zoe !

20 ; MDNI 18+ only ! scorched earth peanut butter pretzels michael robinvatich #2 pyt

[bluestrd]

introducing ... bluestrd ☆ !

she/her, 20, college student unfortunately, mdni please !

masterlist , rules , socials

taglist ; requests (open)

the pitt , shawn hatosy , noah wyle , patrick ball , gerran howell , djo , joe keery , dcu , marvel , james gunn , peacemaker , adrian chase , christopher smith , rick flag jr , superman , lex luthor , clark kent ( david ) , jimmy olsen, skyler gisondo , twd , rick grimes , daryl dixon , negan smith , the boys , homelander , billy butcher , hughie campbell , black noir , soldier boy ... into all sorts of media ( nowhere near all listed )

credits → divider: @.uzmacchiato

[djotime]

Djo ph. by Kizen Zhao for Rolling Stone Japan

[bluestrd]

got my nose pierced. i miss jonathan byers.

[bluestrd]

and dick hallorann. but specifically chris chalk in welcome to derry’s dick hallorann.

[bluestrd]

got my nose pierced. i miss jonathan byers.

[jordiemeow]

bobby franklin x reader [mdni] — your boyfriend splashes out on a new camcorder and insists on testing it out on you.

“State your name for the record.”

“You know my name, Bobby.”

“The camera doesn’t.”

Said camera has barely left Bobby’s hands since he’d brought it home two days ago, much to your chagrin. It had taken the entirety of those two days—when you weren’t at work, anyway—for him to convince you to be his muse on your day off. You weren’t even sure what you were signing up for.

Now you sit cross-legged on the bed with one of Bobby’s shirts hanging from your frame, sweating in the summer heat. The fan in the corner rattles noisily, doing little to combat the warmth, and the heat of your annoyance at a camcorder being shoved in your face isn’t exactly helping.

You roll your eyes at him, unimpressed. “The camera isn’t a person. I'm not introducing myself.”

“Well—“ He kisses his teeth, ready to argue his case.

“If you’re just using this as an excuse to roleplay, I want no part of it,” you interject, arms folding stubbornly over your chest.

Bobby zooms the camera in on your deadpan face. “Subject displays signs of hostility—“

“Turn that thing off.”

The warning in your voice only seems to amuse him. The viewfinder hides his expression, but you imagine him grinning, which only exasperates you further.

“Hostility increases—“

“Bobby.”

“Fine. Fine,” he relents—not by turning the camera off, obviously, because that would have required him to possess even a shred of self-restraint, and he’s thoroughly enjoying pestering you right now. Instead, he zooms back out and lowers the camera enough for you to see his face. “This image quality is insane.”

Despite yourself, you feel a little endeared by his enthusiasm. “Well, it better be. That thing is worth, like, a month’s rent.”

The number still makes you feel vaguely ill. The conversation where you’d discovered exactly how much his new equipment cost had almost given you a heart attack. Bobby, however, appears completely unbothered. In fact, judging by the distant look in his eyes, he probably hasn’t heard a single word you’ve just said.

He’s more focused on staring at the tiny flip-out screen again, adjusting the focus ring, watching you reluctantly unfold your arms again.

“Though to be fair,” he says, “you make it easy.”

Your frown deepens. “That’s a terrible line.”

“Line?” He replies absently.

“That.” You gesture vaguely towards him. “Whatever that was. You make it easy.”

A smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t a line.”

“It absolutely was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You called me pretty.”

“I did not,” he denies.

You sit upright. “So now we’re lying?”

Bobby laughs. “I said the image quality was good.”

“Because of me. Therefore you implied I was pretty.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Liar!”

The grin spreading across his face makes your stomach flip unhelpfully. You considered yourself immune to his charms by now, but his boyish grin and the way he’s admiring you through his camcorder makes you want to swoon. Which is exactly why you immediately scowl at him.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself.”

“I can’t help it,” Bobby says.

You huff an amused breath despite yourself. The sound seems to encourage him, and he adjusts something on the side of the camcorder and squints through the viewfinder.

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully to himself.

Naturally, such a sound is immediately enough to warrant suspicion. “What?”

“I need the subject to move around. Test how it picks up motion.”

“So now I’m just ‘the subject?’” You raise a challenging brow at him, and he immediately backtracks.

“I need my hot supermodel girlfriend to move around,” he corrects.

You roll your eyes, but it does make something stir in your chest despite its sheer ridiculousness. Bobby lowers the camera again and you catch the mischievous look on his face.

“Maybe you should model.”

“No,” you deny instantly.

“You’re not even going to think about it?” He says, a whine catching in his voice.

“I don’t need to. I don’t want a video of me stripping, or whatever the hell you want, sitting around our apartment. I babysit my niece here twice a week.”

“Okay, and? It’s not like she knows how to work one of these. She barely knows how to brush her own teeth.”

“It’s— it’s the principle,” you insist, cheeks burning. You wouldn’t consider yourself a shy woman, far from it, but the idea of there being a physical record of you attempting to seduce your boyfriend is offputting. “I’m not a slut.”

He groans and throws his head back. “No, you’re not,” he agrees as patiently as he can. He’s using the same voice he uses to console your aforementioned niece, which isn’t exactly helping his case. “You’re very loyal, in fact. Dedicated, too. It’d be really nice if you could show me that dedication—“

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out. “Don’t make it weirder than it has to be.”

“Fine. Fine.” He raises his free hand in surrender. “I’m not making it weird.”

A silence falls over the both of you, and you worry at your bottom lip in consideration. It just goes to show how much you adore him, because you should be sticking with your gut answer and telling him to fuck off. Alas…

“You promise you won’t show anyone?”

Bobby perks up instantly. “Promise. Scout’s honour.” The boyish salute that follows makes your shoulders ease up a little, and you briefly question why you’d even consider stripping for such a childish individual.

“Fine. But just a little. To… test your motion, or whatever.”

“What?” He blinks stupidly, before realising that’s the excuse he’d used just a moment ago. A sheepish grin tugs at his mouth. “Oh, right. Exactly. Just a little is fine.”

You swallow, shifting slightly on the bed. The frame creaks, and you can’t help but think the moment feels incredibly unsexy. You’re sweating in the sweltering heat, and it’s probably picking up the whirring sound of the fan, and—

Now you’re just psyching yourself out. It’s fine. It’s just Bobby.

“Okay, so… what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“Bobby.”

“Just do what feels right.” He waves a vague hand. “Take your shirt off, or something.”

Such a request should make you sputter with indignance, but it’s no surprise coming from the man who seemingly spent upwards of eight hundred dollars on a camcorder just to record his girlfriend in their shitty apartment. You force some more confidence into your posture, shoulders squaring as you look down at your shirt. Slowly, your fingers drift down to the hem, curling around it.

You glance up at him for reassurance, met with an eager nod. Stifling a sigh, you drag it up slowly, revealing inch by inch of warm skin. “Like this?”

“Just like that,” Bobby breathes, voice lower now.

Encouraged by that, you pull it up further, dragging it up past your bra. Bobby wets his lips at the sight—your breasts spilling over the cups, soft and enticing. Up up up it goes until you’re pulling it over your head, letting it fall to the floor in front of you.

You want to shift uncomfortably, clamp your thighs together, cover yourself with your arms. It’s not like he’s never seen it before. It’s just unnerving with the camcorder directed at you. But you force yourself to stare directly at it, spreading your thighs slightly to give him a proper view of your panties.

“Fuck, yeah,” he murmurs. “Touch yourself.”

“What?” You say, alarmed.

“Not—“ He laughs a little, shaking his head. “Not there. Sorry. Just… your tits, or something.”

Your shoulders sag with relief. That’s a little too much for now, but you’re content enough to give him at least some form of show. Your fingers skate back up your stomach, goosebumps prickling beneath them. Then you cup your breasts over your bra, watching his reaction through half-lidded eyes.

“You’re so pretty, babe,” he says, and the approval goes straight between your legs. “Doing so well.”

You reward him by hooking your fingers under one of your bra straps, inching it down. His breath catches audibly—selfishly, you hope the camera caught that reaction—and he shifts a little on his feet. The thought of him getting visibly aroused by your display emboldens you further.

