#billy blaze x reader

[dollfacefantasy]

billy butcher x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fingering i am so down bad i had to get this out of my system

Everywhere he went, you followed Billy around like a puppy. Always watching him with adoring eyes, lingering by his side to see what he was up to. At first he pinned it on you looking for reassurance as the newbie in the group, but after a few weeks, it was obvious that your attachment ran deeper. You obviously had quite the crush. 

You spoke to him with more nerves in your voice. Followed his orders down to the letter and damn near saluted him when you received them. He could scowl at you or scold you, and you might scurry away with your tail between your legs for the hour. But give it some time, and you'd be back.

He didn’t know what to make of it. Sure it was... flattering, and technically, you were still doing your job well, performing on missions as you should. But at the same time, it was distracting having a sweet young thing like you prancing around him at all times, seeking his approval with each breath you took. He was supposed to be focusing on revenge, justice, saving the world and all that. But fuck, one look at you and that's all a distant memory.

At the end of the day, he's just a man. He needs to have a taste. One night when the two of you are out scouting, he gets you alone in the van. It only takes a tender look and a few words in a lilted tone of his voice to have you cumming on his fingers and your panties in the pocket of his coat. A few days later, you blow him in a public bathroom while you wait for a target to show up. After that, he eats you out at your desk in the office.

Tonight he gets you back to his place. He's sat on the sagging couch, thighs spread wide enough to accommodate you between them. He holds you there. You're bent in half with your legs up in the air. One of his arms is hooked around them for support while his other is curved around your bottom to get at your dripping pussy.

His thick fingers pump in and out. He works at a moderate pace for now, not enough to break you just yet, but the perfect rhythm to make you squirm your ass against his solid bulge. You have your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him with droopy, glazed eyes. All he can do is smirk in return.

"Feel good? You like gettin' that little cunt stuffed full?" he teases.

His voice comes out hushed despite the fact that it's just the two of you. The words rumble up from his chest against your back. You just nod in response. Any words that would have been suitable have turned to mush in the pit of your belly.

The wordless gesture doesn't stop him at all. It only spurs him forward. His entire hand is coated in slick by now, your arousal seeps out with each pump and slips over the expanse of his palm. Wet, erotic noises emanate from your center while soft whimpers pour from your lips. He squeezes your legs up tighter, smooshing your breasts down.

"I know you do, pup. Such a needy thing," he says, "Following me around like I got you collared and leashed."

You moan at the image of that filling your mind. If he wanted you to, you would. You'd kneel at his feet, bound and pretty, displaying your devotion to him around your neck. You'd rest your empty little head on his knee and zone out while he pet you and called you his good girl.

"Oh, she likes that," he chuckles as your walls clamp around him.

You nod eagerly before arching your back and yelping as his thumb starts swiping across your puffy clit.

"Atta girl. Panting like a bitch in heat for me," he murmurs and nuzzles your temple.

You whine like one too, trembling in his arms as the coils of pleasure tighten in your tummy. Your eyes flutter, lashes dusting your cheeks as you look up at him. He watches on with his own lust blazing in his eyes.

He fucks his fingers into your tight heat faster, curling them a bit to stroke that sweet spot inside you. Some drool slips from between your lips at the onslaught of stimulation. His fingers were just so fucking thick. Only two of 'em were in right now. He hadn't let you take his cock yet, but you could only imagine how snug of a fit it would be if this was any indicator.

"There you go, love. You're getting there," he praises as he continues sliding his fingers in and out while massaging your bundle of nerves.

"F-fuck," you whimper, "Gonna cum soon."

"I can tell," he rasps, "Go head and do it. Wanna see you come apart for me."

Soft noises of ecstasy bubble from your lips. You were nothing if not dedicated to pleasing this man, so you give him what he wants. It only takes a few more flicks and thrusts of his digits to get you to crash into bliss. 

Your head tilts back as you cum. Your legs kick lightly in the air, but he keeps you in place. You squirm against his broad, warm chest. Your cunt locks tightens around his fingers, wishing so fucking badly that it was his cock.

He kisses you as you start to come down. His lips land on yours and capture every delicious sound you make. Your breathing calms and returns to a normal pace along with your heart rate slowing down. Your legs bend over his forearm before he lets them down gently and allows you to just sink back into his body.

You're soaked between your legs, inner thighs slippery with release. As he withdraws his fingers, your pussy is already aching for another part of him to fill it up again. You turn and slide your grabby hands beneath his shirt, but he simply boosts you up to sit fully on his lap.

"You're insatiable, sweetheart," he teases before pecking your lips.

"Cause you keep teasing me," you mumble.

"Yeah? Think so? I think I'm just taking my time with you."

"Takin' too long," you huff in response between kisses.

"Maybe you're just greedy and spoiled," he says.

You're about to reply with another bratty comment, but he flips you over and spreads you out on the couch. You hear the zipper on his pants slide down, and you're almost certain it's the most thrilling noise you've heard in your life. One look up at his eyes tells you you're not gonna be complaining in a couple more minutes.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Not Exactly the End

Billy Butcher x Reader (Blaze)

You and Butcher have been at odds since the fight against Homelander and Soldier Boy. Things have changed but can you two work together without things blowing up?also known as Butcher is facing dying and comes to spill his guts to you which ends up in a fight and so much more.

NSFW warning and cursing, some violence but it's the boys

You didn't have to look to know Butcher was watching you. That was all he did anymore. The two of you had barely shared a total of fifty words since what happened in Vought tower but damn him, his eyes tracked your every movement when there wasn't a current job.

You were currently moving around MMs apartment helping to patch up Frenchie and Hughie. Annie and Kimiko were helping but you'd had a little more first aid training than them so you took the reins times like this. You hummed the music Frenchie had playing under your breath as you finished the line of stitches on his arm "Ma petite flamme, what would I do without you?" You grinned at him "Lucky for you I'm fairly hard to kill so you won't have to figure that out"

You cut your eyes towards Annie who was going over some paperwork with MM "Did we get what we needed or not?" Kimiko looked up from the stack and nodded before signing "Of course we did" you laughed and signed back "You're overconfident of our skills sweetheart"

You were exhausted if you were telling the truth but the job wasn't done until everything was secure and everyone went home. Of course home now apartments in a not so decent building to stay under the radar but everyone was close,the roof didn't leak and the heat and air worked.

The information that was retrieved was passed off to Grace's contacts and every T was crossed and I dotted so that meant everyone could go home and crash. You walked out behind Frenchie and Kimiko considering your apartment was on the same floor as theirs. Annie and Hughie were on the top floor and as for Butcher when he did sleep it was either MMs couch, the couch at the office or the rare times he went across town to where he called home. There was an empty apartment one floor up from yours that had been rented for him should he feel the need to use it but he rarely did.

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

You bid Frenchie and Kimiko a goodnight and went in search of a hot shower and your bed. You were just about to crash when you heard a knock at the door. Was probably Kimiko wanting to watch a movie and Frenchie had already crashed, you walked to the door with a smile as you opened it "Did frenchie already crash again?"

Instead of Kimiko standing at your door Butcher was leaning in the doorway. "Butcher?" You asked in shock and he nodded "Can we talk?" You half laughed "What exactly is there for us to talk about?"

The bastard had the nerve to shove past you into your apartment and even closed AND locked the door behind himself before turning to face you "Luv,me and you both know there's plenty for us to talk about" you were trying to hold your temper, you'd been doing good recently at controlling your powers but felt your fingertips warm slightly as you shook your head in disbelief "Weeks have passed Billy and you haven't said over two words at a time to me. What the fuck do you want me to say here?"

"I know you want to tell me how much of a fucking cunt I've been. Give it to me Blaze. I fucking deserve it" here he was, shoving into your apartment and demanding you talk to him but couldn't even use your actual name. "About what exactly Butcher? About how from the time I started working with you and the boys you talked shit about me being a supe despite the fact that I had no fucking say over it?"

You took a step towards him and saw his eyes flick down to your bare legs then back up to your face. He nodded slowly "Yeah" you laughed loudly without a hint of humor "No. We're not doing this. You're not coming in here and baiting me into an argument. Say what the fuck you need to. I'm not standing here and spilling my fucking issues to you"

"I've got a year tops Y/N" you froze mid step "What?" He nodded again. You weren't sure what to feel. Anger? Sadness? Loss? All of them rolled through you at once. He wasn't yours, he never would be but he was something wasn't he?

You gripped the anger, a familiar emotion you were more comfortable letting control you "You're such a fucking idiot. I told you not to fuck with compound V" you took a step towards him and he stepped back but you shoved him backwards and he slid into a wall but kept his feet under him.

You shoved a finger in his face and was proud of yourself when it nor your voice shook "I told you there had to be another way but you couldn't stop could you? You had to a bigger asshole! You've been horrible to me Butcher, to us all yet we've stood by you! We've fought with you! We've fought FOR you! You just couldn't let us in, you couldn't let us help. Why? Why if supes are so horrible, why not just put me, Kimiko and Annie on the front line? Why ever fucking touch me? Why get worried Ben had hurt me? Why get jealous of Ben? Why lie to me and all us and not tell us how much V you'd shot up? Why didn't you just fucking kill yourself when Becca died?"

He shrugged "I'll be dead soon enough" you had just enough presence of mind to not use your full strength when you slapped him but the sound echoed through your apartment "Damn you Billy. You never should put this team together. You never should've expected us not to care about each other. I know you're an uncaring asshole but MM is your friend, Hughie is practically a stand in for your brother and Frenchie backs your every play. We haven't lost any of us yet, how the fuck am I supposed to keep them together?"

Out of everything he could've said in that moment the words "I'm sorry" shocked you the absolute most. You took a step backwards "Don't apologize. You'd made it abundantly clear none us mean anything to you. The worse part is Homelander isn't even dead. You've killed yourself and he's still walking. What justice does that give anyone?"

"Y/N.." You'd never heard him say your name gentle, even in bed but this time he did. "Just leave" you pointed towards the door but this time he shocked you by moving fast as hell for a human. You must have really been off your game considering he had your back against a wall before you realized it.

Billy was strong for a non supe but you could move if you wanted. He was holding you by your upper arms. You glared up at him "I could move you" he smirked "I thought you liked it when I manhandled ya luv?" You felt your cheeks threaten to warm but bit the inside of one to ensure they didn't "Just say what you needed to"

He released your arms and put one hand on your hip instead,his other hand coming up to grip the side of your face "Supe or not I would've been dead a while ago if it weren't for you. You protected Becca, best you could even against Homelander who scares the hell out of ya. You're one hell of a woman" you swallowed hard before meeting his eyes "I know all of this. What's your point?"

He laughed lightly,more of a chuckle "Whyd ya look at me when you told Soldier Boy the deal was off?" "He hurt a kid and was a threat to people I care about. Whether you believe it or not there are things more important than revenge"

Butcher watched your face as you spoke. Why hadn't he seen it before? Yeah you were amazing in bed and a demon in a fight but you were also gorgeous and had that gentle spark in your eye. You still cared about people, despite everything you'd been through. If he hadn't let revenge eat him alive, if he hadn't fucked everything up....

"I never deserved a second look from you" the words slipped out of his mouth before he could put thought behind it. You laughed, snatching your head out of his grip to drop your gaze "If you want sex just say so. I don't need sweet talking" he gripped your chin, harder this time but just enough to make sure he had your attention before crashing his lips against yours.

-----------

The kiss took you by surprise. One minute you were sure the two of you were going to start arguing, the next his tongue was in your mouth. You moaned lightly,internally cursing yourself for how well you'd let Billy Butcher learn you.

He used the hand on your hip to pull you closer, deepening the kiss. You finally let your brain win over your hormones and pushed against his chest lightly knowing that was all it would take for him to back off. He broke the kiss and met your eyes.

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

You were at war with yourself, he was dying. He'd finally admitted it. You cared about him if you admitted it or not. You wanted him but did he want you simply because the one he wanted was dead? You held his gaze as you said "I'm not Becca nor have I ever tried to be a replacement for her" you were breathless from the kiss but had to say it "I don't want a replacement for her. You're two very different women. If I would've let myself be happy after her though you would've been it"

He didn't blink, didn't look away. "Fuck it" you muttered,shoving his heavy coat off his shoudlers before pulling him into another kiss. Your hands smoothed over the soft black sweater he wore as his hands went from your hips to just under your ass. He bent his knees just enough to pull you up into his arms, your legs circling his waist in a well practiced dance between the two of you.

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

He walked across the room to where your bed sat against the wall, never breaking away from your lips. He laid you down gently and kicked his boots off before climbing in the bed, lips finding yours as his hands slipped under the tank you'd put on for bed.

You gasped when he pinched your nipple, causing your back to arch off the bed. He broke from your lips down to your neck, attacking the skin there and teasing each and every spot he knew would have you a dripping mess under him.

Your hands went to the hem of his sweater and he broke away from your skin long enough to snatch it and the shirt he'd worn under it off and toss it across the room. You smirked slightly as your fingers danced across his chest "Eager are we?" He raised one eyebrow "I'm gonna fuck that smart mouth outta you" you raised an eyebrow of your own before slipping your tank off, leaving your breasts bare to him "Prove it Butcher"

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

"Fucking hell" he muttered before placing a sloppy kiss to your lips. He moved from your lips down your neck, kissing and bite hard enough you were certain you'd have marks regardless of your healing.

When he made it to your chest he rolled the nipple of your left breast between his teeth and used his fingers to tease the other. You let your fingers rake through his hair, tugging lightly when he caught your nipple sharply with his teeth "Fuck, Billy"

He looked up at you and the look in his eyes alone was enough to make your stomach flip "How many times did he make you come?" You licked your lips, breath already ragged before answering "Five" he nodded "Six it is"

You felt his fingers tease at the waistband of your shorts "You know the rules sweetheart. You say anything near the word stop and it's stopped" you nodded and he bit down on the breast closest to him "Words Y/N" "I know" he smirked and pulled the shorts down your legs and tossed them.

You instinctively tried to press your legs together in an attempt to hide just how wet you already were but Billy positioned his shoudlers between them and without taking a chance of hurting him you couldn't close them,his damn shoudlers were too broad "Don't hide from me. I want all of ya" you swallowed hard but let a smile slip onto your face and that was all the go ahead he needed.

A light sheen of sweat covered your entire body, your legs were shaking around his head and you'd already came twice but Billy was a man on a mission.

"Billy...Butch...fuck please" you couldn't form a coherent thought at the moment. The pleasure building in your core was threatening to topple over yet again and he'd yet to take his damn pants off. He added two thick fingers in with his tongue and that toppled you over the edge, forcing another orgasm out of you as you screamed his name.

He leaned back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. A proud smirk played across his face "Ain't tapping out on me are ya?" You shook your head "Take your fucking pants off Butcher. I want you inside me" "Yes ma'am" he stood off the bed quickly slipping his pants off.

You curled one finger at him "I want your back on the bed. It's my turn to play a little" he grinned "Yes ma'am"

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

He laid back on the bed so you moved to straddle his waist, feeling his hard cock at your thighs but wanting to take your time. You let your lips brush against his, tasting yourself on him before moving lower.

You left a trail of kisses mixed with little bites down his next then chest, enjoying the little moans and curses that slipped from him. You sat up enough to grip his cock and line it up with your entrance. You slowly lowered yourself down, eyes closing against the stretch. "Take it slow baby. I ain't going nowhere" he cooed and you felt yourself clench at his words.

Once the stretch faded you gave a tentative roll of your hips and he groaned "Fuckin hell luv" you grinned and gave another roll before moving your hips up and down. You started to fuck yourself on his cock and he gripped your hips tightly, praises falling from his lips as his thrusts started to meet yours.

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

You were so damn close and Billy must have known because he slipped a hand between you and started to rub tight circles onto your clit. You felt it half a second before your orgasm slammed into you, causing your movements to halt. Billy tightened his grip and turned the two of you over to where your back was now against the bed but he was still buried inside of you.

-----------

You gasped at the moment and he smirked "Still got a few surprises in me" you shook your head and he shifted his hips to drive himself deeper into you pulling a moan from you "Please don't stop Billy" you begged and he chuckled "wasn't planning on it"

Your legs were on Billy's shoudlers and he had you damn near folded in half. You were breathless from how deep every damn thrust was hitting inside of you and he was leaving wet kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach. You were both covered in sweat, you'd lost count of how many times you'd come yet he was still fucking you like he was on a mission. "Billy...Butcher...please" he slowed slightly "What ya need luv?"

"Need you to come" you begged weakly, fingers tugging at his hair "Feels soo good...but I'm tired baby..." you didn't have the presence of mind to realize you'd called him baby until he chuckled, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck "Baby huh? I kinda like it coming from you"

He shifted his angle and your vision went soft around the edges as he started to fuck you harder, chasing his own high finally. "Want me to fill you up baby?" He asked, warm breath on your neck. You nodded "Please" the answer was his laughter.

His hips started to falter and you knew he was close "Fuck Billy. You feel so damn good. Fuck me so good" he grunted as he buried himself into you with one final thrust, his cum coating inside your pussy.

----------

After a few breaths he eased your legs down then started to rub them. He did that for a few minutes before pulling out of you, a few mumbled words of apology leaving his lips at your whimper.

After Billy cleaned you both up with a warm rag he climbed into bed next to you and pulled you over onto his chest and you let him. "What now?" You asked and he shrugged "We keep fighting those batards till the end. I only hope I last enough to make sure the lot of you and Ryan is safe from them"

You cut your eyes up at him and nodded "If we can get him away from Homelander, I'll keep an eye on him. I promise" he leaned closer to catch your lips in a gentle kiss "in another life we would'a been it, ya know?" You nodded "I know. Get some sleep Butch. We'll handle whatever bullshit comes tomorrow but for tonight let's just rest"

[lqveharrington]

Dust Storm | W.H.B.

summary: You and Billy get caught up in a dust storm while on a horse ride.

pairing: William H. Bonney x fem!reader

includes: slight angst, fluff, you and billy are engaged, not a lot of warnings 🤷‍♀️ let me know if i missed any !!

a/n: i had this sitting in my drafts for a billion years 😭 my bad bookies

It had been days since that last dust storm blew in and the spirits in the small county of Talihina, Oklahoma were high. However, there was no rain insight. And with no rain, it left many farmers with empty fields, covered in dried-out dirt and sand. It especially hit the Ashford farm and ranch the hardest.

The Ashfords were the wealthiest family in Talihina. They were well known for being able to run a horse ranch and a healthy farm. The father, James Ashford, was in charge of both the ranch and farm, making sure everything ran smoothly. His wife, Josephina Ashford, better known as Jo, was known for helping around the town and giving to those in need. Luckily for the couple, they had two children who helped them with their work. They had a daughter and a son. You were the eldest Ashford child, and you had a bright future. You resemble your mother in all ways. You were the kind of woman to make young men turn their heads just by walking by. Unfortunately for them, you were happily engaged to one William H. Bonney. On the other hand, your younger brother looked like a replica of your father. Adam Ashford was eight years old with the same determination as his father, hoping to take over the farm and ranch when he got older.

But because of the dust storms starting up two years ago, it was harder to tend to the crops that would grow and bring the horses out of their stables. Before, you would help your father to tend to the horses when you weren't doing volunteer work, but with the constant dust blowing around the whole country, he banned you from leaving the house unless it was absolutely clear from dust. And for the first time in two years, James let his daughter out of the house. Only to run her mother’s errands, of course.

“In case of emergencies,” James tied a red bandana around your wrist as you took your mother’s list and woven basket from the kitchen table. “Wrap this around your head and cover your mouth and nose. I don’t want you to get hurt. And remember to come straight back from the markets—”

“Pa, I’ll be fine.” You squeezed her father’s forearm, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He sighed and shook his head, “Okay.”

You squeezed his arm again before leaving, silently reassuring her safety. You took quick strides to the town center and watched the dust kick up with every step you took. The walk going to town wasn’t bad. The only downside was that there was no shelter for any incoming dust storms. Fortunately, the blazing sun was beating down on the earth and the wind was seemingly absent.

Upon reaching the town center you smiled at the sight in front of you. You found children running around with wooden toys their fathers made and their mothers gossiping about the recent family who left for California. It felt normal. For the first time in years, it felt normal to see mothers scolding their children for messing with drunkards sitting outside of the bars.

You shook your head before entering the town’s only grocery, the bell above the door ringing to alert the storekeeper. “Mr. Taylor?”

“Miss Ashford!” The storekeeper beamed at the young woman. “What brings you into town? I haven’t seen you and your folks for a while.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, “With all this dust, I would hardly expect anyone to be hustlin’ ‘round town.”

“What can I do for you?” He dismissed the comment.

“I’m in need of some of your delicious Fuji apples. My ma s'been craving them ever since Adam read a book about them to her.” You looked around the empty store. “Other than that, I can grab the res’ of the things myself.”

“I’ll be right back.” He knocked the wood on the counter, heading toward the back of the store. You watched him leave before heading into the different aisles, glancing at the brands and prices of the different items. In fact, you were so immersed in deciding which brand of vegetable oil would be best that you hadn’t realized someone new had entered the store until a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and spun you off the ground.

“Oh my god!” You clung onto the stranger’s arm, not wanting to fall face-first onto the ground. You glanced back at the stranger before gasping, eyes lighting up at the male. “Billy!”

“Afternoon, gorgeous.” He put you down and kissed your cheek.

You felt your face warm at the name and action, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What are you doing here?”

“My ma sent me into town to get money from the bank.” Billy followed you around the store, his gaze flickering across your face. “Then I saw my favorite woman walk into town. I decided I could spare some time to talk to her.”

“Uh-huh.” You spun on your heel and peered into his eyes. “Did you get the money for your folks? Or did you forget?”

“You think so low of me, sweetheart.” He tilted your head up with his finger. “Of course I got the money.”

You hummed, giving him a proper look now. William H. Bonney was once a lanky boy in grade school. But he had definitely grown into himself. He got stronger and taller over the course of two years. The loose clothes he once wore now perfectly fit him, making you flush red each time you saw him. Your eyes then traveled from his fit shirt to his tattered, dust-covered boots. You frowned at the state they were in, but no one could do any better from the current weather the states were currently facing. Finally, you shifted your gaze to meet his eyes once more. His crystal blue eyes were such a beautiful contrast to the dust coating his dark jeans and his wavy brown hair. You swore you could get lost in them if it weren’t for him pulling you back to reality each time.

“You’re staring, gorgeous.” Billy grinned, earning a small scoff from his beloved.

“You’re impossible.” You shoved two bars of soap into your basket, heading toward the counter where the apples were waiting.

Mr. Taylor suppressed a laugh at the young couple, taking the basket from your arms. “That all for today, Miss Ashford?”

You hummed as you took your wallet out of your dress pocket, “How much?”

“$3.42 is the total.” He read off the cash register as you handed him the exact amount, trading it for the baskets of groceries and apples.

“Thank you, Mr. Taylor.” You smiled at him and moved to grab Billy’s hand as you left the store, intertwining them. “What’ve you been up to since I’ve last seen you?”

“Since last week?” Billy pulled you closer to him, squeezing your hand. “ Not much has happened since I visited your place. Just helping my ma in the fields like always.”

You nodded and looked toward the ground, watching the dust cling onto your leather boots and the bottom of your maroon dress. “The dust storm affecting your folks’ farm badly?”

“It’s affecting everyone, sweetheart.” He pulled you away from a stampede of running children. “No one can get any crops.”

“I know…” You muttered, rubbing small circles into his palm. You peered up at the bright sun, squinting at the beam. “You know what I wish for?”

“What?”

“I wish for everything to go back to normal.” You adjusted your hat, the Ashford ranch coming into view. “The dust storms have ruined everyone’s crops. I can barely step foot out of my own house. There hasn’t been any rain since god knows when. My pa won’t let me tend to the horses. It’s madness, Billy.”

“M’sorry, sweetheart.” He kissed the side of your head. “I can’t promise everything will go back to normal, but in the meantime, I can find a way to ride horses with you. ”

“William, what’s that supposed to mean?” You squinted at him, his piercing gaze meeting yours. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably not a good idea—!”

“Come on. We can ride the horses and be back before your folks worry.” He pulled you into the Ashford stables, taking the baskets from your arms and tucking them safely in a corner.

You bit your lip, looking at the groceries and then back at the brunette, cursing him for being so convincing. “Fine.”

Laughter filled the air as you raced Billy through the back trails of Talihina, the generated wind blowing through your hair. It felt like you were both young teenagers who had no idea they were in love with one another, doing reckless activities until they were caught by one’s parents.

“Pick up the pace, Bonney!” You shouted as you saw Billy catching up, urging your horse to move faster.

A huge amount of dust kicked up with every stride the horses took, and if you looked back, you wouldn’t be able to see anything. Billy shook his head with a smile and copied you, finally riding beside the pair.

“Sweetheart, you know I can beat you in any horse race.” He chuckles as he brings his horse to a stop, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “You feel any better?”

You nodded and glanced to your left as you tugged on your horse’s reins, meeting his blue eyes. “I do feel better. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He tipped his hat in your direction. “Ready to go back?”

Your smile slowly faded but nodded, “Yeah.”

“Hey, we don’t need to rush. We can take as long as we want to go back if you want.”

“I’d like that.” You guided your horse to head back toward the ranch. “In the meantime, you can tell me all about what you’re gonna do when your ma finds out where you’ve been all day.”

“I can tell her I’ve been with my girl all day.” He bit back a smirk when he saw your cheeks tint pink. “I think my folks love you more than me.”

You shoved his shoulder, your engagement ring glistening in the sun. “They should love me more than you. I think my Pa loves you more than me.”

“Impossible.” Billy took your hand and kissed the back of it.

The young couple took short strides on their horses as the sun slowly faded away. One could argue that the sun was setting, but it was still much too early for the sun to set.

“What time do you have on your watch?” You looked back at the darkening sky, picking up the pace.

“3 PM,” Billy muttered, looking into your panicked eyes. “We gotta go.”

The both of you started to rush your horses back as the wind picked up, dust blowing around them which impaired your vision. You hastily removed the bandana from your wrist and tied it around your head, keeping your balance. Billy kept one hand on the reins and shoved his own bandana up, covering his nose and mouth. The sky was now covered with dust clouds and the wind blew harshly against your backs, the mix of dry dirt and sand hitting their exposed skin.

“Are you okay over there?” Billy shouted over the blowing wind. “Y/N?”

“I’m fine!” You blinked away tears from the dirt that stung your eyes, squeezing your legs to make your horse move faster. You could just barely make out your family’s farm, but with each passing second it became more and more obscure.

“Sweetheart, we have to go to the stables! It’s closer to us than your house!” He veered his horse over to the left.

“I can’t! My folks will worry and—”

“Y/N!” He snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Please!”

You quickly followed him and turned toward the stables. Billy slammed the front doors open, causing chaos to erupt inside. The other horses stood on their hind legs, thrashing as the harsh wind blew the dust inside. You raced inside as Billy jumped off his horse and slammed the stable doors shut, grabbing bales of wheat and shoving them by the front. You took deep breaths as you tried calming your own horse, resting your forehead against the head of your horse.

“This dust storm ain’t gonna go away anytime soon.” Billy rubbed dust off his face, removing his mask. “We’ll be fine in here.”

You nodded weakly, combing your fingers through your horse’s dusty hair. “We shouldn’t have gone out— I-I promised my pa that I’d be back—”

“Hey, look at me.” He went over and took your fidgeting hand. “They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. When the storm eventually calms down, we'll head over to your place.” He slowly helped you off the horse and held your dirtied face in his hands, slipping your bandana off and wiping your muddy tears. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You took a breath, holding onto his wrists, following his breathing pattern. You rested your forehead on his, shutting your eyes. “Okay.”

The dust storm only accumulated as time progressed. The field and crops were covered in piles of dust once more and the automobiles were suddenly buried underneath the dried dirt. Those who were inside any buildings had dust seeping through the smallest slivers, despite the taped downed windows and towels blocking the doors. It was as if the storm would never stop, deeply worrying the Ashford family for their daughter’s safety.

“James, you can’t leave!” Jo whispered toward her husband, arms crossed over her chest in disbelief. “It’s late and you wouldn’t be able to see anything with all of that dust blowin’. Adam worries for his sister, but imagine the grief if he lost his pa and his sister?”

“I can’t sleep without knowin’ if my little girl is fine, Jo,” James argued, tightly tying a handkerchief around his head. “If Adam wakes, don’t tell him where his pa went—”

“James!” She held his arm in desperation, holding eye contact. “The storm might end soon, don’t risk it.” She looked between his eyes as he glanced toward the backdoor. “Please.”

His gaze softened at his wife’s demeanor and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.” She murmured, wrapping her arms around him. “When the storm dies down, you can go. I won’t stop you then… I worry about our little girl too.”

The storm kept blowing until early morning. The crops were now either torn out of the ground or buried deep within dry dirt and families had given up on keeping the dust out of their homes. James and Josephina Ashford fell asleep at their kitchen table waiting for the storm to pipe down while you fell asleep in the stables in the security of your lover’s arms. William H. Bonney, on the other hand, stayed awake. He was constantly listening for the winds to quiet to let you know you could head home. In the early hours of the new day, Billy gently shook the woman beside him awake.

