#billy butcher fanfic

[muldermuse]

Calling Butcher Daddy by accident in bed and his reaction

ok so I like to think the first time you call him daddy is when he’s fucking you really hard and mean

like your ass is raw from being spanked with his big hands, your slick and butchers spit are sliding down your inner thighs and every time butcher slides his thick cock in you- it’s an audible squelch

the room feels so hot that it’s bordering on claustrophobic. butchers hairy chest is hot against your back and you can feel a sheen of sweat covering your writhing body

you look completely fucked and you definitely feel it. you’re utterly under his control, cumming on his cock without warning- too far gone from how good he’s making you feel

he tilts your head up to look at him, he smirks at your glazed over doe eyes and your small smile back at him

“aw, is my cock too much darlin’?” his voice taunting you from above

“s’so fuckin’ good daddy” you fall back on your front, pushing your ass back onto butcher’s cock

he stops his movements, gripping your hip to still his thrusts. he tells you to repeat yourself and all you can do is slur “daddy daddy daddy” into the comforter you’re lying on- mouth agape

“huh, s’that right. i’m your fuckin’ daddy?” he starts fucking you again- his thrusts hard and precise; tapping your gspot repeatedly. butcher smirks as your eyes roll back, “s’alright baby, daddy’s gonna give ya all his cum. daddy’s girl wants his cum deep- right?”

[enchantedflameandflower]

This week we’re thankful for T & A 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻😌

Amen.

[macfrog]

fucking diabolical | one shot

i don't have a semblance of an explanation for this one. i've fallen off the ledge and i'm never coming back. if you know, you fucking know.

pairing: billy butcher x f!reader summary: you move in across the street. butcher notices. warnings: unspecified age gap, infidelity, unprotected car sex, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink (one mention of pregnancy), softdom! & soft!billy...? weird. word count: 3.6k

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Six days. He made it six days.

He’s not this weak a man, is he? Is he really? To stand by the living room window, whiskey in hand, white-knuckle grip threatening to shatter the glass. Five minutes. Only five more minutes.

To watch your figure float between rooms, flicking lamps on and flitting blinds closed. A patchwork façade, now become an almost nightly routine. Polite little home on a polite little street, on this polite little evening.

You’ll leave the radio on in the hallway. Your neighbors will never know.

He’s not so weak to feel himself harden at the mere thought: your body bending backwards under his, his every move stealing the sweetest of sighs. Leaden weight in his pants, painful and premature and at the same time – a fucking relief, honestly.

Relief that he’s still alive, somewhere inside himself. Relief that he can feel something other than burning rage, simmering resentment. Relief that he can still spot a right fucking sort when he sees one.

Billy’s not a weak man.

You just might be testing his willpower, is all.

It’s been a month since you moved in. Since you first crossed paths across the street. He was walking Terror, cooling off after another spat with the missus. Never fucking listens, does she, old boy? Never. I ain’t tryna cause a fight, but she makes it so bloody –

Hang about. Who’s this?

You looked too good to be true. Boosting yourself up into the back of the moving truck, dipping into the shadows for the one, two, three steps it took him to reach the curb. He could feel the ricochet of his pulse through every vein in his body.

You resurfaced in the light, nudging a brown box towards the ledge with the heel of your shoe. Skimpy little shorts, Billy noted, your skin glistening with sweat and sun.

When you hopped back down, your breasts – Jesus fuck, your breasts – they bounced so perfectly into place. Full and round and fucking delicious beneath that tank top.

Billy loves a challenge, doesn’t he? Fly little bugger. Didn’t matter to him when your little twat of a husband came scurrying out, scooped up the box and, following your direction, staggered like some pathetic drunkard back inside.

Didn’t matter to him, and didn’t seem like it mattered to you. At least, not when you caught sight of your new neighbor and took one looping glance – from raveled boots to rugged beard, lingering on the Hawaiian shirt in the middle – and then smiled.

Smiled like you knew you were about to ruin his fucking life.

Hi.

Hello, love. Moving day, is it?

You gestured to your feet, then to the Tetris block boxes in the back of the truck. Bit of a shitshow so far.

Looks like it. Need a hand?

He could’ve sworn you were considering it, the way you paused. The way your hands crossed to cover the ring on your third finger.

You rolled your tongue from one cheek to the other. Thanks, you decided, I think we’re good.

And then, just as Billy made to cross the street, you cast another line.

Nice neighborhood?

His mouth twisted into that sick smirk of his. Muscle memory. He had you ensnared already. He glanced over his shoulder. Hm?

I’m not from around here. Is it a nice neighborhood?

He staggered back over, stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘s alright, yeah. Few wronguns, couple curtain-twitchers.

Terror sniffed a trail between the boxes at your feet. His leash wrapped around your bare legs.

You knelt to cup his blocky head, scratch the folds of fur between his ears. Curtain-twitchers, huh? you echoed to the pup. And which category does your daddy fall into?

Billy’s fist locked around the leash. He could already feel it: the rush of blood heading somewhere he knew it fucking shouldn’t.

Neither, he replied. Yet.

You looked up at him. All doe-eyed and innocent. Younger than him by a decent amount, so it looked. A light in your eyes and a fullness in your cheeks that gave you away instantly.

You looked brand new. Lovely little thing; a baby crease between your brows as you ruffled the dog’s snowy fur and stood up, mirroring Billy’s suspicious smirk.

So fucking sweet. So sweet, in fact, that Billy wanted to chew you up and spit you back out. Wanted to see how much of a mess he could make of such a pretty girl.

He’s always known just how to ruin a good thing, hasn’t he?

Well, you cleared your throat, it was nice to meet you, uh…

Butcher, he said, holding a paw of a hand out. Billy Butcher.

Billy Butcher, you echoed. I look forward to seeing where we both turn out.

Forty-five seconds still on the clock, he gives in.

Gives in to the need thrumming through his bones, so electric he can’t stand still. Gives in to his fluttering heart and the way it falters with each sighting of your silhouette.

Gives in to the fucking brick in his pants, the painful ache and the feeling like bruising each time it ruts against his jeans.

Can’t help himself, can he? He’s already bursting at the seams. He hasn’t touched you in – Christ, Billy, it’s only been eighteen hours – but fuck it.

You’re the only good thing about his day. The only relief he gets, the only time he feels like himself.

The only thing Billy has to look forward to these days, is pushing his cock inside someone else’s wife.

Ain’t that a fucking thing? Fuuuckin’ hell.

He thinks, swaggering down his front steps, that he should feel bad about it. He almost wishes he could.

He thinks, watching you mirror him across the street – collar up, head down, the way he’d taught you the first night – that he should call it quits. Tonight, last night, last week. This affair should never have started in the first place.

He thinks, as he sighs into his car and you strut off in the opposite direction, that he should let you go. Tell you to turn around, head back home. Back to your husband, back to your life – unblemished by Billy’s messy, poisoned hands.

He should let you go back to that girl he met on the side of the road. Ring on her finger, dimple in her cheek. A twinkle of innocence as bright as sunlight in her eye.

But you pause at the end of the street. Billy catches it in his rearview. You pause, twirl on your heel, and stare back at the Cadillac. Your arms come up – something of a signal, a prompt. He should have the engine running by now. He should be on his way to the meeting spot.

Billy thinks, if he’s half the man he’s spent his entire life trying to be, that he owes it to himself not to turn the key. To get back out of the car, and never watch for the shadow of you ever again.

He knows he’s not half the man he should be. And why the fuck would he be, anyway? He ain’t exactly got a decent lineup of role models to choose from. A seed planted in shit can grow into as tall a tree as it wants – the roots will always be steeped in shit.

Sod it.

The engine rumbles to life, and so does he.

Billy pulls the Cadillac in to the usual spot. A couple blocks from your street, the place is perpetually deserted – save for a couple stumbling teenagers last week and a meddling raccoon the week before.

You’re loitering beneath the cover of some trees, avoiding the splotches of amber streetlight. Hands in your pockets; shoulders bunched. Almost a month of sneaking around and still, each time, he almost mistakes you for some other ghost on the street.

The door whips open. You sink into the passenger seat.

“Don’t tell me you almost got cold feet.”

His eyebrows quirk. “That sound like me?”

You bite down on a cheeky grin. That dimple of yours makes itself at home. “Thought you were about to bail on me. Car trouble? Couldn’t get it to start?”

“Hm,” Billy pinches your chin, “That don’t sound like me either.”

He could swear he feels you nuzzle into his grasp; could swear your gaze softens just a little. But it’s dark outside, even darker in here, and he’d do well to remember exactly who you are, and exactly who he is.

Selfish, careless, irresponsible. A right cunt. Broken from the inside out, a black chasm which splits the four chambers of his heart. It’s in his bones, in his blood.

The kind of man who flirts with the neighbor, who meets her in a backstreet and fucks her in his car. The kind of man who goes home afterwards and showers her perfume from his skin; who plays with himself until he’s hard all over again just from the memory.

The kind of man whose wife reckons the new couple look happy. Honeymoon phase, she’ll say, and then drift off into some other corner of the house.

Billy lets his hand drop. “Come on, then,” he says, putting the car into park. “Ain’t got all night.”

He’s never bored of it.

Never bored of the smutty smirk on your face, or the way you skip around to the backseat. Never bored of that first touch, the heat on his skin that meets your frozen fingertips. Never bored of the way you melt into him, the need pouring from your body as soon as Billy pulls you into his lap.

There’s a thrill to it. A kind of ecstasy he hasn’t felt in years. For the sliver of night that you share together, he can be exactly who he wants to be.

It just so happens to be who you want, too.

He lifts the tee from your shoulders, teeth dragging between your collarbones. Across red lace and strap, pausing only to suck a delicate mark into the plush of your chest.

You giggle, throwing your head back. “No proof,” you pull his jaw away, “He’ll see that, you know he will.”

Billy nips at your bottom lip. “Tell ‘im he left it.”

“Ha,” you roll your eyes, “Good one.”

He toys with the lace on your hips, slipping a hand between your legs. “Poor baby,” he pouts, “Ain’t got no one to touch her at home.”

Your spine curls when he cups your mound. Tongue pokes at the corner of your mouth, eyes flood black; a wild animal eyeing her next meal.

He swirls his middle finger, teasing your clit over your underwear. “Make a mess in ‘em, sweetheart, just for me.”

“They’re already a mess for you,” you grit, nails digging into his shoulders. You grind into his palm, hips stuttering. “They’re – always – a mess – for you.”

He can feel it – the damp material at his fingertips, the warm wet on the inside of your thighs. You need this as much as he does. And that’s all this is, right? Helping each other out, being neighborly. A favor asked and answered inside of an hour.

Lend me some milk, water my houseplants. Fuck me until I can’t fucking think straight.

His cock strains against his jeans. Any longer and he’ll be making a mess in his own fucking underwear.

He kisses along the ridge of your jaw, sliding a hand up your spine to unhook your bra.

You shake the lingerie from your body, fucking perfect tits jiggling between your arms. Bare on top of him now – nothing but a scrap of lace over your hips and a sinful smile on your lips.

You fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, writhing still with the pressure he’s quickly building between your hips. Grinding into him, hungrier and hungrier.

“Stupid fucking shirt,” you groan, ripping the floral pattern from his shoulders. Your hands find the plain of his chest; solid, dappled with dark hair, chain catching the streetlight and reflecting it in your eyes.

Billy laughs to himself. He pulls his hand from between your legs, sucks the tease of slick from his fingers, and guides your lips down to his. “Come here.”

No, he’s not a weak man. He’s been a fighter his entire life. Fists that have broken bone, words that have crumbled foes to dust. If you ain’t already a cunt, the world will make a cunt of you, yeah?

But here, now, you – undoing his belt, tossing it to the footwell; pushing the denim from his hips. You, giggling when he bucks you up to rid himself of his underwear, and your head hits the roof of the car.

You, taking his stiff cock in both hands, biting down on a moan when you feel the weight of him –

You might just be the thing that breaks him.

He thrusts up into your grip. “Drivin’ me off my head, you are,” he groans, burying his face in your chest when you squeeze.

“Good,” you reply, spitting into your palm. “’s what you do to me, anyway.”

You drag warm saliva over his length, slipping lower to massage his balls. So big and heavy in your hand, though Billy knows you’re being gentle.

Everything about you is gentle. Even while breaking your most solemn vow – the bullshit promises you made to that cunt at the altar – you’re so sweet with it. A favor, sure – but you want to make him feel good. You still want to pretend it’s real.

Only – there’s not enough time. Your husband will be home any minute, Billy’s wife has probably already noticed he’s gone. There are only so many excuses that an hour can allow, and the longer he spends admiring the way you caress his ball sack, the more of those excuses are written off.

For now, the back of his Cadillac behind a dilapidated Burger King will have to do.

“Alright,” Billy croaks, pausing your movements with a light hand on your wrist. “Gotta let me fuck you now, sweetheart. Been waiting all day for it, haven’t I?”

You chew on your lip, guiding his cock to your entrance.

His tip notches at your hole, so warm and snug just for him. He can feel how tight you still are, even after a month of him. Still not used to the size, the way he punches the air straight out of your lungs with that first thrust.

He wonders if you’re still having sex with your husband. Stupid question, maybe, but he does. He wonders whether, when the bloke slips inside, you feel yourself aching around him. Feel your cunt needing more, needing him.

The thought drains his head of any blood and sends it straight to his dick. He leans back against the headrest and pulls your cunt down over him.

The sound you make is almost enough to send him over already. A tiny squeak, a yelp which shatters into the most beautiful sound he’s heard all day. Need. Need and want, laced up and tied into the form of a pretty girl on his cock.

Need and want, which happens to push the word over her tongue just as he goes to ask for it.

“Daddy,” you whine, head rolling across Billy’s shoulder. Your hips are still, split open on top of him as your cunt adjusts to the intrusion.

“There she is,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, smirking. “’s my girl, let Daddy open her up a little.”

So fucking tight, it almost hurts. He can’t remember the last time he was inside someone who gripped him this much. Like you don’t want him to move at all, just stay put between your walls and let you call the shots.

“That feel okay, darlin’?” Billy asks, helping you straighten.

You look down to where your bodies connect – the dark trail of hair on his groin meeting yours. The twist of lace, underwear warped to make room for the width of his cock.

You brace yourself with two hands on his stomach, and push up. Only an inch, barely enough for any relief, but when you drop down on him again, you wince.

“She’ll get there,” he says, slipping a hand around the small of your back. He cradles you in the crook of his arm, kisses the hinge of your jaw. “Just gotta give her a little bit a’ time, don’t we?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you reply, in a bottled voice. You link your own arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him.

He lifts his hips, gently bucking until your whimpers quieten. Until the crease between your brow smooths, replaced with creases at the corners of your lips. A smile, a satisfied thing – her daddy always makes her feel better, doesn’t he?

Always blurs the edges of her pain. The relief after a long, shitty day; the escape from a long, shitty marriage. The need met; the want fulfilled. The hunger satiated, until eight p.m. the following night when you pull your hood up and go for another one of your walks.

You chant it to him, like with each syllable you’re turning the pain into pleasure. Daddy Daddy Daddy. Each one higher than the last, each one more desperate.

Your walls squeeze around him. You grind down against the thick hair at his base; clit swollen and soaked with your wet and his.

Billy’s eyes roll closed. He slips his fingers through yours, feels the cold brush of your wedding ring on his skin.

A good man would snap out of it. A good man would glance down at the strip of gold around his own finger, and call the whole thing off. Stuff himself back into his pants, drive the both of you home. Never look the road you’re on again, never look at another woman who isn’t his wife.

But his wife’s not here. Hasn’t been here, for longer than Billy would like to admit.

You’re here. Dove of a girl, soft coos from her lips and little fluttering movements. Good girl, right in his lap, begging him to tear her apart.

And thank fuck he’s not a good man.

He grits his teeth, jaw clenching around a pathetic moan. “Daddy’s gonna come, darlin’, gonna fill her right up.”

“Daddy,” you pant, “Daddy, I’m – I’m ovulating, please –”

“Good,” he grunts, slamming in again, “Means you’ll take it all then, won’tcha?”

You slur something of a laugh into his chest. Your thighs clench around his waist, rutting begins to falter. You dig your nails into his shoulders and, with a sobbing moan, you come hard around his cock.

“Oh, my God – Billy,” you gasp, hands grabbing the hair at the base of his skull. You give it a sharp tug and tilt his head skyward.

Billy comes with a guttural moan, a sound that tears from the base of his throat and echoes into your mouth. His cock pulses inside you, emptying into your little cunt.

Nothing has ever felt so fucking right, he realizes, than this cramped backseat. A tight squeeze, all of it – the sweet pinch of your pussy around his cock, the sweat and sex coating the windows in a hazy film.

The stars in his vision spatter, fading into the dull car. He settles back with a sigh.

You giggle, swaying to and fro in his lap. When you slip off, his cock settles heavy and soaked on his groin.

“Hold it,” Billy says, snapping your underwear back into place. “You hold it all in there.”

“Okay,” you smile, wrapping your arms around one of his, “Okay, Daddy.”

He closes his eyes. For a moment, he allows himself to fade out of this stifling backseat and to somewhere fresher, cleaner. Unbroken and untainted. No vows or golden rings suffocating either of you.

For a moment, he could almost believe it.

At his side, he hears the ruffling of denim. The flick of a lighter, once, twice, and then the soft crackling of a cigarette burning. The thick stench of tobacco fills the car.

“You wanna know something?”

You ask it quietly, timidly.

Billy snaps back to the Cadillac. His eyes flutter open. “What?”

You twirl the cig between your fingers, watching the snaking smoke bend and twist. “This is all I have. The only time I feel like I’m above the waves. Everything else is just…fucking…”

“…drowning,” he says.

You hum an agreement and lift the cigarette to his lips. “Isn’t that awful? I mean, we’re fucking awful people, aren’t we?”

Billy takes a long drag. The question fills his lungs, sour as smoke. “Not you,” he says, lifting his chin to exhale over your head. “Not you.”

“Hey,” you tug on his arm, “How come you get to be the cunt, and I don’t?”

