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violetmina · 1 year

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Chokehold - Ch. 3

Chokehold Masterlist

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Taglist: @roundroald , @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night , @sexytholland

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6,086

Warning: Swearing, minor injuries, minor blood, implied/referenced SA. Butcher is his own warning.

A/N: I honestly try not to let these get longer. There's just a lot in this chapter. And hopefully it's not too convoluted. There's implied SA in this chapter so please be warned. I also apologize if Butcher seems a little ooc. I just really like exploring his layers but not sure if I pull it off. Plus, there's a really cheesy reference I just could not resist. Hope y'all enjoy.

There are some days where coffee is just part of your morning routine. Others, it's a god send. As of late, the latter is more likely to be the case. And this day was just determined to stay that course. It had only been about two hours into your shift at the bureau and already you'd had it up to your eyes with annoyances and inconveniences.

For starters, your work email had been flooded with extra paperwork, most likely due to "anonymous concerned tips" from a nosy, suburban wife type who had it out for her neighbors. That had not so surprisingly become a thing when the bureau was established. Stormfront's fear-mongering bullshit had one or two ripples that had yet to die down in the public consciousness. Danke schön, Fraulein Mega Bitch.

Then there had been the misplaced files. You had left three specific files locked in your drawer the night before leaving the bureau to drop in briefly to see the Boys. It had only been MM, following up on some phone calls of his own regarding the latest case on a supe who was rumored to be imitating family pets for voyeuristic purposes. When you had chatted with MM and exchanged paperwork to take back to Hughie, you could have sworn those three files had been in your desk. But they were nowhere to be found, even after scouring your cubicle high and low. They weren't classified by any means but you hated the idea of your two FBSA superiors ribbing you over lunch. That's the last thing you needed trying to get back into the field.

On that note, you had left your lunch at home on the counter, forgotten in your flurry to get out the door on time that morning. Not the end of the world but it would mean taking an extra twenty minutes or so out of your already tight lunch break to get something. "Hangry" was not a good mood on you.

When the slightest hint of a lull came up in your workflow, you had made your escape to the break room. The good coffee was out but you didn't dare complain about the 2nd-tier stuff that was still available. As the coffee machine droned it's displeasure, you leaned your head against the cabinets, praying the aroma alone might bring you back to feeling human instead of sloth-like.

Fatigue had become your new norm. Even though Butcher had been kept busy on a handful of operations the last three weeks, cutting your sessions to only once or twice a week, he had made a point to make up for lost time. Late into the night on the few nights he could spare, you had drilled various takedowns, gone over longer mobility drills. While you were getting used to finding little bumps and bruises on you, you couldn't quite shake off the overall soreness that clung to you now. The three T-position throws you had learned - hip, leg and sitting - were pretty much on rotation in your dreams now.

Slipping a mug down from the cabinet, you tried to keep your mind from sliding into the fact that that wasn't the only thing you'd been dreaming of. It had started as something that happened only after every other session or so. But now it was also happening on some nights when you didn't train. If training wasn't keeping you up at night, the persistence of one aforementioned bastard in your subconscious certainly did.

Not so much the dreams, you realized as you poured the caffeine, but waking up from them. If you were to tell the truth, you weren't sure which dull ache bothered you more these days; the one from your exercises and drills at the Boys office…or the one that left you waking in a small sweat with the ghost of teeth on your skin, calloused fingers dimpling your hips -

"Butcher fucking you?"

You somehow manage to neither spew your coffee nor spill it down the front of you. It sloshed dangerously on the rim of your mug instead as you whirl wide-eyed on Hughie leaning in the doorway. You're awake now. "What?!," you sputtered.

"Oh shit, sorry," he laughs, stepping forward to place a hand on your shoulder. "Didn't mean to startle you. I asked if Butcher's been fucking with you."

Realizing your awkward lapse in hearing you let out a sigh. Once you're sure your beverage is secure again, you reply before a tentative sip, "Well that's random. Why do you ask?"

"Well Victoria and I were just talking about you - not like shit talking, I promise - and I realized you technically have three bosses." He reaches around you to pull a mug of his own from the cabinet with a twinkle in his eye. "Tell me, Miss Independent, how do you do it?"

"Very carefully," you quip.

"Anyway, we're kinda having a bet now and we wanna know which boss seems to fuck you over the most. I mean, one boss is bad enough. Three? One of them has gotta be the worst of the bunch, right? So…" He begins counting on his fingers, "The congresswoman, your greatest pal ever, or the hardass in the trenchcoat."

You pretend to ponder on the question as he looks expectantly over his own coffee. "Hmm. Decisions, decisions. Victoria doesn't see me in person as often as you two, so less fuckery there. Though she does have this nasty habit of preoccupying my old buddy. Like, a lot."

He gives a sheepish smile as you make a tsking sound. It's familiar and you can't help but smile yourself. "But," you continue, "That guy Hughie, he does pay me decently. If I catch him pilching my candy stash again though -"

He throws up a hand in mock surrender at your accusative look. "Why you accusing me?!"

"Because you're the only one that knows where that stash at my desk is, Hughie. And before you say anything, I know I haven't chowed down on them that much recently, so I shouldn't be refilling so quickly."

"Alright, guess I'm caught red-handed. And your last boss?"

"Oh yeah. The hardass. Or sourpuss, your pick." Hughie snickers into his mug at that as he takes a drink. "He's a stubborn, moody slave driver. And don't get me started on the pay. But you know, for a cheap ass he's bought me lunch or dinner more than my other two bosses. Gotta say, he's never gotten my order wrong once either. And he's easy on the eyes, so he's got that going for him -"

"Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes!," Hughie says, sputtering himself now. "Did you just…?"

"What? What did I say?"

He cocks his head, and it so much resembles a confused puppy you have to refrain from messing his hair like you used to when you were kids. "Did you just admit to me that…you think Butcher is hot?"

You mentally playback your words and - Oh. Oh crap. You fight back the heat trying to flood your cheeks. "I was being-"

"Uh, before you say anything," he cuts you off. "I just wanna clarify; are you about to lie to me or yourself? I mean you can fool anybody else, but I know you, Y/N. Okay, now you can give me your bluff." He makes a wave with his hand for you to proceed. When you shake your head instead, he just grins. "Wow! Oh my god, I shouldn't be surprised. But like…really?"

