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[violetmina]

Chokehold - Ch. 11

Chokehold Masterlist

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Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,623

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, sexual tension and...well, Butcher.

A/N: I'm back~! Its finally here! After several months, the next chapter of this series! I promised that I would not abandon it, and I meant it. If it feels off in any way, I do apologize. And many thanks to all of you for your support and your patience. If I forgot anyone that wanted to be on the taglist, please let me know asap so I can fix it.

Two things ripped you from sleep that morning. The first was your final alarm blaring from the coffee table. The second was the abrupt awareness of a particular body missing behind you. The combination of the two had your muscles spasming into a flailing upright position, immediately revealing a slight kink in your neck as your brain tried to catch up. Your fingers fumble and flutter over the table in search of the obnoxious sound coming from your phone. Just as your hand starts to slap against the wood in groggy frustration, your eyes just make out a different set of fingers.

“Billy?” It comes out cracked and garbled from sleep.

The alarm dies quickly under his fingers and the blur in your vision shifts in time to bring him into focus, kneeling before you beside the couch. “Morning, sunshine,” he greets you with that crooked smile. “Gotta tell ya, I hear that alarm again, I'm throwing your fucking phone through the wall.”

“You -ah!” You wince as your neck twinges sharp at your attempt to swing your legs to the floor.

“Yeah, your couch did the same number on me,” he mutters. He slips his fingers to your nape, rubbing the smallest of circles there, just on the new knot. It's brief, his hand withdrawing before you can even sink into it, reaching back to bring forward a cup of coffee.

“Here. Can't send you off to Hughie with bags like that under your eyes.”

You give your thanks, taking a long draw before turning back to him. “Speaking of not looking so good, what about-?”

“Nuh-uh.” He wags back a finger at you as he stands to head out of the living room. “We had a deal. You're done playing nurse.”

You roll your eyes, knowing full well you're not going to argue with this mule. Butcher appears unfazed from the previous night's events, strutting in your apartment as his usual. The only outward indication of his escapade was the faintest peek of the liquid stitches on his head and the missing Hawaiian atrocity the blue t-shirt replaced. A very good looking replacement if anyone bothered for your opinion. But bravado and machismo are not enough to throw off what you already know - he was probably bluffing.

Taking a full gulp of coffee, you shuffle behind him towards your kitchen. The pizza box sits empty and abandoned on your counter. But next to it Butcher rifles through an unfamiliar bag, pulling out to-go boxes.

“You brought me breakfast in bed?,” you ask, smirk tight against the rim of your mug.

“Breakfast on couch,” Butcher replies without missing a beat, sliding warm styrofoam towards you before hooking a palm onto your hip. “Since ya made such a point of avoiding your bed.”

“Actually it was you making a point of avoiding my bed. You did say you wouldn't go near it if I wasn't in it, did you not?”

“Awfully cheeky for just starting that coffee.” He pushes away from the counter and pulls you in as you shrug in response. “And we could remedy that in a hurry, yeah? Being in your bed, I mean.”

“I, on the other hand,” you continue, bluntly brushing off the reply, “was avoiding sinful acts so as not to kill you.”

“Not a bad way to go, innit?” Butcher manages to wrap his arm around your back without sloshing your morning brew over either of you.

“Maybe not. But I'd hate to traumatize the others with the vivid details of what you look like naked,” you grin.

“Fuck off,” he hums before hushing you with a kiss. Then, purring into your ear, “You still haven't answered me…Your bed?”

Butcher doesn't give you much of a chance to respond. Not verbally that is. He kisses you again, longer, firmer. Warm steadily turning to hot, a slow delicious simmer. Your free hand slips along his side, just hitching under the hem to brush skin, and you can't remember this shirt feeling this soft. But you're not going to forget now.

Until he gives you something else to remember.

Butcher's grip on your hip grows firmer, and when you part your lips in invitation, his response is no different than how he handles much else - he does not hesitate. He delves to taste and you're quickly preoccupied with his own, enough to kiss back with more fervor. He nips your bottom lip and you know it's still not safe for him, not really. The concussion is still a danger…but you feel your bed pull at you like his fingers starting to tug at your jeans.

Until his phone buzzes loudly in his pocket.

“Billy…”

He shakes his head, whiskers whispering against your face. “It's nuthin’,” he breathes between kisses. “So? This a yes, lov-”

Another buzz.

You catch his wrist as he rips the cell from his pocket, barely saving the offensive thing from a warp speed trip across your apartment. When yours buzzes too on the other side of the room, the noise that rumbles out of him makes you bite your lip. He leans back from you snarling to the roof, “Fuckin’ cockblocks every fuckin’ one of ‘em!”

“That confident were you?” It comes out just a tad breathless.

He stabs a brief glare at you with a snort before finally looking over the interrupting notification. “Surprise, surprise. Hughie.”

“What did he say?”

“New orders, new case. And a little under the table meeting. Same bullshit,” Butcher grumbles. “I'm sure yours is near identical.” He looks up at you, some of the frustration leaving his face to give you a hint of a smile. “All things considered, I'm guessing you'd like me to let him know we'll be each other's plus one to the meeting?”

Butcher gives a little wink before you place your hand over his phone. His hint of humor falters when he sees you staring with furrowed brow at the text message waiting to be answered.

��...No.”

His face mirrors yours. “No? No what?” 

You look up at him, shaking your head.

He stares for only a second. Then, “Ah, I get it. I'm your new dirty secret, eh? That it?”

“No,” you reply louder, more abrupt. Had that been the tiniest edge on his playful tone? You look up at him, shaking your head. “I didn't mean that. You're not that. I mean I don't know what you - we-!” 

Something twitches in his face at ‘we’, something that makes part of you flinch, and you take a breath before speaking. “What I meant,” you answer slowly, “is that we shouldn't say anything just yet. Not to the others. I don't want anyone thinking that I didn't earn my place here, pull my weight. Especially Hughie.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“He's already shown me once how quickly he can change his mind, even more so when it comes to me doing field work. I hope I won't need you to speak to him on my behalf. But if I do, how much will your word weigh to him if he thinks it's only because we're past being friends…coworkers…what have you…” 

You trail off on that thought, cutting back to the point. “Anyway, more importantly, we've got a big mission here. And I think it would be best if the team has no questions or doubts about where everybody's heads are at. No distractions. Right?”

Butcher gives a slow nod as your words sink in. “That'd be the thing they'd do wouldn't it?” Then with a humorless laugh, “Like they don't question me, bust my balls enough already. And Hughie!” He makes a tsking sound. “Yeah, none of that. We'll deal with this Persuasion business proper first.”

He nods and makes a quick reply to Hughie before sliding his cell back into his pocket. “I best get a move on, meet up with MM while it's still early. And you best get your ass in gear. You need to keep an eye on the congresswoman.” 

Butcher smirks as he shrugs on his coat. “Real shame,” he drawls, giving you a long, parting kiss before beginning to back to your door. “Still wouldn't have minded breaking your bed.”

“Could've died,” you sing-song at him.

“Sounds like a good way to go.”

“Sounds like you're trying to tell me you wouldn't be worth a second round,” you tease.

Butcher shakes his head, a dark, heavy look rolling in his eyes at your sass. “When did I ever say it’d take only one round?” He pauses in your door. “That's a shame, love. I thought you knew me better than that.”

With a smirk your way and a glance over your apartment, he closes the door. You let out a sigh somewhere between relief and disappointment, picking at your to-go box as you remember the coffee somehow still in your hand. “Not yet,” you smile in response to his parting words.

As you eat the breakfast Butcher had delivered, you did your best to focus on the little spark of excitement in you, and ignore the last look he'd given your apartment. Ignore the sharp flicker he'd given the windows.

^^^

“We got one!”

You nearly jump as a news article slaps onto your desk. Hughie beams down at you, almost smug before sliding it closer to you. “Got one?”

“A supe. That fungi one, what's-his-face -”

“Cordycep?”

“Yep,” Hughie grins. “The asshole who was caught spraying those spores everywhere to hypnotize people. His case finally went to the judge. And the judge threw the book at him.”

You skim over the article as he leans against your cubicle wall, clearly pleased. “You're not kidding. Found guilty of all twenty-six counts of fraud, identity and grand theft, and forgery.”

“Every single one,” he says. “A long sentence. And no chance of parole at this time, or bail. We did that. We did that!”

You suppress a laugh as he takes back the article with a fist in the air. “That's kinda the point, isn't it? That's why the bureau exists.”

“I don't mean the bureau. I mean us,” he replies. Then he continues with earnest, “I know that the team has been kinda frustrated lately. We covered this case, and several like it, and it feels like we've been trying to climb shit mountain every time. But this shows that it's working. We're making a difference. And we didn't have to scrub blood out of our clothes to do it.”

“This time,” you emphasize. “We didn't have to this time. Forgive me for raining on your parade a little. But let's keep a little pragmatism here. Cordycep was a push over. Most of the supes aren't.”

He waves you off but you still notice the slight slump in his shoulders. “Whatever. Point is that we are making a little progress.”

You feel a twinge of guilt for being a bit of a realist on him. But despite that, part of you wants to celebrate with him. There has been progress for both the Boys and the bureau. Slow, grinding, frustrating progress. But still progress. Although, if Butcher were the one to measure, you would be found short today. You hadn't been able to keep an eye on Neuman as intended. Even those at work had only seen her in passing glimpses by her office.

With that in mind, you lower your voice just slightly. “Speaking of progress, are we still going over reports tonight with the team? That quarterly thing?”

Hughie nods as he straightens a little, eyes scanning for the congresswoman. “Yep. Right. Quarterly reports. Gotta make sure we're within budget and all that.”

“And are Annie and I still on for girls night?,” you ask, absently shuffling through some files. Not like you care what they are.

“Yes. Actually she hinted that she might - might - be able to stop by tonight. You know, say hello. Iron out some stuff for your upcoming bonding time.”

That certainly puts a little edge in you. You'd be lying to yourself if you thought you weren't hesitant about how the meeting would go. Yes, the whole mission and its variables were certainly part of that. But so was the fact that you now had to keep pretending like nothing was going on between you and Butcher, jiu jitsu or otherwise. Throw in the ever looming threat of Neuman's shadow, and the mutual disdain to put it politely between Annie and Butcher…

“That sounds great,” you smile wanely. “Is everybody else in on that particular detail?”

“Butcher knows,” Hughie deadpans.

“And how many new expletives did you learn from him after telling him?”

“None. Not yet, I mean. He's probably composing a whole list to shove down my throat after the meeting as we speak.”

“Wrapped with a C4 wire bow, I'm sure,” you smirk at him. You slap three files into his chest. “Here. You'll need those for tonight.”

He glares at the manila as if it's offended him while he thumbs the pages. “The hell is this?”

“Budget reports.” Your expression goes flat when his remains confused. “Neuman would want you to have those for the meeting…?”

A beat passes before you see the light bulb come on. “Oh,” he smiles sheepishly. “Riiight. Need those.”

“...How the hell are you my boss again?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles before pushing away from your cubicle to avoid the return of your smirk. Before he dips out of sight he peeps around the corner one more time. “Oh, by the way…”

“Yeah?”

Hughie spares a genuine smile. “I just wanted to let you know that, uh…I'm glad you're working again. You're kicking ass already.”

Fondness fills your chest and you return the smile before he jokingly barks an order to “kick those papers asses!”, and heads further into the bureau. You sigh at the small mountain of work on your desk before dragging a file towards you. 

Kicking more ass than you know, Hughie. Just you wait.

^^^

Homelander's too-piercing blue eyes stare at you through a thin veil of false contrition as you stare back from your seat in the Flatiron. The act is thinner than a blade's edge, and you're grateful for the filter of the LCD screen and a brown-nosed interviewer hired by Vought between you - and everyone this side of the screen - and the supe. It's the second time you've seen it air today, but it still irks as bad as the first time as Homelander lays his woes and regret about Stormfront for the first time publicly since she'd been “apprehended”.

“Fuck him,” Frenchie mutters, snapping your attention away from the TV and back to the crew. He snaps off the TV just as viciously. “And fuck that nazi bitch, whatever is left of her.”

“Can we focus?,” MM asks at his desk, his fingertips burrowing deep in his temples. “We got a lot to cover and very little time to do it.”

Hughie heaves a sigh and nods, looking at each of those present to recollect the room as he stands in the center of it. “He's right. We gotta crunch these last numbers. I'll make it quick. Let's see…MM is good on the books. You submitted that last bit of papers for that druid-wannabe supe, right?”

“Yes. Ready for you to hand off to your attorneys.”

Hughie flashes a thumbs up before turning to the seats near your desk. “Cool. Frenchie, Kimiko. Looks like I just need that last budgeting sheet for…is this a flamethrower? This looks suspiciously like a flamethro- why?”

Kimiko signs before Frenchie grins, “Research purposes.”

You hold back a snicker as Hughie presses on. “Fuck, fine, whatever. Mallory can deal with that, I guess. So that just leaves-”

“Yours truly.” Butcher's chair creaks next to you at his desk, opposite side of Kimiko, as he swivels slowly with a bit of impatience. “It's all there, mate. Double checked the numbers me self.”

“All of it?,” Hughie presses. “Your ammo and armory form was off a couple digits last month.”

“Yep. Even corrected the pornhub subscription cost on the miscellaneous page.”

“Okay, okay. That was lovely news,” Hughie grimaces as everyone else shares a chuckle. “Bleaching that from my mind and moving on. Budgeting is done. Now for the real meeting.” He glances back and forth between Butcher and MM. “Any new leads on Persuasion or Walsh?”

“Only that Walsh is hiring third party goons to try to keep Vought from crawling up his ass. Ambushed me at the club the girl talked about,” Butcher shrugs. “Patched myself up away from the hospitals, so we don't have any tails there.”

Your mind slips into the memory of your fingers running through Butcher's damp locks. It hazes briefly at the memory of calloused hands and warm lips before you remind yourself that there's a reason you and Butcher are not sitting directly next to each other right now.

“I found two other cases from the same night,” MM cuts in. “One male and one female victim, not as lucky as our first. They were from different sides of town. Vought got to them long before me though. But from what I could gather, the situations are uncannily similar. If this is a test run, this drug is going to spread fast.”

“No faster than what Walsh will allow, you mean,” Hughie interjects. “He still has to keep ahead and under Vought’s radar.”

“Any clues what it's for?,” you ask.

“I have less leads than them,” Frenchie replies, rubbing the back of his head in agitation. “After what happened with the last sample, I've had to take the experiments a little slow.”

Hughie shakes his head. “Not gonna lie, that's not great news for our timeline before the gala. How are we coming on that?”

Frenchie perks up a bit. “That I do have good news. My surveillance equipment should be here within a few days. But I will need to know where in the gala we are playing our roles. I need just a little time to make any necessary changes to it.”

Butcher gestures around the room. “So? Where do you lot all wanna be?”

There's the crackle of paper as Frenchie smooths out the schematics splayed out on his desk, Kimiko and MM leaning to peer behind him. “We all start at the top and work down, right?,” MM begins. “Fifteen floors down. We should stack. Nobody more than one floor apart from each other. So I'll take fourteen and every third floor on.”

Hughie starts ticking off fingers. “So that means…”

“Means MM,” Butcher says, rising from his desk to stride to view the schematics, “will take fourteen, eleven, eight, five, and two. The love birds have to split what's left, and they all converge in the sublevels.”

Kimiko types rapidly into her phone before showing the display to everyone. I want to be closest to either of them if they need backup, it reads. I'll take thirteen down.

“I guess that leaves me with levels divisible by three,” Frenchie shrugs.

“What kind of modifications are you thinking?,” you ask him.

“Mostly wardrobe, so I know how to disguise your surveillance gear.”

Kimiko and Hughie smile, confusing you until you hear a voice behind you pipe up, “I guess I snuck out at the right time then.”

All eyes turn and you find Annie coming into the office. While you feel Butcher's not-so-welcoming smirk bloom from his spot, you and Kimiko each greet her with a warm hug before she greets Hughie the same with a kiss tagged on. “I'm guessing this isn't the budget report we're talking about?,” she asks the room.

“We could go back to that,” Butcher grins. “Being the altruistic soul you are, Starlight, I'm sure you'd be more than happy to make a generous donation to our cause, no? And using that Seven member payroll to stick it to Vought?” He lets out a low whistle. “It'd be poetry.”

“Tempting,” she responds tersely. “But even my money is micromanaged. Getting my charity for at-risk youth off the ground has been like pulling teeth, even with all the good PR Vought is expecting. And the last thing all of you need is for Vought to be sniffing further into my ‘donations’. Don't you think?”

“If you're a stingy bitch, you can just say that.”

“Okay!” Hughie quickly cuts in, placing his thin frame in the direct heat of their glaring. You're surprised he doesn't melt like butter in the thick of it. “Let's remember we're all on the same side here. We'll give you ladies a chance to talk over things while we, uh, find the best place to put our surveillance team.”

“I won't keep her long. The less I know, probably the better. At least in this case.” Annie gives Butcher one more pointed glare before shuffling you off a few paces. “It's been awhile since he's worn a shirt that didn't look like he stole it from a Miami retirement home,” she grumbles.

