Cheshirecat484 - CheshireCat

Reblog if you say "Y'all"

Don't feel bad about posting angst like this author. There's sickos like me who will snort it like their last line of crack.

Okay but seriously, loved it! I want more angst, NO COMFORT! Lol at least for a little bit. But I can't wait to see more, even if everything gets resolved in the next chapter.

Also quick thought, reader either has to get turned at some point, or Billy needs to be human, if this story has a happy ending. THATS HOW VAMPIRE BOOKS GO! Immortals can't live mortals, so I'm counting on a vampire reader eventually.

Whatever happened to Billy I blame Krista, even if she had nothing to do with it.

Great job author!!!

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eleven

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 against reader. Also some very smutty smut using toys (not related to the violence). 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 : Please, please, please read the warning. I'm sorry it's probably a little spoiler-y but I'd rather be safe than sorry even though I don't tend to write these things in the most graphic way. If you don't want to read it, it's the last few hundred words of the chapter (I think it's pretty well telegraphed). Also, I'm sorry for this, please don't hate me 😅

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

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eleven

Billy didn’t go back to work and, as the days passed it got harder and harder to tell if he was better for it. Every time you’d mention it, he’d mutter something about Frank, about not wanting to have to deal with it and, then, distract you by telling you about how he’d rather spend time with you. And, when that stopped working, when you’d try to talk to him about it, he’d move onto more physical means of distraction.

But every time his phone buzzed or lit up with a notification, you’d see his irritation flare.

You sat with your legs draped over his lap as you tried to concentrate on your book, The Count of Monte Cristo, while Billy read emails on his phone. You had wanted to suggest doing something, going out for a drive or to see a movie, but Billy seemed tired and you didn’t want to bother him.

His phone buzzed and he huffed.

“Was that work?” You dared to ask him and received a grumbled answer in response. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to avoid it forever, Billy...”

“I’m not avoiding it,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over your bare calf, “I just don’t want to deal with it right now.”

“He’s not going to change his mind about us unless you talk to him,” you tried again. “Unless you’re planning on skipping work for the next eight months...”

At this point, you were starting to wonder if that was the plan, if Billy was simply going to stay home every night until your contract was over. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go back to work. But, as much as you were enjoying having him in the penthouse every night, you felt responsible, like you were fucking up his life.

“We could go away together? Somewhere with a beach?” He tried to change the subject.

“Billy...” 

“I don’t want him to ruin this for us,” he relented, his tone turning tense. “These last few days have been so good and I just want it to last a little longer.”

“He’s not going to ruin anything,” you told him. “We get to decide what this is. No one else. I just don’t want you to burn bridges and wreck your life for me.”

He fell silent and you hoped he was thinking about what you were trying to tell him. As much as the incident at the party had upset you, you couldn’t just think about yourself; in just over eight months time, you’d be gone and Billy would have to carry on without you. You didn’t want him to lose friends or damage his business on your account.

“Fine, I’ll go in tomorrow.”

You kept your relief to yourself, not wanting to say or do anything to anything that might make him change his mind. Your attention returned to your book while Billy got up and headed for the kitchen, answering his phone as he went. Obviously he wanted some privacy, but that didn’t stop you from trying to listen in to Billy’s quietly spoken half of the conversation.

“What do you mean you lost her?” He practically hissed. “How did she even... past security... whose plus one?” 

His voice got lower making it impossible for you to hear anything else, but the call lasted at least another minute and the look on Billy’s face when he returned told you far more than words ever could; he was frustrated. 

“Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” he answered cryptically. You gave him a questioning look urging him to explain. “I’m just making sure Krista can’t get near you again.”

“Oh.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned her since the party. You hadn’t asked. Honestly, you hadn’t wanted to. The less you thought about other women Billy had let into his life, the better.

“I’m not going to let her hurt you,” Billy promised, sitting back down and pulling your legs back onto his lap. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You both fell back into silence; your attention returned to your book and Billy continued to look at his phone, reading through messages and declining calls. Eventually, put his phone face down on the coffee table. Over the top of your book, you watched him rub his eyes and slouch back.

For a moment you thought he might close his eyes and try to rest but, instead, he caught you peeking at him.

“You know, I was thinking about the other night,” he said as his hand moved back to your leg and softly caressed your bare skin, from your ankle up to the hem of your cropped leggings and back again.

“Which part of the other night?” You asked, a hint of warmth already starting to bloom across your cheeks.

His fingers wrapped around your ankle, lightly holding you, as if he thought there was any chance that you might try to pull away from him.

“The part when you had my cock in your mouth, giving me the best blowjob of my life, and you came without my permission,” he stated with a smirk, making a point of ignoring the way your breath caught. You bit your lip as he looked at you. “You owe me an orgasm, hummingbird.”

“Is that my punishment? To come for you?” You asked, trying to fight back your embarrassment so you could play his game.

His smirk turned to something darker, something almost sinister, something barely restrained and full of wanting. “That depends on if you want consequences for breaking the rules.”

Your heart skipped a beat; at the unasked question and the hungry way he was looking at you. Already he seemed to be forgetting about work, Krista, and everything else that had upset him, and you wanted to keep him that way. 

“They wouldn’t really be rules if they didn’t have consequences,” you said, trying to hide your nerves though you were sure he could see right through you.

“Are you willing to accept any punishment that I choose?” He asked and you nodded. “So, if I told you to go to your room and bring back one of your toys, you’d do it?”

You stopped breathing. You felt completely frozen, like even your heart didn’t know whether to beat or not. Your cheeks felt like they were burning and your wide eyes were fixed on him.

A couple of seconds later, Billy opened his mouth, no doubt about to tell you that you didn’t have to, that he was only playing around. There was a flash of something like embarrassment on his face, regretting taking things too far.

“Yes,” the word leaving your lips in an awkward squeak before he could walk back the question.

Billy seemed just as surprised as you were, so much so that he hesitated before responding, leaving you with time to change your mind if you wanted to. But you didn’t want to change your mind. You had no idea what he was planning or what he wanted to do, but you wanted it, in part because you wanted to try and bring him out of his frustrated mood but, also, because you were feeling brave.

He licked his lips, waiting a second more, not taking his eyes off of you.

“Okay then, go and get the toy you used the morning I heard you moaning my name,” he said, a hint of daring in his tone, as if he was still expecting you to back out. 

Moving your legs from his lap, you stood up and slowly started to walk towards your rooms, trying your best to just breathe through the waves of panic and excitement that were crashing over you. Your steps got quicker once you’d slipped through the door to your room, not wanting to overthink what might happen in case it made you want to back out.

You quickly retrieved the blue vibrator and returned to Billy, watching as his grin grew wider. You didn’t realise that you were clutching it tightly in both hands until Billy extended his hand. 

Your heart raced as he took the toy from you and inspected it, turning it in his hand before looking back at you. Without saying a word, Billy reached for you, placing his hand on your chest above your racing heart and for a few seconds his eyes shut, just enjoying the moment. Then he kissed you, pulling you close. Your own eyes fluttered shut.

His fingers hooked on the waistband of your leggings and you helped him lower them, stepping out of them without breaking the kiss. 

A gasp slipped out against his lips as you felt him press the toy between your thighs, softly rubbing it against you over your panties. You tensed when he turned it on, a bolt of arousal running up your spine, causing you to arch your body against him.

