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violetmina · 8 months ago

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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

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minefield-of-a-ninja · 6 months ago

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Do You Want To Be Tagged?

I have created a Reader Tag List.

If you have Liked, Commented on, or Reblogged anything I've posted in the last few months, I have added you to this list.

Please take a look at the list and remove or add yourself to the appropriate column(s).

Many thanks to @waynes-multiverse for sharing your system with me!

@brrose-apothecary @stusbunker @mrswhozeewhatsis @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word

@bigmouthlass

@yvonneeeee @hobby27 @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@lacilou @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @suckitands33

@syrma-sensei @deanwinchesterswitch @deans-baby-momma @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @k-slla @leigh70

@kazsrm67 @hotpeoplesimp1 @crashlyrose @pamhr @winharry

@barewithme02 @deadlydivergentgirl @goldenmaknaes @lolololagrey @waters-2567

@candy-coated-misery0731 @pycobutterpie @littlegreenplasticsoldier @rizlowwritessortof @viktoriiaaker

@skyeasnothere @kenzieloulou17 @lovelyunjinn @starry-dahl @lanassmarty

@sevendevilsinmyimpala @anonymouswall @urfav-human7756 @hoe4lilyrabe @artemys-ackles

@lisah-over18 @jizzmans-world @mariefandom @technicallyeclecticblaze @yo222222

@srtadong @grimtherula @cc00897 @jackles010378 @123passwort

@amanduhjean @w33p1ng @rubberducky999 @monstrousmars @fangirling-instead-of-working

@am222444 @winchester-sinchester @kickingitwithkirk @indecisive30something @deans-psych

@fullwattpadmusictree @panders91 @motherofevee @thoughts-and-funnies @perpetualabsurdity

@iliser @krazykelly @he-touched-the-but @jensenackles-makes-life-better @hotmessmageereads

@cemmia @sofiasommariva @solariklees @ladywinchester1967 @bumbleb10

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @rainy-darling @rachiem4-blog @nothingtodobutdrink @waywardlass-blog

@idiotdyslexic @muchamusedaboutnothing @cutestdolans @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @harleysninja

@kdfrqqg @tumbler-tidbits @hoboal87 @ushistorylover1018 @waywardgypsy

@missannwinchester @cosmicspacewitch @readingsins @sammylinda @leeahpeters12

@pascal-rascal424 @likhelbentin @mere-mortifer @mylovelydame21 @squirrelnotsam

@hell0ag0ny @phirephly09 @redbarn1995 @alleiradayne @wayward-and-worn

@anspgene @fallwhisper @socalgem1124 @deanismybaby67 @purpleunicorn166

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deanwinchesterswitch · 2 years ago

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HeeHee! That gif is awesome.

Glad you enjoyed the read.💜

Dirty Sweet

Dean's girl is a handful and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Word Count: 594

A naughty little ficlet for @impala-dreamer

NSFW-18+ Inspired by the song Bang a Gong (Get It On) by T-Rex - (Link goes to Spotify.) Reviewed and approved by: @princessmisery666.

Wild and untamed, a vision clad in black, hand pressed against the top of the jukebox, back arched, a single knee bent, body moving in sync with the rhythm of the song currently playing. The neon lights above the machine create a vibrant blue halo around her profile.

She searches the titles she knows by heart, like this time, she’ll find something new. The records in the old Wurlitzer haven’t been changed since Jerry bought it in the mid-seventies—a fact he shares proudly and often. It wouldn’t matter if he added new tunes. I know exactly which song she’ll pick. It’s always the same when she’s in the mood to play and wants to put on a show for me. Tease me and any other patrons in the bar that may be paying attention.

It works every fucking time.

Each time she finally makes her way back to me, I’m so hard for her that I want to leave immediately. Fuck her fast and rough on Baby’s hood for all to see, then take her slow and tender in the back seat. She never lets me, though. Makes me wait. Riles me up even more with heated touches and nasty thoughts whispered in my ear until I’m ready to cream in my jeans. She always knows when I’ve reached my breaking point, pulling me into the bathroom or alley, laughing as she palms me before dropping to her knees to suck me off like a dirty little whore.

Surprisingly, we haven’t been arrested for indecent exposure or lewd conduct yet, but I don’t suppose that anyone that’s seen us get it on objects to the free exhibition. And if my girl doesn’t mind showing off her talents, then who am I to put a kibosh on the fun?

Leaning forward, she presses the yellowed plastic buttons with slow, deliberate precision. Beautiful round ass barely covered by her short skirt, free from the confines of a bra, her tits look like they’re ready to spill over the top of her tank.

Fuck.

I attempt to adjust myself discreetly, eyes wandering around the room to find a couple of the regulars openly eyeing her and shifting in their seats, comrades. My eyes land back on her, traveling up the bare expanse of her legs. Thinking of the sweet nirvana nestled between them, awaiting my attention, has me reaching for my beer to wet the sudden dryness of my mouth.

The corner of her lush lips lift as if she heard my silent moan over the din of small talk, billiard balls clacking, and beer bottles thudding against sticky wooden table tops. Sharp teeth catch and graze over supple pink flesh as her head tilts in my direction.

As the first slinky bass line chords of the song seep into the stale, dusty air, she straightens. Her wicked smile and carnal stare pin me to the barstool from across the room, making my dick strain against its denim confinement. She raises her hands above her head, snapping her fingers as she sings along—voice powerful and sultry as she exaggerates the sway of her hips with the beat. The bare skin peeking below the hem of her top glistens as the muscles beneath ripple with each gyration.

The background noises fade, and I don’t know if it’s because everyone has stopped to watch or if I’m the only one entranced by the sensual dance that carries her toward me. Either way, I don’t care.