Oh, you had definitely noticed. He was still wearing the blue shirt from your closet, and Hughie had made a similar comment when he had walked into the Flatiron. Butcher merely brushed it off with something about laundry day. Thwarting away the image of what lay beneath said shirt, all stretched out on your couch, you asked, “We're still on tomorrow then?”

“Yes. I know a guy from my Christ for Capes days, his name is Torsten. He doesn't work for Vought but a lot of his clientele have been supes. He's got a hole in the wall for a shop in Manhattan. He can definitely tailor something for what you need.” 

She glances at Hughie, who is preoccupied arguing with Butcher that no, they can't park the van in the goddamn venue lobby. Then says, “I get wanting to wear something you can fight in. But can you? Not saying you don't know how to take care of yourself. I'm just hoping you're going to have enough time to learn what you need.”

You wave at the team as MM seems to get them back on track over the schematics. “If there's anybody that can get me ready with this kind of time crunch, it's these guys. Right?”

Her eyes crinkle as she looks over each of them. “I mean…kinda? A little. I don't think their insurance would agree, but...”

“Says the one who can take a bullet to the chest,” you jibe back.

“Well I don't know what the hell they'll teach you. But we'll get you fitted for it.”

The idea of pitching Annie to supplement your training flits in your brain. What better way to learn than from the one friendly supe in your corner? But immediately you reject it. Annie is already under constant suspicion from the Seven, Homelander most of all. Not to mention what little spare time she has is just that - very little. And again, would she be able to hide your training from Hughie till the right time? Especially if she knew Butcher was involved, in more ways than one?

Not likely, the little voice huffs.

“Hughie told you about meeting at the apartment at 4, right?,” she asks, dragging you from your thoughts.

You nod.

“Okay. We'll meet there, then head to Torsten's. My window will be small though before I have to get back to the tower. So think about what you might like for the gala. He's a damn good tailor but not a miracle worker, and we're calling it pretty tight as is.”

“Sounds good. But one problem. I don't exactly have a budget for a custom fit. And Butcher wasn't completely wrong about needing financing for this.”

Annie shakes her head. “Don't worry about it. Torsten owes me a favor anyway. And it helps me get away from the tower for a time. Which…” She glances at the clock on her phone. “...I am nearly out of myself already.”

“You're not staying?”

“No,” she sighs. “I wanted to get the details to you in person, less risk of our plans being tracked or leaked that way. That and I need to talk to Hughie for a bit. I meant what I said about knowing less. Our resident asshole-”

“Which one?,” you ask in a cheeky tone.

“Our resident asshole,” she continues, “doesn't need any more reason to doubt my intentions. The less I know, the safer all of us will be if shit hits the fan, especially with Vought. Gotta keep my nose clean after the last time I was accused of treason, too.”

“I appreciate your help, Annie.” You glance over at Hughie and Butcher, still mapping out the eventual parking spot of the surveillance van. You notice MM approaching you. “I'll let you talk to your boy toy and see you tomorrow. I have a feeling I'm needed now.”

“That would be correct,” the big man says as he steps up beside you. “We need to start working on your ability to read the room. More like you should've started yesterday. So if you need anything, snacks, restroom break, whatever - now is the time. We're gonna be here late tonight.”

You give Annie another hug before she motions for Hughie to join her for a hushed discussion. You move back towards the others and the venue map with MM. “So what does this entail?”

“Body language is the big one. You use it all the time, you just don't know it. A lot of social cues are given and read more subconsciously. Your role in this depends on it.”

As Hughie and Annie call out a good night, explaining that they needed to headout, Butcher waves them off dismissively and walks towards his desk at the end of the office. “Already we got a snag in your little lesson here, MM. You think four of us is gonna be the same as reading a packed ballroom?”

“No, I think we are her training wheels and that's better than nothing.” There's a hint of exasperation in his tone. You have the distinct impression that Butcher has voiced his charming opinions to the crew on you being their spy for the event. If said impression was right, then at least you knew the crew was on your side.

Frenchie slides across his own desk with a small smile at the corners of his mouth. He disappears for a brief second before bobbing back up with a Bluetooth speaker, and begins setting it up with his phone.

MM watches him incredulously, palms up in confusion. “The fuck is he doin’? The fuck you doin’, Frenchie?”

“I am setting up for the lesson. We are teaching her body language cues, the gala is in a ballroom…” He thumbs over his phone screen before beaming at you. “So dancing serves for both, non?”

MM wipes a hand over his face as Kimiko sticks out her hands in invitation to Frenchie. “Oh my god, fucking really?”

“We're working, not fucking about!,” Butcher growls as a song comes on at random. The sound of a howl and three single notes flow out of the speaker, and Frenchie looks at it with doubt. But he shrugs and begins to turn and shuffle about with Kimiko.

You recognize now that his random playlist had chosen “Lil’ Red Riding Hood”. Not something you even expected with all the French rap you usually heard him play. You highly doubt this will be played at the gala either, but you just smile, enjoying the duo's antics as MM vents his frustration. 

“As you can see, Kimiko's body language is open. She smiles! She is relaxed!”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Frenchie…”

You nod with thick enthusiasm, ignoring Butcher grumbling. “Yes, yes. I see.”

The duo continue to wheel about in the limited space as the song progresses. “Now notice that both of us have some tension in our shoulders? That is from suppression. Why?”

“Why?,” you play along.

“To not laugh at these two boring fuckers!”

MM flips them both the finger, which they return in kind. After another moment, MM finally steps forward. “Hold on, hold on. Let's at least do this proper. Kimiko? May have your hand?”

They paused, confused. But you catch a glint in MM's eyes and you give her the thumbs up. To Frenchie’s surprise, MM takes her hand, doing his best to maintain proper dance form with the size difference. He makes a “eyes on me” motion at you.

“Watch and learn. If you didn't notice, poor Kimiko's body language was giving all the subtle signs of distress.” He begins to move into a different dance than the awkward shuffle from before. “And why? She needed saving. Because he, and his white ass, ain't got no rhythm, and this is clearly a motherfucking tango!”

“Oh fuck you! You think I can't fucking tango?”

MM sweeps Kimiko further away. “Nah, you don't get her back now. You hijack my lesson, I hijack your dance partner.”

You can't help but laugh as Frenchie stomps after them, apparently offended, and MM dancing just out of reach round the office with Kimiko standing on his toes. After the apprehension you'd had about this meeting, this is a pleasant change of pace. But you know the song is just about over, and there's still work to be done. Not to mention there was still the hardass who definitely would not be dancing.

You tear your eyes from the three cavorting about, ready to catch Butcher scowling across the room. Instead, you catch him taking advantage of the trio's distraction to stare right at you. A small knowing smirk appears as the last verse plays.

Lil’ Red Riding Hood

You sure are looking good

You're everything a big bad wolf could want.

You're hit with the memory of that night at the motel, him staring up at you with that same damn look. Those wolfish eyes. He's being awfully bold, right in front of the others. But was he really anything else?

You are not going to make this easy, are you?, you think.

And in the blink of an eye, it vanishes and he is glowering at the others. Teaching you not to be distracted it would seem. He approaches them as they settle. “Turn the music off, and it stays off,” he snaps. “All she's learned in the last three minutes is how to look like a right wanker in a crowd. Which is exactly what she doesn't fucking need when she's supposed to sneak in, and then sneak the fuck out.”

He snatches Frenchie's phone and tosses it to him. Giving the other two one last huff, he turns to you. “Let's start with identifying when someone has a concealed weapon. Something you'll actually fucking use…”

^^^

Hours later, far later than you had even expected, you sit in Butcher's car, head propped against the cool glass of the window. You had originally hoped that he would insist on a rolling session after the training you'd done with the Boys. Or rather a rolling session and seeing where it would lead. But when Butcher had volunteered to drive you home - before the others could - on the ride in the elevator down, he had informed you that he would be out looking for leads again.

You admit, you were a little disappointed. But turning your head to look at him in the passing lights, you see just a trace of fatigue in the wrinkles by his eyes. A ghost of his concussion. And to be honest, you were still a little haggard from a long day, and the long night before playing Florence Nightingale to his stubborn ass. It was better this way.

That didn't stop him from cursing your fatigue. He peeled his hand off the steering wheel and placed it on your knee, rubbing firm circles there with the pad of his thumb. Just like that night at the motel, whistling low and slow that damn song in the Flatiron, as if in case you weren't remembering it.

You arched one eyebrow at him as he parked at the curb outside your building. He arched one back at you with a devilish look. “What? Something on yer mind, love?”

“Just wondering if I'm going to have to patch you up again tonight.”

“Are you now?” His voice is thick with disbelief. He gives your thigh a warm squeeze. “That all?”

“Yep.” You make sure not to bat an eye. “Not much else to think about tonight.”

“Well in that case…” The seat creaks as he leans in and kisses you. Firm and slow. Like that hand that glides up your thigh. Like the way he presses it against the center seam of your jeans…

And he pulls away just as you inhale sharply. “...In that case, since you got nothing to think about, I'll let you dance on up to bed for the night.” He unbuckles your seat belt for you with a cocky twist of his lip.

Fucker.

“Yeah. Not much to think about.” You make no attempt at hiding the frustration in your tone. You hear Butcher chuckle as you step out of the car.

“Give Tinkerbell my regards tomorrow,” he nods. Then with a wink, “And keep that bed warm in case I need a nurse, yeah? Be seeing you real soon, love.”

He closes the door and peels out into the road. You grit your teeth at how painfully aware you are of exactly how your jeans sit now. But you shake your head with a smile as you watch his taillights shrink. Because something tells you that the reason he peeled out was to keep him from stepping out of that car with you.

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

[finnofamerica]

Just Five Minutes More - Fili x Reader | Fluff

Summary: It'd been a long day for both you and Fili. You both just need each other to get through the night

Word Count: 618

Date Posted: 05.27.23

TW: AFAB language used

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Fili had had a long day of his princely duties. Meetings had dragged on and on. Thorin had yelled at him not once but three times that day. Fili felt awful, but he didn’t blame Thorin. The King was having a hard day too. The worst part was that the meetings hadn’t even felt productive. It was just around and around the table arguing the exact same points over and over again. It was exhausting. 

You’d spent a long tiring day in the Erebor clothier. A cold running rampant under the mountain had befallen the other two seamstresses you worked with. They’d be fine, of course, but you had to pick up the slack for the time being. Thorin’s cloak wasn’t going to line itself, along with the six other projects that were piling up. The workload had started to become overwhelming, and you’d be a liar to say that you hadn’t locked yourself in the fabric closet to have a good cry. 

By the time you could drag yourself back to your quarters, you wanted nothing but a good bath and to disappear deep beneath your thick blankets. You settled for crawling beneath your covers as the effort to draw a bath at the moment was just too much for you. Not even a full ten minutes after you had gotten comfortable did you hear a knock at your door.  You groaned loudly as you approached the door, wanting to bang your head against it and curse whoever was on the other side. 

“Fili?” As you pulled the door open, you asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I know it’s not proper, Y/n, to just show up at your door like this when we are unwed, but I needed to see my little hobbit. You’d not believe the kind of day I’ve had.” 

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. You needed his touch and the feeling of his skin against yours. He stripped down just to the thin under fabric that acted as underwear, though dwarves were not known for their modesty. You copied him, stripping down to a thin slip dress with an open back. Fili climbed into bed, spooning you and tucking his head against your shoulder, just taking in the way that you smelt like freshly baked bread and lavender. 

You’d always admired the way that Fili seemed to be fearless, even from the moment you’d met. He walked right up to you and asked your name and what had brought you to Erebor. Though he wasn’t as much of a relentless flirt as Kili had proven himself to be. He’d taken his time, ripping holes in his tunics and trousers just to have an excuse to visit you. Fili eventually asked you to accompany him for a drink. 

Ever since that night, Fili had been smitten with you. It didn’t take him long to realize that you were the one for him. He carved you two beautiful beads, one a lion, representing himself as you saw him; one a sunflower, representing your beauty as he saw you. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep with Fili’s thick arms wrapped tightly around you. You were woken by the rumbling in your stomach, having gone to bed without dinner the night before. You slowly tried to remove yourself from Fili’s grasp. 

“No,” He groaned, pulling you tightly back against him, pecking kissed along your shoulder blades, “Stay…” 

“Fi, I’m hungry. We didn’t eat dinner last night.” 

“Five more minutes, Amralimé. Then I will have the kitchens send up breakfast.” 

You chuckled to yourself, loving the affection that he was showering you with. You let yourself relax further into his grasp. 

“Five minutes.” 

Tags: @missihart23 @bunson-burner

#fili x reader #fili durin x reader #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fili #fili imagine

[fizzyxcustard]

Sleep, My Little One. 

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Just lots of fluff and happiness.

Summary: Based on this imagine. Requested as a full length fic by @sweetestgbye and @lemond57

Comments: As always, if you like the story, please consider a reblog. It really does help. If you would like to be added to any of my story tag lists, or my Follow Forever tag list (where you’re tagged in everything) then please let me know.

Your little girl was now six weeks old, having been born three weeks earlier than expected. But she came into the world with a loud cry, and had ever since demonstrated her father's stubbornness when resisting to sleep.

Thorin could see the dark circles beneath your eyes as you nursed your daughter. "Once she has nursed, head to bed, my love. I will remain with her for a while."

"I can't. She needs me with her," you argued.

"As long as one of us keeps an eye on her then she will be fine. Please go to bed. You are exhausted."

Once she had finished nursing, you handed the wriggling bundle to Thorin. His face immediately beamed with happiness and pride. It made your heart swell with love for them both, never-ending and unyielding.

"Bed, please," Thorin said again.

You walked over to your bed and slipped out of your shoes and pulled the covers aside, slipping into the warmth and comfort. Immediately you felt your whole body begin to descend down into a place of peace. Every worry, every thought, all melted away.

Your eyes fluttered open, and as you came back to the waking world, you were greeted by a sweet tune. The tune was paired with a voice, deep, but mesmerising. It was that of your husband.

"Sleep, my little one," he ushered. Then he began to sing again. His fingers plucked the strings of his harp, the harp you had gifted him on your one year anniversary of marriage, only two months before your daughter was born.

You looked across from the comfort and could see Thorin's back. He was sat on the edge of the bed, his harp between his knees. Your daughter's cradle was only a foot or two away from Thorin.

Slowly you got out of bed and walked around the edge, smiling as Thorin continued singing and playing his harp. There would never be any greater love you would ever feel than what was in your heart at that moment.

Thorin never noticed you until you sat beside him and rested your head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of your head and continued playing.

Your little girl was lying on her back, her eyes closed.

As Thorin stopped playing, you took his hand in yours and held it tight. "You two make me the luckiest person to have ever lived," you said softly, and a tear of joy slipped down your cheek.

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @i-did-not-mean-to @knittastically @linasofia @xxbyimm @luna-xial @meganlpie @eunoiaastralwings @asgardianhobbit98 @sunflwrnsunnieshine @guardianofrivendell @msjava1972 @rachel1959 @tschrist1 @quiall321 @enchantzz @lemond57 @missihart23

#Thorin Oakenshield #The Hobbit #Richard Armitage #Thorin x You #Thorin x Reader #Thorin x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x You #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Reader #Fluff #Happiness #Fanfiction

[wwenhlimagines]

Stay the Night - Hook Fluff

Prompt: "I really want to see you first thing in the morning."

Requested by @hooksimp

Your head hit the pillow and your boyfriend Hook pulled the covers over you both as you caught your breath. You turned to look at him and saw the goofy grin on his face making you giggle. "Well that was amazing. We should do it again some time."

He turns onto his side and pulls you closer to him lightly kissing your forehead as you cuddle into his chest. "We always have the morning."

You sighed and placed your hand on his chest. "But I should really go home. I have work early tomorrow and you have training."

He grabs your hand and kisses it slowly before moving up your arm hoping to make you turn back into the ooey gooey lovebug you were moments prior. "I really want to see you first thing in the morning. Waking up to your beautiful face and seeing you slowly stretch as you get ready for the day. I'll make you breakfast and drive you to work."

He smirks as you start to relax into him and lay your head on his chest to hear his heartbeat. "Hmm... I guess that would be really nice. I do have some clothes here, so.... I guess I will stay the night."

He smiles and kisses you before pulling you closer into the cuddle. "While we are talking about it, how about we make this a sleepover every night situation?"

You cock your head up to look at him "Is that your way of asking me to move in with you?"

He smirked and nodded "Yep. What do you say babe? Sleepover forever?"

You thought about it for a second before kissing him. "Sure, but you better be prepared to see the worst of me."

He kissed your nose smiling at the way your nose crinkled with it. "I love you Y/N, every piece of you. Especially your butt."

He lightly pinched it making you jump a bit and lightly smack his chest. "Tyler, I love you too babe. Especially your arms."

You kiss him once again before settling into your sleeping cuddle position and falling asleep in the arms of your new roommate.