He moved you back, leading you down onto the sofa and following after, keeping his lips against yours and the toy between your legs.

It wasn’t long before your hips started to move, desperately seeking more friction despite how self-conscious you felt. Your heart was still racing and embarrassment was clawing beneath your ribs, but you wanted more. And so did Billy.

The toy was dropped onto the sofa while his hands started to pull at your panties, revealing you to him.

“Fuck, hummingbird, you’re soaked already,” he muttered, roughly tugging your panties the rest of the way down, leaving you in nothing but your baggy shirt that had ridden up to just below your bust.

Your cheeks burned as he lifted the panties to his face and took a long inhale through his nose. His body shuddered and tensed.

“How is it that everything about you makes me want?” He asked, dropping your panties to the floor. He slipped the vibrator between your legs again, pressing the tip against your clit before turning it on again. “I can’t get enough of you. I’ll never have enough of you.”

Before you could even try to wrap your head around what he was saying, his lips were on yours, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning against his lips, almost forgetting that this was supposed to be punishment. Almost forgetting that you didn’t have his permission to come. 

He pulled the vibrator back just in time, turning it off. “Not until I say so.”

You nodded, taking deep breaths and trying to calm yourself. When you were ready, you felt the toy between your folds as he coated it in your arousal, before positioning it at your entrance. 

Your lips parted and a moan tore from you as he began to fill you. Wet enough to take the toy without any resistance, it wasn’t long before every inch was inside of you, and Billy started to fuck you with it. He started slow, but it didn’t last.

“Moan for me,” he groaned against your neck, still fucking you with the toy, “moan for me like you did that morning...”

“Billy...” you moaned, then; “Mr Russo...”

You heard his breath catch and a growl claw its way from him, and even though you were at his mercy, it made you feel powerful.

“Mr Russo...” you gasped, over and over.

His lips covered yours, swallowing down the moans that he’d asked for, as if he’d realised that it was too much, that he couldn’t take anymore. He pulled back the toy, almost slipping it from you entirely before filling you with it again and starting to set a much faster pace. Your eyes stayed closed tight, imagining that it was Billy inside you, that he was finally giving you what you both craved.

That thought alone had you clenching around the toy, your arousal climbing higher and higher, pushing you closer to breaking point. He took you right to the precipice before pulling the toy out, leaving you empty and unfulfilled. 

Your eyes opened, fixing on him, whining when you saw his smirk.

“You wanted a punishment,” he told you darkly, tormenting you by pressing the tip of the vibrator against you, pulling it back again when you shifted your hips, trying to push yourself onto it. “If you misbehave you’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

You stilled immediately, earning a smile from Billy. He kissed you softly, distracting you as he turned the vibrator back on and ghosted it over your swollen clit. Again, you squirmed, wanting more than just a grazing touch.

“Do I have to tie you down?” He asked against your lips, his tone causing your heart to race a little faster, leaving no doubt in your mind that he’d do it. 

It should have worried you, maybe even scared you, but all you could think about was the unfulfilled ache between your legs.

Billy continued to tease you, but even those gentle touches were enough to start you climbing towards orgasm, and he knew it. Every fibre of your being seemed to tense, like thousands of springs being coiled too tight, at any moment you knew that you’d snap.

But, again, Billy denied you.

“Billy,” you pleaded as a feeling of discomfort started to fill you.

“I think I preferred Mr Russo,” he teased, an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Mr Russo,” you tried again, wanting to give him whatever he wanted.

“That’s better.” A moment later, he had the toy against your lips and a dark grin on his lips. “Open up.”

You hesitated for a beat before doing what you were told, parting your lips and letting him slip the vibrator into your mouth. Without being asked, you started to suck the toy as he moved it in and out of your mouth.

“I dream about this mouth,” he groaned against your ear, “and these perfect lips, and how good they feel wrapped around my cock. It’s like you were made just for me.”

Another moan escaped you as his teeth nipped your ear. When he lifted himself over you again, he stared, watching the toy as he fucked your mouth with it, his jaw set. You kept your eyes on his, letting him see exactly what he was doing to you. 

You licked your lips when he finally pulled the toy away. You didn’t look down, didn’t beg for what you needed, you just kept looking at him, giving him complete control.

“Mr Russo...” you gasped as he plunged the toy between your walls again, this time moving at a merciless pace that you knew you’d never be able to withstand.

“Come for me,” he demanded, turning the vibrator back on as he fucked you with it.

You did as ordered, crying out as your body was finally granted relief.

You weren’t sure when he’d pulled his cock from his sweatpants, but there it was as he kneeled over you, your thighs shook wildly as he kept the vibrator buried inside you with one hand and started to desperately fist himself with the other.

He grunted and swore, coming quickly, finally pulling the toy away so he could coat your trembling pussy and thighs with his cum. You whined softly, overstimulated and far too sensitive, as his finger ran through your folds pushing some of his cum inside you, like he was claiming you and marking you as his.

Reaching for him, you pulled him down into a kiss, expecting things to de-escalate now that you were both satisfied. Instead he kissed you roughly, pressing his hips down against yours, letting you feel how achingly hard he still was.

Your fingers tangled in his hair until he took hold of your wrists and pinned them beside your head. Your breath caught and you struggled against his lips.

“Billy,” you gasped, tearing your lips from his.

If he heard, he gave no response, moving his lips to your neck, sucking and nipping, until you felt something sharp scrape your skin.

Fangs.

“Billy...”

A deep, guttural growl vibrated through his chest - a sound you’d heard before.

There was another scrape against your neck, this time causing pain. But before you could say anything, he was already pulling away from you. He moved awkwardly and suddenly, ending up on the floor next to the sofa, his head in his hands.

“Fuck - fuck - I’m sorry.”

It took a few seconds before you could think straight, reaching up to touch your neck and the small cut he’d left on your skin. Not a bite, just a scratch really, but enough to draw blood.

Torn between comforting him and running, you found yourself frozen, trying to understand what had just happened. And, as you thought back, you hated yourself for not noticing the warning signs sooner; the look on his face, the things that he’d said and the way he’d said them. 

“Hey,” you finally managed, awkwardly sitting up, trying to ignore the mess he’d left between your thighs. Gingerly, you reached for him, running your fingers through his hair. Billy bristled at your touch. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he snapped, head still in his hands, “how can you say it’s okay? How can you keep saying that?”

“Because you stopped yourself. Again,” you answered back. “It’s a scratch, Billy. We both know that you could’ve done so much worse.”

“How can you be so relaxed about this?” Billy demanded, finally lifting his head and letting you see the anguish on his face. “I feel like a fucking timebomb and you’re there acting like you weren’t just five seconds away from death.”

“Would you have killed me?” You dared to ask, cutting through all of the usual bullshit, not sure how else to try and settle the issue once and for all.

“I -” for a moment he just stared at you, torn between what he wanted to tell you and the thing that terrified him more than anything, “- I don’t know. I - I don’t even know if I wanted to kill you or...”

A chill ran through you at what was left unsaid, filling that blank with a dozen terrible thoughts, and when you didn’t immediately respond, Billy took that as a sign, pulling away and getting to his feet.

“Stop,” you quickly got up, legs feeling weak beneath you while your hands pulled your baggy shirt down to try and cover yourself. “Please don’t go.”

“Why are you fighting so hard for me?”