He answers with an empty shrug, another cloud of smoke obscuring you from his vision.

“What would we do if you got me pregnant?” you ask, wafting the air.

He scoffs. “You’re askin’ if we’d pretend it was his?”

You shrug. “Sure. Would we?”

He rests his chin on your head. “S’pose we’d have to,” he utters, watching the blur of headlights soar by the parking lot. “You want to admit this is what you’re up to every fuckin’ night?”

“No.”

“No,” he repeats.

“It would be a shitstorm, though,” you snicker. The cherry glows again as you suck on the end.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” Billy agrees.

[dollerinna]

SHUT UP AND LOOK PRETTY :: B. BUTCHER

─ 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝚑𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝚑𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑜𝑏 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝚑𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛’ 𝑐𝚑𝑒𝑒𝑘𝑦

𝓑illy butcher ੭୧ fem! brat reader ┇ oral m! receiving

BILLY BUTCHER was a bastard, and he wore it like a badge of honor. But you? You didn't cower under that withering glare. If anything, you met it head-on—sharp-tongued and reckless enough to dance on the edge of his patience until he snapped you back into place.

"Mm... I swear, assholes like you always have the biggest di-" The words slurred off your lips between each languid stroke, slow as honey sliding off a spoon, spiked with just enough venom to make them sting ever so sweetly.

Before the last syllable could fully form, Butcher's hand twisted into your hair with ruthless precision, the sharp tug startling a gasp as your head was wrenched backward.

"Oi- shut it," He barked, voice fraying at the edges with that gravel-pitched snarl that somehow managed to make everything sound filthier. His grip stayed merciless, anchoring you in place. "Ain't payin' you for yer backchat, love."

The faintest curve pulling at the corners of your mouth only spurred him on, his fist cinching down with a bruising authority as he dragged you closer. The swollen, darkened tip of his cock grazed against the contour of your bottom lip—hot, heavy, and unapologetically solid.

"Think you can sass me with a mouth full of cock, eh?" Butcher's eyes darkened, a harsher, more bestial gleam flickered to life within his stare, eclipsing that familiar glint. "Proper bird knows how to use her mouth without gettin' cheeky, so get back to it."

You didn't hesitate. The weight of him, already swelling between your teeth, carried a palpable heat that bled from his skin akin to smoldering coals, thickening the air to the point of where it felt ready to suffocate. As you took him in deeper, your lips stretched around the rigid girth, inch by delicious inch, until your throat tightened with the strain.

The raw, uneven rhythm of his exhale shattered the silence, strong digits threading deeper into your scalp. "Fuckin' hell...” Butcher's groan teetered on a gritted growl, his free hand bracing against the nearby wall. "That's it. Take it all, yeah?"

The hum vibrating within your vocal cords earned another guttural sound from him, the tip of your tongue tracing the buzz of a prominent vein along his shaft. His hips jerked forward in shallow thrusts, pressing further down until the head of his dick nudged the very back of your soft palate, stretching you to the brink.

He wasn't gentle. But then, you hadn't expected him to be.

"Big cock's a bloody curse," he muttered, each word fracturing under the weight of his breathing as you swallowed around him, the spasmodic clench of your muscles forcing a tremor through his stance. "But it don't mean I’m gonna start slowin’ down like some limp-dicked twat, whisperin’ sweet fuck-all in yer ear.”

His pace quickened, each thrust driving deeper as precum spread over your tongue like a rising tide of molten wax that refused to ebb—fiery and stifling, branding you from the inside out with every throb that followed. Even then, his fingers in your hair remained taut, locking you in place as if afraid to lose the burn.

"Least you've got some talent," a grunt rumbled from the well in his chest, thumb tracing a mocking semblance of tenderness along the delicate skin of your temple. "Might keep you around if you behave."

Butcher wasn't bluffing—he would keep you around. But only if you learned fast not to bite the hand that fed you. Or in this case, the cock that kept you on your knees.

[little-wicked10]

Smell so Sweet🍑

Summary: Soldier Boy’s powers make it easy for him to read people’s physical reactions. He happens to pick up on the fact that every time she’s around Butcher and himself, she gets REALLY horny.

Warnings: PORN WITH NO PLOT🥵🔞, cursing, dirty talk, degrading, daddy kink, subspace, drug use, multiple orgasms, anal, creampies (what kind? Yes)

Notes: reader is called Peach because I’m uncreative like that🤷‍♀️ Thanks for voting for this on my poll!

//

Learning to control his supe powers and senses had taken Soldier Boy years. They were long, grueling, painful few years, but the payoff was a harmony he hadn’t known until his powers worked with him instead of against. If he concentrated hard enough, he could pin point everyone down to their sound and scent.

The cum guzzler, Hughie, had a heart beat like a rabbit most of the time and smelled of some kind of obnoxious sprayed on odor mixed with something that reminded him of a bologna sandwich. Weak.

Butcher’s heart rate was all over the place, slow one minute and erratic and panicked the next. Past the cigarette and alcohol smell, the Brit had a strong manly scent that he could only compare to himself. It had a different musk than his own, but it gave off the same feeling. Strong.

Then there was her.

She drove him crazy. He chased after the smell of her sweet perfume mixed with her naturally sweet smelling skin. She smelled like goddamn peaches and cream. So sweet.

He could pick up on hormone changes in women the easiest for some odd reason, and hers were his favorite to fill his senses with. So, it was easy to discover her little secret.

//

The first time Soldier Boy picked up on it was the day he met her. She stood to Butcher’s right, and he could already smell her attraction to the cockney asshole. It wasn’t as strong as he thought it be, probably because she had learned to control it around him, but it suddenly got stronger when her eyes landed on him. Sharp eyes saw her pupils dilate and her rapid heart beat pounded in his ears.

“And uh…who’s the broad?” Soldier Boy smirked at her.

“She’s a valuable memba’ of the team, mate,” Butcher placed a hand on the small of her back, her hormones went wild at the contact, “She’ll be lookin’ after ya while Hughie and I track down the last few membas of Payback for ya.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, okay?” he snapped his eyes to Butcher, “I think I know how to fuckin’ lay low.”

“Well, guv, she knows her way ‘round ‘ere and can get ya whateva’ ya need,” Butcher pointed out, “She’ll help ya out, keep ya company while the lad and I chase some of these leads.”

Solider Boy turned his smirk back to her, “You alright with this, sweetheart? I can be quite a handful.”

He sensed her answer before she told him, “Yeah, I’m fine with this. Rather hang out here than watch Hughie’s teleporting junk.”

//

“Ya know she wants to fuck you, right?” Soldier Boy casually mentioned to Butcher one night.

Butcher chuckled, “Yeah. I seen those fuck me eyes she tries ‘idin’.”

“Bet with that shit you’re shootin’ up, you can smell what I smell,” Soldier Boy quirked his eyebrows up with a devious smirk.

“Fuuuuck she smells sweet, don’ she?” Butcher groaned, “You eva’ ‘eard ‘er late at night’? Ugh. W’at I wouldn’ give ta see those wet dreams.”

The two sat outside smoking on the motel balcony. Soldier Boy inhaled sharply before passing it, “You ever smell her when we’re both in the room?”

The Brit began to chuckle as he took the burning joint, “Picked up on that righ’ quick.”

A groan left the other man, “Smells like the ripest fuckin’ peach you’ll ever fuckin’ taste.”

The two sat in silence as the same idea passed through their minds.

//

She was curled up on the motel couch when Butcher returned without Hughie. Even through the line of bennies he’d just snorted, Ben’s nose filled with the smell of peaches as her two favorite people were in the same room. Butcher glanced over at the supe, inhaling deeply before disguising it as a sigh.

“Hey Peach,” he called.

She perked up at the nickname and looked over at him. It was a mystery to her why she’d been bestowed the name, but she didn’t really look too much into it.

“Hand me that bottle o’ whiskey. I’m out over here,” Ben commanded.

She rolled her eyes before sarcastically saying, “Oh yes sir! Need anything else?”

Both men felt her reply go straight to their dicks. From the motel table, they watched her grab the full bottle from the coffee table and walk towards them. If she paid a lick of attention, she’d have noticed the way they eyed her head to toe. “Sit with us, love. I could use the comp’ny,” Butcher offered as he kicked one of the chairs out. She sat down, watching as Ben crushed more pills with the hilt of his Bowie knife.

“Soldier Boy ‘ere givin’ ya any trouble?” Butcher asked sternly.

“When he’s not bossing me around, he’s not too bad,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, “I’d have a bigger problem if he wasn’t sharing his weed.”

Ben chuckled as he used his blade to make little lines, “Thought pretty girls like you liked bein’ told what to do?”

They noticed her cheeks flush a bit and smelled her hormones skyrocket. Butcher started bouncing his leg impatiently the deeper her scent filled his mind like a fog.

“Experience says they sho’ do,” Butcher chuckled.

She picked up a joint and lighter off the table, “Only by the ones I call daddy.”

Butcher practically barked when he laughed, “Well, well, well. Dirty lil’ bird you are.”

She lit the joint and took a deep drag, both men watching her chest rise and fall. Ben waited until she exhaled the smoke from her pretty lips before speaking again, “Dirty girls and clean lines, that’s my motto. If you think I can snort, you should see me eat.”

He smirked at the blush that seemed to be there permanently whenever they were around.

“Ain’t that just the cutest lil’ blush ya ever did see,” Butcher teased with a smirk playing at his lips.

It was then that Ben decided to reveal the elephant in the room, “Ya know we can smell how turned on we make you, right?”

Both were amused as she choked while exhaling.

“C’mon, Peach. You really think I wouldn’t pick up on it? I’m fuckin’ Solider Boy,” Ben chuckled as he set his knife on the table, “And, Butcher’s been shootin’ up enough of that green shit to know what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Let me tell ya, Peach,” the way the word rolled off his tongue with his thick accent should have been wrong, “That’s exactly w’at ya smell like. Peaches and fuckin’ cream with a lil’ bit of sugar sprinkled ova’ the top. Me mouth starts waterin’ an’ me bollocks achin’ every time I step through that door and smell w’at’s permeating from between them luscious thighs.”

She subconsciously crossed her legs, feeling their eyes dart to the action.

“I bet she tastes just as sweet,” Ben leaned back in his chair, “What ya wanna bet, Butcher?”

The man was leisurely stretched out in his chair as his dark stare never left her body, “No doubt, guv. Ya don’ smell like that and not taste just as sweet. But…betta’ to find out. Care if I ‘ave the first go?”

“Be my guest,” Ben quickly replied.

The fact that they were talking about her in front of her as if she wasn’t there was a huge turn on. Like she was too dumb to join their conversation about tasting her cunt. Butcher suddenly slid off his chair to his knees, crawling towards her to kneel before her crossed legs. His rough hands started at her ankles before delicately traveling up her calf, over her knees, hooking his hands in the crease of her thighs and yanking them open. A gasp fell from her lips as her legs were spread and Butcher made his bulky self at home, large hands clasping around her hips with a lazy smirk on his face.

“Gooood-damnit! That’s potent shit,” Ben growled, throwing his head back.

“Lift ya hips, love. Daddy’s dyin’ of thirst. Ain’t that a cryin’ shame?” he asked her as he dug his fingers into the waist band of her shorts.

She held herself up, biting her lip and nodding as her face burned.

Butcher couldn’t help his chuckle when he shimmied her shorts and panties off, “An’ the only thing that can quench this mighty thirst of mine is drippin’ out of yer pretty cunt.”

Breathing suddenly became hard when his cocky smile lowered between her legs. One hand gripped the edge of the wooden chair while the other gripped his black hair. The position was awkward until her legs were thrown over his broad shoulders, and he yanked her closer to the edge of the chair. There was no warning as Butcher dove in. A strangled moan left her throat as his whole mouth devoured her from clit to slit, chasing every drop of her sweet honey to places that hadn’t been explored.

She cried out loud when he suddenly let loose a deep growl that vibrated against her folds, strong arms wrapping tighter around her thighs to shove his face deeper. He could fucking drown like this. They sounded like two animals. She whimpered and whined in a high pitch, pornographic manner. Butcher grunted and groaned like a rutting beast. Ben sat back with a joint in his mouth and hand on his dick. Her scent filled the room now.

Ben admired the way her little toes curled when Butcher made her cum, “Butcher’s a greedy son of a bitch, but, what else is new?”

Both her hands were dug deep into his hair now as her hips attempted to roll towards his mouth. Ben suddenly stood up, exhaling smoke as he strode towards the two. He stood next to her, his hips level with her head, holding out the joint towards her ‘o’ shaped mouth.

“Wrap your lips around it. Think you deserve a lil’ puff after that last one,” the supe encouraged.

Her eyes popped open and stared into mischievous green ones before flicking down to his hand. With a shaky breath, she wrapped her lips around it and inhaled.

“There ya go, doll. Nice long drag. Don’t make her choke yet, Butcher,” Ben complimented.

The supe pulled the joint from her lips with a satisfied smirk as he watched her hold the smoke in her lungs before exhaling. The exhale turned into a broken whine as Butcher built her up to another orgasm.

“You wanna a go, mate?” Butcher reluctantly pulled away as she cried in protest.

“Fuck yeah, I do. Move over,” Ben shoved the other man’s shoulder.

The Brit backed away and stood up as Ben made room for himself. Just like the previous man between her legs, no time was wasted. No one could ever accuse these two men of being inefficient. Butcher took a seat at the table again as Ben had his fill. The second his tongue met her folds, he growled and shook his head.

“Why not give ‘er lil’ arsehole a tickle? I know I did,” Butcher smirk could only be described as cheeky, “Tell Soldier Boy how much you liked havin’ yer arsehole tongue fucked.”

A desperate cry left her lips, “I-I loved it!”

“Try again,” Ben slapped her pussy making her squeal.

“Butcher’s tongue in my ass felt so, so good!” she cried, “I was about to cum again when he took it out.”

Ben cooed, “See, Butcher, if you would just keep your damn mouth shut and do the job, you’d have a higher success rate.”

“Oi, cut the supe shite. I was nice enough to offa’ up a taste before she started pushin’ me head away. That lil’ cunt was flutterin’ away when me tongue was shoved up ‘er arse, made the job much easier for ya,” Butcher barked back.

“Oh my god! Please! Someone put me out of my fuckin’ misery!” her desperate whine interrupted.

Ben slapped her pussy harder, “Sassy lil’ thing.”

“Ya got no idea, mate,” Butcher took a hit.

Ben brought his mouth down to suck harshly at her clit. Two of his thick fingers shoved inside of her making her scream. Butcher admired her toes curling in the air and her fingers desperately grasping Ben’s brown hair.

“O-oh, Ben!” she whimpered as his finger teased against her other hole.

Ben growled as he roughly held her still, dipping his fingers into her cunt then dragging the wetness down to play with that forbidden little entrance. It was when he shoved his tongue inside her weeping cunt and nudged the tip of his finger into her ass that she let out a strangled moan, cunt clenching and gushing.

Butcher inhaled deeply with a growl, “Fuckin’ ‘ell! Toss ‘er on the bed.”

The supe sat up, wiping his mouth and beard before jerking her up like she weighed nothing. Both men strode towards the bed before she was thrown half hazardously onto it. Ben was quick to yank her shirt off as Butcher started unbuttoning his own. Her eyes looked up at them like a powerless doe at the mercy of the wolves. Her body already hummed from her first two orgasms, but she craved more. She rubbed her thighs together as her cunt throbbed uncontrollably.

Ben grabbed one of her ankles to throw her legs open, “That’s the last time I wanna see those legs closed.”

She felt a gush of arousal at his command, “Y-yes sir.”

“Gonna need ya to stay niiiice an’ spread out for us, Peach,” Butcher had the audacity to wink as he jerked her other leg open, “Might ‘ave a ‘ard time gettin’ her to keep’em closed after this.”

Her blush would have been from embarrassment if they hadn’t already dove head first into her cunt and asshole. There were still sparks of insecurity that crossed her features as she lay with her legs spread wide open, but they’d fuck that right out of her. Butcher was the first to move, rounding the bed to sit behind her. With a grunt, he maneuvered her around to be on all fours.

“Give daddy a lil’ nosh while Soldier Boy opens up your pretty holes, yeah?” Butcher grinned as he gathered her hair in his hand.

She watched with wide eyes as Butcher made her watch him jerk his belt and fly open with a free hand. The bed dipped behind her as Ben roughly spread apart her ass. Her mouth watered at the size of Butcher’s thick length, straining against his hold to reach down and pleasure him. Butcher’s dark chuckle didn’t distract her from staring. When he brought her head down to wrap her lips around his tip, Ben shoved his fingers inside her cunt while circling over her asshole.

The back of Butcher’s head slammed against the headboard as the woman enthusiastically sucked him off, “Bloody…fuckin’ ‘ell! Like a goddamn hoova’.”

“I love a bitch that gets off on suckin’ dick,” Ben groaned.

The way the men laughed at her eagerness should have made her feel ashamed, or even mad, but it just turned her on even more. It made her push her hips back into Ben’s hands and her tongue stroke Butcher’s length with the need to keep them talking. Keep degrading her and using her until her body gave out. She whimpered when she heard and felt Ben roughly spit on her asshole before he inched a finger inside to the knuckle. The burn was foreign while pleasurable. Her body didn’t know whether to lean in or away from it.

Ben’s eyes were dark with lust as he enjoyed the sweet torture they were putting her through. It motivated him to be a little crueler in how he handled her. When her hips tried to pull away from him burying his finger more inside her, his other hand roughly left her cunt to hold her hip and keep her in place, “Nah, doll. No runnin’. Take it like a good lil’ trooper.”

If Butcher wasn’t getting his soul sucked out, he would have rolled his eyes at the supe. He looked down at her sucking his dick like it was the best tasting thing she’d had in her life. He loved desperate whores. He hadn’t realized how desperate she was until that Temp V shit got his senses heightened enough to hear a mouse queef. His eyes went wide when she suddenly pulled off of him and let her tongue lazily lick over his balls while her hand stroked his dick.

“A-ah shit,” Butcher shivered as she wrapped her lips around it, “You diabolical slut! Noshin’ on me fuckin’ bollocks!”