Tags: @thesupreme316 @gethooked @730hook @baybay-boom @hookedonhook @louisianalady @hooks-martin @missihart23 @moxleyunstable @plentyoffandoms @daddyslittlevillain @legit9thlunaticwarrior @lclb13 @hooksimp

#aew imagine #aew hook #aew hook fic #hook imagine #aew hook imagine #flufftober #fluff prompts

[kcloveswrestling]

before 2023 ends where i live, i want to thank a few people for always being amazing:

@unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin

@missihart23

@mjfsupremacy

you three are some of the best people that I’ve met on here, and i’m super thankful to have met y’all.

#kc speaks #goodbye 2023 #hello 2024

[blairsanne]

Just What You Wanted

For the @deanobingo 2023 event!

Prompts: Marco - "Can I borrow that?" Go Girls - Marco 607 words

Summary: Marco reflects on the origins of his scarf. CW: Implied off-screen sex, alcohol consumption.

A/N: Just a little idea I had early on in the month so here it is before the Bingo event is over! Canon-Marco is pretty awful, but I got this idea that maybe he wasn't always like that...

Marco slid off the edge of the mattress and grinned to himself as he found his underwear in the mess of clothing strewn across the floor.

While he got himself redressed, his latest bedmate pointed to his patterned scarf. “Ooh! Can I borrow that?”

“No!” He snatched it up and held it away, turning his body to shield it from her reach.

She stepped back in alarm and pouted, hugging her bare chest.

“Er, I mean-” He let out a nervous laugh, embarrassed by his overreaction. “It’s just- sort of part of my brand y’know?”

He wrapped it around his neck like a security blanket, still shirtless.

She let out a forced laugh. “Yeah, I reckon, now that you say that.”

She picked her shirt up off the floor. “Just thought it would look cute as a halter.”

Marco raised his brows and looked her over, imagining it wrapped over her tits. “Yeah, yeah it would.”

“Maybe I should buy my own. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, uh- nowhere special, but it was a while back.” 

She shrugged, seeming to let go of the idea as she grabbed her purse.

He rubbed his mouth, trying to push the memories from his mind of when he’d started wearing it every day to begin with.

--

(Years earlier)

Marco huffed as he slumped into the booth in his local pub. “Kace bailed on me!”

His friend Tom scrunched his face. “Was she coming out tonight?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Marco’s flatmate to join them for drinks, but Tom didn’t remember her being part of the plan.

“No, I mean she took off! Shifted to Wellington with a note left on the table while I was at work.”

“Ah, bummer.” Tom nodded in commiseration.

James leaned over with a keen look. “If you need a new flattie, I can move in next week.”

“Oh yeah?” Marco took a sip of his beer before nodding, still frowning. “Choice.”

“Wellington, eh? Must be chasing after that fella she likes.” “Ah, yeah! The tv host.” “You reckon?” “Yeah, you know chicks; only want fame and clout.”

“Really?” Marco wiped at his nose and sighed. “I sorta thought, y’know, we might get together.” “Oh, maaaaaaate.”

“She was always saying how I was such a great guy and all…” “She had you on the hook so bad, bro.”

--

The next morning, Marco stumbled into his kitchen to make some coffee, cursing Kacey once more as he lamented his hangover.

As it percolated, he looked around the flat, noting the second-hand furniture, tattered posters on the wall, and general mess.

This isn’t the sort of flat Kacey’s ideal man would have, he thought. She goes for those jafas with leather sofas and perfect hair, who smoke cigarettes and bag a different chick every night. Famous guys on TV, who can afford to take her out wherever she likes.

He started tidying up in frustration, vowing to himself that he’d become exactly that sort of guy.

And when she comes crawling back, I’ll treat her just like they always do, he thought bitterly. Just what you wanted, Kace.

He grabbed his jacket off one of the battered dining room chairs, pausing when a black and grey scarf fell out from under it. Kacey’s.

He bent down to pick it up, stilling as he smelled the lingering scent of her perfume. His bitterness turned to sadness again as he thought of her. He wasn’t sure if he would actually be able to reject her, if she ever did want him someday.

He put the scarf on and looked at himself in the mirror.

Just like one of those jafas.

--

Tags: @laurfilijames @the-poldarkian @i-did-not-mean-to @the-butterfly-blues @fortheloveofdurin @spngingerbread21 @ichoosechoasandbeingqueer @missihart23

As always, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from a taglist (for everything, for specific characters, etc.)

#deanobingo2023 #go girls #marco go girls

[vicunaburger]

missihart23

  Fic Masterlist: Updated Often

Can you please add me to your tag list? I absolutely love all of this.

Added! :D

#missihart23

[winchesterprincessbride]

The Parent Trap-Part 5

Part 1         My Master List

Pairing: Sam X past reader, Sam X Ruby (currently)

A/N: Did you like the movie “The Parent Trap” as a kid? It is one of my favorite movies! I decided to write my own version, with a Supernatural twist, of course!

Summary: Mary Winchester and Annie Campbell meet at summer camp, and they quickly realize they look too much alike for it to be a coincidence.  They are twins! Their parents, Sam Winchester and Y/N Campbell divorced 12 years before, each taking custody of one girl.  Now Sam lives in California and Y/N in New York.  The girls hatch a plan to bring their parents back together, but will Sam’s new fiancee ruin their plans?

A/N/N: The girls' thoughts are in italics

Mary

New York City was like nothing Mary had ever seen before.  There were people everywhere, and the sounds and smells of the Big Apple were nothing like California. There was a frenetic vibe here that was completely different from anything on the West Coast.

“So Carlos has been asking me pretty much every day when you were coming home.” you told Mary conversationally.  “He’s been pretty mopey since you’ve been gone.”

Carlos.  He’s Annie’s friend that lives next door.  I got this!

“He just missed having someone to walk to the garage with him,” Mary said lightly, looking to you for your reaction.

You grinned at her.  “Well, someone has to make sure he doesn’t eat his Dad’s dinner on the way.  He is a growing boy.”

Conversation flowed easily as the two of you sat in the snarl of traffic out of the airport.  After what seemed like an eternity, the cab pulled up to a quaint, old building with dark marbled stairs worn smooth from years of feet, and tall narrow windows overlooking the street.  Many of those windows held boxes filled with flowers, and Mary was enchanted.  It was a scene right out of “West Side Story”, one of her favorite musicals.

She was struggling to drag Annie’s bag up from the curb when she felt a hand grab it.  Whirling around in surprise,  her eyes met those of a tall muscular boy and she froze for a second.

“ ‘bout time you’re back from wilderness prison!” He said with a smirk.  “So I guess you didn’t get eaten by a bear, huh?”

Inside, Mary was panicking.   Who is this? I think it’s Carlos., but I’m not 100% sure, so I’ll just play along until he clues me in.  He’s cute, like really, really cute.  I hope he IS Carlos.

“Yeah, you wish. I’ll try to get eaten by a bear next time,” she replied with Annie’s typical sass.  “So, anything exciting happen while I was gone?” she couldn’t seem to stop staring at him.

“Nah, same old same old.” The boy replied with a shrug,  still giving no clue to his identity.

As you headed up the front steps, you turned and spoke.  “ I know how much you like my beef stew, Carlos.  Why don’t you come over for dinner? I made it for Annie’s first dinner back.”

Carlos nodded.  “Sure Ms. C. I just gotta let my Ma know.”

He carried the bag to the top of the steps, and Mary grabbed for the handle, accidentally taking his hand in hers. His hand was huge with long callused fingers. She yelped and dropped his hand like it was on fire, hoping that you didn’t notice the awkward moment.

You gestured towards your daughter. “Are you coming, or would you rather fight Carlos for your bag?”

“What? No! I’m right behind you.” Mary insisted.

“See you later, Carlos. Say hi to your Mom for me!” you called over your shoulder.

You were already on your way down the hall.  Mary grabbed her bag and ran to catch up.  She turned to look back.  Carlos was still standing in the doorway staring after her, a confused look on his face.

The text message alert beeped on her phone, and Mary pulled it out of her pocket and scanned it quickly.

Dad has been “seeing someone”. She is coming to dinner tonight. Call to discuss. 11PM your time.

“Oh no!” Mary whispered.  This could ruin everything!  She quickly sent back a reply.

OK. Talk tonight. We need a plan.

Annie

The car headed up the long driveway and stopped in front of a sprawling split-level house.  A large black and white dog came bounding out the door jumping around excitedly and barking.  “Juliet, calm down you maniac!” A pretty blond woman said as she emerged from the house.

“Mary! Thank goodness you’re back! Finally another woman around here besides Juliet! I’ve missed you, Kid. Oh my god! Let me see your hair!” She took Annie’s hands, and Annie did an obligatory spin for her before she was pulled in for a hug.

“Hi, Donna! I missed you too!” Annie said as she hugged the housekeeper warmly.  Mary had shared how close she was to Donna, and Annie could already tell she was going to like her.

“I LOVE it!” Donna pronounced. “So chic! Who cut it?” She asked as she fingered it.

“One of my bunk-mates,” Annie said offhandedly, not mentioning any names.

“Juliet sure missed you! She pouted in your room the whole time you were gone.  Jules! Mary is home!” Donna called to the dog who was chasing something across the yard.

I am Mary. I am Mary. I am Mary.

“Hey, Juliet! Come here, baby!” Annie called, and the dog came running.  Before Juliet reached her, she stopped in front of her and looked at Annie warily.

“Jules, it’s Mary! What is wrong with you?” Sam asked as he joined them.

Oh, crap! The dog knows I’m not Mary!

Annie ran to Juliet, fell to her knees, and hugged her. “I missed you so much! Do I smell like the woods?” She kissed Juliet’s head, and the dog licked her face once and trotted off.  There was an awkward silence.

“That was weird.” Uncle Dean finally said after a moment.  “Got anything to eat, Donna? I’m starving!”

“What else is new?” Donna grumbled. “I can make some sandwiches.” Come help me, Mary. I want to hear all about camp!” Donna held out her hand, and Annie grabbed it and headed toward the house.

“We’ll be up as soon as we get the bags from the car,” Sam told Donna and he and Dean headed back toward Dean’s car.

“So Dad’s been seeing someone? What’s up with that? Who is she?” Annie asked, looking behind her to see if Sam and Dean were coming.

“Don’t even get me started on her,” Donna said with a toss of her shoulder as she opened the refrigerator and grabbed sandwich fixings and put them on the counter.

“Come on Donna….spill it!” Annie whispered eagerly.

Donna sighed, seemingly wrestling with herself.  “Okay, fine. He met her at some charity thing.  Her name is Ruby.  She is pretty, yeah, but she is so not his type! I know a gold digger when I see one. But your Dad’s been so lonely and he looks at her like she hung the moon.”

“Shhhh...Here they come!” Annie hissed.

“I hate airport food!” Dean exclaimed as he entered the kitchen, and Annie and Donna quickly separated.  Annie tried not to look guilty.

“Well don’t eat too much, because I’m making a special dinner tonight.“  Donna reminded him, not looking happy about it.

Annie turned to Sam as he entered behind Dean.  “So Dad? Who’s coming to dinner tonight?”

“And I’m outta here!” Dean said quickly, grabbing his plate and bolting from the kitchen.

“Coward!” Donna called after him.  “I’m gonna give you two some privacy, I think.” She said as she gave Sam a telling look.  “We’ll catch up later, okay, Mary?”

Annie nodded as she waited for her father to speak.  He took a deep breath.  “Mary, honey, you have been my whole world for as long as I can remember.  But as fun, as that’s been, I’ve missed being with someone.”  

I’ll try playing dumb, see where that gets me. Annie thought.

“But Daddy, you have lots of friends! And you always have Uncle Dean.” Annie said earnestly.

Sam frowned slightly.  “I know, Mary. That’s not what I mean. I miss being with someone, romantically.”

Annie smiled sweetly.  “But you were involved with someone romantically.  My mother.  But you never talk about her, do you?”

“Now Mary….” Sam began.

Annie stood up abruptly. “I’m gone two weeks, and you suddenly have a girlfriend?  What’s next, we’re moving to Alaska? I can’t believe this, are you TRYING to ruin my life, Dad?” Throwing her plate in the sink, she started to yell to throw Sam off his game.  “I bet you planned this whole camp thing to get me out of the way so you could shack up with your GIRLFRIEND while I was out of the way, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?”

Sam looked utterly gobsmacked. He had no idea what was happening.  One minute they were having a normal conversation, and now Mary was screaming.  What the hell was going on?

The next thing he knew, he was in the kitchen by himself, and he could hear Mary stomping up the stairs to her room. “I HATE YOU!” He heard her yelling.

Dean returned now that the coast was clear.  “She seems thrilled about Ruby.” He deadpanned to his brother.

“I haven’t even told her yet,” Sam said quietly.

“What now?” Dean asked. “Then what was all the screaming about?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t.  One minute I’m telling her I miss being with someone, then she brings up Y/N, then she’s screaming and stomping away.” Sam looked worried.

Dean sat down across from Sam, looking thoughtful for a moment.  “She brought up Y/N?  What did she say exactly?”

“Something about how I never talk about her, and then she accused me of sending her to camp to get her out of the way so I could “shack up” with Ruby. She’s never yelled at me like that before.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.  “She sounded just like her.”

“Like who?” Dean asked, confused.

“Like Y/N,” Sam said sadly, memories washing over him.

“Better get used to it, man. She’s a teenager.  Are you sure this dinner tonight is a good idea?” Dean questioned. “Maybe give her a day or two to simmer down.”

Sam shook his head. “I promised Ruby.  We want to tell her tonight.”

Dean looked shocked. “Her first night home? Are you sure? Especially after this?  She’s your daughter Sam, but if I were you, I would tell Ruby to slow down a little. If she wants you, Mary is part of the package too.”

“I hear what you're saying, but I want Mary to meet the woman I love, the sooner the better. She and Ruby will get along great, I know it.” Sam said stubbornly. Ruby had him under her spell, and Dean saw it, even if Sam couldn’t.

“It’s your funeral, dude,” Dean said finally. “ Maybe you should take Ruby and Mary out tonight? Someplace that’s neutral territory?  Then they will both be on their best behavior, and me and Donna don’t have to be there.”

Part 6

@ladylaylo @elfinmox @missihart23 @jordanjaspergreen-griffin-blake @kendall-michele @mlovesstories @sophster1881 @youngestxhearts @klanceiscannon14 @missbell97 @waterfeenix137 @itsmariwithani @supernatural-harrypotter7 @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @oddone92-blog @priya212 @menewyn @whereismykrustykrab @katy80us @emilyshurley  @skybinx-blog @percywinchester27 @a-sea-of-fandoms @dorky-and-i-know-it@tokyoghoulyz @pinknerdpanda  @atc74 @jayankles  @notnaturalanahi @midnightjazzmine @moonlitskinwalker @we-are-band-sexuals @winchestergirl-love @gecko9596 @ronnie248-blog @essie1876 @bohowitch @just-another-busy-fangirl @jotink78 @captainradicalpassion @keelzy2 @disneymarina @kittenofdoomage @mrswhozeewhatsis @oriona75 @frankiea1998 @akshi8278 @stylinson531 @valynsia @dr-dean @theoutlinez  @imweirdandobsessed @growningupgeek    @luciisthebest  @laurenisnot @maddieburcham1  @canadianjelly @muliermalefici @brewsthespirit-blog @ilsawasanacrobat @nanie5 @weasleywinchester @samisimportant-blog @fatalcrossbow  @violetsamalamb @letmusicguideu @grantsgorgeousgirl @faegal04 @feelmyroarrrr @kay18115@milkymilky-cocopuff cocopuff @mikimausiii @the-greatest-temptation @superpanicromancesummer @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @emoryhemsworth @squirrel-moose-winchester @jennifromtheblock1013 @spnbaby-67 @mogaruke @sweetmisseddreams2002 @redheadbedhead2002 @negan–is–god @spnwoman @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @maximumkillshot @sweetpeamoose @mrs-meghan-winchester @woodworthti666  @herbologystudent252 @sandlee44 @blackcherrywhiskey @andkatiethings  @wildefire @thoughtfullyfurryangel @apeshit7x @klanceiscannon14 @curly-haired-disaster @becca-ca @deliciouslydisturbed365 @fandomismyspirit @healojane @thewinchesterchronicles

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[violetmina]

Chokehold - Ch. 10

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot​ @itsyellow​ @lmarina2000​ @d3adite666 @casualfansoul @missrandomheart @cvstle ​

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,067

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, mentions of bodily harm, blood, and good ol’ Butcher himself.

A/N: Honestly, this chapter is basically a whole lot of whump and comfort. And despite my best efforts, Butcher might be a bit OOC for it. Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy.

"Jesus, Butcher!"

With a flurry of fingers you snatch your phone from the floor before you can step on it, discarding it on the counter to approach the bloody man. You turn on the faucet after seizing a washcloth from one of the drawers, your stomach clenching at the sight of so much red swirling down the drain. It's then you finally notice your first aid kit on the other side of the sink, already half gutted by your unexpected visitor.

He's awake and something akin to alert. But you can tell that Butcher isn't processing on all cylinders. It's not until you wring out the cloth and turn to him that he catches your intent. He bats at your hand when you reach to wipe at the left side of his face. "Nah, nah. Stop. Stop! I don' need fuckin' motherin'!"

"No, but you could use a hand," you quip with strained patience.

