#butcher: i loathe supes.

[damnsupes]

butcher & the gen v gang when ?

[eclecticqueennerd]

Confessions

Part 3

*language, mentions of r*pe, kidnapping, mild gaslighting, brief mentions of smeggs, angst*

Butcher POV

You lot didn’t deserve how he’s been treating you lately, pushing you to the brink of exhaustion and then pushing some more. His need for revenge for Lenny caused Kimiko to almost die. No, that was her fault. She shouldn’t have jumped in front of Soldier Boy. Sure, Frenchie could have been killed but still, Kimiko will get better, she always does. At least y/n wasn’t hurt.

Oh y/n. He could list all the reasons as to why he fell hard and fast for you but there’s not enough hours in the day. Where he barked orders to the crew, you were there to keep their spirits up. When he fell victim to his thoughts of self-loathing, you were there to talk him off the ledge. You showed the boys loyalty when you finally got your revenge on the supe that killed your husband after finding out how high the Vought shit ladder went. You were support, humility, loyalty, kindness, knowledge, and compassion. Everything that Butcher wasn’t.

But then you had to go and become the very thing he despised. A fucking supe. In the back of his mind, he knew y/n was forced into becoming enhanced and that he shouldn’t have stormed out, especially after finding out how Homelander violated you. But even in the best of times, Butcher can’t control his anger. Despite how many times you’d tell him he’s not, he’s exactly who his father says he is.

*flashback*

When you were kidnapped by Homelander, Butcher went into beast mode. Anyone who had the smallest bit of information on where you were located was met with brutality that even made the boys nervous to be around him. When Grace told him that you were found and safe with her, he damn near dropped everything to drive as fast as he could to meet you. He had to see that you were alright. He needed to hold you and by doing so, would calm the waves of fury, sadness, and relief that was pulsing through his veins. He had to tell you that he loved you.

Grace refused to tell him your exact location, per your request. You should have just spit in his face, it would have the same effect. When the two of you were reunited, all the ill feelings dissipated as he finally got to embrace you. She’s fine, she’s here, my y/n.

“Where ya been dove, what took you so long?”

“Sorry, I wanted to stay longer to train.”

“You let some other cunt train ya? I coulda done it.”

The calm went as quickly as it came once new information came to light on how to take Vought down. Butcher never got the chance to confess his feelings.

While on missions together, Butcher wanted to but never breached the topic of what happened while you were kidnapped. He wanted you to trust him and tell him in your own time, as he did with you about Lenny. He was attentive to whatever needs you had; you did not want for nothing. As time progressed, he noticed subtle differences. You were quick to catch things falling off the kitchen table, you were finally able to open that jar of pickles you always asked Butcher to open, he purposely tightened it each time to make sure you’d come to him for help. One night you cut yourself with a paring knife while mincing garlic and the next morning,

“Hey, how’s the finger?”

“What about it?”

“Ya cut it last night making dinner.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did, I patched you up.”

“I think you dreamed that, Billy. See?” Butcher looks at your finger, “My finger is fine.”

“Huh, guess I did dream it.”

“Looks like we’ve been hanging out too much, you’re starting to dream about me dicing my fingers off.” Y/n was also increasingly jumpy around him even though he was as gentle as possible around her.

In hindsight, this should have been a red flag, but he's always been blinded when it comes to you. Now, piecing it all together it makes sense after you told him you were a supe.

“Hello, Earth to Butcher.” Maeve snapped her fingers. He came back to the task at hand, the Temp- V. Frenchie and Kimiko were at the hospital, MM quit the mission and went back to his apartment and tasked Hughie and y/n with finding Soldier Boy after he blew up a small building in New York.

“Did you even hear a word I said, Butcher?” Maeve asked. He shrugged,

“No.” Maeve scoffed.

“You should apologize to her.”

“To who?”

“Y/n.”

“You’ve got no business talking to me about y/n. How bout you just give me the Temp-V and fuck off?”

“Come one I know the two of you are fighting right now. She’s your friend and if you just tell her-“

“Who the fuck is telling you all this, eh?”

“Starlight.”

“Well, that cunt doesn’t know everything. I’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’ve done nothing wrong.” That’s fucking lie. Maeve threw the packet of vials on the couch.

“Fine, don’t take my advice. What do I know?” Just before Maeve left, Butcher stood up and offered her a drink of vodka.

“I’m 4 months sober you asshole.”

“Oh... Starlight never told me.”

“Like you said that bitch doesn’t know everything.” Maeve looks at the bottle and back to Butcher, she grabs the class and plops herself onto the couch. As the evening sky turned black, Butcher and Maeve busied themselves fucking on MM’s desk in the corner of the hideout.

“You know what Butcher? You’re a real piece of shit.”

Yeah, yeah, he was.

[theredofoctober]

TWO TIME- BILLY BUTCHER X READER FIC

Crossposted from AO3

Synopsis: Reader is a double agent, struggling with the guilt of informing on the Boys' movements to Homelander. Butcher gets suspicious, and corners Reader in the office to get to the bottom of his feelings...

Reader's gender is not specified

TW: noncon/dubcon, threat, idk Billy is his own warning

Story after the cut, keep reading

It's dark when you return to base, the night swallowing the city like a pothole as you edge furtively through the front door, hoping to pass through it unseen.

You hate coming here. The precarious balance of risk, an asp-coil of danger; you loathe every aspect of your employment, yet you are bound to it through your need to do what's right. Through your loyalty to each member of the operation, who consider you one of them, now.

Even him.

Billy Butcher's rough voice lunges out of the the gloom like a jumping spider, all grinding catankerous gravel.

"What bloody time do you call this?"

He's been waiting for you for hours, must have been, broiling in a stew of his own temper.

"Uh, I don't think it's that late, sir," you stammer. "It's only 9.30..."

"Cunt o'clock, is what it is."

The boss watches you remove your coat, his every motion electric with distrust. One eye squints, a swollen pomegranate ripened by some stranger's fist, and there is blood under the black scruff of beard along his jawline. It scares you how often Butcher seeks out an uneven fight, a masochist, for all his posturing ego.

From across the room you smell him: the musk of sweat, stale cologne, the fug of beer. Rancid. 

"You were due in at seven," Butcher gripes. "Been snuggling up to your pet Supe Homelander all night, have you?"

Primly, you hang up your hat and scarf on the wall hooks, each layer seeming to unearth a new vulnerability.

"Yes, I've been spending time with him," you say. "On your orders, sir."

You hate that Butcher holds this over you, the jig you're forced to dance between him and the tyrannical leader of the Seven. By day, you're the Homelander's latest fling, gleaning intel and private dirt from every interaction. By night, you belong to the Boys, although not entirely, nor could you ever be when the most powerful man in the world scents, on your skin, wherever you go, and who with.

Homelander lets you come here. He seems to thoroughly enjoy whatever game it is he's playing with these lesser beings, their fumbling attempts to end his monstrous reign.

If Butcher ever knew of this particular truth you suspect that you'd be dead. A traitor's end, luridly bloody in the manner of all things pertaining to this man and his hard justice.

"Sometimes I think you stretch my orders to the bloody limit," Butcher complains.

He can't let go of his resentment; more prodding comes, like devilish clockwork, quick, and cutting, and predictable.

"Sleepovers with Supertwat weren't on the fucking schedule. I'm starting to think you like the bastard."

"No," you murmur, placatingly. "Of course not. How could I? He's horrible."

Still, you don't meet the boss's eye as you hand him the folder you've been carrying under one arm, only linger, fidgeting, as he rifles through your painstakingly typed-out notes.

Of the rest of the team only two others are present: the Female, Kimiko, hunching low over a desk, and Frenchie, who watches you with an unhappy empathy, his arms wrapped tightly around his thin knees. They both look tired, strung out, as keen to leave as you are.

"At least Starlight had an excuse to fratsernise with Homelander," sneers Butcher, warming to his theme. "I don't like all this extracurricular you're putting in, alright?"

Tiring of the conversation, you mumble, timidly, "If Homelander asks me to stay late with him, then I have to do it. He gets so agitated; at any second he could hurt me, kill me. If he gets suspicious—"

"Always an excuse, eh, Two-Time?" 

At this you physically flinch.

"Please don't call me that."

"Everyone gets a name here, treacle," says Butcher, grinning widely, proud to have struck a nerve. "Cheer up; least I haven't called you a cunt."

"Not yet," Frenchie mutters, and the boss looks up sharply. 

"Got something to say, have you?"

The smaller man turns up the collar of his jacket and shrinks away into it.

"Nothing, nothing, mon ami."

Kimiko glances up from the table and signs quickly at Frenchie. You only know a smattering of the language, but one particular phrase you do understand, and tighten your lips against a laugh. You can't afford to rankle Butcher any further, who is clearly looking to start a fight with everyone, anyone, and no one in particular.

Attempting to placate him, you say, "Butcher, please. I think I'm starting to gain Homelander's trust. He tells me things about his feelings. He's very insecure. If we use that, we have a way in. To take him down."

Butcher merely grumbles under his breath, engrossed in your notes again. There is more to his mood than suspicion: a seething, reluctant jealousy, threatened by your proximity to Homelander, with whom he shares a vicious rivalry. Neither man can stand to have his authority shaken, but at times you almost fear Butcher more for his sheer lack of limitations.

