āWilted Memoriesā
Pairing | Platonic yandere Billy Butcher x teen!reader
Summary | You were living a normal life, friends, family, stable home, everything was perfect. It was until Butcher decided it was time to have you back in his arms and away from all those who took you away from him - no matter the cost and no matter how dirty his hands need to get.
Warnings/Tags | Kidnapping, stalking, murder, manipulation, drugging, details of vomiting, SLIGHT gore (not that detailed), angst, trauma, obsession, family issues, family angst, forced family, yandere themes, PLATONIC, NOT ROMANTIC.
A/N | Right now this is a small oneshot, if enough people like it Iāll definitely continue. I love writing yandere themes. I hope you all enjoy ^^
āāāāā
āAm I suffering beautifully? Is my agony lovable?ā
āāāāā
Billy butcher was a bad, bad, man.
A loose cannon, blunt, rude, violent, erratic, owner of a criminal record the size of the U.S. constitution. He knew it himself that when he died he wasnāt going to see some pearly gates.
Despite all that, you were somehow his favorite child - despite the lack of interaction. You were his soft spot, the only person who truly held his heart besides Lenny and Becca. Not even Ryan managed to worm his way into Butchers heart even after everything they went through together.
You were the only thing he had left of āThe Good Days.ā When everything was still fine, peachy, and he wasnāt constantly imagining how itād feel ripping out Homelanders guts.
You had always been a good, polite, albeit painfully shy, kid. Literally the opposite Butcher ever was at your age. You never made a fuss or got into any real trouble, just easily frightened and therefore very clingy. When you were younger you used to be so attached to Beccaās hip that she had started referring to you as āduckyā. Despite having only ever been your stepmom sheād adored you from the very beginning.
Your real mother, an ex Butcher had knocked up before meeting Becca that had only decided to tell him when she was a few weeks away from her due date, died a mere moments after your birth. Something about the stress her body was put under having been too much. On one hand it was tragic, but on the other? Butcher hadnāt cared that much. He knows itās horrible to say but he didnāt feel that much when he found out, just a pang before it quickly evaporated. From then on he had you in his hands and that was the only thing that mattered to him.
Butcher often looks back fondly on your childhood. How small you used to be in his hands when you were a baby, your first word (āoiā much to Beccaās dismay), first steps, the stupidly adorable outfits Becca would force on you. It seemed like just yesterday he was finding you hiding under the bed with Terror in your arms.
Beautiful times indeed.
But now those happy days were over. After Beccaās death he spiraled, got into trouble, and long story short CPS had taken you away from him. The day he lost you was the day something in him died. Seeing you scream and cry out to him as he was held back by some blokes - it broke his heart. Broke him.
He tried going through the goody two shoes route and doing shit the right way - going to the mandatory court ordered anger management classes, therapy, not doing anything illegal - but it didnāt make a difference. He wasnāt allowed custody and you were placed into the foster care system without a second thought. It made his blood boil but he couldnāt do anything.
Not then.
That had been years ago, and after much investigating stalking and sniffing around, heād finally found you.
You had found a home with the most scummiest, boot licking, ass kissing, brown nose, people heād ever seen in his life. A rancher who made you wake up at the ass crack of dawn to do free labor and a preschool teacher who spent more time at the school she taught in rather than in the home you both shared. Heād watch you feed their chickens and wash their horses - heād see how much they made you do without even muttering a thank you.
This was not the life you were meant to have. Nothing like this. You werenāt meant to do this hard labor. You werenāt meant to be treated like a worker. You were his kid, his baby, not a fucking farmer. He was going to get you and by god was he going to make sure you were out this hell hole.
āāāāāāāāāāāā
The hot summer day had sizzled down to a calm cool night that blessed its inhabits with soft breezes. You were coming home from a hangout with some friends. Nothing special or overly exciting, just eating snacks and seeing who could catch the most fireflyās in the fields.