The other strap follows, and you palm at yourself over the cups a little more. “I would have worn a better set if I knew we were doing this.”

“I like this bra,” he says, only half hearing you, zeroed in on the sight of you squeezing at yourself.

You release them and he almost groans in disappointment. Before the sound can escape, you reach behind you, unclasping the bra and letting it fall away. His eyes widen cartoonishly, and you bite your lip to mask a smile, trying to remain as sultry as possible.

“Shit, can I touch you?” Bobby takes a step forward. Your eyes flick down to his jeans. They’re tight, but you think you can make out the forming bulge beneath the denim.

“Can’t touch ‘the subject,’” you quip.

Hands skim along your chest again, and he seems enraptured as you grope yourself. You’re surprised he hasn’t caved already, but his restraint is admirable as he nods sagely in agreement. Still, you hear him groan under his breath when you focus on a nipple. It stiffens under the touch, already sensitive enough to make you bite the inside of your cheek.

“Is this enough movement?” You ask, rolling your nipple between your fingers while your other hand palms at the flesh of your other breast. You’re hardly moving, so the answer is definitely no, but he indulges you with another one of those enthusiastic nods. You're certain you could sit entirely still with your bra off and he'd tell you it was enough for his little 'motion test.'

“Yeah. Looks, um—“ His gaze moves to the viewfinder, which he realises he hasn’t actually looked through since you took your shirt off. He can only hope the camera was pointed at you properly. “Looks great.”

“The movement, or me?”

“The movement,” he says, laughing at the indignance that crosses your face. “You look more than great. You look perfect.” Heat crawls up your cheeks, but he’s not done. “Which is exactly why I really can’t keep my hands to myself right now, and I don’t think you should waste your day off sitting in bed alone when we could be having sex.”

You bark out a laugh as he switches it off, setting it on the dresser and advancing towards you. “Well, that’s an improvement from your last line.”

He stands between your parted legs, ducking his head to give you a quick kiss. “For the record, it wasn’t a line,” he insists as you reach for his belt.

“Liar,” you mutter against his mouth.

The smile he gives you when he pulls back is so hopelessly smitten that your own laughter softens with something warmer. He ruins it by breaking the silence with:

“Maybe we should invest in a tripod. Then we could really record something sexy—“

[bluestrd]

somebody sedate me

[elvenlords]

Aerion + Anger

FINN BENNETT as Prince Aerion 'Brightflame' Targaryen A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

[bluestrd]

backrooms made me miss him all over again 💔

[t0kkid0kie]

This Genshin AU is consuming me everyday, this is just the rough concept idea!

[bluestrd]

coming on here to announce that i just rewatched ten inch hero and i love boaz priestly. good night.

[bluestrd]

piano man

summary; billy finally gets the life he's long deserved away from the chaos of vought and all things associated with it

wk; ~2.2k

warnings; 18+ always, the boys s5 finale spoilers, gn!reader, language, a short bit of graphic violence butcher commits in the new season, kissing but no graphic smut, not fully proofread, billy + butcher might be used interchangeably, ! im being serious when i say this is full of spoilers so please read with caution if you're someone who watches the show but has yet to see the finale; if you just like billy and don't care for the show or for spoiling it for yourself... continue !

bigger sized font available here

an; this one is a long one i lost the plot a bit and just got sucked into writing for my man. also, my timing might be a little off because of how eric kripke strayed from the comics, tried to keep my plot lore accurate, and yes i am also aware billy would probably hate the beach thank yew. i loved the way the boys was wrapped up minus this guys ending, yes it made sense yes i saw it coming from a mile away but like i am william butcher so watching him die on my screen killed me quite a bit. yes ive been mourning him like a relative. i like to think hes on a beach somewhere with becca and terror which is where my inspiration for this came from. this definitely might be a bit ooc for him but i like to think if he finally got what he wanted out of vought (killing homelander) and moved away he could've had an opportunity at the peace and happiness that he's been chasing for years. brief au with frenchie living too because even though i dont like his actor, he and kimiko deserved a life together. anyways. rant over. thank u mika for reading and helping me. writing requests are open here and reblog is a creators best friend, enjoy <3

** i do not use ai to generate ideas for me, help me with writing, or take any part of my writing

Years. Decades, really, Billy had poured into what lay before him. From the moment Mallory showed him the CCTV footage of what had been done to his Becca, he knew what needed to be done. He made a vow from that moment forward that all supes were bad in his eyes. If the man who was the head of The Seven could get away with such heinous acts, and probably daily, who's to say the other “lowly” supes didn’t commit far worse atrocities? 

Eight years of his life after Becca was gone were spent on a CIA task force, brought together by Mallory herself. He, MM, and Frenchie all worked together keeping rogue supes in line thanks to a combined and shared dislike amongst all of them towards supes. Then, abruptly, they were disbanded after a supe went after Mallory due to Frenchie leaving his post while he was supposed to be monitoring the supe, Lamplighter (who has since also been taken care of). After they were disbanded, Billy continued the war against Vought on his own, posing as still being CIA personnel where it benefited him to do so. From there, he met Hughie at the A/V shop shortly following Robin’s death, and then you came along not far after he reunited with Frenchie and MM, and Hughie was added to the group. An old friend who had an in at Vought thanks to your close ties, working alongside Ashley as a PR rep for Vought. 

Seven more years were spent with Billy and the ragtag group, with two new additions being added over the years. Annie, supe turned rebel after a brief, and horrific, experience as part of The Seven, and Kimiko. Another supe who had been smuggled into the US as part of a plan to create supe-terroists, who was thankfully rescued by the group. Years spent witnessing the violence at the hands of The Seven, especially Homelander himself. Years tracking his insanity, the crimes he committed, the crimes the others committed. Years spent trying to expose everything, yet things going wrong at every turn. Years that were also spent with quiet moments. With you there to slowly patch up the growing hole and ache in Billy’s heart. To pull him back when he got to be too much or too angry (which was often). 

Never did Billy see himself moving on from Becca, especially when this plan of avenging her was his only constant plan in mind. But then the light shed on you, and what you meant to him. Who you were to him, who you’ve always been. You reminded him you never wanted to replace Becca, you knew you had no place to do that, and he understood. So, a lifelong friendship slowly blossomed into something more over seven years spent in close proximity. Late nights spent in his sheets, time spent patching each other up after missions gone wrong, countless dinners cooked on the rare nights you and the rest of the group could just take a moment and breathe. Small moments transitioned into talks of the future if you guys got out of this. If you thought Billy was still good enough for you once this was all over. Talks of moving to the coast somewhere, just the two of you and Terror, since he knew after all of this, Ryan still wouldn’t want anything to do with him. 

—

Fifteen years and some change led Billy to the exact moment he had been planning for the entire time. Homelander, beaten to a pulp, begging for forgiveness, a chance to live, something, on his knees in front of him. You hadn’t seen it happen. You made a direct point to not see it when it happened, busy making sure Kimiko was okay after blasting Homelander with enough radiation to strip him of what made him who he was - his abilities. By the time you reentered the room once Homelander’s begging had silenced, you saw what Billy had done. A crowbar, clear through the supe’s skull, who now lay limp on the carpeted floor, surrounded by blood and debris alike. The strongest man in the world, who believed he could never and would never die, now dwindled to a pile of himself and gone from this Earth.

You stood at the doorway for a moment to give Billy his time to come to terms with the fact he had actually won before walking over, slowly sliding a hand to his bicep and guiding him away. “Everyone’s okay and waiting,” you murmur as you glance up at him and guide him out of the room slowly, down the hall, and to the van. “Kimiko’s tired, but she’ll recover, same with Ryan.” You say as you help him into the van and motion to everyone being accounted for, slowly sitting beside him as MM takes off to start the drive back to their most recent safehouse. 

Everyone gathered in the common area of the cabin that was the safe house for the past few weeks, sitting all gathered together as the Vought press release played and relayed the events that had live-streamed only hours prior. 

