#girl put the damn lecture slides on canvas

[lesbiten]

why is it always the classes i take when i just need to throw something random in my schedule that have required and scored attendance

[yelenasdog]

bonnie and clyde (billy/4 x fem reader)

genre: angst

summary: there were five people at the funeral of billy jones. why did two, more specifically one, of them leave?

words: 1.3k

warnings: just vv sad my guy. literally no fluff i hate it here </3 mentions of death, billy’s funeral, and crying.

a/n: yo so idk if billy’s last name is jones but i saw someone on here refer to him as billy jones and i think it’s just bc of ben’s last name but anyway LMFAO. i for some reason couldn’t stop thinking abt this and so i wrote it (as one does fkefnkerjn). also y/n was not used so if u wanted to read this as an x another character or x an oc it would work as well. enjoy :)

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There were five people at the funeral of Billy Jones.

This was common knowledge who would listen long enough to hear the vigilante talk about the experience he had only seen from afar, his own heart growing tender during, or at any mention of, the moment.

But Billy always failed to explain the situation with a full grip, to its entire truth. As to why, most anyone could figure out.

He was afraid.

Afraid of getting her hurt, afraid of thinking of her for just a moment too long, afraid of his impulse driving him to get his ass right back up and go say he still loved her.

Four was afraid of a plethora of horrible scenarios that could occur if he let the truth about his funeral slide to anyone except One (which was bad enough that he had to know by default as it was).

And the irony of it all, was how miniscule and ineffective something like who had left his funeral early and as to why, would be to anyone else on the team.

Sure they all had their secrets that would seep into the pool that was their little family, Three’s mother, One’s lover, Two and Three’s infatuation with each other (though, that one wasn’t really a secret).

Not to mention, Four despised painting her in a bad light, allowing others to think for a fraction of a second that she didn’t leave because her already frail heart couldn’t handle to see her beloved’s name etched onto a gray stone in a patchy field of a horrible green, couldn’t handle the idea that their Bonnie and Clyde reminiscent days (minus the killing of 13 people, that is) had come to an end.

There were two people at the funeral of Billy Jones who left early.

The first? An old friend from his hometown.

He was a wealthy businessman now, having abandoned the life of pretty crime and rush of his youth. He showed up to Four’s not-so-celebration of life in an ashen tux with an obsidian tie and shiny oxfords, and barely a minute into the service he had begun checking his shiny Rolex, probably counting down the seconds until he would be considered late to some important meeting for whatever corporate hoax he was a part of to be able to stay afloat. How ironic.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock

The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to her, while the action itself felt like somewhat of a betrayal, even though Billy and the businessman hadn’t talked in years. It was a kind enough gesture that he had even come to begin with.

But she didn’t care.

Because before the service had even started, salty droplets were rolling down her reddened cheeks, dampening her hoodie, his hoodie, that she had coiled so tightly around herself and her limbs, almost like a corset.

So when the businessman turned to go after what could maybe have been a measly few minutes, she could barely control her anger.

But she did, for Billy. She sucked it up and stayed put, keeping her eyes trained to his mother who was now speaking, her striking emerald eyes also obviously wet. But in reality, Billy had wanted his former lover to turn around and smack that prick square in the face.

But then 4 took some time and realized that if it were the other way around and she had been dead, he could conjure in his mind how distressed he would be to where he would prefer to focus on wallowing in his sadness for her and her only, not be consumed by anger for some random fellow.

Billy truly wanted to leave One where he stood, wanted to run to where her shaking was escalating from ever so slightly to violently as could be, wrapping her in his strong arms she already missed. The strong arms that she believed should have kept him safe when he was dangling from that damned building with that damned necklace in his mouth.

The image could have been some renaissance painting with how beautiful he looked, even then, on the brink of what the world would know as the death of Billy Jones.

In fact, most of Billy’s and the girl’s adventures could be different renaissance paintings. Alive and free, bursting with vibrant colors and emotions that weren’t able to be captured with words, so rather, they were thrown on a canvas in what was somehow a meticulously put together flurry.

On that rainy day, the weather so fitting to what she had been feeling, she wished for nothing more than to somehow place herself back into those non-existent paintings, to even for a fraction of a second bask in his never ending love like some sort of oasis.

She wanted to run her fingers through his golden curls one last time, kiss his forehead goodnight one last time, to tell him she loved him more than anything in this universe, one last time.

But she didn’t, and she wouldn’t ever get to.