Sensing the ugliness of his mood, you persist with your attempts to soothe him, aware, as you do so, of how low your self-respect has sunk.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't back on time," you rasp. "I'll do better. I didn't mean to undermine you, sir."

"Should fucking hope not."

Butcher's mood recedes slightly, and in the corner of your eye you see Frenchie shaking his head. He knows how to grovel better than anyone; you've heard it whispered that he's knelt to many men and women, and taken pleasure in it, as well as suffering.

Has Frenchie ever been on his knees for Butcher in this way?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. The thin line of Frenchie's mouth suggests that even he disapproves of your weakness.

Ashamed, you twist away, glancing longingly at your coat again.

"I... I should go," you falter. "Everything I got out of Homelander today is in that file. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

"Stay right there," says Butcher, sharply. "You and me are gonna have a private natter, one to one."

You blood runs like Arctic water, and you sense Frenchie's tension, Kimiko's mutinous stare.

"Is something wrong, sir?" you ask, quietly.

Butcher shrugs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips.

"You tell me," he says. "If you're as squeaky clean as you claim to be then you've got nothing to worry about, have you, love?"

He claps his rough hands together, and you almost jump out of your skin.

"Come on, then. Let's get it over with."

You scamper at his heels, your gut churning with nerves.

Butcher swaggers into a seldom used office and sits behind the desk, swinging his boots up onto its surface.

"Shut the door," he says. "Don't want them two lovebirds earwigging."

With quivering hands you obey, your eyes cast downwards, anywhere away from him.

"Got any idea what you're doing here?" asks Butcher, straight to business.

You shake your head with a perhaps telling quickness.

"No, I don't, sir."

Butcher groans softly.

"Fucking listen to ya. Like butter wouldn't melt. Makes a difference from the usual cuntery I have to put up with."

You don't reply, only shift from foot to foot like a student pulled up before the headteacher.

"Here's the thing," says Butcher. "I think there's a lot more to you than meets the eye. By which I mean to say, I reckon that you're a fucking liar."

Fear makes rigid every tendon in your body, and you shrink into yourself, your gaze still fixed on the floor, picking out every speck of dust and groove in the boards.

"I— I haven't lied about anything," you murmur, tremulously.

But as Butcher's mouth twists upwards like the grimace of a Halloween mask you regret the words, a stupid falsehood.

"Your report's lacking in some serious detail," Butcher announces. "You haven't said one piddly word about what Homelander has to say about me, and believe me, I know he's said something. Thinks about me like a school girl who's been sent a Valentines' card, the creepy fucker."

"He... he hasn't mentioned you to me lately," you say, clinging to bland denial. "We're close, but there's still a lot of stuff he won't talk about. This is what I was trying to tell you, I need more time—"

"Nah."

Butcher brings his boots down from the desk and leans towards you, his head at a predatory angle.

"You're hiding something."

Your mouth clicks dryly, robbed of its saliva.

"Sir, I—"

"'Sir' my left bollock. Wanna guess how I know there's something up?"

He's been following you, or some unknown party has ratted you out, or else Homelander himself has stopped by to gloat, and make you look the fool.

Perspiration gathers at the back of your neck, and you don't dare reach up to wipe it away.

Butcher says, "I can tell there's something wrong 'cause you can never look me in the fucking eye."

You glance up, unable to shield your surprise.

"Oh. That— that isn't because of Homelander. It's— I—"

Your voice is small, a humiliating wisp.

You can't look at him because you're afraid of him, and would be even if you were not guilty.

A new emotion blooms in Butcher's black eyes, something cruel, and clever, and gleeful. It boils your core with a nervous anticipation of what he may do to you, what you've long imagined him doing, in the sweating darkness of your bedroom, in the night.

"What was that, darlin'?" asks Butcher "You went a bit quiet there."

He stands up from the desk and prowls towards you, and you realise, with a start, how tall he is, his stature—draped in clashing shirt and black overcoat—of the the kind that might engulf you with a mere embrace.

You feel small, so very small, exhilarated, and afraid.

"Oi," says Butcher. "Look at me."

With effort you raise your eyes to his. He seems to like what he sees there, for some of his aggression narrows away, or else morphs into a more playful version of itself.

"Butcher," you almost-whisper, and he lists over you, holding your stare for so long that you wish you'd thought to drop the report and run.

"Nervy little thing, ain'tcha?" he says, mockingly. "Scared shitless. Think I'm gonna hurt you?"

You nod, incapable of speech.

"Aww," says Butcher, and pats your cheek mockingly. "Don't be stupid. You ain't a Supe; I got no reason to smack you about unless you give me one."

A current of anticipation sparks through you, and you nod again, swallowing a filmy clot of spit.

"That's the ticket," Butcher growls, and tilts back your head with a coarse gentleness, admiring your mouth, your throat, your body under the many layers of clothes. 

It's cold in New York, and you've dressed for it, although you suspect that this measure won't last long.

"I wanna see you prove that you're my soldier," says Butcher, slyly. "Dedicated to the bloody cause."

You dither, feeling stupid and clumsy and eager, at pains not to make a greater fool of yourself. 

"I... do you want me to..."

Your eyes dart about madly, resting, finally, at the buckle of Butcher's belt, thinking of Homelander, the usual manner of settling his temper.

Butcher notices the path of your gaze, and revels in it.

"Go on," he urges. "Don't be shy."

He's grinning ear to ear, observing your flustered glances and desperate want to please him. When you reach out shaking fingers to the front of his trousers and touch his groin you find it hard, and wonder how long it's been so. 

"Fucking hell," Butcher breathes.

He watches you with remarkable restraint as you undo his belt buckle and zipper, releasing his rigid heat into your palm. Guilt thrums in a sickly undercurrent as you work your hand along him, thinking how quickly Butcher would turn if he knew all the nastiness Homelander has spilled into your ear about him. All the admiration, the hatred, and the love.

Butcher jerks your face upright again, giving you a little shake of warning.

"If I wanted to stare at the back of your head I'd fuck you over the desk. Keep looking at me, love."

With your fist still around his cock Butcher kisses you, forcefully, but not without a certain affection. It takes you aback, having assumed, through his relentless taunting, that he despises you. 

Now you're not so sure. 

"Get on your knees, Two-Time" Butcher says, softly, and although you wince at the moniker you lower yourself down with murmured assent.

"Yes, sir."

"Sir," Butcher repeats, and laughs. "Where did that even come from, eh?"

Still, you can tell he loves the submission in your voice, the fumbling quickness with which you scramble down onto the floor to take him. He's big, suffocating you with his girth as he rocks into your throat, one large hand coming to the back of your head to force you, struggling, against him.

You pull back, gasping a whooping breath.

"Please, Butcher..."

"Too rough for you, darlin'?"

You think he'll shove you back down again, but he pets your hair coarsely and leers.

"Look at them fucking puppy eyes. Can't say no to that, can I? There you go, then. Do the work yourself."

He releases you, allowing you to take his arousal at your own pace. You lap at his shaft, feeling stupid and unskilled and still so wanting of his praise. Yet you don't even need him to speak: every grunt and mutter and clash of his teeth feeds you with the knowing that he adores every second of the attention.

"Been thinking about doing this for months," he rasps. "I could have been fucking you all over the place, and I waited this long..."

Butcher tugs himself free of your throat on a stream of glittering drool and leers as you wait wordlessly for his command. 

"I'm gonna fuck you silly," he says, "and when I'm finished you'll thank me for such a lovely time."

Then he barks, abruptly, "Oi! Where are you going?"

This added as you scramble up, towards the door, caught in a sudden crisis of conscience and common sense.

"We— we can't do this," you stammer. "I can't. Homelander—"

"He can go fuck himself," snaps Butcher. "You're mine, not his. He can fight me for you."

"He—"

"You gonna keep arguing with me, sunshine?"

You stand, one hand pressed to your slick mouth in horror of what you've allowed to go so far. All too easy to envision Homelander boiling your core to acid with a bolt of his stare, breaking your skull as simply as shattering a tea cup.

Butcher clearly reads these thoughts in your expression, for he says, in a slightly gentler tone, "He won't hurt you, alright? I won't let him. Trust the boss."

Unconvinced, you only dither, and the softness in Butcher skids away.

"You want this," he grinds out, "or you would've buggered off out of here already. Wouldn't ya?"

You hold your silence, shaking so violently that you catch a fragment of your tongue between your teeth and taste the salt tang of blood. In some sideways fashion Butcher is giving you the opportunity to flee, and yet you remain, shackled by your coward's yearning to appease him.

A shuddering breath escapes you, and Butcher twitches his head irritably.

"Say somethin', will you?" he grumbles.

His length is a stone in his fist, and you sense that he holds himself back from you only to preserve some unspoken rule, waiting for permission with the trembling violence of an attack dog, which, with a word, might be called down.

"I—" you start, and cough, your voice so thin that there is no substance to it. 

Moistening your lips, you try again.

"I, uh, I want to follow orders, sir."

Butcher looks at you sideways, and you feel want roll off him with the heaviness of a dream.

"Well, it's your lucky day, darlin', 'cause I've got one for you. See that cabinet over there? I want you stood, facing it, your hands on the doors. No moving about, no noise; don't want them nosy cunts in the other room asking questions."