It was half past seven and the area around your house was quiet with only the exception of some soft bleats and clucks coming from the barn near your house to disturb the silence. You felt relaxed, carefree, lighter than a feather. Tomorrow you and your parents were going to set up a stall at the farmers market to sell some eggs and meat. Meaning youād be free from your usual duties and get to enjoy a nice carefree day, your ma even said sheād buy some filling for her famous pies (something which you couldnāt wait for.)
As you walked you could hear the sounds of the night begin to stir up. Crickets singing their tunes, the wind passing through the trees, and the hum of the cicadas slowly disappearing.
Summer was treating you kindly and thatās all you could have ever hoped for.
You pattered up the steps of your porch and in seeing the porch light off confusion spun within you. Usually your dad would have turned it on as soon as the sun set.
You shrugged it off. Maybe he forgot this time. You and your ma did tease him a lot because of his āoldā age and forgetfulness. Maybe this was one of those things. Nothing to worry about.
You walked inside, closing the door behind you and turning on the porch light. āIām home!ā You yelled out but nothing responded back.
āMa? Dad?ā You yelled out again, but like last time nothing came. They had to be in the house because their cars were parked outside and the barns lights were off. Fear began crawling up your spine and your mind began filling up with monsters, skin walkers, mimics, and demons coming into your house and gobbling them up.
Come on, donāt be a baby. You told yourself. They arenāt real. Get a grip.
Before you could yell out once the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard coming from the kitchen. A small but heavy shuffle as if someone were moving positions. You knew instantly it was your dad, his footsteps could rival a giants.
A sigh of relief left you. Pranksters. āHar har very funny. You scared me.ā You said sarcastically as you walked into the kitchen. āYou got me, now, whatās for dinner-ā
Two limp bodies laid on the floor with crimson red staining the checkered floor your ma loved to buzz around in. The breath in your lungs caught as you could only focus on the sight of their two lifeless bodies.
āHey, donāt be scared.ā
The gruff voice woke you from the trance you had been in, and in looking up you saw the face of a dark haired man with cold eyes. Your mind was running a hundred miles a minute, your heart was pounding in your chest, you felt like you were going to explode.
He was leaning back against the kitchen counter with both his hands raised up, showing that he had nothing in his hands. The look of nonchalance and utter lack of regard towards your parents made you want to scream. It made you want to grab your dadās shotgun and shoot him like a buck. But you didnāt. You couldnāt move, your mind screamed to run but the body didnāt listen. It stayed put, like a deer in headlights.
āNow, I donāt want you to go all jackrabbit on me so weāre gonna take this nice and slow yeah?ā
You stood there, not speaking, not moving, not doing anything. Your tongue had become lead and the only thing you were really aware of was the feeling of your knees jittering.
āCome on ducky, itās okay.ā The man said as he carefully took a step forward, minding your maās body underneath him.
Whether it was from the adrenaline finally kicking in or pure nerves you didnāt know. Before you knew it you were running out the house with your heart pounding.
You barely made it out the house when a pair of strong hands grabbed the back of your shirt and yanked you back inside.
āLet go of me!ā You screamed as you began thrashing in his grip. The both of you tussled until you squirmed out his hold, with this new found freedom you ran up the stairs faster than a bullet and hid in your room.
Tears threatened to fall down your cheeks as you locked your door, but you had no time for that now. You needed to escape. You needed to call 911 and tell them your parents were just murdered in cold blood by a psycho.
You fished out your phone from your pocket and dialed 911, as the phone rang you could hear the heavy steps of the man thumping up the stairs.
ā911 whatās your emergency?ā
As you began to describe what you just saw the loudest CRACK you had ever heard in your entire life erupted from your bedroom door. You watched in horror as the door was ripped open, you stood there looking with wide eyes and trembling legs as you came face to face with the man who just a few minutes, hours, ago killed your family.