"I don't like how much you're enjoying this, Hughie."

"What? You kidding? This is like some prime intel you just gave me," he smirks. "Just to see Butcher's reaction when -"

You reach out and wrap Hughie's tie around your fingers, gripping it firmly. Just enough to pull it taut. "Hugh Campbell, you even think of muttering a word of this, especially to Butcher, not even Annie is gonna save you from me. Are we clear?"

"Christ, easy." You feel a bit irritated at him laughing at your threat. He untangles his tie from your fingers. "I wouldn't actually do that to you. He's hard enough to work with. That'd just be, I dunno know, like cruel and unusual."

You shuffle on the spot and shrug. "Yeah, well, now that I've thought of it, you guys should be taking bets on Annie. I'm pretty sure she'd be a safe bet when it comes to asshole bosses. Look at that lot. How is she holding up?"

Hughie's expression shifts and you feel relief at the conversation moving away from your slip. "Shes…she's good. I mean, as good as she can be, all things considered, you know? This whole thing of us going public has its pros and cons, but I think we're doing good. Way better now that we have more room to be honest with each other."

"I think she's good for you. I really do hope you guys last." You flash a smile at him before downing what's left in your mug. You grimace at the after taste and quickly wash the mug as you address him. "I better get back to it. I'll catch you at lunch."

As you dry and place the mug back Hughie places a hand on your shoulder again. "Hey wait, I had something else I wanted to say to you. Umm…" He shifts, peeking out the door before giving you a look of genuine concern. "I also wanted to see how you were doing. You look tired a lot, and I know you said to not worry about the bruises. And I know you don't like to talk about it but -I mean I worry-!"

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What are you saying, Hughie?"

He chews on his bottom lip for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Look, I'm just gonna spill my guts here. I'm really glad that we're back to being in each other's lives again. But I'm also worried about the fact that you're here. In the bureau. And in the crew. In this life, this mess. I feel kinda guilty, like I've sucked you into all this. Like I got sucked into it. Especially after what happened a few months ago, at the warehouse."

"Hughie…" You say it to the floor, unsure if it's in warning or acknowledgement.

"I know, I know! I'm not trying to treat you with kid gloves or anything. And I know you probably think I'm full of shit when I say that. I just…" He shakes his head. "Not gonna lie, that kinda scared the shit out of me. I lost Robin, my dad had to go into witness protection, Annie's in that fucking tower. And then you…I just don't want you to be another casualty in my life. I need you to know that."

You smile at your friend fondly, feeling a bit moved by his confession. You wrap him in a tight hug for a moment before stepping back, making sure you have eye contact. "I get it, Hughie. This is a shitshow. And it's messy. I know I fucked up at the warehouse. But it's not going to happen again, not if I have anything to say about it. And I know you just want to protect me. But you have got to let me have some say in this."

You squeeze his hand. "I'm already in this. Please take the kid gloves off."

Hughie frowns. "I…I can't do that just yet. But I will try!," he exclaims at your disapproving face. "I'll get you back out there. You'll have a say, I promise. Just…Just let me find a way to ease you back in. Something, I dunno - less bloody."

You bite back a sigh. Both of you know full well that none of this is ever not bloody. There are no operations with guaranteed safety. But you don't argue, just give another quick hug before leaning in the door of the break room. "You never said how much you bet Neuman. But maybe if I see a positive change in numbers on my next paycheck, and you treat me to lunch today, we can sway that bet in your favor."

His face scrunches incredulously and it puts a smile back on your face. "Wow, blackmail and bribery now? Okay, yep, that's it. You've spent way too much time working with Butcher. I'm just gonna have to amp up your hours here."

"Like hell!," you call back as you head back to your desk.

^^^

The rest of your shift had in fact been as tedious as you had dreaded. But there had been a brief moment during lunch when your phone buzzed against your pocket. Between bites of the takeout - Hughie had in fact decided to treat you to lunch - you read the words lighting up your screen.

Operation postponed. Flatiron at 8. Don't be late.

Gruff and to the point, even in text. You knew about the latest operation being rescheduled thanks to Hughie catching up between bites and conversation with Neuman. Being a liaison between the bureau and the Boys was one of your unofficial titles. You just hadn't expected Butcher to be so prompt.

Nevertheless, it had been something to look forward to and took off some of the monotonous edge of paperwork. By the time you had pulled on your coat and clocked out, your mind had already begun the shift from emails and files to takedowns again. You had stopped at your apartment long enough to change out of office attire into something more "combat" friendly - a basic t-shirt and sturdy jeans - and had already begun mentally rehearsing the three from T-position. One from hip. One by heel hooking the leg. One with foot behind the ankle and sitting back. Hip, leg, sitting. Hip, leg, sitting.

By the time you had exited the elevator at the Boys office, it was 8pm sharp, and you were already bracing for whatever toil your body would be put through this time. When you slipped through the door you found the office dim again, framed in the soft glow of a couple lamps with the city backdrop, and nearly vacant. To your surprise, the floor had already been cleared. At the far end stood Butcher, leaning over a pad with pen in hand, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.

"The fuck you mean it's seventy-five dollars?! It's bloody Legos!" You hung your coat next to his as Butcher scribbled something down with a scowl. "Better be lined with fucking gold. And you're sure this the one he wants? He don't already have one like it?" A beat and the scowl grew deeper. "I don't know what he had in that goddamn compound, never even put my foot on the front step. That's why I'm asking you, Grace."

Ah, there it was. The softie slipping its tender fingers through the bars of the smoldering, steely shell of Billy Butcher. You were grateful he was too preoccupied to notice the soft smile that pulled at your lips. His look would have turned thunderous for sure with a growly "fuck off" tacked on for good measure. You took your time treading across the office as he proceeded with his call.

"I'll buy 'em. Just cause I know I ain't the one that has to repack the fucking things every time you relocate. But not a damn one better go missing." You were close enough now you could hear the muffled sound of a feminine voice. He sighed, "I'll be there when I can, just not yet. Tell him in the morning to call me, yeah?"

