#billy butcher x fem! reader

[burntsaltsblog]

tw: mentions of blood, mdni

Chapter Three

"We gotta to take her to the hospital."

"You know we can't do that."

"We can because she's fuckin' dying!"

My body felt like it was floating before my focus settled on a steady throb of pain in my lower stomach.

"Butcher, she's not dying. Her pulse is strong, and since I stitched her up, she hasn't bled whatsoever."

"Then, why the hell ain't she wakin' up?"

"Because she's exhausted. She lost a great amount of blood and wore herself out trying to fucking wrestle you in the van."

Blood.

That word caught my attention. I remembered blood and lots of it as it painted Butcher's knuckles a deep red.

"If she's not up in thirty minutes, I'm takin' her to the emergency room, end of story."

"Butcher, you, and I, and fucking Jesus Christ himself, know that if we step one foot into any medical facility, we will be taken into custody. It's not worth the risk."

"She is. She's worth the risk.

It was quiet for either a few minutes or a few hours. Both timeframes felt the same in my hazy state.

A long sigh broke the spell, followed by more dialogue. "Jo is ok, I promise you. Now, I need to grab the bag of fluids that I left in my room. While I'm gone, don't you dare think about running off with her. I am the only medical professional she needs right now."

Footsteps trailed off as my eyes slowly blinked open to take in my surroundings. I was in the basement of the pawn shop, on the couch that I was still convinced had bed bugs.

"Mornin', sunshine."

The Cockney accent drew my attention, and I looked up at Butcher's tired face. His hazel eyes bored into mine, and memories from earlier flooded my brain.

"Here ya' go," Butcher said, offering me a glass of water.

Upon attempting to sit up and accept the drink, I gasped as my abdomen screamed in pain.

"Woah, there. It's a little soon for you to be up and at 'em, doll. Here, lemme help ya'," Butcher said gently as he laid me back down on the couch and eased a hand under my head, propping it up so I could drink.

Grateful, I eagerly gulped the water, finishing the whole glass in mere seconds and earning a chuckle from Butcher.

"There, ya' go. Down the hatch."

He slowly lowered my head back on my pillow and placed the empty glass on the coffee table behind him before turning back to face me, studying my face in great detail.

"You gave us a right scare there, love."

"At least I know you guys care," I shrugged. "Now, when I do actually drop dead, I'll be expecting a funeral with the works—fireworks, I mean. See if you can get Celine Dion, too. I heard she's available."

I expected another laugh from Billy, but instead, he looked more solemn than ever. His eyes trailed down to where my shirt, a clean one without blood, rode up on my stomach, showing the gauze that MM had wrapped me in.

"I thought I had lost ya'," He mumbled.

It was quiet between us due to the fact that I didn't know how to react to Butcher's surprising words.

"I guess I can relate to the feeling," I finally said as my face hardened. "Since you left me for three months with no goodbye. I thought you were dead."

Butcher bowed his head, "Jo, you have no idea how much I fuckin' regret leaving ya'. But I had no other choice."

"You always have a choice, Butcher." My voice grew louder as my emotions rose in powerful waves. "And you didn't leave me. You fucking abandoned me!"

He cupped my face, but I turned my head, rejecting the physical affection. "Don't," I whispered. "It's too late. You can't just walk back in here and act like nothing happened. Like you didn't fuck me, and then throw me away like garbage the next day."

Butcher's nostrils flared as he rose to his impressive height, towering over me. "Now, listen here-"

"Ok, I'm breaking this up," MM called, reentering the room. "Jo is very weak right now, and I cannot allow her to undergo any extra stress."

"I'm not weak," I quipped back, whipping my head to gaze at MM as he leaned over the back of the couch.

Unconvinced, he asked, "Really? Let me see you try and stand up then."

When I didn't move to rise from the sofa, MM shook his head. "You need fluids and rest. Luckily, neither is hard to obtain." He held up a bag of fluids before hanging it on an IV stand next to him.

"Now," he continued, doling out commands. "Close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll check your stitches in a couple of hours."

"But I'm not tired," I argued.

"The bags under your eyes say otherwise."

"Well, this couch is uncomfortable," I grumbled. "It hurts my back."

"Alright, we'll get you to your room then," MM sighed.

Before I could stop him, Butcher scooped me up into his arms, and I protested loudly. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Oi, shut your pie hole," he whispered harshly, fanning the side of my face with his breath that stank of whiskey and dominance. "I'm takin' care of you whether ya' like it or not."

I fought an internal battle before closing my lips and fixing my eyes into narrow slits.

"Good girl."

Air was quickly expelled from my lungs as I exhaled, willing myself not to rub my legs together as an ache settled between them.

But it was no use. Butcher knew the effect he had on me, and from the corner of my eye, I could see a smirk plastered on his face as he carried me to my room, full of arrogance after winning our little quarrel.

"Dontcha worry, darlin'. When you're on your feet again, you can beat me up for being the bad man that I am."

I didn't respond because I refused to be baited into another argument with Butcher. Instead, I kept a pout in place and stared straight ahead, thinking of all the ways that I could cause him physical harm. After all, he had just given me permission to, and it was proving to be quite invigorating.

