#this is not excusing billy’s actions at all

[loomiskiller]

billy has scars from his father’s abuse. most are on his chest, back, ankles, and feet since it is easier to hide injuries that way. he has some on his arms, especially cigarette burns that he did have while in high school. he would have a randomly broken arm he would play off as a sports injury or something. he would have bruises but those usually were hidden from view. one time, hank beat the shit out of him so bad, he showed up either at sidney’s or stu’s claiming he got into a fight with various people and he needs to go to the hospital NOW. hank typically didn’t leave bruises on him you could see and if he did, billy would make up an excuse. i am actually sure some people did notice something was going on at home, but people ignored it / didn’t know what to do about it. especially since billy would lie about it and deny it. cause like most abused children, he was afraid of his abuser. he was afraid of what hank would do to him and his sister. he was afraid of what would happen if his father was put away. he was also dependent on him since nancy left they have a fraternal uncle that lives in san fran but billy didn’t want relocate himself like that. if anyone ever asked about the burns on his arm before they scarred, he would, again, make up some lie. billy never bothered to ask his father WHY he didn’t like him. cause no matter what billy did to be a good kid; getting good grades, not staying out late, going to bed on time, doing his chores, maintaining a part time job in high school, his athletic achievements; it was never enough and hank would still hurt him. billy would also misdirect his father to want to hurt him more so he would not hurt his sister.

[reineyday]

ST fandom wank but i saw that anti post that said billy hargrove lived and died a piece of shit and it's like, did we even watch the same death scene 😭😭

you really sat down, watched el delve into his memories to see that when he was a child, his mother abandoned him and his father abused him, saw him get the tiniest bit of emotional validation ever from el, watched that small exchange fuel him enough to break the mind control of the gigantic alien creature he knew nothing about except that it possessed him to step in front of it and literally protect el, a girl he doesnt even know, with his actual life--like he actually died! taking a hit meant for el!!!--and then as billy, an 18 year old lifeguard who teaches kids how to swim and who's had an abusive father practically his entire life, lay on the floor of a mall dying from the wounds inflicted on him by a creature he knew nothing about to save a pre-teen who is a stranger to him, you saw as he apologized to his (step-)sister with his dying breath, and you're telling me that you sat there and watched that whole entire scene and thought, "well, he's still a piece of shit."

where's your compassion?????

[pendinganchor]

people really think steve and billy were fighting over lucas??

babes

they we’re fighting because steve lied to billy about 1 knowing his 13 year old sister and 2 her whereabouts. and her whereabouts were the middle of the woods in the middle of the night in a stranger’s house that didn’t belong to steve.

[flowers-that-sing]

what is it with ppl loving the racist white boy characters... like billy hargrove is a big one. but i just saw posts about jason carver...?

at least billy has a character, piece of shit yes but he is fleshed out, wtf are you even getting from jason-? all he does is say culty shit, haze ppl, and be a racist prick

seriously . people really just look past the whole "GIANT FUCKING RACIST" thing and literal hate crimes because... what? they're conventionally attractive white boys????????? please

[ncutii-gatwa]

For your TV ask, Gilmore Girls, Schitts Creek, and/or Stranger Things?

sorry i haven't seen gilmore girls or schitts creek

Stranger Things favorite female character: robin buckley favorite male character: steve harrington worst female character: the girl that bullied el at the start of s4. i think her name was angela worst male character: billy hargrove (a bitch) otp: lumax - lucas and max brotp: steve and dustin notp: steve and billy

Tell me a Movie/Tv Show and I’ll tell you…

[impossibleheartflower]

MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG MAPS BY MAROON FIVE IS CAMILA DUNNE'S SONG

[dilemmaed]

Fiction is about conflict, drama and mistakes and the reasons and consequences behind human behavior. People make the mistake of conflating enjoying art with agreeing with what it depicts and that’s just not how consuming media works. I like hurt/comfort fanfic, but that doesn’t mean I want to see my partner beaten up. I really enjoy Hannibal, but that doesn’t mean I approve of cannibalism. What we read, watch, write or ship doesn’t reflect our character. If that were true, Stephen King and George R. R. Martin should both be in prison, and every fan of Die Hard would be on a watchlist. We enjoy stories because they take us outside of ourselves, into adventures we could never have and into the minds of people we could never be. That’s art. And while it’s always important to be critical and thoughtful about how and why we enjoy something, that should never keep you from liking what you like. And it certainly doesn’t make you a bad person.

ma'am this is a wendy's

[morimemichael]

Calling the slashers/killers ‘pretty’

Head cannons on how slashers/killers would react to reader calling them pretty. Includes OG! Michael Myers, RZ! Michael Myers, Ghostface (Stu and Billy), Pyramid Head, Thomas Hewitt and Mark Hoffman (SAW series)

OG! Michael Myers

You notice him stalking you throughout the week, and it was needlessly to say you found it oddly interesting.

Of course you knew who he was, and apparently, for your brain, that was ‘attractive’ enough to wonder about him

So, the night he decided to break in to obviously kill you, you took action

Somewhere between all the struggle you made, his unexpressed latex mask flew off, somewhere around your kitchen floor

The light that came from outside was enough to see his face, and boy, you find him attractive

He panic at the fact of not having his mask, and quickly look for it and successfully found it. With a single swift move his mask was back on. He was ready to kill you when you spoke

“Y-your pretty Michael, you know that?”

He tilted his head at your statement, you couldn’t see it, but his cheeks were blushing. He didn’t know what hated the most, the fact that he couldn’t kill you now or the fact that he actually liked you calling him pretty

His hand holding the knife stutter for a second before letting you go and giving you his signature head tilt again

It’s not necessary to say that since that night he came to your home every night and took off his mask in front of you so you can call him pretty again

And this time you do see him blush

RZ! Michael Myers

You were a childhood friend of his, and the crush was mutual

Tho when you were like around 9yo, you moved to another town so you never found out about Michael killing his stepdad and sister, or at least you had no idea until many years later, when you moved back to Haddonfield

What he did was horrendous, yet you couldn’t stop feeling bad for him somehow

So this night you were getting ready to go to bed, brushing your teeth you notice a man standing behind you

You could see his reflection through the mirror you had in front of you

You knew Michael was, well a killer, but you didn’t know how he looked like, so many years have passed and the last image you had of him was completely different

Non the less, that didn’t stop Michael from recognizing you

You were about to scream when he got closer and covered your mouth with his enormous hand. By now you were struggling and panicked

Michael noticed this and with his free hand took his mask off, revealing his face. He was different but still you knew it was him

“Michael…?”

He didn’t answer, instead he moved his hand from your mouth and gently turned you around, slowly looking at your form head to toe

From the moment you saw his eyes you knew he didn’t have to answer, he was Michael indeed, how couldn’t you recognize his beautiful blue eyes?

“Michael!” You say happily

He stays silent, but a small almost invisible smile formed on his lips

You cupped his cheek with your hand, and rubbed his skin with your thumb

Smiling you tell him “We haven’t seen each other for over ten years and still your the pretty one” You smile

His hole face turned red when he herd the word pretty

You always wanted to tell him how you felt, but never got an actual chance for it

Once you told him how you’ve felt all this years, his reaction was the sweetest

He gave you a bag hug and swing you in the air, he was beyond happy

Ghostface (Stu)

“You know, you’re…pretty Stu…”

You were in his house, music as loud as it could be, you were hoping he didn’t hear you, cause you just kinda declared to him

He gave you a ‘what did you said’ look, waiting for you to answer

“Nothing…just forget it”

YEAH, YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS GOING TO WORK? Well it didn’t

He took you by the hand and made you fallow him upstairs

When you asked him why upstairs he gave you a lame excuse

“I didn’t catch what ya said down there” he said moving closer to you

“I said you’re pretty…” you look at him straight in the eyes

“Oh…I know, I heard you. I just wanted to have some…privacy” He had a mischievous smile on his lips

You grin before he pull you down to his bed

(Billy)

You two were having a heated kiss by the window of your bedroom when you herd footsteps coming up the stairs

You assumed it must be your dad or your mom

“Billy, you should go…someone’s coming”

He pouted and gave you his puppy eyes

“Pleaseeee?…” He asked

As much as you wanted to tell him ‘yes’, you knew better than to piss your dad or mom

“Come on pretty boy, you know I can get in trouble..”

He blushed a pale tone of pink at your words, he was staring at you like you left him dumb or something like that

He then snapped out of it “Okay, okay…see you tomorrow?” He asked

“Yeah pretty boy, see you tomorrow…”

He giggled and stumbled at the word ‘pretty’

Pyramid Head

Did you just called him pretty? No way, he must’ve herd you wrong

Oh…apparently he didn’t YOU DID CALLED HIM PRETTY

Now it’s stuck in his head and it’s all he can think about

He likes it tho

And definitely expect him to want you to call him pretty all the time

With time he even let you adorn his pyramid with cute little pink stuff

He won’t say that he likes it but trust me HE LIKES IT

Specially if you call him your ‘pretty monster’

He’ll definitely want you to call him pretty during segsy time too 😏

Thomas Hewitt

You called him pretty? Why tho? Haven’t you seen him?

That’s what he thought the first time you called him that

Immediately you receive the princess treatment

Cause why not? You treat him well, he wants to do the same with you. You’re his love after all

Expect him to giggle a little bit whenever you call him pretty or beautiful or what so ever

And if you kiss his unmasked face while you call him pretty? You’ll give him a heart attack

He loves it

He’ll make sure you feel loved and pretty as well

He’ll make you dinner and give you flowers every now and then

Basically anything you want, you get

Definitely expect him to want you to call him pretty 24/7

He’s like a child OK!?

