her eyes to the startling dark of her room, she realized something was wrong. It was so dark that she could no longer see the lines of the streetlight streaming in through her blinds. She wasn’t sitting up in the bed–she couldn’t sit up against the force. How could she possibly still be falling if she was awake?

Her skin was on fire–blazing as though it was peeling off her very bones. Each inhalation was agony, like her lungs were struggling to fight through whipping flames and ash. She felt every bit of pain running through her like a shock of electricity. How could I possibly still be dreaming?

The smell of ash was overwhelming, her eyes still seeing nothing but darkness and registering nothing but a distant pain. Her blood was boiling, and she felt that at any moment her body might simply give out. She tried to close her eyes tightly against the darkness in one last attempt at waking from whatever horrible nightmare she’d found herself in.

Suddenly, the pain stopped. An energy crackling along her skin the only reminder something was amiss. The wind still whipped her back, but it was less punishingly hot and more of a temperate warmth. It reminded her of the late spring nights she’d spent as a child out in the yard, playing by the stream and catching lightning bugs until the moon was up.

The breeze at her back enveloped her and smelled of freshly dug dirt and honeysuckle. The air tossed her hair around her face as it moved around her, almost cocooning her in an embrace. What an odd nightmare.

She allowed her eyes to open so she could finally wake up.

Penny saw stars lighting the night sky above her as she crashed into the earth with a deafening crack.

[arch-whatscanon]

@snaptwice asked : Meta + Emma and losing her family @thrillor asked : [META] + emma & starting a family

i'm combining both of these metas into one because they're really connected along the same path, and i feel like bringing up one brings up the other down the road. so, bre and sof, i hope you don't mind sharing for a hot sec.

loss is something that's been a part of emma's life for as long as she can remember. it started small, as many kids' do, with little pets. a goldfish that lived its good little life. a hamster that "ran away." those are the kind of losses that last a few days and then you move forward. but the shell shaking loss, the kind of loss that emma is still grieving and processing, hit her at an age that is far too young to ever should.

emma was eight when she lost her parents. and the phrase is absolutely right - you are never promised tomorrow. hell, she knows you aren't promised the next hour after that. it had been a completely boring and mundane day in the perkins household. emma and jane had spent most of it in the backyard - emma climbing the old oak tree and jane reading a book on the perch for the slide of their swingset their dad had built while ben, the aforementioned father, mowed the lawn with the shitty push mower that he was always tinkering with but never refused to give up. she remembers that her mom brought them all lemonade an hour before they went inside and enjoyed what would be one last meal together - her mom's crockpot ham, mashed potatoes, and broccoli. emma's not much of a cook, by any means, but that's one meal she'll whip together in a time where the grief is a little too loud.

that night, after dinner was finished, baths were taken, and everyone was nestled in their beds, something must have popped in the breaker box. that's what the fire investigator later ruled, at least. emma still remembers holding onto her dad's hand as he guided them through a curtain of smoke that causing her eye and lungs to burn. she remembers her dad letting go of her hand once they reached the sidewalk out front, and how she yelled for him when he promised he'd be right back and disappeared into the house to get their mom. she remembered standing there beside jane, shivering in her power rangers pajama set before she heard a loud crash as the house caved in and the flames grew angrier.

she spent several years after that trying to numb her thoughts. she found that in growing weed, and in turn, found a passion for growing her own versus buying whatever the hell was on the streets. and she was good at it. it got her in trouble at school once, but she never stopped growing weed in her closet and never stopped dreaming about buying herself a big enough patch of land to not have to hunch over these plants every day.

the second she graduated, she knew she wasn't going immediately to college. she packed her bags and ended up in guatemala, where she worked on a few farms and taught english to the occupants in turn for rent and food. she loved guatemala, but she was also pushing away the realities at home. jane called her about her engagement to tom. she congratulated her. she called about holidays. ah, sorry. not gonna be able to fly home this time. she called about the wedding. her pregnancy. tim's birth. emma missed every milestone in her big sister's life because running away from it was easier than facing the grief that emma never healthily processed.

and then one day, tom was calling her, his voice blank and (understandably) bitter. jane's dead.

the news was enough to turn emma's world upside down. she finally booked her ticket home and was back in the place that had taken one last thing from her. she had never felt more lonely in her life . . . but she couldn't find herself leaving. so, she enrolled in the community college to take some business classes to keep herself busy, and she got a job at beanie's to keep a roof over her head. it wasn't meant to be long-term, but two years later, she was steadily keeping at it.

then, another fear entered emma's life out of nowhere.

ted spankoffski was supposed to just be a fun time kind of guy. she was . . . emotionally fucked, to say the least. maybe emma was fucking cursed. everyone she knew and loved died in horrific, unexpected circumstances, so why should she get attached? it's why she couldn't get attached to paul or any other person she tried to date. but here was ted. long-limbed, foul-mouthed, her cynical soulmate.

someone had entered those broken corners of her heart beyond her control, and it terrifies her. she doesn't know how she can take another loss, but it's due time isn't it? right when she's up, it's time for life to knock her on her ass.

emma loves ted. all of the grief and extra love that's been ripped from her? she pours it into him. she's never considered kids, but with him? dear god, she wants it all. she wants kids and their big farmhouse and the pot farm. and seeing him run around the property with their kids hanging off of him? she's never felt more connected to her mom. she's never missed her parents more, but after thirty years, she feels like she's finally at peace.

[that-chandrilan-pilot]

you get one (1) Life Day fic this year, because we all knew I'd never write the rest up. maybe next year.

Morale

wc: ~4000

Poe Dameron x OC Iennyr Wentré

Summary: The Resistance base gets decorated for Life Day.

Life Day on D’Qar had bloomed into a significant month of vague celebration. For the most part, its roots in Wookiee culture had been lost over the years, but the holiday still stood for the principles of celebrating joy, family, and freedom throughout the galaxy, while serving its dual purpose of significant morale boost. It certainly became easy to lose hope in the midst of a war.

The day had started early for Iennyr. During the winter months, the mechanic team needed all the help they could get with routine maintenance and repairs, while their time was taken by larger jobs around the base caused by the decline of the weather. And Iennyr certainly knew her way around most starfighters enough to repair the most common issues at least.

“Iennyr?” The voice of her close friend and fellow pilot, Illyha, rang through the hangar. She attempted to clamber out from beneath the X-Wing she’d been working on, following the voice, while fighting against the cold-brought stiffness in her limbs. “Yen? Fernen said you’d be in here?”

“He was right,” she replied, walking out into the main light to talk face to face with Illyha. “What did you need?”

“We’ve got a couple of droids not feeling their best,” Illyha said. “Mind adding them to your list?” Iennyr dryly laughed.

“Sure, if I ever get to the end, they’ll be next.”

“You’re my favourite!” Illyha beamed. How she was so energised escaped Iennyr. “I had a look as best I could, but I just know you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“I’ll try,” Iennyr shrugged. The minimal details Illyha had given her of the droids’ malfunction had been so vague she wouldn’t understand what she was working with until she saw them for herself.

“Oh, Yen, before I forget, I’m reminding everyone I see to decorate for Life Day a little,” Illyha added. Iennyr was only surprised she hadn’t said something sooner, it was her favourite holiday, and the years they’d spent growing up together, she’d been almost insufferable about it. “Major commented on a lack of spirit, so I’m taking it upon myself to change that.”

“I hear you,” Iennyr replied with a smile, flexing her fingers to keep some movement going in her joints despite the cold hangar. Without it, the job she was in the middle of would take twice as long. “Finish here, droids, decorations.”

“You’re the best,” Illyha said. “Okay, I’ll see you later.” She promptly left, giving Iennyr the space and processing time to reset her plans for the day, and continue work on de-rusting the exterior of the X-Wing.

It was a long, tedious job, and her fingers were steadily going numb throughout the process. The hangar surely didn’t count as inside either; a harsh draught ripped through the inside, with the biting cold doubled with every gust of wind from outside. Maybe they weren’t wrong about the approaching storm on last night’s forecast. Internally she questioned just how long she could keep working through the deep ache in her hands. Rust work was the worst.

By the time she left the hangar, the morning had turned into afternoon and the storm outside had worsened. The sky was darker than it should have been, even during winter, and the wind had considerably picked up. Torrential rain would soon be inevitable. Fighting through that to get off world would be reserved for essential trips in light fighters only, she presumed. Optimism flickered through her mind in a fleeting moment of enjoying company. Even if it was mostly the company of droids, that was still preferable to being in the cold hangar alone.

The droid depot was nearly the opposite of the hangar in every way. As much as the bitter cold was replaced with warmth, and the faint smell of new electrics, the high volume level was also as notable as the empty silence of the hangar had been. With a steady increase in recruits, the programming of droids had to increase to match, and of course the repairs reflected it too. Iennyr hovered just inside the doorway, keeping the door itself shut to maintain the comfortable room temperature, while she waited for either Jess or Illyha to be free enough to point her in the direction of the malfunctioners she needed to look at. Jess got there first.

“Illyha said you’d be coming,” she smiled gratefully. “They’re just over here. Processing needs some fine tuning on the R4, and the BB unit’s underside wiring seems loose.” Iennyr had hoped for a little more instruction, but she’d just have to see for herself, she supposed.

“I’m on it.”

As soon as Jess was out of earshot, Iennyr sighed. She’d been given the vaguest instructions possible, and this would definitely take up the remainder of her day, if not keep her busy well into the evening.

“R4, let’s start diagnostic work with you,” she said, hoping her frustration wouldn’t be reflected at the droid. It didn’t deserve that.

Her work had started with a visual inspection of its processing chip, with nothing obvious wrong there. Likely, Jess had already done that, the most obvious first point of repair. Full calibration was her next troubleshooting step. Simply getting the droid’s front camera pannel to follow a small laser dot proved nothing was wrong there. It was also fully capable of following simple verbal commands with complete accuracy.

“Alright, let’s increase the challenge a little,” Iennyr muttered aloud, helping her keep track of her own process. It was during triple commands that the R4 unit started having issues. A command of moving in one direction while looking in another, and repeating back a sequence highlighted the issue.

“So you’re not a multi-tasker.”

Once again, Iennyr opened the front panel of the droid to access its sensitivity core. The processing chip was already fine, but it took her a second look to notice some literally crossed wires.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice that before,” she apologised to the droid, carefully removing them both from their incorrect sockets and hoping her frozen fingertips still had enough dexterity in them to delicately untangle each tiny wire without causing too much distress to the droid. The R4 unit seemed unbothered as she plugged them back into their correct sockets, closing the panel before giving the droid the commands again, and watching in satisfaction as they were easily completed.

“One down, one to go.”

The BB unit had a much less mysterious issue, but as soon as Iennyr opened its bottom panel, she realised she would be working on it a lot longer. ‘Loose wires’ was a colloquial understatement. Kneeling on the floor beside the droid, she shoved her hands into her knee joints in a hope her body heat would warm them, as what she was looking at was a mix of shorted and fried wires that would need replacing, and some downright dodgy connections that may have started to wear away at the droid’s proprioception centre. Hopefully a repair on that wouldn’t be necessary today. She did want to at least try and get some sleep tonight.

The spare parts were easily accessible to Iennyr, and it only took a couple of hours to meticulously rewire the entire affected area. Her bones ached, still partially cold, but equally still able to complete the task. She didn’t try to watch Jess leave for the day, but it was impossible not to notice, and she had to ignore the bitterness from her own uncompleted tasks.

Showing up to get dinner with aching hands and a sore back had Iennyr unsure if sentient connection was what she really needed after a day of isolated repair tasks, or if she’d prefer to grab a relatively juiceless fruit and just head back to her room and sleep off the cold. EB-43 was still in the droid depot, awaiting his winter inspection to be completed; only a few droids had been prioritised, and even then, they’d all be kept in the same location if they weren’t needed. While her mind pondered it all over, dinner was served on a tray in front of her, so sitting with some people became her easiest option.

Illyha had clearly left the droid depot either before, or faster, than Iennyr had, as she was animatedly talking with Poe and Snap at a table. A soft smile broke through Iennyr’s exhaustion at seeing her friend so happy though, a part of her recalling some of the best memories she’d had on Chandrila. Wordlessly, she sat with the three other pilots, content in listening to Illyha’s voice more than her words, catching here and there phrases about Life Day plans.

“You must’ve been working all day,” Poe softly spoke, immediately getting Iennyr’s attention and it was a good thing it did, for it was directed right at her.

“Were you not?” she quickly quipped back.

“Doesn’t really count compared to being out there,” Poe replied, shaking his head. “Give me the rest of your list, we’ll swap tomorrow.” He smiled, in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be willing to give up a task if she didn’t think she was doing someone else a favour. “You can look over some maps instead.” To Iennyr, it became hard to tell how much he honestly wanted to give her a break, and how much he just hated maps.

“You don’t want that,” Iennyr doubled down, her own hatred for the job becoming a relatable argument to keep him inside and warm. “I spent my morning on rust.”

“Oh, no one wants that,” Snap agreed. Like Poe, he looked considerably warmer than Iennyr felt. Her bones were still shivering from her morning in the hangar.

“I’ve got it,” Poe repeated. One of them would stop insisting soon enough.

“No, don’t worry about it, keeps me busy” Iennyr said, claiming the last word in the matter before looking at Illyha with a smile. “Anyway, I’m decorating tonight so you can guarantee my morale will be boosted like you’ve never seen it before.” Despite her light sarcasm, Illyha took her sentiment wholeheartedly, beaming back in approval. The beginning of the season meant she’d grin about anything she could remotely link to the holiday.

With his offer thoroughly refused, conversation returned to their upcoming tasks for the following day, and slight anticipation for the overnight storm and what it would affect despite the relative shelter of the base. Even hot dinner did little to warm Iennyr, simply burning her tongue a little.

She was the first to get up and leave, more than ready to turn in for the night. Poe followed her out. If anyone had noticed how worn down she’d seemed for the last few weeks, it was him. And maybe the premise of Life Day decorations being a quick fix was laughable, but there was certainly some truth in finding optimism within the holiday.

“Hey, you want a hand?” he offered. Maybe she wouldn’t exchange rust repairs for map organisation, but stringing up some decorations after hours definitely seemed like a reasonable offer. “I have nothing going on?”

“I mean, it’s just some lights but—” she started, quickly realising he wasn’t really insinuating she’d need help. It was more of an excuse to actually spend some time with her outside of the job, and that had definitely been lacking recently. Shutting people out certainly wouldn’t help in the long run. “Yeah, come over, that sounds like fun.” Her smile felt a little forced, but through exhaustion, not irritation, and he could read that.

The walk across the base was filled with more storm warnings. The sky had fully darkened without a visible star in the sky, and strong gusts of wind blew through the tunnelled out base. The launchpads were empty too, the usual starfighters they hosted now tucked into hangars.

Iennyr kicked her boots off just inside her door, and out of politeness Poe did the same, pushing them in line with where Iennyr had haphazardly left hers.

“Okay, lights,” she muttered, digging out a slightly dented box from under her bed. The contents of it were most of her belongings; everything else she owned was in use so often she kept it out. Illyha had gifted her a simple light string one year after finding out she hadn’t celebrated Life Day before, and she’d obviously treasured them since. The string was only about a metre long, but it would fit perfectly along the edge of her bed. The warm white glow from them might even be nice to fall asleep to.

“Do you feel your morale lifting yet, Poe?” Iennyr joked as she taped down the wire between each bulb to her bedframe, leaving the small battery pack balanced on the frame itself. Hopefully it would’ve retained some charge, but when it needed it, EB would be able to plug into them and charge the battery later.

“You know, I am definitely feeling a lot morale-y-er,” he lightheartedly replied, matching her attitude. Poe had sat on her bed, legs crossed to give her space to work, for standing in the middle of the room wouldn’t have given her enough elbow room either. Feeling like he was making himself too comfortable in her space was his best option.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Iennyr added, smiling up at him as she finished sticking down the last bit of tape. “I think that’ll do.” The box was pushed back under her bed, and she could finally enjoy her free time at the end of the day, not thinking about rust or maps or droids. “Did you used to celebrate Life Day? Before the Resistance?” Without a thought, she sat on her bed next to Poe, up against her pillow with her legs tucked up to her chest. She hadn’t quite warmed from being outside all day.

“Yeah, I mean, my parents were both in the war with Chewbacca to celebrate directly according to where it came from, they were definitely aware of it prior to that too,” Poe told her. After she’d made herself comfortable as well, he felt a lot less concerned about taking up too much of her space. She couldn’t have chosen to sit further away from him if she’d wanted a larger personal bubble. “I remember a few celebrations at home as a kid, then a general kind of ‘Life Day’ season throughout the galaxy even after I left.” Looking back, it was a nice bit of familiarity that had followed him wherever he went in the galaxy. That at the same point in each year, the galaxy would celebrate joy and harmony somehow, no matter what else was going on around him. “The New Republic did a few decorations around the place and different food, before the war started at least.” He couldn’t be certain how rationing affected their Life Day dinner, for he wasn’t completely aware of the exact moment the war started within his memories. Looking back far enough it wasn’t there, and then at some point it was. “Did you?”

“A little? Not really though,” Iennyr said, thinking back to the clear stance her blood relatives had taken on the holiday. “My family, my aunt and uncle never did, they always said they weren’t Wookiee, so why celebrate.” She had been thoroughly aware of the holiday though, and even included in elements hosted by other families. “Illyha’s family did though, and she loves it so I kind of started because of her.”

“I think we can all tell Illyha celebrates,” Poe smiled. Illyha’s insistence to decorate had been shared with the whole base, it seemed.

“Right, so now imagine her as a kid,” Iennyr laughed, fond of the specific childhood memories of Life Day. “The whole shop would be decorated, we did gifts, I think she even had one of those festive sweaters?” It wasn’t really a memory that had to be questioned, she vividly remembered Illyha’s bright red sweater, adorned with bells.

“One of the really tacky ones?” Poe checked to make sure they were both envisioning the same thing, leaning forward a little to rest his elbows on his knees. Iennyr nodded.

“Exactly.”

“Did you have one?”

“No, I didn’t have that kind of disposable income,” Iennyr said. It had meant to seem funnier, but was met with a slight pause from Poe. She supposed spending anything she earned on food or speeder fuel maybe wasn’t everyone’s upbringing.

“I’m getting you one this year,” he decided. The amused, knowing smile on his face told her he was only half joking.

“You’re not,” she said, equally smiling but hoping to push him further into joking than not. “I’m not wearing it.”

“You so are,” he playfully argued back. “You’re gonna look so good.”

The wind loudly howled outside in the quiet between them, Poe reluctant to go back out in it to his own room, and Iennyr reluctant to let him. They could continue talking a little longer, right? The weather would die down enough for a walk across the base to be safe soon enough.

“Were there any other traditions you guys had?” he asked.

“Belun’s family—well, his family’s staff—used to make this huge dinner, and I think I’ve had variations of that every year since,” Iennyr said, still trying to find the connection between Belun’s highest class dinners, and the ways other people had prioritised more expensive food. It seemed the tradition lay in the sentiment as opposed to any specific food item. “Even when I was working at the garage, we’d make efforts to steal more expensive stuff and make some kind of feast with what we managed to get.”

“That is surprisingly wholesome,” Poe said. “We had the food too, I remember looking forward to it all year when I was younger.” Another slight pause led him to considering another tradition he’d witnessed, yet never really understood. Rain battered against the small window. “Did you have that thing with the plant, or was that a local thing?”

“The plant?” Iennyr questioned. Poe only felt slightly silly to have brought up something so unrelatable and specific, and immediately wanted to drop it. “What did you do with a plant?” It could not have been clearer she’d never heard of it.

“No, it’s a local thing then, forget it.”

“You have to tell me now,” she insisted, “or anything I make up in my head is going to be endlessly weirder.” The likelihood of the tradition being entirely common, just something she’d never specifically come across, was incredibly high.

“Okay, I hardly remember because I haven’t actually seen it outside of Yavin, and my dad kind of stopped after Mom died,” Poe disclaimed, nervous as to just how strange it would sound to someone who’d never heard of it. “But there was this plant they’d hang up, like in doorways or places where people would cross paths, and I think the whole thing was if you were under it at the same time as someone else, you were supposed to kiss them.” A moment of silence passed as Iennyr ran the concept through her mind again.

“Are you making things up to see what I’ll believe?” she asked genuinely.

“You think I could make that up?” Another moment passed as she scanned his face to see if the deflection itself was another joke. It didn’t seem to be.

“No, we never did that, I don’t know anyone who ever did that,” she answered his initial question, before giving everything he’d told her a second thought, trying to figure out exactly why, if it was real, she’d never heard of it before. “Was it just for married people?”

“Maybe?” Poe answered, equally trying to catch up to her train of thought. “I guess if your aunt and uncle didn’t celebrate…”

“Yeah, Illyha’s mom was single when we lived on Chandrila, Belun’s mom too, actually,” Iennyr said, the tradition starting to make a little more sense between them. “The garage guys weren’t about to start…” The very concept of the group at the garage starting anything amongst one another had her shaking her head in disgust, like it would erase the thought entirely. The slight grimace remained on her face. “Yeah, no one was married, or getting married anytime soon.”

“That’s gotta be it then,” Poe decided, both pilots satisfied with the explanation they’d made up between them.

“I’ll have to ask Illyha about it, if anyone knows, it’ll be her,” Iennyr decided. In another moment they’d both stopped talking, the storm outside caught their attention. From the sheer volume of the wind, it made perfect sense as to why they’d put the ships in hangars, and the rain sounded loud enough to consider it might have frozen mid air.

“Did they say how long that storm’s supposed to last?” Poe asked, verbalising Iennyr’s conceptual thoughts.

“I heard it would be going all night, and only getting worse according to some of the mechanics.” Poe’s eyebrows raised in disbelief before he sighed.

“So I probably shouldn’t have stayed this long?”

“You probably shouldn’t have stopped by at all,” Iennyr honestly told him, realising quickly it may have sounded honest in ways she didn’t mean. “I mean, I’m always glad to have you here but…”

“I do not want to be outside in that,” Poe finished for her.

“Yeah, and I’d feel bad letting you,” she agreed. “I mean, I’ll be awake for a while, stay longer.” The offer was easy to make and comfortable to hear.

It was equally natural for them to continue talking. Poe offered again to take on her mechanics list the following day, and Iennyr again refused so he didn’t have to be outside entirely by himself for that long, but under the guise of hating map reviews more. Their own minimal plans for the season also came up, each with the caveat of conditional time off they likely wouldn’t get; Poe mentioned going back to Yavin IV to spend some actual time with his father, to which Iennyr mentioned that she should probably see her family too, should time off allow it. The main light flickered with another audible gust of wind, the storm clearly threatening the base’s main power. Thinking about anything else but going out in it, Poe brought up the rumours he’d heard of various Life Day plans other soldiers were hosting at the base.

“Do you know for sure if Illyha’s organising a Life Day dinner?” he asked.

“I haven’t heard for sure,” Iennyr replied, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

It was only when quiet fell over them both again, that the haze of actual tiredness also hit them.

“Okay, I think I’m gonna do it,” Poe said, slowly unfurling himself from the comfortable ball he’d tucked into while talking for so long.

“Are you sure?” Iennyr questioned, slightly serious about it. She definitely enjoyed the company, and nothing had changed about the weather conditions.

“I mean, I’ll have to at some point anyway, I can’t stay here all night,” he laughed. Iennyr didn’t.

“I would be completely okay with you staying the night,” she offered. “It sounds awful out there, and I mean, I’d be fine sleeping on the floor for a night if you’d be uncomfortable.” She paused again, concerned she was coming across insistent. “I mean, unless you want to go, I’m not—”

“I don’t,” Poe interrupted, before she could think herself into oblivion. “I don’t want to go. And I wouldn’t be uncomfortable.” Iennyr had to mentally backtrack a little, replaying her own words in her head. When she realised what he meant, she allowed a slight smiled to fall onto her face as she nodded.

“Okay. Get comfy,” she said. “I’ll get the light.”

For something that could have been awkward if they weren’t both so exhausted, Iennyr squashed a smile as she climbed under the covers beside him. The bed was already warm from where they’d both been sat for hours prior, and the string of lights filled the room with a soft glow, a similar level to freighter emergency lights.

“Goodnight,” Iennyr whispered, deciding to stop thinking about it all.

“Night,” Poe mumbled into the pillow.

Whether it was the company, or the decorations, the Resistance base had felt a boost of morale on the first of Life Day season.

[yanderenightmare]

How would the yanderes react if their darling was the one to initiate intimacy/sex for the first time, and how do you think their darling would come to that point? (stockholm syndrome? being touch starved/deprived as punishment? etc.)

thirsty ! BNHA imagines

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncon/dubcon, abuse, profanity, anxiety, guilt, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

-ADDICTION

She was riding for dear life, chasing that light at the end of the tunnel.

Eyes tightly squeezed shut as she hopped up and down, sliding upon Bakugo’s impressive girth, moaning each time his tip poked into her cervix as she clapped down onto his lap again and again and again and again, harder and harder, deeper and deeper, hitting knew spots upon new spots, messaging uncharted territory, rearranging her organs, poking and prodding and fitting so snuggly and perfectly inside her she could all but start crying from the bliss of it all.

She was crying. Hot tears streaming down her cheeks, numb with how warm she was, feverish and febrile and growing madder with pleasure, drunk and drowning in euphoria.

“Fuck.” He stuttered out his gruff moan, barely holding onto her hips anymore.

He'd been inspired and insured that it would be fine to let her move on her own now, knowing he’d made it clear enough she wouldn’t be going anywhere without him being satisfied first, thinking she was showing so much enthusiasm simply to make him come quicker.

He hadn't yet sensed how desperately she was chasing the same release he was, especially since he’d already made sure she came twice before they even started. Once on fingers, once on his tongue. He wasn’t at all thinking she was preparing herself for a third time, especially not on his cock.

Having left her to do all the work for a while now, having been rendered completely blissed-out and awestruck with feeling her eager movements on top of him, he couldn’t really care much for how pathetic a mess he must have looked beneath her.