“Sweetheart, wake up.” He brushed the dust off that had fallen on you overnight, watching you shift closer to him. “Gorgeous.”

“Give me a minute, William.” You groaned, using his government name as a threat.

He chuckled and sat up straight, bringing you along with him. “The storm stopped, you can go home now.”

Your eyes shot open and you looked over at the male incredulously. “You should’ve said that first, idiot. Let’s go.”

Billy smiled as he stood, helping you up. He shook the final bits of dust off as best as he could and moved the hay bales away from the doors. Billy tilted his head toward you, silently signaling you to head home. You grinned and picked up your dress, racing over to the house without stumbling. You burst into the house and discarded the dust entering as well, finding your parents standing by the kitchen’s backdoor. James had his handkerchief tied across his face, triggering your tears.

“Y/N.” Her father let out a breath of relief and engulfed you in a tight hug. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed into your father’s shirt, clinging onto him. “I’m so sorry, pa.”

“Why are you crying, sweet girl?” He rubbed your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t go straight home. I wanted to be out more, so I-I rode on the horses with Billy an-and then the storm started up. I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve gone home right away. I should’ve stayed home. I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, you’re alright.” James sat you down in one of the wooden chairs, removing his handkerchief from his face. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

You sniffled, looking up at your mother who had tears in her eyes too. “I’m sorry, mama. I didn’t wanna worry you…”

“My baby,” She knelt on the ground, taking your hands in her own. “I’m just glad you’re safe. The worst didn’t happen. You’re here. You aren’t hurt.”

Billy knocked on the side of the wall, making his presence known. In return, all heads whipped over to him. “I brought the groceries your daughter bought the other day.”

“William, come over here.” Your father beckoned him over.

“Yes, sir?” Billy stood by your side, removing his hat.

James sighed, putting his hand out. “Thank you for watching over my daughter.”

“Anytime.” Billy shook his hand, bringing him in for a hug. “I would risk my life for your daughter every single time.”

You lightly sock his arm at the mention, lacing your hands together. “Thank you.”

“I mean, now that you’re here, why don’t you help clear the dust out of our house? I’m sure my daughter has brought in heaps of it from runnin’ in here.” Jo patted her future son-in-law’s shoulder.

You flushed red as Billy chuckled, feeling him squeeze your hand at the comment. “Of course, Mrs. Ashford.”

The young couple got to work clearing out the dust while Jo and James started preparing breakfast for the day. It would be a while until all the dust would clear out of the house completely, but it wasn’t the worst problem they had. The dust storm that day might have ended, but little did the Ashford family know that it would only be the true beginning of their hardships.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[geminiwritten]

i’m yours ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you find out that butcher slept with maeve, and attempt to ignore your feelings by going m.i.a. and going home with a complete stranger, only to awake the green-eyed monster living inside of butcher

preface: this isn’t set in canon timeline, it’s basically just using the bit where butcher sleeps with maeve as a bit of a jealousy catalyst

notes: this man has a hold on me... and i feel like this got a little rushed at the end but i still kind of like it, please let me know what y’all think! (also, i’m sorry all my stuff has the same formula, i promise i’m trying to mix it up!)

warnings: a lot of swearing, the ‘sewer-slide’ word, google-translated french, sexual content, and some soft smut

word count: 5315

Things are good, too good, but you’re doing your best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hughie and Annie are happy, MM is content, and Frenchie is excitedly creating new methods of blowing up Supes almost daily. Butcher is… well, Butcher. He’s grumpy and brash, but seems to be feeling a little more positive lately, focusing more on recon and intel rather than running in with guns blazing.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you had managed to go grocery shopping without anyone stumbling home bloody and bruised. Frenchie is humming along to the song that had been playing on the radio, carrying most of the plastic bags while MM carries one with you on his back. You were all in such high spirits that he had let you jump on his back at the bottom of the apartment stairs, carrying you up four flights as if you weighed no more than a hiking backpack.

Frenchie chuckles at the two of you as he unlocks the apartment door, entering first and pushing it open all the way. You have to duck a little, giggling and holding on to MM for dear life as he starts jogging toward the couch. He drops the bag on the floor before falling into the sofa, and you squeal as he squashes you.

“Hey,” you exclaim, still laughing, “what the fuck? Steeds don’t sit on their riders!”

“You want to ride me next, petit ange?” Frenchie calls from the kitchen.

You writhe until MM moves, standing up with a satisfied grin across his lips. You flip him your middle finger as he turns away, ushering Frenchie out of the kitchen so he can put the groceries away. You find the TV remote buried in the couch cushions, and just as the old screen flickers to life, Kimiko emerges from the hallway. She looks at Frenchie with a small smile, signing hello before her nose crinkles, and she signs another sentence you struggle to catch as your attention is called toward the master bedroom doors.

Frenchie frowns curiously, “She says that it smells in here.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you lot are stinkin’ up my fuckin’ apartment,” Butcher says, running a hand through his hair.

He looks like shit. His shirt is wrinkled and the buttons are fastened crookedly, his hair is standing up in all directions, and the circles beneath his eyes are several shades darker than usual.

“It is our apartment, Butcher,” Frenchie states, “it is the least you can after making me blow up my last two places, eh?”

Butcher rolls his eyes before dropping into one of the dining room chairs, holding his face in his hands as he takes several deep breaths.

Frenchie looks to Kimiko again before translating, “She says it smells like alcohol and sweat, and a perfume that she has not smelt before.”

“I don’t wear perfume,” you note, “every time we have to haul ass and run, the bottles end up broken or missing, so I gave up.”

MM raises his hands in defence, “Don’t look at me, I haven’t seen anyone but you lot in the past twelve hours.”

“Perhaps it is something we picked up at the shops,” Frenchie shrugs.

Kimiko signs again, and you watch her to listen.

“You can smell a stranger?” you ask with a frown.

“To reiterate,” MM says, “I stayed at a motel alone last night, I was too tired to drive all the way here after visiting Janine.”

“I stayed with Annie,” you point out, “is that who you can smell?”

Kimiko shakes her head, and your heart begins to race anxiously. Neither she nor Frenchie stayed here last night either, opting for one of his old hideouts after scouring the city for any possible missed traces that Vought could use to find you all.

MM turns to Butcher, “Was there someone here last night?”

“Why would you not tell us that there was a break in?” Frenchie demands, his face a mixture of irritation and concern.

Butcher sighs, “There wasn’t a fuckin’ break in, calm down.”

Kimiko pads quietly around the room, subtly sniffing the air around MM and then Frenchie before moving toward you. She inhales above your head and grimaces, before moving to the side and taking a deep breath over the couch.

You shoot up from your seat and stumble toward the kitchen, “Me or the couch?”

She points at the sofa.

“Butcher,” MM says, his voice demanding, “explain before I slap your hungover ass.”

Its only then that you notice the two empty bottles of whiskey, one on the coffee table and one laying on the floor. You back up slowly toward the kitchen, a fresh wave of panic washing over you.

“Someone stopped by,” Butcher mutters into his hands, “that’s all.”

You reach the kitchen bench at the same time Kimiko does, still sniffing like a police dog, and her face twists into a disgusted frown. You startle again, jumping back from the bench as if it had burnt you.

“Care to elaborate?” MM presses.

Butcher sighs, and you can feel a lump growing in your throat.

“We all sleep here too, Butcher,” Frenchie states, “and we deserve to know if it is still safe to do so.”

“‘Course it’s fuckin’ safe,” Butcher says, finally turning his head to face the room. “Maeve came by, alrigh’? Just her, ‘n’ she had some information, so we had a chat and a drink. Is that alrigh’ with you nosey bastards?”

A weight drops in your stomach, anchoring you to the floor as moisture begins to blur your vision.

Kimiko stops sniffing when she reaches Butcher, cringing and stumbling several paces back until she is beside Frenchie.

“You slept with a Supe?” MM gasps.

Butcher huffs and pushes himself up from the chair, “No fuckin’ privacy with you lot, is there?”

MM raises his hands again, “Hey, I’m not judging, just shocked.”

Frenchie’s concern melts into taunting smirk, “No need to be defensive, Monsieur Charcutier, we all have our needs, and I am surprised that you managed to woo such a beautiful woman.”

“Fuck off, Frenchie,” Butcher sighs, dragging his feet toward the fridge.

Their voices blur into white noise as you focus on the slow inhale and exhale of your breath. You wriggle your toes in your boots, forcing yourself to feel your physical body instead of the whirlwind of emotions swirling through your head. It feels like your skull is fracturing with the effort that it takes to contain the storm, but you refuse to let your feelings win. You find a bottle and push them inside, jamming the cork in just as Frenchie snaps his fingers in front of your nose.

You blink, “What?”

“Are you okay?” he asks, a soft crease between his brows.

“Yeah, sorry,” you blink again to quell your watery eyes, “what’s up?”

“Are you hungry?”

You glance over his shoulder at Butcher, his head in the fridge as he ignores MM’s demands to get out of the way.

“Not really,” you reply, “I was actually thinking about going back over to Annie’s, I think I forgot my… my socks.”

The concern between Frenchie’s brows deepens, “You forgot your socks?”

You nod, “My favourite socks.”

“Didn’t know you had favourite socks,” Butcher mumbles as he steps out of the kitchen.

“You don’t know a lot of things,” you state, plastering on a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

You can feel their curious gazes on you as you turn, retrieving your wallet and keys from the couch before striding out of the apartment door without a second glance. You pull your phone out of your pocket and text Annie to let her know that you’re on your way before switching it to ‘do not disturb’ and zipping it inside your jacket pocket, determined to forget about it until you’ve got a handle on your emotions.

The sun is setting by the time you reach the familiar street on which Hughie and Annie’s apartment is located, and you’re rather proud of the fact that you managed to focus on nothing but your steady steps the whole way here. You look up at the brick building on your left, but instead of turning toward the front steps, your feet carrying you across the street toward the park, not stopping until you’re standing in front of an empty bench.

“Something wrong with that one?” a voice asks, and you startle toward the source of it.

A young man is standing beside you, clad in running shorts and a tight exercise jacket. He doesn’t look menacing, but your whole body tenses as your fight or flight instincts battle for dominance.

“I’m sorry?”

He chuckles, “The bench, I mean. You’re frowning at it as if it’s diseased or something.”

“Oh,” you look back at the moss-ridden seat, “no, I just- I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?”

He buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and you let yourself relax, deciding that he isn’t a threat, just an overly friendly stranger.

“I’m fine, sorry,” you sigh, “just had a weird day.”

“That’s nothing to apologise for,” he says, sitting on the bench and looking up at you. “I know the feeling.”

You sit beside him, watching his side profile and slowly realising how attractive he is. His hair is cropped short, shorter than you usually liked, but his eyes are a stunning green and the faint shadow of stubble across his jaw is definitely something you can appreciate.

“Do you often approach strangers in the park?” you ask.

He laughs again, his eyes sparkling under the orange sky, “No, not really, especially not strangers as gorgeous as you.”

You blush at the ground, deciding to focus on your fraying shoelaces rather than the handsome stranger.

“But I figured,” he goes on, “that if I didn’t ask this pretty girl if she was okay, I might not be able to stop thinking about her for the rest of my life.”

You actually giggle, immediately cursing yourself for being so easy, “That’s a long time.”

“I know, right? I didn’t fancy the risk, and hey,” he smiles at you, “looks like it might have been worth it.”

“Maybe,” you smile back, “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Nate.”

You’re not sure if you’re an idiot or if you’ve just given up on your own personal safety, but you sit and talk to Nate until the sun is well below the horizon. You learn that he’s a journalist and a dog person, and lately he’s been more afraid of Supes than comforted by their presence. You tell him you’re a freelancer, because it isn’t technically a lie, and that you’re in between gigs at the moment but questioning whether you’re really doing what you want to be doing. Also, not a lie.

“I know that this is probably very forward,” he says, his knee bouncing nervously, “but did you want to come back to my place for a drink? I would suggest a bar, but I’m not really dressed for it, and I just get this feeling that as soon as we say goodbye, you’re going to disappear forever.”

You frown, “You’re a real long-term guy, aren’t you?”

His cheeks flush pink, “I don’t have to be.”

As you walk alongside the man you met mere hours ago, you come to the conclusion that you must be suicidal. In the current state that the world is in, who in their right mind goes home with a complete stranger? You, apparently.

His apartment isn’t far from the park, which is a little comforting, knowing that you will have a speedy escape to Annie’s place if this guy does end up being a psycho serial killer. The buildings all look the same as you approach a row of tall brick blocks, climbing the few concrete steps up to the lobby doors before scaling three flights to reach his apartment door.

It’s surprisingly well decorated inside, and you can eye a few expensive items that make you wonder if he really is a struggling journalist, or perhaps a shady underground arts dealer. You take a seat at the kitchen bench as he babbles about how crappy his landlord is and how much money he’s had to spend on the place to make it liveable. The glass of wine he places in front of you is gone within two gulps, and he happily pours you another.

“I feel like I probably should have asked this a few hours ago,” he says with a sheepish smile, “but you aren’t with anyone, are you? Engaged or married, or anything like that.”

You choke on your mouthful of cheap wine, coughing the burn away while he hurries to get you a glass of water.

“No,” you finally reply, “I’m not, at all.”

“Good,” he replies, his earnest grin returning, “I mean, it’s surprising because you’re incredible, but I’m glad.”

You offer him a smile that you hope appears coy and not at all forced before drinking down the rest of your second glass of wine. He moves into the lounge room, and you take the opportunity to pour yourself another generous glass, quickly swallowing the two mouthfuls left in the bottle while his back is still turned. You gingerly place the empty bottle in the sink before following him, dropping onto the soft leather couch as he turns on the television.

A news broadcast lights up the screen, and fiery images of a truck collision flash behind the breaking news banner that reads: ‘QUEEN MAEVE SAVES THE DAY’. Your stomach twists into a knot as the bottle of emotions you had managed to almost forget about begins to break, the glass fracturing and threatening to send you into a full-blown mental breakdown.

“Damn,” Nate sighs, “I know the Supes are pretty sketchy these days, but Queen Maeve is just gorgeous.”

With one last burning gulp of wine, you turn to the man beside you and take his head between your hands, crushing your lips against his. He gasps, but responds quickly, his hands finding your hips and guiding you onto his lap.

The rest of the night is a blur as you attempt to give all of your attention to this stranger that you barely know instead of confronting the green-eyed monster roaring in your belly. He finishes once on the couch, pretty quickly, but you’re not one to judge, before you drag him into the bedroom and away from the incessant news broadcasts of Queen Maeve’s heroic act.

It isn’t your alarm that wakes you, or the sound of Frenchie and MM arguing about how to cook eggs, but rather the unfamiliar scent that douses your breath. Your body trembles with anxiety and your eyes snap open, darting around the strange room as your thoughts scramble to remember how you got here.

“Fuck,” you sigh at the sound of someone snoring beside you.

You gently roll over and slip out of the sheets, cold air immediately nipping at your naked body. You find the nearest item of clothing and slip it over your head before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and into the lounge room. Nerves and hunger mingle inside of your stomach, making you overwhelmingly nauseous by the time you find your jacket thrown over the back of the couch.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter as you retrieve your phone from the pocket.

Dozens of missed calls and text messages fill your lock screen, several from Annie and Frenchie, a couple from Hughie and MM, but the majority of them listed under Butcher’s contact name, ‘Big Willy’. You thought it was funny a few days ago.

You quickly text Annie that you’re okay, you’re incredibly sorry, and that you’ll fill her in as soon as you see her. You find your jeans and wriggle into them before finding your panties and tucking them into your back pocket. You scoop your bra and your shirt off the floor on your way to the kitchen, and check your phone again for a reply from Annie. Nothing yet.

You drink the glass of untouched water from the kitchen bench before splashing your face and trying to calm the vibration of nerves coursing through your body.

“Hey.”

You startle at the sudden voice, turning to find Nate in nothing but sweatpants as he emerges from the bedroom.

“Hey,” you murmur.

He frowns, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-I’m fine, just- uh, my friends have been calling me,” you gesture to your phone, “and they’re pretty worried.”

“Oh,” he lets out a long breath, “I didn’t even hear it ringing last night.”

You smile weakly, not bothering to explain that you were intentionally avoiding your phone all afternoon.

He steps forward, “So, did you-”

The apartment door bursts open, splinters of wood scattering across the floor as you squeal and Nate jumps away from the blow. Your heart is racing, but your body reacts as it was trained to do, and you dive for a knife from the block beside the stove before freezing as you recognise the figure stalking through the broken door.

“Butcher,” you say, “what the fuck?”

His head snaps toward you, the crease between his brows softening and his eyes looking almost vulnerable as realises that it’s you.

“I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you and why did you just break my door?” Nate speaks up.

Your stomach sinks as Butcher’s attention is turned toward the shirtless man, murderous intent returning to his face.

“Who the fuck am I?” he spits, “Who the fuck are you?”

Nate looks tiny compared to Butcher, his narrow frame absolutely dwarfed by Butcher’s broad height and intimidating stance.

“I-I’m Nate,” the smaller man says, “and this is my apartment, that’s my door that you just destroyed.”

“Yeah?” Butcher taunts, stalking forward, “An’ what’re you gon’a do ‘bout it?”

Nate looks at you, his eyes frantic and begging for help.

“Butcher, calm down, he’s-”

“Calm down?” he whirls toward you, “You want me to fuckin’ calm down?!”

“Hey, man,” Nate says, “we can talk, you don’t have to-”

“Nate,” you put your hand up, “I’m sorry, but please shut up.”

“Nate,” Butcher repeats mockingly, “if you value your life, I’d listen to ‘er.”

You drop the knife on the bench, “Butcher, can we just leave, please?”

“You don’t get to make any requests right now, sweethear’,” he says, taking a heavy step toward you, “not after the shit you put me through for the past twelve fuckin’ hours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls sarcastically, “maybe ‘bout the fact that you fuckin’ disappeared! You didn’t answer your damn phone, didn’t tell anyone where you fuckin’ were! I got a call from Hughie askin’ if you were back home, ‘cause you texted Annie ‘n’ told her you were comin’, but didn’t fuckin’ show up!”

A pebble of guilt drops into your stomach, but you ignore it, squaring up to him with a scowl.

“So?” you shrug, “I’m an adult, I can do as I fucking please.”

“Not without tellin’ me!” he exclaims, “Not if I don’t know where you fuckin’ are or if you’re even fuckin’ alive!”

“You’re not my fucking father, Butcher!” you shout back, feeling another fissure in the bottle of emotions. “I don’t belong to you, I don’t have to ask you for permission to live my own fucking life!”

His jaw twitches, a tidal wave of emotion crashing through his eyes all too quickly for you to try and discern any of them.

“A-Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?” Nate asks timidly.

You and Butcher turn to him in unison, exclaiming at the same time, “No!”

A beat of silence passes, and Butcher’s glare doesn’t falter. You take a deep breath to try and sooth the storm of frustration threatening to consume you.

“Butcher,” you say softly, “can we please leave?”

His head snaps back toward you, his eyes scanning your body as they fill with realisation.

“Did you fuck her?” he asks, turning back to Nate.

He doesn’t respond, his mouth hanging open as he takes several steps back.

“You gon’a answer me?”

“Butcher,” you say again, “cut it out.”

He takes another menacing step toward Nate, “I asked you a question.”

“W-We slept together, yes,” Nate stammers.

The laugh that leaves Butcher’s lips is chilling, sounding almost mad.

“Oh, pardon my French,” he says, “perhaps I should’a asked if you made sweet fuckin’ love to this gorgeous woman right ‘ere.”

“For fuck’s sake!” you shout, “Stop it, stop whatever the fuck this is, and let’s just fucking go!”

“You’re tellin’ me that you fuckin’ disappeared so you could hide out with this fuckin’ twat?” Butcher exclaims, “You let me worry myself fuckin’ sick so you could get a lousy fuck?”

The bottle explodes, shards of glass cutting you from the inside and sending white hot waves of frustration and anger, and despair rolling through your body.

“I can fuck whoever I want, Butcher!” you scream, startled by the volume of your own voice.

His eyes narrow, but his lips don’t move.

“And you can fuck whoever the fuck you want,” you spit, “obviously.”

You snatch your phone off the bench and stomp toward the door, turning to Nate with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, about… this.”

You continue down the hall and the three flights of stairs, not bothering to check if Butcher is following until you’re outside. The temperature is significantly lower than it was yesterday, but your stubbornness doesn’t let you show it as Butcher strides past you toward the car haphazardly parked at the curb.

You climb into the passenger’s seat, sitting as close as you can to the door and hugging your clothes against your chest as you stare out the window. Tears fill your eyes, your nose growing hot and your cheeks undoubtedly red as you use every ounce of self-control you still have to stave of the inevitable. All you need to do is make it home and make it to your bedroom, and then you can cry. You can curl up with your face in your pillow and sob, and admit that you’re jealous, that you’re hurt, and that you love a man who doesn’t even understand the meaning of that word anymore.

“You look like shit,” he grunts.

You sniffle, keeping your face turned away from him, “So do you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get much fuckin’ sleep,” he says as the car comes to a halt, “I was up all night worryin’ ‘bout whether or not you were fuckin’ alive.”

“Well, I didn’t get much sleep either,” you retort, before pushing the passenger door open and stumbling out.

You hear the car door slam as you hurry up the stairs and into the building, taking the steps two at a time until you reach the apartment door. To your great relief, it’s unlocked, and you let yourself in before Butcher has even made it into the hallway.

“Oh, my goodness, mon amour,” Frenchie gasps, “you’re alive! You’re okay… are you okay?”

You don’t realise your crying until you try to look at him, your vision blurred by heavy tears as they fall in fat droplets down your cheeks.

MM steps forward, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, “I’m fine, I was with a-a friend.”

“A friend?” Butcher echoes, the door slamming behind him.

Your blood sizzles in your veins, heated by the overwhelming frustration coiling in your chest.

“How the fuck did you know where I was?” you demand, spinning around to face him.

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you have my fucking phone bugged?”

Butcher blows a long breath out of his nose, the thick vein in his neck throbbing under his red skin. “Look,” he says, “I know that whatever the fuck just happened wasn’t ideal, but why can’t you fuckin’ see this from my point of view?”

“Our point of view,” MM corrects, “we were all worried.”

“I get that!” you exclaim, “I fucking understand that, but what I don’t understand is why Butcher is still acting like such a fucking cunt. You can see that I’m fine! I’m alive, so what’s your problem?”

“What’s your problem?” he snaps, “Why didn’t you answer your fuckin’ phone? Why didn’t you tell anyone where you fuckin’ were? And why the fuck did you go home with a complete fuckin’ stranger?”

“Oh, shit,” Frenchie murmurs.

“Maybe I just needed a fucking break.”

The room falls quiet, the only sound being Frenchie’s soft footsteps as he backs away. You use the clothes in your arms to wipe the fresh fall of tears from your cheeks and try to ease your shaky breaths as you wait for another onslaught of reprimands.

Butcher sighs, “Go shower.”

“What?”

“You need to shower,” he says, stepping forward.

You frown, “Why?”

“You look like shit, and you sm-” he stops himself, pausing when you take a small step back.

“I look like shit and I smell,” you finish for him, “thanks, Butcher.”

You drag your feet toward the bathroom, dropping your clothes on the floor and staring at your wrecked face in the mirror. Your hair is a mess and your face is blotchy and red, with streaks of black painting your cheeks. The shirt hanging loosely from your shoulders is unfamiliar, and something akin to disgust settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Give me your clothes,” Butcher says as he appears in the reflection behind you.

“Why can’t you just fucking leave me alone?”

He sighs, “I’m tryin’ to help.”

“I don’t want your fucking help,” you turn to him and lean against the vanity, “go offer it to someone else. I’m sure Maeve would love to see your fucking name pop up on her phone.”

His frown disappears, and you can feel the air shift. Fuck. Now you’ve done it. The shards of glass sticking you from the inside have cut right through your chest, slicing it open as your ribcage cracks and unfolds, presenting your pathetic heart to the man who already held it in his hands.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them back with determination.

“I-Is that what this is-” he struggles for words, running his hands through his hair, “for fuck’s sake, Y/N.”

Your breath comes and goes in short gasps, the lump in your throat crushing your windpipe as it demands to be felt.

“For fuck’s sake!” he exclaims, before taking one step forward and slamming the bathroom door shut.

Fear sparks through you, and you whimper, “Butcher, please don’t-”

Before you can finish, he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a vice hold as he rests his chin on the top of your head. You sob into his shirt, tremors wracking your exhausted body as every bit of fear and frustration tears you apart from the inside. You’re not sure how you let yourself get this emotional. Maybe it’s the fact that the world is falling apart, and you’re supposed to act like you’re ready to save it? Or maybe it’s because you’re fucking tired of having everything you love ripped away from you, every chance you think you might have at happiness taken from you by the cunts in the sky who call themselves ‘Superheroes’.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

The turbulence inside of you quells simply because you finally acknowledged it, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Butcher,” you croak, looking up at him through tear laced lashes, “kiss me?”

He hooks a finger beneath your chin and tilts it up, leaning in to meet you the rest of the way before his lips brush yours. It’s hesitant and soft, barely a touch, and he pulls away too soon.

“You need to shower.”

“Oh,” you try to wriggle out of his arms, but they’re too strong.

“I can smell that fuckin’ twat all over you,” he growls, “an’ it’s makin’ me fuckin’ sick.”

Realisation slaps you across the face, giving you the strength to remember how to hold yourself up as he pulls away. His fingers curl into the material at the neck of your shirt, ripping it apart right down the middle before pushing it off your shoulders and tossing it on the floor.

Another growl rumbles through his chest and the air in the room shifts again, now thick with a tension that has your heart throbbing in anticipation. Your mind races, your thoughts riding rollercoasters as you struggle to catch up with his fast hands. Your jeans are unbuttoned and pooled around your ankles in less than a second, and he takes another moment to devour your naked body before moving to turn on the shower.

You stumble out of your jeans as he quickly sheds his own clothes before wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you under the warm stream of water and holds your body against his, the feeling of his bare skin making your head spin. He takes the bottle of bodywash from the small shelf and pops the cap with one hand, turning it upside down and squirting a ridiculous amount all over your chest and his.

You giggle and he grins, returning the bottle to the shelf before crushing his lips against yours. The soap makes your skin slide against his in the most delicious way and you can feel your core clench, eliciting a wanton moan from your open mouth. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth and claiming you with hungry, sloppy kisses.

“Didn’t think you’d be jealous,” he murmurs against your mouth, “didn’t think you fuckin’ cared about me.”

You slide your hands across his bare shoulders and behind his neck, finding purchase in his wet hair and tugging gently as you kiss him with every ounce of passion that you have.

“I do care,” you sigh when his lips leave yours to lap at your neck, “I am fucking jealous.”

“Sweethear’,” he whispers, his hands moving to your breasts, “you’ve got nothin’ to be fuckin’ jealous ‘bout.”

His mouth leaves your skin as he turns you to face the wall, pressing his body against your back before pushing you into the tiled wall. You gasp first at the sudden cold, and then at the feeling of him grinding himself against your ass.

“I’m yours,” he growls, his lips against your shoulder, “always fuckin’ have been.”

You still manage to speak despite the pleasure of him threatening to overwhelm you. “Then why?”

One hand wraps gently around your throat while the other splays across your lower belly, teasing the place just below that aches for his touch.

“‘Cause I never fuckin’ dreamed that I’d have you,” he says, his lips at your ear now.

You reach back with one hand, holding the nape of his neck as you turn so that your mouth can meet his in a messy kiss.

“You’ve always had me,” you murmur, “I belonged to you the day I met you.”

His hips buck against your ass, pressing you against the wall and making you whimper.

“You’re mine,” he says, moving back just enough for you to turn around.

You nod as you lean down to kiss his neck. Your tongue laving at his wet skin before your teeth sink in and he hisses, one hand squeezing your hip as the other smacks against the tiled wall.

“All yours.”

You place your hands against his chest, pushing him back enough for you to drop to your knees, your hands trailing down his body until they reach his hips. You dig your fingers in and look up at him through your wet lashes.

“Show me who I belong to.”

END.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

In the Dead of Night

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Swan!Reader

Warnings:none really, renee being a bad mom, reader having to basically parent both renee and bella, charlie being typical charlie, edward maybe ooc?

Words:5712

Nessa=Renesmee but like hell I’m keeping that name xD

You felt a bit shell shocked when your father drove his police cruiser through the small town of Forks. Both you and Bella have your faces pressed against your respective windows. Charlie catches a glimpse of his daughters via rear view mirror and smiles a little to himself.

Gone was the sand of Arizona as was the blazing sun that had you feeling uncomfortable in your own skin. Little love would be lost from leaving Arizona. That was something you and Bella could agree on.

The blues and grays that was a perpetual filter over Forks better suited you. Spending your last high school year wouldn’t be too bad. Then you could decide to live anywhere you want. No more responsibility for Bella and suffering from a flighty and unpredictable mom. While you love them both dearly, it wasn’t easy growing up having to act like a parent to both of them. Bella excelled academically, but you constantly worried for her safety. She was like a magnet for danger. There was always a scrap to bandage or something else that required you to comfort her through.