The only thing that matters is that she’s dirty, sweet, and she’s my girl.

Love Me Some Pie

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @iprobablyshipit91 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

#comment reblog #lovely people #123passwort

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 11 months ago

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.⋆｡Anniversaries and Milestones｡⋆.

Two years ago today, I published the first chapter of the Lost Princess and subsequently began taking writing seriously. I had no plans to ever send my work out into the world or even write fanfiction at all but my cousin (who has always been my greatest supporter) told me seriously that if I enjoy reading it and I have ideas, then there is no harm in putting myself out there. It was because of her that I got the courage to do all of this, and for that, I am so incredibly grateful.

One story tumbled into two and then ten, and then suddenly I had a following I was spending every free moment I had honing my abilities and practicing my writing. I met some of my best friends in the world through this blog and I will never be able to thank them enough for all the love that they have given me over the past two years. I also rediscovered my love for writing and now, I'm doing a minor in creative writing alongside the most incredible people I have ever met.

Writing let me reclaim parts of myself that were stolen from me, it let me get out all those feelings and experiences I had buried and contend with them. I have grown confident over the past couple years, shedding the shame and embarrassment I felt over my size and realising that my value is not defined by the number on the scale or the labels on my clothes. Even my family, who were some of the first to impose those thoughts upon me, have noticed that I'm different- happier, and it's all because of you guys.

It was honestly a shock to me when I woke up this morning to see that over 5000 of you were following me. I could have never dreamed that a fanfiction about Jotun Loki (who I was violently thirsting over at the time) and a plus size reader could have changed my life so much but here we are.

Because of this blog, I finally worked up the courage to pursue a degree that I was really passionate about. Because of this blog, I was able to move on from my abusive ex and rediscover my sexuality and my boundaries. Because of this blog, I was brave enough to put myself out there and make friends at uni and they are now the people I see myself growing older with. Because of this blog, I have found my purpose.

I will never be able to thank you all enough for the way you have changed me and I can only hope that you'll be around next year, and the year after that, and even after that to see me become the person I am meant to be.

Thank you, I owe you everything.

❤️Lou

And an extra thank you and I love you to my lovely mutuals who continue to blow me away with their incredibleness and creativity. I love you

@lokiandbuckysdoll @darkhairedmenrule @holylulusworld @evansrogerskitten @imyourbratzdoll @minervadashwood @nana1000night @onlystarshere @livingdeadblondequeen @123passwort @writing-for-marvel

#2 year tumblrversary #2 year anniversary #2 years ago #5k followers #5000 followers #follower milestone #plus size reader #female reader #reader insert

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apocalypseornaw · 1 year ago

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Chance to Be

Follow up to Could Have Been

Years have passed since you lost Benny. Neither of you ever gave up the love you had for the other and well when Dean Winchester sees a chance to help people he loves there is no bounds.

Ask and you shall receive @123passwort

Benny knew the moment the other vampires caught his scent. That mixed with the smell of a human in purgatory would be a beacon. His only hope was to get Sam and Bobby to the portal and hold off anyone else long enough for the youngest Winchester to make it topside.

"Tell Dean I said goodbye and you two take care of Y/N for me" was the last thing he told Sam before taking the obsidian blade he offered and facing the vamps that were out for blood due to the simple fact that he was still working with the Winchesters, still choosing humans over his own kind.

---------

He knew this was going to hurt you. You cared for him, that much he was certain but this had been the only way to ensure Sam made it out of purgatory free and clear.

He hadn't gone into detail of the last year of his life with Dean but he'd made him promise to look after you if something happened. He knew he could trust Dean to keep that promise.

He'd at least gotten to tell you he loved you even if it had been a voicemail and those witches had swore to him that the protections on that pendant would make you harder to injure and make you heal easier. His one hope now was that you lived as long of a life as a hunter was capable. Out of everyone he'd ever met you were one of very few people he was certain deserved a happily ever after and he never would have been able to give it to you.

Word would've gotten out that you were sleeping with a vampire. You would've been ostracized from other hunters and wouldn't have been in much better shape than him. He'd had you and Dean, that'd been it. He knew two people that mattered to him was still breathing and you'd long since gotten in the habit of checking in on Elizabeth as well so as long as he knew that he could exist in purgatory. He could reacquaint himself with the never ending fight just to know you still had the Winchesters and that the man who had raised you to be the amazing woman you were had made it to heaven instead of being stuck in hell.

You hadn't been able to make a kill for months after Benny. The thought of you possibly sending the monster there that could end him? You couldn't deal with it.

What snapped you out of that mindset was Dean almost being hurt on a hunt because of your hesitation.

---------

After taking out three vamps back to back you realized you were barely winded and they'd put up a decent fight. "Damn Y/N that was impressive" Dean noted and you shrugged "I honestly don't know what that was. I mean I've been a hunter most of my life so my stamina is pretty good but it seems like I'm able to keep in step with you and Sam nowadays"

Sam's eyes flicked towards the necklace around your neck "Could it have something to do with the protection charms on that?" You tentatively touched the rose, you hadn't taken it off since the day you pulled it out of the drawer at the cabin. "Maybe?" You said with a light laugh "Leave it up to him to find a way to make me take care of myself rather he's here or not"

Dean shot you a small smile. You knew he missed Benny too even if they'd gotten distant before that day. Benny was one of the few friends Dean had made in his life that never judged him for any decision he ever made. Sam cleared his throat then smiled "He loved you. He wanted to make sure to protect you, makes sense. Wish I would've thought to do something like that for Jess"

Dean shook his head "Fuck, we're depressing. Get in baby, both of you. I'm buying the first round we all need it"

"Never knew there was a woman Winchester" Benny heard the chatter a few months after he'd been back in purgatory. Hearing chatter about Dean and Sam weren't anything unusual, them boys were a menace to monsters but hearing about what clearly had to be you pulled a smile to his face "I'm telling you man, she was damn near as fast as Dean and hard as hell to keep down. She's as sturdy as one of em"

A big part of him couldn't help but have a sense of pride at knowing you were building quite a name for yourself in purgatory, not to mention he had the peace of mind that if you were with Sam and Dean they would at least half ass make sure you were taking care of yourself.