"And maybe when you're all done, you'll fancy bending over and lettin' me enjoy a meal or two. Because if my memory serves me, you seemed to enjoy it last time."

"Well, the last time was the only time," I curtly informed him as Butcher gently dropped me down on my bed. I inwardly chastised myself for falling for his trap when he flashed his crazy eyes above me.

"Mhm, that's what they all say."

"Well, I mean it," I snapped, pulling my blanket up to my chin as if it would shield me from Butcher's snarky words.

"Sure ya' do," Butcher said condescendingly as he patted me on the head before leaving the room.

I was relieved to be out of his company and was disappointed when he returned, the IV stand with the bag of fluids still hanging from it in tow and other needed supplies grasped in his hand. I watched as he prepared the IV tubing before he sat down on the edge of my bed and huffed, "Give me your arm."

"Why can't MM do it?" I sulked.

"Because I'm doin' it," he replied in a matter-of-fact manner.

I grumbled under my breath, clearly displeased. As I reluctantly drew my arm from under the blanket's coverage, Butcher looked at me with a bushy brow raised. "What? You don't think I'm a suitable nurse?"

"Well, your bedside manners leave much to be desired."

"That's funny. All my other patients think I'm perfectly charmin', especially the older ladies. I didn't know I appealed to nans so much," he snickered, running a calloused finger over my arm, searching for an appropriate vein.

"I'm surprised you appeal to anyone."

"I guess ya' should be questionin' your own taste then, eh?"

"Believe me, I am."

Butcher didn't reply as he wrapped a small piece of fabric around my bicep, creating a makeshift tourniquet.

"Don't look, ok, doll?" he instructed, swiping a cotton ball covered in rubbing alcohol over my arm. My nose wrinkled at the strong smell, and I coughed.

"I don't need an IV," I said, trying to negotiate at the last minute. "I'll drink lots of water. Even that gross electrolyte shit MM buys."

"I don't think that's gonna to cut it, sweetheart," he stated, sliding the needle inside of the small catheter.

I bit my lip, trying to resign myself to my fate but failing miserably.

"M'not gonna hurt ya', ok? Just look at the ceilin' so you don't maul me to death."

"It's not like you wouldn't deserve it."

Butcher closed his eyes as I began to tread on his nerves. "Princess, you outta think before you speak that way to someone who's holdin' a very sharp object inches from you, yeah?"

"But you won't hurt me. You just said so yourself."

"Doesn't mean I'm not tempted."

I rolled my eyes and held my breath as I followed Butcher's wishes and looked at the ceiling. I winced slightly when I felt the needle initially enter my arm, but Butcher gently ran his free hand over my shoulder, distracting me.

"Atta girl," he breathed. "You're doin' so good."

My body trembled as I floated down from my last orgasm. I was vaguely aware of Butcher as he pulled me to lay on his chest, both of us panting.

"Y'alright, sweetheart?"

I could barely reply as my eyelids fluttered open and closed. My mind was full of various thoughts, but none of them made sense as my head floated somewhere above the rest of my body.

"Look at me, doll," Butcher said, running a hand through my hair. "Lemme see them pretty eyes."

I mustered all of my strength to peel my eyes open as I looked up at Billy with a lazy smile on my face.

"There she is. Atta girl," Butcher whispered. "You did so good for me."

Even in my delirious state, I keened under his praise, and Butcher chuckled at my reaction.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured as I nuzzled into his neck, nodding off in the arms of someone I loved.

Yes, I loved Billy Butcher.

He just didn't know it yet.

I held my breath as I forced myself to count the questionable yellow spots on the ceiling and not get lost in yet another memory of Butcher pretending to cherish me. I had just reached the twelfth discolored splotch when Butcher sat back and said, "All done, love."

I looked down at my arm and furrowed my brows in confusion when I saw the catheter fully inserted with some tape to keep it in place. Aside from the initial insertion, I hadn't felt the rest of the procedure.

"Told ya' it wouldn't hurt," Butcher said proudly, crossing his arms over his broad chest, reading my thoughts, which were clearly displayed on my face.

"I guess you're not the worst nurse in the world," I relented.

Butcher's mouth curled up at the side, and I knew my meager compliment had inflated his already oversized ego.

"Well, ain't that sweet of you to say. But don't tell MM, alright? He prides himself on his medical skills."

Butcher delicately adjusted my blanket, pulling it tighter and tucking me in for the night. "Now you have a little lie-down, love. And dontcha let those manky bedbugs bite."

"Are you going to read me a bedtime story while you're at it?" I inquired.

"The only stories I like to tell aren't appropriate for bedtime," Butcher whispered, winking at me.

He headed for the open doorway before turning around at the last second. "Oh, and if ya' need help countin' sheep, just give me a shout. I'll be on the other side of the wall."

I nodded before curling up on my side, trying not to tug too hard on my IV as the door creaked shut, signaling that I was alone. The light from the living room drifted under the doorway, providing a makeshift nightlight and illuminating the small, dingy room.

Sleep came surprisingly soon, and I drifted off, dreaming of Billy's heartbeat under my ear as he held me in his arms.