And her one final chance to say what she wanted him to hear, she had missed out on, as that’s when she had left.

It was long after the uptight man in the fitted suit, long after his crying mother had gone from where she was speaking up front, back to the shadows of her baby’s grim event that she should never have had been alive to see.

She had managed to drag herself halfway up to where his casket was sitting just above the ground, trying to not look at the box a second too long.

Rather, she pretended there was a pair of rose colored glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, helping her pretend that this was all some big misunderstanding, that Billy was just pulling one of his infamous pranks.

He would pop out from behind the tent covering the few who stood with their feet shifting on the damp soil, or perhaps from the headstone of his very own grave. She would gasp or shriek and then smack his arm, lecturing him as he grabbed his chest, doubling over in laughter, the sound like music to her ears.

God, what she would do to hear that sound one more time.

Nevertheless, in the end he would stand up, and wipe her tears from her sweet face, pressing gentle kisses on either of her cheeks to rid her of that pout he hated to admit he loved. She would crack a small smile and he would punch a celebratory fist in the air at the gesture, leaving her to only shake her head at his antics. He would sling an arm around her shoulders, nustling close to her as they would exit the graveyard, never coming back until the inevitable day they both had lived their happiest and fullest lives together.

He would say “You know you love me.” And without a doubt, every time, she would say “Yeah, I do.”

But not this time.

This time, she would let her eyes wander to a tall tree just over the hill, slimming her puffy eyes. She rubbed them and did a double take, and swore that for a moment she had seen what looked like his figure next to one of someone she had never seen before.

And that’s when she left.

She let out an ugly sob, running as fast as her feet could take her to wherever that wasn’t there, the sound of her shoes against the cold ground muted, but the sound of her uneven breathing was anything but.

As for all she knew, it was her mind playing a cruel, cruel, trick on her. Or even her mind trying to give her some sort of closure to move on.

Whatever it was, though, was simply too much for her to process, too much to handle. So she had left, given up on what she didn’t know was her only chance to give a proper goodbye.

“You think she saw you?”

“I hope so.”

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we vibing w this?? i hope so hehe. WAIT PUN NOT INTENDED LMFAO I DID THAT PERIODT! anyway, have a wonderful day/night, and go drink water and eat protein, it’s all abt intention!! i love u! also if u have any questions abt this fic pls do lmk bc ik some of it was kinda weird! 

p.s., pls pls pls reblog this! this is my first ben related fic and ik when it’s ur first fic for a fandom they can flop so it would be very cool if y’all could help me out a lil bit :) either way ily, thank u! kk bye

xx hj

[kaisalvadore]

He left the clearing the same way he’d found it — alone.

Trees and bushes pushed aside, Kai made his way through the brush, only pausing in his path as the flickering of a cabin light near the end of its life bounced a reflection off of something rested against the doorframe. A hatchet.

Gathering firewood made a good enough excuse for his absence, and after his convenient disappearance from around the fire, an excuse was what he needed. He picked it up, scavenging for a handful of logs along his way back to the fire pit.

“Mr. Salvadore, there you are,” Ms. Ayers — Rachel, as he knew her — called, just as the last of the flames flickered out under the sand that had smothered them, students rising from their seats, dusting off their jeans, giving each other final hugs and waves goodnight.

He made no eye contact with Petra.

“Guess we don’t need this anymore,” he ventured, tossing the logs in a pile next to the fire pit. Kai attempted a chuckle, though from behind the scowl Petra had fixed to his lips, it fell flat. 

“We’ll put it to use tomorrow,” Julian — sorry, Mr. Beckham — smiled. “But for now, off to your cabins, kids.” He turned his attention to his fellow chaperones as the students began to scatter. “I’ll walk the boys back to their rooms. Rachel, you watch over the girls, and Kai, take care of finishing off the fire? And maybe chop a bit more wood up for tomorrow night?”

Kai gave a slow nod and a grunt of acknowledgment, nothing more.

Julian’s footsteps quickened as he followed the boys towards their lodges, and Rachel began to do the same — until she stopped in her tracks, head turning around to face him.

“Kai,” she began with a hard swallow, lip between her teeth. She wouldn’t look at him. She had to force her eyes off of the ground and up to meet his. “Will you.. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure,” he huffed. He knew what this was about. Rachel was professional, put-together — the type of woman who could lecture in a tight dress before a classroom full of pubescent sixteen-year-old boys without so much as a single flush, yet he’d noticed her tells. When she looked at him, cheeks went red, lip between her teeth. She’d jumped at the opportunity to chaperone after learning he’d be there.

