#billy bickle x reader

[doja365]

POV- Writing for ____x reader fic

[doja365]

yooooo

[lucy-sky]

No rush...whats your thoughts on Billy Bickle #20 or #36 And i know John Moon wasnt on there but i bet #50 could suit him real well

Finally! Sorry it took so long. 

Billy B + prompts 20. “Just admit I’m right.” &  36. “Did I say that out loud?”

1315 words; no warnings, fluffy AF. I didn’t make a new gif because I’m a lazy ass actually I really think this one fits well :)

Your breath caught in your throat as he seized your waist, drastically pulling you closer to him. His face was now only millimeters away from yours and you could feel his hot breath on your skin. He leaned in, your noses slightly touching, and you closed your eyes, parting your lips in anticipation, your heart hammering in your chest like crazy… At this your alarm clock started ringing.

- Fuck… - you whispered, pressing the snooze button and collapsing back on the pillow. The dream was so real you hated your decision to fix your sleeping schedule and learn to wake up at the same time every day, including weekends. Now you would probably never know how it felt like - kissing Billy Bickle.

Billy was your neighbor for a couple of months already. He was a bit weird and eccentric, but incredibly funny and charismatic. Pretty sure you began to realize you were having a sort of a crush on him.

Being naturally a rather shy girl, you tried your very best to hide your feelings. You were never good a flirting or making first steps, and seeing Billy once with a woman who looked totally like a top model didn’t make you feel any more confident. You became convinced he would never ever be interested in a girl like you.

Basically your crush didn’t hurt you much - you kinda got used to it. It wasn’t the first time you were silently in love with someone, so you learnt to live with it. You even managed to develop quite a friendly relationship with him. But sometimes your subconscious mind played tricks on you, such as this stunningly vivid dream where he almost kissed you. Oh well…

Sighing, you got off the bed and headed to the bathroom. After washing your face and brushing your teeth you went to the kitchen and put on a kettle. The dream didn’t go out of your mind, so while waiting for your tea you opened the Moleskine and started to write. It was another secret of yours - sometimes you wrote poetry. You’ve never shown your poems to anyone. Not that you were ashamed or something, just didn’t see the point. Actually you had no idea why you wrote them. They just appeared in your head - a process you couldn’t quite explain. Suddenly you heard someone knocking at your door.

- Billy? - You asked, surprised, as you opened the door and saw your neighbor in front of you. Seeing him in the flesh right after that dream felt a bit surreal and awkward.

- Yeah, uh… Hi, y/n! Sorry for such an early visit, - he smiled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. - The thing is, I’ve been out of town for a while, returned yesterday night and dozed off immediately. And now I wake up, and guess what I find out? I run out of coffee!

- Wow… That’s really tragic…

- Exactly! So I thought I could borrow some coffee from you… If you have any…

- Yeah, I think I do… I’ll go to the kitchen and check… - You paused for a second. It wasn’t very polite to make him wait at your door. - Wanna um… Come in?

- Sure! Thanks! - Billy grinned.

He followed you to the kitchen, his curious green eyes observing your place along the way.

- I actually don’t drink coffee very often, - you told without looking at him, while checking the cupboards one by one. - But I’m sure I had some…

- Hey, what’s that? Are you a poet? Wait a minute… Is that my name?

- What?

Your heart dropped as you realized you’ve left the Moleskine opened on the kitchen table. You turned to him abruptly and snatched the notebook from his hands as fast as you could, hiding it behind your back.

- N-no, I’m not!.. There’s nothing, really. Just a few lines, - you giggled nervously.

- But… - Billy narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to you. - I’m pretty sure I saw my name there. “Billy B” - is that me, right? Wow… Do you have a crush on me, y/n? - He chuckled. - I had no idea…

- Crush? No, I… I don’t have a crush at all!.. - You tried to protest.

- Why are you blushing so hard than? - He gave you an amused look. - Come on, y/n. Just admit I’m right.

- Billy, it’s really not what you think it is…

He raised his eyebrows, looking at you questioningly.

- I was just thinking how it would feel if the kiss happened, - you blurted out.

- Huh?.. - Billy’s face turned even more amused.