“Because someone has to, Billy,” you told him without hesitation, “because you deserve to have someone on your side, even if you don’t think that you do. You haven’t hurt me and I don’t think that you will, so stop trying to scare me.”

He seemed stunned by the sudden firmness in your tone, so much so that he didn’t try to argue.

“Now, sit down. I need to go clean up,” you told him, taking a step back. “If you try to leave while I’m gone, I will never forgive you.”

Billy hesitated but soon sat, fixing his gaze on the window while you grabbed your leggings and panties from the floor and headed towards your rooms.

You cleaned up as quickly as you could, putting a bandaid over the cut on your neck and changing into your pyjamas when you were done. As quick as you were, it still felt too slow and your heart was pounding uncomfortably with the thought that he’d be gone by the time you made it back out to the penthouse.

But he wasn’t. He was exactly where you’d left him.

You cleared the distance and sat beside him, throwing your arms around him before he could even think about protesting, holding him tight.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be around you right now,” he told you, his voice betraying his exhaustion.

“I think it is. I think this is the best place for you right now.” You said, watching as the confusion on his face deepened. “Just let me look after you. I don’t want to be alone right now, and I don’t think you do either...”

Moving slowly, you reached for a cushion and placed it on your lap, patting it softly.

“Lay down,” you said softly, leaning a little so you could take hold of his hand and gently urge him towards you. 

After a moment of hesitation, Billy moved, laying down and resting his head on the cushion. You started to gently run your fingers through his hair, and heard an awkward breath escape him.

“I used to get sick a lot when I was a kid and my nanna used to sit with me like this for hours,” you told him softly, watching as, little by little, he let himself relax.

You let a few minutes pass in silence, watching as the tension started to leave him, fingers still running through his hair. Eventually, you reached for the TV remote and put on Netflix, starting the next episode of Black Sails.

“Pirates again?” He grumbled, the weight of his exhaustion seeming to catch up with him. You weren’t sure what caused him to lose control, but you were starting to realise just how much effort it took for him to rein it back in.

“Pirates again,” you confirmed. “Just close your eyes and relax.”

The whole while you kept stroking his hair, letting your eyes drop to him every few minutes, watching as he slowly gave up on trying to keep his eyes open. It was hard to tell if he was sleeping, but he was certainly more relaxed than he had been.

Hours passed. After three episodes of Black Sails, you decided to turn off the TV and close your eyes. At some point you drifted off, only to be woken when Billy started to move. His body was tense, eyes still shut tight, letting out the most heart rending little mutters, sounding like a terrified, wounded animal. 

For a short while, you waited, hoping it would pass and he’d settle again, but it just seemed to get worse.

“Billy?” You tried, gently at first, running your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him. “Billy, it’s just a dream. You’re okay.”

He awoke with a gasp.

“Hey, you’re okay, everything’s okay,” you continued, still stroking his hair.

“Huh, what  -” it took him a second to realise where he was. You watched him sit up, noticing the way that exhaustion seemed to cling to him. When he reached for his phone to check the time, his hand was shaking so much he almost dropped it. “I’m sorry, I -”

“What are you apologising for?”

“It’s two in the morning, I kept you up all night worrying,” he told you, looking about ready to get up and leave. “I should -”

“You should lay back down and rest. You look exhausted,” you told him softly.

“But you need to sleep too.”

“I was sleeping,” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder and gently tugging him back.

As much as Billy wanted to argue, he was too tired. He laid back down while you grabbed your yellow blanket from the back of the sofa and settled behind him, pressing yourself against his back and covering you both.

He gave an uncertain sort of huff. “I’m not used to being the little spoon.”

And, despite the situation, you found yourself bursting into laughter, pressing your face against the back of his neck and holding him all the tighter. A moment later you felt his body shudder with a tired laugh of his own.

“Go to sleep, little spoon,” you muttered sleepily, snuggling closer. 

He was still for a few minutes, leading you to hope he’d fallen asleep until you heard him sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You whispered.

“I just want to keep you safe.”

“I’m safer here with you than I would be if I left,” you confessed softly, pressing your lips to the back of his neck

“So I’m the lesser of two evils?”

“No, Billy, you’re who I want to be with, even though I know it’ll never be easy...”

You heard him take an awkward breath before starting to move, turning himself so he could face you. In the dark you could barely make out his face, but you knew he was looking at you. 

“Stay with me,” he said suddenly, desperately, like the thought had been weighing on him for hours.

“I am,” you told him, “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, I mean after. I mean for more than a year,” then, much quieter, “forever.” 

“I...”

You fell silent, barely daring to breathe. More than anything, you wanted to say yes; you wanted to belong there with Billy, you wanted to spend the rest of your life in his arms.

“Whatever you’re running from, I can protect you. I can keep you safe,” he continued. “I want to be yours...”

“Billy...”

“I know it’s fucked up to ask you, but I can work on it, I can learn to stay in control, I can -”

“That’s not the problem, Billy. I know you can stay in control, it’s just...” you sighed. “My life is more complicated than you think and I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Is that a no then?” He asked, sounding broken just at the thought.

“No. I don’t know. I need some time to think,” you tried to explain, earning another sigh from him. “I want you to be mine, Billy. More than anything. But I can’t just say yes now and hurt you in the long run. Just - just give me some time, okay?”

“Okay,” he said before falling silent.

Reaching for his cheek, you pressed your lips to his, and closed your eyes tight. “I want you to be mine. I want to stay. Things are just complicated,” you whispered before letting out a tired sigh, “I’ve been dreaming about falling asleep in your arms...”

“Oh, hummingbird,” he muttered softly, pressing his lips to your forehead and holding you tight.

You didn’t feel him start to move until the break of dawn. In your sleep, you’d shifted, ending up with your head on his chest and your hand beneath his sweater resting on his waist, holding him tight.

He gave you a tired smile as you lifted your head.

“How did you sleep?” He asked.

“Five more minutes,” you muttered sleepily, burying your face against his neck.

Billy laughed, holding you tight and kissing the top of your head. “I’d stay like this with you forever if I could.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For staying last night. For trusting me,” you told him, keeping your face hidden. “I know it’s not easy for you and you scare yourself sometimes, but it means a lot that you didn’t walk out.”

He didn’t say anything and, even if he had, you weren’t sure what you would have wanted to hear. Instead, you just closed your eyes again and tried to enjoy your five more minutes.

Eventually, you had to let Billy go so he could go to bed. You weren’t sure how much sleep he’d managed to get but you wanted to make sure he was rested before his return to work that night.

That evening, you met him with his blood, nice and warm in his travel mug and ready for him to take to work. He seemed a little unsettled at the prospect, but you didn’t give him time to linger before ushering him out of the penthouse.

You missed having him around, but you hoped he’d be able to fix things with Frank, and that you’d all be able to move on with your lives. It was a quiet night and you spent it relaxing before heading to bed early, falling asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

A loud crash in the penthouse startled you awake some time before four am. Without even stopping to think you shot out of bed and headed for the door.

You stepped out into the gloom, finding the dining table had been flipped and one of the chairs laid broken and splintered against the wall. And, standing amidst the destruction was Billy.

“Billy, what’s -” 

The question was left unfinished. The moment he turned you had your answer. It was like this first night in the kitchen all over again, only somehow worse. His dark eyes fixed on you, his whole body seeming to tremble and twitch like he was trying to crawl out of his own skin.