༺༻

It felt like only minutes later when I woke up due to the sensation of someone's hands on my stomach, and I flinched as my eyes flew open.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," MM apologized. "I was just checking your stitches," he explained as he pulled the bandage back over my abdomen and quickly did the same with my shirt and blanket.

"How does it look?" I asked hesitantly as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"So far, it's holding. But it wasn't my best work with Frenchie going ninety miles an hour and you...evading my help," he sighed.

"Sorry about that," I mumbled sheepishly.

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. We all have something we're scared of. If I were being held down against my will while someone coughed in my face, I'd have done everything I could to knock their fucking teeth out."

My smile was small as I nodded in gratitude. "What time is it?" I inquired, wondering what day it was as well.

"Noon."

"Noon?" My eyes grew wide as I ran a hand through my matted hair. "Fuck, I must've slept for almost nine hours." Which was rare. These days, I was lucky if I slept for two hours consecutively with the anxiety that ran through my veins and the threats that loomed over our heads.

"Ten, actually. I told you your body needed rest."

I was preparing a comeback when my stomach grumbled loudly, interrupting the conversation.

MM rose to his feet. "By the sound of it, it seems you might want some breakfast. Frenchie made you a get-well gift in the form of French toast. Are you interested?" he asked, and my ears perked up at the offer.

"Sounds really good, actually."

He nodded, patting my shoulder. "Ok. Butcher will be in to help you up."

I groaned loudly, and MM couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, kid, but Butcher made us all swear not to touch you. I was only granted special permission on the basis that it was purely medical so I could check your stitches."

"He's being ridiculous," I scowled.

MM regarded me knowingly. "I think I'd probably call it something else."

I rolled my eyes, and MM laughed again as he exited my room, leaving the door open.

I barely had time to prepare myself for Butcher's imposing presence when he glided through the uninhibited doorway with a cheery greeting on his tongue.

"Rise and shine, my love. How are we feelin' this mornin?" His accent was especially thick as he wasted no time in raking my blanket back.

I yanked the fuzzy material back over myself, glaring up at the Brit, but he just retaliated by gripping the blanket in one of his paw-like hands and tossing it across the small room.

I eyed the pile of fabric I was unable to retrieve due to my current injury and whined, "Don't leave it on the floor. I just washed it." But I was soon distracted by the chair that sat in the corner facing my bed. I didn't remember seeing that yesterday.

"Who's chair is that?" I asked, pivoting the conversation.

"Mine," Butcher replied as he carefully pulled my IV out and wheeled the IV stand out of the way. "You'll have to forgive me for bringin' my chair in, but I haven't figured out how to sleep standin' up yet."

"You slept in here last night?"

"Well, I don't have bloody x-ray vision, so how else was I s'pposed to keep an eye on you, eh?"

"Did it ever occur to you that not checking on me at all was a viable option?"

"Not in my book," he responded sharply before changing the subject. "Now, let's getcha up. According to MM, you're fancyin' some of Frenchie's cookin'."

Butcher slid an arm under my lower back and slowly pulled me into a sitting position.

"Easy does it, love," he said as I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed through the discomfort. "You got it."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed so my feet rested on the floor, and I braced my palms on my thighs, trying to steady myself.

"Take your time, ok? I don't need ya' rippin' your stitches under my watch," he advised as he laced our hands together and pulled until I was standing on my own two feet. My vision blacked out for a second as the blood rushed from my head down to the rest of my body, and I teetered forward, falling into Butcher's muscular chest.

"I've got ya' sweetheart," he assured me as he held my unstable frame against him.

I pulled back when my vision returned, and I looked up into Butcher's attentive face. "I'm dizzy," I mumbled.

"S'ok. MM said that's normal," he assured me softly, tucking my tangled hair behind my ear.

I wanted to chastise myself for enjoying Butcher's tenderness, but I simply didn't have the energy as I nodded, trying to turn toward the door.

"Do ya' think you can walk?" he asked, resting a protective hand on my back. I'm more than happy to carry you."

"I don't need a chauffeur. I'm perfectly capable of walking," I said, stumbling forward a few steps. I was determined to do something on my own after being coddled for the past twenty-four hours.

Butcher didn't reply, but he didn't remove his hand either in the event that I should fall again. That only increased the pressure I felt to walk faster and show him I was strong enough to move about without any help.

I finally made it out into the open area of the basement and was greeted by everyone. Hughie, Kimiko, and MM wore encouraging smiles as Frenchie placed a tall plate of French toast topped with whipped cream on the coffee table.

"Pour toi, Mademoiselles," Frenchie announced, and I thanked him profusely.

Under Butcher's watchful eye, I eased myself down on the couch, and he quickly followed suit. He placed a supportive arm around my shoulders, and I would've made a snarky comment about him being clingy, but his arm was the only thing keeping me upright at the moment, so I kept my mouth shut.  

Butcher placed my breakfast in my lap and whispered in my ear, "Do ya' need me to cut it for you, princess?"

I used all my energy to elbow him in his side, and he breathed out a laugh before addressing the room. "Alright you twats. Let's have a little chin wag about tonight."