Butcher finally looked up to see you a few paces from his desk. He quickly tucked pen and paper into a drawer and straightened. "Alright. Keep you posted. Yeah. Take care."

"All good?," you asked cautiously as he put his phone down on the desk.

"Yeah, all good." Then he grumbled, "Fucking kids are expensive."

"Always have been. But they don't stay kids very long." You cast a glance over your shoulder at the reoriented furniture. "You starting without me?"

His scowl turned into the crooked smirk you knew well. "Not a chance, love. Start your combat hip drill, then do your hip stretches. You're gonna need them tonight."

You gave a half-assed salute and turned to quickly cross the floor before he could retaliate. The drill was fairly easy to do now, despite your stiffness from prior sessions, and you were almost accustomed to the minor discomfort on your contact points now. After a few cycles you shifted onto all fours, feet together and sliding knees out as flat as possible to stretch your hips. As you shifted your weight intermittently between your forearms and back on your heels, you caught Butcher lazily stretching out of the corner of your eye. First arms, then those long legs. Rolling his head on his neck.

You had learned now that Butcher didn't stretch often for your sessions. If he did, it meant things were going to be more hands on. You weren't sure if that made you nervous, or eager for new techniques. "What's the plan?," you asked, keeping the nervousness from creeping in your voice.

"Got another pop quiz. Let's see how far you got in that lousy gym. Sit up and pay attention." You shifted to sit cross legged as he removed his watch again. "What is mount?"

"It's generally the offensive position. Whoever is on top."

"Name me three mount positions."

"There's S-mount. It's named because of the way your legs look on the floor. There's side mount, or side control. You're cross bodied that way. And then full mount, which is like…schoolyard bully position? They're pretty much sitting on your guts, ground and pound. It's the most aggressive."

Butcher nods as he scuffs towards you. "Good enough, I suppose. You got the gist. And what's guard then?"

"That's defense. On your back, legs wrapped around their waist. It's half guard if your legs are only wrapped around one of their legs."

"You're talking about closed guard. There's more than one. But we'll work with that." He kneels down beside you, twirling a finger. "Go on then. Breakfall and show me your guard."

You sigh, knowing how silly this will look. But you tilt back into the short breakfall, throwing up your legs as if wrapping them around something, crossing your ankles.

"Oh we're slow tonight, aren't we?," he mutters. He wraps a hand around one of your ankles, making them uncross, the other hand hooking in your belt, and pulls you across the floor. He lets go of your belt abruptly once your ass touches his knees and places his hand by your hip. He shifts the ankle still in his grasp behind him. "I meant on me, love."

"Oh."

Oh. Your brain stutters, and it takes a second for it to catch up after he lets go of your ankle. You bring up the other and cross them behind his back. You knew this would happen eventually, it's jiu jitsu one-oh-one. But for whatever reason you weren't prepared for it to be…well, right now. You weren't prepared for the warmth of him either.

Butcher looks down and back at each of your legs. Then down at you with a raised eyebrow. "Really?"

"What?"

"You call this your guard?"

"Um…yes? Why?"

In a blur, Butcher leans back, causing your ankles to part, and shoves one knee to the floor. You barely register his legs moving and he's suddenly sitting on your hips with his thighs on either side, his own ankles hooked behind the back of your legs. Full mount.

"What did that guard you from? A fucking leg cramp?" He raps his knuckles on your forehead briefly before you swat his hand away. "Where's your fucking head tonight, eh?"

"Guess I wasn't ready," you muttered.

"Well you best get ready or you're in some trouble. It's called guard for a reason. It's actually a shit place to be as an attacker. If you do it right. You cannot let me pass your guard."

"So…You're the Balrog and I'm Gandalf?" You flash a cheeky grin at his confused look. "You know." You imitate holding a staff two handed. "You shall not pass?"

He closes his eyes, inhaling deep through his nose. He stays that way for a long moment. When he opens his eyes again, they're sharp with an equally pointed smile. He places his hands on your shoulders. "Are you cozy?"

Your grin vanishes at his too jolly tone. "Um…"

"Too cozy, I think, love. As a matter of fact, I don't think you fully appreciate…" His fingers curl into tight fists in your shirt, and he leans over you, his expression filling your vision. "...just how bad I could fuck up your world from here."

Your eyes flick down at his fists under your throat. Flicking back to his face, the smile is gone but his eyes are still sharp. "Said it yourself; ground and pound. And that's just bare handed. Imagine what could happen if I had a weapon. I didn't think I'd have to remind you what that feels like."

You can't help glaring up at him. "You don't."

"You wanna make sure that don't happen again? You really want me to teach you?"

"Yes." It's snippy, despite your best efforts.

"Then quit fucking about. And get. Your fucking. Head right."

He loosens his grip and sits back up. You ignore the protest in your hips and focus on reigning in your anger from him throwing that in your face. After the moment with Hughie in the break room, it felt a more tender subject than it had been in awhile. After a minute, you trust yourself to speak. "What did I do wrong the first time?"

Butcher's proverbial hackles seemed to lower, a simmering annoyance taking its place as he shifted off your hips and back between your knees. "You didn't commit. Put me in your guard again."

You wrapped your legs around him as before, managing even as he sat back on his heels. "What you're doing here is pretending. If there's one thing you always do in jiu jitsu, it's that you stay clean and tight. You need to trap me.That lock you got with your ankles? Make them harder to separate. And for God's sake -" he pats the outside of one of your thighs - "squeeze. Pinch me with your knees. You ain't gonna bother me none."

You shift a little on the floor and do as instructed, ignoring the intrusive thoughts that begin to replace what's left of your anger. He nods. "Better. Want just enough pressure to keep me here but not wear you out if you need to maintain for too long. Ideally, if you pull guard, you incapacitate and get the fuck out. Understood?"

You nod. "Understood."

"Do you understand why this is a bad place for me to be?"

"Not…quite," you frown. "Isn't it better to be on the attack?"

"Yes and no. Depends who you're dealing with. And from your position, you can do both. I'm a bit limited here."

"How so?"