A low snarl escaped him and, for a split-second, he flashed his fangs.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer any of the usual warnings or tell you to stay back, he just watched you edging closer and closer.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” You asked softly, knowing you needed to pull him out of it.

As you got closer, you noticed the state of him; his shirt was torn and drenched in blood, and there were deep scratches on his neck like someone had been clawing at his throat. With the holes in his shirt and the cuts on his neck, you couldn’t tell if all the blood belonged to Billy.

You needed to get a closer look.

He gave another snarl. “Don’t.”

But you didn’t let that stop you. You edged closer, trying to get a look at him in the dim light. The corner of his lip curled again, giving you another glimpse at his fangs. His hand tightened to a fist at his side and he almost seemed to move forward before pulling himself back.

“Billy, what happened?” You tried again.

He took a shuddered breath, almost wincing as you reached for him, tenderly placing a hand on his cheek, hoping you could soothe him.

“Who did this to you?”

He leaned into your touch and his eyes closed, and for the briefest of seconds you allowed yourself to believe you’d fixed whatever this was.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could even think to pull away, yanking your arm awkwardly as he forced you backwards, slamming you back against the wall. You yelped in pain, the impact forcing the air from your lungs. And, when you looked in his eyes, Billy wasn’t there anymore.

“Billy,” you gasped, pushing against him, trying to escape his grasp.

A sob slipped out as he forced you back against the wall again, reminding you that you were nothing more than a weak, pathetic human.

Another snarl tore from his lips and he bared his fangs.

You turned and twisted and pulled, doing everything you could to keep him from biting you, raising your knee and hitting him in the groin as hard as you could. Billy staggered, winded, letting out an angry howl, his grip loosening enough for you to pull away.

Starting to run, you almost made it to your door when he grabbed your wrist again, this time pulling so hard that you screamed.

“Mine,” he growled, pulling you back towards him. 

The pain in your arm was overwhelming and only got worse when you tried to move.

“Billy, please,” you sobbed, “this isn’t you. You don’t want to hurt me. Please, don’t ruin this.”

For a moment he almost looked like your words had gotten through to him, but then he continued to pull you towards him, pressing your body to his. 

You lashed out again, kicking and swinging your fist, managing to catch his face in a way that had his nose exploding and blood spraying everywhere.

This time you ran faster, making it into your rooms and into your bedroom.

Billy followed after, only a couple of steps behind, blood pouring from his broken nose.

You tried to shut the door, only to find his hand blocking it - a hand that he quickly pulled back when it started to sizzle. He couldn’t come inside. He couldn’t get to you in your room.

All he could do was stand and stare at you, his chest heaving, his face bloody, looking more monster than man. You clutched your injured arm to your chest, tears streaming down your face.

“I trusted you,” you sobbed, watching for a reaction and getting nothing but anger from the vampire.

A couple of seconds passed before you slammed the door shut and dropped to your knees. A loud thud in the corridor had you crawling towards the door, pressing your back against it even though you knew he couldn’t get in. There were more sounds out in the penthouse, more thuds and bangs before, eventually, everything went silent.

End Note : As much as I love writing chapters like this one, I kinda hate posting them because I know that it's not exactly what some people want to read. So, I guess, no hard feeling if you don't want to continue reading after this one? IDK posting anything darker always makes me a little nervous but I don't want cute fluff all the time, especially not when I'm writing a vampire fic. But I do promise reasons and resolutions to this. It's not just there for shock value, is what I'm trying to say. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now 😅 Thanks for reading! I hope you have a great weekend and, as ever, thanks for all the love and support you showed on the last chapter!!

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The Cost of Flesh

18+ 4.9k the ghoul x f!reader. gif credit. dirty talk, vaginal fingering, clothed/naked, finger sucking, grinding on a cowboy boot, cooper's busted anatomy forces him to get creative, body worship, lightly established dynamic, surprisingly sentimental. a prompt from @tearueful that got wildly out of hand. thank you, friend! 🖤

When what starts off as a purely sexual arrangement with the Waste's most notorious bounty hunter–the ghoul–gradually grows into a living, breathing love, you're both forced to confront the inevitable humanity that comes with sharing your body with another.

There’s a living myth that walks the wastes, a figure known exclusively as the ghoul. He’s enigmatic, a force of nature that declares himself to the world with his every step. If you're unaware of sharing a room with him, it’s likely because he’s hunting you, in which case it’s not a matter of if he catches you, but when.

Naturally, it was the talk of the town when he made a regular haunt out of the saloon you worked in.

He watched you serve drinks all evening, his gaze a physical thing upon you. Normally you expected a degree of harassment from clientele, raiders and the like often rolling through, but it was as though everyone else sensed his attention on you as much as you did. You could tell from the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat when he was listening to your conversations.

It was as eerie as it was intriguing. You couldn’t fathom a bounty on your head, so what did he want?

You would soon be ensnared by him, but not for a bounty. It was for pleasure. Your pleasure.

“Come upstairs with me,” He murmured in your ear, standing close behind you, a gloved knuckle rolling up your spine. “Y’ain’t gatta do nothin’. I won’t hurt’cha none. Just wanna hear a pretty bird sing.”

You shivered, caught unaware. You never even heard his approach, even though the din of the bar had quieted in the late evening.

“I’m not for sale,” you replied, testing the water. He was close enough that you felt him, but not so close you were pinned. You could move if you wanted to.

“I ain’t buyin’,” he gave back. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. “But I’ll make it worth y’while.”

The gravel grit of his voice was nearly drowned out by the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. To this day, you don’t know what possessed you to agree, but you did. He took your hand in his, the leather of his glove soft with wear, and led you away from the bar. The next thing you knew, he was stripping you bare in one of the dark rooms above the bar.

The ceremony with which he undressed you had felt disconcertingly like meal prep. He tied your hands above your head, and your heart thundered with the understanding that there was nothing to stop him from devouring you alive where you lay sprawled out on the bed. 

By the time his gloved hands were dragging away your underwear, you felt dizzy with the heady mix of arousal and fear, an unquiet ache thrumming between your thighs. Your only meager assurance was that of all the legends you’d heard of the ghoul, seducing and eating barmaids wasn’t among them. 

And yet devour you he did. You were hooked from that very first wet, hot slide of his tongue against your clit. He spent hours with you that night, mapping your body with his tongue, your scars and blemishes serving as waypoints and constellations. He nipped and sucked until dark marks blossomed under his tongue, and he relished those spots more than any other.

He never took off more than his gloves, and he never let you touch him. He never fucked you. He brought you to climax with his mouth and his hands so many times you lost track of the number. All you could do was writhe and moan your pleasure. He didn’t stop until those moans turned to sobs, until you begged him to. After that, he cut your binds loose and left you a mess on the bed, aching and used. 

You laid there for a long time, thinking you would never see him again.

The ghoul returned not a week later. 

He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted from you, beckoning you from across the bar with a crook of two fingers. You felt your knees weaken with the memory of those same fingers in your mouth, your cunt, that hand pinning you by your throat to feel your cries against his palm. He stared at you from beneath the brim of his hat, cocked his head. You nodded, and his eyes flashed.

Hungry.

You didn’t learn his name until your third encounter. He whispered it in your ear.

“Now scream it for me, sweetheart.”

You did.