“HOMELANDER CONFIRMED DEAD” being the only running headline as Vought officials confirmed other details. Ashley forced out of office, and Stan Edgar taking the company back over, no surprise there. In the focus of watching the press run no one seemed to notice Billy slipping out, though that wasn’t a rare occurrence. The man could be silent when he chose, it just wasn’t often. 

Hughie was the one to notice first. The missing virus, the missing van, Butcher himself missing. It didn’t take much for him to add up all of the pieces and figure out the man’s new plan now that he had gotten Homelander out of the way. ‘Scorched earth’ as he liked to say. It didn’t take him long to get to Vought tower either, following the path of bodies that led to where Butcher stood at the windows overlooking New York City. 

“Knew it’d be you who’d find me. Hoping it woulda been, actually.” Billy spoke up as he glanced over at Hughie, shrugging a bit and motioning to the sprinkler systems before Hughie could even ask. “Put it there. All I got to do is press this,” He held up the trigger button. “And release it. Get rid of all supes, then I suppose I’d go t’jail… or run. Something like that..” He spoke, noting Hughie’s pause and shrugging once more, going to looking back out the window. 

“You would…” Hughie exhaled, pausing for a moment. “But what about… what do you call them? Your canary? What about them, Butcher?” He spoke as he watched him slowly shift towards him again at the mention of you. The only one who’s kept Billy’s head level through all of this. “Did you really think this through if you thought leaving them behind was a good idea? They want a life with you. They talk about it all the time.” He spoke as he slowly crossed the vast meeting room. 

“You killing Homelander ended that chapter of your life. Don’t throw away what’s left of it by going to jail or abandoning them just because you finally defeated him,” Hughie spoke as he kept his eyes on his face, slowly reaching over and removing the trigger from Billy’s hand though he wasn’t met with much resistance anymore. Now that the man had been reminded of what was waiting for him. You. 

“Let’s just… let’s just go back before anyone notices we’re missing. Say you were smoking and I was bothering you. Like always.” Hughie exhaled as he tucked the trigger into his pocket, slowly turning to leave the meeting room with him and watching as Billy slowly trailed behind after only a moment further of thinking. 

The two slipped back into the cabin about twenty minutes later and Hughie’s excuse worked surprisingly well. Fatigue, probably. Relief that things were finally over for the time being. Billy grunted as his form of goodnight, slowly making his way down the hall to your honorary bedroom, joining you in the cheap bed. 

“Could go to the west coast…” He mumbled after a while once the two of you had gotten comfortable in each other’s presence, gazing over at you, accent softened in the privacy of your bedroom. No mention of what he had planned to do earlier. No mention of his plan to go to jail or worse, leave you without a trace of where he was going. No need to mention it anymore, not with the way you were looking at him as if you truly believed the two of you could build a real life together. And you did. 

“Get a nice little place on the beach. Mountains in the back. Could be good for this one,” He grunted out, scratching Terror’s head slowly as he looked to you for approval on his idea, smiling just a bit in only a way he could when he saw your nod of approval. “That’s it then,” he exhaled as he grabbed his busted-up phone. “To the west coast we go, aye? No more fuckin’ supes, just… us. Finally.”

— 

Weeks passed, and then months passed, and slowly, everything went back to normal… well, as normal as things can be. Hughie and Annie stayed in the city with Hughie opening up his own A/V store, and the two were expecting a child on top of it. Frenchie and Kimiko went to France as they had always planned to do, getting their dream dog and living a life that the two deserved. MM remarried his wife, and as predicted, Ryan refused to go with Billy any further, so MM instead took the boy in to hopefully give him the life and the family he knew he deserved, with you and Butcher acting more as distant relatives instead of potential parental figures. No true complaints from either of you, however. 

You and Billy found a little one-story beach house right off the coast in Oregon, a beach that was more often foggy than it was clear, but it was perfect for you two. Terror as well, of course. No jobs, no kids to worry about, and your favorite part, no supes. No Homelander making national headlines every evening, no news about miraculous human beings committing heinous crimes. Just… peace, and quiet, like the two of you deserved.

Billy had, with a lot of convincing on your end, started to see a local therapist to work out any and all residual issues he still had to work through, mostly the ones from his childhood. But he was getting better, slowly, but progress is progress, especially with him. You still often heard from the others, but had decided it was for the best if you all just kept to your own after everything had gone through, though made the exception of the occasional visit to really check in and see how everyone had been doing. 

You had been sleeping in after a night of hosting everyone in your and Billy’s home, though their flights had all left earlier, shifting a bit in the bed when you heard some loud noises from the kitchen. Some minutes of silent debating and an irritated groan later, you found yourself walking to the kitchen, only to pause at the sight in front of you. The best sight, really. One you found yourself thanking anyone you could to receive on a daily basis. Billy, standing shirtless at the stove with a simple pair of shorts on, cooking breakfast for the two of you and feeding a few scraps to Terror, who lay off to the side on the cold tile. 

You smile as you make your way over, arms coming to wrap slowly around his waist. “Smells good,” you commented as he handed you a plate, humming a thank you before following him outside to your deck that looked out on the beach, the waves crashing gently in the background, the fog having lifted for once. You sit beside him and rest your plate in your lap, exhaling as you lift your feet to accommodate Terror to lie under your chair. “This is what we earned,” you say softly, glancing over at Billy and gently rubbing his arm slowly as he nodded, meeting your gaze. 

“This specifically. Not last night with tiny little Robin terrorizing our living room.” He replied with a nod, leaning over and pressing a slow kiss to the top of your forehead. “Our sanctuary. Peace and quiet.” He finally relented and agreed, leaning down and capturing your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss for a man of his stature, in which you returned for a moment before pulling away with a satisfied hum, leaning back, and starting to eat.

“Our sanctuary, sure, only once you get your beard trimmed.” You hum under your breath, continuing to watch the waves crash gently against the rocks as his rough chuckle reaches your ears, glancing over at him once more before looking back out at the waves as the two of you enjoyed the breakfast he had made. 

Billy Butcher, a man who had once been famously known for his hatred towards supes and for being a brute, was now at peace.

[buckygasm]

Butcher pics taken by you

[bluestrd]

piano man

summary; billy finally gets the life he's long deserved away from the chaos of vought and all things associated with it

wk; ~2.2k

warnings; 18+ always, the boys s5 finale spoilers, gn!reader, language, a short bit of graphic violence butcher commits in the new season, kissing but no graphic smut, not fully proofread, billy + butcher might be used interchangeably, ! im being serious when i say this is full of spoilers so please read with caution if you're someone who watches the show but has yet to see the finale; if you just like billy and don't care for the show or for spoiling it for yourself... continue !

bigger sized font available here

an; this one is a long one i lost the plot a bit and just got sucked into writing for my man. also, my timing might be a little off because of how eric kripke strayed from the comics, tried to keep my plot lore accurate, and yes i am also aware billy would probably hate the beach thank yew. i loved the way the boys was wrapped up minus this guys ending, yes it made sense yes i saw it coming from a mile away but like i am william butcher so watching him die on my screen killed me quite a bit. yes ive been mourning him like a relative. i like to think hes on a beach somewhere with becca and terror which is where my inspiration for this came from. this definitely might be a bit ooc for him but i like to think if he finally got what he wanted out of vought (killing homelander) and moved away he could've had an opportunity at the peace and happiness that he's been chasing for years. brief au with frenchie living too because even though i dont like his actor, he and kimiko deserved a life together. anyways. rant over. thank u mika for reading and helping me. writing requests are open here and reblog is a creators best friend, enjoy <3

** i do not use ai to generate ideas for me, help me with writing, or take any part of my writing

Years. Decades, really, Billy had poured into what lay before him. From the moment Mallory showed him the CCTV footage of what had been done to his Becca, he knew what needed to be done. He made a vow from that moment forward that all supes were bad in his eyes. If the man who was the head of The Seven could get away with such heinous acts, and probably daily, who's to say the other “lowly” supes didn’t commit far worse atrocities? 