My head shot up in confusion as I chewed the first bite of my French toast. The wonderful medley of sugar and cinnamon coated my tongue. However, I couldn't focus on Frenchie's superb culinary skills when the group began discussing a mission to which I was not privy.

"Ok, so after a little bit of trouble due to a very annoying firewall, I was able to hack their systems, and I found a blueprint of the building, so we'll be able to locate her office quicker than just going in blindly," Hughie said, squatting next to the coffee table and spreading out the blueprint that he had just spoken of.

"Who's office?" I interrupted.

Hughie looked confusedly at Butcher, who had remained silent beside me. "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?" I asked skeptically, turning my head to look at Butcher, and he sighed.

"We're breakin' into Raynor's office to have a look around before the CIA cleans it out. Word on the street is that they're doin' it tomorrow, so we've gotta go tonight."

"And you decided this without me?" I asked incredulously.

"You were knocked out, love. Was I s'pposed to wake ya' up in the middle of the night? You're always moaning about how ya' need your beauty sleep."

"Well, that wouldn't have been difficult considering you were two feet away watching me like a fucking peeping tom," I snapped before glaring at the rest of the room. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Butcher said sternly. "You aren't goin' anywhere."

"Yes, I am," I pressed.

I felt Butcher's fingers tighten around my shoulder. "Let's talk about this later, yeah?" he suggested.

"Talk about what later? The mission that I was unaware of or the fact that you won't fucking leave me alone?"

I should've seen it coming, but I was still thrown off when Butcher suddenly stood from the sofa, leaving me to crumple against it without his support. He then stomped to the other side of the basement, only stopping when he reached the corner and sneered at me. "Is this better?"

"Expanetuily," I bit back, clutching my abdomen as it tensed up under the new strain as I stood as well, not finished with what I had to say on the matter. I thought I was holding up well until MM swore, rushing to my side and forcing me to sit back down.

Bemewsed by his behavior, I tried to question him, but when he pulled up my shirt, I saw blood seeping through the gauze, and my heart plummeted.

I had ripped my stitches.

"Hughie, go into my room. On my desk, you will find some supplies. Bring them to me," MM instructed as he made quick work of pulling back the now-damp gauze.

"Fuck, it's worse than what I thought," he sighed. "Nice going, Butcher," he said, throwing a dirty look over his shoulder at his boss, who had remained standing in the corner.

The dig forced Butcher into action as he footed it over to us. "Fuck you. Clearly, I didn't do it on bloody purpose."

"Just get out," MM barked as he accepted the supplies from Hughie.

"No, I'm stayin'," Butcher argued obstinantely.

MM pinched the bridge of his nose. "Butcher, Jo is clearly upset by you being here. So stop being a stubborn motherfucker and get the fuck out."

Butcher's gaze fell on me as lines formed between his thick brows in concern. I knew he was waiting for me to beg him to stay, but I wouldn't do it. His comfort was something I craved like a drug, and it was about time I got clean. Plus, I couldn't deny the sick urge I had to hurt him, to push him away like he did to me when he left for three months.

"Fine," Butcher uttered slowly when I remained silent, "I'll let you other cunts dry this one's tears when she's fuckin' beside herself over a goddamn needle and a little bit of blood."

He pivoted around and swept up the stairs. Seconds later, the old building shook as Butcher forcefully slammed the door.

It was quiet after Butcher's dramatic exit, and MM shook his head, running a needle through a lighter. The deja vu I felt was painfully prominent.

"You ready to try this again, kid?"

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[happy74827]

A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That��s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

[scififettuccine]

Homelander x SupeTeen!Reader

Idk ya'll Homie has really been getting on my nerves recently. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going with this one at first, but I LOVE the way it turned out. It was a doozy but it was SO FUN to write! This isn’t proof read just yet so please don’t yell at me💀

Summary: You meet your biological father for the first time at Vought Tower after your adoptive mother's unexpected passing...he's not exactly what you expected.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Homelander (Obviously), death of a parental figure, mentions of death, manipulation tactics, awkward parental conversations???

Being a Supe had never been easy for you, though, luckily you had never been forced to live in a lab. Soon after you were born, one of the Vought scientists had taken you in as her own, -due to the fact that your biological mother had died during childbirth- directly going against Vought's policies. She was found out eventually, to no one's surprise...but this breach in policy gave headway to a new experiment. So, she was allowed to keep you and raise you as her own. You were raised as any other child would be, but you were treated with extra caution...and being the only Supe in school wasn't exactly a cake walk. But the worst thing you had experienced was a little bullying, but your doting, caring, adoptive mother put an end to that rather quickly by talking with the school board. The first 15 years of your life were...tolerable, if not ideal. It was supposed to stay that way...until your mother was found dead at her place of work.

It had only been two weeks since your mother died. In those two weeks, you had been relocated and told, verbatim, that your father was one of the most iconic Supes in the world...Homelander. Now? You were sitting in The Seven's meeting room at Vought Tower, anxiously toying with the handle of the swivel chair you were sitting in. Part of you was still just...numb. Everything you had ever known had been ripped away from you seemingly overnight. Any other child would be over the moon...but you? You were just...detached. You were pulled out of the endless depths of your own thoughts when a voice echoed off the walls of the room.

