#'if i sign this piece of paper do i sell my soul along with my duties'

[cas---2y5]

this song gives me sooooo sam vibes. like especially pre-series where he "hates hunting" and wants away from john and knows there's something wrong with him, can feel it in his bones, but doesn't know what

[ganem-ouchie]

I'm still high key crazy about wtnv deciding to use Big Houses as the weather on Casette, that song is from now on impossibly tangled in my perception of Cecil, like okay dude if you sign that piece of paper do you sell your soul along with your duties?? You feel blessed?? you're wishing while holding hands that I cant feel your trembling fingertips???????????????????? and they tell you not to clap and you clap as loud as you can????? BECAUSE THE REVERB IN THOSE HOLY HALLS IS LIKE A LONG-LOST FRIEND????¿¿¿¿?¿¿?????

[lovejosephquinn]

Worlds Change When Eyes Meet - Joseph Quinn x Reader

I decided to share the first part of a story I wrote a while back of Joe x reader. Tysm for all your love & support! I'm overwhelmed

Summary: It's time for the London & Film Comic Con, you're surprising your niece for her birthday by taking her to meet & greet with Joseph Quinn. It doesn't turn out to be just a meet. Is this love at first sight for you both? Or is it all just some stupid crush.

Warnings: None, all major fluff.

Word Count: 3.9k

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

It's 7am, your alarm is loud, and you wake up in a state of panic just like you do every morning. This morning was different though, tomorrow you're taking your niece to the London & Film Comic Con (LFCC) where you've purchased to meet and greet with Joseph Quinn, the infamous actor who starred as Eddie Munson in Stranger Things. You yourself don't really get the hype on the show, but you know your niece adores it and adores Eddie. 'I cannot wait to see her little face beam when I hand her these tickets' you thought, your smile crossing from ear to ear.

A shower, a bite of toast and half a cup of coffee later, you dash out of your house, into your car and drive to your sister's home. You pull up outside and out runs your niece. "HELLO Y/N". You barely get out of your car before she jumps for you and gives you a huge hug. "Happy birthday, sweetie!" You squeal, matching her energy. "My mum says you've got something for me!" Your niece pulls you and you sit straight down on the sofa. "Well… oh come on Y/N, what is it?!" your niece cries with anticipation. You pull out the piece of paper with the tickets on and a card, you hand your niece the card first. She rips it open barely leaving any envelope salvageable. Your niece examines it carefully "Happy… Birthday, I hope… you enjoy… your… surprise!" She looks back up you puzzled; with that you hand her the paper. 'LONDON & FILM COMIC CON 2022. Meet & Greet Stranger Things' Joseph Quinn! Photo Op included. x2 admission'. She double takes the piece of paper. "Joseph…" she takes another minute, the penny drops. "EDDIE MUNSON THE REAL ONE". You burst into laughter. "The actor who plays Eddie." Your niece runs through the house squealing with excitement. "Tomorrow?!" she asked quickly. "Tomorrow!" you reply. Your niece goes to find your sister as her excited screeches echo all over the house.

Hundreds of people, lots of different stalls, excited faces all around ready to meet with the celebrities' present as you enter the Con. You come across a stall selling cute little figurines also known as funko pops. "Y/N, do you think they have an Eddie one?" your nieces' eyes wide with excitement. After 5 minutes of looking through half of them you spot one. "Here! Go give that nice man this and we'll pay for it." you say. Your niece takes the box and the money from you and hands it to the man working at the stall. "I wonder if Eddie will sign it" she says excitedly. "Remember his names Joseph, sweetie." A few hours pass and it's almost time to line up to meet him. You sit against a wall waiting when you hear a little shriek. "IS THAT HIM?" your niece squeezes your arm. "I think so." you look straight at him as he walks on by, just as you look, Joseph makes eye contact with you, but it's not just a general stare, it's like he knows you, like he's staring right into your soul. You blush a little. Your niece is still squeezing your arm as she starts to get really excited. "Wow, he's gorgeous" you say, thinking out loud. "Y/N loves Eddie!" Oops. Your stare breaks, he turns to look back but you're too busy furrowing your brow at your niece. "Don't be silly, come on let's go line up!" you shake yourself off, let out a big sigh and gather your thoughts. It's almost time.

You look down beside you, you don't think my niece could hold her excitement in any longer. You're not far from the front now to meet him, as you keep going along you keep peering through people, your eyes wandering along staring directly at Joseph. "NEXT" shouted a women stood looking angrily behind him. Your niece goes skipping over and Joseph opens his arms straight to her. "Hey there, how are you?" he said calmly, your niece wraps herself round him. "Hi Eddie! I love you in stranger things, my auntie bought me this from over there and I was wondering if you would sign it?" She jumps up and down clapping her hands. "Of course, I will!" He takes his red marker, signs the front of the box and looks up to you. "Hello, how are you?" Your eyes gaze upon his, Joseph gives you that same stare he did earlier on today. You just smile and nod at him. You feel your cheeks going a crimson red. Shortly after, the women ushers you along you walk away. Turning back to look at him, as you do, he's still looking right at you, he lets a little half smile and continues to focus on the next guest. "I get to see Eddie again; we've got a picture with him haven't we Y/N? I can't believe he signed this and gave me a hug; he was so nice." Your niece chatters on and on and on, you're just in your own world, daydreaming of that stare, those deep brown eyes looking straight into yours. Why did you feel so good about it? "Y/N!" You break out of the dreamy spell. "So sorry sweet pea! Let's go get some food and then we'll line up for the photo with him." You smile, you almost couldn't wait to see Joseph again. Why are you longing to see him again, you barely know him. A couple of hours pass, and you line up, as you get to the front, Joseph notices you straight away. Your niece goes running over as you stand to the side to let her have a photo with him. "Oh, hello it's you again!" he exclaims happily. "Can we pose like Eddie?" She giggled, putting her fingers up to her head and sticking her tongue out. Joseph laughs "of course!". They both look to you; "Come on it's your turn!" your niece hollers for you to stand in position with Joseph. You walk over staring intensely yet again. "Hello." You smile sweetly at Joseph, his smile beams right back at you as he faces the camera and puts his arm round your shoulder, you reciprocate by putting your arm round the back, resting your hand on his waist. You both smile. Your niece cheers "Thank you Eddie!" you chuckle and roll your eyes, looking straight back at him. "Thank you, Joseph, it means a lot to her." He puts his hand to his heart as his eyes break your stare and turn to your niece "you're welcome, sweetheart." He turns back and nods at you, looking both happy to see you here and sad to see you walk away. 'What an intense day it has been' you think. "Y/N I had so much fun, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Your niece shouts as she clutches her photo of her & Joseph and her signed funko pop. "BEST. DAY. EVER!" You giggle. You look down at your photo as you feel a rush of warmth shivering through your body. What was it about him?

It's a long wait for the way back so you find a local shop right near and buy some chocolate and a drink and sit on a brick wall towards the back of the Comic Con event. Chatting away, you hear a few male voices laughing quite loudly around the corner. Suddenly you see him. You can't help but stare, your niece looks to the side of you wondering what you're looking at. "Oh my god Eddie!" she shouts. The laughter stops, Joseph turns around and spots you both. He symbols two fingers to give him a second at the men and slowly starts to walk over. You turn back round to your niece as if you didn't see him and she goes all giddy next to you. Just as you're not looking you hear an oh to familiar voice behind you; "We just keep bumping into one another, don't we?" You let out a massive breath. How after all of the thousands of people he'd met today, how did he recognise you? The wall you were sat on felt like it was sinking beneath you. "Are you there?" He asks, a small smirk appearing. You shake yourself off, look down and back to him. "Sorry, yeah must be in my own world." you reply quietly. Your niece points to the bar of chocolate melting under the sun and then points back. "Eddie, do you want some?" she lets out a huge grin. His smile remains. "I would love some, are you sure that's ok?" He looks back to you. You nod instantly.

As he takes a piece and then bites into it. God, he looks good. "Good choice!" He winks at your niece. Why in the world are you sat before him, wondering what it would be like to spend 5 minutes just alone with him? You don't even know the guy, plus you've never even watched the show. You know his name, you tried to understand the story, you knew the hold he clearly had on his fans, yet here he was, stood before you and you couldn't help but lap every part of him up. "Everything ok?" He interrupts. "Fine." You smile. Your niece waving her hands about shouts above you both "Eddie, can I tell you a secret?" She holds her hand over her mouth and gestures for him to come closer. You look at her puzzled. She whispers into his ear, covering her hand so you can't see. "My auntie thinks you're gorgeous." He stands back with his mouth wide open but still a small smile appears. "Oh, she does, does she?" He turns his brown darkened eyes towards you. "Well, you can tell your auntie this." He leans back to your niece, using the same gesture as she did. "I think she's quite beautiful too." He sends another nod to her as he leans back and sniggers. "He said you're beautiful." Your eyes widen at your niece's face. "What? I…" They both catch you off guard and fall into hysterics.

Your face is now crimson red. "What did you tell him?" You peer at your niece whilst she's laughing away. "What you told me." Joseph unfolds his arms. "You think I'm gorgeous, I'm simply just letting you know what I think." He turns to look back at the men gesturing him to come back. "Better dash ladies." He opens his arms for your niece to give him a hug, she happily obliged. "Before I go, there's just one thing I need" he pulls his phone out, unlocks it and passes it to you with the open keypad of 'new contact.' You look at him confused. You don't exactly know what to say at this point, is this real? You wouldn't normally sit there giving random guys your phone number. "Well, just in case, I'm sorry I don't usually do this, what was your name?" … "Y/N" your niece states excitedly. "Yeah Y/N, just in case, pretty name for a pretty face." You look at him longingly under your eyelashes, look back and tap your number into his phone and pass it back. Joseph gets shouted over by the men again. "See you soon?" He smiles at you, his eyes softer this time, letting out a short breath. He fist bumps at your niece and walks away.

"What just happened here?" You say, thinking out loud. "Eddies going to fall in love with you and you're going to get married and be Mrs Munson!" She states with such confidence shoving the last piece of chocolate into her mouth, scrunching her nose at you. You pull her to your side giving her a sarcastic squeeze. "Don't be saying such silly things, come on we're going to miss our train home." You look over to the corner where you heard the men laughing before this crazy situation erupted. In your head you thought 'this'll never happen, he will forget me in a second.' You couldn't help but imagine those deep, gorgeous brown eyes and that full smile looking right at you adoringly. "You were right, lovely. Best. Day. Ever." You day calmly. Your niece skips along by your side grinning from ear to ear. It's midnight. You arrive back to your house, pondering and daydreaming of all of the events that occurred. You sort yourself out, change into your night clothes and put your phone onto your nightstand. Walking away to take off your make up. PING! Your phone lights up. You ignore it. PING! Another? It's probably your niece still wide awake excited. You walk on over and pick up your phone. There are two texts from an unknown number.

The first text read:

'Well, it was really good to meet you today, you and your niece, several times :)'

You read the message over and over and then waste no time in looking down to the second message:

'Oh, its Joe by the way, I meant what I said, you really are something.'

Your eyes scan over the texts for what seems a million and one times. You question if it's someone playing a trick on you several times over or whether or not to reply. You type so many different messages, backspacing each time. For the first time in your life, you're speechless. He text you, Joseph actually messaged you. You felt like you were fangirling and for what? You don't even watch the show. There was just something about him, you just didn't know what it was. Good looking? Yes. You fully got why so many girls were obsessed, but why you? Why was it you? 'Oh my god Y/N, just send a message.' you think as you roll your eyes at yourself. You sit at the edge of your bed, it's nearing 1am, that's how long you've been staring down at these 2 messages. 'Oh hello, well wasn't so bad meeting you either, my niece loved every second, thank you for being so lovely!' You hit send, throw your phone to the other side of the bed and shove your face down onto the pillow. You could scream. Another million thoughts processing in your mind, you decided to just sleep on it, there was no other option.

PING!

Your face lights up as you grab your phone like some teenager dying to get a message back from their crush. 'I'm glad I could make it great, pretty girl. How's about a text tomorrow? I'm exhausted :) sweet dreams, love.'

Your face turns the crimson red it felt just a few short hours ago when he was staring at you. Jesus Christ. What in the world is going on? You squeal. You contemplate on replying but you decide to sleep, and you'll leave it till tomorrow, after all the poor guys exhausted.

Thank goodness for no alarm today. You face straight to your phone. No text, oh. Maybe it's because you didn't reply before. "Morning, Joseph. Texted as promised :)"

A few short seconds later…PING!

'Oh, I was beginning to think you'd ghosted me, good morning pretty face, you can call me Joe!'

You spent the whole morning messaging back and forth. He let you know that he had the second day of the comic con today and that he would be busy but would message you as soon as he could. You had so much to talk about, it's like you already knew each other. In such a short space of time, you already knew you had to see him again. Sat aimlessly scrolling through TikTok like you did every other day, who should pop up but a video of Joe, some of the photos of the day before he'd had with other fans. You paused the video every single time another photo came up. You quickly moved to your bag to find the picture of you both that your niece had made you have; you were so very glad you did. 'You are bloody gorgeous Mr Quinn' you think to yourself. Putting your finger to your mouth with a little smile appearing, growing more each time. There was no question you were following suit of the girls besotted by him. 'I need to calm down' you tried to put it to the back of your head whilst you got on with your house chores for the day.

PING! There's no way of ignoring these tones today.

'Y/N, do me a favour and let me see you again, for a drink or something maybe? Let me know what you think!'

You let out a little squeal. 'Hmm I suppose I'll let you. When were you thinking, Joe?' You grin at yourself with your flirtatious reply, truly proud of yourself although you don't want to give too much away too soon. 'Tomorrow too quick? If you're not busy I'll make my way to you. Fancy my chances in getting to know you better, love.' WOW. Falling back onto the sofa, you kick your legs around in the air. Holy shit. 'Tomorrow it is. I'll text you, my address.' You hit send, you're shaking, and you feel like your face is about to overheat. 'I'm looking forward to it, you're definitely something to be excited about.'

Your eyes are clock watching. You can't help but sit there internally screaming as the time grew nearer, will Joe actually show up? Nail biting anxiety leads to mind blowing excitement and the spiral continues until you force yourself up to get ready. You'd planned for 6pm and 6pm had never seemed such a beautiful time. You didn't want to go out anywhere and risk being seen together this early on, due to the new rising stars ever growing fan base so you had arranged for him to come over to yours and have some food and drinks. Your house had never looked so pristine, everything had its place. All for him. PING! 'On my way, I'll see you soon love.' When is soon? Your mind went into overdrive. You had put your best outfit on, minimal hair and makeup but just enough to make yourself look somewhat admirable. You sit staring through your flat window, sure enough minutes later, you see lights, a car pulls in and you screech removing yourself from the window, so you don't look a desperate moron. You had been texting all the previous day, counting down the hours, you hold your phone up scrolling through every single message grinning. You get quickly swat down to reality when your phone starts to ring. "H-Hello?" You clear your throat to stop broadcasting your nerves. "Hey, love. I'm here, come out and meet me?" you can feel his smile through the phone. "Coming, won't be a second!" you end the call. Stood in one spot frozen looking into the mirror rearranging yourself.

Slowly making your way out, there he is. He's looking more relaxed than when you saw him last. He's got blue jeans on with trainers and a white shirt that's slightly opened at the top, his hair curls perfectly and his stance against his car makes you want to just throw your arms around him and hold on, the chain dangling from his neck, you scan every inch of this man. Seconds feel like minutes. You wave him over and he locks his car and hastily speeds towards you through the door.