"I told ya, I got it!"

Both of you swear when he reaches for the first aid and his bloody hand slips on the edge of the basin, nearly sending him into the mirror. You grab his belt and begin to gently tug him back towards the toilet. "C'mon, Billy. Sit down, just for a min-"

"Fuck off! I can-!"

"Sit!"

He glares at you through his seeping war paint. He grunts when you give a good yank on his belt, causing him to totter before he begrudgingly slumps onto the toilet lid. The glare grows into a full-on man pout, and in any other circumstance you might have laughed. Instead, you nudge one of his boots to the side with your foot and stand between his knees. You begin cleaning at his temple, making quick but gentle work of trying to  find the source of blood.

"I'd have done it me self just fine," he grumbles when you clear around his eye. "Wasn't expecting you home this early anyway."

"Early? Butcher it's late. It's been nearly twenty-four hours since you left the office."

The pout gives way to confusion. "Has it really?," he asks, more to himself than you. He smears blood from the face of his watch and squints at the time. "Christ. S'pose you're right."

"What happened, Billy? How'd you end up in my bathroom like this?"

"Well I let myself in."

The groggy smirk he gives you is a double-edged sword. You're not certain if it's an indication that he's fairly ok, or if he's using humor to deflect. You take a slow, deep breath before replying, "I can see that. What happened after you left the hospital last night?"

"What'd MM tell ya?"

"He told me about the girl. No one has seen you since then. I'm asking you."

The biting edge of worry begins to gnaw at your guts as you rinse the cloth and try to clean his cheeks, what you can dab out of his beard. What if his head injury is worse than you thought? How impaired might his memory be?

A look of concentration flits in his eyes before he finally speaks. "Tracked down the club she told us about. Paid their security a little visit. Was waiting to be led back to their surveillance room when I got ambushed."

"By whom? Vought?"

"Not Vought," he winces when you swipe into his hairline. "Couldn't've gotten there ahead of me like that. I think Walsh used Vought's squawker to stay ahead of the company lackeys when they went snooping. But now he's gonna know somebody else is digging up his side hustle. Bastards he hired looked like third party thugs."

You rinse the cloth again and begin gingerly sweeping through his hair, his wince your first clue of where his wound may be. Your free hand works at parting the thick, sodden strands. "You mean he's hired people not part of Vought, to cover his tracks, right?"

"Believe so. They didn't act like the usual company muppets. Fuckin' hell, love!" He hisses before sending you an annoyed glance. "Don't mind a hair-pulling kink but you're fucking scalping me here!"

"I'm sorry. You're clotting so bad it's matting. I need you to move to sit on the edge of the tub."

"What? Why?"

"Please don't make this any harder," you sigh, gripping his belt again to help him shuffle over to the lip of the bath. Once he's seated and balanced to your liking, you unhook the shower head and start a slow warm flow. "I have to get some of the blood out of your hair. I can't see your scalp."

"Should probably clean this one first," Butcher grits as he starts fiddling with his shirt.

You turn from the water with a frown. "Clean what one f-? Oh my god!"

A knot of nausea squeezes your belly at the sight that appears when he slips off the left side of his shirt. The rivers of blood trace from his fingertips up to just under the end of his clavicle. There in front of the socket is a lumpy, pocket-like wound just under the skin from which the blood oozes, a long gouge trailing back from it towards his sternum like a thin, shallow comet tail. As his fingers begin to prod about the lump you realize that it is a pocket, and in it-.

"You didn't tell me you were shot!" You drop the shower head and reach for some of the clean gauze still left in the first aid kit. When you turn back, it's just in time to watch him squeeze the pocket with gritted teeth and watch the bullet slip out. He fumbles with a pant of relief as it drops into his slick palm. Before you can even process, he gives it a feeble toss over your shoulder. It clatters in the sink.

"Least it wasn't a hollow point," he mumbles. "Woulda been real messy."

"No. Nuh-uh," you stammer finally. "I'm taking you-."

"Nowhere." Butcher manages a steely look in your direction. "Can't go to the hospital. They'll be looking for me."

"Ok. Maybe if I call MM then-"

"Not doing that either. We split at the ER for a reason." Then almost under his breath, "Shouldn't have even come here."

You dart forward, cursing as you press the gauze against the wound firmly. He manages to sneak his right hand under yours to take over. "Calm down, it was more of a graze. Superficial. Hardly needs packing."

"Calm down? Any deeper and this-!" You cut off at the realization; if it had entered a mere inch or so further back it likely would have torn through the top of his lungs, his lower windpipe. Not wanting to dwell on it, you glare at his reckless face before ripping through your kit for packing, a sterile q-tip and an ampoule of sterile water. You pry his fingers and gauze back long enough to clean around the shallow pocket, trying to rinse without saturating. Then follow suit on the graze. "Don't know how the hell you got so lucky," you spit as you place the miniscule amount of packing needed into the bullet hole once the bleeding had been staunched. "Didn't even know this was possible."

"Nah. Seen weirder in my bootneck days," he says with a lopsided shrug, holding the left side still as you apply a dry dressing.

"I don't wanna know." Again, you rinse the cloth, which now is tinted a stubborn pink and set to cleaning off his arm. When he tries to take it from you, you snatch it back. "You're going to let me finish. Now what did you mean? Why did you come here?"

"I shoulda gone to my place," he admits quietly, eyeing the cloth in a way that tells you he is not going to fully cooperate. "Just couldn't quite get there on foot."

His skin finally loses its sanguinous sheen and you abandon the cloth in the sink for a fresh clean one. Setting it aside on the edge, you reach back down into the tub and retrieve the shower head. He attempts to slip it from your fingers but you manage to evade. "I'm almost done, Billy. How about you chill for five minutes of your life?"

"I think I can manage washing myself," he snaps.

"Didn't say you couldn't. You need to mind your shoulder though." You maneuver back between his knees. "If it doesn't make you too dizzy, you need to tilt your head back. Let's see if I can keep from soaking your new dressing. I can't speak for your shirt."

"Oh God forbid you get me bloodstained shirt a little wet." Butcher slips the right side off with a shrug and dangles the shirt between you with his good arm and a bit of exasperation. He tosses it onto the floor, next to his jacket in the corner you realize, before trying yet again to snatch the shower head. He nearly falls off the edge of the tub in the process and you bite back an expletive when you help right him again with your free hand on the back of his neck.

"Please, Billy." It comes out soft, almost tired.

He scowls at you for a moment. You almost wonder if he had heard your plea over the water. Then finally he grips the edge of the tub and slowly tilts his head back. 

You dive in before he can change his mind, moving your hand from his neck to his hairline to block water from running into his face. In mere seconds your bath resembles your sink, bloody water dripping in little streams from the back of his skull. There had been many times over the past couple months your fingers had itched with want to run through Butcher's unruly locks. But you never pictured it being like this, easing and crumbling clots from his hair, fingertips only ghosting the roots for fear of pulling at the injured scalp beneath.

Briefly there had been a moment where you thought he might be coming around. But you still catch glimpses of it in his eyes, the brain fog that rolls in and out like a tide. When he begins to lean too far back and blindly reaches out to catch at your waist instead of the tub, you don't comment. But your worry grows in the sound of the running water, then doubles in size at a sudden thought.

"Please tell me I'm not about to find a bullet here, too."

The corner of his mouth curls and the brain fog ebbs out of his eyes. Mischief replaces it. "Don't be daft. I'm not a zombie out for your brains. Those twats were piss-poor shots anyway."

"Your spanking new dressings say otherwise," you deadpan. A second after and you finally find it. A long jagged gash arcing just behind his left temple and back, stopping a couple inches before his ear. You lower the shower head into the tub again to inspect further. "Definitely not a bullet wound. What made this?"

"Dunno," Butcher replies. "One threw something, didn't see what. Clocked me right as I rounded a corner."

"Threw it at you?"

"Pretty sure his gun jammed just before. Fucking amateur," he says smugly.

You shake your head. "Whatever it was, it got you good. Luckily it's not too deep. Just made you bleed like a stuffed pig. And I suspect a slight concussion. Those steri-strip things would be best but I don't think they'll stay with all your hair. I should have some liquid bandage stuff in the kit though."

You pick up the clean cloth and start dabbing at the broken skin, trying to be gentle. Once it's a bit more dry, you slip back just far enough to turn and dip into your kit. After a bit of rummaging you find the little tube you're looking for. With the faintest tapping on the back of his skull, you signal for him to ease his head to forward. You start applying the gel on the wound, working from the back towards his temple.

If he notices the sting that usually comes with liquid stitches, he says nothing. As a matter of fact, he's rather quiet as the minutes pass. Enough to unsettle you again as you reach the end of the gash. Satisfied with your work, you discard the tube with a toss back into the kit before carefully dipping both hands into his hair. When he arches a brow at you, you reply, "Just checking for any other wounds. And making sure the rest of your skull is still intact."

Still he says nothing and allows you to examine him further. He's already got a hell of a knot forming around the gash. But as you tread your fingertips along his scalp, you find no further injury. When your fingers reach far enough to touch, lacing round the back of his head, he makes a small hum in his throat. You glance at his face, finding his eyes flitting just a bit, more foggy than before.

When you snap your hands back to hold his face, he comes straight back to alert. "Wha-?"

"Look straight ahead. Need to see your eyes."

He stares back at you, brow arching again. "The hell you doing now?," he asks dryly.

"I'm checking for nystagmus."

"Plain English, Nurse Ratched."

"Involuntary eye movements. Like when you look at something but your eyes keep ticking away then right back. Thought I saw it a second ago."

He surprises you with a chuckle, and it manages to smooth out some of your concern. "I think I'll live if I have a lazy eye for a minute, darlin'."

"Not a lazy eye. Nystagmus often happens if there's neurological issues. Surgical sedation can cause it. Or, you know, someone or something trying to bust your head open like a damn pinata. If you have it, I'm calling MM."

His hands on your waist tighten slightly. "No, you're fucking not. I'm fine."

"Shut up and keep your eyes open, William."

Both brows shoot to his hairline for a moment. But they settle and you continue looking into his pupils, waiting for any rhythmic twitching, or any indication of stroke. Long seconds pass and you sigh with relief. No sign of nystagmus. He's got issues for days but at least for tonight it's not brain damage.

"That was a first."

You blink at him, noticing his pupils dilate slightly. "What's a first?"

"You called me William." A smirk starts to form on his face, and your eyes linger a little too long on his lips. "Wasn't that serious, was it?"

"Oh." Caught off guard, you suddenly realize your position. Up close with a shirtless and damp Butcher, cradling his face. You go to drop your hands to his shoulders but remember the bullet wound, and they stutter to an awkward stop on his neck instead. "I was…"

Butcher cuts off your train of thought when he pulls on your hips and leans forward, bringing your foreheads together. "Relax, love," he breathes, still smirking as he flips the roles on you - now he's studying your eyes. "M'alright. Been in way worse shape than this."

"Billy…"

"That's better."

And his lips press against yours without hesitation. It's short, perhaps teasing. But there's that underlying note of tenderness again, and it pulls a smile and a small sound of contentment out of you. Prior doubt slithering away like the water down the drain.

His response to your smile is quick, eyes flashing before his mouth captures yours again, but much firmer. Warm, borderlining hot. When you sigh one of his hands slides up from your waist to cradle the back of your neck. Butcher's mouth moves slow but unyielding against yours, wiping your mind clean of any thought and leaving only awareness of this. A tug on your bottom lip between his teeth morphs your next sigh into a tiny gasp. But it's all he needs to dip his tongue just within, testing, just tasting.

His hand on your hip glides to the small of your back, pulling you till you're almost flushed with him. You give no resistance.

It's not until your shins hit the tub that you realize too late you probably should have. The next second you're both fumbling to catch your fall with a yell. Butcher manages to get one hand on the lip of the tub, and you wrap one arm around his shoulders. Your other hand shoots out to slam against the wall, stopping your awkward, tangled crash. But not before Butcher's head thuds against the faucet.

"Aw fuck me!"

"Shit! Hold on!"

It's a mess, but with a bit more cursing you both strain to an upright position again. Butcher's eyes screw shut with a hiss as he holds the edge with a death grip. "Well if I wasn't concussed before I sure as shit am now!"

Before you can reply a knock sounds from your front door. "Shit! I forgot about the pizza! Don't move, okay? I'll be right back."

"Hold on a tic-"

"Don't. Fucking. Move!," you hiss before darting out the bathroom. 

You scramble about till you find a little cash, just enough for a tip. Despite your best efforts, you still managed to get a little blood on the hem of your shirt, tiny specks of it drying on your palms from cleaning up the reckless mess in your bathroom. If the delivery guy notices when you answer the door, he says nothing. Just gives you a bored look and equally flat "have a nice night" as you exchange him for the food, then leaves.

You secure the door and move quickly into the kitchen to drop the pizza on the counter. You snatch a glass and fill it with water then turn back to head to the bathroom for tylenol. Instead you find Butcher filling your bedroom doorway, rubbing the back of his head.

"Damn it! I said don't move!"

"I heard ya. And I'm starving. Gotta do something for this bloody headache." He shuffles to the counter as you slink past him.

"Hold on, just getting you some medicine right now. Give me a sec and I'll see if I can find you some food," you call back.

"It's right here, innit?"

You pop two pills into your palm, then remember you have yet to finish the graze on his chest. Washing your hands and grabbing a packet of ointment, you head back to the kitchen. "Yes, but that's probably one of the worst things for a con-" You let out a sigh at the sight of Butcher already happily halfway through his first slice. "Nevermind. Here."

"Much obliged." He takes the tylenol greedily between bites and washes it down with the whole glass and a wince. Once he takes the last bite of food you rip open the packet and approach him. He shakes his head when you raise a hand towards the graze. "Now hold on-"

"Your hands aren't clean. So hush." When he rolls his eyes you pause in applying to give him a pointed look. "Not going to let you undo all my hard work by getting an infection via pizza grease."

You make quick work of it, focusing on applying just the right amount of ointment to hold off the thoughts of his mouth on yours moments before, or the fact he's standing in your apartment still shirtless. It's hard to ignore, though, what with the planes of his long torso before you, and his broad chest under your hands. But you manage. 

With a nod, you step back. "There. Done. I'm going to grab your shirt, maybe I can still save it with a wash."

"Don't bother, love," he replies, seizing another slice from the box. "A wash ain't gonna fix the bullet hole."

Oh no. You're not doing this to me.

"Fair enough. Umm. I might have something then? Give me a minute." 

You turn back to your bedroom again, making a beeline for your closet. For several minutes you rife through your clothes and your thoughts. You have no complaints of the kissing, aside from the embarrassing tumble. But you do feel a twinge of guilt. He's not completely well, and you certainly don't want to make things worse. You finally find an old, oversized t-shirt. A dark blue, ragged unisex thing you had kept for housework and "just in case" situations like this, it's hem riddled with holes. It may just fit him.

When you return you find him on your couch, eyes closed, right arm draped lazily across the back.You can't help looking him over. You're not sure what you had expected under those tacky shirts all this time but it wasn't this. He's not chiseled, which you're actually glad for, pleased by the hint of lean muscle under his skin. He's built for useful strength, not showboating. The urge to map his large ribcage and where he's soft or firm with your hands makes your fingers twitch. And the lines of hips you'd only peeked before are now on full display, framing a thin dark trail under his navel, and sloping sharp into his jeans. You'd heard a couple different names for hips like his, Apollo's belt being one. The other was Aphrodite's saddle.

Fuck Aphrodite! That one is mine!

The man has been shot! Can we fucking NOT?!, you snap at the little voice. 

You call his name softly and he opens his eyes. A good sign, all things considered. You toss him the shirt before stepping back to get some pizza yourself. "Full already?"

"Nah, just pausing before thirds," Butcher quips as he stiffly tugs on the shirt. Thankfully it's not too snug.

You give him a look when you sit down beside him with your plate. "You got nauseous, didn't you?" He shrugs dismissively but you know better. Not a good sign. After a hesitant bite you decide to switch back to the other pressing matter. "So this lead at the club is a deadend then?"

"Fraid so," he nods solemnly. "Even if one of the others goes back for it, that footage is good as gone now. There'll be another person like that girl, you can count on it. Just have to wait."

"She got lucky," you frown between bites. "We don't know how many others there have been that weren't."

"We can't do anything bout that. We'd be chasing our tails if we tried digging that hard, and Neuman will wonder why our other cases have slowed down all the sudden. Too risky."

You finish your first slice and sigh. Now your appetite is compromised. "So now what?"

Butcher's all too familiar smirk returns. "We do our day jobs as usual, and prep for that gala like we planned. But right now?" He shifts in his seat, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into him. He hooks one of your thighs despite your protest and manages to pull you into his lap to face him. "I recall telling you last night that we ain't done."

"Seriously?" You scoff with a wry smile. "Even now?"

"Well no better time than the present, now is there?," he grins. When he leans up to kiss you, you press your fingers against his lips and the other hand on his good shoulder, and push him back. He gives an indignant look.