"Hey there, kiddo!"

You looked up from your anxious fiddling, and were met with the blindingly white smile of your biological father. You did your best to give a convincing smile back, sitting up a bit straighter in your seat. His presence wasn't exactly the most comforting. He tilted his head to the side a bit when you didn't respond.

"You're Y/N...Right? Hopefully we didn't get the wrong kid...that would be awkward, wouldn't it?" Homelander asked with a laugh. He sort of stopped in the center of the room, looking you up and down, like he was trying to evaluate you...to decide your worth. You nod sheepishly.

"Yeah...yeah. That's me." It honestly didn't help that you were the age that you were...it made it more awkward somehow. Homelander didn't say anything for a moment, almost like he was waiting for you to say something else. When you didn't, he sort of chuckled.

"You're not very talkative, are you?" He asked. You had opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. "I guess that's understandable. Meeting your old man for the first time is no small feat..." He paused for a moment as he evaluated your expression. "I'm sorry to hear about your mom...tough stuff there, kiddo." You took a breath when he mentioned your mother. It was all so fresh...and there were so many things you had recently learned that she had never told you. You didn't even know she wasn't your biological mother until after she died.

"Mmm...Don't be sorry...not your fault."

Oh, the unknown irony of that statement.

Homelander let out a small scoff and frowned. Admittedly, the frown looked incredibly fake...almost like he was mocking you.

"Still...I can't imagine what you must be feeling. I mean, to find out that she was keeping so much from you...after she died...? That must pack an even worse punch." You sort of stiffened in your seat. You weren't exactly stupid...you could read his tone. He was hiding his insults towards your mother with a cruel, mock sympathy.

"She only did it to protect me...I know she did. She wasn't a bad mom, she was amazing, actually." You respond, almost matter-of-factly, your eyes glowing red ever so slightly. "I know raising a Supe couldn't have been easy for her...she had her reasons." It was incredibly hard to talk about your mother in any way, considering she had only died two weeks ago. Homelander sensed your tone, and put his hands up as he noticed the flicker of light in your eyes. It suddenly became clear to him that you couldn't control your powers, which almost made him smirk.

"Hey now, of course she was...Absolutely no hard feelings towards your mom...But I know I would have never kept things from you like that. And registering you at a public school, knowing you're a Supe? That's just...cruel." You were going to continue defending your mother...until he mentioned school. That was something you couldn't exactly convince yourself was a great move on your mom's part.

"School was...a different story. It was rough." You said, pulling your legs up onto the swivel chair so you could hold your knees to your chest. Homelander nodded as he took a few steps closer to you, his hands now at rest behind his back.

"So I've heard...I spoke to your therapist." That comment turned your stomach a bit. Wasn't everything you spoke about with your therapist supposed to be confidential? Homelander noticed the slight change in your expression. "Don't worry, Y/N...I didn't dig into any of the gritty teenager things..." He chuckled, "I was just curious to learn about your school situation. You're a sophomore now, right?"

"Yeah...I will be. In the fall." You said quietly. Homelander smiled, where he now stood beside your chair at the point of the uniquely shaped table.

"Well that's fun, isn't it?" He asked as he pulled out one of the other swivel chairs and pulled it towards him. "One more year and then you're one of the big dogs." You nodded, watching his movements as he sat down, facing you. Everything about him just seemed so...strange. Even the way he moved. It looked almost calculated...and was mildly unsettling.

"I guess..." You said quietly. You sighed as you rested your chin on your knees, grabbing onto the table to reluctantly turn your chair to face his...it was only polite.

"You don't seem too thrilled..." He started, his blue eyes meeting the identical set that you possessed, "Was school really that bad?" That was more of a rhetorical question on his part, he knew everything about you.

"The teasing sucks...They call me 'Laser Eyes'..." Homelander stifled a laugh when you said that, to which you narrowed your eyes.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry!" He said with a chuckle, "That is the stupidest insult I've ever heard!" Homelander took a moment to stop laughing before he looked back to you. "Look. I'm not laughing at you, kiddo. I would never. But Laser Eyes...? Really? They couldn't come up with anything more original? I mean...Even I'd be hesitant to insult you considering you could just laser them in half." He said. His smile was almost manic looking.

"What?" You asked, almost dumbfounded. "I would never...I could never." You said. You pulled your chin off your knees, your eyes still narrowed.

"Why couldn't you? You're a Supe...aren't you? I mean...mommy swooping in and bribing administration to take disciplinary action against those little shit stains isn't exactly making you out to be the strongest person..." You almost immediately sat up correctly in your chair.

"She bribed the administration...?" You ask softly. Homelander gave a mock frown as he noticed your eyes become glossy.

"You didn't know? Gosh...How much was she keeping from you?" You swallowed as he spoke and tried your best not to cry. The last person you wanted to look pathetic in front of was Homelander...Especially considering his earlier comment about it not being a good look that your mom always had to swoop in and save you. "Awe..." He started, scooting his chair closer to yours. "Don't cry kiddo...It's not your fault that you're so lost...It's hers." Your eyes met his once again, a tear slipping down your cheek, which you quickly reached up to wipe away.