Eight years of his life after Becca was gone were spent on a CIA task force, brought together by Mallory herself. He, MM, and Frenchie all worked together keeping rogue supes in line thanks to a combined and shared dislike amongst all of them towards supes. Then, abruptly, they were disbanded after a supe went after Mallory due to Frenchie leaving his post while he was supposed to be monitoring the supe, Lamplighter (who has since also been taken care of). After they were disbanded, Billy continued the war against Vought on his own, posing as still being CIA personnel where it benefited him to do so. From there, he met Hughie at the A/V shop shortly following Robin’s death, and then you came along not far after he reunited with Frenchie and MM, and Hughie was added to the group. An old friend who had an in at Vought thanks to your close ties, working alongside Ashley as a PR rep for Vought. 

Seven more years were spent with Billy and the ragtag group, with two new additions being added over the years. Annie, supe turned rebel after a brief, and horrific, experience as part of The Seven, and Kimiko. Another supe who had been smuggled into the US as part of a plan to create supe-terroists, who was thankfully rescued by the group. Years spent witnessing the violence at the hands of The Seven, especially Homelander himself. Years tracking his insanity, the crimes he committed, the crimes the others committed. Years spent trying to expose everything, yet things going wrong at every turn. Years that were also spent with quiet moments. With you there to slowly patch up the growing hole and ache in Billy’s heart. To pull him back when he got to be too much or too angry (which was often). 

Never did Billy see himself moving on from Becca, especially when this plan of avenging her was his only constant plan in mind. But then the light shed on you, and what you meant to him. Who you were to him, who you’ve always been. You reminded him you never wanted to replace Becca, you knew you had no place to do that, and he understood. So, a lifelong friendship slowly blossomed into something more over seven years spent in close proximity. Late nights spent in his sheets, time spent patching each other up after missions gone wrong, countless dinners cooked on the rare nights you and the rest of the group could just take a moment and breathe. Small moments transitioned into talks of the future if you guys got out of this. If you thought Billy was still good enough for you once this was all over. Talks of moving to the coast somewhere, just the two of you and Terror, since he knew after all of this, Ryan still wouldn’t want anything to do with him. 

—

Fifteen years and some change led Billy to the exact moment he had been planning for the entire time. Homelander, beaten to a pulp, begging for forgiveness, a chance to live, something, on his knees in front of him. You hadn’t seen it happen. You made a direct point to not see it when it happened, busy making sure Kimiko was okay after blasting Homelander with enough radiation to strip him of what made him who he was - his abilities. By the time you reentered the room once Homelander’s begging had silenced, you saw what Billy had done. A crowbar, clear through the supe’s skull, who now lay limp on the carpeted floor, surrounded by blood and debris alike. The strongest man in the world, who believed he could never and would never die, now dwindled to a pile of himself and gone from this Earth.

You stood at the doorway for a moment to give Billy his time to come to terms with the fact he had actually won before walking over, slowly sliding a hand to his bicep and guiding him away. “Everyone’s okay and waiting,” you murmur as you glance up at him and guide him out of the room slowly, down the hall, and to the van. “Kimiko’s tired, but she’ll recover, same with Ryan.” You say as you help him into the van and motion to everyone being accounted for, slowly sitting beside him as MM takes off to start the drive back to their most recent safehouse. 

Everyone gathered in the common area of the cabin that was the safe house for the past few weeks, sitting all gathered together as the Vought press release played and relayed the events that had live-streamed only hours prior. 

“HOMELANDER CONFIRMED DEAD” being the only running headline as Vought officials confirmed other details. Ashley forced out of office, and Stan Edgar taking the company back over, no surprise there. In the focus of watching the press run no one seemed to notice Billy slipping out, though that wasn’t a rare occurrence. The man could be silent when he chose, it just wasn’t often. 

Hughie was the one to notice first. The missing virus, the missing van, Butcher himself missing. It didn’t take much for him to add up all of the pieces and figure out the man’s new plan now that he had gotten Homelander out of the way. ‘Scorched earth’ as he liked to say. It didn’t take him long to get to Vought tower either, following the path of bodies that led to where Butcher stood at the windows overlooking New York City. 

“Knew it’d be you who’d find me. Hoping it woulda been, actually.” Billy spoke up as he glanced over at Hughie, shrugging a bit and motioning to the sprinkler systems before Hughie could even ask. “Put it there. All I got to do is press this,” He held up the trigger button. “And release it. Get rid of all supes, then I suppose I’d go t’jail… or run. Something like that..” He spoke, noting Hughie’s pause and shrugging once more, going to looking back out the window. 

“You would…” Hughie exhaled, pausing for a moment. “But what about… what do you call them? Your canary? What about them, Butcher?” He spoke as he watched him slowly shift towards him again at the mention of you. The only one who’s kept Billy’s head level through all of this. “Did you really think this through if you thought leaving them behind was a good idea? They want a life with you. They talk about it all the time.” He spoke as he slowly crossed the vast meeting room. 

“You killing Homelander ended that chapter of your life. Don’t throw away what’s left of it by going to jail or abandoning them just because you finally defeated him,” Hughie spoke as he kept his eyes on his face, slowly reaching over and removing the trigger from Billy’s hand though he wasn’t met with much resistance anymore. Now that the man had been reminded of what was waiting for him. You. 

“Let’s just… let’s just go back before anyone notices we’re missing. Say you were smoking and I was bothering you. Like always.” Hughie exhaled as he tucked the trigger into his pocket, slowly turning to leave the meeting room with him and watching as Billy slowly trailed behind after only a moment further of thinking. 

The two slipped back into the cabin about twenty minutes later and Hughie’s excuse worked surprisingly well. Fatigue, probably. Relief that things were finally over for the time being. Billy grunted as his form of goodnight, slowly making his way down the hall to your honorary bedroom, joining you in the cheap bed. 

“Could go to the west coast…” He mumbled after a while once the two of you had gotten comfortable in each other’s presence, gazing over at you, accent softened in the privacy of your bedroom. No mention of what he had planned to do earlier. No mention of his plan to go to jail or worse, leave you without a trace of where he was going. No need to mention it anymore, not with the way you were looking at him as if you truly believed the two of you could build a real life together. And you did. 

“Get a nice little place on the beach. Mountains in the back. Could be good for this one,” He grunted out, scratching Terror’s head slowly as he looked to you for approval on his idea, smiling just a bit in only a way he could when he saw your nod of approval. “That’s it then,” he exhaled as he grabbed his busted-up phone. “To the west coast we go, aye? No more fuckin’ supes, just… us. Finally.”

— 

Weeks passed, and then months passed, and slowly, everything went back to normal… well, as normal as things can be. Hughie and Annie stayed in the city with Hughie opening up his own A/V store, and the two were expecting a child on top of it. Frenchie and Kimiko went to France as they had always planned to do, getting their dream dog and living a life that the two deserved. MM remarried his wife, and as predicted, Ryan refused to go with Billy any further, so MM instead took the boy in to hopefully give him the life and the family he knew he deserved, with you and Butcher acting more as distant relatives instead of potential parental figures. No true complaints from either of you, however. 

You and Billy found a little one-story beach house right off the coast in Oregon, a beach that was more often foggy than it was clear, but it was perfect for you two. Terror as well, of course. No jobs, no kids to worry about, and your favorite part, no supes. No Homelander making national headlines every evening, no news about miraculous human beings committing heinous crimes. Just… peace, and quiet, like the two of you deserved.

Billy had, with a lot of convincing on your end, started to see a local therapist to work out any and all residual issues he still had to work through, mostly the ones from his childhood. But he was getting better, slowly, but progress is progress, especially with him. You still often heard from the others, but had decided it was for the best if you all just kept to your own after everything had gone through, though made the exception of the occasional visit to really check in and see how everyone had been doing. 

You had been sleeping in after a night of hosting everyone in your and Billy’s home, though their flights had all left earlier, shifting a bit in the bed when you heard some loud noises from the kitchen. Some minutes of silent debating and an irritated groan later, you found yourself walking to the kitchen, only to pause at the sight in front of you. The best sight, really. One you found yourself thanking anyone you could to receive on a daily basis. Billy, standing shirtless at the stove with a simple pair of shorts on, cooking breakfast for the two of you and feeding a few scraps to Terror, who lay off to the side on the cold tile. 