You didnāt even let a breath out before he pounced. He was on you and threw your phone across the room. You screamed, thrashed and used all your strength to get out his grip - but that was all in vain. Before you knew it he had you pinned down and a white cloth was placed in front of your face, pressing gently infront of your nose. The scent of chemicals hit you like a train and you tried desperately to turn your head away.
āShh, shh, I know.ā Your eyes became heavy.
āJust let it happen.ā Your breathing calmed.
āItāll all be okay.ā Lights out.
āāāāāāāāāāāāāā
Drip, drip, drip.
āAre you out your fucking mind?ā
Click, clack, click, clack.
āWould you believe me if I said Iām the most sane Iāve been in a while?ā
Thump, thump, thump.
Itād been a good week since your abduction and in that small amount of time you learned everything that lead up to this. Whatever this was.
His name was Butcher, he hated superheroās (very passionately), and according to him heās your biological father. It was (and still is) a lot to digest, and it didnāt help that you were confined to a small bare room in a place you didnāt even know.
After being knocked out he had, according to him, taken you back to his house for safe keeping. When youād asked why he was doing this all he could say was. āFor your own good.ā
The room was cold and only held a bed, closet, and a small bathroom. Besides that you had nothing. The first few days you tried escaping but when it became evident that the only window in the room was bolted shut and the few vents scattered around the room were too small to crawl through you just gave up and cried quietly into your pillow.
The only things you could do were: Eat, sleep, and eavesdrop.
Pressing your ear against the wooden door you could hear everything going on - the sound of footsteps, mumbling, and sizzling from which you assumed came from the nearby kitchen. It became the only thing you could do in order to keep your sanity.
Sometimes youād have the opportunity to listen to Butcher having a conversation over the phone, he never tried to lower his voice down when he did. Some sort of sick power play, you thought. A way to show that he didnāt care if you listened because you werenāt getting away anytime soon.
You never knew who he was talking to but from what you gathered the people around him knew he was batshit crazy. Their voices would rise and hiss at the sound of Butchers comments. Only a handful of people knew what he was doing, but they didnāt know the whole truth. Only the things Butcher let them know. Did they know what he did? That he took you away? About the lives he ruined? The people he killed?
Of course they didnāt. Butcher would never do that. Butcher would lie and lie in order to protect himself and the reality he has constructed around him.
āDucky you have to eat.ā Butcher said as he snapped you out the trance you were in, sitting way to close for comfort on the floor with some food for you since he refused on letting you out the prison cell room. The pile of mush in front of you had sat untouched during the pep talk Butcher had tried giving you (you tuned it out.)
āIām not hungry.ā You responded as you brought your knees closer to your chest. Butcher gave a deep sigh as his hand reached up to rub his temples. This was how it had been. Heād push, youād push back, and it would become a game of who could hold out the longest. Currently it was 2-0. You were winning while also ultimately getting on his nerves.
āYou have to eat something.ā He blurted as his voice began growing taunt, uh oh, thatās bad. Despite having only been there a few days (maybe a full week now?) youād grown to know when he was reaching his boiling point, and that was something you didnāt want to be on the opposite end of. Maybe it was because you grew up with parents whoās highest form of anger you bore witness to were medium level yells and hushed scolds, but Butchers explosive anger - hell his whole presence - was enough to send you into cardiac arrest. You looked down at the plate, some mashed potatoes, peas, carrots, and some form of meat scattered the plate. The fork laid limp in Butchers fingers. āPlease. Iām begging you, just eat. You havenāt had a bite in two days, Iāll take anything, even if itās only a bit. Can you do that for me?ā
Your eyes remained glued to the plate. Maybe if you looked at it hard enough it would disappear, maybe the earth would open up and swallow you and the plate whole.
You didnāt want to make him mad. You didnāt want to end up like your parents. You wanted to go home, see your friends, see the stupid chickens you were in charge of. You just wanted to go home.
Maybe you could. You just needed to be smart.