"I'm gonna try to get away from you. Don't let me." He sits back further and you counter pull with your legs. To your surprise, there's a bit more force than expected and he jolts a little, posting a hand on the floor to stop himself, leaning a bit over you now. Butcher flashes a grin then shoves off, yanking back. You suck in a sharp breath as your guard and his momentum forces you to sit up with him, essentially placing you in his lap. You brace a hand on his chest out of reflex to avoid colliding.

"See? I have to deal with not just trying to attack you. I have to deal with you throwing my balance where the fuck you want it. Throw in the attacks you can do from guard and you'll be the one fucking up my world."

"Ok," you nod slowly. "I get it. I think…I think I get it." You hold onto your focus on the training as best you can. But it's not easy with the lamplight flaring the colors in one of his eyes - warmer brown than you noticed before with rivers of green throughout - and highlighting the curve of his bottom lip. Who's the warm one now?

"Good. Now here comes the fun part again," Butcher says, snapping your focus to the session. "Back down. You gotta learn how to not let me pass guard."

He shifts and you lean back, pulling him with. You do a mental check of your ankles, knees, thighs as he settles slightly over you. The only thing you're gonna let him accuse you of pretending now is that you're any good at this yet.

"For every technique, there's a counter and or a defense. Guard is no exception. First thing one might try to break your guard is this." He places his forearms on your inner thighs, trying to slip down and push out at your knees. "If your guard is tight like I told you, I'm gonna struggle a bit. This is the polite way." He smirks. "And then there's this."

Butcher shifts his forearms back a little, sinking his elbows in the inner tender skin just above your kneecaps as he pushes. You gasp and shoot up to reach for his arms, but drop back down hard when it intensifies the pressure there. You let your legs give up the guard completely, feet hitting the floor. "Fuck!"

"Tingly, ain't it?, " he grins.

"No, that hurts!" You rub at the points now on fire with the distinct thrill of nerve pain.

He shows the first mercy of the night by tapping gently on the points and then about midway up your thigh, slightly in the inner side in the thick of the muscle. "Here and here or so. That's where they're gonna put that pressure if they want you. If you wanna survive the bastard, you better make that burn your friend."

"Noted," you grumbled, relieved that the pain was subsiding fairly quickly.

"Put me back in. Got another you gotta watch for."

You groan and pull guard again. You have no doubts where your newest bruises will be in the morning. This time Butcher reaches back a hand to touch your ankles. "If I can figure out which foot you got on top, I can break it there. Like this."

He finds your right on top, shifts his left knee against your tailbone. His right leg stretches out to the side but back where you can't grab it. His fingers deftly slip between where your ankles cross and when he leans back, they slip like butter. In an instant his hand slides from your ankle up the back of your leg, pushes and you're on your side. Butcher leans over you again, effectively pinning you in and you have to turn your head to look at him.

"This is not good. I could start working to take your back. So if you're on the floor, always keep those shoulders flat unless you have to move them. Don't ever let me take your back. But we'll get to that another night."

He sits back on his heels again and you follow to sit cross legged on the floor. Before he can instruct you, you interject, "Wait, I have a technical question."

"Which is?"

"In terms of size difference, what if I can't get my guard on my attacker? I mean if I was dealing with somebody built like Hughie, yeah, I could probably squeeze them like a tube of toothpaste."

Butcher snickers with a nod. "Kid bruises like a fucking banana. Could you imagine him explaining those to Starlight?"

You swat at him but he just grins, and laughs at your scowl. You return to the topic at hand and continue. "Anyway! You said I could hip throw somebody like MM, but I don't know if I could lock my ankles if I pulled somebody like him in my guard. And we've dealt with assholes even bigger than him. So what then?"

His grin turns to a small smile, one that you rarely ever see. "You're shifting your mindset already. That's good. Means I'm doing something right."

He shifts, moves to sit next to you, one leg out, one knee up. "That's why I said there's more than one guard. A bigger bloke you want to take out, not muck about and let him use his size against you. Just wait till we get to stacking. There's open guard, rubber guard, spider, butterfly..." He waves a hand and rolls his eyes. "The names ain't fucking important."

Butcher turns and looks at you. The usual smirk or scowl are gone. It's pensive, dare you say soft, and you fight to not squirm under his gaze. He finally breaks the silence, his voice low but earnest. "Memorizing techniques ain't important. What is important is that you keep yourself safe. That you do whatever it fucking takes to survive, I don't care what it is. But you come back here." He taps the floor. "You come back here to Hughie, and the boys, and to me. Am I clear?"

You're a little stunned by it. Despite how most would only see all that anger and swagger, you know that Butcher cares. It's not just off-putting, it's horrendously unhealthy how he goes about it. You don’t approve but you get it. His fury and his rage are byproducts, not lone elements. They're rooted deeply in that need to protect, and the sense of self-loathing and guilt when he feels that he has failed to do so. And you don't dare spoil how he's presented it this time. So you nod, sincere. "Whatever it takes," you answer.

He nods then blinks, and the pensive look recedes. Whatever crawls into Butcher's mind makes him scowl again. He stares at some spot on the floor just in front of his boot and he echoes,"Whatever it takes…"

The shift concerns you. "Butcher?" When he doesn't answer, you try again. "Billy?"

Butcher looks at you that time. His voice is still low but serious now. "There's something I need to teach you." He taps the floor again. "Lay back."

You're still not sure about the dark look that's come over him but you do as he asks. You lay back and prepare to put him in guard. But he doesn't let you. Just as you start to bring your legs up he pushes them down hard and swings one of his own to sit on your hips again. He doesn't hook his ankles like before and instead you feel his knees like a vice, caging you in. You open your mouth to say something but gasp instead when he snatches your wrists and slams them above your head.

Butcher stares down at you as you instinctively try to free your hands. And fail, you hardly budge. He's heavier than before. Your pulse quickens when his fingers tighten ever so slightly in response. Your breath is on the verge of joining the pace but you try to control it. You stare back at him, uncertain.

"If there's anything I teach you," he breathes, "that you must always remember, it's that you must stay calm. You hear me?"

You nod slowly, trying to wrap your head around the situation.