"Hello, you." he smiles as you lead him through the hallway to your door. "Hello, you." you mimic him. He grins back at you as you walk through the front door. Watching him scan the place, you just stare in utter awe, just thinking how lucky you are to have him here. "Nice place!" his eyes catch yours and you snap yourself out of your gaze and go over to the sofa, patting next to you. Joe does as he's told and sits next to you. "Hungry?" you mumble. "Always, love. You look beautiful by the way". You instantly blush and he notices, he lets out a little giggle at you. "Thank you, I must admit I didn't try to." you lie through your teeth, what an absolute liar. You tried hard. "If this isn't trying then I'd love to see what is!" He grins as his tongue sticks through his teeth. "Pretty handsome yourself, Quinn." He blushed. So, it's not just you who gets nervous, a quick celebratory fist in the air in your mind. You order in Chinese, your absolute favourite. You talk about your lives, you giggle like teenagers, and you drink enough wine to last you a while. "So, you've never actually seen Stranger things?" he smirks. "Nope. It was my niece I brought to meet you." You smiled slightly embarrassed. "That explains it then…" Joe trails off looking in the opposite direction. "What?" … "How I see that you are just here, for me. Not for newfound Joesph Quinn and my big break through, you... want… me." he gazed into your eyes lovingly. "I do want you." you looked at him through your eye lashes, biting down on your bottom lip, this is something you tended to do when you were nervous. He locks his gaze straight to you biting your lip and averts between them and your eyes. He brings the palm of his hand to stroke your jaw line. "I want you too. I honestly feel like I've known you forever Y/N." Joe is at least a couple of inches from your face, you can feel his breath. You inhale deeply as the smell of him hits your nostrils, you shiver uncontrollably, it's sensational.

"Tell me again." Joe's eyes become darkened "That I've wanted you since I clocked eyes with you? That you're something that only girls dream about and I'm the lucky one you wanted to see? I don't know you as 'celeb Joe' but I will very much be finding out what the hypes about. I want you, Mr Quinn." He pushes his face back and beams from ear to ear. "Oh Y/N, I don't know if I'm going to be able to stop myself." your brows furrowed. You don't as much get a word in when Joes lips come crashing onto yours, kissing you into a deep almighty abyss that is heaven. He's a bloody good kisser. You finally break it and bite your lip again as he pulls himself away. "Stop biting that lip or I'll have to bite it for you." He smirks. "Can you do what you just did again? But instead… all night long?" You mumbled. "Your communication is rather sexy Y/N, I suppose I'll grant you your wish." He stands up offering you his hand, you grab into it as he hoists you up and takes one arm round your waist. "I've never been so glad about anyone so quickly, love. I'm so excited about you." He plants a kiss on your forehead which lingers on you for seconds. Walking into your bedroom, Joe notices something straight away. He picks the photograph of you both off of your nightstand that's propped up by your lamp. "Love at first sight." He muttered to himself. But you heard him, oh my god you heard him good. There he was, stood by your bed, ready to spend the night giving you the endless kisses you solely desired. "Love at first sight." You smiled in awe. He turns to you with shiny puppy dog eyes. "Come here, love. Let's make this a night to remember, god knows it already is."

[lighthaunting]

Lay Wolfsbane in my Palm [Demon!DoA x GN!Reader] [Ch. 1]

Ao3 Version

Words: 3629

A/N: This is a tad rushed but I’ll do my best to better flesh out future chapters! Some characters (mainly Nikolai and Fyodor) may be tamed down a bit and appear more ooc because I don’t want to write a relationship that comes across as toxic or yandere. This also starts out pretty sarcastic and lighthearted but it’ll get more dramatic when i get it rolling

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, brief injury at the end.

Maintaining a four-year-long friendship with a man like Osamu Dazai was, admittedly, an impressive feat for anybody. The man was eccentric, sometimes a little unpredictable, but he had good intentions at heart most of the time, even though he’d shown it in strange ways.

While Dazai hadn’t necessarily been your roommate, ever since the two of you began college, he felt like one. Coincidentally, the brunette had ended up being your apartment complex neighbor (you had a sneaking suspicion he moved in next to you on purpose, but he denied it every time) along with his own roommate, Chuuya Nakahara, a hot-headed man who you grew to call a friend as well.

Long-lasting friendship aside, if he threw one more paper airplane at you while you were trying to study for finals, your partnership would be ending with a homicide case. You were sincerely beginning to regret giving the man a copy of your apartment keys, considering Dazai took it as permission to break into your apartment at the most inconvenient times. Almost as if feeling your glare as another piece of folded paper lands in your lap, Dazai looks up from the next crudely folded plane he was making.

“What’s up?” Dazai asks casually, leaning back in the wooden chair he invited himself to, the old thrifted one that you were just slightly hoping would break underneath him.

“I’m trying to study, asshole,” you frown, tossing the piece of paper back his way.

“Sure,” Dazai retorts, unconvinced, “I just watched you stare blankly at your textbook for like … five minutes straight. You should take a break, it just so happens that a certain someone invited us and the others out to dinner tonight.”

“Ranpo?”

“Ranpo,” confirms Dazai, grinning at the mention of your old college friend who was lucky enough to have already graduated college with a fully-fledged degree in criminal justice. Seeing your wary look, the brunette slaps his palms together in mock prayer. “Please? I don’t want to go alone, wouldn’t want me driving, would you?”

You cringe at the thought, thinking back on the last ‘relaxing midnight drive’ you entrusted him with. “Take Chuuya, then,” you reply, raising an eyebrow as he swipes your textbook and slams it shut, an obvious sign he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.

“He’s at Kouyou’s place, probably wasted by now,” Dazai frowns.

Before you can decline again, a rumble of hunger in your stomach makes itself known, a reminder that you’ve been studying a bit too long for your sanity, upcoming exams or not. Besides, if you had to stare at a diagram any longer, you’d end up going into a coma. “Fine, but I need to study more afterwards, so I don’t want to stay long and have to drag your drunk ass home.”

Dazai gives a little cheer as he hops out of his seat before smacking you on the shoulder in an attempted reassuring manner. “Calm down, you’re gonna do fine.”

“Yeah, sure,” you laugh. “I’ve already slacked off enough, I’m going to need to make a deal with the devil to pass these finals. You think selling my soul would work?”

Dazai hums thoughtfully. “Nah, yours is probably too dark and tainted, no one would want it,” he replies, only snickering childishly as you elbow him in the ribs.

“You don’t even have one, stupid,” you retort, unable to hide the amused grin on your face as you grab your keys off of the kitchen counter.

By the time the two of you end up at Ranpo’s designated spot, he’s already waiting at a table with one of your older friends, Yosano, along with Atsushi and the ever-punctual Kunikida.

Ranpo perks up from his seat as the two of you approach. “Hiya,” he greets before stuffing a piece of complimentary bread and butter into his mouth.

“Hey,” Dazai replies, plopping into a seat beside Kunikida.

You move to sit between him and Yosano. “No Poe today?”

Ranpo shrugs at the mention of his boyfriend. “He wanted to stay behind to work for a bit, tried dragging him here though.”

“He probably wanted peace and quiet for once,” Yosano teases, hiding a laugh behind her hand as Ranpo turns to give her a look.

“Shut up, he doesn’t mind me!” Ranpo retorts with an exaggerated offended look.

“Maybe he doesn’t—”

“Yosano! Why are you so evil today—”

Atsushi turns to look at you, tuning out Ranpo’s whining to call your name. “What are finals for you like this year?”

“My English final is first, so that’s what I’m focusing on for now. Won’t be too bad, hopefully,” you mumble before going to grab a piece of bread from the table center.

“We could study together if you’d like?” He asks, leaning forwards in his seat.

“Oh, sure, sounds good! Just let me know when you’re free.”

“What?! Making plans without me? So cruel,” your neighbor interrupts, a drink in hand that he probably got from the bar; you don’t know how he managed to slip away that easily. Dazai drapes himself over the table dramatically, and you roll your eyes as he continues whining about something you knew he couldn’t care less about. Swiping the drink from him, you ignore the gasp he lets out as you take a swig of it, wincing at the burning liquor. Seeing the stern look you give him, he raises his hands defensively. “What? I can have one.”

“One my ass,” you frown, pointedly taking another aggressive swig of his drink. You feel a stab of pride as he mumbles under his breath, but makes no move to snatch it back, resigning himself to his fate. You turn to Yosano, nudging her with your elbow. “Do I dare ask about your finals?”

Yosano winces at the reminder. “I don’t even want to think about it,” she laughs, taking a sip of her cocktail. Despite being a few years older than you, she was in the midst of med school, which was surely a nightmare given the dark marks under her eyes.

Ranpo abruptly pauses from his conversation with Kunikida to antagonize her. “Sucks to be you, I don’t need to worry about finals anymore,” he brags, jabbing a thumb towards himself with a grin.

“You get to pay back loans, now,” Kunikida retorts, raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck.”

“Hey, Kunikida,” Dazai calls, glaring at you as you move the glass he was trying to take out of his reach. “How do finals work for you? Do they just throw you in a room full of kids and have you teach them stuff?”

“I wish,” Kunikida replies, adjusting the glasses on his face, “would be a hell of a lot easier. It’s basically just making sure I know what I’m teaching.”

“Oh yeah,” Atsushi spoke up again, shifting your attention from the drink you swiped from Dazai (that he had yet to successfully reclaim). “Have you ended up getting a new roommate yet?”

Slouching in your seat, you slide Dazai’s drink back over to him. “Nah, not really getting any offers.” Your prior roommate, as sweet as she was, ended up moving back in with her family last month. Save for whenever Dazai practically kicked down your door, the time alone had definitely been refreshing, not that the same could be said for your bank account. You should probably call her later to catch up on things.

“You know, I’m pretty sure Kajii’s looking for a place.”

“Dazai, no.”

“Yeah, I guess I would have to deal with the noise. Pipsqueak is loud enough already,” Dazai snickers at the childish nickname for his roommate.

Atsushi has an exasperated look on his face. “Truth be told, I don’t know how Chuuya has the energy to keep up with you sometimes, Dazai.” You can’t help but nod along with the younger man. As much as you cared for him, Dazai was quite talented at getting under people's skin when he wanted to. One of his many charms, you suppose.

Dazai, rather than thinking over the remark, just sits there quietly with a proud look on his face, as if he’d planned this all along.

The topic shifts elsewhere—more towards random life updates, instead of mulling over grades and finals—laughs are shared with the rest of the group, and time passes a touch too fast for your liking.

By the time you arrive back at the apartment complex, you feel too drained to even think about continuing to study. You practically have to drag Dazai from your car and into the apartment complex, buzzed with alcohol and half asleep from the aftermath. He mumbles complaints about not feeling like walking a few times, but you ignore him and pull him along anyways

Nudging your friend's apartment door open while he slouched over you, you’re met with a dim hallway, barely lit by the television of his shared living room. Leading the tipsy man into the kitchen, you haphazardly drop a dinner in a styrofoam box onto the counter. Dazai claimed earlier that he wanted to get a meal to go for tomorrow, but something told you it was for a particular roommate (Chuuya mentioned it being one of his favorite restaurants, if you remembered right).

The man in question walks into the room, no doubt hearing the commotion of you comically fighting to unlock the door. He opens his mouth to greet you before noting Dazai’s rather sorry state. He sighs, eyebrows furrowing in what looked like worry.

“Chuuya!” Dazai greets with a slight slur to his voice before staggering over to the other. An overly peppy drunk Dazai was better than a depressed drunk Dazai, you suppose.

“Again? Stop coming home wasted, asshole,” Chuuya scolds, excusing himself to get the taller man to bed. He returns after a few minutes, sighing and rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “Thanks for bringing him here.”

You wave him off. “It’s no big deal, not like your place is far. Ah—” you hesitate, not entirely sure how to word your sentence without overstepping, “is it just me, or has he been drinking more lately?”

“Not just you,” Chuuya leans against the kitchen counter, a tired look on his face. “Not like he’ll talk about it anytime soon.” Seeing your concerned look, he reaches over to grab your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, I’ll keep a better eye on him, see if I can convince him to see a therapist or something.”

“Thanks, Chuuya,” you smile before being cut off by a yawn, “I should get going, I feel like I need to sleep for a good twelve hours or so.”

He snorts in amusement. “Yeah, I feel you. Have a good night, see you around.”

“You too.”

Exiting the apartment of the duo, the next few minutes of entering your own apartment pass by in a blur, and before you know it, you’re in a dreamless sleep, the textbook on your kitchen table long forgotten.

A week passes in a monotonous blur, and your own personal doomsday of finals is closer than ever. The cheap coffee maker on your counter sounds a bit like it's screaming as it spits the hot beverage out, and you’re surprised it’s even still running.

As promised, Atsushi would be swinging by later on to study. He was a little younger than you, still a freshman, who wanted to go into social work eventually. He wanted to help people where he could, that much was obvious. He was a little awkward and hesitant when you first met him at the beginning of the year, but he’d come a long way already.

The front door unlocks with a click and swings open—narrowly missing slamming into the wall—and interrupts your thought process, followed by a dramatic bellowing of your full name.

“Hi, Dazai.” A metal spoon clinks gently against the mug of your coffee as you stir cream into it.

“I’ve come to bring you a humble gift to aid you in your finals.”

“Uh oh.”

Dazai snickers and it sounds almost diabolical, waltzing into your kitchen like he owned the place and dropping a thick book onto the counter, sliding it your way. It looks aged, dark leather cover creased from use and beginning to peel away at the corners. It smells a bit musty as you place your mug onto the counter and bring it closer, squinting at the barely legible faded letters printed across the front—

“Is this a fucking book about occultism?”

Dazai leans against your counter, batting his eyelashes in mock innocence. “Maybe.”

You snort under your breath, flipping through the book and desperately trying to hold back a sneeze when it coughs a plume of dust up at you, no doubt from sitting on a shelf. “When you said you had something to ‘aid me in my finals’, this isn’t what I anticipated, you know—“ you squint further. “Damn, it has Latin quotes and everything.”

“Well,” he says, dragging the word out, “you did say you’d need to make a deal with the devil to pass finals, and I just so happened to stumble upon an occult shop the other day…”

“This definitely feels on purpose.”

“From me? Never,” he sneers, swiping your coffee from the counter to take a swig, nose wrinkling at the bridge in disapproval. “Bleh.”

“I don’t know what you expected. You know how I make my coffee by now,” you mumble into the faded pages of the book, flipping through the chapters. The first few pages are missing, although you don’t think it matters much, probably just a table of contents and the introduction. Crystal Abilities, Manifestations, Magic Circles, Familiars, Introductory Spells, Advanced Summoning—go figure, he wasn’t kidding—it looked like a genuine book. You can’t tell who the author is with how worn the cover is, and the missing pages don’t help. “You don’t really expect me to make a summoning circle for the sake of an inside joke, do you?”

“Oh, I totally do. I’ll be requiring proof.”

“You suck.”

“Thanks!” He grins before turning heel to make his retreat. “Anyways, I’ll be taking my leave, it’s my turn to get groceries for the week. Chuuya said he’d lock me out if I didn’t come home with them.”

You flip him off as he leaves (endearingly, mind you), and he parrots the gesture after a wave.

You can feel the book glaring at you from across the room not even thirty minutes into your study session. You try to focus on the words of your actual textbook, but your sight keeps shifting to the leather-bound book still sitting on the counter. At the very least, it hasn’t begun levitating. You look back at your textbook, sigh, and slam it shut with more force than necessary. The old chair creaks as you stand, and you let curiosity beckon you closer.

You flip through the book a few times until you can find the Advanced Summoning section again. The first thing to greet you is a warning:

“Due to the risks involved, attempting to summon or communicate with spirits, demons, angels, or other powerful entities is ill-advised for beginners. Many entities display malevolent qualities, and it is a risk for even the most experienced to take. Always remain vigilant around entities, and keep necessary protection on hand at all times.”

The warning makes you hesitate, but you flip the page anyways—it wouldn’t actually work.

The next few pages have a few faded diagrams of summoning circles on them. The one designated for demons, to your dismay, is probably the most complex, with a nine-pointed star marked in the center of it along with a few symbols you couldn’t recognize around the edge of the circle. The rest of the instructions are straightforward; A candle in each of the points and an object in the center that projected your goal from the pact. Finally, it says to add something important to you, an object that could act as some sort of tether. A final warning sits at the bottom of the page, though you can't make out parts of it with the blots of ink spilled onto the pages.

