Don't Come To Me Pt. 4
Hello darlings, it's Billy time again ❤️ i brought a lighter smut to you (spoiler). I dunno where I am going with this, but I'm happy many of you wanted be on the taglist and all.
Billy Russo x F!Reader
Warnings: Light smut, hangover, curse words
Summary: Reader wakes up in hangover agony, but Billy is there to kiss it better.
Taglist: @gwynethhberdara @icarus-isflying @intothesoul @malfoyeyes
Part 3 Part 5
It's the worst morning you ever had. Hangover hit you right at your forehead before you could open your heavy eyes. Sharp pain runs through the front of your head, spinning down to your spine, reaching every nerve, muscle and cell you are made out of. You groan, throat dry as the fucking Sahara, you might start to see mirages when you finally ready to open those eyelids.
You want to get back to that restless sleep, even the uncomfortable trashing around in bed is better than being awake. Thank goodness it's a saturday morning. Right? You can't remember which evening you chose to get completely hammered. It had to be Friday.
You move you body, twisting your torso because the pose numbed out your side, and it's time to torture the other, but gosh you wish you just stayed just like that. The sun burns your face, screaming at you to get up, to go do something productive, to live laugh and love. Love.
The reminder in your body shakes awake your mind, the memories of last night flashing in your head.
Shit.
The guy at the bar, Billy's car, him dragging your ass up right to your bed. Jesus.
This makes you jolt awake, not remembering Billy leaving last night. You remember him sitting next to you, looking annoyed and tired.
Well, at least now you remember it was a Friday night in fact.
Some moments are sharp, some blurred, and you are terrified of what you might have said to him that slipped your mind due to your intoxicated state. You remember scolding him, then him doing the same, trying to stop you talk shit, then him talking shit about your ridiculous crush on Frank. It's a mess.
You look up to your bedside table, searching for that glass of water you put there before bed, but instead you find a bottle and medicine next to it. Literally a life saver.
Your body screams for detox, whole head pounding as blood flows different when you sit up against the headboard. The painkiller flushed down with a big chug of water, your whole being thankful for the liquid. It's a small relief, but it's life saving. The water may hydrate you, but it can't take away the bitter taste of all the liquor you poured into your poor body. It's a miracle at this point, that you survived that much of a violence on yourself.
Pee. Gosh you need to pee so bad. It's like your body giving you the signals one by one, taking baby steps, standing them in a nice disciplined line, so when you fulfill one, another comes forward. Now it's you bladder who demands attention, and you think you gonna pee yourself before you can reach the bathroom.
You are looking ridiculous in the bathroom mirror and you just see a flash of your reflection.
What even happened really last night? Memories are there, but not in the right order and that makes you dizzy and confused,still half asleep.
Angry. Frank. Bar. Drunk as fuck. A strangers hand on your waist. Billy. Cold air, then warm car seat. Billy's hair falling out of it's usual style. Him getting rid of your shoes. Sitting on the edge of your bed.
Pictures and sounds, holes and jumps between them so you can't quite make out the whole night properly. You definitely said stupid things you can't remember right now.
You don't dare to look in the mirror again, focusing on the dull skin of your hand as you wash away some of the sweat from the bad sleep.
Baby steps, so what is the next one? Getting back into bed? That would be great, right? Lazy day in bed. You head towards the sheets, calling your name, gross and warm in a not so good way, but still your bed. Bacon.
You freeze in front of your door, the delicious smell making it's way up to your nostrils, stomach reacting with a big grumpy rumble.
You can hear the bacon frizzle on the stove, light clatter of plates, the opening and closing of the fridge. No fucking way.
He stayed? Or he came back? You thought he left after you fell asleep. As much as you can remember, you did say some shitty stuff, so it never occurred to you that he would stay. He runs away, storms out, leaves you hanging and comes back when he chilled out.
You are in an awe, so you simply step out of the bedroom, instantly meeting with his bare back. He must have pulled some witchy stuff on you, because you are entranced. By his muscles moving under his skin as he does a task as simple as flipping bacons over. His hair damp, droplets of water dripping on his neck, rolling down his spine. The sweatpants he left in your house ages ago now hanging gracefully on his hip. Fucking hell, he looks so domestic, vulnerable and soft.
You must have made a sound, because he turns around quickly, your eyes meeting with his cheerful face, a smile spreading on his lips, eyeing you up before focusing back on the breakfast.
"Hello there sleepyhead. You snored so loud i barely got any sleep." His voice is lightweight, teasing in a delicate way.
"What? I snore?" You mumble, rooted on the spot where he caught you.
"Yeah, like a French bulldog." He laughs out loud when he sees your dumbstruck expression. "I'm just teasing. Sit down, it's almost ready."
It's just now you see the plates laid out perfectly on the kitchen island, eggs and some veggies coloring the whiteness around, a glass full of orange juice stationed closed by. A simple but satisfying aesthetic.