“Damn, she’s tight. I’ll stretch that out no problem,” Ben’s smirk was dark.

“Not before I do,” Butcher groaned as the sound of her sucking and slurping on him filled the room.

She suddenly pulled off of Butcher and glanced up at him, a shy but mischievous look in her eyes, “I want you both inside me. Please.”

Butcher suddenly leaned forward, holding her head closer to his face, “Louder, peach. Don’ fink Soldier Boy ‘ere ‘eard ya.”

She whined, but repeated, “I want you both inside me! Please!”

Both men chuckled, Ben spanking her made her cry out and jerk forward closer to Butcher’s face. A shaky gasp passed her lips when Ben pulled his finger from inside her, “Ya want us to just shove our dicks in there? Stretch you out ‘till you’re a cryin’ and snivelin’ slut?”

A whine left her throat, “Y-Yes! Ruin me!”

“Oof, ya hear that, mate? Don’ you worry, peach. You are neva’ gonna forget w’at we’re gonna do to ya,” Butcher’s breath smelled of weed as he chuckled in her face.

She squealed when Ben smacked her wet pussy before stepping away. Butcher pet her hair affectionately before ordering her to straddle him. She was so turned on she was trembling as she waited for him to kick his boots and jeans off. When he was finally naked like her, she crawled into the man’s lap, knees settling on either side of his hips. A moan slipped past her swollen lips when his callused hands pawed at the meat of her ass. Butcher looked down to watch her hips slide along his length, teasing them both. “Please! Please, daddy!” she babbled.

“That beggin’ is so pretty. Keep doin’ it,” Butcher slurred.

“Please, daddy! It hurts!”

Ben chuckled, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Gotta tell him, or he can’t fix it.”

Butcher held her hips still making her cry out. Her nails dug into his shoulders, “I-I need y-you inside! Aches inside, daddy.”

The Brit chuckled with a smirk as he urged her to hover over him, grasping his cock in hand to notch the tip to her entrance. His smirk turned to a smile as she struggled to sink down. “Aww, poor peach. Daddy too big for ya?” he teased.

She whimpered and squirmed to take more, “Need more. F-Fuck I….please!”

Ben’s strong hand on her shoulder pushed her down. Neither man could look away until she was fully sat in Butcher’s lap. He was careful not to grip her too hard, but holy shit was she tight! Butcher growled feeling her walls pulse around him. If he were a younger man with less self control, he would have busted right then. Her arms frantically wrapped around Butcher’s neck as she cried and whimpered. He nuzzled his beard and lips against her chest, sucking marks into the delicate skin of her breasts.

The air was knocked out of her when his hips thrust up into hers. Burly arms wrapped around her body before he started moving her body along his. “F-Fuckin’ ‘ell! That’s it!” Butcher groaned as he looked up at her. When he noticed a few tears wetting her cheeks, he gently kissed them away, “Too much for ya already, peach? Ol’ Soldier Boy hasn’t even ‘ad ‘is turn yet.” She frantically shook her head, and she heard Ben chuckle from the side of the bed. Suddenly, she was rolled onto her back with her legs wrapped around the man’s waist. Butcher sat up, grasping her hips in his large hands, before starting a brutal pace.

She moaned and gasped, clawing at his wrists and throwing her head back. Every thrust had her gushing around him, and he refused to relent until she was on the verge of falling apart. The coil kept tightening in her belly with every thrust against her sweet spot. A strangled cry came from her throat when his callused thumb strummed her clit causing it to snap. She gushed around Butcher’s cock, the man’s hips faltering to keep him from cumming with her. “Fu-uckin’ ‘ell, peach! Bring’a man to ‘is bloody fuckin’ knees, why don’ ya?” Butcher growled as he dug his blunt nails into the skin on her hips.

Ben suddenly huffed, “C’mon, I ain’t had a piece of ass this fine in decades.”

The other man rolled his eyes and panted as he slowly eased out of her quivering walls, “‘ow long ya gonna keep milkin’ that one, guv?”

She whined when Butcher was no longer inside her, but it didn’t take long for Ben to take his place. The supe pounced on her, throwing her shaking legs over his shoulders and sheathing his full length inside her. She screamed and grabbed onto the shitty headboard rails for dear life. He gave a dark chuckle as he started an unforgiving pace, “Hold on tight, baby. Let’s show Butch how a real supe fucks.”

Butcher rolled his eyes as he relit the forgotten joint. Cocky bastard. Honestly, they both were which explained why they butt heads. Ben fucked hard and powerful, slow at first but quickly picked up when he found the spot that made her gasp the loudest. Her body began to shake, the familiar sensation flooding her nerve endings. Her body instinctively tried to pull away from his harsh attack, but the bruising grip on her hips kept her in place. Ben laughed at her pathetic whining, “What I say about runnin’?”

“P-P-Please,” she whimpered pathetically, “Ca-Can’t!”

“Thought you wanted us to ruin you, honey?” the supe taunted as he snatched the joint from Butcher at the side of the bed, “You’re so, so close. Think I’ll make ya squirt more than Billy Boy?”

Butcher growled, “Shoulda kept ya in the bloomin’ freezer.”

“Can’t handle a lil’ competition, Butch?” Ben chuckled as he puffed and fucked.

It was the sudden gushing around his cock that brought his attention back to the fucked out woman. “Oh shit!” he groaned as he looked down to see her little cunt leaking and struggling to push him out. She lightly convulsed, euphoria having wracked her body like a shock of lightening. The sounds of the men both taunting and praising her were muffled. She’d never been fucked like this before. Used like a battle ground between two alphas trying to out do the other. The thought of both of them fighting at the same time made her heavy body squirm.

“Wonda’ w’at she’s finkin’ to get her to wigglin’?” Butcher slurred.

“Same thing I’m thinkin’ about,” Ben said as he swiftly slid out of her sensitive walls.

In her haze, she felt her body being moved, repositioned until she lay on her stomach over a strong, broad body. She lifted her head to look into Butcher’s dark eyes. His callused hands ran along her back, sides, and hips, enjoying the way her body was melted against his. The man quirked a brow when he noticed her staring intensely at his lips. How could he refuse the earnest and pleading look in her eyes? He thread his fingers through her hair and brought her lips to his. She moaned into his dominant kiss, thighs tightening around his waist and arms wrapping around his neck. A satisfied sound left her throat when Butcher effortlessly slipped into her abused cunt again. His hips started a lazy rhythm as their lips and tongues danced together.

The bed dipped at the bottom as a bottle popping open cut through the wet sounds. A small squeak stuck in her throat when the feeling of cool lube dripped against her asshole. Her previous four orgasms made it impossible for her to tense up beyond holding on to Butcher. “Nice n’ easy, peach. There’s a good girl,” Butcher mumbled into her lips as Ben angled her hips up more. A shiver rolled down her spine when she felt him slap his still hard cock against her asshole.

She cried out when he pushed just the tip inside, the pain of the stretch shocking. Ben held one ass cheek in hand while his other hand ran up her spine. “I’m just gonna slip right in, peaches,” Ben groaned as he inched forward, “Stay still. Let me in. Theeere we go.”

Full. That was how to describe how it felt. Full and overwhelming. She swore she could feel them in her throat. A strangled moan burst from her throat before turning into a cry. Her forehead pressed into Butcher’s neck as her body processed the new feeling. The man behind her leant over and sunk his teeth into her shoulder as his hips slowly drew back then pushed forward. Each stroke elicited a whine from her lips, but she didn’t tense, she didn’t wiggle away, her body and mind were too fucked out to allow her to try and escape. She wanted this. She needed this. She needed them to ruin her.

Butcher picked up on her comfort and began to work in tandem with the other man. When one thrust pushed in, the other pulled out, creating an insane back and forth rhythm. She could feel every vein and ridge rubbing against her walls. Her whimpers turned into mewls, body writhing like a cat in heat.

Butcher inhaled deeply with a satisfied moan, “All I’m gonna be cravin’ is a taste of peaches and cream when I’m around ya, love.”

“It’s my new favorite flavor,” Ben grunted before licking and biting his bottom lip, concentration etched into his brow.

She couldn’t hold back the pathetic sounds she made when their hips started thrusting faster and harder, clit being stimulated against Butcher’s pelvis. Her whole body was a live wire, mind melted and only able to comprehend the way they fucked her beyond her limit. A growl rumbled between the two men when she pushed her hips back against them. “She’s not even thinkin’! Look at that! Pushin’ her hips back to get those dicks deeper,” Ben slapped her ass.

“Keep makin’ ya self feel good, peach. That slutty cunt’s flutterin’ away. She barely wants to let me go,” Butcher taunted.

Tears spilled down her cheeks and nails dug into the tanned and scarred skin below her. She babbled and moaned, pleasing and praising them for all the pleasure and pain they were giving her. “Pathetic slut. Ya want it so bad? Then do it,” Ben growled.

She screamed when they roughly bottomed out over and over again until it all finally exploded. Her vision went white, air escaping her lungs, and shivers flowing through her body. She tensed so hard around them, it was nearly impossible to move. Breath rushed back into her lungs feeling Butcher and Ben cumming inside her. It was a mix of growls, grunts, and sobs as the intense high passed through all of them. “Christ ON A CROSS!” Ben bit out. Whatever British slang Butcher grumbled out was incoherent through his gravelly, sex-filled voice. She was hyper aware of their cum leaking out of her around their dicks, the feeling wouldn’t soon be forgotten. Nothing about what they did to her would leave her memory for as long as she lived.

“Good girl, good girl, peach,” Butcher panted as he pet her sweaty hair, “J-Just…Let’s just stay like this.”

She pressed a cheek to his pec and nodded.

Ben blinked and shook his head, “Whoo! Haven’t cum like that in 40 years! I need weed.”

The supe slowly pulled himself from her abused hole, smirking at her little whimpers. A cool feeling swept across her back as he got off the bed and shuffled over to the kitchen table. Her mind floated in and out of consciousness. She lost the battle to be present in reality when big arms wrapped around her and murmured little sweet nothings. The smell of marijuana smoke mixed with the smell of sex in the air. The last thing she remembers before slipping into darkness was listening to the two men start to bicker.

[chaotic-iguana]

desperate | billy butcher x reader

a little something in spirit of kinktober and my delirium. lmk what you think. nsfw below the cut. mostly denial/teasing.

“fuckin’ look at you, doll.” butcher flashes you a shit-eating grin before reaching up to pinch your nipples between his thumb and forefingers harshly, rumbling a chuckle at the whimper it draws from you. you’re all splayed out for him with your hands tied to headboard above, thighs wrenched open by his shoulders; skin hot and flushed under his touch. he’s told you to stay still twice already but you can’t, not when he’s been leaving featherlight brushes on your skin for hours and cruelly laughing at every sound that comes from your mouth, smiling at the way your hips buck in his hold- 

and then he’s leaning in just to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to your sternum, beard stinging against your sensitive skin, jaw working to nip and bite until your tears are falling and he’s pulling back with a mocking tut, eyes twinkling.

“all these pretty tears just f’me, love?” your frantic nod makes him raise a brow, hand coming down to swat the inside of your thigh - the impact shooting straight to your poor, neglected cunt. 

“use y’words, chatterbox.” 

his tone makes you want to curl in on yourself, because he knows you’re too far gone to form words right now, too far gone to think about anything beyond the fact that you need him and that you might actually die if he stops touching you. but you know butcher, and you know how mean he really is - he’ll keep you writhing on the bed for hours to fix your attitude if he doesn’t hear an answer now; uncaring of the fact that you’re barely grasping at thoughts and completely fucking gone. and like the devil, you  he starts rubbing circles into the juncture of your thighs while you struggle to answer him.

“y-yes, da-butcher. ‘m cr-crying for y-you.” he hums, and suddenly runs a knuckle through your folds, making you keen, tears sticking to your lashes. 

“yes, who?” bastard. he knows you can never bring yourself to say it - not even if it rests on the tip of your tongue every time - and despite yourself, you bite your tongue and shake your head, hiccuping. 

“oh we’re being shy now? fuck me, honey, where was this when i had my cock in your ass?” his hands rest just above where you need him now, thumbs stroking your abdomen in careful, downward brushes. your back arches into the touch, hips chasing him even when he pulls his hands away, and then you’re sobbing in earnest. 

another tut, dripping with condescension. “no more cryin’. tell me what you want, baby.” and you’re gasping another breath and gulping air, wrists straining against the rope before stammering out another response, too delirious with your need to register what you were saying. 

“need you to t-touch me, d-daddy, please.” he shuffles up, gripping your chin to turn it towards him before capturing your lips in his, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. his thumb presses gently on your buzzing clit, making you jolt with surprise. you blink at him, frowning. he’d never cave this quickly. 

until- he’s reaching down to plant a kiss to your forehead, smoothing over your hair before nuzzling against your cheek. 

“gotta give my pretty girl what she needs, don’t i? 

masterlist

taglist: @bastardmandennis and @amanitacowboy (no one else would be into the boys i think) love u both @imherefordeanandbones

@cafekitsune’s divider.

[bohemianblasphemy]

“Feel this? It’s just for you”. Gawd I need that so bad!

I’m so sorry for lack of posting yall - my course is getting busy and I’m in a bit of a mental health slump but here we go MORE BUTCHER✨

Another late night at the iron building had come again - research after research, another piece of paper to file away, it was an endless rabbit hole of corruption and scandal when it came to taking Vought down.

The quiet clicks of your keyboard filled your little corner of the office, your eyes often drifting to the desk parallel to you where Billy sat. His focus was on his computer monitor, scrolling through his folders upon folders of information.

Seeing his eyes dart back and forth, his head in his palm to hold himself up, index finger placed on his upper lip and running over his moustache… you couldn’t help but stare.

Your gaze didn’t go noticed by him, his eyes quickly darting over to you which made your heart skip- having been caught.

“You right there?” His voice was gravelly- a sly smirk spreading across his face, his question bouncing off the walls of the once still room.

“Sorry…” you mumbled, turning your attention back to the computer monitor. Billy chuckles to himself, switching off his device.

Pushing his chair out from his desk he grabbed his bottle of whiskey that he had on display, pulling two glasses from his drawers.

“Care for a drink with me? You’ve been workin’ hard all day…” he poured his own drink, looking over to you for your answer. “Yeah, thanks Billy…” you smiled softly at him, turning off your own computer and stepping away from your desk.

Billy grunted in acknowledgment, pouring you a glass and passing it to you as you walked toward him. Taking a sip of the brown liquor, the burn of the alcohol slid down your throat causing you to cough, making Butcher laugh softly as he tossed back his drink as if it were water.

“Cmon love surely that little sip didn’t make ya cough like that.” He teased.

“Shut up, butcher.” You replied back sarcastically. The second sip you took going down smoother but the grimace still appeared on your face.

Butchers eyes never left your body as he poured himself another glass, drinking you in. Watching the way you stood nursing your whiskey, giving him the odd nervous glance in which he found himself admiring.

You both stood there, sipping your drinks in the stillness- occasionally interrupted by sounds of the streets below.

“You know love…” he broke the silence and stepped forward toward you, looking down at you.

“I see the way ya look at me…” he was close enough to you to feel his hot breath on your cheek, the lingering scent of alcohol on him.

The look in his eyes made your heart race, your breath hitching in your throat. “Billy…” you croaked making him smirk, knowing what he was doing to you was making you got.

Taking your glass and placing it on the table next to you, he pulled you into him by the waist. The desire between you two was undeniable, your hands pressed against his muscular chest and his lingering along your hips and backside.

Billy could see the want in your blown out pupils, pressing himself against you- hearing you gasp as you could feel his hardened cock against your pelvis.

He took one of your hands that was on his chest, running it down his abdomen- feeling the soft material of his shirt before guiding it further down to the rough texture of his jeans and placing your palm right where he wanted you most, feeling him twitch under your touch.

“Feel this?” He whispered in your ear, leaving soft kisses along the side of your neck. “It’s just for you…”

You sighed softly at his words, a shiver of lust tingling in your spine. He brought his head back up to look at you, seeing your eyes filled with a mixture of suprise and longing, making your cheeks flush a dark shade of red.

“Now now, don’t get all shy on me love…” he cooed, bringing his hand up to your face. His thumb caressed your chin, gently playing with your bottom lip.

His action encouraged a small whimper from you, making him chuckle.

“Ya want me sweetheart? Ya want me as much as I want you?” His lustful timbre rang in your ears, awakening every single nerve in your body.

His embolden comment caused you to become bold, looking up at him with challenge and want filling you to the brim.

“I want you bad…” you breathed, your hand still on his length as you squeezed him gently, causing a growl from within him and sending butterflies to your stomach.

Without hesitation he closed the distance between you both, encapsulating your lips with his in a fiery embrace. You were both hungry, feral for each other’s touch.

His hands gripped under your ass, lifting you up and placing you upon the wooden desk behind you- laying you down as his fingers fiddling with the fastening of your pants and underwear pulling them down your legs, discarding them to the floor.

Butcher soon reached for his own jeans and undid them, pulling them down enough for his cock to spring free before returning to you- looking at you laid out on the desk with your legs spread, tracing his digits along your inner thigh toward your glistening cunt.

A small gasp left his mouth as he felt your wetness, fingers rubbing between your folds and circling your clit- his eyes flickering to your face seeing you bite your lip at his touch.

“That’s just for you…” you whispered, echoing his words from earlier. He suddenly stopped, letting another growl fall from his throat as he moved forward, sliding his dick along your folds gathering your wetness.

“Damn fuckin’ right it’s just f’me…” he grumbled, tapping your clit with his tip and making your hips jolt, slowly drifting himself down to your entrance and pushing into you slowly.

You gasped and held onto the edge of the desk, feeling him fill you to the brim as you let out a deep sigh, adjusting to his length.

“P-please butcher, please move… I need it.” You asked, butcher happily obliging as he snapped his hips into yours. He dragged his thumb down to your clit, circling it for extra stimulation.

The sound of slapping skin and grunts from the both of you filled the room, endless profanity bounced off the walls as Butcher railed into you.

