Cheshirecat484 - CheshireCat - Tumblr Blog

i watched one (1) video on how to draw hands that changed my life forever. like. i can suddenly draw hands again

these were all drawn without reference btw. i can just. Understand Hands now (for the most part, im sure theres definitely inaccuracies). im a little baffled

First off, Author, don't feel bad about jumping around, in my head it made the entire situation feel more frantic as Reader fought back, and Russo fought to find her, I think it tied together incredibly well.

ALSO WAIT EPILOGUE!? LAST CHAPTER!? No it can't be over so quickly, what am I to do without these amazing updates 😭😭😭

Teehee, love the ending, reader's in the middle of dying and Billy's got no choice, which is probably good because reader definitely needs to save her niece. I hope this doesn't affect her relationship with Billy 🤭🤭

MADANI ACTUALLY PULLED THROUGH? THANKS GIRL <3

Krista can go to hell, respectfully.

AHHH I love this series so much, you've done a fantastic job Author! Take Care! <3

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eighteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Violence. A lot more violence than usual. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : if you haven't already voted for what you want to see me write next, you've got a day and a half left

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eighteen

It felt like the world was unravelling around him, like he was coming apart at the seams. While he’d said the words hours ago, it wasn’t until that moment that he started to feel the weight of them. He loved you. He loved you in a way that he’d never allowed himself to love anyone else. He loved you in a way that was so deep, so visceral that if he lost you, he knew he’d never recovered. 

You were inexorably linked, two halves of one soul. You were everything to him and Billy knew he couldn’t go back to the empty, bleak life he’d been living, no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself overwise over the last couple of months.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, running a red light to get to Krista’s building. Frank and Madani were talking but, to Billy, it all just sounded like static in his ears.

He couldn’t lose you.

He wouldn’t.

Pulling up, he killed the engine and before anyone could think to speak or question, he was out of the car, clearing the steps to the building two at a time. Frank and Madani had to rush to keep up with him, each still talking, calling after him. But Billy didn’t care about waiting, about figuring out ‘what to do’. No, Billy knew what he was going to do; he was going to make Krista talk, he was going to make her understand why fucking with you had been the worst decision of her life

It was a blur and, for a few minutes he lost himself; he kicked the door open and the next thing he knew, he had his hands around her throat, with Frank yelling at him to calm down.

“Where is she?” The voice that left his lips wasn’t quite his own.

“Gone. I don’t know where,” Krista answered, grinning despite the grip he had on her. “You’ll never find her. Just like you never found Mary.”

Somehow Frank managed to wrench Billy away but Krista didn’t even try to escape. She was enjoying the scene playing out before her, she was taking pleasure in his pain, glad that she’d had some small part in causing it.

“Mary?” It was Madani who spoke, gun drawn, stepping forwards. “Mary Poots?”

“Poor little Mary,” Krista said in a sing-song tone, barely holding back a laugh. “You thought you could replace me with someone so... fragile...”

“You killed Mary Poots?” Madani tried to continue her line of questioning despite the fact that Krista’s attention was fully on Billy.

“Now you’re going to lose the new one,” Krista carried on, all eyes on her. “I’ll take the next one, too. And the one after that. All of them. Every last one, until I’m all you have left.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Billy spat and that drew a laugh from Krista.

“If I am, it’s because of you, because you infected me...” she laughed again. “Or, no, I suppose it was Layla... not that it matters. You fuck up everything you touch, don’t you, Billy?”

“Just tell me where she is!” Billy demanded.

He lunged towards her, but Frank was too quick, too strong, wrapping an arm around him and holding Billy back.

“I don’t know,” she answered, still smiling, seemingly unbothered. “I never asked and he never told. You shouldn’t worry, I’m sure she’ll make a beautiful bride. Her fiance was so happy to finally have her back.”

Billy snapped and snarled, struggling against Frank and against himself, his last shred of control quickly starting to split and fray. He wanted to kill her, wanted to do what he knew he should have done months ago.

“She’s not worth it, Bill,” Frank told him, trying to pull him away.

“You’ve just confessed to murder in front of a Federal Agent,” Madani finally piped up, earning a laugh from Krista, before her attention shifted to Frank and Billy. “If Justin Drake has her and they’re still in the city, we’ll be able to track her down.”

“And what if she’s not still in the city?” Billy snapped. “There’s only a few hours until dawn...”

“We’re going to find her,” Madani answered, her tone sharpening to match his.

“And what about her?” Frank dared to ask, drawing all eyes back to Krista.

“I can send someone to pick her up.”

Krista finally moved, attempting to bolt for the door but, somehow, Billy managed to wrench free of Frank’s grip and lunged for her, knocking into her so hard that they both fell to the ground.

She ripped and tore at him with her nails, sinking her fangs into his shoulder and not letting go until his elbow connected with her face. They rolled, Billy ending up on top before she caught him across the face, clawing at him. She rolled him, straddling him as she landed another hit across his face while Billy’s hands gripped her throat.

By the time Frank pulled her away, they were both bloody and bruised, each bearing the marks of each other’s hatred. She kicked and screamed against Frank’s grip as he pushed her face first into the wall, pinning her there while Madani cuffed her to a radiator.

“You think that’s gonna hold her?” Frank asked, eying Krista as she dropped to the ground.

“It’s all we can do for now,” Madani answered. “We need to move.”

“She needs to die,” Billy snarled.

It felt like his body was vibrating with rage, like the thing inside of him had finally won. But, before he could move, Frank was on him, forcing him backwards, hands shoving him so hard that he knocked the breath from Billy’s lungs.

“You wanna waste time on her while your girl’s out there? You wanna throw her life away and yours just so you can settle a score with this crazy bitch?” He barked in Billy’s face, shoving him again. Billy didn’t have an answer. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now fucking move, this guy isn’t gonna find himself.”

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

It felt like the world had tilted on its axis and gripping the edge of the table was all you could do to keep yourself from falling. It had never made sense why he wanted you, why he’d been so adamant; you weren’t anything special, you weren’t worth anything (certainly not when compared to the amount of money your parents owed him). But, now you finally had answers, it made even less sense.

He was doing this because you looked like a distant relative who you shared only a fraction of your DNA with. 

He was doing this because she had denied him, just like you were trying to deny him.

He wanted you to be a vampire, to spend an eternity at his side.

“No.” The word fell from your mouth with a certainty that you didn’t feel.

“You don’t have a choice,” he retorted, already sounding like he was done with your denials and insolence.

“Yes, I do,” you answered back, remembering all the times Billy had told you as much.

You hadn’t believed it at the time, you’d thought that it was just a line, something he was telling you to make you feel better but, now, faced with someone who wanted to remove your choice, your agency, you realised that Billy had been right all along. Lifting your head and sitting a little straighter, you silently promised yourself that you weren’t going to cower before him, you weren’t going to let this sorry excuse for a man decide your future.

“You can do what you want to me. I’ll never be yours,” you told him. “Even if it takes my whole life, I’ll do everything I can to escape you.”

“I don’t know what you think you can -”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” you interrupted, not letting him get the upper hand, not letting him treat you like the naive child you had been when you last sat across from him. “You will never get what you want from me.”

Anger flickered across his face and it took him more than a few seconds to tamp it down again. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting such resistance from you.

But then came the laugh, a sound that caused dread to coil in your stomach.

“Like I told you; I’m a patient man and I have an eternity to bend you to my will,” he sai, his voice softer than his expression. “There might be nothing I can do to you anymore, but I already told you that your sister, her children...”

“You won’t hurt them.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you’ll lose your leverage over me if you do,” you answered, trying to hide the discomfort in your voice, hating that you were gambling with your sister’s safety. “And if you think I’m being difficult now, you’ve got no idea how much worse I can be.”  

Drake let out another callous huff of laughter, a twisted smile pulling at his lips.

“You’re right, but there are other ways to hurt you, aren’t there? Other people close to your heart...” he trailed off for a moment, letting his words sink in. “What about William Russo or his little human friend? Karen is it?”

As much as you wanted to remain defiant, the thought of anything happening to Billy made you feel sick to your stomach. You couldn’t let anything happen to him. You wouldn’t. 

Before you realised you were doing it, your hand was gripping the knife in front of you. 

It took him by surprise when you lunged across the table, aiming the blunt knife towards his chest despite knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. You didn’t care. The outcome of this didn’t matter; either he would die or you would. Either way, Billy would be safe.

Plates and glasses smashed as you half-fell over the table, tipping his chair back and knocking him to the floor, you on top of him.

His fingers gripped your wrist, stopping you as you tried to bring the knife down, holding the tip only a few inches from his chest.

There was noise all around you and it wasn’t until some time later that you realised it was you, that you were screaming, telling him you were going to kill him, that you wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

The struggle felt like it lasted a lifetime when, in reality, a few seconds after you’d cleared the table, one of his goons had arrived and pulled you off him. Kicking and screaming, you were carried back to your room and thrown inside.

You landed with an awkward thud, pain radiating up your bad arm despite the cast. But, seconds later, you were back on your feet, banging against the door, trying to get out, only to find that you were locked in. But that didn’t stop you from continuing to kick and scream at the door, telling him that you were going to kill him, that the only way he’d stop you was by killing you.

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

After they’d left Josie’s, Frank had text Karen to let her know what was going on and where they were headed. She decided to stick around and keep asking questions around the bar, making sure that nothing had been missed but, after half an hour or so, she decided to call it a night and head home.

She left with your suitcase, having stuffed Bill the Beagle back inside, rolling it along the sidewalk behind her. Her apartment was only a couple of blocks away and, despite the late hour, she’d never felt particularly unsafe walking home from Josie’s.

“Hey, uh, excuse me Miss?” A voice rang out.

Not thinking, Karen stopped and turned, seeing a large man dressed in a dark suit heading towards her.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked, finally noticing the limo parked in front of Josie’s.

It couldn’t be a coincidence; Josie’s wasn’t the sort of place anyone would want to leave a limousine, especially not twice in one night. Karen took a step back, realisation causing her blood to turn ice cold in her veins.

“Yeah, I think that suitcase belongs to a friend of mine,” he answered, slowly stepping towards her. 

The moment he started to move, Karen reached into her purse, trying to find her gun but not taking her eyes off of him for even a second.

“Funny,” she answered, “because this case happens to belong to a friend of mine.” 

Gun in hand, she lifted it, pointing it straight at him, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. She couldn’t be sure if he was a vampire or not, but she wasn’t going to take any chances, and aimed the gun at his chest. It might not kill him, but it would definitely slow him down.

“Where is she?” Karen demanded.

“It’s none of your concern,” he answered back, daring to take the slightest step but hesitating  again when Karen lifted the gun a little higher, aiming for his heart.

“I said, where is she?” She repeated, taking a step of her own.

“She’s with her fiance and if I were you, I’d just hand over the case.”

Karen opened her mouth about to refuse again when he moved, clearing the distance between them with a supernatural speed, knocking the gun from her grasp and into the road. As she moved to grab the suitcase, he struck her with the back of his hand, knocking her off balance and sending her to the pavement.

Karen scrambled for the gun but, by the time she had it, he was almost back at the limo, throwing the case into the passenger side before moving around to the driver's door.

As he started up the engine, Karen noticed a taxi and quickly tried to flag it down. When it didn’t stop, she stepped out into the street in front of it, making it stop for her.

“Follow that limo,” she told the driver as she climbed into the back.

“Listen, lady, I -” the driver started to refuse.

“No, you listen, the piece of shit that owns that limo has kidnapped a friend of mine and I have a gun, so you can either follow that limo and get paid at the end of this, or I’m going to have to take your taxi.”

The threat hung in the air for a few seconds. She could see the driver wearily eyeing her in the rearview, no doubt taking note of the gun in her lap and her split lip.

“Alright, fine, just don’t go doin’ anything crazy,” he muttered before starting after the limo.

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

They were barely outside of Krista’s building when Frank got the call. Billy watched as his friend's expression dropped from one of calm control to absolute rage in less than five seconds. He’d been busy listening to Madani, to all the measures she was putting in place to try and track you down; tracking the limo, credit cards, checking hotel guest lists. It only vaguely occurred to him that it wasn’t until then that he heard your so-called fiance’s name for the first time tonight.

Justin Drake.

Not that it mattered what his name was; he’d be a dead man the moment Billy got his hands on him.

But, for a few seconds, all of that stopped mattering and his attention was fixed on Frank.

“Are you okay?” he demanded of the person on the other end of the call. “Did he hurt you?” There was a pause for an answer that Billy couldn’t quite make out over the sound of traffic. “Where are you? No - no, stay outside and wait for us. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Billy asked the moment Frank ended the call.

“He sent one of his goons after the suitcase. Karen followed him back to the Park View hotel, she thinks that’s where he’s got her.” Frank explained.

A second later Madani was relaying that information on her call, but Billy was already moving for the car, and Frank was quick to follow.

“Wait, I can get back up and -” Madani started, falling into step behind the men.

“We ain’t waiting,” Frank answered.This time it was his turn to be angry. They’d gone near Karen and, now, it was personal for him. 

The conversation continued as they got in the car and carried on until they arrived at the hotel; Madani wanted to wait for back-up. Billy and Frank didn’t. It was that simple. They weren’t going to wait.

“You can help us, or you can stay here,” Frank told her, though his attention was immediately focused on Karen the moment he saw her, his blood starting to boil at the sight of her split lip. “We’re killin’ this fucker.”

“Yeah we are,” Billy responded.

Frank gave Karen some quick instructions, telling her to go wait in the car and to stay out of the way. He tried to tell Madani to wait with her but the Homeland Agent refused, trying one last time to convince them to just wait a few more minutes for back-up to arrive. Before she could even finish, Billy was moving past her and heading for the hotel’s entrance.

He moved through the lobby, drawing stares from everyone that looked his way; blood from the wounds that Krista had inflicted was still fresh on his clothes and he looked as if he’d just torn someone apart with his bare hands.

By the time he reached the front desk, there were already two members of the hotel security team standing there.

“I’m Agent Madani with Homeland Security,” she spoke before anyone else had the chance, and before Billy had the opportunity to do anything stupid. “You have a Justin Drake staying here, I need access to his rooms, now.” 

“I can’t just -” the receptionist started to answer.

“He has a woman with him up there, doesn’t he?” Madani asked, stepping up to the desk. “A woman that turned up earlier tonight?”

Billy took a step forward, getting ready to take matters into his own hands.

“I can’t reveal -” the receptionist tried again.

“He kidnapped her,” Billy snapped, “and he’s planning on hurting her. So you can either let us in peacefully, or we can make you.”

The security guards moved closer but then, at the sight of Frank stepping forwards, they seemed to shy away.

“We can wait for a warrant, or you can let us in now. Either way, if anything happens, it’ll be on you,” Madani explained. “Call Homeland - hell, call the cops, the FBI, whoever you want. Have us arrested when we’re done. But if anything happens, her blood will be on your hands.”

“And we’ve got Karen Page from The Bulletin sittin’ outside waitin’ for her friend to come out, so I suggest if you don’t wanna be named as complicit in this...” Frank let the threat go unfinished.

The receptionist had turned snow white, her hands trembling as she handed over a keycard and directed them to the elevator. The two hotel security members followed after.

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

You heard the commotion before everything went to hell.

There was a phone call; from what you could gather they had a friend in the FBI who’d gotten wind of a Homeland investigation, and there was about to be a raid on the hotel. They needed to get out of there, as quickly as they could.

“Come on,” he demanded, holding out his hand to you.

“No.”

“I’ve had enough of your games,” he muttered, his voice changing, turning softer. “Now, come with me.”

When he held out his hand again, you took a step towards him, wanting to do exactly as he said.

“N-no,” you said, shaking your head, trying to block him out, trying not to let him sway you.

“Come on, come with me. Right now,” he tried again.

Again you took a step, then another. Something inside of you told you to stop, to fight him, but you couldn’t. All you wanted to do was go with him.

“That’s it, come along and -”

“Boss, they’re in the elevator!”

The sudden disruption was enough to snap you out of it. You stepped back, reestablishing the space between you. You weren’t going to make this easy for him. 

“Told you I’d never be yours,” you muttered defiantly, triumphantly.

You both knew that there was no way that Drake was going to get out of this, at least not with you at his side. He’d have to let you go if he wanted to escape.

But you realised all too late what letting go looked like to Justin Drake.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He asked, starting towards you. “I would have given you everything if only you’d chosen not to act like a tempermental whore. But it’s really no bother. I’m sure when your niece is old enough she’ll be far more amenable, far more grateful for what I have to offer.” 

You stepped back as he closed the distance, until you found yourself against the window.

“At least I get to have one last taste,” he muttered darkly.

“No!” 

Your arms shot out, trying to push him away, trying to keep him from biting you. But he was bigger than you and infinitely stronger. He pushed you back, held you in place despite your thrashing and screaming. You tried everything you could to stop him from pressing closer and closer, trying to turn away as he bowed his head towards your neck.

“Not so defiant now, are you?”

“Please, no - no!” You screamed and begged, tears streaming down your face.

He bit down. Hard. 

Fangs tore through flesh, but rather than lingering to feed, he pulled back, his lips and chin dripping dark with your blood.

It took a moment for you to realise that blood was slowly filling your throat, that he’d left you with more than just a puncture wound.

Your hand lifted as he pulled back and started to walk away, feeling the wound he’d left and the way blood was spurting from it. Lightheadedness quickly over took and you found yourself sliding down the glass and onto the floor. Desperately you reached for the hoodie you’d discarded on the floor when you’d changed for dinner, pressing it against the wound, hoping you’d survive long enough to see Billy one last time.

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you heard gunshots and shouting. Then someone was at your side, her hand holding the hoodie tighter against your wounds and shouting for Billy. 

Madani.

(What was Madani doing there?)

“Hold on, help’s on the way,” she told you, but the words barely registered.

You had so many questions but it seemed too late to try and ask them.

But finally - finally  - Billy was at your side. Dropping to his knees, his eyes filling with tears at the sight of you.

“B-Billy,” you managed to choke out despite the blood filling your mouth and lungs, “you’re h-here...”

You felt him squeezing your hand, holding you so tight, like he never wanted to let you go. There were tears in his eyes as he looked down at you and you knew exactly what they meant; you were dying. In your efforts to save him the pain of watching you die, you’d brought it about decades early.

“I told you,” he muttered softly, “I’ll never let you go.”

Madani continued to press the cloth against your wound but you could tell from Billy’s face that it wasn’t helping.

“S-sorry,” you tried to mutter, wishing that you had more time, wishing that you could apologise properly.

“Don’t,” he told you, “don’t try to talk. Just - just stay still, stay with me, it’s going to be alright.”

“I l-love -” you couldn’t finish, there was too much blood and you were starting to feel so cold, so tired.

“Hey - hey, hummingbird, keep your eyes on me. It’s going to be okay,” Billy told you, but his voice sounded so far away. 

You struggled to hold his gaze, some part of you glad that you’d gotten to see him one last time, but the rest of you hated the agony on his face and the tears streaking down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he told you, squeezing your hand tighter, like he was trying to hold you in this life and not let you slip away. “I love you and - and I’m sorry, I know you’ll hate me but...”

The rest faded into the sound of your own panic, some part of you knowing what he was trying to tell you, knowing what he wanted to do. You tried to shake your head, tried to pull at his hand but you were so weak you could barely move. 

You were so far gone that you didn’t hear him screaming and pleading with Frank, nor did you hear Frank’s initial refusal and Billy’s threat to do it himself. 

Your eyes went wide when Frank loomed over you, looking at you for a moment, an unspoken apology colouring his features. You tried to speak, trying to say something - though, confronted with your own death, even you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. But you felt Billy’s hand squeezing yours and some piece of you wanted to hold on, wanted to have his hand in yours for longer than this moment, longer than the six months that you’d had together. 

You wanted him.

You wanted the man you loved.

(It wasn’t fair. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to leave him.)

But it was too late. Your eyes fell shut and you let out a gurgled breath, and the last thing you heard was Billy’s shouts.

End Note : So, yeah... I have a lot of feelings about this chapter. I know it jumps around and I'm not the greatest at action sequences (I'm working on it). And I know people won't like the ending and so on, but I'm having fun. I'm not sure if next week will be the last part now or if I'll have an epilogue the week after to tie up loose ends. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and it wasn't a let down! Also I'm sorry if any typos slipped through, I lost a night of writing to go see Deadpool last night..

As ever, thank you so much for your support/reading/liking/reblogging/screaming at me in the comments! Have a great weekend!!

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I'm desperate

Saving this for later! <33

Fic Recs (Harry Potter Editon III)

All fics are fem!reader

Marvel One Two Three Harry Potter One Two Three Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Specific Characters Tangerine Masterlist

Why Didn’t We Work Out? by @astonishment

Pairing: James Potter x Reader Summary: “James Potter had two girlfriends in his seventh yeat at Hogwarts. Y/N Y/L/N, who he dated for five months; and Lily Evans, who he dated afterwards. When he’s dared to call one of his exes, guess who’s number he dials…”

Morning Coffee by @thewriterghost

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Reader Summary: “You bring morning coffee to the boys.” 

Not So Secret Admirer by @kquil (Part Two)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “you can't hide your adoration for remus lupin and often end up staring at him, good thing he thinks you're really cute”

With All Due Respect by @writesowhatnext

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “Remus and the reader are best friends and that’s it and it’s so absurd that Remus keeps insisting that they’re anything more, right?”

Never His by @weasleykisses

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “when James needs help asking out Lily, he enlists you to play his fake girlfriend to make her jealous. In the process, you end up making Remus Lupin green with envy.”

Dealbreaker by @luveline

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Summary: “you work in a bookstore. sirius keeps finding reasons to need books. ”

Pretty Boy by @alwaysmoncheri

Pairing: James Potter x Reader Summary: “you think james is really pretty—unfortunately for you, sirius notices and decides to take matters into his own hands”

Dizzy by @moonstruckme

Pairing: Roommate!James Potter x Reader Summary: “when your roommate James comes home after a night out with his friends, he's acting even more affectionate than usual”

Coach P. by @soupandsimple

Pairing: Coach!James Potter x Teacher!Reader Summary: “gym coach James being called out by a student for often visiting you during their art class”

Flirtation by @moonstruckme

Pairing: Sirius Black x Shy!Reader Summary: “when Sirius won't stop tormenting you with pet names, you think to take revenge, but he doesn't react as you expected”

Saving this for later! <33

Fic Recs (Harry Potter Editon III)

All fics are fem!reader

Marvel One Two Three Harry Potter One Two Three Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Specific Characters Tangerine Masterlist

Why Didn’t We Work Out? by @astonishment

Pairing: James Potter x Reader Summary: “James Potter had two girlfriends in his seventh yeat at Hogwarts. Y/N Y/L/N, who he dated for five months; and Lily Evans, who he dated afterwards. When he’s dared to call one of his exes, guess who’s number he dials…”

Morning Coffee by @thewriterghost

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Reader Summary: “You bring morning coffee to the boys.” 

Not So Secret Admirer by @kquil (Part Two)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “you can't hide your adoration for remus lupin and often end up staring at him, good thing he thinks you're really cute”

With All Due Respect by @writesowhatnext

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “Remus and the reader are best friends and that’s it and it’s so absurd that Remus keeps insisting that they’re anything more, right?”

Never His by @weasleykisses

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “when James needs help asking out Lily, he enlists you to play his fake girlfriend to make her jealous. In the process, you end up making Remus Lupin green with envy.”

