you're the risk, i'm gonna take it
about: reader has a huge crush on billy, eventually he finds out! oh em gee!
pairing: billy butcher x female reader (non-supe)
word count: 4.4k 🫢
warnings: usage of pet nickname but otherwise none (yet)... this is just like the build-up to the smut 😜part two will contain all that fun stuff (assuming people read this LOLSIES!)
notes: omgomg im so scared 2 post this,, i haven't written since march and i cannot stop comparing myself 2 other writers but ahh whatevs ! posting it anyways because why not. hope u enjoy...! also like barely proofread at all there could be plot holes idk im tired !! ill check later and see if anything needs tidying up
also title is a reference to Risk by Gracie Abrams
You knew it was wrong—so very wrong. He was technically still married, and on top of that, he was your boss. The power imbalance between you two was glaringly unhealthy. Despite all these red flags, you couldn't suppress the attraction you felt towards him. It tugged at you in ways you couldn't fully understand or control. You kept this secret buried deep inside, knowing full well that the Boys would never let you hear the end of it. Especially Hughie, who (bless his soul) couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he tried. So, you maintained a steady facade, or so you thought, hoping that your feelings would eventually fade away. But every stolen glance, every brief touch, only intensified your desire. The rational part of you knew better, but your heart, or maybe it was something else.. left you confused and needy for him.
"Oi, pay attention!" Butcher barked, clapping his hands sharply to yank you out of your daydream. "We’ve got to nail these bloody cunts, yeah? Get yer head outta la-la land and bloody focus."
You nodded, muttering a quick apology as you tried to zero in on his lecture—or at least make a show of it. But, predictably, your mind wandered again, slipping back into its familiar lust-driven daze.
Instead of absorbing his orders, your eyes were drawn to his big, rough hands waving emphatically. You couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to slip your own smaller hand into his, to feel the strength of his grip. Or maybe the sensation of his large, calloused fingers wrapped around your throat. It was terrible. It was filthy. But you couldn't shake it.
When your gaze wasn't fixed on his hands, it drifted to the scar that marred his otherwise ruggedly handsome face. You were fascinated by it, wanting to trace its jagged path with your fingers, to press your lips against it. Each time you caught yourself, you scolded your perverted mind for the inappropriate thoughts, but they persisted, intruding upon your focus like an unwelcome guest.
You forced yourself to take a deep breath and try to concentrate, but the tug of your desire was relentless. It was a constant battle between your duty and your yearning, each side vying for control. And as he continued to speak, oblivious to your inner turmoil, you wondered how much longer you could keep up the charade. Was it worth the embarrassment to just admit it and have some peace of mind? You weren’t quite sure.
Once he finished explaining the plan, you discreetly pulled Kimiko aside. "Can you text me the gist of it?" you asked, admitting with a sheepish smile that you had a hard time paying attention.
Kimiko gave you a concerned look, her eyes searching yours as she signed, "Are you alright?"
You nodded, trying to flash a reassuring smile, though it felt hollow even to you. "Just didn't sleep well last night. I think I'm getting my period soon; the cramps are killer," you lied. It was easier than admitting the real reason for your distraction: you had a school-girl crush on your asshole boss.. or friend, or teacher.. it was a bit hard to put your relationship into words.
Kimiko nodded understandingly, her expression softening into a sympathetic smile. "No worries. I'll text you," she signed back.
As she walked away, you felt a pang of guilt for lying, but you weren’t ready to admit the truth. The reality of your feelings was embarrassing, and you weren’t sure how it’d go over with everyone. Nobody’s crossed that line here, and you didn’t plan on being the first to make things awkward. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself and refocus on the task at hand, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.
Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his intense gaze, felt the imaginary weight of his hands. You shook your head, as if that would clear the thoughts away, but they clung stubbornly despite your best efforts.
You glanced over at Kimiko, who was now texting you the details of the plan. You envied her ability to stay focused, to compartmentalize her emotions. But you couldn't help it; every time he was near, your mind became a whirlwind of forbidden thoughts and unspoken desires.
~
The mission was a success, naturally. Sure, his ideas were usually a bit unethical, and rather gruesome, but they always worked out in the end. Even if a few people got caught on the crossfire.