He knew he'd probably never see you again, exit routes from purgatory were few and far between. He'd keep fighting regardless, he hadn't laid down and died the original fifty years he'd been in this place he wasn't about to now with memories of you fueling his mind.

Time never stood still for anyone and you were no exception. Rather you wanted it to or not the weeks turned to months then the months turned into years.

You ended up moving into the men of letters bunker somewhere along the line. Sam and Dean had offered you one of the many vacant bedrooms and you took it. You'd gotten used to hunting with them and you had to admit it was easier but it was a lot better hunting with people to have your back. You no longer pushed yourself to the point of exhaustion, Dean was ever the mother hen and Sam would taunt you into self care if it came to it.

----------

You missed Benny. You had meant what you told Dean all that time ago, you could've loved him. Had he told you, had he put that option on the table. If only he'd not waited until moments before he was ripped away to tell you he loved you. You had managed to recover the photo of him and Liz so it resided on your nightstand, along with a photo of your uncle and Bobby and one of you and the boys. You never left the bunker without wearing your necklace and rarely took it off for that matter.

There were times you could close your eyes and almost feel his touch, almost hear his voice but you knew it was just memories. Being haunted by a vampire was impossible, the worse part was knowing that if he was to be killed in purgatory you'd never know. He very well could've been dead before Sam made it topside.

--------

So much had occurred between that day and the present it felt longer than the three years that had passed. The trials were a failure, you nor Dean letting Sam finish the last one. You lost Benny to save Sam, you'd be damned if you were losing him and Dean of course wasn't letting his little brother go that easy.

Between angels falling, Dean taking the mark of Cain and killing a knight of hell only to end up a demon himself...you weren't sure you were even the same woman Benny had loved. There were days you looked in the mirror and barely recognized the eyes looking back at you. You'd never been what you would describe as gentle or naive but the years of hunting and losing so many people were starting to wear on you in moments.

----------

Jody and the girls were a saving grace. You loved Sam and Dean, they were family to you but Jody, Donna and the rest of the Sioux Falls crew helped to soothe a part of your soul that felt ragged.

With the last fight against Amara and Chuck had come to a draw you felt like you could finally catch your breath. You'd headed to spend the weekend with Claire and Alex when Sam had called while you were on the road saying Dean had disappeared.

---------

The worse thoughts went through your mind. Every possibility that flashed through your brain being worse than the last until he called you late that sunday night "Hey sweetheart. Um I'm working a case near Maine. Think you can head this way?"

You were a bit confused to say the least "Dean? Sam said you disappeared two days ago. Is everything ok?" He chuckled lightly "I promise I'm fine. Call Sam if you want, bring backup if you want but I really need you for this case" "You'll do the usual tests when I get there?" You asked hesitantly and could practically hear his grin "Of course. Now hit the road and get here"

"Send me the location and I'll be there as soon as I can but remember I don't drive like you"

Benny could feel the electricity in the air. Something big was about to land and he had no fucking clue what. Years had passed since he'd been back in purgatory, years of blood and fighting.

Maybe it was the most recent big bad you and the boys had took down or maybe something another hunter had killed even. He didn't think another set of hunters were capable of slicing down whatever was causing such a stir but there was always that possibility.

The moment a portal opened not far from him he thought he'd finally snapped, that his sanity had slipped away without him even realizing it. That was until the moment none other than Dean Winchester stepped out the portal. "How in the hell?" He muttered and saw a grin slip onto Dean's face "Not a lot of time to explain here but let's get you the hell outta here"

You pulled up to the location of the motel Dean had told you to meet him at. You parked next to the impala and before you could call he was walking out of the room and headed for your car. He flopped down in the passenger seat and pulled your vial of holy water you kept in the glove box out and took a swig before holding his hand out so you passed him the silver blade that always rode at your ankle. He slid it across his arm and a line of blood blossomed up.

"Satisfied?" You nodded so he smiled and passed the knife back "Then follow me. I need to get you up to speed" you eyed him as you climbed out your car because he was acting a bit off. You couldn't explain it but there was something going on and you knew it.

----------

You walked into the room behind Dean but clocked another presence before the door closed. You lunged for the figure before your mind could catch up with your actions and had it not been for the agility of the other body you probably would've plunged a blade into it.

Dean grabbed you, forcing the blade out of your hand as he held you back against his chest despite your struggles. You knew your eyes were wide and you probably looked nothing short of a wild animal at the moment with the way you were struggling against Dean but there was no way this was reality. There was no way your eyes weren't playing tricks on you, because Benny stood against the wall watching you carefully, bright blue eyes tracking your every movment.

"What the fuck is that Dean?" You struggled harder but Dean simply tightened his grip "Y/N! C'mon now like I'd put you in danger! Sweetheart, take a breath! It's him!"