Dealbreaker by @luveline

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Summary: “you work in a bookstore. sirius keeps finding reasons to need books. ”

Pretty Boy by @alwaysmoncheri

Pairing: James Potter x Reader Summary: “you think james is really pretty—unfortunately for you, sirius notices and decides to take matters into his own hands”

Dizzy by @moonstruckme

Pairing: Roommate!James Potter x Reader Summary: “when your roommate James comes home after a night out with his friends, he's acting even more affectionate than usual”

Coach P. by @soupandsimple

Pairing: Coach!James Potter x Teacher!Reader Summary: “gym coach James being called out by a student for often visiting you during their art class”

Flirtation by @moonstruckme

Pairing: Sirius Black x Shy!Reader Summary: “when Sirius won't stop tormenting you with pet names, you think to take revenge, but he doesn't react as you expected”

Are you frustrated you can't leave second kudos on AO3? or third kudos? or whatever-who's-counting kudos?

Well, have I got the html for you!

Plop any of these in a comment (by copy&pasting the code) to make an author's day and show your appreciation!

Second kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/tHMjbb6/second-kudos.png" alt="second kudos">

Third kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/52bggQH/third-kudos.png" alt="third kudos">

nth kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/6y7qGtC/nth-kudos.png" alt="nth kudos">

yet another kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/wKtcj0s/yet-another-kudos.png" alt="yet another kudos">

It will look something like this (and will be transparent with white outline on dark backgrounds):

Feel free to spread and use these as much as you like! (and if you have ideas for other variations, let me know ✌️)

Author, fantastic chapter and if possible could be added to a tag list for this?

This is genuinely amazing, the last line? CHILLS

Gorgeous job, thank you! Take Care Author! <3

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.5

a/n: if you guys start suspecting i have a crush on madelyn stillwell, no you don't, you didn't see shit, forgive and forget. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Blood and Violence (fr fr), Homelander being a Fucking Asshole, Very Questionable Corporate Ethics, Plus Size Reader, Explicit Language.

Summary: You know a slaughterhouse, when you see it.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

A series of loud, demanding knocks startles you right out of your dreamless slumber. The borderline panicked, rapid thumping against your door, forces you to open your eyes, squinting with a groan at the morning sun streaming through the gigantic windows of your room. The mascara from the night before sticks in clumps over your eyelashes, and you blink a few times, until black pieces fall onto your cheeks, where they're promptly wiped away by the back of your hand. There's a taste of stale vomit in your mouth, your stomach feels strangely empty, and you don't really want to remember where you decided to dispose of its contents. As you make your way towards the door, your calf cramps up, making you huff a silent curse through your cracked lips. 

- Fucking Christ... Where's the fire? - you croak out, as you open the door, eyes falling onto a familiar head of ginger hair sticking out behind the screen of a tablet. 

- The fucking Internet - Ashley answers not missing a beat - Someone uploaded a bunch of videos of you from the party, including one where you, like a complete dumbass, decided to smoke a joint. And one where...

She cuts herself off, as her face finally rises to look at you, her expression freezing in shock.

- What the fuck happened to you? - she asks, and if you were any less hungover, you'd notice the sliver of concern lacing her words. 

- What do yo...?

Your eyes follow her inquisitive gaze down, and there, your left tit stares back at you, peaking out of an almost finger shaped tear. Huffing in exasperation, you try to amend the situation, pushing the fabric around to cover yourself, only to feel the last of the stitches give out. You catch your destroyed t-shirt at the last second, as it all but falls off of your body. 

- Shit, I'm sorry - you mutter, giving up on salvaging the shirt, and focusing on saving what's left of your dignity. 

Ashley blinks a couple of times, her eyes dragging themselves back towards your face, as she swallows thickly. 

- Miss, um... - she clears her throat, frowns - Miss Stillwell wants to see you in her office, as soon as you can.

You nod in understanding, still too dazed to be properly worried by this sudden summoning. 

- Give me twenty - you attempt to smile, but your face hurts, and your throat is drier then the Mojave desert.

- Take thirty.

With that, Ashley turns to leave, not before throwing you one last, strange look. 

 Closing the door behind her, you let go of the shirt, letting it pool in scraps under your bare feet. You don't remember much of the previous night, but you sure as fuck know, how you've managed to end up looking like you do. Thankfully, you remember the exact moment, when you slipped out of Homelander's penthouse, your memories fading well after entering the elevator. The mention of the videos from the party being uploaded, stirs some form of morbid curiosity within you, and you pace around the living area of your room, trying to find your phone, before remembering, that you did, in fact, lose it. 

Scratching at the back of your neck, you grab your costume from the closet, and decide to take a shower,  after sniffing at yourself and realizing, that leaving the room smelling like a waste bin would be criminal. An hour spent under the hot water and a thorough teeth-brushing later, you're standing in front of Madelyn Stillwell's office, fingers running through your still slightly damp hair. She lets you in as soon as your fingers thrum against the door, greeting you with that familiar, corporate smile. Despite that, you'd have to be completely blind, not to notice the tension between her plucked eyebrows. 

- Ah, Fireball - her voice is strange as well, a measured expression of something stirring just under the surface. - Take a seat, please.

Her office is just as much of an overstimulating mess, as you remembered, and this time you plop down onto the large couch, noting, that it's much softer, than the one in your room. Stillwell paces the office, filling a glass with water from a dispenser, and placing it in front of you. Then, to your surprise, she grabs her laptop from her desk, and puts it next to the glass, the screen facing you.

You stare at your reflection in the black, and you're not sure who's looking back. Was hangover the domain of Fireball? Or Smirnoff? Perhaps that secret third thing, which almost gave Homelander what he wanted last night. A fight, a struggle, a quick fuck. As Stillwell sinks into the couch right next to you, you start to wonder, if you're going insane. Most likely. There is none other explanation for the turmoil you were experiencing. 

- I'm sure you're aware, why I invited you here today - she says, her slender hand dancing on the keyboard of her laptop. 

She's about to show you the videos from last night, you think with a sigh, already trying to brace yourself for the inevitable stern talk you're about to receive. This, and another several hours spent in media training with Ashley, which, might as well kill you at this point. And then, the screen flickers to light, and your heart stops in your throat. 

There, a freeze-frame from a CCTV camera looks back at you. A washed out, pixelated image of yourself, t-shirt torn, makeup running, you're sneaking away from Homelander's room, holding the scraps of fabric to your chest. The wobble in your legs is visible even through the shitty quality, and your heart sinks with the realization, of how exactly this situation looks like. Of how close to the truth this assumption really is. 

You swallow thickly, as Stillwell presses play, and the video version of yourself springs into action. Supporting yourself against the wall, you begin to make your way towards the elevator. 

The video plays footage of the empty corridor for a moment longer, but before you voice your confusion, the whole image glitches. Your eyes blink rapidly, as you observe with a shocked expression, as the wall next to the door cracks, pieces of paint and plaster falling to the floor in a cloud of dust. It doesn't take a genius to know, the impact has been made from the inside, and your brain does a flip inside your skull. 

Twenty sped up seconds of footage. That's how close you were to getting your head, supposedly, caved in by the Hero of America. The Mental Health King.

 Strange. You were sure you've navigated the situation the best you possibly could. Deescalated, rewarded good behavior, removed yourself as soon as possible. Perhaps you should've given him more? Physical contact most likely wasn't the smartest idea, he would've used it as an excuse, surely. But some more words of encouragement, something to calm the fire within him. Your thoughts are interrupted by the realization, that at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. You're alright, nothing happened. You did what you could, with what you had, and look at you, still standing, dignity (mostly) in place. 

Another reward, that might be the key. Homelander seems to be quite addicted to praise, and as much as you'd love to write him off as an imbecile, you know he's anything but. Before your mouth can open, however, Stillwell slides a folder towards you on the glass table. Your eyes fall onto the papers, and something twists inside your gut. 

- No matter, what you think happened last night. I would like you to sign those documents. - Stillwell says, her whitened teeth staring back at you.

Think?

Your eyes narrow, as your face turns towards her.

- Miss Stillwell - she cocks her head to the side when you address her - I assure you, nothing has happened.

She blinks a couple of times, her eyes involuntarily floating back to the footage displayed on the laptop.

- Homelander gave me a lift from the party, we talked for a bit. That's all. 

That is most certainly not all, and Stillwell knows. She must've done this before, her practiced expression of corporate politeness slipping for only a smidgen. Her lips smack against each other, and then the mask is back full force, her hand pushing the documents closer to you.

- I would still very much like you to sign this agreement - she says - Or, we will have to terminate your contract, and consequently withdraw all benefits enclosed in it.

- I just said, nothing has... - you cut yourself off, because of course. 

This isn't an NDA protecting Vaught and by extension, Homelander, from his actions last night. It's an insurance against future incidents. Which are apparently expected. 

You frown, hard, a pit forming deep within your stomach. Previously, perhaps foolishly, you thought your contract offered some sort of protection. Something, that would ward off potential advances. Stillwell has put so much effort in getting you to sign, to join Vaught if only temporarily, you were convinced you'd answer to her first. Stupid, that was plain stupid. After all, this isn't some wholesome family business. You're working under a corporation, that, for the most part, runs America like the fucking navy. 

You know a slaughterhouse when you see one. 

With a shaky hand, you grab an elegant, probably filthy-expensive pen, the overwhelming realization, that you're truly alone, hitting you like a truck. Next time Homelander decides to get his hands on you, no one will back you up. You're completely and utterly on your own. 

This can't be worth it. Your brain races in your skull, as you try to quickly form some sort of plan of action. Anything, that would help you face the incoming doom. 

- Miss Stillwell - your throat feels impossibly dry, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see her blonde waves move - I left my purse, and my phone back at my friend's house. Perhaps, you could arrange a meeting? So I can get it back?

- As soon as you sign - she says evenly, her manicured hand pointing to the documents with more urgency. 

How many times can you sign your soul off to the Devil, before there's nothing left? 

You're not sure which one of you lifts the pen, which one pushes your hand to glide the ink over this new pact of silence. It can't be worth it, it simply can't. No matter what you try to tell yourself, the vision of your happy friends from the party slips further, and further away from your grasp. You've always thought martyrdom is stupid, laughed at the Saints, at the historical figures sacrificing their lives for the greater good. And yet, here you sit, with Madelyn Stillwell's perfume in your nose, pushing away all sense of dignity in favor of what? A better wedding dress for your friend? Ridiculous. 

- Thank you - Stillwell swoops in, taking the pen away from your rigid fingers and swiping the documents from the table - That'll be all for now. You should get ready for the photoshoot after lunch. I'll get back to you about that meeting. 

Another thought wakes you up from your stupor so suddenly, it feels like a bucket of freezing water dumped over your head. Your knees crack, when you stand suddenly, nearly knocking your hip on the table. 

- Can I ask you one more thing? - your voice raises an octave as you speak, nerves bubbling up in your throat. 

Stillwell turns to you, her hair bouncing over her shoulders, and for just a second you're struck with how unabashedly stylish this woman truly is. Such a contrast with your usually disheveled appearance. 

- I need one more day off this week, or at the very least a couple of hours.

She frowns slightly, a barely visible twitch of her plucked to perfection eyebrow.

- Whatever for? - she asks, and you find a striking familiarity between her and Homelander, in the fakeness of her cheerful tone. 

There's no point in lying, not in this case at least, and you take a step forward, your platform boots padding softly over the fluffy carpet. She watches you carefully, holding your gaze with ease. 

- I'm sure you've read my file - you start casually, your voice growing more and more serious - It's a family matter. 

A flicker of recognition crosses Stillwell's features. Her lips pull back into a thin line, as she regards you in thought, toying with the pen in her hand. Manicured fingers scratch at the grooves in the metal casing, tap at the ferrule. Finally, she takes a deep breath, the satin shirt shifting over her chest. 

- I'll see what I can do - she concludes, ditching the corporate smiles, and the artificial nonsense, her expression bordering on sympathy. 

Anyone would be fooled, you're almost convinced yourself. But once again, this is not a family business down the street. This is an exclusive butcher's shop, and you're the new, hot, cut of meat, displayed in a case, ready for the taking. And as such, you give her a curt nod, the biggest display of gratitude you're capable of in this situation. Her eyes shift towards the doors of her office, and you take your cue with a polite smile. You both had things to prepare for, and you couldn't waste any more time sitting in one place, as the detrimental task of figuring out, how to navigate your approach to Homelander has been thrusted upon you. 

The door clicks softly behind you, as you exit the office, your legs carrying you towards the gigantic portrait hanging on the wall. Blue eyes stare back at you, pupils almost the size of walnuts. Nothing, not the lens of the camera, the printing paper, not even the sheet of glass can hide you from the empty, passive gaze looking past you, through you. In this picture, he looks almost human, his skin moderately textured, his hair in carefully styled disarray. An image of all that's American, all that's always been out of your reach. 

But you've seen the truth. The panting, hungry, terrifying superhero. You've seen his laziness, the unwillingness to work for anything of substance. Your eyebrows furrow, as you lean closer to the portrait, until the reflection of light disappears from sight, until you can see the texture of the paper beneath the glass. 

- If you're looking for a flaw, I'm afraid there are none - Homelander quite literally manifests himself in your peripheral vision, voice filled with arrogance.

Your entire body flies a couple of steps from the portrait, your heart doing flips so close to your throat, you're worried you'll actually throw it up onto the floor.

- Motherfu...! - you stop yourself, hand pressed against your chest - Don't do that.

He laughs in response, a casual sound, that definitely doesn't fit any of your previous encounters. Especially the last one. But to preserve your own sanity, you decide to play along for now. You're not about to hand yourself over, stick your neck between his teeth again. Besides, Stillwell is right behind that stupid wall, he wouldn't do anything too outrageous with her so close. Hopefully. 

- Whoa, jumpy aren't you? - his smile grows slightly sharper, as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back - Let's have a little chat, before the photoshoot. 

With that, before you have the chance to react properly, he grabs you by the elbow, his hold just tight enough, that there would be no chance of slipping away. Your feet stumble against each other, as you try to regain your bearings, being dragged through the corridor. Your mind is already going haywire with all the possibilities, all the different ways this interaction may go, and you scramble to find a suitable plan for every scenario. Homelander looks thoroughly unaffected, his face devoid of any signs of tension, hell, you'd risk saying he seems quite relaxed. Which is beyond worrying. 

The room he pushes you into is completely empty, with some tables arranged into a circle and a bunch of chairs placed around them. A conference room, with the uglies fucking carpet you've ever had the misfortune to lay your eyes on. And then, after taking in the whole environment, your eyes zero-in on a small, black box, right in the middle of the table. Unassuming enough, but you know better. There's no such thing as innocent, as far as your "mentor" is concerned, and as images of the cracking wall flicker before your eyes, you bite down on your tongue. Homelander closes the door with a soft click, lingering for just a second, before turning to you, bright smile in place. 

- I just realized, I don't know the scope of your powers - he says casually, crossing the room, and standing in front of you - Soon, we'll be sent on missions together, I'd like to know what I'm working with. 

Fair enough. You are slightly surprised he even needs clarification, as before signing the contract, Vaught took full inventory of your abilities. The idea of being alone with him in a room still makes your fingertips tingle with nerves, but you swallow it down, like you seem to be doing to most things these days. Pushing your hair out of your face, you nod slowly, pretending this sudden shift in his behavior is not throwing you in a loop. 

- I'm pretty strong - you say, keeping your expression even, and don't even flinch, when he scoffs at your words - I heal faster. And I can use mild telekinesis, although it's really not... Um... Polished. 

To be quite honest, all you've managed to do, is move some objects around. It's not even useful enough to aid you in your day-to-day life. Usually it takes less effort to just, pick the damned thing up. Which is all that he should know, because Vaught knows. 

- Show me - it's not a request, his voice filled with a demanding tone, bordering on arrogance. 

You almost tell him to say please. Your mouth opens, the words ready to jump out from between a small smirk playing on your lips, but you swallow that thought thickly. There's a time and a place for educating his ignorant ass, and being locked in a tiny conference room might not be the right one. So, you shrug, the movement pushing your hair back over your eyes. 

- Which one? - perhaps, you'll allow yourself a cheeky smile, as a treat.

His smile sharpens to a worrying degree, and he claps his hands in front of his chest.

- I'm so glad you asked - his feet carry him straight to the box, and you might get a whiplash from all the confusion you're experiencing - I read your file. 

That raises an eyebrow. Realistically, you knew he would have access to your documents, your wole life exposed to his greedy eyes. And as such, this line of questioning surprises you. Although perhaps, it shouldn't. Since the very first moment you've met him, you had a sneaking suspicion, that he's just... Well... Lazy beyond belief. And your last interaction proved to you the sheer scope of his unwillingness to put any work in. With a raised eyebrow, you watch him open the black box with a soft click, taking out it's contents, his shoulders rolling, like he's preparing to lift some weights at the gym. 

Then, he turns back to you, a gun secured in his leather grip. 

- I'm interested in your healing abilities - he says, smile never faltering, the muzzle staring at you expectantly.

Now that gets your heart racing, but the reason might surprise him. Pain has been a constant companion in your life, and after discovering your powers, probably one of the few ways to keep yourself in check. That's why, your eyes light up at the sight of the gun, and all caution is thrown to the wind. You know, deep down, this is a test. How much can he do, how much can he hurt you. But you'll deal with the consequences after. 

If this will help placate him, lead him away from whatever happened between the two of you last night, you're more than willing to put yourself on the line. Better than the alternative, better than making use of that NDA you just signed. 

- Once, I got hit by a car - you remember with smile - And the next day went to class like nothing happened. 

The gun digs into the soft flesh of your stomach, as you step closer, looking up at him with an impassive expression, and Homelander's eyes light up like a kid's in a toy shop. Dangerous, your brain supplies, so very dangerous, but you've never been shot before, and to be quite honest, you're curious yourself. 

- Lift up your shirt - he says, voice dropping just a fraction - Wouldn't want to arrive to the photoshoot with a hole in that pretty costume, would you?

You do as he says, with a bit of a struggle rolling up the faux leather of your corset top. His eyes fall down in an instant, tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he drinks in the sight of your pliable flesh peaking over the hemline of your skirt. His free hand darts out, as if on autopilot, gloved finger running across the whole expanse of your belly, revelling in the way your muscles contract at the contact.

Too close, you face twists, as his touch brings back memories from last night, your body freezing up for just a second. You need to keep him occupied in some other way, and as such, your eyes roll on their own, whether pushed by Smirnoff or Fireball is anyone's guess.  

To your credit, when you grab the gun out of his hand with an almost laughable ease, he gasps, eyebrows furrowing at the sheer audacity of your action. But before he can have the chance to voice his irritation, you flip the gun in your hold, pushing it into the exposed flesh of your stomach. It's cold, hard, and your pulse spikes, as the anticipation flares within your veins. 

- What are you...? - you cut him off, squeezing the trigger.

The shot rings out, the bullet goes into your stomach, and the force of the impact sends you falling over the table. And, fuck, it hurts like motherfucker on a stick. The smell of blood floods your nostrils, and through your momentary shock, you try to blink back tears welling up in your eyes. 

- What the fuck?! - he cuts himself off again, a bewildered laugh sneaking past his lips, blue eyes drinking in the sight of your trembling form.

- You were taking too long - you try to sound indifferent, but your voice comes out as a broken whisper, spasm after spasm wrecking your body.

Blood trickles down your stomach, soaking into the fabric of your skirt, and as the wound slowly starts to close up, you can feel the bullet travel up, through the tissue. The sensation might be worse then the initial shot, and your face twists, as cold sweat pools over your creased forehead. Seemingly, you hadn't nicked any important organs, or so you hope. 

- Oh, does that hurt? - you barely register his mocking tone of voice, as he comes closer to your heaving form.

Homelander crouches down, wrenching the gun from your hand and throwing it on the floor behind him like it's a piece of used tissue. Then, with mild interest, he inspects the wound.

- Your bleeding - he notes, and you'd be foolish not to note the slight tinge of disdain coloring his words. 

- I'm not fucking bulletproof - you huff out, doubling over with a groan - I just heal faster.

He cranes his head to the side, eyes gliding over your pained expression. You're too focused on steadying your breathing, to notice the way his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek in thought, but you're alert enough to recoil, once his gloved hand wedges itself under your chin, pushing your face ever so slightly upwards. You wish you didn't catch his gaze. The unrelenting curiosity, mixed with barely contained disappointment at your limited abilities. 

- Let's try one more thing, hmm? - he asks, although noth of you know, there's no way for you to refuse.

Homelander grabs you by the shoulder, hoisting you up, despite the weakness in your legs. You groan, as the bullet finally falls out of the wound, creating a small, bloody print on the carpet. His eyes float towards the slowly disappearing dent in your skin, his thumb rubbing over it with a bit more force than necessary, as if he's trying to milk as much pain possible, force you to react again. 

You don't give him the satisfaction, your eardrums buzzing, as you sway on your feet. Then, two things happen at the same time. His gloved hand pushes against your shoulder with enough strength, to force your body to uncurl, expose itself to his greedy eyes. And then, the center of your chest erupts with unimaginable, searing pain, as Homelander's eyes shoot red right at the middle of your collarbones. 

It's a quick, blink-and-you'll-miss-it kinda impact, but it sends you flying backwards, colliding with the table, and then straight to the floor. For the first half a minute, you can't breathe, your chest collapsing like a faulty mineshaft. The smell of burning flesh fills the conference room, and you would retch, if you could do anything more than flail your arms weakly, legs kicking out. 

He must've hit your trachea, you think, when your lungs fill with boiling blood. 

Homelander comes to stand next to your body, moving languidly, as if this is the most regular of interactions. His face blurs in front of your eyes, the fluorescent lights illuminating his blonde hair from above. You want to say something so bad, something smart and cutting, that would throw him off his rhythm again, but all that manages to push past your lips, is a broken gargle, as blood gathers behind your teeth. 

His face twists again, eyes taking on a freezing indifference, that is colder, more terrifying than any snowstorm. Looking at you for a moment longer, he finally snaps himself back to reality, a scowl placed over his features. 

- Get your shit together - he spits out through gritted teeth - The photoshoot starts soon.

The disgusted look he throws you, as blurry as it is in front of your eyes, makes your lips curl back into a snarl. You should've known better, you did know better, but it doesn't matter, because for some reason, when it came to him, you just can't stop your mouth from running wild. So, before he even reaches the door, your gargles form a single, spiteful word, that cuts through the smell of blood, and flesh, and burning. 

- Bitch - you seethe, blood gathering in the corners of your mouth, and you hear his boots stomp over, before you can see him. 

There's a moment of outrage, his eyes burning with that all too familiar, red burn. But then, it melts into something worse, something cold and self-satisfied. He lifts his boot ever so slightly, placing it down on your chest, keeping your body from moving on the floor. Homelander lingers like that for a split-second, eyes flickering all over your pained face. You know what he's looking for, and you refuse to give it. 

- I'll tell Madelyn to reschedule the photoshoot - he muses, lips curling back into a cruel smirk.

And then he pushes down with his foot, slowly, so you can feel every single creak and crack of your bones under his heel. He drinks in the silent scream, that tears through your body, as your ribs break under the pressure. Your eyes roll back into your skull, damn the car accident, you've never felt pain like this before. 

- Take the rest of the day off, alright kiddo? - he quips, his voice deceivingly kind.

Giving one last shove of his foot, he finally lets up, shuffling out of the room like nothing has happened, the cape swishing over your broken body, like a blessing from America itself. The door clicks softly, somewhere over your head, and finally, you give yourself the luxury of crying. Heavy, salty tears run down your cheeks, mixing with the remnants of last night's mascara. At least he won't see you like this. You try to ignore the possibility of him using his X-ray vision to preserve your own peace of mind. 

And as you lay there, feeling your bones, your tissues connect under the never stopping waves of pain, you realize something, which brings upon a new wave of tears tumbling down your cheeks, soaking into your hair, into the ugly carpet. 

This is the first time you've felt truly alive in a long, long time. 