"You can feel aggressive, scared, I don't give a fuck. But you lose your head, it's done." He glances at your wrists before tilting his head to look back down at you. "Homelander. The Deep. You know the types we're dealing with," he growls.

You almost hear the click in your brain, and Butcher seems to see the realization on your face. "I think you know what kinda situation this would be out there. You need to know what to do."

You let out a tense breath and nod again as you close your eyes. It's uncomfortable but uncomfortable is Butcher's favorite. You focus your breathing, try to keep your heart rate steady, even as you feel his breath fanning across your face. You open your eyes after a moment. "Calm," you say evenly.

"Good," he answers. "Listen close. The bastard who tries this may start where you can put him in closed guard. But not always. He will try to restrain you first. And keeping your hips down is a big one. How much can you move right now?"

You try to move your hips, to shrimp out. It's as successful as your wrists - none. It unsettles you. But you hold onto the fact that it's Butcher, and you're in the office, and you're uncomfortable but still safe. You keep calm as you answer, "Can't."

"You're gonna fix that." He shifts up and the pressure on your hips increases. "You can get out but you gotta time it right. Bring your heels as close to your ass as you can and try to throw me off."

"It's not working," you grunt, your legs barely nudging him up.

"Not yet. They need to have their weight forward. Throwing them off balance is the goal. When you feel that bastard lean over you, you're gonna shoot your arms down. But not straight down. Down and out. Like a snow angel."

"Snow angel?"

"Yes. Shove your hands to the side and sweep them down as hard and fast as you can. Just like a snow angel. At the same time, you're gonna push up with your hips. Get your ass as far off the ground as you can. You need the momentum from both motions. Got it?"

"I think so."

"When you feel my weight on your wrists, just enough off your hips, you throw me. You'll feel it when my balance is in your favor."

"What do I do after?," you frown. "They'll still be on top of me."

"Whatever it takes." He shakes his head. "I'm not talking gym etiquette. Get your foot on their hip, shove off and run. If you can't get them off, give them hell. Ears, eyes, nose, throat, all the tender bits. Grab something as a weapon. Use your fucking teeth. Whatever it takes."

Butcher flexes his grip on your wrists again and you pray there won't be bruises there. Those would be far harder to hide or explain. "Close your eyes. Focus. When you feel it, throw me off."

"Butcher," you start to stammer a little. "What happens-? What do I do if I can't-?"

He glares and begins to lean forward. "Don't you fucking start that," he grits out. "Don't you lose your he-!"

You sweep your arms and shove your hips up as fast you can. You had expected Butcher to catch himself. But apparently your fake mini freak out worked better than expected. His upper body is thrown up and over, you hear the solid smack against the floor and a muffled curse. You drop back to the floor and freeze.

"Did you just play me?," he grunts as he starts to shift back to a sitting position. As he does you feel something hit your collarbone. Your eyes go wide when you see his face. The lamplight glints off the thick trickle of red seeping from one side of his nose. He reaches up to touch it with his fingertips, cocking his head to the side at the sight of it. His gaze shifts back down to you.

Butcher's face splits into a slow smile, licking the blood that seeps onto his top lip.

"I'm sorry." It comes out as a rasp. "I am so sorry. I-I-I didn't-!"

"Don't you ever fucking apologize for that." He swipes the blood drop off your collarbone before touching the blood on his face again. He smears it away but it returns, slow but steady. The smile does not falter. "That is exactly what I needed from you. But…let's not make that a habit, yeah?"

You nod. You still don't trust that smile. Butcher shakes his head as a wheezing laugh escapes him. "We'll call it short tonight. Pick up on guard another time. Let's stop me from bleeding all over everything."

He slips off you, offering his non-bloody hand and helps you to your feet as he stands. Before he pulls away, you feel his warm breath against the shell of your ear in a purr. "Good fucking girl."

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic

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fitzells · 2 years

Note

“Could he make you feel as good as I do?” with mitch please?

notes: first time posting smut on here, just a little rushed blurb that isn’t edited because it’s midnight and i just wrote it so pls keep that in mind. this isnt written that great because im exhausted but wanted to be active on here!!!!!! trying to get used to this whole smut thing before i post my long ass stiles fic with full smut in it (help im scared) honest feedback is appreciated!!!!! this was also posted on the mobile app so the layout is funky (im nervy to post this it’s my first one and it’s like 800 words or something because i was too tired to do full smut and also didn’t want to think of back story. CLEARING OUT OLD REQUESTS THEY ARE CLOOOSSSSEEEEDDD!

“Could he make you feel as good as I do?”

His breath was hot on your neck as his hands slid underneath the hem of your dress, your head tilting back, hitting the large mirror behind you. You hated how easily you gave into his touch, you both knew that all he had to do was click his fingers and you’d come running.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved how much you needed him; he took pride in knowing that he was the only person who could really look after you, but he truly did hate that he kept messing you around. He’d tried to deny his feelings for you ever since he’d met you; you guys would hook up sometimes, but once you’d realised that you were falling for him and he clearly wasn’t ready for taking that a step that big yet, you backed away. You didn’t pressure him, or try guilt him into asking you out; you simply told him that you wanted to be in a relationship with someone who could commit to being more than ‘friends with benefits’

So, if he supposedly didn’t have feelings for you; why would he care if you showed up to the bar he was a regular at, on a date? He’d been seething with jealousy from the moment you stepped into the bar, in that tiny dress; looking so beautiful. You were his, so why the fuck were you laughing at that idiots dumb joke?

He’d sent you a string of texts, ignoring the ‘leave me the fuck alone’ text he was given as a reply. He knew you, and he knew that you’d be waiting in that bathroom for him; because you were his, and he was yours.

“Could he?” He repeated, hiking your dress up past your hips, his hand travelling down to rub his fingers over your underwear. You bit down on your lip, so hard you were surprised you didn’t draw any blood. You rocked your hips down onto his hand, screwing your eyes shut as you pawed at his Henley.

“No, Mitch.” You whined, mouth hanging open as he pushed the lacy fabric of your underwear to the side, rubbing his fingers through your heat. He kissed at your neck, nipping at your jaw whilst he grinned at the sound of you whining for him. “No one can.”