Mark Hoffman

He thinks you’re joking, you must be joking

Nobody calls him pretty, and you wouldn’t be the exception, right?

Ha! Liar….deep down he loves it, and not just because you bust his ego, but also you make him feel loved….somehow

He thinks he’s unlovable, I mean, he’s a monster right?

Well, that doesn’t stop you from loving him or calling him pretty

The first times you would call him that, he would show no emotion or reaction whatsoever

But once you get to his, somehow, ‘tender’ side, he’ll slowly start reacting

Maybe a ‘you’re pretty as fuck too’ or maybe even a peck to your lips

And consider yourself blessed if you see him blush….cause he rarely does

And if you happen to see him blush..? Well you didn’t

Cause how could he blush right? Him? He’s mean and bad, he doesn’t blush

You even reacted once, to his blushing

“If-if you ever, you wouldn’t-Ahgg, please don’t tell anyone” He said, as he blushed even more, the tone on his voice defeated

You just laugh since you found him cute

“You’re little…pink secret is safe with me, detective” You told him

You kissed he blushed cheeks and called him cute

“Hey! I’m not!”

“Yes you are!” You said as you walked away

“I love you so much….” Mark said, knowing you weren’t around to hear it

Cause you would have died right there in the spot

Well, I hope you enjoy this!! I’m also working on a Ghostface x Michael x F!reader fic, so stay tuned 😏

[dollarbils]

did you break up with him? | b.e.

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. you cheated on your boyfriend with billie, so she asks you to break up with him. when you see her at an event, she comes to see if you’ve fulfilled your promise.

warnings. smut kinda, fingering, harsh words/ degrading, mean billie.

part 1 masterlist

“there you are, pretty.” billies voice interrupted your conversation with your boyfriend. your cheeks burned up at the sound of her voice. you excused yourself from the conversation and he merely smiled and walked away, not a clue in the world.

“billie.” you said directly, no real point to the greeting.

“have you been avoiding me?” she came closer to you, resting an arm on the high table. her eyes doing the flirting for her.

“no? it’s not really socially acceptable to go up to your ex at an event your attending with your boyfriend.” she just smiled at your defence, invalidating it without having to speak.

“an ex your fucking, might i add.” she said this so openly that you scolded her, though her smile never faltered.

“ashamed?” she asked, the tone condescending.

“no.” her eyebrows lifted slightly at the response before the surprise left her face.

“good. at least one things changed.” she pulled you by the arm, forcing you to follow her wherever she was heading.

“billie.” the protest came out hushed, not wanting to catch attention or cause a stir.

“shut up.” she weaved her way through the tables, glaring at anyone who looked puzzled at your weak struggles.

“god would you stop moving.” you’d arrived in the girls bathroom and she’d pushed you into an empty stall, not checking to see if you were alone. she didn’t care.

“what the fuck billie?” you questioned her actions but she rolled her eyes before forcefully kissing you. she held the back of your head so that it wouldn’t press to hard against the wall while she basically sucked your lips off. there was nothing sweet about the kiss, nothing sweet about her grip on your hips. it was all rough and aggressive. out of either anger or frustration, you couldn’t exactly decipher it.

“you don’t learn, baby.” she shook her head softly, biting her lip while staring you down. your hair was already disheveled, and your lip gloss smudged. she spun you around and brought her body to yours, her firm grip on your head pushing your cheek into the wall.

“billie.” it was an empty cry, meant to achieve nothing.

“cry all you want, you’ll take what i give you.” her hand bunched up your dress so that it rested on your hips, exposing your underwear. her fingers traced circles around your covered entrance, but the fabric was so thin it drove you wild. you arched your back as her hands left your head, moving to your neck.

“so wet, baby.” she remarked as her fingers dipped past your underwear to find you practically dripping for her. she pinched your clit without warning, then moved her fingers to your entrance, circling it. you moaned louder than you’d wanted to and she squeezed your neck.

“be fucking quiet, you don’t want someone running over to your boyfriend. tell him who’s fucking you in the bathroom huh?” you were about to form words but her two fingers dove into you, stretching you out.

“such a slut, you should be ashamed.” her words were aggressive but it did nothing to lessen the growing knot in your stomach. one ready to come undone any minute.

her fingers took residence in your mouth, in attempt to quieten your whimpers. her body kept you flush against the wall of the bathroom stall, her fingers plunged deep into your wet cunt keeping you defenceless. drool started to pool out of your mouth but you couldn’t stop it, her fingers going deeper, brushing against the back of your throat making you gag.

“when you break up with him it’ll be my dick your gagging on and drooling for, baby.”

“did you break up with him?” she asked, referring to your boyfriend who she’d seen you with earlier tonight. it was an answer she obviously knew, but she wanted it to come from you. your muffled cries didn’t seem to provide an answer.

“hm? tell me.” her fingers were still deep in your mouth, contradicting her words. it took every ounce of strength in you to shake your head as she made a sound of disapproval. your walls were clenching around her fingers but she just kept curling them in all the right ways. you couldn’t think straight.

“didn’t think so.” her hand left your mouth and it took you a while to process what had happened, your mind in such a haze it couldn’t comprehend. but you weren’t bouncing on her fingers anymore. in fact, when you turned to look at billie, she was sucking your wetness off them, reminding you of your denied orgasm.

“billie, what the fuck?” you whined, you stared at you, her face void of emotion but her eyes dark and daunting. her fingers left her mouth with a pop as she poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue.

“hm?” her tone was innocent, as if unaware of the problem.

“you can’t leave me hanging!” you whined desperately while she silently revelled in it.

“you’re not my girl anymore, it’s not my problem. go ask your boyfriend to finish the job, i bet he can’t.” she shrugged her shoulders and unlocked the door to the bathroom stall. you were left utterly speechless.

“call me when you break up with him.”

part 3

[claramelooo]

Hey, babies! Let's go to a another chapter (penultimate chapter)! To write this chapter all i needed was a sad playlist, beign on my period and one KitKat, can you believe that?

If you want, I can make available the playlists that helped me create the story.

Now, enjoy it <3

FEEL FREE TO FEEL

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST, ANGST, HOMOPHOBIA, CHRISTIAN GUILT

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader

Summary: The consequences of your actions arrive.

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb | Part 6 - Pure Crimson | Part 7 - Dependece | Part 8 - Passion | Part 9 - Revenge | Part 10 - Control

VELVET CHAINS

Consequences

The last month had been an emotional rollercoaster. The time at Wanda’s house had been intense, almost surreal, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But, like all dreams, it came to an end. Returning home brought reality back, with controlling parents and suffocating expectations. You and Wanda kept talking, but something had changed.

She didn’t text as much as before. The calls, which used to be long before bed, now barely lasted 30 minutes. And even when you took the initiative, her responses became colder, shorter.

You tried to ignore it.

The SAT was approaching, and that consumed all your energy. “She must be busy,” you told yourself. But an uncomfortable feeling of loss began to grow, like a silent emptiness.

As soon as the test was over, you felt like you could breathe. You felt confident—the test model this year was the same as what you had studied. But now, all you could think about was fixing things with the woman who haunted your mind, even in your dreams.

You wanted to see her, to get answers. But when you arrived, no one was there. A neighbor mentioned that the Maximoffs were at the hospital—Billy had fallen ill. Panic gripped you. You spent days trying to contact Wanda, sending messages, calling, but it was like shouting into an abyss. Her silence was deafening.

Then, during a family lunch after Sunday service, your mother casually said, “Wanda really needs our prayers right now.”

You furrowed your brow, confused.

Your father fervently agreed. “Yes. Now that Billy has finally received his diagnosis, it will be easier for our prayers to reach the ears of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment.

“What… happened to Billy?” you asked, fear creeping into your voice, gripping your utensils harder than necessary.

“Oh, dear! Billy has cancer.”

The world stopped.

Your mother’s words echoed like thunder inside you, shattering any fragment of calm left. Billy has cancer.

The utensils fell from your hand with a dry clatter onto the table. The air seemed to freeze in your lungs as the weight of those words seeped into your mind like poison.

Images of Billy flooded your mind: his mischievous smile, the spark in his eyes when he ran through the garden, the way he threw himself into your arms without hesitation. Now, all of that seemed distant, fragile, as if it could disappear at any moment.

“Are you okay, dear?” your mother asked, but her tone felt more like an obligation than concern.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to blame your mother for treating the news so lightly. But the words wouldn’t come. There was only a tight knot in your throat, choking you.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, hastily getting up from the table, your legs shaking with every step.

In the bathroom, you slid down the door to the cold floor, your chest burning with despair. The news hit you like a violent wave, and you couldn’t breathe. The tears came, hot and uncontrollable, as you pressed your hand against your mouth to stifle the sobs.

All you wanted was to see him, to see Wanda, to say you were there for whatever they needed. But how? Wanda wasn’t answering. She didn’t want you around.

Without thinking twice, you went to the Maximoffs’ house.

However, when Wanda opened the door, her gaze was cold as she looked at you.

“What are you doing here?” The question cut like a knife.

“I... I heard about Billy. I wanted to know how you both are,” your voice trembled, but you tried to sound firm.

The woman sighed, crossing her arms—building a wall between you.

“This isn’t your problem,” she replied, her tone sharp.

You stood frozen at the threshold, as if the icy pain of her words was physical. Her tone was distant, almost cruel, but her eyes… Ah, Wanda’s eyes told a different story. There was something there, a shadow of pain, of something unsaid, that made your chest tighten even more.

“Wanda, please,” you tried, taking a step inside, but she raised her hand, blocking your entry.

“I said it’s not your problem,” she repeated, more firmly, though her voice had a slight tremor at the end.

“How can you say that?” Your voice cracked, the words coming out desperate. “I care about you both. I care about him! About you!”