Gosh I've read so many fantastic fics today! The authors of AO3 and Tumblr are blessing me 🙏

AHHH reader got kidnapped (YAY), the drama is increasing, the plot is thickening, and the plot is spinning. I can't wait for more!!

You are amazing, thanks for this beautiful chapter, and Take Care! <3

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Sixteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smut and angst. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4k

A/N : 😅😅😅

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Sixteen

You tried to wipe away your tears but your hand was trembling too much, and the moment you heard the elevator moving it only got worse. In the three minutes that followed your brief conversation with Lissa, you’d changed your mind at least a hundred times and you were already practising all the ways that you might tell her that you didn’t want to leave after all. 

You didn’t want to go, you didn’t want to leave Billy, but you knew you had to.

That thought was what would carry you through this difficult moment. You didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to turn his life more upside down than you had already. This was best for both of you.

By the time the doors slid open and Lissa stepped into the penthouse, you’d managed to force yourself into a calm and detached state, not wanting to make it any harder than it needed to be. Your suitcase was at her side and on top of it was the outfit you’d been wearing when you arrived, neatly folded for you.

Lissa was silent for a moment, taking a measure of you but, somehow, you kept your nerve.

“You’re aware that once you do this you will not be able to change your mind?” She asked, finally, as if she’d decided that you were serious about it.

“I am.”

“And you’re aware that you will receive no compensation for your time?”

“I know,” you answered, forcing the words past the lump in your throat.

“Are you sure you have everything that you wish to take with you? Once you leave, there is no coming back.”

It was then that you realised that there was something you wanted, something that you just couldn’t leave behind.

You quickly excused yourself, half-jogging back to your bedroom, taking your clothes with you. After quickly changing, you found yourself looking at your bed, your heart broke knowing that you couldn’t take the large bear with you, but you grabbed the stuffed beagle, Bill, and clutched it to your chest, trying to ignore the tears that were starting to well in the corners of your eyes.

You took a minute before stepping back out into the penthouse and facing Lissa again. She gave you a curious look when she noticed the stuffed toy but didn’t say anything.

“There’s something I need you to do for me before I go,” you said, barely managing to hold her cold gaze, “I need Karen Page’s phone number.”

“Of course,” Lissa answered, giving a wave of her hand towards the elevator.

For a second you froze, not wanting to move, not wanting to leave. All you could think about was Billy and how heartbroken he’d be when he realised you were gone. Even if it was for the best in the long run, there was no way of doing this without causing him pain and you hated yourself for that. But it was better to hurt him now than spend decades at his side only to slip away due to age or illness.

“I take it you didn’t discuss this with Mr Russo,” Lissa offered, watching you as you finally took a step and started towards the elevator.

“No, I didn’t.” Those three little words conveyed far more shame than you would have liked.

“It’s not my place to ask why but -” for the first time since you’d met her, Lissa seemed to be thinking twice about speaking her mind, “- I was starting to think you might actually make it through the whole year.”

You knew what she was trying to ask; she wanted to know what happened, she wanted to know what he’d done to finally push you over the edge. You’d made it past the six months mark though, by this point, you’d broken pretty much all of the rules.

“I thought the job would be easier than it is,” was all you dared to offer as the elevator doors slid shut, trying to distract yourself by shoving Bill the Beagle into the top of your suitcase, leaving his head poking out.

“As far as I’m aware, Mr Russo has been happy with your service, perhaps if you were speak to him -”

“No, please, I - I just want to leave.” you abruptly interrupted, before struck with an uncomfortable thought. “Have you spoken to him?”

“No. Staying has always been your choice and it is not Mr Russo’s place to try and influence that decision. I will however have to inform him of your resignation the moment you leave the building.”

If you didn’t know any better, you might have assumed that she was trying to talk you out of leaving, as if she could see through all the bullshit and knew exactly what was going on. Dread coiled in your stomach at the thought of him hearing the news from Lissa. You’d at least hoped you’d be able to ask Karen to be the one to drop the bombshell.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t at least like to wait until morning?” She asked a moment later. “If you need somewhere to stay or tickets arranged, I could -”

“No. It’s fine, Karen offered me a place to stay if I needed it.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either; she had offered you a place, but you had no intention of staying there. 

The elevator door opened and you stepped out in the atrium. Lissa handed you your phone which, surprisingly, still had charge. (Perhaps she’d kept it charged so it would be ready in case you ever needed to leave.) Then she gave you Karen’s number and wished you good luck. 

You felt sick as you slowly started towards the doors, suddenly terrified of the outside world and a life without Billy. You didn’t dare look back until you were outside and your stomach nearly turned itself inside out when you saw Lissa lifting her phone to her ear. All you could think about was Billy, how angry and devastated he would be to hear that you were gone.

Your own phone was buzzing non-stop, alert after alert from six months of messages, voicemails, missed calls and social media notifications. It was almost enough to make you switch the damned thing off again.

Taking a breath, you called Karen, briefly explaining the situation, and asking her to meet you at the bar she’d taken you to before hailing a taxi. On the ride there, your phone started to light up with an unknown number, over and over again. Your heart threatened to stop when you realised that it must be Billy. The number appeared over and over, then the text messages started, pleading with you to answer, asking you not to leave.

Karen was waiting for you outside Josie’s when you got out of the taxi, her arms folded across her chest, and the look on her face was anything but happy.

“What the fuck is going on?” She asked, looking at you and then at the suitcase at your side.

“I’m leaving, I just wanted -”

“I know that part,” she almost snapped, “Frank told me. He says Billy’s worried sick.”

Again, you found your stomach knotting, suddenly feeling sick. Maybe it had been a mistake to want to see Karen, maybe you should have just left town.

“Does he know we’re here?” You dared to ask, hoping that he wasn’t going to show up and stop you from leaving.

“No. I told them I’d talk to you but that if you really wanted to leave, I’d let you go,” she said, not exactly sounding happy about it.

The relief you felt was palpable and Karen seemed to notice. For a moment more she just stared at you before finally relenting and ushering you into the bar for a drink. 

You sat at a table by the window, aware from the noisier patrons, your eyes moving to the door every time that it opened. Karen sat opposite you, cradling a drink and waiting for you to start talking and, eventually, you did. You told her everything - everything that Billy had told you and everything that had happened between you - and she quietly listened, barely holding back the growing confusion on her face until you were finally done.

“So you fixed things with him, slept with him, told him you love him, and then you snuck away the moment he left for work?” She didn’t sound impressed, and when she put things that way, you couldn’t blame her.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you tried to explain.

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

“You don’t understand...” you tried again, “you didn’t hear him when he told me how scared he was of losing me, how I was going to grow old and die, and how he’d be left on his own.”

“You’re leaving him on his own now,” she said, stating the obvious and making you feel worse. “And what about your family? What’s the actual plan here?”

“I... I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’ve got enough to get a bus ticket out of the city and then... I guess I’ll just see where I end up.”

“You know there’s only one place you can end up if you do this. If the Maggia are looking for you -”

“I know,” your voice broke, “but what choice do I have? This thing with Billy, I can’t let it get any deeper. I can’t do that to him.”

“What about -”

Her phone started to ring and your heart stuttered when you saw his name on the screen. You looked at her with pleading eyes, but it didn’t stop her from answering the call. Your gaze dropped to the table as she started to speak.

“Yes, she’s here with me, she’s -” you could almost hear him frantically speaking over her, “- she’s safe. Yes, I’m -” she stopped and looked at you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Despite the way you shook your head, Karen still held out the phone to you. You refused for a few seconds before finally taking it from her.

“Billy...”

“Please don’t do this,” he pleaded.

“I can’t stay, I -”

“Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry.” He said, and the hurt in his voice caused your eyes to well with tears. “I - I love you. I should’ve said it back, I should’ve just told you that -”

“No, Billy, it’s not that,” you interrupted.

“Then what? Why are you doing this?”

“Because you were right. I don’t want to be a vampire and I don’t want to make you watch me grow old and die,” you told him, trying to stay strong.

“I’d rather have you for sixty years than just six months. Please, hummingbird, I know what I’m getting myself into, we can -”

“I kissed Matt.” It fell from your lips and caused Billy to immediately fall silent and Karen to glare at you. Your cheeks warmed and your stomach continued to twist and churn, and you wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“What?” He finally asked.

“The night of the party, we kissed -” you sighed, “- I’ve broken all of your rules, Billy. All I’ve done since I’ve got here is cause problems for you and all your friends and I’m so tired of feeling like I’m in the way, like I can’t even look after myself.”

Your gaze was fixed on the table again, not wanting to see what Karen thought about any of this.

“No, you’re wrong. No one thinks that. I don’t think that. I can’t let you go. I won’t,” he tried to tell but all you could hear was your own heartbeat echoing in your ears, “I don’t care what you did. I’m coming to get you, I’m -”

“Goodbye, Billy.” 

Without further warning, you hung up, put the phone on the table and got to your feet.

“Where are you going?” Karen asked.

“You told him where we are, didn’t you?”

“What? You heard me talking to him, I never -”

“He said he’s coming to get me. I heard him getting into a car.” 

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. Even though she’d always tried to be there for you, Karen was Billy’s friend before she was yours and you didn’t want to blame her for protecting him, but it stung. You’d wanted more time, you’d wanted to be able to say goodbye properly.

“Look, if this is really what you want, then I won’t let him take you back,” Karen told you. “But you should at least talk to him.”

“I just did,” you answered, hating how difficult this was becoming. “Please, just let me go. This is best for everyone.”

“Wait -”

“I’m sorry, Karen. I can’t,” you tried so damned hard to keep yourself from falling apart. “Please, don’t follow me.”

She tried to say something, but you didn’t wait to hear it. You headed for the door.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you almost walked into someone. Or, rather they almost walked into you.

”In a hurry?” 

The voice sparked a glimmer of recognition in you, a memory that you could only half remember. When you looked, your stomach turned itself inside out.

”Oh, so you do remember me?” Krista smiled, her hand wrapping around your arm. “Come on now, let’s not make a scene.”

At first you tried to pull away from her, but then her eyes caught yours and she spoke again. Everything around you seemed to melt away and, soon enough, it felt like Krista was the only other person in the whole wide world, and the only thing you wanted to do was whatever she asked you to.

”You want to come with me,” she told you, her tone soothing, convincing. “You want me to take you away from all of your problems. You want to be free of this whole mess.”

As much as you wanted to fight it, you found yourself stepping towards the curb, your suitcase and purse quickly abandoned as you were ushered into the back of a limousine before you came to your senses and realised what a mistake you’d made.

“I told you there was nowhere you could run that I wouldn’t find you,” he smiled at you as Krista closed the door behind you and watched as the limo pulled away from the curb, leaving you trapped with him.

***************************

He’d been staring at the clock for over an hour and, every time he looked away, he was sure it skipped back a couple of minutes. Frank was still talking. He’d been talking non-stop since he’d first walked in Billy’s office, starting with the boring financial stuff and then going on to trying to update him on a couple of Anvil’s on-going missions.

But Billy didn’t care about any of that. 

All he could think about was you, picturing you curled up in his bed, waiting for him to get home.

He was thinking about the way you’d moaned his name, how good it had felt to come inside you, and how much he was looking forward to doing it all over and over again.

“You even listenin’ to me?” Frank barked, jolting Billy from his thoughts.

“Yeah, Frankie, the senator wants security for his fundraiser,” Billy answered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes and affect a smart-ass tone about it. “And congressman Steven’s is -”

His heart threatened to stop the moment his phone lit up with Lissa’s name. He couldn’t think why she’d be calling, unless something had happened.

Had you been hurt? Were you sick? Panic and dread warred inside of him as he answered the phone, but nothing prepared him for what came next. He answered frantically, nothing giving her a chance to speak at first, asking if something had happened, if something was wrong.

Lissa explained the situation, telling him that you’d left.

Billy was beside himself at the news.

“You didn’t try to stop her?” He demanded, ignoring the look that Frank was giving him from across the room.

“My job is to ensure that the letter of the law is followed in these arrangements, you know I am not allowed to hold people against their wills,” Lissa answered back curtly. “I did, however, ensure that she had Ms Page’s number.”

“Karen? She’s gone to Karen?”

Mention of Karen suddenly had Frank’s attention.

Lissa started to say something but Billy quickly cut her off, thanking her for letting him know and quickly hanging up.

“The fuck’s goin’ on, Bill?” Frank asked, and Billy quickly explained.

“Call Karen, find out where the hell she is,” he told his friend, his desperation quickly prompting Frank into action.

While Frank tried to get through to Karen, Billy found your number on your employment records and started to call you, getting nothing but a full voicemail. Then he started to text.

Please, let’s talk about this.

Don’t leave me.

I don’t want you to go.

Why are you doing this?

Please, talk to me.

“Karen won’t tell me where they’re meetin’,” Frank sighed, “says she wants to talk to her first and find out what’s goin’ on.”

“Can we track her phone?”

“I’m not lettin’ you track Karen’s phone, Bill. You outta your fuckin’ mind?” 

“Damn right I’m out of my mind,” Billy snapped. “I can’t lose her. I’m not going to lose her. Not now.”

He kept trying to call you, kept sending messages, thinking over all the places that you might end up. Eventually, he tried calling Karen and was genuinely shocked when she answered. In the background he could hear the tell tale sounds of a bar; people talking, music, and the clatter of a pool table.

“Is she with you? Is she okay? Is she safe? Has she told you what’s going on?” Billy didn’t give Karen any time to answer. “You’re at that place in Hell’s Kitchen, aren’t you? The place with the pool tables - the one you and Murdock go to. Josie’s.”

And, a second later, Karen said yes.

“Put her on, let me talk to her. Please, Karen,” he pleaded. “I need to talk to her.”

He was already halfway out of his office when he heard your voice, and the conversation that followed caused his chest to ache. No matter what he said, you seemed set on leaving him, and Billy couldn’t let you. He couldn’t just give up without a fight.

He didn’t even realise that Frank was following him to the parking lot until you hung up on him.

“Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this, Frankie,” Billy warned as he got into his car.

“I’m just comin’ along to make sure you don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

It didn’t take long to reach Josie’s. You’d only been gone five minutes by the time he got there. Both men were rushing towards the door, hoping that, somehow, Karen had managed to keep you there, but Billy stopped in the street. Something caught his attention; an abandoned suitcase and purse by the curb.

“Bill, what’s -” Frank started, watching Billy veer off.

“This is hers,” he said.

“How can you tell?” 

His heart almost stopped completely when he tugged Bill the Beagle out of the case.

“I gave her this.”

Frantically, he started looking up and down the street, trying to figure out where you might have gone and why you might have left your things behind. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. 

He barely heard Frank muttering something about Karen before charging into the bar to look for her.

Billy tried calling your phone, only for it to start ringing in your abandoned purse and he knew that there was no way that you would willingly leave your things like this. There was no way you’d take the stuff beagle from the penthouse if you didn’t want it anymore.

His ears started to ring, a sense of panic filling him. He’d lost you. You were gone and he was pretty sure that something bad had happened to you. He clutched the stuffed toy to his chest as his vision started to tunnel.

You were gone.

You were gone.

“No,” he muttered, “no-no-no...”

He could practically feel the thing inside of him clawing and trying to get out. You were his and you were gone. Someone had taken what was his and he would tear down the whole fucking city to get you back

A hand on his shoulder pulled him back from the brink, but it didn’t stop him from snarling, from grabbing Frank by the collar and shoving him backwards, lashing out for the sake of lashing out.

And then he saw Karen.

“Where is she?” His tone was sharp enough to cause her to step back. 

A moment later Frank had him by the throat, forcing him back.

“Get your shit together,” he told Billy, keeping a tight grip while Billy thrashed against him.

“Where is she?” He snarled again.

“I don’t know,” Karen answered, holding up her hands in surrender, trying to soothe him. “But we’re going to find her, okay?”

Billy kept squirming, kept fighting against Frank, desperate to rip and tear and shred his way across the city until you were safely in his arms again. Frank shook him, pushing him back until he was pressed against his car.

“You’re wastin’ time fuckin’ about like this, Bill,” he told him, “you want to save her, then you’re gonna have to calm the fuck down an' think rationally.”

Part of Billy knew that Frank was right, but the noise in his head felt too loud. He forced a couple of deep breaths, knowing that he couldn’t help you if he couldn’t figure out where you were.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’m fine. Let me go.”

Reluctantly, Frank let him go, but his eyes stayed fixed on Billy, watching his every move. Everyone knew that he wasn’t entirely back in control, but they all seemed to agree that they couldn’t waste any more time if they wanted to find you.

“What happened?” Billy asked, and Karen quickly recounted everything that had happened and everything you had told her.

“She asked me not to follow, so I didn’t,” Karen said. “I thought she was going to head to the bus station, but there’s no way she’d leave without her things, unless -”

She fell instantly silent, leaving both men staring at her.

“Unless what?” Billy prompted, his sharp tone earning him an equally sharp look of warning from Frank.

“She asked me not to tell you...”

“Karen, c’mon, she might be in danger,” Frank prompted before Billy could lose his temper again.

Karen sighed. “The guy that’s been claiming to be her fiance, he’s part of the Maggia.”

“What?” Billy dared to take a step forward, but immediately stopped when Frank tensed.

“Her parents owe him money. He wanted her as a partial payment. She didn’t want you to know,” She explained. “She didn't say a lot, but I know she’s scared of him.”

Billy felt sick. It felt like the world was spinning too fast and he was barely hanging on. All the little comments you’d made about not having a choice with this other guy slowly playing over in his mind. He had to get you back.

He had to kill whoever had taken you.

“How are we gonna find this prick?” Frank asked.

“I have an idea,” Karen offered, “but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card, handing it to Billy.

“Agent Dinah Madani, Homeland Security?” Billy read out. “Why the fuck do you have some Homeland agent’s card?”

“It’s a long fucking story and we really don’t have time for it,” Karen answered.

End Note : Sorry to keep ending things on cliffhangers. I'm not entirely doing it on purpose (just mostly). Thanks so much for all the lovely comments on the last chapter, I haven't had time to reply to things yet I'll hopefully try to do that later. As I said last week, I've been busy this week so I'm really behind 😅 As always thank you so much for reading/liking/commenting/reblogging and generally screaming about all of Billy and readers bad choices throughout this. Hope you have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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Mc is so adorable, and real, if Daredevil isn't going to fall I love with her, I gladly will??? She went all over the city for food, climbed up to a rooftop and just sat there! That's dedication 😭

Great chapter again! Love the awkwardness and unsureness, and Daredevil being very unreadable.

This is going to be such an amazing series!

Take Care Author <3

Finding You

Small Creatures, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt Murdock always assumed he’d never meet his soulmate. After all, who would want to end up stuck with a blind vigilante carrying enough baggage for a whole jet? Unfortunately for you both, his cursed love is closer than ever and determined to support him as his paradoxical life falls apart.

warnings:  minor swearing, misunderstandings, awkward meetings

a/n: there isn’t a ton of Matt in this chapter, but there will be MUCH more of him from here on out. We are running straight for the hurt, comfort, angst, and fluff of this story, y’all. As always, please reply and reblog! And a huge shout out to @zomtart for helping me create this AU!

w/c: 4.5k

You couldn’t shake the feeling of him. 

A tight coil of smoke, constantly twisted around your every limb. Your dreams were now hazy with clouds of ash, the bitter taste of charred organic material blanketing your tongue when you woke. 

On the surface, he was dangerous, filled with a rage that burned more intensely than any flame in this realm. You understood that it was meant to scare you, to create distance. But, you were drawn to it like a newly hatched moth–seeking its warmth and light, not shying away from its destructive power one bit. 

Whether your intense longing was due to your bond or simply a lack of self-preservation, you weren’t sure. 

Walking home after the Devil snatched you from the jaws of death, it all suddenly made sense. One of those “you have to feel it to believe it” kind of things, meeting your soulmate. Your steps were unsteady and too light, like your weight was constantly fluctuating as you moved, or you were being carried along by an external force. You felt thoroughly inebriated, oxytocin and dopamine saturating every cell.

With each wobbly pace home, your chest pulsed with clipped waves of pain, like you’d been bruised. But even the dull ache couldn’t ruin the pleasant floaty feeling carrying you back to your place. 

At points in your life, you’d heard musings. Of what it was like to be bonded with another. Though none of them had ever truly made sense until now.

You were torn, unsure of how to feel about it all. On one hand, knowing he existed was comforting. You weren’t crazy or damned or any other awful thing people sometimes said about marked souls. On the other, watching him creep away from you in terror was definitely a blow to your ego.

It was possible he’d had to go take care of something—there was never a dull night in the Kitchen—but given how your mark was radiating a concoction of doubt, shame, and another feeling you couldn’t quite place…it was probable he was truly not interested. You needed a clear answer, though. Whatever his decision was, you’d respect it, but you needed to be sure before giving up on him.

Therein lay the issue. How could you ask him for a clear answer when you didn’t even know his name? You had no idea where to begin looking for him, or if he could even be found.

And what would you say if you did find him? “Hi, you clearly want nothing to do with me but apparently we are destined to mean something to each other so here’s my card”?

What if he was in love with someone else? He could be married, have a family..oh god what if he was married–

A familiar voice called your name, snapping you out of the trance you’d apparently been in. Ripping your gaze away from where it had been listlessly staring at your coffee cup, you met your friend’s amused look with a sheepish laugh.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Imogen shook her head fondly, clearly not actually upset that you’d zoned out.

“Nothing more important than whatever’s on your mind. Spill,” She giggled, poking your arm with a manicured finger.

You groaned, pulling your exposed limb out of harm’s way. “Midge, it's nothing–”

“It's not!” Crossing her arms, the woman across from you gave her best attempt at a stern mom stare. “You've been out of it all day. We've been friends long enough for me to recognize when you're stuck in your head. So tell me, what's got you in such a funk?”

Sighing, you dropped your chin to your chest, overwhelmed with indecision. It's not that you expected Imogen to react badly, but how much could you tell her? I mean, he was a vigilante, a criminal. Would she truly be ok with that?

Taking a leap, you allowed her to clutch your hand, your nerves settling slightly under her encouraging gaze. “I may have met my soulmate last night?”

As if an earthquake had suddenly struck Manhattan, the two flimsy cups standing on the table quivered as the table vibrated beneath them. Your friend had erupted with joyful movement, kicking her feet and gripping your hand painfully tight as she shrieked gleefully.

“WHAT!? WHEN? HOW? Tell me EVERYTHING!” Eyes boring into yours with more enthusiasm than you'd ever held for something, Imogen beamed at you.

As much as you appreciated her zest for life, the other patrons in the small cafe were glaring daggers in your direction, apparently not willing to risk hearing loss for a stranger's happiness. Sending them an apologetic glance, you lay your free hand on Imogen's.

“Hun, I love you, but people are staring.” You chuckled, flicking your eyes to the annoyed regulars behind her.

“Alright, alright, I'll try to contain myself,“ Midge rolled her eyes. ”What's his name? Is he cute? Oh gosh, I shouldn't have assumed it was a he–”

Shaking your head, you patted her hand reassuringly. “'He' would presumably be correct. He sort of..helped me out last night.”

“Helped you out how?”

Deciding on an altered version of events, you left out the part about him donning a mask and saving you from certain death. Two birds, one stone in terms of things Midge would worry over.

“I was trying to snap a picture on the roof of Ink 48. He saw me struggling to get in position and..spotted me? I guess? When we touched...god, Midge. You weren't kidding.” Your voice was breathy, your heart pounding as you thought of his beautiful smirk, his warm hands.

“It's..indescribable.” She agreed, her smile softening as she studied your love struck expression. “What's his name?”