- Oh gosh, did I say it out loud? - You groaned, hiding your face in your palms for a couple of seconds before facing him again.

- Okay, look. It’s just… I just had a dream where you and me were about to kiss, but it didn’t happen, because I woke up, - you explained. - So I was wondering how it would feel if it happened, you know? It has nothing to do with the real you, I swear. Just that Billy, from my dream…

Damn, you sounded so stupid!.. It was probably the most awkward moment in your entire life so far. And these mischievous eyes of his didn’t make the situation any better.

- Well, shame… - he replied suddenly.

- Wh… Why? - You frowned. - What do you mean?..

- I mean it’s a shame it has nothing to do with the real me. Because to tell the truth I’d love to show you how it feels like.

You felt your face burning. Was it really happening? Did he really say this? You opened your mouth to say something in reply, but didn’t have a chance to do it, because the next moment he leaned in and his lips captured yours without any warning. Caught unawares, you gasped as his warm tongue shamelessly slipped between your parted lips. The Moleskine fell on the floor. Humming against your mouth, Billy cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing your skin. Without thinking, you placed your hand on the back of his head, gripping onto his hair, pulling him closer, making him kiss you deeper. Where did all your shyness go? Your tongues moved towards each other, sending shivers down your spine and butterflies in your stomach.

As he finally broke the kiss, you were absolutely breathless and slightly dizzy.

- Hey, what’s wrong?.. - Billy whispered, his voice slightly hoarse, as you lowered your eyes avoiding looking at him.

- Nothing, I just… I’ve never dared to think I could possibly be your type, - you mumbled.

-What? My type? I honestly have no idea what my type is! Never thought of such things. - He laughed, but then his face turned suddenly serious, as he reached your chin, causing you look him in the eye.

- All I know is that you’re beautiful and I wanted to do this for quite a long while actually.

- You did?..

- Yep. Just wasn’t sure if you won’t punch me in the face for that, - he chuckled.

- I think I won’t, - you smiled as he caressed your cheek.

- So, now you can finish your poem, huh? - Billy smirked, wrapping his arms around you. - Did I meet your expectations?

- I’d say you surpassed them…

- Oh, you’re blushing again! That’s so cute!

- Billy, stop!

- Never, - he hushed, kissing your cheeks.

- I think I’m still sleeping, - you murmured, snuggling closer to his chest. - It’s too much for one morning.

- Want me to pinch you? - He smiled contently against your lips, pulling you into another kiss.

And what about coffee? Coffee could definitely wait.

***

Sorry if it was too cheesy. This reader is basically a reflection of my teenage self - I never confessed my feelings to any of my crushes and just silently wrote silly poetry xD Why would a grown woman act like a teenager? Don’t ask xDD

[joannasteez]

"𝙞𝙢 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪" - 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚

eventual mother’s milk x reader

if this doesn’t get posted now, no one will probably ever see this… hopefully posting it will give me the push to continue, finish and maybe even add more to it than I already have…

‘The Reserve' is an illusion, a vanity shaped dream for the self proclaimed movers and shakers. For those who believe themselves to be more illustrious than their bathroom-in-kitchen apartments allow. But even a partial step into 'The Reserve' would clue in even the naivest of individuals of otherwise, that such claimed glory is really just some poor desperate bastards attempt at a pseudo heaven on earth. 'The Reserve' is ugly, its sunny gold pillars rusted to a seedy brown reeking of greed and low cunning.

And God…

…The walls, old lavish embroidery marred and greyed by nasty streaks of some indiscernible substance. The air is thick as well, but that shouldn't be a surprise, strengthened every minute it seemed by some nose curling pungency. Sweat, alcohol, and the dry crusted salty tears of some long ago killed ambition. The only thing 'The Reserve' is good for is its symbolism, sitting so uncomfortably at the edge of Downtown Brooklyn, it's weak and feeble visage living in the shadow of the city's sacred Vought Tower. Its an unwritten thing, wholly for the sake of sugarcoating ego, a communal experience even, for the drunk regulars and D to Z listing super-abled to stand together in a pathetic formation of reverence from their lowly place to watch The Homelander take to the skies.