His eyes scrunched together to hold onto every sharp movement of her hips, lips pursed out and puckered with his grit-teeth, his cock standing proudly, pushing into her again and again at such a fast pace he was barely able to feel his climax coming dangerously close, too numb with pleasure to part it from his release, but as his balls were emptying inside her he shot up into a sitting position in favor of lying down, needing to hold her still so he could pump his load without it spilling, arms reaching around her to keep her pushed down and impaled on him.

She tried humping for more friction even in the tight secured lock, rocking into him, kept snug against his chest, trying so desperately to reach with his cock what was screaming inside her.

He made some indication he was done. His thick arms losing their grip around her torso, head resting on her shoulder as he panted, not yet understanding what hell or heaven he was in for, taken by surprise, by overwhelming panicked surprise.

“No!” She roared out her little whine. Her smaller hands protruding nails digging into his chest to push him back down on the bed, then continuing to ride despite feeling him tense beneath her. 

He tried moving again, fearing, panicking because of his overstimulated cock being continuously pleased almost enough for it to be painful. The hunger already quenched being kept fed, drowning the thirst, so much he felt as though something might burst.

Her hands moved to yank his hair, pulling him back to rest on the pillow, her other hand pushing, seizing around his throat, violating his Adam’s apple, forcing him to gasp as he choked both on the action itself but also at the sheer controversy of it all.

Her mouth hovering above his own as he groaned from the pain of having his hairs ripped from his scalp and his vocal cords abused, whereas she only moaned in return, too concerned with feeling every inch of her being on fire to care.

“Oh fuck, please, Katsuki, please, more.”

Something tight tugged in his pelvis at the same time awe blossomed in his chest at the sight of her and those pretty eyes looking at him with tears and that sweet crinkle of plead between her brows.

His name dripping from her tongue like honey as she continued going up and down the length of his oversensitive cock, slipping even easier in now when coated in his cum. Her thighs sticking to his in juices as her head dipped to lay against his chest while she continued slapping, jumping on his cock with an unrelenting, unsatisfied determination.

His cock throbbed inside her, nearly crying, screaming with something playfully akin to aching, a pressure building again even as he thought it impossible.

She was stabbing herself with his cock, squeezing and seizing and fluttering around the blade, driving him mad.

But as soon as he got over the feeling of bursting, could he pull himself back.

Grabbing her waist and hoisting her off him, she nearly sobbed at the loss of contact.

He pouted in mimic, condescendingly. “Is the little slut begging for more?”

He grinned maniacally as he mounted her, surprised to see and feel her desperately trying to get closer as he pushed her down into the sheets beneath him, lining himself up with her sopping greedy cute little cunt.

He only teased for about a moment more before impaling her on his length once again, pushing all the way into her in a mere swift second, dragging a real pornstar-beautiful moan from her, gleeful to see her squeal with pleasure as he began thrusting into her sharply, angled to hit that sweet blissful spot inside her.

“Be a good girl and cum for me again.” He growled and she swore she felt it like thunder in her stomach, like explosions, like lightning striking. “That’s what you want isn’t it?” The frenzy in his voice, once only terrifying, now made her toes curl and her head feel like cotton. “You want me to make you cum? You want to cum on my cock like a good slut? My slut? Come on, cum for me.”

She was being fucked completely silly.

Tongue falling from her mouth along with a string of wet moans and drool and his name. Her eyes swimming with tears as she tried focusing on his and the gut-churning look of feral dominant lust in the heat of them that had her pussy clenching around him, yet was barely able to hold his gaze as she was being fucked into a cross-eyed mess, feeling the pressure build and build and build and getting so close to bursting she was crying with how she was being kept from her climax by some unknown cruelty.

She just needed him to go harder, go faster.

She just needed more, she just needed him, needed him and his glorious cock to help her.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

-APOLOGY

“I hate you!”

It slipped before she was able to stop it, before she could reconsider, before she could save herself.

She watched with terror-wide eyes locked on his, awaiting whatever awful murderous intent he chose fit for her punishment, and was at once trembling.

Knees growing weak, apologies falling broken on her tongue as her fear’s need to cry outweighed her wish for recovery, resulting in simply blubbering on her sobs. Small frail hands reached out in protection, in a timid means of making him give her a second to gather herself as she fell apart with the painful fear that clenched around her heart, making it hard to breath, making it hard to see, hard to stand, hard to think, hard to do anything except for gasp for air, air that seemed to not want to enter her lungs quick enough.

“Hey, hey… breathe.”

She hadn’t even realised she’d collapsed, nor that Izuku had come to catch her fall, rocking her back and forth in his arms, head resting in his palm. Her eyes wide and frantic as she looked up at him for help, helpless in her crippling anxiety, anxiety he was the trigger of and seemingly the only source of comfort as well.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I take it back, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, please, forgive me, forgive me!” She gulped on shuddering breaths, sobbing, hysterical in her scrambling, so completely panicked, so utterly destroyed by her fear of him, knowing how those hands of his could hold the world just as easy as her head and her heart, where despite knowing that through and through she still sought out the comfort in how his fingers stroked through her locks, petting her calm.

Her hands, retrieving more and more mobility, reached up to fold across his back.

“I don’t hate you, I’m sorry, I’m just stupid, forgive me, I’m just ungrateful and spoiled and stupid.”

Tears rolled down her face as she propped herself up in his lap, hands desperate as she intertwined them in his locks, fervently trying to make up for her mistake, trying to prove she was able to correct herself, that she didn’t need another lesson, another one of his mind-shattering bone-crushing lessons. 

The fact that he’d forced her into a perverted set of lingerie had fallen to waste, the fact that he’d been lecturing her about how she belonged to him, how she had no right to disobey him, how she was just a dumb little girl in a world too big for her to ever possibly understand, how she was good for nothing but being stress-relief for him. None of that mattered anymore.

What mattered was persuading him into taking enough pity on her to let her indiscretion slide.

She just needed to beg enough, she just needed to grovel and plead and cry enough.

“Sweetie…” He hummed, no anger present in his voice, but then again, there never was. Tone always laced or dripping with honey, giving no hint as to where his mindset was or what he was about to do.

And all it managed to do was make her cry harder, hold onto him tighter, fear climbing higher.

“It’s okay, Sweetie… I know you didn’t mean it.”

His words were all but reassuring, as she was waiting for the other side of the coin to show its face, waiting to hear his but’s and if’s and punishments and corrections, waiting for those hands of his to show her, to prove to her what she already knew yet let herself forget, that she was a small helpless stupid girl and he was nothing short of god.

“But…”

And there it was, her worst fear, her worst nightmare, all sounded in one word.

She couldn’t let him continue, and by god she couldn’t let him finish.

Wet soft bloated lips met, or rather pushed, forced themselves upon his stiff ones, suffocating all reprimanding comments, all and everything he was about to say.

She shuffled into a cradling position on his lap, body and chest glued tightly in his embrace, hands running, tangling, gripping desperately onto the emerald locks at the nape of his neck, lips whimpering upon his ones, as though begging them to kiss back.

That desperation tasted delicious on his tongue. How she sat on his lap like some wounded animal, begging for the kind and nurturing hand of their master to help soothe the pain away.

He wasn’t about to discourage that type of behavior, that form of apology.

She wasn’t ready to take his cock, but then again, she never was with how gifted he was and how cursed she were. His cock being so threateningly huge, just like the rest of him.

But given the rest of him was just as threatening, she could manage, she could survive taking but one of his limbs rather than having all his brutal strength take care of her.

So she buttoned up his pants, trembling fingers working hurriedly, spiked by fear of both what was to come and what would come were she to stop. Her mouth still laying sloppy tearful kisses onto his lips, as he didn’t seem to mind just how much she was sobbing to please him.

She was at once stroking him when he was out, her other hand rushing to save her own life as it messaged her clit, trying to warn her of what was to come, what needed to come.

Still he hadn’t said anything, still let her slave for him. Though that might be for the best in this case.

His large hands placed palms down on the floor, simply supporting him as he leaned on them.

When she broke off the kiss, he was about to correct her, yet she ducked quicker, wrapping her warm and wet lips around his cock and giving th head a swirl with her tongue before pushing down as far as she could, glucking on him so eagerly and desperately, rendering what reprimanding movement was to come of his hand to an encouraging petting of her head instead.

She only sucked for a brief moment, leaving the proudly bobbing spit-slicked pole cold once she parted with only strings of drool connecting them. She shuffling back up to align him with her entrance hurriedly.

Her lip quivered as she looked at him to search his stoic features, her body frozen, left to simply hover and sway above his impatient member, as she tried her best to quickly brace herself for the pain she was about to feel.

But then his patience wavered, and strong hands griped her hips and forced her down to take the cock, impaling her as he sheathed himself fully, earning a high-pitched screaming whimper from her.

She fell to his chest, hands tugging his shirt to steady herself as she winced at the feel of him tearing her apart.

“Silly me…” He chuckled, the sound cold and gut-wrenching. “Rewarding you when I should be punishing you.”

She breathed sporadically, hitched and hiccupping.

“I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve it-”

Agreeing was the only course of action for her, the only thing she could afford.

“That’s right, you don’t deserve it.”

But the world is far from fair.

TODOROKI SHOTO

-DISTRACTION

He was coming.

He was coming and nothing could stop him, nothing could change his mind, nothing could help and nothing could save her, except maybe the next worst thing.

Bargaining pain with unwanted pleasure, the price being her pride, her dignity, her strength.

It would happen anyway after he was done making pretty artwork of her flesh, after he’d tampered with her limits long enough.

She had the chance to skip to the end. But the price remained her spirit, steep like her fear and heavy like her mind, heart and soul scaled together.

And yet, she made the gamble.

It was either she let him bite, chew and swallow her heart and spirit and soul on repeat or she bit back.

This was her biting back.

This was survival of the fittest.

This was her surviving.

She needed to take her aim now or never, before he did it first. So, she barreled the arrow, struck the bow, leveled her hawkeye and took the shot.

“I love you, Shoto.” She proclaimed.

Arrow flying, hands smooth in receiving his chest before he could tug her towards him. Meeting his hungry approach with a focused desperation of her own, dedicated as she pushed him back so that he was the one sitting and she was the one on top for once.

Hands gentle, without much pressure, drumming up the bruises and scars of his chiseled stomach, one side cold, the other hot.

“Will you let me show you how much I love you?” She questioned.

Time to see if the arrow had hit, lips pressed firmly to his forehead a short second later, before pressing one against his temple, careful to not hurt him where the skin was scarred and sensitive around his eye, then one against his jaw, and neck, and shoulder, and chest, trailing down further and further.

He stirred once she kissed on a particular cut, his hands coming to hold her back as he began sitting up.

Yet she was firm in her resolution, her own hands pushing his shoulders down.

“No, no...” She tutted, tone still soft. Not at all as though she was giving him a demand. Not at all like how he thought a command should sound, what he’d learned his mistakes would grant him from those people he trusted.

Not at all like his father’s voice of tyranny and terror.

“Let me take care of you.” She whispered it, and his heart clenched with memories of how his mother would patch him up after training.

The arrow well planted in his chest now.

“You just lie back...”

She kissed his cheek then, adamant she’d make him cry, make him become soft, help him, to save herself.

“Relax....”

She kissed his lips then and she swore she heard him whimper like a kicked pup, all fragile beneath her, broken and just a boy rather than the cruel man she knew him to be.

And then he was crying. Softly and quietly, but crying nonetheless. Thin streams of saltwater running down the corners of his pretty eyes.

He looked so vulnerable then. Vulnerable like glass, no… like ice melting.

And when the ice had finally melted she could either swim or drown in what ocean was left behind, all depended on how softly she handled him, where one wrong word would make him sharp like bladed icicles again, and the right words would keep him like this. Small, weak, needy, tame. You can only kiss storms when you’re right in the eye of them, where one misstep will send you flying, falling, to your despair, to your death.

She could make no mistakes.

She aligned her naked sex up with his. The steam in the room layered thick with dew on their naked bodies, alongside nervous sweat.

“You and I are the only ones that matter in this entire world, Shoto…”

She sat down, hungrily ripping a groan from his chest at her almost brutal pace, and she moaned as she dipped down to lay herself on his chest, feeling him sink and twitch inside her, fill her up so perfectly, like two things falling into sync, like yin and yang, like balance.

“It’s only you and me between heaven and hell.”

She whispered the words like a chant, like witchcraft, the breath of them tickling his skin as she kissed down his pelvis, still firmly planted on top of him, hand trailing after, running over him smoothly and precisely, careful in their venture, before dropping down from the loft of his hips to entangle her small breakable finger in his destructive hands

“And everything else is just falling snow…”

She rocked her hips, like a smooth wave rolling into shore, thighs cradling his torso snugly, keeping him safe and trapped beneath her as she continued lolling forward on repeat, tentatively feeling after the pressure his hands gave hers, how tightly he squeezed, if it were a form of encouragement or discomfort, their wrists laid on the warmth of her thighs.

“I love you, Snow-Angel.” He cried, voice jagged and so far away from anything she’d ever heard.

And though this was what she’d been aiming for, having it enrol before her was a frightening type of uncharted waters she hadn’t at all any knowledge of how to tackle.

And that fear, the fear of drowning, increased so spectacularly when he sat up.

His fingers slipping from hers, leaving her control and wrapping around her torso instead, tightly, so tightly she feared he’d break her spine.

And then the heat followed, the blistering heat.

And then the cold, the promise of frostbite.

But then… he was still crying...

Crying like a toddler into her shoulder, nuzzling in her neck and all those terrifying and painful promises seemed to mellow, leaving her unscathed yet panicked, as without the pain she had no way of knowing when or where to go, resulting to her simply sitting there, comforting her captor, speared on his cock of her own choosing, with his tears running down her back.

Her heart beating painfully rapid in her chest as she slowly and unsurely raising her freed fingers to wrap into his dual-coloured locks, petting his head and hoping, praying she wasn’t falling prey to any false sense of safety.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

-HABIT

They were doing what they always did.

Simply lounging.

Slugged on the bed, in each-other’s arms. Sickly sweet fumes in the dank room. Air thick like a cloud, dark and grey and matt.

The walls having been erased or rather blurred out into nothing, leaving them there, floating in and about nothing, each-other’s warmth the only constant.

Where in the complete lack of scheduling it had become like schedule, like ritual to simply lay and do nothing, then do something that threw them back into exhaustion which in turn resulted in yet again doing nothing, except maybe sleep.

The day lacked much, and in its lacking there were certain expectations, certain instincts and impulses that had arisen inside her.

She knew something was coming, anticipation, she knew something was supposed to come, and yet they still laid there and did nothing, when they were supposed to be doing… well… something, so that they yet again could go back to doing nothing.

It was safe to say her head had become rather empty at this point.

“Are we forgetting something?” She felt the need to ask, felt the need to hear Dabi tell her, give orders in where she should go and what she should say, something not allowing her to feel the terror of why those necessasties had become second nature or why she found refuge in them.

He mumbled in return, tone dark and scratchy like gravel or coal, evoking something to twist in her lower abdomen and purr with pleasure. “And what would that be?”

Dabi’s hand still fingered a rolled blunt, perfect with his expertise and nimble lanky fingers. Hand dragged to his mouth to take the final blow, smoke puffed out into the small space of the bedroom, layered thickly in the air.

Her eyes puffy and watery and red yet remaining open out of habit. Her lips burned, or rather stung, prickled from the after affects, her mouth dry as though full of ash, and as she breathed she felt the scratchy raw feeling of her throat by how much she’d been coughing earlier.

Dabi was always certain she didn’t take proper drags, therefore resulting in taking the drag for her, locking his lips painfully tight around hers, blowing until her face turned red and he could be sure the smoke reached her lungs. He was never satisfied before her eyes glossed over, blank and stupid, blinking at him so softly, as all off her became softer and softer, both her gaze, her voice, her words, her actions, her thoughts, her resistance.

“I don’t know…” She honestly didn’t, all she felt was that something was missing, that she required something, or that something was required of her, the feeling that she was supposed to be doing something or have something done to her. 

Dabi turned his head to look at her, inspecting her features, the cute confusion warping her face into a feeble timid expression, brows softly scrunched together, eyes focusing on nothing yet something as she raked through her empty head, her foggy ditzy subdued head.

A look of near endearment present on his face as he watched on for a second for the sake of amusement.

He cupped her cheek, her eyes quickly skittering to meet his, as though on command, knowing by instinct that was what she was supposed to do.

“Are you waiting for something, doll?”

Her lips quivered, and he could already spot the brimming of bubbling tears that came flooding to the surface. Soon to be spluttering out hopeless mumbles if he didn’t save her from the fall first. He was almost tempted not to, if only to scoop up what was left afterwards, put the pieces back together in whatever order he so wished, but he was feeling benevolent tonight.

His smile was soft as it neared her, deceptively so, kind and well-wishing, as his lips met with hers.

It felt like salvation, it felt like peace, it felt like all was falling into place, the way they should be, and she felt safe, no… she felt saved. From what? She did not know, as she had not the mind to care. All she had the mind for was to kiss back.

She moved more on her own now, with the reminder of his tongue in her mouth, the taste making her feel like she was being welcomed home.

Leg sweeping over his to plant herself in his lap, in her rightful place, feeling the all too familiar poking of his hard cock kept bulged beneath the comfort or discomfort of his briefs and jeans, brushing into and past the thin fabric of her cotton laced panties, soon to be drenched, as on cue, as though she’d been taught that would be best.

Her eyes were wide, wide with falling, with being lost, with wanting him to catch her, to save her, wide with waiting, hanging onto his every movement, as though incapable of doing anything on her own, as though only capable of taking orders. Just as he’d shaped her.

His finger drummed alongside her thighs where she knelt on his cock. His other hand doing the same, meeting where his jeans were kept on, unbuttoning, then zipping down, all so slowly, all to watch her features turn even more lost, into something that looked so adorably like hope.

“Is this what you wanted?”

He pulled his stiff dick out of his boxers, having it spring and stand proudly in the air, curved and pierced with all sorts of fun.

She licked her lips mindlessly, eyeing the pole, wanting, no, needing, no… compelled to pull her underwear aside, revealing what dripping drooling well-trained mess had pooled from her.

Feeling so utterly fulfilled, it feeling so positively right, as though what she’d lost was now returned, was she’d been missing she’d found, and what more, what she’d been missing had been missing her as well, hungrily so, painfully so. It was all she could think of when she eased down onto the towering pole until she was filled up to the brim, only to push down some more to envelope him entirely, feel him stretch and curve inside her.

More after that, she didn’t know what she needed to do, but she was sure she’d know once she got there, she was sure Dabi would be a saint and tell.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

-BOREDOM

She was losing her mind.

It was a horrendous type of silence. Silence that wasn’t really silence at all as it was cut and sliced and murdered and bled out into the tactless endless mocking clicking of Tomura’s consoler.

Sharp aggressive smacks where he thumbed the joysticks, quick slaps with his long veiny bony fingers slamming with unneeded force into fragile buttons. 

She felt the sting in her temple, eyes squeezed so impossibly tight to a close as her ears sung with irritation.

“I’m done.”

She only barely recognised her own voice. Though she knew she mouthed the words and she knew she added timber and tone to sound them, but that whine, that sickly sweet defeat that laced the syllables, as though she were crying, as though she were begging, that wasn’t her, but that was who she’d become.

“You win.”

And she wasn’t at all sure if she cared anymore about her defeat.

“No… I’m about to.” He mumbled, eyes glancing to her briefly, split-secondly, before they swiftly, with lightning speed, stuck back to watch the bright screen a foot in front of him, the clicking made by his ruthless fingers never once stopping.

She wondered how such force was even possible, given he had to lift one digit on each hand in order not to destroy what he held so preciously. How he had the grip, the agility, the mobility and speed and precision was something that spurred through her mind each time she watched him go on, winning more so than losing. She guessed it was practice. Sometimes it would amaze her, somedays she would watch mindlessly as he sped through all levels, all ranks, all challenges, all side quests, win after win, wondering if it even posed any challenge, any stimulation when he seemed to complete them all with such ease and finesse, effortlessly.

Sometimes it would amaze her, but this was not one of those times.

She swore her ears were bleeding, they were screaming and crying and strangling all wishes she had of sleep. The bed was too soft and everything was too soft, too quiet, yet not quiet at all and she was so fucking bored, so fucking drained of everything and anything except irritation and the need for something and anything, something loud, something sharp to wake her up, something terrifying or something anything everything that could make her feel something anything everything.

She needed it, and she needed it desperately, all things aside, fuck who she was, and especially fuck that shitty fucking game he was playing.

“Fuck! Your stupid! Game! Tomura!”

She hadn’t even realized she’d slid off the bed and was standing on her numb feet, game controller snatched from him in one second and smashed to smithereens on the wall in the next.

She looked more shook than him, if he was being honest.

Nonetheless.

“What the fuck?!”

He was mad, no, he was fuming.

And she lived for it.

“I swear, you’re gonna pay-”

He hadn’t even reached her before her lips split into a grin, eyes like lightning awaiting the thunder.

“Gladly, punish me, do something, do anything!”

She wasn’t proud with her playful hinting, but you aren’t supposed to live your life without doing things you regret. And though she was playing spoiled brat for a notorious villain, the most dangerous individual she’d ever met, he also had a cock crafted by monsters that seemed to hit every spot it needed to, finding and creating new ones as it filled her up to the brim and she was salivating just by the thought of being split open on it, especially by seeing what mood she’d conjured from him.

But, even though her pride dripped from between her thighs, she was not too eager to plainly say that she desired his dick balls-deep within her needy cunt.

“What?”

He’d stopped in his tracks, eyeing her. And though some part of him wanted to believe what disgusting depraved thoughts he had regarding why she was seeking his attention, he knew better, rendering her annoyance to simply picking a fight with her captor, quite like a how child throws tantrums at their parents or prisoners riot.

Turns out her playful words did little to sway his thoughts regarding the situation.

“You’ve been playing your dumb videogames all week!” She whined, almost screeching. Eyes angry and lips pouty.

He wanted nothing more but to show her what bad behaviour would give her, but seeing how punishment would be giving her what she had requested, he wasn’t too quick to fold to his desires.

“It feels like I’m dying, make me feel something, anything…”

She was pleading he realized, and stopped in wonder at the revelation.

She was pleading with him, begging for him, for anything of him, anything meaning anything…

Yet… surely not what he wanted it to mean.

“No.” He forced on a nonchalant tone. “You smashed my controller, I’m not rewarding you for that, there are nicer ways of asking…” He drawled and turned casually to get back in his chair, pondering his need to purchase another custom-made console, thinking he had a couple things he wanted to fix anyway.

Was she really going to have to be so literal? Was she really going to have to bend over and beg for him to take her? Was she really going to have to serve him her heart, her spirit, her mind, and soul and body on a silver platter for him to take it?

She thought he was greedy. She thought he was depraved enough to hear what she was asking of him.

No way he was ignoring the invitation, right?

If that were the case, he could at least mock her for her begging, but he barely seemed to even recognise her change in attitude at all. Granted, she couldn’t really see much of his expression beneath that mop of hair.

She wanted to scream, pull her hair out of her head, yet as her knees hit the floor and Tomura sat back down in his chair, she realized she had but one thing to do.

Crawl.

She was silent, shuffling under the table, taking one gluttonous drag through her nose, mouth watering at the reek of male musk, his musk, Tomura’s musk, a smell so undeniably him.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to let him know she was there yet, but decided to be a tease and better prepare him for what she was about to do.

Experienced and confident fingers pressed a woman’s touch to his ankles, running skilled tender touches over the flexing of his calves’ muscles, despite feeling him tense beneath her. Undiscouraged as they went smoothly over his thighs to reach the hem of his boxers, reaching inside them to pull out what she was proud to feel thick and stiff and just as needy as her, warm and pulsating in her tiny palm.

Handling him delicately. First she licked her lips wet and gave the head a pretty popping kiss, before producing her tongue like a pillow for the cap and flicking the pink muscle from side to side under the sensitive skin that was already oozing with precum onto her tastebuds.

She her his breath stifle, but allowed him no rest as she closed her warm wet mouth around him.

He broke instantly.

Now knowing it wasn’t his mind playing tricks.

“Fuck! You win, you win!” He hissed, hand wrapping around her throat to pull her up from her conquering. “If I’d known what a needy little slut you were I'd have given you cock earlier. You should’ve just said so...”

They both giggled ludically as he threw her down on the bed, Thrill already bubbling up a storm on her insides with such lust to be fucked out of her bloody mind she was quaking from head to toe and screaming out her moan when he pushed perfectly into her wetness in one fell swoop.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

-NECESSITY

He heard the padding of her approach. Soft footed and gentle. Not at all like how she would usually stomp around in rage of being trapped.

He didn’t look up at first, thinking she didn’t want anything to do with him, as per usual, yet in his blurry unfocused vision he could spot she’d stopped in front of him, waiting for his acknowledgement, where he sat on the coach, undisturbed and undisturbing until now, scrolling through his phone.

He decided to ignore her, testing to see if she’d speak up and announce her demands, yet was surprised to see she stood there patiently, no words, no screams.

Curiosity getting the better of him he looked up, finding her standing there bare-footed, skin wet, towel wrapped around her, hair dripping, eyes leaking, though not from shower-water, but from brimming with tears.

His instincts kicked in then at the sight of her.

“Are you okay?”

He sprung from the coach, expecting her to push him away once he reached for her, yet was surprised to feel her attach to him, latch around him, welcome his warmth and his offered condolence instead of her usual rejection and snarling.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, why are you crying?”

He realized then that her body was quaking, seemingly febrile, so much plead knotted between her brows he’d never seen anything like it.

It made him concerned to say the least, eyes searching her body for any possible explanation in the form of bruises, thinking maybe she’d hurt herself, already scolding himself for having left her alone.

“Baby? What's going-”

He didn’t smell it at first, what with the scent being washed off and all at the hands of her shower, but the aroma was soon layered thick in the room, growing alongside her desperation.

A scent so heavenly, so lavish and sweet and ambrosial, already making water pool in his mouth.

Her shaking made sense then, so did the tears, and the desperation and the potent adorable look of despair written all over her pitiful little cute face.

“Oh… I see.”

He was going to take advantage of this.

He was going to ring it for every drop it was worth.

“Does my little angel need me?” His voice shed its concern swiftly, curling into something sweetly sadistic and salacious.