Averting your eyes, you felt a haze of lingering doubt settle over you. “See, that's why I've been out of it. We connected, forged a bond or whatever you want to call it, and he ran away. I..didn't get a good look at his face and I have no clue what his name was so I'm kind of at a loss.”

“Oh sweetie,” Midge pouted, dragging her chair closer to wrap an arm around you. “No leads? He wasn't wearing anything with a company emblem or an ID badge?”

“No, and honestly..I don't even know if he'd want me to track him down. I mean, he ran, Midge. Full on beelined outta there like I had the plague. He could be married? Or just not interested?” Your voice trailed off. You were at a loss, that much was clear.

“Or!” Imogen interjected, her voice optimistic as always. “He was surprised and he panicked. I think we both can relate to that.”

You raised a brow at her in disbelief, but Imogen was undeterred. “Babes, it's a big thing, finding your soulmate. Cut the poor guy some slack! He's probably nervous just like you are.”

“It's possible.” You relented. “But I still don't know if I'll ever see him again.”

“You will.” Your all-too-positive companion shrugged, withdrawing her hand from your hold. “You're way too capable and determined not to.”

“You're too sweet to me.” You scoffed, heat fluttering in your cheeks.

“I'm just being honest!” She giggled, tossing back the rest of her coffee. “C'mon.”

“Where are we going?” You laughed, draining your coffee so Midge could toss both cups in a nearby waste basket.

“You're going to show me exactly where you met him and we'll see if there are any cameras or other things we could use to track him down.”

Steps faltering, you blinked in shock before scurrying after your friend who was confidently traipsing out of the store.

Shifting the strained handle into the crook of your elbow, you angled your body so the weight of the large bag bumped against the flesh of your hip, rather than knocking into unsuspecting strangers. One solid kick from a passerby and the carefully stacked contents would topple–either into the street or onto you. Regardless, you’d have a mess on your hands and you’d be out a solid chunk of money. Take out wasn’t cheap these days, dammit.

You just hoped the hefty bill would be worth it.

It had been almost a week since your run-in with your soulmate and you were still mostly at a loss. Despite Imogen's confidence and your combined dedication, you were no closer to knowing his identity. Your failure to find anything definitive at the scene was partially because nothing had been left behind and almost entirely because Midge was still under the impression you were looking for a standard nine-to-fiver.

You weren't quite sure how to come clean, not when she'd spent so much of her free time over the past few days accompanying you to the same street, scouring the crowds for anyone who might look familiar to you. But, until you knew whether he wanted you in his life, you were hesitant to confess  the one thing you did know about him.

After the third day of returning home empty-handed, you'd cut your friend loose. Telling her you were going to regroup before trying again. As lovely as Midge was, she was as clueless about the Devil's whereabouts as you were.

The internet, however, was chock full of fanatics and critics overly willing to share the opinions they had about him. In general, the city appreciated his efforts--the local message boards and blogs brimming with praise and gratitude. You couldn't help but feel a gleaming rush of pride with every compliment, appreciating the citizens for recognizing the man's work.

Of course, there were negative threads too. Calling Daredevil a threat and a coward. Screaming at him to give himself up, leave the crime-fighting to law enforcement. At first, you'd engaged with those users too. But, after one argument sparked so much rage you almost shattered your laptop screen in an effort to remove yourself from the fight, you began to ignore anything less than positive. Whether because of your bond or your genuine admiration for your soulmate, the disapproval created a primal urge to protect, to defend. Standing by wasn't an option, so you put blinders on to filter out the objections.

As a whole, however, the online forums were helpful. There were a few sites dedicated to tracking local vigilante news, allowing you to assemble a makeshift map of places the Devil frequented. You'd reached out to a few of the more active users to see if they could help you, but pretty quickly realized that the claim 'daredevil is my soulmate' was probably more common than you'd originally thought. So, for now, your feeble, hand drawn maps would have to do.

Unsurprisingly, Daredevil seemed to have a flexible schedule that mostly revolved around where he was needed. The idea of staging a crime, or intentionally putting yourself in harm's way did occur to you, but you weren't that desperate quite yet. And you doubted that would be well-received. Instead, you categorized locations by number of sightings and planned to work your way down the list.

Tonight, you were starting just before sunset for the roof of a building near the Clinton Community Garden. According to your limited research, the crimson-clad vigilante was often spotted between 47th and 50th street, around the intersections of 9th or 10th. A decent area to start with for sure, given that it was pretty central within Hell's Kitchen, and 10th street was a haven for petty crime.

Two failed attempts to buzz into apartment buildings later, someone finally answered your request over the intercom, unlatching the door for you. Dashing up the stairs two at a time, your stomach was in knots by the time you found a roof access door. Your every breath was measured, laden with doubt in the wake of so many possibilities. Pulse racing, you gulped in the humid evening air, bending at the waist to allow blood flow to your brain.

You'd been so nervous to confront him, you'd neglected your own needs. Dehydration and low blood sugar were only exacerbated by this obnoxious heat. Cringing at the realization, you paced to the edge of the roof, settling into a cross-legged position with your back against the squabby brick perimeter. With the back of your hand, you swiped at the beading sweat along your brow, doing your best to mop it up.

Now for the fun part. Waiting.

Patience was a virtue that didn't always come easily to you. Especially when your anxiety stepped up to the plate. Twiddling your thumbs, anticipating every possible thing that could go wrong only made time pass more slowly. And it wasn't as if there was a deadline you were inching towards.

Not a set one, at least. The food you'd brought wouldn't last forever, though you were hoping the thermal bag would keep it from spoiling too quickly. If it didn't, well, you'd feel pretty foolish for bruising your arm carrying the sizable thing around town.

Lifting the strap from where it was currently digging into your shoulder, you set it carefully on the ground, peeking inside to inspect the contents. Everything looked ok, thankfully. A bit banged up from the journey, but mostly unharmed and definitely just as tasty.

Relaxing into the prickly surface holding you upright, you scanned the skyline, admiring the wash of pinks and oranges slipping between skyscrapers. You hadn't wanted to tote your camera around in addition to all the food, but you were regretting that decision now. Somewhat remorsefully, you pulled a paperback book from an outside pocket on the tote. Imogen would be thrilled you were finally starting it.

The book was better than you'd expected. A historical fiction novel about the Nazi invasion in France–something you knew very little about. It managed to keep your attention for nearly 90 minutes, though you did take brief breaks to stretch and scan the horizon for a familiar figure.

As much as you wanted to stick it out, the food wouldn't last too much longer. Knee-deep in a mental quarrel with yourself about whether to give up for the night, your stomach dropped–yanked by an extreme force as if you were driving over a massive hill. It was intoxicating, thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Scrambling to your feet, you teetered on wobbly legs, nearly faceplanting on the concrete. All sense of balance had been ripped from you, as if the flat roof had been replaced with a trampoline, bouncing with every step you took. Before you could regain your bearings, a shadowy figure appeared at the opposite end of the roof.

His chin was angled down, mirrored fists clenched on either side of his broad, menacing stance. In the sliver of remaining sunlight, you could make out his sharp jawline and pink lips–your heart fluttering as they parted.

“You shouldn’t be up here.” He strode toward you, graceful and precise. Far more coordinated than you felt at the moment.

“Please,” You murmured, focus lost in the glow of fading light lining his body, a flexible halo around him. “Please, I-I just want to talk.”

“Are you sure you have time?” Stopping his approach about 10 feet from you, his mouth twitched with a smirk. You were surprised to sense humor in his words. “Seems like you might be late for your dinner plans.”

Chuckling weakly in response, your face flooded with heat. Something about his presence made your brain melt into soup. His confidence and cocky attitude stole the explanation right off your tongue, leaving you to stand there uselessly until he nodded to the rectangular bag lying at your feet.

“Oh, sorry, um,“ Scurrying for the shining handle, you pulled it into your arms, extending it out to him. ”I brought this for you actually.”

In a remote corner of your stomach, a tiny curl of something warm unwound. Surprise, then a much stronger sensation, not unlike fondness or gratitude. A mix of both perhaps?

“For me?” As he whispered, you couldn't help but smile. Those sudden emotions, they were his, not your own. The hesitant acceptance continued into his rasping voice.

“If you will accept it, then yes. As a thank you. For saving me and, well, for everyone else you’ve saved.” You answered, taking a step in his direction.

Hands shooting up, blocking an incoming hit you hadn't thrown, his guard slid back into place. With each inch you moved forward, he withdrew, like there was an invisible barrier forcing the two of you apart.

“I don't do this for handouts.” He growled, shoulders squaring off. You'd spooked him somehow.

“I never said you did.” You shrugged, sending him a soft smile. Retreating towards your end of the roof, you drew the bag towards your chest. “I just wanted to thank you, and to ask you a few questions. I figured they would be easier to swallow if I had something for you in return.”

Tilting his head at you, Daredevil flexed his fingers, no doubt fighting the urge to lock them into fists. His tongue dipped between his lips, sliding over the lower as he pondered. “What sort of questions?”

A bubble of pride rolled up your throat at the idea you'd gotten this feral cat of a man to trust you, even marginally. “About the other night. Nothing about your identity or anything, and if they seem too invasive you don't have to answer them at all. I'll respect whatever boundaries you need to set, but I would have regretted never asking. Does that make sense?”

The stubby horns on his helmet arced in semi-circles as he nodded. “I think so.”

“I just...did you feel it?” Grimacing as the question slipped out, you tried to clarify. “I mean, that's a horrible way to ask that but, er, when you..caught me, I think something–”

“Yes.” He interrupted you, his voice barely audible.

“What?”

Another coarse nod. “Yes. I felt it.”

“Oh my god,” You'd expected this answer, but you were still dumbfounded. “I thought maybe I was just crazy.”

“You're not crazy.” He huffed, a glimpse of his teeth shining in the city light as he smirked.

“So, that means we're...” You trailed off, not wanting to scare him away with the word.

The Devil stilled, his jaw quivering as his teeth grit together. The fragile peace you’d somehow achieved began to crack.

“It's ok!” You hurriedly reassured him. “I don't, I'm not–”

Tripping over your words, you held up a hand. After a deep breath, you tried again. “It's up to you what we mean to each other. I didn't come here to nag you, or demand things from you.”

“You didn't?” The question was posed as a statement. He didn't believe you.

“Not at all. That wouldn't be fair. To you or..well, to the other people in your life. I just wanted to know if it was real and to show my appreciation for the other night.” Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you watched as his posture slumped slightly.

“You didn't,” He sighed, crossing his arms. Holy shit was he hiding saplings under there? “You didn't have to do that.”

Swallowing harshly as you collected your thoughts, you giggled nervously. “I know, but I wanted to. Can't be easy to eat while flipping around the city.”

Another puff of breath, a hint of laughter. “What exactly is my reward?”

Chewing at the flesh of your lip, you fumbled for the zipper. “Well, I wasn't sure what you liked, so I brought a few options. They're sort of all over the map.”

Laying out the thin cotton blanket you'd packed, you withdrew a myriad of plastic containers and lined them up, describing each as you went. “Gnocchi and bolognese from Il Tinello, very hearty and comforting. If you want something a bit different, an Alice sandwich from that shop 'Toasties'? And, if you don't eat animal products, seitan satay from Plant-Blossom.”

“You weren't kidding.” The Devil remarked, creeping towards the edge of the blanket. “You ventured all over the city for this. You didn't–”

“Please don't feel bad!” You rushed out, stomach sinking at the guilty little pout on his face. “I was looking for something to do. Besides, you deserve a decent meal for sticking around to hear me out.”

“As much as I appreciate it, it's more food than I can eat.” The man protested, crouching beside the edge of the blanket, not quite crossing the boundary yet.

“I'll have some of whatever you don't want. And, if we still can't finish it, well I'm sure there's someone around here who will take it.” You reasoned, settling atop your folded legs. Despite your nerves, you kept your voice steady and your stature unassuming, not wanting to activate the man’s “scary Devil mode” again.

“Thank you.” Kneeling on the concrete, the vigilante cocked his head at the lineup of options, fingers dancing over his thighs hesitantly. His gravelly voice diffused into a murmur, showering you like a spray of glass beads. Cool and solid, steady as rain.

You nibbled at the inside of your lip, smiling softly as the treacherous defender of the city flushed pink in the pale golden hue of the sun. Despite his harsh exterior and skeptical nature, you were swooning at the glimpse of the man behind the mask. He was passionate and humble, truthfully taken aback by your gratitude. “I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be thanking you. So, are you hungry?”

Lips splitting with a beautifully subtle grin, the Devil nodded. “Always.”

Satisfaction tugged at your heart, making you crinkle your nose as you held back a proud smile. “Help yourself!”

You hadn't been lying to him, the array of options was for his benefit; it wasn't much of a repayment if he didn't enjoy the food. As his hand reached for the first take out container, you realized there was something in it for you as well. In addition to him answering your brief question, and spending more than a moment nearby, you'd end up learning about him.

Something as simple as choice of meal wasn't overly revealing, but it confirmed some suspicions you had about your other half. He wasn't adventurous for the hell of it, his decisions–though seemingly rash–were purposeful and thought out. You understood the enticing pull, the desire to stick to your routine or things you already knew.

Bruised fingers popped the seal on the gnocchi, cradling the warm plastic tub with a fond glance in your direction. “Did you happen to bring silverware?”

Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment swatting at you as you scrambled for the utensils in your bag. “Oh gosh, yes, I am so sorry–”

“Don't apologize.” A comforting weight settled over the back of your hand, the rough pad of a thumb brushing over your knuckles. Tearing your eyes away from the packets in your grip, your mouth hung open in surprise as Daredevil tenderly swiped his finger over your skin. You froze in place, scared that the smallest twitch would ruin the moment.

Face slackening with realization, the man dropped your hand, sliding a set of plastic silverware out of your loose grip. “This will work. Thank you.”

Shoulders hunching, he pointed his body away from you, still kneeling rather than fully relaxing into a seated position. Busying yourself with your own plate of food, you tried to shove down the disappointment that gnawed at you, your fragile consciousness unable to stave off the feeling of rejection as he turned to face the city.

“Has it been busy tonight? The crime fighting, I mean?” You posed the question, hoping to bridge the literal and metaphorical gap once again widening between the pair of you.

The man opposite you hummed thoughtfully, swallowing before he spoke. “Not too bad.”

“That's good. Hopefully you'll be able to get some rest, then. If you need rest, that is. I mean, if you don't have a day job that would make it easier but how could you afford to live in this city? I guess you could probably bounce around and evade capture, but that sounds exhausting. How do you–” Cutting yourself off, you clamped a hand over your mouth. “Shit, I am so sorry. I really didn't mean to ask about that,  I'm just nervous which tends to make me ramble.“

Scratching at the back of his neck, Daredevil curled further in on himself. “I, uh, I guess I can't blame you for being nervous.”

“Oh, it's not your fault.” You promised, shaking your head violently. “I'm sort of like this with everyone. Lack of experience, I guess.”

Studying you for a moment, his lips briefly flickering with a smile. “I understand that. People are complicated.”

“Understatement of the century.” You huffed, a familiar blossom of warmth pooling in your chest when he echoed the chuckle.

Sitting in cozy silence, you ate quickly, stealing peeks at the muscular man every so often to gauge his discomfort. As much as you wanted to believe you were making progress, the rational side of your brain recognized the finite nature of this exchange. It was likely that he didn't intend to do this again. This was a favor extended to you for your appreciation.

As darkness descended on the skyline, cloaking the stark angles in shadows, a tightly wound knot of sorrow clogging your throat as you tried to finish your sandwich. Choking down the last bite, you lifted the final plate.

“Don't suppose you'd want any of this for the road?” Ignoring the tremble in your words, you began folding the blanket, avoiding his gaze.

“Sure,” He gently accepted, prying the container from your grasp and taking extra care not to make contact with your skin. “Thank you, again.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” You croaked around the lump in your throat, coughing to clear it. “Just, be safe out there.”

Giving you a sad smile, the masked man nodded firmly. “I’ll try my best.” 

Swaying awkwardly as you stood, shouldering your bag on the way up, your mind raced through its entire vocabulary in an attempt to find the words for a proper goodbye. You’d interacted with this man for less than an hour, yet he meant the world to you–but telling him that would be weird, wouldn’t it? You really needed a manual for these things. A roadmap to help you tread lightly, avoid landmines. Unfortunately, you were pretty sure the whole “my soulmate is a vigilante” thing wasn’t common enough to warrant an expert. 

“I, um, I’m going to head home before it’s super late. But, here–” Rushing through the excuse as quickly as you could, you held out a tiny rectangle of cardstock, holding your breath while he slipped it from your outstretched fingers. “My phone number is on there if you, er, if you ever need it.”

Chin dipping towards his chest, he cocked his head, studying the scrap of paper. “I appreciate it. Be safe getting home.”

“I will.” You vowed, blinking back the building sheen across your vision. “Take care of yourself.”

Before you could stumble and say something he didn’t want to hear, you made your exit.

Taglist: @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04

it is once again... binturong appreciation hour

how i sleep knowing i will pirate every single thing released on disney plus

Loved the chapter, I will forgive the use of the word buttocks wholeheartedly due to the delicious chapter, don't worry author (lol).

Prediction: she's about to get kidnapped af

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Fifteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smut and angst. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : I'm sorry for using the word buttocks. I'm deeply ashamed rn...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Fifteen

Sleeping in until three in the afternoon helped you skip the worst of your hangover, but you didn’t feel any better. In fact you felt like shit.

You hated what you’d done to Matt, hated that you kept dragging Karen into your problems and, most of all, you hated that you kept letting Billy have so much power over you. Something needed to change, you weren’t prepared to carry on that way. You’d reached your lowest point, felt broken in a new and more painful way.

It had to stop.

The idea came upon you slowly, starting as an insidious notion while you were eating breakfast that only seemed to become more insistent as you showered.

You needed to leave.

Every reason you had to stay had evaporated last night. You didn’t belong here with any of them - maybe you didn’t belong anywhere at all. And you were just so so tired of every day feeling so miserable and alone.

Before you really knew what you were doing, you’d stepped out into the penthouse and made your way to the elevator, to the intercom, to your only way out.

The intercom crackled and buzzed far louder than you expected. You hit the button twice and then waited. It was the middle of the day, Lissa was probably sleeping, but impatience got the better of you and you hit the button again. You barely noticed the tears that were rolling down your cheeks, your finger jabbing the button again.

“What are you doing?” 

His voice filled the penthouse and, for a moment, you didn’t dare turn around, you just kept pushing the intercom, over and over, not wanting to face him.

“I said -”

When you felt a hand on your shoulder, you finally turned. 

He was right behind you, far too close for comfort. Billy seemed taken aback by your tears and you took that moment of confusion to pull away from him and to start moving back towards your rooms.

“You win,” you told him, barely keeping your voice from breaking. “I’m done. I’m leaving.”

“What?” 

There was hurt in that word, a pain that he didn’t deserve an ounce of pity for but, still, it turned your stomach to think that you might have upset or hurt him in any way. But that was the difference between you and him, you cared about his pain while he barely even seemed to notice yours.

“I’m leaving,” you said again, “I quit.”

“No,” he said like he didn’t understand, like he couldn’t figure out what had led to the decision. 

“No?” You repeated, heartache and anger filling your voice. How dare he try to fight for you now. “You don’t get to tell me no after everything you’ve done to me, Billy.”

“I -” he started and stopped, uncertain which of his many crimes against you that you were most upset about. “I'm sorry. I fucked up, I know I fucked up, but -”

Against your better judgement you stopped dead in your tracks and turned to face him.

“But what? What excuse do you possibly think you have for keeping me prisoner and lying to my friends?” You asked, your voice getting louder each time he made you respond to him. “This is what you wanted.”

“I didn't want this.” His voice rose to match yours, almost frantic. “I just needed time to -”

“What? Find someone else?” You snapped. “Two someone else’s? Did you take them all to bed last night?”

“No,” he answered just as sharply. “I wanted to - before you, I would have - but they aren’t you. You’re the only one I want.”

“Am I supposed to believe that? After all the lies?”

“I just spent the last few weeks trying to get you out of my head, but I can’t.” An uneasy desperation started to fill his voice, every word sounding more fraught than you’d ever heard him. “You’re like sunlight, I - I can’t stop thinking about how you feel and, when I’m not with you, I miss you so fucking much.”

“Stop lying to me!” Your own voice turning just as fraught, hating that he was doing this to you now that you’d made the difficult decision to leave.

You started moving again, getting closer to the door leading to your rooms and, of course, Billy realised that if you reached your bedroom, he wouldn’t be able to follow. When you tried to open the adjoining door, you soon found his hand on it, stopping you. You turned, pressing back against the wood, trying to create some space between you as you glared at him, silently demanding he move.

“Please, just listen to me,” he tried again.

“Why?”

“Because losing you would kill me.”

His confession seemed to suck all the air from the room and, while every rational part of you was screaming at you not to believe him, the way he said it sounded so certain, so raw. 

“You wanted to send me away,” you told him again. “You wanted me to leave.”

“I wanted you to be safe,” he said, his gaze dropping to your broken arm, his voice breaking. “Just look at you, look what I did...”

He’d been so cold and emotionless after it had happened, when he’d first asked you to leave, but hearing him now, seeing the look on his face... you finally understood just how much the situation had fucked him up. It seemed like your decision to leave had unnerved him enough to force some honesty from him.

You couldn’t speak. It felt like all the anger had drained from you and, instead, there was something else inside you, the sort of pain that you couldn’t put a name to. He’d hurt you. Over and over. And you weren’t going to make excuses for him, but now he was finally letting you see how much it had hurt him too, it left you feeling unsettled.

“I thought I could let you go if it meant you’d be safe,” he muttered, his gaze still fixed on your cast.

“And now?”

You watched as he took a shuddered breath, tension coiling in his body as he struggled to find the words. The silence seemed to stretch on and all you could hear was the echo of your heart, pounding in your chest. And you knew Billy could hear it too. 

With every second that passed in silence, you started to lose hope.

“You terrify me,” he confessed in a whisper. “Everything about you, the way you make me feel; it’s all terrifying to me. And I can’t - I don’t understand it.”

You didn’t dare speak, wanting him to continue without prompt or provocation. Anything he said had to be because he wanted to say it. This was his chance to finally be honest and lay all of his cards on the table before you left. So, you waited, barely breathing as he seemed to fight with every rational part of himself to say the words.

“I wish I could stop feeling like this. I wish I could just let you go.”

“Why can’t you?” Your voice broke as you tried to hold back a flood of fresh tears. “You don’t want me, so why keep me here?”

“Stop saying that. Of course I want you. It kills me how much I want you,” he told you, still not looking at you, still staring at your arm, his head hung. “But it kills me just as much knowing that I’ll lose you no matter what I do. Even if you stayed by my side the rest of your life, and I’d still have to watch you grow old and slip away from me.”

Your breath caught, realising you’d never thought of it that way. When you’d told him you wanted to stay, you hadn’t been thinking about the future, about spending your life with him. But Billy wasn’t like you, a year to him would seem like nothing in the grand scheme of things. So would your lifetime. 

“You’ll grow old and die, and you’d miss out on so much because of me. There’s so many things I can’t give you… so many things you deserve...”

The thing that hurt most of all was how he’d obviously thought all of it through, how he’d considered what a future together would look like, but he hadn’t once tried to talk to you about it to find out what you wanted.

“I know I can’t keep you, but it’s just -” he let out an agitated huff “- it’s not fair. You’re the one person who makes this life, this existence bearable, and you hate me. You were the best thing to happen to me and I ruined it. I just wanted a little more time...”

Finally he looked up, his jaw clenching uncomfortably, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I don’t want to hurt you again but I don’t want you to go,” he almost pleaded. “Please, don’t go...”