"Lost?" You ask. Homelander nodded.

"Well, most Supes your age, with your abilities usually already have a professional presence...Or at least know how to use their powers correctly." He said, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. "I mean, had I raised you? Had you not been wrongfully stolen from me after you were born? You'd already have a place in the Supe community, followers...maybe even a contract with Vought. You wouldn't just be floating in your own little bubble...You'd have a group. A family." Something in you broke when he spoke. Your mother had stolen you from your biological father? And had he raised you, you wouldn't be so...you? So lonely and misplaced? You couldn't help the tears that slid down your cheeks. It was as if your entire life had been flipped upsidedown.

"She...S-she really kept all that from me?" You asked. Homelander tutted softly, almost pitying you. He stood up and held out his arms.

"Come here, kiddo..." He said softly, with a tone of empty sympathy. You almost immediately stood up and buried your head in his chest. At this point....What else did you have? Who else did you have? He chuckled softly as he wrapped his arms around you, his hug firm, considering he was so much larger than you...yet comforting, despite the strange material of his suit.

'It's alright, Y/N...You're right where you need to be. We'll get you up and running with those powers of yours in no time..." He said softly, resting his chin on top of your blonde hair. He caught the reflection of the two of you in the large window that lit the room and his grip tightened, almost possessively. "You're not alone anymore...got it? You've got your dad to keep you company..." You nodded against his chest, sniffling.

"Got it." You responded softly, hugging him a bit tighter. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe Homelander, no, your father was what was best for you. How could you have been living in the dark for so long without realizing it...? You were truly lost. But everything was okay now. You were finally safe, in your fathers embrace.

Homelander smiled wickedly at his own reflection in the window before he rested his cheek on your head. Finally...he had you. His own child that he had been trying to get his bloody hands on for years...Losing another Vought scientist was a necessary sacrifice in the bigger picture of his perfect narrative...and it all started right here. With you. His child. He smiled as he pulled away from the hug, his hands gently squeezing your shoulders.

"How does a milkshake sound, huh? I know Planet Vought has a double chocolate one that's yummers." You smiled and nodded as he moved his thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"I love chocolate." You said with a small laugh. Homelander chuckled as he turned you towards the door of the meeting room and started walking, his firm hand on your shoulder urging you forward.

"I know."

————————————————————————

I hope ya’ll enjoyed! I left it open for more parts so totally let me know if you’d be interested in reading more. Writing for Homes is always a questionable adventure 💀 Until next time, Adieu!

[nobitchs-world]

If you’re gonna make a smut fic please specify which sexual acts that will be in it I don’t want to be surprised attacked by a nigga getting his butt fingered

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

lecherous

part I

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were only supposed to be in New York for the week. A quick visit, a break from Brown, from the safety of academia, from the clean-cut world you belonged to. Then you ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, you’re trapped in your brother’s world—surrounded by danger, by violence, by men who don’t play by the rules. But the worst of them? The one you should fear the most? He’s watching you. And he’s waiting.

Warnings: 18+!, Soldier Boy is kinda his own warning?, language, innocence, corruption/corruption kink, smut (dirty talk, dry humping, fingering, handjob, overstim, biting, marking, p in v, spitting), misogyny, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 8,146

A/N: I just had to do a Soldier Boy one. I was compelled to do it!!! Listen, Ben??? <333 I would pay for this dude to smash my face in with his goddamn shield, and thank him through the blood and shattered teeth in my mouth. I hope you guys like this as much as I liked writing it. Feel free to give me feedback! This is part one... (so while all of the warnings listed above may not be evident, they will be in the next part) and I'm thinking this will only be a two-parter, so keep an eye out for the next one. All the love.

Without further ado: LECHEROUS

Corruption is a slow, creeping thing.

It does not strike like lightning, does not announce itself with fire and fury.

It is quieter than that, softer. A whisper in the dark. A hand at your throat that never quite tightens. A steady unraveling, thread by thread, until you are something else entirely—something ruined.

Something willing.

You were only visiting New York for the week.

Seven days between brick and steel, between the bones of a city that never sleeps. You thought you’d spend them wandering through old bookstores, drinking overpriced coffee in little sunlit cafés, maybe slipping into the Met just to stand before Waterhouse and let his brushstrokes sink beneath your skin.

Your world was soft—delicate as pressed flowers, bound together by old books, lazy afternoons, and the scent of rain on cobblestones.

And then it wasn’t.

Then it was blood, and smoke, and the rough hands of men who lived in the dark. Then it was your brother’s frantic voice, the slam of a van door, the stench of whiskey and bleach.

Then it was them.

The Frenchman with kind eyes. The silent girl with something feral in her bones. The Brit who smiled like he enjoyed ruining things.

And then—him.

And God help you, the second his eyes landed on you, you knew—deep in your bones—you were never making it out of this untouched.

The first week with them had been messy in a way you’d never been prepared for.