His fingers hung onto her chin, or rather, her chin hung off his fingers.

“If you ask nicely perhaps I’ll-”

“You’re being cruel.” She stated, voice so sweet, so vulnerable, breaking as she sniffled, bottom lip trembling so preciously, as he wasn’t sure the shower-water was instead not indeed sweat. Knees weak, arms heavy, head pounding, stomach hurting, eating her from the inside in desperate need to feed the bottomless hunger that was growing and weeping in her lower abdomen.

Her hand held loosely over her stomach, visibly shaking.

He ignored her statement. “That was a long shower…” It was an insinuating observation, cocky in its nature. “Were you trying to help yourself on the showerhead?”

He quirked a brow at him, a smirk playing in the corner of his mouth.

“Trying to get out of grovelling for me, hm? Despite knowing how my cock is the only thing that can save you.”

He was gleeful, sadistic bliss tickling through his body, sending pleasure through every nerve, because he knew, he knew he was right and he knew what was coming. He knew she would fold, surrender, succumb, and he knew how grateful she’d be afterwards, dripping with his cum, eyes opium-blown, euphoric and fluttering, and looking at him with such wholehearted, such won-over love.

Though, know all that filled her eyes were glistening tears and swirling suffering.

“It hurts…”

His heart clenched at that.

She looked like a toddler, small and weak and helpless and innocent, as though if it weren’t for her predicament she wouldn’t be abusing every ounce of energy in her being to make him miserable.

How ironic, she being the miserable one now, all dependent on him.

“It hurts, please, please help me, help me, Keigo.”

She was aching. Her small needy hands coming to grab at him, to pull him closer as she sobbed, whining so beautifully for him.

“I need you, Keigo.”

He was getting wrapped up in it, hanging onto every perfect needy jerking she did to try and get closer, to try and help herself against him, licking it up as though he was parched

And he was, he truly was, she’d drained him dry, rejecting each and every proclamation of his love. She’d laughed at it, waged war against it, and here she was, finally, embracing it, begging for it.

He realized, he needed this just as much as she did.

He didn’t need anything weightless like a stupid apology, he just needed to hear her say those pretty words.

“I need Hawks.”

Her eyes grew dark, pupils blown wide with lust as her words were laced with such feral carnality.

His hands grabbed ahold of her ample hips, grinding her into himself, where she met his attack by effortlessly maneuvering her legs to wrap around his torso, hands cupping his face as she peered into his eyes, wanting to drown herself in the gold.

“I need you deep inside me, filling me up, wreaking me…”

Her lips hovered above his own as she clutched tightly onto him, begging with every inch of her body, clinging to him as though it were for her very life.

“I need your cum, I need you to fuck me until I can’t walk or talk or think or feel, until I’m numb and all I can see is you, all I can think is you, all I am is you and yours.”

He was left awestruck by the way she looked at him, as though he were the world, or her god, with so much love and so much desperate desire and fear.

A fear he’d come to know all too much chasing her. A fear of rejection, a fear of having her heart broken, a feeling that’s all too much like dying.

“I need your love, please, please love me, Keigo.”

He couldn’t refuse, despite wanting to have used this opportunity as a lesson, he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her suffering and he most definitely couldn’t leave himself suffering now that his cock was hungry for the attention she was all too eager to give him.

SHINSO HITOSHI

-SUBMITANCE

She knew she should be disgusted, she knew she should be angry, she should be fighting it.

If she were the feral creature quite alike the lioness or tigress or any other wild cat, she should by law be scratching and clawing and snarling. She should revolt, reject, uproar at the feel of a collar around her throat.

But here she was, big wide glossy opium-soaked eyes staring up at her Master and his compelling lilac orbs, feeling her stomach curl at the feel of his big fist tugging her leash as he hovers above her, purring like a little kitten, like the little kitten she was, at the feel of his swollen thick cock filling her up so snuggly, breeding her good, while she drools at the collar put, not just on her throat, but on her mind, panting over the thought of having his commands lick every nerve of her body, making her twist and bend and bow all to his wishes.

Fluffy tail wrapped around his leg, holding onto him in the softest form of embrace as her hands are otherwise occupied with being tied to the bed-post.

She whimpered, aching fingers wanting to touch, to run smooth soft fingertips over his skin, his scars, tangle in his wild lavish purple locks.

She bit her lip and clenched around the member inside her, making him groan as he bottomed-out and pulled back again.

“Could- could Master… untie me?” She needed to ask, voice timid and hopeful, again feeling him slowly inch into her core, messaging her insides, her walls kissing alongside his girth, sucking on him gratefully.

He quirked an eyebrow, as if to ask why, or to tell her why he couldn’t do that.

“I want to touch you…” She pleaded, a confession so sweet and voice anything but brazen or wanton, blinking shamefully, guilty of her lust, even though in the light of what he’d done to her and made her do to him, it sounded like mere child’s play, something she shouldn’t even be allowed to be embarrassed about.

His eyes scanned her, curious, doubting her, yet having felt how her legs wrapped around his torso, and the ever-playful cuddling tail that had slithered between his thighs and latched itself around his ankle, tugging on him like such a clingy little devoted kitty.

His lips curled up into a smile, looking down at his little bashful housebroken pet, thrilled to see her look up at him too, eyes full of awe on both sides, lustful, loving.

He pushed himself fully into her, cockhead kissing her cervix, and she gave a mew, moaning while he bowed down to meet her lips with his.

His hands danced up her arms, drumming alongside her limbs before they met with the knots around her wrists, tugging them loose.

Once she was free she hesitated. Eyes still so wide, as though asking for permission, as though asking for guidance, or… as though she were waiting for him to tell her what to do, and then, as though a question was burning at her lips.

“Master… ask me a question?” She requested, slowly bringing her hands down from their position, placing them around the back of his neck, fingers playing with his soft wild hair.

He needed to take a second or two to really fathom what she’d just said, where his mind seemed to leap once he did.

“Something you don’t want the answer to.”

He swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling a rush of blood pool in his cheeks. His breathe grew heavy and eyes intense.

“Do you know what you’re asking?”

He needed to be sure, he needed to hear her say it, admit to it

His doubts were answered as she blinked, biting her lips, looking away shyly, clearly knowing how wrong it was of her to request him entering and playing with her mind like that.

“Yes…”

He couldn’t help but smile at her timidity, how she blushed under his gaze. But still, he needed her to give him the entirety of her desire.

“Tell me…”

He rested his forehead on her hers, happy with butterflies in his stomach at the feel of her affectionate hands running through his locks.

“What do you want from me, Kitten?”

Her breath shuddered, legs climbing higher up his back, pulling him closer. Their eyes so adamant on looking, drowning in the other. His storm of lilac so dominant and dangerous, making her mouth water and toes curl and head flutter with knowing how she was completely trapped, completely where he wanted her, loving it all the same, finding refuge in the fact, finding safety and belonging and peace.

“I want…”

Her eyes where only wide, wide with hope and searching for if he’d catch her when she now jumped, leaped into his arms.

“I want you. I want your- your teeth in my mind, marking me, making me yours, making me… feel…”

All of her was clinging to him now, her tail so neatly and snuggly slithered around his ankle, as though chaining him to her, her hands as well entangled with the unruly hair at the nape of his neck, her legs wrapped around him so tightly and desperately, pussy clenching around his cock like a vice, and her eyes hanging off of all and everything of what was giving her.

“Making you feel what?” He pushed, giving another thrust where he barely pulled out only to rock into her again.

“Safe.”

That was such an innocent word, such a sweet wish it made his heart hurt with something he couldn’t quite place, whether it was guilt or satisfaction he couldn’t tell.

“Will you do that? For me?”

He could get lost in those eyes of hers forever, those moon-big round eyes, opium-black and blown pupils so wide he thought he was falling through space with how much they reflected the limited light inside their room.

“Do you love me?” He asked then, fearing the answer.

“Yes.”

A word can be so many things, a vow, a promise, an echo, a welcome.

Her eyes went blank then, but not before she gave the softest hum as though to say thank you as she felt his presence seep into her mind. Her limbs losing all types of stress, becoming numb and soft. All her worries blanketed, where all she dreamt of was velvet lilac-tinted oceans, getting drunk on grapes and the smell of lavender and all things purple like those great godlike eyes staring down at her, the ones keeping her spellbound and tethered in a deadlock, the ones she belonged to.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

-COMFORT

The slamming shut of the apartment door, followed by the digital clicking of the lock being closed is how she knew he was home.

He hadn’t said anything.

Where usually he would at least greet her as she quickly sprung across the marble floors to welcome him home, take his jacket, kiss his cheek, all so perfectly like he’d taught her.

He hadn’t said anything.

No ‘I missed you’ or ‘thank you, princess’.

He hadn’t said anything at all.

But most things with Kai weren’t verbal anyway.

She’d learned to pick up cues, analyze a raised brow, or a slight shift in posture, or the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes.

He hadn’t said anything, but the scowl that accompanied his aura spoke volumes to the girl. Finding his state of mind, concerned with what she found, as it was not his usual nonchalance nor his occasional contempt, but bitter.

He groaned then, once she’d helped him out of his jacket, green and tacky, purple faux fluff, something so out-of-place on Kai, yet also serving as one of his key recognizable traits.

He kicked off his shoes, also something so very out of character it brought her concern, followed by him shuffling, feet dragging on the floors in complete opposition to how he would usually walk, with his head held high, regarding the floor as though it should be grateful to be gifted by him walking on it.

Now though, he slumped, still without a word, up the stairs, sauntering without haste, without enthusiasm, all in goal of reaching the bed, which he laid out flat on once he got to it.

“Are you okay?” She asked timidly, having followed him and standing unsurely on the threshold of the door, not knowing whether she was welcome or not.

He simply pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, giving her the answer she’d guessed already.

“Can I do anything to help?” Again, she kept her voice soft and tender, hopeful; cheerful in hopes of cheering him up.

“I doubt it.” His answer was curt and bitter as he sat up on the bed, tugging loose his tie with an exhausted growl of irritation.

She padded around the bed then, not exactly having been given an invitation to stay, but not exactly having been given any indication to leave either.

Careful as she climbed up behind him, like a cat easing in on its prey, gracious and soft and focused on not alarming or disturbing the goal.

“Surely there must be something I can do?”

His ears picked up on the play in her voice, the thin hairs at the back of his neck rising, yet his curiosity was stifled as her hands, once so small and insignificant, became the hands of God.

Fingers kneading into his back, thorough and forceful yet welcomed by him through a breathy guttural groan, closing his eyes with much needed rest as he let himself fall completely to the feeling of her messaging all his tense stress right out of his shoulders, seemingly sucking all the bad out of him.

He gave yet another throaty groan as her fingers rubbed and dug into his back, her hand stopping his head from slugging forward, cupping him tenderly and guided him to rest against the softness of her chest instead.

“Do you feel better now?”

She spoke like how a mother should, sweet like summer breeze, just above a whisper, eager to please, affectionate, without ill-will, without anything to gain, selfless and beautiful, and something he was in desperate need of.

He moaned, a long dragged out breathy moan, one filled with such potent gratitude it made her smile.

“Getting there...”

She hummed, her hands like absolution handling his back like dough, thumbs rubbing the stiffness into tender soft flesh once again, working through the knots, before climbing, mounting his shoulders and ensnaring his neck, gentle fingers running smoothly to unbutton his shirt, her face nuzzling in his neck as it was exposed to her, soft plump lips kissing the sensitive skin found there, knowing exactly where to focus, hearing him moan in relief as she zeroed in on his soft-spot.

Her hands running, dancing down his chest, unbuttoning the last of his buttons, helping him slide out of it.

Quick to take her bra off, still while kissing his neck, before pushing her warm soft mounds into his back, hugging herself against him.

“How about now?” Her voice like honey as her words tickled on his neck.

“Almost…”

She slithered around to seat herself in his lap, hands cupping his cheeks as she leaned in to kiss him, naked chest rubbing up against naked chest, warm and soft, homey and safe. 

Her hand drummed playfully down his stomach, reaching his pants, moving skillfully on its own to undo the belt-buckle, then the button, then pulling down the zipper.

He shuffled them down his thighs on his own, still keeping his chin lifted to receive her kisses. His clothed erection bumping up into the thin protection of her panties.

Her hand, still so smoothly, reached under the band of his boxers to pull him out. Though his rough way of ripping her lacy underwear off managed to break through her calm demeanor as she yelped a bit and flinched.

However the surprise was quickly followed by giggles as she continued to kiss him, feeling his smirk against her lips and soon his hand cupping her ass before running hungry pressured fingertips around her thigh to play with her slit, thumb roughly pushing into her clit as other reckless digits ran though her folds to test the waters, quite parallel to how carefully she handled his cock with her own elegant hand, rubbing him up and down ever so gently, with the tenderness he carved.

He hissed once her thumb rubbed over his sensitive head, biting into her lip, and though his beastly impulses used to alarm her, now she could only think of them as an invitation.

Holding his cock up to her entrance, giving him time to remove his fingers from her now soaking folds. 

She sunk down on him slowly, moaning softly against his lips as he groaned upon hers. 

“Better now?” She asked, without giving way to the cockiness her question carried, but he deciphered it with ease nonetheless, giving her ass a playful squeeze before guiding her to lay down on her back, nibbling on her neck as he chuckled at how she disguised her devilish naughty humour as being innocent, wanting to make her choke on that haughtiness as he gave a quick sharp thrust up into her.

Her moan rung throughout the massive penthouse where no doors were kept closed, as he licked the sin right off her expression with one needy hungry kiss and a promise as well as a threat.

“I will be once I hear you scream my name, princess.”

TIP-JAR

[forever-rogue]

I got a whole 4 hours of sleep today and have to pull a 12 hour shift. So I apologize if it doesn’t make sense, I am new to the Bucky fandom!

I like the idea of his grumpy, refusing to let anyone in, be slowly ground down by reader, but teeters back and forth until reader is in some sort of trouble. Then the flood gates of vulnerability open because he was worried about them. I mean he hasn’t been with anyone since the 40s right? Would he still know how to navigate caring about someone in that way? I don’t know. It was something that has been buzzing around in my head for a week.

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: langauge, vague description of sex (minors dni!)

BUCKY MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You’d started out as neighbors - nothing more and nothing less. 

Neighbors turned into causal acquaintances, fueled by your constant baking and copious amounts of goodies. Casual acquaintances turned into friends that would spend an occasional evening watching television together. Friends quickly turned into best friends that became utterly inseparable....with the occasional hook-up. You were hesitant to call it friends with benefits because that just sounded so crass. It was more like best friends with the occasional stress relief.

Stress relief. Sure that worked.

None that you wouldn’t have minded more of course. But you weren’t about to make a move on James Buchanan Barnes and ask him out on a date. No, you knew your place and his. He was physically akin to a god, mixed in with a bit of fuck boy, and yet...you loved him. You’d fallen hard and fast for the man that had gone from a mere stranger to a welcome and comfortable part of your life. But you’d never tell him that. 

No, nope, hell no. Bucky surely didn’t reciprocate your feelings and you’d never been the type to make a move first. 

Besides that...Bucky didn’t exactly strike you as a relationship type of guy. You’d seen him here and there with a girl or two, but it wasn’t anything serious. And since the two of you had started hooking up, you’d never noticed anyone else. And you hadn’t been with anyone else either. It was akin to a non-exclusive exclusive not-really-a-relationship relationship. Neither of you pushed it any further - you both accepted dates here and there but they never amounted to anything. Wonder why?

Unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t that Bucky didn’t want a relationship - he did. He did very much with you. But he just...there was something about being a one hundred and six year-old man that just left him confused and worried. He hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to date much and now that he had the time it reminded him of just how different things were. Dating was this weird confused jumble, but you were a clear and obvious bright spot. He had his doubts that you’d ever want anything more from him. He knew what he was - a mostly stable old man with a body that people seemed to enjoy. He made the most of that - it didn’t seem like people were interested in getting to know him much these days. 

But you did - you always did. And, gods, he’d fallen hard for you - the kind of love that makes your stomach churn and heart feel like bursting and steals your breath away no matter how long it’s been. But what the fuck would you want with him? He’s a fossil with a boatload of mental trauma and even more sass and attitude.

You deserved the world and he only had himself to give. Of course, he was enough - way more than enough - but he didn't believe that. 

There had been numerous occasions when you'd tried to be honest, to confess your true feelings, but you'd always managed to fall short. Every time you got close, something came up. And after the last girl you'd seen him with, you vowed to take your secret to the grave. 

You had come close though - so close - especially the last time you'd hooked up.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were under Bucky, both of you naked and panting as you quickly approached your highs. He was buried deep inside you, head dropped to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nipping and biting at the delicate skin. 

Your legs were wrapped around his waist in order to hold him close. One of your hands was laced together with his while the other was wrapped around his neck. There was something so perfectly harmonious about how you always were together. 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, James, James, James as he kept going. It was the only time you called him anything but Bucky. As your vision had grown hazy and you felt that familiar warm start to blood your veins, you’d let your true feelings slip. It was so easy, so effortless and in the moment it just...happened.

I love you. 

The declaration hung in the air as you felt your walls clamp around him and he reached his own eyes. That’s when you’d realized what you’d done. This time it was an entirely different sensation radiating throughout your bones - terror. Utter terror.

But if Bucky had heard your three little words he made no mention of them. Relief washed over you as you came to the conclusion that he was just as wrapped up in his own blissful haze that he simply hadn’t heard you. You were safe this time - but you’d have to be extra cautious from here on out.

Oh, but Bucky had heard you. Loudly and clearly. He chose to ignore your words because he was positive that he hadn’t heard you incorrectly. Surely you hadn’t meant to say that - and more importantly, it was a mistake. As much as he loved hearing those words from your pretty lips, he knew it was either an accident or a figment of his imagination. 

You both pretended that nothing had happened. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Bucky rolled his eyes lightly as he watched his phone light up with a call from Sam. He was half tempted to ignore it but decided to answer anyway; he was bored and the call might lead to something to do. You’d normally be hanging out with him on a Friday night, but his calls and texts had gone unanswered.

“Hey man,” Bucky picked up the call and walked into the kitchen to grab a beer, “what’s up?”

“You need to get to the hospital,” Sam was speaking so quickly that it all came out in a single slew of words as Bucky’s brows knitted together.

“I know I don’t have a lot going on this Friday night, but I think I’m okay,” he snorted as he opened the bottle and took a swig.

“No, no, no,” Sam interrupted by almost whispering your name, “there’s been an accident. She was hurt and taken to the ER. I was on the phone with her when it happened - just come. Now.”

Bucky didn’t even wait for Sam to finish before he dropped the beer and ran out the door. His whole body felt like it was growing numb and the only thing on his mind was you. You couldn't be hurt...you just couldn’t. Bucky couldn’t imagine any sort of reality in which you weren’t there. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as he ran into the hospital, seeking out the emergency room, he was asking about you. He looked probably just as crazy as he felt as he was nervously directed to your room. He almost jogged down the hall and into your small space. Sam stood at the end of your bed, looking down at you with a concerned expression.

“What the hell happened?” Bucky could barely bring himself to look at you as you laid on the small bed, looking so helpless and fragile. You were sleeping, sedated from lots of heavy drugs, but hooked up to several beeping machines. Your arm was in a cast already, bruises and contusions and cuts littered every bit of your skin that he could see. His heart plummeted into his stomach. 

“She was crossing the street and got hit by a car that didn’t slow down enough in time,” Sam’s heavy was heavy as he rubbed at his tired, “I heard it all happen, Buck. It was terrible - but she’s strong. She’s going to be okay. No internal damage, luckily, but she’s going to be in a lot of pain for a while. The arm’s broken.”

“Jesus,” Bucky sighed as Sam nodded.

“I called her parents and they’ll be here soon. She’s just sleeping but hopefully will wake up soon.”

“Okay,” Bucky took a hesitant step closer.

“She asked for you,” Sam hadn’t been sure if he should have confessed that little part or not, “when they were bringing her in. Kept repeating your name. You should just tell her, you know. She’s obvious she feels the same. Don’t be idiots.”

“Thanks,” Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically as the two men shared a quick laugh before Sam hugged him, “I’ll stay here if you want to go. You’ve done a lot already. Thank you for calling me.”

“I got you man,” Sam gave him a half smile, “call me if you need anything at all...or if anything happens.”

“Goodbye.”

As soon as his friend left, Bucky came over to you, his fingers grazing the side of the small, horrid looking bed. He was going to help you however you needed it for however long it would take till you were better and out of pain. If he had the choice, he wouldn’t ever leave your side again.

This whole time he’d been so dumb, so silly. He should have just told you how he left - a long time ago and gotten over himself. A heavy sigh escaped him as you pulled up the uncomfortable plastic chair and took a seat next to you.

He gently, ever so delicately reached for the hand that was in the cast and held it in his. It almost made him laugh with how much smaller your hand was than his. They fit perfectly together.

He watched the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept, wondering when you’d wake up. He hoped soon - so he could finally tell you all of those unspoken words. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“James?” a croaky, dry voice met his ears as his tired eyes snapped open. He blinked a few times to adjust his vision before focusing on you. You were looking back at him with a tired, sleepy little smile on your features. You looked beautiful, so damn beautiful, despite the blues and purples painting your skin, “what are you doing here?”

He must have fallen asleep at some point during the night. He was still holding your hand. He beamed back at you, “hi pretty girl. Sam called me and told me what happened. I came right over.”

“I’m anything but pretty right now,” you laughed lightly but quickly grimaced at the pain, “how long have you been here?”

“Since yesterday evening,” he confessed quickly, “I didn’t want to leave - wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh Bucky,” there was that saccharine little smile on your face. The same one he loved so much, “you didn’t have to. I...I really fucked up movie night, huh?”

“I’m in love with you.”

He finally got those damn words out before he could change his mind or think too much about it. Your face immediately lit up with a grin as you searched his cerulean eyes. 

“Do you mean it?” you asked softly as he nodded, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks.

“Of course.”

“I love you too, Bucky,” you replied, giving his hand a tight squeeze, “I’m in love with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he whispered as he leaned closer to you, “because I’m not going anywhere, pretty girl. Not now, not ever.”

“I don’t want you to, Bucky,” you promised, “I want you with me always.”

“That sounds perfect to me.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[buckyownsmylife]

Halo - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where this time, he was the one to save you.

Warnings: smut, oral sex (f), very light reference to past sexual abuse, vague description of dissociating. 

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: so this is for a request I got for touchstarved!Reader. It ended up becoming much more sentimental than I imagined, so not a lot of my dirty talk or the praise the original request had suggested, but I’m really proud of this work. Hope you guys like it. Shoutout to my cousin @whisperlullaby​​ for beta reading this for me! I love you very much!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

It’d been a week since the man with the blue eyes found me in the darkness. I’d been wary back then, too accustomed to the harsh reality that was all I seemed to remember when I thought about my life, so comfortable in the cold and in the pain that anything else seemed dangerous.

I feared growing used to this new life and having it taken away from me, and he seemed to understand that. Everyone else seemed to empathize with my situation to some extent, but no one looked at me the way that he did. Like my pain was his, too. As if he knew what it was like to have everything about you ripped away, only to be left with new parts that were only useful as a reminder of things you hated.

I didn’t know how to feel about that. Most days, I only felt numb, passively watching life play out from a different window than the cell I’d grown up in. Only the scenes here were lighter, the world certainly brighter than what I thought it was. 

Then some days I felt vibrant, powerful emotions that I didn’t know how to interpret, but he was always there to help me. He seemed to know exactly what I needed, and he let me cry against his chest or hit him as much as I wanted before he scooped me up in his arms and rocked me to some sort of sleep.

I don’t think he knew just how much it meant to me, even if he seemed to understand me so perfectly. Hearing his heartbeat against his chest reminded me that mine was still working inside of me. I was still here. Still alive. Still human. Despite what they did to me.

Today was one of the harder days. The patient man - Bucky, he insisted on reminding me of his name, even if I never tried to address him in any way - must have been busy, because I didn’t see him all day. And so I watched the sky change colours, admiring the view I never got to experience before - at least, not that I could remember - but when he found me, I didn’t feel like I was there anymore. 

I couldn’t explain it if he asked me to, but he didn’t. Once again, he seemed to know exactly what was going through my mind, as I hugged myself by the windowsill. “It gets better, you know?” He asked, kneeling before me as he waited until I managed to tear my eyes away from the landscape out there to see the color of the sky in his eyes.

It took me a while to be able to speak. His presence was overpowering to me in a way that didn’t make me feel defenseless or threatened. It was like he intoxicated me, pushed away the confusion and fear to make me believe in a future where I wouldn’t be like this anymore.

“How do you know?” I had to ask, and when he reached out for my hands, I positioned them inside his much larger palms. The way he rubbed his thumbs on my skin slowly radiated warmth up my body, making me relax against the white wall I was leaning on.

“Because I’ve been there before.” It wasn’t the first time he’d confessed that. Even if the details of his story still weren’t made clear to me, I implicitly knew what he meant, just like he knew I didn’t need to know more right now. It wouldn’t do me any good. I already had a lot of my own trauma to work through and taking his on wouldn't make the healing process any easier.

His words did comfort me, but there was only so much he could do. And so when midnight rolled around and I was still by that same windowsill, each hour having taken a part of me that made me feel like I was still here, in this bedroom, I decided it was time to accept his offer.

Every night, before he retreated to his own quarters, he made sure to remind me that his door was always open for him, just on the other side of the hallway. Four steps and I’d be there. If I ever needed anything. If I ever started to feel like I wasn’t there.

I didn’t need to say it when he heard the knock on his bedroom door. Just two beats and he was there, looking down at me. He stared at me for a moment, and then he was pulling me in, hands running up my arms in a way he hadn’t done before. No one had.

“Come.” I followed him without question, without hesitancy. I knew he had the answers to the questions I was bearing. He was the medicine that I needed, and it seemed like it was finally time to heal.

When we stopped by the foot of his bed, he turned to look me in the eye again, but still didn’t release my hand. There was a question in his gaze, but I couldn’t identify it without his help. So he knew he had to explain it to me.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” I automatically nodded, not understanding why he was asking. No one ever had before. But surprisingly enough, my instinctive reaction had him hesitating. He cradled my face in his hands and dipped my head back so I’d look him directly in the eye.