Nodding, you cross the room and stand as you've been asked, shuddering gently as Butcher steps up behind you, his hot breath upon your neck. You know, both of you, that this is a very bad decision, and proves nothing but that each of you are prey to individual weakness.

Butcher is so still that you wonder if it is he, now, that's changing his mind, but then one vast hand pushes at your back, thrusting you flat against against the cabinet with a tinny jingle.

"Get your fucking legs apart," he growls, and you almost slip in your rush to acquiesce. "That's it. Nice and wide."

His fingers rip at your clothes with a black bear's savagery, baring your skin to him, the space between your thighs he's thought about, before now, in derisive and idle lust. Again he pauses, only to thrust two broad fingers into your mouth. You dare not think of the likelihood of them being unclean.

"Get 'em wet for me," says Butcher, and presses his knuckles to your tongue until they come away dripping with spittle.

You hear him snarl a coarse breath as he blunts his fingers inside you, as taken up by your plaintive moans as with your tightness. His hardness is like a switchblade against your thigh, and you remember, acutely, that you fear this man as much as you desire him. He knows it; you feel the smugness of it in his rough kisses on your neck and mouth as he ruts against you.

One palm cups the back of your skull, flattening your cheek to the filing cabinet as, in a ragged motion, he enters your yearning heat. He's so big that you cry out, the wounded whimper of a trapped coyote.

"Keep it down, I said," Butcher reminds you, but you hear the grin in his voice, endure, through his rough strokes, the madness of his appetite. 

And you— you're afloat in pleasure and submission, inebriated with it, like some God of drink and sex. Every curse and demand from Butcher lures another butterfly of sensation through you, and in the thicket of feeling you forget Homelander, forget that the man fucking you now is bad, and exploiting you for what you've so feebly offered up to him.

You've wanted, achingly, the freedom of being controlled, the pathetic thrill of degradation. The coarseness of it all is cheap, and filthy, and necessary. 

Butcher twists you about so that your back is against the cabinet, your legs a knot about his waist. He juts his face close to yours, and with a start of terror you realise that you're looking him in the eye, unable to escape their directness.

"Tell me who fucking owns you," says Butcher, and his possession coils about you like a strangling weed. "Say it."

He still thrusts within you, but slowly, brutally, until you have to ball your fists to prevent yourself from grasping him for support.

"Start talking. Who do you fucking belong to?"

"You!" you blurt out, at last. "You, not him, not Homelander—"

Butcher's mouth crushes yours in a grappling kiss, and there is a desperation in it as well as conceit. The pitiful nature of it somehow only strengthens your arousal, and as his strokes resume their previous force you slip into a quick and stunning ecstasy.

Butcher's eyes glaze, and you think, again, of some stupid, brutish animal, spirit of athirst, wild and thoughtless. He comes so hard that, in a slip of teeth, he bites your lip, and that slip of authority awakens, in you, an endless wonder.

"Shit," mutters Butcher.

He lets you down from him almost gently, then turns away, scrubbing your blood from his chin. Suddenly he is all shifting agitation, but if he regrets what he's done then he does not show it, smoothing away his inner thoughts with bluster.

"Glad we could clear the air, Two-Time. You get yourself cleaned up, then go home and write up that report the way you should have done the first time. I want it back here tomorrow. No pissing about."

Stuffing yourself back into your clothes you make conversation with the floor again.

"No, sir. I mean, yes, I'll do that. Of course."

You touch your lip gingerly, and Butcher has enough reluctant grace to acknowledge it.

"Better put something on that, love. Don't wanna spoil that pretty little face."

The compliment—a mockery, but a compliment, still—flowers a dim flush across your features. Butcher reaches up to pinch your cheek playfully as he saunters past you on his way to the door, his thumb grazing your warmth.

"Night, then."

It's only when Butcher is gone and you're standing alone, loose-limbed and quaking with exertion, that you think of Homelander again.

Fuck. What is he going to do to you when he finds out what you've done?

[hermywolf]

you know i have to respect the sheer amount of insane rage and murderous intent butcher possesses. like the incredible burning hatred he has for homelander is so strong and he spends so much time just thinking about how to kill him that you’d think it’s the single focus of his loathing but somehow he finds the time and energy to hate pretty much every single person on earth with a passion that rivals what most people feel in their entire lives. like yes he loathes homelander more than anything but the fact that he still has enough hatred left to channel on like. annie. who literally has never done anything to him but be a supe and fuck hughie. and he ALSO has enough energy and time to hate literally everyone alive except like three people. is simply hilarious to me. this man has SO much hate to give and by god does he give it

[thcrealheroes]

“ I’m going to kill you! ” / butcher to kessler

clearing out memes || @vghtsupes

" ....ARE YOU FUCKIN' KIDDIN' ME ? " IN DISBELIEF, QUESTIONABLY BLINKING, while trying to grasp the other man's words- one second they were in this together ? The two of them HAND IN HAND, ready to take down every single fucking supe once and for fucking all... and then the next ? Kessler scoffs, bitterly laughing with a shake of his head; he doesn't know whether to laugh out loud like a maniac or scream out of frustration and snap Billy out of it ! The older man wanted to tell him just how fucking STUPID AND WHIPPED HE was for a supe- the same thing they wanted to destroy, the same thing that was NO DIFFERENT than Home-fucking-Lander. " When did you have a change of heart ? What happened to ' all supes are the same ' ? Huh ? " Loathes the jealousy in his tone and how transparent it was that he was bothered by all of this. Everything was going perfectly. He finally persuaded Billy that there was no The Boys, no Ryan, and certainly no Starlight. That all was lost. Killing Homelander was the end goal of all of this, plus his favorite kink- GENOCIDE. But that Tinker Bell Bitch just wouldn't leave them be; she had gone after them, manipulated her way into Billy's head to convince him he didn't have to do this- that there was a cure ! He could be saved and could make things right. BLAH BLAH BLAH ! That stupid fucking bitch. She really did find a cure ? How... how did this- Kessler clenched his teeth together, hands balling into a fist by his sides.

  The older man was crushing Starlight with his tentacles, curling & curling around her neck- she'd be prettier DEAD. She was just in the way, and he couldn't have that. The betrayal was entirely unexpected.... thought that maybe... maybe Billy would turn against her... kill her... she made him weak; she held him back from his goals. She was a supe... how could he love a fucking supe ? His grip around her throat was suddenly gone when the two men were now facing each other; Billy had hurt him- he hurt him ? Kessler could hear the blonde supe gasping for air behind Billy. It made him rage- seeing Billy protected over her, deep down, he knew... that Billy had BLINDLY & STUPIDLY fallen for Starlight. He sneered maliciously, then directed a finger toward her. " You gonna kill me cause of her ? A fuckin' supe ? Who the fuck are you... what happened to us taking down Homelander ? You wanted this just as much as I did ? YOU WANTED THIS ! " Tentacles violently whipped around him, narrowing his hazel irises at the man with whom he once shared his heart. Oh, how brutal life can be. So he wanted to kill him now, did he ? Kessler's eyes flicker from Billy's to Starlight's, then back at Billy. " You wanna kill me ? You wanna-- kill me ? Pussy so good you'll give up killing Homelander for her, really ? You're tellin' me that she's worth it ? A fuckin' supe....! You ain't the Billy I remember, and I can't- I ain't 'bout to lose yeh to a bitch supe. You need a reminder of why we're doing what we're doing... and she's in the way. Kill me... but Imma kill her first. " 

[sharonisthebettercarter]

Honestly, kimiko should just rebel, follow her own rules and kicks Billy's ass because losing her arm to Zoey could mean the boys is no better than the shining light of liberation because wtf is she doing trying to kidnap a child (Zoe) from her parent? She's no better than the people who kidnapped her and kenji and she's no better than Billy either! Plus, there is a scene of kimiko jumping out the window, holding her injury. So, it must means she's going to possibly going to tell Billy to tell him to shod off and go live her own life; Get some modicum of peace with Frenchie maybe.

honestly? yeah.

and i wish i wish i wish, BUTT. sadly kimiko's got her own complexes and things she doesn't understand due to the way she was... well... stolen from her family and forced to be a soldier.

she's in survival mode, she is almost always in survival mode. she's been treated as a weapon and tends to act as a weapon because she had her humanity robbed from her. in some ways, her situation has a lot of depths that make her very similar to homelander in these regards

except~ kimiko is actually horrified of what she's capable of and what her 'survival mode' and 'weaponization' end up doing (most of the time). and the thing was, she *initially* blamed the v for it, but the underlying cause is her unaddressed *trauma* that puts her in survival mode in the first place (hence why she came to terms with it *sorta* and asked annie to get her the v again, realizing that v itself was a *tool* that she could use to protect the people she cares about).

the boys is no better than shining light *BECAUSE* of butcher. all of them want better and to do better and actually help. frenchie, kimiko, annie, hughie, mm, even mallory--

except butcher.

butcher just wants destruction, and he doesn't care what the cost is and is willing to sacrifice others or use them like pawns or weapons to get what he wants. he ends up being an especially frustrating character because you know that he has these valid grievances and plights and *could* actually do the right thing and give a shit about other people.

but he doesn't. especially the people who actually help him. he treats kimiko and starlight especially, but even his team, like GARBAGE~ with absolutely ZERO excuses for it

and even worse than that, he *uses* these plights as a means to garner sympathy and hide from any criticism for what he does like the gotdamn fucking daddy issues coward he is. he uses his own trauma legit in all the wrong worst ways possible not just to control and manipulate others, but as an excuse to be his absolute worst self and continue spiraling into all that hatred and self loathing.