It was your turn to talk, the moment to stick to your guns and tell him you were leaving, but the words just wouldn’t come. Tears were still rolling down your cheeks and you hated how much pain you were both in. Finally, he’d been honest and it was enough to make you wish he’d stuck with his lies.

“Please, say something,” he said after a minute had passed in silence.

“I’m tired, Billy,” you confessed, “I’m so tired of everything always being a fight or an argument...” 

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I’ve put you through all of this.”

He dared to reach for you, his fingers brushing over the back of your hand, a ghost of a touch. But that touch was a comfort that you had been desperately craving, a comfort that you’d tried to find with Matt the night before, a comfort that you were finally realising only Billy could provide.

“Everything seems so pointless without you,” he muttered.

As much as you wanted to deny it, you felt the exact same way.

You loved him and nothing was going to change that.

Your heart stuttered, your hand slowly turning, cautiously letting your fingers brush against his before lacing them together and taking hold of his hand. A relieved sound escaped him and you felt his fingers tighten around yours.

“I won't hurt you again,” he promised and, this time, you actually believed him.

He reached for your cheek, thumb gently wiping away your tears.

A minute must have passed and neither of you seemed willing to move or pull away, so Billy cleared the distance and kissed you. It was soft at first, a tender reaffirmation and reignition of all the feelings you’d been trying to snuff out. He pressed closer, the kiss eventually turning more heated until his body was against yours and your broken arm was wrapped around him, cast pressing into his back and pulling him against you.

It was a slow descent into frenzy, but you both seemed to know where it was heading.

When he lifted you off your feet, your legs wrapped around him. You barely paid attention to where he was taking you, too caught up in his kiss.

Under different circumstances you might have taken a moment to realise that you were finally seeing his bedroom; you would have paid more attention to the dark and cold colour scheme and the smattering of photographs on the wall, or maybe you would have noticed the large walk-in closet, filled with his suits. But all you saw was the bed and all you wanted to pay attention to was Billy.

He kept kissing you and, by the time he put you down, your legs felt weak.

You both moved on auto-pilot, both needing and wanting so desperately that undressing each other was just a formality. There was no wonderment in slowly uncovering him because you’d seen him so many times and, this time, you were aching for so much more. You barely even pulled back from the kiss to look at him as his shirt, then pants, fell away.

Once you were both down to your underwear, you reached for him, your hand cupping his cock, feeling how it was already throbbing and hard for you, the tip already peeking out from beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers.

“Hummingbird,” he groaned as deft fingers unhooked your bra and pulled it away from you.

His hands slid up your stomach to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh and tracing his thumbs over your achingly hard nipples. He kissed you again, languidly and slowly. Your hand cupped him and stroked him through his boxers, earning another groan that you happily swallowed down, his hips moving, gently pressing himself into your touch.

A hand gripped your waist as he slowly guided you backwards. When you felt the bed against the back of your legs, you moved, climbing onto it and pulling him with you, 

You fell back, legs instinctively parting for him, allowing him to settle between your thighs. He tested the water by pressing his hips down against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock against you.

“Billy,” you gasped, arching your body into his.

“What do you need, hummingbird?” He asked, though you were already certain that he knew the answer.

“You, Billy,” you answered, already breathless, “I need you.”

He reached down between your bodies, cupping you through your panties, biting his lip when he felt just how wet they were. Billy didn’t bother trying to remove them, he settled for tearing them away from your body.

“You’re so wet already,” he said, wasting no time before pushing a finger inside you, causing your back to arch. He pulled it out just as quick before pushing in two and starting to fuck you with them.

“Billy,” you moaned with the intensity of it. 

It had been over six weeks since he’d last touched you, but he hadn’t forgotten a thing. You cried out as his fingers curled inside you, your walls clenching around him, gripping him tight. But it wasn’t his fingers you wanted, and Billy seemed to know that.

“I know,” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. “Soon, hummingbird, I just need to make sure you’re ready for me...”

“Please...” you heard yourself begging, completely losing yourself to him.

“First you’re going to take my fingers, then my tongue, and then you’ll get my cock,” he told you.

Just the thought of it had you shivering.

Your breath caught as a third finger slipped inside you, stretching you and pushing you closer to an orgasm you didn’t have permission to have. At some point, your fingers had tangled in his hair and you were tugging far harder than you should.

“Do you want to come for me?” He whispered into your ear, and all you could do was keen in response. “Then come for me, little hummingbird.”

It was automatic, your body doing exactly as he wanted. You cried out and moaned his name as your walls started to convulse and flutter around his fingers. Fingers that kept moving, dragging out the sensation of ecstacy. You pulled his lips to yours and kissed him, trembling and moaning as his tongue found yours.

But he didn’t linger. Soon he was moving down your body, lips and tongue trailing a clear path from your lips, over your chest and stomach, and down to the apex of your thighs. You shivered in anticipation, seeing his dark eyes staring up at you from between your legs, his fingers parting your folds and -

“Billy,” you cried out as his tongue slid against your trembling flesh.

Your back arched and you tried to lift your hips to press against his mouth, but Billy quickly gripped your thighs and held you in place, determined to stay in control of your pleasure. His tongue moved to your clit, licking with the lightest pressure, barely a ghost of a touch but it was enough to have you breathless.

Finally his attention moved lower, lapping against your slick entrance before pressing the tip inside. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, so possessively, your hips would have shot off the bed but, instead, all you could do was cry out as his tongue continued to lick into you.

At some point, your fingers had found their way to his hair again and you were holding him just as tightly as he was holding you, trying to pull him against him, demanding more. And Billy didn’t disappoint. 

He fucked you with his tongue, not stopping to give you permission to come but, instead, fixing you with a hungry look. 

Your whole body tensed before you came on his tongue, but Billy didn’t stop. He continued to devour you, returning his attention to your clit, pushing you from one orgasm right into the next.

“Please,” you begged, feeling like you were about to shatter into a million tiny pieces, “no more. I can’t take any more.”

And, finally, he relented. Billy crawled back up your body, his chin and lips glistening with your wetness. He kissed you eagerly and your lips parted for him, tasting yourself in his mouth, while your hands forced his boxers down.

You’d already come three times, but just the press of his cock at your wet entrance was enough to make your breath catch. You were already intimately familiar with how big he was but it still made you nervous. Looking down you watched him tease his tip between your folds until it glistened with a mixture of your arousal and his own pre-cum.

Then, his cock surged into you, filling you in one rough thrust, catching you off-guard and causing your over-sensitive pussy to tremble as you struggled to adjust to his size. He pulled back before filling you again and again before coming to an abrupt stop buried deep inside you, leaving you shaking beneath him.

He looked down at you, a mixture of remorse and shame on his face and it took you a moment to realise why; he thought he was being too rough with you.

You reached for him, your hand pressing against his cheek. 

“It’s okay,” you told him softly, “I don’t want you to hold back.”

“But what if I -” he started and you shook your head.

“Are you here with me? Are you in control?” You asked and Billy gave a definite nod. “Then fuck me, Billy.” You told him, feeling your cheeks warm at how brazen it sounded.

You moaned as you felt him start to move again, every hard inch taking what he needed from you, every thrust causing your walls to flutter and clench, gripping him tight. Everything had been building to this moment, months of foreplay finally leading somewhere. It was no wonder he couldn’t hold back. 

“Fuck, hummingbird, you keep gripping my cock like that and I’m not going to last,” he groaned through gritted teeth. “Is that what you want? You want me to come inside you?”

No words left your mouth, just an eager, desperate moan as you stared up at him, lust and desire written all over his handsome face, putting to rest any lingering doubts that you had about his feelings for you.

He kissed you again and again, and you lost yourself to everything he was doing to you. You lost yourself to him. Every time he pulled back, he left you feeling empty and every time he plunged forward left you feeling like all your prayers had been answered.

“Come for me,” he demanded, as if he knew it was building in you before you did.

As commanded, your body started to shudder, coming undone as you moaned his name. His hips slowed, leisurely fucking you through another orgasm, sending more desperate sparks of arousal through your body. It was overwhelming. It was too much and not enough at the same time. You weren’t sure you could go on but you were certain that you couldn’t stop. You wanted more. You wanted everything.

And luckily for you, Billy was just getting started.

“You good?” He asked, his fingers brushing sweat slicked  hair away from your brow.

“Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, too overcome to even force a smile. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

Billy smiled, kissing you softly, still moving slowly, waiting until your walls finally stopped trembling so much.

He gripped your leg, his hand behind your knee, pulling it upwards, opening you to him, while his other hand reached over you to grip the headboard. For a second he paused, looking down at you, waiting for permission. You bit your lip before nodding.

Nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of what followed. He pulled back slowly before plunging his thick cock into you again, deeper than before, making you realise that you hadn’t taken all of him before then. You let out an incomprehensible cry as you felt his tip graze your cervix, the sensation causing you to clench around him.

Looking down between your bodies, you watched as he started to fuck you, his hips setting a relentless pace, his grip on the headboard helping his powerful movements as he pushed you down into the mattress with each thrust. You felt out of control. No, you felt like you were giving control to Billy, letting him have it because you knew that was what he needed.

“Look at me,” he demanded, sounding just as breathless as you were.

Your eyes found his, and that sight alone was almost enough to make you come. His jaw was clenched and his unblinking eyes were watching every flicker of emotion that passed your face. He was looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, like he was committing every second of this to memory and leaving you feeling more wanted than you ever had.

“My hummingbird,” he groaned, “I’ll never let you go.”

You couldn’t answer, not when every rough, rapid-fire thrust of his hips was forcing moan after moan from you. 

Your hands slipped down his back over cold, sweat-slicked skin, right the way down until your fingers were gripping his buttocks, pressing your fingernails into his flesh. That only seemed to spur him on, moving faster, harder, claiming you with every shift of his hips.

“I want to feel you come again,” he told you.

This time you tried to hold back, fighting every urge that told you to give into the pleasure, wanting it to last, wanting Billy to keep fucking you into the mattress. But then you felt his hand on your throat, just beneath your chin, not squeezing, but gripping tight enough to get your full atention.

“I said I want to feel you come,” his voice almost became a growl, his fingers tentatively tightening their grip on your throat.

You couldn’t deny him. You don't want to, not when you were completely at his mercy. This sudden escalation should have scared you, but some part of you trusted him, some part of you was enjoying this and was desperate for more. Finally, there was no doubt in your mind that he wanted this, wanted you.

Your head fell back as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you, his fingers gripping tighter as he continued to drive his cock into you. You swore and cried out his name, over and over as he forced you through the most intense climax of your life. Your vision went white and Billy kept going until you couldn’t take any more.

He pulled out suddenly, leaving your body desperately clenching and grasping around nothing, feeling unbearably empty. Your whole body shuddered with the intensity of it all, and Billy just watched as you fell apart for him. It seemed to go on and on, your body shaking uncontrollably, your eyes refusing to focus. You felt starved for touch, and even though you were falling apart, you felt needy and desperate for more than just the touch of his fingers on your throat.

Billy didn’t move until the worst of the tremors had subsided, pulling his hand from your throat as he lowered himself over you again. His lips pressed against yours in a chaste and gentle kiss, a tenderness in his eyes, as he slowly sank his cock back into your sensitive pussy. 

This time his movements were gentle, allowing you to really enjoy the feel of him inside you. Your fingers slipped through his hair and even though he was being so gentle now, you still felt tender and overwhelmed. It felt like something had broken inside of you, like he’d managed to fuck your head empty, and now all you could think about was him and how good it felt everytime he filled you with his cock.

His hands framed your face, holding you as he kissed you, and it felt like everything had been leading to this moment. Now that you’d both sated the urgent desires that had been building in you over the last few months, you could finally take your time with each other. 

You lost yourself in the gentle kiss, in the feeling of him loving you and not just fucking you, slowly climbing towards another orgasm and, this time, Billy seemed primed to join you. 

Towards the end, he started to pick up speed, his groans stacking, his face buried against your neck.

“Come, hummingbird,” he grunted.

The moment you let go, you felt him start to pulse inside you, the sensation causing you to shiver. He gave a couple more thrusts before finally stilling deep inside you, groaning against your neck as his orgasm gripped him.

When you’d pictured sex with Billy, this was not how it had played out, this was not how you saw it ending. You felt boneless, completely overwhelmed and exhausted. For a few moments you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And, when he finally pulled out, you felt the telltale trickle of cum between your thighs.

For the next couple of hours he held you. Neither of you spoke, both having said so much already. You drifted in and out of sleep, always waking to find him holding you securely, his cold body pressed to your back. 

You were half-asleep when you felt his fingers between your legs, parting your folds and guiding his cock into you. Your back arched against his chest as he started to fuck you from behind, letting out a soft moan as he teased your clit. His free hand gripped your chin, turning your head so he could kiss you, slipping his tongue between your lips before you could think to say anything.

His movements started off slow and sensual, letting you enjoy the sensations of him moving inside you and the way your body stretched to accommodate him. You still felt tender from earlier but any discomfort was quickly forgotten.

“Fuck, hummingbird,” he muttered against your lips, “your tight little pussy takes me so well...”

“Billy,” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut, still exhausted but wanting more.

“I’ll never get over the way you grip my cock. It’s like you were made just for me,” he continued in that low, seductive mutter. “Can you feel it?

“Yes,” you whined as your hand awkwardly reached behind you to settle on his hip, wanting to touch him.

It stayed like that for a few long minutes, Billy taking his time with you, smiling at every gasp and moan he managed to pull from you.

Then, without warning, he started to rut into you, his movements becoming desperate and sloppy until you felt him twitch and pulse inside you. You started to shift your hips, clumsily riding him as he spilled inside you. Realising that you hadn’t come, he resumed teasing your clit and groaned in your ear.

“Come for me, hummingbird,” he pleaded and you soon did as you were asked.

“I love you,” you moaned, turning to press your face into the pillow as your body succumbed to the pleasure coursing through it.

All Billy gave was a hum in response. There was no question in your mind that he’d heard those three little words, even as his body shivered behind you, and he lost himself in his own pleasure. After everything, you didn’t expect to hear it back, you didn’t expect him to confess more than he already had. You just wanted him to know.

You let out a soft whine as he pulled out, too exhausted to move or lift your head again, your eyes closing. Billy pulled you tight against him and held you there until you fell asleep again.

The next time you woke, it was to Billy getting out of bed. You watched him stroll into his walk-in wardrobe and he didn’t notice you were awake until he returned with a suit and shirt.

“I’m really sorry,” he told you softly, “I have to go in to work for a few hours, Frank’ll kill me if I don’t, but you can stay in here and rest and I’ll see you when I get home?” 

There was something in his voice that almost made it feel like he was asking your permission, like he didn’t know how you were going to react. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you wanted to react; you’d just spend the afternoon having the most earth-shattering sex of your life, and now he needed to go to work.

“Okay,” you muttered sleepily, knowing you couldn’t keep him from his job, not after all the time he’d already lost.

You watched as he headed into his bathroom and you listened as he took a quick shower before emerging dressed and ready to go. If you had been so tired you would have appreciated the sight of him in his light grey suit, looking devilishly handsome. Instead you could barely lift your head when he kissed you goodbye.

Around half an hour after he left, you managed to get up and return to your rooms. You took a long shower, exhausted but unable to keep your mind from racing over everything that had happened and what that meant going forward.

Everything he’d said, the way he’d looked at you when you were together; it was too much. It played over and over in your head until it became deafening in the silence of the penthouse. He’d been right about everything. You suddenly understood why he’d tried so hard to keep some distance between you, why he’d never wanted anything beyond the physical. You knew that losing you to illness or old age would kill him.

And you loved him far too much to put him through that.

You were left with only one option; hurt him now to save him from more pain later.

(Or maybe it wasn’t that at all, maybe you were just scared that he was going to hurt you again. As much as you hated yourself for your little admission of love during sex, it still caused your stomach to knot thinking about how he hadn’t said it back. What if he never said it?)

It wasn’t long before you found yourself by the intercom again, pressing the button, waiting for a response and, when you finally heard Lissa’s voice...

“I need my things, I want to leave...”

End Note : 😅😅😅😅 like I said last week 'trust me, I have a plan'. At least they actually got to fuck this time 😅 Also, just as a potential warning, I'm not 100% sure if next weeks chapter will be on time; I'm away for a couple of days and my birthday is next weekend. I have already started chapter 16 though so I will try to get it posted at the normal time. If I can't get it done, I'll post something to let people know and probably try to post two chapters the week after.

Also, I now have an AO3 account (it's hungermakesmonsters) I'm planning on posting things there as well as here but things will probably always end up on tumblr first, so don't feel like you have to follow me there or anything. As always, thanks for all your support and the likes/screaming in the comments/reblogs! Have a great weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl @rachlovesactors @robertthehoover @ladyblacky

@goldenbeskar @mydarlingnana @strwbrrynd @cheshirecat484 @jvanilly

@ashy-kit @jazzclubprincess

In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.

I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!

From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!

I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.

The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.

(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)

If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.

The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.

insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box

add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box

delete -> self explanatory

on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic

The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.

Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.

This is one of my favorite fics so far! I love the way you've written Matt as well, I think it's very accurate, and sweet! Billy needs to get his crap together, cause making Reader miserable isn't helping anyone.

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Fourteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Slight smuttiness and angst that might make you scream. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : I'm dialling the angst up to 11...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Fourteen

Everything changed.

It felt like it had when you’d first taken the job, like you were alone in the penthouse with no idea of where Billy was or if he’d even come home the night before. The only indicator was the blood you left for him; if it was gone, that meant he was home but some days it would collect until there were three or four days worth waiting for him.

Those days were the worst.

You hated not knowing where he was or if he was drinking someone else’s blood, wondering if you weren’t enough for him anymore, if your blood wasn’t enough. If he stopped taking your blood, you knew you’d have no purpose there.

Day after day, your thoughts spiralled, and you hated yourself for how much of your time was spent thinking about him.

Despite her promises, Karen hadn’t been to see you. Instead, when Thursday had rolled around you’d been greeted by a note from Billy, lacking all the charm and feeling of his previous notes.

Karen asked me to let you know that she can’t see you today because of work.

B.

The next week there was a similar note. It made sense, you supposed; she’d missed work to look after you for a week, she probably had to make up for lost time. Or, maybe she just didn’t want to see you again. You wouldn’t have blamed her, not when you’d caused so much chaos in the lives of her and those around her. Either way, it meant you were stuck in the penthouse. Alone.

It wasn’t long before you fell back into old habits, following a little routine every day to try and keep yourself from losing your mind; exercise in the morning, followed by a shower, preparing and cooking dinner, and some reading and baking in between. 

You still sat out in the penthouse during the day, in your favourite spot on the sofa, alternating between taking in the view and reading, but you didn’t dare linger until sunset anymore.

Every few minutes you found yourself looking at your watch, knowing exactly when to head to your room, knowing with almost pinpoint precision how to avoid him. By day the penthouse was yours and, once late afternoon started to give way to evening, it was Billy’s. As it always should have been. As per your contract.

So, when he chose to slip out of his room far earlier than expected, you weren’t sure whether to be shocked or annoyed.

It was the first time you’d seen him since he’d tried to pay you to leave, and being near him again was enough to remind you that that wound still hadn’t started to heal. You tried not to watch as he made his way to the kitchen.

For a moment you waited, expecting him to do whatever he was doing and then return to his room. Only he didn’t and that prompted you to start moving.

“What are you reading now?” He dared to ask, watching you as you closed your book and started to gather up your things.

The question caught you off-guard, it made you think of how things had been only a few short weeks before, it reminded you of all the times you’d sat and discussed literature, the way he’d always wanted to know your thoughts and feelings on whatever you were reading.

But things weren’t like that anymore, and the question felt weighted, like he was trying to draw you back in, even though he’d been the one to try and send you away.

“The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,” you answered, your words coming out sharper than intended, making it sound almost like an insult. And, a moment after you said it you realised how it might seem to him, how he might draw parallels between the book and his own situation.

Billy didn’t respond straight away and you took it as your cue to leave, tucking the book and the pack of Oreos under your bad arm. You heard him sigh as you turned away but didn’t think to look back.

“Hummingbird,” he called after you and, then, your name when that didn’t work, a hint of desperation in his tone.

It made your heart ache.

You kept walking, speeding up, wanting to reach your room and close the door on this uncomfortable experience. But Billy didn’t want to give you that.

Your breath caught and you flinched as his hand wrapped around your wrist, reminding you of the night he’d lost control. Billy noticed your panic immediately and let go of you before taking a step back, giving you a little bit of space but nowhere near what you wanted. It took a moment before you could bring yourself to turn and look at him and, when you did, you found that you hated the look of anguish on his face.

“What do you want, Billy?” You asked, barely holding back a sigh.

“This is unbearable,” he told you.

It was. Everything about the last couple of weeks had been so much worse than you ever could have imagined when you first decided that you were going to stay against his wishes.

You quickly found that you couldn’t look at him, that you didn’t want to see the torrent of emotions from behind his dark eyes.

“This is what you wanted,” you muttered.

“I didn’t want this.”

“No, that’s right, you wanted me gone completely,” you said, your voice betraying the pain you still felt at that fact.

The last thing you expected was for him to take your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Seconds ticked by and he just stared, his gaze seeming to look right through you. His head shook.

“That’s not what I wanted,” he replied softly.

When you tried to look away, his hold remained firm.

“You didn’t want me anymore,” you told him. “You tried to send me away.”

“You think I don’t want you?”

“Of course you don’t.”

His head shook again and, before you realised what he was doing, he’d closed the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. He stepped closer, trying to eliminate the space between you, causing you to step back. Billy didn’t let you pull away from him, continuing to kiss you until you felt the door at your back.

“Billy -” you managed to pull your lips from his for a moment, but anything that followed was quickly muffled by another kiss.

It was easy to surrender to it. Far easier than you would have liked. For a moment you kissed him back, feeling his hand drop from your cheek to your neck, fingers over your racing pulse. He pressed closer, filling you with a longing that you’d been trying so hard to forget. Your lips parted, allowing him to deepen the kiss, allowing him to make you want.

You wanted to melt into him, to lose yourself in his embrace, in his kiss. In him. 

For a few wonderful seconds, you forgot everything that wasn’t him, allowing yourself to believe that the moment would continue to escalate. Your thighs clenched at the familiar press of his erection against your hip, and you let your hand grip his shirt at his waist, not wanting it to end. 

For a moment you felt wanted again, like you could really belong here, in his life. For a moment it almost felt real.

But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not now, not after everything that had happened.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him back. Billy choked back a desperate noise, giving you only a fraction of the space you wanted. His hand remained on your neck, fingers curled against skin, as if wanted to hold onto you in any way that he could.

You watched as his tongue ran over his lower lip as he struggled to find the words.

“Please,” he muttered softly, his voice causing your stomach to knot, “let me...”

He leaned in again and you allowed his lips to ghost yours before turning your head. The shuddered sigh that left him was almost enough to break your heart completely. As much as you wanted to be strong, you wanted to give in just as much. You wanted to close your eyes and let him kiss you, you wanted to pretend that the last few weeks hadn’t happened.

His hands pulled away from you, though not by much. He placed each on the door on either side of your head, keeping you boxed in as he lowered his head in shame.

“I just...” He started and stopped just as quickly.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to know what he wanted to say or how he was feeling. It felt like too much to bear, like you couldn’t carry the weight of your own emotions along with his.

It took a few seconds for you to realise that your hand was still pressed against his chest, over a heart that barely gave a beat.

Finally you shook your head.

“This isn’t fair,” you muttered.

Billy finally dared to look up, the flicker of hope on his face quickly extinguished when his gaze met yours. You didn’t dare ask what he thought you’d meant by the comment but it was clear he now understood what you really meant; he wasn’t being fair.