“B-Billy!” You whined, your head falling back as you felt the warmth within your stomach build, thighs quivering around him as you neared your orgasm.

“Fuckin’ cum f’me love, I wanna feel you cum on my cock.” Butcher grunted, loving the way your walls clenched around him. His thumb continued to circle you as you came hard, hearing your strangled sounds echo through the room.

His thrusts became laboured as you came on him, his cock twitching as he came deep inside you with a gutteral moan.

Butcher stood there for a moment to admire your flushed face and parted lips, humming softly as he pulled you up to sit at the edge of the desk, kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

“Butcher…” you whispered, looking up at him as you pulled away from the kiss. “Shhh… just kiss me.” He replied back, bringing you in for another kiss, holding you in his embrace- the outside world seeming to be put on pause as you were entwined with one another, not letting go.

[wicked-barbie]

Bite the bullet and run

The Boys: Billy Butcher x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI) 

WC: 1.9 k 

Prompt: Held at Gunpoint for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: spoilers for season 4, injury/blood, oral (f receiving), fingering, c*m eating, overstimulation, a bit of angst, alcohol consumption, anger, hallucinations 

Summary: Billy Butcher is living on borrowed time

Billy is staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, and he knows it. The trigger is cocked, bullet warm in the chamber, just itching to fire into his brain. Karmic retribution; he’s done his fair share of lousy shit under the guise of being a hero, and now it’s catching up to him. Took the V and paid the price. He’s living on borrowed time as the tumor destroys his brain, bringing him closer and closer to death. He knows it, but he can’t admit it. Even as the hallucinations of Rebecca and Kessler make it painfully honest.

He wonders how long he can keep spinning out of control, keep blacking out, and keep pushing reality down; god knows it’s already wreaked havoc on his mental state. It’s not like he can escape it; eventually, the cold, hard reality will come knocking on his front door. His mind flickers briefly to the thought of you and the citrus smell of your perfume, of leaving you behind to handle the mess. You’re a cold-hearted bastard, Bucher; just admit, it will do you good, Kessler sneers. But he’s not; Billy Butcher is flesh and blood, human, and he’s not ready to bite the bullet just yet.

He downs the shot, the whiskey burning his throat and dulling his senses. The liquor won’t change anything but allows him a moment's sweet respite from reality. He can hear Kessler’s sardonic laughter from the stool next to him, the outline of him in Billy’s peripheral vision. He’s not fucking real, the cunt ain’t there, Billy seethes in his head.

That’s where you’re wrong, Billy Boy. I’m a part of you now; better get used to it—the devil on his shoulder.

Billy orders another shot, nearly jumping out of his skin when your hand presses against his shoulder. He’s ready to throw an enraged punch to your face until he realizes it’s you.

“What has you so pissed off that you were ready to knock me through a wall?” you ask dryly as you slip into the stool beside him, Kessler’s form dissipating. You turn toward the bartender and order two shots: one for him and one for you.

“A bit of this, a bit of that, love. This Neuman business has got us all on edge, don’t it?” he grumbled, wrapping his blunt fingers around the shot glass. You want to slap him right across the face. You know it’s more than that.

You hmmm softly before downing your shot, then tap your fingers against the sticky bar counter.

“Sorry, but I’m not buying that bullshit. You’ve been off for weeks. You’re hiding something.” You don’t mean to sound so accusatory, but you’re tired of dancing around the issue. It pisses you off that he’s withholding, and you’re tired of letting him crawl between your legs so he can avoid reality.

“Ain’t none of your business, love,” he snorts, and you slam your hands against the bar.

“Fuck you, Billy! It is my fucking business! If I’m gonna wake up to you dead next to me in bed one morning, I deserve to fucking know,” you growl, making heads turn in your direction.

Tell her, Billy. You don’t have to be alone. I don’t want you to be alone. Sweet, sweet Rebecca, the angel on his other shoulder.

He glares up at you, anger dancing in his dark eyes, but you can see the pain pushing through. You’re ready for the explosion; you welcome it. Anything to prove that he still has a fight inside of him, that he isn’t giving in so willingly. Glass shatters as he slams it against the bar, tiny pieces embedding in his skin and blood oozing from the shallow cuts. You hold your hand out as the bartender storms over.

“We’re going,” you assure him, leaving enough cash to cover the shots and a generous tip to compensate for the disturbance and broken glass. You grab Billy’s upper arm and tug him towards the door.

The bartender was kind enough to lend you a clean rag to wrap around Billy’s injured hand, and you guide him toward your apartment, which is a couple blocks away. The silence is deafening as you both sit hunched over in your small bathroom (the light is better there) as you remove the glass from Billy’s cuts with tweezers. Once you’re assured you’ve gotten them all out, you wash and disinfect his hand before wrapping it in a clean bandage. How many nights have you spent cleaning blood and stitching up wounds, avoiding the hospital if able? How many nights have you spent with his mouth hot on your cunt as his tongue brings you to the edge of sweet oblivion? Intimate in so many ways, yet the art of communication is lost.

“I ain’t trying to lie to you, love. I just don’t wanna say it,” he murmurs, his gaze cast to the floor, counting the white tiles to glisten in the bright light.

Tell her, Billy

You gently grasp his uninjured hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles. “Are you sick?”

He nods.

“Are you living on limited time?”

He nods again. He’s told you all you need to know without saying a word.

“Will you let me be there for you?”

There is a hesitation before he nods a third time. He can see Rebecca smiling at him from over her shoulder.

“Thank you. I won’t say anything to the rest of the team,” you assure him. Secrets are for him to share, not you. You won’t betray his trust in that way.

“Thanks, love.”

“Come on, you can crash with me tonight.”

You find a show to watch that isn’t under the Vought umbrella and share Chinese takeout with Billy, squished together on your small couch, the space he’ll be sleeping on tonight. You made it painfully evident with the extra pillow and blankets sitting on the small coffee table in front of the TV. The truth may have been revealed, but you’re not ready to completely mend fences.

“Night, Billy,” you whisper, brushing your lips over his warm cheek, feeling the soft stubble of his beard scrape against your skin.

“Night, love,” he sighs, and you disappear into your bedroom.

Eventually, you’re finally caught in the hazy space of sleep and the waking world when you feel the mattress dip. Billy’s warm body settles against your back, and his bandaged hand rests on your hip.

“I’ll go if you want me to, love, but I’ve missed you,” he whispers in your ear before his lips ghost along the curve of your neck. Need palpitates in your belly. You don’t want him to go. Maybe you’re more forgiving than you thought.

“Don’t…don’t go, Billy,” you beg, your words holding a heavier meaning as tears sting your eyes.

“I’m right here, love, I’m right here,” he assuages, pulling you closer with his other hand before it slips under your tank top to cup one of your breasts. His thumb circles around your nipple until it hardens. His cock presses against the swell of your ass. Your citrus perfume tickles his nose.

You rut against him, grabbing his hand and moving it down your belly. He plunges into your shorts, his warm palm finding your damp cunt immediately. His rough fingers stroke your folds, gathering up your arousal.

“Billy,” you whine. His bare chest radiates warmth, and you yearn to curl into it.

“I’m right here, love,” he breathes as two fingers slip inside you. You clench around him, rocking your hips as needy mewls spill from your lips. It never takes much for him to make you come completely undone. You try to push away the thought that he’s living on borrowed time, which could be one of the last moments you share with him. Might as well make the most of it.

Your eyes roll back as his fingers pump steadily in and out of your pussy, making your toes curl before you spill into orgasm. Animalistic lust surges through you as Billy removes his fingers and tugs your shorts down your legs. You roll over, tugging off your tank and his boxers before lowering your mouth to suck on the tip of his cock. Once he’s coated in your salvia, you mount him, sinking deep onto his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he groans, his good hand gripping your hip tightly before slipping up your belly to take a handful of your tits.

You bounce on his cock, working your muscles and riding him like it might be his last night. You try to push away the thought that it very well might be. You reach down to cup his face as sweat pools down your back.

“Billy, fuck, Billy,” you moan, tracing your thumb around his plush lips.

“Love the way you scream my name, darlin’,” he grins, all cocksure. There he is. There’s your Billy.

“Don’t I know it,” you purred, squeezing around his cock as his hips thrust beneath you. A chill sets in the outside air, but inside is all heat. His flesh is sweaty and salty, and you can’t get enough of it.

Billy finds his fire and his strength, remaining buried inside you as he changes positions, placing you on your back underneath him so he can pound you. Your legs tighten around his waist as he leans down to capture you in a fiery kiss, one where you can taste his passion and the salt of his skin. Your nails skim down his back as flesh smacks together. Wet sounds fill the air, intermingling with his grunts and your pants. You tremble beneath him as you reach your peak, and he spills inside you, making you milk him for all he’s worth. He stays pressed against you as your fingers drag lazily through his damp, dark hair.

Billy gazes into your eyes, thinking it was well spent if this was his last night on earth. Better to go out with a bang and in between the thighs of a woman he loves. Not that he’s ever uttered those words out loud. Almost feels as if he’s betraying Rebecca, but fucking hell, how long can he hold onto ghosts? He gently slips out of you, leaving kisses along your neck, over the swells of your breasts and your belly, before he reaches your soaked, swollen cunt. He can’t help but swipe his tongue over the mess of himself mixed with you.

“Billy,’ you gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair as you squirm against his mouth.

“Indulge a dying man, would you, love? Don’t deny me my favorite last meal,” he murmurs against your damp thighs.

“Oh, you’re an asshole,” you laughed, giving his hair a sharp tag.

“Don’t I know it?” His tongue swirls against your core, dipping inside you.

You’re oversensitive from earlier, and it doesn’t take long for you to cum against his mouth, feeling absolutely spent by the time he’s finished. You’re coated in sweat, and a shower sounds so good, but you can’t be fucked to move. You barely muster up the strength to drape yourself over Billy’s naked chest, holding tightly to him. His bandaged hand rests lightly against your lower back. You snuggle your face against the crook of his neck, committing his scent and flesh to your memory.

Billy Butcher is staring down the barrel of a gun, but for now, he only cares about the feeling of you in his arms. He’ll bite the fucking bullet another fucking day.

[redroses07]

Like this and i’ll return from my temporary hiatus to write a Billy Butcher fanfic.

[muldermuse]

Headcanons for being Butcher's questionably young hookup??

fuck it il bite

loves being out at a bar with you, seeing guys your age eye you up but knowing full well that he’s taking you home. if he’s especially lucky, someone will try and buy you a drink but you’ll just point at butcher who waves at the now terrified looking lad

is obsessed when you wear baby t shirts. you send him ones you find online all the time that say shit like ‘throat goat’ and ‘i ❤️ older men’ and he lowkey desperately wants you to get one so you can ride him just wearing that

billy can be a fucking asshole so i feel like he wouldn’t tell anyone about you, which tbh you kind of get off on. when you’re on your knees with his cock slick in your hand with your spit, you’re telling him that you ‘love being his dirty little secret’

he gets off on the differences between you. he feels haggard and rundown and you’re full of life. you kinda dote on him, like getting him skincare and a water bottle. he rolls his eyes and tells you he’s a lost cause but does start up a skincare routine (just washing his face and moisturising lmao but it’s an improvement!!!) and drinks at least a tiny bit more water every day

adores fucking you in his car. preferably on top of you on the backseat so he feels so fucking big compared to you

[enchantedflameandflower]

billy teaching his girl how to smoke a cig would be so attractive

I feel like maybe they would go out to a bar or something and in like a tipsy confession she says “i’ve never smoked” or something like that ”idk how to smoke properly im always coughing its so embarrassing blah blah blah”

Need my man to guide me through it

Billy x you! Nsfw 18+ only for smoking, smut, piv, creampie, hint of exhibitionism

Thank you SO MUCH for this ask anon! Once I got the idea for the vibe it just took off. Hope you all enjoy!

~

It’s late, almost midnight, and you’re sitting up on the roof of your apartment building with Butcher and a cold bottle of beer each. The air is a little chilly but not bad and no one else seems to ever come up here so it’s nice. You’d met Butcher at the bar but it had been crowded and annoying so you’d invited him back to your place. 

The building seems to be mostly made up of elderly people but you love it. They’re kind and quiet and you love being able to help them when they need. The random baked goods you receive from time to time don’t hurt either. There’s one old lady specifically that Billy has charmed completely. He’s definitely got her wrapped around his little finger, that one. 

And you enjoy the quiet at night. You’re sitting cross-legged on a sort of concrete platform on top of the roof that’s at the perfect height. Billy is sitting next to you, his big booted feet planted on the ground of the roof.

You can’t help glancing over at him, and you know affection is shining in your eyes but you can’t help it and you don’t care. You’d started this sort of friends with benefits casual thing a couple months ago but you were falling for him hard and you knew it. Yeah, he was rough around the edges, really rough, but there was so much more to him and you had never cared what anyone else thought. 

And damn if he wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever seen. Tall, dark and brooding as fuck. 

“I thought you quit,” you murmur, nodding toward the cigarette he’s puffing lazily next to you. 

He smirks. “I did. Don’t know what ‘cher talkin’ ‘bout.” He takes another drag then holds it out toward you.

You pause for a second but then you take it between your fingers. “I always feel like I’m not doing it right…” you half joke. “And then I just cough.”

Billy looks at you. “All this time on planet ‘earf and ya don’t know how to smoke proper? It ain’t that hard, love…” He grins mischievously. “Just wrap those pretty lips ‘round and suck. But slowly, not too much. An’ let it out slow like, too.”

You nod, pursing your lips around the cigarette but Billy scoots closer immediately. 

“Not so tight, love, relax. Little more slack…ya know, like how ya move your lips when me cock’s slidin’ in.”

You’re immediately pulling the cigarette out of your mouth as your cheeks flush. “Butcher!” 

He just grins and inches back on the platform before he tugs on your wrist, pulling you to sit in his lap and guiding your hand back up. “Try again.”

You try not to think about how good his hard thighs feel beneath you and put the end of the cigarette up to your lips but let it rest there between the two instead of gripping it. You take a slow inhale in, and then slowly blow it out again, watching as the swirl of white smoke drifts gently away. 

Butcher squeezes your hip. “There ya are, doll, see?” he grins, his dimple showing and you know he’s thinking his metaphor is what made all the difference.

“You’re a menace,” you murmur, handing the cigarette back to him. 

Butcher takes a long drag, then after a moment lets go. The thick smoke curls out from his full lips and between the both of you as he exhales. There’s something so fucking sexy about the way he does it and the glimmer in his eyes as he catches you looking at him. He continues to exhale, the smoke kissing your mouth. You breathe it in, swearing you can taste him on it. 

Holding the cigarette up to your mouth again, Butcher watches as you pull lightly and his dark hazel eyes go even darker with heat.

The look makes you squirm in his lap and his big hand clenches your waist. “Ya keep that up and I’m gonna end up takin’ ya right here on this concrete,” he threatens - promises? - a low husk to his voice now. 

Yeah…the thought of that and his gruff tone make you wet for him immediately. It’s been a couple weeks since the last time you slept together and suddenly now you need him so much it hurts. 

He must be able to tell by the look on your face because the corner of his mouth lifts in a wicked smirk. “Ya like that idea, dontcha doll?” 

“Maybe…” you murmur and he tsks at you. He gives you the cigarette and you hold it up to your mouth again as his hand slips down between your thighs. Your leggings and your thin underwear do next to nothing to shield your already throbbing clit from his rough fingers.

He presses in firmly, rubbing his fingertips in a little circle, and his smile widens. “I can already tell, hot and slick for me, aren’t ya.”

Two can play this game, you think. Leaning forward, you bite his full lower lip and he growls, sliding his hand in your hair and tugging you close to capture your mouth fully with his. He tastes like cigarettes and beer and something uniquely him, masculine and rich.  

His tongue slides over yours, hot and possessive and it turns your insides to jelly, somehow making you want him even more when you thought you were already at the max. You moan into his kiss as his tongue strokes into your mouth. The sensation makes you shiver, your center throbbing for him, clenching around nothing. How you wish he was already buried inside you. Butcher holds you closer against him and only breaks the kiss when you push at his chest, gasping softly for air. 

His eyes are dark with need and his gaze is intense. His eyes flick to your lips and you know they must be swollen and pink from his kiss. Your breath is still coming in little pants but you panic a little under his steady stare.

“What?” you ask, a little scared of the answer, but the look in his eyes is making you think crazy stupid things that couldn’t possibly be real, you had to be dreaming…

“Ya don’t even know how bloody gorgeous you are, do ya?” he husks. 

“I - ” you swallow, your muddled brain trying to make sense of what he was saying. Fuck. His hand is still pressed between your thighs and you groan as he shifts you closer. The motion presses his thick knuckle right against your cunt.

“Fuck Billy…need you, please…” you gasp, wriggling against his hand, your eyes fluttering closed.

You don’t want to wait to go back downstairs, you don’t want to wait another second, you want him right here, right now out in the open air, all of his teasing way too much to bear. You’ll beg for it if you have to.

But you don’t. 

Billy is moving the instant you stop speaking. He lets go of you to strip his battered old coat off and you squeak, throwing your arms around his neck, the cigarette still between your fingers, to keep from getting dumped right off his lap.

He tosses his coat on the cement next to you then reaches down to pull your shoes off, before standing and flipping you over to lay you down across his coat. 

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, smiling up at him from your prone position. The cement is still cold and hard beneath you and his coat, but you don’t care and you know you’ll appreciate the lack of cement burn in the morning. 

“Oi, when am I not?” he grins devilishly  and before you can answer he’s pulling your leggings down your long legs, and everything else with them, stripping you bare from the waist down.

He catches your gaze, then his big hand slides from your hip to your side, pushing your shirt up. He bends down to nip and bite at your stomach then drags his mouth over your skin, beard tickling and rubbing, until he reaches your breasts. You wiggle and arch to help him push your shirt and bra up the rest of the way under your arms until you’re naked from your tits down, spread out for him on the cement platform in the night air.