You smile as you make your way over, arms coming to wrap slowly around his waist. “Smells good,” you commented as he handed you a plate, humming a thank you before following him outside to your deck that looked out on the beach, the waves crashing gently in the background, the fog having lifted for once. You sit beside him and rest your plate in your lap, exhaling as you lift your feet to accommodate Terror to lie under your chair. “This is what we earned,” you say softly, glancing over at Billy and gently rubbing his arm slowly as he nodded, meeting your gaze. 

“This specifically. Not last night with tiny little Robin terrorizing our living room.” He replied with a nod, leaning over and pressing a slow kiss to the top of your forehead. “Our sanctuary. Peace and quiet.” He finally relented and agreed, leaning down and capturing your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss for a man of his stature, in which you returned for a moment before pulling away with a satisfied hum, leaning back, and starting to eat.

“Our sanctuary, sure, only once you get your beard trimmed.” You hum under your breath, continuing to watch the waves crash gently against the rocks as his rough chuckle reaches your ears, glancing over at him once more before looking back out at the waves as the two of you enjoyed the breakfast he had made. 

Billy Butcher, a man who had once been famously known for his hatred towards supes and for being a brute, was now at peace.

[bluestrd]

piano man

summary; billy finally gets the life he's long deserved away from the chaos of vought and all things associated with it

wk; ~2.2k

warnings; 18+ always, the boys s5 finale spoilers, gn!reader, language, a short bit of graphic violence butcher commits in the new season, kissing but no graphic smut, not fully proofread, billy + butcher might be used interchangeably, ! im being serious when i say this is full of spoilers so please read with caution if you're someone who watches the show but has yet to see the finale; if you just like billy and don't care for the show or for spoiling it for yourself... continue !

bigger sized font available here

an; this one is a long one i lost the plot a bit and just got sucked into writing for my man. also, my timing might be a little off because of how eric kripke strayed from the comics, tried to keep my plot lore accurate, and yes i am also aware billy would probably hate the beach thank yew. i loved the way the boys was wrapped up minus this guys ending, yes it made sense yes i saw it coming from a mile away but like i am william butcher so watching him die on my screen killed me quite a bit. yes ive been mourning him like a relative. i like to think hes on a beach somewhere with becca and terror which is where my inspiration for this came from. this definitely might be a bit ooc for him but i like to think if he finally got what he wanted out of vought (killing homelander) and moved away he could've had an opportunity at the peace and happiness that he's been chasing for years. brief au with frenchie living too because even though i dont like his actor, he and kimiko deserved a life together. anyways. rant over. thank u mika for reading and helping me. writing requests are open here and reblog is a creators best friend, enjoy <3

** i do not use ai to generate ideas for me, help me with writing, or take any part of my writing

Years. Decades, really, Billy had poured into what lay before him. From the moment Mallory showed him the CCTV footage of what had been done to his Becca, he knew what needed to be done. He made a vow from that moment forward that all supes were bad in his eyes. If the man who was the head of The Seven could get away with such heinous acts, and probably daily, who's to say the other “lowly” supes didn’t commit far worse atrocities? 

Eight years of his life after Becca was gone were spent on a CIA task force, brought together by Mallory herself. He, MM, and Frenchie all worked together keeping rogue supes in line thanks to a combined and shared dislike amongst all of them towards supes. Then, abruptly, they were disbanded after a supe went after Mallory due to Frenchie leaving his post while he was supposed to be monitoring the supe, Lamplighter (who has since also been taken care of). After they were disbanded, Billy continued the war against Vought on his own, posing as still being CIA personnel where it benefited him to do so. From there, he met Hughie at the A/V shop shortly following Robin’s death, and then you came along not far after he reunited with Frenchie and MM, and Hughie was added to the group. An old friend who had an in at Vought thanks to your close ties, working alongside Ashley as a PR rep for Vought. 

Seven more years were spent with Billy and the ragtag group, with two new additions being added over the years. Annie, supe turned rebel after a brief, and horrific, experience as part of The Seven, and Kimiko. Another supe who had been smuggled into the US as part of a plan to create supe-terroists, who was thankfully rescued by the group. Years spent witnessing the violence at the hands of The Seven, especially Homelander himself. Years tracking his insanity, the crimes he committed, the crimes the others committed. Years spent trying to expose everything, yet things going wrong at every turn. Years that were also spent with quiet moments. With you there to slowly patch up the growing hole and ache in Billy’s heart. To pull him back when he got to be too much or too angry (which was often). 

Never did Billy see himself moving on from Becca, especially when this plan of avenging her was his only constant plan in mind. But then the light shed on you, and what you meant to him. Who you were to him, who you’ve always been. You reminded him you never wanted to replace Becca, you knew you had no place to do that, and he understood. So, a lifelong friendship slowly blossomed into something more over seven years spent in close proximity. Late nights spent in his sheets, time spent patching each other up after missions gone wrong, countless dinners cooked on the rare nights you and the rest of the group could just take a moment and breathe. Small moments transitioned into talks of the future if you guys got out of this. If you thought Billy was still good enough for you once this was all over. Talks of moving to the coast somewhere, just the two of you and Terror, since he knew after all of this, Ryan still wouldn’t want anything to do with him. 

—

Fifteen years and some change led Billy to the exact moment he had been planning for the entire time. Homelander, beaten to a pulp, begging for forgiveness, a chance to live, something, on his knees in front of him. You hadn’t seen it happen. You made a direct point to not see it when it happened, busy making sure Kimiko was okay after blasting Homelander with enough radiation to strip him of what made him who he was - his abilities. By the time you reentered the room once Homelander’s begging had silenced, you saw what Billy had done. A crowbar, clear through the supe’s skull, who now lay limp on the carpeted floor, surrounded by blood and debris alike. The strongest man in the world, who believed he could never and would never die, now dwindled to a pile of himself and gone from this Earth.

You stood at the doorway for a moment to give Billy his time to come to terms with the fact he had actually won before walking over, slowly sliding a hand to his bicep and guiding him away. “Everyone’s okay and waiting,” you murmur as you glance up at him and guide him out of the room slowly, down the hall, and to the van. “Kimiko’s tired, but she’ll recover, same with Ryan.” You say as you help him into the van and motion to everyone being accounted for, slowly sitting beside him as MM takes off to start the drive back to their most recent safehouse. 

Everyone gathered in the common area of the cabin that was the safe house for the past few weeks, sitting all gathered together as the Vought press release played and relayed the events that had live-streamed only hours prior. 

“HOMELANDER CONFIRMED DEAD” being the only running headline as Vought officials confirmed other details. Ashley forced out of office, and Stan Edgar taking the company back over, no surprise there. In the focus of watching the press run no one seemed to notice Billy slipping out, though that wasn’t a rare occurrence. The man could be silent when he chose, it just wasn’t often. 

Hughie was the one to notice first. The missing virus, the missing van, Butcher himself missing. It didn’t take much for him to add up all of the pieces and figure out the man’s new plan now that he had gotten Homelander out of the way. ‘Scorched earth’ as he liked to say. It didn’t take him long to get to Vought tower either, following the path of bodies that led to where Butcher stood at the windows overlooking New York City. 

“Knew it’d be you who’d find me. Hoping it woulda been, actually.” Billy spoke up as he glanced over at Hughie, shrugging a bit and motioning to the sprinkler systems before Hughie could even ask. “Put it there. All I got to do is press this,” He held up the trigger button. “And release it. Get rid of all supes, then I suppose I’d go t’jail… or run. Something like that..” He spoke, noting Hughie’s pause and shrugging once more, going to looking back out the window. 

“You would…” Hughie exhaled, pausing for a moment. “But what about… what do you call them? Your canary? What about them, Butcher?” He spoke as he watched him slowly shift towards him again at the mention of you. The only one who’s kept Billy’s head level through all of this. “Did you really think this through if you thought leaving them behind was a good idea? They want a life with you. They talk about it all the time.” He spoke as he slowly crossed the vast meeting room. 