"As a matter of fact, there is a better time than the present." When he frowns you shake your head and continue. "Billy, you have a goddamn bullet hole under your collarbone. And you're concussed. Almost twice. You need rest, and the less stimulation the better. Not TV, not music, and definitely not getting to know you carnally."

"Stimulation sounds much more fun," he grumbles, still teasing.

"I'm not kicking you out. You can stay. As a matter of fact, I insist."

"Well I'm glad the lady insists."

"But," you press, darting around his flirtatious tone, "It's late. I'm tired. And more importantly, you are tired. Don't lie, I can see it."

"What? Don't fancy me bedroom eyes?"

"You need to heal, Billy," you intone, low but emphatic. "And that requires a quiet place and restful sleep."

He gives a bit of a pout, looking you over as his thumbs rub circles on your thighs. "No pizza, no TV, no sex. Fucking hell, you really are Nurse Ratched."

"You should be supervised for at least forty-eight hours. But you and I both know damn well you're not going to let that happen. Just let me keep an eye on you tonight and I'll quit being your nurse by morning. Okay?"

"No dice. You best have a better deal than that."

"Butcher-"

"How about…I pick some boring drivel on the telly, keep it real low…" His palms smooth warmly over your thighs. "...And you keep more on me than an eye, eh?"

"I keep both eyes on you then," you counter. "And I pick what's on the TV. Final offer. Otherwise, I'll cut the TV cord, kick you to bed and nap here on this couch-"

"You're not kicking yourself outta your own damn bed," he says with a bristling glare. The flirtatious tone returns after a beat. "And I ain't going near it unless you're in it."

"Well look at that, you being a gentleman," you tease. "So? Final offer?"

He stares at you, summing up the options. He's not pleased, obviously. But you can see the fatigue in his face, and you're determined that he makes it through the night without complications. His eyes narrow.

"...What you thinkin' of picking?"

"Something mild, kinda monotonous," you shrug. "Maybe one of those David Attenborough nature docs."

"Oh come off it!," he groans. "Bloody concussion won't kill me but you will bore me to death! I might as well just go to Bo-peep!"

"That's the point," you faux whisper.

He lets out a heavy sigh, minutely shaking his head. "Fuck me…Where's your remote?"

"Thank you," you beam before hopping off his lap. You snatch the remote before he gets any ideas, and set everything up, volume down to just audible. You grab one more slice of pizza from the kitchen, putting the rest away in the fridge, then turning off the lights. You set up an alarm on your phone for the end of the show, then a couple more about two hours apart to check on him through the night. The last would be your usual morning wakeup call.

You pad back to the couch where Butcher promptly pulls you down to tuck into his side. He throws an annoyed look at your triumphant expression, before finally easing back into the cushions, his eyes already heavy. You make quick work of your second slice as you feel his breath start to become rhythmic, ready to begin your watch…

It's not till the sound of the first alarm goes off that you realize you, too, had been lulled to sleep. You jolt, scrambling for your phone to quickly silence the alarm. You're disoriented to find that you're still tucked into Butcher but not as before. At some point you must have dozed a little heavier than him, allowing him to shift you both onto his good side. His left arm is draped over your hips, and when you reach for the remote to turn off the TV, it wraps a little closer.

"Billy?," you call softly over your shoulder. He stirs, giving a small grunt in response. Groggy but responsive, so far so good. You start to shift to get up. "I'm going to get you a blanket."

"No," he grunts into your shoulder. His arm pulls you back flush with him. You feel him wince at irritating his wound with the movement, then mumbles, "Don't need it."

Within moments his breathing becomes warm and steady on the back of your neck again, and his grip slowly softens as he slips back into sleep. You consider trying to sneak out. But honestly…this is more than you could've asked for. If anyone had told you not too long ago that you'd be cuddled by big, bad Billy Butcher, you would have told them to get their head checked. After all these chaotic, frustrating, dirty months this is the nicest thing you've experienced since joining the Boys. Then immediately after realize that this must be an even more rare moment of peace and comfort for him.

Smiling, you check to make sure the alarms are still ready on your phone, then set it aside on the coffee table. You let your eyes drift shut, determined not to take this for granted, soaking in the warmth, the silence…

^^^

Your eyes snap open, the room still dark. You sigh, waiting to hear your alarm. It doesn't sound. It's silent and you glance about, confused, why are you awake? It takes only a moment, the tingle of hairs standing on end, and you find your answer. The feeling is back. The feeling of something wrong.

You slowly raise on one arm, peering around. Only then do you notice something missing, warmth and weight. You turn your head and find Butcher sitting upright on the couch, your legs in his lap. You realize he must feel it, too. His face is turned from you, looking towards the windows. 

"Billy?"

He turns his head at your whisper, his face a mix of brooding and alertness, all muddled with fatigue. The second you recognize it, the moment you realize it's the feeling of being watched again, it dissipates. His brow furrows.

"Billy, wh-?"

"Nothin'," he mumbles with a faint shake of his head. "Go back to sleep." He slides lazily back up the couch to reclaim his spot. You're on the verge of asking again but he hooks a finger under your chin. "Hey, what'd I say? I'm fine. It's nothin'."

He pulls you back in again, the solid weight of him behind you and the briefest press of lips upon the back of your neck both bring the tide of sleep over you, slowly but surely. You silence the alarm just before you close your eyes. When the next one wakes you, he's the one to shut it off. 

You can't help but notice that his grip softens less in his sleep this time.

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

[zodiyack]

A Work Proposition

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Nothing really

Words: 1,370

Summary: The female detective Lestrade has introduced is compelling, and upon seeing her and Sherlock interact, Enola’s cupid skills subtly kick in.

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @missihart23, @maan24, @beck07990​

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

The woman often hired to work with Lestrade, who was a common friend with Sherlock, had been at her job for a few years now. Lestrade thought highly of his new detective friend, so much so that he introduced her to the well known, Sherlock. His plan was to have them crack some cases they’d been stuck on, two mighty detectives better than one, but he had to get them to agree without scaring them off with the idea of meeting and working with a complete stranger.

Y/n agreed quickly, Sherlock taking some convincing, but the thing was, he didn’t tell either of them that they’d be working with another person. Both, however, showed up with mild confusion. It was his fault, he admitted. Confusion had to have been expected with his letters. The letters he’d sent out for his plea of summoning them went as this;

“Dear Detective,

You’re receiving this letter because I am of urgent need. I would like to request your assistance in a case that has us rather stumped. If it isn’t too much trouble, of course.

Though I will not explain too much of the case at hand, I will give you some convincing, hopefully, reassurance. Fear not for your life nor safety, you will be far from death’s doorstep on this mission.

The rest of the details of the case will be provided upon your arrival. Once informed, you may still have the choice of rejecting or accepting my beseechment. I ask you to at least hear out what I would like to solve before any denial of this matter.

Nothing is required except you and a healthy amount of sleep, for both you and your extraordinary intelligence. Bring your tools, or supplies if you prefer that name more, if you wish.

We shall supply you with any and all information you need, as well as a meal in apology for dragging you away from your personal life. I do hope you take my imploration into consideration.

Sincerely, Inspector G. Lestrade.”

It wasn’t the most specific of information, nor the longest letter he could write, but it would do. He sent it off in the mail then went home and slept peacefully. Early the next morning, Y/n was at his door, up and ready without a trace of sleep lingering on her face, whereas Lestrade had bags under his eyes and was yawning ever few seconds.

“Sorry to disturb your sleep, Inspector. Your letter lacked any instructions for when I do indeed accept...which would be now.” She waited by the door politely as Lestrade walked to his kitchen.

“Come in, Y/n, I would hate to make you stand outside.” He called from the other room. Y/n obliged happily, stepping in and closing the door behind her. A few seconds later and Lestrade was scurrying back to her with another piece of parchment. “My apologies, I knew something felt left out.” He chuckled nervously.

“Oh, it’s no worries, Inspector!” She put the note in her satchel, then faced him again. “I hope you get some rest. Again, I’m ever so sorry to have woken you-”

He held out a hand, quieting her instantly. “Y/n, you’ve done no wrong, there’s no need to be distressed.”

Y/n nodded, approaching the door again but stopping with her hand upon the handle, “Perhaps you should go back to sleep whilst you still can. I’ll see you then, Inspector.” A warm smile was thrown his way before she carefully opened the door and left.

They awaited Y/n’s arrival. Enola had tagged along with her older brother, hoping to be granted permission by both men, more hopeful with Lestrade’s words of guaranteed safety. Both Holmes siblings and Lestrade were sat patiently in his office. Well, in truth, only Lestrade dawned patience.

“Excuse my impoliteness, Lestrade, but why exactly are we yet to begin?” His brows were knitted, blue eyes holding great confusion.

“It’ll be only a few more minutes now.” He commented rather casually as he fished out his pocket watch, inspecting it for a second before placing it back in his waistcoat pocket. “My sincerest apologies for the hold up.”

Like he had promised, a few minutes went by and then- Just as Enola and Sherlock were about to rise, thank Lestrade for the job offer, turn it down and then return home for a quiet reading in the library, knocks sounded from the glass of the door.

Y/n stood on the other side, rapping her knuckles against the door, her eyes trained on Lestrade. He rose from his seat, her hand dropping and the knocking ceasing. Enola and Sherlock looked over, suddenly intrigued with the surprise guest as she stepped into the office.

“Please, detective, have a seat.” He smiled and gestured his hand to the large leather couch against the wall.

Enola scooted to the end, resting her palm and the arm of the sofa, Sherlock scooting slightly to make room for the detective despite there are already being enough that no one would be forced to move. It was only polite, plus, they were still strangers.

“I’m very sorry for my lateness, I got rather sidetracked with the anticipation for this case.” Y/n explained with a sheepish chuckle, sitting down and turning to face the others on the leather seating. She extended her hand to Sherlock, “I know you. You’re Detective Sherlock Holmes...and that must be your sister, Enola, I’ve read fantastic things of you two, marvelous work by the way. I’m Y/n L/n.”

“Detective Y/n L/n.” Lestrade corrected before either Holmes could respond.

“Ah, yes. I am indeed a detective, as Lestrade has mentioned, however, I see no need for either of you two to reference me with such formalities. My work pales in comparison to the Holmes cases.”

“I’m honored you think that, but you mustn’t put yourself down,” Sherlock drawled, a small grin upon his lips.

This peculiar, new woman aroused his curiosity just as much as he did hers. If she were a case, he’d be at work on her for hours at a time and still have towers to unravel. A mystery, complex but something he was determined to solve, shrouded her.

Sherlock had his eyes trained on her, the world becoming silent around him as he took in her face, mind creating a mental photograph he could hold onto as long as he pleased. The details of her features were like a rare piece of art, but not one he could find in the museum. No, she was far too unique, far too rare to be held up in a marble building with works nowhere near as beautiful, as desired as her.

“Now that you’ve made acquaintances, we shall speak about the case! I called you both here without knowledge of each other’s appearances, and I am deeply sorry for tricking you, but I wanted to introduce the two...” his eyes drifted to Enola, “three greatest detectives I’ve ever met. I originally intended on having Y/n and Sherlock work on the case, but I assume Enola would enjoy helping out?”

The older Holmes opened his mouth, ready to confirm his sister would be joining the two, but Enola was much faster. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ll be the one to decline your invitation for this case. Nonetheless, I don’t doubt that my brother, or detective L/n, would be up for the task.”

She stood up and left the office. Lestrade was ready to begin his explanation on the case before Sherlock rose suddenly and started after his little sister. He pushed past the people working at the station until he reached her, grabbing ahold of her arm and giving her a perplexed look.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“I thought you said you wanted to help?”

She smiled softly at her brother, “I saw the way you looked at detective L/n the second she walked in. You should work with her, get to know her. Worry not, brother, she isn’t here to usurp your name, only provide whatever assistance she can.” Then, she left the station, her words racing through Sherlock’s conscious the entirety of the day.

Maybe Y/n really would usurp his name...without the illegality of it obviously.

#henry holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #henry!sherlock #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry!holmes #henry!holmes x reader #henry sherlock #henry sherlock x reader #enola holmes #enola holmes reader insert #imagine enola holmes #enola holmes imagine #imagine henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #imagine sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes #x reader #reader insert #zodiyack #all readers #imagine #drabble #henry cavill reader insert

[mayans-sauce]

Mama Bear

Pairing: Bishop Losa x Female Reader

Word Count: 700

Warnings: none

Request by anon which you can find HERE

Request by @leilani-writes which you can find HERE

A/N: hope it was alright that I combined these two! I also hope it turned out good because I struggled a lot with this one but enjoy <3

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GROUP CHAT for updates!

Gif Credit: @pedropcl

Bishop and you were going to invite the whole club for a little get-together at the house. Food, drinks, and good company were on the menu. You hadn’t seen them for a while because of your pregnancy and the chaos that has been the club life the recent months. You were a few months pregnant now, and the boys haven’t seen how much your bump has grown.

Bishop wouldn’t let you move a muscle, so the only thing you were allowed to do was the shopping list, while he would be the one to buy everything in and set it all up. Everyone had their particular needs and flavors for what they liked, so the list grew with each member. Being the “mom” for them all, despite being younger than most, it was your job to keep track of what your precious children loved and wanted. Bishop was sitting at the table as you read up everything that would need to be bought.

“... beers for Ez, gummies for Letty, Steve likes strawberry ice cream, and of course, we can’t forget the chicken nuggets for Angel this time. He almost had my neck when I forgot last time.” You chuckled to yourself at the funny memory of Angel being a sad and pouty boy.

“That’s a lot of shit, sweetheart,” Bishop complained in a teasing manner. “Hey, you were the one that wanted to invite the kids over,” you hit his arm with the long list, “you know how grumpy they get when they don’t get their favorites.” “Yeah, let’s not relive the last get-together we had.” You both shudder at the memory of drama and crying.

The day of the house party had come, and you stood at the door as you greeted every one of them. Their faces lit up at the sight of your baby bump, highly visible. Words and kisses were left upon it by the men that would be there to protect and love the little joy that would be born in just a few short months. They could see how happy you and Bishop were, and that left a small print of light in their dark lives as part of the MC.

Everyone was out in the backyard enjoying themselves. The sun shone down, and the music from the stereo created a relaxed atmosphere. Bishop had just fired up the grill for the heaps of meat that was ready to be grilled and consumed by some hungry bikers. The drinks and snacks went faster than you could refill it.

Since it’s been forever since you saw everyone, you went around to catch up. They all felt safe and comfortable in your presence, so they became colossal blabber mouths when you approached them. Whether it was just a quick chat or asking for some much-needed advice, you were there for them. You were always like a fun, caring, and loving “mom” to the group. Always there for them whenever with whatever they needed. You took care of them and loved them when they hadn’t anyone else to go to.

Once the sun started to come down and everyone was packed with food in their bellies and sitting in groups having conversations, you approached your husband, who was sitting somewhere to the side just enjoying that for once, his brothers had a day with no worries in their minds. You sat down on the two-seater, legs draped over him as you took a moment to rest for a bit.

“Tired?” “Ugh, yes! You try playing mom with these children in men's bodies.” The comment made him laugh some. “It’s not easy being mom and dad,” he stated.

“Like, why did we decide to get pregnant when we already have like 10 of them.” “Sorry, sweetheart, but can I just quote you in saying: fuck Bishop, please finish inside me I need to feel you.” You threw a pillow at his shoulder, “shut up,” a smirk on your face in remembering how you ended up in this situation.

“Come here.” He opened his arms for you to get between. You shared a sweet kiss as you watched over your kids, all happy and content, while caressing the one that still wasn’t born.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Thank you for reading❤️ If you liked it, a quick reblog and feedback would be so much appreciated❤️ Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist.

MAYANS MC TAGLIST: @blessedboo @60shannon @bellisperennis0 @capnsaveahoe @diaryofkali @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @xvvalx @missswritings @theocatkov @pinguinstudiert @chibsytelford @encounterthepast @rawrlittlepanda-95 @beeroses @siriussnape07 @adaydreamaway08 @miss-nori85 @oldstuffnewstuff @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @jatriciaaa @browneyes912 @cole-winchester @blackksunflower12 @phoenixhalliwell @cant-decide-at-this-moment @love-mesome-me @holl2712 @jennisdirtyimagines @balladbloodwrites @lilacyennefer @smallflower16 @marvelmaree @brwnlikefoxy @kaylaygrace @stupiddsapphicc @violet624 @boomclapxox @mijop @macgruberrr @queen-under-the-shire @missihart23 @vixemi @heeeeeres-saint @paintballkid711 @x-goddess-of-nature-x @angelreyesisdaddy04 @mrsmarvelous1995 @luckyharley1903 @lilac-tea-time @leilaxaliel

#mayans mc #mayans mc x reader #mayans mc fluff #mayans mc fandom #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fx #mayans x reader #mayans fluff #mayans fandom #mayans fanfic #mayans fx #bishop losa #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #bishop losa fluff #bishop losa fanfiction #bishop losa fics #obispo losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa fluff #michael irby #mayanssauce writes

[wwenhlimagines]

Nervous - Hook fluff

Hook x reader

Original request was for male reader, but I decided to just make it generic to make it easier for myself. Hope you enjoy it!