An ego boost, one that you definitely would not have given him had you been able to focus on anything but him. A lazy smirk stretched at his lips as he tilted his head up, catching your glossy lips with his chapped ones. The kiss was almost torturous, just as teasing as the slow movements of his hand against your sex. You elicited a satisfied gasp when you felt him push two of his fingers deep inside you, the heel of his hand rubbing against your clit in a way that felt so insanely amazing you involuntarily squealed against his lips.

His fingers curled as your kiss turned sloppier, teeth clashing and tongues gliding against each other; neither of you necessarily cared that your strawberry flavoured lip gloss was all over his chin, or that there was an impressive hickey darkening on your clavicle; you were too wrapped up in one another to think about the consequences of your actions. His other hand pawed at your chest through the flimsy material of your dress, humming out a sound of approval against your lips when you shrugged the thin straps off your shoulders.

He pulled your pretty bra down just enough to free your breasts from their confines, toying with the fleshy mounds as he drilled his fingers deep into you. His lips moved from your mouth reluctantly, pressing open gentle kisses down your jaw, the softness of his lips contrasting greatly to the way his fingers were completely wrecking you. He sucked another hickey on your neck, groaning as you pressed him in close to you, locking your legs around his waist.

You allowed yourself to get lost in him, emptying your head of all things that weren’t Mitch. All you could smell was his cologne as you nuzzled your head in his shoulder, and you shut your eyes once more; getting wrapped up in him. He grunted, his hand dropping from his eager assault on your breasts to wrap it around your neck, tugging your head back to come face to face with him.

“Keep your eyes on me baby.” His whispered, kissing your lips gently before he was sliding his hand down your neck, his fingers toying with them once more. You arched your back into him, your hands journeying up to grip at his hair, giving it a firm tug. He’d always liked that, when you’d pull at his hair; it drove him absolutely wild, once you did that, he was putty in your hands. You both knew that. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

Your eyes rolled back, feeling completely withered at the feeling of his hands and the sound of his voice. Mitch Rapp was going to be the death of you. You emitted a particularly desperate scream once you felt his fingernails scrape that spot that drove you wild, and he knew he hit the jackpot.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby. Be my good fucking girl.” He groaned into you, grabbing your jaw and turning it back to face him. He knew you were close, and he didn’t want to miss a second of it. You weren’t even mumbling proper words, just whining babbled up versions of his name that differed everytime they fell past your swollen lips. He was rocking his hips into yours as his fingers drove into you relentlessly, and you swore you could feel a tear roll down your cheek at the feeling of him surrounding you.

“C’mon.” He muttered, his hand still gripping your jaw tightly as he watched you cup your breasts in your hands, arching your back in pure pleasure as you let out exhausted whimpers and whines into the cool air of the bathroom.

“Cum for me, give me everything you got, baby; I’ve got you.” He continued, your glazy eyes never leaving his; he ignored the ache beginning to become apparent in his hand, wanting you to reach your high right now, in front of him. “I’ve always got you.”

With that, you let out something between a satisfied whine and a desperate scream, clenching around his thick fingers as you tried to focus on not blacking out from the sensation, your head fell forward onto his shoulder whilst he helped you ride out your high. You whimpered as he pulled his fingers out of you, sucking them into his mouth and releasing them with a pop and an insatiable groan. He fixed your dress, patted at your makeup and raked his hands through your hair.

“You wanna get out of here, Rapp?” You queried against his lips, arms wrapped around his neck as he helped you off the counter, allowing you to lean on him for support once he noticed your twitching legs.

He nodded slowly, a cocky little grin painting his face while he watched you with narrow eyes. “What are we gonna do about your little date, huh? I can’t kill another guy for you out of jealousy.”

He elicited a protesting whine as your foot kicked his shin, holding his large hands up in surrender whilst he chuckled lowly. “Kidding, never killed anyone in your honour. May have put a few in hospital though.”

“Mitch!” You hissed, weakly pushing away from him when he wrapped you up into his arms carefully; pressing soft kisses to your face. “I told him to go home after your ninth text. Said I was going to puke my guts up in the bathroom.”

“That’s my girl.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to your hairline before spinning you around and guiding out out of the dingy bar. He walked you through the bar, your back pressed firmly against his chest.

“So,” He breathed into your ear. “Your place or mine?”

#mitch rapp headcanon #mitch rapp imagine #dylan o brien imagine #stiles stilinski imagine #mitch rapp #mitch rapp smut #mitch rapp fluff #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp x y/n #stiles stilinski headcanon #stiles stilinski angst #stiles stilinski x reader #dylan o brien #thomas tmr imagine #dylan o’brien x reader #stiles stilinski fluff #mitch rapp blurb

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gracelesslady23 · 9 months

Text

Visual - July 13

@prongsfoot-microfic

Alone in the dorm at last, James jumps onto his bed, bouncing slightly as his mattress undulates beneath him. He draws his slightly scratched and well used laptop to his lap eagerly.

Sirius said he’d be out their shared dorm most of the evening, but on-campus, university student, something unexpected could always crop up. A fire drill, a lost freshman knocking for directions, Pete calling his mobile incessantly asking for help on his maths assignment. So even with Sirius out, there really was no telling how much time he would get alone, and James planned not to waste a single second of the time he was given.

Hands flew across the keyboard, the password screen disappearing to reveal a half-written ethics essay. James made a face and quickly minimised the window before it could kill the vibe entirely.

Within a couple of clicks, James had banished the rest of the open windows and opened OnlyFans in fresh incognito tab.

His cursor blinked at him from the search bar. But his fingers, posed over the keyboard, hesitated to type his usual line of text… redhead woman, tit play…

His stomach squirmed as his mind’s eye brought forward a very different visual from that morning. Shoulder-length, dark hair, still dripping from the shower. Droplets running rivets down firm pectorals and a flat stomach, only to be absorbed by a white fluffy towel that was tied tantalizingly low on slender hips. Blood rushed to James’s groin and his pants tightened. Before he could second guess himself James was typing something entirely new into the search bar.

He palmed himself absentmindedly through his pants as he flicked through the first couple of search results. Even though he clicked through to one or two profiles, it wasn’t until he was halfway through the second page of results, he found something that fully captured his interested.