The two of you would meet several more times. He would stay a little longer after each session, and bit by bit, you would come to understand the man beyond the ghoul. He doesn’t talk about himself, and he doesn’t ask anything of your life in turn, but he reveals himself in pieces nonetheless. Beneath the ruthless pragmatism of his legendary persona, you find the manners of a shockingly tender gentleman lurking.

He’s always unhurried in disrobing you, devoted to the task at hand: taking you apart piece by piece. He treats each article of frayed clothing like a piece of paper that might tear if he pulls too hard. He makes the process of being undressed in and of itself feel like sex, every move intentionally sensual. 

For you, the experience ranges from thrilling to maddening depending on your mood that day. He never heeds you, always keen to take his time regardless of your impatience. He takes a particular kind of enjoyment in your body, the likes of which you’ve never known. You’re certain he knows it better than you do at this point, and yet he’s never laid himself bare to you. Never let you bring him the kind of pleasure he brings you.

He’s never kissed you.

“Please. I wanna touch you, too,” you tell breathlessly, knelt between his legs, naked as sin. His focus breaks, gaze snapping to yours. You lick your lips, relishing the rare feeling of catching him off guard. You slide your hands up his thighs, inching towards his groin. “Taste you. Make you twist. When’re you gonna let me, huh?”

He catches your wrists as quickly as a viper strikes, holding you still for a long, tense moment. You hold his gaze without any of the fear or reservation you’d felt that first day. 

Despite the warmth that’s grown between you in the time since that first night, you’re uncertain of what exactly the two of you are now. It would be romantic to think of this feeling in your chest as love. Certainly it is intimacy. Familiarity. What is love if not consistency? Perhaps it’s like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

For as long as he chooses to come back to you, to find his pleasure in you, is that not love? If it isn’t, it might just be the closest you’ve ever come to it.

Dumbstruck for a moment by the tenderness in your gaze, Cooper’s own drops to your hand, lifting it to his mouth. His grip is tight, but not painful. As he does with everything else, he takes his time answering.

“Won’t do much good, darlin’,” he says, folding your hands wrist over wrist. You perk up. He’s never given a proper explanation for why he seems to have no interest in your reciprocation. From his belt, he withdraws a length of rope and begins encircling your wrists. You allow it, the ritual a familiar one. “Plumbing’s long busted, but that don’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. Enjoy you.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle falling in place, understanding dawns. His initial use of you drops perfectly into context. It was like you were more an object to him than a person, a vessel for him to exact sensation upon. You understand now that that’s exactly what you were. Be it the radiation or the myriad of drugs he takes to keep the degeneration at bay, it’s likely just one more piece of him the Wasteland has stolen.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?” He asks, fastening the rope with a sharp tug that shoots a hot throb between your thighs. If he’s apprehensive about your answer, he hides it well. If they still made movies, he’d make for a fine actor.

You pause, giving the question the thought it deserves. “Not exactly. Maybe a bit,” you say, struggling to articulate the feeling. “Kind of relieved, though. I didn’t know if you couldn’t, or just didn’t want to,” you admit, leaning into it when he brings his palm to the side of your face. Your lips part automatically for the brush of his thumb along them. “I just want to do more.”

Cooper’s gaze softens, the line of his mouth twitching in what almost looks like a smile before it’s tampered by a profound sense of sadness. However, it disappears as quickly as the smile that nearly was. His expression smooths back out into controlled focus.

“So do more,” he says in that molasses drawl, thick and sweet. It could be your imagination, but his voice sounds warmer than it did a moment ago. “Put on a show for me.” He widens the spread of your legs with the press of his boot to your inner thigh. “I got plenty ‘a things for you t’ride.”

He lifts the worn leather to the wet heat gathering between your thighs and you shudder, lashes fluttering. His boot sinks back to the ground and you follow it, grinding down against the leather with a soft sigh of pleasure. He hooks his fingers through the tether around your wrists and draws you forward by it, his knee pressing between your breasts, your bound hands resting on his thigh.

“Don’t take much t’get you moanin’, do it, sweetie?” He baits, mouth curved in a crooked smile. You roll your hips with a soft keen, shaking your head. You were already tingling all over from the slow way he’d undressed you, and now that ache is growing rapidly into thrumming need. He whistles lowly. “All that noise for a li’l friction.”

He bucks his boot against your cunt, wringing a cry out of you. You screw your eyes shut, clutching at his pant leg while you roll your hips, embarrassed by how right he is. Everything he does is electrifying, and his honied voice in your ears helps turn the curve of his boot into the most exquisite touch you’ve ever known.

With his teeth, Cooper tugs off his glove and touches your cheek with warm, rough fingers. His bare thumb hooks your bottom lip, easing it open until you taste the salt of his skin pressing down on your tongue. “Or just didn’t want to…” He echoes through a frayed laugh, sounding equal parts amused and wistful at your words on his tongue. “Y’got no idea what I’d do to this sweet mouth if I could.” He presses his thumb deeper, watching with dark eyes as you start to suck. “What I’d give t’see how pretty you cry, chokin’ on my cock.”

He paints such a pretty picture that you long for it, too. Releasing his thumb with a breathy sound, you open your mouth. “More,” you say, your breaths shallow. “I want more.”

His own chest is heaving with each breath, his tongue caught between his teeth. He slips two fingers into your mouth, pushing them all the way to the knuckle. You both moan with it, pressure creeping slowly up your spine. He rocks his fingers in and out, and you start to match his pace, grinding against his boot as fast as his fingers fuck your mouth. 

Catching on, he kicks his pace up a notch, captivated by the pull of your lips, the shimmer of your saliva on his weathered skin. You can see it in his eyes, how he loses himself in your pleasure as if it’s his own, filling in the gaps with faded memories. He pushes in a third finger, teeth raking over his bottom lip. You push your tongue between them, over them, sucking and lapping as if it really is his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he hisses, pulling sharply on your bindings. You make a noise around his fingers, so close to the peak of release that your lungs begin to seize, throat quieting. It’s pure agony when Cooper abruptly hauls you up onto your knees, halting your ascension. “C’mere,” he growls, all grit and throaty need. His fingers slip from your mouth and he manhandles you up into his lap, bringing you into a straddle over him, your bound wrists thrown over the back of his neck.

The same fingers he had halfway down your throat now move between your thighs, pressing into your slick, yielding body with two wet fingers in one deep push. You groan, the burning ache of it so good your eyes roll back. His free hand skirts up the length of your torso to the underside of your breast, kneading soft flesh with a rough hand. Then, so quick all you can do is gasp, he pushes the weight of it upward, meeting pearl-soft skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

All the while his fingers sink deeper, moving faster. He adds a third and you strain against your binds, arching your back, pressing your chest into his hungry mouth. He scissors his fingers, determined to make you feel every inch he fills you with.

“C-Cooper…” You keen, shivering for the hot slide of his tongue over your nipple, how he sucks it into his mouth.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he drags his tongue up the line between your breasts, greedy for the taste of you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes, already teasing a fourth finger. His breath is hot on your damp skin. “Just a little more, you can take it,” he says, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles to soothe the burn of being filled so suddenly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you protest, nails biting into your own hands, eyes screwed shut.

“Y’already there, sugar,” he rumbles, each word rougher than the last. He’s right, you’re seated in the crook between his thumb and index finger, so full of him that your thighs are trembling from the strain of it. He rocks his hand slowly, fucking you deep, crooking his fingers until a sharp jolt of pleasure makes you shudder. “Doin’ good, takin’ everything I give you. That’s it. Go on, pretty bird. Sing me a song.”