āJust one bite?ā
āJust one bite.ā
You could feel your pride screech and claw at you as you took the fork from his hand, were you really bending to this lunaticās orders? Even if it benefited you? Yes. Yes you were. You couldnāt really believe it yourself even as you begun scooping a small mountain of mashed potatoes and shoving them into your mouth.
You didnāt know what to expect but it was a small surprise that the food was actually good. It melted in your mouth before you swallowed.
āSee?ā Butcher cooed as his heavy hand rested on top of your head, caressing your hair and gently rubbing it. āNow that wasnāt so bad now was it?ā
āIt was.ā You quipped as you pushed the plate away from you. The feeling of Butchers hand on you, touching you as if he didnāt do anything wrong, made you sick to your stomach. The mashed potatoes might make a surprise reappearance if he didnāt move his hand soon.
āNow donāt get snarky with me.ā Butcher grinned as he gave your hair a final rub. Finally. āYouāre breaking your old mans heart.ā
āYouāre not my dad.ā You sneered, giving a sharp glance towards him before looking down at the wooden floor. You didnāt want to meet his gaze, you knew youād messed up but you didnāt care. Fuck him. Heād taken everything from you can anyone blame you for snapping?
Butcher raised an eyebrow as he fell silent. His eyes seemed to burn into yours as he searched for the accurate words to counter your assertion. āDeny it all you want luv but I am. You donāt even know half of what Iāve gone through just to have you here.ā He leaned back against the wall and wrapped an arm around you, your body tensed up instantly and at first you tried simply pushing him off but his arm stayed locked around you. āThey took you from me when you were smaller, nicer, and separated us. My blood runs through your veins, you donāt have any idea what a father will do for his children.ā
You scoffed as you rolled your eyes. āAnd that justifies what youāve done? Murdering my parents? Kidnapping me? Taking me away from my home?ā Butchers lips pressed into a thin line and you felt his hand clench and release.
āā¦Do you remember anything before foster care?ā Butcher asked. Yeah great just change the subject why donāt you - Looking back however, you couldnāt deny that you didnāt remember much about your early childhood. There would be wisps and faint memories that would float around you but as soon as you tried unwrapping them they would escape you, like a firefly. Sometimes youād manage to get a graze - a warm bed with the sound of rain thumping down outside, a sweet sophisticated perfume scent, colorful Christmas lights, warm milk with bread, clowns and circuses. Theyād come rushing and before you could decipher them theyād be gone. You hesitated in answering. āNo. The earliest thing I can remember is going to the playgroundā.
Butcher stared into nothingness as he kept his iron hold on you, his voice softened as he began. āWhen you were three you used to carry around this mouse plushy everywhere. Weād have to sneak it away from you in order to wash it.ā You raised an eyebrow. That did sound like you but you were more focused on the pronouns he used. āWe?ā Butcher nodded absentmindedly, it was as if he wasnāt all that fully there. He was more in tune and focused with the memories he was now recalling to you. āYeah. We. Me and your stepmom.ā
āWas she nice?ā You asked. What else could you say? It was hard making conversation with someone who keeps everything under tight wraps, you had to make do with what was given to you. Butcher nodded again but this time with a long sigh, āYeah. She was the kindest person Iād ever met.ā His voice had gone faint and it was pitiful being able to sense all the unpacked and repressed memories he held. It didnāt take a genius to figure out something had happened.
āWas. Iām guessing sheās not here anymore.ā You mumbled.
āYup. Was.ā
āHow did it happen?ā
āThat aināt any of your damn business.ā Butcher snapped suddenly. He didnāt dare turn your way but you could see in the corner of his eye a slight wince at his own harshness. You were curious after all, could he blame you?
The room fell silent and the neither of you took the initiative to break the tension. The both of you sat there, wallowing in each otherās misery. The both of you had lost a chunk of your life which left an empty hole in your minds. Parents and spouse. Gone, no longer breathing, no longer thinking.