Renee was no better. It was worse being a mother to your actual mom. You were the one to always call her when it was getting too late. Always you taking care of Bella because Renee took a surprise trip and just left you a note and some money.

Just because you were a year older than your sister, Renee deemed you ready enough to be a substitute mom.

At least she never let the two of you go starving or without anything. That much you would give her.

There was hardly any emotional warmth in the house though.

Much like everything else about Forks, nothing seemed to have changed in Charlie’s home. The two small beds had new sheets on them but everything else was as you and Bella had left it.

“Sorry the two of you have to share a room.” Charlie awkwardly apologizes. He addresses you “I know how older kids like to have their own space.”

That was laughable. You’d never had your own space, but it was sweet of him. “Don’t worry about it.” You offer him an unsteady grin as you and your sister still felt partially awkward around your dad. It’s been years since you’ve even spoken to him for this long. He never fought to see you and seemed perfectly satisfied to lose contact with both of you.

Every inch of the room was frozen in time as your eyes rove in observation.

You remind yourself that it was just one. More year. One more year and just one bathroom shared between the three of you.

Breaking the silence was a sharp honk coming from right outside your bedroom window. Both you and Bella scramble to peer out of it.

A beat up, rusty red pickup truck turns its engine off. You’re still unable to see its occupants.

“That would be Billy Black.” Your dad explained with a small smile.

the last name did ring a bell in your vague memory from. Childhood. You look at Bella who just shrugs and follows Charlie into the hallway.

Outside a young teenager is helping an older man into a waiting wheelchair.

Charlie clears his throat. “You girls remember billy Black.”

Billy’s smile is warm and makes your posture relax a bit. “Glad you’re finally here.”

Both he and Charlie become distracted by their own conversation leaving the teen boy to introduce himself. “I’m Jacob. I think both of you made mud pies with me and my sisters when we were younger.”

Mud pies did sound familiar but that resurfacing memory fades when Charlie tells you that the truck is a gift for you and Bella. A homecoming gift.

**

Parking your truck in the student lot, you drum your fingers along the steering wheel. Bella in the passenger seat inhales deeply.

“We’ll get through this.” you remind her.

She looks at you with large, nervous eyes. When she was frightened, Bella always reminded you of Bambi. “Yeah. It’s just. . . the first day of school is always the worst. And we know absolutely no one here.”

“I know you.” You pipe in and it makes Bella smile if only a little bit. “That’s gotta be worth something. C’mon. Best we get acquainted with the school before the bell rings.”

Centering your courage, you tell yourself this was just another day at a high school that was like many others throughout the country.

After paying a visit to the school’s office to get your schedules, you and Bella hold them up to compare classes. Due to age you didn’t have any of the same classes together.

Too busy studying your piece of paper, you don’t notice the hurried footsteps rushing behind you.

“New girls!”

You jump, letting out a high pitch curse word. Bella holds her hand to her chest like she just experienced a heart attack. 

Thoroughly annoying both Swan sister was a kid closer to Bella’s age. His smile was friendly enough but you didn’t appreciate how he had snuck up on you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you guys!”

His name was Eric and turned out to be very insistent that he show you two around.

Reluctantly you go along with it, figuring no harm came from knowing at least one person.

Even though he was a tad annoying, Eric did prove to be a helpful guide.

You and Bella started your first few classes without a hitch.

At lunch, Bella introduced you to two more kids she had met in her gym class as well as a bubbly girl who blinded you by the pictures she took of you and your sister. 

You’d met a few of your same year classmates and found them agreeable. They must have liked you too because they did invite you to eat with them. You didn’t want to leave Bella by herself the first day though. Integration was not something Bella was keen on. 

In grade school you’d often be called in from your own class to help Bella calm down. It was safer just to make sure she was happily acclimated before you went off to do your own thing. 

You mind wanders as you pick at your food. Peers around talk of typical high school experiences and asked you about your school in Arizona. 

Jessica is chatting animatedly with Bella until the double doors of the cafeteria that led outside open.

Five of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen saunter inside like they own the damn place.

Painfully divine, their skin as smooth as porcelain and blemish free. Eyes painted in differing shades of golden honey. 

The first four were paired off, leaving the boy with bronze colored hair trailing behind them.

Even Bella couldn’t tear her eyes from them as Jessica tells both of you about the Cullens. Adopted by the local doctor and how infamously unobtainable Edward was.

Gorgeous they were, but there’s a coldness to them.

As if reading your thoughts, Edward’s eyes happen to single you out and stare. He reminded you of a predatory hawk with those intense irises that were so unusual. You’d never seen anyone with an eye color like that before. Like a polished piece of precious metal.

Eerily he grins at you before returning his attention to his adoptive siblings.

First one to get out, you wait for Bella in the truck as the last shriek of the bell rings through the air above the school. 

You spot her, a deep frown already on her face. When she gets in you ask what’s wrong. Of course she’s always reluctant to say right away what’s bothering her. Possibly taking after Charlie too much in that respect.

“That Edward guy is in my biology class.” She mumbles while buckling herself in. By her tone it didn’t sound like a good thing. “I had to sit next to him and. . . he was just really weird.”

“How so?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “He was making facing like I smelled.”

Leaning in, you give her a big sniff making Bella’s cheeks self consciously pinken. “You smell fine to me.”

That wasn’t enough to satisfy her though.

“Don’t worry about him.” You halfheartedly offer. “There’s clearly something wrong with him.”

Not until the next day would you have your own strange encounter with Edward Cullen.

Barely having just closed our locker, you jump when you see him standing there. At your bemused expression, Edward awkwardly smiles and leans against the lockers. “You’re (y/n) Swan.”

“And you’re Edward Cullen.” You raise a challenging brow. All last night Bella had been so concerned about how she smelled thanks to this guy.

The lightness of his smile dims and you notice how he appears to mentally back step as to not say anything stupid.

“Feels like I’m failing at that already.” He says under his breath.

“What?”

“Sorry.” He closes his pretty eyes that had pinned you in place. “I. . .”

Bella bounds over to you in a hurry, almost bumping into other students in the process. “Here (y/n)! I think I accidentally. . .” she notices Edward standing next to you “took your notebook. . .”

You see Bella shrink into herself as she hands you your notebook. Yup, it was your’s. Tattered and covered with sharpie doodles on the front. “Thanks Bells.”

Before things could get awkward, Edward immediately blurts “I”m sorry about yesterday. I was not quite feeling well that day before class.”

By Bella’s eyebrows creasing, you read that as Bella not quite buying his excuse. However she didn’t press and simply nods in acknowledgement. “I-It’s okay.”

Even you don’t necessarily buy it but at least he apologized. Now that the air was clear of that mess, you bid Edward a goodbye and tell Bella you’d see her at lunch.

Throughout the day though, you caught Edward staring at you. It always felt like he could read your mind because the moment you thought this creepy, he would avert his focus and look to somewhere else.

Following days, while you didn’t catch him staring at you, you would fel his nearness. You couldn’t say his attention was unwelcome. After all, he was incredibly good looking to an unbelievable degree.

Bella thought him weird, but she’d had a chip on her shoulder toward him since the first day.

Once in a while, she’d point out that the smallest of the Cullens, Alice, had been staring at you. Catching her doing this only once, Alice merely smiled at you unabashedly like you were a friend from long ago.

Stranger to come was when they actually start talking to you (besides the blondie Rosalie). A few words here and there. According to Jessica they never talk to anyone else outside of their family bubble.

A month passes and your new Forks routine finally feels normal and established. 

Bella tend to spend all of her free time in La Push with Jacob and his friends. You encourage this for it granted you precious time to yourself. For a few hours, the house was entirely your’s. You enjoy lounging in the living room, your books and papers scattered everywhere as you lazily “study” while simultaneously watching tv. 

A tickle along your neck alerted you to an unseen presence though. Apprehension pulls your face away from the screen and off to the side where the window was. While you weren’t completely sure, you thought you saw a flash of movement.

Incidences like that continued until March. 

Edward’s action became bolder toward you. Conversations lasting more than a few seconds. From bits and pieces you started to pick up on odd little quirks. Sometimes you were so sure that he could read your mind.

You found his awkwardness around you admittedly adorable. From the way Jessica had described him, you thought he was stuck up due to his good looks. Also you hadn’t forgotten how distant all the Cullens were to their peers. But he’d be a little tongue tied around you. Scrambling to come up with appropriate words. Amusing to watch him stumble over himself. 

Until he asked you out. On an actual date.

It could have been a prank. This wouldn’t be the first time someone asked you out for it to only be a joke. Of course this would cause you to be apprehensive.

“Now why would Edward Cullen want to go out on a date with the new girl?” You fold your arms in front of your chest.

Instead of being intimidated by your defensive stance, Edward smiles. “You make it sound like me liking you is impossible.”

“Ah, you like me.” Damn, your heart did flutter at that and there was a stupid smile that was trying to force your lips upward.

“I know I don’t know much about you. But I would like to.” Edward adds when he sensed your wavering skepticism. 

“Since when are you dating Edward Cullen?!” Bella slammed the door of the truck.

You have to mentally count now. “Well, it’s probably been a week now.” After your first date, during the time where Charlie and Bella were out of the house, you knew that there would be more dates to come. Never had you got along so well with anyone. There had been no awkward moments and the mere lulls in conversation had been neutral. One odd thing about it was that Edward had eaten so little of his food.

Her eyes are comically large with disbelief. “You can’t be serious. H-How-“

“Well I’ve finally had time to myself.” You shrug. “Figure that time would be better spent doing something that makes me happy.” Edward hadn’t been as odd as you initially expected him to be. Sure he spoke like an old timey gentleman. His speech pattern was eloquent, a lost talent among boys these days that utterly delighted you.

“(Y/n). . . I don’t trust him. . . Or the rest of his family for that fact.” She uncomfortably looks ahead, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Why’s that?”

She bites her bottom lip, a nasty habit she’d developed when she was in kindergarten. “There’s just something not right about them. Jake was telling me something about them. How they don’t go there due to a pact their ancestors made with his. They were called the Cold Ones.”

You wanted to laugh at her serious tone. That girl was reading too many supernatural romance books. “You realize how silly that sounds.”

“I’m being serious.”

Trying to focus on your driving, you only half listen to her. “So am I Bella.”

Edward asked you to the spring dance the very next day.

Come April, you and Edward would be together for nearly a month. Impressive in your eyes considering that this was your first real relationship. In that time, Edward invited you over to his house many times. You got to know the rest of the family. You didn’t want to pick favorites but Emmett and Alice definitely held a special place in your heart.

They took care of you when you were lonely or had been fighting with Bella and Charlie.

Dating Edward had suddenly become a fuse in your relationship with the both of them. Neither liked you dating a member of the Cullens. You didn’t understand. For Charlie it may have been a protective father thing, but you still didn’t know why Bella held on to her dislike of them so fervently. You wouldn’t take the story Jacob gave her as an excuse.

Esme especially became the caring mother you never had. She was patient and was good at listening to your problems, even giving you words of wisdom. You felt whole when you were with them.

This was something Charlie and Bella couldn’t comprehend.

**

“Bella?”

While that voice had never spoken to her before, Bella knew the owner.

She turned around to face the petite Alice who was like a real life pixie.

Her guard is put up immediately. The Cullens only ever spoke to her sister (y/n). This. . . This was new. They hadn’t even bothered looking her way. Not even when Edward would come up to her when Bella was there and just swoop in.

Alice smiles prettily. “I was wondering if we can talk? Just for a few minutes, I promise.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

The smaller girl doesn’t reply but looks around uncertainly. “I was hoping I can speak with you somewhere less crowded.”

Pursing her lips, the last thing she wanted to do was be alone with her. Still, it was better than for them to get odd looks.

Bella relented and followed Bella to an empty corridor where the janitor’s closet was tucked away.

Alice began immediately “This is going to sound crazy. I know it will. But I need you to understand something about your sister and Edward. I know their relationship must seem so out of the blue. And I know you don’t particularly like us. (Y/n) and Edward, they’re meant to be together.”

And (y/n) had told her that Jacob’s story had sounded silly. This was downright insane for Alice to be saying.

She had sparse time to wrap her head around it before Alice spoke again. “It’s a deeper connection than between a human male and female. They’re coming together was predestined.”

Now Bella couldn’t hold it in as she let out her laugh. She couldn’t help the giggles that rolled out of her.

A frown upon her lips, Alice stood there until Bella quieted down.

Wiping the small tears that had pricked at her eyes, Bella said “Yeah that does sound crazy. You sound crazy.”

“Bella-“

“Look,” Bella checks the time on her phone to make sure the bell wouldn’t ring anytime soon “you, Edward and your entire weird family need to leave us alone.”

**

The ride home that day was absolute shit.

You and Bella were screaming at one another as you tried not to let your rage translate to your driving. How dare she have the gull to tell you that you needed to stop seeing Edward. Stop running to his family. What Alice had said was weird, that was true, but Alice had always been a little weirder than the rest of her family. That’s what you liked most about Alice. She wouldn’t apologize for being different.

When you reach the house, you slam on your breaks and tell Bella to get out.

“This is my truck too!!” Bella yells at you, refusing to move.

“Isabella Marie Swan” you hiss and Bella freezes having heard that tone before. It was the one you used to scold her when she was being a naughty child “You are my sister and I love you, but you need to get the fuck out of this truck.”

Her eyes are filling with trembling tears as she looks at you with shock smacking her cheeks pink with indignation and hurt.

You glare at her using all of your built up resentment that you’d accumulated through the years. Having to put Bella before yourself. Really it wasn’t her fault. The fault lay on Renee, but the way Bella was acting right now made you furious.

Slowly, she puts her hand on the door handle and pushes it open. She slips out but makes sure to slam the door extra hard.

Not bothering to look back, you shift into reverse and peel out of there.

There was only one place you wanted to be right now. People who would understand you.

Vampire.

Now that was to be the shock of the day.

You stare at the broken blade of the butcher knife that Edward had used to demonstrate the strength of his skin. He even read your mind to the ‘t’.

“So. . . Mates?” You hesitantly bring up the catalyst to Edward telling you that he and the rest of his family were vampires. That was what Bella had said Alice called them.

Bashfully he grins. “Ah. . . Yeah. Vampires mate for life. And. . . Well, Alice can see the future. She saw a future with us together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Worry shines in his eyes. Would this be too much for you? The expression seemed to say.

Your head is buzzing and warm from all of this. So much had happened in just two hours that you were having a slow time at processing everything. This was a lot.

“Sorry to spring this all on you.” Edward sighs. “I’ve been thinking on how I would tell you. As you can see it’s not something I can tell just anyone. I was scared that you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you would feel our relationship forced.”

“It’s definitely a lot, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you.” You smile up at him and the break of relief on his face sends your own smile onto your lips.

He holds you to him and you return the embrace tenfold. The Cullens had been the best things to happen in your life. To know that you always belonged with them was enough to reinforce that thought.

“Is it too soon to say I love you?” He whispers against your temple.

“Not for us.”

May passed as did the spring dance where you and Edward had come to a certain agreement.

This agreement was discussed with the rest of the Cullens. Everyone was on board (of course again except for Rosalie).

Tension at the Swan household had been near suffocating. You had to be patient though.

The day of senior graduation wouldn’t be remembered for the event itself. It would always be remembered as the last day anyone saw you.

***

Three years.

That’s how long her sister had been missing.

Three years since the Cullens had been gone as well, their house lay vacant and empty. As if they had never lived there.

Charlie had exhausted all resources in trying to find (y/n).

Bella didn’t have it in her to leave the state for college. Not with Charlie still a mess. He cursed the Cullen name daily. People looked at them with pity.

She attended college via computer to be close to Charlie and keep an eye on him. In the meantime she’d picked up a job at the store Mike’s father owned. Decent money, enough to put her through school along with her scholarships.

Honestly, Bella wished she knew if her sister left on purpose or by force. Maybe that would lessen the hurt she left in her wake.

It was looking bleak though and nearly everyone stopped searching for her.

Huffing out a sigh, Bella runs her fingers through her hair in weariness and sets down her pencil. She couldn’t focus anymore. Not when the anniversary of (y/n)’s disappearance was one month away. It was like every day leading up to (y/n)’s senior graduation was being replayed in Bella’s dreams. The constant fighting and ensuing silence that followed were daily occurrences in those weeks. Bella had called (y/n) delusional. (Y/n) had called Bella an ungrateful brat.

So many words she wanted to take back but the damage was done.

The doorbell rings, calling Bella to attention and she sluggishly leaves her room to glide down the stairs. She opens the door and her heart nearly stops.

“(Y-y/n)?”

The person at her door looked so much like (y/n) except. . . Well, (y/n) wasn’t ugly, but she’d never been this beautiful. Her skin was stunning and seemed to glow. The best features of her face seemed to be enhanced in some way. Makeup maybe but Bella couldn’t say for sure.

What was absolutely different from (y/n) were the gold colored eyes. Cullen eyes.

Speaking of, Edward stood to the side of her looking the same as he did three years ago. His eyes matched (y/n)’s.

On (y/n)’s other side. . .

Bella had never seen this girl before. Eerily though she looked like both (y/n) and Edward mixed together but she was far too old to be their kid. No way. But. . . She had the color of what (y/n)’s eyes used to be. The warmest brown. Her fair skinned face is framed by Edward’s bronze ringlets.

“Hey. . .” (Y/n) tries to smile. “Please don’t freak out but can we come in?”

Dumbly, Bella stares and she vaguely remembers nodding her head before letting the three inside.

(Y/n)’s gold eyes move quickly around the house. “Wow. . . Still nothing has changed.” She murmured to herself.

It was like Bella was watching a ghost float down the hall to the living room. Edward and the unnamed girl following after her. The girl shot worrying looks over to Bella before following Edward.

Stiffly, Bella followed the procession into the living room and watched them sit down.

“You’re alive.”

(Y/n) grimaced and chooses her words carefully. “Yes. . . I. . . I’m so sorry Bella.

Bella looked at Edward. “You ran away with him.”

She nodded and Edward put a protective hand atop of (y/n)’s. Only then did Bella spot the gold band wrapped around (y/n)’s left ring finger.

Swallowing thickly, Bella looked at her older sister. “You eloped.” She corrected herself.

“Yes.” (Y/n) replied within a heartbeat. “I don’t regret the decision but I regret hurting you and Charlie. I should have left a note but I was so angry with the both of you. It was childish and I’m sorry if you and Charlie suffered.”

Both Edward and the young girl watch Bella carefully; gauging her reaction.

“And. . .” (Y/n) glanced at Edward who subtly nods “and I wanted to explain why I left and for you to meet our daughter, Nessa.”

**

Oh were you nervous.

You didn’t even think a vampire could feel this nervous.

If only you could read your sister better. Not even Edward could delve into her mind though.

This was bad. You knew coming had been a bad idea and that you may make things worse by telling her. But you couldn’t let go of the guilt with just up and leaving Bella. For the longest time you had watched over her. It felt weird to just abandon her. At the same time though, eloping with Edward had been something you really needed.

You’d married Edward immediately when you were deemed a safe distance away.

The life you had chosen was not what you had first anticipated.

From that first night of being physical with Edward, you became pregnant. He had planned to change you the very next day but now he couldn’t.

Everyone freaked out most certainly, but while the pregnancy was not the easiest, it definitely moved along quickly.

Early on you found how blood actually fed you and the fetus better than any human food. Great practice for what you would have to do once you were transformed. Edward had doubts of if you would survive. Alice’s sight was what gave you your calm. No matter what she still saw you in Edward’s future. As she did your daughter.

You couldn’t meet your daughter right away after her birth.

Once she’d been removed from you, Edward immediately changed you. This was all part of the plan. Everyone knew going into it that it would be unlikely for you to survive naturally. The only thing that would save you would be vampire venom.

Before your state got any weaker, Edward sunk his teeth into you.

You were born again into a sturdier body.

Your hybrid daughter, much like in the womb, grew fast but you noticed a decline in growth once her second birthday came around. Now she looked much like your frozen age of eighteen.

You knew she’d have an incredulous look when you introduced Nessa. It easily led into you explaining what had happened. You even used the same demonstration Edward had three years prior when telling you that he was a vampire. You’d buy Charlie a new knife to replace the broken one that bent against the force of your diamond strong skin. 

All the while, Bella was absolutely silent. She couldn’t take her eyes off of you or Nessa. Then after you’re done speaking, her focus turns to your husband and Bella’s brown eyes narrow. 

Wanting to erase that expression of deep bitterness that she shot Edward, you apologize once again for leaving. How many times had you apologized?

“You abandoned us for them. We thought. . . We were thinking the worst (y/n). All this time. . .” Bella’s eyes burned with a mixture of hurt and betrayal. Her bottom lip which she usually chewed when she was nervous trembled. While her and Charlie had been worried sick, (y/n) had become this monstrously beautiful creature. You could feel her emotions boiling over and you allow her to scald you. “And you waited three years to come back.”

“I had to get through the newborn phase.” Hastily you explain. “There was no way I could have seen you earlier. I needed. . . Needed to learn control over this new body of mine.”

You’re grateful that Edward keeps quiet but you could feel him stir beside you, not liking how you’re basically groveling with explanations with the hope that Bella would forgive you. He had warned you about this. About it being too much for Bella.

“Control.” Bella laughed at that making you inwardly flinch at the disdain dripping from her. “This is what you call control? Abandoning your family, leaving us in agony-”

“For the longest time I had to give up MY own happiness.” Instantly you snap, feeling heat rush through you although you knew that you couldn’t really get hot or cold. “I gave up my childhood to take care of not just you but freaking Renee too!! I wanted to be selfish for once in my life. And yes, it has made me beyond happy making a life with the Cullens and MY daughter.”

Never had you voiced your resentment of never having anything to yourself. Bella couldn’t have possibly known.

Now Bella’s narrowed eyes turn to Nessa who is staring wide eyed at her aunt. “And what about her? What kind of abomination is she? A mix of human and vampire? How could you bring such a monstrosity into this world?”

Abruptly, Edward stands. Unable to let her slander go on any further even as you grab at the sleeve of his shirt to pull him back down. Nessa’s face fell, her innocent eyes cloud with hurt making even you want to snap at your cruel sister. “She’s our daughter, Bella. She’s not a monster. She’s a beautiful, innocent child who deserves love and acceptance.”

From how fast he had stood, Bella had pressed herself into the couch; partially out of fear of what an enraged vampire would do.

Glancing at Nessa, you notice that Bella did seem to soften even if a little bit when she caught the hurt on Nessa’s face. 

Taking a deep breath, Bella pulls her back away from the couch cushion. Even if she hated you for leaving, she had no reason to hate your daughter. Something in her throat bobs with emotion. “I’m sorry Nessa. . . But I can’t condone any of this.” She goes back to you. “You ran off to live some happy little life while leaving Charlie and I to mourn. I’m sorry it was so terrible taking care of me that you felt you had to run away.”

“Bella-”

“I need all of you to get out before Charlie comes home. He. . . He can’t see you like this.” 

You don’t want to leave, not until Bella understood why you left but it was a losing battle as she could only focus on her hurt. 

Nessa grabs your hand and through her supernatural talent of conveying her thoughts and feelings, she sends you comforting waves of how you were still loved by her and the Cullens. That this didn’t have to be the end of it, but that it would be best to give your sister space.

Your Nessa had always been so smart beyond her years thanks to her accelerated brain. You squeeze her hand in your grip and nod.

Leaving made you feel like you had lost but it was the best thing to do right now and not push Bella. 

Edward kept his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he led you and Nessa back to his car.

“That could have gone so much worse.” You say once all of you return to the old Cullen house. Nessa had gone off to help Esme with cleaning up the place. They’d always loved their Forks home and were loathe to leave in the beginning. You promised Esme that all of you would return one day. 

Edward kisses your temple and hums. “Didn’t expect her to say those things about Nessa.” He was still upset at that. Nessa was a miracle and the family’s pride and joy. After giving birth to her, Rosalie even started to warm up toward you. 

You wished you had seen Charlie but Bella may have been right about it best that he didn’t see you so changed. Alice had given you contact lenses that matched your human color eyes but they irritated your eyes and would only last for an hour or two. 

“I did hurt them by leaving.” You mumble. “I know that. Is it bad that I don’t regret my actions though?” The fact that you hadn’t even left a note had bothered you the past three years. Instead you let Edward spirit you away in the dead of night where no prying eyes could see where you disappeared into.

“You did what you had to do to get freedom.” Edward coaxes you to the tarp covered couch and onto his lap so your head lay on his chest. He cradles you in his arms and holds you close to him. “We have Nessa now because of the decisions you made.”

Yes, you had your Nessa and a family that actually supported you instead of forcing so much responsibility on you. 

You were unarguably happier than before.

----

Tag:

@thedragonqueensblog​

[e-dubbc11]

Scars

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of childhood trauma, attempted kidnapping, fluff, smooches

Word Count: 1.8K-ish

Summary: Billy comes home while you’re taking a nap, he notices a scar on your ankle and wants to know the story of where it came from

A/N: I found this idea online somewhere. I needed a little help with new ideas and this caught my eye. I hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The weather outside your window changed quickly from the early afternoon sun immersing the surrounding buildings in its warm light to it disappearing behind the fast moving gray clouds that swallowed up the bright blue sky.

“Where did the sunshine go?” You said out loud to yourself from your penthouse perch, gazing down at the busy city below.

This time of year could be quite unpredictable as far as the weather goes. Late summer was still very hot, sometimes less humid, and could get a little cool at night into the early morning. But also the sun could be blazing in the sky one minute and the next time you looked outside, your once blue sky was now fully covered in dull gray clouds, ready to rain down on top of you.

And then you heard it, the sound of light rain tapping against the window as you gathered everything you needed to give yourself a relaxing home pedicure. You had the bubbling and warming foot spa, the lavender bath salts, moisturizing lotion, and all of the tools you needed.

Soaking your feet after a long day at work felt wonderful. The hot water bubbled under the balls of your feet, massaging away the stress of your day. As you inhaled sharply and let out a forceful exhale, your shoulders relaxed and your eyes closed, tuning everything out except the rhythmic sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Hopefully, you will be finished before Billy comes home.

**********

Faintly, you could hear the rain drumming against the roof. Earlier, that sound had lulled you to sleep and it was also the first thing you heard as you were starting to stir. After painting your nails, you told yourself you were just going to close your eyes for a minute while they were drying.

An hour later, you didn’t even hear Billy come home.

The strong scent of nail polish hung in the air as he walked through the door. Billy called out to you but you didn’t hear him.

“Baby?” He said softly.

No answer.

Meticulously, Billy put his things away…his keys, jacket, gun. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt sleeves so he could roll them up to his elbows. He followed the scent of nail polish to your shared bedroom and paused in the doorway to briefly watch you while you slept.

Outside, the sky was gloomy and overcast but inside you were his bright spot. You were the warm afternoon sun that danced across his face and made him smile after his dismal ride home.

Billy carefully walked over to the bed, looked at your newly painted toes and smiled because you had painted them black, his favorite. They shined like patent leather even in the dimly lit room. Your hands were resting on your stomach and he watched as your chest rose and fell gently with every breath you took.

He committed to memory the way you looked at that moment, the soft comfortable shorts you were wearing, his hoodie that you constantly stole from him to keep your arms warm, and he loved the peaceful look you had on your face while you slept.

When he looked closely at your ankle, he spotted a triangle shaped scar that he had never noticed before. Billy thought he had memorized every inch of your body but he didn’t remember if you had ever mentioned how you got that one.

Reaching for you with his agile fingers, he lightly and slowly traced the outline of your scar, while desperately trying not to wake you. Billy had a very light touch but between the rain and the slight tickle you felt on your ankle, your eyes gradually fluttered open.

A sly smile stretched across your lips as you looked down and saw him tracing the scar on your ankle.

“Whatcha doin’, handsome?” You asked.

Before turning his head to look at you, Billy smiled and replied, “I was admiring your fresh pedicure when I noticed this scar and I don’t know what it’s from, I thought I knew every mark on your body. Why don’t I know about this one?”

Billy’s tone was somber and his lips pulled back over his teeth like he was upset that he didn’t know all about your scar.

“It’s just an old bicycle injury, Billy. It’s not a big deal.” You replied and shrugged at the same time as you tried to conceal how nervous you were.

Billy brought his gaze up to yours, his endless brown eyes looked like two black ink wells and the muscles in his jaw tensed when he asked about the scar.

“Tell me, my love.” He said with an uncomfortable smile, almost like he knew it wasn’t JUST an old bicycle injury.

“Billy, I don’t know—“ You had started to say before he interrupted you.

“Just tell me what happened, sweet girl.” He said calmly. “It’s ok.”

Trying to smile, you sat upright in bed with your back resting on the headboard. It had been a long time since you had thought about that day.

It was around this time of year, late summer, the sun was high in the sky so it had to have been around lunchtime or a little after when you were outside playing with your brother and your cousin. You were probably around 11 and the three of you were getting ready to ride your bikes back home from the park where you were playing.

You were the oldest, it was your job to watch out for the younger ones, so you let them ride up ahead of you. Once they had turned onto your street, you felt immense relief that you were almost home and that’s when you sensed a car slowly pull up behind you.

And then you heard that voice.

“Hey sweetheart, you lost? Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?” He had said with an evil smile.