“Do not add more tha … projections may lead to uninvited … Be warned that once the ritual is initiated, there is no … The ritual must b … Incompleted pacts may result in earl …”

Blatantly ignoring the ominous text (you realize while you’re looking for something to write with that you feel like a traditionally idiotic horror movie protagonist), you take a chunk of chalk—for once you’re grateful for the blackboard stuck on the fridge that was basically just for aesthetics, now—and begin scrawling on the kitchen tile with it. It’s sloppy and a little uneven, but it works. You open a pack of tea lights from the cabinet, mentally cursing Dazai for making you do this in the first place. You throw some tea lights on the points of the star, stepping back to admire whatever the hell it is you’re doing instead of studying, and slipping your phone from your pocket to video call the subject of your condemnation.

The phone rings twice before he picks up, squinting down at his phone as he walks, sun overhead and glaring into the camera. “Hello?”

“The hell, are you still shopping? Thought you’d be back to break into my apartment by now.”

He grins, holding a few bags of groceries into the camera's view for a moment. “I did, I’m coming back now. I started wandering the city. What’s up? You’re killing me, making me hold all these bags in one hand so I can hold my phone, you know,” he complains, loudly shaking the bags close to the microphone for good measure.

You grin, flipping the camera around so he can see the glorified kindergartener's work scribed onto the floor.

He blinks owlishly at you a few times before he finally responds. “You know,” he says, dodging someone along the busy sidewalk, “I was mostly joking.”

“What.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually make it!”

“Fuck you!”

He has the audacity to giggle into the phone, looking elated. “Well, you have to finish it now!”

“Why?!”

“Gotta see if it really works,” he says, followed by a poor impression of a spooky ghost sound.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you look back at the book, “I need an object that reflects my desires, or something. I don’t know what to pick.”

“Just throw a few in there.”

“But the instructions say to just use one—” he’s staring at the camera blankly. “Right. Not real.”

You look around your apartment, settling on the English textbook you’d been pointedly ignoring. Plucking it from the table, you place it into the summoning circle. That represents your finals, right? “I can’t believe I’m doing this. What else should I put?”

“Money, obviously.” The scenery behind Dazai is becoming more familiar, he wasn’t too far from the apartment complex. Why he walked, to begin with, you don’t know, unless he was just bored.

You take a stray coin from your pocket, adding it to the circle. “Should I add something else?”

“Just throw something random down, I don’t know.”

You move to the counter, settling on an apple and grabbing it from the counter. It was green at one point, but it got a touch too bruised for your liking, so might as well use it for something. It’s added carelessly to the pile. “There we go.” You grab a lighter from the drawer, lighting the tea lights. “I just need an object of importance or something.”

On your wrist sat a thin, braided bracelet. You’d met Atsushi’s younger sister, Kyouka, a handful of times, and your friend group had unofficially adopted her pretty quickly. To celebrate, she’d made friendship bracelets with the help of her best friend, Kenji, who also got the unofficial adoption treatment. You slip the bracelet off your hand after a brief struggle—the phone in your hand didn’t help—and drop it on the pile.

A beat passes. The silence is deafening. Dazai is squinting at the phone as if waiting for something to happen. Nothing happens, still. “You know,” you mumble, staring at the rather pathetic art project on the kitchen floor, “I’m not sure why I partially expected something to actually happen.”

“Invisible demon?” Dazai pipes up, unhelpfully.

“God, I hope not,” you snort, looking away from the circle. “I should get back to studying now that I’ve just wasted an hour of my time. See you later.”

Dazai struggles to give you a peace sign while simultaneously holding the grocery bags. “Bye! Don’t get possessed!” The call ends.

You slip your phone back into your pocket, staring at the circle before flipping it off out of pettiness. You move to take your textbook from the pile, ready to give in and go back to another round of studying—

With an audible whoosh, the flames of the candles jump up, as though doused by fuel. The flames nip at your arm, and you yank your hand back with a yelp to avoid them. Shrinking away from the heat, you panic, grabbing a towel from the drawer in a desperate attempt to douse the flames, but it's fruitless, the candle flame devouring the fabric far too quickly, like a starved animal.

You hear something that sounds like laughter and you shriek as the flames flicker wildly, up even higher, crackling into the deathly silent apartment. Jumping back in your panic, you make the mistake of scrambling too fast—socks slipping against the tiled floor in your haste. There’s a sharp pain of the back of your head hitting something solid, and then nothing.

[camellia-thea]

if i sign this piece of paper, do i sell my soul along with my duties?

[based on diego velazquez's coronation of the virgin]

[pseudomonaslisa]

Big Houses - Squalloscope

Prayer is the bell jar you put over this goodbye I'd rather leave this embrace between you and I Let's lock out the bearded old man in the nightgown He can tap against the glass, but I'm not coming out I build bridges with these arms, I will not build a fortress In the circle around the kitchen table, I say my Amen because I feel blessed Secretly hoping while joining hands that you can't feel my trembling fingertips If I sign this piece of paper do I sell my soul along with my duties? And we won't put our money where your Catholic mouth is Even though the teeth are long gone, there's still bone beneath the gums And there's a lot of potential in a mighty, mighty organ And they told us not to clap and we clap as loud as we can Because the reverb in those holy halls is like a long lost friend It keeps hitting the walls and comes all the way back, back again Back, back again Back, back again I want trees instead of gravestones, nothing to confess I got a soft spot for your ancient books of horror stories I got a music in my ear from long, long ago and far, far away And I still hum its tune, but how could I believe every word it says to me?

We follow our own steps, while our shadows keep watching us We follow the wrong steps, while our shadows keep watching us We follow our own steps, while our shadows keep watching us We follow the wrong steps, while our shadows keep watching us We follow our own steps, while our shadows keep watching us We follow our own steps, while our shadows keep watching us We follow our own steps, while our shadows keep watching us The wrong step would be not to start this exodus The wrong step would be not to start this exodus

[backblade]

@dxmonicmoon

The cover of night is when all jobs were carried out. One would think the bakufu forces would stop moving their important informants around at this time. After al, the Battousai who stalked the streets at night was well known to them as an entity. 

the older man and his guard had been slaughtered before they could even get a word out. Had he gotten too good at this? There wasn't even a thrill associated with this. He didn't even feel thirteen anymore, it was strange, how quickly this line of work had sucked the last bit of childish innocence out of him. 

Kenshin makes a side slash with his blade. Mindless Chiburi as he fishes the symbolic note from his kimono. 

Tenchuu 

The symbol of the Chousu clan’s activities. Kenshin turns away from the bodies after the note is dropped on one of them, slowly guiding katana back into saya, but he stops with sword midway sheathed. 

He sees it in the distance. someone in the shadows. they had seen. 

‘No witnesses...” he repeats Katsura’s explicit instruction. His position was useless if his identity became known. The shadow seemed to have a sword at his side as well...

No matter, he lets the sword fall back into the sheath fully. Then he pushes off with his foot right back into that speed at his. Feet flying across the cobblestones. Once he’d withing range Kenshin’s hands move even faster to draw, aiming to end this in a single use of his signature battoujutsu. 

The blade flies at the shadow with amazing speed, making it barely visible. 

[triptuckers]

Not too late - Nikolai Lantsov

Request: yes “maybe a Nikolai x reader fic where the reader almost moves out from their house because Nikolai is always working and they have a fight but make up in the end? please?” Pairing:  Nikolai Lantsov x reader Summary:  you decide to leave the palace, and nikolai rushes to catch up with you to change your mind Warnings: mild angst I think? Word count:  1.6K A/N: I'd sell my soul to have the scene in which alina punches nikolai in the show I loved it so much when I first read it. thanks for requesting, enjoy reading! :)

You wake up and the first thing you notice is Nikolai's absence. Again. He’s never there when you wake up. You know he’s busy. After all, he’s a king. You knew what you signed up for, and you thought you could handle it.

But it’s hard. 

It’s hard because he’s always away, visiting ministers or checking up on the progress of whatever project he was currently working on. And if he was at the palace, you barely see him. 

His schedule is packed with meeting after meeting, as well as dinner parties with important people you were never invited to.

You felt like you were slowly drifting away from him. And not just Nikolai, but also your friends. Whenever you wanted to hang out with Genya, Tamar or any of the others, they were busy as well.

You never thought a life in a palace surrounded by people could make you feel so lonely.

Of course, you tried to talk to Nikolai about it, but he merely waved his hand in the air, telling you he’s busy but that he does try to schedule some free time every now and then. You doubted it. Nikolai’s first love had always been Ravka. 

You didn’t intend to, but you just stopped being as excited as you used to be whenever you see Nikolai. Maybe you were naive to think a life with him would be something like a fairytale. It had been in the beginning, but it seemed like all the magic that once was there, had faded away.

You simply couldn’t accept you’d always be second place. Ravka first, then you. Nikolai is spending all of his time and energy on his beloved country, and you felt forgotten. 

Life at the palace could be amazing. You had everything you could have ever wished for, except that one thing you so desperately needed: Nikolai.

Which is why you had decided to head back to Os Kervo. it was where you had first met Nikolai, but also your hometown. You longed for the sea, and the Saturday market, you missed your friends.

It broke your heart, but you had decided for yourself that no life with Nikolai was better than a life in which he was constantly absent. 

It would be best if you left in the evening, you’d be able to slip out and start your journey to Os Kervo. Tt would be a three day journey, but by the time Nikolai would find the letter you had written for him, you’d be long gone.

You take one last walk around the palace, taking everything in. This would probably be the last time you’d ever see it. 

Luckily, you only see one or two servants as you make your way to the stables. You take your favourite horse, and after one last look at the palace, you’re on your way.

Once you’re out of the city and in the open fields, you let the tears fall. No one would be around to see you cry. You could already imagine the storm of gossip that would hit all of Ravka if anyone saw you leaving the palace with tears on your cheeks. 

You ride for hours until you take a break. The tears had stopped rolling down your cheeks a long time ago. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, calming yourself. 

You keep thinking back to Nikolai, and if he would have found your letter by now. You shake your head, drowning the thoughts out. Instead, you start to think about your family and friends in Os Kervo. 

They were happy for you when you left for Os Alta, even though they’d miss you terribly. You could already imagine the looks on their faces when you came home. You couldn’t wait to eat a home cooked meal, and help out on the docks.

Meanwhile at the palace, Nikolai has found your letter.

He saw it immediately when he entered your shared room. You’d placed it on your side of the bed. It was late, and he was tired, but he didn’t want to go to sleep just yet.

Because you aren’t there. Instead, there was a folded piece of paper on your pillow. It looked like you had never laid down that night.

Frowning, Nikolai picks up the piece of paper, folding it open. He recognises your handwriting and starts reading the letter.

My dearest Nikolai,

I'm sorry, I can’t take it anymore. Ravka is your first love, it always will be. You’ve got a country to run and I don’t want to wait around for you anymore. 

It pains me to say this, but I'm leaving. I've tried to hold on, to stay longer, but I just can’t do it anymore. I'm leaving for Os Kervo once I've finished this letter. 

Our paths may never cross again, but know that I will always love you,

Y/N

Nikolai reads the letter over and over again, letting the words sink in. You left. And you weren’t coming back. Time and time again he had promised you he’d spend more time with you, but there was always another meeting coming along.

It seems like he had waited too long. 

After tucking the letter in his pocket, he grabs his coat and rushes out the door. As he’s sprinting through the halls on his way to the stables, he runs into Tolya.

‘What’s got you in a rush?’ he says.

‘Move everything that’s planned for the rest of the week to next week.’ says Nikolai, not stopping as he keeps on running.

‘For what?’ yells Tolya after him.

‘Emergency!’ yells Nikolai over his shoulder as he throws open the doors. 

A servant approaches him. ‘Are you going out for a ride, sir?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’ says Nikolai. ‘Get me the fastest horse we’ve got.’

The servant gestures for a horse behind Nikolai. ‘That’s the fastest one we got, sir.’ he says. ‘Would you like me to wake General Nazyalensky and the twins so they can accompany you?’

‘No.’ says Nikolai. ‘I’m going alone.’

If the servant had his doubts, he hides it well. ‘Very well then, sir. We’ll wait for your return.’

With one last nod, Nikolai mounts his horse and takes off. 

Along the way, he keeps ushering his horse to go faster, not caring about how tired it might get. He has to get to you as fast as possible. 

When it’s almost dawn, Nikolai spots a horse in the distance. 

He could recognise your silhouette anywhere. Nikolai sighs softly and catches up with you.

You hear someone approaching you from behind and keep one hand on your revolver. Just as they catch up with you, and you’re ready to shoot them, you hear a voice.

‘Careful not to shoot me, darling.’ 

You whip your head around so fast you could have snapped your neck.

Nikolai is riding next to you, his eyes tired but somehow still gorgeous. He’s still in the clothes he wore when you last saw him, and his golden hair is messy. Still, he smiles at you.

‘Nikolai?’ you say. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Very romantically chasing after you, of course.’ he says. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.

‘I read your letter.’ he says. ‘And I realise I've been an idiot.’

You raise your eyebrows. ‘Nikolai Lantsov admitting he can be an idiot? What kind of reversed world did we fall into?’ you say.

‘The one in which I speak the truth.’ he says. ‘I promised you I would make more time for you, and then I didn’t. I hadn’t realised how bad it had gotten, until I read your letter. I don’t want you to leave, Y/N, ever.’

‘We both know Ravka needs you, Nikolai. I was young and naive to think you could spend as much time with me as you did with your advisors and ministers.’

‘I still can.’ he says. ‘I told Tolya to move everything I have scheduled this week to next week.’

You look at him. ‘You did?’ you say.

He nods. ‘Yes, so I could spend time with you.’ he says.

‘That’s nice.’ you say, smiling at him.

‘It’s a start.’ he says. ‘How about this: we pick a few days, and I never schedule any meeting on those days. I spend them with you, and don’t let anything or anyone interrupt them.’

‘But Ravka-’ ‘Can handle a day or three in a week without me.’

‘Alright.’ you say. ‘I could live with that.’

‘Thank goodness.’ says Nikolai, looking relieved. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you.’

You smile and stop your horse. You tug on the reigns to turn around. 

‘Where are you going?’ asks Nikolai.

‘Back to the palace?’ you say, a bit confused.

‘I was thinking we could go to Os Kervo for a day or two.’ he says. ‘After all, I did ask Tolya to schedule the rest of the week free. We’ve got plenty of time. Besides, I met your family like two times before, it’d be nice to see them again.’

‘Alright then.’ you say. ‘After you, your majesty.’

Nikolai rolls his eyes at the nickname. ‘I hate it when you do that.’ he says, making his horse resume walking again.

‘No you don’t.’ you say with a wink, turning your horse around so you can ride beside him.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[luvlyuno]

alone (m)

What happens when your crush offers to let you stay a few nights but plans take a turn?

Pairing: Huening Kai & Female OC

[ft. TXT Soobin & Yeonjun, NCT Na Jaemin, ITZY Lia & Yuna]

Genre: Suspense, Little Angst, Ballet AU

Warning: Sexual Assualt, Rape, Arguing, Trust issues, Suicide

Word Count: 2.0k

Note: first post~

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

“And 1. And 2” The girl leaped from point one to point two. Feeling the melody of the classical song. Her dance partner lifted her body off the ground, bringing her to a full 360 degree. “Great job Sujin. Impressive like always” The instructor complimented as the team finished practice. Sujin’s face turned into a light shade of pink, quickly thanking her instructor before scurrying to her bag to pack everything up.

“Hey Sujin, Miss Park wants to speak to you in her office.” Lia, a fellow member of the ballet academy said. The girl put her phone down walking over to the office surrounded by windows. “Miss Park, you called me?” Miss Park stood up from her desk with an envelope in her hand. “Look what I found in the mail.” The elder woman handed the thick envelope to Sujin. “It’s from Saebom School of Arts.” She commented. A layer of moisture grew on Sujin’s hands. Her hands started shaking as well. “Open it when you get home.” Miss Park lightly patted the girl on the shoulder as she walked outside back into the studio.