AND it works!! people are more likely to excuse everything that butcher does! there's a part of me that blames fandom misogyny (for the mistreatment to our precious lady supes) at least a lil, but i also think it's in part to the story being told a good chunk from butcher's *side* of things, but the whole point is that butcher gets *proven wrong*. he is wrong from the start and is a massive fucking hypocrite, and the reader/viewer is supposed to come to this realization as the story unfolds and reveals more about him.

don't even get me started on the chaos in fandom right now, it's a fuckin' mess post gen v. i CAN NOT with the genocide apologism--

BUTCHER AND SHETTY AND CATE ARE ALL FUCKIN' WRONG--.

ANYWHO.

homelander, to some degree has some similar issues. except he's *not* self aware about the fact. he's also battling a different demon with the subconscious thought that he is wholly *unloveable* (which is why he is incapable of recognizing vought as his abuser and still seeks approval and admiration from those around him. he is seeking the means to love himself without realizing he can't actually learn to do that through others)

homelander is also easily manipulated, as to some degrees, is kimiko. hence where scumbag extraordinaire billy butcher comes in. butcher is slowly dragging down homelander to his fucked up level. kimiko and the boys are resisting because they are seeing through butcher's nonsense and dishonesty for once

hard agree that going after zoe isn't just a bad wrong stupid move, it is fucked beyond belief because when you get to the point when you start targetting actual fucking *CHILDREN*--.

there is no excuse for that. ever. EVER. that is why we have the geneva conventions, and yeah. butcher MAKES the boys leik actual fucking terrorists, but that is kinda the point ain't it?

i'm still hoping it's at least *kinda* a raw deal/wrong place, wrong time kinda thing where zoe is there but they weren't actually going after *her* specifically or that butcher withheld certain details/claimed they'd be *saving* her just to get his team on board (as per typical butcher fashion. UGH), but i mean... kidnapping a kid def ain't something butcher wouldn't lower himself to doing.

boi gets worse every season and he started out pretty damn bad.

but BOI, am i lookin' forward to the HELL to come~<3<3<3 ;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

[leagueofdccm]

❝  i’m not jealous,  who said i’m jealous?  ❞ - butcher to starlight

JEALOUS, FIERCLY PROTECTIVE & TERRITORIAL PROMPTS || @nghtmarish

" Then why are you being so-- " MEAN. BUT THAT WOULD SOUND CHILDISH COMING from the young blonde, wouldn't it ? But it's also not a lie, and Annie is heartbroken by how he's behaving towards her. Sure, they've had their moments-- many moments, in fact, where the two of them bump heads and get on each other nerves. But, then it's met with him and her... together, taking their frustration out on each other, well, that's how it felt in the beginning. HATE FUCKING him turned into a mere addiction at some point, like a scratch she needed to get rid of, but the craving only BEGAN TO SPREAD. And now ? The blonde knows what it is she feels for Butcher. Annie dreaded it; she really couldn't just have sex without falling for him, now could she ? Feelings began to spark between the two; well, for her, it did. And that's her own damn fault; she set herself up.

She has been eagerly waiting for two long days to see Butcher, while feeling trapped in the oppressive environment of Vought Tower with Homelander. He publicly declared their supposed relationship to the world, even though they never had such connection ! All for the fucking points. Ashley and them all were THRILLED to hear Homelander claim Starlight as his lover, hashtagging it Homelight, their so-called ship name. Of course, he'd put himself first. But while everyone around Starlight appeared to be in the moment, all Annie could think about was Butcher--. Maybe Billy wouldn't even know. ( Why does she care if he finds out ? ) God, she knew why, but he should also understand what Homelander was attempting to pull. Annie could get to him before the episode aired and before it spreads across the world like wildfire. She never got to communicate with Butcher the next day, her schedule far more demanding now that she was ' HOMELANDER'S GIRL ' and co-captain of The Seven...

THE BLONDE COULDN'T FIND A MOMENT TO MESSAGE BUTCHER and let him know about what Homelander was up to. It seemed impossible to have privacy, with Homelander frequently looming over her. It felt as if he was continually intruding in her personal space, standing shoulder to shoulder and suffocating her with his presence. Homelight this, Homelight that. Just kill her already. She longed for a breath of fresh air, grateful for the opportunity to break away from Homelander and Vought. When she arrived at Butcher's, things didn't unfold as expected. He seemed unwilling to engage with her, and his demeanor brought back memories of the OLD BUTCHER – the one who despised her, rejecting any connection with her... that version of him was again present. He still harbored a deep-seated hatred towards Supes; every reason he had ever had to loathe them still burned within him. But lately, it seemed that his animosity towards her wasn't as intense as it used to be. The moments they shared together, just the two of them basking in each other's company, sharing laughter, and engaging in actual conversations, felt comfortable and effortless. She relished the way he MADE HER FEEL.

" It's not real, you know. Homelander and I. He's been getting a lot of shit after the whole Stormfront incident, you know that. He's USING me to gain approval points. Nothing more. This whole lover thing was his idea I- I didn't know what to do. It's not like I could push him away and tell him no ? It's his way or no way. I'm not apologizing for something I have no authority over. I tried coming to you as soon as I could but... I just... couldn't. Can you please just... listen to me ? Please stop this. I- if you aren't jealous, then what is this ?! Why are you being this way with me ? "

[subeteaishite]

On my life I haven’t written smut in nearly a year, but this piece of art was great inspiration ✨💗

⛓️Cuff It⛓️

Pairing: Butchlander (Billy Butcher x Homelander)

Fandom: The Boys

Warnings: NSFW; smut (MDNI) | dubious consent | blood | unbeta’d

“I could—nnghh—I could break out of these any time I wanted—“

It was a game the two of them played, every so often. Billy Butcher and Homelander famously loathed each other; it wasn’t an act, either. Every week, at least once, sometimes more than that, the two enemies would rendezvous in secret, taking their aggression out on each other in the forms of punches, kicks, and heat-laser eyes. In most scenarios, it ended with one of them on the ground, bruised and broken, with the other enjoying his proverbial ‘spoils of war.’ This time, it was Homelander splayed out on his stomach, one of Butcher’s hands in his hair, the other wrapped around his cape as he fucked the most powerful man alive into complete submission.

Butcher responded to his arrogant assertion with a brutal thrust of his hips and Homelander’s voice caught in his throat, the strangled words transposing into a languid moan. “But ya won’t,” Butcher rasped in retort, twisting his hand in the stars and stripes of the Supe’s cape. “I dare ya—do it, right now. Escape.” He pulled hard on his partner’s close-cut, blonde hair, lifting his head from the bed by an inch or two so he could slam it back down against the mattress. Temp V was pretty useful.

The vigilante fucked harder into his nemesis; Homelander didn’t answer him, nor did he break free from the cuffs. Butcher smirked, yanking the blonde’s head back by his hair, stilling the fervent staccato of his hips. He swayed from side to side, his cockhead grinding back and forth on the Supe’s prostate and drawing a choked scream from his throat. “Well, well, well…” Butcher growled, gleefully resuming his bruising pace into Homelander, “…seems like you can barely speak, much less get away. Bet ya can’t even think straight, can ya?”

“F-fuck you.” Despite the punishing grip Butcher had on his hair, Homelander turned his head to look over his shoulder, glaring at the temporary supe with malice and hatred. Billy had a hard time taking the expression seriously with tears pricking in the corner of the man’s eyes, the blood smeared across his face from his busted lip.

He gave another forceful thrust, Homelander’s jaw going slack and his eyes growing vacant as his archenemy made him see stars once again. “‘M already doin’ that, love,” he retorted. “Who’da thought America’s sweetheart was such a bitch, eh?” he taunted. “That he lays there and takes it like a little whore.” Homelander tried to turn his head away from Butcher’s piercing gaze, but the latter held him still. “Think they’d still love you if they knew?”

Homelander flinched at those words, his face cycling through a hundred different expressions of pain. Butcher drank in the sight like a man dying of thirst; no physical blow levied against the supe had been so effective, and the realization made his cock twitch with excitement. “So that’s what gets under your indestructible skin,” Butcher purred. “You want to be loved, that it? ‘S that why you’re taking my cock so well, even though you could get away? Because it makes you feel loved?”

The blonde whimpered as Butcher picked up his pace, biting his lip where it was busted and making the blood flow freely. “B-Billy—“

Another particularly deep thrust made Butcher groan and Homelander yelp. Butcher could feel his climax creeping closer the longer he stared at the pathetic, wanton expression on his enemy’s face. “That’s right, bitch,” he hissed, “say my name again.”