Two years ago, you left for Providence, and the world you once knew softened at the edges, blurred like ink bleeding into paper. You only came back for holidays, quick visits filled with familiar places that didn’t feel quite the same anymore. The journey wasn’t too long, but there was always something pulling you back—essays to finish, lectures to attend, books to drown in.

Daily calls with Hughie turned to weekly. Weekly turned to monthly. By the time you were halfway through your first year, the calls all but stopped. And that was okay.

Because he lost Robin.

You still remember the phone call from Dad, the way his voice was hushed, careful, like he wasn’t sure how to say it. Like grief had teeth, and speaking too loudly might wake it. You tried to reach out to Hughie, but you knew him. Knew the way he shrank away from sympathy like a touch too firm on bruised skin. Knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it, not when it was being shoved in his face by news anchors with empty voices and replayed in grainy footage on every screen.

So you gave him space. Let him breathe. Let him reach out when he was ready.

You just never expected that when he finally did, it would be like this.

Butcher had rubbed you the wrong way. From the first instance. There had been something about him—too loud, too brash, too willing to drag your brother into the fire and call it heroism.

You couldn’t deny that Hughie was different now. Sharper. Harder. The softness in him—the part that used to let you steal fries from his plate without a fight, the part that laughed too easily, that cried at dumb movies—that was gone. And you were almost certain Butcher had been the crux of that.

It was in the way Hughie had watched him, had followed his lead even when he knew better. In the way Butcher had smirked like the devil himself whenever Hughie did something reckless. In the way he had treated people like chess pieces, pushing them toward the front lines with a wink and a whiskey-drenched grin.

And you had hated it. Hated him. Hated what he had turned Hughie into.

But at the same time, you knew that if Butcher had told you to run, you would have. Because whatever else he was—whatever violence had lingered beneath that cockney drawl—he hadn’t lied. And when he had looked at you, you had known he saw it for what it was. You hadn’t been meant for this world. And one day, if you weren’t careful, it was going to swallow you whole.

Frenchie had been charming from the start. Too charming, if you were being honest.

He had done far too many drugs for your liking, had smoked like he was trying to become a ghost before his time, but he had been pleasant. Warm. Always quick with a grin, always ready with some poetic nonsense that had sounded more like lyrics than conversation.

And yes, he had flirted. Too much, too often, too shamelessly.

"Ah, mon ange, how is it that you float through all this chaos and remain untouched? Hmm?" 

Or...

"A girl like you does not belong in places like this… But, ah, you do make it a little prettier, non?"

It should have bothered you. It hadn’t. Not really. Because there had been no bite to it, no real weight. Just something easy, familiar, and fleeting.

And when the world had felt too sharp, too jagged, you had rather listened to Frenchie talk about some obscure French film than think too long about what had happened next.

Kimiko had always been sweet. Always watching you with those dark, thoughtful eyes, her expression somewhere between curiosity and quiet understanding.

She had smiled at you. A lot.

And sometimes—sometimes she had looked at you like she had felt sorry for you.

Not in a condescending way. Not pity, exactly. Just… something close to it. Like she had known what it had meant to be dragged into something you had never been meant to see.

She hadn’t talked, but she hadn’t needed to. Because some nights, when everyone else had been asleep, she had sat with you at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug, and just… existed beside you.

And sometimes, that had been enough.

MM had been a tough one to crack.

He had been smart, disciplined, methodical—but where Frenchie had flirted and Kimiko had watched, MM had just… kept his distance.

You had been too soft for this. He had known it, and you had known it, and sometimes, when you had said something naïve—something that only someone who hadn’t seen the worst of the world would say—he had barely held back a sigh.

You had gotten it. You had. But sometimes, his silence had felt colder than it had needed to be.

But then—sometimes, just for a moment, his expression had softened.

And you hadn’t known if it had been because he had seen something in you that had reminded him of someone else or because—just maybe—he had been starting to get used to you.

And then there had been him.

The worst of them all.

A relic. A man who shouldn’t have existed, who hadn’t existed, who had died and stayed dead for so long that the world had moved on without him.

And yet—here he had been.

Standing in the doorway, watching you like a wolf watches a lamb.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is this?"

Or—

"Kid, you didn’t tell me you had a little sister. Or, fuck, is she your pet? Girl like that doesn’t belong in a place like this."

Or, worse—

"Shit, look at her. You ever even held a gun, sweetheart? Or are those dainty little hands just for turnin’ pages and touchin’ pretty things?"

You had hated him.

But most of all? You had hated that—somewhere, deep down—you had been afraid he might have been right.

Hughie had made it clear to everyone—especially Soldier Boy—that you were off-limits.

"Do not touch her. Do not fuck with her. As soon as this blows over, she’s heading back to Brown, back to her life, and she’s staying the hell out of all this bullshit."

And you remembered the way Butcher and Soldier Boy had snorted at that.

Like it was funny. Like Hughie had said something so spectacularly naïve that the only appropriate response was mockery.

And then the questions had started.

"So, how the fuck's a little Ivy League princess end up in a mess like this?" Butcher had asked, grinning over his drink like this was all some grand joke.

"Yeah," Soldier Boy had drawled, looking you over with lazy amusement, his elbow propped on the table. "What, ya get lost on your way to a poetry readin'?"