--------

Your movements stopped suddenly and you felt every ounce of fight seep from your body as your eyes finally allowed themselves to roam over the figure standing a few feet away from you "How?" You asked in a whisper and Dean having realized you were no longer a threat released you "Amara owed me a favor and she couldn't bring back anyone from heaven so I used it for you"

You looked from Dean to Benny "It's really you?" He nodded slowly, that smile you always loved slipping onto his face "In the flesh darling" you took a step towards him before simply flinging yourself into his arms. He pulled you against his chest and you closed your eyes, waiting to wake up but when you opened your eyes you were still in his arms "I'm gonna go call Sam and check in then I'm going to the bar down the road. You kids catch up" Dean said before you heard the door shut.

It took you a moment to realize there was something different and when it hit you your eyes widened even further "You're human" he nodded "Amara let me keep the vampiric strength and stamina but yeah I'm human"

Every injury you, Dean or Sam had ever endured flash through your memory "What if you get hurt? Or sick? Please tell me you didn't choose it because of me, I loved you when you were a vampire I would've continued to love you as a vampire.." you were rambling and didn't even realize what you let slip until the smile that spread across Benny's face gave you a hint "You love me huh?"

-----------

You shoved his chest playfully "Of course I love you Benny. I've waited three years to tell you I love you. Hell,I thought I'd never get the chance!"

He chuckled lightly "It was worth the wait to hear it and just so you know I didn't choose to be a human just for you even if you were a big deciding feature. I can move onto heaven or hell when I die now, I can be a hunter or something to help people and I can have a future with the woman I love"

You pulled him down into a kiss and it was like no time had passed. The electricity that shot through you was just like every other time his lips met yours but this was something that you thought was just possible in a dream. When you pulled away to let both of you catch your breath he leaned his head over on your shoulder "Damn I've missed you woman" you laughed lightly "I've missed you too"

He leaned back to let his eyes meet yours and smiled again "You are so damn beautiful" you shook your head "Always the sweet talker aren't ya Lafitte?" He brushed his lips against yours in another kiss. This one wasn't as urgent but full emotion. You ran your hands up to hook around his neck, deepening the kiss.

His hands slipped down to your thighs, easily picking you up as your legs wrapped around his waist. He walked towards the bed , laying you down gently. You pulled him down with you but broke the kiss before it could get any more heated than it already was.

---------

"Wait..wait a second" the moment the words left your mouth Benny halted his actions pulling back to look at you. Was he moving too fast after so long?

"What's wrong Y/N?" He asked and when you grinned he could tell you were biting back a laugh "What if I hurt you now? I'm used to you having vampiric healing" he narrowed his eyes slightly then leaned down to kiss your neck and when he nipped your pulse point the whine that left you was enough to make pull a groan from his lips "I think I can handle you darlin"

He laughed as he pulled you closer. He was back with you in his arms and had a chance to have a life with you. How the hell he'd gotten that lucky he wasn't sure but he knew better than to question it.

@123passwort

#benny lafitte x female!reader #benny lafitte x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

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kayhi808 · 2 years ago

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Aesthetic Tag Game

Rules: go to Pinterest, search “[your name] core aesthetic” and create a moodboard from the first nine images. No need to mention your name.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @dreamlandcreations @123passwort @snowkestrel

#open tag #come play #or not #its fine

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spnexploration · 1 year ago

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WIP Game

The rules: post the names of all of the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it. Tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Dean Winchester x reader

Collared (has a WIP next chapter)

Pack (has a WIP next chapter, plus 4 WIP future time stamps which I'll list individually below) - answer

Discipline - answer

(First hunt)

Challenge

Safe

Trouble - answer

Search and Rescue - answer

Others

First Heat

Brotherly Figures (has a few future WIP chapters)

Bad Timing (has a WIP future chapter)

Michael - answer

I also have two original fiction werewolf stories on my laptop, but I can't remember their titles right now 😆 Happy to answer about them too.

Ask away!

No pressure tags:

@iprobablyshipit91

@123passwort

@kazsrm67

@trexrambling

@zepskies

@kickingitwithkirk

@deanwinchesterswitch

@gayasfspn

@foxyjwls007

@jawritter

It's actually really hard to think of people's usernames off the top of your head 😆 I can picture people's avatar but not remember their name!

#wip game #send me an ask

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jawritter · 2 years ago

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Tag List Updates: I’m scrubbing my tag list in three days!!!

Disclaimer: This post will be a lengthy one. (Also this post as NOTHING to do with series tag list, just my Forever tags, and Jensen and Dean’s Babes tag list:)

Also, if you want to remain on my tag list, read the rules below! Thanks for reading guys! Your support means the world to me!

As most of you know, I’ve been having a time with my tag list. The bottom line is, there are simply to many people on it. Some have probably changed their handle without notifying people they have tagging them in fics, some may have even just gone dormant, and due to real life stuff, they’re just not able to be active anymore. Either way, it’s time to clean it up a bit.

That being said, I’m going to start being picky about who I allow on my tag list from now on. Not trying to be mean in any way, I love each and every one of my readers, but tagging people in post take time, and they don’t always work. I’m not going to tag people in any longer that are silent followers. If you are a silent follower, and like to read my work, I don’t appreciate you any less, don’t get me wrong, but If I don’t know you’re getting your tags, or if they’re working for you, I’m not going to take up space tagging blank blogs.

1.So, here are some rules for being on my tag list.

2.You must be an ACTIVE follower: (No blank blogs.)

3.You must be 18 years of age at least! (This is a no minor zone! If you are following me under the age of 18, and I find out, you will be blocked)

4.You must be a responsive follower, (Meaning, you must at least like the fic you are tagged in, or reblog it so that I know you are getting your tag. I don’t feel like this is too much to ask as a creator, seeing as we’re taking the time to tag you guys in these fics we create, you guys could at the very least let us know you’re getting your tags. Tumblr tags aren’t always reliable ones, and sometimes take a few days to appear in notifications if at all, so it would be nice to know that you’re getting the work, and this is the fastest way to do that.)

