otherbitches | IC Inbox [ RUBI ]

HEY.
it would take less time if i could find fucking hairspray.

and fuck, sorry you were being fucking stupid then.
did you want to go home? your brother was

something.

sure babe i really like this thing we have going on where you don’t actually know how stupid i REALLY am so i’m going to hold onto for a bit and then confess it while extremely drunk one night when it’s too late to escape my brothers UNDEAD, you can say it

Edited 2023-10-22 23:02 (UTC)

jesus christ. okay at least you've got a plan.

[ What?????? It would be cringier to keep digging. ]

yeah. undead.
so he was dead? [ Listen, I think they forgot about the linen closet. ]

[way to kill the horny vibe !!!]

yeah. 2009. came back a month later trying to eat brains before they dropped a treatment in 2013. now tell me some dark secret from YOUR past

[ hey, it'll be such a relief when it comes back! ]

that's fucked up. four years is—

wait. millennium. damn.

okay whatever. i don't know. i got possessed, killed a bunch of people, and died. have you already wrung that out of my brain or is that news? still want to be fuck buddies?

sorry to break it to you, killer, you're practically a grandpa now. at least you were possessed when you killed someone, i guess.

[is the time? is there ever a right time? the first step to moving on jem, is being honest. ]

i killed a kid back home. it was an accident, mostly. i thought he was - i didn't know it was him. do YOU still want to be fuck buddies?

[ still virile though. still virile! that's on top of mind, along with his own pile of bodies, that aren't even a pile because he felt so many of them fall to liquid meaty mush. so many bodies and nothing left over. he feels removed from it emotionally. that's probably a problem. but he's distracted enough by it that it takes a moment for her admission to filter in. ]

what? you killed him like

[ he remembers things, details, little tiny bits. ] was it with your gun? The silver colt.

[she’s almost flattered that he remembers. it’s a love-hate relationship with the colt, especially outside of that other life. she had loved it, once. felt so powerful with it in her hands, like she was always meant to weild it. to fire with it. to kill with it. knives, too - but that meant getting up close to the dead, and Jem always avoided that if she could. ]

yeah. [the impression she sends isn’t really intentional, it’s just a wisp of a memory: Jem putting the gun in a red box, out of sight out of mind. younger, hair pink-red. then taking it out again, much later, anxious, relieved, guilty.]

didn’t think i’d actually use it. and if i did, i wasn’t ever meaning to do a head shot. i just. i panicked.

[ It's strange getting used to the impressions. Even when they keep it low-level, less than a phone call, little bits of themselves filter through. A red box for a weapon, a red box for a tool, a red box for something needed. ]

shit happens. [ Is that the best he can do? He's not built to comfort, though— that's not true. Once upon a time he knew how to comfort, could pull over a kitchen chair to reach the icebox, wrap ice or peas or frozen carrots in two towels for a black eye. Not his. Hers. His mother never used it for long. Didn't want the peas to go mushy. ]

you panicked. it sounds... fucking crazy, those fucking zombies. like a war. you didn't mean it. you thought he was one of them.

[ huh. ]

is that who you thought i was?

yeah

[she's not sure she wants to elaborate on the rest. that it was a war, until it wasn't. that it was her vs them, until it wasn't. that Henry was one of them, but he'd been medicated, gone home. had done nothing except the crime of attending a party and leaving at the exact wrong time. that jem let -

if she'd been possessed, it might be easier to move on]

i'm sorry you were possessed and, you know. it must have been horrible to have someone else in your body. i don't really know the specifics of possession, but i don't think it was you that did all the shit you said. you're just human, and sometimes there's things out there that are bigger and scarier and stronger.

[ he's not really done thinking about her. which might be new for him, really. but it feels more... serious. it feels more real. she's just a girl he barely knows (except, except, for the ghost of a thousand memories that feel real), but her shit is real. is fucked up.

all of his shit feels unreal. save for the part where— he did it. him. ]

it wasn't like a ghost. [ A poltergeist, Iggy said. ] it was something else. a monster from somewhere else. it got into me and i got it into others. i did that. and they died. they all fucking died. heather, her parents, all of them. because i let it ride me around

you dont think this place is like
hell?

where are you rn?

[ Heaven and hell. Itchy cotton and Easter mass. A long, long fucking time ago. ]

what? near home base.

[ he'd started toward the boarding house and a linen closet. gotten distracted. he projects a disjointed image. he's leaning up against the boarding house on the back end. ]

cool

[she's coming 2 get yoooou Billy. literally; she's got the vague image and she's ready to go, slippers on - she thinks they're meant to be slippers, anyway - and off she goes. down the hallways, through the main areas, right to the back where she imagines the deliveries must come in if there ever is anyway.

if she could sneak up behind him she would. instead she has to put up with peeking her head around the door and whispering:] Boo, [while she slips out, and slips into his space, easy, like she's been doing it forever. hands on his hips, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him. maybe it should be more frantic, the way her hearts been going dumdumdum since he said you dont think this place is like hell?; it's lazy instead, it's demanding.

she's pushing him against the wood and brick, trying to kiss the bleakness out of them both.]