Your eyes meet, both bleary and wild. You could lose yourself in the darkness of his gaze, and given his insatiable hunger, you know he would swallow you whole. You moan for him, sing his praise with the breathlessness of your voice, with the sway of your hips as you pick up his rhythm. He nods absently, watching you with such voracious wonder, you feel beyond yourself. Half human, half embodiment of pleasure. 

The meteoric rise back to the cusp of your climax feels like flying, your stomach tightening, the velvet walls of your cunt throbbing and squeezing his fingers so tightly, you feel their every slide.

You come hard on his fingers, crying out just before the height of your pleasure seizes you. Cooper watches every second of your release, his own lids flickering, though he never blinks. He slips his arm around your body and pulls you to him, naked skin pressed snug against leather and tattered fabric. You collapse into him, held up only by his grip and the tether binding your hands around his neck.

He holds you through the aftermath, savors every last wet quiver of your cunt around his fingers. His thrusts slow, but he doesn’t stop until–in a quaking breath–you beg him to. His fingers settle in deep, lingering a moment before he slides them free. The relief of escape from overstimulation is rivaled only by the awful emptiness that his fingers leave in you. You clench your shaking thighs on either side of him so that he might understand.

Stay.

Either he understands, or he simply isn’t through with you. His gloved hand slides up and down your back, thumb brushing the back of your neck on every upward swipe. Before long you hear a decidedly wet slurp, and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him through euphoria addled eyes.

One by one, Cooper licks every one of his slick fingers clean, purring his approval. “Not even decades of radiation poisoning can erase the taste of good pussy,” he says, voice low and lazy. “And this, darlin'? Gourmet."

You smile, heat rushing up your chest to your cheeks. “I think you have an addiction,” you say, a slight slur to your words. You roll your fingers, which tingle faintly, the rope taking its toll on your circulation.

He clicks his tongue, hands settling on your hips. His hands are warm, and his touch erupts goosebumps up your spine. “Y’say that like it’s a problem. Gonna cut me off?”

“As your dealer, it’s in my best interest to encourage said addiction,” you say, cocking your head. Up close like this, focused only on each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget he’s anything other than a man. His eyes are beautiful, the color of sand in that fleeting hour of sunset that turns the whole world gold. Not even the hole left from the decay of his nose takes away from the beauty of them. Truth be told, you find the whole of him entirely too handsome. “Besides, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

His lips split into a slow smile. “Y’somethin’ rare, darlin’. Fine company’s scarcer than clean water these days.”

Another wave of heat washes through you, but this time it concentrates in your chest, coiling around your heart and squeezing. “You’re just not used to talking to people who know how to read,” you say, trying and failing to swallow back the sentimentality swelling in your throat.

He chuckles. It’s a rare sound, one that does nothing for the growing affection suffocating your heart. “True, true.” He already admitted that the way you spoke is what caught his attention in the first place.

“Say…” You begin, hesitant. “You remember what I said to you when we first met? Down in the bar.”

Gently, Cooper lifts your arms from around his neck, setting your hands between your bodies. He blows out a breath and starts untying your hands. “I’m old, sweetness. Refresh my memory.” 

"I told you I wasn't for sale," you remind him, blood rushing back into your hands with the removal of the rope. You rub them together.

He makes a small noise of recollection, winding the rope around his hand. “Y’did.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you say, watching him carefully.

His gaze flickers up to yours, searches your expression. He can tell you’re guarding it, and his own sobers in response. “Dare I ask the cost?”

"Love,” you blurt out, far more graceless than you’d been in your mind. His eyes widen a fraction, caught off guard. In any other moment you’d be smug about that, but now it’s precarious. Whatever nebulous sentiment exists between the two of you, you know it’s fragile. “Love. Yours, or just… mine. The cost is love.”

“Y’don’t love me, sweetheart,” he says, but the gentleness of his words does nothing to dissuade you. It only worsens the yearning in your heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. 

He’s quiet for a moment, gauging you. “Y’don’t know me.”

“You let on more than you think you do,” you counter, hands braced on his chest. “I might not know everything about your life, but I know you.”

You know he read westerns and science fiction novels written by a man named Louis L’Amour, but confessed to liking his poetry best. You know the variations in his smiles. You know the sound he makes when he gets up from sleep, stiff-limbed and weary. You know him in intimacy. You know how he craves  peace and grace in the warmth of your body. If blinded and deafened, you would know his touch.

Whether he likes it or not, you know him the way souls know each other.

His eyes drift away as if he’s leery about you seeing anything more than you have. “What you’re lookin’ for, y’not gonna get it from me. I’m burnt out, darlin’. All dried up.”

“I’m not asking for more than you’ve given,” you say, trying not to let the terrible ache in your chest color your tone. You could scream at him for how wrong he is. How much left of him there is to love. “I’m telling you that I have more to give, and I want you to have it.”

“I wouldn’t even know what t’do with it anymore,” he says, gazing somewhere distant.

You wish he’d at least look at you as you bled your heart. “Nothing you haven’t already done, if that’s what you want.”

“Then why say anything at all?” He asks, an edge creeping into his tone. He does finally look at you, the lines of his expression as guarded as they were the first day you met him. “If y’didn’t want t’change things, why say anything?”

You stiffen to keep from shrinking away. You want this too badly to let him spook you now. 

“So that you know,” you say, choosing your words carefully. Each one feels sharp on your tongue, too honest. Too vulnerable. You’re giving him too much power with each one that falls. “I’m telling you so that you know I love you. I’m telling you because if I don’t, I might explode with it,” you say, fervency climbing in your voice, spurred on by the beginning sting of rejection. “I’m telling you for me. Is it easier to accept my love if it’s selfish?”

There it is again, that flicker across his face. Whatever he expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Slowly, Cooper removes his other glove, dropping it to the wayside. With that same hand, he brings his knuckles to your face, ghosts the heat of them down your cheek.

“Y’deserve better than half measures from a broken old man,” he says so quietly, you strain to hear each word. “Most of me’s always gonna be out in the sands, lookin’ for what’s lost. That’s no life for you.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hesitate a beat before you start to place gentle kisses on his every first knuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not,” you say between kisses, not meeting his eye yet. You’ve never been quite so openly affectionate. “But it’s like you said… Fine company is scarce,” you say, kissing each second knuckle next. “Don’t deny me the best I’ve ever known.”

His smile is reticent, tugged from the corner of his mouth as if by an invisible string. There’s something wistful in his expression. He watches you kiss the pads of his fingers next, the prints of them long worn away and replaced with thick calluses. His thumb is last. You give it a playful little nip, lest the softness of your lips scare him off.

Cooper slips his hand out of yours, the wistfulness of his gaze replaced with somber resignation. “M’sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, cupping either side of your face. 

Your stomach drops, the bitter stench of a goodbye settling into the air between you. You remind yourself that you knew this might happen. You repeat the thought again and again, as if being right will make it hurt less.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks. “If I were a better man, a stronger man,” he says, gaze dipping to your lips. “I’d walk away for good.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh–”

He kisses you with such gentleness it breaks you apart. Your hands fly to his jacket, holding him to you. It’s as if the entire world spins on its axis, your stomach flipping wildly with it. It leaves you floating, tethered only by the grips you have on each other. What begins as a chaste press quickly heats up into a gnawing hunger, his tongue slipping into your mouth, your teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Lucky for me that I ain’t even a good man,” he says, words peppered between kisses. 