5.Most importantly, YOUR BLOG MUST BE TAGGABLE!!! IF I TRY TO TAG YOU MORE THAN TWICE, AND YOUR BLOG DOES NOT RECIEVE TAGS, I’M REMOVING YOU FROM THE TAG LIST!!

6. If you want to be on any tag list below, YOU MUST SEND THE REQUEST IN THE FORM OF AN ASK!! Do not request to be on a tag list in the comments of a fic, and or a reblog, it’s easier for me to keep up with request in ask form!

There are going to be two tag list, seeing as I only really write for Jensen and Dean anyway. (Also whatever character Jensen might play is up for a fic too, you just never know with me.) If you do not find yourself in this tag list, after reading all of the above, and want to be on the tag list, send an ask stating which one you want to be on, and if you are taggable, then I will add you to the tag list.

These tag list are my

Forever Tags: (Which right now consist of...)

@jessjad

sacriceria

@demongirl1996

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@spnwoman

@stoneyggirl2

@fullwattpadmusictree

@whiskey-infused-dreams

@supernatural79impala

@deandreamernp

@slamminmine

@i-love-superhero-movies

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@flamencodiva

@thoughts-and-funnies

@hearteyes-j2

@peaches007

@vulgar-library

@writercole

@sexyvixen7

@spngi

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@donnaintx

@maliburenee

@the-family-business67

@agirlwithdemonblood

@captainsoldiergirl

@twinkleinadiamondsky

@akshi8278

@perpetualabsurdity

@my-proof-is-you

Jensen and Dean’s Babes: (Which right now consist of...)

@justrealizedimmascifygurl

@mimi-luvzyu

@123passwort

@britnwinchester

@deanwithscissors

@fortheloveof-jackles

@jamerlynn

@britnwinchester

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@deans-baby-momma

@impalaslytherin

@msmarvelouswinchester

@love-jackles

@pink-sparkly-witch

@deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

@herstarburststories

@deanwinchesterswitch

@charred-angelwings

@pascal-rascal424

@myloversgone

@fortheloveof-jackles

@eevvvaa

@bts-spnlvr12

@samsgirl93

@shawnie74

@kaz11283

@mlovesstories

@iprobablyshipit91

#tag list updates #jawritter #jen

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countrymusiclover · 2 years ago

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Hey my readers, so instead of a new X Men fic I was thinking of trying to write for Dean Winchester 😀 If you are interested let me know

P. S. I have never seen Supernatural so I might need help writing it but I do want to try 😅 @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @123passwort

#dean winchester x reader fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x reader #supernatural fanfic series #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #comments really appreciated #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you

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deanwinchesterswitch · 2 years ago

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Ha! Love that image.

If it’s any consolation, I made my own heart hurt writing this. 😔 There’s more heartache coming, but hang in there.

Thanks for reading. 💜

Livin' a Lie

Summary: Dean thinks he’s doing the right thing, believes it’s for the best. Still, he struggles to let go, even when he overhears that you’ve moved on with someone new.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst; Some fluff; Dean being Dean; Language; Mentions of smut; Canon divergence.

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Word Count: 2,318

Pulling out of Jody’s hug, Dean’s eyes scan the room.

“She’s not coming,” Jody says, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“I wasn’t-” The mom look she gives him cuts him off. She knows. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

The monthly get-togethers had started a while back at Jody’s insistence. He and Sam hadn’t been able to make it last month, and he was hoping… Well, he doesn’t know what he was hoping for, not sure if the flood of emotion is unmitigated relief or agonizing disappointment.

“How are you?”

“Good. I’m good,” he lies. He’s so far from good he doesn’t even know how to explain it. “You?”

Jody lets the lie slide this time. “The girls haven’t killed each other yet, and no one is pregnant. So, I’m taking the win.” Patting him on the arm, she steps around him to hug Sam.

“Who’s manning the grill?” It’s a safe enough subject. Or so he thought.

“Garth.” Jody chuckles.

“Oh, hell no! I like some pink, but I don’t want my meat still mooing.” He takes off in the direction of the backyard to save their meal.

A couple of hours later, everyone sated with good food and the alcohol of their choice for those old enough; the group lounges around the fire pit, making s'mores, sharing stories, and enjoying each other’s company.

Dean excuses himself to take a leak. Returning from the bathroom, he heads toward the kitchen to sneak another slice of pie but stops short upon hearing Alex.

“Dean looks hap- well… like he’s doing okay. You think it’s just a cover?”

“Hard to tell. He went home with some waitress a couple of weeks back.” Sam overshares, and Dean can visualize the disapproving bitch face and condescending roll of his eyes.

“Really?” Donna tosses out. “He back to his old habits? Or, ah y’ know, just trying to drown his sorrows ‘cause he still loves her?”

Of course, I still love her! Do they honestly think I could ever stop?

“Honestly, I don’t think he ever stopped. He probably loves her more than ever. Even if he refuses to talk about it.”

That’s because it’s none of your goddamn business, little brother. Sharing my feelings like we’re in some chick flick ain’t gonna change anything.

There is no way in hell he will ever tell Sam that all he did was drop the waitress off at her home—walked her to the door, waited until she was safely inside, then left. Instead of going back to the motel to put up with more of Sam’s whiny nagging, he’d parked on an old dirt track and spent the night in Baby, dreaming about her, trying to recapture even the tiniest scrap of happiness.

“Have you talked to her?” Sam asks.

Oh shit, what if it gets back to her about the waitress?

He hadn’t given any thought to it becoming a rumor that might make its way back to her.

Sam and his stupid big mouth.