You do as he says. You sit down, following his every move. He has a shy smile on his lips, he glances at you in between tasks, placing the hot bacon on yours, then his plate, making sure everything is in front of you, so you can enjoy your breakfast. Breakfast you can count on one hand how many times you had in the kitchen.
He sits opposite of you, still looking like a teenage boy doing something romantic and nice for his first girlfriend. He looks almost innocent. Almost. A t-shirt covering his broad chest would add to that innocence.
"You are staring." He states, stuffing a mouthful of eggs into his mouth. His appetite awakening your stomach again with the monster sounds you are sure Billy can hear too. The whole apartment complex could hear it.
"I thought you left." You blurt out, not capable to hide the surprise. He looks hurt for a moment, guilt flashing across his face before turning back into a sheepish smile.
"I was tired. Plus i needed to make sure you won't choke on your vomit." You can feel heat creep up on your face, cheeks blazing, giving off more heat than the Sun.
"Billy!" He laughs, he's more than entertained by your embarrassment.
"I didn't mean to overstep. I just...." He sighs, placing down his fork. "I felt like i needed to stay. I wanted to."
You feel warm, not the warmth you felt on your face, it's a welcoming feeling. Something you felt ages ago, maybe with Frank when you thought you have a chance with him. You whole being melts from the looks he gives you, his words sinking deep, slowly, to memorize every detail of his voice.
"Well, you certainly proved you are a good housewife." You mumble with a half smirk, biting a nice crunchy part of a bacon.
"You doubted my skills?" He acts shaken up, hurt, placing a hand on his chest.
You feel your smile hurting your cheeks, it's humanly impossible to have a bigger and wider smile than you have on your lips now. It's heavy, but a comfortable heavy. Something clicked in place as you watch him eat with a same cheeky look as you probably have, deep dark eyes scanning over your movements, with both admiration and a hinted lust.
What is happening?
Yesterday you felt like it's a lost cause. There is no fucking way you and him will ever have a common ground on what to do with the connection between you. That you'll always yearn for him in a way you can't have him.
But now? Feels like you just won his heart over, and you have no clue how you managed to do it. Gosh, you must have said a ton of shit with your drunken tongue.
You want to ask him about it, actually, you are dying to know every word you have said, because your memory has failed you badly, but it would ruin the moment. It's nice and calm, and it's so rare to see him like this. He might look happier than ever, and it's really affecting you, you heart is practically beating out of your chest.
So you eat in silence, enjoying every bite, every sneaky glance, and cocky grin from him. And soon enough, the hangover is just a tiny feeling in the back of your head, your trembling hand is the remaining reminder of the booze tortured body. Or it's the deepening desire for him, you are too far gone in the clouds to decide.
You need to collect yourself, you sure do look like a lost puppy looking at her new owner, and you hate it how easy is for him to bring out the lovesick school girl in you. It's maddening and overstimulating, so you stand up, maybe too quickly, worry flashing in his eyes as leave your seat so abruptly.
"You alright darling?" He asks, placing the glass of orange juice down back from his mouth. You stop next to him, reaching for the empty plate in front of him.
"Yeah. Thanks for the breakfast. It was amazing." You peck his temple, a daring thank you for the meal.
"What are you doing? Sit back down, let me clean up." He's almost off his seat, ready to put you back down and enjoy the rest of your juice, but you push him down by his shoulder. You need to look somewhere else than him, because you will go insane if you don't do something with your hands.
"No. You made breakfast, i'll do the dishes." Thank the fuck he listens for once this time. He doesn't protest.
You let out a relieved breath as the cold water hits, slowly turning to burning hot, cleaning the plate too quick for you to get your shit together. You almost get frantic when you realize you can't scrub two plates and forks to oblivion. You look over to the pan he made the food, and thank god it's there, because now you are going to wash them 2 times more than it needs to be.
You feel him before you see or hear him. He moves and the air shifts around you. You know he's close before he touches your hand, gently pulling yours away from the pan you attempted to demolish with a ridiculous amount of dish soap and lava hot water.
His fingers slides up on your hand, other part of his body following the movement, dosing his closeness inch by inch. First his right side, hot quick breaths tickling your ear, you would giggle if not for the overwhelming electricity of lust coursing through your whole being. Thigh faintly touching your ass, chest scraping your shoulder. Not staying still until he follows with his other side, stepping directly behind you. You have to grab the sink in order to keep you from moaning when you feel his chest completely pressed against you, his fingers stopping at your upper arm when the other firmly grabs your waist.
A perfectly orchestrated mission. He fucking knows what he's doing.
"Don't hide now." Low, pleading, soft. Everything about him is different. It's Billy, but goddamn it's not Billy at the same time. He knows you want to run, desperately, so you can have a breather, a way to think. He doesn't want you to think. You spiral down too fast when you think too hard. "Please."