“Pretty…” Billy hated that word. As you looked over at him, he had clenched his fist, his face was flushed with rage, while he gripped the blanket on the bed so tight that you thought he may rip it.

You couldn’t recall what the man looked like when he called out to you but you do remember his voice. It sounded like he did nothing but smoke cigarettes all day, it was deep, scratchy and made your skin crawl, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Nervously shaking your head, you said, “No, I’m fine.”

Your heart was leaping out of your chest and you felt the sweat on your brow about to trickle down your forehead when you decided to make a run for it. When you forcefully pushed down on the bike pedal, your foot slipped and you ended up slicing your ankle on the jagged teeth of the pedal which is when another man jumped from the car and tried to grab you.

But you managed to pedal as fast as you could to catch up to your brother and your cousin who were waiting for you around the corner from where the man tried to grab you.

They didn’t follow you and you never saw them again but the memory always came back when the scent of clove cigarettes was in the air, or heard a deep raspy male voice, or felt someone walking behind you.

It was something from your childhood that you never spoke of again until now, not even to your brother or your cousin who were with you that day. And you’ve been looking over your shoulder ever since.

Knowing what Billy had been through as a young child, your entire body tensed watching him seethe with anger. His cheeks were flushed and you could hear him grinding his teeth while still tightly gripping the blanket in between his fingers.

“Billy? Say something, please.” You said, breaking the silence.

He gently kissed the scar on your ankle and crawled from the foot of the bed up to you, pulled you into his chest and kissed the top of your head. His heartbeat pounded against your ear as you melted into his arms and closed your eyes.

“You don’t look over your shoulder when you’re with me, baby.” He said in a slightly confused tone.

You pulled away to snake your arms around his neck and look into his eyes.

With a warm smile, you replied, “Being with you is the ONLY time I don’t look over my shoulder, Billy. Because I know they’d have to get through you to get to me.”

Billy gently pressed his lips to yours which tasted like peppermint. His shoulders relaxed a little as he smiled back and said, “I’ll never let anything happen to you, sweet girl. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

After finally telling someone your secret, the weight of that secret had finally been removed from your chest and you could breathe a little easier now. Your terrifying childhood experience that had been kept inside all of these years was finally out in the open but you were ok with it.

“I love you.” You said in barely more than a whisper as your eyes welled up with tears. “So much, Billy.”

Billy just smiled, lightly brushed his knuckles against your cheek, and kissed you again before saying, “I love you too, sweet girl. And I’ll pay to have that scar removed, just say the word and it will be gone.”

In that moment, you felt so loved, so seen, and understood. All he wanted to do was make sure you were happy, that you were ok, and he would do anything for you to make that happen, even going as far as paying to have your scar removed.

“Oh Billy…that’s so sweet. But my bike probably saved my life, and yes, looking at that scar reminds me of that day but I’m very thankful for that bicycle and the mark it left on me…literally.” You said, trying to smile. “Thank you, my love.”

Although your experience wasn’t the same as Billy’s, he knew it could have been so much worse for you than it was but that didn’t make him any less angry about it. Your only wish was that he had been able to escape his worst nightmare also.

He knew what kind of real life monsters existed in this world and that he may never have had the chance to meet you if they had taken you. You were the person that understood him the most and loved him for exactly who he was. He didn’t even want to think about what his life would be like without you…but he’d never have to.

“Well, if you ever change your mind…” Said Billy, pulling you tight to his chest again.

You would always be there for each other, for love, comfort, or just to listen.

Relaxing into his embrace, you kissed him on the neck, and said with a smile, “I know, baby…I know.”

It felt good to finally let go.

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @fakehappy27 @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @celestialend @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @vaguekayla @rosaleenablack @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads @ittybxttykxttytxtty

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[goosetheluce]

you're my home (lucy gray baird x fem!reader)

info: cussing, ever so slight angst, mutual pining, confession, reader is running from district twelve with lucy gray

a/n: it's not weird to have a crush on someone with the first name as you !! taylor swift and taylor lautner did it leave me alone

»--•--«

you stirred from your rest at the bright sunbeams pouring through the trees. and maybe also lucy gray's insistent tugging and repetition of your name.

"holy shit," she grumbles, clearly dismayed. "wake up! we're almost there. gotta get moving."

" 'm up. lord."

you heaved a sigh and arched your back, a tight line of pops rushing down your spine. you took a deep inhale, eyes shutting again as you ran a hand along your fucked up, greasy hair.

traveling on foot for a week isn't the most flattering look.

when you peeled your eyes open, you were met with lucy gray's judging stare beating down on you. considering the way the corners of her lips twitched, though, you knew she couldn't stay annoyed at your heavy sleeping for too long.

"gimme a break, lucy gray. i'm not used to this," you rasped. you rolled out of your tent and lay dramatically on the forest floor. what's a little more dirt, anyway?

she scoffed and her radiance peeked through her exasperated face. the wide smile woke you up a little more.

"should've hung out with the covey more while we were still around the district," she scolds, grabbing your soft hands and wrapping them in hers to pull you to your feet. "might've taught you how to not be a baby."

"maybe. but i ran away with you, didn't i?" you retorted. "i think that makes me pretty grown."

lucy gray's playful smile faded into a more serene one. she simply gave a nod and stepped away, picking up her backpack.

"look what i found while you were asleep," she murmured. she pulled out eggs (poor mother bird), and a bundle of herbs for tea later. your mouth watered.

"no salt and pepper?" you teased, taking an egg and inspecting it. it was heavy. you were hit with homesickness as you remembered your kitchen, which sometimes struggled to stay stocked, but at least you had the chance for butter.

you both decided on soft-boiling the eggs in the tiny pot you begged lucy gray to pack before you ventured off. you sat and ate, peeling away the crackling shell and talking about the journey and whatever else before packing up and hiking through another day.

things were natural with her. hell, everything about her was natural. her beauty was untouched by the standards of the capitol and instead flourished freely. it was evident in the lively bounce of her dark waves and her sunkissed olive skin. you wondered when the last time was you looked in the mirror without picking everything apart, envying lucy gray's outward confidence.

"i still can't believe we're doing this," you spoke up, the silence becoming insufferable.

lucy gray turns her head to meet your eyes, her expression neutral. sweat pooled on her hairline and dripped down her temples. you knew if you reached out to touch her, her skin would be blazing with the power of the sun. good thing she doesn't burn.

"like, running away and all that. i thought i'd rot away in twelve for the rest of my life."

till i met you, you added on silently.

lucy gray laughed.

"a woman like you? naw, i had to steal you away. couldn't let such a beauty go to work in those damned mines."

"you really think i'm that much of a priss?" you sighed, batting your eyelashes at her sarcastically.

"oh, honey, i never said that. sometimes a girl just wants a treat for herself. so i got my treat."

you blamed the high noon for your feverish cheeks.

the minutes turned into hours, and the shadows stretched across the grass. laughter rang across the fields.

"your first kiss was billy taupe? he's so fucking boring, i'm sorry," you cackled, eyes shut tight from hysteria. "sadly for the rest of us, though...next to you, anyone is boring."

"what? first kisses aren't exactly known to be glamorous," lucy gray defended. "besides, i got the real deal after him."

"oh?" you perked up, voice stabilizing. "this mystery guy must be the reason your head was in the clouds...at least, according to maude."

suddenly, the happiness drained from her face. "for a while, i guess. wasn't worth it." you averted your eyes to the front of the scenery. your grip tightened around the straps of your backpack.

"you deserve better. you'll find someone. a hot guy from district four, maybe," you teased, nudging her arm with your elbow.

like me.

"oh, perfect, a fisher! don't even need to buy cologne for his birthday; it'd be useless against that rank," she remarks sourly.

you giggled as her teasing gaze met yours. your grin was mirrored, and you memorized the crevices of her smile lines. her eyes fluttered down to your lips for a brief moment before she cleared her throat and unraveled her map.

you let out a deep breath and looked around. you remembered when you first met lucy gray, frozen and terrified to see somebody else outside the limits of twelve. she eyed you warily from the lake, her lips parted and brow furrowed.

you realized you should probably say something to the girl in the lake, but you didn't know what. she waded toward you and began a less-than-friendly warning before you interrupted her.

"we don't have food. i'm just out here to gather some things."

the girl's voice halted and her shoulders reluctantly dropped from their defensive position.

"thank god."

"what are you doing in there? aren't you gonna get caught?" you inquired nervously, eyes flitting everywhere. the girl laughed brightly.

"those joke 'peacekeepers' don't care about anything that goes on past the fences. not even a covey girl swimming. scandalous, i know."

you stared as the sun washed over her soaked hair.

"lucy gray baird," she offered up her name. "but you can call me lucy gray. that's what all my friends call me."

"i'm..." you started, walking to the edge of the dock to meet her at the water.

she muttered something quietly, bringing you back to the present.

"what's that?"

"ah, just that we should stop here for the night. it's not a good idea to go through the forest in the dark. so easy to get lost," lucy gray corrects herself. you nodded and looked around for a spot.

"there looks good," you suggested, pointing to a spot under a lone cluster of trees. lucy gray hums in agreement before starting towards the spot, taking your hand in hers. your heart skipped.

the sky wept deep indigo, bleeding down into the horizon as the sun sank. insects chirped and buzzed, their calls flowing through the tree leaves and across the grassy plains. the fire was warm; the smell of roasted game and pungent tea carried away in the wind. lucy gray's wavy voice split the thick summer air pleasantly. your eyes stayed fixed on her. her dainty fingers held her tea. a sly smile painted her face.

"you stare a lot," she remarked. "you know that, right?"

your eyebrows raised a bit. you kept looking, wondering how she'd noticed and still hadn't even looked up to meet your gaze. until she did.

god, you loved the way her eyes looked like a cup of black coffee. the way your grandma used to make it. or maybe the tree bark you peeled away from a rotting trunk as a kid. the soil embedded between your fingers after a long day of work.

"i do know that," you responded a second too late. awkward delivery. you swallowed and looked into the towering coniferous forest. shadows crept from beneath the canopy and raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

"we should probably wrap it up soon," you insisted. "put out the fire, get to bed, all that." you picked at a scab till it flaked off.

lucy gray scoffed, setting her tea beside your backpacks.

"the sun is barely gone. just 'cause the birds are sleepin' don't mean we are."

you said nothing in return, still wary of the woods nearby. your fingers pressed firmly into the skin of your arms, which were rested on your knees. you sighed and put your head down.

you felt lucy gray's gaze burning into you. you felt the former scab swelling and the droplet of blood spilling down your arm.

"you messed with it too much. might get infected if we don't clean it," she asserted. you smiled with your head on your knees. lucy gray was making an excuse to touch you. you wondered silently if she felt the same intense heartrate, the same jolt of electricity every time your arms brushed as you hiked through the countryside.

away from all the rules.

you lifted your head and saw lucy gray hurrying back with a damp towel and honey. your brow furrowed.

"what's that for?"

she chuckled as she kneeled down to wipe away the blood and dirt with the towel.

"it'll keep that cut clean. antibacterial properties an' all. trust me."

your breath hitched as the towel made contact with your cut. the gentle sting of raw honey being spread across the wound is what snapped your drooping eyelids back open.

definitely not lucy gray's lips so close to you.

"...hey," she whispered.

"hi?" you responded, smiling a bit.

"it's alright if you're homesick. you can talk to me about it, if you'd like."

you breathed out a long sigh and pressed your forehead to hers. she hesitated before bringing her left hand to rest on the side of your face.

"lucy gray," you began, but struggled to finish. you pulled back slightly to make eye contact.

"i'm not that homesick. i have you," you whispered softly.

"you're my home."

you were met with a tense silence. you wanted to turn and run, because how could you be so stupid to tell her that, and you ruined the moment, and-

suddenly her lips are pressing gently into yours. your eyes widened. the taste of the tea she was drinking lingered on your tongue as she shuffled back.

"fuck! fuck, i'm sorry, i wasn't thinkin'," she apologized, voice shaking as she stared at you. she fiddled with her hands anxiously. you'd never seen her so flustered.

all you did was make your way back to her, cupping her face in a heavy kiss. you smiled against her, feeling her body relax into yours. her hands rested on top of yours before sliding comfortably onto your waist. she pulled back, jet black eyes bright with starlight and exhilaration.

"coming with you, getting away from twelve...it's been the best decision i ever made," you confessed, dropping your hands from her face and instead rubbing her arms. "i've wanted nothing except you for like, a year now."

"we've known each other for almost three years. i'm wounded," lucy gray teased, her fingers unsuccessfully smoothing the top layer of your hair.

"well, was i better than billy taupe?"

"quiet, you."

»--•--«

[lilyswritings]

fate — xix

synopsis: Keep your head down, focus on getting through your classes, and try not to die. That had always been your plan of attack when it comes to attending Kings Dominion School of the Deadly Arts. But your life plans get thrown out the window as you find yourself growing attached to the new kid who refuses to lose his compassion and moral code, despite the ruthless curriculum and vicious social cliques he finds himself surrounded by.

author’s note: thank you all for still being here!! your passion for this series has really kept me going, and i sincerely appreciate each and every one of you who's still here. i am still following closely to the show, but as we are swiftly approaching the end of the tv show (ruh roh!) i will be making some changes. without further ado, please enjoy part nineteen!

wordcount: 2,819

part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || part vi || part vii || part viii || part ix || part x || part xi || part xii || part xiii || part xiv || part xv || part xvi || part xvii || part xviii || part xix || part xx

Marcus Lopez Arguello x Reader

     The dorm room is dead silent as you gape blankly at Petra. "No. Fucking. Way." You stare in horror at your roommate, mouth hung open as you attempt to process the slew of graphic information she just threw in your face. In response to your sheer outrage, she simply shrugs, black-painted lips turning up at the corners at the aghast expression on your face.

"Ew," You gasp, eyebrows furrowing as it seeps in, your eyes darting between your roommate, the sheets on your bed, to the chair in the corner, back to your roommate. "Ew! You and... Both of them? EW!" You stand up abruptly from your bed, eyes scanning the bedding below you in panic.

Petra's eyes twinkle with delight at your reaction to her news of what had gone down during the lockdown, when Lex, Billy and her, had been mere moments away from partaking in a three-way in your very room. While it hadn't gone very far, the sheer idea of something like that happening between your three closest friends, in your room, makes your skin crawl.

"In my room?" You exclaim, still processing, and she laughs.

"It's my room too. And we didn't do anything on your side... I don't think." She shrugs again, ducking away from the pillow you hurl at her.

You point a finger at her, mouth still agape at the very idea of anything like that happening on or around your personal belongings. "Petra Katja Yolga, I swear to God, if you ever have sex on my side of the room—"

"Whatever, Mom." She sighs, flipping you a middle finger, before her expression turns sly and a smirk tugs at her lips. "Besides, I feel like if either of us are in danger of participating in activities of the coital nature in this room, it's you."

Your jaw drops, cheeks blazing at the insinuation. "Shut up." You mutter, unable to form a cohesive comeback, and your heated cheeks and lack of retort just fuel Petra's fire, causing her eyes to twinkle mischievously as she plops down on the edge of your bed.

"Oh, Marcus..." She fakes a breathy gasp, falling back into the pillows, and before she has a chance to tease you further, you whirl around and exit the room as fast as your feet can take you, eyes wide with mortification as the sound of Petra's laughter follows you down the corridor.

Speaking of... You will the flush in your face to dissipate as Marcus turns the corner at the end of the corridor, dark eyes immediately seeking you out. "Hey." He smiles softly at you, and you reciprocate, heart swooping at the mere sight of his smile. Jesus, you need to get it together.

"You okay?" He takes in your flushed expression with furrowed brows and you bite back a laugh.

"Not one bit," You shake your head, eyes wide. "Apparently my three best friends almost slept with each other last night... In my room."

"What, all of them? Like, at once?" Marcus' tone is incredulous and you nod, pleased he seems as baffled by it all as you are, but then he ruins it. "Good for them."

You frown, smacking his shoulder lightly. "No, not good for them! My friends! In my room!"

He huffs out a laugh at your outrage, and it's only them that you notice there's a tension in his expression, a hardened look in his dark eyes that gives you pause. "Hey, what's up?"

Marcus makes a face, obviously not having intended on talking about it. "It's nothing, I just... I just got out of AP Black Arts and had it out with Master Lin. It's nothing serious, though, promise." At this, he slides his hand down one of your forearms, lacing his fingers with yours and tugging you closer to him.

Your brows shoot up, cheeks heating back up at the sudden proximity as you gaze up at him through your lashes. "If the monks catch us like this..." Your words trail off as he dips his head to seal his lips to yours, the kiss causing you to forget any protest you might have once had. Before you know it. his hands are on your waist and you're gripping at the lapels of his uniform, the world beyond the two of you lost to oblivion for all you care. You can hear Petra's voice in your head, cackling, but you shove it away, relishing in the kiss.

"If you're worried about the monks," He whispers as he pulls away, dark eyes glittering with mischief. "Maybe we should go somewhere more private."

You very nearly go along with it too, the air simmering between the two of you in the darkened hallway, but you remember why you were going to seek him out in the first place, and step back to give yourself some space to think — something you have proven to be unable to do at such close proximity to him.

"You —" You brush your hands over the lapels of his uniform, straightening the creases you didn't realize you'd made. "Have a shift at the comics store, if I remember correctly." He curses immediately at the reminder, groaning, and you smirk.

"Come with me." He proposes, hand sneaking back onto your waist, and you raise your eyebrows at how bold he's become — but then an apologetic look sneaks into his features, his brown eyes widening with a plea. "Plus, you sort of need to be there, Saya wanted to call a Vegas Crew gathering."

You feel the romance dissipate from the air just like that, a crushing reminder of the psychopathic killer at large and the incredible danger you all live in swooping in to ruin the mood. "Right. Smart." You nod, running a hand through your hair, and Marcus sighs.

"I was going to go change, do you want to come wait in the room?" You raise your eyebrows at his words and he laughs, hands held up in surrender. "No funny business, I swear." You roll your eyes, but nod anyway, biting your lip at the kiss he presses to your cheek as you follow him to his room.

Before long, the two of you head to the comic store together, only waiting a little while before Saya, Billy, and Willie all show up too.

The black and white photos Saya has sprawled on the counter make you shudder, taking in the horrors of what Fuckface has done to Shabnam's house.

"Jesus," Marcus finally speaks up, voicing your thoughts. "Is that Shabnam's dad?" He holds out a photo and you grimace at the image before you.

"His mom's probably in there as well." Billy says, and your frown deepens, causing him to pat you on the back with a less-than-convincing smile of reassurance. "All the more reason we have to do this now."

"Shabnam's house is rigged with traps," Saya explains, pointing them out on the photos. "Chester has seven to eight people inside, helping him."

You pause from gnawing on your thumbnail to look up at Saya. "Are we sure he has Chico?"

"He's not bluffing," Saya sighs. "He knows everything. He has to be getting information from someone inside of King's."

"Shabnam's parents." Marcus fills in, and you nod along, brows furrowed.

"What's stopping him from just..." You swallow thickly. "Sending Chico's head to El Diablo? If he finds out that it was Maria... That we were there..." It's hard to repress the shudder that wracks your body at the mere thought of that.

Marcus' hand appears on top of yours, dark eyes seeking out yours in an attempt at reassurance. "We're gonna need some serious firepower." He sighs, turning back to the group, and you nod. "Guns, explosives—"

"Y'all must be out your damn minds." Willie's voice cuts him off, and when you look up you notice him glowering at all of you, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes meet yours, and your brows tug together, before he scoffs and turns to leave the store.

"Wait, Willie—" You go to follow him, but Marcus puts a hand on your arm and gets up, exiting the store behind his friend. As soon as they both leave, you turn back to Saya and Billy, sighing deeply and sitting in Marcus' empty chair.

"We have to talk to Maria." You say, knowing full well it isn't what Saya wants to hear, and she grimaces but doesn't argue with you. There's a long silence that follows, where all three of you are inevitably picturing the various awful ways that conversation will go, before you finally let out a deep breath.

"I'll do it." You volunteer, causing both of your friends to glance up at you sharply.

"No offence," Billy starts, glancing between you and Saya. "But I think you're probably the last person she wants to talk to right now."

"I'm well aware," You shoot him a glare. "But she has to know what's going on. And I have to try to... To fix this." You know it's probably impossible, that this might be a death wish, but you have to try. You owe it to her to try.

"Tell Marcus where I've gone, okay?" You look to Saya, and she nods, one dark eyebrow arched at your plan. "I'll fill in on the rest of this later, but... I have to do this."

When you arrive back at King's, you forge a note from Juan to Maria, asking her to meet in the girl's bathroom, before slipping it under her door and running to the bathroom to lie in wait.

You are well aware that this might be the stupidest thing you've ever done, but you have run completely out of other options. As you sit in the darkened girls bathroom, you take a moment to fully wonder where the fuck your life went so wrong that you are now in a bathroom, preparing to trap the leader of the Soto Vatos and el Alma del Diablo's pet assassin, in order to have a heart-to-heart.

You are not given enough time to fully delve into those thoughts, thankfully, as the door begins to creak open and you spy Maria's shoes from the crack under the door.

"Meeting in the girl's bathroom is a new low, Juan." Maria calls out in Spanish, and you grimace as you swing the door shut and plant yourself in front of it, revealing your ruse to her.

She wheels around with her fan poised in front of her, expression morphing from one of surprise into rageful apprehension, and you throw your hands up placatingly.

"I know how this looks, and I'm sorry, I just really need you to hear me out and I knew you would never agree to talk with me." Your words tumble into each other in their haste to leave your mouth, and you sigh deeply before oh-so-slowly pulling open your blazer to show her the lack of knives tucked into the lining.

Coming unarmed to this might have been a suicidal move, but you know it's the only way to get her to listen to you.

Her dark eyes narrow, scanning your body, and you nod. "None in the boots, either." You answer before she even gets the chance to ask, slowly rolling your ankle around to show off the lack of metallic glinting.

"We need to talk." It's a cheeky thing to say as you stand in between her and the only exit, but you need her to agree not to kill you before you launch into anything — and you would really like it if this continued as a semi-normal conversation between two teenage friends, despite it all.

Maria doesn't lower her fan, but she doesn't run to attack you, either, so you take a deep breath and launch into it. "We've been doing reconnaissance on Fuckface, and it looks like he's holing up at Shabnam's house. We need to deal with him before he decides to send Chico's head to El Alma, and we need your help."

Her eyes widen as you talk, obviously as displeased by this update as you were, and you swallow thickly. "We need you, Maria. We have to end this. You killed Chico to save Marcus... Now we have to kill Chester to do the same. And save the rest of us, while we're at it."

Bringing up Marcus is a dicey move, and her eyes narrow at his name, but she finally tucks her fan away and sighs. "When?" She asks, and you sigh in relief, lowering your hands.

"We don't know. Soon. Maybe as soon as tomorrow. We didn't come up with a full plan before I left, but... It has to be now." The word 'we' obviously holds the implications of the Vegas Crew, and you watch her expression twinge at the mention of the group.

"Fine. I'll help." She says, eyes still glued to the ground. "Send a message when you make the plan." She moves to leave the bathroom, but you hold your position blocking the door, and her eyes narrow.

"Move." She orders, dark eyes narrowed, and you shake your head slowly, summoning the courage to say the next words.

"I'm sorry."

Your words hang heavy in the silence of the bathroom, and her expression morphs into one of heartbroken anger, but you push through. "I'm so sorry, Maria. It was never meant to happen like this, I didn't want—"

You're embarrassed by the sting of hot tears that press behind your eyelids, and you watch her drop her gaze to the ground, fists clenched tightly as she folds her arms across her chest.

"My heart has belonged to him since that first night on the roof, Maria. You have to know that." You plead, stoic in your efforts for her to comprehend how out of control you've felt this whole time. "With everything that we've been through, you have to understand that I didn't choose this. It just... Happened."

Her eyes never leave the ground, folded arms pressing tighter against her chest as she scuffs the toe of her shoe against the floor. "I know." She whispers, and you take a breath, watching her expression.

The dimly lit room is filled with tension, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. You've just ripped the curtains back and bared your soul to Maria, and now the ball remains firmly in her court. Her silence hangs in the room, stifling any hope for reconciliation.

Seconds turn to minutes as you both stand there, locked in a moment of profound uncertainty. Maria's hair falls over her face, obscuring her eyes as she continues to avoid your gaze. Her jaw tightens, and you can almost hear the gears turning in her mind, weighing the years of shared secrets and experiences against this revelation.

Finally, she breaks the silence with a heavy sigh. "I know," Maria repeats, her voice tinged with bitterness and resentment. "I've always known. I'm not an idiot. I see it in the way you look at him, the way you two..." She sighs again, dark eyes boring holes into the linoleum tile below her. Her words are sharp, filled with a sense of betrayal.

You nod, the weight of your confession still bearing down on you. "But I never wanted it to be like this, Maria. I never wanted to hurt you."

Maria finally looks up, her eyes meeting yours with a cold, unyielding glare. "You should have thought about that before you let it happen," she hisses. "I can't believe you would let me... You let me get my heart broken."

You take a step closer to her, reaching out to gently touch her arm, but she pulls away, her expression hardening. "Maria..." Your chest feels wounded, the sharpness in her eyes driving daggers into your heart. "I love you. I always will. But I can't change how I feel about him." Hot tears begin to fill your eyes as you shake your head fervently. "I wish I could."

Those words ring the truest for the both of you, and you both know it. Your shared love for this boy has caused boundless issues, invited danger and darkness into your lives, and yet as the bond between the two of you breaks in front of your eyes, you can share in the same hopeless adoration of the same idiotic man.

Tears well up in Maria's eyes, and this time, she lets them flow freely. "That isn't enough..." she says, her voice trembling with anger. "I need time. I need to figure this out."

You nod, feeling the weight of her disappointment pressing down on you, and she spares you one last cold glance before she swipes the tears from her face and storms out of the bathroom. The future is uncertain, but it seems clear to you now that your friendship has been irreparably damaged.

[catwrites9]

It’s A Craving, Not A Crush

Kate Bishop x fem!reader SMUT

Warnings: Smut, praise, fingering, slight hair pulling, scissoring, violence, injury, blood, not proof read, cussing, use of y/n, I think that’s it

W/n: First ever smut I’m happy with the beginning but I rushed a lot of it because I kinda lost passion for this writing and I’m just wanting to move of to my poll smut

Masterlist

—————————————————————————

You are just like any unmasked vigilante fighting crime and coming home to tend to your wounds. You didn’t have any powers… Well, being able to hear heart beats and having a better reflex than Peter makes you have powers. You always fought crime all day and then came home around 11 or 12 to tend to wounds and go to sleep. It was the usual routine waking up at 10am to your roommate Peter getting ready for college trying to look for his spider suit as you got up and got ready.

You recently found out while spying on hell's kitchen that there was a new list of future victims. One of the names stood out to you. Kate Bishop, your mentors partner, the same women you had the worst crush on. Even though Clint told you that she was off limits you still liked her. The tension you both had mixed with how she was always caring for you made the crush’s worst. After finding out about her being a target you brought it to Clint. That's when he gave you a task of protecting her. That’s how you two got closer while the whole kingpin thing was happening.

But now it’s different you're on a mission to retrieve the ronin sword for Clint in an old warehouse. It was protected by what seemed like hundreds of guards so you couldn’t have just gone guns blazing. You picked them out one by one until there was no one left. You retrieved the sword. The sharp pain jutting you into fight or flight as you glance down seeing a whole sword stick through your stomach. You quickly elbow the guy in the face while pocketing the sword. Another two come up behind you as one hits your head with a brick and the other takes the sword out of you. Your senses are off, your seeing double. The first guy gets on top of you and starts punching you. After what felt like 5 hits to the body and about 2 to the face you grab a bottle right next to you and smash it against him. You get up and start fighting the other two. They didn’t expect it and didn’t put up much of a fight. Though one of them was able to make your wound worse by hitting the handle of their sword into the wound. The first guy comes back with a knife and is able to slice you a few times on the body and twice on the face. You were able to throw a pallet at him.

You caught your breath and examine your wound, it was bad. You needed a hospital but being a vigilante, that wasn’t gonna work. Clint wouldn’t be up, Peter is out and won’t answer, and most hero’s are asleep by now. But that’s when you know of someone that lives nearby and also usually gets home at this time. Kate. You climb the building as the police come. you start running from roof tops and swinging till you get to her fire exit. You climb it and see if she’s home she’s not but will be soon. You gently push up the window that was thankfully unlocked but still Kate will get a lecture about it. You progressively get more tired as you sit by her bathroom. Then everything goes black.

You wake up from the door opening and you try to get up but you have no strength. Kate walks through as she puts her bag down and pets lucky. You groan as you try to get up. Her head snaps to you, she was afraid at first but then sees it’s you.

“Y/n what are you doing where it’s almost 1 in the morning.” She looks at you annoyed and then worried.

“Kate please I didn’t know who else to go to” your hand bloody as she see the streak of blood on the wall

“Are you ok” she says worried and moves you to her bathroom”what happened”

“I got stabbed” you say in a very monotone way. She reaches to pull off your suit and you flinch.

“I can’t help you if you don’t take it off” Kate says sincerely as you realize that she’ll have to see your face, the one you’ve only shown to Peter and Clint.