“I’ll need to touch you where they did.” My muscles tensed at the insinuation, and I knew he didn’t miss it. But it wasn't because of the memory of when I’d been touched before, by hands much less kinder and softer than his - it was by the question.

They never asked. They just took from me, parts of me I’m sure I’d never get to see again. And here was this man, standing before what I’d become, with all these scraps of metal and blood, and he wanted what was left. He didn’t just take it because it was there. He actually wanted it.

I just couldn’t understand why. And so I asked him. The look he gave me was so inexplicable I couldn’t even begin to describe it. He looked like he was physically pained to hear my question, and his thumb rubbed softly over my cheek, almost as if he was the one who needed it to calm himself down.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

I watched her carefully, trying to take in each and every part of her while also capturing the image of her entire person all at once. Was this what she had seen when she rescued me from Hydra’s claws?

I guess now I understood it. Why she stayed, why she cared when I was the broken one. Although we were in very different positions here - I’d fallen in love with her before she was taken, I knew who she really was. But looking at her like this, there was still so much to love. So much of the person I knew, but even the new parts were beautiful too.

“Because I know you need it.” It was the first reason I could think of, but nowhere near the only one. “Because you’re beautiful. Because… I’m the reason you’re this way. And I want to make you feel good again.”

When I leaned down to connect our lips, I didn’t expect it to feel this way. Sweet and innocent, like a true first kiss, regardless of the context, regardless of our entire history together. She didn’t remember it anyway. And so I was gentle, scared to scare her away, needing this almost as much as I knew she needed it.

I remembered what it was like to get out of that hole. I remembered how she pried me away from the fortress I’d built around myself, with soft hands and sweet smiles, until I was tender enough to accept her touch without panicking.

She whimpered when I pulled away from the kiss, and I couldn’t stop the smile that painted my lips at this clear sign that I was making the right choice. This was what she needed, and my touch would bring her comfort. I didn’t have to feel guilty about it.

But still, the feeling was there, bringing bile to my stomach as I kissed down her neck and slowly took her dress with me. Seeing her naked was enough to get me hard - being near her was enough to get me aroused - even if this wasn’t about me. I just couldn’t help it. To be near her again, have the scent of her skin, the taste of her so near me was enough to make my head swirl.

And when I looked up, there were conflicting emotions on her eyes too. Like being naked reminded her of those memories I wish I could erase, but my position elicited another feeling in her, one she couldn’t easily identify.

It was desire. I could never miss that glint in her eyes, because it provoked my body into an instinctive reaction, like it knew what was to come. It knew what I needed to do to satisfy both me and her.

And I wanted her. I wanted to bury myself in her and feel connected again, to finally acknowledge that she was really here, that I got her back. I wanted to occupy her thoughts with feelings provoked by me, just so all she felt was pleasure and nothing else, not the horrors of Hydra, just love and desire.

I needed to distract her, help her reacquaint herself with her own body. Even though I desperately wanted to fuck her pain away, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. I needed to give her cells the human warmth they so desperately needed.

I knew she needed this. I remembered what it was like to be in this exact position. And this was as impactful to her as it was to me, I realized as I watched her body twitch at the simple action of my hands spreading her legs further apart. It gave me an opportunity to reacquaint myself with her body, even if she wasn’t exactly mine again.

That day would come, I had to believe it. I thought I’d lost her forever, but I managed to find her. She was here now. I just needed to be patient. I needed to bide my time as she slowly readjusted to the real world, and hopefully then we’d get back to where we once were.

But I think no one could blame me for getting carried away. The second my tongue touched her, her knees faltered, and I had to lean her back on the bed just so I could properly lick her lower lips, collect some of her wetness so I could relish in the taste of her again. 

She was too perfect, too beautiful for words, as were the little sounds she released, little gasps and half-moans that she didn’t feel comfortable letting free just yet, but I could work with that. They were enchanting all the same.

It was easy to lose myself to the habit of it all. Swirling her clit, dipping my tongue in her warm hole, slurping every single drop of her juices as they dripped out of her. I’d always loved pleasing her. Being able to do it again was nothing short of a blessing in itself. And although I was dying to feel her hands on me, I knew she needed my touch more than I needed hers.

So I let my hands travel upwards, squeezing her breasts when I managed to reach them. That earned me another gasp and a jut of her hips, making me hum against her pussy. Delicious. It was sweet seeing her like this, so innocent, so uncertain. I was used to her being the one with more initiative - at least at first. It felt like I was unveiling a new side of her I hadn’t had the luck to know before we met.

It only made me hungrier.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I’d never been worshipped before. Or at least, I couldn’t remember anything ever coming close to this. He seemed completely devoted to me and this sinful act we were partaking in, but it didn’t seem that sinful with him.

No, it was almost holy, the way he was breaking me apart by glueing me together. His tongue spread out the liquid that seemed to pour from me, and was now covering the lower part of his face and the insides of my thighs. I had no doubt it was slowly coating the sheets underneath us, but if he wasn’t worried, then neither was I.

Just like he seemed to know what I needed without me verbalizing it, it was clear that he knew what I liked without even trying. And something inside of me told me that I had missed this, this sweet act of passion I couldn’t remember ever receiving, this feeling I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt before.

But when he asked me to watch him, I understood it. I understood it because I saw it in his eyes. This was some ancient ritual and we both had shared it before, in this life or in another one, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was giving this to me now, teaching me that this body was here and it was mine, and it was capable of so much more than pain and violence.

With each swipe of his tongue, he taught me lessons I’d never uncovered by myself. And even so, he had the nerve to ask, in that poisonously sweet voice of his, “Does it feel good, doll?”

He knew it did. He had to know, because I couldn’t say it. And I didn’t know what else to do, either. I knew he expected something from me - I expected something from me, every part of my body was tense and taut, waiting for a snap to undo me completely, but I didn’t know how to let go.

“Don’t worry, I can wait,” was his only response. “It’s alright,” he whispered, face still hidden by my own body. “You’re right where you belong. I’ll bring you here anytime.” And this was the promise that had my world crashing down, and as it crashed, it clenched, thrashed, and throbbed and I couldn’t breathe. 

But I didn’t feel broken.

I was shaking when the waves let me resurface, and when he pulled away, panic threatened to make me scream or lose my voice altogether. Would he just leave me here?

The separation wasn’t long, despite my fear. He came back to bed completely naked and gently cradled me to his chest, and in the warmth of his skin against mine, I felt better than ever before.

“You’re staying with me from now on,” he reassured me in the hug. And entwined as we were, skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul, I knew I’d finally be able to sleep again.

[calpops]

seven days | c.h.

Your baby is born two months early. You and Calum face the complications and uncertainties with each other and the help of family.

10k words

dates with cal masterlist

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

<< >>

Calum’s world spins in slow motion. He sees you but you’re out of focus, his vision is hazy past tears. He’s numb but somehow he can still make out that your hand is in his, your grip is like iron, the hold you have on each other is unbreakable. He can hear static, white noise tumbles through his senses raised into a panic induced overdrive. He loses you and finds your baby and wonders why there’s no crying. The doctor has her in her arms and she’s saying something, Calum can see that her lips are moving but his mind can’t keep up, her voice is lost to him. Neither of you were prepared for this, the classes and books neglected to ready you for only seven months of pregnancy, ten minutes of labor and the doctor rushing your daughter out of the room. He looks back at you and sees your once outstretched arm fall, your lip quiver, eyes go wild through your weary and worried exhaustion. Your voice finally breaks him.

“Follow them,” you plead and though Calum wants to stay with you there’s someone else in the world who needs him too. Someone else he wants to be with just as much as you.

With every footstep down the sterile hallway he wishes your hand could still be in his. He’s stopped short, a nurse he barely recognizes from his disconnect while at your side stands in front of him.

“They’re bringing her to the NICU,” the nurse says and though her voice and eyes are kind Calum feels fear and frustration rising inside of him, boiling and breaking him as she stands in his way. “You can’t go in yet.”

“What—I’m—she’s my daughter,” he stumbles out, throat on fire and eyes burning just the same.

“They’re getting her in an incubator. She needs oxygen and vital care,” she says and goes on to explain it will take a bit of time. “When she’s ready you’ll be able to go in. You’ll need to scrub up and wash your hands first.”

Calum shakes his head, not quite able to process all of this information on the spot. He lets out a shaky breath, curls his fingers into his palms, feels the coolness of his wedding ring on his skin and it reminds him of you; he lets the thought of you attempt to calm him. His head shake turns to a nod though he’s still not sure he can completely comprehend all that is happening.

“When can I see her?” he finally manages to get out though it’s not without a fight or a broken syllable.

“Follow me,” the nurse offers and without thinking Calum is walking down the hallway again, trailing the nurse to a break in the white wall where a window rests. “You can watch from here.”

The view is startling. Machines and equipment line the NICU, doctors and nurses pass in and out and create fears with every step they take. It takes a moment to find the team that delivered your baby, joined by a few new nurses and another doctor. Just past the crowd he can see the incubator and your daughter being settled within, tubes for oxygen and the like disguising her small face. Her eyes are closed and though she looks peaceful the striking contrast of your sleeping daughter and the dire circumstances are enough to choke Calum. He can’t watch the rest, his eyes skirt to the floor but he stays put. He’s not leaving her, his resolve is shaken but stays intact. He wants you with him, he wants her to be on the other side of the glass, in his arms, welcomed to a world without complications.

Time passes in a blur, his eyes fixed on his shoes and the tile floor below. He’s vaguely aware of other people in the hallway. Doctors, parents, nurses and patients all pass him by without a word. The kind nurse is long gone and Calum finds himself wishing he had asked more questions. The silence is deafening. He wants to have your whispered words of reassurance in his ear. He wants the repeated mantra of “it’s gonna be okay” to be believable. His phone buzzes but he doesn’t reach for it. He knows he should make calls. Tell his parents, inform the guys he left with a million questions and concerns in their minds. He doesn’t have the energy or the will to do so.

His shoulders slump but he straightens himself when a doctor approaches.

“Mr. Hood?” he asks, clipboard in hand and cool eyes sweeping him up and down. Calum nods. “You can go in now. Follow me. We have to get you ready.”

Calum’s heart lurches with the first step he takes to follow the doctor, to be with his daughter. He thinks of you, doesn’t want to imagine the panic and pain that being alone is causing you. He reminds himself Mali is with you, that you told him to follow. He’s led to a solid door and ushered through. There’s a room connected to the NICU; cabinets with scrubs and gloves and sanitizer and a medical sink claim the small space. He realizes all parents must enter through here before getting to their babies. In a blink he’s wearing a gown, and his hands are thoroughly washed. He takes just one second to take a breath, to gather courage, keep you in his thoughts and ready his heart for his daughter.

“We usually encourage skin to skin contact to bond with babies while they’re being treated. You can hold her hand, talk to her, she’ll know your voice,” the doctor explains while they approach the incubator.

There’s a thousand questions swirling through Calum’s mind that he wants to ask the doctor beside him. But his breath catches in his throat at the sight of your daughter. Her eyes are still closed from when he first caught a glimpse of her through the window. The incubator is closed, she’s surrounded by the help she needs but holes provide a place for Calum’s hand to find her. The doctor talks to him, Calum knows he should be listening but the whir of the machinery and the thumping of his pulse inside his ears drown out the words. He keeps his gaze on her, swallows back a sob and feels the ache in his heart grow as he realizes you’re alone in the room down the hall, that she’s right in front of him but they’re separated by plastic and plexiglass.

He wants to say something to her, he can’t find words, more than anything he wants to hold her. He can’t. He sinks down to level with her and slowly reaches through to lightly hold her hand that’s so small it brings tears to his eyes. She doesn’t respond but he feels better having even the smallest form of connection to her. He doesn’t even know when he realized that he was right; your baby is the most beautiful little girl he’s ever seen. Your bet is meaningless, winning and names are lost in the plight of life. The doctor leaves eventually but hospital staff still surrounds the NICU, nurses and doctors ready at a moment’s notice. It’s silent save for the hum of the machines. Only a few other babies are being treated, spaced out to afford families privacy. He doesn’t know how long he stays bent over with his hand lightly on hers before he finally finds words.

“We love you,” he tells her, knowing if you were with them you’d say it too.

It might have been minutes but is more likely hours by the time a nurse pulls Calum from her side. The mention of you finally rousing him from his state. He doesn’t want to leave but he wants you. He wars over it for a moment but nods, gives her hand another touch, tells her that you both love her and finds himself wandering the hallway back to you. You’re stricken when he enters the room. Mali is trying to be a calming presence, to keep you in bed, but it seems a losing fight.

“How is she?” you ask, breathless, hopeless and forlorn.

Calum swallows down a lump in his throat, bites back tears and tries to stay strong for you and for her. A rush of the doctor’s words come back to him. What scattered remnants of pieces he barely heard charge through.

“She’s beautiful,” Calum says first, sits down in the chair at your side and takes your hand as softly as he had taken hers. “The doctor said the first twenty four hours are the most vital. They’ll know more at forty eight and even more at seventy two.”

“I want to see her,” you say and Calum hears the edge of hysteria in your tone.

“You need to rest,” Mali tries but falls short when you and Calum both shake your heads.

“I didn’t even get to hold her,” you cry and it’s enough to bring Calum to you, his arms gently around your shoulders. You can’t hold her, he can’t hold her, but you can hold each other and hope. “I want to see her,” you repeat and the words hit Calum’s skin and wrench his heart.

“We’ll ask the doctor if you can,” he promises, not knowing how physically affected you are from labor, not knowing if getting up and going would be okay or not.

“I’ll go get her,” Mali says and excuses herself from the room to track down the doctor and to give you two a private moment.

You’re both quiet for a few seconds, content to hold each other together in the silence. Calum feels your grip on him tighten as you shift in the hospital bed and eventually pull away so he can see your face. He runs his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe away your tears.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, eyes wide and concerned. “I wish I could’ve been there with you. I don’t know how hard that must have been.”

Calum shakes his head as if he’s trying to shake away your worries. You feeling guilty for not being there with and for him was the same war he had about leaving you behind.

“‘I’m”—he says and sucks in a deep breath—“I’m okay. I’ll be okay. She’s gonna be okay,” he finishes and finds a new mantra though it’s hard to believe and each sentence sounds more like a question than the last.

You nod, a small shudder shaking your shoulders and racking your body. Calum reaches for you again, let’s his hands settle on your shoulders to give you strength and comfort.

“I know she will. She’ll be okay, she has to be, she’s half you and you’re the strongest person I know,” you rationalize, eyes lost to the wall in front of you. You look back at Calum and he sees the stony wall you’ve put up start to crack as you gaze at him. “But it’s okay to break sometimes,” you finish and Calum knows you’re saying it to him, reminding him that he can break into your arms and have you there to help him put back the pieces.

For the first time since your daughter was born Calum allows himself to crumble. The tears he’d been fighting back slide down his cheeks and his shoulders slump with the weight of the world. He’s brought back to you by your gentle pull and finds reassurance in the love you show him. Mali comes back in with the doctor and Calum tries to collect himself, wipes tears from his face and clears his throat.

“I hear you’re asking about your daughter,” the doctor says as she steps into the room and takes a sweeping glance at you, Calum and Mali. “Parents are allowed in at all times. Visiting hours for others are seven in the morning to seven at night. Only two at a time.”

“Can I go see her?” you ask, a fragment of hope clinging to your words and getting lost in your eyes at the mention of parents being allowed in whenever.

“In the morning,” the doctor replies and Calum swallows down a lump in his throat, knowing that’s not the answer you wanted. “Your labor was quick but very intense. Your body needs to rest, the drugs need to wear off, you wouldn’t make it down the hallway in your condition.”

Calum sees the refusal cross your face, the staunch disbelief that you can’t see your daughter almost enough to crack anyone’s resolve. The doctor keeps explaining to you but it falls on deaf ears and interjections. You ask if this way would be possible, if that way would, but nothing seems to be possible to the doctor who means to keep you in bed until morning.

“What if she doesn’t have a morning?” you finally ask and suck in a breath as if the words themselves strike physical pain through you. Calum’s nearly certain they did, just the thought is enough to make his chest feel like it’s caving in.

“She’s stable and comfortable. If anything was to happen we would get you in there. For now, please try to get some rest.”

The doctor gets paged and makes her escape. Calum clutches you, holds you and makes whispered promises he’s not sure can be kept.

“I don’t want her alone,” you whimper and Calum follows your gaze out the door.

“I’ll go—do you want me to stay with you? Where do you want me?” he asks, stumbling over his words, unsure where to go or what to do.

You nod. “Go be with her. Please. Make sure she’s okay,” you instruct and Calum can hear how much it pains you to let him go to her without you. He holds your hand, kisses your forehead.

“I’ll come back to check on you in a while,” he promises. “And I’ll take so many pictures of her. Sweetheart, she’s beautiful,” he adds, realizing his first time in the NICU was so filled with shock that not one photo was taken and the only time you’ve seen her was when she was being taken away.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes glossy. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he answers without hesitation but takes an extra second to gaze at you before heading out the door.

He’s back with your daughter before he even realizes it. Her small hand is warm inside the incubator, her eyes are still shut and past the tubes that breathe life into her she almost looks peaceful. He takes as many photos as he can without disturbing her. He settles into the hard plastic chair beside her and tilts his head back until it gently thumps against the wall. His hands find his face and rub at his jaw. He hadn’t realized before but it’s been clenched and holding tension for hours. Time passes as he sits at her side, talks to her, sings and hums when she so much as stirs slightly. He’s able to lull her and he takes those moments as victory and ones to keep with him forever. Once more he wishes you were with them, knowing you would be able to do the same for her with the sound of your voice, the gentle touch of your hand. When it nears midnight and she hasn’t stirred in a while and a nurse has come in to check on her, Calum convinces himself it’s time to go check on you.

He knows he could call or text but he misses you. He’s faced with a conundrum as he gets one foot out the door of the NICU. Now he misses her. But he doesn’t have time to do much of either as the kind nurse he recognizes from earlier stops him once more. This time she has a clipboard with papers and pen in her hand.

“Forms for her birth certificate,” she informs.

Calum gapes at the papers. Even the easiest of questions and information seems impossible. You both still don’t even know her name yet.

“You can take your time on them. I’ll be around to help if you have questions,” the nurse says before excusing herself to rush off to help another patient.

Calum’s left with the clipboard in hand, aches in his heart and questions in his mind. He heads back for your room to find you awake and Mali gone. You smile to greet him but Calum can see how flat the gesture is and he can’t blame you.

“Where’s Mali?”

“Getting a coffee. I can’t sleep and she wanted to stay up with me,” you explain and Calum settles himself on the edge of your bed. He takes your hand and places the clipboard on his lap. “What’s that?”

“Forms for her birth certificate,” he says and sighs. “I can’t even fill in her name.”

You squeeze his hand in understanding. “Do what you can,” you reply and inch closer to take a peek at the papers. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you as you each get lost in your own thoughts. “I know you get to name her…”

Calum shakes his head. All bets off. “We’ll decide on something together. I love all the ones on your list,” he tells you and finally gets a genuine smile from you, eyes alight and all.

“I want to see her before we choose, I feel like I don’t even know her.”

Calum trembles at your words and the honesty in them. You carried her for seven months and had about seven seconds to see her before she was carried off. He leans closer to you, gives you many small kisses from your cheek to forehead as worries and fears tumble inside him, each one coming to life and bringing life to others. He drowns them out, for you and for her. He’s already crumbled once. He wants to be resilient. Mali comes back with coffee in hand and tired eyes but such a sheer will to stay Calum can’t even work up the nerve to even suggest she go home and get some sleep. And in all honesty he’s glad she’s here and can be there with you when he can’t.

“I called mum and dad, I hope you don’t mind,” Mali says when she takes a seat on the opposite side of you, sliding into the chair in a tired yet graceful way.

Calum shakes his head. He doesn’t mind at all. He wanted to do it but didn’t have the heart or the words or the right mind to even dial the phone.

“They’re flying out as soon as they can,” Mali further informs, then sips at her coffee. “We’re all gonna be here for you. Both of you. All of you.”

“Thank you,” Calum gets out past a choked up throat and stands to stride to his sister and give her a long overdue hug. She affords him comfort and when she realizes how tired his eyes are she gives him her coffee and says she’ll get another.

Mali leaves again and Calum spends the next few minutes drinking in the caffeine and soaking up some time with you. He wants to get back to your daughter but the war of you being completely alone confronts him once more. He decides to wait until Mali gets back to head back to the NICU. When she does stride back through the door he gives you a kiss, tells you he loves you and makes a promise to stay with her until morning; until you can be with her too.

He spends the night in the uncomfortable hospital chair, hand inside the incubator, finger lightly stroking her tiny hand in soothing rhythms. He talks to her when the moon is out, he shows her pictures of you and doesn’t let it bother him when her eyes don’t stay open for long. He comes to terms with the fact that she’s resting and when she’s resting she’s getting stronger each and every second. Through the night he shifts in the chair but never leaves it. There’s a kink in his neck and his muscles ache by the time morning comes but those pains are minimal in comparison. He rubs at his tired eyes after waking from a miraculous little doze. He straightens and finds her immediately.

“Good morning,” he sings quietly as he gets level with her. Her eyes are barely open. “You get to see your mommy today.”

He knows it’s not likely, probably impossible, but he swears she smiles when he tells her that. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He has no intention of answering it—he’s surprised it still has enough charge to buzz—but he checks who’s calling. Ashton lights up the screen. Calum sends him to voicemail and jumps when motion in his peripheral startles him. Ashton is standing outside the NICU window, looking in at Calum with his phone pressed to his ear. He frowns when he hears the voicemail greeting. Calum gathers up the courage to leave his daughter. He gives her a small goodbye squeeze on her hand, tells her he loves her and exits the NICU, the routine of leaving the used gown behind already set in stone.

“How is she?” Ashton asks, giving no time or thought to explaining how he knew where to go or why he holds a duffel bag in his grip.

Calum wracks his brain, trying to find the last update from a nurse or doctor but comes up short after his long night. He sighs and his shoulders slump.

“She made it through the night,” he says and hears the desperate intone of needing hope in his voice. “What are you doing here? How’d you know?”

“Mali texted, Luke has Duke,” Ashton explained and lifted a worry from Calum. He’d nearly forgotten Duke in the fray of it all. Ashton hoisted the duffel bag up. “I brought you both clothes, phone chargers, and I even have a present for her,” he continues and rummages around in a small gift bag until he pulls out a plush koala bear.

“She’s in a closed incubator,” Calum says though he knows he should be saying thank you instead. He can’t stop the words once they start. “She can’t have anything in there.”

Ashton nods, knowing the slight bite in Calum’s tone is not frustration at the gesture, just the circumstances. “It can go in her nursery.”

“We don’t even have it set up yet.”

Calum knows he’s starting to crack again but he doesn’t know how to stop himself. If it were anyone else he might have had a fighting chance of keeping himself together but Ashton’s been there for unspeakable highs and lows. He can’t fight himself into submission. He can’t keep himself together without a little help from his best friend. That’s exactly what he gets, a comforting hand on his back as the bags hit the floor and a hug to remind him that it’s not just you and him against the world. It takes a few minutes for Calum to pull himself together, to offer an apology for his tone that Ashton shrugs off in understanding and head for your room, the sudden remembrance that you get to finally see your daughter carrying his steps.

He finds you and Mali in the same spots as last night. He can tell you didn’t sleep. Your eyes are bloodshot and heavy but the smallest of smiles captures your lips when you see him.

“You ready?” Calums asks and you nod, needing no other prompting to understand. “Let’s get you dressed then we can go,” he adds on and searches through the duffel bag for some clothes as Ashton and Mali head to the hallway.

“How was last night?” you ask him as you pull a hoodie on.

“Long,” Calum answers and takes a breath. “But she made it through with no problems. I talked about you, showed her pictures, I think she’s excited.”

You laugh at Calum’s recount of the night and his projection of her possible excitement. It’s the first time he’s heard you laugh in nearly twenty four hours. It’s not as hearty and joyous as usual but it’s a start to feeling normal. You both hold onto that feeling as you exit the room and head to get ready for the NICU.

Calum doesn’t know what to expect when you enter and see her for the first time since she was taken away. He figures you might tear up, that you might clutch him or go straight for her. He doesn’t expect you to freeze in your tracks halfway to where she sleeps. He doesn’t know what to do when you wrap your arms around yourself and tremble where you stand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, come on,” he tries with a soothing voice. He’s a step ahead of you and you continue to stand still. He backtracks to you, puts a reassuring hand on your back. “What’s going on?”

He focuses on the subtleties of your face and is drawn to your eyes. He sees the way they shine and knows that you’ll soon be biting your lip and scrunching your nose as you do your best to hold back your emotions.

“All these machines…” you trail off with eyes roaming the NICU and the sight of dozens of incubators and the like. Calum knows how overwhelming it is but he’s had time to adjust and get used to the hum and flow of the world your daughter lives in.

“They keep the babies safe and comfortable,” he says, knowing that’s what will get through to you. “I’ll show you, she’s nice and cozy, getting stronger every second.”

You nod and take very small steps with Calum at your side. He doesn’t rush you or push you along. He goes at your pace, his eyes skirting from you to your daughter. He knows you can see her from your vantage point. Her eyes are closed as sleep claims her once more. Calum is used to the tubes that give her oxygen and help sustain her life. It startles you when you first approach and Calum witnesses the tears that finally slide down your cheeks. You’re timid at the edge of the incubator, hands curled into fists and steadfast at your sides. He hears your breath shaking and reaches for your hand.

“You can touch her. Hold her hand. She likes that,” Calum informs, knowing his touch and voice had soothed her through the night whenever she stirred. “Like this,” he says and reaches his free hand toward her, lightly stroking the soft skin on the back of her hand. Her eyes open but she stays calm and content.

You go slowly, as if afraid to startle her or scare yourself. Calum retracts his hand from her but keeps his other in yours for support and comfort. It takes one touch for your fears and stone wall to come crumbling down. Your eyes soften as more tears make stride and a sob wracks your body.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you manage to get out through a cracked voice and Calum smiles at the choice of term of endearment. You’ve always been his sweetheart, now you have one of your own. You look up at your husband and Calum meets your eyes. “She looks just like you.”