It was flattering. And in any other circumstance, he’d have taken the chance to light her bones on fire without a second thought, much like he’d told Petra he could.

But he didn’t want to. Not while she had worked her way into his blood.

Although, maybe a woman his age — or, close to it — would be a pleasant distraction while Petra came around. If Petra came around. The thought danced around carefully, and as he took a moment to ponder it, following behind Rachel, taking in what shadows of her form the moonlight would allow, he failed to notice that she’d been guiding him down an all too familiar path. Through the brush. To the clearing.

That clearing.

“Kai,” Rachel repeated, this time turning to boldly face him, eyes wide. “What were you doing earlier?”

He swallowed. 

Had she followed him? Had she heard something? Seen something?

“I told you,” he breathed, holding up the hatchet still in his hands. “Firewood.”

She shook her head. “Don’t lie, please,” Rachel sighed, pressing a pair of fingers to her temple. “I already feel stupid enough. Please don’t lie to me.”

He said nothing, did nothing. Only stared back, dreading what was to come.

“I.. I saw you.”

Fuck.

“I was going to tell you to bring back some kindling, so I.. I followed you here, and I saw you, with Petra. Holding her hand. Playing with her hair. Looking at her like.. Well, like you’ve never looked at me, or at anyone.”

He swallowed, biting down onto his bottom lip, hard, until the metalling tang of blood filled his mouth. “I..”

“I don’t want an explanation,” she interrupted, hands raised in surrender. “Trust me, I don’t want to hear any of the details. I just.. I wanted you to know, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when you get the call, that I can’t pretend that nothing happened. I’m going to the principal with this, and she’ll take it to the board.”

Fuck, fuck.

“It’s not what you think,” he began, “She’s —”

“She’s a child, Kai,” Rachel scoffed, taking a step backwards.

The same way Petra had.

“She’s eighteen,” he corrected, though he already knew, a legal technicality wouldn’t be enough to kill her vendetta.

“She’s a student, and you.. you used her, you’ve been using her, you’re still using her.”

Clearly, she didn’t stick around in the bushes long enough to see how the encounter had ended.

“She looked up to you, for guidance, and you.. you took advantage of her,” Rachel cringed, her expression contorting with disappointment, with disgust, the longer she looked at him. 

She was wrong. She was so, painfully, stupidly, infuriatingly wrong. Kai’s fingers began to ball into tight fists, nails digging hard into the callouses of his palm, grip tightening around the handle of the axe. “That’s not what it’s like,” he scowled, mirroring each of her steps backwards with one forwards.

The same way he had with Petra.

“What it was like,” Rachel corrected from behind a brave face. “Because whatever it is, it’s over. She’s a good girl, Kai — a sweet girl, a girl with a future, and I’m not letting you take another thing away from her. It’s over.”

Fuck, why did everyone keep saying that tonight?

“It’s not.” Chest pushed forward, eyes narrowed, Kai quickened his pace, closing the gap between he and the beloved English teacher. “It’s not over. It’s not, it’s —”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let this slide, I can’t just pretend, I — I can’t let you get away with this.” She held her ground, and though he watched her shake with nerves, her gaze remained locked up towards his, determined, on fire. “I don’t have cell reception up here, but I have Principal Kane’s number memorized, and there’s a phone in the office. I’m sure someone will be up here to remove you from the campground tomorrow morning, but in the meantime, you should stay away from the kids’ cabins. Far away.” 

“I can’t let you do that, Rachel,” he scowled, and with a strong lunge forwards a hand wrapped itself around her throat. Kai’s grip tightened, and a hard push forwards backed Rachel up against a tree, her head slamming against the bark. Eyes were still wide, but not with resolve, with fear. “You’re not going to say anything, to anyone. Are we clear?”

She choked, gagged, searching for breath that wouldn’t be found. “Kai—” she managed to squeak, shaking beneath his grip.

He only meant to scare her, truly, but as he looked into those trembling eyes, he saw everything he wanted to eradicate, everything that made him see red.

It’s over, she had said, and as she did, he heard not her voice telling him his dream had died, but Petra’s, over and over and over again, taunting, screaming, face drenched with tears and smeared with blood.

Blood. 