“Why did Miss Park call you in?” Yuna, another teammate and friend of Sujin asked. “She gave me this envelope from Saebom.” Yuna’s mouth was in an ‘o’ shape. “Well, I got to go. Someone was calling you by the way. Don’t forget to text me!” Her friend yelled running out of the door of the studio. Sujin giggled a bit, walking off to her slightly open duffle bag. The girl knelt, picking up her phone from her bag. A notification from the boy that she’s head over heels flashed on the screen. “Kai Jung.” She said under her breath. The two lovers met over summer dance camp. Kai was from a different ballet studio a couple of hours away from Sujin’s. They met by being paired up for a boy and girl dance duet at camp. Later growing mutual feelings for each other. She unlocked her phone immediately by pressing on the messaging app. Sujin typed away on her phone telling Kai that she will call him when she got home from the studio. Before leaving Sujin waved goodbye to her ballet instructor and went off to catch the next bus.

“Next Stop: District 9” Sujin got up from her seat walking out of the bus. She watched as the stores along the sidewalk turned on their neon lines. Shining through the darkness of Seoul. Sujin sighed heavily as a quick shiver ran down her back. Sooner than she thought, Sujin was already home ready for dinner. “Sujin’s home!” The girl’s older brother, Jaemin said, sliding through the hallway of their house. Sujin smiled as she took her shoes off. “Mom!” She yelled from the Mudroom. “Miss Park gave me this envelope from Saebom.” She made her way to the kitchen. “She told me to open it at home.” Mrs. Na hummed in response while stirring the soup for dinner. Sujin slowly opened the thick envelope, taking the piece of paper out.

“Oh my god.” She gasped, clasping her hand to her mouth. “I got in! OMG, I GOT IN JAEMIN!” She squealed like a pig. The girl jumped in excitement, her once low bun undoing.” Jaemin hugged his sister. “Congrats sis! You got into your dream school! She nodded, smiling from ear to ear. Sujin turned to look at her Mom who had no emotion written on her face. Sujin’s smile dropped to a confused look. “Mom? What’s wrong” Her Mother looked up. “Isn’t this too much? Ballet is a hobby, not a career.” Mrs. Na questioned. “Mom, Sujin has plans ready for herself. She planned to be a professional ballerina and have a side business like what she has now.” Jaemin stuck up for his little sister. Sujin was on the verge of tears from all the arguing. “And!? What is that gonna help her in the future? I TOLD YOU TO BECOME A LAWYER-'' Mrs. Na was cut off. “BEING A LAWYER WAS YOUR DREAM NOT MINE! I CHOOSE WHAT I WANT TO BECOME IN THE FUTURE NOT YOU!”

Sujin then stormed off to her bedroom. Tears streaming down her face. Jaemin’s eyes following hers. “Wow, Mom. The time when you’re supposed to be a ‘supportive mother figure’ has gone to waste.” Jaemin ran after Sujin leaving their Mother dumbfounded. Sujin sat on her bed as she cried rivers. A sudden knock was heard. She didn’t feel like opening it, so she ignored the knocking. “Sujin it’s me Jaemin. Can I come in?” She stayed silent. “I’ll just take that as a yes.” Jaemin walked in taking a seat next to her.

“Why can’t Mom just understand that this is what I want for me in the future? What did I do for her to act like this? I don’t want to be under the same roof as her right now” Sujin complained as tears spilled out more. Jaemin sighed. “I honestly don’t know how to respond to this but I support you. Dad would support you too.” He smiled trying to brighten the mood. Sujin’s lips curled a little making Jaemin feel a little satisfied. “I’ll give you some alone time. I know you’ll probably trap yourself in here till she apologies, so text or call me if you need anything.” Then he left, leaving Sujin giggling a bit. Her phone started ringing all of a sudden.

Her phone lit up with the contact name Kai <3 on it. “Hello? Kai?” Her voice was raspy from all the crying. “Hi, Sujin! A-are you okay? You sound sick.” Sujin softly giggled at how Kai was worried for her. “I just got into an argument with my Mom. I don’t want to be here right now.” She pouted. “Wanna stay the weekend at my Grandma’s house with me? She lives near you. Same town.” Kai offered. He was planning to surprise her but plans took a turn. “Oh please, you’re a lifesaver Kai!” She smiled through the phone. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. Around 4 pm.” Kai happily said. The two eventually hung up. Sujin laid down bored out of her mind. Until Jaemin barged into her room.

“Well, dinner was super awkward. Mom was just ranting to Dad the whole time but bro was like I support her.” Sujin puffed out a little chuckle. “Did you just call Dad bro?” Jaemin just shrugged then left her room. The next morning everything was so strange to Sujin. Maybe it was the fact that her Mom didn’t open her windows while she was sleeping. Or that breakfast wasn’t pre-made for Jaemin and her. Sujin rose packing her bags getting ready to stay at Kai’s Grandma’s house for a few days. She has informed Jaemin that she was going to sleep over at her friend Yuna’s place for a couple of days. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Kai texted.

“I won’t be able to pick you up. I hate to help my Grandma cook, so my cousins Soobin and Yeonjun will pick you if that’s okay?” Sujin replied with a quick okay then continued her packing. It was a little over 4 pm when Kai’s cousins Yeonjun and Soobin arrived to pick her up. “How did you and Kai meet? He’s never really had a girlfriend.” Yeonjun commented. Sujin was shocked at the assumption of the two dancers dating. “Oh u-um, we’re not dating. We’re just friends nothing more.” She blushed at the thought. “Hmm.” Soobin replied. The drive there was quite longer than she thought. That’s until Soobin offered to give her something.

“Hey Sujin, we just came from the store before picking up. Want some of these candies we bought?” It would be rude to decline so Sujin agreed. After a few sour gummies, she started to feel dizzy. Then everything went black. Sujin woke up in an unfamiliar room with a locked door and a glued shut window. What in the world happened? Dark thoughts polluted her brain.

“Oh! You’re awake.” In came Soobin but no sight of Yeonjun. “Where’s Kai? Are we here already?” She cluelessly asked not even noticing the object in the male’s hand. Soobin got closer to Sujin, inches away from her face. She was caught off guard. His eyes piercing through her soul. “G-get away from me!” She stuttered pushing him away. A smirk grew on his face. “I’m not gonna do anything to you.” She raised an eyebrow feeling the uneasy energy in the room. “How am I supposed to trust you?” Sujin slowly walked backward. Soobin follows as she moves. “I promise.” Soobin injected her with some type of liquid in her right arm in just a blink of an eye. To Sujin the room started spinning. She felt weak but a sudden burst of unusual energy burst. Soobin’s lip curled as he watched transform into a different state of mind.

“Yeonjun come in here.” The pink-haired boy Yeonjun walked into the room, eyes widening at the scene. Sujin wasn’t acting normal. “C’mon you go first.” Soobin pushed Yeonjun closer to Sujin who was laying on the white mattress. “This is wrong I’m opting out dude.” Soobin chuckled at the scared Yeonjun. “Oh is little Yeonjun scared to do something very bad to this little girl?” Soobin laughed again pushing Yeonjun’s shoulder. “Do it or I’m telling the student body that you’re selling you know what. And that would for sure get you expelled from going to your dream school.” The boy walked closer to Yeonjun who was awfully terrified. Just the threat alone could make Yeonjun do it with hesitation. He knew it was bad but still did what he was told. “Thanks for starting now, let me finish her.”

Soobin said without any emotions. Yeonjun stepped aside as he watched the screaming girl whine and cry. It was so hard for him not to call for help. Yes, he felt guilty for Sujin but reputation goes first in this cruel world. Sujin screamed and screamed for help. The immense pain Sujin didn’t sign up for was never-ending. As much as she tried to fight back or force Soobin to stop he would either reply by slapping her or making the pain worse. “Please Stop.” She whispered weakly. Sujin laid there lifeless.

“Hurry and get back in the car.” Soobin groaned leaving the room. Sujin wept to realize what just happened. She never thought that her first would be a crime. She hurriedly put on her clothes and walked out of the mysterious house. Soobin saw as she sulked all the way out of the house. He didn’t have the patience for this so he picked her up shoving her into the car. The night ride to nowhere was quiet. Besides the silent sobs and choked-up breathing that was coming from Sujin, there wasn’t a single word spoken.

“Get out.” The car came to a stop. Sujin looked up making eye contact with Soobin through the rearview mirror. “I said GET. OUT.” He repeated through his teeth. “Y-you were supposed to bring me to Kai..” She dragged her words. Soobin huffed. “I said get out!” He repeated once again annoyed. His sudden shout made Yeonjun and Sujin flinch. Sujin got out of the car grabbing her belongings. Just as she closes the door, Sujin gets a quick glance at Yeonjun. His facial expression filled with guilt. Seconds later the car left faster than light. Sujin stood there feeling the moonlight shine on her. She was left in the middle of a highway in Seoul. Sujin felt so dirty and disappointed in herself. All the times she tried to stop a car to get home they would just give her a dirty look.

“I could’ve stopped him.” She thought. Just within two days, her life went downhill. She quickly took out her phone typing a quick “I love you, Jaemin.” to her brother. “Doesn’t that bright light seem interesting?” Sujin asked herself. She stepped off the sidewalk. Her feet leading straight to her fate. The sound of honking did not faze her. The bright lights didn’t even make her squint. Sujin Na just kept walking to the middle of the road. Till she wanted to stop.

BREAKING NEWS: 18 YEAR OLD SUJIN NA REPORTED DEAD AT HWY NEO127. CT SCANS FOUND SHE WAS BRUTALLY RAPED BEFORE HER DEATH. CCTV SPOTTED THE TWO PERPETRATORS, SOOBIN CHOI AND YEONJUN CHOI. MORE INFORMATION WILL BE ANNOUNCED...

Jaemin’s shaky eyes rewind again and again. It’s been two years since her suicide. Her soul still lingers on Highway Neo 127.

Sujin Na.

[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)

[chemiste]

Logan and The Diamonds

a/n: aaaaaah to be a rockstar and have harry styles fall in love with you

mah masterlist bitches

The crowed roared. 

The stage shook with excitement. 

You and your girls rose up about of the floor, posed and ready for battle. Standing in the center, you raised your arm up to the sky and yelled into the microphone, “I give you, Logan and the Diamonds!”

The beat dropped and you started the song.

Your band consisted of 5 girls, Bonni, Effy, Pearl, and Tonya, then yourself. Your band had been on the cover of the Rolling Stones, TIME magazine, Vogue, and many others. Logan was your stage name, you were the head of the band, lead singer and a cut-throat song-writer. 

Roughy a year ago you would have been sitting in your cramp dorm room apartment, pouring out lyrics onto any spare piece of paper you had, now here you were, absolutely smashing it on your world tour with your Diamonds.

Bonni and Effy danced together down the middle aisle of the stage, Effy grabbed a flower crown thrown to the stage and slapped it onto her curly head of purple hair. Bonni laughed and started her verse of the song, throwing an arm around her bandmate and swayed. 

Pearl and Tonya were on the right side of the main stage, grinding together. You stood on the left, running a hand through the crowd that was desperate for a simple taste of you and your girls.

Your band was unique in a way not seen for a while. You never wore the same outfit, only coordinating colors, each time different for each performance. 

Tonight was sliver, Bonni had on sliver high-waisted pants and a matching crop top. Effy wore a mini romper, sliver sequins shaking with her every move. Pearl had on sliver eyeshadow and Tonya wore a sliver skirt. You went with a biker jacket, sliver studs engulfed your shoulders and back. Your black jeans were tight against your legs and honestly, you looked fucking hot. You felt it too. 

You and your girls were on fire.

Harry thought so too.

He’d heard of your band a few months ago when he heard Mitch and Sarah jamming out to your song, Devil in the Daylight, during a break at rehearsal. 

After that, his curiosity kept him circling back to your band’s Instagram, keeping up with any news that popped up. Finally, after a few months, he snatched some pit tickets for one of your band’s shows. Sarah and Mitch attended with him as well, and were now laughing and singing to their hearts content, crammed up to the front of the stage.

The song ended and applause followed, the girls moved to different spots on the long runway, waving to screaming fans.

Effy spoke up, “Alight right everyone, you know the drill! Every show we do a surprise cover of a song, I wanna see how fast you can figure this one out.”

 Bonni walked along the left side of the runway, flipping a long dark braid over her shoulder. “This song is from one of the 2015s most iconic bands,” she said.

 Tonya continued, “If most of you are over 15 and haven’t been living under a rock, you deficiently know the band—“ “Maybe even have a favorite,” Pearl added on.

“We all do,” you said, smirking out to the crowd as the yelled answers.

Sarah and Mitch went through bands with each other as Harry watched you and your bandmates scan the crowd. Harry liked your look, it reminded him of a metal head and the aura you gave off was just a confidence that made him want to be with you or even just be you. 

H looked around and took a moment to realize he wasn’t the only one.

People yelled out random bands.

“Mumford and Sons!”

“Fallout Boy!”

“Fifth Harmony!”

“Maroon 5!”

Harry chuckled before throwing all caution to the wind and yelled, “One Direction!”

You head snapped to the area he was in, trying to see who’d said the name.

 “Well, my diamonds, looks like we have a winner! 3, 2, 1 lets go!”

The girls lined up in specific poses as the music started, the crowd roared with excitement finally knowing the song.

You started,

I've got fire for a heart

I'm not scared of the dark

You've never seen it look so easy

I got a river for a soul

And baby, you're a boat

Baby, you're my only reason

Harry’s jaw dropped, as Pearl sang Louis’ part, his eyes stayed trained on you. Your body moved with the song, throwing your head back and swaying to the beat.

All my life

You stood by me

When no one else was ever behind me

All these lights

They can't blind me

With your love, nobody can drag me down

You danced to your girl’s singing, happy to be on stage doing the thing you loved most.

All my life

You stood by me

When no one else was ever behind me

All these lights

They can't blind me

With your love, nobody can drag me down

Harry watched, absolutely amazed by how you just dominated the song, no hesitation. You smirked as you ran a hand through the screaming crowd. Glancing over, you watched as Effy pretended to twerk on Tonya who was laughing hysterically.

I got a fire for a heart

I'm not scared of the dark

You've never seen it look so easy

I got a river for a soul

And baby, you're a boat

Baby, you're my only reason

Bonni sang Niall’s part, walking over to where you stood with a bit of swagger, possibly imitated the man she was singing for. 

You flipped your hair dramatically and leaned an arm on her shoulder while sticking out her tongue. Harry’s eyes stayed trained on your body as you waltzed down the stage, singing into your microphone.

If I didn't have you there would be nothing left (nothing left)

The shell of a man who could never be his best (be his best)

If I didn't have you, I'd never see the sun (see the sun)

You taught me how to be someone

Yeah

The rest of the girls joined you at the edge of the tongue of the stage, basically within feet of Harry and co. Sarah was freaking out, shaking Mitch’s arm with an enthusiasm H hadn’t seen since tour.

All my life

You stood by me

When no one else was ever behind me

All these lights

They can't blind me

With your love nobody can drag me down

Nobody, nobody

Nobody can drag me down

Nobody, nobody

Nobody can drag me

All my life

You stood by me

When no one else was ever behind me

All these lights

They can't blind me

With your love nobody can drag me down

The Diamonds had now each taken a spot along the aisle, Bonni closest to the main stage, then Effy, Pearl, Bonni, and right at the front, you. The former band boy’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what was about to happen.

Nobody, nobody

Nobody can drag me down (down)

Nobody, nobody

Nobody can drag me (down)

Mitch turned to Harry, “Is she about to—“ He nodded, not able to use words.

Nobody, nobody

Here comes the moment of truth.

“Nobody can drag me dooooooowwwnnnn!”

Holy shit.

She was nailing it.

Nobody, nobody

Like a true lead singer, you took few steps forward and slid on your knees to the edge before signing your part again.

“Nobody can drag me dooooooowwwnnnn!”

Nobody, nobody

Slowly, you lifted your head looking up to the nosebleeds. Harry swore a halo from the stage lights lit up atop your head.

“Nobody can drag me down.”

