Archive of Our Own ^beta

They still hadn't talked about it. 

It had been three weeks since that fateful night they killed each other. Three weeks since Viola pushed Ernest off the balcony, since Madeline apologized to Helen, since the two frenemies decided to stick with each other forever. 

The first week, they barely saw each other. 

They decided it would be easiest if Helen moved in with Madeline, but the author was scheduled to go on a book tour. Madeline offered to go with her, but Helen told her she would be fine for a few days. She'd convinced her publicist to cut the book tour short so she could return to Madeline before her paint began to peel. Six days later, Madeline found Helen on her doorstep with multiple bags of luggage and an uneasy smile on her face.

Helen moved into the guest bedroom a few rooms away from Madeline's master suite. The redhead noticed that there were boxes stacked in the hallway, filled with things that belonged to Ernest, and her heart clenched with guilt. 

It only took her one day to unpack.

By week two, they were easing themselves into living with each other again for the first time since college. Madeline was the first to wake every day which was new to Helen, but the author could barely pull herself out of bed since the night of her book launch party. She would hear Madeline walking around, making herself busy, and only when it was silent again did Helen force herself up. She'd get dressed, pull on some comfy clothes, and tiptoe out of her room. Usually, she'd find Madeline in her office, sometimes on a video call with her agent, other times on her phone, bored out of her mind. 

They'd greet each other, talk around the elephant in the room, both of their bodies shifting uncomfortably, and then Helen would leave Madeline alone to hop on her own video calls for virtual interviews about her book. 

By week three, they had the routine down, but the air was growing thicker with tension. Helen found her fingers twitching at her sides, her mouth seconds away from blurting out everything she was holding inside, but she'd squeeze her hands into fists and swallow the words down, afraid of just what it was she'd confess. 

She knew Madeline was walking on eggshells around her, that she was waiting for the moment Helen would erupt. Would she pick up the pieces if Helen did? Or would Madeline leave Helen to fend for herself and run away from all their problems they were too scared to face, like she always had?

Their mundane conversations fizzled out, leaving them in silence more often than not. With a truce to not fight any longer, they realized they had no idea what to even say to each other. Why were they friends? How did they do this before Madeline pulled the rug out from underneath Helen by stealing her boyfriend? Or before Helen was caught calling Madeline's acting ability “trash” to a gaggle of her literary friends? 

Helen often laid awake at night, wondering who made the first mistake, and who was the first to use that mistake as an excuse to hurt the other back for it. 

Then one day, the night before the beginning of their fourth week together, it all came to a head. 

Helen finally let the volcano inside her erupt. She spewed hateful words directly at Madeline, making sure to cut deep enough so it would take months for the wounds to heal. It was easy and familiar, and just for a moment it felt like she could breathe again, like the tension in the air finally snapped. 

But then after the haze of her fury cleared, the world came to a screeching halt. If Helen still had a stomach, it would have dropped the moment she saw the expression on Madeline's face. The sorrow, the dejection, the hurt that Helen caused. If it was only a few weeks ago, this would be the moment Madeline would yell back, maybe even throw a few objects to physically attack Helen when her words were not enough. 

Instead, Madeline's bottom lip trembled, her fingers fidgeting in front of her, tears threatening to fall down her painted cheeks. The actress bowed her head, mumbling a barely audible “I'm sorry” before leaving a dumbfounded Helen behind.

In the end, Madeline didn't run; Helen pushed her. 

Hours later, when she hadn't left her bedroom (even though Helen had put on one of the movies that gained Madeline an Oscar nomination, playing it at full volume so the blonde could hear it from downstairs), Helen gently pushed open her bedroom door. 

The sight of her person looking so small while curled in on herself, clutching at a raggedy stuffed bear that she'd had since she was six-years-old (the last gift her father gave her before he left Madeline and her mom), made Helen almost collapse with grief and exhaustion. She quickly climbed onto the bed, startling the woman who had been half asleep with tear tracks on her face, and wrapped her arms around Madeline, pulling her close and vowing to never let go. 

Everything changed that night. 

After Helen whispered her own apologies, they finally began to talk. Really talk. 

They admitted fears, confessed jealousies, and promised to be open and honest without the anxiety of rejection. 

Helen found herself smiling days later; truly smiling without the need for medication or alcohol or revenge feeding her happiness. She felt lighter and life became easier to navigate with Madeline at her side rather than in front of her. 

But she noticed Madeline was quieter, more reserved, and seemed to retreat into herself more and more as the days went on. Helen questioned if she was the problem, if she had been the true problem all along, but when she woke up one night to Madeline crawling into her bed, seeking out the author's comfort and love, those insecurities flew out the window. 

In the morning, she woke up earlier than normal. Her eyes blinked open and she looked down to see Madeline still curled into her, her blonde hair falling out of her messy bun. In the night, Helen's tank top had shifted. It was bunched at her chest, one strap falling off her shoulder, and her breasts were free to the cool morning air. And Madeline…

Madeline's nose was practically buried into the soft skin between Helen's breasts. She was breathing deeply, the puffs of hot air keeping Helen warm even as her nipples puckered with interest. Helen could feel Madeline's hand resting on her lower back, just below the patched hole in her abdomen, fingers grazing the elastic band on the redhead's underwear. Their legs were intertwined, bodies flushed together tight like they both were afraid the other would drift away if they let go. 