“You’re a fuckin’ sight, ain’t ya,” he rumbles, his eyes taking their fill of you as his rough hands smooth over your body and the chilled air licks at all your naked skin. “Think anyone can see?” He glances up to the right of you, at a taller building next to this one that clearly has lights in some of the windows. 

You whimper, squirming and closing your eyes. “Oh god…” you breathe. 

“Splayed out naked, out in the open here and practically beggin’ for me,” he hums.

“Billy,” you gasp. You aren’t sure if you want to just hurry up and get it over with or if you’re actually going to explode with pent up lust but either way you need him to fuck you now.

Billy seems to acquiesce and he palms your breast, tugging at your tight nipple with one hand while the other undoes his buckle and the button of his jeans. 

He takes the cigarette out of your hand and puts it back in his mouth, holding it with his teeth and taking another long puff as he unzips his jeans, pushing them just low enough on his hips so his thick cock can spring free. He flicks the cigarette aside on the cement then uses both hands to tug on your hips, pulling you to the edge. 

“Fuck…Billy,” you groan as he slots his swollen length against your slick cunt and presses your thighs further part then starts to push in. 

“Don’t need to tell me twice…” he rumbles. 

You stretch for him as he slides inside you, but he’s so big and you have to take a breath to relax enough to take him all the way. 

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans in a gruff voice, and he shifts to slip his thumb over your clit to help ease his way inside. 

The moment the tip of his thumb circles the slick, tight bud, pleasure bursts inside of you and he thrusts all the way in, filling you up. 

It’s so good. You cry out loud, then quickly lift your hand to cover your mouth and muffle the sound but Billy grabs your wrist, pulling your arm away. “N‘uh…need to hear ya, love. Need to know how much you need my cock…”

“Everyone will…hear…” you whimper as he thrusts inside you again. 

“Won’t know it’s you, doll. Let them listen. Let them hear how good my cock makes you feel…”

All you can do is moan as he thrusts again and then again, his fingers teasing at your stiff nipple and then your clit again, driving you mad, always knowing where to go next. But you need more, you need all of him. 

“Harder…please…Billy…” you moan, clenching around his cock as he buries it deep, gripping the edges of his coat with your fingers. 

“Tha’s my good girl,” Butcher growls, thrusting harder and picking up his speed, hitting that perfect spot inside of you over and over.

You’re crying out with each deep thrust now and you don’t care who hears. When you wrap your legs around his hips, he leans down and presses against you, catching your shoulders and holding on as he groans against the curve of your neck. You can feel the vibration from his chest just as he thrusts, hitting every nerve ending on the way. It makes you cry out loud again, desperate and wanton. The sound echoes off the brick walls, making you blush harder as the pleasure of it zings straight to your clit. Fuck why does it turn you on even more…and it’s so annoying how quiet he can be even when he’s making you crazy. 

After another moment though, all thought leaves your mind and all you know is how fucking good Billy feels as you balance on the knife edge of bliss. The base of his cock pushes right against your clit as he gives one last hard thrust and then starts to pulse deep inside of you. It’s more than enough to make you come too. You’re crying out his name before you can stop yourself in choked moans and gasps that can definitely be heard in the next building as your body shudders in overwhelming pleasure.

Butcher slumps against you as he finishes emptying himself in your body and you curl your arms around his neck, your cunt still fluttering around him as the waves of pleasure from your climax only slowly start to abate.

The cigarette lays forgotten going cold beside you as he finally pushes himself up and tucks his cock away. You can still feel his come leaking out of you, mixed with yours, warm and sticky on your thighs but you can’t even find the energy to cover yourself.

When he starts to slide your clothes back on for you, you make a little noise, tiredly protesting at the mess still between your legs, but he hums and shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in that smirk he has with a glint in his hazel eyes. “Have to wait ‘til we get back down to your flat, love. You like it, dontcha? Feelin’ what ya made me do?” he adds, his voice still gruff and low with sex. 

You make a sound of resignation but it is kind of hot, his small possessive way of marking and claiming you. You’re his.

When he has your bottom half dressed again, he grabs your hand and tugs you up, helping you pull your bra and shirt back in to place. You feel completely boneless and blissed out, and you quirk your lips in a half smile as you look up at him. “Fuck Billy…” you whisper. 

He chuckles softly and pulls you close against his broad chest in a hug, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get ya back inside and practice some more with that pretty mouth o’ yours, love, eh? Need ya too much.”

~*~*~ Thanks again anon, hope you like! Also thanks to @butchersdarkbird for letting me chat about it, @shirley-girly for giving me the perfect idea for a line for Billy on her reblog of a previous post and @dwinchesterspie1967 for the idea of including extra of his devilish smirk ❤️

@jynx15 @kus-babygirl @weallhaveadestiny @karlurbanism

@dustie-faerie @violent-darkness @bohemianblasphemy

karl urban masterlist

[burntsaltsblog]

hi hi!!

if you could write a billy butcher x reader about finding out that butcher is using temp v and the reader finds out that he could die.

orrrr

when billy comes out of mind readers trance, angst on lenny and his family, comforting him, him pushing the reader away but then needing to be comforted.

just a thought, i love your stories, thank yooou!!

hello!! thank u!! ur so kind <3 i wrote an imagine a little while back about the reader finding out about butcher taking temp v right here

thank u for ur request and i hope u like this little imagine i whipped up based on ur second request <3

tw: this story contains a retelling of abuse. pls don’t read if that may be triggering for u.

༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻

"I'm not waking him up," declared Mindstorm once again. He was quite bold for someone so old, frail, and, most noticeably, naked.

"Alright then," I shrugged. "Say goodbye to one of your eyeballs." I strived forward, pocketknife outstretched, before Huhgie grasped my shoulder tightly, halting me in my tracks.

"Stop. There's no need for violence," Hughie said, trying to calm me down.

"Haven't you lived long enough in this world to realize that violence is the only way to get what you want?" I growled at him, tearing myself out of his hold. "You're not leaving until you wake up our friend," I continued, facing Mindstorm. "And I don't care how many fingers of yours I have to cut off in the process."

Mindstorm narrowed his eyes, and I quickly looked away so as not to meet the same fate that Butcher did mere hours ago.

"I'll teleport you. Anywhere you want to go," Hughie offered, and I sighed at his meek attempt to reason with the stubborn supe. "The options are endless. I can take you to fucking Anartica if you want, and then you'll be far, far away from Soldier Boy. All you have to do is wake up our friend first."

Mindtsorm studied Hughie, and I could see the cogs turning in his head as he pondered this proposition. "You haven't seen the inside of that guy's head like I have. He's real messed up."

"You're one to talk," I muttered, glaring indignantly on Butcher's behalf. Hughie promptly elbowed me in the ribs, signaling me to shut up, but I scowled at him as well. I was highly protective of Butcher, and this situation only intensified that. Hughie should be thankful I hadn't sunk my knife into Mindstorm's jugular for his little comment.

"Just think about it," Hughie said, his voice significantly quieter. "Wouldn't it be nice to live in a place where you wouldn't have to worry about Soldier Boy breathing down your neck?"

Mindstorm grumbled under his breath, reluctantly agreeing. "Fine. I'll wake him up. And then," he pointed to Hughie, "You're taking me to Jamaica."

"Yes, deal." Hughie nodded vigorously. "I heard Jamaica is lovely this time of year." He chuckled nervously, and I rolled my eyes before stomping over to Butcher's body, falling to my knees beside him.

I hyper-analyzed Mindstorm's every movement with narrowed eyes as he sunk to the forest floor and placed his hands on Butcher's temple. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, whispering unintelligible words.

Anxiety riddled my body as each silent second passed by. I laced my fingers through Butcher's lifeless ones and willed him to wake up. "C'mon, Butcher. Please wake up," I whispered as unwanted tears stung my eyes. Until now, I hadn't considered that Mindstorm might not be capable of waking him up. But I was wrenched from my worries when Butcher gasped loudly as his eyes flew open.

"Oh, thank fuck," I sighed, full of relief that was soon replaced with worry.

Butcher's pupils were blown as he frantically looked around the woods we were gathered in. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and panicked apologies fell from his chapped lips. "M'sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."  

"Sorry for what?" I asked, confused.

"S'all my fault," Butcher mumbled. "It's all my fuckin' fault. I killed him."

"What is your fault?"

But it was as if he didn't hear me. Butcher continued looking in every direction as if the trees held a secret he was searching for. "Butcher, look at me," I shook his shoulders gently. "Butcher, please."

Butcher's eyes finally landed on me, and I cupped his cheek, tracing the tense lines to soothe him. "There, we go," I praised softly. "Good job. Now, can you breathe for me? Give me a nice, deep breath, yeah?"

I inhaled slowly, showing him how to do it, and he mimicked my actions. "That's it." I smiled. "You doing ok?"

Something inside Butcher snapped, and his demeanor hardened as he forcefully shoved me away. "Get your bloody paws off me. M'fine," he grumbled, rising to his feet on shaky legs. Hughie immediately reached forward to help steady him, but Butcher slapped his hand away. "Oi, I said I'm fine; I don't need help from either of ya' cunts."

I was stunned as I watched Butcher walk several yards away before fishing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and swiftly lighting one.

"Here," Hughie said, offering me his hand and helping me stand.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked lowly, continuing to eye Butcher from afar.

"His mind is just catching up to the present time. He'll be fine in a little while," Mindstorm interjected.

I looked at the supe, wanting to know more details about Butcher's recovery timeline, but saw that his attention was already on Hughie, regarding him expectantly. "You owe me a trip."

"Oh, right," Hughie replied before turning to me. "You stay here with Butcher while I take Mindstorm to Jamaica, ok? I'll be back as soon as I can."

I nodded wearily and watched Hughie and Mindstorm disappear with a resounding pop.

༺༻

"I'm worried about Butcher," I mumbled to Hughie as we perched on our motel bed together. "We haven't heard from him since we checked in hours ago. How do we know he's still in his room?"

"He has the same locator app on his phone like the rest of us. If he went somewhere, we'd know," Hughie replied, keeping his eyes trained on the cracked television displaying re-runs of old sitcoms.

I shook my head, rising to my feet. "I don't know. I have a bad feeling. I'm going to go check on him."

"Are you sure?" Hughie asked, glancing up at me as I headed for the door. "Butcher hasn't been in the best mood since waking up."

"And that's precisely why someone needs to check on him," I said, slipping on my boots and unlocking the door before pocketing the rusted motel key. "I'll be back in a minute." I looked back at Hughie, but he was distracted by Chandler Bing singing "I Will Survive" on the TV and giggling profusely.

I decided to leave him be and wordlessly slipped out of the door.

Butcher's room was next to ours, so the entire trip consisted of three and a half steps. I lightly knocked on his door and waited for him to grant me entrance, but that never came.

"Butcher? Are you in there?" I called through the door and strained my ears for an answer. But I heard nothing besides an ambulance that wailed on the highway behind the motel.

I sighed, biting my lip before I made the rash decision to try opening the door. To my surprise, the knob turned easily before the door swung open on hinges that squeaked in protest.

I peered inside as I hesitantly stepped over the threshold. "Butcher?" I tried again as I slowly roamed the room. The bed was still made, and the only proof that the room was inhabited was Butcher's overnight bag that he'd dropped on the floor by the door.

I was just considering leaving when I heard a small clamor from the attached bathroom, and I tiptoed over to peek through the cracked door. My breath caught in my throat at the scene before me, and I swiftly shoved open the door before falling to my knees beside Butcher's crumpled form.

"Jesus," I breathed as I closed my fingers around his chin, angling his head to better look at his face. His eyelids were drooped, and I was about to question him for his lethargic state when I spotted the empty bottle of whiskey that he clutched to his chest.

"Butcher, can you hear me?" I asked, tapping the side of his face, trying to revive him. He groaned, popping his lids and staring blankly into my face. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of the alcohol he had ingested.

"Butcher," I prompted again. "How much did you have to drink? Please do not tell me you had the entire bottle in one night."

"Oops," he said, pursing his lips lazily.

I sat back on my heels as I cursed harshly. "Fuck, are you trying to die of alcohol poisoning?"

Butcher chuckled softly, running a hand down his face. "Don't worry 'bout me, love. It would take a lot more than a little bottle of booze to send me to God's front door."

I squinted at him as I deliberated about how to handle this situation. There was no way I could leave him here on the dirty bathroom floor. "Can you stand?" I asked, wanting to move him to the bed so he could lie down properly.

"As it so happens, m'quite comfy here. Why don't ya' come and join me?" Butcher drawled, holding his arms out unevenly and curling up the side of his mouth in a smirk.

"As delightful as that offer sounds, I'm not really in the mood to curl up on a floor that I'm fairly certain has about fifteen different STDs on it."

"Well, I’m all clean, doll, and that's the only thing ya' need to worry about."

"You know, I hate to break it to you, but you're a terrible flirt when you're drunk," I snorted. "Now, can you at least try to stand for me?"

Butcher huffed out gruffly. "Fine. But if I fall over on me arse, it's your fault."

"Fair enough."

I guided his arm around my shoulder and slowly stood with him. He was a little wobbly at first, but after gathering his bearings, we shuffled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom with my assistance. Butcher collapsed on the bed before gazing around, puzzled. "Where's me whiskey?"

"You drank it, remember?" I snickered, gesturing to his disheveled appearance. "That's how you ended up like this."

"Huh."

I sat on the edge of the bed and cautiously ran my fingers through Butcher's dark, tangled hair, pulling it back from where it had stuck to his forehead, slick with a light sheen of sweat. At first, I thought he might push me away as he did earlier today, but to my surprise, he closed his eyes, and a slight sound of contentment vibrated in his throat.

"S'nice."

A smile played at the edge of my lips, and I kept repeating the action, watching the tension that the whiskey couldn't remove from his body dissipate. I thought Butcher had fallen asleep when he whispered almost too quietly for me to hear. "You're too good for me. All of ya'"

"That's not true, and you know it," I replied immediately.

"But I'm a bleedin’ murderer," he said louder as he opened his eyes, and my heart clenched when I saw he had tears in them.

"Butcher, we've all killed people. You're no worse than I am. Or Frenchie or MM."

Butcher shook his head adamantly. "No. I killed him, an innocent fuckin' person."

"Who?" I pressed, wanting to understand the source of his pain. "Who did you kill?"

"The one person I was supposed to protect." Butcher's voice broke, and he coughed weakly. "I shoulda been there to protect him, but instead, I fuckin’ killed him when he needed me the most."

Even in the midst of my confusion, I didn't cease stroking Butcher's head, wanting and needing to console him in any way possible. "I'm sure it was an accident. You're not a killer, Billy. And there's nothing in you that would ever convince me otherwise."

"Ya' don't understand," he croaked, looking up at me with sad, hazel eyes. My throat tightened, and I swallowed harshly to clear my emotions. Seeing Butcher so tormented clawed at my heart, especially when I didn't know how to help him.

"Then explain it to me," I plead softly.

Butcher looked unsure, and his unease was palpable. "I've never told anybody before," he admitted lowly.

"You don't have to tell me. But, Butcher, it might help to talk about it." I paused briefly as I carefully chose my following words. "Does this guilt you're feeling have anything to do with what Mindstorm did to you today?"

Butcher nodded, closing his eyes. "It's the one thing from me past that I've tried to outrun. But today, it finally caught up to me."

I was quiet as I watched the internal battle rage within Butcher. After several deliberary minutes, he omitted a sigh and began to tell his darkest tail.

"I had just turned eighteen. I'd been counting down the days until my birthday when I'd be a legal adult and could get the fuck outta my mum and dad's house. My old man...he was a fuckin' cunt. His temper was uncontrollable, and he loved to take it out on my younger brother, Lenny, and me."

Lenny.

I had heard a bit about Lenny from Butcher's aunt last year, right before her house blew up, but I never got any details. All I knew was that he had committed suicide as a child. It was tragic and involved a sort of heartbreak that I couldn't even comprehend, so I never asked Butcher about it.

"I tried to take the brunt of my dad’s shite to shield Lenny, but I was a kid, so there wasn't much I could do. There were times when little Lenny would be so hurt-" Butcher's voice wavered, cutting off the ending of his sentence, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he composed himself before continuing. "Our mum never hit us, but she never tried to protect us either. That twat of a woman never lifted a fuckin' finger as she listened to us scream."

Butcher's eyes drifted behind me as he recalled the painful memories. "I couldn't fuckin' take it anymore. I decided that on my eighteenth birthday, I'd run away to join the army. The idea of being shot at was worlds betta' than living under the roof of my piss-poor excuse of a father. But I couldn't take Len with me." Butcher paused, hesitating. "Even after he begged me to."

"Our father was awful to him," Butcher said, meeting my gaze, and I saw fresh tears well in his eyes. But he couldn't suppress them this time, and they ran down his face, wetting his cheeks. "He beat Lenny far worse than he ever did me. I think he was bitter that I'd been able to escape, and hurting me little brother was his act of revenge."

"I'm so sorry, Butcher," I mumbled, knowing that my apology did nothing to ease his pain.

"After six months, the army gave me a short leave of absence, and I used it to visit Lenny." Butcher's tears increased as his voice grew strained. "He looked terrible. He'd lost so much weight and was covered in bruises, so he didn't even look like the same person."

I softly dragged a finger under each of Butcher's eyes, wiping away his tears, but every tear I collected was quickly replaced with a new one. Carefully, I urged Butcher closer so his head could rest in my lap. I resumed running my hand through his hair, hoping it would have the same calming effect on him that it did before.

"He blamed me for our father's behavior," Butcher continued. "He said that I had abandoned him when he needed me the most. He said he couldn't fuckin' bear it anymore, and he'd rather be dead than be beaten every night by the one person who was supposed to love him more than anything."

Butcher closed his eyes and breathed shakily through his nose as he uttered the tragic ending of the story.

"And then he pulled out a gun and shot himself."

His words hung in the air and settled over us, blanketing Butcher and me in a morbid and melancholy feeling.

"And it was all my fault."

I was startled by Butcher's accusation of himself. "What are you talking about? It was your father's doing. You weren't the one beating Lenny halfway to hell every night."