Calum shakes his head. “She’s you too, look,” Calum says.

You giggle through another cry but Calum knows the tears and sobs are all born of something good. “She’s got your eyes and purses her lips just like you.”

Calum smiles at that. “But that nose and those cheeks are all you.”

“You think so?” you ask, turning away from her to look at Calum with hope in your eyes. He nods. You turn back to look at her and keep up the small rhythm you have of stroking her hand. “Yeah,” you agree upon further inspection with such adoration in your tone it makes Calum laugh.

For as hesitant as you were to enter the NICU it quickly becomes apparent that nothing in the world will tear you from her side. You take up residence in the chair Calum spent the night in, never once letting your hand leave her, keep your voice soothing as you talk to her. Calum finds his way to the other side, content to hold her other hand and listen to the sweet words you whisper to her.

“I love you so much,” you repeat, having found a new mantra. “I can’t wait to bring you home. You’ll get to meet your auntie Mali, grandma and grandpa, all your uncles. Your doggie, Duke. We’re all waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.”

“Some are less patient than others,” Calum says around a laugh as he spies two people on the other side of the window. You make a confused noise until Calum motions over to the window and you both take in the sight of Ashton and Mali waving behind the glass with glossy eyes and smiles to accompany them.

“They’re really special, huh?” you ask and smile, appreciative for all of the effort they’ve put in. You both know you wouldn’t be able to get through this without family by your side.

“The best,” Calum agrees with fond eyes.

You fall into silence, content to stay by her side and do nothing but gaze at her and each other adoringly. Calum doesn’t expect to look up and find you in tears again but he does and it nearly rips his breath away before he detects that though you’re crying it’s a good kind of cry this time.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” he asks.

“This is just—it’s all I’ve wanted,” you manage to get out with your gaze roaming from her to Calum and then to Ashton and Mali still watching from the window. “It’s our family.”

Calum smiles at the sentiment and the honesty in your voice and knows the gesture reaches his eyes and hopes you can feel it in your heart the way he does. He knows your rocky relationship with your parents and that you haven’t felt like family in a long time. They have still yet to meet Calum after bailing on a dinner and the wedding. He’s not sure if you’ve called them about the birth or if they even bothered to answer but he’s happy to see you content with the family that chose you.

You sniffle and meet eyes with Calum. “I have an idea for her name,” you announce and Calum’s heart skips a beat. He’s ready to start calling her by her name, to fill out the forms in his hoodie pocket, but then he laughs as he realizes he might more often than not call her a term of endearment, just like he does with you.

“Anything you want,” Calum promises, knowing that it will be perfect because it came from you and your heart.

***

Another day slips by and Calum finds himself alone with your daughter once more. You’ve been brought back to your hospital room to talk with your doctor and see where you’re at and when you’ll be ready to be discharged. Calum asks you to get some rest while you’re in there. You make no promises but heed his words. You both have thoughts of her name in your heads, still undecided, wanting more time with her to be absolutely sure but feeling that it could be right. Calum’s hanging on by a thin and tattered thread. He’s exhausted and nodding off in the chair when Ashton rouses him with a phone call and coaxes him out into the hall, but not before he spends the time to tell her that he loves her. He meets his best friend in the hall, a yawn falling from him, arms wide as they stretch out the aches and tightness from his prolonged position.

Calum rubs at his eyes. “Why’d you drag me out here?”

“I think you should go home for a while,” Ashton says, getting straight to the point. When Calum immediately refuses with a shake of his head Ashton sighs and continues, “just a little while. You’re running on empty.”

“No. No, I don’t want to leave her. I can’t leave them,” Calum refuses, head still shaking and eyes darting to the window.

“Go home. Take a shower. Eat something. Take half an hour to sleep. They need you to be rested,” Ashton says and Calum can almost hear the words he didn’t say. They need you to be strong.

It’s the implication and words unsaid that even marginally make Calum consider the proposition. He runs a hand through his hair as tangles of thoughts snarl through his mind. He lets out an accidentally long held breath and turns the shake of his head into a nod as his shoulders relax. He decides he will, but only after he’s sure you’re okay and can be in with her. He tells Ashton as much.

“Good, I’m on shift right now so I can be in there with them when you’re gone if you guys want,” Ashton informs. Mali had finally gone home to get some rest for herself and Ashton slid seamlessly into her role at your sides to fill in the gaps when you have to be separated.

“I’m sure we’d all love that,” Calum assures, utterly grateful for his family’s presence.

Ashton does as promised. Calum watches as the two of you enter the NICU, sticks by the window until he sees Ashton take her hand for the first time and glow with such love and adoration it makes Calum certain she’s okay in his hands. And yours, though he’s never had a doubt about that. He heads home after waving and blowing a kiss—and laughing when Ashton pretends to snag it from you and keep it for himself. He calls for a car, knowing he’s well past exhausted and being behind the wheel would be dangerous. The car stops at the curb of your home and Calum stops short when he steps out. Two cars sit in the driveway where your cars are usually parked.

He enters the house and is met with disgruntled noises coming from down the hall. He makes way to the back room and finds Luke and Michael in a mess of boxes and half put together nursery furniture. He laughs as he stands in the doorway and it catches his friends attention, they look up at him, wide eyed and startled.

Michael is the first to stand as he abandons a screwdriver on the floor among the mess of cardboard, bubble wrap, and probably unread instructions. “How is she? How are you? What are you doing here?”

“She’s getting better everyday,” Calum answers and doesn’t even question the knowledge they have of her and the troubles she’s been facing. He knows Ashton must have filled them in. “Ashton forced me home to get some rest. But the better question is what are you two doing here?”

Luke blows out an irritated breath. “Trying to build her nursery. We figured Mali and Ash wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon so we might as well be helpful in the meantime.”

“Do they know when she can come home?” Michael asks and tucks his hands in his pockets, eyes sweeping the mess of a nursery. He clears his throat.

“Not yet. Hopefully soon,” Calum answers with an arched eyebrow, also taking in the room.

Luke stands. “Don’t worry. We set up a bassinet by your bed. We read it’s good for newborns to sleep near their parents. Just in case,” Luke informs. “She’ll have somewhere to come home to and rest. Now it’s your turn,” he finishes and waves a hand as if to dismiss Calum from their presence.

“Alright, I’ll take the hint. Just… try not to break anything,” Calum says and excuses himself to head across the hall to his own room. He spots the bassinet immediately and gravitates towards it without thinking. He has the stuffed koala Ashton got for her in his hoodie pocket. He pulls it out and places it inside, optimistic that she’ll be able to come home to it soon.

Calum doesn’t linger at home too long. He showers, eats and struggles to sleep for a while. Luke and Michael make minimal progress in their efforts to put together the nursery. Before heading out again Calum stops by to thank them.

“We couldn’t do this without you guys,” Calum expresses his thanks and means every word of it.

“That’s what we’re here for. It’s what families do,” Luke reassures.

“You can thank us by showing us some pictures of her,” Michael states and tilts his head. “The only ones we’ve gotten are blurry and through a window from Ash and Mali.”

Calum is more than happy to comply, he’s taken dozens, likely hundreds, since the first one he snapped for you. With two of his best friends by his side he swipes through endless photos. Most of just her, nearly identical, some with you and her, some of him and her and a few taken by a nice nurse of the two of you with her. He’s not looking at Luke and Michael—much too busy staring at the screen, wanting to be back with her and you to look at them—but he can feel the smiles in their voices.

“She’s the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen,” Luke coos.

Michael makes a comment that she’s lucky she favors you over Calum and all three laugh. It’s one of few genuine laughs Calum has had over the past few days and even though it’s at his own expense he doesn’t mind. It feels normal. Michael and Luke aren’t treating him like glass and he feels less likely to shatter because of it.

“I gotta get back to her,” Calum concludes and locks his phone after the last photo is shown.

“Send us new photos when you get there,” Luke insists and lets Calum part with them after a hug for each.

Calum leaves the half finished nursery and hears his friends go back to squabbling.

“Where the hell did the crib go?” Michael’s voice asks as Calum heads for the door.

“I think it’s under the rocker,” Luke says. “Which is under that styrofoam.”

Calum leaves with a grin and gets back to you and her as soon as he can. He has to switch places with Ashton to get back into the NICU. He immediately greets you and her and though he’s sure at this point you both know he tells you he loves you.

“Will you sleep tonight?” Calum asks, knowing it will likely be your last night in the hospital, your visit from the doctor informing you that you could be discharged in the morning.

“No,” you respond.

“Will you at least try?” he questions with pleading eyes. He doesn’t want you to spend a night in a chair after all your body has been through though he knows you will without question. “You need rest,” he reminds. “I did. Now it’s your turn.”

You sigh and Calum can hear how tired you are just from that. You mull it over for a minute and finally nod. “I’ll try. Stay with her?”

“Always,” Calum promises and meets you around the incubator to give you a hug before separating for the night.

It’s another long and restless night for Calum but he finds small joys where he can. He’s happy to see her content and resting easily. He revels in holding her hand and talking to her. The doctor said she would know his voice and as time passes he starts to believe it. He can’t help but think back on all the times had talked to her before he was born. He found comfort in holding your bump and telling you both about his day or humming and singing familiar and beloved tunes. Those days aren’t so far gone and Calum feels a tug in his chest as he realizes how quickly they left. Seven months was too short. But as he gazes down at her he can’t help but be happy to have met her early. He laughs when the thought of her just wanting to meet you as soon as possible enters his mind and knows he’ll have to tell you that, knows it will make you smile. The night goes by without incident and it instills more and more hope into Calum’s heart that she could be going home any day now. He gets a text from you early in the morning when the sun is still making it’s ascent into the sky. 

He finds himself in your hospital room with a view of pink clouds on the horizon and the golden sun greeting you as the doctor says you’re okay enough to be discharged. You both listen to the instructions and advice the doctor gives you and Calum can see the relief and happiness on your face as you settle into the realization that you can be at your daughters side at any and all times. The doctor tells you to rest and take it easy but Calum knows nothing will be restful or easy until she’s home and you both know she’s okay. Your minds and hearts won’t have peace until she can rest in your arms. Calum helps you get ready to leave your own hospital room and head back to the NICU. Over the next couple of days you and Calum find an exhausting rhythm of being at her side. It takes a lot of convincing from Ashton and Mali to let them be there for her while you take just a small amount of time for yourselves. Though it’s hard and goes against all of your instincts to be there with her at every single minute you relent after nearly thirty six hours without real sleep.

The first time you and Calum leave and Ashton and Mali go in together you linger by the window and watch as they take up positions by her sides. Calum feels warm and okay as he watches, he even manages a smile when Ashton and Mali light up when they hold her hands. The first time eases the transition to being able to take small moments away, long enough to eat and stretch your legs. But you never stay away for too long and even when they’re in with her you always find your way to passing the window and checking in on her and them. Nights are a different story. There is nothing that will make either of you leave her side. Days go on with uncertainty and worries but having Ashton and Mali around helps take some of the pressures and anxieties off of your shoulders.

Night settles upon you both with weary exhaustion clinging to your minds, bodies and hearts. Your daughter has been doing well but there’s still no word of when she can go home. It leaves you reaching for fragmented pieces of hope. Curling your fingers around broken shards of optimism and the fabric of each other’s shirts, holding onto all that is dear. Calum tries convincing you to go home for a night but you staunchly refuse, you tell him that you’re okay though your eyes betray how tired and broken you really are. He doesn’t push the matter, just holds you close in the uncomfortable hospital chair and keeps his hand on hers and yours and whispers reassurances all three of you need.

“I don’t even care if we go home soon or not. I just want to hold her,” you whisper and cut through Calum’s attempts at soothing you. “It’s been what? Four days? Five?” you ask and furrow your brows, the concept of time completely lost.

“Six,” Calum answers and is only aware of it from the watch on his wrist. It feels like a lifetime and he realizes that for her it is. He nearly gets choked up but clears his throat and blinks his eyes rapidly trying to keep himself together. He feels you shake your head against his chest as if you can’t believe it.

“She’s so tiny she could probably fit in one hand,” you say and let out a forlorn sigh. “I don’t know if we have clothes small enough for her.”

“We can send Mali out for that, I’m sure she’ll have a field day. We might have to build another closet for her,” Calum says and a small laugh follows, you giggle slightly and it’s more than Calum has let himself expect in a long while.

You lapse into silence, too tired to keep talking but too aware and afraid to fall asleep just yet. Calum’s learned to blur out the noise of the machines and just focus on your steady breathing. It comforts him. Just as he knows the beat of his heart is comforting you with your head pressed to his chest. His lap is numb but he wants you as close as possible.

“Have you thought more about her name?”

“I like what you mentioned,” Calum answers, a tilt of a smile forming for you and the thought of her possible name on his face. “Let’s sleep on it one more night,” he says and hopes that you actually will be able to sleep.

He finds himself nodding off, neck crooked and head falling against the wall behind him. But slumber is quickly taken from him when he feels himself being shaken and hears your breathy whisper.

“Something’s wrong,” you say and he immediately perks up, heart lurching and breath catching at the two words. “Look.”

You point out the window of the NICU where a group of doctors have convened with sullen looks on their faces. There’s a moment where everything is palpable and tense. Calum’s throat tightens and his heart rate spikes with anxiety. He can hear machines beeping but it’s not uncommon. The doctors break their group and start to move.

“Please don’t come in here,” he hears you say but he’s too fixed on watching the doctors disappear from the window and waiting for the door to burst open. Waiting for a doctor to take his daughter away again. “No, no, no.”

Calum’s hand finds hers and it feels just the same as always, warm and soft and perfect. His heart drops. Nothing happens, the door doesn’t open and the beeping stops. He gives it another moment and clutches at his chest with his free hand. He lets out a breath that’s nearly painful. He doesn’t even notice that in the heat of the moment you left him and stood, but now he refocuses, where once there was white edging into his vision as panic picked up he blinks it away and notices your hands are shaking. When you turn back to look at him he sees tears in your eyes.

“It’s okay,” he says and reaches a hand out to bring you back to him. “It’s okay. She’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and settle back against him, and he can feel the tears on your face as you find a home against the crook of his neck. “I was scared.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have woken you. I shouldn’t have”—you begin but Calum strokes your hair and stops the words from coming out.

“That’s what I’m here for. I would’ve done the same,” he promises and assures. “She’s okay, we’re okay,” he continues when your small sobs and shakes don’t stop. He knows that you’re panic stricken and need to let the fear out. He holds you while you do, keeps his gaze flickering from you to her and lets the hum of the machines settle back in. He runs his hand up and down your back and hopes the rhythmic motion will help to calm you. He’s nearly certain sleep won’t be had any more for the night, he’s been running on coffee, anxiety, naps and adrenaline for days now. Once you’re calmed, or at least calmer, you pull away from Calum and he watches as you move back to her, settle so you can hold her hand and whisper to her. Her eyes are open and she’s calm. Calum notes and realizes how quiet she is, has been since she was first born. Even her cries are small and timid. He listens to you tell her that you both love her, that you can’t wait to bring her home and promise to always be there for her. Once the panic flees you both settle back in for the night but stay awake with closed eyes and hands on hers.

Morning comes in a slow creeping way. Doctors and nurses enter the NICU, you both watch silently as they make sure your daughter is doing well. It’s a silent and solemn affair to watch someone else be able to hold your baby—even if it’s just for a routine check in to make sure she’s making the progress she needs. Calum sees your arms flinching, watches as they calm when she’s back in the incubator and quiet. He knows it’s killing you to not hold her, cradle her in your arms and keep her safe from the world. It’s killing him too. Though you’re both somber and exhausted from the previous night, Calum finds that the morning is easier, he’s a little more light and certain. He won’t call it a good feeling as he doesn’t want to jinx it, but as he stares down at her and her eyes flutter open to meet his gaze he feels more calm and collected than he has in a week. His phone buzzes and though he doesn’t want to peel his gaze away from her he looks down and finds a message from Ashton.

“Ash says we should go get breakfast, he and Mali will come in for her,” Calum informs you and for the first time you don’t argue in favor of staying. Last night was too much, twenty minutes to recollect yourselves sounds good, and you’ve both come to trust Ashton and Mali to be alone with her.

“Alright, just get something quick from the cafeteria,” you agree and give your daughter one last touch and affirmation of love. You’ve both made it a habit to have your parting words to her be “I love you”.

Breakfast passes in a blur, remnants of blueberry muffins get swept into the trash and soon enough you’re both on your way back up to her. You’re stopped short in the hallway, a doctor calling out to you.

“Hoods?”

You both turn and a nervous feeling flutters through Calum’s chest. He holds his breath for a moment as he takes in the sight of the doctor. He exhales when the doctor seems in no rush and holds no note of concern. Calum supposes it’s a routine check in to tell about her progress and what the next steps are. Calum’s about ready to ask if you might be able to hold her soon, knowing how far she’s come and how much better she’s doing but the words get trapped as the doctor starts talking.

“She’s put on some weight. Her vitals are good. We’ll be transferring her to an open incubator for the day and if all goes well she should be able to go home by tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“What?” you ask, voice small in Calum’s ears, tinny and distant as you both process the news.

The doctor runs through it again, tells you slowly and answers questions that pop up during the explanation. Once it all makes sense, once it sinks in and the reality that her and home is coming sooner than either of you could have hoped for you’re both struck with a whirlwind of emotions. You freeze and for the second time the life of your daughter brings Calum to his knees. He doesn’t realize that he’s sobbing until you find him on the floor and your gentle hands and voice start to soothe him. Your fingers run through his hair and you repeat a new mantra that’s carved in stone and faith.

“She’s okay. We can go home.”

Your voice is a whisper and the NICU door opening and closing and footsteps all scream around you both. Calum clutches you and tries to catch his breath.

“What’s going on? What happened?” Ashton’s voice cuts through and brings you both to your feet. Calum doesn’t let go of you, face buried against your shoulder, but he finds some breath and wrestles with words and comes up empty.

“We get to take her home,” you explain and Calum suddenly hears Mali too, excited gasps and squeals sounding all around. Calum doesn’t let go of you but he feels his sister and best friend join the hug and appreciates their presence more than any choked up words could explain.

“Right now? I’ll go get the car,” Ashton asks and is reeling and ready to go but is stopped short.

“Tonight or in the morning,” you explain and Calum is grateful you’re strong enough to find words when he can’t. He continues holding you when Mali and Ashton break away, spilling their excitement out in bursts followed by tears.

He feels your hands in his hair again and the gentle sway of your body rocking him as he tries to ground himself into the reality that she really is okay. That nights filled with worries and days packed with exhaustion and waiting and waiting and waiting are going to be over. He breathes a little easier and finally detaches himself from you. You wipe his tears and he wipes yours and small laughs formed from disbelief and exhaustion spill past your lips.

“We have to finish her forms,” you remind and Calum doesn’t hesitate to dig into his jacket pocket where the papers for her birth certificate have been on standby. All that’s left to fill in is her name. “Should we go with…?” you ask and trail off as you peek at Mali and Ashton who are waiting with great suspense. Calum nods.

You fumble with the paper and pen and write her name out against the wall. You stay silent as you turn back to the group. You can sense Mali and Ashton are trying to be patient but the anticipation grows and keeps them on edge. All you do is silently hand them the paper so they can read for themselves.

“Mila Ashe Hood,” Mali reads in a breathy whisper coated with surprise. “She’s named after us?”

“After her godparents,” Calum says, finally finding some words but getting the wind knocked out of him once more as another group hug ensues. “Thank you guys, for everything, we couldn’t have made it without you.”

“That’s what family is for,” Ashton says without hesitation. “Now get in there and celebrate with her.”

***

“Do you want to hold her first?” you ask and look up at Calum with wide eyes. He meets your gaze, remembers your outstretched arm falling as they took her away, your pained and whispered words of just wanting to hold her, the way you flinched with fear at the sight of doctors outside the window. He wants to hold her but he wants you to have the moment you’ve been missing for seven days.

“It’s all you, sweetheart, you can go first,” he says and is content to watch with adoration and love as you reach into the open incubator she will be leaving for good momentarily to take her into your arms for the first time.

“Hi love bug,” you whisper as she settles in your hold; eyes open, quiet and content. “She’s so tiny and beautiful and perfect,” you say and softly rub her back. Calum sees tears in your eyes and for one of the first times in a week he knows they’re made of happiness. “Are you ready to go home?”

Mila doesn’t so much as squirm and you both take her contentment as a resounding yes. Calum lets you hold her for a few minutes more, takes several photos to capture the moment forever, knowing neither of you will ever want to forget. Mila’s eyes find Calum and his heart flutters.

“That’s daddy,” you tell her in a coo. “Do you want to go see daddy?”

The slow motion of Calum’s world stops as his entire universe ends up cradled in his arms. Mila weighs barely five pounds and Calum surmises your guess of her fitting in one hand would be right. But he holds her with all of the soft strength and love he has and wonders if he’ll ever be ready to let go.

“Ashton’s bringing the car around,” you inform. “Her car seat…”

“Luke dropped by and installed it,” Calum responds and laughs when you give him an uncertain look. “I’ll make sure it’s secure.” He would never let anything bad happen to his baby girl.

The transition from the hospital to the car goes fast in comparison to the agonizing wait of seven days. You both sit in the back with her, holding her hands, talking to her and enjoying the feeling of freedom from the incubator and anxiety. Mila is back in your arms and seeing her home for the first time in what seems like no time at all. The car ride flew by. Calum heads down the hall and takes a peek at the nursery.

“Sweetheart, come look,” he calls down the hall and pushes the door fully open when you and Mila reach him.

The sight of the finished nursery is breathtaking. You and Calum show Mila around her room; from the white crib and the pictures of woodland creatures above, to the rocker in the corner and the endless clothes that line her drawers.

“This is your room,” you coo, and shift your weight from one foot to the other, already noting that she likes a small rhythm when she’s held. “You’ll sleep right here when you’re bigger. For now you sleep right by mommy and daddy.”

You go across the hall to your room where her bassinet is set up and timidly ask Calum if it can switch sides of the bed so she can be near you. You explain it’s so you can feed her easier in the night but Calum doesn’t need an explanation, he’d do anything for you and her. He makes the switch and you gently lay her inside, kiss her forehead and clutch Calum as he stands by your side.

“I want to have more kids, I want her to have a sibling like you and Mali but I can’t go through that again,” you whisper and Calum can hear the heartache in your tone.

He pulls you close. “She will. We wanted to adopt, remember?”

You light up at that and smile with such sincerity it takes the ache right from your hearts. “Yeah. We’ll adopt,” you say and snuggle against Calum’s chest as a smirk grows on your face. “So, do you want to start that process tomorrow or?”

Calum bellows out a laugh and runs his fingers through your hair.

“Let’s take a breather, yeah? Enjoy being home with her for just a bit.”

“Okay,” you concede and Calum lets you drag him to bed where you can both rest. With his arms around you and your eyes on Mila who has fallen fast asleep you let out a content sigh and Calum smiles.

“I love you,” Calum says once and then again, one for you and one for Mila and you repeat the same back to them.

“I’m so happy to be home with my family,” you say around a sigh.

Seven months of pregnancy and seven days in the hospital have worn you both thin but in that moment there’s no other place you’d rather be. Beside your baby and in each other’s arms. The wait and anxiety are worth it once you find that all you have now is happiness and love. Calum and Mila.

<< >>

I can’t believe we’ve finally made it to this point in the dates with cal universe. I’m so appreciative of the support whether you’ve been around since the very first blurb, joined somewhere in the middle or are just finding this world. Thank you all so much. There is much to come, I hope you stick around for the journey.

Premature birth can come with many complications. What was depicted in this fic is one scenario of struggles parents and preemies can face. If you feel so inclined there are amazing charities to check out to help support families and babies in their time of need. Overall, stay kind and spread love and support.

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[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left

Summary: Life goes on, whether we will it or not

Read on AO3

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left 

***

When a hermit crab dies, its shell is left behind, sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Empty and lifeless, it remains motionless as the waves cover it with sand.

Jamie had once owned a hermit crab. After it had died, it rattled him that the beautiful shell that looked so much like his pet remained even though the crab was gone. 

Now, Jamie himself was nothing more than a hollowed out shell. 

He knew his heart was gone, every ounce of love within him ripped away, but what had surprised him was that it was as if she’d taken his very body with her as well as his soul. He didn’t have the energy for even the most basic tasks. Food was tasteless. His vision seemed foggy. As tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. Life seemed to happen around him, but he hardly managed to bring himself along with it. He was being buried under the weight of the emptiness. 

Nothingness shouldn’t have been so heavy. 

He spent three weeks laying in his bed. Barely eating, barely moving. 

Jamie was aware that he was wasting away, but he couldn’t seem to care. Claire wouldn’t want him to give up without her. Even more compelling, he wouldn’t want her to act like this without him. Even as he’d sent her back through the stones, he’d told her to live a good life without him. He wanted her to be able to move on. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do the same, and he never would. After knowing the joy of a full life, there seemed nothing left for him in this hollow existence. 

If he could have reached out and grasped onto some sort of hope in his new life without her— not that any seemed to exist— he still would have chosen not to. All the right decisions, the healthy decisions, the ways to cope and move forward— they all seemed like a betrayal. He didn’t want to move on; he wanted Claire back. 

The first time he’d uttered the horrible truth of Claire’s absence outloud was when Murtagh had forced it out of him. His godfather had come banging on his door after Jamie had ignored his texts for weeks, eventually barging in on Jamie’s state of depressed chaos. He had dragged him out of bed, forced food down his throat, and shoved him in the shower. After Jamie looked less like a corpse, Murtagh coaxed the story out of him— at least, the only story Jamie could give. 

“She’s gone,” he forced out. Hearing the words aloud was like a knife to the gut. He’d known they were true— every beat of his heart without the answering one of hers next to him made that truth abundantly clear. But being forced to say it aloud brought a whole new level of pain. 

Murtagh clearly didn’t know whether he meant she’d broken up with him or died. His godfather tried to probe him for details, but Jamie didn’t have it in him to explain anymore. 