Her green eyes closed for a moment, as if gathering strength. When they opened, they were harder, but the pain you saw there almost made you collapse.

“You don’t understand. You can’t understand.” Her voice dropped, almost a whisper, but still heavy with weight.

“Then explain it to me!” you pleaded, feeling the tears threatening to fall. “I’m here, Wanda. I’ve always been here!”

She laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, without humor. “You think that’s enough? That being here will fix anything?”

You took another step, desperate to break the invisible barrier she had placed between you. “I don’t know, but I want to try. I want to help!”

Wanda shook her head, her golden hair swaying with the motion.

“You can’t help. Not now, not ever. You need to go.”

“Don’t say that…” your voice broke.

“You need to go,” she repeated, quieter this time, but still unyielding.

Silence fell between you like a stone, heavy and unbearable. Her eyes, so bright and so full of everything she didn’t say, pleaded with you for something her words denied.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered, unable to contain the tears now.

She took a deep breath, looking away, but not before you saw the glimmer of her own unshed tears. “Because it’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

She didn’t answer. She simply closed the door slowly, leaving you on the other side.

You stood there, your forehead pressed against the cold wood, the sobs finally taking over you. The emptiness she left was suffocating, and all that was left were her cold words, which didn’t match the warmth and pain you saw in her green eyes.

You left with half of your heart shattered.

A month later, the SAT results finally arrived. You were in the living room, your heart pounding so loudly it seemed to echo through the space. When you opened the email and saw the word “Congratulations!”, tears immediately filled your eyes.

“I did it,” you whispered to yourself, disbelief mingling with happiness.

But it wasn’t just a “Congratulations.” It was Yale. The university you had spent countless nights dreaming about, imagining its halls, the lectures, the debates that would shape your future. It was the beginning of something monumental, the start of a journey that always felt so distant and yet so viscerally yours.

You ran to the mirror in the hallway and looked at yourself, laughing as tears streaked your flushed cheeks. “I did it! I did it!”

The dreams you’d held close to your chest began to take form. Studying International Relations at one of the world’s most prestigious universities was more than a personal achievement; it was the first step toward making a difference. You envisioned nights buried in books, exploring cultures, questioning systems, trying to understand—and maybe, to change—the world.

Above all, there was your dream of becoming a writer. A quiet desire that grew with every story you created, every character you brought to life, every corner of the world you translated into words. You wanted to be more than an observer. You wanted to be a storyteller, someone who could take the complexities of life and turn them into something that could touch others.

Changing the world—that had always been the goal, even when it seemed impossible. Perhaps it was too ambitious, maybe even foolish, but it never stopped you. You knew that, with the right words, you could reach hearts, open minds, and perhaps inspire someone like you to never give up.

In that moment, alone in the room, you allowed yourself a moment of pure joy. Every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every doubt—it had all been worth it. You weren’t the girl who just dreamed anymore. Now, you were the girl who made it happen.

And Yale was just the beginning.

But when you were ready to share the news with your parents, you were met with a suspicious look. “So?! What’s this news you have to share with us?!” your father asked, his tone sharp, leaving you confused.

You swallowed hard, the paper with the printed Yale email trembling in your hands. The pride you’d felt just moments ago was suffocated by the tension in the room, as if the air itself might shatter.

“I… I wanted to tell you that I got into Yale,” you started, trying to ignore the edge in your father’s gaze and the false softness in your mother’s voice. “I did it. I’m going to study International Relations. My dream—”

“Yale?” your father interrupted, his voice icy, almost harsh. “And what exactly do you plan to do there, huh? Continue with this shameful behavior we’ve been hearing about?”

“Shameful?” Your voice came out as a whisper, confusion and fear gripping you.

Your mother let out a deep sigh, as if exhausted by something beneath her notice. “Don’t act innocent, Y/n. People talk! One of the sisters at church told us you’ve been behaving… inappropriately with Yelena.”

You felt your heart plummet, your hands tightening around the paper until it crumpled. “Yelena is my friend!” you tried to explain, but your mother raised a hand, silencing you.

“Friend?” She laughed, but there was nothing warm in that sound. It was cold, harsh. “We hoped you would understand what happens to girls who stray from God’s path. Or do you think you can ignore His teachings and still expect us to tolerate it?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice faltered, but anger began to simmer beneath the surface, mingling with humiliation and hurt.

Your father took a step forward, his expression dark as a storm. “You know exactly what I’m talking about! Don’t pretend to be blind. Or do you think we’re fools?”

“Dear, please,” your mother attempted to soothe him, but he ignored her.

“I’ve always known there was something wrong with you, Y/n. Always so… different. Strange. God knows we tried, we prayed, but maybe this was a mistake. Maybe we never should’ve given you life.”

Those words landed like a knife, slicing through everything inside you. You stepped back, wide-eyed, trying to process what you had just heard.

“How can you say that?” Your voice trembled, but it was strong enough to echo through the room.

Your mother shook her head, a look of false sadness on her face. “No one’s saying you have no worth, Y/n. We just want you to understand… this path you’re taking is wrong. We don’t want you to lose your soul.”

You felt tears burn your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not in front of them. The pride of getting into Yale, the dream you so desperately wanted to share, was ruined—drowned in the pain of prejudice from the very people who should have loved you unconditionally.

“I haven’t lost my soul,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “But I think you’ve lost yours.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out, clutching the crumpled email against your chest. The pain was suffocating, but the small flame within you—that dream of changing the world—refused to go out.

Their words were cruel, irreversible, leaving a wound you knew would never fully heal. You cried, but instead of drowning in the hurt, you did what you always did: you turned to Wanda.

When you arrived at her house, Wanda was in the living room, absently toying with a book.

“I needed to see you,” you began, but she didn’t even look up.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice cold.

“Wanda, please. I have no one else. Let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” she interrupted, finally looking at you.

Her eyes glimmered with something that felt both vulnerable and cruel. “You need to move on with your life.”

“You’re pushing me away,” you whispered, the pain spilling over.

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

She closed her eyes, sighing deeply, as if searching for calm—or perhaps the words. “Because I need to be here. With my children, with my husband.” The mention of Vision as her husband made your heart bleed.

The pain in Wanda’s words was like a direct blow to your chest. You searched her eyes for a spark of truth, something to tell you this wasn’t real, that she didn’t mean it. But her gaze was implacable—cold and empty.

“Is that it? You’re saying everything we had… was nothing?”

“It was a mistake.”

The word hit you like a dagger. You stepped back, feeling the ground disappear beneath your feet. “A mistake?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yes,” she insisted, as though repeating it could convince herself. “I can’t keep doing this. You’re young; you have your whole life ahead of you. I’m just a woman trying to keep my family together.”

Her words left you shattered.

“You’re lying,” you said, tears finally escaping. “You feel it too, Wanda. I’ve always seen it in your eyes.”

She hesitated—a crack in the mask. But then she shook her head, bitterness lining her expression. “You need to leave, Y/n. Don’t come back. Don’t write. Don’t look for me.”

“Wanda…” you started, but she raised her hand—final, definitive.

“Go.”

You stood there for a moment, searching her face for anything—anything to hold onto. But all you found was emptiness. So you turned and walked away, feeling like each step took you further not just from her, but from a part of yourself.

Outside, the air felt colder, heavier. You didn’t know where to go. But you knew you couldn’t stay. And as the door shut behind you, the sound echoed like a full stop on a story you weren’t ready to end.

The bus that would take you to the university was crowded, yet somehow, you felt completely alone. The worn-out suitcase rested at your feet, carrying the little you had decided to take with you. Everything else—the memories, the broken bonds, the weight of unspoken words—was stored somewhere else, too deep to reach.

As the vehicle moved along the road, you stared out the window. The trees turned into blurs of green and brown, as though the world was rushing away from you, leaving behind a trail of silence and emptiness. Yet, amidst that emptiness, there was something different. A faint but unbreakable strength that kept you standing.

The first days in Connecticut were difficult. Loneliness felt alive, pressing on your shoulders as you explored Yale’s campus. The dream that had once seemed so bright now felt clouded, dimmed by the absence of something—or someone.

Still, you forced yourself to keep going. Routine began to fill the empty spaces: classes, books, notes. You threw yourself into studying, as if every word absorbed was a step toward rebuilding yourself. But at night, when the world grew silent, your mind wandered.

Wanda.

Her name was a constant whisper, echoing through the most fragile parts of your mind. You saw her in small details: in the brown of an autumn leaf, in the faint scent of citrus perfume, in the muffled sound of laughter in the distance. No matter how hard you tried to push her away, she always found a way to return.

But amidst the pain, there was resilience. You forced yourself to remember why you were there. It wasn’t just for a diploma; it was for something bigger. For a future. For a version of yourself that Wanda could not destroy.

One morning, as you sipped coffee at a small café near the university, you noticed something. The bitter taste of the coffee didn’t seem as bad as before. The sunlight filtering through the windows carried a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. Small things that once went unnoticed now felt... possible.

You knew there was still a long road ahead. There were still nights when the weight of Wanda’s absence was unbearable, and days when the world seemed empty without her. But amidst all of that, there was a growing strength.

You were learning to stand up again. And maybe, one day, you could look back and realize that even in loss, you had found yourself.

[...]

"Mom!" Wanda dropped everything the moment she heard the boys’ scream from the bedroom.

“What happened?” She grabbed their cheeks harder than necessary, checking them over.

“Look, Mom, a hair grew!” Billy said happily, and Wanda smiled at the sight of a small brown tuft growing.

“Oh, look at that... We can finally pick a hairstyle for you, can’t we?”

Wanda laughed, feeling a genuine relief for the first time in months.

The joy in Billy’s eyes was contagious, as if that small strand of hair was a trophy—a victory over everything they had faced.

