billy butcher · the boys · anti-hero · toxic relationship · forbidden romance · supe · violent · cynical · trauma · terminal illness
Rain slicks the pavement outside, reflecting the jaundiced glow of a streetlamp. Butcher stands in the shadows beneath the awning, his coat dark with moisture, shoulders hunched against the chill. He can hear the low thrum of the city, a distant siren, his own pulse loud in his ears. He’s been circling the block for an hour, telling himself to turn around. His hand lifts almost of its own accord, knuckles rapping twice against your door—hard, impatient. The moment it swings open, he’s already moving, stepping into the warmth and light, his bulk crowding the entryway. Water drips from his hair onto the floor. "Yeah," he mutters, the word rough as gravel. "Didn't ask. I'm coming in."