James swallowed, mouth dry. The profile pic… it looked just like him.

A stab of guilt penetrated through the haze of lust. James glanced at the door to the hallway beyond. It was closed and silent, the lock still turned. Sirius wouldn’t be back for hours, he reminded himself, and besides, hopelessly pining over his best friend wasn’t getting him anywhere. Maybe this was the only way to get it out of his system. It was worth a try at least.

James clicked through to the profile and then to the most recent of the free content teasers. The video had a shirtless man, face half hidden by a long dark fringe in the thumbnail. James’s hand slipped underneath the waistband of his pants, his heart thumping in anticipation.

He clicked play.

The man on the screen flicked his fringe out of his eyes, a devilish smirk on his lips.

“Hello, gorgeous –”

The deep sensual voice, travelling through James’s tinny speakers was abruptly silenced as James slammed down on the space bar. His eyes widened in disbelief. His hard on, which should have softened at the rude surprise that had found him, only throbbed, hardening further.

Because the man on the video, didn’t just look like Sirius –

It was Sirius.

#finally I've managed to get out a microfic (only took me multiple months lol)#prongsfoot #prompt: visual #my fics #onlyfansAU

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cpunkwitch · 23 days

Note

Hey, chronic pain anon back again to ask some questions

My first question is to ask if you have any advice for how to handle or deal with the pain, I mean usually I just ignore it, but i dont know if that's really a good thing

I also wanted to ask if you knew of any mobility devices that might help with taking weight off my hips and spine? If that makes sense in a way?? I was thinking of getting some when possible as I noticed whenever I stand still I get a lot of pain / pressure in my hips and spine, like they're crumbling under my weight or something — idk if that makes sense, im like half asleep right now

Okay, uh, thanks :3 you're really cool and even if you can't answer these questions I don't mind ^_^

- chronic pain anon

Hey hun

DO NOT IGNORE PAIN /lh

Pain is your body sending your brain a signal something is wrong, listen to your body or it will get worse

Depending on the type and level of pain there are multiple ways to handle it

My methods are hot compress, soaks in baths or showers if I can manage one or the other, anti-inflammatory meds like ibuprofen or even Tylenol or advil (I can only take liquid or chewable meds but if you can swallow pills and know what meds you can take please do)

Compression socks, gloves, support shoes, braces, especially a back brace can help relieve and lessen pain by the end of the day

Sleeping with an extra pillow under your tailbone and/or between your legs depending on your sleeping position can help as well, preferably small pillows if you have one but whatever works

As for mobility aids

I'm looking into the same thing and the reason I was looking into using my moms walker before was because walkers and rollators have better weight support than a walking stick or cane, definitely better if you want to avoid the wrist and upper body pain leaning on a walking stick can give you at least from my experience

Best ones I know of should be within your height range, and can include a seat though the foldable ones are likely to have less weight support and there can be weight limits for aids so best to look at the weight limit on one before getting it

A walker or rollator feels like a middle between a cane and a wheelchair to me so I'd say it's good for spine and hip issues as I deal with the same

Actually last night because my mom wouldn't let me user her walker on my coffee run I ended up being hunched over with a lot of lacking mobility due to the extra pain I was in by the end of the day, the walker would have helped a lot and even helped me pase myself better walking uphill so I wouldn't have fallen into my habit of speed walking (or marching, Sea cadets will drill marching into your muscle memory)

So yeah tldr?

Anything that takes down swelling and inflammation in your muscles, joints and tissue in general wherever the pain tends to be can help a lot, even pain creams can help some

Small stretches can help too so your joints don't become stiff overtime just be careful not to strain or stretch too far or anything, light stretches can help get your body out of bed

And a walker or a rollator could be good for a mobility aid to look into

Hope this helps!!

#disability blogging #cass rambles #actually disabled #physically disabled #cpunk #physical disability #cripplepunk #disabled #cpunk blog #cripple punk #chronic pain anon

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nightowlwriting · 2 years

Text

summary: stack my ammunition, be ready when you come

you who thirst for action, i will give you some

when the smoke dies down, you can rest assured

we will know who kept his word

steve's back in that damn ice field, back in the past, back in the places he didn't want to be in for the rest of his life. at least this time steve has bucky by his side.

word count: 1.7k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used

warnings: mention of flashbacks, mention of ptsd, brief allusion to homophobia, description of drowning

note: this is the prologue of an ongoing series, find the series masterlist here.

title & summary credit: the mountain goats

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

“There’s unusual activity near where we fished you out of the ice, Cap. We need to go check it out. Are you up for it?”

No, no he isn’t up for it. But Steve has to be so he sighs and nods his head, suiting up for the flight. He’s Captain America and the face of the Avengers. As much as he doesn’t want to go back to where he spent seventy years having the life he rightfully was owed pass him by, he will. He has to. This time he has Buck by his side, softening the blow. It makes it nicer, just a little bit. The last time he was there, disappearing under the water, he’d thought Bucky was dead. Steve was drowning in the grief and he remembers wondering if when he drowned in the frigid water if it would feel the same. Having Bucky by his side now, so many years into the future (becuase it is the future, no matter how many fucking times people tell him it’s the present) keep Steve’s chest warm when he wakes up from nightmares in his lovers arms.

They don’t hold hands in front of the team, not yet, but everyone knows. It’s hard not to know when they’re joined at the hip like they were in the Before. It’s almost like he’s small and sickly again, back when they were kids and they both knew in their hearts they were meant for each other but couldn’t do a fucking thing about it. Bucky turns over in bed at nigh and is startled, sometimes, because Steve’s big now. He’s broad and tall and sleeps without his breath stuttering to a stop and kicking back up at random intervals. They’re so comfortable around each other, and so in love with the people that they’ve become with each other now, it’s hard to remember that they’re displaced out of time and in a bed that’s not pressed up against their couch in a shitty Brooklyn apartment.