“Ok” is all you can say and she takes it of leaving you in a sports bra and a gator mask on the top half of you . She tends to your stab as you hiss and groan from the pain. Every noise you make she praises you, you blush hard which is covered by the mask.

“Stop shifting your hips so much” she says, looking up at you and then going back to work. You didn’t realize the effect that she has on you and how much her praising you makes you horny. But you couldn’t think of that. Once she’s done she cleans your little cuts until she gets to your face. She cleans the eyebrow one but the cheek one goes under the mask, she looks at you for consent as you nod she takes it off and goes wide eyes. She starts cleaning it but her cheeks get progressively get more pink. You're now aware of how close you two are, the sound of your breathing and your groans are loud. Once she’s done she goes towards the kitchen as you follow her.

“I’m sorry for Intruding into your house but your window was unlocked and just” you pause “ thank you for helping me even though I broke into your house you could have just left me to die.” She steps close to you practically chest to chest. The tension builds. You can hear her heart beat racing as fast as yours. The feeling is mutual. This crush you’ve had on her evolves. It’s a craving, not a crush.

“I never knew that you would be that hot under the mask, I knew you would be hot just by your voice but I mean fuck your hot” she says it confidently as you just blush.”you know how Clint said I was off limits and how he would kill me and you if we did anything” you nod”you make me want to break his rule even if it results in my death, y/n I need you please” that is your cue.

You lean in kissing her, you lean in softly but she roughenes the kiss and she leads you to her bed room up the stairs. You push her onto the mattress as you get on top of her. You start making out and sliding your hand under her shirt slowly going up and starting to massage her breast. She moans into your mouth and you take that as your invite to deepen the kiss and have your tongues fight for dominance.

You break apart to take off her shirt and bra. You admire her, all her little scars, her abs, Kate starts to get red as you just take in the woman infront of you. The only thing you can hear is both of your breathing. You know that it is wrong to want her when the mentor you’ve had for years told you never to go after her but the excitement of breaking his rules fuels you more. You move to start kissing and sucking marks on her neck. She becomes a whiny mess under you pleading for you.

“Please y/n please”

“What do you want me to do Kate”

“Please anything, anything you want, just please fuck me” she whines and she squirming under you as your hands explore her body.

“Tell me exactly what you want”

“Anything please” she gets more impatient as time goes on

“Do you want my hand or my mouth, pick Kate”

“Your mouth please” she pleads looking at you with doe eyes.

You get on your knees looking up at her for consent as she nods. You pull off both her pants and underwear as you start making marks on her inner thigh. She squirms and bucks her hips multiple times. You hold her hips down as you lick a stripe of her pussy. Taking in the taste of her and moaning at it. You attach your lips to her clint as you begin to suck on it. She gives you the most pornographic moan that immediately makes you more horny.

Your fingers begin to tease her at her core. Her hips try to buck under you as you hold them down. She’s a moaning mess for you. Your fingers made their way into her wetness as she practically starts screaming your name. Her back is arching as you start at a slow pace and begin to go faster. You keep going at a faster pace until you hit her g spot.

“Oh my god right there fuck y/n right there your such a good girl you gonna make me cum so hard”The moment those words came out her mouth you knew that you needed to make her come now.

Her hands pulling your hair as your groan on her clint making her moan more from the vibrations. You can tell she’s close by how much she’s cleaching on your fingers. She comes hard yelling out your name as you help her ride out her high. Once she’s done you take out your fingers and put them in your mouth moaning at the taste of them. You get up and go back on top of her to start kissing her. Before you can react she flips you over.

“You didn’t think I wasn’t going to return the favor” she chuckles”we have to be careful with your stitches so that means no arching your back” you look confused on what she’s going to do

She takes off your pants and underwear as she moves back on top of you, moving your leg to her side as she places her pussy on yours. You both are moaning from the intimacy. She starts to grind her hips as you throw your head back. Both of your Clint’s hitting perfectly on every grind. Both of you close from the prior intimacy and even if you didn’t come then you're sure as hell gonna now.

“Fuck Kate I’m gonna come”

“Come with me”

You both release at the same time. Both of you out of breath calming down from your highs. Once you both came down Kate climbs off of you as she lays beside you. You both just sit there in bliss of everything that happened. Before both of you could say anything Kate’s phone rings. Its from Clint. She put it on speaker.

“Hey Kate have you heard from y/n at all”

“No why”

“I’m scared she got hurt on my mission I put her on”

“Oh I’m sorry I haven’t heard from her in a while I’ll tell you if I do”

“Really?” He questions suspiciously.

“Yeah??..” she questions now looking at you.

“Oh my god right there y/n right there” he pauses”that doesn't ring a bell”

Fuck

—————————————————————————

W/n: I can’t wait to start on my next project which is Watching me undress won the poll so next up is Paige bueckers smut.

[k-marzolf]

I’m gonna live forever;

title inspired by Irene Cara’s song Fame.

cw; hit man!Billy Russo, ADHD coded reader, kissing, a hint at Billy’s darker side, fem!reader.

summary; Billy is your neighbor that you’re enamored with, but what secrets is he hiding?

tagging; @terry2227 @kayhi808 @e-dubbc11 @bookloverfilmoholic @aoi-targaryen @firequeensposts @oops89 @thejanecampaign @littleblackcatinwonderland @zz-kennedy @fictional-hooman @cant-help-simping @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @danzer8705 @firexfate @rosaleenablack @idaofinfinity @russosafehaven @vaguekayla

&&&&&&

You see him with her in the drink aisle; she’s flirting as he grabs your favorite wine, and puts it in the cart. You feel the sting of jealousy; she’s beautiful.

She was like Snow White, or maybe some Twilight vampire, minus the sparkling. A Volturi member, ready to kill you for your blood. Or maybe—a fairy but ones with claws, and fangs. A human—you stop yourself as you go on yet another tangent.

You look down at yourself in your sweatpants and one of his PT shirts you’d swiped. You made a habit of stealing his clothes like a little gnome, they were comfortable. And they smelled like him. You casually make your way over, missing the way his eyes light up when he sees you.

You know your neighbor isn’t yours, but god you want him to be. Karen had seen him twirling you around in the hallway, with a glass of wine in your hands, somehow not spilling.

“I got the better wine.” He had husked in your ear, opening his apartment door.

“Are you sayin’ I have cheap wine, sir?” You had huffed.

He hummed, “‘I’m trying to catch a fairy.” He said, breath tickling your ear.

You had stumbled forward, nearly spilling the wine.

He laughed, “First day on your new legs, Ariel?” He said, helping you into the apartment.

“He’s an asshole, but a beautiful one, isn’t he?”

When you approach, the woman looks at you with disdain. But Billy wraps his arm around you, kissing your mouth, making your cheeks blaze, and eyebrows raise in surprise. “Hey, fairy.” He says, smiling at your wide eyed expression.

The woman curls her lip glaring at you, before she leaves the two of you. Not a vampire, then. He sighs once she’s gone. “What a pain in the ass. They only ever want my beauty. I’m a goddamn prize to them.” He admits in irritation.

“You could walk around with a bag over your head. Like Scarecrow. I’d dress up like Batman, too. You know, so you won’t be alone. Or a pumpkin like the headless horseman. We could put LED lights inside to give it the murder kitten vibe, and I could be Ichabod Crane, or—” You ramble, the train wreck gaining speed.

He cuts you off, kissing you mouth, tasting your iced coffee, and you make a surprised noise in the back of your throat.

He looks at you as he pulls back, and gives you a boyish grin, making butterflies erupt in your belly. “Wanna get some wine and snacks?” He asks you, pointing to the wine in the cart, enjoying your sweet smile.

“We could have a movie night, we could watch the Terminator, or Alien. Bloodthirsty aliens against a woman and her cat, I’m also not opposed to homicidal dinosaurs, or The Mummy, gets the ancient Egypt nerd in me happy—” You ramble.

Billy grins, cheeks dimpling. “Sounds good, fairy.”

You both agree no to rom-coms (you loathe those, something Karen never understood, “Romance and comedy, what could be better?” She asked you one time. “Criminal Minds. Serial killers and Spencer Reid,” you had deadpanned. Karen had blanched), so you and Billy decided to throw some movies in a bowl, and select one.

Forging relationships has always been difficult, due to you being so ditsy and a chatterbox.

Maybe with Billy, it doesn’t have to be.

x

“Young man?” An older lady stops Billy in his tracks as he moves to climb the stairs. Her hair is graying, and pulled up in a tight bun; she has laugh lines, and her eyes are warm.

“Yeah?” Billy asks, one foot on the step in front of him, body turned.

“Thank you for befriending her. I’ve always worried about how isolated she is. But she seems at ease with you. No one should be alone all the time.” She says, and Billy’s heart aches at the image of you alone with no one.

You peek from the top of the stairs, “Bill?” You say impatiently, giving him golden retriever energy.

“Comin’,” he says, turning back to the lady who shoos him up the stairs.

“What’d she want?” You ask, bouncing on the balls of your feet, noticing an outline of a knife in his combat boot.

Billy ruffles your hair distracting you, “Just worried about you.” He hums, kissing your cheek. “How about that movie night?”

You give him a sweet smile, giggling as he raced you down to the end of the hall where your shared apartment was, carrying chips and salsa.

He was going to steal your heart, you were sure of it.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Bad Idea Right?

*inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea Right?’ by Olivia Rodrigo.

*Language, smut, violence, breakup, alcohol consumption* Billy Butcher x reader

It’s been a few months since you left the boys. The direction Butcher was leading the group was a surefire plan to get you all killed and you wanted nothing to do with it. Convincing Butcher to take a moment to mull plans over instead of going in guns blazing was a tall order, one that ultimately made you decide that a relationship with him was not worth your life. You tried to convince the rest of the gang to leave but all that got you was a bunch of noes and a broken heart. Butcher, even with all his asshole ways, held your heart in his hand and it hurt to walk away from him. At least you have Annie keeping you company.

-Wyd 2nite?

Tearing your eyes away from the TV as you lounged on the dingy bed of your motel room Grace Mallory stashed you in, you typed out your response to Annie.

-nm, u?

-wanna meet up w Kimiko n go out?

-yass!

You and Annie meet up with Kimiko just outside of a nightclub. After you gather and exchange hugs, you go in and begin drinking and dancing to the heavy bass playing on the stereo. Multicolored lights flash all around you as you allow yourself to succumb to the party atmosphere. After the song ends, the three of you spot a booth off in the corner of the club and make your way there, stopping at the bar to refill your drinks. The three of you catch up. Annie was still in Vought Tower, Kimiko still working with Frenchie and The Boys. Kimiko gives a recount of how everyone else was doing in the group, including Butcher.

‘He really misses you.’ Kimiko signs. ‘We all really miss you. You should come back.’ You shake your head.

“No, I think it’s better for me to stay away. Butchers gonna get someone killed.” You could feel vibration coming from your phone in the pocket of your dress. Lifting it in front of your blurry eyes you blink a few times to clear them. You try to make out the name but it’s an unknown number, you declined the call.

“Besides, he probably hates me now.” Vibration came from your phone again. *Decline* Another call from the unknown number.

“He doesn’t hate you, y/n. I don’t think-” Annie begins to say but then you interject,

“I’m sorry, I gotta take this. This asshole keeps calling me.” Walking out of the club, you answer the call and before you can talk, you hear a gruff voice on the other line,

“Y/n?” You’d recognize that voice from anywhere. The last time you heard him speak was four months ago when you told him you were breaking up with him.

“Y/n, you there?”

“Butcher?”

“I need your help.”

“What happened?”

“I’m hurting real bad. I need you to come help me.”

“If you’re really that hurt-”

“Y/n, please.” You hear the desperation in his voice. He never begs for anything; he must be down bad. You let out an exasperated sigh and then *click*.

“Butcher? Billy?” You look at the phone screen and see that the call has ended. *ping* An address pops up on your phone. You sigh again. Tapping the edge of your phone on your forehead in frustration, you make your decision. You meet up with Annie and Kimiko and tell them that you’ll catch up with them later, you’ve got something you have to deal with. Rather, someone. But you didn’t dare tell them that.

Hailing a cab and telling the driver the address, you kept thinking this was not a good idea. From what you heard from the gang; Butcher did not take the breakup well. He broke things, drank more, and pushed everyone to their breaking point. MM had to leave the group to regain his sanity, only to return shortly after leaving. Kimiko recounted that Butcher was better when you were around. So why the hell was he calling you if you caused him so much pain? Watching the progression of your map marker reach its destination on Google Maps, your heart began to beat harder in your chest. The car stopped outside of a tall brick building. Tipping the cab driver you made your way in, texting Butcher and asking which level and unit he was in.

Trekking up the steps, heart pounding in your chest, the blurriness in your eyes from the booze now cleared, you made your way to his door. *knock, knock, knock* The door swung open, and across the threshold was Billy Butcher. Still the same handsome man you turned to putty for not too long ago. He stood before you shirtless, clad in green sweatpants. Your mouth went dry, and the screaming thoughts in your brain telling you to march right back down those steps ceased. The two of you just stood there, staring at each other.

“You uhh… gonna let me in or what?” Butcher blinks and then makes an opening for you to slip through. Hearing the soft click of the door shut behind you, you take in the emptiness of his studio apartment. The only furniture in the room was a pull-out bed with tangled sheets, coffee table covered in empty alcohol bottles and a box TV on a beat-up nightstand. You feel guilty for a moment as when the two of you were together, the apartment you lived in never got to this state.

“You said you were hurt?” You said as you turned around to face Butcher. He just stands there, holding a sweating beer bottle in his hand, eyes scanning you up and down. His eyes settle on your cleavage. You snap your fingers to get his attention. It works.

“What did you need help with?” Butcher explains that he needed to be patched up on his back. Turning him around you see that it’s scratches with some gravel lodged in the deeper lacerations. Most of the wounds were superficial, and none of them needed sutures.

“Jesus what did you do tonight, Butcher?”

“Got in a tussle. You gon help me or not?”

“Yeah, turn around.” As you begin cleaning the wounds on Butcher's back, your thoughts then return telling you that you should not be here and you should have gotten MM to clean his back up. After using a tweezer to pull out the small bits of gravel from his back, you grabbed a paper towel and doused it with hydrogen peroxide.

“This is gonna sting.” Before you got a reply out of him, Butcher hissed at the light dabbing you placed on his wounds with the paper towel. As he hissed, you saw the muscles in Butcher's back tense, reminding you of the times he had you on your back and was fucking up into you, head cradled in the crook of your neck, giving you a perfect view of his shoulders and back. You shake your head.

“Okay all done. Be more careful next time.” Throwing the used items in the trash bag and make your way to the bathroom to wash your hands in the bathroom sink. Splashing cold water on your face, makeup be damned, attempting to slow down the growing desire in your core. Walking out of the bathroom, you spot a Hawaiian shirt on the floor, torn and bloody. You look down to inspect it.

“Aw man, this was the shirt I gave you for your birthday. It’s fucked.” You see Butcher pouring two glasses of amber-colored liquor, and he offers you a glass.

“My favorite shirt.” He replies. You shake your head to decline the drink, but Butcher, being who he is, insists. Yanking the glass out of his hand and downing the amber liquid in one gulp, you set the glass down on the counter. You give him a brief goodbye and walk toward the door. Butcher grabs your wrist; you turn and see a silent plea in his eyes. Your brain screaming at you to fly down those steps and out of the building, your heart telling you to be in his arms again. He’s not good for you, he’ll get you killed.

Fuck it, it's fine. You pull Butcher down into a feverish kiss. His mouth met yours with as much passion. You both shuffle to the edge of the pull-out bed, and you push Butcher backward. He falls back easily, letting you take the lead. You go to remove your dress when Butcher places his hands on yours and assists you in pulling it over your head. Once the garment was removed, you straddle Butcher and continue kissing him with the same fiery passion as before, his hands roaming all over your exposed form. You sit up and rock your hips against his, generating some friction for your needy core. Locking eyes with him, you see that Butcher's hazel iris is now covered by his pupils, eyes entirely covered in black. After a few more hip gyrations, Butcher pulls you back down to kiss you. He poured everything into the kiss, tongues, and teeth clashing. You pull away from Butcher and help him lower his sweatpants. Once free, you grab ahold of his throbbing cock and pump it a few times then line it up to your core, rubbing the tip along your slit. Butcher moans. As you sank down on him, you feel your cunt stretch to take all of him in. Once at full hilt, you take a moment to pause to get used to feeling him inside you again. Butcher sat up and rubbed your cheek with his thumb, wiping a few tears you didn’t realize were falling.

“I’ve missed you luv.” Butcher said as he stared into your eyes. It was as if he was looking into your soul, searching for something. You leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss on his lips as you began moving yourself on his cock. Butcher groaned, wrapping one hand around the back of your head and wrapped the other around your waist. The two of you moved in sync, you grind your hips to meet his light thrusts, gasps and moans filling the apartment. You feel the coil in your belly begin to tighten, Butcher felt it too. He then flips the two of you over to where you’re lying on your back and he’s positioned above you, grabbing your legs to wrap around his waist. He buried his head in the crook of your neck as he began to quicken his pace.

“Billy, don’t’ stop… I’m close.” You pant. Butcher takes his right hand and begins to rub circles around your clit, which pushed you over the edge. Butcher follows shortly after, spilling his cum into you with a roar. The two of you lay on the bed, fighting to catch your breath. After a few moments, you get up from the bed to get dressed. Looking for your dress under the bed, Butcher reaches his hand out and gently places it on top of yours. You look up at him and he says,

“Stay with me.” The internal struggle was real at this moment. Your brain tells you to leave, that this man was no good, but you loved Butcher. In the end, your heart won the battle, and you climbed in next to Butcher, snuggling up next to his side. Butcher whispered sweet nothings into your ear, promising you all the things that he said he would do from now on, and that he loved you. Silence fell between you. Just before Butcher fell asleep, you said,

“You know, Annie was proud of me for getting out. She’s gonna be pissed to hear that we’re back together.” Butcher turns his head to look at you.

“What’re you gonna tell her?”

“Oh, I dunno… maybe that I tripped and fell into your bed.” the two of you chuckle before falling into a restful sleep.

[helaelaemond]

Who Else Is Gonna Put Up With Me This Way? - Billy Washington x reader

Pairing: Billy Washington x female reader

Summary: You’re in an unstable relationship with Billy Washington - you've broken up with him countless times, and he's found himself back between your thighs again. This time, though, it's for real. But you're the one thing worth fighting for.

Dark!Billy, dub-con, possessive Billy, fingering, penetrative sex (f receiving), rough treatment, degradation.

Warnings: mentions of rape (none committed), mentions of domestic abuse (none committed by Billy, reader slaps him), discussions of Islamophobia,

Rating: E

Word count: 2.9k

Based on the results from this poll. Doing it for the girls gays and theys!

tagging those who showed interest: @tssf-imagines / @slytherincursebreaker / @humanpurposes / @arcielee / @elizarbell / @heimtathurs / @ewanmitchellcrumbs / @targaryenrealnessdarling / @valeskafics

"What are y'doing?"

You shove past him and storm into the bedroom, grabbing a bag from the wardrobe and dropping it onto the bed. "I'm done. I'm fucking done."

"Are you serious?" Billy stands in the doorway with a red face and thin lips, watching you with wide eyes.

You spit the answer back at him. "Does it look like I'm joking?" You grab whatever you can from the draws next to your side of the bed and shove them into your bag without looking.

"Over this?"

"This? This? You've lost your fucking mind! I don't recognise you anymore!"

"Oh, c'mon, I was drunk, and no one got hurt-!"

"Those people woke up to find they've been victims of your stupidity, all because you believe bullshit you've read-"

"Give me a fucking break!" He slams his hand on the door frame, and his eyes blaze.

"You hitting that because you want to hit me?"

Billy slinks over to you and rips the bag from your hand. "Don't act like I'd ever lay a hand on you; you know I wouldn't."

"I don't know what you'd do anymore," you answer defiantly. "I didn't think you'd ever smash up a Muslim butchers, yet here we are!"

"For fuck's sake! Who cares? No one got hurt!"

You wrench the bag from his hands and throw in a couple of tops and trousers, before pushing past him to the bathroom. He dogs your steps.

"They're real people; you know that, right?"

"I'm sure they're insured. Everyone knows those people are tight with their money. Got their own banks with special rules and everything."

"Those people? Your brain's been rotted by those fucking pigs you call friends! I don't even recognise you half the time!" After grabbing your toiletries, you're back in the bedroom packing up phone chargers, your earring box, your hairbrush. Whatever you need for a few nights, before you come back to get the rest of your stuff.

He keeps close to you. Threatening you. Shadowing you. He's so tall. You hate him. You fucking love him. That's why this is so hard.

"I'm still me," he says lowly.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

"How?"

"Get rid of those cunts rewiring your brain, and start giving a fuck about people again."

His lip twitches and he catches your arm, pulling you close to him. "I care about you."

With more strength than you realise you have, you press your hands against his chest and escape his clutches. "Not enough."

He follows you when you go into the living room. It's messy, covered in beer cans and food containers and papers and cables, and you let out a shout of frustration. "I hate it here! I fucking hate it!"

"If you hate it so much, why do you keep coming back?" he thunders.

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come. You know why. He knows why. It's pathetic, really. But you can't quit him. He poisons your life, and God, you love the way it tastes.

Fury flashes in his pretty eyes, the eyes that capture you every time. He smirks, but there's no humour in it. "That's what I thought. Can't stay away, can you? You know you're mine."

"Don't play that game," you warn.

"S'not a game."

Billy steps closer to you again, and something akin to dread rushes through you. "No, it's not. So fuck off."

"D'you hate me?"

You glare up at him. There's fire in you now, fire in your belly, in your eyes. "Yeah, I do."

"Liar."

You suddenly slap him, and he grunts as his head is knocked to the side. God, it feels good to do that. Even when he turns to look at you in shock, in disgust, it feels good. "I hate you."

When he grabs you by the waist and shoves you against the wall, it's not a surprise. That doesn't make it any less of a thrill. He runs his nose up your neck and inhales deeply. "So if I shove my hand against your pussy, I'll find you dry?"

"Don't fucking touch me!" You hit his chest to try to get him away from you, but he's stronger. He doesn't go to the gym anymore, but he's stronger. You grab his hair and pull, but he's stronger.

"This is what you want, huh?" His large hands push up your shirt and grasp without care at your breasts. It hurts. It's good. "To pretend you hate me and pretend you don't want this?"

"I don't want it!" A half lie. You shouldn't want it. You know you shouldn't.

"Oh yeah?" he grunts. One hand wraps around your throat, finger and thumb pressing against the edge of your jaw, and the other slips under your waistband. You clench your legs together in response - but he's stronger. The heat between them betrays you, and he wedges his fingers between your folds to find slickness gathering there. "Sure feels like you want it."

"That's got fuck all to do with you."

His eyebrows are raised as he looks down at you, towering tall. Sandy hair flops messily over his eyes, unkempt and greasy. He's disgusting. But you chase his hand.

"I think you like me like this." Dropping his voice, he runs his finger around your clit, as if you're in any way ready for that.

"Like what?" you hiss. "A fucking rapist?"

"No one's getting raped, baby. You want this. You want me to force you to stay."

"No, I don't!" But you grab his wrist to hold it in place. For a moment, it seems like he's taking your words to heart and so his fingers still, but you hold him fast to make sure they stay where they are.

Looking into your face, he grins coldly. "You're such a slut, aren't you? You gonna come on my fingers?"

"You wish! You couldn't make me come now if you tried."

The fingers on your throat tighten slightly, and they apply pressure to the thick veins under your skin. He will be able to feel how quick your pulse is getting. Billy leans his close facer to yours. "You think anyone will be able to make you feel like I do?"

You shake your head slightly. "No. That's the point."

"Hmm." His lip twitches in anger. And then his fingers are pressing against your soft folds, digging it, dragging nails down them, and your stifled groan makes his eyes glint. "You love being used however I want."

"No, I don't. I'm not your thing to play with."

Then, his hands are gone, and he presses the length of his body against yours, and you're trapped tight between him and the wall, and it feels crushing, it's overwhelming, it's stifling-

Billy bites your ear and blows into it. It makes your nipples hard. "Yes, you are. Always have been." He rolls his hips against you, and it presses his half-hard cock against your stomach. As you clench around nothing, a shiver runs through your body. Of course, he notices, and he grins. "See? You want me to use you like the whore you are."

"I'm not a whore," you rasp. "You never fucking paid me."

"Maybe I should have done. You suck my cock like a porn star. All needy and whimpering like you can't live without it."

"Get off me!"

But you grasp the back of his shirt and claw at the skin at the base of his spine. It's so soft there, the gentle peach fuzz comforting under your fingertips. He's still Billy, somewhere underneath it all. Maybe. He presses harder. It's difficult to breathe.

Messily, he licks against your ear and groans. The obscene sound makes your eyes roll back."You leave this flat, you're never coming back."

"Then let me go."

"Never."

You drag your nails over his skin. Red welts are left in the wake. "You're a monster."

"What does that make you, then?" Billy asks with a dry chuckle.

"Stop trying to turn this into a game."

He pulls back to look at you with hooded eyes, lips parted. "I already told you, this in't a game."

"Even if it was, you'd lose." Something comes over you, and you spit in his face. "Fucking loser. Freak."

It makes him snarl. It makes him rough. With all his strength, he turns you to face the wall and shoves down your trousers, your underwear. You can barely spread your legs before he slaps between them, a hard hand grasping your cunt from behind. He squeezes and you yelp in pain. A strong arm is pinned across the back of your shoulders to keep you in place.

Then he squeezes your clit. At this angle, it's caught between two fingers while his thumb shoves against your entrance. It stings, the pressure, but it's worse when he takes his touch away. "If I'm a freak, you're the pathetic slut who wants to get fucked. God, you can't help it, can you? Getting this wet for me?" You can hear him inhale deeply, and the wet noises of him licking your taste off his fingers. You struggle slightly against his firm hold, but it's half-hearted. More than anything, you just want him to touch you again. "God, you taste so good. You ready to take me like the little fuck toy you are?"

"No," you lie, again and again. "Billy, don't you dare-!"

With knees bent, he pushes down his grey joggers and pulls his cock free, and slides between your thighs from behind. "No one's gonna treat you like this."

"You're a fucking monster!" Leaning forward, you press your forehead against the wall. You clamp your legs shut and trap his cock between them, and he responds by shoving you harder against the wall.

"And you're a cunt. My cunt, every dripping inch of it. Spread your legs."

"Make me."

Billy twists the arm on your back to grab your hair instead. The pull on it hurts, makes your spine arch uncomfortably, and a needy whimper escapes you. Fuck. He doesn't need to know how good he's making you feel.

"That's all you ever want, isn't it?" he whispers against your ear. "Me to take away every last bit of your control until you're nothing but a fuck toy for me."

Having your head pulled back this far makes it hard to speak. Between your thighs, his cock can't move, and you can tell how irritated it's making him. "I don't want anything from you."

"Open your mouth."

Your lip curls. Even with your hair wrapped around his hand, you manage to shake your head. Insolence isn't kindly received, and so rough hands suddenly straighten you up and flip you so your back is against the wall again. His hand goes back to your face and he presses against your cheeks until it hurts so bad you can't do anything but open your jaw. Without hesistating, Billy spits into it, heavy eyes watching your mouth. It makes your knees fucking weak.

You want to whimper. You want to swallow. Every part of him is sacred, and you want to consume him whole. At any other time, you would.

His voice is a murmur. "Swallow."

To let you do it, he lets go of your jaw, but his touch does not stray far. It finds its place on your throat, hoping to feel you obey him. Instead, you spit his taste out onto the floor. He doesn't like that.

"You stupid bitch." Suddenly, his fingers are buried back against your cunt and he rubs cruel and wide circles around your clit, fingers digging into soft and swollen flesh.

So, you grab his flushed balls and squeeze and he yelps in surprise, in pain. The hand at your throat shoves your head against the wall. The other leaves your heated core and shoves down your trouers and underwear until theyre at your ankles. Whether you would allow him or not, he takes them off completely, and as he bends down to do so, you wonder if he'll kiss your cunt.

Billy looks at it with longing in his eyes, but then he glances up at your face and the softness is gone. "Don't even need me to spit on you here, do you? You're so wet already."

"Nothing to do with you," you lie again.

"You need me."

"I'd rather die."

With more strength than seems possible, he looms over you and hooks his arm under one thigh. It makes you reach up onto your toe desperately, and then his blunt head is pressing against you. He holds it there for a moment, a threat, a promise. "Say you need me."

You squrim away from him half-heartedly. It makes you sick to your stomach that he's right. "I hate you!"

"Say it!"

One hand grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks. The other claws at the small of his back in an attempt to pull him closer. And then he does. The intrusion hurts in the best way. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your throat refusing to let the noise escape.

And then he moves.

Billy is relentless in his pace, slamming into you over and over again. He doesn't give you time to adjust, time to relax, he just takes and takes and takes.

"Mine," he grunts, voice shaking.

"No," you choke.

"Yes."

"Fucking bastard!"