Butcher looked up at me, slowly shaking his head. His eyes were puffy as they continued to dispel tears of his anguish. "If I hadn't left, Lenny woulda been safer, and he wouldn't've been driven to suicide. I practically signed my brother's death certificate."

"Butcher-"

"If I had just stayed, then my father wouldn't have-"

"Butcher-"

"So it's my fuckin’ fault that-"

"Butcher! Your brother's death was not your fault, do you hear me?"

I hauled Butcher up from my lap and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, forcing him to look at me. "How dare you try to take responsibility for the actions of a fucking monster. You are a good person, Billy. And I will spend every day telling you if that's what it takes for you to believe me because I can't bear to sit back and watch you punish yourself for a crime that you did not commit."

Butcher looked stunned by my outburst as he opened and closed his mouth without dispelling any words. I had never seen Billy Butcher speechless, but I assumed it looked like this.

"You're one of the best people I know," I continued, wanting to finish everything I had to say. "And I'm going to personally hunt down Mindstorm and rip his stupid, little shrimp dick off and shove it down his throat for forcing you to relive something so horrific. And then I'm going to cut his toes off and- what?"

Butcher had lowered his head, and his shoulders shook ever so slightly as he chuckled.

"Oh, you think I'm bluffing? Hughie dropped him off in Jamacia, so all I have to do is get on a plane and- seriously, Butcher, what are you laughing at?" I asked incredulously. How on earth could he laugh at a time like this?

Butcher raised his head, regarding me softly as his laughter died down. "No one has ever protected me like you do."

His profession took me aback, and I raised a brow, needing him to elaborate.

"Hughie said ya' almost carved Mindstorm's eye out after he put me to sleep."

"And I would've carved out both eyes if he didn't stop me. Buzzkill."

A smile played on the edge of his mouth as he shook his head back and forth. "You're something else, ya' know that?"

I bit my lip as I looked down, but Butcher grasped the side of my jaw so it'd meet his eyes again. "Why do you do it?" he whispered.

"Do what?"

"Take care of me. Anyone else on the team woulda let me drown in me whiskey on that bathroom floor, but not you. Why?"

I swallowed audibly as I stuttered. "I, uh, just thought it was the right thing to do."

"No, s'not it," Butcher murmured, raking his teeth over his bottom lip. "There's more to it. I don't believe you spent your whole evening consoling the broken mind of your boss because ya' thought it was the right thing to do."

When I didn't reply, Butcher sighed, leaning his forehead against mine and closing his eyes. "Why are ya' so hellbent on convincing me that I'm not a fuck up like I know I am."

"Because I care about you. More than I probably should."

Butcher pulled back, searching my face for any hint that I may be joking, but when he saw nothing but the raw truth, he nodded. "C'mere."

He drew me close before pulling me down on the bed till I was curled up on my side, and he was directly behind me with his chest up against my back. Butcher slung an arm over my waist as he nuzzled his nose in my neck, breathing me in.

"Stay for the night, please. I don't wanna be alone."

I reached for his hand, which rested on my stomach, and intertwined our fingers. "I'm never leaving you."

༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻

i hope u liked it!! i'm accepting more requests right now, so pls send one in if you'd like!!

-xoxo

[lokidjarin-7567]

Kinktober Day 3 - Aphrodisiacs/Sex Pollen

Billy Butcher x you Contents: pwp, fem!reader x Billy Butcher (The Boys), 18+ MDNI, there's only one bed (!!) W/C: 2.2k So I've read a lot of sex pollen fics, normally Mando ones actually, and then this idea got stuck in my head so yeah, here it is! It's a little longer but my next two are a lot shorter, so this is to make up for it. Anyway, hope someone out there is as obsessed with Billy Butcher as I am! Kinktober Masterlist | General Masterlist | AO3

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” You could’ve shouted at the receptionist, hands balling by your sides.

“Sorry, just the one room left tonight.”

“We’ll take it.” Billy replied, shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“You can’t be serious…”

“How much do I owe you, darling?”

He ignored your complaints the whole way to the room as well, your bag slung over his shoulder. He unlocked the door, swinging it open and laughed heartily.

“What?” You pushed him aside, to see… one bed. For fucks sake.

“No getting away from me now, sweetheart…”

You’d just gotten out of the shower when you heard a deathly silence come over the room next to you. That was unlike him. He’d had the TV blasting since you’d been in the bathroom, and now it was silent. Something wasn’t right.

You wrapped your towel around yourself and peeked your head around the door. He was standing, his leather coat abandoned on the bed, head cocked as he looked towards the window. He turned his head when he heard you, pressing a finger to his lips and creeping closer. It was cracked open, a soft evening breeze causing the curtains to billow, but you couldn't hear anything else. You opened your mouth, about to ask him what was going on when a figure moved into frame.

“Fuck, cover your mouth!” Billy shouted, backing away, but it was too late. The figure raised their lips to the window, and a baby pink smoke filled the room before you could even react to it. It left you coughing, doubled over as you waited for it to clear. When it finally did, your head was hazy, as though you had literally put on rose tinted glasses and smoked a joint. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it meant that it took longer than you normally would've to figure out what just happened.

“Cupid…” you muttered, cursing lightly under your breath and moving to close the window. She was the Supe you had been tracking for the last few days, with the ability to produce a powerful aphrodisiac that was nearly incapacitating to whoever it affected. Not exactly the best superpower, although it felt pretty fucking awful right about now. Billy had perched on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. “But why would she…”

“To distract us, to throw us off…”

“That makes no sense, we’ve already stopped for the night.”

“Didn’t you do your research, darling? It can last a full day, even two.”

“Fuck!” You were pacing now, trying to ignore the fog that was lowering over your mind. “Well, lets go after her! She can’t have gotten far.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not in any way to drive. Plus, you’re only in a towel.” You looked down, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

“Ok… ok I guess we just have to ride it out and hope it doesn't last too long… what?” You had looked up to see him gazing at you, pupils dilated, a dark expression on his face. His eyes were tracing your body, and you hadn’t realised until that point how short the towel actually was, your legs on display for him, droplets of water from the shower still clinging to you. “Billy!”

“Fucking hell, love, I’m sorry, but we just got blasted with some kind of sex potion so you can forgive me…”

“Just… go and have a shower or something. Maybe a wank, clear your head.”

“Sure thing, boss. Wanna watch?”

“Fuck right off.”

He had been in the shower for a while now, and you were starting to struggle. When you had agreed to go with him on this Supe hunt, you never thought this was the situation you would end up in - trapped in a hotel room, only one bed, with Billy Butcher, after a maniac just filled the room with a potent aphrodisiac. And you were really starting to feel it. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like live wires, and you were so turned on it was painful, squirming on the bed as your core physically ached with lack of attention. You had managed to get changed into a t-shirt and shorts, but you still felt too warm. You were halfway through tying up your hair to try and help cool down when Billy emerged from the shower, towel around his waist. Sweet Jesus that wasn't going to help. He was ripped, his arms and chest looked almost chiseled from stone, save for the light smattering of hair over his torso, following down his stomach into a happy tail that lead under the towel. You could almost feel your mouth watering as you noticed a tent in the think fabric. He was hard, and from the way he winced when he moved, painfully so.

“Did it help at all?” You asked feebly, trying to ignore the hardening of your nipples as you watched him move.

“No.” He answered sternly, sitting down with his back to you. You couldn’t help but gaze at it. His wide shoulders, the way his shoulder blades rippled with his shuddering breaths, what it would look like when you were done with him, red welts and scratches after he fucked you into the mattress…

Nope, no. Can't go there. He's a colleague - even if only technically. Work would be unbearable.

Although, this was pretty unbearable too.

He’d said something.

“Hm?” You asked, not noticing the way he was looking at you over his shoulder until your eyes had traced his entire back. You blushed.

“I need to change…”

“Oh shit, sorry.” You headed to the bathroom quickly, closing the door behind you and collapsing to the floor. Fuck this was a mess. A horrible, terrible mess. Maybe it would help if you just… just a little bit…

Your hand found its way below your waistband, and as soon as your fingertips brushed over the sensitive bundle of nerves there, your entire body relaxed, an audible moan escaping your mouth. Shit. Hopefully he didn't hear that. You carried on quietly, biting your lip to try and stay quiet, but it was hard, the relief flowing through you unlike anything you’d ever experienced. And then you heard something from the other room. A soft grunt, and then another. And fucking hell it was a beautiful noise, almost pained but so relieved, perfectly echoing how you felt at that moment. God, he was awful and frustrating and horrible to work with but his voice was so sexy, and the noises he was making now were no different.

You couldn't deny it was helping you along, and you couldn't tell if you were imagining it or not, but every time a whimper escaped you, he groaned just a little louder. You reached your peak quickly, your entire body crumpling as it overtook you, a last moan falling from your lips as you caught your breath on the bathroom floor. You stood up to wash your hands and face, legs shaking, only to realise… it had barely done anything. The ache was back almost instantly, nipples hardening again at the thought of Billy in the next room, and you cursed into the icy cold water.

He had been quiet for a little while now, so you knocked cautiously.

“Yeah, I’m decent, doll.” The new pet name sent another wave of arousal to your centre, and you cursed internally with it. Every word he said feel like he was physically touching you, but not quite enough. It was driving you insane.

“How the fuck do we make this stop?” You gasped out, frustration clouding your mind as you flopped onto the end of the bed, laying down with your hands over your eyes. Maybe if you just didn't look at him…

“Well, I can think of one way…”

“Billy…” you muttered warningly, but you couldn't bring yourself to say more than that, just letting your hands drop from your face to see his dark expression looking you up and down.

“Do you really wanna stay like this for the next day…”

“We might still be like this… after.”

“We don't know until we try.” Fuck, you hated how much sense he was making in your sex-addled brain. “You can't say you haven't thought about it…” You opened your mouth to snap back that you hadn’t, that he repulsed you… but you couldn't get the words out. The truth was, you had thought about it. A lot. He might be a pain in your ass, but he was undeniably attractive. The smirk. The confidence. Those stupid fucking Hawaiian shirts that showed off his biceps in just the right way…

“Please I… look, it's killing me here love…” he sounded breathy, strained. Needy. Hearing him beg was almost enough to send you over the edge.

Fuck it.

You sat up before you had a chance to change your mind, grabbing him by the neck and pulling his lips to yours. He practically growled into your mouth, reciprocating with a ferocity you hadn't expected. His hands were instantly all over you, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap, his strength making you gasp sharply. His teeth found your bottom lips, biting and pulling as he forced your hips down into his, grinding into you in a way that felt so fucking perfect. You needed him closer. Your shaking hands reached for the hem of his tee, pulling it over his head and pushing him to the bed, lips marking a path down his chest.

“Fucking hell, love, get those clothes off.” You obliged quickly, standing to rip off your tee, then shorts and panties as he removed his own bottoms, letting his cock spring free. He was big. Really fucking big. You needed him inside you now. Needed…

He was a step ahead of you, grabbing your arm and pulling you face first to the bed. He set himself up behind you, pulling your hips into the air and his hand found its way to your hair, pressing your face into the mattress. And then you felt two fingers dip inside your wet core. The sound that you made was filthy and animalistic, pressing your hips back into his hand as he chuckled, desperate for more of him.

“God you’re needy like this aren't you?” He pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you whining, and you heard him pump his length a few times with your slick. And then he was there, his size pressing against you, and you had no time to adjust as he rolled his hips into you. You couldn't breathe as he split you open, full to the hilt, hands scrabbling across the bedspread trying to find purchase on something.

“Fucking hell…” he grumbling, hand smacking your ass hard. You yelped, and he laughed again. “I can feel your pretty cunt fluttering around me when I do that.”

“Fuck… you…” You managed to choke out between laboured breaths.

“As you wish, doll.” He started to drag himself out of you, so painfully slowly you were squirming, but he just pressed your face further into the bed. And then he started to just fuck into you. It was debilitating, every single nerve in your body on fire. His pace was merciless, hard and fast and blinding, hitting a spot inside of you that turned your body to jelly. His hand on your hip was the only thing keeping you upright, squeezing in a way that was sure to bruise. And then his hand left your head, and you gasped in air, only to realise it was snaking around to your clit. The instant his fingertips found your sensitive mound, your world went black, and you were coming hard around his cock.

“Fuckk, there we go, sweetheart. Good girl, let it all out...”

By the time you could see again, it didn't take you long to start winding up for another orgasm. Your body had completely crumpled, pressed to the bed apart from the arm he had around your hips, keeping him in the perfect position to keep hitting that sweet spot with every thrust.

“Goddd, Billy…” you cried out, sound after filthy sound filling the room as he continued to rut into you, his breaths becoming shorter and his curses becoming less coherent. “Please.. that's it… inside me please…” Your fucked-out babbling seemed to help bring him to the edge, and he pressed his hips into yours as he came, his teeth clamping onto your shoulder enough to help you reach another pinnacle.

You could barely breathe when you were done, his entire body weight pressed to your back, his lips pressing sloppy kisses to the back of your neck. He was still inside you, and it wasn’t until you tried to move that you noticed…

“Billy?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’re still hard.” There was a beat where he stopped kissing you shifting his hips just slightly with a groan, then he sighed.

“I guess its gonna be a long night, doll.”

[angelically-yours]

Disease

Butcher’s already snapped. Will you be next?

After the disaster with Neuman and the supe-killing virus, you find yourself trailing alongside Butcher on whatever road trip he’s taking you on. Where? He won’t say but the car rides are long. Every now and then he’s talking as if having a full conversation with someone else in the caddy, despite it only being you two. You’re terrified of him, for obvious reasons, after seeing what he was capable of.

Coming Soon…

Will contain dark themes, talks of murder and blood, smut, dub-con, angst… and more.

((Please let me know how we feel about this prompt 😭))

[butchersboobs]

If You Can't Get Over, Get Under

A Billy Butcher POV fic

It's been eight months since you and Billy split up, but now he's got you right back where you belong...

NSFW under the cut - over 18s only, MDNI

-----

I rub me cock up ‘n down yer cunt - wanna get me dick nice 'n wet before I stick it in - 'n tap atcha clit for a bit. Always drove ya wild, that. 

Ya practically beggin’ f'me t'get inside ya. Fuckin’ soaked, you are. Gapin’. Part o'me wants to keep ya waitin’, keep teasin’, but I can't wait no more.

I line meself up and push inside, n'yer so fuckin’ ready f’me, I just sink all the way in. An’ I ain't ever felt anyfin like it in me life. M'gonna love ploughin’ in t'this. Always fuckin’ did.

“Fuck I've missed this cunt - fuuuck me” I some'ow manage t'gasp out. 

Wish I'd kept me bloody gob shut though, cos the way you clench round me, ‘n the look on yer face as soon as I say it - well, it almost makes me shoot me load instantly. 

I bite me lip, breave, try t’concentrate. Steady meself. I wanna take me time, enjoy gettin’ reacquainted wiv the best cunt I've ever ‘ad the pleasure o'fuckin’. Wanna make sure you enjoy it - need to ‘ear more o'them filfy sounds ya used to make just f’me. 

An’ as if on cue - yer begging me again. “Please… please Billy. I need you to fuck me!” you moan. 

Alright love. Don'ave to tell me twice.

So I start fuckin’ in t'ya. Slow, but firm. I lean down ‘n kiss ya, rough, me tongue playin’ round wiv yours. Fuck, I've missed this. Missed you.

You start tugging at me ‘air, tellin’ me ya wannit faster. So fuckin’ faster I go.

Yer really gettin’ into it now - takin’ me ‘ammerin away in ya so well. Thassit, my dirty li’le bitch.

This is nice ‘nd all, but it ain't quite enough no more. I need to get proper deep, really feel ya. So I pull out, ‘n drag ya down the bed a bit.

I push yer legs up t'wards yer chest, an' 'ave a cheeky li'le suck on yer tits while I'm at it. I can’t ‘elp but smirk atcha - writhin’ ‘n whinin’ under me like yer about ready t'squirt.

I spread yer legs open wider, and get stuck straight back in. 

Yeah. Yeah.

That's better.

Can get much deeper at this angle. An’ if memory serves, I should be strokin’ right against ya sweet spot now. Yep. There you go, swee'eart - screamin’ every swearword under the bloody sun, flutterin’ away, tryna milk me cock. But I ain't done yet. 

I pick up the pace some more - proper goin’ t’town now. Every little bump ‘n ridge in this perfect li'le hot 'n drippin’ cunt o'yours feels tailor made for my cock. Fuckin'ell, we may’ve fucked everyfin else up, but we’re bloody good at this. 

The sound o'yer pussy squelchin’ 'nd our skin slappin’ togevver spurs me on. I go even ‘arder on ya - I know ya can take it. Faster still. Deeper. And when you start comin’ - the fuckin’ noises I'm pullin outcha would put a bleedin’ porn star t'shame, love. I fuckin’ love it. Nuffin more beautiful on this earf than you comin’.

The rhythmic pulses your cunt's givin’ me right now leave me no choice. Game over. I've lost all control - hips pistonin' in t'ya wiv a mind o'their own. I couldn't stop thrustin’ now even if I wanted to. Me breavin's all over the shop. Fuck.

Ya feel so fuckin’ good, love. So fuckin’ good.

Ohh fuuuuckin'ell.

I thrust in t'ya so ‘ard, I think I might break ya. I can't ‘elp it. I swear that's yer cervix I can feel. It's like some invisible force 'olds me still right there, as deep as I can get - and I come that ‘ard, me ‘ole body's shakin’. I pull back and thrust again, fillin’ ya up some more. Spurt after spurt. Me vision goes for a sec. Christ. 

Fuck me.

I fuckin’ swear t'God - I've never come so ‘ard in me fuckin’ life.

I sink down on top o'ya, breathin’ so ‘eavy you'd fink I'd just run a fuckin’ marathon. You look a right fucked-out mess. Absolutely perfect.

I keep kissin' all over ya neck, all gentle like - tell ya you're a good gell, takin’ a right batterin' from me cock like that.

I roll off, knackered, but pull ya in for a cuddle. “Alright love?” I ask. “Yeah” is all y’can manage, poor fing. “Ya need anyfin? Water? Wash cloff? A fuckin’ ambulance?”.