You all filed downstairs and back to the basement, eager to change your clothes and wash the blood off your sticky, heat-licked skin. "Dibs on the shower!" you called out, watching Frenchie make a beeline for the bathroom. He stopped, turned around, gave you the finger, and muttered something you could only assume was a string of curses under his breath in French. He plopped onto the couch, and you flashed him a triumphant grin as you made your way toward the restroom.
Just before you crossed the threshold from the main area to the bathroom, you felt a tug on your arm. "Frenchie, I won't take that lo—" you began, turning around. But the words died in your throat when you saw who was holding your arm. "Oh."
Butcher stood there, his face and body speckled with blood splatters. You should have been disgusted, but somehow it only made him look more striking, in a dark and dangerous way. Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how compellingly attractive he looked in that moment. "Jesus, please get your head out of the gutter," you thought to yourself.
You knew getting romantically involved with him would be a disaster. Seeing him lose control on missions only reinforced just how true it would be. But you couldn't help yourself; your eyes betrayed you, glancing up and down his rugged form before darting back to meet his intense gaze. "Yeah?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but the blush creeping up your cheeks gave you away.
Butcher's grip on your arm loosened, his eyes narrowing as he took in your flushed face. "You can fight me for the shower, love," he said, flashing his signature smirk and dropping your arm to move past you. "But I'm gettin' in there first."
If it were anyone else, you would’ve stood your ground and barged in first. But something about him made you turn into complete jelly. Suddenly, you found yourself utterly obedient, a sensation that was both foreign and thrilling.
"Be quick, asshole," you said, turning to him with an exaggerated eye roll and a mischievous smile.
"Wasn’t plannin’ on giving meself a timer, love. If you’ve a problem with how long I take, feel free to join me. Much more efficient, yeah?" He winked, closing the door behind him.
He was joking. It was obviously a joke. He was like this with everyone. And yet, the moment the words left his lips, your mind was consumed with thoughts of how much you would absolutely love to take him up on that offer. The idea lingered, a possibility that sent shivers down your spine. Imagining his body coated with the warm spray of water, the way his muscles would ripple as he washed his hair..it was all too much.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, the sound of water running on the other side only fueling your imagination. With a deep breath, you forced yourself to turn away and retreat to your room.
Finally reaching your bed, you collapsed onto it, burying your face in the pillows in a futile attempt to clear your thoughts. But his words echoed in your mind, and the image of his teasing smile was impossible to shake.You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to wish away the fluttering in your chest. Every fiber of your being wanted to storm back to that door, to knock and join him. But you knew better. Or at least you thought you did.
Sighing, you grabbed your diary from your nightstand, hoping to distract yourself. You kept a lot of things to yourself; this was no different. Atleast writing it down would get it off your chest, even if nobody else would see it but yourself. You begin to jot everything down, from how absolutely gorgeous you find him, what you want him to do to you, the works. It was embarrassing, and it was beyond filthy, but it was yours. Nobody would see it anyways.
Clutching your diary tightly, you got up to grab a drink. It felt safer to bring it with you than to leave it out in the open on your bed. As you walked, you fumbled with the lock, desperately trying to get it shut. In your futile attempts, you failed to pay attention to where you were going and suddenly felt a thud as you accidentally walked into Hughie, causing you to drop your diary.
"Oh my god, that's embarrassing. Sorry, Hugh," you giggled. "Clearly, I wasn't paying any attention, huh?"
He shook his head, laughing with you. "And apparently, I wasn't either. You, uh," he crouched down and picked up the diary. "..dropped this. Hey, what book is this? It's got a cool cover," he remarked. "Oh, uh—!" you began, reaching for the diary, but it was too late. It was already open, and you watched his eyes flicker through the pages. You could tell exactly when his eyes reached your latest entry because his smile vanished.
"Oh. Oh!" he said sheepishly. "Sorry. Oh my god. Sorry, that, uhm… I didn't see that. Sorry." He quickly shoved the diary back into your hands, smiling apologetically before walking away briskly. You practically feel the embarrassment wafting off of him, but it couldn’t have been any worse than yours.