“There’s nothin’ left for me,” Jamie rasped, “she was it. Claire—” his voice broke on her name, but he forced it out, finding some amount of reverence in the shape of it on his lips, “ Claire was my heart and soul. I dinna ken what to do, a ghoistidh.” 

“Ye do what ye have to, lad,” Murtagh said firmly, “ye keep going.” 

“How?” he looked up at him with tears shining in his eyes. “How can I keep going without her?” 

Murtagh brows drew together as he grew thoughtful. His expression reflected the gravity of the situation. His godfather knew that he was desperate for a reason to keep going, crying out for help. Words couldn’t heal him, but something had to be said. Murtagh took his time before saying them, very carefully. 

“Ye’re no’ without her, though. No’ really. Ye’ll carry her memory wi’ ye. Ye keep going, and ye bring her wi’ ye, even if it’s no’ in the way ye would have liked.” 

Jamie swallowed the bile rising in his throat. All he could hear was buzzing, the cotton in his ears growing somehow thicker. 

“I don’t want to,” he forced out, shaking his head, “I don’t—”

The meager contents of Jamie’s stomach rose, and he rushed to the trash can before collapsing to his knees and heaving into it. The grief in his heart tried to force its way out of his body, and he wished it could just end this and tear him from inside out. Murtagh hovered behind him, offering him a wet towel, and Jamie sat back heavily against the cool wall. 

“I ken she wouldna want me tae give up,” Jamie said quietly, barely above a whisper, “but I just dinna want tae keep going.”

Murtagh’s eyes swam with emotion and his face crumpled underneath his beard as his brain came to a conclusion. Clearly his godfather thought the love of Jamie’s life had truly died. And she may as well have been to Jamie, or maybe she had actually di—

The fear that Jamie had been fighting for weeks rose inside him again. It was possible that Claire really was dead. More than just possible. She’d said coming through the stones had been torture, and she’d been so weak afterwards when Jamie had found her the first time she’d gone through. He could only imagine what the trip had done to his barely conscious lass, hanging on by a thread. Or maybe he had waited too long and it had been too late. Maybe she’d gotten back and was too weak to even draw energy anymore. Maybe she’d died on that hill, all alone, grieving his loss as much as he grieved hers.  

This fear haunted him, both waking and sleeping, tearing him into pieces. Seeing Murtagh’s face as the man thought Jamie was mourning her death, Jamie wasn’t so sure he wasn’t . He wished he could know what became of her— anything to stop this horrible speculating that churned his mind. But he was left in the dark. Left to hold on to the tiny comfort that he had done what had to be done. 

For his wife. 

Jamie let his head fall onto his knees, hugging his arms around them so they were pressed tightly to his chest. 

“Jamie. I willna allow ye to waste yerself away,” Murtagh said firmly. “I ken ye’re hurting, and I would never suggest ye ignore it. I only ask that you take care of yerself, even when ye dinna want to. If not for the memory of her, then do it for me, aye?” 

He raised his red-ringed eyes enough to see his godfather, and he realized there was real fear lingering on Murtagh’s face. 

As much as he wanted to let himself fade away, he could never do that to the man sitting in front of him who he loved so dearly. 

“Alright,” Jamie agreed, “alright.” 

***

When Jamie was young, his parents had a yearly tradition where they would send him to his grandfather’s house to stay for a couple of nights. His grandfather was loving enough, but every time Jamie went, he was overcome with intense homesickness. He would cry himself to sleep each night of the visit, feeling like the guest room was freezing to the bone as he imagined the warmth of Lallybroch. 

Every day now felt like that homesickness magnified a hundredfold. 

Claire had been the true home of his heart. Jamie longed and ached for her in ways he hadn’t known possible. 

Only that home had been lost. And he was left lying awake at night dreaming of her warmth and missing her with every fiber of his being.

***

While driving on the highway during a long road trip, inevitably one will see a plastic bag being blown down the road. Aimless, empty, and completely at the mercy of the wind. Jamie would watch them sometimes, tracing their progress before they drifted away. But he never asked himself where it would end up because it didn’t matter. The bag would simply continue on, moving forward without a destination. 

Jamie was no more than a bit of plastic pushed by the breeze. He stayed rooted to his life only by his promise to Murtagh. He began to go about his days with empty precision. He would wake up at 8, brush his teeth, eat one cup of parritch, and head into work. Every night he would come straight home, take a 30 minute walk around his property, cook himself dinner, and fall asleep to the murmurs of the tv. 

On the rare nights when he allowed himself out of his robot-like trance, he would venture into the closet of the guest bedroom where Claire’s dresses still hung, and he would bury his nose in it, hugging it close to his chest, searching desperately for a whiff of her earthy-rose scent. 

On those nights, he would cry himself to sleep. 

Jamie continued on, but he had no idea what he was moving toward. 

***

When he was a lad of about 5, he and Willie had gone out to the barn to play. They had a bit of rope with them, and Willie thought it would be fun to try to walk a baby goat like they walked their dog, Rufus. They’d fashioned a leash for the poor thing, but when the time came to “walk” it, the animal had simply laid on its side as he and Willie had dragged it through the dirt, wailing its disapproval but not moving a muscle until Jamie’s parents had run out and grounded them for a week. For the goat, there hadn’t been so much active resistance as simply a complete shut down. 

When Jenny showed up at Jamie’s door one night, ordering him to get in the car to come over to dinner, Jamie had simply obeyed. Getting dragged was easier than fighting. 

She’d driven him straight to Lallybroch, where she, Ian, and the brood resided, and Jamie somehow managed to find a weak smile within himself for the sake of his nieces and nephew. 

As soon as he came through the door, he was overcome by a stampede of little feet and grabbing hands. Chubby arms wrapped around his legs, his hands were grasped, and his body became a playground. 

“Weans! Where are yer manners?! Say hi to Uncle Jamie!” Jenny admonished. 

“Hi, Uncle,” came the obedient responses from wee Jamie and Maggie. 

Before Jamie even had a chance to respond, he was obliterated by an innocent, well meaning question that cut him the core. 

“Uncle Jamie, where is Ms. Claire? Can she come to dinner too?” 

Jamie froze, every muscle coiled up on instinct from hearing that name. He’d tried to numb it out, tried to let himself get dragged on through life without the roadblock that was any mention of his lost love. 

Jenny knew, of course. Murtagh had told her about Claire’s “death”. Her face shown with sympathy as she watched Jamie stumble back onto the bench seat behind him. He sat down hard, pressing his hands to face, and peered down at wee Jamie. 

His voice was thick, nearly unrecognizable, when he managed to force out the following words: 

“She’s gone to live forever with the faeries.”

His eyes flicked up toward Jenny, whose face showed raw grief. She may not have liked Claire much, but hearing about her death spoken in such terms, or at least seeing Jamie like this, seemed to wreck her. 

Only somehow, speaking those words— the truth, disguised as a fairytale for children— actually freed a tiny knot in Jamie’s chest. 

Wee Jamie looked both disappointed and intrigued at the news. 

“Gone to live wi’ the faeries?” he echoed. 

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. He glanced up at Jenny again, and then back at the weans. Every thought in his head seemed to vanish, and he hadn’t decided to do anything, but his body was moving. He leaned down closer and gestured them toward him. Lowering his voice, he said, “can I tell ye a secret? If ye promise ye willna tell?” 

Both children nodded eagerly, waiting with baited breath. 

“Claire is a faerie. I found her on the faerie hill one day, and I took her in. She wasna meant to be here, you see, it was an accident. But we fell in love, and she decided to stay.” 

“But why did she go back then?” wee Jamie asked. 

Jamie swallowed hard. “She… well, she ran out of faerie dust. She needed tae go back to live with the faeries so she could have all the faerie dust she needs.” 

Tears gathered in his eyes, and he had to blink hard not to shed them. 

“I”m sorry ye lost yer faerie, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie said, reaching out her hand to rest it gently on Jamie’s knee. 

He took it in his, marveling at just how small it was. But brought him comfort, and for the first time in the past three weeks, he thought maybe he wasn’t entirely alone in the world. 

“Me too, Maggie. Me too.” 

***

a/n: One more chapter to go in arc II, and it's a big 'un. See you tomorrow and thank you so much for reading!!

Next

[aseioh]

The day the earth stood still pt.2/3

Author’s Notes: Striking a deal with an Eldritch being has never been so easy

 Bela was numb.

Kneeling by the foyer of the house, she stared at the crystal remains in front of her. The whole house was in disarray, dolls once lovingly caressed now lay broken on the floor. Angie, Donna's favorite doll and pseudo-self was missing as well. Bela wanted to stand and investigate to see what had happened to cause all this devastation, but the thought of leaving Donna alone even for a second grounds her in place.

'She was alone' Bela thought, she was alone even in death. Poor Donna Beneviento the mysterious doll maker, in life and in death alone in every sense.

"It must have been hard for you, you couldn't stop him. You must have known that you couldn't stop him, only stall. Stall for a little more time" Bela talks to the crystal remains. Standing up Bela walks around the first floor of the house, she sees the fresh blood smeared on the walls.

'there must have been a chase, Angie's favorite hide and seek' shattered dolls littered the floor, sewing materials scattered on the table, books toppled from their shelf.

Bela stops by the foot of the stairs and looks at the portrait of Donna.

---

  She remembers the time Donna came to the castle for the portrait commission, how she was fidgeting on her seat as her mother sketches. Donna was nervous even with her veil on her head, the fact that someone was looking at her so intensely was making her sweat.

 "Now, now Donna no need to be nervous. It's just us girls here." Alcina tries to calm the nervous woman. "Look even Angie is calm" pointing at the doll Donna is carrying.

 "Relax love, no one will see you here. Even then it's just Cassandra and Daniela, they'd like to see you and Angie later. Daniela will definitely want to play with Angie, and Cassandra would probably ask you about crochet patterns." Bela giggles at Donna's surprised look.

 "Yes Cassandra's trying to learn crochet, when she learned that it involves stabbing things to make something she got this grin and started asking for crochet hooks" Donna giggles the sound so soft that everyone in the room can't help but smile. Alcina gives her daughter a small smile, thankful that she has managed to ease the nervous woman.

 The rest of the day went by, with Cassandra and Daniela later stopping by to chat with the woman.

---

That portrait now hangs by the staircase the most prominent thing you first see inside the house. Donna's soft smile and Angie's grin captured perfectly on canvas. Bela was so lost by the portrait that she didn't hear the door open at first. Quickly sensing that something was different around her she swarms to Donna's side ready to kill anyone that dares disturb her lover's sleep.

Standing by the door is the last person she thought she would see.

"I see you've reunited with Lady Beneviento" The Duke stands by the foyer, leaning forward with the use of a silver walking stick a suitcase by his leg. The very fact that the portly man stands in front of her unnerves Bela, that and she realizes that The Duke towers over her although not as tall as her mother.

She immediately goes on a defensive, her body shielding Donna's crystal remains.

"What are you doing here. There's nothing for you to steal" Bela sounded furious how dare this man come here and barge into Donna's home. Readying her sickle she makes a move towards The Duke.

Sensing the tense atmosphere radiating from the young woman, The Duke lifts his hand in a stopping motion. "Before you continue in this destructive way, may I suggest you listen to my proposal first" The Duke enters the house and sits at the first available seat, Bela follows the man's movement never taking her eyes off him.

"Come and sit Miss Dimitrescu, I find it easier to bargain when both parties are sitting" Bela follows the man near the table but refuses to sit. "I'll stand thank you"

"Very well, now, about my proposal. I have been a proprietor of all kinds of wondrous items, and in my life I have accumulated fantastical and often occult objects that an average man would sell his soul to obtain-" at this The Duke looks at Donna's remains then looks at Bela letting the implication of his words sink in. "Objects that can curse its owner or grant wishes that beyond your wildest dreams."

"And I would like to extend my services to you, Miss Dimitrescu" The Duke finishes. Bela was quiet as she considers the man sitting in front of her.

Was this real? can she really bring Donna back to life. But as she hopes for the miracle presented to her another thought comes into mind.

"What's the price?" at that The Duke's smile broadens. "I always knew you were a smart one, Yes, as with all things in this world there will be a price to pay. Something of equal value for starters"

“Anything” Bela says without hesitation

“Ah but I haven’t even told you what the price is. Will you still be willing to exchange once you know?” The Duke prods Bela looking for any hesitation within the woman's feature and sensing none.

"Very well, I can help you revive Lady Beneviento but the price would be steep. Both of you will have to pay for it, for your part you will have to give up half of your life to sustain her. For Lady Beneviento she would have to give up her memories of you and any lingering feelings along with it. I would guarantee that she would have a new life away from here, a new start." The Duke ends laying down the terms of his proposal.

Bela listens to every word "And your telling me that what you've just proposed is an equal exchange?"

"I did say that it's just for starters, as you are in no position to give me anything of value, I do believe that I'm the one who can determine the terms and conditions of this bargain."

Bela considers the man's word and thinks of what her mother would have done. "If I do agree with what you said" she says carefully, "What proof do you have that Donna would be safe? Why are you helping me?"

"I'm just a humble merchant, I go where I'm needed, and I can't pass up on a good business deal." The Duke said with a sharp glint in his eyes. He almost seems inhuman. "And I can assure you, I don't renege on a deal. Lady Beneviento will be taken care of."

"And what if I want second opinion from mother?" Bela questions

"I'm afraid you can't do that. This deal is between you and me. The moment you walk out that door I will be gone and you're beloved will stay dead."

Bela steels herself and walks towards Donna's remain one more time. Kneeling down and gently placing her hands on the crystalized faced, Bela thought of happier times with her beloved. "I'll make this right Donna, No matter what happens I love you. I want you to find happiness, even if I'm not in the picture."

Standing up Bela faces the merchant. "I agree to your terms, but I want your word and proof that she will be taken care of. That you will bring her outside of this damned village and away from this madness. I want your word Duke."

The portly man stands up and walks towards Bela, extending his hands and offering to seal the deal with a handshake "Well then we have a deal."

Bela accepts the proffered hand and feels herself grow weak, a few more moments and the young woman faints her last thought of was of the smile of the mysterious doll maker.

The Duke nimbly catches the young woman before she hits the floor, surprising considering his rotund body. Carefully placing Bela on the floor, he moves towards his next client "Now Lady Beneviento, I will be taking the Cadou from you and there will still be minimal scaring. Hopefully with your new identity you will forget all the pain this village has caused you." He places a white circular object near Donna's torso near her heart. Like magic the crystalized remains of Donna began to form into her old body, checking if the woman is breathing, seeing as the woman looks to be asleep.

Moving towards the door The Duke retrieves Angie from a suitcase and gently placing the doll near Donna. Satisfied with his work, he moves towards Bela, scooping up the young woman he makes his way towards his carriage. Making his way towards the castle, he spots Lady Dimitrescu at the steps of the castle foyer. The Lady has recovered enough to be able to stand and wait for the return of her daughter.

"Good evening Lady Dimitrescu, I've brought your beloved daughter back. Do not worry she's merely tired, she'll awake in no time" The Duke greets the matriarch of the castle with his usual flair. For Alcina's part she eyes the man wearily sighing "You've done something to them haven't you? I will not ask the details as I know your ways merchant. I just want to know if my daughter will be safe."

"Do not worry madam, she will be fine, as well as the newly revived Lady Beneviento."

"So she did perish, alone. My poor Donna"

"I believe she tried her best to stop Mr. Winters, but alas, the man's willpower to get his daughter back is stronger than anything. I believe you also understand that"

"I do, my daughters are everything to me" Alcina said with a hard edge and finality in her voice.

The Duke carefully opens his carriage and retrieve the sleeping woman, gently giving her over to Alcina. Alcina brings Bela closer to her embrace to ward of the cold. As The Duke makes his way towards his carriage he turns to the Lady of the castle. "I shall now return to house Beneviento to retrieve Lady Beneviento and will get her to an associate of mine that would set up her new life. after that, I do believe we have our own deal to make."

"That we do" a thought crosses over Alcina "Why help us?"

The Duke considers, this wasn't the first time he heard that question and he deals the answers in half truths "There are forces in this world that exist that even science cannot explain, the old Gods have left but few remained and continue to slumber on. Some are sympathetic to human and would grant wishes when asked. I believe that is what happened with your Mother Miranda. My associates and I keep the balance in check." the surroundings behind The Duke starts to get fuzzy and dark, static sounds seem to come from everywhere. and as soon as it starts it ends everything comes back to normal and The Duke is back to his pleasant self. "I hope that answers your question, 'til we meet again my Lady"

Alcina understands that there are some things in the world that should be left alone, this is one of these. "Yes until later then. Thank you" Alcina makes her way back inside the house, nursing Bela near her breast. Cassandra and Daniela greets them by the door, concern in their face.

"Is Bella alright, Mother?" Daniela asked

"She'll be fine my dear, we all are. When this day ends everything will be made clear and the ashes of the damned will scatter in the winds" Alcina answers cryptically as the three women make their way further inside the castle.

Inside the carriage The Duke considers the days event, chuckling to himself 'and the Day isn't even finished yet. There are many more plans to move forward and a struggling parent to help'. His thoughts came to the lovers he just helped, the bargain was just he thought. He just hoped that he had a satisfied customer.

Smiling broadly he hums a long forgotten tune, his thoughts on the sleeping woman he brought back in the castle. If his predictions are right and if Miss Dimitrescu is as smart as he thought she is, then she would be able to find the loophole that was inadvertently placed.

Donna may have lost her memories of Bela as payment, but if they were meant to be together, then Bela can simply find her again.

Better send her an address then just in case. after all he wasn't one to just put everything in one basket, a little push on the right direction should be enough.

   Now dreams run wilds, as lovers find their way        Through the nights, not a care in the world        And over there, over the twinkling of the lights        Harbor lights, say goodnight one more time 

----

Notes: Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion tomorrow!

[lazysublimeengineer]

i tasted life

Title: i tasted life

Summary: He could say thousands of words laced in silky threads of affection and sweet encouragement. But he wasn’t made that way. Words were not his forte.

Character/s: Ryuuguugi "Draken" Ken, Hanagaki "Takemitchy" Takemichi, Kawaragi Senju

I tasted life

- Emily Dickinson

His jet-black jacket glistened sharply under the moonlight as they traversed back to their residences after that meeting with the Brahman. Takemichi was uncharacteristically silent as he stared straight ahead on the road. The normally bubbly and boisterous blond was reticent as he walked beside Draken who had his hands in both of his pockets. Takemichi was still processing the earlier events that had happened at that meeting which frankly looked like an underground fighting ground that reminded him of that unsanctioned street fighting led by Kiyomasa during their middle school years.

After the official announcement made by Senju about him now being a member of the Brahman, that’s when it finally hit him. He really was risking everything on the line including his life again to make Mikey��s future great and peaceful along with them. Nevertheless, Takemichi didn’t feel any anxiety or doubt within himself. He felt that he was doing the right thing and everything was falling into the right pieces.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that wanted to crawl outside of his being.

“Oi. Takemitchy.”

Draken’s familiar deep and baritone voice jolted him out of his thoughts and looked up at him. Those sharp yet concerned obsidian irises were trained on him as if trying to decipher his innermost feelings and thoughts with that single gaze alone.

A warm feeling started to creep inside his chest and Takemichi resisted the urge to smile like an idiot in front of him.

“Yeah Draken-kun?” Takemichi gazed back at him curiously.

“You okay there? I can almost hear your loud, running thoughts you know.” He commented noncommittally but there was a tinge of concern beneath his nonchalant tone.

It made Takemichi chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ah, sorry about that Draken-kun. I got lost in my head again. Sometimes.” He smiled sheepishly at him.

It made Draken paused and just stared at Takemichi’s figure who was now walking past him. But the blond had noticed that he stopped walking and turned back to him.

“Draken-kun?”

Draken didn’t know what kind of face he was making but Takemichi looked at him with his tender, blue eyes that were devoid of malice and were just watching in genuine predilection and goodwill.

It made something inside of him break. He could say thousands of words laced in silky threads of affection and sweet encouragement. But he wasn’t made that way. Words were not his forte.

But what he lacked in words made up for the simplicity of his actions and for him that was enough.

He walked quietly towards Takemichi and stopped right in front of him. Before the other could react, his arms enveloped him in a firm yet gentle hug.

“You’re wearing that kind of face once again Takemitchy. For once, I gotta tell you to stop looking like that cause you’re not alone in this fight. Not anymore. We’ll save and bring Mikey back together. Understood?” His whisper was a gentle caress around Takemichi’s being that promised a brighter future and a dazzling ray of hope.

However, why did it feel different for Takemichi?

Why did it feel like a veil of a passing bell under the gloomy skies hung around them?

“Yeah…” Takemichi choked out a response, trying to swallow back his tears but his eyes glistened slowly. He could only return back his hug tightly as if he was afraid to let him go.

Takemichi couldn’t afford to break down and cry now even if he was on the verge of wailing like a lost kid. He promised himself that he wouldn’t lose his resolve and would just keep on fighting to make things better for all of them. Although he felt like his entire being was drowning away in quicksand, just being in Draken’s arms and firm grip seemed like a strong foundation that he can lean on.

“Thank you Draken-kun…” He whispered back and the other could only hug him back tighter in response.

“No. Thank you Takemitchy. For saving me and everyone. I’ll make sure that this will be your last mission for us.”

Takemichi’s heart quavered loudly inside his chest at his response and he wasn’t sure if it’s a good or a bad thing.

Takemichi inserted his keys into the keyhole of the front door of his house and turned on the knob. After his brief but lingering moment of respite with Draken on the road, exhaustion finally crept inside of him. All he wanted to do was to fall back on his bed and sleep the night away since he knew that he had to be prepared for the next day to come. He went inside and turned on the lights, flooding the living room with a brilliant spark of the white light.

The silence was deafening inside his house but it was nothing new.

He got used to living alone and greeting no one since his parents were busy with their own careers and lives to pay attention to him anyway.

The numbness inside his heart was growing but he chose to ignore it and just headed straight to his room upstairs when he paused all of a sudden, blinking a few times when he heard a noise.

A shiver ran down Takemichi’s spine before he steeled himself and continued making his way upstairs cautiously.

As he got nearer, he could hear someone singing. It’s like a song being played. Was the radio on?

A long, long time ago

I can still remember how that music

Used to make me smile

And I knew if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

And maybe they'd be happy for a while

It was a smooth voice of a male singing an English song that Takemichi knew nothing about. But the tone of the song had a funny yet melancholic vibe to him for some strange reason.

He was now standing in front of his doorstep to his room.

But February made me shiver

With every paper I'd deliver

Bad news on the doorstep

I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried

When I read about his widowed bride

Something touched me deep inside

The day the music died

Takemichi swallowed thickly. His heart was hammering wildly inside his chest as his hand reached out to turn the knob of the door to open it and what greeted his line of sight made him froze and mind blanked out for a second.

So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die"

In front of him was a phonograph, playing a vinyl.

And a blond male sitting in a chair with his wide eyes open and his mouth dripping with blood that went through his shirt and painted it a dark shade of crimson.

It was him.

He screamed and shot up from the bed all of a sudden. Takemichi looked around. He’s inside his own room and in his pajamas. There’s no phonograph that sounded like a death knell.

And there’s no dead doppelganger in front of him.

He was awakened from his nightmare which was dressed like a daydream.

“Hanagaki!” Senju hollered at him when he successfully tackled her on the ground and shielded her away from the bullets that the masked man shot in front of them.

“Are you alright Senju?” He asked worriedly.

“Eh?” Senju could only look up at him, still taken aback by what he did.

“I can’t let you die.” Takemichi said determinedly, staring at her intently which made the other gawk at him in silence, a slight blush marring her cheeks.

“Die Hanagaki!” The masked man screamed at them and shot at them again with his gun.

Takemichi could only close his eyes tightly as he waited for the bullets to land on his body.

But it never came.

“You good Takemitchy?” Draken drawled out as he glanced at him before approaching the masked men who grew fearful of him and dropped their guns, running away.

It made Takemichi opened his eyes and stared at Draken with wide eyes.

“Thank you so much Draken-kun…” There was gratefulness behind his voice.

Draken smiled wryly before he kicked the gun away. “They got the nerve to attack with such dangerous weapons.”

After Takemichi made sure that Senju’s completely okay, he went towards Draken’s spot and quickly leaned closer to his ear to whisper something.

“Let’s keep us it between us, but… Just now, I was able to foresee the future.”

It made Draken’s eyes wide for a fraction of a second.

“In that future, I saw Senju protecting me. I’ve prevented that outcome.” Takemichi continued to whisper seriously to him.

Meanwhile, Senju was looking at both of them with a curious yet perplexed expression on her face.

“What are you guys whispering about?” She asked.

“It’s all thanks to you Draken-kun. We’ve successfully changed one future!”

“Is that so…” Draken had a wistful smile on his face afterward. “Then I’m glad.”

“Hey, I think we gotta go! We’ll be in trouble if someone gets here!” Senju cut off their whisperings towards each other with a worried reminder.

Takemichi immediately sprang into action. “Ah, you’re right!”

They’re both running now when Takemichi noticed that Draken was just standing there and not doing anything.

“Draken-kun?” He paused and called out hesitantly.

His back was still turned to him when Draken spoke his words. “Takemichi… Please tell this to Mikey…”

“Huh?”

“Don’t cause too much trouble…”

“What are you talking about?! You tell him yourse-.”

He stopped midsentence when Draken crumpled down to the ground like a ragdoll.

Takemichi felt like a cold bucket of water was spilled on him as his eyes grew wide as saucers and stood frozen for a moment.

“I’ve done all I can do.” Draken murmured with a peaceful smile on his lips as his eyes watched dazedly on the raindrops that pelted on his body.

I started singin', bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die"

(A/N: The day I own these characters is the day that my fanfic is the bestselling novel on the market which will never happen. Inspired by the events from chapter 221 of the manga. Senju lived. Mikey finally appeared. But at what cost? Also, I was listening to the song American Pie by Don Mclean when I was writing this fic and it fits since behind that upbeat yet lazy tone of the singer, the lyrics and the message of the song are quite tragic. Which honestly fits into the latest chapter of the manga. Lastly, where the hell is Wakasa? He only appeared for 2 chapters and I missed him already. I need to see him in the next chapter to free me from the angsty land of the latest chapter. Reviews are entertaining. So, let me hear them from you.)