“You killing Homelander ended that chapter of your life. Don’t throw away what’s left of it by going to jail or abandoning them just because you finally defeated him,” Hughie spoke as he kept his eyes on his face, slowly reaching over and removing the trigger from Billy’s hand though he wasn’t met with much resistance anymore. Now that the man had been reminded of what was waiting for him. You. 

“Let’s just… let’s just go back before anyone notices we’re missing. Say you were smoking and I was bothering you. Like always.” Hughie exhaled as he tucked the trigger into his pocket, slowly turning to leave the meeting room with him and watching as Billy slowly trailed behind after only a moment further of thinking. 

The two slipped back into the cabin about twenty minutes later and Hughie’s excuse worked surprisingly well. Fatigue, probably. Relief that things were finally over for the time being. Billy grunted as his form of goodnight, slowly making his way down the hall to your honorary bedroom, joining you in the cheap bed. 

“Could go to the west coast…” He mumbled after a while once the two of you had gotten comfortable in each other’s presence, gazing over at you, accent softened in the privacy of your bedroom. No mention of what he had planned to do earlier. No mention of his plan to go to jail or worse, leave you without a trace of where he was going. No need to mention it anymore, not with the way you were looking at him as if you truly believed the two of you could build a real life together. And you did. 

“Get a nice little place on the beach. Mountains in the back. Could be good for this one,” He grunted out, scratching Terror’s head slowly as he looked to you for approval on his idea, smiling just a bit in only a way he could when he saw your nod of approval. “That’s it then,” he exhaled as he grabbed his busted-up phone. “To the west coast we go, aye? No more fuckin’ supes, just… us. Finally.”

— 

Weeks passed, and then months passed, and slowly, everything went back to normal… well, as normal as things can be. Hughie and Annie stayed in the city with Hughie opening up his own A/V store, and the two were expecting a child on top of it. Frenchie and Kimiko went to France as they had always planned to do, getting their dream dog and living a life that the two deserved. MM remarried his wife, and as predicted, Ryan refused to go with Billy any further, so MM instead took the boy in to hopefully give him the life and the family he knew he deserved, with you and Butcher acting more as distant relatives instead of potential parental figures. No true complaints from either of you, however. 

You and Billy found a little one-story beach house right off the coast in Oregon, a beach that was more often foggy than it was clear, but it was perfect for you two. Terror as well, of course. No jobs, no kids to worry about, and your favorite part, no supes. No Homelander making national headlines every evening, no news about miraculous human beings committing heinous crimes. Just… peace, and quiet, like the two of you deserved.

Billy had, with a lot of convincing on your end, started to see a local therapist to work out any and all residual issues he still had to work through, mostly the ones from his childhood. But he was getting better, slowly, but progress is progress, especially with him. You still often heard from the others, but had decided it was for the best if you all just kept to your own after everything had gone through, though made the exception of the occasional visit to really check in and see how everyone had been doing. 

You had been sleeping in after a night of hosting everyone in your and Billy’s home, though their flights had all left earlier, shifting a bit in the bed when you heard some loud noises from the kitchen. Some minutes of silent debating and an irritated groan later, you found yourself walking to the kitchen, only to pause at the sight in front of you. The best sight, really. One you found yourself thanking anyone you could to receive on a daily basis. Billy, standing shirtless at the stove with a simple pair of shorts on, cooking breakfast for the two of you and feeding a few scraps to Terror, who lay off to the side on the cold tile. 

You smile as you make your way over, arms coming to wrap slowly around his waist. “Smells good,” you commented as he handed you a plate, humming a thank you before following him outside to your deck that looked out on the beach, the waves crashing gently in the background, the fog having lifted for once. You sit beside him and rest your plate in your lap, exhaling as you lift your feet to accommodate Terror to lie under your chair. “This is what we earned,” you say softly, glancing over at Billy and gently rubbing his arm slowly as he nodded, meeting your gaze. 

“This specifically. Not last night with tiny little Robin terrorizing our living room.” He replied with a nod, leaning over and pressing a slow kiss to the top of your forehead. “Our sanctuary. Peace and quiet.” He finally relented and agreed, leaning down and capturing your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss for a man of his stature, in which you returned for a moment before pulling away with a satisfied hum, leaning back, and starting to eat.

“Our sanctuary, sure, only once you get your beard trimmed.” You hum under your breath, continuing to watch the waves crash gently against the rocks as his rough chuckle reaches your ears, glancing over at him once more before looking back out at the waves as the two of you enjoyed the breakfast he had made. 

Billy Butcher, a man who had once been famously known for his hatred towards supes and for being a brute, was now at peace.

[tacobacoyeet]

thinking about harvey specter x f!law student!reader...

a bit of smut, 18+

there's some sort of thrill to sneaking around. sure, it's hard sometimes, especially considering the whole reason you have to sneak around is because your credibility would be called into question if you were found out, but it's kind of sexy.

he'll never admit it, but there's nothing he loves more than when you come back to his apartment exhausted after classes and flop across the couch, and he gets to rub your feet until you let out that soft little sigh, your shoulders easing down a bit, the stress of the day oozing out with every touch he gives you.

it's not often that this can happen, so he does his best to not take those moments for granted. harvard is an easy 4-hour drive from new york, but the second you agree, he's sending a car or booking you on the next flight to him (well, donna is. but he's paying). even an hour-and-a-half on a plane is too long for him to wait to get his hands on you, but he'd wait a decade if it meant even 10 minutes with you.

on the topic of flights and cars, harvey pays for everything. he knows that you feel bad sometimes, but in his eyes, you're going through the most stressful part of your life thus far—law school isn't easy. he already doesn't feel great about not seeing you every single day, so the least he can do is send you money and pay for things.

your passion ignites his. your academic passion... and other kinds. seeing you so bright-eyed, so enthusiastic, so driven toward success is the strongest aphrodisiac there is, to him.

he'll never forget the day that you called him after you got an 'a' on one of professor gerard's exams, the triumph on your voice leaving you a little breathless as you excitedly recounted the experience to him. he was out of the office by 5—unheard of for him, but he'd deal with the questions tomorrow—and sitting back on the couch in your apartment by 7:15, his mouth lavishing attention on your breasts, murmuring praise against your skin as you rode him. the glint of power in your eyes; the pride in your movements—he'd jerked off just thinking of that night many times after it had happened.

on that topic, harvey is such a generous lover. between the distance and the clandestinity of your relationship, every second he gets to spend with you is sacred. whenever he's given the opportunity, he doesn't hesitate to spend hours between your legs, tongue laving at your needy pussy until your thighs are squeezing around his head, your fingers are tugging at his hair, and all he can hear from you are cries of his name. he finds power in making you feel good. he absolutely, without a doubt, has to make you come before he lets you do anything for him. he wants nothing but the best for his hard-working girl: the best law school, the best coffee, the best liquor, the best lingerie, and of course, the best orgasms. he always insists on working you to one before he even bothers thinking of himself. it's his way of making up for the time and the distance between you. of course, it isn't his fault, but some part of him is convinced that you deserve more than him; than this situation. it's his tiny way of convincing himself that he has control over all of this and that you won't leave him for someone closer, younger, someone who can proudly show you off. he'd give almost anything to be able to do that, but he values your future and his reputation. he loves you enough to know not to mess that up.

that's why, pretty often, you're receiving care packages from him in the mail. flower deliveries, your favorite alcohol, new jewelry, new clothes, sweet treats, and, more often than not, a small, nondescript box with a new lacy set and new toys for you to experiment with. there's always a sweet note, almost certainly ending with him encouraging you to try everything out and send him a video, if you feel so inclined. your friends are beyond envious of you, desperate to know more about this mysterious man of yours, but you won't tell. you will, however, light a few candles, try on the new set, garnish it with the new diamonds that came with it, and set your phone up so that he can see you work that new vibrator in and out of yourself, one hand clawing at the sheets beneath you as you moan about how much you wish he was there with you; how much you need him. he needs you too, he'll grunt to himself as he watches the video for the third time, coming into his fist.