You hate 'The Reserve' but you also work at 'The Reserve' because it pays well enough as a side hustle and mixing drinks is great tension relief from a nine to five that consist of talking through the life shattering trauma of being a collateral damage survivor with adolescent youth.

It's quite the shitty silver-lining, having to constantly entertain and serve, pouring into the anger and failure of dozens of overgrown children who lack all charm and the means to be even slightly personable. Who, in the eyes of all that is commercially holy and capitalistic, were just never profitable enough. They were not the proclaimed gods among men they were poisoned and promised to be. They just couldn't fucking hack it. But at least you made enough to cover a months worth of groceries in one night and a steadily growing record collection.

"A double of tha' cheap russian shite you lot water down so much yeah".

Its push and pull, the harsh tugging outward motion of an ocean current , a very visceral spine tingling nagging of something creepy and bitter like disgust or malcontent even. Before the inevitable, gentler pull in of intrigue. Billy Butcher is something of an unstoppable force, a train wreck of anger and charisma swaddled in a harsh cockney accent and even harsher words and deeds. Everything about him is war, all blood and destruction. The cracking of bones and the splitting of deep, and what you thought untouchable, nerve. He's horrible, but then again 'The Reserve' attracts all the ugliness of the city, even when that ugliness is owned by a not so ugly face.

"If it's so shit, why do you always drink it?"

He's smirking that smirk that makes your well crafted, personable, customer service nature quell, shrivel and nearly die. Nothing good ever came of smirks like those, lopsided and daring.  "I don't know, something about the little bird who serves it to me. She just makes it all the more delicious".

The most you can muster at the moment is an eye roll, opting to address the rest of the very dangerous bunch. A more genuine smile appearing, warm and delighted.

"Frenchie, always a pleasure, even when you're giving Travis Bickle".

He smiles, amused at the reference. "The pleasure is all mine mon amie".

And then with the excitement of a newly unsheltered child, a woman, cute as a button really, waves your way with dainty but red raw battered knuckles. 'A supe', instinct tells you, but as you smile, waving back with matching enthusiasm, you come to the conclusion that you may be wrong. That the light in her eyes, the unmitigated eagerness of the moment, is far too bright for any super abled person to have so intrinsically.

You'd must've forgotten how odd this bunch truly were, not having seen them for some time, especially now coming to rest a bit of a scrutinizing gaze on the next one.

He's tall and lanky with a forced relaxed disposition about him. He's used to this, places like this, like 'The Reserve', but still the tiniest inconvenience could make his own patience stretch beyond wear and snap. Split and break, and now he's back to where he hates to be, helpless. He reminds you of the kids in the support group, the older ones, still scarred and scared but trying desperately to show otherwise. God its the way he fidgets just the slightest, like he's in his own body but with new skin, trying hard to get comfortable.

"And you must be Butchers newest exploit, please blink twice if you need help", you say.

You're joking, really you are, but you're not. It's something like second nature to dote a bit over the younger ones.

"I- .... ", he's unsure of just how serious you may actually be and its no fault of his own, you've practiced quite the serious face, one of motherly concern that seems to make him repel more than anything. Interesting. "Oh, you're not joking- I", he tries again.

Butcher pats his back. "Thats alright Hughie.... she's just takin the piss is all".

Hughie sighs. Exhausted already, but it's only midnight, and knowing butcher, the night hasn't even started yet. "Can I just get a beer?", he asks, seeming resigned now to whatever will come from now till the end of the night.

"And something sweet for mon coeur please",  Frenchie adds.

You crack Hughie's beer open, sliding it to him before pouring out Butcher's double, but you're not so ready to give him his drink.  Wary of what even a little dose could do for his destructive nature. "No bullshit tonight, I mean it Butcher", and he's rolling his eyes, like he isn't responsible for generally wreaking havoc wherever he goes. "Last time you were here I had a patron get sent to the ER for head trauma".

His warm fingers slip over your unsure ones, taking hold of the slender glass to knock back the liquid with nothing short of delight. Sarcasm dripping cooly once he's done. "I'll behave mum, I swear".