[ He expects her, doesn't jump at the 'boo,' but leans his head back, tilts it toward her, mouth upturned slightly at the corner. He knows what she's getting at when she doesn't answer. A pessimistic voice rears its head, but it can stay buried under the way his chest feels heavy when she goes on tip toes, tilts her head up.

She kisses him, hard and demanding and rather unlike the girls back home. He's not sure he'd felt much of anything back home, besides the coiling in his gut that was the race to a bragworthy orgasm, one to be shared from girl to girl at lunch tables and in girls' bathrooms.

Jem's hands are hard on his hips, press him back and his mouth opens, licking slow and purposefully into her mouth. He lets her set the pace, matches her, lets his buzzing brain melt away from slopping human meat, the cold bite of bleach on his tongue, fire, brimstone, and a thousand frowning saints. His hands rise though, one on the back of her neck, the other on her jaw. ]

[Does this feel like Hell she thinks, directly to him. Her hands are squeezing his hips while she presses forward further into his space, till they're all lined up, till there's nothing in between. She smiles against his mouth, and it maybe feels a little sad, but that's only because Henry's still lingering on her mind.

Maybe it'd be better if this were Hell. Maybe she'd know what to do with knowing she were being punished for her sins. The Devil isn't here, though, and if he were, she doubts they'd be allowed to be this intimate. This - distracting. This caring.

She pulls back to sigh, to smile soft at him. Wraps her arms around his middle and shoves her hands up the back of his shirt, palms flat against his back.] Is it scarier if this is Hell or if it's a second chance, d'you think?

[ It should dig at him more that the warmth of Jem's body against his is soothing. He doesn't know her, not really. But he does. In this short amount of time, he really feels like he knows her. It's fucked because Billy wasn't eager for anyone to know him back in Hawkins. If he thinks of home, he sees his dad, his step-sister, an absent mom, a meaningless crown and a deadbeat town. And then a mirror image, all of that but with a shadow of a girl in the Camaro's passenger seat.

When Billy flippantly told Max he was taking Jem to prom, she wrinkled her nose and said, "Her? With you? Why? She's cool." And he'd laughed. None of that was real.

But Jem's real against him, her head tilted up toward him, hands on his hips like she's not going to let go. His settle on her waist and he groans, head going back against the wall. ]

Second chance. Way scarier. [ He pulls her tighter against him, resettles to knock his forehead against hers. ] Sounds like it comes with homework. Worksheets.

A three-thousand word essay on what it means to be alive, even? [She’s snickering, but she likes the feel of his forehead against hers. She learned everything about Billy Hargrove in another life, and she thinks most of it was true, if not real. He likes thrash metal, he likes to smoke Marlboro red’s, she knows the intimate parts of him like they lived it.

She thinks she would have ran away with him, in the dream. Packed a bag, climbed in the passenger seat of that blue Camaro, and never looked back. A lot of the dreams felt like Hell, but that had felt like Heaven.]

D’you want to go inside? Doesn’t have to be a linen closet. [She’s nosing against him, voice quiet, absolutely no room for Jesus between them.] Or we could stay out.

You sure? [ He mutters in the the little private place between their mouths. For all intents and purposes, they look like two high schoolers performing PDA on a nuclear level. His hand is big and heavy on her lower back, not that he needs to keep her there. She's a steady warmth.

He knows she's different than she was in the dream. She never actually lived in Hawkins, never sat shut gun while he drove Max to the arcade, never met up under the bleachers to smoke joints he rolled on his knee, licked closed with the tip of his tongue. But he has flashes, saw the alabaster tinge to her brother's skin, knows how to piss Kieran off, but only to make Jem laugh, not to make her bark at him. ]

You weren't wild about it on the network. [ His hand slides down over ass. ] Not worried about someone getting an eyeful?

No one's here, really. Besides, who says I didn't mean going on a walk?

[There's something different about someone hearing it than someone seeing it (there isn't). It's the same thrill of being caught that fuelled the false memory of locking themselves in a janitors closet. There's not really a thrill here, though. Mostly she just wants to sink into his warmth, distract them both a little from having being a little too honest earlier.

She nips at his mouth, eyes bright when she leans back enough to gauge his mood. Then, admits, softly: ] I want to keep touching you.

I don't think you meant just going on a walk.

[ He teases lightly. That would be a little too sweet given everything else. He wants to feel her hands on his skin, her nails digging into his back, wants to press into her, feel where she gives and where she pushes back, find out of if she tastes as good as she did in the dream.