“I can’t do this again,” you confessed, your voice little more than a whisper, and almost immediately regretted the words when you felt him tense beneath your hand. “It hurts too much when it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“Don’t say that,” he said as his chest lurched. “Of course it means something.”

“It means something now, because you want something now,” you said, trying so hard not to break down completely. “What about tomorrow, or next week, or the next time something bad happens? The next time you decide it’s better for me to not be here anymore?”

The change in him was visceral, his hands finally pulling away from the wall, the corner of his lips curling. When he pulled back, he stood at full height, making you feel impossibly small, practically looking down his nose at you. Gone was the pleading look of desperation and the flashes of shame, leaving a nothingness on his face as he looked at you a moment longer.

It was as if a mask had dropped and you were finally seeing him for the first time. Your hand dropped lifelessly to your side and you bristled, holding your breath and ready to move at a moment's notice. 

But nothing happened.

“Fine,” was all he said before pulling away from you and heading towards the elevator.

You remained pressed back against the door, barely daring to draw breath as he left, running away instead of daring to admit that you were right. Even though you knew it was for the best and that you’d done the right thing, there was a pang of regret deep in your gut and a feeling of inconsolable loneliness that you weren’t sure you could handle.

The next few days, you watched as the blood in the fridge started to pile up, and there was no sign of him in the penthouse. Another Thursday came and, this time, there wasn’t even a note to tell you Karen wasn’t coming. You waited, daring to hope, but by mid afternoon you’d given up on ever seeing her again.

Another week passed and you continued on, refusing to give in and give him what he wanted. You kept drawing blood and leaving it for him, content to fill the whole damned fridge just to prove a point. You weren’t going to stop doing your job just because he’d rejected you. It became something of a passive aggressive statement, making sure you wrote the date on the jar in big, bold numbers, even going as far as to start doodling little smiley faces on them.

You didn’t allow yourself to think about him, to wonder where he was or what he was doing for blood. The thought of him having someone else’s blood still turned your stomach and caused a jealousy inside you that you couldn’t quite temper.

But, when your period hit, you found you couldn’t help but miss him. You missed his notes, his little gifts, and the way he’d always be waiting for you. Now you were alone, with nothing but the stupid bear and stuffed beagle for company. It didn’t stop you from drawing blood, didn’t stop you from doing your job, but it was definitely the closest you got to quitting.

Somehow, you made it through, refusing to feel anything when there were thirteen jars of blood in the fridge. It was just your job to provide blood, you told yourself, if Billy chose to waste it, that was on him.

The only problem, you realised, was the cast on your arm; it had been about six weeks, and you hadn’t seen a doctor since. You knew that, eventually, you’d have to use the intercom and ask Lissa about it if Billy didn’t return, otherwise you could be stuck in the cast for the rest of your year there.

At around ten on Friday evening, you finally heard the sound of the elevator and movement in the penthouse.

You pressed your ear to the door separating your rooms from the penthouse, trying to build up the courage to face him, practising what you were going to say while your hand gripped the door handle. But, then you heard something else; a laugh. A woman’s laugh. Your heart sank at all the possibilities, a thousand terrible scenarios playing out in your head.

Wasn’t this what you wanted? For Billy to give up on you and move on? 

Yes.

No.

Your chest tightened and it got harder to breathe, your stomach threatening to turn itself inside out. You loved him, but he didn’t love you. That  had been painfully clear for weeks now.

He’d found someone else and he’d brought her home. You didn’t know whether to be jealous or worried about what might happen. Would he fuck her? Would he hurt her?

There was only a slight sense of relief when, about twenty minutes later, you heard the elevator again and more voices. Music started playing, like there was a party going on out there - a party that you weren’t invited to.

You moved back to your room, settling on talking to Lissa about your arm and your need to see a doctor, resigning yourself to avoiding Billy for the foreseeable future. You got comfortable and tried to ignore the noise from the party that only seemed to be getting louder and louder as the minute passed.

Less than an hour later, a knock on your door startled you, and you were slow to go and see who it was. Your mind racing over what you might do if it was Billy standing out there, what you might say to him. 

“Hey, there you are,” Karen smiled at you, “we were looking for you.”

Matt was at her side, his arm looped with hers, smiling.

“What?” You answered, obviously confused. 

“At the party. We were looking for you,” Karen stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why are you hiding in here? Aren’t you feeling well?”

“No, that’s not -” you shook your head, more confused than ever, “- I wasn’t invited.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told you, not giving you a chance to protest as she grabbed your arm and started to pull you out of your room. “Of course you’re invited.”

“She dragged me here too,” Matt said, barely holding back a smirk. “It’s best not to fight it when she gets like this.”

“No, wait, you don’t understand -” you protested, voice threatening to break.

They both stopped, attention fully on you. For a moment you felt like you might burst into tears. It was overwhelming. You felt suffocated by the situation. 

There were so many things you wanted to say, so many thoughts and feelings that had been bottled up inside you over the last few weeks, but when your mouth opened, all you were able to say was; “he doesn’t want me out there.” 

“Yeah, well, fuck what Billy wants,” Karen said. “If he has anything to say about it, he can say it to me.”

You relented realising it was futile when she started to pull on you again, leading you out into the penthouse.

The party wasn’t quite what you expected. There was none of the style and propriety of his vampire night party and, instead, it looked more like you’d wandered into a frat party. You glanced around uncomfortably, easily finding Billy in the kitchen with two beautiful women hanging off him and a third looking at him like he was the only other person in the room.

It took a moment or two, but he eventually looked your way. You held his gaze for a split second before his attention returned to his guests, as if you didn’t even exist. As if you didn’t matter. And Karen didn’t miss the exchange.

“Okay, what’s going on?” She asked, finally seeming to understand that something was seriously amiss.

You glanced at Matt who seemed just as interested to hear your answer, even though he didn’t really know all of the details like Karen did. Your cheeks warmed and your gaze dropped.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” you answered with a forced shrug. “We had an argument a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t really seen him since.”

“He’s been avoiding you?” Matt offered.

“He hasn’t even been here,” you answered. 

“Wait, what?” Suddenly it was Karen’s turn to act surprised. “If he hasn’t been here, how did he know you were still sick?”

“What? Still sick? I haven’t been sick...”

Karen looked like she’d been hit by a sudden realisation, the smile dropping from her face completely.

“That son of a bitch...”

Before you could even ask, Karen had let go of your arm and had started striding across the penthouse towards Billy, looking angrier than you’d ever seen her.

“I wouldn’t want to be Russo right now,” Matt muttered under his breath.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“He told Karen that you were sick from the stress of everything that’s happened lately, and that the doctor had recommended complete bed rest,” Matt explained. “We were all kinda worried, so when Karen heard he was throwing a party, she thought that meant you were finally feeling better.”

An awkward sound managed to claw its way from you, something so painful that it almost sounded like a sob. He’d deliberately lied to you. Again. He’d gone out of his way to isolate you, and left you feeling unwanted and alone.

When you took a step back, set on returning to your room, Matt’s hand took yours. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

“He made me think no one wanted to see me...” you muttered in little more than a whisper, not expecting Matt to even hear it over the loud music.

You watched from across the room as Karen stopped in front of Billy, quickly clearing away the women who’d been hanging on his every word. He looked annoyed, then just as angry as Karen. Her finger was jabbing at his chest and your heart nearly stopped when Billy took hold of her wrist to force away her hand. There was no telling where Frank had come from, but the moment Billy laid a hand on Karen, he was at her side making sure Billy didn’t repeat the mistake.

And, while you couldn’t hear what was being said, it was very clear that Karen was explaining what Billy had done to you when all eyes looked your way.

You took another step back and felt Matt’s hand squeeze yours, trying to reassure you.

“I should go, I should -”

“You have every right to be here,” he told you, “he has no right to keep you prisoner.”

It didn’t strike you until Matt said it that that was precisely what Billy had been doing. You’d been willing to agree to the idea of not going out alone, but by stopping anyone from taking you out, he was effectively making you a captive.

Billy’s gaze burned into you for a few moments before returning to Frank and Karen, obviously trying to respond and defend himself from whatever criticisms they were levelling at him.

“I need a drink,” you decided, moving towards the library and pulling Matt along with you.

Billy had a small liquor cabinet in there, no doubt for the rare occasion he worked from home and made use of the desk in the library. You picked the bottle that looked the most expensive, and the most full, before grabbing two glasses, filling one for Matt and then filling one for yourself. He took a drink the moment he had his glass and then let out a huff of laughter.

“I always suspected he was hiding the good stuff.”

His little joke almost managed to bring a smile to your lips.

Ordinarily you didn’t drink whiskey. Growing up it had been classified as a man’s drink, and it wasn’t proper for you to drink it. The moment you took your first sip and felt it burn down the back of your throat, you found yourself almost believing it.

“Oh god,” you muttered, “that’s awful.”

Matt laughed fondly before taking another drink, seemingly unaffected by the burn.

“You get used to it,” he shrugged.

“I’m not sure I want to.” Though that didn’t stop you from taking another large gulp from the glass, coughing as it set your throat ablaze.

Matt was quiet for a few moments before he finally asked; “do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and didn’t say a word.

“Did you shake your head?” He asked a few seconds later, and you realised your mistake.

“Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry,” you said, feeling your cheeks start to burn.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he told you, still smiling at you, like he was glad to just be around you. “I think it might help, though - talking about it, I mean. I think you’ve been in here on your own so long that maybe an outside perspective might help you figure things out.”

There was nothing forceful about his comment, nothing that seemed to suggest he’d keep pushing if you said no. And, after a moment of thought, you wondered if maybe he was right.

So, you started to explain.

You used broad strokes, not giving away any part of things that weren’t yours to tell; you told him how alone you’d felt when you’d first arrived, how you and Billy had bonded over literature, and how spending time together had developed into something more physical. You made sure to tell him that you’d always consented, that you’d wanted it and had even agreed to it being something purely physical. Leaving out mentions of his illness and times he’d lost control.

Once you were done, Matt was silent, thoughtfully sipping his drink.

“You fell for him,” he stated softly, and you didn’t have it in you to argue.

“We agreed it wouldn’t be like that,” you sighed. “He doesn’t know, I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t want me here anymore.”

Again, there was silence. You drained your glass and quickly refilled it, before topping up Matt’s glass for him.

“It’s not your fault, you know?” He offered. “Billy keeping you here, keeping you isolated - that’s on him. Especially since he already knows how it affects you.”

“He’s trying to make me quit...”

“Maybe it’s worth considering,” Matt said, shrugging. “Do you really want to keep doing this? Letting him play these mind games with you?”

“It’s... complicated,” you sighed, knowing better than to tell a lawyer about your predicament. “Anyway, it’s not like he could do anything worse...”

“That’s a terrible way of looking at things,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips that almost had you laughing.

He was right, of course, but the ridiculousness of it all made it funny in an awful sort of way.

Grabbing the bottle again, you decided to take hold of Matt again, telling him that you were going to find Karen and have your own party in your room with Billy’s expensive whiskey, and seemed more than willing to oblige. 

You took a deep breath before stepping out into the party. More people had arrived in the half an hour or so you’d been in the library with Matt, and the party seemed to be in full swing. Looking around, you tried to stop Karen, instead finding Billy, surrounded again by his trio of beautiful women.

As they spoke, one leaned into him, pressing her lip to his, and you felt your heart shatter in your chest. 

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, feeling your arm involuntarily tighten around his.

“Nothing,” you muttered, your eyes fixed on Billy and the woman kissing him, watching her fingers running through his hair and -

The kiss broke and Billy looked your way, an indiscernible look on his face, and you felt sick.

“Come on,” you told Matt, starting to lead him towards your rooms. “Karen can come find us.”

Matt agreed and you quickly pulled him through the door and closed it behind you, not daring to look back at Billy again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked once you were both settled on the sofa in your room.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied, betrayed by your own voice.

You knocked back another drink before refilling both of your glasses, content to sit silently. Matt didn’t try to push for conversation. He was just there. Silently supportive while you tried to rationalise what you’d seen.

Billy wasn’t yours. He didn’t want you. It shouldn’t have mattered that he was kissing someone else. But it did, it hurt so fucking much.

Soon enough your glass was empty again and you could feel the effect of the alcohol. It didn’t numb the pain like you’d hoped, in fact, it seemed to be making it worse. But that didn’t stop you from pouring yourself another.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Matt offered gently, placing his hand on your arm.

“Why did you ask me to go to dinner with you?” You asked abruptly, ignoring his suggestion.

“What?”

“The night we met, you asked me to go to dinner with you... or for coffee...” 

He’d been so kind that night, keeping you company and making sure you felt included, and you - you’d be so caught up on thoughts of Billy that you’d barely noticed. Matt was alway so kind, so attentive, and all you did was think about Billy when you were around him.

“Because I wanted to take you out,” he shrugged.

“On a date?”

“Well, yeah -”

Before he could finish, you let go of your last scrap of common sense and leaned towards him, surprising him with a kiss. Despite being stunned for a moment, Matt didn’t push you away, instead he indulged the moment, letting you deepen the kiss. You quickly lost yourself to it, trying to hide from your pain by pressing yourself closer to him.

“Are you sure you want -” he said against your lips, only to be cut off by another kiss. And it seemed to be all the answer he needed.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but you soon found yourself on your back with Matt on top of you. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingers finding taut muscles as you pulled him closer.

He didn’t kiss like Billy and, when his hands started to explore the curves of your body, you realised that he didn’t touch like Billy either. He didn’t steal your breath away or make you feel like the world could end at any moment.

No matter what he did, or how you tried to lose yourself in the moment, Matt just wasn’t Billy. 

Your hips moved, pressing up against his, moaning into the kiss when you felt his erection.

You weren’t being fair but you were too drunk and heartbroken to care. That is, until his hand slipped into your panties beneath your leggings. Your breath caught, threatening to choke you, but it wasn’t enough to make you stop, even though it was Billy’s fingers you were craving between your legs.

Matt wanted you. Billy didn’t. And that was all you wanted to think about.

You just wanted someone to want you.

His fingers circled your clit, drawing gasped breaths from you, while his other hand had slipped beneath your top to grope your breasts. Your body felt like it was on autopilot, responding because that was what it was supposed to do and not because it desperately needed his touch.

Pulling from the kiss, his lips moved to your neck, and even that made you think of Billy and the way his every touch seemed obsessed with any place he could feel your racing heart.

Your eyes closed tight, trying to think of all the reasons you should want this, why Matt was better for you than Billy, but you couldn’t. In theory, Matt was perfect and, more than that, Matt actually wanted you. But Billy, in all his fucked up glory, was the one you loved so desperately and painfully that you couldn’t even allow yourself to indulge in one moment of pleasure without him.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, no doubt noticing the sudden tension in your body. 

“I -” you needed a second, suddenly feeling on the brink of tears at how awful you were being, “- I’m sorry, I-I can’t do this...”

Matt slowly pulled back, and you could feel the shame burning across your cheeks as you righted your clothes. You hated yourself, hated how disgusting the whole thing had made you feel; he’d been so nice and you’d taken advantage of him. You were no better than Billy.

“I’m sorry, I -”

“It’s okay,” he told you, sounding a little breathless but, surprisingly, not upset. 

“I just -”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said, “I get it, you’re going through a lot right now. We both just got caught up in the moment.”

“Why are you being so nice about this?” You asked in a choked up tone, struggling to keep your emotions in check.

“Because you’ve been through a lot lately and I know none of this has been easy for you.”

You didn’t know what you could say to that. There were no words to excuse what you’d done, but there was something you could say to at least explain it.

“He was kissing someone else.” The words tumbled out and, before you could stop yourself, the tears started to fall.

His arm pulled around you as you started to cry, hating yourself for being so weak, for still caring so much after everything Billy put you through. He muttered softly, trying to comfort you, but there was really nothing he could say or do to stop the tears once they started.

At some point Karen appeared, finding you drunk and sobbing in Matt’s arms, and decided to take control of the situation, ushering Matt from the room. She made sure to make you drink a glass of water before putting you to bed and trying to settle you. She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair out of your face - an act that reminded you of your sister and the gaping hole that she had left in your life.

“You’re going to get through this,” she told you softly. “I promise I’m going to be around from now on. He’s not going to pull this shit again.”

As much as you wanted to believe her, you knew that Billy was going to keep trying to get you to leave. You just weren’t sure how much more you could take.

End Note : 😅 I promise that I have a plan, I just need you all to trust in the process. As always thank you so much for reading/commenting/liking/reblogging. Hope you all have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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This is such a delicious series, kinda scary and uncomfortable at times (I think it's just because Homelander is scary and uncomfortable at times), but I still keep wanting more. I want to see how far Homelander goes, how far off the deep end reader goes, etc. etc.

I can't wait to see more!

Take Care Author! <3

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: "a cigarette pressed between her lips, but i'm staring at her tits, it's the wrong way" - Homelander, probably

Warnings: Masturbation, Explicit Language, General Creepy Behavior, Alcohol Usage, Plus Sized Reader, out-of-date song references.

Summary: Sunday off-work is the perfect time to relax. Unfortunately, your mentor is too interested in shortening that time as much as possible.

Pt.1 Pt.2

Your Instagram account is private, but the flimsy security system paled in comparison to Vaught's cyber team.

 Homelander has put in a special request. Actually carried himself to the lower levels of the Tower, asking one of the insignificant workers for a personal favor. Which they were oh-so-honored to fulfill. He's the Symbol of Peace, a fact everyone, besides you, seemed to understand. And as such, here he sits, spread out like a King on his silken sheets, one hand languidly stroking his length through his briefs, while the other scrolls away on your profile. He's aware of the questioning, that awaits him in the morning. Stillwell knew, he never actually used a phone, didn't need to. But that's a problem for the tomorrow version of himself. There isn't much she can do to stop him, either way. He'll get a slap on the wrist,  perhaps even an exasperated sigh, and he's been dealing with those his whole career. 

You must've had this account for a very long time, because the sheer amount of pictures is staggering. When he first flickered through the entirety of this priceless library, it felt like he hit the jackpot. Photos upon photos of different moments from your life stared back at him, at the shameless display of his interest (which he won't call want, because if he wants something, he gets it, and you're clearly not here). Starting from the very bottom, he began to scroll up, quickly passing at least a dozen pictures of you from your high school years. 

You've always been a little chubster, he laughs quietly to himself, bringing the phone closer to his face. Lights dance across his features, as he watches a short video you've uploaded years ago. It's blurry, the quality is worse than shit, but he can recognize your face through the haze of pixels. A nervous little thing, fidgeting with the hem of your color coded costume. It's some sort of student play, it reeks of amateurism. You're standing by the heavy curtain, knee-high socks digging into the meat of your legs in a way, that is tantalizing even through the screen. Biting your lip, you bounce on your legs, trying to rid yourself of the anxious energy, a habit he's noticed a couple of times now.

And oh, there it is. He recognizes the way you shake your hands, some sort of compulsion moving your limbs, consequently, making your curves jiggle under the costume. And then, you finally notice the camera pointed at you, your friend laughs behind the screen, and for some reason Homelander finds the sound aggravating. But your eyes start to shine, as your lips pull back into a bright, if a bit wavering smile, and you lift up your middle finger. His other hand presses harder against his steadily hardening length. 

Another couple of pictures fly past his eyes. You're showing your hands, dirty with splotches of colorful paint to the camera, and there's that sparkle in your eye again. You're decorating your graduation cap. There's glitter everywhere, in your hair, on your nose, on the tops of your breasts peaking from under a washed out sweatshirt. With a groan emanating from deep within his chest, Homelander's hand sneaks under the waistband of his briefs. 

Really, this whole ordeal started as a way to gather some intel. Genuinely.

 He did not expect to be in this situation, because honestly, what the fuck? The last time he's seen you in person, you were such an interesting enigma, he had to know more, had to figure out how the essence of you worked. Which version of you was the real one? The tired one, who cared for nothing save for her neighbourhood? Or the version, who held his gaze with a straight back? How did you disappear into yourself so quickly, were you putting on a mask, or showing your true colors? 

Who was your favorite Superhero? He was convinced it had to be him, that's why you've been acting so strange around him, a pathetic attempt at fighting off your crush. All in favor of professionalism. 

He huffs a staggering breath, fingers encircling his growing hard-on with light pressure. There's a video of you, again, quite recent at that. You're sitting on the floor, an unfamiliar place, he notes, remembering the look of your living room. Legs splayed out, covered by a flowy skirt, and as his grip tightens, Homelander wonders if you're wearing those same, washed out panties he saw on you the first time you've met. Leaning heavily on the front of an old couch, your entire body overflows with relaxed, leisure energy.

Your friend's hand appears from the edge of the screen, passing you a small box covered in present paper.

- Oh God, what's this? - you ask, your voice slightly distorted by the awful quality of the video.

- Something to hump in the night - your friend answers with a snort of laughter.

You regard them with a skeptically raised eyebrow, but tear into the paper, strips of it falling onto your lap. Then, you open the box, and Homelander groans, his hips lifting ever so slightly from the sheets. Your curious smile fades away into a thoroughly unimpressed expression. Reaching into the box, you lift a small plushie, presenting it to the camera, as your friend shakes with laughter.

- Okay, fuck you - you burst out laughing, the sound rich and so incredibly warm.

There it is, his cartoon face stares back at him, as you squeeze the plushie between your fingers. Fuck. His hand speeds up, and he all but yanks his briefs down, freeing himself and immediately going back to work. 

He zeroes in on the glowing blush, blooming on your face, noting a bottle of red wine right next to you on the floor. It's probably sickly sweet, and cheap. Perfect for you. Perhaps, you're pushed by the alcohol flowing through your veins, but Homelander doesn't believe it. He knows you imagine it's truly him, your favorite superhero, as you giggle and press your soft lips to the embroidered face of the plushie, giving it a loud kiss. 

He can almost imagine the moisture of your tongue on his cheek, the taste of wine mingling with that incessant jasmine perfume, you carry around on your skin. A tease, that's what you are, flaunting yourself in front of him in all your softness, all your glory.

- Fuck... - he grits through his teeth, searing the image into his memory, his other hand squeezing him harder - Shit.

Another picture seems to be from that same night. You're noticeably more disheveled, hair sticking out in odd places, your shirt falling off the shoulder. You're standing under the kitchen light, it shines behind your head like an angel's halo. Arms folded, you gaze tenderly at the gifted plushie, holding it close to your chest as one would a newborn baby, your lips pulled back into a drunken, but gentle smile. 

That, for some unknown reason (or known, Homelander is aware of his vices), makes him tumble over the edge, with a drawn out, guttural groan. His movements stutter, hips jerking upwards into his hand, as he feels his release coat his fingers. For a moment, it's completely quiet inside his penthouse, his chest rising and falling from the exertion. His phone clicks shut, and he throws it onto the pillow with a soft thud, eyes closing for just a second longer, savoring the images flashing behind his eyelids. 

Not enough, after a while he sighs to himself frustrated, wiping his hand on the silk sheets, his dissatisfaction leading him to stand up from the bed, and stalk towards one of the gigantic windows overlooking the city at night. With slow, lazy movements, he tucks himself back into his briefs, closing the zipper of his costume, hand lingering in the general area, should he decide to change his mind. 

The night is growing darker and darker by the moment, but it makes no difference for his unnatural gaze, as he focuses his attention on the street below. There, right at the entrance to the Vaught Tower, he can see the top of your head, standing on the sidewalk, tapping your foot to the music coming from the headphones placed over your ears. Homelander observes as a car pulls up, a shiny Uber sign catching his attention. 

Why the hell would you use such pedestrian ways of commuting is beyond him, especially since Vaught's personal drivers were available to you, should you truly need to go somewhere important. Or, you could ask him to fly you, so he can wrap his arms around you, and fuck you mid-air. Now, that's an interesting image. Interesting enough for his hand to twitch at his side, reaching to his belt as if it's working on autopilot. Before he can get too carried away, however, he composes himself with a hard breath sucked through his teeth. 