Requested by @whenimakeitshine1234

'Yeah so I was thinking that the reader and Hook have a tag match together and Hook is planning to like tell the audience that they are dating but the reader is nervous before the match and Hook is trying to calm the reader down'

You paced back and forth in the locker room as you tried to mentally prepare yourself for your tag match with your boyfriend Hook. You were more than prepared for the match itself, but knowing that he planned to show that you two were an item had your nerves running rampant.

Hook walks into the room and sighs before grabbing your by your shoulders and making you face him. "Calm down babe, it's going to be fine. If you really want to wait, then we can, but I just want to show you off as mine." You sighed and gave him a peck on the lips "I know and I'm tired of us being a secret, but I'm afraid of how the fans will react."

The two of you sit on the couch in the corner and cuddle for a few minutes to hopefully let your nerves settle. Soon enough, you have to go warm up for the match and the two of you stretch each other out and practice some jabs until you are told you need to head to the gorilla. Hook grabs your face lightly and kisses you passionately before putting your doreheads together and whispering "I love you baby. Now let's go kick some ass!" You laugh and nod "I love you too, let's go!"

During your entrance, you see many fans excited to see you as well as many waiting for Hook to come out. His music hits and everyone yells excitedly as he strolls down to the ring and gets ready to fight. You stand on the ring apron as he is starting out the match and he throws you a wink before putting his opponent in the corner and throwing hooks and jabs at him left and right. His opponent tags out, so Hook tags you in and you continue having the upper hand until you tag Hook back in a few minutes later.

He quickly gets his opponent in the Redrum and they tap out as you breathe a sigh of relief that nothing went wrong in the match. Hook gets up and grabs your hand bringing you into the ring to let your hands be raised together. The ref walks away and Hook takes your hand and kisses it making the fans gasp. You blush before leaning your head in closer out of instinct and he brings his lips to meet yours in a sweet little kiss. The fans and commentators were shocked and somewhat confused by the events unfolding in the ring, but the 2 of you smile and walk up the ramp hand in hand.

You heard Excalibur ask "Wait, does this mean Hook and Y/N are officially an item? They could be the next power couple here in AEW!" Hook turns to Excalibur and nods his head casually. "I think... that nod means yes. Well congrats to the newest couple here on their win tonight!" You both got backstage and everyone was so happy for you to finally let the world know.

Before Hook would let you go to talk to your friends, he made sure you both posted the same picture from your first date with the caption "Newest Power Couple Alert 🤍🖤" His arms wrapped around your waist and he kissed you teasingly biting your lip before turning you around and smacking your ass as your friends swarmed you with tons of questions.

Tags: @thesupreme316 @gethookedin @730hook @baybay-boom @hookedonhook @louisianalady @hooks-martin @missihart23 @moxleyunstable @plentyoffandoms @daddyslittlevillain @cuzimacomedian @lclb13

#aew hook #aew imagine #aew hook imagine

[kcloveswrestling]

so i was already excited for this match…then found out Jeff and Adam are injured…

@missihart23 @moxleyunstable Hikuleo on Dynamite!!!

#hikuleo #all elite wrestling #aew

[swan--writes]

BJ’s V-Day

In which BJ fucks with reader’s chocolate, and reader is Upset.

It’s still Valentine’s Day in some places, right? Shut up. It’s been a busy day.

Warnings: food, swan-typical language

It started at the coffee shop. (Of course it did.)

You ordered the same coffee that you always did, from the same barista you always saw, but something was different that day. The coffee was darker and colder, and more viscous than usual. It was almost sour, and the way it sloshed around in the paper cup made your stomach churn. When you frowned at the barista who had made it, he gave you a too-wide grin and an unnerving wink. (His teeth were so pointy, was that normal?) You scurried out of the shop and onto the street of your small Connecticut town. You had not been back since.

That was only the first of February.

Next came the florist’s. You had been to the florist every week since you moved to this small town. It was cozy enough that you didn’t feel pressured to place a massive order, and you preferred small business flowers to the grocery store selection. And you loved fresh flowers. (Everybody has their thing, this was yours.)

Now, you would swear that when you chose your bouquet, it was beautiful. The blooms were fresh, the leaves were perky, and the roses were vibrant.

By the time the florist had packaged it for you, it was a red and black mess right out of an early My Chemical Romance music video. Great for art. Kitchen counters? Not as much.

Of course, you were too nice to say anything. You simply had to contend with half-dead roses, wilting on their stems. They were all blackened edges, wrinkled petals, and falling leaves. The florist gave you an even wider grin than the barista had, and you walked out even faster than you had the coffee shop.

It was only day four.

After the roses – which had only lasted two days in your house before the blooms fell dead away (literally) – was the truffles. This was almost your breaking point.

All of the convenience store chocolate was discounted for Valentine’s Day, just five days away now. It was on your way home from work, and you couldn’t force yourself to just drive past it. So, in you went, and there you bought, and then you went home. You had gone through the self-checkout, but one of the cashiers kept giving you sidelong looks.

At the convenience store, you had tried to ignore them, but they were all you could think about when you bit into the first truffle. The chocolate shell was mostly fine, if a touch bitter. The filling was dust. (Literal, actual dust.)

So, like any rational person, you spent the next fifteen minutes gagging over the sink, then grabbed a knife. You sliced clean through every single truffle. Most of them crumbled from the pressure of your knife, and all of them were the same. Truffle after truffle – two full boxes – were all filled with dust.

Well, all but one.

In the center of the second box, there was one truffle that did not crumble. It was densely packed with a thick, old piece of paper. The paper felt leathery between your fingers when you picked it out of the chocolate shell, almost like parchment.

When you saw what was written on it, you all but stabbed your knife through it.

Bad coffee? Okay. Dead flowers? Fine. But nobody fucked with your chocolate and remained in your good graces.

The next five days only upped the ante.

Your trusty diner somehow dropped every single Valentine’s Day éclair on the floor as soon as you arrived. Your supervisor lost her box of valentines before she could hand them out at your office. Your set of Valentine’s decorated mason jars somehow fell from your entertainment center and shattered when you walked by. (A good four feet away from the table, because that made complete sense.) But the final straw came on day fourteen, first thing on Valentine’s Day. (Of course it did.)

When you opened the door to take the trash out, you felt it knock something over. It was mostly dark outside, and you didn’t fully see what it was until you brought it inside. Once you were under proper lighting, you saw that you were holding a black teddy bear about the size of your torso.

When you shook the bear to make sure there was nothing inside, however, the head immediately twisted off and flew away to who knows where? A foul-smelling green slime began oozing from the severed neck. You shrieked and dropped the bear. Slime and wet dirt spilled onto your kitchen floor.

“Oh my--no, y’know what? Fine,” you groused. “Fine! I give up.” You backed away from the decapitated bear and stomped through the kitchen to your living room.

Your house was old, and you could hear the creaking of the floorboards underneath the banging of your steps. You could hear the sizzle of whatever the slime was doing to your kitchen floor. And you could hear the wind that kicked up when you spoke the words from the parchment you had found in your discount truffle.

“Beetlejuice!”

Something in the house groaned – a low, ominous sound.

“Beetlejuice.”

A layer of fog covered your windows. (Several layers.) It crept in at your window corners with a draft, and a gray murk. It nipped at your ankles, and leapt at your wrists, and seemed to amplify the sizzling in your kitchen.

You swallowed. “Beetlejuice!”

Lightning flashed. You closed your eyes, but it didn’t do much good. The wind whipped around you. You tried to turn your face against it, but it was everywhere and coming from all sides. Without thinking, you covered your ears and stumbled back a step.

Then, all at once, it stopped.

When you opened your eyes, you saw your demon boyfriend leaning on the doorjamb with his back to you. Beetlejuice gave a low whistle when he saw the teddy bear he had left you eating a hole in your floorboards.

“Damn babes, you’re gonna have to get someone out here to fix that.”

Rather than humor him, you glared at his back. His suit jacket was barely holding together, and you could see a long, thin strip of his shirt through it. “The mason jars? Really? You know I loved those.”

Without moving his feet, Beetlejuice’s head turned fully around to face you, nose wrinkled in a grimace. “Those cheap old things? C’mon baby, you can find a hundred of them at literally any Purgatory yard sale.” His eyes lit up. “In fact–”

“Oh no, I’ve had enough of that place. And hey, what have you been doing in town this month anyway? You said you’d be tied up until March.”

“Oh I was, sweet cheeks.” Beetlejuice waggled his eyebrows at you. You walked up to him and slapped his arm. “Whoa, babes!” The force of it seemed to radiate through his entire body. (Corpse?) His knees wobbled, his hips jostled, and you could swear you heard rattling from somewhere near his ribcage. “Easy! I’ve been doing a lot of strenuous physical activity this month.”

“Oh yeah? Fucking with me almost every day has been strenuous?”

“Hey, you coulda just summoned me when I asked you to.”

“You didn’t ask, you ruined my bargain-bin chocolate.”

“Oh, forgive me.” You rolled your eyes at his tone.

Beetlejuice turned around on his feet, facing you with his shoulders. Then he groaned, reached up, and spun his head around. “Whoa!” he cried. His head rotated a few times on his neck before finally coming to a stop.

When he brought his hands down again, Beetlejuice was holding the oozing teddy bear’s head. He held it out to you.

“I’m sorry for fucking with you all month.”

You gave him a look, but melted when you saw the pink creeping through the roots of his otherwise green hair. “Fine,” you conceded. “But you owe me.” Against your best self-preserving judgment, you took the stuffed head from him. A few clumps of wet dirt fell from the bottom where it was still severed and onto the floor. You kissed its cheek anyway, and only winced a little from its coldness.

Beetlejuice took the head back, flung it back over his shoulder, wrapped his arms around you, and dipped you. You gave a very undignified squeak that you would never admit to later.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babes,” he growled.

“Happ--mmf!”

.

.

please like and reblog if you are so moved

tags list: @missihart23 @ballerinafairyprincess @thewolfisapartofmysoul

if you would like to get on the tags list, please let me know!

#editing? #who is she? #i've really missed writing for this goon #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice bway #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #beetlejuice x self insert #beetlejuice fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #writing #not a songfic! #amazing! #fluff #shenanigans #hijinx #all that good stuff #valentine's day #valentines day

[generallynerdy]

Direction (SPN Michael X Soulmate!Reader)

Summary: Michael feels empty. And sitting here, on a park bench, watching humans pass him as they buzz with life, such little, meaningless life, Michael feels it more than ever. Then, his father appears and gives him a nudge in the right direction.

Requested by Anon: omg yes i agree!! and i was wondering if you could write a soulmate au like the lucifer one where michael has come out of the cage and instead of chuck being evil he instead helps him find his soulmate? i just want him to be happy tbh that angel has been through too much and he deserves to be happy so whatever u come up with will be great! and thank u so much the both of you are amazing writers! ❤️

Key: (Y/N) - your name, (e/c) - eye colour Warnings: mentions of God and Lucifer, God & Lucifer Turned Good AU, I only mentioned Gabriel twice how could I, Adam is the CHILLEST bastard don’t worry about him, Michael’s a little depressed, mentions of God’s emotional abuse which out of context i would probably be crucified huh Word Count: 1,163

Note: wowowow three requests in a week who AM I also this is soft hskldfdskj it ends kind of abruptly but i hella vibe with it

     The world was still a strange place. Michael knew it would be, when he freed himself of the Cage, but he hadn’t realised it would change quite so much.

    Father was benevolent now. He and Lucifer had made their amends, both turning over a new leaf, supposedly. Gabriel was gallivanting the world as he usually was, but without the weight of family drama on his shoulders this time around. None of them had come to check on Michael, but he was unsurprised.

    He’d decided to wander, for a time, to allow Adam Milligan to truly experience life again.

    Adam was...well, Adam was content. He was without purpose, without direction, and yet he had no desire to find one. Humans, Michael thought, were odd. This one simply wanted to enjoy each day, each meal like it was the only thing he would ever need.

    Michael, on the other hand, was restless.

    All his life, he had been preparing for Armageddon. All his life, he’d served his father, served Heaven, in preparation for the End. But now, apparently, it wasn’t happening.

    He was empty.

    And sitting here, on a park bench, watching humans pass him as they buzzed with life, such little, meaningless life, Michael felt it more than ever.

    Which is why he had to fight off the surge of joy he felt when the shining light that was his father sat down beside him. A festering anger replaced it, driven by memories.

    "What do you want?" he asked bitterly, gritting his teeth.

If his father wanted to start another apocalypse, he might actually team up with Lucifer this time. Or maybe he would join Gabriel and drink copious amounts of alcohol. That sounded good right about now.

"Peace, Michael," his father said with that sort of smile that made him uncomfortable. "I'm not here to ask you to do anything."

He snorted. "That's a first."

God grimaced. "I know." With a sigh, he leaned back onto the bench. "You feel directionless. You need something to do, something to chase."

"What would you know about it?" he asked with a glare.

Michael had always played the perfect child. He had done everything his father asked. Everything and yet he got nothing but suffering out of it.

He didn't want to say Lucifer was right about everything because he wasn't, but he was definitely onto something. Their father was nothing like Michael had once thought. Maybe he was getting better now, thanks to the Winchesters, but that didn't erase everything that led them to this point. That didn't erase what he'd done to them.

"I know you'll never believe that I've changed and that-- that's fair," he sighed. "I just want to help you."

Michael scoffed. "What could you help me with?"

"Your brothers found things that made them happy, but they had starting points. You don't. I was hoping to give you a little push."

He raised an eyebrow, already concerned. Hopefully it wouldn't be a 'little push' off the edge of a cliff. That would be very much like his father.

"Humans are very surprising, I've found," God said, gesturing to them. "You know, I made one for you."

"You...what?" Michael asked, his throat suddenly dry.

"I made one for you and for each of your brothers. I didn't exactly mean for you to ever find them, but they're actually all alive around now."

He blinked a few times, utterly speechless. "And what would I need a human for?"

His father smiled. "Companionship, in any way you want. I dunno, it's up to you. That's the beauty of humanity; choices. You get to make all of them."

For a moment, Michael wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't entirely sure this was a gift, a blessing, anymore than it was a curse. What was a human meant to be to him?

"They're called Soulmates," he continued. "They're made to be your other half. You'll feel an immediate connection or draw to them. They can see your wings, too-- that's how you know you've found them."

"So you want me to seek out this Soulmate?"

He shook his head. "No. I wanted to show you to them. They're already here."

God gestured across the park. Michael followed his gesture to a tree off the main path, under which a human sat. Under which you sat.

"That one?"

God nodded. "That one."

"And what's so special about them?"

"Well, nothing and everything," he said with a shrug. "Humans are like that, you know, special in their own little ways. You'll like this one-- (Y/N)."

Michael glanced back at you.

You were a funny thing, he thought, sitting under a tree with an open book. There was music coming from your phone, quiet enough that it wouldn't bother any passerby but loud enough that it was no doubt the only thing you could hear. He couldn't see the title of your book, but it looked big enough to give any regular person a headache.

"They're clever, that one," God continued, "and patient. As patient as they'd need to be to put up with you, anyway. They're curious, too, more so about stuff that other people don't think is normal. The supernatural, the fictional; they like those sort of things. They like an adventure."

Michael frowned. "So you think that we would...get along?"

"Oh, you will," he said with a firm nod. "I made sure of it."

"And...they can see my wings? They can know who I am?"

"Yes. And the Winchesters already know who they are, too. I told them, just so they can keep them out of danger if you're not there," he explained.

Michael...hesitated.

It was unlike him. But really he was just unsure. He’d faced down the worst his father’s worlds had to offer, but this had him pausing. At least he knew what to expect from his brothers, from demons-- you were a complete mystery.

“Don’t feel obligated to try anything,” his father said quickly. “I just wanted to give you the option, son. Good luck.”

And with that final word, God was gone, leaving Michael to think.

He stared for a long, long time.

Finally, a voice that he knew as Adam echoed through his brain. They’re pretty cute. You gonna go over there?

Michael grimaced, glancing down at his hands. I haven’t decided.

Well, uh, it looks like they decided for you, his companion laughed.

He looked up abruptly and found himself met with an awestruck, (e/c) gaze. You’d turned off your music and were now openly gawking at him, glancing over at both his wings.

You tucked your book into your bag and stood, surprising him.

When you were a few feet in front of him, he stood as well, tucking the pair of bright white appendages closer to himself a little self-consciously.

“Sorry, but, uh…” you said hesitantly. “You have wings. Does-- does nobody else see those?”

Despite himself, Michael smiled.

Supernatural Tags: @missihart23

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

#spn michael #michael spn #archangel michael #michael x reader #michael imagine #michael fanfic #michael oneshot #spn x reader #spn imagine #spn fanfic #spn oneshot #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfic #supernatural oneshot #soulmate au #direction #river #rivika #generallynerdy #request #anon request #anonymous request

[violetmina]

Chokehold - Ch. 8

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot​ @itsyellow​ @lmarina2000​ @d3adite666​

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,577

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, my bad attempt at wriiting flirting, lots of tension of multiple types, choking, and good ol’ Butcher himself.

A/N: I know, I know, It's been too damn long. And so is this chapter, longest one to date. Despite it being, in my opinion, kind of all over the place, I really hope you guys enjoy. 