Helen didn't know what to do. She felt embarrassed and exposed. Yet, nothing had ever felt so right at the same time. 

Madeline moaned gently, nuzzling her nose against the curve of Helen's breast, and opened her eyes. Helen's face flushed with heat, her cheeks reddening and her teeth biting down hard on her lip. Madeline pulled her head back just enough to really capture what she was seeing and feeling before her, her eyes widening slightly once realization settled in. Helen fought for something to say, her mind whirring with panic. 

But then she felt a flutter upon her chest and quickly looked down to see Madeline's lips pulling back from a feather-light kiss upon the swell of Helen's breast. 

Time stopped and the two women stared at each other, each with their own flurry of questions in their eyes. Helen's fingers dug into Madeline's hip, trying to control the way her body was trembling. When neither said anything, Madeline closed her eyes again and pressed her lips to Helen's breast again and again. 

Madeline's kisses trailed all over Helen's chest, her lips adding more pressure as she became more confident in her affection. Helen bit back every sigh and whimper as best as she could, but then Madeline's lips found the puckered nub of her nipple and the author let free a satisfied moan. The sound encouraged Madeline, the tip of her tongue flicking against Helen's nipple before she flattened it, leaving long laves along the pebbled skin, her lips closing around it so she could gently suckle. 

The redhead gasped, a zing of pleasure shooting down her spine and settling between her legs. Madeline's big blue eyes stared up at her, silently asking for further permission as if Helen's tit wasn't already in her salivating mouth. All Helen could do was whisper Madeline's name, her hand sliding up the actress's body so she could cradle the back of her head, pulling her even closer. 

Madeline's eyes fluttered closed, a moan vibrating against Helen's sensitive skin. Her hand cupped the author's breast, lifting it so she could fit more into her mouth. Her lips and tongue and god, even her teeth, left Helen speechless. She could only watch in fascination and pleasure as Madeline feasted upon her like she was born to do it. 

After a few minutes, the blonde released Helen's nipple, the suckling sound of Madeline's lips releasing her flesh loud and satisfying. Helen gazed down at Madeline through hooded eyes, her breaths coming out faster between her parted lips. Madeline continued to hold Helen's breast in her palm, drawing comfort from the silky skin and heavy weight. Her lips were tinted darker and swollen, glistening in the rising sun's light as it peeked through the window curtains. Helen's hand glided from the back of Madeline's head to her cheek, her thumb swiping over the actress's bottom lip. She angled her head down while tilting Madeline's head back and captured her mouth in a deep kiss.

Fireworks set off behind Helen's eyelids. The world came to a screeching halt, leaving the only thoughts in her head to be of the woman in her arms. It was almost like she was back in the “health spa”, Madeline's name on her lips constantly, the woman dancing in her mind, the memory of her scent invading Helen's senses as she obsessed over the blonde. 

But this was much better than anything her ill mind could have conjured, and it was real. 

As they kissed, Helen's hands trailed down Madeline's back. Her fingers hooked in the hem of her pink nightgown and she easily tugged the satin up her body, only pulling back from their kiss so she could lift the garment over the blonde's head. The moment Madeline's skin was bared to Helen, their lips met again and the two pressed even closer, moans escaping when their nipples brushed. Madeline wedged the hand that was holding Helen's breast between the author's legs, her fingers boldly tracing over the damp gusset of her panties. Helen's hips bucked into the sensation, encouraging Madeline's touch, and soon her slender fingers were touching Helen's wet folds. Helen raised the leg that was between Madeline's thighs, tensing her muscles to provide Madeline with the perfect surface to rut against. 

Their kisses turned sloppy, moans and gasps of each other's name sounding between panting breaths. Madeline grinded her core against Helen's thigh, her thong wedged to the side, her slick painting Helen's skin. Helen was throbbing with two of Madeline's fingers curled inside of her, her thumb pressing down with the perfect amount of pressure on her clit. Waves of pleasure consumed the redhead, one hand gripping at Madeline's asscheek, the other tugging the blonde hair at the base of her skull. 

Soon, they were overwhelmed with pleasure, their bodies singing as orgasms took control, leaving them breathless and satiated. 

Minutes passed before they could look each other in the eyes again. Madeline had buried her face in Helen's chest not long after coming, and Helen had let her eyes flutter closed in satisfaction that she had never felt with any previous lover. When their eyes met, Madeline spoke first, trepidation in her shaky voice.

“I'm sorry. I–”

Helen could have used her words or her fingers to halt Madeline's apologies, but she found her lips did the job just as well, if not better. 

She pulled away, her thumb brushing the sharp curve of Madeline's beautiful cheekbones, and smiled. “You have a lot to apologize for, Mad. As do I. But that?” Helen shook her head, brushing their noses together and letting out a sigh she had been holding in for decades. “That is never something you should apologize for. Especially when I think that was exactly what we have been missing between us all along.” 

Madeline grinned, her body vibrating with a sudden giddiness that was contagious. “I think so, too, Helly.” Her arms wrapped tighter around the author, drawing her impossibly closer. “My person,” she whispered, their lips brushing. 

“My person,” Helen replied, and sealed their fate by capturing Madeline's lips with a promise of forever.