Standing there, your heart pounded as a mix of emotions surged through you—embarrassment, panic, and maybe even a bit of relief because you’d finally gotten it off your chest somewhat, even if this wasn’t how you intended for it to happen. You clutched the diary to your chest, replaying the moment in your mind. The way his expression changed, the awkwardness in his voice—it all made you cringe inwardly. These feelings were quickly replaced with panic once more, as it dawned on you Hughie was practically attached to Butcher at the hip. Fucked. That’s the word you’d used to describe what you are right now— completely and utterly fucked. Hughie was going to tell him as soon as he got out of the shower, he couldn’t help himself. He likes to think he’s helping.. but he really isn’t.
Taking a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself. You glanced around to make sure no one else had witnessed the mishap and then made your way to the kitchen. As you poured yourself a drink, the cool liquid did little to calm your racing thoughts. "Fuck it," you thought. You opened the fridge, grabbing yourself a beer, desperately in need of something stronger. Wandering back to your room, beer and diary TIGHTLY clutched in your hands, you put your belongings on the bedside table before plopping onto the bed with your head clutched in your hands. "Shit."
~
The next day, you found yourself lounging on the couch, engrossed in friendly banter with M.M. and Frenchie. Hughie, Annie, and Kimiko had gone out to investigate a warehouse, following Butcher’s orders. You were in the middle of recounting your latest ordeal.
"Yeah, it was rough. But ohmygosh, the worst part was—"
You were abruptly cut off by the sensation of two firm hands settling on your shoulders from behind the couch. Startled, you turned your head to find Butcher standing there, his hands resting on your shoulders. The unexpected contact sent a jolt through you, and you couldn't help but notice how intoxicating his scent was—a mix of smoke and the cinnamon body wash you had picked out, now somehow lingering on him.
"What we havin’ a chat about over ‘ere, mm?" he said, his voice dripping with mock indignation. "Nobody invited me."
His tone was mocking, but you could sense the underlying curiosity. He leaned in a bit closer, his breath warm against your ear, which made it even harder to concentrate. You tried to regain your composure, shifting slightly under his touch.
"Just discussing the usual," you managed, trying to sound casual despite the way his presence had thrown you off balance. "Nothing too riveting. Just, you know, the usual."
M.M. and Frenchie exchanged amused yet confused glances, clearly entertained by Butcher’s effect on you. What you didn’t know was pretty much all of The Boys had caught onto your little crush, besides Hughie until yesterday and previously Butcher.. but to your complete lack of surprise, it seemed like Hughie blabbed about his findings to him.
"Ah, right," he said, squeezing your shoulders gently before stepping around to sit on the arm of the couch next to you. "Thought I’d see what my favorite team o’ cunts was up to while the others are off playin’ detective f’me."
He leaned back, making himself comfortable as if he knew the effect he had on you. The warmth of his body so close to you was new and surprising. You’d never been so near to him, and you certainly weren’t complaining! Your arm brushed lightly against his jean-clad thigh, making it absolutely impossible to focus on anything else.
"Come on, don’t stop on lil ol’ mes account, yeah? Keep going, love. What was the worst part, now?" he insisted, smirking at the three of you. He kept his line of sight on you especially long, though. Or were you just being delusional? That’s also pretty likely.
"Right. Uh, where was I.."
~
Little "incidents" like that began to occur more often. You’d be pouring yourself a glass of water in the makeshift kitchen, and then you’d feel a sudden pressure against your back as Butcher slid past you with nonchalance. "Scuse me, luv," he would mutter, his voice low and rough, but there was something in his tone that said he wasn’t really sorry at all. It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing and reveled in it. Fucker. Irrestible fucker.
His tendency to stroll around wrapped in nothing but a towel became more frequent, too. He claimed it was because he was just "so overheated" from the shower and the steam. This was to everyone's dismay but yours, of course. Annie didn’t veil her disgust. This time, she told him to "get clothes on, you slut." You giggled, but you, on the other hand, found yourself secretly wishing that towel might just slip. Oops. The thought would cross your mind more often than you cared to admit. His body was an art in itself, what could you say? He was big and bulky, a stark contrast compared to your frame. His chest was littered with dark, black hair. His happy trail was just the same. You found yourself constantly having to pull your eyes back to his face, or anywhere else, really, to stop imagining the sight that lay just beneath the thin veil of cotton.