Billy kisses your mouth messily before you have a chance to turn away. It's sloppy, wet, desperate. His tongue presses roughly past your teeth and it makes your stomach tighten. But still, you turn your face away to deny him, so he covers your cheek and neck in hot kisses instead.

"Mine," he grunts again against your ear.

"Not anymore."

He returns his hand to your cunt again and as he keeps a steady and fast pace that makes sweat break out on his brow, he rubs you fiercely. It makes your hands clench into fists.

"I'll keep you forever," he promises. His words are punctuated with rough thrusts. "I own you."

Words are so beyond you now. He's rough, he's possessive, and he's fucking right. You fling an arm around the back of his neck and hold him close as he fucks you like it's the first time, the last time. His pace gets faster, more erratic, and then the tell-tale gasps begin to come.

"Don't you dare!" you cry out.

"With me," he answers breathlessly.

"Make me!"

You feel him nod as you hold him close. He licks your ear, making your heart rush in your cunt, and he moans for you just as you like. It drives you higher along with his hand, and then there it is, that pressure in your stomach, the tension between your thighs that pushes you higher.

"Shit, shit, Billy, yes, yes-!"

"With me," he begs. "Cum with me, baby."

"No!" Yes. Yes, cum with him, please, please, please-

"That's it, ah-! Fuck, like that, baby, keep-! Fuck, I'm-!"

Billy's hips stutter and he shoves them against yours as his thights tremble. His orgasm forces him to his toes, and his hand shakes against your clit. It washes over him again and again, and as the last of his seed spurts inside you, you follow him into oblivion. This time, your scream is not silent.

Against the wall, he holds you safely. Your heartbeats are matched as your chests press together, only thin layers of cotton separating your skin there. Your breathing is in time with his, too. In, out. In, out.

He kisses your neck. It makes you squirm. "Let me go."

Carefully, he pulls out of you and sets your leg down. Smiling softly at you, he kisses your forehead. Already you can feel his seed trickling out of you, and it turns your stomach. You can't be here a second longer. It's fine, you can shower later, get his stench of you.

You'll never be free of it.

"I need you," he murmurs as you pull your underwear and trousers back on. Now, his touches are soft and searching, petting your hair. You slap his hand away. He frowns. "I'll never leave you, you know?"

"I know." You might escape his presence, but he has taken root in your heart, for good or evil. "But it's done."

His trousers are back over his hips, and as he ties the string, he looks up at you with wide eyes. "What?"

"I'm done with you, Billy. I know you love me, every inch of my soul, but it's not enough anymore."

Large hands grasp yours. He winds his fingers through yours, and you let him. "You're my one true love. You can't go."

"You can't stop me."

And then his face darkens. Your lips part, and slowly, his eyes open, he kisses you on your open mouth. Pulling away, he smiles slightly and it doesn't spread kindly across his face. "I can."

"What're you gonna do, Billy? Tie me to the fucking bed?"

His hands return to the laces of his trousers, and as if he's not even thinking about it, he undoes them and begins pulling them through the waistband. Your stomach drops. And he takes your wrist, and kisses it. "If that's what it takes. I'll keep you forever. I own you."

[billlydear]

Imagine Billy getting injured while at basketball practice (Steve may or may not have played dirty) and the reader is a first aider and has to give him an ice pack or something on the bleachers 👉🏻👈🏻 maybe they're also like opposites, the reader on the quieter side? I don't want to give you too much !! <3

MEDIC - BILLY HARGROVE X READER

W.C 1354- INBOX (please request !) - GIF CREDIT TO OWNER

"Medic," A husky voice pants from above you, and you slam your hand down over the page of the book you've just been reading, staring up with wide eyes at the newcomer.

You're not sure how you hadn't heard the boy's shoes squeaking on the gym floor, but Billy Hargrove is looming over you, a hand on his incredibly toned stomach.

"Uh," You start, bookmarking the page you were on and staring blankly up at him, "...What?"

"I need ice," He jerks his head back towards the court, chest still heaving with hearty breaths, "I got tripped, and he kicked me in the stomach. Coach said to sit out for the rest of the game."

"Oh," You finally kick into gear, fumbling for the cooler beside you, "Uh, okay. Here," You wrap the frozen block in a towel, "Sit wherever you want, just make sure to bring the ice back to me or take it up to the nurse's office by the end of the day."

Despite your first instruction, Billy nods, and lowers himself right beside you on the bench, arm already stretched over the bench behind your back.

"Thanks," He glances sideways at you, sweat dripping down his temple and nearly veering into his blinding grin, "You get really into those books, huh? Haven't seen you look up, like.. ever."

"Yeah," You hum, brushing your fingers against the cover of the novel, "I guess. Basketball's not really my thing."

"Boring?" He guesses, and before you can think things through, you nod.

"I mean-! Sorry," You gush, cheeks blazing with heat at the chuckle he lets out, one of his large hands still holding the ice pack to his chest, "I didn't mean to insult you, or anything."

He shrugs, "No offense taken. I didn't invent the sport."

"You play it, though," You mumble, as if he's forgotten, "I didn't mean to call you boring."

"I think reading is boring," He taps the spine of your book, "Doesn't mean I think you are."

"You just haven't found the right book," You decide, after a moment's silence. You're sure he doesn't really want to read more, that he's set on his views and doesn't need you to help him, but you can't help but advocate for the hobby.

"Oh, yeah? What book do you recommend, this one?" He reaches for the novel laying in your lap, taking the ice pack off of his side and swapping you for it.

"Hold this," He instructs, and you take it only because you don't know what else to do. He leaves you sitting there, ice pack in your hand, eyes blank and brain empty as he thumbs through the front few pages in your novel.

He stills after a few seconds, both hands firmly on the book as he turns to look at you, "No, like, hold it on me."

"What?"

"Here," He lets one side of the book go to point to a newly-forming bruise on his side, "Hold it there, would you?"

Your hands have never shaken this hard before. You're praying he doesn't notice, that somehow he misses the trembling of your fingers as you slowly reach out to press the ice pack against his bare stomach. And of course, fuck, of course it's rock-hard.

"Thanks," He hums, fingers flipping through page after page before he finally shuts the cover.

"Boring," He concludes, passing it back to you.

You don't know what to say. You're not like him, you don't have a thousand witty quips at your disposal or a raspy drawl that makes anything sound like one even if it isn't. You're a fish out of water here, and all you can do is nudge the ice pack back into his hands.

"Wait," He boomerangs it back to you, "Just a second. Lemme get a smoke."

He reaches up a step, turning his torso so that he can grab his bag from where he's left it on the bleachers. You don't blame him for not leaving it in his locker, break-ins and searches are extremely common. He digs a lighter and a pack of cigarettes out of the bag, torso still twisted so that his side presses into your hand. You're desperate for something else to look at, settling on the gum stuck to the bleachers two feet away from you. It used to be mint, you think.

"There," Billy sighs, and you hear the rrrip of his lighter. You focus your attention back on his face, and you let yourself catch a miniscule glance at his chest first. Really, it's just the path your eyes traveled on the way to his face, surely that's not your fault. That was inevitable.

"Thanks," He shoots you a lazy grin, billowing smoke like a steam engine, "Mind holding it for a while longer?"

"Uh, I would really-"

"Thanks," He doesn't let you finish, keeping his cigarette in one hand as he stretches the opposite arm behind your shoulders. He's draped dramatically out over the bench, and doesn't have to stretch far to nudge your knee with his own.

"Look at number 18, Simmons? Y'see him there?"

"Yeah," You nod, eyes locked onto the jersey.

"He's gonna miss," Billy predicts, and sure enough, the boy's attempt at a shot is abysmal, you're certain you could make a better shot.

Billy snickers, and his chest shakes against the ice pack, moving through to your hand.

"Guy shouldn't even be on the team," Billy scoffs, "If he's not missing a shot he's playing fouls."

All you can let out is a hum of acknowledgement, and Billy turns to you with that same grin.

"Right, I forgot. Boring. Well we have to talk about something," He huffs, smoke pouring from his nose, "Otherwise that would be even more boring. So what's it gonna be?"

"English," You decide after a moment of deliberation, "Have you started your essay yet?"

"Do you think I've started my essay yet?" Billy raises one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows, and you nod slowly, comprehendingly.

"You should," You tell him, even if you know your input won't matter, "It's a big part of your grade."

"You should help me," Billy parrots your advice, and at the second he's done speaking, the end of class bell rings. "I don't know how to write an essay."

"I- I guess I can," You stammer through your offer, balancing the ice pack on his thigh and turning to gather your things, "-but I don't really know when we could-"

"Today," Billy drawls, snatching the ice pack up and standing, stuffing his bag over his shoulder. He repositions it over his ribs once more, standing there looming above you on the bleachers, "In the library after school? You got plans?"

"No," You admit, thumbing at the strap of your backpack you've just thrown over your shoulder, "I guess I can help you then."

"Thanks," His face scrunches into a bright grin, and he glances behind him as his friends urge him back into the locker rooms. He makes a show of things, waving as he backs away, then shouting, "See you after school!" across the gym. His voice echoes and reverberates back to you what seems like a thousand times, as do the intrigued questions of his classmates.

By the time the final bell of the day rings, you have a date with Billy Hargrove. Or- at least that's what everyone has been whispering to each other. But it's a study session, you tell yourself, gripping the novel that he needs to analyze in your left hand while your right fiddles with a ring you've got there, that's all it is.

You're surprised to find Billy in the library at all, not to mention before you. You have a sneaking suspicion he'd ditched his last class of the day, but what you're more worried about is the single plucked daisy posed by your place at the table.

"Hey, nurse," He greets you with that signature grin of his, but this time there's gum in his mouth instead of a cigarette, "Ready for our study date?"

Okay, so it's a date.

[sleekervae]

The Bride [1.0]

Masterlist

Pairing: billy the kid x fem!reader

Summary: Billy leaves the Seven Rivers Gang

Warnings: cursing, slander, violence, shooting, death

Word Count: 4,641

Tag List: @poppyflower-22 @ponyslayer

Billy stood at the edge of the gathering, his face set in a determined expression as he addressed Jesse, Bob, John, and the rest of the gang. The murmurs and laughter of the group fell silent as he spoke up.

“Where you been, Billy?” Jesse's voice cut through the quiet, tinged with suspicion.

“Around,” Billy replied evenly.

“Yeah. And where's that?” Bob asked with a hint of irritation, his gaze narrowing.

Billy took a deep breath, knowing this was a conversation he had to have. “I came to tell you something. I’m quitting Major Murphy’s payroll.”

A tense silence settled over the group, the weight of Billy's words sinking in. “I’ve accepted a job with the Englishman, Tunstall. I’m leaving today.”

John's face darkened, his eyes blazing with anger. “Well, you are a little piece of shit, ain’t you? Huh. What’d I say? Hmm?"

Jesse, struck between shock and his own fury, stepped forward, "Billy, I’m your oldest friend. We’ve ridden together a long time. We had some good times, we had some bad times, but our friendship… has always remained. I can’t believe that you’re gonna quit on me now. It don’t make any sense.”

Billy met Jesse’s gaze steadily. “I’m sorry, Jesse. This wasn’t an easy decision to make. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Yeah. That you’re a traitor and our enemy,” Bob spat out.

"This is all that girl's fault, I reckon!" another one snapped, "He took one look at her and it was game over!"

“This has nothing to do anybody else. I just came here to tell you in person.” Billy reasoned, his eyes remained resolute. “Some of us have been friends. When this is all done, we can be friends again.”

Bob's laughter was bitter and cold. “Is that what you’re hoping? That we’re gonna be friends?” He scoffed, the sound echoing harshly as his hand come over his holster, “Do you really think we’re just gonna let you leave? After what you’ve just done?”

Jesse stepped in, trying to defuse the situation, “Boys, boys. We’ve all slept, starved, fought with The Kid. See, he’s trusted himself amongst us. He didn’t sneak out. He came right out and told us. Let him go his way.”

Jesse’s eyes remained fixed on Billy, the fury in them still burning bright. “Our time will come.”

Billy nodded, acknowledging the truth in Jesse’s words. “Yeah. It will.”

As Billy turned to leave, Jesse’s gaze lingered on him, a mixture of anger and reluctant respect in his eyes. Despite the bitterness of the moment, he couldn’t deny the courage it took for Billy to face them directly. The tension in the air was thick, but Jesse’s voice softened as he muttered under his breath, “Chickenshit.”

Eleanor darted around her small room, her hands trembling as she hastily stuffed her belongings into a worn leather trunk. Clothes were half-folded, crumpled, and tossed in with barely a glance. The once neatly arranged items now lay in chaotic disarray. She grabbed a small stack of letters from her desk and scribbled furiously, the scratching of her pen almost frantic.

Billy, I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stay here. I hope you find happiness, even if I can’t be part of it. All my love, Eleanor

She folded the note and slipped it into an envelope, her hands shaking.

Quickly, she moved to another piece of paper.

Dear Mr. Tunstall, I must resign from my position effective immediately. This decision comes with great difficulty, but circumstances have forced my hand. Sincerely, Johana Delile

With a sharp exhale, she folded the resignation letter and set it on the desk. Her heart pounded in her chest, each thud resonating with the urgency of her departure. She grabbed the last few items—a photograph, a book, a small box of keepsakes—and shoved them into her bag.

Just as she was about to snap the trunk shut, a loud knock echoed through her tiny room. Eleanor froze, her breath catching in her throat. The noise was sharp, unyielding, and it made her heart skip a beat. She stood still, her hand hovering over the latch of the trunk, the last vestiges of her resolve crumbling in the face of unexpected visitors.

Her mind raced, trying to process who could be knocking at her door now, and why. She glanced at the clock, realizing she was out of time. The knocking persisted, more insistent. Panic set in as she took a deep breath, her hand trembling as she slowly reached for her switch blade, the echo of each knock reverberating in her ears...

Billy's heart raced as he approached Tunstall's store. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the street, and his mind buzzed with a mix of relief and anticipation. His encounter with Jesse and the gang had been rough—bitterness and anger had hung heavy in the air, but now, with that chapter behind him, he was eager to share his news with Eleanor.

He swung open the door to the store. The interior was dim, lit by the warm glow of lamps that cast flickering shadows on the shelves of goods. Billy's eyes searched for Eleanor, but the store was empty except for Sam, who was behind the counter, arranging a stack of papers.

“Sam!” Billy called out, trying to keep his voice steady despite the lingering tension from earlier. “I’m here to see Johana. I’ve got some good news to share.”

Sam looked up from his work, his brow furrowing in concern. “Billy. I'm sorry but -- Johana's not here,”

Billy’s heart sank. “What do you mean, she's not here? She's off?”

"No, she just... didn't show up," Same replied, his expression troubled. “She usually keeps to her schedule pretty well. I'd go check on her, but I'm the only one on today. I can't leave. I thought she might have been delayed, but it’s been a few hours now. I’m worried,”

Billy’s mind raced. The excitement of sharing his news with Eleanor had shifted to concern. He stepped further into the store, glancing around as if expecting her to appear at any moment. “Can you think of anything? Maybe she said something about her taking off in passing?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing. I haven’t heard a word. She didn’t mention anything unusual before she last left. The only thing that's happened is the army caravan riding into town,”

Billy’s heart pounded in his chest, "The US Army?"

"Is there another one?"

The mention of the army caravan immediately set off alarm bells in his mind. If the army was rolling in, then there was a good to fair chance Captain Harbinger was closing in. Maybe he's spotted her? Maybe he grabbed her?

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he looked at Sam. “When did they arrive?”

Sam’s face was indifferent as he replied, “Just last night night, I think. I saw them pull in and set up camp across the street,”

Billy’s thoughts raced. The coincidence of the caravan arriving just a day before she went missing was too significant to ignore. He couldn’t shake the feeling that her disappearance might be connected to the soldiers’ arrival.

“Did she say anything about it?” Billy asked urgently.

Sam shook his head. “I was already gone. Is she wrapped up in some kind of trouble?”

Billy’s worry deepened. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, "You could say that," He had to find Eleanor, and he had to do it quickly. He gave Sam a nod, barely registering his thanks as he turned and headed back out the door.

As he rushed toward the boarding house, every step felt like a battle against the rising tide of panic and dread surging through him. His thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of fear and urgency. Eleanor's safety was at stake, and the realization of how dire the situation had become fueled his desperation.

He pushed himself faster, weaving through the bustling streets, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. The sight of the army caravan loomed like a dark omen in his mind, each passing moment heightening the sense of impending disaster. He scanned every shadow, every alleyway, praying for a glimpse of Eleanor or a sign that she had escaped whatever threat was closing in on her.

The stakes had soared to a terrifying height, and the weight of his mission bore down on him with crushing intensity. His heart pounded furiously against his ribs, the urgency of the moment leaving no room for second-guessing. With every beat, he felt the crushing fear of arriving too late, of failing her when she needed him most. He pushed onward, driven by the desperate hope that he wasn’t too late to save her from whatever danger loomed just out of sight.

Billy burst into the dimly lit lobby of the boarding house, his eyes scanning the room for the desk clerk. The clerk looked up from behind the counter, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern at the sight of Billy’s frantic demeanor.

“Excuse me,” Billy said, his voice edged with urgency. “I’m looking for Johana Delile. Have you seen her? It’s really important.”

The clerk’s face tightened. “You just missed her. She left with her bags not ten minutes ago,”

Billy’s heart dropped. “Left? Where did she go?”

The clerk shook his head, apologetically. “I don’t know. She didn’t say where she was headed, just asked me to bring up her bill so she could pay. I’m sorry.”

A rush of frustration and fear surged through Billy. “Damn it,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “Thank you.”

He dashed back out into the street, his mind racing with possibilities. Eleanor was gone, and with the army caravan in town, he knew he had to find her before it was too late. He felt the gravity of the situation settle over him, pushing him forward with a renewed sense of urgency.

Eleanor’s hands were shaking as she finished packing the last of her belongings onto her horse. The familiar, comforting routine of preparing for travel was now tainted by a sense of imminent danger. She glanced over her shoulder, her breath hitching when she heard the unmistakable voice she dreaded most.

“Hello, Eleanor,”

The blood-curdling tone made her spine go rigid. She spun around, her heart pounding in her chest. Captain Harbinger stood there, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over her. His eyes were cold, and the cruel scowl on his face sent a chill down her spine.

"Captain," she started casually, hoping to keep things pleasant, "Been a long time. You're moustache is longer,"

“It's been a long time, indeed. Over a year I’ve been looking for you,” Harbinger said, his voice dripping with menace. “You didn’t think you could just run away from me, did you? I paid for you. You’re mine.”

Eleanor’s mind raced, her thoughts scattered as she tried to stay calm. “Harbinger, please. You don’t have to do this. I... I have money. Lots of it. I can pay you back what you paid my father!”

Harbinger’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. “Pay me back? You think you can just pay me back after everything? I won’t have it. You’re coming back with me to Rosario, and you’ll be my wife whether you like it or not.”

She glanced at her packed belongings, then at the horse. Her escape route was close, but Harbinger’s presence made it impossible to act without getting caught. “I’m not going back with you,” she said, her voice steadying despite the fear clawing at her. “I have a life here. I—”

Harbinger’s eyes flared with anger, cutting her off. “A life? You had a life before I paid your dowry. And what a waste of a life it was—slaving away in a stuffy office, hucking mud and shit out of the stables, and cleaning up after your father’s drunken stupors. He was your burden. I freed you. And now, you’ll do as you’re told.”

The venom in his words struck Eleanor like a physical blow. Her fear began to twist into searing anger, her heart racing with fury. She could feel the rage bubbling up inside her, fueled by the insult to her father—the only family she had left.

“My father was no burden!” Eleanor spat, her voice shaking with both fear and anger. “He had his problems, sure. But he was twice the man you'll ever be!”

Harbinger’s smirk grew wider, his eyes gleaming with malice. “He was nothing but a stumbling drunk. I could've offered him a bottle of whiskey and he would've handed you over to me without question.”

Eleanor’s hands trembled as she reached into her pocket, pulling out her switchblade with a swift motion. The cold metal glinted in the sunlight as she brandished it, her anger transforming into a fierce resolve. “I ain't coming back with you. I'd rather be laid out to die and have the coyotes on me then ever even consider being your wife,”

Harbinger’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face as he took in the sight of the blade. “Eleanor, put that away. You don’t know what you’re—”

“I know exactly what I’m doing!” she interrupted, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her.

Harbinger’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face as he took in the sight of the blade. He smirked, pulling out his gun with a deliberate slowness. “A knife? Really? You bring a knife to a gunfight?”

Eleanor’s resolve hardened, but her fear was palpable, “John Riley murdered his wife last night, and if you think I'm coming back with you only to end up the same way, you got another thing coming to you!”

Harbinger’s smirk twisted into a cruel grin as he leveled the gun at her. “You think you’re tough with that little thing? Come on, then! Let's see how brave you are!” he held his arms out, "I'm wide open!"

Eleanor wanted nothing more then the gouge his eyes out, to draw her knife over his neck and slit his throat from ear to ear. She would've enjoyed it to, because without certainty, she would've been free. She could bury him somewhere, he'd disappear, become a legend, and she could move on in peace.

But alas, Eleanor couldn't move. Because at the same time, Eleanor had never killed anyone. That was a line so many people in her life as crossed, she herself couldn't bring herself to move.

Before she could react, Harbinger came at her, the gun striking her hand with a brutal impact. The switchblade flew from her grasp, clattering against the ground. Harbinger seized her wrist, his grip ironclad as he wrestled her down. Her horse, spooked, took off into the desert.

Panic exploded within Eleanor as she struggled against him, but his grip was like iron, unyielding and merciless. His face was close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, the rancid stench of his breath mixing with her own desperation. “You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not,” he growled, his voice a cold, menacing promise.

The fight felt interminable, the searing sun casting harsh shadows on their tangled forms. Each second dragged on, each movement a battle against the suffocating despair. Harbinger’s grip tightened with relentless force, his strength sapping Eleanor’s resolve and hope. Her vision blurred with tears of frustration and fear, the fight slipping from her grasp as she felt her strength drain away under his brutal hold.

Just as Harbinger was about to secure her, a shout cut through the chaos. “Hey! Get your hands off her!”

Billy’s voice was a roar of anger and desperation. He charged in, tackling Harbinger with a force that sent both men sprawling to the ground. The gun skidded away as Billy grappled with him, his fury evident in every move.

Eleanor scrambled away, her breaths ragged as she looked up to see Billy wrestling Harbinger off her. She saw him pull the man from her, throwing punches with a ferocity born of deep concern.

Harbinger fought back, but Billy’s determination and strength were unmatched. With a final shove, Billy threw Harbinger to the ground, panting heavily as he stood over him.

“Stay the hell away from her,” Billy growled, his eyes locked on Harbinger with a fierce intensity.

Harbinger’s eyes flickered with sudden recognition as he looked up and saw Billy rushing towards them. The realization hit him like a jolt, and a cruel smile twisted on his lips. “Well, well, well,” he sneered, “If it isn’t the infamous Kid Antrim himself.”

He turned back to Eleanor, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. “Looks like I’ve struck gold,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “Not only do I find my runaway bride, but I also snag the outlaw they’ve been hunting.”

His gaze shifted back to Billy, a malicious glint in his eyes. “And here I thought today couldn’t get any better. You two are just making it too easy.” he staggered to his feet, spitting out blood, "Let me guess, she told you some sob story about running away from a loveless marriage and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. She’s quite the little lady, isn’t she!" He laughed, a grating sound that sent shivers down Eleanor's spine.

Billy glared at Harbinger, his fists clenched by his side. "Leave her out of this, Harbinger. You know nothing about her or me," he growled, his voice a low rumble.

Harbinger just laughed again, the sound like nails on a chalkboard to Eleanor's ears. "Oh, but I know more than you think, Kid. And I'm going to enjoy killing you in front of her," he said, his eyes taking on a dark, maniacal gleam.

Billy barely had time to react before Harbinger's fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. The impact echoed through the dusty clearing.

Billy’s head spun, but he quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He lunged at Harbinger, landing a solid punch to his ribs. The two men clashed with a ferocity that was almost primal, exchanging blows with a violence that sent dust and debris flying into the air.

Harbinger grunted as he took a punch to the stomach but retaliated with a brutal swing of his fist that caught Billy square in the face. Billy stumbled, his vision blurring momentarily. Harbinger seized the opportunity, grabbing Billy by the collar and throwing him to the ground.

Eleanor’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the brutal struggle between Billy and Harbinger. With her switchblade clutched tightly in her trembling hand, she knew it was too small to make a real impact in this deadly confrontation. Desperation fueled her actions as she launched herself at Harbinger, trying to wrestle him away from Billy.

Harbinger’s powerful shove sent her crashing to the ground. Eleanor hit the dirt hard, her skin scraping against the rough surface. Pain flared as she felt the sting of cuts and scrapes, and her lip split open, blood mingling with the dirt. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to push herself up, her mind racing for a way to help Billy despite the agony of her injuries.

Billy scrambled to his feet, wiping blood from his nose. His fury only heightened when he saw Eleanor in the dirt, and he charged back at Harbinger with a renewed determination, landing a series of quick, powerful punches. Harbinger, despite his size and strength, was momentarily overwhelmed by Billy’s relentless assault.

Eleanor’s mind raced, desperately searching for a solution. She scanned the surroundings for anything that might help. Her eyes fell on a nearby pile of wooden crates and a small barrel of oil. An idea sparked, and she rushed over to the barrels, struggling to lift them.

The fight between Billy and Harbinger continued, the two men locked in a deadly struggle. Billy’s blows were becoming more desperate, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Harbinger, though bruised and battered, was relentless, driven by a dark, twisted satisfaction.

Eleanor finally managed to tip over the barrel of oil, spilling its contents onto the ground. She grabbed a nearby crate, her heart pounding as she carried it over to the edge of the clearing. With a deep breath, she struck a match and tossed it onto the oil-soaked ground, creating a fiery barrier between herself and Harbinger.

The flames erupted with a fierce crackle, sending a wall of fire shooting up between Eleanor and Harbinger. Harbinger’s eyes widened in shock as the fire cut through the air, the heat pushing him back. He stumbled, momentarily distracted from his fight with Billy.

Billy seized the opportunity, launching himself at Harbinger with a final, desperate attack. The two men tumbled to the ground, the fire roaring around them as Eleanor watched with bated breath. She knew this was her chance to escape, to finally break free from the nightmare she’d been trapped in.

The blaze crackled fiercely, casting an ominous glow over the struggling figures. Harbinger’s face was a mask of pure rage as he tightened his grip around Billy’s throat, his fingers like iron bands cutting off Billy’s breath. Billy's struggles grew weaker, his face turning red as he fought to break free.

Just as Harbinger’s grip threatened to crush the life out of Billy, a chilling click echoed through the chaos. Harbinger’s eyes shot open wide, his expression shifting from fury to confusion. He released Billy momentarily, glancing around to locate the source of the sound.

The firelight flickered across Eleanor’s face, her eyes fierce and resolute. In her trembling hand, she held Harbinger’s revolver, the barrel pointed directly at him. Her heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the gun heavy but grounding.

"Get away from him," Eleanor’s voice rang out, steady despite the tremor in her hands, "Or I'll kill you."

Harbinger’s gaze snapped back to Eleanor, his face contorting into a mask of sheer anger. He lunged towards her, but the gun was now firmly in her grasp. The realization of his missing weapon sent a wave of panic through him, even as he tried to mask it with bravado.

“You don't have the nerve!” Harbinger growled, but the sound was cut off by the sharp crack of the revolver as Eleanor fired a warning shot into the air. The bullet whizzed past his ear, a clear and resounding declaration of her resolve.

The shot caused Harbinger to freeze, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. He took a cautious step back, his hands raised in a gesture of reluctant surrender.

Eleanor stood her ground, her voice unwavering despite the danger. “I don’t care what you do with me, but you don’t hurt him. He’s an outlaw, sure. But he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

Harbinger’s rage flared at her words. “I’m going to enjoy making an example out of both of you. You think your little threats scare me?” He moved closer, his posture menacing as he reached for the revolver Eleanor was holding.

Billy, still gasping for breath, struggled to his feet, his eyes locked on Eleanor with a look of desperation. “Eleanor, wait…”

Eleanor’s heart raced as she held the gun steady, her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle. “Stay back!” she hollered, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “The town's people are gonna show up any minute and see what you've done!”

Harbinger’s laugh was low and dangerous. “You think I'm worried about these simpletons? You started the fire, after all. Who do you think they're gonna' believe? A decorated army captain, or a hysterical woman with a gun?”

Eleanor’s resolve hardened. With a steady hand, she took a deep breath and fired the revolver. The shot rang out, echoing through the night, and Harbinger’s expression transformed from one of arrogance to shock as the bullet struck him squarely. He staggered backward, clutching at his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He fell to the ground, his body convulsing in a final, desperate spasm. Eleanor kept the gun trained on him, her hand shaking but her aim steady. Harbinger’s eyes, once full of menace, were now clouded with the realization of his own mortality.

Billy staggered to his feet, equally shocked at what he'd just witnessed. Eleanor killed a man. Five-foot-nothing, big-mouthed Eleanor Aubert, killed a man right in front of him.