You laugh.

An’ I know in that moment, I ain't never lettin’ you go again.

-----

Tags: @d3m0ncrybaby @dumpy-little-nobody @bluemerakis @karlurbanism @enchantedflameandflower @jax-the-oregonian @bobabilbil @frank3nfag @bohemianblasphemy @bluecalypso24 @galaxyshifting @jynx15 @lloquent @noonwardmoss @rustanddusted @scrmqwn @scxrchedearf

[gullemec]

Cross the Line

Golden Cage - Chapter Five

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Truth or Dare, Murder, and Sex. Or, you and Butcher go on a road trip.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, nipple play, dirty talk, creampie, discussions of previous murders, language, unsafe driving, attempted flashing, One Bed Trope™️, reader has poor self esteem and is Going Through It, straight up vehicular manslaughter, brief description of dead bodies

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Here she is!! My first ever f/m smut scene! Please be kind. Also a very action-packed chapter. Please read the tags before diving in because there's a LOT happening here.

Monday morning rolls around with an alarming speed, the pace of your days having taken a decided turn toward the speed of light. 

It had nothing to do with your apprehension around being with Butcher again, you were sure. 

Certain. 

The plan, not unlike the last plan, is supposedly simple. As the CytoGenix van carrying the vials of V2 makes its way upstate, you and Butcher will tail it at a distance, waiting until the time is right to strike and run the van offroad using a spike strip.

You've thought up about two thousand ways this could go wrong. You could probably think of a thousand more, but your brain started to hurt when you tried.

You pull your bag over your shoulder, every step to Butcher’s van downstairs weighed down by a strange mix of adrenaline and dread. He’s waiting for you, leaned against the driver’s side door with his usual cocky smirk, dark aviators shielding his expression.

“Look alive, sunshine,” he says as you climb in. “Big day ahead.”

You settle into the passenger seat, forcing yourself to play it cool. The hum of the engine fills the silence as you pull away, but within moments, the tension in the van feels as suffocating as the thick summer air.

The first two hours crawl by. Small talk feels like dragging a boulder uphill, each attempt to bridge the gap between you met with curt, monosyllabic responses. Weather. Traffic. A half-hearted quip about a roadside diner that doesn’t even earn a smirk from Butcher.

It’s maddening. Days ago, this man had kissed you like the world was ending. Now, he's talking about the possibility of impending rain. You feel insane.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

“Truth or dare,” you say, throwing it out like a grenade

Butcher glances at you, his brow furrowing beneath his sunglasses. “The fuck did you just say?”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath about it being a child's game. “And how exactly do you suppose we play truth or dare in a moving vehicle, hm?” He asks. 

“I don't know, but what I do know is that we have a four and a half hour drive ahead of us and if this awkward silence is going to continue, I'm going to jump out of the window right now.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “What are you, twelve? What’s next, a round of bloody ‘I Spy’?” He shoots you a look of bemusement before returning to the road, ignoring your request. 

He's not getting away that easy. 

“Look, it's either truth or dare, or we talk about the k—”

“Jesus Christ, alright I'll play your fucking game,” he relents. 

Success. 

You nod toward him expectedly. 

“What?” He asks 

“Truth or dare? You have to pick, it's kind of how the game is played.”

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “Fine. Truth.”

You pause to think for a second, racking your brain for a good question. You could, of course, go straight for the jugular, asking him why he pulled away from the kiss, why he didn't push you down on the couch and take everything you were willing to give him right then and there. But you think that might be a little intense for a first question, so you settle on something easier. 

“How many people have you killed?”

His reaction is instant, an incredulous laugh that’s more bark than humor. “Straight for the jugular, eh? You don’t muck about.”

“I’m curious,” you say, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole point of the game?

“Sweetheart, if knowing how many people I've kidnapped is a second date question, this has gotta be a fifth date question.”

“Okay,” you say thoughtfully. “Well, if you count all the late night stake outs, and if you count our first date, the one where you kidnapped, me as three dates, which I do, I think we're well past the fifth date by now.” You raise your eyebrows at him, laughing.  

“Alright, alright,” he huffs. The smirk on his face betrays the fact that he kind of wants to play, but his tough facade necessitates that he put up a valiant fight about it first. 

But once your laughing subsides, his grin falls, and you realize that this was perhaps not the best question to ask. His eyes are fixed on the road when he answers you. 

He exhales sharply, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I lost count. Got to twenty-five, maybe thirty, last time I bothered to keep track.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, but there’s no pride in it. “You happy now?”

His admission is like a shock to your system. You knew that he'd killed before, having tossed the idea around in your mind, considering the things you knew about the man you were unquestionably attracted to. He has killed, yes, but he has also lost. He has lost everything, and he has helped, and he has been kind, too. And yet, hearing the words from his mouth, putting a number, if only estimated, on the amount of times a life has been lost at the same hands that were wrapped tenderly around your body only days ago, sends a painful jolt to your heart. 

“I know what you might think,” he starts, his voice faltering. “You think I'm cold and evil, or whatever.” His fingers readjust around the steering wheel, an anxious tic you're picking up on. “But I had to do it. I believed it was for some… greater purpose, I guess. I believe that, but maybe because I have to.”

You're speechless. You weren't expecting this sudden moment of vulnerability in Butcher, this emotional nakedness. If you're honest, it scares you, because it causes the sand beneath the already unsteady foundation of your relationship with him to shake. You have to say something, anything. 

“How do you feel about potentially killing two more people today? Does it make you nervous?” You ask. You're vaguely aware of the van driving ahead of you, a pinprick dot of white on the endlessly winding highway. 

He sighs, then smirks, looking entirely too pleased in comparison to his somber expression only moments ago. “Uh–uh, your turn now.”

He's got you there. 

“Truth,” you say, and it's only fair that he throws you a hardball too. But he doesn't. 

“What’s your favorite memory with your mum?”

The question throws you for a moment, its tenderness blindsiding you. You have so many, you could almost argue that this isn't an easy question at all. All the same, your mind wanders to the same memory that always pops up when you ask yourself this question. 

“My seventh birthday,” you begin, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “Dad was off in the Bahamas for some meeting, and I didn’t have any friends because we’d just moved. So it was just me and her. She took me to Coney Island, and we spent the whole day there. Rides, games, cotton candy. It was the best.” A tear twinkles in your eye, but you wipe it away before it comes to fruition. 

He looks like he's about to say something, maybe offer some comfort or ask a follow up, but you're too quick for him. 

“Now you, truth or dare?”

He picks dare, following your lead and ignoring what you shared about your mom. You appreciate his ability to pick up on your nonverbal cues. 

You resist the urge to reach across the console and brush your fingers through his wild, wind-tousled hair. You let yourself imagine for a moment a scenario in which the two of you are out for a drive on a beautiful day for pleasure rather than business, where you might entwine your fingers with his on the center console. But these thoughts are dangerous, and you need a distraction. 

“Drive in the oncoming lane for ten seconds.”

“Are you bloody mental?” he snaps, glaring at you. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, and you want me to pull a stunt like that?”

You shrug, and you relish in the utter frustration that Butcher exudes, the way his accent comes out in full-force when he's this worked up. 

“You said dare,” you counter, your tone teasing. “A dare’s a dare.”

He groans, muttering a string of expletives as he slows the van. “You’re a bloody pain in my arse, you know that?”

“Slow down a bit, so they won't see us,” you suggest, your voice low to control the giggles that threaten to peek out. “Come on, Butcher.”

He hesitates. It's a sick kind of satisfaction knowing that, if it was anyone but you, Butcher would have probably just let you jump out the window at this point. 

“One, twooo… Threeeee…” You exaggerate your words, giving him every opportunity to acquiesce to your demands. 

Finally, you feel the van slow and dip to the left as Butcher careens into the oncoming lane. 

This is getting too easy. 

You count out the next ten seconds slowly, agonizingly. 

Ten. 

Nine

Eight. He shifts his eyes between you and the road, imploring you to call off the dare. Absolutely not. 

Seven. 

Six. 

Five. A speck materializes on the horizon. An oncoming car. 

Four.  The speck transforms into a white sedan. 

Three. “I'm switching lanes,” he yells. “Three more seconds!” You argue back. 

Two. You can tell now that there are two passengers in the sedan. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

One. The driver of the sedan lays on the horn, the loud bleat sending shockwaves through your system. 

Butcher swerves back into the right lane, a chorus of curses spilling out, the sedan’s honking fading out behind you. Your laughter spills out, obnoxious and loud and absolutely drowning out Butcher’s string of profanities. Shortly after he course-corrects, the white van falls back into your line of sight. 

No harm, no foul. 

Butcher’s breathing evens. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you retort, still grinning.

“You better pick dare this turn. I didn't realize we weren't playin' fair,” he smirks, and you're knocked back again. It's criminal how this man speaks, so deep and yet so melodic, his accent and charm breaking down whatever defenses you still had standing. 

“Do your worst,” you dare, and he smiles widely. For a moment, you feel a real flare of heat in your chest. You don't want to think about what you'd realistically do for this man right now, but the thought crosses your mind, sending a pang to your core. 

“Flash the next car that drives past us.”

Now it's your turn to blanch at the request, your face scrunching up in response. 

“You can't be serious,” you say. 

He simply nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead in feigned concentration. 

Well, the best way out is always through. 

You pull your seatbelt off, balancing on your seat and the console as you pull yourself through the van’s open sunroof. You pretend not to notice Butcher's right arm snaking protectively around your left leg. 

You watch as a dark green truck materializes before you, a lone cowboy hat wearing man inside. You pinch your fingers around the edge of your shirt. The truck speeds by as you begin to lift it up. Suddenly, the arm wrapped around your leg pulls down, forcing you back into the van. 

“Hey! What was that for?!” You exclaim, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion. 

“You weren't seriously going to flash that truck, were you?” He asks. 

You nod. “I mean, yeah? You dared me to do it. A dare’s a dare.”

He huffs and puffs, shaking his head intermittently. He's frustrated with you, and it's pissing you off. 

Time to turn the tables. 

“Okay, well it’s your turn now I guess. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he says smugly, and you laugh, because you know what you say next is going to shake him. 

You take a second to stare at him, an unabashed good look at him. The way the breeze tousles his dark hair, the angle of his jaw catching the golden hour light. The warmth in the glow softens him somehow, makes him seem almost human, almost kind. You can't deny that you want him, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

"Did you like it?" you ask abruptly, your voice low but clear.

Butcher furrows his brow, clearly puzzled. "Like what?"

"When you kissed me," you clarify, your heart pounding in your chest. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

The silence that follows is deafening. You hear him inhale sharply, see the slight hitch in his posture as the words settle between you. His face shifts, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. He stares straight ahead, jaw tightening, fingers curling around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

Your pulse quickens. Oh, God. Why did I say that? The weight of your own recklessness presses down on you. Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity as he struggles with something unspoken, his lips parting as if to say something—

Your heart stops.

—and then, with a sharp gasp, his hand slams the horn and his foot hits the brake.

"Oi! Cunts!" he shouts, jerking the van to a sudden halt. Both of you lurch forward, your seatbelt biting into your shoulder.

Your head snaps toward the road just in time to see the CytoGenix van swerving off into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

The spell is broken. The tension you’d built up between you vanishes, replaced by adrenaline and a sinking sense of inevitability.

At least he'd stopped you before you'd shown your tits to some unsuspecting cowboy. 

Butcher’s face hardens, his attention fully back on the road as he mutters a string of curses under his breath. He keeps driving for another mile, the air in the van heavy and stifling. It’s as though the cracks you’d glimpsed in his armor have sealed up entirely, leaving only the impenetrable man you met at the start.

Finally, he pulls off just past a mile marker, the van grinding to a halt on the side of the road. He throws it in park and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

"Out," he orders, his voice clipped.

You blink at him. "What?"

"Get out of the van," he repeats, this time more firmly.

Despite every instinct screaming at you not to trust him, you obey. He follows you out, slamming the door behind him, and gestures toward the dense line of trees. "Start walking. Don’t stop ‘til you’re deep enough in that you can’t see the road anymore."

“Now wait a goddamn minute,” you fight, “I want to be a part of this. You're not exiling me to the woods while you do the dirty work. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, his tone cold and final. “You don’t want this blood on your hands, love. Trust me.”

Your temper flares. "You’re such an asshole, you know that?" you spit, heat rushing to your face.

You're all bite, all fight, until you see the look on his face. The harsh lines of his face are softened, his eyes weighed down with something heavier than anger. Guilt? Regret? He doesn’t want to do this, you realize. He thinks he’s protecting you.

And maybe you just don't have much of a fight left in you anymore.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "But don’t think for a second I’m letting this go."

Without waiting for a response, you storm off into the forest, branches snapping underfoot as you push past ferns and brush.

You find a mossy rock and sink down beside it, hugging your knees to your chest. The familiar ache of being abandoned washes over you, pulling you back into yourself. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, closing your eyes and imagining the comforting embrace of your mother. The memories come easily, like they always do. Her laugh, her warmth, the way her hand always found yours when you were scared.

You lose track of time sitting there, flipping through those memories like pages in a well-worn book. Hours could have passed, or maybe it’s only minutes. You don’t know, and for a while, you don’t care.

It’s the crunch of heavy footfalls that pulls you back to the present. You blink up to see Butcher looming over you, his expression grim and drawn.

"If a van crashes in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it even make a noise?" you quip, smirking despite yourself.

He scowls. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"Either that was the quietest car crash in history, or you lost them," you say, crossing your arms.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "They never came through. They’re holed up at the motel for the night. We’ll head back, stake it out, and wait for them to move on." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the road.

He extends a hand to help you up, but you ignore it, pushing yourself off the ground and brushing dirt from your clothes. Without a word, you start walking ahead of him, back toward the van.

"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, falling in step behind you. 

The short drive back to the motel is silent, the energy between the two of you having soured considerably. You stare out the window, arms crossed, seething. You're pissed and you want him to know it, to feel it. The mission feels like a joke, like you’re a joke. No matter what you do, you’ll always be the inept kid getting in the way.

The Piney Point Motel comes into view just as the sun dips behind the pines, the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. You spot the CytoGenix van immediately, parked conspicuously by the entrance of the motel. As far as you can tell, it's empty. 

“Did they really just… leave it there?” You ask, incredulous. 

Butcher chuckles. “Your old man really should stop cuttin’ corners on security.”

A flurry of hope stirs in your chest. “So we could just break into the van and steal the vials, right? And then no one would have to get hurt?”

He gives you a look, one that’s half pity, half impatience, before gesturing to the motel’s facade. Security cameras dot the walls, floodlights primed for motion. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like your dad could learn a thing or two from Piney Point.”

And just like that, the spark fizzles. 

Butcher pulls the van into a shadowed corner of the lot and kills the engine. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed.

You stare at him. “Well, are we going in?”

“Nah. You can crawl in the back if you wanna sleep. I'll take first watch.”

He can't be serious. 

“You want me to sleep back there?!”

He shrugs. “Or up here, but I don’t reckon it’s any comfier.”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Or—and hear me out—we could sleep in the motel right in front of us?”

“And risk losin’ ‘em? Yeah, no thanks.”

You argue back and forth but the man is an infuriating, unflinching wall of stubbornness. Eventually, you give up, arms crossed as you glare at the moonlit motel. You consider going and getting a room just for yourself, but you reason that Butcher won't hesitate when he sees the men leave and you'll be left behind. Sleep tugs at you, but you refuse to crawl into the cramped backseat. Not after this.

The moon begins its arc across the starlit sky. Stars scatter above you, brighter and clearer than anything you’ve seen in years. You step out of the van, stretching stiff legs, the cool night air brushing against your skin. For a moment, you forget your frustration, gazing up at the wide, sparkling sky. It reminds you of Muskoka, your last vacation with both parents—before the office bedroom became your dad’s permanent home.

The ache of the memory lingers as you climb back into the van, only to find Butcher slumped in the driver’s seat, snoring. His chin tucked into his chest, a low rumble filling the space. You burst into laughter before you can stop yourself.

Butcher jerks awake, eyes darting wildly until they land on you. His expression shifts to a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Alright, laugh it up,” he grumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “Your turn to keep watch. Good luck stayin’ awake.”

You plant your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “I’m dead tired, and so are you. We need actual sleep, Butch. I’ll pay for the rooms. Final offer.”

He pretends to consider your offer like the thought of a bed, even a springy motel bed, doesn't sound downright heavenly right now. After a moment of feigned thoughtfulness, he pulls himself from the driver's seat and stalks toward the motel. 

“Don't look so pleased,” he mutters as he stalks past you. “We’re up at 4:30, no later. Understand?”