The hand in Homelander’s hair wrenched his head backwards, forcing his spine to arch and curve; if Butcher had been fucking anyone else, the force behind this act would have left them paralyzed, if not dead. But Homelander was built to take a hit in multiple interpretations of the phrase. He was resistant to obeying Butcher’s command—that changed when the Brit relinquished his grip on the cape and wound his hand around the front of his hips, gripping Homelander’s cock and giving it a few strong jerks. “B-Billy!” he stammered, “D-don’t—“

Butcher groaned, the even, frantic pace of his thrusts stuttering, growing irregular. He gave a demented growl as he pulled Homelander back onto his cock, going deeper than he had the entire time, just so his hips could stammer to a stop and he could fall over the edge. It drove the supe mad, too; he spilled himself in Butcher’s hand.

For a second, the two of them remained in that position, breathing heavily and gathering their bearings. Butcher rose first, shaking the excess cum from his hand before cleaning it up with Homelander’s cape as though it were a dish towel. The supe’s knees buckled and he finally slumped fully forward onto the ground. “Well, that was lovely,” Butcher commented with a roll of his eyes as he shimmied his pants up. He paid no heed to Homelander as he finished dressing, wordlessly escorting himself from the building.

Homelander snapped the cuffs and sat up, laughing. He’d get him back for his comments next time.

America's Sweetheart.

[imaginesbymonika]

The look.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Plot: Billy see it again. Under odd circumstances.

Warnings: a few f bombs, mentions of murder, reader being an orphan, but no big spoilers

You had no idea how you became a part of Butcher's inner circle- his little suicidal friends group. To be completely honest, you didn't have a clue how you slipped into this kind of life in the first place.

All you knew was that Butcher could smell when someone was fueled by revenge and hatred towards a Supe. He was like a shark and you just happened to be a drop of blood in the ocean.

So once Homelander murdered your parents, it was sealed fate that your paths would eventually cross. Billy just didn't know why he felt this distinctive way about you- it wasn't comparable to the way he felt about Hughie or Frenchie. When he looked at you it felt like he looked at his daughter. Which was something he tried to suppress for months- even years. He loathed the idea of being that close to someone.

He didn't even care about himself, so why the fuck would he care about another human that wasn't Becca.

Becca. His sweet Becca. He can still remember the way he used to look at her- with so much devotion that it nearly suffocated him. Maybe that's why losing her hurt that much- he wasn't used to breathing any more.

But it was something Billy could recognize everywhere- that look. It was in the way he used to stare at Becca when they first met and now he could see it in the way Soldier Boy looked at you. It made him sick to his stomach.

"Whats your deal with that homelander guy?"

You looked up from your spot on the couch: "What?" He chuckled and you couldn't help but mimic him, even if it sounded a bit awkward. "That Homelander guy, tell me. Why do you want him dead?"

For a moment you stare at him before you put your book down. "Well.", you begin and clear your throat: "Long story short he killed my parents." The bearded man in front of you slowly nods his head: "I see. And the long version?"

"After my parents got sliced in half because Homelander 'missed' his actual target, I got put into a home. From that moment on it was one family after another.", you take a deep breath: "No one wanted to put up with a traumatized child, I guess." A silence falls upon the room.

Soldier Boy takes a deep breath. "Whenever I stayed with a family for more than a month I thought "maybe this is it, maybe I finally found a family"- but I just got abandoned again eventually. Sorry, this sounds super depressing."

The man in front of you chuckles again: "Don't worry, I know a thing or two about what its like to be left behind. Sucks." He leans back on the bed. "Yeah, it does."

At the sound of the keys, your heads turn. "Everything all right in here?", Billy inquires and even if that question is said to the both of you, you know he means only you- and when you nod in his direction you see how his shoulders drop. Even if it's only a bit.

His eyes roam the room and when he glances over at Ben, he can see it. That look. "Yeah.", Ben lets out and licks his lips: "We are just getting to know each other better."

[compendiumofconstellations]

Also, like. Obviously everyone is shaped by their circumstances, but I really think The Boys characters are all like. A tragic case study in this.

Maeve is bitter and jaded, full of self-loathing, not actively suicidal but doesn’t really care either, all because of what Vought did to “superheroes”. She started like Annie. She wanted to change the world and do real good. But she gave away pieces of herself for PR and all that other crap, and she finds herself a shell of who she was. It’s worse, after Elena leaves, because Elena was the only person she could be Maggie with, and she doesn’t really have a way to hold onto that.

Annie has been put through hell over and over again, and she is still trying fiercely to hold onto herself, but Vought is doing its damndest to break her like it broke Maeve. It succeeds in some places, like when she kills a civillian trying to save Hughie’s life and she feels nothing really. She doesn’t trust as openly as she used to. She finds it hard to believe. But she’s still clinging to hope.

Kimiko was ripped from her family and constantly forced to be a weapon. Shining Light, Vought and the V, Butcher. She is the only person who is through letting others define her. She is here for herself and her family at this point, and she will do what SHE wants.

MM was defined by Soldier Boy tossing that car through the living room. Killed his family. Got swept under the rug. His father dying after years of trying to get Vought to recognize the collateral damage of Supes. MM has OCD and keeps getting dragged down and back into these things no matter how hard he tries; he can’t break this cycle.

Becca is a victim who made extremely painful and extremely difficult choices alone because she was scared. And she was completely isolated and had lost everything except for the little boy she chose to love above all else. Because she believed that she could help. She was forged by fire, and it wasn’t enough.

And then Butcher, who…is the saddest of all in many ways. His father shaped him through abuse, and his mother and every other adult in his and Lenny’s life fucking failed him & Lenny by letting them stay in that house. And Butcher got to the point where the only thing he knew was to use his rage and channel it into violence. He clearly calmed down for a while. He and Becca were happy. But Becca was taken from him, and Mallory knew just how to push his buttons and set him down a path there was no coming back from. And he lost Becca again and again, and he is so filled with self-loathing and depression and grief and guilt, and it’s better for him to burn every fucking bridge he’s ever made so he can’t take anyone else down with him. He is ready to go “Scorched Earth”, and he doesn’t care what he scorches anymore. He was never a hero, but he got pushed into turning into a villain.

[thcrealheroes]

GOD, IF HER MOTHER COULD SEE HER NOW ! YIKES ! HOW SCANDALOUS ANNIE could be. Sinful. Donna January would have a heart attack. She'd threaten Butcher and forbid Annie from ever seeing him again ! Even if Annie was a grown adult herself, her mother would have none of that. Donna would loathe the mere image of someone like Butcher fucking her little Starlight. The thought alone was rather humorous; if she's being honest, she wouldn't care how her mother felt about it; it's her life, after all, and if she wanted to be fucked in the parking lot or on top of Butcher's car or inside his vehicle, or even in his fucking bed, then so be fucking it !

Desipite donning the mantle of a hero in The Seven, she felt an EMPTINESS GNAWING at her soul, a stark contrast to the so-called exhilarating life she has envisioned. The glitz and glamor of true heroism faded when she faced the stark realities behind the scenes of the real Seven. Heroes like The Deep with his misguided attempts at heroism, and his need to harrass women to make him feel like some big shot. And the menacing presence of Homelander, who exuded power & arrogance, left her grappling with a sense of disillusionment; the meaning of heroism slipped further from her grasp.

BUT IT ALL GOES AWAY WHEN ANNE WAS WITH BUTCHER, AN ELECTRIFYING THRILL SURGED through her veins, making every moment feel vividly alive. The world around her transformed; everything in her life found a new meaning. Each shared glance held a SPARK of intensity. Intoxicating, exhilarating, awakening a DEEP PASSION within her. It felt real. It wasn't just sex to her... at least not anymore. Feelings were brewing, and her heart ached for him whenever they were apart. God, she was falling for him.

Annie is drawn into Butcher's arms, capturing her attention and interrupting her train of thought. The closeness stirred a sense of WAMRTH within her, a playful giggle escaped her lips as he kissed her neck, ringing with joy in the chilling air around them. They headed to his car as he teased her, calling her out and claiming the blonde supe for being jealous ! Annie rolled her eyes, scoffed with a gentle nudge to his side, trying to suppress a smile while enjoying the lighthearted banter they shared. " Hmph ! I was not jealous ! I told you- " A delicate pout forming on her lips. The blonde crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her expression darkening as her nose scrunching up in displeasure. " -She saw me, she gave me that look- YES, A LOOK ! And then PRETENDED I wasn't there, making googly eyes at you ! Like, um, hello ? Didn't know I was invisible ? "

WHILE SHE'S RANTING, HE HAS HER BACK PRESSED FLAT AGAINST THE DOOR of his car; she gasps at the cool sensation against exposed flesh, familiar heat rising towards her cheeks being this close to him, she should be used to it- but he just makes her feel so many things, so many beautiful things. Being sandwiched between Billy and his car felt so damn good; it's like he put her in a trance, beckoning her with that sexy voice of his; it's honestly a CRIME. Everything about Butcher was. Their faces are just inches apart, the warmth of their breath mingling in the space between them, noses brushing together; she can feel the anticipation crackling like electricity. Annie's eyes dart between his intense gaze and the inviting curve of his lips, a SILENT PLEA for a kiss hanging among them. Just as she was about to lean in, he pulled back, his voice firm yet laced with urgency, urging her to get into the car.