Scalding and fresh from the pot, the coffee glimmers like a black mirror in your work mug. Your reflection peers up at you but you're too elsewhere to notice it, its pensive glare or the hint of fatigue on its face. It mimics your dazed pose, one hand on the cupboard handle above you in the break room.

"It's not a magic eight ball."

You jerk, finding Hughie entering the break room beside you. He looks split between amused and mildly concerned at you. "What?"

"Your coffee," he gestures, side-stepping you to rummage for his lunch in the fridge. "You're staring at it like it's got all the answers or something."

With a shake of your head, you pull yourself out of your daze, rummaging through the cupboard for the fixings for your drink. "Wouldn't that be nice?," you sigh. "Caffeine fix and all my questions answered in one little mug."

Hughie settles at the table as you deposit your drink there and fetch your own food. "You wanna talk about it?"

You can't help but stiffen a little as you dig through the fridge, and hope he doesn't notice. Talk about it? About how this morning you'd woken up in a sweat, disoriented at finding yourself lying on your back instead of straddling the subtle v of Butcher's hips? Talk about the brutal shock of cold shower spray and chattering teeth it took to zap you back to reality?

Or talk about the nerves coffee couldn't fix but now made worse? You were strung on a tightrope of mild dread and anticipation for tonight's upcoming jiu jitsu lesson. After feeling his eyes burning along your spine, you were just a bit nervous of how Butcher planned to go forward from here.

"Just a lot on my mind," you shrug, taking up the chair next to him.

He gives a brief glance at the doorway as you shuffle out a sandwich then asks, "About future work projects?"

It's become an easy code to decipher between the two of you; the upcoming gala mission. Admittedly, it's another gnawing concern of yours. So you nod. "Yeah, a bit. There's some minor details that got me thinking."

"Like?," he asks quietly.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening it to the text from MM you'd been reading just before you'd zoned out. Hughie takes it, eyes quickly absorbing the vague message there. His brow furrows. "Um…am I missing something here?"

"It's a little info on the work project," you answer.

"Okay. Again, am I missing something?" He subtly peers about once more and lowers his voice. "It's stuff you'd find on an invitation. Venue, time, dress code-"

"Bingo," you sourly cut him off into your mug.

Hughie lets out a laugh. "Wait…A dress code? You're getting rattled by a black tie dress code?"

"Yes, exactly. Black tie. That means I have to wear an evening dress."

"You've worn dresses before," he replies between bites of his food. "Why is this any different? What's special about an evening dress?"

You rub at the bridge of your nose and sigh. "It's not about wearing a dress. It's about wearing a full-length dress, and heels, which are mandatory for black tie. And those are extremely impractical in shitty situations. Like not having full range of motion, or being able to run! I…" You lower your voice in admittance. "...I don't like potentially not being able to protect myself."

Hughie's face drops for a second as he takes that in. Then places a hand on your shoulder. "Okay, that makes more sense. I don't like that either. Hey, what if I talk to Annie?"

"Annie?," you ask, perplexed.

"Her whole job is about kicking ass in a costume, right?" He flashes a lop-sided grin. "I'll ask her if she can stop by and see you after work sometime. I'm sure she'd have more than a few pointers to share. It'd get her out of the tower for a bit. You find something that you'll pass dress code and feel more comfortable in. I think it'd be a win-win."

"And they say you're not the smart one," you wink. "I appreciate that, Hughie."

"Don't mention it. Do you want me to see if she's available tonight?"

You shake your head. "No," you reply after swallowing a thick bite of food. "Already got plans. Maybe night after next."

"Y/N's got plans? Somebody call the five o'clock news."

You and Hughie both find Victoria leaning in the doorway. A knot flips in your stomach and you do your best to not look suspicious as she strides in. She leans on the table, and you give her a little wave between bites.

"I know, right?," Hughie chimes in, jumping in before it can get weird. "I was just…offering her and Annie an opportunity to cut loose. Girls night, or whatever."

"Aren't you sweet? Good luck getting this work horse to slow down, though," Victoria says as she nods in your direction. Then turns fully to you. "Must be good if you're postponing an all-nighter in the cases. Don't tell me…" She wiggles an eyebrow at you. "Hot date, perhaps?"

You can't help a nervous snicker before shaking your head. "No," you answer into a napkin. "No, not a date."

"Now that's a shame," she says with a playful pout. "Here I thought somebody finally recognized your worth. God knows what I'd do without you."

"You joining us for lunch?," Hughie interjects.

"I'm afraid not," the congresswoman sighs. "I was going to ask Y/N to take some pressing cases over to your team to work on tonight. But maybe you could pick them up, Hughie?"

"I can still drop them off, at least. Before I call it a night," you shrug. "I'm not scheduled here tomorrow, so I'll be there most of the day anyway. I can start on them first thing in the morning."

"See?," Victoria waves in your direction before standing. "Like I said - work horse. I'll have one of the interns drop them by your desk before you clock out tonight. But I insist you wait till tomorrow to start on them. I'll cut you some slack, just this once." Then mutters as she turns for the door, "God knows Butcher doesn't know the meaning of the word."

"You never know. He has his good days," you call after her.

She pauses just outside the break room, casting you both a flat expression. "You kidding? If I had to work with him as much as you do, I think his head would explode. If not, it would definitely be mine."

After the sound of her high heels in the hall disappears, you and Hughie give each other a look. That was a little close for either of you, and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God she's not a supe," you whisper into your coffee.

^^^

The rest of the work day goes by at its usual tedious pace. By the time you're flipping through the files you were to deliver, your nerves make it difficult to read through them and retain anything. Agitated, you stuff most of them into your work bag and clock out. When you get home you have just enough time to grab a bite to eat and change for the impending training session.

You settle on a small snack, something light that'll give a pep of energy, and wash it down with a glass of water. You'd quickly learned that rolling with a full stomach is not even remotely pleasant, and an empty one wasn't much better. Nerves aside, you manage to keep that little nourishment down and quickly shed your work clothes for something better suited for rolling.

You're admonishing yourself for feeling so jittery when your phone buzzes on the bed. You finish tearing the t-shirt over your head and read the new text from Frenchie.

Hughie says you have files for us. Mon couer and I left early today. We all have something for you as well. See you tomorrow, mon amie.

Will do, you promptly reply. Then almost as an afterthought, Congrats on convincing Butcher to let you off early! What kind of mood is he in now?

Frenchie's reply comes in just as you finish locking your front door behind you. No clue. He's been gone all day. Kimiko says to take it easy tonight. Or else.

The playful threat isn't what makes your shoulders tense. It's wondering what kept Butcher away from the office all day, and if it has anything to do with what you're about to walk into.

Relax!, you snap at yourself. You're reading way too much into this. You're just training. You have a job to do. Focus on the job.

Remembering that feeling of eyes on your back though makes you pick up your pace as you reach the pavement. Then quickening again when you check the time. You're going to be cutting it close. Maybe too close.

…Don't try my patience, love…

And what if I do?

You shake your head as you try to dash through the crowd over the crosswalk. That was definitely not focusing on the job. Being able to handle yourself was still one of your main priorities but this whole shift, whatever happened last night…well it's making you question your priorities.

Is that really necessary?, the little voice sneers from its corner of your brain. You're just getting awfully flirty with a handsome, murderous widower. That's all.

That makes your step falter and you manage to stay upright, but only just. Widower. After all that time and the fucking mess Vought had wrought on them, a widower. And only for a matter of months now. The fact that that feels more pressing and not the murderous part is an issue of its own entirely.

The hell am I doing? Having a crush is one thing. But this feels…a bit disrespectful. To Becca. And to him. A trickle of doubt pools in your stomach. Has he even stopped for one fucking second to grieve? Really grieve?

Not likely, the little voice whispers. Butcher feel his feelings? If it weren't for him trying to step up for Ryan, he'd be washing them away in supe blood… or smoke, drink and fuck them away. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe you're the rebound, it cackles.

You swallow with a thick, dry click. If that's true, you think as you return to the quicker pace you didn't realize you had dropped, should I care? Would that be so bad?

But that's not what you want? Is it?, the voice sneers again.

You grit your teeth and ignore it, willing the constant noise around you to drown it out. You've got a job to do. You have supes to hunt, Hughie to convince, and people counting on you to do your part, play your role. And you have no time nor room to question your role with Butcher. 

For all of your sakes.

^^^

The elevator feels particularly slow as it ascends to the office. It takes some effort but you keep from tapping your foot like an impatient child. It was five after eight when you had entered the building, and you had questioned Butcher's definition of punctual the moment the elevator doors had closed. Just how many minutes could you push it tonight?

The familiar ding finally comes and you dash out for the office doors. Your hand wraps around the handle and you burst in. Only instead of into the office you burst into the door. You jolt from the shock to your shoulder, glaring at the handle when it doesn't turn. You glance up and find, to your surprise, that there are no lights on inside. It's locked tight.

Perplexed, you fish out your keys and find your copy to unlock the stubborn handle. You can't help a scoff at the sight of the vacant office. "Don't be late," you mutter in your best Butcher impression, which is laughable at best. "Boss me, ditch work all day, and not even be on time? Oh I'm gonna give you shit for that…" 

You open the door just enough to side-step in, fingers skittering along the wall for the light switch. It crosses your mind that maybe something had held him up, that something might have happened to him. A knot of apprehension slips through the dark and coils in your chest. But you swat the thought away, no need to panic over a few minutes late. You breathe a sigh when the switch finally greets your fingertips, giving it a sharp flick…

Nothing. Just shades and shapes in the office. Even the city glow only does so much for visibility. A groan slips out as the apprehension begins to coil again, making the hairs on the back of your neck prickle slightly. You drop your bag against the wall and fumble with your phone to turn on its light, slowly tiptoeing into the room to find the breaker. "Damn it, Frenchie!," you hiss into the dark. "What did you do now?"

You only take a few shy steps in before holding the light high, hoping it would reach the far wall. A wisp of memory comes to you, telling you the breaker should be closer to the front of the office. Surely Frenchie would have had the courtesy to tell you there were technical issues, knowing you were dropping by! 

You pause. You suddenly realize if he had forgotten, Kimiko certainly would have reminded him, or text you herself. Standing stock still, light still glaring into the space, another realization creeps over you, thick as the uncanny silence.

The hairs on the back of your neck aren't prickling now. They're standing on end.

Click.

You're just whirling to run for the door when a thick arm wraps about your neck, a hand clapping tight over your mouth. In a snap you're back at the warehouse as you frantically squirm, it'd been just like this, it's happening again! Panic bursts hot in your chest for a split second before a tug of muscle memory kicks. Do something!, it screams.

You try to yank on the arm round your neck, go for a hip throw. It gives you perhaps centimeters to breathe but you weren't fast enough, you're not throwing them forward. At your attempt, your attacker yanks hard, dragging you backwards across the floor.

Adapt! Fight!

You try to drop, lower your center of gravity, make the bastard work for it! Again, they yank, this time picking you clear off the floor. You shift your hips as you're lifted up, swinging hard to plant your feet back as far as you can. When they hit the floor again you scramble, hooking an ankle around the back of your attacker's leg. They stumble and it gives you just what you need; you facing opposite your attacker, their arm in your grip. If they're not going to go forward, then you're taking them backwards.

You shift your hips, shoving them hard into where you guess is the bastard's back, and pull with a yell, adrenaline-fueled force far greater than in practice. The sound of impact booms across the hardwood and a twist of angry satisfaction flits through you at the groan of pain that follows. But it's brief, you turn and scramble hopefully away, utterly disoriented in the dark. You spot your phone, light still on, and the door behind it, like a lighthouse beacon.

You barely manage two steps before your ankle is snatched. Your hands protest against the solid contact with the floor, your face barely missing the same fate as the wind is nearly knocked from you. Fingers stretching fast, you just get the phone in your hand before you're yanked back. Muscle memory kicks in again - Not your back! Don't give them your back! - and you twist off your stomach as you kick blindly-!

Blind! Blind them!

You turn the light towards the attacker, pulling back your free leg again, ready to break their goddamn nose as your own eyes try to adjust. Past the flares and dots swimming in your vision you grit your teeth and face-!

Butcher.

Your jaw drops, and he recoils, squinting in the bluish glare for just a split second. Then he swats the phone out of your hand, sending it across the floor again. "If they're going to teach you how to read a room," he rasps, pulling you roughly until he leans over you, "they've got their fucking work out for 'em." He tsks at you, shaking his head. "Fucking stupid, love."

"You-! You-!," you rasp back. Then your lips peel back in a snarl, fists flailing at him in the dark. "You asshole! You fucking asshole! Should've fucking known!"

Your blind punches are short-lived as he manages to wrangle your arms across your chest. "Alright! Knock it off! Knock it off!" You squirm and yell before he grips your wrists tighter and leans heavy into you, making you grunt out a breath. "I said…knock it off."

"You-!" You swallow thickly, cotton-mouthed, panting. "I thought it was-. Again. The warehouse. You- you almost-! Gave me a fucking-! Panic attack!"

"I had to. And you're about to have it again if you keep fucking hyperventilating," Butcher growls. "Now breathe, goddamn it. Real slow like."

He keeps hold of your wrists and leans up enough to let you take full breaths again. You glare at him as your eyes adjust, sucking air through your nose, shakily breathing out through your mouth. Adrenaline is still white hot in your veins, spiking through your spine. Along with the anger. God, you want to throttle him! After a minute or two, you attempt to speak again.

"Had to? The hell do you mean 'had to'?"

"What I said. I had to know how you'd react in crisis. Especially if it were anything like what happened to you before."

"I think you're full of shit, but fine."

"I told ya," he says, hard and glaring back. "Over anything else I taught you, you can't lose your head."

"Well I'm off to a great start," you huff.

"Weren't that bad," Butcher shrugs. "You used your training. Even adapted that hip throw. That was good. Real good."

You blink back surprise. Maybe you're still a bit out of it…but did he just give you a little credit?

"But you still lost your head a bit, right there at the start. You panicked. That's why that first throw didn't work for shite."

And he's back. Realizing you've been in this position for a while, you shift slightly against the floor. "So what now?," you ask as he lets go of your wrists. "You jumped me, now we fix the lights and warm up? Or is that it?"

"I dunno," Butcher drawls, a mischievous curl in his lip. "You feel pretty warmed up to me."

He shifts off you, and you're grateful for the brief moment to process. Butcher had always been blunt. But you hadn't exactly expected him to openly flirt this soon. Then again when did Butcher ever do as expected? Maybe it's a tactic? Throw you off your training tonight?

"And the lights stay off," his voice cuts through your musing, as he takes one of your hands to haul you to your feet.

"Why? How am I supposed to train when I can barely see?"

"I distinctly recall telling you not to be late," he quips. "Besides, you gotta learn to adapt to conditions anyway. That gala ain't no morning brunch."

"I'm sure they paid the light bill," you utter, looking about for your phone. You locate it beaming under the lip of your desk just next to you. When you stand back up with it, you nearly jump feeling Butcher's hand slide to your lower back.

"What's matter, love?," his voice ghosts over your ear. "You afraid being all alone with me in the dark?"

The nervous giggle that titters out of your throat is borderline embarrassing, but you counter quickly, "More like afraid of getting used to not seeing that mug of yours. Might give me another panic attack when the lights come back on."

He gives a begrudging chuckle as he steps back, shifting his hand to hook lightly in the crook of your elbow. "For not being able to see, you came pretty fucking close to stomping in me mug. Turn off that torch before ya blind us again. Step this way."

You can discern outlines and you do see sections of the office where light from the hallway to the elevator and the windows is a bit brighter. But it doesn't do much to boost your confidence. "How do you see in this?," you ask sincerely, shuffling after him, hesitantly turning off your phone light.

"What? You think we do all our work in bright, shiny spaces? That those cunts want us to be able to see 'em coming?" You can just make out his head shaking. "Nah. And I would think as often as we are in this place, you'd have it mapped out like I do by now."

He stops you in one of the faint outlines of the windows on the floor. In your murky vision you see that he's already cleared the area. "Down here," he prompts, tugging on your elbow and you both sink to the hardwood.

"So are you gonna tell me what you were planning on doing with me?," you tease, nibbling on your lip when you hear a more suggestive tone than you had intended.

Butcher's long legs stretch out along either side of yours, and you feel a laugh rumble in his chest when he pulls you back into him. "I've been planning since last night. I've got plenty of ideas for you."

Christ, he's not beating around the bush is he? 

You refrain from biting your lip again as you become aware of something else. With your vision impaired, your other senses are trying to compensate, to help you reorient in the room. But it's leaving your skin more attune to his proximity, the warmth radiating off him. And your hearing is gonna be the death of you. Butcher's voice had always been one of your weaknesses, and now your ears are keened in on every rough, baritone syllable, every rumble, every damn hum that passes his lips.

He's being a tease. A fucking tease!, you think with a wave of indignation. Putting those SAS interrogation tactics into a game. Bastard is trying to get me to break!