The crowd was silent for a moment before erupting with applause in excitement and energy. The Diamonds and you rounded together for a big hug, relieved your surprise song did well.

Bonni waved to the crowd signaling them to die down, “I’m glad y’all liked it. Actually we all were really pumped for this song cause we all have a favorite in the band!” 

Fans screamed, overjoyed from the news. Effy laughed, “Ya, we all got to sing as our favorites, can you believe that?!”

Oh.

Oh.

I’m her favorite?

You cackled, picking up a lollipop that had been thrown to the stage and pulled the wrapper off, popping it into your mouth.

Harry’s pants got a little bit tighter at the sight.

“Yeah, you guys should’ve seen Logan in the recording studio, I think she about cried when we decided to this song.” Peal said.

Tonya was soon to jump in, “Exactly, this girl fought hard, no one was going to have Harry’s part except her.” H watched as you brought a hand up to cover your face.

“Oh come on guys, stop it…” You whined into the mic while hiding under your hand. Mitch bumped Harry’s shoulder, “Dude, I can’t believe Logan has the hots for you!”

Right as Mitch said that, Harry knew it was too late. 

A few girls beside them looked over to the commotion that a drunken Mitch was making, and promptly freaked at the sight of Harry Styles. Harry groaned slightly as the two girls whispered about the rockstar next to them.

What he wasn’t excepting was what happened next.

“HEY LOGAN, HARRY’S OVER HERE!”

Harry’s jaw dropped open while Sarah bursted out in laughter, fans started talking, loudly, about the man in the crowd.

“Logan! Over here!”

“Harry Styles is at your show!”

“I think he liked your performance!”

“Logan! Logan!”

You were enjoying the lollipop, finishing it and putting the wrapper around the sticky part of the stick when you heard some commotion from the left side of the pit. 

As the girls chatted to fans and each other, you walked closer to the bubbly whispers of the crowd calling your name. 

Harry watched in partial horror as you crouched down on the stage, roughy 5 feet from where he was standing. He watched your face scrunch in confusion, listening to the conglomerated voices trying to tell you something.

You spoke softly into the mic as to not disturb your fellow bandmates from their conversion with the rest of the crowd. 

“What’s wrong guys?” 

A few hyper voices spoke up and Harry saw it on your face the moment you knew. You eyebrows rose ever so slightly and you followed the trail of pointing fingers to him.

When your eyes locked, you knew you were done for.

Fucking— oh my, Harry Styles just watched me basically sell my soul to his song.

And he knows about my crush, damn.

You face flushed with warmth as did Harry’s, a pink tint lighting his cheeks. Taking a deep breath, you raised the mic to your lips.

“Hi Harry.”

<3

should i do a part 2?

masterlist

[blushing-starker]

Cold mates and black coffees

For @starkerfestivals prompt of mates

There is, he supposes, something beautiful about a world such as this, primitive yet advanced and sophisticated. Children no taller than his knee carry around super computers that fit in the palm of one's hands, talk to friends thousands of miles away whenever they want. It used to take him months to receive his preferred concoction for the early night wake up call, now stores inhabit every corner of every city. They patiently wait to receive their dependents, all sorts of people relying on some version of the simple black coffee to jolt their system. Convenient, sure, no doubt about that. A quick stop at a Starbucks and violá, five hours of productivity guaranteed. But nothing builds character like swimming laps through a freezing lake infested with piranhas to keep away the urge to rest for just another five minutes. Unfortunately, sleepless days were the norm for him and Rhodey whenever they endeavored to race each other underwater.

There are clothes, too. Clothes for each season available year round. Fox fur adorns a lanky mannequin next to a twin showcasing how breezy summer fabrics can be. Riding boots that he would have spent a small fortune on decades ago shine below man made light for the cost of a nice meal over at Pepper's. Jewels fine enough for the family vault enchant any who take so much as two steps in either direction. Everything is for sale; it just means swiping a plastic card, presenting a number off a super computer or giving the cashier the remains of ancient trees. He could buy an ice cream cone (with sprinkles, of course, he's not an idiot) and immediately wander over to a restaurant selling sizzling curry. It's what his father dreamed about, a thousand years ago. How odd then, that his only heir couldn't be more nonchalant to all this.

It's his what, first month back from sleeping for half a century? He got accustomed to this whirlwind of a consumerist world by the first week. The soft purr of self-driving engines, flashing neon street signs, a melting pot of twenty, thirty languages, glittering clothes clashing with garish makeup, an overwhelming scent of smoke, perfume and money is as familiar as the palm of Rhodey's left hand or Pepper's right. Is it fantastic, being alive for the wild ride that is the twenty-first century? Yes, of course it is. But it's his father's dream; not his. His dream is the same as what drove Maria Stark into the world: finding his mate. Which, logically speaking, won’t happen until time has colored his hair with quite a bit more starlight and streaked thin lines around not too shabby cheekbones. (Rhodey’s teasing words.)

Going along with logic, there is a chance his mate will never show up. It was mere luck his father met the only woman besides Peggy that could stand his whole. Well, that could just stand him, period. A mate is found by scent, identified by touch and only bound with words. If his father had gone for one more drink, he’d probably be as real as the tooth fairy. In the back of his head, there lives a voice. And this voice he named Miss Lucky. She told him how lucky he would need to be in order to find a mate not too close to cradle or grave, a person that saw eye to eye in the majority of the basics and was open to his predilection. Someone that wouldn’t fear or expose him, wouldn’t want to strike the killing blow themselves. And Christ, with or without Miss Lucky, it’s a fool’s idea, thinking that in the middle of New York amidst one of the coldest winters to ever grace the city, his mate, his soul’s match, his other heart will chance upon him and actually accept the fact that he barely exudes a scent. Let alone something useful enough to help others recognize his class.

That’s the one downfall to living in this time; so much tension regarding one’s class. It is infinitely better than before when there were only three possibilities and the social restrictions could very rarely be shattered. But now it’s about pulling rank, percentages listed on a piece of paper could be used against you or signify one’s survival. A double-edged sword. To be a nurse, any applicants must be less than thirty percent alpha. Soldiers were forbidden from entering foreign countries if they had more beta characteristics than not. Lovers, in some parts of the world, could marry exclusively when their percentages were compatible. In the old times, if you smelled like an omega, you were treated as such. That could entail being thrown into a whorehouse or perceived as royalty destined to bring life into the world. Once puberty came, a simple prick and a vial of blood determined one’s next decision regarding the future.

He took the test. Just out of curiosity and it’d be rude not to provide a mate with information so readily accessible merely because of an unjustified fear over his identity. He is an alpha. And if the test had said otherwise, it would have been no problem. Of course not, he would have been proud to identify as a beta or omega. His mother was a beta and his nanny, basically his second mother, was an omega. No shame would’ve clouded his mind at receiving such news. The matter was this, though, he had believed to be an alpha the entirety of his life. If the paperwork said that was his lowest percentage, different rules and procedures, updated to today’s society, would need to be learned.

And he’s so tired of it all when only a handful can smell the fact he’s an alpha. What was he supposed to do, carry the results in his pocket in case a bigot searched for a fight? No, that would be, as Pepper had made very clear before, extremely silly.

He carries the test in case his mate considers such matters important. Or their family. Yes, it’s not because he worries that society will somehow doubt his identity. In the end, being an alpha is an integral part of who he is. It shouldn’t be that way and he barely knows what that means, but it’s true. Miss Lucky comes back around swiftly now, what if his mate isn’t interested in him because of his percentage? What then? Learn what the other classes represent to that person and behave in ways they believe suit said classes? Could his match be with a pureblood, intent on “staying true” to their highest percentage? Would he be able to, cinnamon. Wait, cinnamon and honey? Is that rain and sunlight? Since when does Starbucks incorporate those smells? And how the hell does he know what sunlight smells like? He’s insane. There’s no other explanation, oh that must have hurt.

A young man has just barreled into him. Slammed into his arm like a linebacker. A linebacker that weighs a feather and a half. How is he this light, a breeze had more force. What should he, what’s the proper ritual here, oh my god

“Your nose is bleeding- “

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking. I’m just late for class and- “

“Calm down and let me buy you some coffee; you’re half dead- “

“Shit, your coat. I will pay you back, I swear.”

He hums, looks down and apparently he was too involved in his quest to find a mate that he completely bypassed the thought that this man had accidently crashed into him while holding a coffee…

A mate. He doesn’t know what sunlight smells like. How could he? Unless that’s what his mate smelled like. The young man inhales sharply, lets out a little “oh, I think, I know it’s you.” and, on further reflection, he notices this kid has the voice of an angel. Soft and kind while not being so lilting he’d think it weak and demure. Ah, he looks like an ethereal entity too. Of course he does.

It’s the eyes that do it for him, enchant him enough he wants to kneel and propose right there in the hopes of waking up each night to those amber pools as familiar and mysterious as the universe itself. The rosy lips, pink cheeks and sweeping lashes are also quite nice. He has the body of a being from the old tales, a nymph or a muse destined to bring light and joy to the world. And black coffee to coats older than his father and grandfather combined.

“Could I touch you properly? I think spilling sugar over that coat didn’t really give me the chance to feel my mate, Mister?” Rhodey’s gonna annihilate him. This is a child, twenty-one at most. They could exchange numbers; communicate when his best friend wouldn’t be tempted to take one look and accuse him of going for jailbait. He could make a plan, organize a way to gently explain how he’s an undead creature of the night whose low circulation means that somehow his hormone production slowed and therefore he barely smells like wood let alone an actual human being. They could make it work. If he’s lucky, Angel here won’t fall for another. If he’s lucky, lots of things won’t happen. Or they will anyway.

“Stark. Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, all things considered. When I learned one’s mate smells like something unknown, I didn’t quite expect literal sunshine to be what I noticed. And don’t worry about the coat; it’s nothing.”

Marie Antoinette gave him this coat as a gift on his sixteenth birthday a few years before her death. It’s fine.

“Oh. I, I wouldn’t have thought I smelled like that. It’s really nice, actually. You smell, and please don’t take this the wrong way, like alpha. And home. I know it’s weird, but I can’t explain it any other way. I’m sorry if it’s too- “

At least he already knows he dislikes that worried furrow on such a happy face. He surges forward, clasps a soft hand and lets slip a shocked gasp, sees the mirrored reaction because Jesus, it’s as if he licked his finger and then stuck it inside a power outlet. Every hair on his body stands on end and when was the last time his heart beat that fast? Surely it was the night his old flame left or when they, no. No memories of a past lover when his mate is right here, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

“I don’t believe I know your name. Seems a little unfair, don’t you think? Wanna even the odds?” It’s meant to make the young man smile and he does.

It’s only when he grins that Tony notices the sharpened incisors and the slight cold coming from the small figure. The same fog that follows him around even on the hottest of days. The exact shape of teeth Tony cleans in front of his bathroom mirror each night.

“Peter. My name’s Peter. Nice to meet you, Tony.”

[talesmaniac89]

The Classifieds

Pairing: Past Dean x Reader 

Summary: What lengths will Dean Winchester go to when he runs out of options to save the people he cares about? Is he willing to let go of a part of himself to save his family?

Triggers: Hurt, Coma, possible loss/death, open ending, no resolution, angst, No happy endings here guys. This is just angst for the sake of angst.

For sale: 1967 Chevrolet Impala

Lovingly restored black ‘67 Impala needs a new home. This 327 four-barrel beauty comes with a newly installed 502 Big Block 550 Horsepower Engine to give you that extra bit of push. Though it has a mileage of over 600,000 miles travelled, this beauty runs like new after several full fixups, constant servicing and a lot of TLC. Registration is up to date as of January this year. 

With its souped-up engine, new paint job and fresh set of tires, this baby looks like it just rolled off of the assembly line. Both the exterior and interior of the car have received a near perfect restoration with a few small exceptions; there’s a green army man toy stuck in the ashtray, a few Lego pieces are rattling in the vent when you turn on the heat, and there’s a small carving in the rear window sill. These are all minor interior flaws that can easily be fixed by the buyer.

I’ll share details like the VIN, classic car ID and answer any other questions directly to any prospective buyers.

She’s been with us since ‘73, and never let us down. Baby’s part of our family, and we’re sad to let her go, but I’m hoping the new owner will love her as much as I have.

Price: Best offer

---

Taking a shaky breath, Dean held back the tears that burned in his eyes, blurring his vision as he read through the classified ad one last time before motioning to hit send. His finger shook over the enter key as he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice.

Baby meant a lot to him, of course she did. But she was only a car, and if he didn’t let her go, then he could end up losing so much more. Selling the Impala was his only choice.

He needed money. A lot of money. For (Y/N) and Sammy. Their last hunt in Chicago had landed them both in separate hospital beds after prolonged contact with a djinn, and they weren’t waking up. Even after Dean killed the fucking monster that had them trapped, they both remained unresponsive, and they were fading fast. Only kept alive by modern science and a team of hardworking doctors and nurses.

Still, Dean was in the business of saving people. And if ganking another monster of the week wasn’t gonna cut it, then he’d do whatever else he needed to do to fix this. He wouldn’t let his little brother, or the woman he loved more than life itself, die in that hospital. He couldn’t lose them, either of them.

But, their stay and continued treatment required money. More money than he had. More money than he could ever hope to get from his measly collection of fake credit cards, poker games and hustling some poor fool at the local dive bar.

Which was why he was balancing Sammy’s computer on his lap as he sat, defeated, on one of the uncomfortably hard waiting room chairs. One finger hovering over the enter button as he tried to breathe through the growing lump in his throat and the helpless panic lodged in his chest. Either way, he’d lose something. But this way he’d save his family; the only goddamn good thing left in his life.

Swallowing down the bitter defeat, he let his finger press into the enter key with a little more force than necessary. Sending his ad in to the classifieds with nothing more than a dry, low sob goodbye.

Dean would scrounge up every damned cent needed to keep his family alive. Even if it meant selling the only home the Winchester brothers had ever really had.

Because the Impala was their only real home, more so than the bunker could ever hope to be. Yet, what was a home without people to live in it? If he lost his family, then the bunker, the Impala, or any other place he tried to run away to would just be a coffin. Somewhere to lie broken, bruised and defeated as he waited for the world to catch up and realise his heart stopped beating the day that fucking djinn landed Sam and (Y/N) in that hospital bed.

“Goodbye Baby… I’m sorry,”

---

“…Winchester?”

Someone was calling his name, but Dean was too far gone to listen. His red rimmed eyes stayed laser focused on the online listing. Dry and burning after minutes spent staring unblinkingly at the picture of his Baby that topped the ad. The picture was just one of many, the first he could find without Sam or her in it, but it still meant so much to him.

In it he could see every single moment he’d spent behind the wheel of that car.

He could see nights spent by (Y/N)’s side, stargazing on Baby’s hood. His hand painting patterns on her bare arm as they just… Existed together, not talking or hunting, just living. Her head resting on his shoulder as he whispered promises of forever into her (Y/H/C) hair.

He relived every time she’d helped him fix his Baby back up, handing him his tools with that tempting sheen of moisture trapped against her neck and collarbone from the heat of the Kansas sun. Endless drives, with Sam calling shotgun; using his longer legs to his advantage and leaving the fiercest huntress Dean knew in the dust while she grumbled about deserving a front seat view for once.

He could feel the steady and safe vibration of the steering wheel under his fingers and heard her singing along to his mixtapes. Her head leaned back and (Y/H/C) hair moving slightly in the small breeze from the open window. (Y/E/C) eyes hidden behind closed eyelids and a small lazy smile, just barely visible through the rear-view mirror.

That one picture, topping the classifieds ad, held it all; every moment on the road so far. And there’d been many. More than he could ever hope to count.

From the desperate rushed rescue missions and races against the clock, to the lazier road trips after a fight well fought. The easy drives would always be his favourite moments. Just sunshine, warming the air around him as he drove his family back to the bunker. Safe in the knowledge that he’d kept them all out of harm’s way once more.