As Harbinger lay on the ground, his strength waning, he glared at Eleanor with a mix of hatred and disbelief. “You… you’ll never be safe,” he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll make sure… you pay for this…”

Eleanor’s gaze remained firm, her heart pounding in her chest. “You’re done,” she said quietly, her voice a mixture of relief and sorrow. “Consider our wedding officially off,”

Harbinger’s eyes closed, his body going still. The night was silent once more, the echoes of the confrontation fading into the darkness. Eleanor lowered the revolver, her hands trembling as she stared at the lifeless form of the man who had brought so much pain and fear into her life.

Billy moved to her side, his expression one of concern and gratitude. “Eleanor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with worry.

Eleanor nodded, her gaze still fixed on Harbinger, “We need to get rid of him,” was all she replied.

Billy's eyes followed her gaze to Harbinger's lifeless body, a grim understanding settling over him. “Alright,” he said, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. “Let’s take care of this.”

Together, they dragged Harbinger’s body away from the scene, their movements deliberate and somber. The darkened landscape stretched before them, a stark reminder of the harsh world they inhabited. The road to Lincoln was long, but they were determined to see this through.

As they made their way to a secluded spot far outside of town, the silence between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts and shared relief. The task of burying Harbinger was both a necessity and a final act of defiance against the man who had tried to control their lives.

When they reached a desolate area, far from prying eyes, they began to dig a grave. The earth was dry and resistant, but their determination made quick work of it. Billy’s movements were methodical, while Eleanor’s hands shook slightly with the lingering tension of their confrontation.

Finally, they laid Harbinger’s body to rest, covering it with dirt and stones to ensure that it would remain hidden from any who might seek to find it. The act was a quiet, solemn ceremony, a way to put an end to the nightmare that had plagued them.

As they finished, Billy placed a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, offering a supportive squeeze. “It’s over,” he said softly. “You're free now.”

Eleanor took a deep breath, her gaze lingering on the freshly disturbed earth. “Yes,” she replied, her voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “It’s all over.”

[wmarximoff]

𝐝é𝐣à 𝐯𝐮 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: as you slowly reconnect with Wanda, you feel a familiar feeling of déjà vu.

warnings: making out, smut, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving) mentions of smoking, mentions of drinking, canon typical violence, angst.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 10k

main masterlist| series masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

A carton of almond milk, a jar of peanut butter, a dozen eggs, a stick of butter, a can of peas, a bag of soft multigrain bread and a sizable bottle of wine are the components of the plastic basket that Wanda carries slung over her right arm. She doesn't know that she forgot to get a can of corn too. But the basket is kind of weighty and she might as well use her magic to levitate the items around her own silhouette, but she prefers that way, holding them down herself with her own arm strength.

Sometimes it's good to keep the sense of normality active. Even if normality just means carrying a basket full of groceries around the supermarket. She then looks at the face of the brown watch buttoned at the base of her left wrist and checks the time, blinking her greenish eyes after squeezing a long, full yawn in the back of her throat.

A gray-haired old lady (Mrs. Sharon Davis, an elderly widow, all wrapped in her pale blue cardigan) in front of her appears to be in a conflict with herself to find some of the change interred in the lowest of her silver wallet. And Wanda scrutinizes the establishment around herself, between the shelves stocked with groceries and the glossy linoleum floor; the weary gaze wavering absorbedly over her own white-fabric sneakers and contingently fixing on a dark, even smear on the floor between them.

 Old Mrs. Davis still hasn't spotted her desired coins, and she's been digging into her wallet for the silver pennies for a good few minutes now. Wanda listens over her shoulder as someone pulls into a shopping cart right behind herself and lets out an audible groan, evidentially annoyed at the delay of the old lady with her change, but Wanda doesn't see the point in bothering to torment herself.

It's not yet six o'clock and she'll be peaceably walking home, for Westview is a small, undisturbed, reticent suburban town where everything is so close and easy to find. And she knows that, with her house being just a few blocks away from the locality of the modest market, she won't be long in coming to prepare dinner for her and her boys (whom she has left securely at the house, both doing their math homework). She smiles tenderly to herself when she thinks about Billy and Tommy.

After all, she knows she's never loved anyone as passionately as she loves those two little boys (the grace of her life, the reason for her morning smile and for the blaze of keenness pulsing within the fond fortifications of her warmish heart). For her they are everything, and that is why she would do anything for them – they are the epithet of the purest form of love that Y/N had ever gifted her with; the culmination of their love converted into two vulnerable little creatures that are made up of the best of the two of them.

She just knows, like a good mother who understands both her children so well, that at that moment, the twin boys are probably watching some silly cartoon on the television set beside the broad fireplace found in the corner of the commodious living room. And she is placid in a supermarket line, getting a whiff of the eccentric consequence of the odd combination of the full-bodied aromas of cleaning product and some sturdy feminine perfume – an even slightly nauseating aroma, kind of overpowering and suffocating. In some aisle away from her, a child is heatedly asking his mother to buy him some treats.

Wanda then ponders about making something a little special for dinner, and recalls about the delicious kugel recipethat her mother used to prepare in the length of her childhood days, back in devastated Sokovia, so many years in the remote past that encompasses the beginning of the disasters that marked her life.

The memory that gushes over her is sentimental and bittersweetly recurring to her core; she deliberates about the sporadic months of starveling and a small humble family of four, when her father was lucky with his sales and there was a sufficient amount of money left to buy the soldiers' leftover ingredients.

But then, she retrieves back to the years of her late youth, all lived in the restful caresses of the compound in upper Manhattan. She was still understanding about how to breathe without having Pietro to hold her hand. She was learning to live on her own. She was coming to terms with the truth that living didn't inevitably have to be a bad experience at all; not when Y/n showed her that there could still be delight in the little things in life.

And it was Y/n who used to marvelously praise the dish when Wanda found comfort in the act of cooking, and she always repeat a few slices every time Wanda cooked it so long ago, when they were just two teenage lovers (and eventually also young wives, both living in a small bubble of love and companionship on the edge of a comfortable wooden cottage surrounded by dozen of yards of apple orchards).

There was the sweet virtuousness of the warmth of two young girls' lives at that time. It was the first time that Wanda was really fond of being young (of breathing and having a beating heart, of having a life to live valuing every little detail of it).

She memorizes the exultant smile of her ex-wife, looking so light and beautiful even while talking with her mouth full (a half-crocken smirk drawn to her left-side, like the smirk also articulated in the innocuous characteristics of her little Tommy after he was born, which reminds her so much of the radiance that used to gleam in the sweet features of her former companion). Her ex-wife wasn't always a lonesome and distant creature creeping in the corners of her mind, and it genuinely aches inside her chest to remember that.

Y/n always devoured lavishly every traditional Sokovian dish she has ever prepared and promptly asked for more – and then thanked her with a chaste kiss placed on the pulp of her lips, which promptly evolved into the building of an intimate, sweaty moment with two bodies rubbing greedily against each other. But she soon lets out a crestfallen, rather disillusioned sigh, repressing herself for having gone back to those secluded memories amorously stored in the edge of her brain in the first place (of the concept of two adolescent girlfriends absorbed in love in the purest sense of the word, emulating the seriousness of a relationship with adult bearing, but never losing, at its core, the youthful sweetness worthy of teenage lovers). Two girls playing love in a world that was a little too hard on them.

She glares ruefully at the bulbous base of the red wine bottle and then lets out a sorrowful exhalation. Her relationship with Y/n felt like it was straight out of the old sitcoms that she always appreciated so much, where no problem was a genuine obstacle and that, by the end of the day, the two lovers would be in each other's affectionately secure arms again (and that perhaps she let have an effect on her a little too much, when dealing about decisions made early on in her adult life).

But then she reminisces that she was merely turning eighteen years old when she became a wanted on an international scale, and that, prior to that, she had also grown up in a war-torn country. She never knew how to behave like a normal person per se – whether that was before or after she became able to expel bolts of magical energy from her fingertips. She never quite knew how to fit into the role of a child or a young adult in the first place. Not by herself.

There was no time in Wanda’s life to understand precisely how to fit these labels (she was protesting with so much loathe constricted within her heart, volunteering to save her homeland, being made of little more than a lab rat by the clutches of a bunch of mad men, being used by the being that promised her greatness, but only ended up costing her the life of her darling brother).

In the cramped confines of a bleak, sullied cell, with only a modest television in the corner to entertain her mind away from the needles and the brutality, there were not many allusions of love and passions that elapsed through her life outside a square screen.

Wanda was aware that she just mimicked other people's movements and transcribed them into her own actions, as if it was all just a show and she was its young star, trying to intomb in her core the path of catastrophe and violence that had always shadowed her closely; it was only the years of strict therapy, self-knowledge and self-care, right after being blipped and coming back, that edified her to be her own person in a truly healthy way. There would be no more extremes in her life.

Her cohabitation with Y/n at the time facilitated, of course – even though her wife had changed a lot in the time that followed since the blip, at first, things had worked out well between them. Or as well as possible under the anomalous circumstances. The two of them took care of the (still) newborn twins and of each other, always with great tenderness and affection while they did it. At least that's how it worked for the first year after their reunion – until Y/N got into alcohol's graces for good, that is.

Their relationship had always felt rather light and jovial before Thanos snapped his fingers. And after that she might even have come back, but it was indeed her marriage that had turned to dust in that remote dreary day in Wakanda. In all honestly, she's not quite sure what's changed in that meantime that she's been away (dead, she was dead). And it's uneasy to ponder about it, but sometimes she does – she can’t help it.

Her corporeal existence had disintegrated into a sift of life, crumbling into her own ashes. There was color, and then the dreadfully wide expanse of emptiness (death); she, as a self-aware being, ceased to exist with just a thought and a snap of two fingers.

Her consciousness faded before she could even realize she was doing it – the palms of both her hands constrained firmly against the wound in YN's stomach that was leaking bundles of fresh blood. And Wanda never relatively questioned her existence before that (she only questioned why she ceased to exist in the first place). Returning to dust, as people of faith would say. Five long years that slipped through her fingers and dripped onto the floor in the form of a veil of dust.

It still feels odd in her guts, even ten years later, to remember that there's a void somewhere in her life that would be filled with the time that was thieved from her by the Infinity Gauntlet. A void that had once been filled by the subtle presence of Y/n's love.

Once, when the twins were about a year old after the blip, Y/N drunkenly knelt down with her face defectively reclining on Wanda’s thighs and questioned her as to why Wanda and the babies where the ones erased from existence while she stayed behind, abandoned like an old piece of furniture that no one wants to use anymore. Wanda never knew how to answer it, but they got divorced about a month later or so.

But she imagines that it, the crumbliness of their relationship, has something to do with the fact that they were both a little precocious in getting married before their twenties properly speaking; maybe if they were older and more experienced before doing it, she thinks, standing in line at the supermarket, maybe then they wouldn't have had the sorrowful culmination that they did (the crying faces and the broken hearts).

Maybe they could have risen together, and not just drifted further and further away as the days passed. Maybe Y/n didn't feel guilt-ridden every time the twins cried in need to be held or fed. Maybe Wanda wouldn't have queried her for the love she no longer knew how to give – she is fully aware of the fact that she has always had a somewhat pushy nature, after all. Maybe this, maybe that.

She doesn't know why she's been thinking about maybe so much these past few days. But it's not her fault that her ex-wife happens to be so pleasing to the eye. The person behind her in line grumbles again, and there is a mischievous chuckle that reaches her ears with airs of grace. Wanda is sincerely considering summoning some coins with her magic for Mrs. Davis.

“Oh my God, this wine is divine!”

It is Sarah Proctor who addresses Wanda, the key to undeniably everything in this town. Wanda knows it's the other woman because a sudden pulsing urge to fade away takes over her nervous system as soon as the voice echoes behind herself.

She is the high-nose blonde woman who lives up the street, is a devoted member of the Westview Elementary School parent-teacher association (in the year before Wanda had witnessed her make a young teacher leave the room in tears after a meeting), proudly cultivates the most exquisite yellow roses in the neighborhood and wears a pair of classy yoga pants that would fit a young teenager with half of her age. A self-proclaimed wine mom.

Her daughter is a classmate of Billy and Tommy, and the children often attend both the Proctor and Maximoff residences – which occasioned in Sarah a vague idea of intimacy that only endures in the head of the blonde woman with bobbed hair.

She has already invited Wanda several times to Westview Pool Club girls' gatherings, but Wanda politely declined with an odd smile and a trivial wave of her hand, because she's never been the socially outgoing kind of type—and she's always been under the impression that every attempt Sarah made from approaching her were due to the fact that the other woman knew of her past as an Avenger (as did most of the small-town citizens), and so was trying to turn her into a kind of living-tourist-spot for the eyes of the rest of the world to witness.

Rumors had it that Sarah would run for mayor in the upcoming election, and having a former Avenger as the face of her campaign certainly sells well with the predilections of the American public. Little does she know that Wanda won't vote for her.

“Oh yes, it's one of my favorites,” Wanda retorts, talking about the dark tall bottle of red wine prudently deposited inside her plastic basket, “It's been a while since I've had a drink, so I decided to buy a bottle to open this weekend.”

“Some special occasion, I suppose?” Sarah articulates a suggestive grin, but Wanda just frowns uncertainly, half squinting at her neighbor, “Maybe some... special visitor? I always knew you had it in you, Wanda. You know what they say about the quiet ones...”

“What– no, no. No,” she flashes a half embarrassed, half awkward smile, chuckling nervously while doing so, “Y/n is staying with the boys for the weekend, so it's just a special little thing for me. All by myself. A quarantine-style staycation. A whole weekend... just to myself.”

“Y/n, huh?” Sarah raises a well-crafted eyebrow in a pique of curiosity, “Your ex-wife, right? I remember seeing her at the twins' birthday party. I mean, she's pretty, yes, but she's quite the quiet type, huh... just minding her own business with a cup of soda.”

“Yeah, she was never one to talk much in public, even when we were with our teammates… but neither am I, honestly.”

“A pair made in heaven, indeed,” Sarah then flashes a smile, but the taste that slides across Wanda's tongue is bitter and kind of hard to swallow. Wanda shifts her body weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

“But wait, she's also an Avenger, isn’t she? Yeah, she's the one in the black and white outfit! Oh my God! Who wore a jacket over it and had that kinda mean attitude, all punk rock and stuff?”

“Herself,” Wanda agrees, pressing her lips together in a long, clumsy line. She just wants to go home and cook her damn kugel.

“My my, how did I not notice this before? I remember seeing her in the news once, when I was in college. I also had quite a taste for delinquents back then, if you know what I mean. And, well... I explored a lot in college.”

Wanda feels a hot twinge high in her face and she bites the inside of her cheek in a rather timid act (but there's no denying that Y/n's somewhat rebellious attitude has always had a lewd effect on her legs as a young teenager with a schoolgirl’s heart).

“She and Black Widow, I think, saved the life of the mayor in that bombing on the Fourth of July in... ‘15, ‘16, maybe? Yeah, I remember that! She's the one who's super strong, isn't she? Who held up a scaffold once and saved those kids!”

“That's her, yes.”

The brunette muss in a limp voice, which seems to draw a slightly indecent laugh from the blonde woman with her shopping cart full of knick-knacks and silver hoops clicking in her earlobes. It is from her that the aroma of sturdy perfume comes.

“Well, I imagine that super strength of hers comes in handy in some… situations.”

“Situ–” but then she blinks just one time, “Oh,” Mmrtification hangs over Wanda like a bucket of paint spilled over her dark-haired head.

She opens and closes her mouth like a golden fish, frowning, and her cheeks don't take long to reach strong shades of scarlet, glowing red like one of the tomatoes inside Sarah's cart.

It's inappropriate, and she knows it, but she can't help but feel a certain tingle in her breasts as lapses of memory enlighten her thoughts with the ghost of touches coursing along her body. Then she thinks of Y/N's warm, measured breath against her earlobe (of strong hands pinning her wrists above her head, of a tense, impassive hip against her own hip, of the cracked headboard and the broken bedframe). A movement and a moan. An electrical discharge in her bowels. And then, fuck... just Y/n tearing her insides apart.

The other woman smiles viciously, and Wanda suddenly wishes she hadn't put on a sweater before leaving the house, because she can actually feel herself starting to perspire at the expectant look her neighbor bestows on her.

She's never been one to deal with such intimacies with anyone other than her ex-wife (merely some casual, unsuccessful and sporadic blind dates that's never been more than a few kisses and a few touches here and there, by no means ending up in her or anyone else's bed). But she permits herself only to flash a wan grin towards the other woman when she realizes that, in front of her, the old lady has lastly found her damn change. Fucking finally.

And then, with the memory still boiling hungrily in her innards, like a hungry beast devouring her from the inside out, she takes a large step in the other direction, trying to walk away from Sarah as humanly possible, as if the other woman carries with her a toxic cloud that sickens everything that comes in contact with her. If Wanda couldn't probably get a nice lawsuit for that (or worst), she'd turn Sarah into a disgusting slimy frog.

“Well, I, I, I need to go, Sarah, but it was really nice meeting you around here. Bye,” the enchantress raises her wrist, bidding the blonde woman goodbye with a wave of her hand and a small, introverted (half-awkward) grin.

There is barely time for an answer to be formulated on the part of the housewife. Wanda's cheeks are still red hot as she (virtually) dashes through the small supermarket's automatic double doors like a fugitive on the run. Mrs. Davis drops a coin on the floor on her way out.

ᗢ

You don't know exactly how long you've been raising and lowering the joint of your bent elbow above your head. It doesn't feel right to do it, just as it doesn't do it if it feels wrong. It's just necessary – it’s like cracking some eggs if you're in the mood for an omelet for breakfast. You just have the fullest conception that a few good minutes have passed since the beginning of all the activity, and as in the rehearsal of a play, you are repeating the gestures until you overcome them with great proficiency and your culmination comes out perfect, from your liking.

And you don't bother to intend to stop doing it anytime soon – such a guttural, animalistic and barbaric action. At this point, the movement is already instinctive after being recorded in at the core of your memory, an automatic message engraved between the ligaments of your neurons. You've done it innumerable times before, and you know you'll do it a few more times after this one.

You lift your right arm, lowers your implacable fist constricted like a steel ball, the resonance of smashed cartilage and wrecked bones echoing in your eardrums, all instructed by the figure of a bloodthirsty invisible conductor within the ramparts of your own cranium. The face of the bewildered guy lying beneath you looks like a loaf of raw, misshapen meat as you repeat a cadence of sequentially delivered punches against his facial bones. And he, who is at least twice as big as you, lets out a piercing howl of pain from the cavernous depths of his throat, as even a wild bear would do if attacked deep in a forest.

But in that alley on Long Island there is not a soul available to help him to get rid of your uncomplacent fists – not at the end of a passage that is unpopulated, far from prying eyes that could creep in your direction during the action which takes place there, a beacon of environment squeezed between two amorphous walls of scorched bricks, which gives the illusion of a single long, damp, narrow street. 

A sphere of blood is clotted on your face, like an eccentric gemstone, a dark red pearl splattered under the arch of your left eyebrow. And you pant heavily, your veins stiffening.

You've never been one to refuse punching a motherfucker in the face – your forte has always been pounding up things, whether on the countless missions conveyed alongside your teammates or at work during your teenage years, taking advantage of your inhuman gifts to have something to eat at the end of the week.

You've never had a dilemma in whacking someone’s ass. Even more so when that said someone had committed a hate crime against a racial minority and got away with the trial, because that's the way it is in New York City. The recurring metallic scent of fresh blood squirts in a jet of reddish color, thick and gleaming across your rigid, compact knuckles. The gruesome fragrance is no stranger to your sense of smell, and you're not quite sure whether you want it to be or not.

But it is what you are; as an inherent component of your biological chemistry (like the serum gushing through Steve's veins, altering him from inside out, or the magic pulsing within Wanda's core, changing the structure of her brainwaves), you know that hostility is a primeval part of your nature longer than the placid ends of an ordinary, quiet life.

The peaceable domestic life lived alongside Wanda is long gone, and desolation and wrath are your only roommates within the walls of your morbidly valueless apartment. You've been living like a cornered animal for fifteen years in programmed mode, always exposing your fangs and your claws at any sign of danger, just self-destructing, dying little by little, not craving to exist for one more day after laying your head on the blandishments of your pillow and staring blankly at the ceiling, whirling through your usual drunken state. Just desiring to somehow wreck your imperishable body that can't be cut or torn by human hands or tools.

People much well-intentioned than you are long gone, and you, by some implausible probabilities, were (cursed) fortunate to have endured thorough all the catastrophes that life directed at you. The car accident as a child. The blip as a mother and as a wife, as a friend.

The damn journey by the mountain of Vormir, in which three of you went in the grip of that appallingly isolated planet, and only two came back with a chest full of oxygen and life pumping through your nervures. The avid combat for proprietorship of all the six Infinity Stones, and the provenance of the final snap that brought back peace to the equilibrium of the universe by eliminating the existence of its greatest known threat at the time.

You just seem to live confined in this unbearable cycle of misfortune, and it's not fair to others that you are the person left to tell the story of those who are gone. If only you could, you would swap places with the true heroes who gave their lives for the greater good. You would even be honored to do so yourself.

Your chest heaves and deflates severely within the molds of your leather jacket fitted around your shoulders over a short-sleeved plain shirt, your veins bulging with rushing blood, and you rise to your feet, setting up your knees, and step back to inspect the big man who lies defeated to the floor of the alley, amidst a pool of his own blood and filth typical of places like this — your jacket sleeve shimmering with bundles of fresh blood, a coat of gleaming sweat limping glistening on the beam of skin on your forehead, near your hairline.

He is still alive, groaning in a vital position, and is severely battered. And it was never your intention to kill anyone. He probably learned his lesson. Maybe you should break his legs, just in case. A tremor rolls under your black sneaker feet as a loud motorcycle passes by in the distance. Sirens also pass presently afterwards, coming and going with their blue and red outcome.

But there, squeezed inside the claustrophobic walls of the dim alley, you are far from any possible intervention. You then register a single shake that travels along the outline of your left leg as your cellphone pulses inside the back pocket of your old jeans, shivering against your hip bone.

 You take an elongated gulp of air before diving into your flickering pocket and hooking the device through your fuming, blooded finger length. You know your pupils are dilated and dark. Your gaze is empty and brittle as you scrutinize between the digitally formed words before your motionless eyes. Frequent bursts of oxygen are a method of neutralizing the pulses of adrenaline throbbing in the artery inside your neck. But the taste that slips between your teeth is acid and sour, and you lock your jawbone at the information that is cognitive to you.

Hey, Y/n. Are you really going to come get the boys tonight? I saw somewhere that it will rain later, so I wanted to check with you just to make sure.

(seen)

It’s Wanda.

(seen)

By the way.

(seen)

Yes, you know it's Wanda (your sweet Wanda, the trace of humanity lingering inside your icy chest), that she texted you. And it doesn't astonish you at all (not anymore), because not many people contact you lately during the sunny period of the day. You two have been keeping in touch the last few days, after all, you told her that you wanted to be more present in the twins' lives. And it's not an untruth at all, but your sly creaking anxiety makes you feel like it's a kind of uncertainty inside your throbbing stomach walls.

Maybe it's not the right decision, the voice inside your head spoke. Maybe at this point in life they don't need you anymore. Maybe this is a breakthrough, or even the commencement of a calamity worthy of a Greek novel, you're not quite sure yet. You turn on your heels and spin your back on the battered man, so you can send your reply to your ex-wife's number without looking at the ferocious outcome of your latent tantrum.

yup, your avid thumbs type along the digital keyboard provided on the screen of the small electronic device, i’ll be there in 1 hour or so. hope they like cheeseburgers.

And then you slide your upper teeth along the flesh of your lower lip, somewhat unsure of how to proceed.

try to enjoy your staycation btw. you deserve it

(seen)

:)

(seen)

You don't know why you sent her that stupid emoji. It's not like you're a teenager reproducing a failed flirtation attempt with the girl you have a crush on anymore.

But a lapse of realism is present as your vision aims on the blood folds on your stinging fingers folded around the cellphone, and you feel a heavy ball of constricted lamentation taking shape in the back of your throat when your sorrowful eyes scrutinize thorough the lines of your hands and find there only odious signs of a cavernous viciousness (a raw, physical cruelty also reflected within the mirror of your shattered soul).

In the background, the man is still groaning in pain. And you're not sorry you broke him in a beating. No, no. You're just sorry for yourself, because you didn't bat an eye when you did it. Vaguely the memory of Wanda placing chaste kisses along your hands invades you, and you realize you wouldn't want her to kiss your unseemly fingers right now (because you find her too pure to dwell on the filthiness of your touch).

The skin on your hands abruptly itches and feels dull, and you don't feel like having those plagued fingers around your children’s immaculate faces anymore.

ᗢ

The twilight of dusk breaks with the trepidation of an ingrained thunder, which rumbles all in a glow of white light that splits along the longitudinal path that comprised the pleasant suburb that is Westview. So, this is an opaque afternoon resulting from the middle of the rainy day, gray and hazy in its chilly essence, with tenuous threads of a torrential drizzle protecting the foundations of the two-story house on the slopes of the street, making the dewy ivy rustle on its ground, dripping slowly from the eaves of the ceramic tiles.

Standing on the porch of Wanda's house, you ponder that you should have listened to the weather forecast when it was said that during the afternoon there would be a period of rain. Your dark hoodie is really soaked through and your hair, pulled back in a high half ponytail, is damp against the skin of your own forehead. You feel kind of stupid.

Compact, opulent, slate-colored clouds were uneven against the emerald green of the panorama of howling houses, hills and trees, like the leaning of thick smoke from a desolate fire. A fierce storm, nevertheless, is not anomalous in the face of the oscillating spring climate of the state of New Jersey, which is not a real stranger to the rainy weather of the season. Thus, the nonstop drizzle is not the atypical episode of the day altogether.

The conquering event of such a rank happens when Wanda opens the door and finds you there, standing with your elbows dripping cold droplets water in the light wood entrance, and then pulls you into the cozy embrace of the pleasant climate established within that domestic environment of her own home.

“For God’s sake, Y/n, you're soaking wet!”

She reiterates, surveying you with an apprehensive gaze that runs the length of your head to toe, her slender ringless fingers still pressed worriedly around the outline of your right forearm tucked beneath the humid fabric of your damp blouse – but Wanda doesn't seem to realize as she's still carries with the action, and you kind of don't want her to let go of you anytime soon, so you say nothing about the warm touch tingling on your cold skin.

“Yeah, the rain started when I was halfway there and there was no way for me to avoid it, so I just went with it,” you mutter, with a certain lack of interest smoldering in your quiet voice “Sometimes I wish I still had a car...”

“But you didn't bring an umbrella?” Her gaze is accusatory in your direction, the tone of voice sounding dangerously concerned inside your ears, “Wait, you walk all the way over here?! I could have gone to get you!”

“Well,” you kind of sigh, shrugging your shoulders within your hoodie, without looking her straight in the eye “You see, I, hah… I didn’t think it was actually going to… you know… to rain. And technically I have some level of super speed in me, so...”

And then you look at her, and the exact facial expression you'd expect to find there makes its way until it slides all over her face. She’s pissed off.

“But I told you it was going to rain!” she then frowns at you, looking a little exasperated while doing it, her beautiful features drenched in an irritated tone of incredulity, “Seriously Y/n, you need to listen to what I say more! What if you get sick?”

You flick an eyelid at the grumpy figure of a very upset Wanda standing right in front of you, exhaling aromas of tea and crimson color. It's funny how the pique of nostalgia slips through your bones – there is an air of familiarity when a subtle sense of déjà vu settles into your cognitive system, like the feeling of coming home after a long trip. You feel at home. You feel belonging.

This image is very cherished to your spirit, and you can't help but to articulate a small grin that feels light in your heart in front of your ex-wife, who then aims towards your gaze with a gleam that is an assortment of misunderstanding and irritability flickering in the greenish irises, the color that look like two emerald stones embedded within her eyeballs, curving a single one of her sharp dark eyebrows in an high arching cut.

You feel married to her again for half a fraction of a second – it's like your remote newlywed routine all over again. And the feeling is actually good. She looks so pretty. It's like you could kiss her lips right there.

“What? What's so funny?”

Wanda questions you in an almost petulant way, and you let out a pleasant chuckle as she tilts her head slightly to the side of her right elbow, her chin pointing toward the tip of your nose – her typical irritating movement as the harbinger of an angry reaction to anything that troubles her spirit.

“You know I'm physically incapable of getting sick, don't you?” you declare, still with a smile carved along the outline of your own lips, and Wanda crosses her forearms close to her chest in an even vaguely embarrassed way in front of you. She was always a stubborn type anyways.

“It's that super durability mutant thing or some shit like that. At least that's what Banner told me once, and he's a smart guy y’know, so I believe him,” you casually shrug, “I haven't had a cold since I was, like, thirteen. Shit, I don't even know if I remember what it's like anymore. You don't have to worry about me, Wanda.”

“W-well,” she exasperated in a timidly cute way, even a little childish in essence, pressing her open palms against the sides of her hips well-guarded by a pair of pale mom jeans – the attire so far from the miniskirts and chains and torn clothes she used to wear when she was younger, at the apex of her mean girl phase.