[a-life-lesson-in-submission]

Inside a Submissives Soul

Dear Diary -

I honestly think I am wearing rose tinted glasses. Everytime I see Sir I feel so content, I feel such an inner peace, I feel happiness, everything else doesn't seem to matter anymore.

Straight into his arms, our lips meet, I am instantly taken, I am only his, he is all that matters. I am very self conscious in body and mind. Sir says I don't give myself enough credit, checking over my body, he is approving, I feel attractive, I feel like a woman. He lifts me so I am straddled over his lap, I can feel all of him pressed against me. My lust for him, my attraction to him is pulled in, his gravity is strong. He is cheekily spanking me here and there, the impact turning my grinning into more of a smile, apparently I am a bad girl. Yes, yes I am and cannot wait for my confidence to grow to be able to show him how bad I really am.

We stand up, he has me sit infront of him, he leans in, grips my neck, we are kiss tastingly close, I lose myself in his eyes for a moment, I just want every part of him and I want it now. He lifts the girls out to play, a tweak here and there, it's always just enough to make me tingle whilst barely wincing.

I am relieved from my clothing with all but my thong and ankle socks on... yes... socks... he did this for his own amusement knowing it bothers me... nevertheless, I kept them on, I made sure I obeyed him.

I am to stand again but before I do, he prompts me for my right hand, more specifically, my wrist and wraps a strong velcro strap around with a connecting carabiner clip hook attached, then does the same with the other wrist. As I stand, he guides my wrists up to the hooks within the wall and clips each wrist to them. There isn't much room to maneuver. Facing away from him, his lips, his breath trace my skin, before long his fingers get to work on my sensitives. He pulls my thong down to around my knees, his right hand then starts to play from the back, his left around my front. I am in ecstasy and very noticeably wet. I push back, pull forward, up on my tiptoes, pulling at the restraints, breathing all over the place, moans and groans expressing my pleasure. I get so close a few times. He says 'cum', 'like a good girl, I immediately want to, I need to, I wish I could there and then. He spends so much time working me with his fingers, quickly and deeply to slow and sensual, it gets me everytime. I look down seeing him rubbing me, I am thinking 'that's it, yes please'. He said he could do this for hours, I could take this for hours. Here and there he would spank me, spank my peaches, my sensitives and the girls. Between my head elsewhere and my body on the edge of succumbing to him, I am aware his hand that he is using to finger her changes slightly and now I can feel a thumb perched on my peach rim pushing ever so slightly, I push back encouraging access. I am so very close becoming frustrated at myself wanting that release, my grunts make this quite noticeable.

I am unable to control my jolts and twitches, I don't know how he does it feel second nature with him, completely natural. He chuckles, he seems to really like my responses, he feels my insides pulsate around his fingers.

I am enjoying every second but then I move my right hand and realise its gone to sleep, I let him know through an almost breathless giggled murmur. He asks if he should stop, I respond that he is ok to continue to which he does but only for a little longer. Removing the restraints my right hand is numb, I begin wiggling and shaking it around to bring feeling back, he gives it a little massage as I get pins and needles. I am allowed to lose the thong he informs me but the socks stay put.

I am then asked to kneel on the seat infront of him. He gropes at my peach and tells me to never change it, I tell him I won't let myself drop much more weight and he rolls his eyes as he receives a giggle and kiss pressed against his lips. He then lifts me again, man I love that he can carry me around the way his does even if I am mindful of him dropping me or hurting himself in some way. Again he eases my worries as I am sat up on the raised bed and advises me to lay on my back once again exposing my holes to him. I flinch as the cool lube hits my skin, Sir again chuckles, 'it never gets old'... a stray thought with my inner voice responding that I really hope it never does. I try to express my sarcastic gratitude through cheeky back chat but words escape me as per, an instruction from Sir to hold myself open for him soon has me back on track.

My knees up and wide, he is teasing, probing, he goes through how many fingers, 1, 2, 3 and 4. He notices 2 and 3 has a profound response. I feel something new, something firm yet feathery and very moist, Sir treats me to his tongue, bathing her, finding my sweet spots. He finds my bit after seeking under the flesh folds, flicking, teething, he's everywhere, it's amazing. I can't hold my legs open, I'm writhing, tensing, relaxing, I'm here then I'm gone again, it's closer than ever. My arms fall to each side of me, his come up to reach over them, at first it is a mutual grip that soon turns into a form of restraint. Its building, my legs move, coming in close over his shoulders, my hips rock back and forth, this is it, it's finally here. My body begins to quake, he continues to feed me, my mind goes into overdrive as I feel a wave of deep pleasure fill my senses. Intense sensitivity ripples through me, automatically I attempt to pull away but I can't, his strength is far greater than mine, he holds me in place as he continues to eat me. If this is heaven, I am there. In my come down he is soothing me with his tongue coming to a stop, all I can muster is 'wow', I am beaming and laugh to myself, I can't remember what he said but I know I gave him the double thumbs up to which he says playfully he will go for a triple thumbs up giving her a little lick kiss.

I bring myself to sit up, I need water and before I know it, he's naked. Instant thought 'phwoar', but I actually say 'bumchickawowow', I amuse myself. Sir asks me to move over so he can come up onto the bed, I move to the side but he moves me back as he comes up between my legs. He is over me, hands at each side of my head, my hands quickly meet his body as I feel his member between my thighs, against her, he is ready and so am I. A little tease, I reach down to aim him towards her, Sir says 'ah ah ahaaa', as a let nature take its course and with that, he enters, sitting at the brim before he begins to push as she gives him a warm welcome. I squirm, he feels so big, he feels so tantalisingly awesome. Later I am told he finds my reactions incredibly cute, the way my eyes roll back into me head, almost cross eyed. Only he has this power over me.

My eyes meet his, I am easily lost in them, my hands feel his neck, shoulder, chest and body as his motions from one moment are taunting, another moment they are hard. I want him as deep as he can go, he raises my legs over his shoulders and buried himself within me further. My gawd he is just amazing. His breathing changes, my legs move back to the sides of him, he is thrusting deep asking me if I will cum over him, I nod with a barely there 'yes'. He prewarns me he is close and before I know it I feel his release begin to flow, as he pumps I feel myself release with him. Our bodies merge, foreheads lock together, once or twice nearly headbutting eachother in the process, my fingertips grip him, I want this to last forever for the both of us. It's powerful, it's perfect as he hammers our releases into and out of me. Smiling ear to ear, I can't help but sigh blissfully to myself, our bodies begin to relax and come to a slow stop, naturally our bodies begin to let go of one another, breaking away gently and lots of twitching eeks on my part.

He moves to lay by my side, stating that wasn't his plan, I ask what was his plan, he answers it was to go on longer. I am not disappointed, I make this known and I am more than satisfied with the results and he can be too. Embracing eachother closely, it's quiet, he says I shouldn't fall asleep as he jokes he is not like other men that just roll over and go to sleep, this is something I have said to him before, as much as men do this, I feel I could do too but I am not tired, I am content. Deeply content. I love every moment we have together, from daily message exchanges, the hello when we meet and become instantly close to getting ourselves ready to head back to reality but these moments, when we lay together, these mean everything to me. I am safe, I am happy, I am his.

We talk about anything and everything, his mind is fascinating, the way he is wired, he really is something else and it's wonderful, it's refreshing, his whole being is everything I could ever hope and dream for in a man. We spend some time like this, our fingers tracing one another's skin sharing comfort in eachother, before the alarm sounds. I break away to deal with the demanding noise, hydrate and he prompts me back up to lay with him alittle longer.

We continue to talk, bare pressed against eachother, he educates me on his experiences in places he has visited, clubs etc. It is ever so interesting, I will look forward to being able to see this for myself one day. Although I am not likely to partake, I would very much like to observe but you never know as Sir encourages me to grow on this journey, my confidence may allow me to feel that I am able to interact alittle more physically with others too, who knows. I read, I explore online in attempts to research and understand the many varieties of kink as some is rather niche but each to their own, I do not judge, I just wish to understand how it all works, what triggers an individual to need such experiences in their life, what about it fulfills them. I say I am unsure if I will have a label in the type of submissive I am and likely to become as I feel I have traits from each label but Sir says this is what is unique about this world, you don't have to have a label, we are all who we are, it is not something you can compare with another, everyone is different in their own right. I am comforted knowing I do not have to present myself as being this or that type of submissive. I am just submissive and what I like is what I like, no labels, just me.

He then moves onto feedback after we have played, how important it is and how open we always need to be. It's a massive learning curve for me as I am used to routine vanilla and keeping things to myself. I am more than happy with everything he is doing but I let him know when he goes slow, that really bites me, I also feel he knows more about my likings than I do in the way my body responds. I will be sure to keep check on myself without adding additional pressure, if Sir is to know me inside outside, I need to be able to express myself clearly to him. Everything he does is spot on, I'm just not used to so much physical and emotional interaction, we're both still very new to eachother but do I feel our exploration is mutually driven. Whatever the destination may be, I can only hope at the very least that we have many, many years together on this journey.

Sir notices he has become hard again and suggests he may have to use my mouth, I tell him I don't do hints as my hand moves to reach him and has alittle play. I am instructed to use my mouth, to which I do without hesitation. My satisfaction in giving warms me, he feels so good against my tongue, taking him into me as far as I can based on my angle. I still feel alittle nervous in pleasuring him, I'm not completely certain as yet of what he really likes and dislikes so my confidence has yet to grow in that respect. I tease his tip between my lips against my tongue causing his legs to tremble, I love this, he does it to me all the time so to know I am having him do the same in return is something I feel amused yet greatly satisfied of. He responds with body language that almost says 'tut tut', a light spank or grip against me informs of this so change my tactic slightly but I know I will always be sure to continue to make him twitch too.

The alarm, once again, sounds, urgh, just rude! I break away again to attend to the noise, however, I don't make it off the bed, my motivation to it seems like effort I don't have. Sir brings himself up behind me catching my attention, he eases himself back into me. The music sounding is drowned out with his movements, I am taken again, reality is lost again. He moves at speed, harder, faster to then a slow tease, I can feel it again, I want more. I continue to receive his actions over and over, soon I feel I want to release, I move a hand to feel him inside me and rub at my sensitives. It's definitely there but she won't budge and that's OK. Neither of us have to release to feel we are fulfilled, it is still very, very much enjoyable but I'm sure he knows how eager he makes me feel.

Time is catching up with us, we stop, I push myself up against him, my back to his chest, it's time to get ourselves together. I move off the bed, gathering myself to get sorted, he is far more in tune than I am, I barely function at times as it is, when I am in his presence it seems even more so that I cannot seem to find my senses, I just feel a constant magnetism that prohibits me from wanting to anywhere else in any other form. Whilst moving around to get dressed, I can feel him inside of me, he is warm, the sensation of him dribbling down my thighs cooling slightly as soon as the air touches me, I have a part of him I can take with me, he will stay there a while.

We are dressed and yes, I kept the ankle socks on for the entire duration! He pulls me in, my back against his chest, he feels and gropes at me, I tell him he is mean to wind me up before leaving me. I am sure he does this to reinforce my want, need and desire for him, safe to say it certainly works. I hope it is there for him too. Snap back to reality whilst sharing playful cheek between us, he really does make me laugh. As much as I back chat, sometimes I am completely dumbfounded, I don't always have the ability to present a come back but as always, not that it's a competition, he wins hands down. After all he is the dominant, he is the boss. Most of all he is my Sir...

[quantumlocked310]

Summon Up Remembrance

@deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​. Cherrypie. My friend. My OG. My Vikings Mom. My shared braincell about everything Hvitty. You encouraged me to put myself out there and talk to people. You’ve given me some of my best ideas. You’re an amazing human who works so hard both in fandom and irl. I’m so happy I took the plunge and wrote you Bjornekram so we could start up this wonderful friendship. Congratulations on your 500 followers! Every single one is well-deserved.

So! In order to celebrate our love, I’ve tortured myself and Hvitty with this story inspired by The Little Match Girl. I’d say ���Enjoy!,” but I have a feeling that’s not the right word...

Summary: What if Ivar hadn’t found Hvitserk in that cold forest in time?

Warnings: not a happy time, depression, graphic descriptions of violence, major character death, loss, despair, drug use, oral sex female receiving

Note: Title from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30

Don’t forget to tap the moodboard to see it in its highest quality!

++++++++++++

He’d used his last coin to buy the matches. Everything else had already been spent on the sweet release the mushrooms and drink provided him. His greatest triumph bled into his deepest failure when Bjorn sentenced him to live in the frozen forest. He knew it would not be long. His half-brother had given him painful and terrible mercy. Already he could no longer feel his toes, and his hair was stiff with ice.

His first match is useless. Scraped against the frozen rocks he huddles behind for some semblance of shelter. He knows he’s going to die, but he’d like to have a last taste of heat before he goes. Even the memory of the bright burning flames of his execution can no longer keep the shivering at bay. The cold and wet sticks he’d gathered couldn’t catch, even with the pine needles he’d found to shove under the bundle.

He is resigned to no fire and no hope. Only four matches to keep him company. The last vestiges of drink and drugs are leaving his body aching and freezing; his hands have barely enough movement to strike the next match. He watches this one burn. Its tiny flame dancing merrily along the wood. In its flickering he sees a better time; his favorite feast.

He’d been younger then, and happier. Not yet burdened with a legacy and revenge. The feast fires had kept him warm inside the packed great hall, and his belly had been full of food and satisfied with drink. It was the night he learned a woman might prefer his mouth over his other parts, and he’d been fascinated. The thrall he’d danced with had taken him aside and shared in his body, and shown him things other women hadn’t yet taught him. Their copulation was in a side room; their sounds of pleasure hidden by the noise in the hall. He remembers the delicious wet heat of her body against his tongue, and the way she whimpered and begged so sweetly for him.

The match goes out and Hvitserk is thrust out of the memory. He grows melancholy as he remembers the thrall was killed by horse hoof to the head when she was cleaning the stables one day. A horrible accident.

He scrambles for the next match. Wanting to leave this new remembrance aside and see something joyful once more. The next match strike flares bright in front of his eyes and he hears the clang of axes on swords. His best battle. He’d felt invincible that day. Bobbing and weaving in between English soldiers. Feeling the thunk of his axe as he buries it in the flesh of his enemies. The sweet and terrible smell of blood and guts and fresh mud. Hearing screams and battle cries around him as the Vikings cut a swath through the English forces. Getting to fight alongside his brothers, and seeing the prideful look in Ubbe’s face when he swoops in at the last moment to save his older brother from danger. Ubbe.

The match goes out, and the cold rushes into Hvitserk’s head. His despair is palpable. Ubbe could not let him die as he’d wished for on that fiery spit. But Ubbe let him walk into this cold and certain death demanded by Bjorn.

His saddened breath rattles his chest, and he feels the exhaustion in his bones; the wet snow seeping further and further into his clothing to numb his skin. The stinging tears falling from his red-rimmed eyes freeze to his cheeks, and he is barely able to lift a hand to strike the match. The tears fall faster as he stares into the flickering orange and gold to find a moment of peace.

They’re all there. Ivar, Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk. The four of them that beautiful spring day, together in the forest trading blows of the sword and the axe. Even their verbal sparring brings a smile to his disheveled face. He remembers going toe to toe with Sigurd, and being equally matched with Ivar. The rush of adrenaline in the fight is a distant comfort, and he dwells again upon youth; how young they all were. Naive and furious; untouched by the horrors that awaited them.

The match goes out and shivers wrack Hvitserk’s body. He sobs and shakes as he memorializes the family he will never see again.

Desire floods his system. The desire he’s always had to escape, to be someone he is not, to chase the dreams he had but could never fulfill. He weeps for his brothers, his mother, and his father. The most torturous thoughts follow, and he mourns and cries for himself. For the person he will never be. For the women he loved, and the children he never gave them.

This is his last one. The last chance to see his loved ones again. To see his brothers happy and together and alive again. Perhaps he will catch a glimpse of Thora or Margrette in this last memory. He draws strength from this small hope.

His breaths rattle and he lights the match. In the tiny flame it is his mother. How tall she felt when he was a child. She is loving peering down at his small frame as he plays with a wooden horse from Floki. Her smile is radiant as she talks to him. Asking him about the horse and the world inside his mind. Her tone is warm and loving, and it floods his body with a final burst of heat.

The match goes out and Hvitserk’s hand falls. In front of him his mother hasn’t left. Standing there like she was in his memory, with a gentle, proud smile on her regal face. She raises her hand, palm up, open and beckoning him. He rises and falls deeply into his mother’s embrace, clutching at her silken robes that catch the salty tears still falling down his face.

“Come, my son. You have done well. We must go to meet your father and brother.” Aslaug wraps her arms around her beautiful boy and holds him close. She feels his sorrow and his perfect joy as their souls connect and ascend.

Some hours later the stomping of boots and the rattle of wheels can be heard in the forest. Ivar looks to his side, observing the landscape around him, and his eyes are drawn to a cluster of rocks. They’re not at all interesting he thinks, but a strong winter wind whips past his face, and the rocks flutter in the wind. No, not the rocks. The hood of the person hunched behind them.

Ivar calls for a halt and carefully climbs down from his rig. He doesn’t know why, but he knows he has to see who it is for himself. His heart is pounding, and his instincts are screaming, and when he rounds the cluster he sees why.

The body is Hvitserk.

White hot rage floods his body, and Ivar lets out a primal scream. His sorrow and pain released in one powerful sound. Tears flood his eyes and freeze on his cheeks. He gestures to the closest soldiers to help carry his brother. They can barely lift him; Hvitserk has frozen in place, but Ivar is determined to give his brother the Viking funeral he deserves.

Ivar cries and mourns, and swears that he will seek revenge on his brothers in Kattegat who shoved one of their own into the wild to die. They did not even allow his fearsome brother the warrior’s death he deserved. What Ivar misses in his incandescent rage is the sweet smile on Hvitserk’s frozen face. Ivar should be celebrating, because as he was not in life Hvitserk is euphoric in his death; together with those he loved and lost once again. The image of rapturous bliss frozen forever in time on the face of his mortal body.

++++++++++++

If you want to read other stuff I write here’s my masterlist!

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @solinarimoon @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @southernbe @vikingstrash​

Photos are not mine they are from Pinterest.

[yanderenightmare]

dude I would kill for more DADDY DEKU, the last one gave me liffff, maybe like... "embarrassed to ask".... some anal?? plez and thank you Mizz Nightmare <3 I love all your work!

yandere dom ! MIDORIYA IZUKU

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: condescension, degradation, coercion, profanity, abuse, DUBCON/NONCON, yandere, manipulation, suggestive language, slight infantilization

BUNNYHOLE

She’d started to lose track of how much time passed during their session, forgotten what she’d done to get in the position she was in, forgotten what it was Deku felt the need to remind her of. Too much blood rushing to her head in her position of kneeling over his chest, her ass arched up and her face pushed down, cheek resting on his pelvis, running her tongue up and down the length of his cock nuzzling in her small palm, lips locked and sucking on the pulsating veins bulging from his erection. Or perhaps it was her way of forgetting where she was, her way of escaping, becoming numb to spare herself the humiliation, the frustration, the hopelessness and desperation of being subjugated, of being taken against her will, where becoming mindless was her only option when being in the hands of the madman.

Deku’s larger than life hands held onto her hips, held her in place, stroking the dome of her ass affectionately yet wantonly every now and again as his mouth swallowed down on the juices starting to spill drizzly down her thighs. Fat fingers, lined with muscle, coming to delve ghostly over her folds, with his tongue prodding at her entrance. She’d managed to block most of his praising and coos out of mind, focusing on coming, yet now… having lost count of how many times she’d done so on his experience dedicated tongue, with her oversensitivity blaring and buzzing in her lower abdomen, gnarling and crying for it to stop, it was getting harder by the minute to forget where she was and who she was with when he was still so very intent on lapping at her sensitive heat with his thick tongue again and again and again.

And he knew it.

“Such a good Bunny.” He cooed, slurping at her opening, the stiff pinching scratching of the beard on his chin an extra factor of teasing friction on the lips of her pussy, the action sending vibrations to simmer through her and a moan to spur from where she was nuzzling on the hill of his hairy thigh, her mouth guzzling down on one of his balls, letting go with a wet pop to allow the noise to leave her throat unstrained. “Getting so wet for her Daddy.” 

His sloppy tongue continuously licked up the ravine presented to him, making its way farther up than usual, playing with the other unused, and preferably so, tight hole.

She made a jump, hopping further down on his lap, face buried in his ball-sack, yet was quickly pulled back by the strong hands on her hips, cheek thoroughly smeared with a glistening mix of saliva and precum and tears.

As though understating yet not caring about her distress, his hands comforted by messaging circles on her ass-cheeks, perhaps in an effort to keep her at bay as well. “Just play with Daddy’s cock while he plays with your cute little butt, okay Bunny?” She’d gotten so very used to instructions, so used to bending her own will. 

His tongue found its way back to prodding at the tight hole, pummeling his fatness inside, seemingly trying to pry her open. “But, Daddy-” She tried, still in an effort to scramble away from his ongoing attack.

He would not have her disobedience, that time had passed long ago. His fingers starting to carve their presence into her midriff, stifling her attempt of escape. “Play with Daddy’s cock, just like I taught you.” He was firm in his demand this time, yet the same whine of condescension, of whiny patronizing correction, was still so disgustingly present in his tone. The voice that made her want to rip her hair out and strangle him with it. 

Yet, she obeyed. Mouth proceeding to slobber over his massive cock, suckling on every inch of his girth, licking paths over every enhanced vein, making him groan and buck his hips into her face, letting her head disappear between his strong thighs, massive thighs that could snap her neck if she made the wrong move. 

“Good little Bunny.” He drawled before he too continued. 

Mewls and adorable small whines escaping her focus on pleasing his cock, as his tongue crammed into the tight space of her butthole. More tears gathered at her eye-sockets, falling onto his cock, making her taste her own despair on her tongue gargling on his balls. 

“Bunny’s so hungry… sucking on Daddy’s balls like candy-apples.” She felt like gagging, not out of reflex, but out of disgust and wholehearted cringe for his words, but wasn’t given much space to feel anything but anxiety for too long, what with his thumbs making to spread her ass-cheeks further apart. He was happy to see she stayed in place, yet not surprised as the marks on her hips were already blooming with defined raw redness, evidence of just how intolerable hesitation and especially disobeying hesitation was in his cruel eyes. “Good girl.” He praised, hammering the thickness of his tongue inside her tight ass, now with the new easy access.

One hand shifted from its position of spreading her ass, pointer running over the budding hole curiously. 

She felt her guts churn at the act, fear riding her body full with goosebumps. “Daddy?” She squeaked uncertainly, sucking in a breath, relenting from her sloppy activity between his legs, fingers curling into the bedsheets in a manner of bracing herself.

“You’ve such a pretty little butt.” He stated, where the amount of adoration was terrifyingly present in his calm and collected voice. 

His finger quit its tormenting haunting and she sighed a relieved sigh, wet slicked face falling back onto his glistening manhood, tongue making to lick up his girth yet again. 

“Does Bunny want one of Daddy’s fingers inside?” Her fear rushed back, causing her to go all light-headed while his tongue lapped at the bud again, wriggling over the ring of muscle, drawing circles on it, ignoring her growing anxiousness fully. “Hmm, I bet Bunny would love Daddy’s finger inside her little butt.” She’d gotten used to his suggestive language, knowing what was best for her, but still she couldn’t help but way her options, even though deep down knowing how if Deku wanted something from her pliable little body, he was sure to get it no matter the struggle and fight she put up. “Filling her up-” His musings were cut off, the little girl on top of him fighting ever so slightly to move further away from his antagonizing mouth, pleading with her face shoved into his cock.

“No, Daddy please, I don’t-” He didn’t like that, holding her back with his harsh grip, keeping her ass well arched and presented for him to ravage.

“To me it sounds like Bunny is begging to be punished.” He warned, still playing his games, still with his disgusting tone masking the true sentiment of his words. “Do you want Daddy to punish you, Bunny?” One hand stroked over the plump flesh of her ass, threatening to strike the unprotected skin again and again until she complied with his wishes. She knew from experience she didn't  handle the pain well, always folding.

She backed down, better now than later with blooming bruises and a discomfort to sit for a week. “No, Daddy please, I’m sorry, I’ll behave.” She scurried back, scared into position, promptly sloshing over his cock with newfound devotion, moaning happily with his precum smeared on her face, anything to spare her from what cold hell he would show her if she didn’t.

He smiled, kissing the doughy flesh of her ass-cheek, welcoming her back. “Well then… tell Daddy how much you’d love his finger in your butt.” Hand returning. “Come on, don’t be shy.” Stroking over the bud of firm flesh, letting her feel the size of his fat finger, begging her to disobey him, begging her to cry and plead or to sob and force herself to obey his commands.

She chose the latter, knowing what other harsh torture awaited her was she not to comply like a good little girl. “Please, Daddy, please finger my ass.” He hummed contently in response, poking the hole ever so slightly, his fingertip sliding in the wetness of his drool. “I want your finger in my ass so badly, Daddy.” She whined, just like she knew he liked, wiggling her ass at him impatiently like the entitled brat he wanted her to be only for him to correct and humiliate.

“Bunny wants a finger up her little butt?” He spoke hurriedly in the spiked frenzied rush of her words, having them slur in drool as he kissed the hole sloppily, lightly biting the flesh of her one ass-cheek, again to scare her into playing the game.

“Yes please, Daddy.” She suckled on his girth desperately, letting false moans pass her lips as though she couldn’t get enough of his cock choking her throat. Playing the game, playing her part, surviving.

“This little butt right here?” He questioned, tongue flicking over the hole.

“Yes, Daddy please!” She started grinding her hips back into his mouth, knowing her enthusiasm is what his anticipation beckoned.

“Well, if you’re a good Bunny and play with Daddy’s cock then I’ll give this butt what it needs.” He needed her devotion, he needed her to understand just how under his thumb she was, he needed his ego satiated, his cruel sinister sadism fed.

“Thank you, Daddy…” She sobbed, fearing while knowing what he’d do if she were to disobey, resulting to dragging her tongue up and down his cock, hands working the base as she sucked, head bobbing up and down as she made cute little glugging sounds that had his stomach fluttering in utter bliss. “I love your cock, Daddy.” So sweet, just like he trained her.