The world spins again, but this time you really are moving through the air. You let out a yelp as Cooper flips you onto the bed, kissing a trail down your naked chest. You’ve felt his tongue and his teeth, but never the reverent press of his lips. As if you’ve only just given him permission to see you as something more than a tool for vicarious pleasure, he touches your body the way a superstitious man worships–full of intent and genuine belief.

“Cooper,” you sigh, smiling. “It’s my turn to touch you,” you remind him, tugging at the shoulder of his tattered jacket. The most he’s ever taken off is that jacket and his hat, but you want more.

He looks up at you from between your breasts, hesitating a beat. “You should know that it only gets uglier ‘neath the collar, sugar.”

“You’re not ugly,” you tell him. At his skeptical expression, you continue, “I’ve seen ugly. Heard it, felt it. You’re not ugly. Not to me.”

He quirks a hairless brow and lets out an incredulous little breath, adjusting himself onto his knees between your legs, swayed. “Y’might consider glasses,” he tells you, shrugging out of his coat. 

You hook your legs over his and use them as leverage to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his vest. “That might not end well for you,” you say coyly, popping each one loose. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. This, too, is reverence. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, licking the taste of you from them like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever known. With his vest open, you work on his undershirt next, tugging them loose while sucking on his tongue.

Halfway down, he stills your hand with a firm grip on your wrist. “That’ll do,” he tells you, voice little more than a rasp. You bite back a protest and nod, understanding that this is likely more exposed than he’s been in a long, long time. You push back into the kiss and press your hand to his chest, sliding slowly down. 

The skin beneath is as gnarled as old tree bark, pitted in places and scarred in most. For as durable as ghouls are, Cooper’s skin has been shredded and torn and riddled with bullets enough times that parts of his body have taken hold of those memories forever, formed around them.

You treat them gently, tracing them with your fingertips. You feel unreasonably powerful when he shivers subtly beneath your touch. You press your hand flat to his heart to hold the beat of it in your palm. It’s slow, but each thud is strong. You break from him with a deep breath, dizzy from the way he makes your head spin with each kiss.

“Lie down,” you say breathlessly. You’re almost surprised when he does, unaccustomed to taking so much control. You cozy up against him, laying your head where your hand had been a moment ago, and close your eyes. His heartbeat sounds just as it felt. Steady, firm, slow. You imagine the radiation has scarred him inside and out, left his heart thick and misshapen as well. Alive nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, Cooper’s arm slips around your waist. His thumb caresses your hip. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, his tone overly conversational, masking whatever true feeling lurks beneath. “I won’t hold you to none of it. Not if y’get sick of it.”

If you get sick of him, he means.

You tip your head back to look up at him. His gaze is affixed to the ceiling, but you can see apprehension in his distant expression. You drop your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His hand cups the back of your head in response, stroking. You smile faintly, soaking in all these little affections. You wonder how long he’s been holding back from touching you like this, denying himself such simple intimacies in order to maintain a distance he didn’t feel, but deemed necessary.

“You’re wrong, Cooper.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You are a good man.”

He goes quiet at that. The two of you lie there a long while, his hands absently roaming your body like he’s committing you to memory. Your hands do the same, dipping under the hem of his shirt to explore further. He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tips your head back to kiss you languidly.

There’s a surreal domestic feel to the unhurriedness of it all, as if he won’t be gone to the winds come morning. You make a home of this moment in your mind, constructing four walls in which to imagine another life. The kind you’ve read about in tattered books and seen on fuzzy old screens.

All the while Cooper holds you, his lips never long from your skin.

You eventually find your way under the covers together, past the point of words. You drape yourself back down against him, your ear finding the chamber of his heart once more. You fall asleep listening to the beat of it, content for now to take each day you spend with him as they come.

𝖠𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝖠𝗇𝗇𝖺-𝖫𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖺 𝖲𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗇 | 𝖨𝖦: 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖺_𝖺𝗋𝗍

Hello everybody with summer fast approaching here is your regular reminder that:

Everyone needs to wear sunscreen

SPF 50 is pretty much the best protection you can get, an SPF higher than that will have the same effect

Melanin does not protect you from skin cancer

Tanning is caused by exposure to ultraviolet radiation

Spending the majority of your life receiving regular large doses of UV radiation without any skin protection is a good way to get skin cancer

Don't use tanning beds, and don't go sun tanning

Wear your fucking sunscreen

ATTENTION ARTISTS OF TUMBLR

since tumblr is going to start scraping blogs to train ai be sure to glaze and nightshade your art!! Not only will both of these programs protect your art from being copied but nightshade also poisons any ai that tries to steal it

here is some more info on these tools and where you can download them:

Nightshade: Protecting Copyright (uchicago.edu)

Nightshade: Downloads (uchicago.edu)

Glaze - What is Glaze (uchicago.edu)

Glaze - Downloads (uchicago.edu)

xreader fic is so inherently healing like

do you love yourself? no? that's okay this character you love loves you back. are you kind? that is why they love you. are you patient? that is why they love you. are you a coward are you shy are you brave are you bold are you bratty? that is why they love you. you are loved and you will not be punished for seeking love. you are loved and you will find it here in these words.

do you love yourself yet? no? that's okay this character can love you until you do. this character will point out the few traits you can relate with yourself (your smile, your laugh, you brattiness, your whimsy, your strength, your sorrow) and tell you that they love that about you until one day you can love it, if not yourself, too.

do you love yourself yet? no? but you're starting to accept that you can be loved? that there is something in you- your awkwardness, your bashfulness, your straightforward mind, you ability to heal, your ability to fight- that someone could look at and learn to adore? well done. you're right, this character does see that and adore it. you may not love yourself just now, just yet, but now you see right? That there is something to love in you?

Loved this chapter, and the way you wrote May was so fitting for her character! I could vividly see her saying this to someone questioning Spiderman. Fantastic job, take care, author!!

Trust Me- Chapter 4

Masterlist

When Matt arrived at the address Frank had sent and noticed a rapid heartbeat, he was more than a little worried. Apparently that heartbeat came from a man who went by the name “Micro”. Micro was clearly not excited to be here. He sat on the far end of the room, surrounded by computers and Matt could hear his muffle breath, probably wearing some type of mask to hide his face.

“Let’s get started, yeah?” The man said, eyeing the way Frank was making himself at home, disassembling his handgun and beginning to clean it. “You’ve got a name for me?”

“Peter Parker, high schooler in Queens, friends with a girl named MJ.” Matt was prepared to continue when Micro began to speak.

“Found him. Peter Benjamin Parker. Race: White. Height: 5’10. Age:” he gave a low whistle “sixteen, on the younger end of sixteen. Family: Richard and Mary Parker, deceased. Was taken in by his Uncle Benjamin Parker and Aunt May Parker, Ben is also deceased.” The man muttered as he leaned into the computers to get a better look. “He lives with May now. She works twelve hour shifts in a hospital working as a nurse.” 

“What’s his school life look like?” Luke asked from where he was leaning on a wall.

“Umm, he’s smart. He goes to ‘Midtown School of Science and Technology’; which is a super expensive private school. He got in on scholarship after getting a 99 cumulative grade on the entry exams. Only one other kid got the scholarship, super competitive entry…at least for those who can’t afford to buy their way in.”