There's no janitor's closet here, but he says, "Come on," and pushes off the wall tugging her with him. The boarding house has its little courtyard; it saves it from the encroachment of Rubilykskoye's other cramped buildings. There's a shed in the corner, half open air. Firewood is piled up high on the side, and inside some rusted tools lay around a dusty workbench. Billy tugs Jem in and grins before scooping her up and sitting her on the edge of the bench. ] Keep touching me. Blanket permission. You can touch me whenever you want.

[ His own hands run up her legs, thumbs gliding and pressing in at her inner thigh. ]

The skirt she's got on is the shortest thing she could find, and then she cut some more off for good measure. It sits at her knees, rides up when she's on the bench, stretching a little over her thighs when she spreads them to welcome him and his thumbs in. There's a scrap of fabric working as underwear, but it splits under the pelvis and opens up at the crotch. A tease of lace and then skin.

She tugs at his shirt, starts on the buttons one by one and muses, voice light: ] That's a dangerous thought. Whenever I want?

[There's a new kind of thrill. She sends an image to him while she smooths a hand over his shoulders, pushing his shirt down: Billy asleep, and Jem's mouth and hands tasting, wandering, slowly, carefully as not to wake him. At the same time a thumb glides over his nipple in the fantasy, both hers thumb over his in reality. She grins a little as the image fades, leans in and presses a kiss to his shoulder. ]

[ That's new. His hands are full of Jem, mouth already watering at the ripped skirt and the little slips of lace. His thumbs dig into the pretty fat at her thighs, running over the dip where the straps press in. One hand keeps coasting, fingers drifting through the slick already gathered at her lips, thumb dragging wet over her clit.

The sensory slip is new; it's all image, but it's impossible not to imagine feeling it. Jem's mouth is on him, on his pelvic bone, on the meat of his thigh, his dick is slowly filling under her ministrations. In both fantasy and real life Billy jumps at the thumbs on his chest, mouth parting with a breathy groan, his eyes dilated and eager. ]

You can. [ His voice is darker, gone gravelly as he looks at her hard, two fingers sliding between her folds, sliding deeper. ] Want to wake up to you sucking my dick. [ His fingers flex, jerking as he fucks three fingers harder into her. ] Want to wake up to you riding me.

[ He sends an image back, it's Jem, how she looks to Billy: skin shiny with sweat, perky tits peaked, her hips flush to his, the base of his dick shiny wet where it's not buried in her cunt. More importantly, her cheeks are flushed, blue eyes dilated, hair a little wild. She looks beautiful. ]

[There's colour spreading over her cheeks; splotchy red, eyes wide for a moment before they get real soft, even when her thighs manage to part impossibly wider. Her breath hitches, hiccups as her hips jerk forward, one hand pinching a nipple between her thumb and forefinger as she breathes: ] Is that how you see me?

[It's different to feel how someone sees you, to see how you look in their eyes. Her whole body feels hot, inside and outside. Her eyes are getting wet, and as she blinks it away she tries to send something back: the way Billy looks under her, flushed, eyes hooded but alert; the way his mouth looks plush when it's parted, or when it's sucking around her fingers, a nipple. Beautiful, beautiful -

His fingers in her cunt sound obscene; wet, noisy squelches. She sends another impression; the feeling of being asleep, drifting off, fucked through a dream. She says: ] You could, [voice pitched, whining, close -] Fuck me awake, or not, just - [keep fucking her while she's out cold, staying inside of her. It's not using her, not really, not when the feeling she's trying to convey - tying to share with that particular image - is safe, safe, safe and trust, and always want you with me, inside of me, part of me -

A hand flies to cover her mouth, keep herself quiet as she bites down on her knuckles; comes so unexpected, hard, that she shakes a little with it.]

[ It's too soft, too sweet probably, but he grunts out a "Yes," as he gets Jem hotter under his fingers, as her own images sink into his, fold over reality. He isn't sure where to focus at first. Billy loves the way he looks, it feels different knowing how he looks to her. Flushed, eyes fever bright, the focus on his lips, always too pink, always too plush.

His hand keeps fucking into her, curling inside her cunt, hand moving faster. He hears static, a harsh little buzz that accompanies new images, new promises. ] Fuck. Fuck, baby, I bet if I play with you while you're asleep, you'd take me so good. Sink right inside you. [ His own brain joins in, a mental image of Jem so soft in sleep, dark eyelashes fanned over her cheeks, mouth parted, pussy wet and ready. Her back's pulled back against his chest, his hips fucking her lazily. His own breathing is high, quick, and chaotic at the image. He wants her, he wants her to trust him, and for some fucking reason she does, and his dick is hard and—

When she comes, he blinks back to reality, dual images warring with what he sees. Jem on the table, legs spread, pussy glistening, his fingers sopping. She's red in the cheeks, and Billy is too, his mouth hanging open, eyes hazy and blue as he watches her shake with it. ] Holy shit. [ He drags her hand away from her mouth, seals them together before he licks in. His hand had paused, but he pistons it harder now, the force making her thighs jiggle as a fourth finger bullies in, his heel grinding against her clit, he wants her to come again and again. ]

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