the two of you are as good as married. you've discussed it many times before, curled up against his chest during a break from school, dinner plates forgotten in the sink as you envision your future together, in the open. he knows that you're it for him. he'd marry you tomorrow, truly, but you both decided it just wasn't right yet. he wants you to finish school first—adding the stress of a wedding on top of harvard was a ridiculous idea. besides, he wants to do it right. he wants to get down on one knee and give a long speech about how you're the only thing in his life that he's sure of. he wants to stand at the altar with you, see you in a white gown that you got to pick out without a rush, exchange vows that he wrote himself about how no matter what happens, he promises that he will always be there. he promises that he won't let anyone or anything get in the way of the two of you. he promises to never be apart from you again (seriously, the distance is killing him). he promises to love you openly, publicly, loudly, until he takes his final breath. he hopes that his last words are a declaration of all of the love he has for you.

he's so fucking scared that you'll leave him. he never says it to you, on account of him not wanting to seem weak, but you know. you have the same fear; you don't want him to leave you. neither of you have to tell each other for y'all to know. you show it, rather, in the way you tenderly kiss down his body, in the way your lips melt into his, in the way you allow yourself to become one with him. neither of you has to verbally vulnerable if you can't muster it, because the physicality of your relationship bares it all. every touch, every breath, every kiss is a reminder. neither of you are going anywhere. no matter how long it takes for everything to fall into place, you are his and he is yours. without a doubt. that's the thought that helps him to sleep every night.

brief a/n (at the bottom again! how crazy): i've missed harvey so bad and i've missed you guys even more. i hope you guys enjoy and i hope this gives me the inspiration to start writing for him (and in general) again!!!! also my babies this is NAWT proofread! it never will be i am so sorry! okay mmm harvey specter allow me to slob on your knob please!

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join here!

[bluestrd]

now this is what i’m talkin about

[bluestrd]

taking requests for characters from the boys :) a billy butcher fic is currently in progress, but i'll write for most characters, with my no's being: ryan, the deep, stormfront/clara, and frenchie.

google forms in my pinned post but also here.

[pittsick]

FRANK LANGDON ﹏ SEE ME AGAIN.

summary ﹏ When frank returns after rehab, the distance he left behind in your friendship collides with everything unsaid, forcing both of you to confront hurt, guilt, and the truth of what you meant to each other. Through fragile conversations and slow rebuilding, you find your way back: not to what you were, but to something more honest, where choosing each other matters more than the past.

cw ﹏ angst & emotional hurt fic. gn!reader. medical setting. addiction & recovery (rehab, substance abuse). coworkers to something more. unresolved feelings. miscommunication & separation. guilt & self-worth struggles. soft emotional intimacy. open / hopeful ending.

reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!

The first time you hear about Frank again, it isn’t even from him.

It slips out of a conversation half-muttered at the nurses’ station between Robby and Dana, tangled in the static hum of monitors and the sharp scent of antiseptic that never quite leaves your clothes anymore, no matter how many times you wash them. You’re charting, eyes burning from the end of a twelve-hour shift that somehow turned into fourteen, and the words hit your ears like it’s nothing; like it doesn’t carve straight through your chest.

“Langdon’s back next week, right?” Your pen stops moving at what seems to be the whisper (not so quiet) of the in-charge nurse. There’s a beat—too long to be natural—before Robby answers, flipping through a patient file with casual indifference like he doesn’t truly want to think about it, like he wants to erase the thoughts. “Yeah, cleared and everything. Starts Monday.”

Monday.

You stare at the chart in front of you, the words blurring together until they stop meaning anything at all, until all you can hear is the echo of that name in your head, louder than the alarms, louder than the overhead announcements, louder than your own pulse picking up under your skin. Frank Langdon is back.

You thought you were ready for that, once. Back when he first left ten months ago, when the absence still felt temporary, when you told yourself this was good; that this was what he needed, that he’d come back better and healthier and maybe, just maybe, you’d still be there waiting in the same place you’d always been. Between something that reassembled a colleague and a friend, in the middle to be close to him. Or maybe… It was even more.

But time didn’t stay still for you the way you’d hoped it would for him.

Time moved, it dragged, it carved distance into something solid and real, something that settled into your bones until you forgot what it felt like to exist without it. And now he’s coming back. You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until Dana nudges your shoulder. “You good?”

You blink, forcing yourself back into your body, into the present, into the fluorescent-lit chaos of the ER. “Yeah,” you say automatically, too quickly, already writing again even though your hand feels like it belongs to someone else. “Just tired.” She hums in acknowledgment, already moving on, already forgetting the moment entirely, though you swear to feel her eyes on you for a moment. As if she knows what’s going on inside that head of yours. Then, she brushed it off, leaving the subject alone.

You wish you could do the same.

Monday comes whether you’re ready or not.

You think about calling in sick and the thought settles heavy in your chest as you stand outside the hospital doors, badge clipped to your scrubs, coffee gone cold in your hand because you forgot to drink it. It would be easy. One call, one excuse, one day to delay the inevitable.

But you don’t, no, you push through the doors instead, letting the familiar rush of noise swallow you whole, because avoiding it won’t change anything. He’s still going to be here and you’re still going to have to see him eventually. Better to get it over with. Except it doesn’t feel like getting it over with when you finally see him, looking around like a lost puppy in a pit of wolves reading to bite and tear skin apart.

You feel like being hit for a second.

You’re halfway through checking supplies in one of the trauma rooms when he walks in, and for a moment your brain refuses to register what your eyes are seeing, like it’s glitching, like it’s trying to protect you from the reality of it. Because it’s him, it’s unmistakably him, but not in the way you remember. Not in the way you want to remember.

Frank Langdon has always carried himself a certain way. Even on his worst days: running on no sleep and too much caffeine, a tension coiled tight beneath his skin, he still felt solid and grounded, like someone you could lean on without thinking twice. But that steadiness used to come wrapped in edges. He was sharp in the ER, all biting sarcasm and quick comebacks, the kind of doctor who could cut through a room with a single look or a muttered remark under his breath. He snapped when things slowed down, when people hesitated, when someone asked a question he thought they should already know the answer to. 

Not cruel, not really; but impatient, a little mean when the pressure got too high, like the only way he knew how to stay upright was to push everything else away from him. You learned his rhythms anyway, learned how to read the difference between his irritation and his focus, how to catch the brief flickers of something softer underneath when he thought no one was paying attention.

The man standing in the doorway now feels different.

He looks healthier, technically, and cleaner. There’s a steadiness to him that wasn’t there before, a deliberate calm in the way he holds himself, shoulders squared like he’s constantly reminding himself to stay that way. The sharpness is still there, but dulled, tucked away instead of lashing outward, his voice quieter when he speaks, his reactions measured in a way that almost feels unfamiliar. But there’s something else, too: something quieter, something fragile in a way you don’t think he’d appreciate being called. 

Like all that old edge didn’t disappear, just got folded inward, turned into something he has to keep a careful grip on. His eyes find you before you can look away, and everything stops. There’s recognition there, immediate and sharp, followed by something softer that flickers across his face before he can hide it. Your name almost forms on his lips (you can see it) but he doesn’t say it.

The silence stretches for what seems like eternity, heavy and unbearable, until someone calls his name from down the hall, breaking the moment open.

“Langdon, they need you in trauma one!” He blinks, like he’s waking up, like he forgot where he was for a second, and then he nods, already moving, already slipping back into the rhythm of the ER like he never left. But as he passes you, close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his soap: something clean and unfamiliar, not the cheap cologne he used to wear. That’s when you feel it; the hesitation, the almost.

“Hey,” he says, barely audible, like he doesn’t trust himself to say more. You swallow, forcing your voice to work. “Hey.”

And then he’s gone.

You don’t actually talk to him again until hours later.

It’s the middle of a mess, but the holidays tend to do that to a hospital, especially a fourth of July. The ER is chaos in the way it always is when everything goes wrong at once. You’re moving on instinct, on muscle memory, slipping into that familiar headspace where everything narrows down to the next task, the next patient, the next thing that needs to be done.

It’s easier like this, easier not to think about Frank being back, being here… Until you turn around and he’s right there. “Vitals?” he asks, already stepping in beside you, gloved hands steady as he assesses the patient. You freeze for half a second, thrown off by the normalcy of it, by the way he speaks to you like nothing has changed, like you haven’t spent months wondering if you’d ever see him again.