He only meant to scare her, really, truly — but, with thick fingers wrapped around her throat, her pulse vibrating beneath his fingertips, it washed over him; in that moment, he held the most primal form of power over her, literally, as they both lived and breathed. 

He would look back on that moment one day as the moment everything clicked.

If something were to happen to her, she couldn’t go to the board. He’d be safe, yes, but it also guaranteed him another chance — time, uninterrupted, to win back Petra’s heart, to repair what he’d managed to break, to bring her back to him.

And, if something were to happen to Rachel, oh, what a mess the students would be, in search of guidance, in search of someone to comfort them, to hold them as they cried..

“Kai,” Rachel managed to choke out, body wiggling for freedom, her feet kicking wildly beneath him, stomping on the toes of his boots, kicking at his shins. “You’re — you’re a —”

“I’m a what?” he demanded, but surely, it had to be rhetorical — it must’ve been, as he dropped the hatchet to the ground and wrapped a second hand around her throat, squeezing at full strength, his cheeks flushing red as hers began to tint blue; the same blue as the marks around her throat, where his fingers dug deep into her neck. “Say it.”

But of course, she couldn’t. Not as both thick hands flirted with asphyxia.

“I’m a predator? A monster? For what? Because I love her?”

Why did everyone seem to think that wasn’t true?

“I do,” he asserted through unwavering eyes. “I love her, and you’re not taking her away from me.”

Well, now, she knew too much. Now, it had gone from farfetched ideal to reality. Now, he had to silence her. 

She wanted a monster? He’d show her a fucking monster.

The thought took far less time to accept than it should’ve. In his hands vibrated the last few precious breaths in Rachel’s lungs, and fuck, as the life began to pour out of her, he’d never felt so damn alive.

The red of her eyes.

The blue of her skin.

The black of the bruises his fingers left against her pulse.

It was the most beautiful masterpiece his hands had ever crafted.

Truly, he’d been wasting his time on the wrong medium all along.

She was a mess of gags and chokes, desperate, begging for him to release her and what little life remained. It took a final, decisive squeeze before her eyes began to glass over, and Kai didn’t dare look away, didn’t dare blink, at risk of missing a delicious second of it.

Slowly, fingers began to unclench, and as he removed his grip from her neck, Rachel’s body fell to the forest floor, limp, cold, dead.

It was a necessity, he reasoned through heavy, exhilarated breaths — but more so, fuck, was it beautiful, poetic.

For he and Petra to live, fully, Rachel had to die. He swallowed the notion with confidence, without so much as a second thought.

Chest heaving, a satisfied creator’s smirk lived wide across his mouth as he looked down at his handiwork — the same he gave to a newly finished canvas, before scribbling a signature across the bottom.

A signature.

Fuck.

The indents of fingers that couldn’t possibly belong to an eighteen-year-old, or to that slimy fuck of a gym teacher, were painted across her throat, clear as moonlight, practically spelling out his name in her flesh.

His eyes glanced down to the hatchet beside her body.

Before he dared reach for the weapon, his hands gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Next, fingers worked at the button of his jeans, leaving them in the newly formed pile.

Surely, this would get messy.

Axe held tight in both hands, he drew a deep breath — one far too calm, too collected, for a man already so prepared to mutilate a fresh corpse.

Just like chopping firewood, he assured himself, and with a heavy swing, a crack echoed through the wood. The steel blade sliced through skin, through bone, straight through her neck, severing Rachel’s head from her body, leaving the evidence of his hands a mangled mess of blood and torn flesh. Splatters of red spat upwards, blood droplets raining against his hands, his chest, his lips.

With a flick of his tongue he licked his lips, swallowing a taste of her, smile spread wide as he allowed himself a moment to admire his handiwork.

But only a moment.

He grabbed his clothes, tiptoeing his way out of the bush, towards the lake. A quick dip would wash the blood away — from his body, and from the hatchet that he'd leave neatly leaned against a cabin wall, exactly where he'd found it — and he could slip undetected into the quiet of his cabin to wait — wait until the morning, when whispers of Ms. Ayers’ disappearance would consume the camp, when Petra would turn to a familiar mentor for comfort in the height of tragedy.

When, finally, all would be as it should.

Rachel was dead. It was a fact he’d already come to comfortable terms with, one that lit his heart with exhilaration, not fear, not sorrow, not even regret.

But, Kai? Tonight, he was a man reborn, the shed skin of an old, weaker self dying along with Rachel.

And he had no one but Petra to thank.