Father like child, you suppose.
āāāāāāāāāāāā
Your mom stood in front of you, holding her chest as the blood gushed out from her. Her eyes were glassy and the pupils were lifeless as they stared at you. She tried walking towards you and with every step she took a horrible jaunty walk took over her body. Her knees would bend abnormally as her hips swished up and down. After three steps she fell down like a limp rag doll. Looking down at yourself you saw your hands were covered with red sticky blood.
Itās your fault. You caused this, and you can never bring them back.
A scream erupted from your throat as you sat up. Your heart was pounding out your chest and before you could fully process everything saliva began to suddenly fill your mouth.
You didnāt waste time, you ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents of your stomach. You lurched forward as the vomit came up with a stinging sensation and each time you did your hand gripped the sides for support.
When it was all over all you could do was stare at your own puke, that nights dinner swirled around the bowl taunting you. You couldnāt swallow - your throat hurt like hell. Your skin felt clammy and the sweet taste of the puke lingered long enough to overstay its welcome.
Speaking of which -
āOi, you alright there?ā Butchers voice rang out as he knocked on the bedroom door. āIām coming in.ā
You took that as a sign to flush the toilet and force yourself up. Youād rather throw up your stomach for the rest of eternity than have him see you like this for one second. You washed your hands and were in the middle of rinsing your mouth when you saw Butcher standing there in between the bathroom door.
āWhat.ā You rasped as you leaned against the bathroom counter, trying to focus on your breath rather than the churn in your stomach.
āYou look like shit.ā
āI feel like shit.ā
āSo I assumed.ā Butcher hummed as he rested himself against the doorway, arms crossed and with those stupid eyes looking at you. It always felt like he was trying to find something within you to exploit, to use in his favor and get you to lean on him. Fat chance. āHow do you feel now? I have some pepto if you want any.ā He said as he began walking towards you. You wanted to bolt or hiss at him to buzz off and get lost but you had no room to do so. You focused your eyes on the sink drain as he came close enough to where you could feel his presence behind you and smell the scent of wood, cologne, and a hint of spice wafting through your nose.
You tried not thinking. Tried shutting the world out. But that became real difficult when you felt a beefy arm sling around you, forcing your back to be against his chest.
āI donāt want any pepto.ā You mumbled as you kept your eyes low. Ignoring his attempt at eye contact.
āYou just threw up your guts luv. Youāre gonna wanna need it. Lemme go-ā
āI donāt fucking want it okay?!ā You shouted, gripping the cold sink surface as tears began welling up. There it was. Helpless. Fear. Despair. All wrapped up neatly for Butcher to see in a bow. Up until now you had made the consistent effort to not cry in front of Butcher. You didnāt want to show him you were slowly cracking and getting closer everyday to a mental breakdown. Your dad always told you a good person knows their emotions but that a better person knows their emotions and also understands how to handle them in difficult situations, right now you couldnāt be either.
āI just wanna-ā You couldnāt get through your sentence before you finally let it all out. The tears, the hiccups, the shudders and pitiful gasps for air, they were all coming out like a rushing river. āI wanna go home. Just let me go home, please. I wonāt tell anyone about this I swear, just let me go.ā
Your pleas were met with silence and the hum of the bathroom lights. The only thing Butcher did in response was wipe a few of your escaping tears with his thumb.
As your sobs wrecked your body Butcher calmly turned you towards his chest, allowing you to sob into him and allowing him to hug you. As one arm held you close the other ran his fingers through your hair. You didnāt care at that point. You let it happened. All you wanted to do was just cry.
āI know ducky.ā Butcher whispered softly, resting his head on top of your as your face became buried in his chest. āI know itās hard. But itās for the best. Believe me. Iām your father, and that aināt changing baby. Youāll realize that soon. You just gotta get use to this, to me. Because ducky,
I aināt giving you up.ā