He’d spent so many long days on the road, he could picture it all perfectly. Even in the pixelated picture of an empty car. (Y/N) would be lounging in the backseat, humming along to his music. Stretched across the leather seats as Sam tried to talk both Dean and her into agreeing to change the classic rock music blaring through the speakers with a podcast or audio book. Giving his all to another convincing argument, fit for the former Stanford student, and still failing miserably every time.

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole,”

Dean flinched slightly at the sound of his own voice. He hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. Even the cracked, whispered version that left him. Yet, as soon as the words were out, he could nearly hear the echo of Sammy’s quipped “Jerk” in response to the golden rule. Barely catching the ghost of it with a trembling, empty smile before it was crushed under the louder sound of cold professionalism above him.

“Mr. Winchester?” The doctor repeated, sounding slightly annoyed at his lack of response and waving the papers in front of her as she waited for him to take them from her. The admission forms.

There were two of them. One for each of the two people he loved more than life itself. Lying in separate hospital rooms, only kept alive by machines and wires. Alive, but not really living, for as long as he had money to keep funding those fragile lifelines.

“Please fill in the fields for their insurance and the payment plan section. If there’s any issues…” The doctor said, voice free of judgement or blame as he lifted tear stained eyes to catch hers.

“No… You’ll have your money. Just… Save ‘em doc. They’re all I have,”

Dean didn’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for himself. He needed to get the money. He’d do anything to save his family. Hell, he’d have already sold his soul three times over if he had anything left to actually bargain with. And his baby, the Impala that had been their home, would never be the same again without Sam’s constant attempts to change his music or (Y/N) signing along from the backseat or making his baby brother roll his eyes at her bad jokes.

Though he’d yet to get an offer on the ad. And he needed money fast.

Cas had tried, but his weakened grace couldn’t help them, and there were no other last-minute interventions there to save the day. After all, saving the day was what the Winchesters did, and Dean was two soldiers short of a full team. 

No, he couldn’t sit around hoping someone would come rescue them and he couldn’t shoot or punch his way through this problem. All he could do was cling to his phone and hope someone offered to buy a piece of him. One he thought he’d never part with. Hell, at some point he’d even dreamed about handing the keys over to his own child one day, one with green eyes and (Y/H/C) hair, to let the Impala live on when he retired somewhere calm and quiet with (Y/N).

A dream he now realised was foolish to even hope for.

Keeping his eyes on the picture of his Baby on the laptop screen, Dean’s hand tightened around the papers. His voice shook as he prayed out loud, just as much to the classic car on the screen as to the doctor in front of him. 

“Please save my family,”

Tags:

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Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons​​ @winchest09​​ @hobby27​​  @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​​ @sea040561​​ @donnaintx​​ @alwaysdreamingforthebest​​  @thatmotleygirl​​ @chocolateheart​​ @superfanficnatural​​ @flamencodiva​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​ @waywardbeanie​​ @supernaturalenchanted​​ @ellewritesfix05​​ @emoryhemsworth​​

[castielsshield]

Sutton

Title: Sutton (Leave A Message Part 3)

Pairing: Female OC/Sam Winchester

Synopsis: After losing Jess, Sam continues to leave messages on her phone as a coping mechanism. Unbeknownst to Sam, that number has been adopted by another person.

Word Count: 1,871

Warnings: None

Part 2 || Part 4 || Masterpost

— • —

   May 14th, 2006 - 8:13 p.m

     “Hi, babe. Dean and I went after a werewolf earlier today. I almost messed up the entire hunt. I had gotten to know the werewolf before we knew she was the monster, so I didn’t shoot her when she came after me. I just stood there and watched her come after me. I couldn’t see her as a monster. I only saw her as the girl I had previously been protecting. I’m sorry, Jess. I wish I had stayed away from you. If I had, you might still be alive. Sure, you would be with someone else, and I would be alone, but at least you would be alive. For that, I’m sorry.”

     May 27, 2006 - 10:18 p.m

     “Hey, Jess. Dean and I pulled over for lunch by the ocean today. It reminded me of the first time you took me to the beach. Do you remember that? I cried when I first stepped into the water and felt the waves. I know you saw, but you pretended not to notice. I don’t think I ever said thanks for that so, thank you, Jess.”

     June 6th, 2006 - 5:29 p.m

     “Hey there, Jess. I wish you were here, babe. I think Dean’s not telling me something. I don’t know what it is, but I’m so worried, and I don’t know what to do or what to say. I need your help, Jess. You were so good at figuring out a way to convince people that it was okay to tell you their secrets. I remember you wouldn’t even tell me what was going on if the other person wasn’t okay with it. I just don’t want Dean to get hurt. I wish I could get your help, Jess. I miss you.”

     June 7th, 2006 - 6:37 p.m

     “Jess, you wouldn’t believe what just happened. Well, maybe you would. Dean ate five burritos at dinner, and now he’s locked in the bathroom. The thing I left you a message about yesterday, how I thought Dean was keeping something important from me, he was just deciding what he wanted to eat five of today. I still wish you were here. I still miss you. I love you, Jess.”

     July 16, 2006 - 7:06 a.m

     “Jess, I don’t know what to do. We found Dad and saved him, but a demon hit us with a tractor-trailer when we were in the Impala. Dad is hurt, but he’s okay. Dean isn’t waking up and the-- the doctors are talking about taking him off of life support. A reaper is after Dean, but I can’t lose him. If Dean’s gone, I’ll only have dad left. Jess, do you remember what I told you about how dad used to treat Dean and me? What if he starts doing that again? What if-- what if dad tells the doctors to let Dean go? God, I wish you were here, babe. I need your help, Jess.”

     July 19, 2006 - 6:32 p.m

     “Jess, dad sold his soul. He’s gone. The last thing dad did was sell his soul so Dean could live. The demon that killed you and mom killed dad too. Jess, I’m losing everybody. What if I lose Dean too? I’m going to kill this damn demon. I’m going to kill it for killing mom and dad and you. I swear, Jess. I swear to you that I will kill this demon. I’ll kill it even if it kills me.”

     July 27th, 2006 - 1:09 a.m

     “Hey, babe. Dean and I hunted down a vampire nest today. I had to kill one as it stared right at me. I hope I never have to kill another one. When it looked at me, it seemed so human. I almost stopped and dropped my machete when it came after me. Its eyes were blue, just like yours. I miss you, Jess. I wish I were back at Stanford with you. I was so close to asking you to marry me, Jess. You would’ve been Mrs. Jessica Winchester. You would’ve been my wife. We would’ve been happy together. I would’ve been happy.”

     Those were the types of messages I got for the next couple of months. At first, I didn’t understand a thing about the werewolves or vampires. I especially didn’t know anything about the demons. However, my lack of understanding quickly mutated into motivation, yearning for knowledge. 

     I began reading old lore books. I bought everything from lore on werewolves to lore on angels and demons. I had my own money from selling my art and writing pieces online, so I never had to bring my father into the loop on what I was doing. 

     I would research one type of monster at a time, taking precise, organized notes about it as I read. I wanted to be able to reference the notes years in the future, so I kept the order of the records consistent. 

     The title of the page was the name of the monster, always placed at the top. The middle of the page was the signs and identifiers of that monster, how to kill it placed at the very bottom. On each side of that was a small column about half the size of the body paragraph. The right column was a rough sketch of the monster while the left column was filled with wardings, symbols, sigils, and other items that could be used against the monster.

     As I got farther along in my research, I decided to buy a laptop to help me research more and find signs of monsters around the country. I was also able to make copies of the lore pages in a document, so that will be helpful if I ever need to move around.

     After the message where the man revealed his last name, he began saying where he and his brother were going to ‘hunt’ the next monster. Every time I got a new location on the brothers, I would read up on the latest news articles of the town they were going to. Sure enough, every single time, the lore would match the signs in the town.

     As time went on, I learned more about the people that kill the monsters; Hunters. I learned what they did and how they moved around. I often found hunts around my state and the ones that surround it. Most of the time, I couldn’t hunt the monsters I found, but they still needed to be taken care of. My solution to that: inform other Hunters.

     At first, it was difficult to find other Hunters to pass the information to. But all I needed was one. Alexander Sutton is his name, and he was the key to my own life as a Hunter. 

     I first met Alexander when there was a string of odd killings in my hometown of Clayton, North Carolina. It was the end of February, a bit over a year after I got the first voicemail. I was at the gas station just down the road from my house. My dad was out on business again, and I had felt a need for something sour.

     I placed my sour gummy worms and bottled Coke on the counter, reaching behind me to pull out my wallet. As I twisted to my right, I caught sight of a newspaper headlining murders. I picked up the paper and began reading the first section of the article.

     ‘New Body Found By Police, Signature Matching Murders From Previous Months,’ read the headline. My eyes darted down to the sub-heading, and I inhaled as I read the bolded text. ‘Bodies Found In Clayton, North Carolina Without Their Hearts.’ 

     “Werewolf,” I murmured to myself, wincing as I remembered werewolves eat the hearts of their victims. I tapped the newspaper I was holding, signaling that I wanted to buy it as well. Pulling the cash for my purchases out of my wallet, I handed it to the cashier. He bagged my items and gave me my change. I gave him a tight smile and said, “thank you” before walking out of the building. 

     Before I made it out the door, I heard the man behind me rush forward and toss something light onto the counter. “Keep the change,” he said, pivoting on his heel and heading for the door as well.

     I was following the pale squares of the sidewalk away from the store when I felt a hand grab my shoulder. My body snapped around, and I took a step away from the person behind me. Instinctively, my left hand strayed to my back pocket, where I kept my new silver pocket knife. 

     Looking up, I realized the person who had grabbed me was the same man who stood behind me at the cash register. His eyes flicked to my hand, and he chuckled, taking a small step away from me.

     “Calm down, kiddo. I’m not trying to hurt you.” He leaned against the brick wall at his side, and he looked down at me. “You’re a Hunter.” It was a statement, not a question.

     “I’m more of a researcher, so far, but yes. I’m a Hunter,” I responded, mirroring his actions of leaning against the side of the building. I looked up at him, meeting the intense gaze of his grey eyes. ‘I might be young, but I’m not ignorant,’ I thought to myself.

     I hooked my thumb in the back pocket of my jeans, keeping my other fingers wrapped defensively around the knife. “I take it you’re a Hunter too.”

     “Yes, ma’am.” The man pushed himself off of the wall, extending his hand towards me. “My name is Alexander Sutton. I’ve been a hunter for fifteen years now. I started when I was twelve, so a bit younger than you, I’m guessing.”

     Reaching out, I clasped his hand in mine and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Ashley Whitman, but I go by Ash.” As I pulled away from Alexander, eyes focusing on his once again, I noticed the shock registered on his face. 

     His eyebrows furrowed together as he squinted his eyes. “You said your last name is Whitman?” 

     “Uh, yes. Is something wrong?” I questioned, my head quirking to the side.

     Alexander rubbed his hand down the side of his face as though trying to brush away a thought. “No, nothing’s wrong. I, uh, I just confused your last name with the name of another Hunter. That’s all it is.” He flashed me a grin, using it as an ending to his reassurance. “So, Ash, you seem to know quite a bit about hunting and I’m looking for a partner. Would you like to work on this case together?”

     I considered his offer for a moment before returning his grin with a crooked one of my own. “I don’t know. Would you be able to keep up with me?” 

     At my words, he threw his head back and laughed. Once he had regained his composure, Alexander stepped forward, gripping one of my shoulders in one hand. “I think we’re going to get along just fine. You’ve got potential, kid. You could go far in the hunting world.”

[dindjarindiaries]

Collide - Chapter 9

summary: With Javier blaming himself for the loss of La Quica along with more weeks of finding nothing, bella decides to help him ease his mind by recreating the moment she can never forget.

warnings: mentions of blood and death, anxiety, sexual themes

rating: R

word count: 5.716k

masterlist

chapter 9

You bite back a sigh as you glance over at Javier. He’s leaning one elbow on his desk as his hand supports his head, a cigarette balancing between his fingers. You’ve been trying to get him out of that habit, but you’ve cut him some slack after the hell he’s been putting himself through these past few weeks. The bags under his eyes are obvious to you, a sure sign of the sleep you know he’s been losing, and his dark gaze stares blankly through the paperwork he shuffles through on his desk. You’re certain that even just one more day of this paperwork shit is going to kill him. And Steve. And you.

After you lost La Quica that day in the field, Javier’s put the blame on himself. You’ve tried again and again to remind him of all the factors leading up to it—your extreme lack of backup, the unexpected ally he acquired, and the unfamiliarity of the area being just a few of them—but none have convinced him to get rid of that feeling of guilt. You’ve even tried to shift the blame onto yourself, reminding him that you were lagging behind and had you run faster, you might’ve been able to catch him. But Javier won’t have that, either. He scolds you badly if you even dare to take any of the blame for it. He does the same for Trujillo.

The time you get to spend together after work helps, but you know it’s just not enough. Javier’s deeply invested in his work down here, and that’s one thing you’ve truly gotten to learn about the time you’ve spent away from him. You’re convinced he would sell his soul if it got him to Escobar. He’s told you that he would if he could—and sometimes he feels like he already has. It’s amazing to see how much he cares about everything, and you’ve always known how passionate of a person he is, but it also makes it extremely difficult to get him to relax. Even in your loving moments, when he whisks you away for a sporadic dance in the kitchen or kisses you until your lips are swollen, you can tell he’s holding something back. It’s driving you crazy.

But you know just how to fix it.

In these first few weeks of rebuilding your relationship, you’ve been getting more and more comfortable with recreating the moment that’s been stuck in your mind for so long. You and Javier have even come close to reaching that point a few times, but he always cuts it off, knowing you haven’t announced that you’re ready for it yet. Now, you’re sure that you are. You’ve almost told him in those close moments that it’s okay, but because of the way he’s been so tense, you haven’t gone through with it. When it happens again, you want him to be present—completely present—so that you can feel all the love you’ll have to share. You don’t want him to remember it by the way he held part of himself back.

You’ve created a plan. You know exactly how to ease him into it and successfully get him to relax and release whatever burden he’s still carrying. It’s the same thing he always used to do in the past to forget some shit, but instead of being with a random stranger, he can be with you. Hopefully, that’ll only make it more successful. You plan on launching it tonight, unable to take another day of seeing Javier in such a state—especially as you continue to watch the shell of himself sitting at his desk.

As Javier takes the last drag of his cigarette, his gaze finally meets yours, and he raises an eyebrow as he deposits it in the ashtray. You gesture with your eyes towards the direction of the supply closet—which has become your secret rendezvous point—and Javier gives a nod of understanding. With your empty mug of coffee in hand, you stand up from your chair, pretending that you’re on the way to go refill it as you head towards the closet. Thankfully, it’s in a secluded hallway that branches off from the main one, so when there are no eyes watching, you’re safe to duck inside and close the door. You set the mug on a shelf, pacing the floor a bit as you wait for Javier to join you. In your typical routine, it takes a few minutes, since you don’t want to be suspicious about him following after you.

Soon, the door’s reopening and closing behind Javier, and you can only see him lock it quickly before his lips are on yours. His hands instinctively reach for your face while yours tug at the collar of his shirt, your body pressing against his in its familiar way. When his tongue presses against yours, you let out a half-moan and half-grunt of disgust at the way his breath tastes strongly of smoke. Once you’ve both run out of air, you separate, and you let out a chuckle as Javier looks at you with puzzlement.

“You taste like straight up tobacco, Peña,” you tell him, coughing for dramatic effect.

Javier snorts and shakes his head, but a strong sense of guilt lingers in his dark gaze. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes sincerely. “I know you want me to stop—and I really should, I know—but I just… it’s been really… you know—.”

“Hey, take a deep breath,” you cut him off, running your hands over his upper arms to soothe him. Javier visibly starts to relax, and you watch as his chest rises and falls deeply. “I’m not gonna say it’s okay, but it’s understandable. You’ve had a tough few weeks.” Javier nods to agree, closing his eyes as he does so. You twist your lips, hating to see him so defeated. “Which is why I’ve planned something for tonight, after work.”

Javier reopens his eyes, and they fill with interest—even though his shoulders sag tiredly. “Do we have to go out?” he nearly whines. “I’m so tired. I’d rather just kiss you until I fall asleep.”