Flirting with that woman had been a means to an end, an old habit resurfacing to disguise his misery and to stop Sam’s perpetual insistence to call and make things right or let go and move on.

Dean refuses to call. The threat is even bigger than before. There’s no moving on, either. The memories that haunt him are no longer of his time in the pit but of the hell of losing her. Every time he closes his eyes, she’s there—the warmth of her body, her sweet scent, the whisper of her voice, the taste of her lips. All of it was a reminder of what a thickheaded fool he was to push her away... to hurt her the way he did.

“Yeah. She’s moving next week. Cooper asked her to-”

Throat closing around a lump of guilt and pain, he stumbles forward—guilt for treating her the way he did and pain for the finality of knowing that he will never be able to call her ‘mine’ again.

He needs air, the open road.

Striding toward the front door, he hollers over his shoulder to no one in particular that he’ll be back later. Not waiting for a response, he’s outside and backing out of the driveway in a matter of seconds, speeding toward the clearing by the lake a few miles away. The sound of Baby’s engine helps to ease muscles held tight with tension and soothe the anger raging in his soul.

She’d shared what she had dubbed Stargazer’s Loch with him a few years back. He’d shown up at Jody’s after a bad hunt, and she’d been there recovering from a hunting injury of her own. She’d brought him out here, told him it was her sanctuary, a place of peace and inspiration. It was the night he’d admitted to himself that he was falling in love with her.

They’d run into each other several times before, worked a few cases together, and had fun hanging out, playing darts, or hustling drunk locals out of their hard-earned cash at pool, but he’d never ‘gone for it’ with her. Something about her was different. He felt different around her. He had never wanted her to be just another notch on his bedpost. It had taken him a while, but at this lake, is where he first told her he was in love with her.

Not until he’s lying on the hood, back against the windshield and staring at the stars, does he let his mind wander and the tears fall. The months had dragged on, but with years of experience under his belt, he shoved down the regret and loneliness, locking it away with all the other crap. He can put on a good show for others with a smile plastered on his face and a nonchalant attitude. Yet, there are still times, usually when he is relaxed, guard down, like tonight, they rise to the surface like a tidal wave.

He’d heard things about her in passing from other hunters—She looked happy. Saw her in Chicago outside a museum, dressed for some fancy event… Colorado… New York… California—but nothing about another guy. She’s obviously traveling a lot, but no one seems to know what she’s doing. He knows she’s not hunting, though. Anyone who had spoken with her said she wouldn’t assist with anything beyond what she knew of the lore. Said that she’d told them, ‘I’m not a hunter.’ His harsh accusation echoed back to him.

How could he have said that to her? She was a great hunter—an exquisite balance of book and street smarts, keen instinct, skill, and heart. He’s glad she’s not hunting, though. She’s safer and seemingly happier. It’s what he wanted for her. She’s better off without him. He just wishes his heart had gotten the message.

Absentmindedly reaching for a hand that’s no longer there, finding only cold metal, his chest seizes, and he chokes on a sob. Fuck, he misses her. Of all the idiotic things he’s done over the years, forcing her away ranks the highest. He wishes he could tell her that it was all a lie. He figures she knows. He simply had given her no choice.

Folding his hands on his stomach, he does nothing to curb the surge of tears streaming from his eyes. There’s no reason to repair the dam with no one around to suffer the flood. So he lets the groundswell of memories wash over him.

“The porch?” Delicate fingers traced along his temple, curling behind his ear, thumb strumming over his cheekbone.

“Wrap-around,” a quick peck to her palm, “a porch swing facing a lake so we can watch the thunderstorms in the spring and the leaves change in the fall. Rocking chairs for when we get old.”

She laughed. “You? Sitting in a rocking chair? Doing nothing? I don’t care how old you are. I don’t buy it.”

“As long as you’re next to me, I can do anything.”

It had become a post-bad hunt ritual. They would lie in bed, the back of the Impala, or, weather permitting, beneath the stars, usually naked but always wrapped in each other’s arms, and talk about where they would live, the home he would build for her when they got out. A way to escape the current reality of their life. The thin thread of hope they clung to while holding tight to each other.

“In the mountains, away from everyone. In the winter, we’ll hole up and hibernate like bears. In the summer, we’ll go skinny dipping in the lake.”

Soft lips, breath moist and hot against his ear. “With no one else around, we could stay naked all the time.”

“I like how you think.” He’d taken her then, on top of the old fleece in the middle of a field lit only by firefly glow and a sky pin holed by stars. Gentle and slow, teasing out moans and getting drunk on every whimper and sigh she surrendered to him.

He’d had the perfect property in mind, Rufus’ old safe house in Montana. They could fix it-it up exactly how they wanted. He’d never mentioned it, though, before everything fell apart. He’d wanted to surprise her, check into actually purchasing it, and start renovations.

Hell, he’d even fantasized about proposing, down on one knee in front of the refurbished home when he told her to remove the blindfold. But with each new hunt, the threat grew bigger and badder, the burden to save innocent lives grew exponentially, and the struggle to keep those he cared about safe and alive became an almost impossible endeavor. So he pushed—shoved—her out of his life and away from danger.

“I want you to leave.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep in my old room tonight.”

“No. I want you to pack your things and get out of the bunker. I’m tired of having to rescue you. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to try and keep you from getting yourself killed all the time.”

“Rescue me?! You didn’t rescue me. I killed that bitch before you even got to me. You’re being an asshole! How-” She’d cut herself off, tilted her head, and huffed, “huh.” Eyes narrowed, she’d clicked her tongue. “I get it. I know what you’re doing, and I’m not leaving. You’re scared. Afraid that something will happen to me. You can’t make me hate you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what I can make you do. Hate me or not, it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, “I don’t want you here. You’re not a hunter. You’re a liability.”