“I want a mohawk!” Billy declared enthusiastically, crossing his arms in a defiant manner.

“A mohawk?” Wanda raised an eyebrow, pretending to be horrified. “Do you know who's in charge of the style in this house?”

“Oh, Mom! Please!” Billy begged, pulling his best puppy-dog face, while Tommy, always the smartest, joined the conversation.

“If he gets a mohawk, I want one too!” Tommy said, already messing with his own hair.

Wanda placed her hands on her hips, staring at the two of them with a mockingly stern look. “If you two show up with mohawks, you’ll have to explain to Dad why he’s the only bald one in this house!”

The boys burst into laughter, and Wanda couldn’t help but laugh too, sitting on the carpet between them. It was a simple moment, but one filled with meaning. As the two argued about the most ridiculous hairstyles they could try, she realized how much these little things mattered.

She ran her fingers through Billy’s newborn strand of hair, her smile soft. “You know, you’re the bravest boy I’ve ever met.”

“I know I am!” Billy replied confidently, earning more laughter from her and Tommy.

As the boys laughed and made impossible plans, Wanda allowed herself something rare: hope. Perhaps the weight she carried could, little by little, dissolve in moments like this.

For a moment, she felt the urge to share this joy with you. To send a picture of the small tuft of hair or tell you how well the boys were doing. But then, she remembered you weren’t there anymore.

Even so, looking at her sons, Wanda knew she still had a reason to fight, to smile. She pulled both of them into a tight hug, ignoring their playful complaints.

“I love you both, you know that?” she said, kissing their foreheads.

“We love you too, Mom,” Billy replied, with the same smile that lit up Wanda’s world, even in the darkest moments.

Later, as Wanda stirred the stew with a wooden spoon, her thoughts drifted to ten months ago.

Discovering Vision had been like a lightning bolt shattering the perfect world Wanda had fought so hard to maintain. He hadn’t yelled, hadn’t confronted her directly. He didn’t need to. He simply looked at her with a mixture of disdain and disappointment, and in a cold tone, made his threat clear: “If this continues, I will take the boys. You know I can. And you know I will.”

That night, while Vision slept, Wanda sat at the edge of the bed, her hands trembling with pure rage. She watched him silently, battling thoughts that terrified her. A dark part of herself whispered that it would be so easy to end it all—one move, one spell, and Vision would be nothing but a distant memory. But then Billy coughed from the other room.

Reality came crashing over her like a wave—cold and crushing. The boy’s soft cough was the harbinger of the nightmare to come. Within days, the diagnosis arrived: skin cancer.

Wanda’s world collapsed.

Seeing Billy so fragile, so vulnerable, was a pain no words could express. The chemotherapy sessions left her boy weak, his bright smile fading little by little, replaced by a weary expression. He began losing weight, and the soft curls Wanda loved to caress fell out, untilnothing remained.

Wanda stayed by his side, but every treatment session was like a dagger to the heart. She held Billy’s hand as he cried, his small body shaking with pain and exhaustion, and the guilt grew inside her like a monster. She wondered if all of this was divine punishment—for betraying Vision. For letting herself be carried away by you.

And yet, in the quiet moments, while Billy slept, she thought of you. She thought of how you made her feel alive, how your presence illuminated the darkest corners of her soul. Of the smiles you pulled from her, even when the world felt too heavy.

But now you were part of the weight, too. Vision knew. Vision was watching. And Billy needed her. Wanda knew she had to cut off what existed between you two. As much as it hurt, it was the only way to protect her children.

So, she hardened her heart. She said the cold words she knew would push you away and that she knew she would regret later—even as her eyes silently begged you not to believe them. When you left, she cried in silence but tried to convince herself she had done the right thing.

As Billy began to recover, the guilt and emptiness only grew. With each day he grew stronger, Wanda felt grateful but also painfully aware of your absence.

And it hurt. Wanda began to experience withdrawal—she saw you in everything.

You were in every corner of the house, in every shadow of the sunset that lit the living room. Wanda heard your laughter echo through empty hallways, your soft voice whispering things only she could hear. It was as if the entire world conspired to remind her of you, and the more she tried to escape, the more you haunted her.

The nights were the worst. The pillow beside her seemed soaked with your scent, and it drove her insane. She would clutch the fabric, eyes closed, trying to recreate the feeling of your lips on hers, the warmth of your skin. But it was useless. It was torture.

Wanda began spending more time in her room, sitting on the bed, holding a book she couldn’t read. Every page she tried to focus on was a blur, replaced by images of you smiling, you laughing, you crying. The memory of your voice calling her name was almost tangible.

She began to wonder if she was losing her mind. The withdrawal was physical. There was a hole in her chest that couldn’t be filled, an insatiable hunger that no food or drink could satisfy. Wanda stopped eating, stopped sleeping. The woman who controlled everything and everyone in her life was now at the mercy of a desire that was slowly destroying her.

In a desperate impulse, Wanda grabbed her phone and typed in your number. Her hands trembled, and her heart beat so hard she could barely breathe. But before pressing the call button, she stopped.

She knew she couldn’t. That you were better off away from her. But knowing that didn’t make her feel better. It didn’t stop her from wanting you with an intensity that made her hate herself.

Wanda threw the phone onto the bed, her eyes burning with tears she refused to let fall. She leaned forward, hands in her hair, pulling it hard as she breathed deeply, trying to erase you from her mind. But you were an addiction.

An addiction that was killing her slowly.

“I hate you,” she whispered into the void, her voice hoarse, broken. “I hate you for making me feel this way.”

She loved you. She loved you so much it destroyed her. And as the days passed, Wanda knew she would never be whole again. Because even as Billy grew stronger, as life returned to some form of normal, somet

Another Sunday, another church service. But the woman had a plan—Wanda was nervous, though she tried to hide it. She dressed with her usual elegance, maintaining the calm posture that often intimidated others, even when everything inside her was chaos. As she walked to your house after the service, she rehearsed in her mind what she would say to your parents. Nothing too direct, just a casual question. She needed to hear something about you, anything that could connect her to you again.

When the door opened, your mother greeted her with a hesitant smile, as if she already knew the visit wasn’t purely social. After a few exchanged words, Wanda asked the casual question—or at least tried to make it sound that way:

“So, how’s Y/n? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her…” The woman’s eyes scanned the room, searching for your figure, for your shadow.

Your mother’s face hardened, and your father, who was sitting on the couch, let out a bitter laugh.

“How is she? We don’t know, because she left without even saying goodbye.”

Wanda froze, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it was crushing her ribs. “She... left?” Her voice came out low, almost a whisper, but heavy with disbelief.

“She did,” your father replied, his voice cold. “After everything we did for her, she decided to abandon us as if we were nothing.”

Your mother sighed, though she seemed more irritated than sad. “She was always… difficult. And now, look at her. Yale? Big deal. It means nothing if she doesn’t have respect for her own family.”

Wanda couldn’t hear the rest. The phrase “she left” echoed in her mind, a mantra that ripped apart every piece of logic or self-control she had left. She stood abruptly, mumbling something incomprehensible as an excuse to leave.

As soon as she stepped out the door, the mask fell. Her hands trembled violently as she searched for her car keys. The thought that you were gone, that you were far away and out of reach, was unbearable.

On the way back, Wanda could barely drive. The road was a blur as tears filled her eyes. She parked haphazardly in front of her house and rushed inside.

As soon as she shut the door, she collapsed onto the living room floor. Tears streamed down her face as she held her head in her hands, her body shaking with sobs she could no longer hold back. You had left. You weren’t there anymore. And she had never said goodbye.

“Why did you do this?” she whispered to the emptiness, her voice broken. “Why did you leave me? I… I just wanted to protect you…”

But she knew. She knew that pushing you away had been the greatest mistake of her life. And now, you were gone, and Wanda was alone, trapped in a world where everything felt colorless, lifeless.

That night, she picked up her phone again and typed in your number. But, just like before, she couldn’t bring herself to press “call.” All that remained was the emptiness of a name on the screen, and a hole in her chest that nothing could fill.

[...]

The morning was like any other over the past five years: a stifling Sunday, and Wanda sat in the back seat of the car next to the boys while Vision drove with his usual precision. She didn’t pay attention to the words he was saying, only nodding mechanically, keeping the serene face that had become her mask.

The twins, now 16, were as irreverent as teenagers could be, arguing over something trivial. Wanda heard the sounds but didn’t process the words. Her heart beat in the slow, hollow rhythm of a life on autopilot.

When they arrived at the church, Wanda adjusted her dress and put on sunglasses to hide the tiredness in her eyes. The family looked perfect—Vision held her hand with a polished smile, while Billy and Tommy walked ahead, grumbling about how much they hated being there.

Then it happened.

As they walked toward the church’s grand doors, something caught her attention. It was a woman standing across the street, scrolling on her phone. Her hair, the way she held her bag, her posture… everything made Wanda’s heart stop for a moment.

It was you.

Wanda blinked, feeling the blood freeze in her veins. It couldn’t be. You were far away. For years. But that woman...

Without thinking, she let go of Vision’s hand. “Wait here,” she said quickly, not looking back.

“Wanda? Where are you going?” Vision asked, confused, but she was already crossing the street.

“Hey, Mom! What the hell?” Tommy shouted, but she didn’t respond.

Wanda’s heels struck hard against the asphalt as she ran, her heart racing. Every step made her believe more: it was you. It had to be you. The world seemed to stop, all the noise around her muffled by the sound of her ragged breathing.

“Y/n!” she shouted, her voice hoarse and desperate.

The woman stopped and turned slowly, a confused expression on her face.

But it wasn’t you.