Fuck.
His lips finds the perfect spot in the crook of your neck, placing an open mouthed kiss, his nose brushing your heated up skin, subtle scratching and poking with a delighted sting.
Please. He said please and you hate to admit that it's more than enough. Right here and now you would do anything to stay like this forever and ever.
You give space for his kisses, head falling back on his shoulder in a sweet, sharp breath. You can't help but let his name slip in a whisper.
"Billy." He hums, pressing himself closer, if that's even possible. His body fitting yours like a missing jigsaw piece you searched under every furnituree. Your ass held up by his thighs, his hips pushing yours to the sink, only your toes touching the ground to meet his height.
His touch turns more urgent, his hands wondering over your stomach, holding you in place so he can have the best angles of your neck and shoulders to attack with his lips, to have your earlobe caught between his teeth.
He laughs huskily at the surprised grunt you make when he sucks on the sensitive tiny body part, the tip of his nose poking your ear, hearing and feeling every ragged breath he takes.
You are basking in his attention, devouring you, swallowing you whole, he could eat you up and you want nothing but melt, become one with his want. You can feel him, hear him, but gosh you can't see him, but you need to see that deep storm eyes, you want to see his face, to be certain, to ease your mind.
And you would try if he wasn't locked on you like a handcuff, a living breathing cage with metal bars to keep you inside.
"William." You whisper concertinaing on not mixing with the moan that bubbles up from your throat. You press your body against his to signal him, but it's just flushes you with an unbearable heat, and it's doing more to Billy when you call him by his full name.
He shifts slightly, not trying to let you move, but you turn around anyways, meeting with the a dark expression, a not very Billy like blush on his ears and cheeks. He stunned for a second, now it's your turn to have your hands all over his skin, running up the tip of your fingers on his stomach to his chest. Travelling arm to arm, arriving on his neck, fingers running through the raven hair.
You can see every little reaction, and you are swimming in them. The roll of his eyes when your fingers massages his scalp, leaning into your palms, his hands digging into your hips. He is still holds you captive, but he handed over the lead to you without any question.
You look at his parted lips, and suddenly you feel insecure, scared of kissing him. Not even the unholy dry humping or wet patches from his mouth on your neck could scare you, doubt your mind, but the sheer idea of kissing him does.
Fuck it. You are in the heat of the moment, so fuck it.
You pull his mouth to yours, use your advantage and not wasting time to slide your tongue to battle with his. You can feel his voice vibrating into your mouth, his lips matching your rhythm. He tastes like orange, sweet with a sting of sourness, lips soft but teeth sharp as he catches your lower lip for a quick bite.
He's slower now, having his time to enjoy the kiss, a kiss that's still filled with tension, but not overwhelming like the last minutes have been.
You don't know how long you keep torturing each others lips, sometimes breaking it with small giggles, or just to take a deep breath to dive back in.
"Is this still breakfast?" The question ends up half in his mouth as he chases you after a longer breath break.
"Uhum. It was a package deal." You giggle, feeling his own smile against you. He's gonna kill you.
Jut when you feel the pace pick up again, the annoying ringtone clips the bubble you were in up until now. Billy groans still drunk on you, but your mind spins as you wake up from the haze. Frank. Frank is calling? You have to speak to Frank. You need to know that he's alright. Before you could think more Billy snatches his phone up from the kitchen island, one hand still attached to your hip. He turns back to you, just as close, holding the screen towards you, showing the big letters that spells 'Office'.
"That's on being a fancy CEO." You say, voice hoarse from the ungodly amount of making out.
"You love it." He teases, thumb hovering over the green sign on the screen, eyes boring into yours. "I do." You say, and like a nod of head or a green light, he picks up the phone when he made sure you aren't mad about the interruption. And with that he's gone in the world of Mr. Boss.
You wonder where you left your own phone in midst of drunken state. You touch your lips, still swollen from Billy's attacks, and you keep smudging and pressing the delicate plush skin while your eyes scans for your bag or phone. With a couple steps forward you find your bag next to the couch where you always seem to abandon it. You haven't brought it with you to the bar, but it's likely you dropped it there, a weird routine you always do after countless of times leaving your apartment without the cellphone.
Thankfully it's there, running low on power, notifications piling up on the locked screen. You are only interested in one. Unknown, number you aren't familiar with.
You can hear Billy pacing back and forth, a nervous habit when he's talking on the phone. He glances your way the same time you look up at him, he flashes a toothy grin, but his eyes slightly worried. Seems like this morning ends too quick, he sounds concerned, the person on the other end probably giving him not so good news.
You scroll and scroll, crouching next to the couch, not caring for standing up or sit down. You search for the one you want to see, and you find a text sent at 3:17. You open it, feeling the anticipation and fear creep up.
All good, sweetheart. Sorry for going MIA.