Curiosity killed the cat, but he's invincible, so what's the harm in indulging himself a little more?

The window to his room opens all the way inside, cool air wafting around his form, as he steps closer to the edge, his cape billowing behind him. And then, he's off. The force of his body lifting into the sky chips the floor of his penthouse, dust falling into the streets below. 

***

One day, every two weeks. That's all the free time you get, for the next six months. 

Coordinating your attendance at a party with the rest of your friends, while on such a tight schedule, bordered on impossible. But somehow, miraculously, you all managed to find that one, elusive Sunday. And two weeks after signing the contract as well. From the moment you've woken up in the morning, you've been filled to the brim with excited energy. While you've begged your friend not to go too overboard on the celebrations, you knew deep down, that people needed some excuse to unwind. And, as such, your joining with Vaught offered such an excuse on a silver platter. 

The Uber takes you through the city, lights flashing past the windows, as you fidget with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. 

God above, you've missed comfortable clothing with a burning passion. After being sucked into Fireball's hero costume for almost two weeks now, the moment you slipped on your cotton biker shorts felt borderline orgasmic. You tried to advocate for some safety shorts, under that stiff monstrosity of a skirt, the costume department provided you with, after the skin on the inside of your thighs tore nearly all the way to the bone from constant chafing. All you got in response, was a bottle of baby powder with Queen Meave's face on it, which felt more like a slap to the cheek, but you digress. 

You'll ask again after tonight. Stillwell might be more receptive to your ideas, now that you've proven yourself to be a model employee. 

The car moves through your neighborhood, your eyes gliding over familiar buildings with a sense of growing melancholy. You decide to push this feeling all the way down, as far as it can go. Tonight's not made for this, you'll allow yourself the luxury of sadness tomorrow, while fighting off the inevitable hangover.

Right now, you can already hear the music, bumping through speakers which saw better days. You can already see flickering lights inside your friend's house, silhouettes of various people moving behind flimsy curtains. You can already taste the horrendous drinks you're about to down. You've missed this. You've been out of here for only two weeks, and in that short time, all you wanted to do, was get back to the familiarity of your previous, non-famous life. The freedom of being yourself, and not this corporate puppet Vaught created.

The Uber pulls up, you pay, and your foot doesn't even have the chance to fully step on the sidewalk, when your friend drags you out of the car. Their smell, their warmth engulfing you entirely, wiping away any remaining worries. They announce your arrival to the crowd of people, more or less familiar to you, and soon, like a blunt at a function, you're being passed around the room. Smiling faces and words of congratulations overwhelm you in the best way possible. Someone pats your head, someone shakes your hand, someone claps you on the back. Someone pushes a drink into your palm, someone else kisses your cheek. 

And before you can even notice, the first notes of Jump Around by House of Pain start playing, and your friend tugs you by the elbow towards the living room, where the center of the party takes place. Bodies swaying, colognes, perfumes, sweat, it all mixes together in an intoxicating wave, and at that very moment Fireball is thrown out the window, locked out of this heaven. In her place, Smirnoff arises, victorious for tonight, and you welcome yourself back with open arms. 

Alcohol swishes around in your veins, a peculiar mixture of lemonade, Sprite and four different types of liquors. Your head is buzzing with the distorted sounds of bass, shaking the glass panes of the windows, your heart beating to the changing tune of another song. And another. And one more. Your hairdo is long forgotten, strands sticking to your sweaty forehead, to the back of your neck. Your voice is almost completely gone, from screaming over the surrounding sounds, and you're certain you won't be able to talk tomorrow.

 But that doesn't matter. Nothing matters, not here, not right now. 

At California Love you find out a group of your college girlfriends qualified for a Vaught sponsored scholarship program. Their hands glide over your waist, as they scream the news at you over 2Pac's voice, and you throw your head back and laugh. Simply laugh. Relief floods you. A feeling you were not expecting, because they're honoring the contract, despite everything you've always known about the company. So it's all worth it.

During Hey Ya!, your neighbor tells you they've managed to score a job at the Tower. The news is interrupted a couple of times, so you all can clap to the music. At this point your muscles are starting to burn from the constant jumping, but that doesn't stop you from shaking your behind in celebration, just like OutKast wanted. 

When No Diggity comes around, your friend invites you to their wedding, requesting specifically for you to come in your Superhero getup. Not really as an appreciation of Fireball's character, they just think it would be funny, and for them, you might actually consider it. They show you the ring, as you both grind against each other, make a pause in said grinding to take a burning shot of Fireball (yes, they thought it would be hilarious), and get back to grinding. 

You're doing good, everyone is doing good, and if selling your soul is all it takes to keep those smiles on your friend's faces, then the price seems comically small in comparison. And yet, something tugs at  the back of your mind, some hidden, biting feeling, wrenching itself under your skin.

By the time No Role Modelz comes up, your head feels so heavy, so filled to the brim with emotions, that you feel like the splintered floor inside your friend's living room will swallow you whole. Suddenly, it's all too much, and far too quickly, and you push past the crowds of oh-so-grateful people, until you all but throw yourself out the front door, half of your drink spilling onto the wooden porch. 

Such a waste.

Smirnoff, oh, Smirnoff, what have you done to yourself, you thins, stumbling through the grass, until your shoes find the sidewalk. Until your ass hits the concrete, and you lean heavily forward, bracing your hands on your knees, hiding your face in your arms. Your stomach feels much too tight for comfort, its contents swirling like a tornado. The music still follows you, the sounds of the party now muted, but still so tangible. Your stomach churns, your eyes start to burn under the mascara.

You won't cry. You can't cry. 

This is what you wanted, those were your terms, you don't get to swallow your own words. Especially since Vaught, apparently, is honoring their end of the deal. And if you were roped into it by an indirect blackmail... Then, so what? Your friend would never be able to afford a wedding, and now they have a date. They're looking at dresses in actual salons, not charity shops. Missus Johnson's kid's school got enough funding, that it's finally getting a whole renovation. Even the drama departament will get some money. You can never cry because of that. 

You don't even know what you're drinking, but you down the rest of it in one go, liquid burning it's way through your insides, until it reaches the already restless stomach. Fireball will surely pay for Smirnoff's sins tomorrow, but fuck that fake bitch, you want to feel alive. 

The song changes again, and you wait until the screams of delight subside inside the house, so you can recognize what's playing. Berkeley's On Fire. It makes you huff a laugh, as you hear a myriad of out of tune voices, yelling at the top of their lungs. You should go back, join them, enjoy this night to the fullest. But your head sways, and your limbs feel like your bones are made out of lead, so you stay in your place, tapping your foot to the distant sounds of the party. It's hard to focus on anything for longer than a minute, and, fearing an upcoming wave of anxiety, you reach into your pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. 

"Put your pom-poms down, you didn't win shit" 

Oh, ha ha, hilarious.

You light one up with practiced ease, inhaling enough smoke to make your lungs burn, make your eyes line with tears, that you simply refuse to shed. Breathing out a cloud of fumes, you relish in the way they curl around your head, the smell both irritating your senses, and calming them. 

- You know these will kill you, right?

Your head snaps up, and as your eyes adjust against the darkness of the night, your breath catches in your throat. Admittedly, before your tipsy brain catches up, the view is quite spectacular. Surrounded by his American flag cape, Homelander descends from the night sky, his movements unnaturally graceful. His feet touch down onto the concrete in front of you, the street lamp illuminating his imposing figure, like a Patron Saint of The American Dream. He's almost beautiful like that, almost enough to fool you. But suddenly the realization of what exactly you're looking at, hits your like a train, and every muscle in your body tenses up, as you stand up quickly, taking a few stabilizing steps. Homelander's face blurs before your very eyes.

Perhaps those last two shots were a mistake. 

- What the fuck are you doing here? - your words come out with a slur, but your voice remains strong, demanding - Are you stalking me?

The illusion is gone with a blink of an eye, and you watch, as his face twists, in what you think is supposed to be an expression of nonchalance. He's really, truly, not as good of a liar as he thinks he is. 

- What? - he scoffs, sells it harder by looking at you like you're insane - No, no way. I have better things to do than stalk little girls like you.

He did not just call you little girl after repeatedly staring at your boobs, like they were ornaments on a Christmas tree. Your irritation flares up, and with a frown you take a quick, steadying drag from your cigarette. Your head sways to the side before you can stop yourself, as nicotine dances with alcohol within your system, his eyes follow the movement with light amusement.

- I was just on my patrol, and saw you sitting here alone - he continues, taking one step closer - Can't a hero check on his favorite Sidekick?

You throw him a withering look, one he brushes off with a (fake) charming smile. 

- Whatever, I'm not dealing with all this tonight - you wave your hand in his general direction.

Still holding your cigarette like a lifeline, you squat down, only to plop your ass back on the sidewalk with a heavy sigh. Homelander watches you with a mixture of emotions swimming through his eyes, and you can't decide which one would be better. Disgust might've been the safest. If he felt appalled by you, perhaps he would just leave you alone, let you slump down on your own. Amusement offered more risks, because you suspected the man was constantly fighting off bouts of boredom (much like yourself, but you were not about to think too hard about it in your current state, or any state, ever). You didn't want to catch his interest, at least not more than you've already done. And then, there was something else, something you were not naive enough to ignore, but definitely too drunk to get scared by. 

- You shouldn't be sitting here alone - he comments, taking another step forward - Someone might take advantage of a pretty girl like you, in such a vulnerable state at that. 

- Someone other than you, you mean? 

You're not sure what pushes your tongue to form the words in such a challenging, flippant manner, but it's too late now. Hanging your head low, you blow out another cloud of smoke, and his eyes follow the fumes, as they curl around your mouth. 

He's never considered smoking to be remotely attractive, but as he stands now, there's something alluring in your rebellious gesture. Usually, he wouldn't tolerate any of this, he's had people removed for far less. And yet, it's been such a long time, since he felt any sliver of entertainment, especially now, after his relationship with Meave ended. 

There is a groan coming out of your lips, and he watches as your body tips, back splaying on the sidewalk. It's instinctual, the way his tongue slips out to wet his lips, at the sight of your soft body molding itself into a laying position. This, borderline offensively, large T-shirt, spills around you, the ghost of your curves peaking at him through the thin cotton material. The hem rides up your plush thighs, exposing those ridiculous biker shorts below, as they dig ever so slightly into your skin. He can imagine the red lines, that would run across your flesh, where the stitches make their mark. He'd like to feel those ridges, map them out with his fingers, his tongue. 

He blinks, frowns, pushing those thoughts down, so he can replay them in the privacy of some unfortunate skyscraper. 

- Why aren't you at the party? - he asks finally, even though he knows the answer. 

He's been watching from the very begining, hidden from a regular human's sight, surrounded by darkness like it belonged to him. Rubbed a quick one to the sight of you dancing, your smile so bright, it almost blinded him. 

You're silent for a little while, eyes closed, as you soak in the warmth from the sidewalk, seeping into your back. The cigarette in your hand is burning, seemingly forgotten, ash gathering at the end, before it breaks off, and falls unceremoniously. 

- I needed some fresh air - not entirely a lie, but not the whole truth either.

Your voice is so quiet, with this tired edge he's noticed before. Like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. He should feel insulted, really. Here he is, slaving away for the same company as you, saving insignificant lives, securing the budget. And what are you doing, exactly? Get wasted the first chance you can, and piss him off with this holier-than-thou bullshit. Acting like you're such a martyr, while getting a check that would make half this neighbourhood shit their pants. The absolute audacity of you, pretending to be tired, to be so bored, when he's standing right here. Your favorite hero.

Quietly, he bristles, blinking a couple of times, to rid himself of this incessant, stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes. When was the last time he's felt this... Aggravated? 

- I think I'm gonna head back to the Tower - you muse after a moment, the way your chest rises and falls capturing his gaze immediately - I've had enough for tonight. 

His eyebrows scrunch at the sudden note of melancholy entering your voice, but he swallows his intrigue, taking on a more nonchalant persona. 

- I could fly you back.

Silence. Your eyes shoot open, as you look at him with an unreadable expression, and he rolls his shoulders under your scrutiny. This is definitely one of the things he hates about you the most. This keen sense of observation. Suddenly, he feels the padding inside his suit a tiny bit more on his skin.

- What? - he asks, trying to sound casual, but you could pick up on the tension in his voice immediately.

- You're really giving me some mixed signals - you muse, the corner of your mouth twitching in a way that is more enchanting, than he would ever anticipate. 

While your words come out quite evenly, the swaying instability of your body, as you try to stand, betrays just how drunk you really are. For what it's worth, Homelander finds it endearing. The way you have to take a couple steps to steady yourself, refusing with a burning passion to even consider holding onto him for support. He wants to scoff so badly, at this pathetic display of independence. Shouldn't you want to put your hands all over your favorite Superhero? 

He opts for staying quiet, however, betting everything on your pliability. 

- I'm giving you mixed signals? - he huffs, bordering on offended, recounting all of your previous interactions.

- Well, yes - you take a step closer, back as straight as it can go, and his nose is assaulted by the smell of jasmine flowers and cigarettes - Since I've met you, you've been trying to charm me, threaten me, all the while harassing me like we're in fucking high school.

Homelander shrugs, waving his hand in your direction, as if trying to swat an annoying fly. And in many ways, that's how he sees you. An annoying, infuriating fly, with a nice pair of tits that you just refuse to share with him. And that just won't fly (he's proud of that joke). 

- Oh don't be so dramatic - he laughs, the sound forced through his teeth - Everyone knows you have to hassle the newbie a bit...

The sound of your laughter is strange to his ears, despite hearing it many times before, albeit, never directly. A cackling, casual sort of chuckle, which shakes your entire being, and brings something strange swirling in his gut. He would never describe this something as a feeling, because this is not some teenage romance drama. But he would like to hear you laugh again, if only to satiate his hunger for any sort of reaction. The fact it's a positive reaction has nothing to do with this, by the way. 

- That's the weirdest fucking hazing, I've ever experienced, then - you muse, a ghost of a smile still present on your lips, as you close the distance between yourself and Homelander, in a couple more steps, than what's necesary - Would you really fly me back to the Tower?

- Of course, Princess - he flicks your chin with his finger, revelling in the way your head bounces back - Consider it an apology, for makin you uncomfortable before. 

For now, you're willing to overlook the nickname, which surely could be considered a term of endearment, if any other person would use it. You mull over his words, looking at him for a moment longer, your eyes flickering all over his features. Even despite the overwhelming darkness surrounding the two of you, his pupils are so small, for a moment all you can see is the ever-consuming blue. He's handsome, of course he is. A bit too America's Sweetheart for you, but objectively, you were staring at a very attractive man. Who, by all intents and purposes, looks sincere in his offer. 

So you shrug.

- Alright - his smirk widens into a smile, those sharp canines making an appearance - So, how do we do this...? 

You look between him and yourself, and Homelander bites his lip, putting his hands on his hips, as he eyes you for a second longer.

- Put your arms around my neck - his voice is quieter, much lower as well, something which, in hindsight, you shouldn't have overlooked.

You do as he asks, stepping even closer, and wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling more than a bit awkward as you do. It's quiet for a second too long, his chest exapands, brushing against yours. But just as you're about to say something, Homelander's hands grab you tightly around your waist, bringing your bodies flush together. 

And then, the rush of air forces your eyes closed, this unfamiliar feeling of your feet suddenly being very much not on the ground, making your heart drop to the very bottom of your shoes.

- Fuck! - you curse loudly.

Instinctually, your legs wrap aound his midsection, as your calves dig themselves into his sides. You can't look. Refuse to, and with an unbecoming sound, you hide your face in the space between his collarbones, the cologne he seems to constantly wear pacifying your nerves for just a fraction. 

And. He. Fucking. Loves. It. 

The lightness of air surrounds him, making his senses even more acute. Your weight, your soft, pliable body, pressed so tightly to him, he thinks he might get absorbed completely. It's so much better, than what he has imagined. Your fingers grab onto the back of his collar, nails biting into the fabric, so close to digging themselves into his skin. Your chest rises in short, panicked breaths, and he feels every single one of them, wants to crawl into your chest and suck the air straight out of your lungs. The heat of your body alone makes his head spin with dark arousal. And your legs are already in position too. It would so childishly easy, to just take you here, under the night sky. 

- Are we there yet? - your voice borders on a pathetic whine, and the sound runs straight to his nether regions, the pants of his suit tightening on command.

Any building would do, he thinks, as he cuts through air over New York. He could land right there, on the rooftop of this sandwich shop you run off to, every time there's a lunch break. And fuck you, until you'd never want to eat in this disgusting, dirty, cockroach-infested place ever again. Or here, just outside the Vaught Tower, where you oh-so-rudely refused to ask him for help, only to cram your delicious body into an Uber. He'll have to punish you for this oversight.

- We're so close - he smirks into your hair, taking a whiff of your scent as he goes. 

Or, he could follow his original plan, and screw you on every flat surface inside his penthouse. 

The window is still wide open, and he slows down his flight, as he aims for the entrance. His arms tighten around you ever so slightly. There wouldn't be much he could do with you, if you knocked your head on the glass pane, and as if responding to his touch, your own grip becomes even more suffocating. If he was a regular human, he's sure, you'd squeeze the life out of him. And then, amidst flying papers and the overpowering smell of his cologne, everything stops. 

Neither of you move. You're too shaken by the flight to detach yourself from him, and he abuses that fact for all it's worth. His lips pull back into a sharp, dangerous smile. Unknowingly, you've just let a Lion carry you right into his den. 

The angst in this chapter, was absolutely DELICIOUS! Im absolutely desperate for more, I love this fic so much!

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Thirteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG-13

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Just so much angst. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : Sorry not sorry?

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Thirteen

You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t relax. 

You tried, for the sake of Karen and Frank who seemed to watch your every little twitch and movement as you got up to refill your coffee mug or to look out of the window. Karen had suggested going out for breakfast, reminding you that Billy wouldn’t be awake for hours, and Frank gave a grumbled agreement, obviously wanting the pair of you gone so he could sleep through the day. But you weren’t hungry and you didn’t want to go out.

She tried again at lunch time and received the same response, but, since you hadn’t eaten, she managed to guilt you into going to the little diner down the street for an hour. You could tell that she was nervous, almost as if she knew something that you didn’t - but, of course she did. She’d spent the evening with Frank and he’d probably told her exactly what was going on

It was a feeling that soon started to gnaw at you, wondering what the pair of them had spoken about after you’d gone to bed, hating that she knew more about the situation than you did.

When you got back to the penthouse, you went back to your rooms, showering and using washing your hair as an excuse to get some space, the whole process taking longer than usual because of your broken arm. 

Then you drew blood for Billy, wanting everything to be ready for him when he got up, some part of you hoping that things could go back to normal straight away.

It wasn’t until you reached the fridge that you noticed all of the blood you’d put in there over the last few days was gone. Had he had it all last night or had Frank gotten rid of it? 

You returned to your room until Karen called you out to the penthouse just as the sun was starting to set.

Nerve quickly took hold, no longer sure what you wanted to say to Billy. You just wanted to see him, know that he was alright, the rest could come after that. You took a deep breath before stepping out into the penthouse, expecting to find him there waiting. He wasn’t.

“He’s waitin’ for you in the library,” Frank told you before you could ask. “Wants a quick word before we head to the office.”

“He’s going back to work?” You asked, confused.

It shouldn’t have shocked you, it had been almost two weeks since he’d last gone in, but the state he was in last night made you wonder if it was really the right decision. Frank didn’t offer you any explanation or reassurance, he just shrugged.

You decided it was best to talk to Billy about it, and quickly started towards the library, wanting nothing more than to be able to talk to him and finally get some answers to all the questions you’d been struggling with over the last few days.

He was standing near the window, looking out at the view when you entered, all dressed up in a dark charcoal suit, ready for work. 

Your breath caught when he finally turned to look at you and you felt your heart start to beat a little faster, and you couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something else that was causing it.

You took a few steps towards him, the corner of your lips pulling upwards, happy to be with him again, despite the circumstances. But, when he noticed how close you were getting, he seemed to bristle.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” He said, his voice measured giving a false air of calm.

You frowned, hesitating for a second, wanting to move closer to him, not further away. But, after a moment, you did as you were asked and took a seat on the worn leather sofa. For a few seconds you watched him, expecting him to come and sit with you, or at least move a little closer, but he didn’t.

“I want to start by saying I’m sorry,” he continued speaking in that same tone, sounding almost distant, cold. “I never should have put you in that situation, and I’m sorry that you were hurt.”

“No, Billy, that’s not -” you weren’t sure what you wanted to say to him, but he didn’t give you the chance to finish.

“I realise now that I’ve been selfish. I’ve been putting you in danger, over and over again, and it needs to stop.”

Dread filled you, your heart feeling like he’d reached into your chest and taken hold of it, squeezing it uncomfortably, causing it to stutter. Your lungs burned, refusing to draw breath. You shook your head, trying to convince yourself that he didn’t mean what you thought that he meant, but he soon confirmed all your fears.

“I took advantage of you - I can see that now, and I really am sorry,” he carried on in that same empty tone, barely looking at you enough to see that there were tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “I understand that you rejected the offer Lissa extended on my behalf, but I’m willing to double it. I know it doesn’t make up for the pain I’ve caused you but -”

“You’re paying me to go away?” Your voice broke and the first tear fell.

“No, that’s not - I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

You held up your broken arm, making sure he looked, making sure he acknowledged what he’d done to you. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Billy paled at the comment, taking a step back and letting out a ragged breath.

“Can’t you just -”

“What? Go quietly? Leave so you can pretend this never happened?” You answered back, anger quickly mixing with the hurt. You sniffled, trying so desperately to stay in control of yourself. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you got hurt - I hurt you. More than once. It’s better for both of us if you go.” Finally, there was a break in his tone, actual emotion starting to seep through. You could tell that he was upset, that he was angry and annoyed but, more than that, you could tell he was just as lost as you were.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere. You asked me to stay. You made me want to stay with you,” you told him defiantly, watching as your words hit home. “You don’t get to make me feel like... like this and then send me away.”

“You’re not -”

“How is it better for me, Billy? How is being on my own with nowhere to go better?” The panic was quick to mix with the hurt in your tone, your heart racing a mile a minute.

He gave a heavy sigh, fingers tearing through his hair. “What do you want from me? I’m trying to make this easier for both of us.”

“You’re trying to make it easier for you. I don’t need easy, I want honesty. I want to know what’s going on.”

“You want honesty?” He almost laughed. “You mean like you’ve been honest with me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know about your fiance.”

You could have screamed. You very nearly did scream. “He is not my fiance. I told you - I told you what my parents are like. I will never marry that man after what he did to me.”

The change in Billy was almost instant, a familiar spark in him that seemed to ignite just at the suggestion that someone had hurt you in any way. If nothing else, it was reassuring to know that some part of him still cared, even if he was doing all he could to bury that part and forget all about it.  

“You told me I got to have a choice here. Well this is my choice, Billy; I’m staying,” you told him, getting to your feet. “If you want me gone, you’re going to have to fire me. It should be easy for you, you’ve made me break enough of your rules...”

“You’d make me do that? Fire you and kick you out with nothing?” He asked, trying to make you see how ridiculous you were being.

You shrugged. “If I leave here I’ll have nothing anyway.”

“You’d have money, enough to start a new life, enough to -”

“I don’t want your money and I don’t want a new life,” you almost shouted. “I want my life. I want the life I get to choose.”