The forceful harshness he put behind the words, the way he had sarcastically called her sweetheart, drawing himself up to tower over her, had made her stumble in shock, gripping the desk for support as she bumped into it.

He’ll never be able to dislodge the memory of utter devastation drenched in sorrow—exhale of disbelief, trembling bottom lip, the twitch of her eye as tears gathered on her lashes—right before it was all hidden behind a stoic mask. Once she had steeled herself against his acerbity, she didn’t plead or yell, didn’t try to change his mind with honey-drenched words or soft touches. No harsh discourse left her lips.

The calm acceptance she’d radiated had been unexpected, and a shiver caressed his spine. He’d felt relief and disappointment within the same heartbeat. He’d wanted her to be angry, curse the day she met him and walk out to never look back, but she hadn’t.

After the initial pause, he’d understood what she was doing. She had always tried to ease his burdens whenever possible, and even then, when her heart was most likely as broken and battered as his, she had still wanted to make it less difficult for him. It hadn’t lessened any of the pain.

“I love you.”

That was it. Nothing else. Stared him dead in the eye, standing tall and creating an imposing figure of her own. Three words, filled with so much promise and hope, nearly broke his resolve.

Instead, he spat, “Yeah, well, sucks to be you,” and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Two steps into the hallway, the sensation of his heart being ripped from his chest made him stumble and press a hand against the cold tile to stay upright. Unlike in hell, there was a finality to it. There would be no rejuvenation. He wouldn’t wake up the following day and be whole again; he’d be left with a void in his chest for the rest of his days.

It nearly had him turning around to fall on his knees in front of her, beg for forgiveness, and plead with her never to leave him.

He reminded himself why he was doing this. He couldn’t keep her safe. The target on her back would only continue to grow the longer she stayed with him. The next step was painful, forced, but with each subsequent footfall, his pace quickened until he sprinted through the garage and spun Baby’s tires as he hauled ass away from the bunker… from her… from the self-inflicted misery.

Even though he’d driven for hours, returning just before sunrise, he’d yearned to find her still there, waiting—her anger, her stubbornness, her love, refusing to let her leave. He’d suffer anything she threw at him, every angry word, every slap, kick, or punch hurled, just to see her.

As soon as the Impala’s front tires had hit the concrete, brutal misery encompassed him. The space where she’d kept her truck was empty, as hollow as his chest.

He’d sat in the car for a long time cycling through the stages of grief, never reaching the final one. He has to accept it now, though, right? She’s moving in with some guy. A guy that’s not him.

He waited too long. Too afraid, too ashamed to contact her.

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deans-baby-momma // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

#comment reblog #123passwort

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deliciouskeys · 2 years ago

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Thanks for tagging me @123passwort .

three ships: Butchlander has consumed my brain since binging The Boys in September. It made me return to ao3 and tumblr which I somehow left in 2019. What a fool I was. Also very fond of Negan x Rick Grimes and Batman x Joker.

first ever ship: George of the Jungle x Ursula Stanhope (super cute and wholesome)? Or maybe Claude Frollo x Esmeralda (super fucked up)?

last song: Michael Buble- Santa Baby (I think this still stands as the gayest Christmas song)

last movie: rewatched Far from the Madding Crowd (2015). As good as I remember from the movie theater.

currently reading: just started George Saunders’ recent short story anthology Liberation Day

currently watching: nothing, to be honest. I can’t make it past the first 1-2 episodes of most shows, idk if it’s a me or them problem.

currently consuming: Unseasoned, raw, white tofu. 🙈

currently craving: a new boyfriend, but without the horrible hassle of dating and meeting strangers lol

If you feel like playing along (don´t feel pressured) 😚, tagging @xieyaohuan @fantasticpants @blindmagdalena @mkqdot05 @masksonmasks

#i got tagged #meme #current zeitgeist

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violetmina · 1 year ago

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Chokehold - Ch. 10

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

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

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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year ago

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#Consume All The Fics:

@hannibal-shits-people @captainsophiestark @vintagevalentinex @alicenwrites @justagirlinafandomworld

#Supernatural Stars:

@princessmisery666 @witchygagirl @sweetjedi @awesomesusiebstuff @riversong-sam @deanwinchesterswitch @yetanotherattemptatanaccount @roseblue373 @123passwort

Waiting For A Love Like This

Characters: Sam Winchester x reader

Summary: Sam has been in love with his best friend for so long that loving them is like breathing. He has successfully kept the depth of his feelings hidden, but there’s only so long you can hold back those three words before they find a way to escape.

Word Count: 1547 words

Prompt: Fluff. Best friends. Kiss without thinking. Sharing clothes. Blurted out confession.

A/N: @princessmisery666 and @witchygagirl both hit me up with similar prompts for this one, so I squished them together to create this fluff for you.

“I love you.”

The world stood still, time stopped and now those words were out of his mouth Sam wished he could have just swallowed them down, like every other time they had nearly escaped him. Holding his breath, his wide eyes, filled with panic, met yours.

He watched as you tried to figure out if he had really just thrown that grenade into your friendship, if he had really been stupid enough to actually confess his feelings and ruin a relationship that had become so important to both of you over the years. He took in the tremble of your lip as your mouth opened slightly, no words forthcoming. He took in the slight furrow of your brow, one which he knew from experience indicated a high level of confusion. He took in the way you just stood there, staring at him, and although his lungs burned for him to take a breath, he had simply forgotten how.