Each time he walked through the room, towel swaying with every step, you could feel your composure waver. You’d catch yourself staring just a fraction too long, only to snap out of it with a hastily concealed flush. It was maddening how such a simple thing could completely disrupt your thoughts and make your heart race. You’d gulp, looking down to the floor, and Butcher would make sure you knew this didn’t go unnoticed. "Yous alright ova there?" he’d ask mockingly. "Oh, yeah! I'm..cool!" you’d reply in faux-nonchalance. Cool was probably the last word you’d use to describe yourself. Horny? Absolutely. Desperate? Bingo!
After weeks of games from him, you realized two things. One, you couldn’t go on like this. And two, you had to confront Butcher about it. Clearly he knew what he was doing, and clearly he knew it was working. You needed peace of mind.
~
The following day, you approached him as he sat at the table, nursing a glass of whiskey while lost in his thoughts. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows that danced across his face, accentuating the rugged lines and his scar. Your heart raced as you hesitated for a moment, gathering your courage.
"Hey," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "Can we talk, Butcher?"
He looked up at you, his small, cocky grin widening as he took a long, deliberate gulp of his drink. "’Course, love. Sit," he replied, tilting his head toward the chair next to him with an air of dominance.
You slid into the chair, the sound of the lightbulb above you both buzzing the only noise for a moment. "Did, uh," you started, trying to phrase your question without giving too much up, "Did Hughie mention anything about me? Within the last few weeks, anyway?" You scanned his face intently, hoping to catch any sign of recognition.
He shook his head slowly, his expression morphing into one of exaggerated innocence, as though he was genuinely puzzled. "No, can’t say I recall anything of the sort. Lad talks a lot, dun’ he? Not much of value there, tho. What, he catch you in the middle of a wank? Princess been caught in the act?"
His joking tone did nothing to help the growing tension within you. You felt a flush creeping up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and frustration, and maybe something else you would really rather not embrace in this moment. You couldn’t help the way his voice stirred you up— you’d always had a thing for accents, sure, but something about his voice was different. The way any words or perverted jokes could drip off of his tongue like smooth honey simply entranced you. Even when he was being obscene (which you very much enjoyed.) "Ah, never mind. It’s nothing," you said, pushing your chair back and rising to leave. It must’ve been in your head.
As you turned to walk away, Butcher’s voice stopped you in your tracks. "Ya know, I’d imagine I’d have a niceee firm grip. Real tiny, it would be, compared to these mitts."
You paused, blinking at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?" you murmured, turning back to face him, your curiosity piqued.
"Well," he drawled, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, "ya mentioned wonderin' how my hands might feel around yer pretty little neck. That’s my guess, anyway."
His words hung in the air, laced with a mix of challenge and cockiness that made your heart pound even harder. So he did know. He was just toying with you, trying to make you tick. Well, it worked. The way he spoke, so casually yet with a hint of something darker, left you feeling a bit.. hot. You stared at him, struggling to process his unexpected comment.
"Butcher," you started, your voice shaking slightly, "I didn't—"
"Easy now, pet." Billy drawled, a sly grin spreading across his rough features, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just havin' a bit of a laugh, yeah?" He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, the wood creaking under his weight. "Seein' as you've been eye-fuckin' me like that diary's got state secrets, I figured I'd take a peek myself." The words rolled off his tongue honey, and despite how mortified you were, you were also undeniably entranced. "Can't say I was surprised by what I found." He chuckled darkly, his gaze raking over you. "Filthy little thing, ain't ya? But, I gots to admit, it's a bit of a turn-on, knowin' you've been imagining me all… dirty-like." He winked, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. "So, don't go gettin' all bent outta shape. I'm flattered, really."
You felt your heart stuttering in your chest as Billy's words hung heavy in the air, your eyes widening at his remarks. You could feel the blood rushing to their cheeks, turning them into a rosy shade. Your stomach was a mess of knots, twisting and turning with every beat of their racing heart. You’d had been caught - and in the worst way possible, no doubt. There was no hiding it now. All those late nights, pouring your feelings onto the pages of that diary, thinking nobody would ever find out. And here he was, not only knowing but reveling in it.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, you forced yourself to nod, managing a smile that was tight and clearly embarrassed. "Right. Right. Uh, thanks for the, um, chat." With those words, you turned on your heel, desperate to escape the situation. You felt a strong urge to sink into the floor beneath you, to disappear entirely from this excruciating moment.