Today isn't the first time you've noticed that her waist got wider as a result of the prudent ripening endowments of late adulthood blossoming into her beautiful body-type. It suits her well. You want to touch her skin through the fabric of those flimsy jeans and the thin white cotton blouse; your fingers itch to do it.

“Just because you don't get sick like other people it doesn’t mean you can walk around in the rain whenever you feel like it. You look like a wet dog right now, you know.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” you raise both your hands to shoulder height in a placid gesture of surrender, “No more walks in the rain, I promise you.”

“You're impossible, Y/n,” she then rolls her green eyes into their sockets, but you just smirk jokily at her reaction.

It only takes a nonchalant magical flutter of Wanda's wrist, with her right five fingers all enveloped in a fading mist of crimson steam, for the well-versed witch to make your garments still swell on your body, expelling from the bristles of fabric, as even in a chemical separation reaction, the water molecules that soaked them in the first place.

It's like a huge hair dryer blowing hot air the entire length of your body and then unexpectedly stopping as if pulled from the socket, making your skin temperature pleasant again like a sunny embrace all around your body. You find yourself dry in a matter of seconds, from your socks to your underwear, thanks to her remarkable magical gifts.

The tingles consequential from the scarlet mist touching your skin still slither down the length of your body. It is familiar and eccentrically comforting – it's like eating again a candy that you used to eat during the preludes of your childhood; tastes like home and happiness.

“You know what, your powers come in handy sometimes, I’ll give you that,” you say in a mocking tone of voice, and she raises a single eyebrow in response.

“You’re annoying. I'm still considering throwing you out back in the rain for dripping water all over my carpet, just so you know.”

“All right, mom, relax. I won’t do it again, girl scout word.”

“You were never a girl scout, Y/n.”

Wanda just casts a weary glance in your direction, but there's a slight lighthearted tone that resides in the green outline of her graceful irises, as if an inside joke has taken hold between you two. She smiles, and so do you, because you feel comfortable while doing it – a pair of complicit grins from someone whose chest is filled of joy and fullness. The atmosphere that sets in is comfortable, and you feel more relaxed being close to her.

You don't really do it, but it feels like your fingers are entwined with the fingers of her own hand – the specter of touch is written between the two of you, and it's as if your soul can really feel hers at its core, like two magnets that can't stop attracting each other instantaneously. You've always gravitated towards Wanda's overwhelming presence, and things won't be any different now.

“Come on, the boys are watching cartoons in the living room,” Wanda says, then turning her back on you so that you follow her lead to the intimates of the house, “You can stay until the rain stops.”

You follow after your ex-wife without further circumlocution, the two of you passing through the small and comfy entrance hall as you go after Wanda into the large rectangular living room, your hands always tucked inside the single pocket of your hoodie as you accompany her with phlegmatic steps in your essence. Your shoulders feel even lighter as she turns to you and casually offers you the sweetest smile you've ever seen in your life.

Torrential rain is still pouring down from the sky outside the house, and the boys Billy and Tommy can be seen wearing warm, comfortable clothes, both the twins snuggled up against the back of the gray linen sofa, their little smart eyes looking smilingly at each other’s faces and not towards the television screen, where some cartoon that seems unfamiliar to you is shown.

They seem to share some secret that only two people with some primal connection as to what unites them would be able to do it, but the sounds of banter irrigated in the air of childish shenanigans reveals the mockery between their giggles.

They are brothers and they are twins, yes, two parts of a whole, born of the same womb that they shared from the beginning of their existence as two living beings, but you were always a little happier to realize the closeness established in the friendship between your children. Billy and Tommy are each other's best friends.

The pair then seem to make themselves aware of the presence of their two mothers as they enter the room, and the smiles of both children scintillate in enthusiasm as the pairs of eyes look up and acknowledge your appearance a little further behind Wanda's still figure, following her very closely, ceasing the small section of chitchats they had between the two of them.

“Mom!”

“Mommy!”

From the sofa the boys joyfully call out to you, beaming in your direction. You can't help but do the same to them.

“Hey, my demons spawn. What are you up to there, huh?”

“We were preparing something! Okay, so, mom,” Billy speaks in response, barely seeming to be able to contain the glee of excitement inside his tiny body.

“Listen to this-!” Tommy complements his brother's phrase, in a tone of enthusiastic anticipation.

"Hey, I want to start it!" but the other twin intervenes promptly, almost indignantly.

Tommy frowns, turning up his freckled little nose towards a rather annoyed Billy, who is sitting next to his left elbow. The little boy briefly tilts his head to the left side towards his brother, and you know you've seen similar action in Wanda's characteristic mannerisms.

“No, I want to start it!”

"I want to start it!"

“But I want to start it!”

“I want to start it!”

“Why don't you both,” Wanda then promptly interferes with the small disagreement between the boys, increasing her mother's reproachful tone of voice a little, preventing, at the beginning, that the intrigue takes a somewhat bigger proportions, “Start it together?”

“Yeah,” you support her in a complacent tone of voice, “You two came up with the idea together, so the right thing would be to do it together too. Whatever it is, I mean.”

"Okay."

"Okay..."

The two of them mutter almost in almost defeated tune, fidgeting together on the couch. You think that they look cute while they're there, tiny and sitting like two baby rabbits.

"You ready?" Billy questions in a low voice, turning to the brother beside him.

“Yeah,” Tommy mussed back, nodding in agreement.

“Okay,” says Billy then, almost proudly, “Three, two, one, go.”

And then, you can barely contain a smirk when the boys, in different and discrepant voice tones, begin a silly chant in their thin children's voices. In the corner of your peripheral vision, you notice that Wanda also lets out an amorous smile, melting into a comfortable puddle of kindness, dying in love with her two singing little children sitting across from the two of you.

“We like ice cream like any child should,” they hum together, vocalizing playful tones as they proceed through the song's component words, “And if we get some ice cream, we pro-mise to be… good!”

Then they look towards the two of you, displaying expectant smiles written all over their childish faces. And you and Wanda exchange glances, and the smile she offers you is very similar to the one that graces the curve of Billy's lips.

"Nice try, smarty-pants, but you haven't even had dinner yet."

“But mama,” Tommy replies in a pleading tone of voice, “We really want ice cream!”

“Yes, we want ice cream!” exclaims Billy in agrément, "We can't wait!"

“Well, we can have dinner first, then ice cream. What do you guys think?" you offer them, your eyes darting towards Wanda's face, "But you need to have dinner first to grow to be strong and healthy, and ice cream is for dessert only. Right, mama?"

Wanda looks in your direction, and then smiles. And you smile back, because the situation is prone to do so. You, for the first time in so long, feel welcomed and hassle-free in the presence of others. The air inside the house is blissful and warm, so unlike your empty, disdainful apartment forgotten somewhere on the West Side of Midtown Manhattan. Wanda doesn't feel like your ex-wife right now – at least, that's not how she looks at you.

“Right,” her eyes flash pale green beams towards you “Let's have dinner first, mommy.”

ᗢ

You wake up in the middle of the night, but maybe you just haven't fallen asleep at all. The sheets that grace the bottom of your body are soft and comfortable, and the pajama set you wear is not your property. It's late in the course of the long night, and like so many that have passed before this one, you just know you wouldn't be able to rest your relaxation anytime soon.

How could you even do it? Perhaps you stayed longer than you realized detailing the gloomy ceiling of Wanda's guest room, counting in your mind as you scrutinized every passing second so that you still had control over something (time being something), so that you wouldn't go mad at being dismembered alive by each of your own inner demons.

If the beginning of the night was watered in jubilation and a serene comforting coziness on your part, the firstfruits of the dawn soon came to frustrate you in the form of intrusive thoughts quite harmful to your twisted mental health.

The torrential rain didn't stop anytime soon, and after having dinner with Wanda and the boys (in a very warm congregation, you were sitting at the table with your family, eating the same food as them and breathing the same oxygen, always supported by grins of pleasure as you chatted eagerly with each other), and the twins were slow to fall asleep after two generous mugs of chocolate mint ice cream each.

Your ex-wife insisted that you stay for the night after the two of you carried them upstairs and deposited them in their respective tidy beds, showering each of them with chaste kisses to the tops of their childish heads – Wanda's little staycation was long-forgotten by then. You let out a disturbed sigh, both palms of your hands polishing the length of the dull face of yours.

What the fuck, you think, what the fuck are you doing there? This may even be your family, but this is not your house. It's not your home. Not anymore. Reverberating through your insides you find the throttling need for a drag of a cigarette eating away at the bottom of your lungs like a harmful parasite sucking the life from its source, and then you get up to do it, because lying down feels like it consumes you from within in a profuse haze of bubbling anxiety that bursts from your stomach to your mouth, making you feel so weak inside.

It has always struck you as a somewhat ironic cynicism on the part of the universe that you, who are possessed of an impenetrable shell on the outside, suffer so much from the brittle fragility of your own interior – hard skin does nothing to protect a broken mind.

The lavender bedclothes had begun to tighten the muscle in your neck after a while, and in the room just down the hall, you assume Wanda sleeps comfortably cuddling in her bed. When searching inside the single pocket of your hoodie, the well-folded garment on top of a plain desk in the corner of the room, soaked in the darkness of the shadowy environment, the absconse pack of cigarettes from a brand that you are quite familiar with, that keeps you company in the acrimonious moments of solitude, you take a single cylindrical unit towards the spaces open to your drooping mouth and then you find the cold lighter with your fingertips, leaving for the entrance door of the room offered to you by your ex-wife.

After descending the stairs, stepping one step at a time with your bare feet, you are surprised that the door leading to the backyard is already open before you are even there, and the cold night wind has blown inside the house like a curious, invisible animal, installing an icy feeling of dysphoria within the broad walls.

But before you could search with your watchful eye for some intruder who went beyond the icy specter of the night, in avid state of alert, you notice an apollonian silhouette hunched outside, sitting on the step outside the door, with a long waterfall of soft hair in the color of a raven's down running halfway down her spine.

The restlessness that weighed heavily on your shoulders eased as the familiar full-bodied scent of hibiscus tea mixed with the sweetness of a mild strawberry shampoo slithered into your nostrils and filled your lungs thirsty for smoke and tobacco. As you approach, you see that Wanda, wearing a sheer silk robe over a red nightgown, is accompanied by a large cup that exhales small clouds of steam, with the tiny bundle that carries the tea herbs submerged into the hot water inside the dark container.

"You really have loud thoughts," Wanda's small, soft voice ripples through the air and then hugs your body as your ex-wife turns toward you with a lingering slowness that, to you, is as familiar as the taste of your unsmoked cigarette.

Her eyes glow an intoxicating green hue amid the darkness of the night, only supported by the silver light of the moonlight coming from outside the residence. You feel like a frog being studied on a silver platter in some high school biology class.

Wanda's diligent gaze always seemed to be able to penetrate through the cracks of your soul – she always understood you as if she were an expert when dealing with any subject concerning you. You let out an uneasy sigh, oddly scratching the inside of your throat as you do.

"Sorry if I woke you up, it wasn't... it wasn't my... intention."

“It’s okay,” she mumbles serenely over a sip of hot tea, the pulp of her nacarine lips being moistened by the hot liquid she's ingested, “I still haven't been able to sleep anyway.”

And it's no surprise to you, because you slept and woke up next to this woman for several of the component years of your life span, and it was always well known to you that Wanda is a woman quite affected by long sleepless nights, not being able to afford to actually close her eyes and be fortunate enough to have a good night's sleep.

Countless were the nights turned to morning dawns, when you both resided under the same roof in the compound back at the Avengers Tower, so many years before you were there, standing in the middle of her kitchen, silently watching her perform the simple act of drinking tea at her backyard door.

“Still having trouble sleeping?”

“Once in a while,” Wanda answers you, and with her eyes she indicates the empty space next to her right elbow so you can sit there, “Sometimes I need to relearn how to sleep all by myself. And... It's not easy, when I’m under the same roof as you again.”

Without saying a word, you cross the entire length of the kitchen, passing by the island and the marble sink, to be seated on the marble step that freezes your warm skin, next to the woman who smells of hibiscus with strawberries and deep scarlet tones.

Her eyes recognize the figure of the unsmoked cigarette between your fingers, unlit and forgotten like the insignificant little rolled-up tobacco paper that it is, and then she looks toward the profile of your silhouette, blinking once with her thick eyelashes as she does so.

“You start smoking again?”

“Yeah, it's been a while, actually. A couple of years to be honest. Not that I'm proud of it, but,” your gaze shifts to the small cylinder, turning it between the digits of your index and middle fingers of your tender right hand, “This little shit here helps me calm down, I guess. Or at least I like to think so. I don’t know."

Silence touches both of you shoulders, and there is a moment for Wanda to sip more of the tea that has spilled into her cup. When the drink is gone, then all the way into her stomach, she places the container on the floor, close to her left ankle like a tame kitten, safe from her company. You are still hesitating in the uncertainty of whether or not to light up that damned tempting cigarette.

“Earlier today,” she begins, immediately drawing your attention to her pretty face, and you're met with her pink lip as she clamps her upper teeth over the contour of her wet mouth.

“You and me and the boys... it was good. They like having you around. And I... I like it too, Y/n. It felt right.”

She hums in the sigh of the night. You feel a crackling feeling swelling inside your swollen chest, but you don't say anything in sequence, because it's Wanda who continues to talk in her silver moonlight monologue.

“I had forgotten what it was like to feel like this. Me and you acting like family with the boys the way we’re supposed to be. And it's good, Y/n. It’s… really good. I missed that, you. I missed you.”

You choke relatively. For Wanda, a heartbeat rumbled in her ears. And then she looks at you, and you look at her.

And suddenly, you don't want to light that cigarette anymore – because she leans her chin forward, leaning her head towards you, and you do the same when your body cries out for her, lips colliding in midair like the consolidation of a wish, a scarlet fever supernova bursting within your own chest.

And then, the full-bodied freshness of hibiscus darts into the half-open breach in the gap between your lips, pressing a velvety tongue against the slit between your teeth, discharging into your mouth a red-sour-sweet flavor, definitely good though, but rougher than usual as the two of you now share a needy, somewhat sloppy, even animalistic kiss.

Even if there is indeed a need on Wanda's part, and you just need someone to scare you away from the evil inside your head. Your ex-wife, in a thoughtless act, dives with her clever hands into the thin fabric of the tank top that clothes your impenetrable skin, grabbing the sides of your waist in a needy way, as if all she wanted at that moment was to feel you, as if her entire existence existed based on physically feeling you snuggled into her icy body.

She blinks, consenting to the overflow of her feelings, enraptured by the image of your cheeks burning and your chest heaving. And she does what she thinks is right to do, which seems to be the only option possible in this small moment of affection and dedication, filled with an ember that if she could name it, she would call it love - because she knows she love you, even if she didn't say it out loud yet. You are the love of her life, and she is the love of yours.

Wanda then hurls herself even farther forward, a nymph figure smitten with idolatry, and takes her prize, pressing the commission of her red lips against the outlined mouth with the flavor of melancholy that could belong to none other than you, so exotic, and never the same.

You feel the smart hands rest at the end of your spine with an almost practiced disregard, seeking nothing but feeling at first, far from the lascivious idea of consolidating the carnal act. Wanda just wants to feel you close, all to herself, comfortable in her grip. Between a set of pink lips, a tongue is present, and this tongue curls up in another in a not hasty and exaggerated way. It's elegant. It's careful. It is harmonious.

But a slow kiss unravels, and Wanda holds her breath and returns in search of more of her favorite flavor to keep in her mouth, only to be promptly reciprocated by a devoted you, a soft nostalgic familiarity edging your silhouettes connected by the lips beneath a star-studded sky, with an absorbed perfection that no one else but the two of you would be able to achieve.

Up and down, side and side; surrounded by genuine attunement, lips moved carefully, following an invisible line that dictates your not so reckless actions. A waltz of delicate, tangible lips that still fit together so perfectly, so neatly, that you might as well cry.

But the pacified kiss soon takes the form of a fervent kiss as you pant hot against your ex-wife's lips, and the fervent kiss becomes little kisses sprinkled around her neck that soon dissolve into a hollow moan, into a world where there didn't seem to be any more worries as long as you were in each other's arms.

In her own time, Wanda drags her teeth along the lower lip of your mouth, which groans deeply in response with a tingling in your throat, a tiny fraction of time passing until, like a buzz, quick, rough lips take refuge again in a tongue inside your mouth, and you feel an icy hand grasp your breast in a primitive way.

Clever fingers, soaked in crimson, traveled to your scalp, and a light mouth caresses yet another moan of yours. In a heartbeat, Wanda swings a leg over your knees and sits right on top of your lap, grabbing your wrists to put your hands around her waist.

“Please,” she cries against your lips, “Please, Y/n, touch me. Make me feel you again.”

The feeling is familiar. Toxically familiar. It is the red invading your senses, intoxicating you with dense doses of scarlet. You know very well that, even before the enticements of alcohol and cigarettes, your primary vice has always been the crimson sweetness of Wanda's body. And, well… you're not known for being resistant to the temptations of your addictions.

ᗢ

A crimson marble glow glistening under the palms of both your hands. Sweat glistened in the hollow of your groin across your burning hips. Wanda riding on your lap, naked as a Renaissance painting displayed in the dim light of a museum, her chest heavy like a marathon runner. The long, thick length of the red strap brushed against a specific spot on her inner walls that made her delirious and increasingly pivot her hips toward you, seeking more, brushing against each other like two animals in heat.

There was nothing rational in that animalistic act. The symphony in the room was that of skin beating wet against skin; of her lascivious wetness voraciously swallowing your cock.

You could see it from the single, retracted drop of sweat that poured into the valley between her own swollen breasts, the two mounds swaying just before your lascivious eyes; a delight modulated to your stormy gaze, profuse as sea water, which clouded your young girlfriend's body with a predatory look, immersed in illicit labor.

Your insides tingled in a white-hot tingle, both clits sliding through the material of the strap, the insides of your thighs strong and wet against Wanda's pulsing center.

Her tight pussy pressing against the erect silicone phallus between your legs, the red of the material buffed with the sticky juices from inside of her. That was her bed, her sheets wet beneath your sweaty bodies, the walls of her room reverberating the pornographic grunts and moans from deep in her throat.

“F-fuck-!” she clenched her teeth, her nails lacquered with black nail polish carving red paths in the muscles of your back, “Y/n, fuck, right there, ah-!”

Her thick Sokovian accent spilled into your ears, and something primal and cavernous rumbled inside you, like a spark that explodes in a raging fire. You wanted to own her. You wanted to consume her.

You wanted to eat her alive; fuck her until the mold of your strap was forever etched into the walls of her greedy cunt, which was increasingly squeezing the silicone phallus, a delicious pressure forming a red knot just below her belly button.

“Ah-! Ah-!, pozhaluysta, pozhaluysta-!” she gasped in her native dialect, loud and clear against your ear as you fucked her as hard as possible “Trakhni menya... ya pochti u tseli, ya po-pochti u tseli... Ugh, dorogaya!”

“Fuck, are you close?”

“M-mhmm! ” she kind of moaned, both eyes squinted two lewd lines “Please don't stop, don't stop Y/n, ah-!”

The scream was loud as you dropped her suddenly onto the sheets, her sweaty back slamming against the thick material of the mattress, her dark hair spilling across the pale material of the pillow.

You slipped your hands between the folds of both her knees and brought her lower back close, barely giving her time to miss your strap inside her dripping cunt before guiding the red material between her sticky folds, resuming the vigorous action of fucking your way against her cervix.

Your strong hand pressed itself (as did the bone of your jaw) against the upholstered headboard, and there a rip was deferred by your own touch – as it had done to a plucked pillow, and a lampshade shattered to the ground.

The lamp above your heads flashed white. Wanda's eyes glowed a profuse scarlet that swallowed the moss green of her irises, the darkening of her dilated pupils making her eyes look like two bottomless wells of lust. You buried your face against the beam of sweaty skin that joined her neck to her collarbone, and placed a generous, savage bite there.

“Fuck- I’m gonna cum, I'm gonna– fuck! Y/n! Oh, fuck!” she decreed, panting against your bare neck, pressing her fingers against your buttocks in an incitement to the act they so indomitably committed.

“Come for me Wanda,” you murmured against her ear, “Come on my cock, pretty girl, make a mess for me. I wanna hear you fucking scream my name.”

The bed hit the wall again. And again. And again. You didn't stop at the first orgasm. Nor in the second. Nor on the third. Until you abandoned her in the middle of the night.

[sundove88]

Introducing Anime Ever After!!

Ever wanted to experience classic fairytales but through the lens of legendary and lesser known anime?

Well, Anime Ever After is for you!!

Synopsis: An anthropology of famous stories from around the world retold through the lens of legendary and lesser known anime, with modern twists, turns, and lessons about. From the depths of the sea in DBZ: Waves of Freedom (The Little Mermaid) to the realm beyond the clouds in One Piece: Beyond The Sky (Jack and The Beanstalk), this ever expanding treasury of tales has something for everyone.

Framing Device: An anime loving teenager is telling classic fairytales to the kids they babysit as bedtime stories- with a twist!

Side Note: Nursery Rhymes being adapted is more for Shrek. So they won’t be here- sorry about that. But they do a good job at it. This anthology is meant for readers 12 and up, due to some of the themes in some of the stories.

Btw, look for the posts that have anime ever after on them as one of their tags. Here’s the list of tales (So Far):

Dragon Ball Z: Waves of Freedom (The Little Mermaid)

My Hero Academia: Heart of Glass (Cinderella)

Attack on Titan: Red Hood (Little Red Riding Hood)

One Piece: Beyond The Sky (Jack and The Beanstalk)

Naruto: Sleeping Shadow (Sleeping Beauty)

Sword Art Online: The Match Player (The Little Match Girl)

FullMetal Alchemist: Iron Wolves (The 3 Little Pigs)

Fairy Tail: Mirrors of Deceit (Snow White)

Inuyasha: Soul of The Beast (Beauty and The Beast)

Bleach: Brushes of Fate (The Magic Paintbrush)

Fruits Basket: The 12 Dancing Zodiacs (12 Dancing Princesses)

Black Clover: The Frog Knight (The Frog Prince)

Hunter X Hunter: Spreading Your Wings (The Ugly Duckling)

Demon Slayer: Demon of The Northern Wind (The Snow Queen)

Black Butler: Beyond The Tower (Rapunzel)

Yu Yu Hakusho: Sweet Temptation (Hansel and Gretel)

Doraemon; Fearless Feline (Puss in Boots)

Gintama: Peachy Keen (Momotaro)

Sailor Moon: Lady of The Waxing Moon (Princess Kaguya)

Haikyuu: Bear-ly Faltering (Snow White and Rose Red)

Railgun: Little Warriors, Big Impacts (Thumbelina)

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: All That Glitters (Rumplestiltskin)

Yu Gi Oh: Diamond in The Rough (Aladdin)

Konosuba: The Royal Test (The Princess and The Pea)

Tokyo Ghoul: The Crimson Amulet (The Red Shoes)

Akame Ga Kill: Fashion Gambit (The Emperor’s New Clothes)

Ouran High School Host Club: Wings of Perseverance (The Wild Swans)

Rurouni Kenshin: The Ronin’s Trials (The Steadfast Tin Soldier)

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagan: Cage of Steel, Heart of Platinum (The Nightingale)

Cowboy Bebop: Written in The Stars (The Weaver Girl and The Cowherd)

Death Note: The Golden Pen (King Midas)

Neon Genesis Evangelion: No Strings Attached (Pinocchio)

Fate: The Chosen Sword (King Arthur)

BanG Dream!: Melody of Deceit (The Pied Piper)

Code Geass: The Princess and The Pig Man (The Swineherd)

Jujitsu Kaisen: The Light Within (The Buried Moon)

Blue Exorcist: Blazing Bonds (The Firebird)

Spy X Family: Secret of The Statue (The Happy Prince)

Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic: The Enchanted Key (Alibaba and The 40 Thieves)

Re:Zero: Gilded Feathers (The Golden Goose)

Saint Seiya: Divine Trials and Godly Tribulations (The 12 Labors of Hercules)

The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya: Claws of Gold, Hearts of Gold (Goldilocks and The 3 Bears)

One Punch Man: A Hero’s Humility (King Thrushbeard)

Future Diary: Wishful Obsession (The Fisherman and His Wife)

Sket Dance: A Tale of Three Tricksters (The 3 Billy Goats Gruff)

Precure (All seasons): The Sweetest Holiday Ever (The Nutcracker)

Food Wars: A Recipe For Courage (The Brave Little Tailor)

Spice and Wolf: Against All Odds (The Princess on The Glass Hill)

Noragami: Stolen Sun (Amaterasu and The Cave)

Monogatari: Secret Confidants (The Elves and The Shoemaker)

Steins;Gate: Azure Secrets (Bluebeard)

Tokyo Revengers: Neverlanding, Never Faltering (Peter Pan)

The Promised Neverland: Emerald Truths (The Wizard of Oz)

Toriko: Sweet Pursuit (The Gingerbread Man)

Kill La Kill: A Royal Mix Up (The Prince and The Pauper)

World Trigger: The Silent Springtime (The Selfish Giant)

The Seven Deadly Sins: Curse of Shade and Malice (The Shadow)

Cardcaptor Sakura: Salt and Sugar (The Salt Princess/Cap O Rushes)

Assassination Classroom: Honeyed Words (Diamonds and Toads)

Way of The House Husband: Out of The Cage (Jorinda and Joringel)

Danganronpa The Animation (It covers all the games): Makoto in Wonderland (Alice in Wonderland)

D Gray Man: Song of The Sparkling Swan (Swan Lake)

Persona 5 The Animation: Way Down We Go (Hades and Persephone)

Soul Eater: United We Stand (The Six Who Went Far)

Puella Magi Madoka Magica: The 5 Magical Musketeers (The 3 Musketeers)

Aggretsuko: Four Man Band (The Bremen Town Musicians)

Tokyo Godfathers: A Holiday Journey (A Christmas Carol)

Revolutionary Girl Utena: Emotions Set Free (The Princess Who Never Smiled)

Sonic X: True, Blue, and Noble (Hans The Hedgehog)

Magiknight Rayearth: Noble Flame, Changing Tide, and Guiding Wind (The 3 Princesses of Whiteland)

A Silent Voice: Beyond All Boundaries (East of The Sun, West of The Moon)

A Whisker Away: A Feline Fairytale (The White Cat)

Your Name: A Little Bird Told Me (The Singing, Springing, Lark)

Love Live: A Fateful Adventure (Journey to The West)

Captain Tsubasa: Winging It (The Seven Ravens)

The Ancient Magus Bride: Entrapped Beauty (The Lindworm)

Overlord: Seeds of Trust (The Juniper Tree)

Delicious in Dungeon: Cooking Up Trouble (The Magic Porridge Pot)

Medaka Box: The Truth Above All (The Goose Girl)

Chainsaw Man: Demonic Assistance (The Golden Bird)

Taikobo: Legend of The Lost Kingdom (Urashima Taro)

Revue Starlight: Masked Secrets (Phantom of The Opera)

Ginga: Nagareboshi Gin: Path of The Canine (The Boy Who Cried Wolf)

Dr. Stone: Into The Wilderness (The Jungle Book)

Fire Force: The Flames of Charity (Robin Hood)

Shaman King: Mystery of The Marsh (The Marsh King’s Daughter)

Rave Master: Cloak of Secrets (Donkeyskin/Many Furs)

Ranma 1/2: Loyal, Brave, and True (Mulan)

Karakuri Circus: The House Within The Woods (Vasilisa The Brave and Beautiful)

Devilman Crybaby: Three Hairs of Gold (The Devil With 3 Golden Hairs)

The Irregular at Magic High School: Ring of Enchantments (The Bronze Ring)

Bobobo: One Hairy Tale (Prince Hyacinth)

Shakugan No Shana: Three Dogs, Three Heroes (The Tinderbox)

Nisekoi: Yellow With Affection (The Yellow Dwarf)

Kaiju No. 8: Don’t Get Salty (Why The Sea is Salty)

Kinnikuman: A Mission in Patience (The Tortoise and The Hare)

Oshi No Ko: The Price of Stardom (Little Brother and Little Sister)

Case Closed: Stolen Hearts and Stolen Fortunes (The Master Thief)

Pokemon The Series: An Electrifying Rescue (The Lion and The Mouse)

Hyperdimension Neptunia: The Animation: A Tale of a Thousand and One Nights (1,001 Arabian Nights)

Dragon Quest The Adventure of Dai: A Ribbiting Adventure (The Frog Princess)

Dr. Slump: A Quacktastic Journey (Drakestail)

Katekyo Hitman Reborn: Windows to The Soul (One Eyes, Two Eyes, Three Eyes)

Kochikame: From Faux to Genuine (Don Quixote)

Yo-Kai Watch: Cat Artist Unknown (The Boy Who Drew Cats)

Kaguya-Sama: Love is War: To Love and To Be Loved (Turandot)

That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime: Feathers of Joy (The Blue Bird)

DanMachi: Forgotten Evil Unleashed (Pandora’s Box)

Hellsing Ultimate: Blood Ties (Dracula)

Claymore: The Monster Unleashed (Frankenstein)

Thanks to @sam-rexian and @crystallinedreamsfinelypowdered for helping with some of these!