Wanda’s heart plummeted. Reality hit hard, like a cold blow to the stomach. The woman was taller, her eyes a different color, and the smile she gave was polite but completely unfamiliar.

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked, unsettled by Wanda’s intensity.

“I… I’m sorry,” Wanda murmured, stepping back, her face burning with shame. “I thought you were someone else.”

Without further explanation, she turned and began walking back to the church, her shoulders tense, trying to hide the trembling in her hands.

Vision was at the entrance, arms crossed, with the boys beside him, both looking visibly confused.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation.

“I just… thought I saw someone,” Wanda replied, her tone flat.

Billy tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. “Are you okay, Mom?”

She forced a smile, briefly caressing his face. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t. Because as Wanda climbed the church stairs, the emptiness inside her felt even larger, as though it had been ripped open again by the memory of you. And she knew, with crushing certainty, that she would never stop searching for you—in crowded streets, in dreams, in the past she could never bury.

That afternoon, the house was silent, except for the distant clatter of dishes being washed in the kitchen. Vision had gone out to deal with something for work, and Wanda sat on the couch, her hands clutching a cup of tea as if it were a shield.

Billy and Tommy were upstairs, but she knew it wouldn’t take long for them to come down. That’s how every Sunday was: a mixture of monotony and tension that seemed to suffocate the air in the house.

When the sound of their footsteps began echoing down the stairs, Wanda tried to brace herself. She knew the boys were growing up, becoming more curious, more incisive. And lately, they seemed much more attentive to her.

Tommy appeared first, followed by Billy, whose expression was more serious. They sat on the couch opposite her, exchanging looks before Tommy finally broke the silence.

“It’s time for you to talk, Mom,” he began, as direct as always.

Wanda lifted her eyes to them, frowning. “Talk about what?”

“About you,” Billy replied, his voice softer but just as firm. “You haven’t been the same in years.”

She laughed nervously, trying to deflect. “Of course I’m the same. You two are just growing up and becoming nitpicky.”

“No, Mom. That’s not it,” Tommy insisted, leaning forward. “You’re different. Since… I don’t know, since we were younger. It’s like you’re living on autopilot, like you’re here, but not really.”

Wanda looked at them, her heart tightening. They were so perceptive, much more than she wished they were.

“And, like,” Tommy continued, hesitant now, “there’s something you don’t want to talk about. There always has been. We just didn’t know what it was before.”

“Tommy…” Billy shot a warning look at his brother, but Wanda was already on alert.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” she said, her voice low.

Tommy took a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, “It’s about that girl, isn’t it? Y/n?”

Wanda’s world seemed to freeze. Her breathing stopped, and the name rang in her ears like an explosion.

Billy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Tommy!”

“What? You think I don’t know? Every time someone mentions her name, Mom gets that look…” He gestured dramatically at Wanda’s face, which was now completely pale.

“That’s none of your business,” Wanda finally managed to say, her voice trembling.

“But it is our business,” Billy replied firmly. “Because you’re our mom, and this has been eating at you for years. Who was she, Mom? Why is she so important?”

Wanda looked at them, her chest tight, her eyes burning with tears she wouldn’t let fall. How could she explain? How could she put into words something so overwhelming?

“She was…” Her voice faltered, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to find strength. “She was someone I never should have met. But someone who changed everything.”

The boys exchanged confused glances but didn’t interrupt.

“She… She made me feel alive in a way I never had before,” Wanda continued, her voice barely a whisper. “And I lost her. Because I chose to lose her. Because I had to choose you.”

Tommy fell silent for the first time, and Billy looked as if he was about to say something, but Wanda stood up, gripping the cup tightly.

“That’s all you need to know,” she said, her voice now firm. “She was a mistake I couldn’t keep.”

Tommy was the braver of the two, while Billy had always been more sensitive. Billy pulled the woman into his arms, even though she hadn’t asked for the hug. Wanda didn’t refuse—she wasn’t in a position to.

“So that’s it? She was a mistake in the past, but what about now?” Tommy asked, his tone impassive.

Wanda looked at the boy, cursing how much they had inherited her stubbornness.

“Tommy, I’m married to your fa—”

“Oh, Mom! Don’t start!” The boy huffed. “We all know your marriage is just a façade. Everyone knows.”

Tommy’s words hit Wanda like a punch to the stomach. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He was right. Everyone knew. She knew.

Billy still held her in his arms, squeezing her with the tenderness that only he seemed capable of offering. Wanda relaxed momentarily, letting herself be embraced by her son, but Tommy’s gaze remained fixed on her, as if he wouldn’t let her escape so easily.

“Tommy, you don’t understand. I can’t just…” Wanda started, but her voice faltered.

“Can’t what?” Tommy interrupted, standing up from the couch. “Can’t go after the one thing that actually makes you happy? Can’t fight for someone you still love? That doesn’t make sense, Mom!”

“Tommy, it’s not that simple,” Wanda insisted, her voice trembling. “There’s so much at stake. I have you, I have responsibilities—”

“Responsibilities that leave you like this?” Billy murmured, letting her go but staying close. “We can tell, Mom. You pretend all the time, but you’re not happy. You haven’t been happy for as long as we can remember.”

Wanda ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “You don’t know everything. You don’t know what I did, the choices I had to make. You don’t know how much I lost.”

“Then tell us,” Billy said softly.

Wanda looked at him, feeling tears burn her eyes, but she held them back. “I can’t. I don’t want you to see me differently.”

“We already do, Mom,” Tommy shot back, his tone serious. “And you know what we see? A woman who sacrificed so much for us that she forgot about herself. It’s not fair. Not to you, not to us.”

“Tommy…”

“Listen,” he continued, his voice firmer. “If she’s still that important to you, why don’t you try? Why don’t you do something? You’ve always told us to fight for what matters. Why is this any different?”

Wanda looked at him, stunned. “You’re… encouraging me to go after her?”

“Yes,” Billy replied, nodding. “We don’t want a mom who lives on autopilot. We want you to be happy, even if it means things have to change.”

“But what about you? What about your father?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Dad can keep pretending he’s perfect. He’s more worried about appearances than the truth.”

Billy took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Mom, you deserve this. If she’s the one you love, then go after her.”

Wanda felt her heart tighten, but also a spark of something she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. She looked at her sons, her boys, who were now almost grown, and saw in them the strength she herself seemed to have lost.

"You two are impossible," she muttered, but there was a small smile on her lips.

"True," Tommy replied, crossing his arms. "And you'd better do it before it's too late."

Wanda closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running from what truly mattered.

[...]

The rain was falling heavily, but Wanda didn’t care. Her soaked coat clung to her skin, golden hair plastered against her face as she walked down the nearly deserted sidewalk. Each drop seemed to press against her harder, as if the force of the storm was trying to send her back home. But she couldn’t turn back. Not now.

When she finally spotted Yelena's small shop, Wanda felt a mix of relief and nerves. The dim light inside cast a faint glow, and the blonde’s silhouette moved behind the windows. Wanda pushed the door open with force, the bell above ringing in a tone that sounded almost desperate.

Yelena, who had been shutting off the lights and closing the register, turned around slowly, a cigarette between her fingers, her face faintly illuminated by the ember. She didn’t look surprised at all.

"Well, look who decided to show up," Yelena remarked, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. Her eyes assessed Wanda with both disdain and curiosity. "What do you want here?"

"I need to know where she is," Wanda replied, her voice firm, but her eyes betrayed her desperation.

Yelena let out a short, humorless laugh, extinguishing the cigarette in the nearest ashtray. "You think I’m just going to hand that information to you on a silver platter? After everything you did to her?"

"I didn’t come here to argue," Wanda replied, fists clenched at her sides. "I just need to find her. Please."

"Please?" Yelena raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "You think a ‘please’ can erase the years of pain you caused? She loved you, Wanda. And you broke her heart."

Wanda swallowed hard, the guilt pressing heavier on her chest. "I know," she admitted, her voice wavering. "I know what I did. But I need to fix it. I need to talk to her, to explain—"

"Explain what?" Yelena cut her off, crossing her arms. "That you chose the comfort of a false life over her? That you preferred hiding behind a sham marriage while she suffered?"

"I didn’t have a choice!" Wanda exclaimed, the pain overflowing in her voice. "I had to protect my children. I had to protect everything that was important to me."

"She thought she was important to you too," Yelena shot back, her eyes hard.

The silence between them was broken only by the sound of the rain pounding against the windows. Wanda took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"Please, Yelena," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I need to see her. Just tell me where she is."

Yelena was silent for a moment, her eyes carefully studying Wanda. Finally, she sighed, grabbing a small piece of paper and a pen. "This isn’t for you," she said, scribbling something down. "It’s for her. Because, despite everything, she deserves the chance to decide whether she wants to hear you or not. Go there, and bring my little sister back."

She handed the paper to Wanda, but before Wanda could leave, Yelena grabbed her arm. "Don’t screw this up again. If you do, don’t ever look for me. Not for her, not for anyone."

Wanda nodded, clutching the paper as if it were a lifeline. Without another word, she stepped out into the storm, the rain now feeling slightly less heavy.

Wanda stopped in the middle of the street, the rain beating relentlessly against her face, but she hardly felt it. Her eyes were fixed on the paper in her hand, the address already smudged by the water but still legible. A distant thunder rumbled, but nothing could drown out the turmoil inside her.

The truth was raw and inescapable: she hadn’t been alive since the day you left. Every heartbeat since then had felt borrowed, as if she were just occupying space in a body that no longer belonged to her.

"Be it too late or not," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling but full of conviction, "I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering."

She gripped the paper so tightly it nearly tore, her fingers trembling—not from the cold, but from sheer desperation. Because if Wanda knew one thing now, it was that she had already lost too much. She couldn’t lose you again, even if it meant facing the worst parts of herself.