Steve had one thing to thank the ice for, then. The progression of time also came with a cultural progression, and he’s benefited from that more than anything. Maybe it’s different for him and Buck because of how In The Public they are, but Steve loves to see people on the streets of New York holding hands when they’d have had to hid in the shadows back in the ‘40s. He tries to keep his mind on that - how more people are out and happy and allowed to be that way - as they survey the ice field that once held him prisoner. It’s better to focus on that, and how he’s going to make Bucky take the warmest bath when they get home, than the fact that he’s standing on what had been his grave for decades and decades. Tony hadn’t said what they’re looking for, just that The Burning Staff, a neo-Hydra organization, has been scanning the area more frequently and whatever they wanted the Avengers would get first. They have to. Even if it was nothing, it would be better in their hands than in the hands of the Hydra-wannabes.

It seems fitting to Steve’s inner turmoil that Bucky is the one to find the strange tunnel down into the ice. He calls the rest of the team over and they stand around the hole, peering down as the tunnel drops but then curves away - like it’s a burrow made by a huge animal - or a drill maybe? The walls of the tunnel are smooth and a terrifyingly serene shade of blue from what Steve can see. The color tickles something at the back of his mind but he ignores it. There’s air rushing out of it, enough to ruffle his hair, and he shivers. It cuts straight to his core, curling a soft hand around his brainstem and tugging memories to the surface. The cold is settling into his bones, making his hands and feet stiff and achy. Steve just wants to figure out what the hell Tony thinks is here and beat it. He knows Bucky is feeling the same way just by the sounds his vibranium arm is making; it whirs and clicks faintly, and the only reason Steve can hear it is because of the serum enhancing a hearing that had once been muffled and cloudy.

“Well,” Tony says, his mask peeling back so they can see his face, “Who’s goin’ down there?”

“I vote for you,” Natasha says dryly, crossing her arms, “You’re the one that dragged us all the way out here and you’re the one with the heated suit.”

Both Steve and Bucky whip around to look at Tony, eyes narrowing. “That thing’s heated?” Bucky scowls, “I asked if we could put a heating plate in my arm and you said no, but the suit gets a full heater?”

“The suit is different,” Tony defends, holding his hands up, “You’d be a walking fire hazard with a heating plate in your arm.” He sighs and peers down the hole, “I’m not sure how far down it goes, and the fact is while I can fly - I’ll melt the whole tunnel. Probably collapse it.”

“So what?” Steve grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, “We call for Sam and send Redwing? Or are you expecting one of us to jump in?” The thought of slipping underneath the ice is turning his stomach. He’s afraid that he’s going to grind his teeth to dust at this rate.

“You jump out of planes without parachutes.” Tony replies easily, crossing his arms to mimic Steve, “And Tin Man here could easily climb his way out with his arm. Don’t even get me started on how many times I’ve seen Natasha scale walls to get to an enemy operative-”

“If I go down there will we get the hell out of here?” Steve doesn’t care that he’s cutting Tony off, because he doesn’t particularly care about what Tony’s saying. Bucky opens his mouth to argue but Steve just sighs, shakes his head, and slips down into the tunnel before he can overthink it too much. Gravity draws him over the ice easily and the rush of wind and the accompanying chill sends him falling, falling, falling.

He remembers the initial impact of the jet, the way he was jostled and disoriented but couldn’t see anything but the water rising up to cover the cockpit. He had scrambled out of his seat, scooping up his compass and shield, and made for the exit. Panic had welled in his chest and clamped around his windpipe, then, because comms were out and the tail end of the jet was inching closer and closer to the sky. Steve felt sick, and in his panic of trying to flee, wondered if that was how the folks on the Titanic felt. The door wasn’t opening because the electricity in the jet was out and - fuck, who designed this thing?

The water was rising, too, nearly to Steve’s knees as he tried to figure a way out. The jet was sinking fast and, sure, that was his plan but there was a little bit of hope that he’d be able to make it out - that he wouldn’t drown. That he could go back to Peggy, that he could go look for Buck’s body and lay him to rest, that he could live his life now that he was given the power to help people. Hell, maybe he could even end the war. None of that would happen if he fucking drowned and died.

So, Steve did what he was born to do: he fought. He fought until the water was up to his lips, blue and shaking. He fought until he couldn’t hold his breath anymore. He fought until his body gave out and he sank to the bottom of the jet, lifeless and limp.

When he finally pulls himself out of his thoughts he’s shaking. It feels just like the water in the jet despite the tunnel having spit him out in a wide, airy cavern. He sits for a heartbeat more, trying to convince himself that he’s not lost to the world again, and then gets to his feet. Steve’s chest is heavy and tight and he focuses on breathing and scanning - slipping into Captain Rogers more than Steve. He’s standing in what’s almost like a cave, the walls high and smooth and coming to a rounded top. He shivers again, even though the numbness is starting to spread through his fingers and toes. It's more of a phantom pain than anything life-threatening, with his suit and his serum the risk of hypothermia is amazingly low. It’s the memory of a life long past, long dead curling around his circulatory system. Steve takes a few timid steps forward and finds traction so that he can look around, comms crackling to life in his left ear. It's Tony. "Find anything?"

"Give me time to look around at least," Steve replies tersely, scanning the cave around him, "It's just a cave. Looks about like the tunnel I came down in."

"Huh," Bucky's voice joins the conversation, making Steve calm just a little. He's not back on the jet, Bucky's not in Hydra's hands, it's not the '40s. Not anymore. The world has moved on and Steve hopes that he will, too. "Wonder what made it."

"I’m not sure that I do. Doesn't look natural." Steve turns and looks for another tunnel, anything else, but it's just him and the smooth, blue walls. "Looks like it was carved-" His breath hitches as his eyes catch something in the walls. Something decidedly not blue, something covered in shadow and floating and not moving, something that anyone with sight will recognize instinctually.

His team is calling his name, asking if he's okay. Bucky's voice is the loudest, and most panicked, but Steve can't breathe. Can't breathe, can't think, can't stay on his feet. He falls to his knees and comes face to face with a human, curled up on the side in a fetal position, frozen into the wall in front of him. The ice crawls up his chest and squeezes his heart, his lungs - he’s struggling to breathe or think around the fact that there’s a person there, in the ice and curled around themselves just like he’d been.

Just like he’d been.

Just like he’d fucking been.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #stucky/reader #stucky x reader #dark in here

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