You take his promise with a grain of salt, opting instead to ignore the beginnings of a new nagging feeling by mixing the sweet citrusy cocktail Frenchie had asked for. This creeping thing though, at the base of your nape felt less like mild disgust and more like an un-quelled curiosity. Eyes darting every so often to the lowly lit entrance before they scattered, with an eager quickness that was rather embarrassing, to the other corners of the establishment. If Butcher and Frenchie were present, and generally tamed from mischief, then he wasn't too far behind right? A balmy rush unfurled its way from your gut to the tips of your ears at the anticipation alone, and you'd be lying if you'd tried to convince yourself you didn't know why. He just had that way about him, and it forcefully lulled you in, a bit straight laced air to him but the sensibility was all there, and not to mention the man was fine as hell-

"He's outside taking a call".

Cleaning cocktail glasses has become a point of interest as you feel The Frenchman's sweet clever eyes nail you to where you stand.

"I don't know what you mean".

He scoffs. "Please, you're not the only one with eyes and good observation skills mon amie".

And he's right, it wouldn't take a genius to realize the very apparent attraction you have for a certain member of the infamous group, but whether he notices it or not is the real issue. You don't have much time to truly mull it over though because he's swaggering through the entrance and up to the bar to meet 'the boys' in a matter of seconds. Those seconds being the duration of time in which you short circuit before pulling it together and crafting the greatest nuanced expression possible. A little nonchalance, followed by well placed hints of allure did the trick in most cases. It made most men hesitate, and Marvin wasn't an exception.

You're cleaning the glasses still with a little less impatience and a little more fluidity. Grace. Eyes traveling up and down the distance of his physique, or of what you can see at least. "Can I get you anything?"

It's appropriate for the moment, but theirs a slight inflection to suggest otherwise.

He clears his throat feeling the burdening gaze of his friends, Butcher and Frenchie specifically, their looks of knowing, and squares away the beginning of a thrumming in his blood.

He looks to Hughie's bottle and gestures toward it. "I'll have what the kid is having".

It stings, and it takes a bit more than usual for him to shake it off. When you hand off the beer without another glance, slipping away to take care of another patron, something in his gut tightens. A bristling of bitter smoldering heat, and Marvin knows what it is, in the safety of his own quiet thoughts he's felt it more times than he can stand to admit. Like that one instance, a rare but vivid moment in his memory, Butcher had said something racy but your usual disgust wasn't there. You'd actually laughed and got all cheesy when Billy slapped on that shit eating grin. It was the same feeling now as it was then, and it was green and ugly, making his jaw tick but its there all the same.

Its only the seriousness of the mission that gets him out of it, that and the beer and he's back to thinking of other things.

Leave it to Frenchie though to reel him right back in.

"So", he starts, "When are you going to take that gigantic stick out of your ass and talk to her eh?"

"I don't know if you're too high off the ket to notice Frenchie but were on the job".

"Fuck you I'm sober". And he'd been sober for months, all the boys knew it, but what would his relationship with Marvin be if they didn't exchange some form of below the belt insult. Frenchie knew better than anyone what inner conflict felt like, how it wore so heavy on the shoulder, in the face of such evident but leery romance. "Mmmm, but play makes working all the more fun no? How long will she give u the eyes before you finally indulge her?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about".

'Found a little love and thinks he's fucking cupid', Marvin thought. Stealing a swift glance at the bar, at you.

It's Butchers turn then to be annoying, to deliver that shit eating grin he loves so much, the one that irks Marvin to no end, but now more than usual because Butcher's just as quick and discerning as Frenchie. "Frenchies right M, come off it and shag the girl already before she starts givin' another bloke bedroom eyes".

Everyones just so damn rife with suggestions. MM turns to Hughie, whose babysitting his beer rather attentively, as if to avoid the conversation.

"Anything you wanna add? Since everyone thinks their Dr-fucking-Phil".

Hughie sputters a bit. "Uhh, no. What they said"

"Now", Butcher gathers them all, rightly satisfied with making MM uncomfortable. "Look alive boys, our targets are here".

[doja365]

Fr.

how i feel when i get 4 notes on a post

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[darling-i-read-it]

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