Lifting her face to the sky, Wanda let the rain wash over her—though it could not lift the weight from her chest. Then, without hesitation, she took the first step, the sound of her heels echoing against the wet asphalt.

Each step was a declaration. Each beat of her heart, a scream. She loved you. Loved you enough to tear down any barrier, to face any storm. This time, she wouldn’t let fear win. This time, she would be brave enough to fight for what truly mattered.

Even if it was too late.

~*~

Mommy Wanda will go after what is hers.

UREVISED CHAPTER

Tag List <3

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@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

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@wandasslut3000

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2])

(this is a sad one, apologies in advance)

agatha just had the unimaginably traumatic experience of her mother's evil ghost possessing her body, so of course she cracks jokes. she's shaking like a leaf, but hey, coping mechanism gotta cope!

when evanora tried to execute agatha, stealing secrets or whatever was only an excuse, she was punishing her daughter for the sin of being born. whatever she says, her so called worry for these other witches is also an excuse. she's simply furious that someone has begun to think of agatha as a person rather than a monster. it's once again a selfless VS selfish paradox, evanora is always framing her actions as selfless and for the greater good, but her hatred for agatha is undeniably raw and personal. I would love to learn what evanora's life was like, who were her parents? what turned her into such a hateful mother?

(look at how angry rio already is. and alice always protecting the person closest to her by default.)

this is the ultimate humiliation for agatha, someone who has always kept her past and struggles so close to the chest. now one of her deepest traumas is laid bare for everyone to see and judge. she's always trying to come off as strong and unfeeling and formidable, but here she is, a sad little girl abused by her own mother.

btw I see you all have strong feelings about ghosts and billy's powers! lol I got so many comments. I see you, I see you! Granted I'm not actually super invested in my ghost theories, this being a made up marvel show and all, but here's what I think:

agatha says to wanda, "you have no idea how dangerous you are, you're supposed to be a myth, a being capable of spontaneous creation, and here you are, using it to make breakfast for dinner!" agatha, one of the most powerful witches ever existed, could not create food for nicky. like, the scope of wanda's powers (and billy's by extension) is the kind of scary that can reshape reality itself and truly and properly fuck up the Sacred Balance or whatever rio calls it.

when I say billy created a ghost evanora, yes it's a copy but in the same way a Star Trek transporter makes a copy, you know what I mean? whether the orignal stays behind or not, billy's evanora is the real evanora. and if you believe in souls, that gets even more complicated! did billy take evanora's soul from the afterlife and plopped her in here, or did it copy it too? and was wanda actually able to create billy's and tommy's or did she catch the wandering soul of stillborn twins?

see I don't think evanora was a ghost prior to this (again, I might be proven wrong in the future, but this is where I'm at right now). if that were the case, you know she'd been haunting agatha's ass, wouldn't have given her a moment of peace. maybe rio took extra care to send her to the afterlife, idk. now rio looks shocked and angry to see evanora, like this is a new development.

rio's voice is literally roaring with anger

like i cannot overstate how much rio hates and despises evanora for what she did to agatha

evanora zeroes in on rio, approaches. rio takes a whole step back and makes herself smaller. she's nervous. she says that ghosts are cheaters, but it goes beyond that, doesn't it? rio understands life and death, but a ghost is neither, or both. it goes beyond all her control and expertise, and for the first time since we've known her, she's at a disadvantage. ironic, isn't it, considering what happens to agatha in the finale?

agatha, who's been cowering in a corner, chooses this moment to approach. does she want to protect rio and billy and the others? or is she so desperate for an ounce of love and affection from her mother that she, coward as she is, actually wants to put herself in arm's way?

while everyone is focused on agatha, alice looks at rio. she is putting together evanora's words, agatha's terror and rio's hatred. jen is being selfish. alice, generous alice, could never be selfish

the last time agatha saw her mother she was still a kid. now she is a mother herself and the mere thought of not loving, not wanting to protect your child, of actually going out of your way to harm them? it's simply inconceivable to her.

the shock. the tears forming in her eyes. the same heartbreak she felt when she realized her mom was about to kill her at the stake. she's feeling small and wretched and unloved like only a parent can make you feel

it's the matter-of-fact tone she uses. it's worse than hatred. she despises agatha beyond hatred

there is a moment in a child's life when they see a parent clearly for the first time, their weakness and their flaws. this is especially true for an abused child, it comes a day when you realize that despite being called bad and evil and blamed for the pain happening, it was never really your fault. agatha knows what a parent's love should look like now. and this is not it.

rio visibly deflates. she is the only person in the room agatha opened up with about her mother. there is nothing she can do to spare her pain now. she has no power against evanora

alice has a blinding moment of shock, realization, pity. she knows only too well what generational pain and trauma can do to a person. but she still had a mother who loved her. agatha didn't.

jen, who used to be a healer, can no longer feel compassion. jen has had to learn to protect herself above all others. because evanora hurt agatha, and agatha hurt jen in return.

and when it's all said and done, agatha will always beg. all her power, her brains, her experiences are nothing. she regress to that girl at the stake. I can be good. please.

alice, who's always been the first to jump to everyone's defense, who always puts others before herself. she has seen agatha bare and helpless, she has seen that raw core that agatha has always hidden and, in her final moments, she's accepted agatha in her coven. it's more instinct than rationality, but alice has always been a heart over head kinda girl. if she can see the harpy, if she can see the pain, by GOD she'll do something about it.

“The Knight of Wands.” full of fire, fights bravely.

lilia's gut-wrenching scream. she knows what is happening. agatha already told her.

a succubus who hasn't fed in so long. I keep thinking, there was never anybody who loved her enough to teach her control, to seek alternative solutions to satiate her hunger. rio never could, rio cannot interfere with who lives and who dies. but could a coven together have fed her? could a big coven have donated power little by little, and kept her safe and valued and protected? nurtured her in every way? or was she always doomed from the start? was evanora right, did alice sign her death warrant the moment she chose to love agatha? I know what my answer is to all that, but what do you guys think?

and another question for you: billy casts around desperately for help, nicky answers. was nicky, or rather a shadow of nicky, created by billy too? or was the son of Death powerful enough and scared enough to reach out on his own, maybe with just a little push on billy's part?

a name was all it took for agatha to pass her trial, and look how much was needed to get it out of her. only billy's chaos could do the impossible: drag agatha's ravaged and wrecked heart to the surface. billy only wanted to help her heal, but he's a just a boy with the power to shape the universe. it took evoking ghosts and dredging up horrible trauma to make all of agatha's defenses crumble and raw-beat her into admitting her pain, into maybe, if we're lucky, starting on the road to recovery. oh, billy. you don't know how to handle things gently yet, with your big man's hands and your young, too young soul.

she stops IMMEDIATELY. she didn't know how to control her hunger, until now. the monster was human all along

by. as in, by billy, because he did it all. and also, good-bye. good-bye, mama.

oh, alice. there are no words.

and now they're no longer just numbers, just fools she conned and killed and abandoned on the road. now it's the girl with the big luminous heart, who sang the Ballad with her, who shared her same pain, the first human being in agatha's life who wanted to selflessly help her.

there is a moment, in a child's life, when they see a parent clearly for the first time.

go to episode 5 part 5

[bohemianblasphemy]

I love the butcher sleeping with Maeve stories but could you do one where they’re together and he tells her he did that so she sleeps with soldier boy for the “same reason” and Ben acting all cocky about it (hopefully that makes sense I’m half asleep typing this out)

ohmygod i love this so fucking much, i’ve been wanting to write something about soldier boy✨

ENJOY!!!!

“Y-you did WHAT?”

The disbelief that ran through your veins was overwhelming, hearing the words “I slept with Maeve.”

Butcher was… a complicated soul, and that was putting it lightly. You knew there was to be issues and baggage when it came to being with him- but nothing could’ve prepared you for the bombshell he dropped.

“I fucked it up alright? i know i did! she meant nothin’ to me… it was just a heat of the moment thing, we were drunk... and i needed info.” he tried to justify his actions. “It happened ages ago love.”

You scoffed at him, laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

“That’s no excuse Butcher, it still happened while we were together. You’re so full of shit.” You couldn’t help the tears that fell from your eyes, grabbing your keys. “Sweetheart stop, i ain’t doin’ right by ya and i’m sorry, please stay…”

“I’m not staying here tonight, you can sit and wallow in your bullshit alone.” You turned to look at him as he stood there, rendered speechless as you walked out the door.

He was upset at himself, pulling at his hair and yelled out of frustration - throwing a glass at the wall. You could hear his actions echoed through the hall as you walked away, not looking back.

The walk out of his apartment was torturous- one part of you screamed go back to him, fall back into his arms. The other part? It wanted him to feel that sweet revenge, feel how he made you feel.

Getting into your car, you thought of where to go from here. The many places you could go to drown your sorrows in, numbing the sting of betrayal that flowed through you.

A bar or a club wasn’t the feel of the evening. Too many people, too much noise- But your mind flicked over to the supe that the group had recovered from Russia, the so called ‘super weapon’ to destroy Homelander…

Soldier Boy.

Your mind reverted back to when Butcher, Hughie and yourself took him to the motel where he was still holed up in, keeping him away from any prying eyes.

The unashamedly lustful glances he made toward you, sly comments about you in front of Butcher- making him run hot in frustration of how he talked about you.

“If Butcher ever slips up, you know where to find me doll…” Ben said in your ear, loud enough for Billy to hear. Butcher growled at him. “Back off, Mate. She’s mine.” Ben just chuckled as he looked at your flushed face, sending a wink your way.

The thought of him terrified and intrigued you; but his cocky, arrogant bravado was just what you needed, what you craved in that moment.