You giggle and run your hands over his cheeks. “I promise, it’ll be much better than that. It’s gonna be fun—and it’s just gonna be us. Dwell on that last little bit of energy you have left.”

Javier gives you a nod, unable to hide the small smile that grows on his lips. “Alright. I trust you, bella.”

“Good.” You pull his head down until it meets yours, giving him a quick kiss and leaning your forehead against his. “I’m gonna make this the best night of your life.”

Javier lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, really? In that case, I can already feel my last bit of energy coming out.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you leave your last kiss on the tip of his nose. “But only if you chew on some gum or something. I’m not kissing you again until all that smoke taste is gone.”

“Say no more.” You chuckle as you reach for your mug and start to head for the door, but at the last second, Javier reaches out to grab your arm. “Wait!” He pulls you back to him, leaving a soft kiss on your head. “Te amo, hermosa.”

You smile up at him. “Te amo mucho, cariño.” You then close the distance to the door, opening it and heading into the kitchen area where the coffee’s actually brewed. You pour your mug up and then return to your desk, going back to your work as if you’d never left it. Steve’s too dazed to notice anything suspicious, even as Javier returns and gets right back to his torturous papers. You bite back a smile when you see him open a drawer of his desk and pop a piece of gum into his mouth.

After one more hour of enduring the pain of endless paperwork, you’re finally free for the day, and you feel excitement pulse through you at the prospect of what’s to come. You leave before Javier does, further avoiding any suspicions of you both getting together later, and take up the head start you have to make yourself look as good as possible. You’re not one to put a lot of effort into your appearance—especially with the exhaustion of the past few weeks weighing on your shoulders—but the idea of getting Javier to relax and to finally reach a place with him you’ve been yearning to go pushes you over the edge.

When you think you’ve finished, you evaluate yourself in the mirror. You’ve selected a white long-sleeve wrap that ties just beneath your chest, showing off a clear part of your assets. Your jean skirt comes up higher on the waist and, thus, ends rather abruptly on the upper part of your thighs. You’ve pulled your hair back so it won’t get in the way, and you’ve applied a natural amount of makeup—enough to impress further without looking over-the-top. With a confident smile and a careful step in your heels that you don’t typically wear, you reach for your purse and start to make your way out of your apartment.

You pause at the front door, looking through the peephole to make sure the coast is clear. Once you’ve decided that all is well, you let yourself out and lock the apartment door behind you, hurrying over to Javier’s door as quickly and noiselessly as possible. Your knuckles knock against the door gently, and a few moments later it starts to open.

“There you are, bella—I’ve been waiting to find out what we’re…” Javier begins speaking, but he trails off when he has the chance to observe you. You’re sure he doesn’t realize that he’s stopped talking in favor of observing, but nevertheless the action brings the heat to your cheeks along with an overwhelming wave of confidence. His dark gaze moves down your body and then back up again, where he meets your gaze to reveal his pleasant surprise and ardent admiration. “… wow.”

You chuckle lightly, gesturing to the inside of his apartment. “Thanks, but can you let me in before someone sees?”

You don’t have to say another word before Javier reaches for your arm, getting you inside quickly and letting you kick the door closed as he pulls you to him. His lips are on yours before you can process it and you can already feel the tension building within him as his hands pull you as close to him as possible. You keep your hands idly against his chest, but his start to brush lower and lower until they’re ghosting over your ass—but you stop him, reaching for each of his wrists without separating his lips from yours. Javier, however, ends up doing it in his shock, his dark eyes searching yours worriedly for a moment. He’s always afraid he’s gone too far; he constantly asks you if what he’s doing is alright, because he’s faithful to his word of taking things slow. That knowledge only helps your smile to grow more.

“Not yet,” you say, assuring him that his actions are welcome in a different setting. “Not until we get to the bar.”

Javier winces, although you can see the excitement he holds in his gaze at the idea of getting to go out with you. “You make it harder and harder for me to not keep you here and kiss you all night,” he confesses. You laugh softly, taking his hands in yours as you take a small step away from him. “But the bar, you say?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, still smiling. “You need to relax. And I know that doing nothing isn’t your idea of relaxing, so… we’ll go dance.”

“Seeing you dressed like this also isn’t my idea of relaxing,” Javier breathes. “It’s riling me up.” He chuckles a bit as he sees you free one of your hands and use it to swat his shoulder. “Hey, don’t blame me!”

“Save it for the bar,” you emphasize, pointing towards his bedroom. “Go get ready so you don’t have to wait any longer.”

“Am I really the one who’s so anxious to go?” Javier jokes, and you shake your head as you start to shove him in the direction of his room. He lets out a laugh and finally gives in, walking into his room and changing out of his work clothes. Thankfully, he doesn’t take too long, and soon Javier’s reemerging with a sly smile on his lips. His wardrobe choice tells you why he’s looking so smug—his white short-sleeve button-up’s definitely undone a few buttons more than necessary, and his jeans fit tight to his slender legs.

You let out a whistle just to boost his ego, crossing your arms as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Stealing my look now, huh?”

“Hey, it’s all about the coordination, mi amor,” Javier reminds you, pulling you into his side as he gives your head a kiss. “That’s what’s most attractive about couples.”

You look up at him, smiling as you meet his gaze. Sometimes, you still find it hard to believe that you’re truly here with him again, living the life you’ve dreamed about for twenty years and even more. When he makes a comment such as that, you’re forced to remember that it’s real—and it never fails to bring you an overwhelming feeling of butterflies. “I like being a couple.”

Javier releases a chuckle, letting you go but taking your hand as he starts to lead you out of the apartment. “Me too, bella. If only I could brag about it to my teenage self.”

You bite back a laugh as he checks the peephole, only taking you into the hallway when everything’s safe and sound. Javier locks his door behind him and leads you out to his car, opening the door for you just like he did that night at the prom. Your heart softens as you wonder how many other parallels you’ll experience tonight—though you’re sure the dancing’s going to be much different this time around.

“So, I’m assuming that we’re going to the usual place?” Javier’s words snap you out of your brief love-stoned daze, fully grounding you by resting his right hand on your thigh as he starts to drive away.

“Oh! Yes.” You giggle, placing your hand over Javier’s. “Sorry, that was an important detail.”

“Bella, I know you well enough to figure things out like this on my own. Don’t sweat it.” Javier glances over at you to give you a smile. “Sometimes, I think we either both forget that we have thirteen years of previous history or forget that we spent twenty years apart in between then and now.”

You scoff at that. “I feel the same way. I guess it’s all just… a real shock. It’s hard to let it soak in.”

Javier hums in agreement, and then you both sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Eventually, he gives your thigh a soft squeeze, and you look back over at him to see the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You know what this is starting to remind me of?”

“Hm?”

Javier looks over at you quickly, his dark gaze full of fondness. “Prom.”

Your eyes widen at him. “That’s exactly what I was thinking earlier.”

“Too bad I’m not in a tux. I looked good in that.”

“You look good in anything, cariño.”

Javier snickers, shaking his head as he gives your thigh another squeeze. “Don’t be such a tease while I’m driving, bella. I’ll pull over if you’re not careful.”

“Hey—what did I tell you before? Save it for the bar.” You chuckle and lean over to place a kiss on the corner of his lips that you can reach, seeing his brow furrow in frustration as he obviously wishes it could be a full one. “It’ll be worth it. But you have to try to relax.”

“I will.” Javier gives you a nod as he says the words.

Soon, the bar finally comes into view, and you swear you hear Javier thanking the divine as he finds a place to park. He takes your hand again only after he rushes over to your side to open the door, and you mutter something about him trying to be verraco as his hand gives yours a tight squeeze in response. You end up laughing as you step inside the bar, seeing it just as crowded as usual.

“Is there some kind of master plan you have here, or what?” Javier looks over at you, his dark gaze glittering more than it has in much too long.

“One drink,” you tell him, a single brow raised, “and then we dance.”

Javier raises an eyebrow back at you. “Just one? You brought us all the way to a bar for just one drink?”

“It’s about the dancing, idiota. I didn’t waste this outfit so I could get drunk and forget everything—again.”

Javier scans your body again upon referencing your outfit, and his hand snakes around the exposed skin of your waist as he pulls you against him. “I won’t let it go to waste, hermosa. Don’t you worry.”

You smirk up at him, gladly accepting your closeness as you both approach the bar. You order what you want and pay right away, continuing to stand nearby as you converse, laugh, and enjoy your drinks. You’re glad to see the visible weight on Javier’s shoulders fall away more and more with each moment spent talking. You know it’s possible to get him to that place of peace—you’d been able to do it so many times in the past, before Colombia and so much darkness—so you keep sticking to what you know how to do best.

Eventually, the conversation switches to what you hoped to address. “I don’t think I can take one more day of paperwork, Javi,” you say, and you can see Javier’s eyes beginning to darken as his shoulders visibly grow tense once again. Your heart breaks for him as you try to steer him away from the heavy thoughts and feelings that you know he’s experiencing. “But it could be worse.”

“It’d be much different if I’d gotten La Quica,” Javier mutters, that familiar sense of self-hatred dripping into his tone. You bite your lip, thinking through your words before daring to say them. Before you can piece them together, Javier sighs, his gaze falling to the empty glass in his hand. “I fucked up, bella.”

“I know you feel responsible for that, cariño.” You take a deep breath, placing your empty glass and his onto the bar. Your hands then fall on his shoulders, encouraging him to look at you as you continue. “I also know that no matter how many times I tell you that it’s not your fault, you’re not going to listen to me. So… let me offer something else.”

Your hands slide down his arms to take a hold of his, and you begin to lead him into the crowd of people who are already senseless and dancing the night away. You find a space where you won’t feel uncomfortable nor too isolated, still facing him as you wrap your arms loosely around his neck. Your hips already begin to sway to the music, and you’re not shy about letting them brush against Javier’s own as you keep speaking.

“Just think about it.” Your voice is hushed, but still audible over the loud music and chatter. Your eyes never leave his, which are starting to darken more in the way you’d like them to. “When all of this is over, when it’s just you and me one day, is that what you’re going to remember?” As you pause, your fingers start to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and you feel his hands grip your waist even tighter as he roots you in place against him. “You won’t remember losing a chase. I’d hope that you’d remember moments like these more.”

You slowly move your hips right against his own. Javier releases a hiss at the sensation, one of his hands dropping low to grip your ass as he keeps you tight against him. You release a sound that’s mixed between a whimper and a moan, trying to stifle it to keep yourself grounded in what you’re trying to do for him versus what he’s doing for you. There’ll be plenty of time for that later on. For now, your aim is still to get him to relax.

“Just let… yourself… go.” With the pause between each word, you move against him, drawing yourself even closer to him until you’re chest-against-chest. “Focus on me.” You let one of your hands snake down to the large sliver of exposed chest Javier’s shirt offers you, and you brush it over the heated skin there as you continue looking deep in his eyes. “Focus on us.”

In a sudden and quick movement, Javier turns you around, placing your back against his front as he uses his hands to guide your hips against his. The feeling is enough to send you to an ethereal place, but you still try to remain focused on him as you both continue moving together. Dancing is a regularity for you both, something very familiar and common—but this is a whole different level of it. This is nearly accomplishing on the dancefloor what you’re aiming to do in bed. Yet, it’s also tender, as Javier’s grip never gets too tight and pulls you closer in the act of equal need and desire.

Perspiration begins to form on your forehead from the mixture of the humidity of the Medellín night, the crowded room, and the exercise of your movement. You could care less. You can see Javier’s own sweat glistening on his chest out of your peripherals. The heat of the moment grows the more it extends, and you’re more than okay with losing yourself inside of it. The constant feeling of him against you is driving you crazy, all while you still remain in that tender grasp of his.

It’s when Javier’s lips start brushing against your ear that you truly feel yourself falling away into the place of pleasure you’d been trying to save just for him. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for a moment like this, bella,” Javier confesses, his voice low and hushed as he mumbles it into your ear. “Years and years of yearning for you, longing to love you first—and touch you second.” As he speaks, he takes one of his hands and brushes it up your front, until the palm of his hand sets itself on the center of your chest—just above the knot of your shirt. You stifle another moan.

“I’m all yours, Javi,” you breathe to him, turning your head to see your lips almost meeting his. Unable to hold back any longer, you use one hand to pull his mouth to yours. Immediately, you begin to devour each other—not willing to spare a single inch between you—as Javier spins you back around and pulls you tight against him. You lift one of your knees against his hip to close the distance even further, one of your hands remaining on his chest for support as the other runs through his thick hair. One of Javier’s hands holds your back as the other grips your ass, making you groan with delight into his mouth. The moment is more heated than any one you’ve experienced yet—and you know that it won’t be much longer until you’re resigning yourself to the experience you’ve been waiting for.

Once you’ve both taken each other’s breath away completely, you separate, panting as you stay close and look deep into each other’s eyes. It’s there—the same thing you’d seen all those years ago in the bed of Javier’s truck. You know you’re ready for it, but you can see the familiar way Javier resigns himself to stopping while you’re ahead. You move to reconnect your mouth and Javier stops you, putting his hand against your cheek to keep you in place. “If we go any further, bella, it’s gonna get dangerous.”

“Then I say we go and finish what we’ve started.” You say the words with severity, suggestion, and seduction, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you wait for his response.

Javier’s dark eyes widen a bit, and he searches your carefully. “You mean…”

“You know what I mean.”

Javier’s thumb brushes over your cheek as he continues looking deep in your eyes. “Are you sure, querida? I don’t want to—.”

“You’re not, Javi.” You give your head a small shake at that. “This is what I want to do—and that’s why I brought us here. I wanted you to be able to loosen up here so that we can go and we can do this and you won’t have to hold yourself back.”

Javier’s eyes brighten a bit, and he finally gives in with a nod. “Alright.” He then separates himself from you, reaching for your hand as he begins to lead you out of the bar. You feel the anticipation prickling all over your skin, and the heat of the Colombian night doesn’t cool the fire you already feel within. As Javier begins to drive away, once again gripping your thigh with his free hand, you see him give you a quick look. “I just have to make a quick stop.”

You raise an eyebrow. “For what—?” You pause, suddenly realizing what he must be referencing. “… Oh, right.”

“Well, no, I have those,” Javier laughs, giving your thigh a squeeze. You try not to buck at the feeling as you chuckle with him. “I just—I want to make this as special as it should’ve been for your first time. Like a do-over.”

“A do-me-over?” you joke, and you giggle as Javier shakes his head.

“I’m serious, bella. I want you to feel the way you should’ve all those years ago.”

Your heart practically sings at Javier’s caring words, and you bite back a smile as you nod. “Alright, that’s fine. Just don’t be too long.”

Javier snickers. “Someone’s impatient.”

You pinch the skin of his hand that’s on your thigh, causing his touch to recoil for just a quick moment. “It’s been a few decades, cariño. I think I’m justified to this feeling.”

Javier continues to chuckle, suddenly pulling over and putting the car in park. “Give me one second, bella.” Javier gives your cheek a quick kiss before he steps out of the car and disappears into the darkness of the night. You let out a soft sigh, trying to think of what he could possibly be getting as you mind your surroundings. You’re not trying to let something happen to you just moments before reconnecting with Javier in such a way as this. That’s something he’d never forgive himself for.

It’s not much longer before he returns—with nearly a full bouquet of roses in hand. Your eyes widen in shock. “Javi—seriously?” You laugh, yet your chest is warm, and your stomach’s full of butterflies.

“Oh, c’mon, let me be a cheesy romantic for just one night.” Javier sets the bouquet into the backseat and starts to take off again, resigning his hand to its previous position. You remain in a comfortable silence for the rest of your short drive to the apartment building, absentmindedly running your thumb over the skin of Javier’s hand. When you arrive, Javier stops you from getting out, grabbing the bouquet and gesturing for you to give your key to him. “I have to set up.”

You shake your head, smiling as you reach into your purse and give him your key. He takes it and, with a quick wink, heads out of the car. “Be careful!” you whisper-shout to him. “Don’t get caught!”