“Then you need to start making better choices,” he finally snapped, the forced calm gone from his voice completely and leaving behind nothing but frustration. “Because, this thing that’s wrong with me... there’s no fixing it, it won’t get any better, and the next time you might not get away with just a broken arm and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“And how am I supposed to know about any of that when you won’t talk to me? When you always try to run away every time things get hard?” You asked, your own tone turning just as fraught. “You let me think I was helping, that I could help you. You made me feel like I mattered and now you’re just throwing me away.”

“You do matter. All of this is because you matter.”

You watched as he fought against himself, taking a step towards you then turning away, looking as lost as you felt in all of this. More than anything, you wanted to go to him, to just wrap your arms around him and not let go, but you knew that wouldn’t solve anything.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, “tell me why you’d rather send me away than let me stay. Tell me what happened that night.”

When he looked back, there was anger and discomfort written across his face and something else too. Hatred. He hated that you were doing this to him and it was almost enough to make you feel sick. But, at that moment, you hated him a little too. You hated all of this and everything he was trying to do.

Billy took a slow breath, his jaw clenching before he finally started to speak.

“I went looking for Krista...”

“Did you -” you faltered, not sure how to ask the question, “- you were covered in blood, was that...?”

Billy shook his head. “It was mostly mine.”

Even though you’d asked the question, once you had the answer you wished that you hadn’t. You didn’t ask the obvious follow up, instead you nodded and waited for him to continue.

“The thing that I have - the sickness - she has it too. I didn’t realise until I saw her lose control.” He paused for a moment, taking a breath. “It’s a disease,” he continued, his voice low, “it takes every vampire impulse and makes it impossible to control. It silences every part of us that’s still human.” 

“How do you get it?” You asked quietly, needing to find out everything you could.

“You either get it from the person who turns you, or by being fed on by someone carrying it. It stays dormant in humans and only becomes active if they’re turned.”

You listened carefully, absorbing what he told you, still trying to make sense of it all.

“But Frank -”

“No, Frank doesn’t have it,” he answered before you could even finish.

“Then, how?”

The air between you became suddenly tense and you could tell from the look on Billy’s face that he really didn’t want to talk about it. At any other time you would have withdrawn the question, not wanting to see him looking so uncomfortable, but you knew that you might never get another chance like this to find out what was going on with him.

“When I was a kid,” he offered before pausing, as if he was considering leaving the story there, before continuing. “There was a guy who used to volunteer in the evening at the group home. At first he seemed cool, letting us stay out late playing hoops and stick ball, but then he -”

Billy stopped and you watched him almost twitch at the memory. You didn’t ask him to carry on, you could already guess. Only, you soon realised, that that was only scratching the surface. 

“Turned out he liked the kids more than he let on,” Billy finally carried on, and the sick feeling in your stomach only got worse, “he told me I was pretty and broke my arm when I told him that I wasn’t interested in those kinds of games, then he bit me.”

“Billy, I...” your voice was little more than a whisper, your head spinning. Was he comparing himself to the man who’d hurt him? Was that why he was so set on you leaving? You looked down at your own broken arm and shuddered.

“He only fed on me a couple of times, but it was enough to infect me,” Billy went on. “I didn’t find out until a month or so after I was turned... I completely lost control. Frank nearly had to kill me to stop me.”

“And Krista... did you -”

“No, I never bit her...” he was quick to answer, but there was a strange hint of guilt in his voice.

“Then how?” 

“Layla...” he said, awkwardly swallowing. You’d heard that name before. “She was the one before Krista and I -”

He didn’t need to say it, the look on his face told you everything that you needed to know.

“You turned her?” You asked and he nodded, looking physically sick. “By accident?” He nodded again.

“Krista must have found her after I fired her. I don’t know if they’re working together but Layla must have turned her...” Billy let out a sigh. “Krista wants to ruin my life and she knows that you’re the way to do it. She triggered the thing inside me when she told me about your fiance. And when I saw you that night...”

Mine. That’s what he’d said to you, just before hurting you. He’d been claiming you. (Maybe he hadn’t been trying to hurt you after all - though that seemed like a very dangerous thing to think given the circumstances.)

Silence filled the room for at least a minute as you tried to think of the right words to say. You didn’t want to think the worst of him, even now, but you were starting to see the havoc he’d caused in so many lives. Maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault, but you were so tired of trying to think of excuses for him.

Finally, you had your answers, but they brought you no comfort. In fact you felt worse for knowing; you felt empty, hollowed out. It felt like he was telling you because he was drawing a line beneath whatever you had been, like it didn’t matter if you found out because you’d be gone soon.

“Is there a cure? A way to treat it?” You asked.

“There isn’t,” he answered, “I’ve spent the last fifteen years looking for one.”

“But -” 

“There’s no fixing it. There’s no making any of it any better,” Billy sighed. “So it’s better for both of us if you just take the money and go because there’s no happy ending here, not if we’re together.”

“There’s no happy ending if I go either,” you told him with a sniffle. “If I leave I’ll end up right back where I started, with the man my parents practically sold me to. A man who doesn’t care about giving me a choice...” 

Billy awkwardly swallowed, trying to get rid of a lump in his throat, his hands clenching to fists at your words.

“You don’t have to go back to them. You could go anywhere.”

“They’d find me,” you muttered, starting to feel numb and cold, like he’d reached inside of you and scooped out all the hope and joy. “I was lying to myself thinking I could get away from them...”

“I could -”

“If you’re sending me away, I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you.”

“But -”

“No,” you sighed, finally resigned to what this was. You forced yourself to look at him, despite the tears in your eyes. “You’re not going to change my mind. I’m not leaving unless you make me leave. If you don’t want to see me or have anything to do with me, that’s fine; I’ll do my job and stay out of your way. But I’m not leaving until my contract ends.”

“What if I -” he tried, starting to get frustrated again.

“It’s not a negotiation, Billy,” you told him, managing to sound firm despite the way your heart was racing. “Besides, you said yourself that you keep doing this with the women who come to work for you. What sort of person would I be if I walked away now and let you move on to the next poor girl?”

It was a low blow, and you didn’t want to be cruel, but what Billy was doing hurt and you’d be damned if he got you to leave just so he could move on to the next one.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Why? Because this meant something to you?” You shook your head. “Don’t bother, Billy. I get it. I’m just one in a long line of women naive enough to think you could love them.”

“I’m not doing this because I don’t care.”

“How many times have you said those words? How many times have you brought someone into your home and made them care about you?” You asked but quickly shook your head, not wanting to know the answer. “You told me that you’d never been wanted, but I’m starting to think that was just a line. I think you make people want you and then you push them away because it scares you. I wanted you. I wanted to stay - here, after, with you, just like you asked.”

You started to move towards the door, your hand scrubbing at your cheeks, wanting to wipe away any sign of tears before you had to face Karen and Frank again. Stopping just shy of the door, you turned back to him.

“You could’ve talked to me about this, you could have given me a real choice before we started this instead of letting me think I was helping you,” you told him, desperately trying to hold yourself together. “Broken bones heal, but what you’ve broken today? That’s going to hurt for the rest of my life.”

“Wait -” you heard him as you reached for the door handle.

You didn’t stop, didn’t even turn to hear him out, you knew he was just going to hurt you more. There was movement behind you, but you didn’t wait, walking out into the penthouse to find Karen and Frank waiting for you. 

They were sitting together on the sofa but both stood the moment you emerged, Karen giving you a sympathetic look as you wiped your eyes. You almost expected Billy to follow after you, almost hoped that he would, but he didn’t and that was all the sign you needed that you’d just done the right thing.

“You can come stay with me, we’ll get your things and -” Karen started, already stepping towards you.

“What?” You asked before realising what was going on. They were in on it. Karen and Frank both knew that Billy had been trying to get rid of you, and they’d both gone along with it. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the penthouse for a few seconds, all eyes on you.

“Damn it,” Frank grumbled, “did he not explain to you that -”

“He did,” you interrupted, “and I explained to him that if he wants me gone, then he’s going to have to fire me.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Frank...” Karen tried to calm him down.

“Can’t you see what you’re doin’ to him?” He said, as if he thought he could make you feel guilty after everything Billy had said and done. He couldn’t.

“I’m not doing anything to Billy that he didn’t do to me first,” you answered back, feeling a little bolder than usual. Maybe it was because everything already hurt so much that you couldn’t even bring yourself to care what might happen if you upset a vampire like Frank. 

He looked ready to say something when Karen put her hand on his arm. For a moment more, he stared at you, before huffing. 

“Can you talk some fuckin’ sense into her?” He grumbled at Karen before heading to the library.

You almost let him walk by without further comment, but you found you just couldn’t help yourself. “We were fine until the party. If you want to blame someone for this, maybe you should look at yourself. You’re the one that made him doubt himself...”

Frank paused for a moment and your heart rate spiked as he glared at you. It was almost enough to have you shrinking back, feeling like you’d pushed a little too hard. He shook his head before storming into the library.

Karen let out a sigh before stepping towards you, trying to usher you into your rooms. You went, but not because that was where she wanted to go.

“I know what you’re going to say,” you sighed, walking into your room and heading towards the window, looking out at the city at night. “And you’re not going to change my mind.”

Out in the penthouse, you heard the sound of the elevator; Frank and Billy were leaving.

“Can you at least tell me why you’re doing this? I get that you have feelings for him, but -”

“It’s not that. I’m not staying because I think I can change his mind or make him care about me,” you told her, giving a defeated shrug. “It just... it took so much out of me to leave everything behind and come to New York. I finally got used to being here - I like being here - I can’t just walk out on the only place I’ve ever felt comfortable.”

“You don’t have to leave New York. You have friends here, people besides Billy,” Karen offered softly. 

“It’s not enough, you won’t be able to stop them from taking me back when they find me. I’m safer here than I would be anywhere else.”

“Who is this guy that you’re so scared of?” Karen finally asked the million dollar question.

The question was followed by a long silence, making it clear that you didn’t want to tell her, but Karen didn’t move, didn’t try to change the subject or carry on the conversation. She was waiting for an answer and, it seemed, she would wait as long as it took to get one.

“He’s a very old and very powerful vampire,” you finally answered. “He’s part of a criminal organisation called the Maggia.”

When you heard Karen take an awkward breath, you knew that you didn’t need to explain any more than that, in her work she’d no doubt heard of the organised crime network that spanned the whole globe. 

It felt strange to finally say it, to finally admit just how screwed you were. Honestly, you thought that it would feel different, to expose what you were running from, but you just felt tired and resigned. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

“And your parents owe him money,” she stated and you nodded. “So, what was your plan? Use the million dollars Billy is going to pay you to disappear or were you going to try and pay him back?”

You pressed the heel of your palm to your eye, feeling fraught and exhausted. “I don’t have a plan. I could never raise what my parents owe and, at this point, I don't think he'd let me just pay him off.”

It sucked to finally say those words out loud and admit to yourself that you really didn’t know what you were doing. You’d come to New York with the hopes that you could disappear, that a million dollars would be enough to vanish completely but if you’d learned one thing from Madani it was that you were easy to find. Too easy.

“I thought that I’d have it all figured out by the end of my year here but maybe I won’t. So,” you shrugged again, “if I’m going to end up back there with him, I’d rather spend the rest of the time I have here feeling comfortable and safe, hoping that he doesn’t find me until my year is up.”

“You don’t have to let that happen, we could -”

“Please, don’t tell Billy,” you begged. “I don’t want his pity.”

“It’s not pity. He could help. We all could. You’ve got friends here.”

“No, Frank was right - I just make things worse for everyone - and I don’t want to do that anymore,” you told her. “If you’re really my friend, please don’t tell him. Don’t tell Frank. Don’t tell anyone. If you do, I’ll have to leave.”

It was a childish threat but one you knew you’d follow through on; you didn’t want Billy to know. You didn’t want his pity, didn’t want him to know what awaited you.

“You can’t just give up.”

“Why not? Billy already gave up on me,” you muttered, not wanting to feel sorry for yourself but finding it almost impossible.

“That’s not what happened. He cares about you, he wants to keep you safe. That’s why we all thought it would be best if you left.”

You looked at her for a moment, sure that she believed every word she was saying. But you knew better than that, you’d looked him in the eyes as he said it, as he pushed you away to protect himself, because he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of his actions.

“It doesn’t matter. Billy made his choice, and it wasn’t me.” 

“I know that’s how it probably feels -”

“That’s how it is. He wants to send me away so he can forget all about me,” you interrupted, somehow managing to keep a neutral tone despite the fact that your heart was breaking.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Karen decided. “Whether you stay here with Billy or not, I’m not going to let them take you back home.”

A sigh slipped out and you nodded, managing something of a smile. You knew that she meant well, but you already knew that there was nothing she could do to help. Now there was no chance of you staying with Billy, enjoying the protection that he could offer, you knew that you’d eventually end up right back where you started.

“Now that everything's back to normal, you don’t have to stay,” you told her. “You can go back to your life...”

“I can stay a few more days,” she offered.

“No, I -” you let out a sigh, “- I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I think it’d be easier for everyone if we all just got back to normal.”

Only, you knew that it wasn’t going to be normal for you, not when Billy wanted nothing to do with you. You were going to have to get used to being alone again.

Without warning, Karen pulled you into a hug and held you tight. You drew a shuddered breath, lightly wrapping your good arm around her, knowing she was trying her best to comfort you, even though you felt inconsolable. She held on for a few seconds before finally pulling back.

“Are you sure?” She asked and you nodded. “I’ll still see you on Thursdays,” she promised. “I’ll make arrangements with Billy so you can have a night out with me, Matt and Foggy again some time soon.” 

You nodded along, only half listening as she made plans for things you could do as she slowly began to pack up her things. She lingered longer than you expected her to and, by the time she left, you felt so numb that you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry. You put on your pyjamas and climbed into bed, deciding to watch TV, starting up the next episode of Black Sails, knowing that there was no point in waiting for Billy to continue watching any more.

End Note : 😅😅 Okay so I know that probably didn't answer ALL the questions people have had, but I've tried to at lest answer a few. I'm sorry this one is so angsty and sad. Also... yes the Maggia is something from Marvel comics, is it going to be accurate and canon? No, probably not 😅

Thanks so much for reading/commenting/reblogging/liking. I'm so happy so many people are still following along! Have a great weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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@ashy-kit

STOP PLAYING WHB.

So, before you start asking why you should stop playing, I want to explain why you should stop and boycott the game.

1.) The Pancake Shop

Recently they upgraded the Pancake Shop, and, to say the least, it's bad.

While I love the concept of using pancakes to buy L-Grade Characters, I believe them taking away the option to purchase the Lesser Red Keys is a step in the wrong direction, because now you can only purchase them in the gem shop, which, is stupid.

Also, they made an option for you to exchange your Pancakes for the new Pancakes, and, I had 1k saved up, but for some reason, they made the exchange rate less?

This is idiotic because if I had 1k saved up, then I should get my 1k back if you're just going to take it away.

Anyway, they took away the Lesser Red Keys, which is the worst step they could've taken because now they're going to lose a bunch of players. I counted on getting those Lesser Red Keys every single day so I could get the possibility of getting an L-Grade Character because I cannot afford to pay $40.00 for a character behind a paywall!

2.) Paywall Characters

Why the actual fuck am I paying $41.00 for a character. Why? I understand that it comes with extra stuff, but in all honesty, there should be an option to pay for the extra stuff, and then an option to pay just for the character.

I understand that defeats the purpose of the "gacha" game, but $41.00 is actual insanity. I admit, I have paid $41.00 in the past to acquire a character, but, this time, I've realized that maybe that is way too much money they're charging just for a character (because in all actuality, do you really care about the stuff that comes with it? No. You care about the character.)

Plus, it's only 10 stages that you get upon purchase! Not the entire thing! If I'm gonna pay $41.00 it better be because I'm unlocking the entire shebang, but it's not!

But, the whole idea of keeping characters behind a paywall is stupid because you have players like myself who work hard during the events who log in every day to play the game and get almost nothing in reward for playing the game.

Like, you made the game. You want players to play, don't you? So why am I being scammed out of my rewards?

So, now that I've said all of that, let's talk about boycotting.

How do I boycott?

Excellent question! You do not buy ANYTHING the game offers you. Do not purchase ANYTHING with your own money for a certain amount of time, and, also, DO NOT LOG IN.

What's the purpose of this, you may ask? Well, it's so that way PrettyBusy sees that they're losing players and buyers, so it grabs their attention! Boycotting makes change! If you boycott, we could get the Lesser Red Keys back, and, also possibly have them consider to not put these characters only behind a paywall!

SO, FROM JULY 4TH, 2024, TO JULY 20TH, 2024, BOYCOTT THE GAME!

PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD AROUND! I would like for this to get off the ground so players can get what they want! We're the ones who keep this game going, not PrettyBusy! Without us, there would be no game, so please, players, spread the word around and get this going!

Here is a post on Twitter/X @ing PrettyBusy. Please retweet it so it can gain some traction! Also in the comments @ PrettyBusy! In the meantime, PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST TO BREACH CONTAINMENT. SPREAD THE WORD AROUND!

Feel free to also screenshot this post and post it onto the Reddit forums! r/WhatInHellIsBad?

This is absolutely riveting, I love the soulmate AU, Reader has a messed up backstory, and Daredevil is being as angsty as possible? PERFECT!!!

This is gonna be amazing, I can tell already 😍

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, a shy knock startled her. Door creaking open, a woman peeked in. She looked to be about Karen’s age, a timid but determined look on her face as she slowly rounded the slab of rotting wood.

Peeking around the office, she looked amazed at the closet-sized space, eyes opening a little wider as her lips curved into a smile. Karen couldn’t help but mirror her soft grin, finding the awed stranger endearing.

“Can I help you?” Karen’s question was posed at a low volume, but the girl jumped anyway, giving her a ‘deer in the headlights’ impression, hands clenched around the handle of her purse.

“Oh, um..sorry, yes.” The newcomer shifted from foot to foot, creeping marginally closer as she responded. Her voice was soft, full of doubt. “I, er, I’m looking for Karen Page?”

“That would be me,” Karen smiled as encouragingly as she could. “Were you looking for legal advice? Because I’m not an attorney–”

Shaking her head, the stranger continued to step forward chewing on her lip. “That’s not why I’m here. I saw your posts about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? If you have time, I had some questions?”

Karen felt herself flush, her eyes flitting down to her clasped hands as she suddenly felt very exposed. “Oh that’s not– I mean, I just wrote a few comments on some nasty blog posts, it’s nothing really. Why come see me?”

Inhaling shakily, the girl rubbed a hand over her arm, clearly trying to muster the confidence to reveal her reason for finding Karen. “I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

This is so cute, I love this Bridgerton cinderella story, and I can't wait to see more!

Could I be added to the tag list?

A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART FIVE-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @venusianbabie

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE| |PART FOUR|

With the house descending into silence, you allowed yourself a moment to collapse onto the lounge in the living room with a loud sigh. With tired eyes your gaze focused on the ceiling, staring at the crystal chandelier as it glittered brightly.

A small smile crossed your lips, grateful for the peace and quiet. Lady Worthington, Mary and Elizabeth had left for the ball mere minutes ago, all of them excited and nervous about their prospects for the night. You hoped that Elizabeth and Lord Burton would get a chance to speak tonight, she had been so beside herself before she entered the carriage to depart. They had travelled with the Cowper family, who had sneered at your person when you had helped the Worthington’s to the carriage.

The train attached to Lady Worthington’s dress was a nightmare to manage, all bundled up in your arms so as to not drop it in the mud at your feet. You were covered in it now, thanks to a harsh push from Cressida who sent you sprawling onto the ground. Luckily however, you managed to save the train though.

You felt the sting of tears prick your eyes, a sense of sadness overwhelming you. How had you become so unfortunate? To be stuck with a wicked witch for a stepmother, and two stepsisters that laughed at you upon your little trip in the dirt. Elizabeth hadn’t said anything, nor looked your way when Mary and Elizabeth started to cackle loudly. She merely turned away; her eyes downcast as she carried herself into the awaiting carriage.

You missed your father, you missed your mother. Their love and kindness was completely gone from this home, the home you had grown up in as a child. You cried into the cushions, sobbing loudly and desperately. You had never felt so alone, so vulnerable…so lost. You knew that they would want you to be brave, to stay strong, and to have hope that everything will work out in the end. Your mind flickered back to the book you were reading earlier that morning, of the fabled prince charming sweeping the princess off her feet, and living happily ever after.

Perhaps your prince charming was around the corner, perhaps he was waiting for you somewhere to take you away from this now horrid home, filled with heartache and distant memories-

There was a loud knock at the door, so loud that it echoed throughout the foyer and into the living room. You jumped with a small squeak, bolting upright in your position on the lounge. You wiped your eyes, drying your hands on your muddy dress and wiping your nose with your apron. It was unladylike surely, but you were not a Lady anymore. After trying and failing to make yourself look presentable, you hurried towards the door as the knocking sounded again. It sounded desperate, frantic even, your face contorting into a confused expression as you tried to think of who it could be.

It couldn’t be a visitor for Lady Worthington or her daughters, the rest of high society was at Lady Danbury’s ball, and it was way too late in the night for anyone to be here in the first place. So, who could it be? As you opened the door your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat as you recognised the man that stood before you.

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton smiled, staring down at you with kind and soft expression. His eyes never left yours as he spoke, seemingly examining every inch of your face as he bowed politely.

“Miss Y/n, I apologise for calling so late, would I perhaps be able to come in-“

“Why are you here!?” You found yourself exclaiming, your eyes wide in shock as you felt your heart began to beat wildly. Anthony Bridgerton, one of the most distinguished men on all of the ton was standing on your doorstep. Why?

Anthony chuckled, his charming smile widening as he shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?” he replied lightly, finding amusement in your expression as it changed from shock to pure bewilderment.

“If you are here to see Lady Worthington or her daughters, they are gone” You replied shortly, your gaze falling nervously to the floor as you suddenly became very aware of your current state. You were completely covered in slowly drying mud, bloodshot eyes from crying, you no doubt looked like a complete wreck…wonderful.

Anthony hummed “I’m not here to see then, thank god. They arrived at the ball shortly after I left-“

“Why did you leave? Surely someone will notice your absence, and what will the ton think if you are found here, alone…with me-“

“My brother is good at coming up with excuses, I’m sure he’ll spin some wide tale about my whereabouts”.

“And is that something you wish to deal with?”

“Benedict can be a bit excentric at times, but I trust him wholeheartedly…” Anthony finished, clasping his hands behind his back and standing tall, “..now Miss Y/n, may I come inside? Or are you to leave your visitor out in the cold?”.

It hadn’t occurred to you until now, but as Anthony stood before you, you couldn’t help but notice how tall he truly was. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but he towered over you, the top of your head just barely reaching his chin. You stared up into his eyes, searching for any sign of jest, that this was all some sort of joke, and a complete figment of your imagination conjured up by your saddened state.

But he was real, and he was here.

You released a short breath, a soft smile crossing your lips as you stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

Tag List:

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@misscaller06 @slayqueenizzy @everythingmarveltopgun @idek-what-to-put

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Lonely girl boredom cures ౨ৎ

headphone + playlist + long walks

attempt to write a poem

go buy yourself some flowers and make a pretty bouquet

make a summer vision board

cleanout and organise your closet

try a fun recipe (I've been making my own low-cal ice cream lately)

try a new makeup style/technique

do a YouTube workout (Daisy Keech workouts are my fav!!)

read my monthly mail :P

have a self-care evening

trim your hair (rethink this one well though hahaha)

plan/try on some outfits and maybe take some pictures

make a monthly in's and out's list

make a new playlist (and share it with me!!)

send a cute message question to your favourite blogger

redecorate or rearrange your room

write a letter to your future self

As always, please feel free to share your own suggestions and tips in the comments!! <3

‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧౨ৎ