Then years of training kicks in. “BP’s dropping—90 over 60. Pulse 120. Possible internal bleeding.” He nods, processing quickly, already moving. “Get me a FAST scan. And call surgery, we might need them on standby.”

You move without thinking, falling into step with him like you’ve done a hundred times before, like your bodies remember the rhythm even if your mind is still catching up. It’s almost too easy, the way it comes back, the way you slot into your old roles without missing a beat. And for a moment; just a moment, it feels like nothing ever changed. But it did, and you’re reminded of that when your hands brush as you pass him a tool. It’s accidental, it’s nothing but he flinches.

It’s subtle, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it, unless you know him well enough to catch the smallest shifts in his behavior. His hand pulls back just a fraction too quickly, his jaw tightening like he’s bracing for something that doesn’t come. Your chest tightens, he didn’t used to flinch from you, he didn’t used to act like he was scared of your reactions and the way you’d treat him.

You pretend not to notice, he pretends it didn’t happen and the moment passes, swallowed by the urgency of the situation.

You don’t mean to confront him but it just… kind of happens.

Your shift ends late (later than it should have due to the cyber-attack the hospital went through almost all day long) and by the time you’re finally free, the hospital has quieted down to that strange in-between state where it’s not exactly calm, but it’s no longer chaos either. You’re exhausted, bone-deep tired, the kind that makes everything feel a little too heavy, a little too raw.

You find him in the break room.

He’s alone, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee he hasn’t touched, staring at it like he’s trying to remember why he made it in the first place. He looks up when you walk in, surprise flashing across his face before it settles into something more guarded. For a second, neither of you speak, then you sigh, dropping into the chair across from him, too tired to pretend this isn’t happening. “So,” you say, rubbing a hand over your face. “Rehab, huh.”

It’s blunt and maybe harsher than you intended but you’ve never been good at pretending with him. His mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Yeah,” he says, voice quieter than you remember. “Rehab.” Silence settles between you again, thick with everything unsaid.

You study him, really look at him this time, at the way he holds himself like he’s constantly on edge, at the faint shadows under his eyes that haven’t quite disappeared, at the way his hands curl slightly against the table like he’s grounding himself. “You didn’t tell me,” you say finally. It’s not an accusation, not entirely. He exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the table. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” you press, something sharp and hurt rising in your chest despite your best efforts to keep it down. “You just… disappear, no explanation, nothing, and then you come back like it’s... what? Like it’s normal? I had to catch a conversation between Robby and Dana a few months ago to understand.”

“It’s not normal,” he says quickly, looking up at you, something desperate flickering in his eyes. “I know it’s not. I just—I didn’t know how to—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, frustration bleeding into his expression. “I was a mess and I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You think I didn’t already see you like that?” The words land harder than you expect and he flinches again, more visibly this time.

Regret twists in your gut, but you don’t take it back. It’s true: you saw the signs long before he left; the late nights that went beyond normal exhaustion, the jittery energy, the way he’d crash hard after, the mistakes that started small and got harder to ignore and how he had been such an asshole to Santos on her first day when she challenged him because she knew something was wrong.

You saw it all and you stayed.

“I would’ve helped you,” you say, softer now, the anger giving way to something more fragile. “You didn’t have to go through it alone.” His expression shifts, something breaking open in his eyes. “I know,” he says, barely above a whisper. “That’s the problem.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “It means I was already leaning on you too much. And I kept telling myself it was fine, that I had it under control, that I wasn’t dragging you down with me, but I was. I was, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that to you anymore.” You stare at him, the words settling heavy in your chest. “So you decided for me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” you cut in, sharper than you mean to. “You decided I couldn’t handle it. You decided I wouldn’t want to be there. You decided to just… what? Spare me?” He doesn’t argue, that’s what hurts the most, you tell yourself.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says finally, voice rough. “From you?” you ask, incredulous. “Frank, I...”

“I was high at work,” he interrupts, the words hitting like a slap. “Okay? Not just once. Not just a mistake. It was… it was a pattern. And I kept telling myself I could stop, that I’d get it together after the pain in my back disappeared, but I didn’t. I didn’t stop until I had no choice.” The room feels smaller suddenly because you know he’s right about that.

“I could’ve hurt someone,” he continues, quieter now, shame threading through every word. “I could’ve killed someone. And you… you trusted me, you worked with me. You—” His voice breaks, just slightly. “I couldn’t let you keep believing in someone who wasn’t… who wasn’t real anymore.”

You don’t know what to say to that because part of you is angry (still angry, still hurt) but another part of you aches at the raw honesty in his voice, at the way he looks at you like he’s expecting you to walk away and abandon him like others must have.  “I didn’t stop believing in you,” you say eventually. He laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “You should have.”

“Maybe,” you admit. “But I didn’t.” That gets his attention. He looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s trying to understand something he doesn’t quite believe. Like he’s trying to understand how you can see deeper than the addiction, the drugs, the rehab.

“Why?” he asks. You shrug, but it’s not a careless gesture. “Because you’re you. Because I knew something was wrong before you ever said anything. Because I...” You stop yourself, the rest of the sentence catching in your throat. Because I care about you; but you don’t say it or you don’t have to. He sees it anyway and for the first time since you’ve seen him again, something in his expression softens completely, the guardedness slipping just enough to reveal the person you remember underneath. “I missed you,” he says quietly.

It’s simple and honest and so Frank that it knocks the air out of your lungs. “Yeah,” you manage after a moment, your voice softer than you intended. “I missed you too.” The silence that follows is different this time, not heavy, not suffocating but feels like the beginning of something.

It’s not fixed overnight, after that.

You don’t magically fall back into place like nothing happened, don’t erase months of distance and hurt with one conversation in a dimly lit break room. It doesn’t work like that. But you try, both of you do. It shows in small things at first;in the way he starts seeking you out during shifts, lingering just a little longer when you’re in the same room, in the way your conversations slowly stretch beyond strictly work-related topics into something more familiar, more personal. It’s awkward sometimes, the kind of awkward that comes from relearning someone you used to know by heart, but it’s real.

And that matters.

There are still moments that hit harder than others, like the first time you see him hesitate in front of a patient with a history of substance abuse, something flickering across his face before he pushes it down and does his job anyway. Or the way he always turns down offers to grab drinks after work now, even when everyone else is going, even when you’re going. Or the days when he looks exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the job, like he’s fighting something invisible and losing ground.

You start to notice patterns and eventually, you call him on it. “You’re not sleeping,” you say one day, catching him alone in the hallway, leaning against the wall like he’s trying to hold himself up. He huffs a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

“Yes,” you say flatly. “What’s going on?” He hesitates, the old instinct to deflect flickering across his face. Then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “It’s just… hard. Being back here. Everything’s the same, but it’s not, and I keep expecting to—” He stops, jaw tightening. “I don’t know. Screw up, I guess.”

“You’re not,” you say immediately. “Not yet but Robby doesn’t trust me anymore,” he mutters. You step closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Hey. Look at me.” He does, big blue eyes looking up at your face. “You’re not the same person you were before,” you continue, steady and firm. “You got help, you’re still getting help, that counts for something.”

He studies you for a long moment, like he’s weighing your words, like he’s trying to decide if he believes them. “I’m trying,” he says finally.

“I know,” you reply. “I can see that.” Something in his expression softens again, that fragile steadiness returning. “Stay with me for a bit?” he asks, almost hesitant. “Just... until our shift ends.” You nod without hesitation. “Yeah, of course.”

And you do: you stay: not because he needs saving, not because it’s your responsibility to hold him together, but because you want to be there. Because despite everything, despite the hurt and the distance and the time apart, you still choose him.

And maybe, slowly, carefully, he’s starting to believe he deserves that.

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[bluestrd]

the new theme omg are you trying to make me CRY???? no but aaaaa i love it so much :(

me when i teared up making it 💔 but yes thank yew 🤭 it was time for a refresher anyways so who better than to dedicate my page to