“I won’t!” Javier assures you, heading inside of the building. You release a sigh, unable to keep the smile off your lips as you bask in all the effort and care Javier’s putting into this. You know that all those years ago, if you’d been honest with him, he would’ve done the same exact thing then. You’ll never be able to fully express your appreciation for the way he cares for you so tenderly. It makes all the years of waiting just that much more worth it. You’ve worked through nearly all your past problems and it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences you’ve gone through.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you see Javier waving you inside what feels like moments later, and you look around before you emerge and run over to meet him. His hand meets your lower back as he guides you quietly over to your apartment door, where he opens it for you and lets you step inside first. You shake your head as you see the trail of rose petals he’s left going into your bedroom, and you can’t help letting out a small laugh as you look up at him. “You really went this cheesy, huh, cariño?”

“Only for you, mi amor,” Javier remarks, letting you toss your purse to the side as he brings your lips to his. He speaks through his kisses as he goes on. “But there is… one rule. You have… to kiss me… down the entire… trail.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” you breathe before keeping your lips firm against his. Javier lets you wrap your legs around his waist as he guides you along the trail he’s made, leading you closer and closer to your sliver of heaven for the night. He only stops when you reach your bedroom, letting you view the work he’s done. Your heart softens when you see the delicate way he’s spread some petals onto the bed, as if he’s aimed to make it a softer place for you to rest upon. Your smile is impossible to hide as you look into his dark and affectionate gaze. “Have I told you how much I love you, Javier?”

Javier returns your smile, brushing his nose against yours. “You have.” He leaves a kiss there. “I love you, too—and now I’ll prove it to you.” He brings you both over to the bed and gently eases your back down onto it, his lips reconnecting with yours as his hands begin to explore the same places they had all those years again. The skin that’s burned and ached for his touch for so many years can barely handle the sensation, and you’re already releasing your sighs of pleasure into his mouth as you begin to work on the buttons of his shirt. It comes off easily, letting your hands meet the smooth skin of his bare torso. Javier’s easily able to tug at the knot of your top, which you hadn’t bothered to wear a bra with, and soon that piece of clothing flies to the floor. Before you know it, there’s absolutely no type of barrier between you, and you’re feeling all of him against all of you as you drown in the addicting feeling of him.

Before he goes any further, Javier lets his face hover over yours, his brow knitted together as he looks in your eyes seriously. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Javier’s voice is soft, full of nothing but warmth, affection, and desire. You cup one of his cheeks with your hand, nodding before you pull his lips back to yours.

Reliving the moment that’s haunted you in the best and worst ways for so many years becomes better than you’d even remembered it. You can tell that you’re both better at what you do, now, and it elevates the experience as you suddenly become aware of how dangerously intoxicating this connection is. Javier’s hands continue to explore your body like it’s a piece of art, his mouth only separating from yours to give you praises and mutter his obscenities. It transforms from something slow and passionate to something fast and full of shared desire and desperation, as if you’re finally and fully feeling the true pain of the past twenty years’ separation. There’s nothing either one of you can say other than each other’s names, the moans and groans slipping past your lips along with it. In this moment, you don’t care who hears—all you know is each other, and as you reach that point you can’t return from, you swear you’ve never felt so complete in your entire life.

Moments later, with heaving chests, you watch as Javier collapses beside you and takes you into his arms, lavishing your head and face with kisses as your limbs tangle together. “Te amo,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion and truth as he rests his forehead against yours. “You’re incredible in every way, bella. Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

“I love you more than you’ll ever know, cariño.” You give him a quick kiss. “I’m yours now, and I always have been.” You then nestle your face into his neck, breathing him in as you feel him pull you even closer. Javier runs his hand through your hair, and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“Don’t think of falling asleep yet, bella.” Javier chuckles before going on. “We have to make these roses worth their while.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back up to meet Javier’s gaze. “I’m down,” you agree, reconnecting your lips with his as you drown completely in the love you have to share—forgetting all about the world that rages just outside your window, ready to threaten whatever you try to hide from it.

translations:

Te amo, hermosa = I love you, beautiful

Te amo mucho, cariño = I love you so much, sweetheart

verraco = hot shit

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[deathonyourtongue]

Resurrection | 5

Summary: A ragtag team of Spec-Ops operators are brought out of retirement for all the wrong reasons. When the dust settles, only the best will be left standing. Pairing: Pablo Schreiber x OFC, Henry Cavill x OFC (listen, she gets with the whole team, okay? Don’t lie, you would too.) Word Count: 2K Warnings: Waterboarding. Dream sequence involving death and gore.  A/N: I’m reposting this for a few reasons. Mainly ‘cause I’m done having my fics in two places, wanted to re-work the cover, and most importantly wanted those of you who weren’t following me back when these chapters were originally posted to be able to take it in from scratch. I’ve also cleaned up a lot of the text as far as grammar, etc. goes, so it’s more polished.  ***ALSO: All the Portuguese translations are found in the links (read the address bar or the error that comes up when you click the link)*** Like what I do? Buy me a coffee (or a commission)!

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Gone are the suits and ties, and my heels are replaced by combat boots. 

The safehouse we use for interrogations is across town from the one we stay at, and it shows. Far from the posh of Knightsbridge, Dagenham is home to the largest diesel engine manufacturing site in the world. Soot and oil coat everything and at night, the area is a ghost town; perfect for our needs. 

On paper, all the governments in the room condem torture, but work in the business of terror long enough, and you know that’s all just to save face and keep the top brass’ hands clean. We’re not animals about it of course, but if Miguel wobbles a little in his seat, it’s only because we let Max drive and London roads are so winding.

“You know...We don’t technically have to take the bag off his head.” Flip murmurs, breaking the silence we’ve all been in since getting Miguel settled into his new surroundings. 

“You’re absolutely certain he’s never seen you, darling?” Max asks me, his face set in concentration. The rest of the team look up for my answer and I nod. 

“Positive. Besides, bag or no bag, if he knew me, he’d have recognized my call sign by now,” I remind them, relief shooting around the room as all the men recall that Miguel was privy to any conversation we had in the car, call signs included. 

“Alright. Who’s going in with you?” Rick asks, finally moving from his position against the wall and taking a seat next to Flip who looks all too eager to get a crack at our soon-to-be informant. Knowing he’ll be a liability if he reads the tone wrong, I look around, my gaze resting on Max as I smirk. 

“Beef. I owe him for nearly taking his head off earlier,” I answer, both Dom and Rick nodding their understanding. Flip looks somewhat crestfallen, but I know he understands. He, of all of us, is too close to the situation, and though I know there’ll be a time to turn him loose, this isn’t it. 

Max and I both stand from our seats, checking our handguns as we move towards the blast door that separates us from Miguel. Taking a moment, we focus our gazes on eachother, silently getting on the same page so that there’s no chance of Miguel thinking one of us is weaker than the other. 

With a nod to each other, I take a deep breath and open the door. Padded on the inside in order to mitigate any screaming or loud music we might use throughout our interrogations, the room is graveyard silent. Once the door shuts, Max moves with precision, turning the stereo on full blast, and I can’t help but smile at the song that comes on. While all of us are metal fans, it’s one of the most effective interrogation tools we have because those in the hot seat usually either haven’t ever heard metal before (and are immediately disturbed by it) or despise it to the point where they can only tolerate so much. EDM comes a close second, but in Miguel’s case, Metal is the right call as he flinches immediately. Catching Max’s eye, we can’t help but grin as we mouth along to the lead singer’s screaming, the song’s lyrics about lying and choking oddly appropriate for what’s about to happen. 

I headbang along with the double-bass as I grab a five gallon jug of water, hoisting it over my shoulder and letting Max handle the towels as we set things up. When everything’s ready, Max moves into position, arms crossed over his broad chest, his trademark scowl firmly in place. 

I count to three with one hand, and on ‘one’, pull the bag from Miguel’s head, immediately tipping his head back and holding it in place with my forearm as I dilate his eyes. Max and I both stay out of his line of sight for the few moments it takes for the drops to work, and once we see the tell-tale squint, we slowly move to our places. 

“Miguel, ta com cara que tá com sede, meu amigo.” I open, one eyebrow raised, staying just far away enough to be little more than a faceless blur to our informant. 

“Vai se foder!” He yells, trying and failing to get out of the restraints he’s in. 

“Ah, que isso, cara. Não fique assim. A gente só quer falar com você,” I purr, playing the “Nice Girl” routine even though everyone in the room knows it won’t last long. 

“Certo, é por isso que vocês me capturaram, colocaram um saco na minha cabeça, e me levaram a Deus sabe onde. Falar, uma ova!” 

“Já aprendeu Inglês, seu cafajeste?” I ask him, hoping he’s picked up a second language since the last time any of our governments dealt with him, more for the rest of the team’s sake than my own.

“I have,” he says, his accent nearly a perfect facsimile of anyone who’s been born and raised in London. Max’s eyebrow goes up in mild surprise, and if I know my team, the rest of them are all pressed against the two-way mirror, intent on listening now that they can understand. 

“Good, so we’ll do this in English, ‘cause fuck you,” I tell him in no uncertain terms, moving into his space so he can confirm that the woman he wanted to bang at the party is the same one who’s now holding his life in her hands. 

With everyone in the room discreetly mic’d up--including Miguel--there’s no need to turn down the music, and I use it to my advantage, wanting him as disoriented as possible so that he’s not focused on his words or the thoughts behind them.

“Three weeks ago, right here in London, two of our own were killed by a bomb that has your signature all over it. Wanna tell me who you sold that bomb to?”

Miguel laughs, a dry throaty sound that comes from too many cigars, and too much time around toxic chemicals; if one of us doesn’t kill him, I know for a fact cancer will get him in the end. 

“I sell bombs to many people. How am I supposed to remember who I’ve sold to a month ago, puta?”

I don’t have time to react as Max lunges in and connects with Miguel’s jaw in one of the most vicious right hooks I’ve seen him throw in a long time. 

“Talk to her like that again and I’ll dislocate the other side, y’cunt.” Max growls, teeth bared mere inches from Miguel’s face, leaving no room for interpretation of just how pissed he is. Without another word, Max takes Miguel’s face in his hand and relocates the joint he popped out, a scream coming from our informant as soon as he can open his mouth.

“See, Miguel, I’d like to think you’d remember, because this particular order had your initials on one of the plates, and I know you only do that when your order is for a single explosive device. Mass orders go through the factory, but the custom pieces, well...You’ve gotta take pride in your work, right?” I’ll give the man props, because if he’s searching for a lie, I can’t tell. His face stays unreadable apart from the discomfort from the light. 

I shoot Max a look just as the song switches over, and he nods. 

“Fuck this.” He barks, flipping a switch on the wall that immediately sends Miguel’s chair back into a 45 degree angle, the back legs hinged to the floor so he can never truly fall back, but feels  like he’s going to, just the same. With the lights directly in his line of sight, I can’t keep from smirking as I hear Miguel hiss and try to cover his eyes, the steel shackles on his wrists clanking loudly and only causing him more pain. 

“What is it, Miguel? Lights too bright?” I ask as I move to grab the first neatly folded towel from the pile. “Don’t worry, I got you.” 

Pressing the towel firmly against his face, I stand out of the way as Max pours the water from the jug. We both count silently in our heads, Max stopping at exactly the right number as I flick the switch to bring Miguel upright once more. 

Our informant coughs and sputters, screaming every vulgarity I’ve ever heard in Portuguese before spitting in our general direction. 

“THERE WAS NO NAME! IT WAS PURCHASED BY AN ENTITY!”

I roll my eyes, annoyed that a man who once gave up an internationally-wanted terrorist is now spewing bullshit about an entity. 

“So you sold your shit to a ghost? ‘That what you want me to believe?” I ask, feeling my own anger start to rise. I grab a fresh towel and Max and I repeat the process with surgical precision. It takes Miguel a little longer to cough up the water he’s swallowed, but when he’s finally able to speak, his voice is far more defeated. 

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. The entity I sold that bomb to is known as Cenere. I get a call with a location, date, and time for delivery. I get the specs sent via encrypted email, and when the time comes, I deliver, usually to a lock box in the middle of nowhere. That is all I know.”

Max looks at me and I know he’s itching to hit him again. I shake my head, squatting down in front of our informant so that he can see me clearly. 

“Is there anything else you want to tell us that may be important? For example, the location and date of the last delivery you provided for this entity?” I enunciate every word, my tone making it clear that I’ll be the one hitting him next if he tries to lie or get smart again. 

“L-last delivery was in Roma, by the Colosseum, a week ago.” He answers, still hoarse from inhaling water. 

“So whoever these people are, they’re planning another bombing,” I say, feeling the room behind me start moving; Rick and Dom looking up information, Flip packing our gear. We don’t have a lot of time. 

“Y-yes. The bomb that killed your amigos was delivered exactly two weeks before it detonated. That’s how they always do it.” Miguel adds, giving us an even narrower timeline to get to Rome. 

“Cut him loose,” I sigh, wishing Miguel could give us more to go on besides a location we’ll be getting to with zero prep time and even less information. 

Max moves towards him, a wolfish grin on his face. I close my eyes, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. 

“I sincerely hope someone strings you up by your balls and cuts them off with a piece of paper. This is for everyone you’ve had a hand in massacring. Especially my friends.” 

I don’t have to look to hear a few of Miguel’s teeth rattle to the floor. 

The room is starkly lit, the sickly blue tone reminiscent of a hospital. Empty aside from a plexiglass box filled with dirt and a pine-board coffin, there’s a feeling dread that emanates throughout the place. 

“Carmen? Carmen! Carmen, if you can hear me, you need to get me out. Get me the fuck out of here, Carmen. Carmen, please!! Please! I can’t-I can’t breathe! Carmen, don’t leave me here!” 

A heartbeat--elevated and distinct--couple with the sounds of hyperventilation to turn dread into pure fear. 

“CARMEN, PLEASE! I’M GOING TO DIE! DON’T LET THEM KILL ME!”

Something cuts through the air with a distinct zing, crashing heavily onto the floor. The box, the dirt, and the coffin are all sliced neatly, trapped almost perfectly between thick sheets of razor-sharp glass. All except the first slice, where the side of the coffin has fallen away, trapped at a skewed angle below the dirt. 

Rick looks like a fish out of water, gasping for breath, tears flooding his eyes. Despite being segmented like some primal experiment, every part of him still heaves with breath, organs pulsing with blood they no longer have, intact structurally despite being completely separated. 

“Carmen, please!” It’s a whisper now, the life going out of Jake’s eyes even as the tears sweep his face.

A long, low horn sounds, finalizing the horror that’s come to pass.

I wake screaming, tears pouring down my face. Not realizing where I am at first, I don’t even see the boys as I fight with my lap belt and haul ass out of the seat, vaulting over Dom’s legs and careening to the bathroom to throw up. It’s rare that I dream, but when I do, it’s never good. This one felt too real; felt like a message from a man I’m certain we buried. The room spins and I heave out what little is left from lunch earlier. When I’m certain there’s nothing left to get out, I sit back, sobbing. 

Once my breath stabilizes, I stand up and wash out my mouth, swilling the jet’s courtesy mouthwash before splashing cold water on my face. Stepping out of the small bathroom, I’m met with utter silence and four sets of eyes staring at me with concern. I can’t bring myself to tell them what I dreamt, and none of them need an intro into nightmares, as all of us, regardless of how little bloodshed we’ve seen, have them from time to time. 

Still feeling the panic in my throat, I decide against taking my old seat, not wanting to be caged in. Instead, I sit behind Dom’s aisle, resting my head against the cool plastic of the window and looking out, my mind reeling. What if the bomb isn’t what killed him and Benj? What if they suffered? What if-- I cut off my own mental processing, not wanting to go down the dark alleys of my mind, wiping my eyes to stem the flow of fresh tears. 

I feel a hand at my knee, and looking down, find Dom’s hand reaching back through the seats. Though he faces forward, it’s easy to tell what he’s doing, and I lace our fingers together loosely, taking the much-needed comfort of his touch. He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze, and I turn my face away further, not wanting any of the guys to see me like this.