Leaving the pretty blonde wondering and curious as she slid into the passenger seat without a fight, practically vibrating from the THRILL. Thighs clenched tightly, rubbing together to create some type of friction. Once he gets into the driver's seat, the blonde crosses one leg over the other, shifting in her seat. " I'll have you know I'm not lying, so whatever you have PLANNED for me back at your place, bring it on. I'm not an easy girl to break, Billy. " Part of her had a feeling she was going to regret that, but she's got her ' bring it on ' attitude, and truthfully... maybe she wanted to see what limits he could push her through and just how far.    

     𝐰𝐡𝐨  𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭  𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝  𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞  𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡  𝐚  𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬  𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤?     it  was  definitely  quite  amusing,  but  he  couldn't  deny  that  it  turned  him  on  to  see  her  like  that.     all  jealous  and  fired  up  in  a  way  that  he  had  never  seen  her  before.     he  fully  intended  to  put  this  energy  of  hers  to  good  use,  he  didn't  realise  he  was  someone  that  was  actually  capable  of  jealous.     well,  she  really  was  just  full  of  surprises.     billy  couldn't  help  but  smirk  at  her,  gripping  at  her  waist  as  he  moved  her  through  the   busy  bar  towards  the  exit,     "     i  think  we  got  the  same  idea,  love,     "     he  teased,  letting  her  go  so  that  she  can  take  his  hand  and  letting  her  pull  him  towards  the  exit.     this  was  definitely     𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫     than  sitting  around  watching  frenchie  and  kimiko  make  heart  eyes  at  each  other  and  not  actually  being  a  part  of  the  conversation.     hughie  was  out  with  the  fancy  politician,  thinking  he  was  too  good  for  them  all.     mm  was  doing  right  by  his  family.     which  meant  that  whatever  was  happening  between  him  and  annie  could  go  completely  unnoticed  by  anyone  but  the  two  of  them.

     𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲  𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝  𝐚𝐬  𝐬𝐡𝐞  𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝  𝐭𝐨  𝐛𝐞  𝐢𝐧  𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥,     trying  to  act  like  she  wasn't  jealous  even  though  it  was  very  clearly  written  all  over  her  face.     the  moment  they  were  outside,  he  pulled  her  against  him  again,  pressing  a  kiss  to  her  neck  as  he  led  her  towards  her  car,     "     keep  denying  it,  starlight,  but  i  can  tell  you're  jealous,     "     he  speaks  gently  right  into  her  ear,  nipping  at  her  earlobe  as  he  finds  his  car.     turning  her  in  his  arms,  pressing  her  against  the  car  as  he  looks  at  her,     "     who  would've  guessed  that  a  good  girl  like  you  would  get  so  jealous?     "     billy  teases,  hands  gripping  at  her  hips  as  he  pressed  himself a against  her.     she  really  was  absolutely     𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞     to  him,  he  had  tried  to  stay  away  and  not  think  about  her  at  all,  but  here  they  were  again  and  as  much  as  he  told  himself,  he  wouldn't  have  ended  up  with  her  in  his  bed  again,  that  was  exactly  where  he  wanted  her  to  end  up.     leaning  in  as  if  he  was  going  to  kiss  her,  nose  brushing  against  hers,     "     let's  see  how  long  you  can  keep  up  the  lies  when  i  get  you  back  home.     get  your  ass  in  the  car,     "     pulling  back  with  a  smirk,  opening  the  car  door  for  her  and  shutting  it  behind  her  before  moving  round  to  the  driver's  seat,  reminding  himself  that  he  had  to  drive  sensibly  and  not  like  an  speeding  idiot.     couldn't  let  her  know  that  he  was  looking  forward  to  getting  her  home.

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 9

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)

ASIG Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,200 Tags/Warnings: Language, some violence, angst

9: The Gamble

It didn’t take too long before the looks and infuriating smiles from Frenchie and the rest of the guys became insufferable. With a roll of his eyes, Butcher led Becca to one of the back rooms in the pawnshop basement that now passed for a bedroom. 

When he didn’t have money for a motel (all too fucking often as that was lately), he shared this one with M.M., evidenced by the shitty twin beds lined up against either wall of the otherwise drab and cramped space.

Becca’s gaze flitted over her surroundings, a sad frown pulling at her lips. Butcher didn’t want to upset her with where his shit choices had led him, but he’d never been able to lie to Becca. At least, not well.

“Think this’s shit, wait ‘til you see the bathroom,” he joked (and that really wasn’t a lie).

It didn’t even get a smile from her. Becca turned to him, tentatively reaching for his hand. He squeezed her fingers within his.

“I really am sorry,” she said quietly. “What I said—”

Again, he interrupted her third apology in the past half hour.

“Stop it, all right? Can’t be mad at ya for being honest,” he said. Still...it had fucking hurt though, hadn’t it?

The thought in the back of his mind was stubborn, reminding him of the hell he’d been in after he was forced to leave her at that house.

But, Butcher calmed her anyway, by taking his wife into his arms where she fit just right. Even though holding her again soothed the demon in him, he couldn’t let the fact that she sought him out give him too much hope for their future.

There was a twisted, bitter part of himself that whispered harshly: she had only come here, to him, because she had no other choice. Because he was her best bet at getting Ryan back. That didn’t mean she wanted him to stay in the picture once mother and son were reunited.

“Maybe,” Becca said eventually. She looked up at him, her gray eyes shining. “I’m still sorry I hurt you.”

Ahh, there it is. The thrumming ache in his heart that crumbled most of that bitterness away when he looked at her. Butcher brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, the one she didn’t hold with both of hers.

He was trying so hard not to put her back up on that pedestal. The one she claimed I put her on.

But the more he thought about it, it was true. He’d only decided to be less of a bastard for her. When she swept into his life and somehow slipped into his heart, she’d challenged him to be a better man. Being with someone like Becca, so beautiful and good, made him want to be better too. So how could he not find that special?

How could he not see her as someone special?

Was that so fuckin’ horrible? he thought.

Or...

Until, his anger led back to doubt, and self-loathing. The same thought he’d been avoiding for days circled back and finally gripped him by the throat.

Or…

Or had he just made her feel trapped, like she always had to be the perfect one. The one who didn’t get to fuck up, or have a bad day. Like she couldn’t lean on him when she needed to.

“Anyway,” Becca added, when he was too drowned in his thoughts to say anything. She wiped at her eyes and grinned a little. “I knew you and Helena would get along someday.”

Butcher’s already tumultuous mood soured. It wasn’t like he wanted to keep the two women apart. He just didn’t think it was a good idea for Helena to risk their safety, and hers, if she was being traced. He knew he had swept her car and apartment himself for bugs, but anything could and would happen in this shithole city, and that woman was too fucking stubborn for her own good.

“She’s a pain in the ass,” he said, more gruffly than he meant to.

Becca’s amusement grew with her smile, but the longer she watched her husband try to shake off the mention of her friend, changing the subject with talk of safety precautions and where Homelander might’ve taken Ryan, the more thoughtful she became.

As much as it pained her, Helena was forced to put Gordo in a kennel until she got back. She didn’t know or trust her neighbors well enough to give them a spare key to her apartment, and despite her confidence with Becca on the phone, Helena had no fucking clue what was about to happen next. She only expected to be gone a couple of days, but when Butcher was involved, you really couldn’t (or shouldn’t) predict anything.

So she donned an old college shirt and a pair of jeans, packed a “just in case” bag with a few days’ worth of clothes, got a rental car, and proceeded to find what must have been the seediest pawnshop in all five boroughs of New York City.

Helena felt strangely nervous knocking on the door. She had met most of the group, of course, but she had never officially been to their hideout, nor had she met Frenchie or Kimiko in person.

As it turned out though, she didn’t have to be nervous. Frenchie opened the door, waving off a couple of sketchy, dangerous-looking men to his left.

“She is also with us,” he said to them, but to Helena, he offered a charmingly boyish smile and a welcoming hand on her shoulder. “Come in, chérie. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“In person, at least,” she offered with a smile of her own. Frenchie was a lean man, attractive with the 5 o’clock shadow of stubble paired with that smile of his. He was also shorter than she expected, just a couple more inches taller than her. But his hand was steady and sure as he led her down the flight of stairs, which he admitted could be rickety in places if she wasn’t careful. She thought he was being a little over-chivalrous, but it was hard not to find it endearing.

“We have another guest,” Frenchie announced, once they reached the basement. Hughie was the first one there to greet her with a familiar smile, also boyish and kind. Helena pulled him into a hug.

“Good to see you’re in one peace,” she remarked, and they both laughed.

“You know me,” he agreed. Annie January looked over from where she shared the couch with Kimiko, who offered Helena a silent, but friendly enough smile. Helena returned it.

“Not for lack of trying,” Annie said dryly.

Helena then turned to Hughie, raising a suspicious brow. “Gotten into some more trouble, have you?”

“You gotta ask?” said M.M. from the kitchen. He wiped his hands on a towel and left what appeared to be a large turkey sandwich, halved diagonally into perfect triangles, to greet her. “You’re takin’ a big fuckin’ risk, coming here. Your job, for one, and a hell of a lot more than that.”

“I took that gamble from the beginning, remember?” Helena smiled ruefully. She didn’t regret it. Yet.

M.M. seemed to accept this, nodding. “How was the drive?”