He should have just kept his feelings for you to himself instead of blurting them out, but now it was too late.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in love with you for years, hiding his adoration for fear of losing you. Sam hadn’t realised he’d fallen for you at first. You had slipped into his life so easily, seemed like you had always been right there, and your friendship was important to him. You were his best friend. He could vent to you in ways he couldn’t with Dean, but he didn’t like to be weak in front of you, wanted you to think he was brave and could protect you, not that you needed it.

The first time he had really opened up to you had been after a particularly traumatic hunt. A hunt that had you all driving in silence for the long hours of the night, nobody sleeping as the images of dead children played any time your eyes closed. As soon as you got to the bunker, he was out of the Impala, grabbing his bag and disappearing at a rate only those ridiculously long legs could manage.

You had found him though, sitting on the bathroom floor, knees pulled up to his chest as he silently sobbed. He hated that you saw him like this; hated that he didn’t want you to leave. Sam felt you settle down beside him on the cold tiles, felt your hand come to rest on his back, stroking soft small circles against the flannel as your own tears fell.

When he had gathered himself together enough to stop crying, he sat up, resting his head back against the wall as his eyes scrunched closed. He felt you shift then, and part of him wanted to reach for you, to keep you with him. Sam heard your footsteps walk out of the room and he cursed himself for being so pathetic, for being so weak. So deep in this spiral of regret and grief, he didn’t register your return, until you were crouched in front of him, something clutched in your hands.

“You’re shivering.” You said softly. “Take off that shirt and put this on.”

Sam looked at the soft grey material you held out to him. It was a hoodie he had leant you a while ago, and had been fairly certain would never be returned to him. Without a word, he removed his shirt and pulled on the hoodie.

The first thing that hit him was the way the fabric smelled of you. It was gentle and reassuring, a comfort which combined with the warmth to make him feel as if he was wrapped in you. As his head emerged from the confines of this new comfort cocoon, he was greeted with the sight of you shrugging on his discarded shirt, an image that would be seared into his memory. There was just something about seeing you wearing his clothes, and that was when he realised that this was so much more than friendship on his part. He liked the idea of you being his. The pain of the hunt now receded, the anxiety of his new discovery dwarfing it so easily. He was in love with his best friend. He was in love with you, and he could never tell you!

The problem was, now he knew what he was feeling, it was like those three words fought to get out, to be heard and acknowledged. Lay in a motel bed, Sam rested an arm behind his head as he closed his eyes and smiled to himself. He could hear the soft clanking of the pipes as lukewarm water made their way to the slightly rusty showerhead. He could hear the soft pattering of water against the flimsy shower curtain. He could hear you singing to yourself, and that was enough to put a goofy smile on his face. It was all too easy to imagine you in there, shampoo in your hair as you put on a dramatic rendition of your favourite ‘go-to’ shower songs. Not that Sam was thinking about you being naked in there! Fuck. Now he was thinking about you being naked in there, and that brought a heat to his cheeks he was unprepared for.

“What’s up with you?” Dean asked as he wandered into the room, arms clutching paper bags filled with whatever he’d managed to find for breakfast.

Those words had nearly escaped him, he had been so close to simply saying to his big brother, ‘I’m in love’. Instead, Sam ended up having a coughing fit as he scrambled to get out of bed and put all thoughts of you and showers out of his mind.

Dean wasn’t the only person he nearly confessed to. The two of you had been researching in the library, a comfortable quiet, broken only by the turning of pages and the occasional sigh of frustration. Due to the lack of windows in the bunker, time seemed to hold no meaning and Sam could not say for certain, without checking his watch, just how long you had been at this. What he did know, was that you’d reached your limit.

Putting his book down, he stretched his arms over his head and rolled his shoulders. Looking over to you, he had intended to ask if you’d found anything, only to find you had fallen asleep. Your arms were folded over your book, and your head rested on them. Your hair was messy, and he wasn’t entirely certain, but it was possible you were drooling slightly. A soft smile played on his lips as he found himself just watching you sleep. You looked so peaceful, and Sam longed to be able to watch you sleep every night.

“Have you found what you were looking for?” Cas asked, breaking Sam from his revery.

Again, those words were on the tip of his tongue, but he fought them back. He knew if they made it out into the world that he was done for, that he would be made to tell you and then there would be no more of these moments. Instead, he simply said ‘no’, then got to his feet and began putting books away.

Things had been going so well. Sam had managed to hold back his confession and the two of you were closer than ever, then that damned demon had taken him down.

Another motel, another bathroom, another patch up job. He had sat dutifully on the side of the bath as you bathed the cuts on his shoulders and the one on his forehead, as well as his burst lip. He tried not to think about how close you were stood, about how gentle your touch was, how warm your breath felt against his bare skin. His fingers itched to rest on your hips, to pull you closer, to feel you pressed against him, so he gripped the edge of the bath a little tighter, an action you mistook for pain.

“There, all done.” You said softly, leaning forward and placing a kiss to his forehead and then to his sore lip. Both kisses were brief, fleeting, done without thought. You had simply been ‘kissing him better’, but the small action had caused his brain to short circuit.

“I love you.”

Sam hadn’t been certain he’d said it out loud for a fraction of a second, and then his world collapsed in on itself as he tried to read your reaction. This was it. You would probably be polite about things, pull away from him slowly before disappearing from his life and becoming just a memory.

“I love you too.” Your words were whispered, and it wasn’t until he felt your fingers running through his hair that he allowed himself to believe this was real.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you just looked at each other for a while before smiles spread across your faces and laughter erupted, eradicating the tension that had once been so thick.

“Wait, you know that I mean I love you in a romantic way, right? Not in a ‘friend’ way.”

“Yeah, Sammy, I got that.”

“Good.” His hands found their way to your hips, and he pulled you close, gazing at you in pure adoration. Maybe he should have told you sooner.

#reblog with tags

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