He hummed at how precious she was, feeling somewhat proud of himself for having brought that out of her. “What do you love about it, Bunny?” His words pushed, but it wasn’t the only thing that was tormenting her. His tongue, burning and wet and forceful, dug into her backside, worming its way into her little hole as she tried her best, fighting with every nerve of her being, fear motivating her to stay perfectly still, though not managing to stifle the whimper.

Her breaths were shaky as she spoke to answer him before he grew impatient. “Daddy’s cock is so perfect and big, feels so good inside me.” He didn’t seem to care that she spoke with a cry in her voice.

His hand, having had rested on her ass as a warning, swung under, calloused textured rough fingers rubbed the bead of her clit, making her moan through her cries onto his cock. She was happy her position didn’t allow her to see his smirk. “I think Bunny thinks Daddy’s cock is scary, hmm?” His finger swirled, sandpaper-fingertip dragging over the sensitive swollen pearl again and again with little regard to how her stomach was curling. “A little intimidating, perhaps?” She rested her head on his thigh, her own thighs shaking, though his other hand kept her steady as his mouth sucked on her tender ring of muscle. “But Daddy’s a hero, Daddy would never hurt you, Bunny. Daddy loves you. You understand that, don’t you?” He asked, knowing damn well her answer would be scattered with how ruthless he was being with his fingers in her clit, abusing what power they had to make her bow.

“I love-ve you too, Da- daddy…” She drooled and sobbed out on his lap, wanting so badly to wind her thighs shut, protect what was about to burst, eyes closing and fluttering as her one hand dug fingernails into where they held her steady in the thick stiff muscles of his thighs, her other hand holding his cock, trying her best to guide him into her mouth so she could do as he demanded and save herself being scolded for not listening even though he was the one making it almost impossible to do much of anything except lie there and take it.

He stuck one finger, on long thick finger, into her sopping wet folds, felt her writhe before she could control herself, another finger still held firmly on her clit, drawing careful patterns he knew would make her mewl. “Daddy knows exactly how to please his little girl… and Bunny knows exactly how to please her Daddy, doesn’t she?” He asked rhetorically, words still carrying even though they were muffled into her ass. “I taught you so well.” His finger pumped, curling, scraping, hooking up into her spongey walls, making her mew. “Do you think Daddy’s a good teacher?” She could feel the curl of his salacious smirk as his teeth grazed past the lips of her pussy, tongue flicking, zig-zagging through the wet tender folds.

“The b- best.” She strained, inching further back as he was dragging, hauling her with his finger clawing at her insides.

“Good girl…” He purred, licking up and up until he met with the bud that now seemed to pulsate, her fear so endearingly on display for him. “I think Bunny deserves her prize.” His voice lowered, and she sucked in a breath with caught in her throat as she felt his hand, scathed and scarred and strangely rough and angled with how many times he’d broken his fingers.

He gave her much time to prepare, finger swirling circles onto the hole before dipping the tip inside. She scrunched her eyes shut at the feel of the tight skin of her hole stretching, forced apart to accommodate for Deku’s fat finger. The tight ring feeling as though ripping at the intrusion, tearing as he drove the digit slowly inside, a digit that seemed foreverlasting, growing thicker the more it inched inside her, until he was finally knuckle-deep.

She sucked with fervor now, in a way to pacify herself, gobbling down on his cock gluttonously. “Does it feel good, Bunny?” He asked, voice like honey so sweet it was burning. “My finger in your cute little butt?” He whined and mocked as he wiggled the length inside her, churning her guts in the prosses, earning small cries of discomfort from her slobbering on his cock.

“Yes, Daddy.” It was barely audible as she whimpered it into his thigh.

“Speak up.” He ordered, stern and stoic voice, still with his finger pumped and prompted into her tight ass, with the other hand’s fingers rubbing circles and pinching her swollen clit between them.

“Yes, Daddy.” Her back sloped as she tipped her head up. “I’m sorry.” Her one hand steadying her, placed in support on his thigh as the other tugged on his cock, fingers not managing to enclose around his girth as she messaged his length in long tentative strokes. “Thank you, Daddy, you feel so good.” She wasn’t exactly lying, and it was clear by the slick dripping that coated her thighs.

“Are you proud to have Daddy’s finger in your ass?” He asked, making her scrunch her brows, strangling herself with how hard she was trying to keep from crying. “You should be.” She cursed her existence, wishing she could take back whatever it was that had his eyes locked on her in the first place, whatever had him kidnapping her only to torment and use her as some slave. “To have Daddy’s number one hero finger pleasing your little quirkless butt.” And there it was, the reminder of how crucially inferior she was, such a perfect quirkless toy to feed his superiority-complex. “Tell me how grateful you are, Bunny.”

This was her life. Subjugated to a mere ragdoll for someone who’d do whatever the fuck they wanted to her, a life of belonging to someone, a life of a pet. “I love you so much, Daddy…” He groaned at her words, yet his fingers dug even harder into her hips. “You take such good care of me.” She just needed to tell him what he wanted to hear. “I’m hopeless without you. Thank you, Daddy.” Seems she did a good job, because he was shifting beneath her, hands letting her go for a second only to pull her into the new desired position.

“Come here, turn around.” He ordered, still in his frenzy, turning her around on his lap, making her sit with his cock smearing drool and precum over her stomach, hot against her skin where it bobbed up between the two of them. His hand and fingers glossy with juices from her pussy, came to grab her chin, cupping her cheek to still her as he pushed his lips onto her face, kissing her with hunger, as though in a hurry, his finger finding her ass again, sinking knuckle-deep inside her once again while grabbing onto the soft doughy flesh of ass, making her yelp against his lips, before he parted once more, a string of spit connecting them. “Does Bunny want Daddy’s cock inside her ass?” He mushed her face between his rough finger-pads, her lips puckered like a fish at him, eyes glossy with tearful plead, her thighs beginning to quake against him as she sat uncomfortably with his finger spearing her in the wrong hole.

Her bottom lip quivered then, eyes wide and brimming. “No- please… Daddy.” She would at least try to sway his mind, bargain her way out of it.

His look hardened, cocking an eyebrow at her resistance. “Is Bunny disobeying Daddy?” His grip on her face was past painful now, bruising, nails marking their presence, close to breaching her skin.

“No, Daddy, please-” She started, scrambling for something to save her, trying to make his hold relent, but falling short of making any savory excuses, reduced to mere whimpering as she accepted a preferred compromise. “My pussy would feel so lonely without you filling me up…” His fingers detached, yet only barely, still holding her chin, still controlling, though looking fascinated by the turn of events, pleasured with his little pet openly submitting to him, all with that adorable sweet voice. “I want your big beautiful number one cock inside me, please, Daddy please, I want you in my pussy.” She pushed forward to brush her breasts against his chest, grinding up into him in the process, hands brazenly stroking his cock all on their own command, forehead pressed against his as she did her best to seem seductive, licking her lips and maintaining eye-contact even as his green orbs seemed crazed and fervent and so dangerously feral.

“Bunny wants to come on Daddy’s cock, doesn’t she?” His tone was weirdly condescending, like he was talking to a toddler about getting ice-cream, and though she despised it with every fiber of her being, feeling like the tone itself was gasoline to a roaring raging fire, she did her best to swallow the smoke, knowing it would get her nowhere.

“Yes, Daddy. Pretty please.” She begged, and he wrapped his one hand around the small of her back, pushing her against his chest, his other hand still not having left, with its main finger inside her butt, doing small curious pumps into the tight flesh.

He licked the shell of her ear, a small chuckle coming out as huffs as his hand moved once again away from her back, to line his cock up with her still slick with spit clit, rubbing his cockhead over the bead before sliding it down to push open her sopping hole. “Can Bunny take Daddy in her cute little pussy with his finger inside her pretty ass? Yeah?” Tapping his thickness into her tightness while watching her nod in agreement, only slightly disappointed she didn’t repeat what she said once more, especially when it sounded so delicious dripping from her defeated lips. “Good girl, sit down on Daddy's cock.”

She eased down like she’d done for the past couple weeks, always surprised by just how thick he is, how stingingly and fearfully painful it is, always thinking it couldn’t possibly be as bad as she made it out to be previously though always proven wrong, thinking she ought to have stretched out to accommodate his size to a comfortable fit, yet not having achieved the pleasure still with how many times he’d ripped her apart.

“Hop on that dick little Bunny.” He whispered as she eased herself all the way down, cock fully sleeved inside her, feeling as she was about to burst, so full, so blown, yet he hadn’t any mercy left to spare. She felt his finger wiggle where it penetrated her backside entrance, how his cock and it messaged the wall that separated her two holes, feeling a new type of dangerous, giving her another worry even as the anxiety for what pain treading herself over his cock was already overwhelming enough on its own. “Come on, little Bunny, hands on my shoulders and jump.”

She hadn’t the mind to hold back the whimper, letting her seductive mask slip as the pain mingled pleasure demanded her attention more, hands unsteady as they gripped his shoulder, fingers running over those deep healed scars on his skin she’d gotten so used to tracing. She folded her feet over his legs, given her better balance as she began sliding him in and out slowly, at a pace she could hope to handle and hope was fast enough to please him and his beastly member.

He hummed, free hand coming up to toy with her breasts, grabbing it with those labor-knuckled fingers. “Such a happy little girl bouncing on Daddy’s cock…” He licked over his toothy-grin, salacious green eyes glistening with drunk toxic love-sick madness as he felt her tight suction on his manhood, gliding up and down, in and out, full and hollow. “What do you say?” He decided to tease, decided to make the hurt worse.

A soft whine left her and he couldn’t describe the sick bliss that fluttered in his chest because of it. “Thank you, Daddy.” She forced out yet again, her voice all shaken and adorable.

And still he felt the wanton desire to push. “For what, Bunny? Be specific.”

She knew the drill, what he wanted to hear, but that didn’t make it any easier to force from her throat, even harder to relent from seething the words through grit teeth where she knew such aggression wouldn’t be tolerated, because nothing but her complete and full submission would be tolerated by Deku. “Thank you, Daddy, for giving me your big beautiful number one cock.” What was funny was that it was in a sense still true, despite her hating every word of it, despite her cursing the sentence, the praise, the gratitude. It did feel good, behind the pain, behind her disgust, it felt good. What more, Deku was the number one hero, not just the strongest man alive, but intelligent, knowledgeable and ruthless too, where it really would be unwise to not feel grateful for having been chosen by him, where people should be grateful he even chooses to be a hero at all, when he could just as easily be a villain, or a bloody tyrant. She should be grateful that she was given the honor of being his. Her body sure knows how to show its humility, doing its best to please him, showing him just how appreciated and welcome his touches are with how undeniably wet her pussy gets each time, clenching around his shaft as it drills deep into her, filling her out, completing her, pushing into that spongey spot deep within her, making her stomach flip, toes curl, clit buzz with pleasure, shamefully come all over him.

He made a moan of awe, patronizing in its nature. “Are you gonna come for me? All over Daddy’s cock.” She wanted to scream, throw herself off his lap, slap him, claw and bite and kick, but instead she was doing exactly what he said. “A happy little Bunny stuffed with Daddy's cock and his finger up her bum.” He whined, hand having glided down from holding her chin in favor of wrapping around her throat, nose touching nose, emerald steel-eyes keenly watching her every move, feeling her clench around him, making him hiss with pleasure like a snake.

“Yes, Daddy please.” She never liked snakes. Her new life was made of snakes. Snakes taking the form of ropes, tying her down, chaining her up, snakes in her guts, swirling and coiling and tickling that strange pleasure that had treacherous venom drip onto the snake that penetrated her, his arms like snakes around her waist, thick constrictors holding her still, keeping her trapped for devouring.

“Beg for it.”

She sucked in a beaten breath, forcing her will to comply to his wishes, swallowing her pride, subduing the fighter in favor of having her fall on her own sword, instead of digging her own grave. “Daddy, please can I come on your cock?” One would think the human soul gets used to humiliation after some time, but the ball in her chest hadn’t softened no matter how many times she’d offered up her dignity, no matter how many times Deku had forced her to her knees. “You feel so good inside me, Daddy.” She mewed in gratitude, moaning as he hit the right spot again and again, making her go blind as she tried focusing on what sweet nothings she needed to say. “I wanna come for you so badly, Daddy please.” He gave her a kiss to her nose then, meant to be sweet even though it would have revolted her had she been in the right mind to feel anything but forcibly good, all sweet with chasing her release, riding him, jumping on his length like a good bunny should.

“Good Bunny.” He purred an she had not the mind to feel like cussing, only desperately waiting for him to allow her release. “You see? Things are so much easier when you do as you're told, when you do what Daddy tells you.” He bottomed out into her tight heat, filling her up to the hilt, felt her body spasm with half panic at how deep inside her he was and half pleasure with how dangerous it felt to have her cervix molded by the shape of his cock-head burying itself in the spongey spot. “Come on, come on Daddy’s cock, make Daddy feel good.” She couldn’t refuse, even if he’d told her to hold it, she couldn’t, couldn’t stop the lightning to shoot through her, pussy clenching around his cock like a death-grip, strangling his length, sucking on him, milking his shaft, unsure whether she wanted him to pull out or stay inside her warmth, but luckily that decision wasn’t up to her, all she needed to do was not forget her manners.

“Thank you, Daddy…” It dripped from her mouth like sweet-tasting poison, tongue dripping with thick drool as she panted and mewled with how he continued warming his cock inside her, trying to push further and deeper inside even though there was no more space to be filled, resulting to a deep thrusting that felt as though he was about to push through into her womb.

He kissed her cheek as she numbed down to a relaxed exhausted limp body in his arms. “You’re welcome, Bunny… but Daddy isn't finished with you yet.” She felt her stomach twist despite knowing how she wasn’t done until Deku shoots his thick cream and paints whatever part of her body he had the appetite for.

Pulled from her high by the knowledge of how it was a psychotic madman who had granted it, as she felt said green-haired man guide her to lay on her back. 

“There you go, Bunny… such a cute mess.” He licked his lips, where she only barely tried to scurry away from his hungry lips gaining on her sensitive raw orgasm-glossed sex. 

She whined when his tongue dragged up her slit to drink her juices, flicking over her tender swollen clit, hands in his hair, trying their best to refrain from yanking him away. 

“Oh, Bunny’s so sensitive… did Daddy make you feel too good.” She squirmed beneath him, convulsing as he teased with his tongue and his lips and the light grazing ghosting of his teeth. “Look at you… Daddy’s little Crybunny.” He snickered, smirking as he gorged himself beneath her legs, loving the whiny moans and whimpers she couldn’t hold back, and how her hands tried ever so sweetly to nudge him off, how she dug the balls of her feet into the mattress to try and shuffle away from his attack, but not allowed to go anywhere with his arms locked around her thighs, keeping her just where he wanted her, shivering beneath him and only seconds away from crying and begging him to stop. “Does the little Bunny need her pacifier?” He hummed in askance. “Don’t you move a muscle, Bunny, I have a treat for you...” 

He hopped off the bed with a speed that went unnoticed while she blinked to find him position behind her, hovering above her face, thick and fat and veined from hilt to tip, tidy shaven green-stubble above his strutting proud cock, a path of longer hairs trailing up to his belly-button and sprinkled into a pretty growth of chest-hair the higher up his chiseled abs it went. 

“Open up, Bunny.” He tapped the glossy mushroom-tip onto her lips, smearing what concoction of precum and juices had mingled together there. 

She did as commanded, parting her lips yet making sure to wrap her teeth, knowing how he didn’t appreciate being bitten either by accident or not, having little understanding to how hard it was to fit him in her mouth without letting her teeth graze his impressive girth. 

“Taste yourself.” He groaned. “Suck me clean, Bunny.” He lightly patted the side of her face, fingers drumming on her cheek, telling her to hollow them in and suck on him. “There you go.” He praised, watching her struggle not to gag as he began lightly fucking the back of her throat, pushing farther down, liking how her already tight tunnel began clenching around him, trying to hold back the coughs. “Be a good Bunny and swallow all of me.” 

Usually he’d enjoy the feel of her nose dipping into his pelvis, but now with her upside down, he could feel his balls being poked as they smothered her only remaining breathing option. Still, he took his time, knowing how she could take a few seconds without air, enjoying the look of his fat cock down her throat, his hand testing a daring stroke over her jugular, watching to see if she would convulse and gag and splutter out coughs like she did the first couple of times he ventured deep, yet was proud to see her stay in play with only a few panicked spams of her chest. He probed even further as he lightly pinched the outline of his shaft between his thumb and index-finger, listening to her begin to whine, a submissive little prayer to let her breathe again. 

“Good Bunny…” He pulled out, large hands cupping her cheeks, telling her to remain lying there as he bent over to kiss her spit-slicked lips, his hand reaching over to palm her breast while the other reached farther to rub rough patterns into her terribly oversensitive clit, making her gasp out a strangled uncontrolled moan into his receiving mouth. “Come on, one more time.” He straightened himself, taking the opportunity to push through her open-mouthed panting with his dripping cock. “Get me nice and wet for your little Bunny-butt…”

Her eyes shot open, hands flailing instead of holding onto his thighs. “No-” She tried protesting, as she lightly tapped at his firm muscled ass with the face of her palm, slapping to get her discomfort across.

“No, no, Bunny, do as you’re told, do what Daddy says.” Deku chastised, grabbing her bothersome hands by the wrist and holding them behind his back, feeling her try to recoil away, yet well-trained enough to not bite as his cock pushed down her throat again. “Be a good Bunny and suck on Daddy.” He rocked his hips slowly back and forth, jutting lightly into her mouth. “Just like Daddy taught you.” His voice remained sweetly stoic, like a teacher or a parent, made her want to throw up on him, yet knowing how he didn’t stop last time she did, he just kept fucking her skull, even with the bile and acidic liquid burning in her throat. “Wash out all those filthy protests.” She whimpered at how his hands tightened around her wrists, balls lightly clapping over the bridge of her nose, swinging into her face each time he pushed until his entire length was enclosed to the hilt. “Teach you some manners Bunny-girl.” 

Her eyes stung now, with the built-up tears that now flowed freely, dampening her hairline before dripping into the sheets. 

Deku moaned, releasing her hands, needing his own to reposition his toy in the new desired position. “Up on your knees.” He remained staining at the edge of the bed, helping his darling kneel. “Posture, Bunny.” He chastised. “Arch that ass up for Daddy.” 

His hand spread flat in the space between her shoulder blades, pushing her upper-body down into the sheets, gliding to enclose around the back of her neck to keep her still while the fingers of his other hand stroked chaffed fingertips up and down the tender lips of her pussy, diving between her folds to gather slick wetness he used to push into her sore hole, curling two digits into the spongey velvet walls, making her moan into the pillow she was forced against. 

“Stay.” He ordered, all his warmth leaving her as she remained clutching and balling up the fabric of the sheets in her tiny useless fists, keeping her ass presented in the air, waiting with eager horror for Deku to return. 

She heard him open a drawer, then click open a lid, the squirt of something she had an educated guess of what was, listened to the slick sounds of him messaging the liquid into his hands, before his heavy steps carried him back to his position behind her. 

“Look at this precious little bunny-hole.” His fingers felt slippery as they rubbed and palmed her ass-cheeks, left hand lifting the plump flesh on one side, whilst the other moved to slide up and down the ravine before hooking a finger inside the top tight little ring of muscle. “Bunny needs Daddy’s cock inside her little butt, doesn’t she?” He pushed it in with ease now with the lube covering his hands, preparing the tightness by pumping the digit in and out, tickling the unsuspecting nerves that had never been played with before, the feeling strange yet surprisingly pleasant as his finger scraped downward, rubbing against a spot that had her pussy gushing around nothing. “Bunny’s tight little butt is just begging to be filled with Daddy's cock isn’t it, Bunny?”

She wasn’t too sure anymore. “No…”

He stuck another finger in with the first one at her reply, making her whine out a wail, toes curling, her one leg thumping up and down into the mattress, trying to shake and crawl away but not allowed to go anywhere with his hand reaching to recover the position it held before, holding her down, pressured around the back of her neck. “Up until now Bunny has been enjoying herself, but this attitude… tch, tch, Bunny... perhaps she needs a little reminder of who she belongs to?” 

She whimpered at the feel of both his thick fingers gliding alongside each other in and out of her tight tender hole, as she clenched around them and around nothing where juices were dripping down her thighs. 

“And there is no punishment without a little pain.” 

He’d only been dipping his digits in halfway, and she realized this once he decided to go knuckle-deep inside her, making her jolt at the foreign feeling of something going inside, much deeper now. 

She was arching her back up like a cat, trying to hide her ass from his antagonizing hands. “What have I told you about posture, Bunny?” His hand let partially go of her neck to glide up her spine, resting on the small of her back. “Give Daddy your hands.” She hesitated, taking her time to breath, feeling his fingers sink in, making her knees tremble, before she listened and folded her arms behind her, again like he’d taught her. “Now, arch your little Bunny-butt up for me.” 

She took small shallow breaths as she readjusted her back into a slope again, knowing what was coming, however as she felt it, big and warm and slick and soft like velvet, riding up her drooling pussy, his fingers disappearing from playing with her hole to make room for what would soon take their place, something much bigger and much longer, both his hands grabbing each her wrists, but not before making a cross of her arms, perfectly immobile for him as he lined his aching eager cock up with her pulsating little hole, she couldn’t hold back.

“No, please, Daddy, I’ll be good.” She begged, trying to scramble away, but being to late as she was left simply sobbing into the mattress, unable to move to any other position without it hurting with how his hands had bent her arms behind her back, yet despite knowing this he still took it upon himself to raise his foot and place it down over the side of her face, stomping slightly on it as a warning to keep still. Her movement obliged, coming to a halt, though not able to contain the trembling. “Please…” She tried one last time, though knowing he had no mercy nor patience left to spare her.

“Don’t disobey Daddy.” He fit his cockhead into the dip of her back entrance again, lining up the attack. “Now Bunny, beg for Daddy to fill your little butt up.” She tried shaking her head beneath the pressure of his foot, feeling her heart in her throat, pouting and scrunching her eyes shut, sniffling so adorably, yet he couldn’t take any pity on her when this was a lesson she needed to learn. “I said beg.” He pulled her arms back, as she screamed with how her shoulder-blades were close to popping out, his foot mushing her face harder into the mattress.

“Pl- please Daddy… fill me u- up…” She blubbered, every inch of her quivering.

He quit his torture, leaving her to simply snivel. “Good girl.” And then he started pushing.

Big bulging mushroom head entering slowly as she whimpered, butthole seizing around it, swallowing it up. “You see, Bunny?” His movements stilled, letting her get used to the new feeling of having something so big fit in the firm taunt hole. “Your little butt is sucking on my cock like a lollipop.” 

He aimed a drop of spit at where he was cramming inside her, the cold wetness hitting her with surprise as she slightly jumped on her knees, bouncing in the soft sponge of the mattress, the movement inadvertently making his cock rock with shallow thrusts in and out of her, messaging her opening. 

He moaned at the cute gesture. “Bunny’s so eager to receive Daddy’s cock, isn’t she?” He slid farther in, making her moan as his cock dragged along the wall that separated from her pussy, making everything tighten up, her pussy feeling so empty, clenching on nothing at all, yet feeling his fat length in just the wrong place, teasing her, making her so unbelievably wet. “Tell Daddy how good it feels, Bunny.” He pulled out again, beginning a slow tempo of lolling halfway into her.

He looked to her face, flushed red and squished together beneath the sole and weight of his foot keeping her down, lips puckered and bloated, cheeks tear-stained, eyes sparkling as she mumbled on small bubbling purrs, unsure pleasure painting her face, looking like such an endearing hopeless mess as he squeezed into the tight fit of her perfect plump ass. “It feels good, Daddy.” She quavered, shaky breaths and small sniffles leaving her adorable expression.

He hummed in return, sinking just a little bit farther inside her, feeling her tense as he did, an open-mouthed whine leaving her, drool hanging like silver string from her lips. “I think Bunny can be more creative than that, can’t she?”

She knew better than to disobey, especially when he already had her in such a compromising postion, knowing he wasn’t far away from pushing all the way inside her still accommodating ass, make her scream and possibly bleed as he fucked her through yet another punishment. “Daddy’s cock feels so good. So good with your number one cock inside me. I love you, Daddy. I love Daddy’s cock. Thank you, Daddy.” She drooled out as sweetly as she could, which was sweeter than honey with how hard it was to breath in her position of being pushed into the pillow beneath her, body slunk with no way of getting up, a proper prayer-pose as Deku stuffed her even fuller, making her mew.

“That’s right…” He groaned, hips rocking slowly and carefully back and forth, opening her little butt with his thickness, messaging her insides, teasing all the sensitive provoked nerves, poking shallowly into the spot that usually had her coming were it not on the other side, in her other hole who was begging to be stimulated in a way that wasn’t half-way fulfilling and half-way terrifying. “And to think Bunny thought she didn’t want this. Daddy still hasn’t heard his apology…”

“You’re right, Daddy, I was wrong… I do want this…” Another moan was forced from her as he inched even further inside, pushing into uncharted and unsuspecting tender areas, making her bleat and sigh ever so sweetly, unable to do anything but lie there and feel every inch of him stuffing her full, taking his time enjoying her tight hole.

He moaned in awe at her words, nearly slobbering. “Daddy knows what’s best for you Bunny.” Another inch had her feeling even fuller, as though he was in her stomach. “Daddy knows what Bunny wants and needs.” He fucked with the added length for a short-lived while until pushing another full inch inside, having her whine out a moan, her ass shaking like a little tease, wiggling at him, her arms also trying ever so slightly on reflex to pull out of his grasp. “Daddy’s always right, Bunny only needs to please Daddy.” 

He started sinking in inch after inch, unbothered or perhaps coaxed by how she struggled now, opting to bottom out fully, have his balls squished against her glossy pussy, his cock completely enclosed by her tight spasming butt, grunting out a shuddering groan of potent pleasure while feeling her little futile struggles trying so desperately to make him stop or slow down as he filled her up completely. 

“You just need to listen… and obey.”

TIP-JAR

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“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)