You trail behind him, hiding your grin. Right now, you’d agree to anything.

~~~

The reception area of the Piney Point Motel looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. The wood-paneled walls are warped in places, lined with crooked shelves cluttered with knick-knacks, miniature ceramic animals, a faded “World’s Best Grandma” mug, and a jar of mints that looks more like a trap than an offering.

Behind the counter sits a bespectacled woman in her sixties, a paperback romance novel in one hand and a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside her. The air smells like pine-scented cleaner and stale smoke. She looks up as you and Butcher enter, giving you both a thorough once-over.

“Hourly or overnight?” she asks flatly, like she’s heard every excuse in the book.

The question hits you like a slap. Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Butcher doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll take two rooms for the night,” he says, ignoring your mortification.

The receptionist shakes her head with a lazy shrug. “Only got one room left. One bed. Last two-bed went to a couple of truckers about an hour ago. It’s that time of year.”

You and Butcher exchange a look, sharp and synchronized.

“No,” you and Butcher say in unison, your sharp tone and immediate refusal surprising the older woman. 

But your mind wanders back to the van, it's aging leather upholstery and stiff cushions and lingering coffee smell. The weight of your eyelids expands tenfold at the thought. No way in hell are you going to be prepared for what tomorrow brings if you have to sleep in there. 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the key from the receptionist’s outstretched hand, replacing it with a stack of bills.

“What d’you mean, fine?” Butcher asks, trailing after you as you head to the room. His boots echo dully on the cracked linoleum floor. “We’re better off in the van. Safer, too.”

You ignore him, jamming the key into the lock and twisting hard. The door creaks open to reveal a shoebox-sized room with peeling wallpaper, a squeaky ceiling fan, and a bed that looks like it’s seen more fights than rest.

Still, it’s a bed.

Without a word, Butcher follows you inside, closing the door behind him. For a man so determined to sleep in the van, he seems strangely reluctant to leave now. You glance at him, confused but unwilling to ask.

“You’re not staying, are you?” you finally say, half-turning to face him.

“’Course I’m stayin’,” he replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not leavin’ you alone in some dodgy motel where the closest weapon’s probably that broken lamp in the corner.”

You blink at him, torn between irritation and a flicker of gratitude. Before you can respond, he smirks and brushes past you toward the bed.

“Dibs,” he declares, flopping onto the mattress with all the grace of a drunk elephant. The springs groan in protest, but he doesn’t care.

“No, no! Absolutely not!” You shout, but he's already stretched his arms behind his head, feet crossed. “You're not taking the bed, you didn't even want this room!”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, tucking his hands behind his head. The smugness radiating off him is enough to set your teeth on edge.

“You're an asshole, you know that right?”

“Yeah, you keep remindin’ me,” he says with a grin. “Now are you gonna stand there gawkin’ all night, or are you gonna make yourself comfortable?”

You grab the pillow out from behind his head and secure it alongside yours down the middle of the bed, creating a makeshift wall between your bodies. 

“What’s this, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Great Wall of Don’t-Touch-Me,” you deadpan, climbing onto your side of the bed and glaring at him over the makeshift divider.

He chuckles, low and amused. “You think I’m gonna bite?”

“More likely that I’d be the one biting you,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

The second the words leave your mouth, your cheeks flush hot. You busy yourself adjusting your pillow, pretending you don’t see the way his grin widens.

“Noted,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make you shiver.

You roll over, facing the wall. The bed creaks as Butcher shifts, and you’re hyper-aware of his presence. His scent, the warmth radiating off him, the way the air seems heavier when he’s near.

Neither of you bother crawling under the covers, facing away from each other to make it extra-clear that this is a no-nonsense, all-business sleepover. 

“Goodnight, asshole,” you mutter, hoping the bite in your tone masks the thrum of nerves in your chest.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice softer than you expect.

You want to savour this moment, but you're out in seconds. 

~~~

Suspended in a haze of warm sunlight, the cool edge of unreality covers you like a blanket of fresh snow. Strong arms wrap securely around your waist, across your chest, their weight pressing into you like a protective cocoon. The scratch of a beard grazes your neck, and the faint warmth of breath tickles your skin. Gentle snores vibrate against your back, a low, steady rhythm that lulls you further into the dreamlike state. You fight to stay there, curling deeper into the embrace, savoring the rare, fleeting serenity.

But serenity never lasts. A creeping discomfort nags at the edges of your mind, like an itch you can’t quite reach. The illusion splinters. The sunlight grows sharper, the weight around you heavier, the awkward press of something hard on your ass undeniable.

Your eyes snap open, reality crashing in. It’s blindingly bright, far too bright for what should be the early, predawn hours. Panic spikes through your system as you take in the scene, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You thrash instinctively, and Butcher’s grip loosens just in time for him to tumble unceremoniously off the bed.

“Bloody hell!” Butcher groans from the floor, rubbing the back of his head.

Your voice comes out in a frantic rasp. “Butcher, wake up! We slept in!”

The words are like a starter pistol. He’s up and moving in an instant, yanking on his boots while simultaneously reaching for the door.

“Shit! Goddamn it, move! Move!” he barks, his voice sharp and commanding.

The two of you are a blur of motion, grabbing, stumbling, swearing. Your bodies move on autopilot, faster than your sleep-addled minds can process. In seconds, you’re in the van, Butcher slamming the door shut and peeling out of the motel parking lot with reckless urgency.

Anxiety builds in your chest, each erratic swerve of the van feeding the dread coiling tighter inside you. As you glance back at the motel, the sight of an empty parking spot—a lone Mustang where the CytoGenix van had been—confirms your worst fears. They’re gone.

Butcher’s jaw tightens as he accelerates onto the highway, weaving through lanes with a focus that’s almost terrifying. The towering pines blur into streaks of green on either side of you as the van hurtles forward. You scan the horizon frantically, desperate for a glimpse of white metal that refuses to appear.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before Butcher finally slows the van, pulling into a deserted roadside gas station. It’s eerily quiet, the pumps sitting idle, the building dark and lifeless.

“This is the last stop for miles,” Butcher says, his voice low and grim. “That's the last stop they would've made before going to the lab.”

The weight of his words slams into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, panic tightening its grip. This was it, the window of opportunity to intercept them had closed. It was all your fault. You’d fought tooth and nail for the motel room last night, insisting you both needed the rest, convincing yourself it was a small indulgence that wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.

You were wrong.

Maybe he was right, maybe your father was right, maybe they're all right, everyone who's ever doubted you. It's cruel, the way that the frayed threads of meaning in your life seem to continually fall from your grasp. 

Shame and guilt crash over you in waves, heat rising in your face as your chest constricts painfully. You blink back tears, but they gather stubbornly at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Butcher, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your voice trembling. “I—I screwed up. This is all my fault.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he stares out the windshield. The silence stretches, unbearable. Fear claws at you, the thought of him cutting you loose from the Boys—or worse, giving up on the mission entirely—hitting like a punch to the gut.

“Please,” you continue, desperation creeping into your tone. “I know I fucked up, but don’t… don’t give up on this. Don’t give up on me.”

Butcher’s head swivels toward you, his eyes softer than you expect. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost unrecognizably so.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand. “Breathe. It’s okay. Hold your apologies, yeah? We’re not done yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, not the anger, the harsh words, the fury you thought you deserved. Instead, his calm confidence throws you off balance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Butcher…” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“Just wait,” he says, lips quirking into a faint, reassuring smirk. “Keep it together. We’ve still got work to do.”

With that, his foot presses down on the gas pedal, the van lurching forward and pinning you back against the seat.

You're certain you've never driven this fast before, not even during those rare joyrides with your father in his Bugatti. The van rockets forward, moving like a bullet out of a gun, the world outside warping into a blur of trees and sky as the tires scream against the asphalt. Your grip on the door handle tightens with every jolt, the tension in the cabin as visceral as the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Despite the chaos of the day, the abrupt wake-up, the panic, and Butcher’s uncharacteristic gentleness, the unbridled anxiety screaming inside you speaks only of the lives of the two men in the CytoGenix van, unknowingly hurtling toward their end. Anxiety claws at your chest, raw and unrelenting. You shut your eyes and try to focus on breathing, but it’s no use.

“Oi, cunts!” Butcher’s voice explodes, and your eyes snap open.

Thirty feet ahead, the CytoGenix van comes into view, its white exterior glaring against the green blur of forest on either side. To your right, the trees abruptly fall away, leaving nothing but a battered guardrail and a steep ravine beyond.

“Hold on tight,” Butcher orders, his tone calm but edged with a manic sort of energy.

Before you can question him, he floors the gas pedal. The van lurches forward, barreling into the oncoming lane to overtake the other vehicle. Butcher twists the wheel expertly, positioning your van just ahead of the CytoGenix one. Then, in one brutal motion, he jerks back and rams into the side of it.

The impact is bone-rattling. Your body slams against the seatbelt, the van shuddering violently as both vehicles swerve erratically. For a moment, you lock eyes with the other driver, his face contorted in a mix of rage and confusion. But Butcher’s already at it again, pulling back just enough to ram the CytoGenix van a second time.

This hit sends the other van wobbling wildly, the driver fighting to regain control. Your ears ring, blood rushing so loudly that you’re not sure if the scream you hear is yours or simply imagined. And then, with a final, sickening crunch, the CytoGenix van plows through the guardrail and plunges down the ravine.

Butcher swerves hard, narrowly avoiding the gaping hole in the guardrail. The side of your van scrapes against what remains, metal shrieking as sparks fly. He brings the van to an abrupt stop on the shoulder a hundred yards ahead, slamming the gearshift into park. The engine dies, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the cabin.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Holy shit,” Butcher echoes, his grin wide and reckless.

You both sit there for a moment, staring straight ahead, before the tension breaks. Anxious laughter bubbles out of you, and to your surprise, Butcher joins in. The two of you volley expletives back and forth between bursts of laughter, the absurdity of the situation sinking in.

When the laughter subsides, Butcher reaches for the door handle. “Stay put,” he says firmly. “You’re not gonna want to see this.”

That sends your adrenaline spiking all over again. You throw your door open and stomp after him, slamming it behind you. “No. You’re not doing this. Not again.”

He turns to face you, brows furrowed. You jab a finger into his chest. “I’m capable of this, Butcher. And if I’m going to be part of the Boys, I need to prove it. No more babying me.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. The tension between you is almost unbearable as you silently plead with him to understand. To let you have this. To understand just how important this is, how this transcends the circumstances you currently find yourselves in. Finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he gives a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

Together, you make your way down the ravine, the incline steep and unforgiving. Butcher offers his arm to steady you when you stumble, and you grudgingly accept. At the bottom, the wreckage comes into view. The CytoGenix van lies on its side in a shallow creek bed, its back doors hanging open.

You rush to the driver’s side, heart hammering in your chest as you peer inside. For the past week, nightmares have plagued you—visions of Adam and Emily lying lifeless in the wreckage. But when you see the two men slumped in their seats, necks twisted at unnatural angles, neither is familiar. Relief washes over you, mingling uneasily with guilt.

“They’re nobodies,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Butcher. “Collateral damage.”

His hand falls heavy on your shoulder. “The hard part’s over,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “It gets easier from here.”

You desperately want to believe him. 

You both turn your attention to the back of the van. Butcher grips one of the broken doors and yanks it free with a grunt. Inside, a sleek black lockbox gleams ominously. Without hesitation, Butcher brings his boot down on it, cracking it open.

Inside are rows upon rows of vials, their green liquid glowing faintly in the fading light. You pick one up, holding it between your fingers and marveling at its beauty. The liquid seems alive, swirling and shimmering with an otherworldly energy.

And then, without thinking, you hurl the vial at a nearby tree. You watch in awe as the glass shatters, the glowing substance splattering across the bark and dripping onto the forest floor.

“Shit—I don’t know what came over me—” you start, but Butcher is already laughing, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” he says, grabbing a vial and smashing it under his boot. You both gape at the way it explodes under his foot, staining his boot like a glow stick, before you burst into shared laughter. 

You both fall into a wild, unhinged rhythm, smashing vial after vial. The forest around you glows eerily, the remnants of V2 painting the trees and ground in streaks of neon green. Laughter bubbles out of you, uncontrollable and cathartic, as the absurdity of your destruction takes hold.

When only one vial remains, Butcher reaches for it, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. We should keep one. For testing. Just in case.”

He looks at you, then smirks. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You keep me around for more than that.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something darker, more intense.  The air shifts between you, the laughter forgotten as your proximity feels suddenly charged. Whatever force is behind the constant push and pull of your attraction to Butcher is now pushing in full force, the glowing green crime scene around you fading into nothing. It's just you and him and the screaming urge inside of you to untether. 

Butcher advances toward you, pulling your face into his hands, crashing his mouth into yours. This time you get the chance to react, the opportunity to reciprocate. And you do, wholeheartedly. You pull at the lapels of his jacket, fingers fumbling for purchase in his wild hair. His hands move over your body, down your back and across your ass, squeezing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are wild. “Someone’s gonna notice the skid marks and the guardrail. We’re gonna have company soon if we don’t move.”

“Back to the motel?” you ask, bold and breathless.

His answer is immediate. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he grabs your hand, practically pulling you back up the ravine toward the van.

You had a taste of Butcher's penchant for speeding earlier, but something about the way he races down the road back to the motel now has butterflies erupting in your stomach. His right hand is placed firmly on your left thigh, your own hand keeping his there. You're ashamed to admit that his touch alone is driving you crazy. 

Thank god you never had time to return the key this morning, because you both race back to the room, his mouth in your ear, arms encircling your waist as you fumble to unlock the door. The second the door closes behind you, he has you pushed up against the door, his tongue parting your lips and hands digging into your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lets a hand fall to your ass, squeezing tightly. He lifts you up, wrapping both of your legs around his middle. You moan at the way his hands explore you, the closeness of your bodies. 

“Do that again,” he instructs. 

“Make me,” you dare. 

He throws you down on the bed, both of you using the opportunity to work your shirts off. He spends an unabashed moment staring directly at your tits, chest heaving. Like you're a work of art he can't wait to defile. You unbutton your pants before Butcher pulls them off of you, leaving you bare before him, save for your underwear. He crawls up onto the bed, knees nudging your legs open, his imposing frame towering over you. 

“You have no idea how goddamn much I've thought about this,” he admits. Your eyes search his face, hands combing through his hair. He kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth, before moving down to place licks along your collarbone. He moves down to your nipples, your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up in silent request. 

“Please,” you beg. “Don't stop.”

And, with your permission, he practically rips the soft cotton as he pulls them down, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. You share a glance, both with bated breath, before he finally puts his mouth on you, eating you like a man starved. 

Your head tilts back involuntarily as he licks at you, alternating between languid, savoring strokes, his wide tongue exploring deep inside of you, and quick, tight little circles over your clit. You've never been the kind of woman to be particularly loud or vocal in bed, a complaint you'd heard from lovers in the past. But now the moans fall freely as you fall apart on Butcher's tongue. Your sounds only serve to egg him on, his fingers digging deeply into your plush inner thighs, his growls reverberating through your pussy, matching your low moans. You barrel embarrassingly quickly toward the edge. 

“‘m so close,” you whimper. 

He doesn't stop, every determined movement a silent encouragement for you to chase your high. 

Your hands reach down, tangling in his messy hair. He responds, deepening the push of his mouth against your core, rhythmically drawing his fingers back and forth against your inner thighs. Your fingers clench around the tendrils of his hair, pulling so hard you know it must hurt him. He doesn't seem to notice, his rhythm never stalling. Then, starbursts exploding behind your eyelids as you fall over the edge, legs clamping involuntarily around his head. 

Dizzying, pure, unadulterated bliss.

Head falling back against the pillow, you're sure you've never come this hard before. Your limbs are absolutely weightless, cheeks flushed. A euphoric smile on your lips stretches so wide you're certain you look deranged. 

But not to Butcher. 

“You're so bloody beautiful,” he says from between your legs, and you can do nothing but laugh deliriously in response. 

He gazes up at you, working his way back up between kisses to your stomach and swirling his tongue over your pert nipples. You grasp a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him up to kiss him on the mouth, your other hand reaching down to encircle his hard length. 

You're pleasantly surprised at how much of him there is, pumping his thick length several times before you position him at your entrance. 

You feel his body jolt involuntarily as his cock makes contact with the wetness he just created.

“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, words refusing to form on your lips. 

He shifts his hips forward and you gasp sharply as he breaches you. You reach your other hand down to caress his ass cheek, pulling him in deeper, desperate for more.

“Fuck yes,” you moan. “Yes, Billy, just like that.”

That's all he needs before he's driving himself deep, stopping only when he's fully seated inside of you. You gasp as he stretches you out, like he's splitting you right down the middle. He pulls your knee up, hooking it over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper. You whine at the fullness, earning a growl from him. 

“You like this, baby?” he asks as he pulls back, looking down to where your bodies connect before plunging himself back into you. “Fuck, because I really like this.”

“R‒really like this,” you manage to sputter out. “P‒please, please, fuck me Billy.”

“I got you, love,” his voice is raw. He sets a punishing pace, his cock filling you over and over and over again, pushing you toward the brink of something you've never experienced before. 

Your hands wander over him, tracing every scar, fumbling through his hair, squeezing his ass as you pull him in even deeper. You want to memorize everything about this, the sweet aroma of his sweat, the weight of him atop you, the stream of consciousness filth that flows from his lips as he falls more and more pussy drunk. 

He reaches down, thumb on your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His mouth explores your chest, dividing his attention between your nipples and sensitive, open neck. You bound toward your release, fingers scraping down his broad back. 

“Fuck, fuck, Billy, I'm gonna come,” you moan between huffs. He continues, pace unrelenting. 

Then, stars. 

Expanding blooms of light, full-body eruption. Sweet release, a dynamite stick in your core, exploding out your mouth in a silent scream. You heave around him, bucking your hips, impaling yourself deeper on his cock. He fucks you through it, half words falling from his lips into your mouth. 

Tha's right. 

Mm, baby. 

You go’ it. 

It's all too much, the soft moans escaping your mouth, the image of you in ecstasy before him, falling apart on his cock. He's too close behind you to stop now. 

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come. Where d’you want it?” he asks frantically. 

You can't help yourself. “Inside,” you beg. 

He really doesn't try to make it a habit of denying you, and he certainly won't start now. He groans, spilling himself inside of you. You moan at the heat that grows between your legs. 

He collapses atop you, the weight of him pushing you I to the cheap, springy mattress. You feel the wetness spill out onto the bed beneath you. 

“Holy shit,” you manage to get out between gasps for air. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit is right,” he agrees. 

Over the next eight or so hours, you and Butcher acquaint yourselves with each other, very, very, closely. On the bed, on the floor, against the dresser, in the shower, on the bed, again. You speak only a few times in rushed half sentences, too preoccupied with finding out just how many orgasms you can achieve in one go to think about much else. All of the tension that has stewed since the day Butcher first laid eyes on your dazed face has been unleashed in Room 206 at the Piney Point Motel. You stop only long enough for Butcher to drive twenty minutes down the highway to retrieve a bag of greasy fast food, hastily devoured fuel to allow you both to continue at least a few more times. 

By the time you both succumb to your utter exhaustion, you're sweat-sticky and bone-tired, with a soreness between your legs you know is going to have you walking funny tomorrow. You don't notice it though, because Butcher has you pulled in his arms, lips on your ear, your heart firmly in the palm of his hand. 

@bluemerakis@mystic-writings@imherefordeanandbones