Your pulse kicks up, you feel it begin to patter a quick rhythm in your veins, against your chest. And pressed against your back, apparently Butcher can feel it too, as he loosely settles his arms around your torso. "Feeling alright there, sweetheart?," he croons with faux innocence. You can practically hear the smug look crawl over his face.

You. Fucker. A smug look of your own twitches at the corners of your mouth before you recompose. Alright, Billy. You wanna play a game of who breaks first? You're on.

"Just getting my head into training," you reply coolly. "What are we working on?"

"We're starting with this. Showing you exactly why you shouldn't let anyone take your back." His arms move up to cross snugly around your shoulders. More of a warning than anything else. His legs move over yours till he hooks his ankles just behind your knees.

"Thought you just did that when you jumped me?," you mutter.

"A little. But that was what some sloppy thug would do. If someone really wants to hurt ya, they're gonna incapacitate you first, then drag you off. So you're gonna learn a rear naked choke. How to do it, what it feels like, and how to get out of it."

"What it feels like? Why?"

Butcher's hands slide up to your shoulders. "If you're going to work with the team, get your hands dirty, you gotta learn to be uncomfortable. You've been in that cushy office at the bureau for too long. And again, you gotta learn how to act in crisis. Not gonna get out of it if you don't know what it feels like neither."

"So you're desensitizing me."

"Only to certain things," he replies slyly, draping one arm over your left shoulder. His tone becomes serious when he speaks again. "Now listen close. This is gonna be right uncomfortable. I'm gonna put the choke on you slow. You're gonna push through for as long as you can, which won't be long at all. But don't be daft about it. Tap when you need to, I fucking mean it. If I have to put you in recovery position 'cause of your ego, we'll have problems when you wake up. You understand?"

"I think I can handle a-"

"Do you understand?," he growls hot in your ear, beard scraping along the delicate skin.

You nod, then firmly answer, "I understand."

You watch Butcher's right arm slide up and across till his wrist is just across his left elbow. Then he secures it by curling his left arm back till his fingers just cup the back of your head. The action brings his right elbow to cradle your windpipe with practiced precision, your neck now firmly encased in his arm. But the muscle and bone feel like thick, iron bands and you suck in a surprised breath, hands shooting up to cling at his arm on impulse.

"Easy. Not gonna put it on ya full throttle. Take a calm, deep breath when you're ready," he says as you take a couple shaky breaths. Then low, low enough that you feel more than hear it, "I got you."

You fasten your eyes on the office door, willing yourself to relax. Which isn't much, being wrapped so tightly into Butcher, getting ready to be potentially choked out. After a moment, you remind yourself to tap, give a quick nod and fill your lungs.

Butcher executes slowly, but nonetheless your fingers clutch his arm again as the pressure increases, eliciting an instinctual response from your body to try to get away. But his legs give you nothing to work with and you quickly realize why he had you take a deep breath. You can still breathe, or wheeze rather. But the pressure in your head is firm, quick and thunderous. Blood choke, you think distantly, a ringing beginning to rise in your ears, throughout your skull.

It's mere seconds, but he was right. It's damn uncomfortable. No, actually, it's flat out scary as the edge of your vision begins to fog out the office doors. With a strangled sound rising from your throat you slap his arm in rapid succession. Butcher's response is quick, releasing you within the second hit, arms dropping to your torso.

"You alright?," he asks, craning round your shoulder to peer into your face as you gulp in a mouthful of air. You nod, blinking rapidly when the motion brings a wave of lightheadedness. "You seeing stars?"

"Fuck." It comes out drunkenly. "Lotsa stars."

"I bet there are. Lean back, get your bearings." Butcher pulls you back into him, untangling his legs to set them aside yours again. "You'll be right as rain soon enough."

"Always thought that was an air choke," you sigh. "That you could just hold your breath and try to get out."

"Not a chance," he shakes his head as you rest your dizzy one on his shoulder. "Now you understand why you can't panic. 'Cause there ain't no time for it. You lasted about three seconds, and that's me being sweet on ya. You might last five, maybe even ten seconds if you fight real hard, if they don't cinch it right the first time."

Seconds. Mere seconds. Just to pass out. How long before the lights never come back on..?

"Please tell me you won't make me do that again."

"No," Butcher says firmly. "Not tonight. Doing that too many times too quick is hateful dangerous. Like mucking about with matches; it's all fun and games till you get fucking burnt. Besides…" The arm draped across your hips pulls you in snug. He ducks his head into the dip of your shoulder as you feel fingertips trace the curve of your hip over your t-shirt.

"...I got far better ways to leave you dizzy and panting."

Even with your brain recalibrating - and those calloused fingers brushing by your belt not helping the matter - you manage a smile. Then ask, "Does it involve you actually teaching me more positions? Or are you gassed out already?"

You feel a chuckle hum in your shoulder where his head still presses. "Don't you worry. I'm just getting started." 

Before you can respond, verbally at least, to the heated promise - threat? - in his words, he pulls you into a loose version of the choke again. His legs move back to hooking behind your knees. No sense of danger, but now your hyper awareness of being at his mercy returns.

"Let's kick this up a notch, eh? Get a little tricky. I'm gonna tell you how to slip out. Once you do, you're gonna try to take mount, and not let me take your back again."

"Shouldn't be too tricky to get out of your grasp," you shrug, as if you're unbothered. Even though you're definitely a little bothered.

"Slipping out ain't the tricky part. Just remember that. Now, turn us onto the opposite side I'm choking with. My rights at your throat so…That's it," he says as you roll you both onto your left sides. "Reach back with both hands, grip my hand I got against your head and yank it over. Good, don't let go of it till you try to take mount. You're not going anywhere until you untangle yourself from my legs, now are ya?"

"And I thought you wanted to keep me between them," you sass.

"Question is if you wanna stay there, or if you want to mount me," Butcher quips back without skipping a beat. A flash of his hips under you in your recent dream appears in your mind's eye, the very ones now tucked into the back of yours, and a bolt of heat shoots through your core. 

"If you want out," Butcher cuts through your haze, "you'll put your right foot on my left leg, good and solid, slip out your legs, and move yourself to the left. Once you're perpendicular, you flip over onto your belly and see if you can top me. And I bet that's a big 'if'," Butcher sneers.

With a scoff at the challenge, you go for it. It takes a bit but you manage to wrangle out your legs, pivoting your body hard. Once in line with his shoulders you twist, pulling his hand out of the way. You recall the one pass you learned in your early gym days, sliding your knee across Butcher's belly to keep low and straddle his waist. You sit up high, grinning, "How big is that 'if' now-?"

You realize you fell for the setup when you see the glint of Butcher's grin in the light from the window. Which is a millisecond before you feel his hips throw you. You barely catch yourself from flying into the floor and in a blur you're spinning, right onto your back. By some miracle you manage to wrap Butcher into closed guard as you land.

He gives you no moment to recuperate, a broad hand sliding under to cup one of your shoulders. Going more off feel than sight, you manage to wrap your arm around his and clamp it to you just as he starts to pry. You pull your shoulders as flat against the floor as you can, and pull him forward and off balance with your legs.

"Well, well, well!," Butcher crows above you. "I do believe the spazzy white belt might be picking up on this afterall. You countered me once. But how long before I take your back again?"

"Try it," you challenge, a lop-sided grin on your features. "The next time you see my back is when I walk out that door."

"You are in over your head." 

Butcher goes again for your arms, maneuvers to turn your shoulders for leverage. You squirm, shift, counter in what little way you know how. It's no easy task. Even now adjusted you're still half-blind, and Butcher is stronger and more agile than you've seen before. You know he's not going full force, but he's certainly making you work for the lesson.

Only as the moments pass, there's a shift again. It feels less like a lesson this time. With each counter, with each second you begin to sweat from exertion, each curse from both of you, a complex air wraps around you. When you try to trap Butcher in close, almost like a bear hug in an attempt to limit his movements, you realize what it is. As he mocks your amateur attempt and pries himself free of your arms, you realize that it doesn't feel like the militant sparring from before. It's more like…rough housing. You're actually having fun with this.

By now the two of you have scuffed and shuffled over the floor, the office door now down past your feet, the bathroom just by your heads. It gives a little more light to see by, glittering through the glass from the hallway. You take advantage of it, catching Butcher just in time to see that he's moving his elbows to go for the less pleasant guard pass. Before he can dig his elbows in you shoot up an arm, managing to grab the back of his collar. 

He counters in a flash however, raising an arm and leaning back in a snap, preventing you from getting in the other hand. You see his eyes widen, a little laugh slipping out between panting as you continue to hold your grip. "Cross-collar from guard? You thought you were gonna be that sneaky with me?"

"What's the matter, Billy?" You smile back as you try to seize the brief moment to catch your breath. "Maybe feeling a little slow? Or did I make you a bit nervous just now?"

He reaches back and pulls off your slipping grip. A devious smirk appears. "I think now is a good time we covered stacking." Before you can reply, he wedges an arm under and around one of your thighs. You squeeze your legs tighter, certain he's trying to break your guard. Until he moves off his knees, straightening his legs, and pushing forward. You let out a curse as your lower back comes off the floor, and your hips protest as Butcher's weight begins to inch your knees up towards your chest.

"Nice little stretch, innit?," he says with a waggle of his brows.

"Nifty trick, trying to fold me in half," you grit out. You try to push back with your legs. But even with your hips just barely off the floor, you've essentially lost your leverage. You give a strained chuckle as the pressure increases minutely in your hips. You try to reach down to grab at him, pull yourself back to the floor, but he's too far at this angle. "Real nifty. I guess I did make you nervous."

"Nervous, eh?," he asks, eyes narrowing. "With all that panting and sighing, and filthy words coming outta your mouth?" Butcher pushes a little more before shifting back. Just when you think he's letting you up he jerks on your hips and slides back up, slotting himself between your thighs. You let out a gasp when you feel the firm bulge in his jeans begin to press against your core, his weight heavy on your hips again as he leans into you.

"That feel like nervous to you, love?," he husks against your cheek.

Words fail you as your fingers splay on his shoulders, uncertain whether to pull him in or…or what? Butcher's fingers, however, are far more decisive, one hand slipping just under the hem of your shirt to grip your hip firmly. Your brain is a tangled mess at this point, a tiny portion still in rolling mode, prompting you to do something. The rest is fixated on his fingers, and his beard scratching along your jaw, and the heat and the friction…

"Oi," he mutters, raising up enough to leave mere inches between your faces. You swallow when he traces your lips with his gaze. "I'm still waiting for an answer…What's it feel like?"

You rifle through the haze, searching for words as you hear your breathing mingle, your pulse soft in your ears and…the elevator ding?

"... I swear, mon coeur, it'll take two seconds."

A cold shock of realization wrenches you firmly out of your haze. Butcher's eyes widen like yours for a millisecond before his face turns murderous. "Fuck!," he snarls under his breath, eyes darting about. "Roll! Roll!," he hisses, hooking your legs at an awkward angle.

You gasp, then let out a muted squeal as you're spun and rolled in a tangle of limbs with Butcher. It takes a moment to orient up from down when you find yourself on your ass on the bathroom floor, your back firmly against Butcher's chest again. Inky blackness snaps around you when he pulls the door shut. The lock clicks with a flurry of his fingers just as you hear the office doors open on the other side.

You try to slow your breathing, placing a hand over your own mouth as you will your heart rate to please not be so fucking loud! You'd heard and seen for yourself that Kimiko's hearing was far better than the rest of the crew. But you weren't certain just by how much. And by the way Butcher was controlling his breathing, one palm cupping over your hand at your lips, he must have been thinking the same thing.

"Oh, you think I left our apartment key on purpose? What purpose? I'd much rather be snuggling with you at home than back…" There's the sound of a switch being irritably flicked once or twice. Frenchie's voice turns from teasing to confused. "The fuck…? This fucking place! Hold on…."

As you listen to Frenchie shuffle along, and the boot tapping on the floor most likely being Kimiko's, you try to stay still. To be calm. A task not made easy with Butcher's half-hard length pressing against you, and your own lust still pulsing at the apex of your thighs. You dare to slowly shift your hips to try to find a less distracting position. But Butcher's other arm ensnares your waist, a strangled grunt cut short in his throat, giving you a silent command to not fucking move.

Kimiko's boot stops tapping.

Shit, shit, shit!

"Found it!," Frenchie calls. "Goddamn breakers been flipped. Just a little flick of the wrist and…"

In Butcher's haste to lock the bathroom door he must have bumped the light switch. Or someone had left it on before. But you both flinch when the lights suddenly hum to life with a stab to your eyes. You will to whatever powers may be that neither of them notice the light under the bathroom door.

"...Let there be light. Now the key should be…" There's rustling of papers, a desk drawer opening. Then, "Aha! Just as I thought. Alright, mon coeur, lets-! Huh? What's weird?"

There's a pause, the sound of their steps coming back to the office door. "You're right. That's Y/N's bag."

Your gut drops. Your bag. The one you had left by the door when you came in earlier. A whole litany of curses run through your mind as you and Butcher both tense.

"Hughie did say she had plans tonight. Maybe she was in a hurry? Just wanted to drop it off, perhaps? We'll leave it on her desk, she'll be back tomorrow anyway."

There's shuffling again, the sound of something placed on a desk surface. Your phone, where was your phone? Was it out in the open? You couldn't remember where you had left it, and you hoped they wouldn't spot it. You listen to Frenchie begin to flirt with Kimiko as he turns off the office lights. Followed by the sound of the door closing, the sound of the lock again. With straining ears, you both hear the muffled sound of the elevator doors closing. Only then you pull both his and your hands from your mouth and heave a sigh.

That's two close calls today. Jesus.

"Fucking hell," Butcher grumbles, dropping his head back against the wall with a dull thump. You turn your head just enough to see the sour look on his face. "Too damn close, that one. Gonna have to find somewhere else. We can't keep meeting like this."

You nod. Then start to snicker. He glares down at you with a confused brow. "What?," you smile. "Don't wanna get caught like two teenagers playing seven minutes in heaven?"

Your snickering intensifies as his sour look turns to a snort. Then a wheeze. The nerves from the last few minutes finally spring loose in your chest, and you burst into a full on fit of giggles. It amplifies when you feel Butcher's shoulders shake with a fit of his own, and you see the first actual smile on his face in months.

"Couple of twats hiding in an office bathroom. Fucking stupid!," he wheezes as you try to fight the ridiculous wave of giggles. The sight of his eyes crinkling with humor, a rare sight if there ever was one, makes you smile hard enough that your cheeks start to hurt.

A sudden buzz and tune rattle on the bathroom tile, and you jump. You bite hard on your lip against laughter as Butcher unwraps your waist to wrangle his phone out of his pocket. "What the fuck now? Hold on, hold on. Keep it down." Clearing the laugh out his own throat, he answers, "MM! Fancying a chat are we?"

When Butcher's face morphs to serious, your fit finally subsides. The situation and current setting finally kick in, and after a minute of debating, you seize the lack of hold on you to stumble to your feet. Butcher gives you a disbelieving look as you step over his legs and out into the office, before shuffling to follow.

"Yeah, I heard ya. Which one?," he continues into his phone as you sweep the floor for your own. You find it under another desk again and snatch it up to tuck in your pocket. You lean back against the desk, watching Butcher carefully as the conversation unfolds. "How long we got?...Right now. Of fucking course," he scowls. "Alright, see ya soon."

"What's wrong?," you ask as he severs the connection.

"MM just intercepted a call to Vought from one of the hospitals," he says, shrugging on his coat with agitation. "Someone was dumped at the ER checking off that special list of symptoms."

"Persuasion?"

"Most likely. And we gotta get to them before the company lackeys show up."

You grab your keys from your bag, doing your best not to disturb it on its spot on your desk. "Training for another night then? Well, good luck at the hospital. Keep me posted."

"Now hold on. The fuck you think you're running off to?" Butcher stalks towards you with heavy eyes. "You're part of this crew. We got a job to do. And I didn't say we were done tonight, now did I?"

"Yes. And you heard Frenchie. They know I have 'plans'," you explain as he braces his hands on the desk, caging you in. You smile coyly in response. "And if I show up, especially when MM only called you…They’re all gonna have questions, right?"

Butcher gives out a dissatisfied growl to the ceiling. "We ain't done here," he intones.

He had almost done it. You'd nearly broke there on the office floor. And it had been so very tempting to see what would have happened had you not got up and left the bathroom. But now that you've had a moment to reset, and duty calls…well he can't have all the fun now can he? 

"You're running out of time. Wouldn't be a good idea to keep MM waiting."

Butcher stares you down, a knowing smirk on his face. He nods slowly. "I'll be damned if those fuckers beat me to it," he concedes. "But like I said…"

Before you can blink, he hooks a finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. You had expected it to be heated, greedy. But you're startled at how soft it is. A borderline tenderness you had never seen coming, sideswiping you hard enough to make your breath hitch. You feel him smile at the sound and he pulls back just before you find it in you to kiss in return.

"...We ain't done." His thumb idly swipes over your bottom lip just before he's out of reach. In a few long strides he's out the door, leaving you recovering from the whiplash of the evening.

As fun as it is to tease, you muse, sneaking a taste of him on your lips, I wonder how I can kill one cockblocking Frenchie without Kimiko gutting me alive.

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