“Better not have come in that prissy sedan. Even if it ain’t got a tracer, that shiny paint’s got Vought written all over it,” Butcher snarked. He entered the main room from somewhere in the back that Helena couldn’t quite see from the kitchen, and her face tightened in annoyance at the sight of him.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a complete fucking idiot,” she mocked. “Of course, I got a rental car!”

Butcher had that glint in his eye, smirking like he wanted to press his luck (and some more of her buttons), until a wry voice behind him interjected.

“Somehow, this is just about what I expected.”

Butcher wisely stepped aside, and immediately Helena’s eyes filled with tears. Because suddenly her best friend since high school—her sister in every way that mattered—was there. Alive, and only a little worse for wear. Both of them were smiling from the very middle of themselves, until they were hugging and laughing and most definitely crying.

“I know you’ve been trying to help Billy,” Becca said, in a whisper not only Helena could hear. But right now, Helena could care less if she looked like a fool. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Helena choked out. After so long of keeping herself guarded, of calculating every step she made, her Vought Face—it was like the fractured Berlin Wall of her emotions had crumbled down at last. “I…wasn’t there when you needed me.” 

“No, Hel. It’s not your fault.” Becca’s voice was as comforting as her hand on Helena’s back.

Butcher watched from where he leaned against the far wall, his hands in his pockets, and a softer smile on his face than usual. After Becca led Helena away for some privacy in one of the bedrooms, Butcher nodded at M.M. and Frenchie. Hughie had already joined Annie and Kimiko on the couch.

“Let’s find the kid, shall we?” Butcher said. “I’ll be back.”

M.M. knew there was no point in asking Butcher where he was going, but he shared a glance with Frenchie, who raised his brows at the two women speaking quietly in the next room over.

M.M. pointedly shook his head, a firm warning in his eyes. Don't rattle that fucking cage.  

He had his suspicions, namely of Butcher snipping with Helena as soon as she’d got through the door. But that was none of his goddamn business.  

Helena listened as Becca told things from her side of the story. How she’d been shipped off to a safe house during the pregnancy, until the fake neighborhood could be created and secured. It had all happened shockingly fast, and in a span of a short few months, Becca was alone with a baby in a snow globe of a world. She’d learned how to be a mom on her own, and learned to survive on her own.

“But I wasn’t alone, really,” Becca admitted. A smile grew on her face. “I had Ryan and…he became my best friend. He’s so smart, so kind. If he has a mother, he won’t become like him. Like the rest of them.”

Helena didn’t know what to say to that. On one hand, she could understand how Becca had kept her sanity by truly loving her son. She could also understand the responsibility Becca felt to nurture Ryan, and make sure he wasn’t going to become a psychopath like Homelander.

On the other hand, Helena saw a smaller picture. She remembered Billy Butcher, ready to sacrifice himself to Black Noir, for no other reason than Becca had turned him away. When Butcher had talked about being knackered. The way he was ready to flicker out like a candle in the dark, and she’d had to bargain with him to try and save his life. Helena had looked into his eyes and not recognized the man she saw.     

Becca shifted on the bed, leaning her head against the wall since there was no headboard. They barely fit on the twin bed, but it kind of felt like their old college dorm, or even Helena’s bed in her childhood home. 

“You want to ask me something,” Becca said, eyeing her. “Go ahead.”

Helena sighed, though she didn’t bother to deny it.

“Remember in freshman year of college? We snuck into that upperclassman party, and you warned me not to get too hammered,” Helena said. Becca nodded, her lips pulling into a grimace.

“I didn’t listen, because I was dumb like that back then…and when Paul Jackson’s skeevy fucking ass tried to roofie me, you punched him in the throat and drove me back to the dorm.”

Becca inclined her head at the memory. “You threw up on my moccasins. I had to toss ‘em in the dumpster that night.”

“I did you a favor. Those shoes were fugly.” Helena grinned as Becca snorted, shoving her arm. “But you stayed up with me all night to make sure I didn’t die on the bathroom floor, hugging our toilet.”

Becca laughed in earnest, but the eventual dimming in her eyes told Helena, they both knew why she was bringing this story up now.

“And in the morning. When I couldn’t stop crying, you told me getting drugged, getting taken advantage of by a sick asshole wasn’t my fault,” Helena said. Her throat suddenly felt dry, and raw as her voice cracked. “I’ve known you practically my whole life, Becks. Did you think I wasn’t going to have your back?”

Becca let out a long, faltering sigh.

“I wanted to tell you. Jesus, I wanted to tell Billy,” she said. Her gaze drifted far away, for a moment, farther than Helena could reach. “I was scared. I didn’t want you to get hurt, trying to help me. And Billy…look, you’ve probably gotten to know him well enough by now. He would’ve gotten himself in so much fucking trouble because of me.”

Helena’s brows shot up. “More trouble than he’s in right now?”

Becca didn’t answer, and the longer her silence dragged on, the harder it became for Helena to keep her mouth in check.

“Do you regret it?” she asked. “Leaving, I mean.”

Becca let out a humorless laugh, gesturing to the shabby room around them. To their overall situation. “Considering where we are now? Ryan with that…fucking asshole. Yeah, a bit.”

Helena stared at her friend, steeling herself before she asked, “Did you regret it before Ryan was taken?”

Becca leaned away from her so she could stare Helena directly in the eyes, even as her jaw worked in disbelief, and anger.

“Wow,” she said. “You…you think I’m selfish.”

Helena immediately shook her head as hot irritation washed over her. “No. Damn it, you’re putting words in my mouth.” 

“But there’s something,” Becca insisted. “You’re saying I shouldn’t blame myself for what happened to me, but you’re blaming me for something.” 

“I’m not blaming you for anything, Becca,” Helena shot back testily. And the words flew from her mouth before she could trap them back in. “I just think you don’t trust the people who love you.” 

She inwardly winced at the stricken look that crossed Becca’s face. On the outside, Helena looked calm. But it was just a mask for the wave of guilt and self-reproach that churned her gut.

“You have no fucking right to say that to me,” Becca said. Tears welled up in her eyes, making Helena fight a tight lump of emotion in her throat.

“Maybe not,” she conceded, “but I’ve never lied to you a day in my life, and I’m not about to start now.” 

Becca’s expression changed, to something Helena hadn’t seen directed at her before. Guarded, and almost pained. “You’re honest when it suits you.”

Fucking well, then…

That one hurt.

Okay, maybe the past eight years of her working at Vought had been a lie of sorts; certainly, the past few months. At least she was trying to be different, and make better choices with her life. And Helena couldn’t help but tense up, her frustration and anger mounting. 

“I’m only still at Vought to bring them down. You know that.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Becca said. It had Helena blinking in confusion.

“Then what the hell are you talking about?”

Becca crossed her arms, her stare unwavering. “I think you know.”

Helena honestly didn’t have a clue what she meant, nor did she like the feeling of being appraised by Becca. But then, she realized how absolutely insane this all was, that they were even here, meeting again like this. Maybe for the last time.

Did she really want to spend it fighting?

“The only thing I know is that I’m happy you’re alive,” Helena said. Despite it all, she was able to smile. “I never thought I’d be this damn grateful to fight with you again.” 

“Don’t know why.” Becca’s mouth curved with a small smirk. “You always lose.”

“Only because arguing with you is like yelling at Bambi.” Helena sighed. “Jesus.”

Becca rolled her eyes.

“Bambi Jesus?” Frenchie chimed in, appearing in the doorway with a set of lab goggles over his face. Helena jumped in fright.

“The fuck?” she gasped. Frenchie grinned and soon disappeared. Hughie popped his head in afterwards, apologetically.

“Sorry. He’s a bit…uh, high,” he said with a laugh. “It’s how he works. He’s making tweaks on some weapon to take out Stormfront’s balls. Err, energy balls.”

Helena shared an amused look with Becca.

“High on what?” Becca asked. Hughie smirked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

When Hughie and Starlight left the pawnshop to run down a lead that might help them against Stormfront, Helena began to get antsy. Butcher was taking his sweet time doing whatever he was doing.

She could’ve tried to get Homelander’s and Stormfront’s locations through their trackers, but that would require her going back into the Vought tower, and she was supposed to be on a two-week vacation. Becca looked similarly worried as she smoked her second cigarette, courtesy of Frenchie. They stood near the stairwell, so the smoke wouldn’t bother anyone.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Helena said. Becca offered her a flimsy smile.

“I just hate feeling like I’m sitting on my hands,” she said. “As long as Ryan is with them, he won’t be safe.”

“And what happens afterwards?” Helena asked her. “Have you thought about what you’ll do? Where you’ll go?”

Becca hesitated with the cigarette at her lips. The question seemed to catch her off guard. “I don’t care where, but Billy…”

Her voice, her eyes were so damn tired and sad. Helena could only ache for her.

“He loves you,” Helena said. She could admit that freely, and mostly without resentment, even though she felt a painful twinge in her chest. “Be patient with him, and he might warm up to Ryan eventually.”

“I want to believe that, more than anything,” Becca said. Her gaze was downcast to the floor. “But I know my husband.”

“He’s spent the last eight years without you, thinking you were dead,” Helena said. “You think he’s going to fuck up the chance for a future with you?”