As you began to walk away, Butcher’s voice called out again, halting you in your tracks. "Why d'ya keep doin' that, love? We're just 'avin' a little chat, ain't we? I ain't quite finished yet. Sit."
His voice carried a mix of playful taunting and something darker, and the smug grin on his face made it clear he was relishing the discomfort he was causing you. He was toying with you, just for his own amusement.
"No, I’d rather not," you blurted, trying to control the trembling in your voice. "It’s really embarrassing, and I’m humiliated. Honestly, you were never supposed to see that and I swear, I never would’ve acted on anything and—"
He snapped his fingers, cutting off your nervous ramblings. The look he gave you was a mix of impatience and a clear "I don’t want to hear it" expression. His finger pointed insistently at the chair next to him, his gaze firm as he leaned back and finished the remainder of his whiskey.
"Sit," he said once more, his voice rough and affirmative.
Despite yourself, you found your legs leading you towards him, obeying almost instinctively. You walked back to the chair, sinking into it with a mixture of reluctance and humiliation. How much longer would this torture go on? Butcher’s sudden display of dominance should have been intimidating, and should have made you feel nervous and on edge. Instead, it only fueled the heat beginning to linger in your lower stomach. You could swear your underwear felt a bit damper than before.
You sat there, feeling the weight of his gaze as he studied you with a casual, almost amused expression. His nonchalant demeanor only deepened your discomfort, and you found yourself unable to meet his eyes, focusing instead on the floor.
Butcher took his time, savoring the moment, his gaze lingering on you with amusement and something else you couldn’t quite grasp. You could almost hear the gears turning in his mind, as if he was enjoying every second of your struggle. At last, he opened his mouth, tilting his head as he began to address you.
"I've been thinkin' 'bout it meself, pet. How a little thing like you'd feel squirming underneath me. Don't reckon it'd take much effort on my part, do ya? Could easily pin ya against that wall over there and have ya just where I wantcha. Real snug like, ain't that right?" He purred, leaning on the table as he spoke.
Your heart began pounding as his words sunk in. You looked at him, a flash of recognition gleaming in your eyes. So, he’d felt the same as you did? The realization was almost too much to process. You started to gnaw on your lip, the weight of the moment making it impossible to maintain his unwavering gaze. "Butcher," you began, your voice trembling with a mixture of uncertainty and hope. "Are you messing with me?" The question came out as a whisper, delicate and full of longing. Every fiber of your being was praying he was sincere, that he meant every word he said. That he’d just up and take you, right here and right now before the others got back.
"Cross me bloody heart and hope to die, love. Ain't pullin' yer leg 'ere. I’ve been waitin’ to pounce.. and now that I got a whiff of what you're thinkin', there ain't no reason to hold back, is there?"
He stood up from his chair, placing the glass on the table with a light thud. With deliberate, measured steps, he closed the distance between you until he was mere inches away. Now, he was all you could see, think, and smell. The heady mix of cinnamon and smoke filled your nostrils, a scent uniquely his. Your eyes roamed over his rugged face, every line and scar a testament to his hard-lived life, and you found yourself admiring him more deeply than ever. You couldn’t believe this was truly happening, a scenario that only existed in your daydreams. However, one thing was clear: you wouldn’t let this opportunity slip away.
"The, uh," you began, trying to give off the illusion of confidence in your voice. "The others will probably be gone for another 45 minutes or so. We’re alone until then, so…" Your words trailed off, your wide doe eyes meeting his, praying he’d make a move and take advantage of the moment like you’d dreamt about since the day you met him.
"Well, well, look who's’ all eager." Billy sneered, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he ran his tongue over his lips. "Forty-five bloody minutes. That's more than enough time for what I've got planned for ya, pet." His voice was gravelly and thick with amusement and something darker that caused a knot to form in your lower stomach. He didn't even bother easing into it before he lunged forward, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that sent sparks down your spine. You could taste the whiskey on his breath, feel the stubble scrape against your skin, and it only made you want him more. Your hands tangled roughly in his hair, pulling him closer, surrendering to all your deepest desires. He reciprocated with a growl, his own hands roaming possessively over your body, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched. This wasn't going to be a gentle dance - it was going to be a brutal, exhilarating ride, and you couldn't fucking wait.
part two? 🙏
part two PUHLEASE
not interested sorry!