“His friend?” Jessica drawled.

The clicking of Micros keyboard continued, “There is no “MJ”. But, there is a Michelle Jones-Watson that goes to his school. African-American, 5’3, sixteen but turning seventeen later this year. Uhhhhh, her father was in the air-force, her entire dad side of the family has some history of being in the military. Mom is an immigrant from the Dominican Republic, no siblings. She is the other scholarship kid, and scored a 90." He turned in his chair to look at the vigilantes. 

“When does the kids' aunt get off of work?” Frank asked, whipping his hands that had been smeared black from his gun with a rag.

“7am, so nine-ish hours from now.” 

Frank leaned back, “Let’s all kill some time and meet up in Queens at 6:30. We’ll wait for his aunt to get into their apartment and then go have a chat.”

A loud choking noise came from Micro, “Let me suggest that someone other than you and Daredevil go be the ones to talk to her. Respectfully, it's not exactly… thrilling to have vigilantes and mass murders ambush someone at their home.” he said, staring hard at Frank. 

“If I’m not going I need you to give us something that’ll let me hear and see everything.” Micro opened his mouth to argue, “Either wire us up or I’m going in. I’m not leaving this alone.”

Micro’s chair squeaked quietly as he turned, apparently thinking it over, “I have a small camera with a mic that one of you can wear but I want it back.” he said, speaking with more strength than Matt expected him to be able to speak with. 

“You’ll get it back.” Frank swore.

“...Fine.”

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

The Parkers lived in one of the several apartment buildings in Queens. The area was not a good one, Matt kept veering off course to stop crimes which caused him to show up last of the group. The vigilantes were unnervingly serious. There was no banter, Jessica wasn’t drinking, Luke's leg wouldn’t stop bouncing and Frank just kept loading and unloading his handgun. The steady click-click click-click click-click was starting to drive Matt insane but he was stopped from yelling when he heard a simple conversation begin.

“Peter! You’ve gotta leave or you’ll be late”, the sound of a body hitting a wall was clear, “Don’t break through the wall to leave though. It’s not that serious.”

“Ha ha ha, you’re hilarious. You should quit being a nurse and become a stand-up comedian, I’d support you.” 

“She’s home, he’s leaving.” Matt reported, catching the attention of his fellow vigilantes.

He heard the boy say goodbye before giving his aunt a short hug and barreling out the door. From there he focused on the woman. Her heartbeat was steady and her footsteps were heavy as if she were dragging herself around. “We should go in thirty minutes to give him some time to get out of range.”

They waited, every second feeling like an eon, before Luke stood up saying, “Time’s up. Let’s go.” The group had decided he and Jessica would go to speak to her as they were the least intimidating out of the four, thanks to Jessica’s low(ish) profile and Luke’s reputation as a beloved hero. Jessica had the camera attached to her jacket and Matt and Frank sat around the tablet connected to it, eagerly listening to the impending conversation.

The two slipped into the building and knocked on the apartment given by Micro. “Oh, so you’re who he was warning me about. Come on in.” was what they were greeted with when the door opened.

After sharing a look they walked in, “Warned you?” Jessica asked.

“Why don’t you explain yourself first, yeah? You were the ones who came to speak to me.” May spoke as if it was a genuine offer but the implication was clear that she wasn’t going to tell them shit until they said what she was looking for. 

They watched as the woman walked over to the kitchen table and sat down continuing to eat what looked like…Fruit Loops. They looked at each other again and after debating silently Luke said, “We wanted to talk about your nephew.”

She stared at them expectantly, “What about him?”

“He’s Spider-Man.”

For a long moment nobody spoke or moved, “God dammit. If this stupid thing froze, I’m going to give him hell.” Frank swore from where he and Matt sat on the roof across the road.

Before he could continue to threaten the life of Micro they heard, “What does that have to do with you?”

“Excuse me?” Luke and Jessica said unanimously.

“What does that have to do with you?” May asked again. When they didn’t respond she continued, setting down her spoon, “See, here’s what I think happened/is happening and feel free to tell me I’m wrong. But from where I’m sitting it looks like you found out -somehow- that he is Spider-Man. Then went out of your way to find who knows what information and then came here to tell me that he is Spider-Man, as if I don’t already know.”

“I’m going to go ahead and assume - for my sanity and your safety- that you did this out of concern. But now that you have told me, this is what’s going to happen: you are going to get rid of any and all information you have on Peter, me and anything else you have in relation to us; then you are going to leave us the hell alone.”

“You’re just going to let him keep going?” Luke asked judgmentally. “You’re okay with the messes he’s putting himself into?”

May sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, “Have you ever raised a toddler?” 

The vigilantes didn’t respond. 

“Or an elementary schooler or a middle schooler or a highschooler or really any child, ever? No. No, I didn't think so. So let me put this into perspective for you. I love Peter. I raised Peter.  Watched him grow into the person he is now. That person has abilities no one else has. That person has a heart bigger than he knows what to do with. That person will not look away when he knows there's something he can do.” 

She took a breath, “I don’t love it. In helping others he is putting himself in danger and everytime he comes back hurt a part of me dies inside, but this is who he is. He will put others before him and he is too strong for me to stop him. I literally couldn’t stop him if I tried. And believe me I tried.” she gave a soulless laugh. “But really, none of this is any of your fucking business. He is my kid. Mine. Not yours, not anyone else's. And my kid has been given an impossible situation and now he is managing as best as he can. And that is all I can ask of him.”

“But what-”

“I’m not done.” May said cutting off Jessica. “That’s all I can ask of him…you though. I can tell you to stay out of his way. You have no place in this conversation. You don’t like that he’s Spider-Man? You want him to stop? Too fucking bad. If he won’t stop when I ask him to, he sure as hell isn’t going to when you tell him to. And good fucking luck trying to force him to stop, he is stubborn and strong and smart like no other and he will just embarrass you, so step away now.”

Frank slumped against the wall they were sitting on, “I fucking knew it.”

“Oh congratulations, Frank. You were right, the sixteen year old isn’t going to stop throwing himself off buildings.” Matt mocked.

“Shut the hell up you-” 

May interrupted him from where they were watching the scene on the tablet, “Do you have anything else you want to say?”

“How do you sleep at night?” Jessica asked, looking at the woman who was so accepting of the fact that her nephew may die at any moment.

May gave a small smile, “I don’t.”

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

“What now?” Micro asked.

“I don’t know about you all but I’m going to keep an eye out for him and give him my number.” Frank said, pulling out a box full of bullets and magazines from under the table he was sitting at; he began to load the magazines ignoring the groan that came from Micro.

“Please stop leaving your weapons here.”

“No.” 

“Give him your number then what?” Luke prompted, sounding tired.

“Tell him to let me know if he needs anything.” 

“You really do only care about kids and dogs, huh?” Jessica asked.

“Yes. Listen I have some business I have to deal with in Queens, which means that the kid will also be there. I’ll give him a burner with all of our numbers. I’ll tell him to call me if he needs anything and that he should only call you guys if there’s an emergency. Is that fair?”

The group was in agreement and as Matt began to leave the building he heard Micro tell Frank, “Give him my number too. I completely understand what May was talking about, and I know you do too. He isn’t that much older than my kids and I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep knowing that I didn’t at least try.”

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