You found yourself driving toward that motel, the adrenaline running through your veins as you pulled into the car park. You sat there for a while, the devil and angel sitting on your shoulders yapping in your ears on whether it was a good idea or not.

Brushing them off, you stepped out of the car, making the ascent up the old concrete stairs toward his room, placing a soft knock on the weathered door.

The door opened a crack, half of Ben’s face appeared as he studied who was knocking. A chuckle was heard before he opened the door fully for you.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Butchers girl.” He smirked, looking at you up and down unapologetically. Ben looked at your face, seeing your sullen expression as he raised an eyebrow.

“Where’s your man? He’d be in tow by now-“ he stopped his sentence as you pushed your way inside the room, seeing various take out boxes and bottles of beer and whiskey along the coffee and kitchen table, remnants of cocaine and a half smoked joint in the ashtray.

“I’m here on my own accord, Ben.” you turned to look at him as he closed the door. His eyebrows raised, realising what you meant by that.

“So he fumbled you huh?” He smirked, thinking of the last interaction he had with you. Nodding in confirmation, you looked at him.

“Slept with Queen Maeve, one of The Seven. For someone who hates the lot of them he sure loves to stick his dick in them.” you mumbled sarcastically as Ben walked his way over to you. He scoffed. “The guy can’t even stick to his own morals, what a goddamn hypocrite.”

“You’re not wrong there.” you sighed, crossing your arms along your torso. “I’m never wrong sweetheart.” He teased as he took a swig of his beer, placing it down on the counter next to you.

“And now you’re here… taking up that offer i made that day.” he said, looking over your body once again. You couldn’t help but feel the rush of desire for him run through your body.

You took in his appearance, his tousled hair and beard that just made him look even more handsome, wearing his NY Giants jersey with his grey sweatpants… he looked too good. He saw how your eyes lingered on him, smirking as he he knew that look all too well.

Ben leaned in a little closer to you, looking intensely into your eyes, wanting to gauge some form of reaction from you.

“I think i know what you need doll…” he reached out to pull a strand of hair behind your ear and stroked your cheek with his index, he was surprisingly gentle.

“What do you think i need Ben?” You played coy, batting your eyelashes up at him.

“I think…” Ben pulled you against him, his hands going straight for your hips and behind, kneading your flesh in his large palms.

“You need me to show you a good time… forget about Butcher.” his face was so close to yours, you could feel his hot breath on you as you leaned in - brushing your lips against his.

“would you like that sweetheart?” Ben’s gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, watching you nod as he closed the distance between you two- moving his lips along yours as his hands slowly lifted you up, taking you toward the bed in the middle of the room.

…

The bright rays of the morning sun peaked through the old, yellowed blinds. You sat up slowly, looking around as you saw all your clothes scattered along the floor, seeing Ben’s jersey hanging off your torso.

Turning your head you saw Ben’s sleeping figure facing away from you, seeing the light red scratches on his freckled shoulders from the night before.

Your memory from the night before invaded your mind- Ben had rocked your world, long into the late hours of the night. He never let up as he pounded into your cunt mercilessly, never getting enough of your loud moans that definitely kept the neighbouring guests around the motel up.

However your mind suddenly switched over to Butcher, guilt creeping over you slowly as you had stooped to his level; but that feeling was overshadowed by the satisfaction you felt being between the sheets with Soldier Boy - that vengeance you sought after Billy’s actions.

As you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, you could see a litter of finger print sized bruises on your thighs, groaning as you stretched your limbs.

Ben stirred as he heard your groans, sitting up in the bed and eyeing you up and down. “Mornin’ sunshine…” he grumbled.

Standing up from the bed he made his way to look over you, smirking as he saw the aftermath of your activities adorned on your skin. “You look fuckin’ hot in my shirt.” he admired the sight of you before him.

Before you could speak, a deafening bang on the door as the familiar english accent boomed through the thin door.

“OPEN THE FUCKIN’ DOOR!” Butcher demanded. You shot a panicked look at Ben, who had a smirk on his face.

“Showtime, Sweetheart…” shooting you a wink as he answered the door. Before you could process what was happening Butcher barged in, finding you standing at the foot of the bed in Ben’s shirt.

You felt a minuscule amount of vulnerability in your veins as Butchers eyes bore holes into you, but it was quickly squashed down as the memory of Butchers confession came back.

“Care for a drink, Butcher? We had the most… interesting night.” Soldier Boy chuckled, walking around to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“What the bloody hell is this?” his voice was laced in rage as he stepped forward toward you both.

“Considerate a taste of your own medicine Butcher…” you spoke up, your heart racing but not from nerves, but from exhilaration. “Just a bit of payback.”

“Do ya think this is funny? you think you can just screw him?” Butchers nostrils flared in anger.

“You made your choice. I made mine.” You retaliated. Ben chuckled at the entertainment before him.

“She’s a real catch… and an absolute animal in the sheets. Might wanna rethink your priorities.” Ben suggested, a wolfish expression adorning his face.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Butcher stuck his finger in his face, looking back at you. The betrayal stung deep within him, but he knew that he was reason for it happening.

“This ain’t over, you’ll regret it…” Butcher stormed out slamming the door, rattling the frame. Ben turned around and pulled you closer to him, smirking at the chaos that led them to this moment.

“Quite the troublemaker, aren’t ya sweetie?”

[thicctails]

How does Bill react to seeing his parents caring so much for the Pine twins? O_o

Alsoooo, would Euclid and Scalene be concerned when they see their own son in the Journal 3, and lots of warning not to trust Bill etc? What does his parents think of him now? >_<

He's confused at first. I mean, Shooting Star and Pine Tree aren't orphans, right? Why do his folks feel the need to baby these squishy, flesh pups? He won't admit it out loud, but he's jealous. His parents were the only ones who actually cared about him, after all.

It's only after he does some quality family bonding time (read: stalks their dreams) that he realises that these two would almost certainly be dead without his parents watching over them. I mean, he doesn't have a paternal bone in his pyramid body, but even he can see that!

(and he definitely doesn't feel some kind of way about the fact that Dipper gets shamed for his Birthmark, or the fact that the twins get taken to an uncaring doctor when their parents finally notice them talking to 'nothing'. No, not at all)

As for Scalene and Euclid, they're horrified to see what Bill has done, but they're also now know how agonizing and torturous it must have been for Bill to be able to see the third dimension. They know he's fucked mentally, (they are too a bit now) and they're not excusing his actions, but they do want him to get help.

He's still their little Billy, and they'll always love him, sharp angles and all.

[isagrimorie]

I’ve been watching video reviews praising Agatha All Along, and while I more or less agree with their points, one thing that bothers me is the claim that Agatha remained 100% evil, and she didn't change, and that doesn’t sit right with me.

Agatha didn’t have a redemption arc (or as Schaeffer put it, “This lady did not arc out.”), and I understand why. In fact, I love that about her character. The show doesn’t try to sand down Agatha’s sharp edges. I love that Agatha can feel so deeply while still being unapologetically a dick.

But the reason it bothers me when people claim that Agatha didn’t change is because she did.

To put it into context, for a character who hasn’t changed and remains firmly on a villainous path, the reviewers should look at another comic book show that aired at the same time: The Penguin. While it’s not an exact comparison, there are notable similarities: both main characters love purple (sorry, Oz, I mean plum), have a fascinating, wide-eyed, unhinged brunette antagonist, a teen sidekick, and a ruthless quest for power. But there are key differences between Agatha Harkness and Oswald Cobblepot.

The Penguin is the story of Oswald’s rise to power as Gotham’s crime boss. Agatha, on the other hand, was already at the height of her power and villainy. Over 300 years, she killed fellow witches, schemed, and connived. This all came to an abrupt halt when Wanda trapped her in a hex. With the help of Rio and Billy, Agatha eventually clawed her way free from Wanda’s distorted spell.

Initially, it seemed like nothing had changed for Agatha.

But Agatha did change. The Agatha Harkness of three years ago—the witch killer—wouldn’t have sat around a campfire trading stories and feeling emotional about it. She wouldn’t have felt any remorse for accidentally killing Alice.

(It’s funny how, between Rio and Agatha, Agatha reminded me more of Dream than Rio. Both are capricious and prone to holding grudges. Both were held captive by mystical forces and when freed, they denied they had changed—even though their captivity altered them in both small and profound ways. In the end, both characters die because of their capacity to change and are reborn, metaphorically or literally, wearing white.)

I appreciated that the show didn’t dull Agatha’s sharp edges. She was, and remains, a killer. Even when we get glimpses of Agatha’s tragic backstory with Nicky, the show doesn’t excuse her actions. She was a killer before Nicky, during her time with Nicky, and after Nicky. In fact, she became an even more prolific serial killer after Nicky. Her contempt for fellow witches deepened every time they fell for her road scam.

So, it’s tiring hearing that “Agatha didn’t change.” The ending of Agatha All Along made it clear that while she didn’t change—because such a drastic shift can’t happen in just nine episodes for someone with a 300-year history—there was, as Jac Schaeffer put it, progress.

Agatha never considered the consequences of her actions. For example, when she tried to avoid harming Jennifer Kale back when she was a rootworker and midwife, she inadvertently hurt Jennifer for a century.

Agatha spent her life trying to fill the gnawing black hole inside her, running from pain and avoiding anything resembling personal growth. She finds the Darkhold, and she becomes invisible to Rio, her remaining connection to her life with Nicky.

And, even when the world around her burned, nothing truly touched Agatha Harkness—until she found herself in the Hex, facing off against the Scarlet Witch.

Agatha was overconfident. Armed with her vast knowledge and the Darkhold, she thought she was invincible. But she miscalculated, becoming powerless and losing three years trapped in Agnes the Nosy Neighbor's life.