Becca finally looked up at her then, staring so long that Helena began to grow confused. But Hughie and Annie returning broke them out of it.

“What did you find?” Helena asked them. Hughie’s eyes were wide.

“You’re not gunna believe it. Stormfront’s a fucking Nazi.”

Well, as it turned out, Helena actually could believe it.

Butcher turned up within the hour with Homelander’s location. The team was more than on board with helping him save Ryan. Now, all that was left was devising a plan.

First was organizing the files Hughie and Starlight had gathered on Stormfront, exposing her as the old-ass racist bitch she was; more specifically, she was Klara Risinger, Frederick Vought’s wife, and the first successful supe experiment of Compound V during World War II.

Helena helped Hughie and Starlight post them on various social media channels, a-la-Vought style, and sent them to a few key journalists, whose contact information she knew by heart at this point.

Meanwhile, Butcher and M.M. worked out the tactics of the mission, while Kimiko helped Frenchie prep the major weapons and anti-supe technology he’d developed.

When the plan was decided, Helena watched Butcher and the rest of them configure an assortment of rather large weapons. Even Becca was over there in the far corner, practicing unloading and reloading a handgun.

Guns made Helena nervous. Having one held up against her head, even under a ruse, had been a terrifying experience she had no desire to repeat any time soon. But at the moment, she was more curious about where Butcher had been the last few hours. 

No one seemed to question him, not even M.M, and it was a strange thing to finally see their dynamic play out. She had to wonder if they’d just given up trying to find out exactly how Butcher got things done. Or, more likely, they already knew him well enough to guess.

“How did you get Homelander’s location?” Helena asked him. She spoke quietly, so M.M. and Frenchie wouldn’t pay them any mind while Butcher continued loading an impressive looking gun. She had no idea what model or caliber it was, only that he looked entirely comfortable assembling it. He was in the S.A.S., for God’s sake, she reminded herself.

“I asked around,” he said, rather evasively in her opinion. He wasn’t even looking at her.

“No shit,” she said. “Who did you speak to, Billy?”

Butcher finally glanced up at her. She knew then that she wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say.

“Your boss.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, crossing her arms to keep herself from slapping him in the shoulder. For Becca’s sake (she didn’t want to raise any alarms by letting out a string of Spanish expletives), she kept her anger down to a low simmer.

“Are you fucking insane?” she whispered.

Butcher shot her a flat look. “For the record, this’s why I told ya not to come.”

“He could end you with a single word,” she hissed. “You know that, right?”

Butcher met her glare with one of his own. “You’re the one who seems to keep forgetting that little fact, not me. Oh, and speakin’ of. You’re definitely not fuckin’ coming.”

“I gathered that, from the plan I had no part in,” she said dryly. “Despite the way you’ve been talking to me since the minute I got here, I’m not stupid. I know I’m a liability, and I’m not trying to blow my cover.”

Helena looked away from him. Becca was still distracted with her gun.

“This may be my last chance to see her,” Helena said, offering him a small smile, “before you whisk her off with Ryan and disappear into the sunset.”

He snorted in response. “Yeah. A knight in shining fuckin’ armor, am I?”

Helena frowned at him then. She didn’t like what she saw in his hunched shoulders and the somewhat guarded expression on his face. Like he was hiding something.

“She wants to trust you, you know,” she said. “Give yourself a chance to be the man I know you are.”

Butcher’s head tilted as he met her stare, studied her right back. He then cracked a familiar grin. “What’s this supposed to be, a bloody Hallmark film?”

Helena’s lips curved into a smile, despite her sigh. “You’re such an ass.”

I’m going to miss this, she realized. The ache in her heart was back, full force, of which she deftly ignored.

Soon, outside of the pawnshop in the parking lot, she said her goodbyes to Kimiko, Annie and the boys, and then Becca, holding her tight in a hug with over twenty years of friendship in the making. 

“I love you, Hel,” Becca said. Both of them were failing to hold back their tears. Kind of pitiful, really, but again, Helena didn’t care. She would give up Becca if it meant knowing she was living a happy life. According to M.M., Mallory would ensure that Becca, Ryan, and Butcher could disappear safely.

“I know,” Helena replied with a smirk. Becca laughed.

“Love you too,” Helena added. She made a point to say it, so Becca really would know.

“Be careful,” Becca warned her. “Get out of all this, as soon as you can.”

Helena wasn’t sure she could do that. She fulfilled her own goal of finding Becca and helped bring her back, in whatever small way. But Helena had been giving a lot of thought to all she could still do if she worked with M.M. and the rest of the team. Maybe this could be her way of doing something good; something that mattered.

She eventually watched Becca climb into the car. After which, she finally looked up at Butcher. Though she wasn’t sure what to say, or if there was anything to say. He had been a fucking nightmare of a man, in the most maddening, dangerous, yet charming, and strangely meaningful way. And she didn’t know how to reconcile all of what that meant in her heart.

“See ya 'round, Hel,” Butcher said eventually.

She smiled. Inside though, she was breaking. If this works, I won’t. We won’t.

She noticed the St. Christopher’s medallion hanging from his neck, not for the first time. For all the shit he’d talked about not being a believer, he seemed to have a little bit of faith after all.

“Vaya con Dios,” she replied, blinking past the next round of tears in her eyes.

He smirked. “I told you ‘bout the bloody subtitles.”

Butcher slid into the car’s driver seat. Not long after, Helena was the only one left standing in the parking lot next to her rental car.  

And that really was the last time she saw Rebecca Butcher.  

Translation: 

“Vaya con Dios.”

“Go with God.”

Keep Reading: PART 10

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@lauraaan182, @homielander​

[hom3land3r]

Homelander was well aware that Hughie was loathing every single second of this, but he didn’t care. This was all a way to punish both the boy and Butcher for messing with him the past few years. Payback, in a sense. While Butcher would see this as a golden opportunity to get some Vought intel, Homelander wasn’t about to give Hughie that chance. And if the boy was as smart as Butcher gave him credit for, he wouldn’t try anything stupid. Especially knowing what fate would await him if he did.

Homelander grinned at Hughie, playing nice as he chuckled. “Ah, I see. Well, that certainly is something you and Ashley have in common. Deep too, actually. See? Look at you, making friends already.” He said as he stood before the taller man. Despite their size difference, the Supe couldn’t be any less intimidated. Especially when he was well aware of how much Hughie was intimidated by him. It made him the perfect candidate for the job, one who would do as he was told and get things done. Homelander sure was a sucker for obedience.

Only time would tell whether this would truly work or not. At the end of the day, Ashley was too busy to run the social media accounts for the Seven anymore, and Homelander liked to personally pick the person who would run his own. He needed to ensure his reputation wouldn’t be at risk due to carelessness or biased opinions. While he knew Hughie wasn’t his biggest fan by any means, both men knew that the boy was trapped in a corner. Therefore, could only say and post nice, good things about the true American hero.

The question from Hughie was a rather pleasant surprise, and a welcome one actually. Homelander would’ve found it odd otherwise. “To an extent, yes. You’ll attend events with me, photoshoots, interviews, and missions. Provided you wouldn’t be at too much of a risk, of course. But if anything you’d be close by to ensure photos and videos are taken showing me in action, and the heroic aftermath.” He explained with a wave of a gloved hand before clapping Hughie on the shoulder. “Consider yourself my…slightly taller and more fragile shadow. We’re gonna spend a whole lot of time together. Fun, right?” He grinned widely showing his rather sharp looking teeth.

Homelander chuckled as Hughie admitted what he thought of Ashley. He wasn’t hurt nor offended, quite the opposite really. “I’m probably to blame for that. Along with the hair loss. What can I say, I’m a handful!” He grinned, not an ounce of regret in his tone nor expression. He truly did not care about the stress he inflicted upon others. Hughie was about to learn that the hard way.

The blonde didn’t admit to not knowing anything about art. Hughie didn’t need to know that deep down, Homelander hated his apartment. The only room he spent most of his time in was the bedroom, purely for the view from the window…and the mirror. As he’d sauntered over to the window, he looked out at the bustling city around them. He often contemplated burning it all down to the fucking ground. What a shame that would be.

“Cool. What, cat got your tongue, Hugh? I don’t believe for a second you’re this quiet normally.” Homelander challenged while his back was turned. He gazed out the window for a few more moments before he turned back round to face the boy. The blonde couldn’t help but grin sensing the fear he’d put in him. The promise still hung heavy in the air, something that wouldn’t be forgotten by either of them.

“Good! That’s what I like to hear. Eagerness is key, Hugh. I want you to truly appreciate how lucky you are getting this position. Do you have any idea how many people would kill to get this job? I’ll give ya a hint: a lot.” Homelander chuckled, heading back over to Hughie again. “So, I’m sure Ashley already told you this, but just to be clear: from now on where I go, you go. You’re free to take photos and videos of me as you deem fit, and fit your posts around them. Remember, your job is to make me look good. I’ll be approving all of your posts until I feel you’re at a point where we have total and utter trust between us. Then, if you’re lucky and impress me, you’ll maybe get free reign.” Homelander explained with a wave of his gloved hands. “Given your previous… partnership, I’m sure you understand why I’m being cautious with this. And I’m sure there’s no problem with it, is there?”