This disruption in Agatha's pattern is enough that when Agatha was about to restart her Killing Game, it gave Agatha pause. When Alice shows up at her house hoping to visit the Road, only to end up dead in Agatha’s basement.

There was even a moment when Agatha went to recruit Sharon Davis as a replacement backup Green Witch, she had to take a moment to confirm to herself that she could live with killing Mrs. Hart.

Agatha’s story (for this season, at least-- because there will be another season or sequel, dammit) wasn’t a redemption—nine episodes isn’t enough to atone for 300 years of killing. It's a story of moving Agatha into a position to transform. Or, as Jac Schaeffer called it, progress. Redemption may come later, but progress isn’t linear. For someone who is an unrepentant killer and con artist, even the smallest shift is big.

Agatha All Along doesn’t try to make Agatha into a hero, nor does it attempt to soften her sharp edges. Instead, the show offers a nuanced portrait—a reminder that even an unrepentant bad guy can evolve, even if they don’t fully understand or accept it themselves.

Agatha Harkness might not be “redeemed” but she isn’t the same either.

[stranger-rants]

The unwillingness of Stranger Things fans to engage with Billy's story in a thoughtful, nuanced manner is symptomatic of a larger problem in how we treat survivors. When this attitude is applied to real survivors, it leads to systemic barriers that eventually kill them.

People are constantly bringing a Survival of the Fittest mentality to the discussion table when it comes to survivors of abuse, but "fittest" broadly means people who survived abuse in the most socially acceptable manner. Anyone who doesn't survive the way they're supposed to is deemed unworthy of it, and in the case that a survivor eventually does die due to what they have to endure then their death is celebrated for "proving" that bad survivors don't deserve to survive.

Even if you pay lip service to it, it's not enough to claim empathy for Billy as a survivor in your analysis while criticizing his actions if in the act of criticizing his actions, you project your prejudices towards survivors onto him. That includes placing blame onto him for things he did not say or do. That includes ignoring his circumstances. That includes blaming him for things he did not have agency over, such as the complete loss of bodily autonomy he explicitly suffers on screen.

There's a good reason why "nobody ever says" that Billy was physically abusive to Max because there is no evidence that Billy was physically abusing her, and we need to stop cheapening the word "abuse" to refer to any instance of violence. A fight is not abuse. The fact that Billy has gotten into physical altercations or even started them is no indication that Billy does or will abuse his sibling.

This belief that survivors who are reactive to perceived threats and to violence are abusive in their own lives is in fact harmful to survivors. I am not discounting the fact that survivors can become abusers. However, abuse involves a pattern of behavior that establishes power and control over a victim.

Any violence or cruelty towards Max is not excusable, but Billy does not continually physically abuse Max. If that was the story they wanted to tell, then we would have seen evidence of it. We didn't. He grabbed her wrist once and let her go. Any time he is on Max's case about where she is and what she is doing is because he is put in charge of her by their parents. We did in fact see the consequences of Max not "obeying" Billy - Billy gets beaten.

You cannot divorce Billy's attitude and behavior towards Max from the fact that her very presence jeopardizes his safety and survival. You also cannot ignore the fact that Max's parents are at fault for endangering her life if Billy did abuse her. But, there is no concrete evidence that Billy was abusing Max in the manner that some of you like to argue. The fact of the matter is that Billy wanted nothing to do with her and vice versa.

It is absolutely disingenuous and disgusting to then (mis)characterize Billy based on the possession of his body and striping of his agency to portray him as a physically and sexually abusive monster who preys on his sister when he consistently wants nothing to do with Max. You cannot be serious, and you cannot be trusted to talk about abuse survivors when you're more willing to fantasize about Max as a victim than you are willing to acknowledge all the ways in which Billy was systematically abused and controlled by his father, by the adult women preying on him, by the Mindflayer, by Vecna...

[pumpk1n-writes]

Jealousy, Jealousy Is The Venom In My Veins

➥ in which Billy Loomis sees Stu flirting with you and decides to show everyone that you belong to him {ft. AFAB reader, jealousy, smut, marking, praise, bottom!reader, reader being a little shit, stu also being a little shit, stu being a wingman, not an established relationship}

Requested ~ yes / no | Word Count ~ 1.2k

The media you consume is your own responsibility and I will not be held accountable for your choices. I’m not going to block minors from this account, but proceed with caution anyway.

Taglist ~ @wasawattpadkid

Cold air lifted your hair off your shoulders, sending a shiver down your back. You’d never been more glad to see Stu’s excited smile as he opened the door, gladly stepping into his house and out of the biting November wind.

“Hey hey, pretty girl! You brought the beers, yeah?”

You nodded, smiling at him when he swung an arm over your shoulders and hanging off of you like a big, friendly coat. You both entered the living room, and you noticed Billy’s seething gaze drop to Stu’s arm. Feeling a tiny bit uncomfortable with how sharply he was scrutinizing you, you slunk out of the embrace and plopped down on the couch — opposite Billy.

You still felt Billy’s burning eyes on you as you downed half your beer, but soon your discomfort was drowned underneath the fuzzy warmth of alcohol. You could see the telltale signs of Stu’s own buzz as the night wore on, his actions becoming even more animated than usual and his words getting louder.

The other way you could tell he was getting drunk was the way his eyes and hands would linger on you for a second longer than necessary, and his usually dirty jokes turned to thinly veiled flirtatious remarks.

Billy stood abruptly, setting down the beer bottle he’d been cradling all night none too carefully. You gave him a questioning look, Stu still talking animatedly from your lap, and he returned a half-hearted smile.

When Billy didn’t return after five minutes, you pushed Stu off of your lap and stood to follow him. He gave you a knowing look and a cocky smirk, and you only entertained the question of why for a few seconds before walking into the kitchen.

You were met with the unexpected sight of Billy repeatedly running his hand through already disheveled hair, muttering the same thing over and over and pacing back and forth. After a few seconds he still hasn’t noticed you so you softly said his name and laid your hand on his arm.

He jerked away like he’d been burned, eyes flitting around the room, looking anywhere but yours.

“Billy. . .” With a tremendous amount of effort, he tore his gaze away from the suddenly very interesting countertops and focused on you. He was suddenly hyper aware of the beautiful way your face was twisted in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just—“ and suddenly you were kissing him. It sent electricity down to the tips of his toes and zipping back up his spine. Slowly, too slowly, you reached your hands up to his neck and he gripped your wrists, kissing you back with just as much passion.

Never in a million years did he believe he would have you like you are right now, hands tangled in his hair and your lips on his.

All too soon you stepped back, burning red tainting your cheeks. “I- I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

But then you noticed the dopey grin on Billy’s face, a real one this time, and you blush even harder than before, if that was even possible. “What?”

“I’ve been waiting months for you to do that.”

This time it was him who was kissing you, so much more sure of himself then you were, so much more confident. His hands found your waist and his tongue explored your mouth.

After that it wasn’t long for you both to find an excuse to head back to Billy’s house — some bullshit about you feeling a little too tipsy and Billy needing to drive you home. Stu just gave you that same knowing look and made some vulgar comment that you don’t remember. You flipped him off, stumbling a bit for dramatic effect.

The drive was quicker than you expected, your leg shaking with either anxiety or anticipation the whole time. Somehow you made it up to his room in between stolen kisses, your clothes discarded along the way.

Under any other circumstances, Billy would take his time with you, worshipping every inch of your body, but right now he just wanted to watch you come undone, wanted to make sure you’d never let Stu touch you again. His breath was hot against your neck, his hands manhandling you onto your back on his bed.

“You look so good under me,” he breathed the words right next to your ear. You shivered, squeezing your thighs together and chasing any sort of friction. “Shhh, darling, your praise kink is showing.”

You glared up at him. “I don’t have a—“

The words were blocked in your throat when he slipping two fingers inside of you, thumb grinding against your clit. “Mhm. Good girl.” He smirked against your neck when he felt you clench around him at his words.

“Oh.”

He slipped another finger in and you whimpered into his hair, nails finding purchase against the muscles of his back. He curls his fingers and you feel the knot inside of you already coming undone, and apparently he does too because he pulls out, licking his fingers clean before placing them around your neck. “Now be good for me and take my cock the same way you take my fingers.”

You nod, whimpering again when he pushes in. He allows you a moment to catch your breath and adjust to the stretch, his gaze never leaving your heavy lidded eyes. “You okay?”

“Yes,” your throat is dry, your words mumbled, but he still begins slowly thrusting in and out, in and out.

You whine, clutching the sheets under you as a way to ground yourself, eyes screwed shut against the wall of overbearing pleasure.

He bit you neck sharply, sucking on the mark. He did it over and over and over, relishing in your moans and whimpers every time. He was going to fucking make sure everyone knew who you belonged to.

The whole time his brown eyes are focused on your face, on the slight dusting of pink, on the way your nose crinkles when he kisses it, on the way your mouth falls open on a particularly deep thrust.

“That’s it, darling, you’re doing so well,” he punctuates each of his words with a kiss, determined to show you just how much he appreciates you. “God, you’re so fucking perfect, can’t believe I have you all to myself now. You’re never gonna let Stu touch you again, huh?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You open your eyes only to be met with his piercing gaze.

“Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes!” You yelped. “Yes, God, yes. Stu will never - shit - he’ll never touch me again!”

Billy’s hand snaked between your intertwined bodies, pressing down slightly on your abdomen to see your eyes glaze over. He smirked down at your writhing form, your hips grinding into his in a desperate chase for release.

“How do you feel?”

You smiled up at him, capturing his lips in a kiss. “So, so good.”

The only thing ringing in his ears were your beautiful moans and the reassurance that no one will ever touch you again as long as he was around. And he was going to be around for a long, long time.