Hughie had snapped.

Sweet, sensitive, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly Hughie. Your big brother, who never raised his voice, never lost his temper. The boy who still flinched when doors slammed too hard.

He had sworn at them.

"Leave her the hell alone. She’s too fucking smart to be around you assholes."

And when Butcher had smirked, amused, Hughie had turned on him instead.

"This is your fault. You know that, right?" He’d spat. "I told you—I was just having lunch with my sister. And now she's here. Because of you."

No one had responded to that. Because there was nothing to say.

And then Frenchie had signed something for Kimiko, her dark eyes flicking to you with quiet curiosity.

"She asks what you are studying?"

You had answered without thinking.

"Literature. Philosophy. Art History."

And that had earned another scoff.

This time from Soldier Boy, who leaned back in his chair, gave you one of those looks—head tilted, half-amused, half-unimpressed.

"Jesus. You’re one of those doe-eyed, frilly little chicks who thinks she’s gonna make a difference in the world, huh?"

And the worst part?

He didn’t even sound mean when he said it.

Just… like he already knew you wouldn’t.

More days passed, more chaos unfolded. And at the halfway mark of your second week stuck in this hell, the safe house was quiet.

Hughie had gone to bed an hour ago, muttering something about needing at least six hours of sleep before Butcher dragged them all into more bullshit. Frenchie and Kimiko were in their room, and MM had disappeared behind a closed door with the kind of finality that made it clear he was done dealing with everyone for the night.

Which left you alone at the kitchen table, tea cooling in your hand, fingers tracing the delicate spine of a book you had read too many times to count.

Sappho.

The words sat heavy on the page, as sweet and delicate as a pulse pressed beneath a lover’s thumb. You let them settle in your mind, let them soften the edges of the world.

Until he walked in.

Soldier Boy.

His presence cut through the quiet, casual as anything—sweatpants slung low on his hips, some faded jersey clinging to broad shoulders. You didn’t recognise the team, didn’t know if they even still existed, but it didn’t matter.

Because he was there. And he was watching you. He let out a low, exaggerated sigh as he strolled to the fridge, pulling it open with a careless tug.

"Jesus. You’re still awake?"

You didn’t look up from your book. "So are you."

"Yeah, but I got a reason. You?"

You took a slow sip of your tea before answering. "I like the quiet."

He snorted. Loud. Disbelieving.

"Yeah, bet you do. Let me guess—"" he drawled, grabbing a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off with one sharp flick of his thumb, "—you sit here every night, readin’ your little poetry books, pretendin’ you ain’t in the same world as the rest of us?"

You ignored him.

Or at least, you tried to.

Because a moment later, he was behind you. Standing too close, leaning over the back of your chair, body brushing against yours as he peered at the book in your hands.

"What’s this one? More girly shit about love?"

His voice was low—mocking, warm, edged in something heavier.

You could smell him. Clean skin, sweat, whiskey. It should have been unpleasant, should have made your stomach turn, but instead, your pulse kicked.

Because he was too close. And he was too warm. And for all that you hated him—for all that he was a chauvinistic pig who smirked at you like he already knew how this would end—he was still a devastatingly handsome man.

You swallowed.

"It’s Sappho." Your voice was calm, even. Polite.

He hummed like he wasn’t impressed, like the name meant nothing to him.

"Lemme guess. More lovesick shit?"

You shouldn’t have answered. Shouldn’t have played into it. But something about him dragged the words right out of you.

"She wrote poetry about desire. About love. About longing so strong it was painful."

His chuckle was low, rich, full of something sharp and knowing.

"Yeah? That right?"

His chest brushed against your shoulder, solid and warm. And for the first time, you felt it. The game. The slow, creeping inevitability of it.

Because the worst part? You didn’t move away.

Soldier Boy didn’t move away.

No, he did the exact opposite.

With a sigh like this was all so exhausting for him, he slid into the chair beside you—sprawling out, legs spread wide, arms draped over the back like he owned the whole damn place.

Like he owned you.

"You at a good bit?" He asked, nodding toward the book still open in your hands.

You huffed a soft little laugh through your nose. A tiny, unconscious thing.

"It’s all good," you murmured, tucking your fingers into the crease of the page.

And that was all he needed. That tiny little laugh—like you weren’t entirely immune to him.

It was fuel.

His mouth pulled into something slow and satisfied, one corner curling up like he’d just won a bet no one else knew about.

"Gonna fuckin’ read me somethin’ then?" He asked, voice low, lazy, thick with amusement.

You hesitated for half a second, but he didn’t fill the silence. Just sat there, watching you, waiting. So you turned the page, ran your fingertip down the words, and read.

"He is more than a hero. He is a god in my eyes—"

You heard the soft sound of his breath through his nose, but you didn’t look up.

"—the man who is allowed to sit beside you—"

Your lips curled around the syllables, shaping the words slow, careful, thoughtful.

"—he who listens intimately to the sweet murmur of your voice—"

And that’s when you noticed it.

The way he was watching your mouth. Not the page, not the book, not even your hands—just your lips.

You wet your bottom lip without thinking, just a quick dart of your tongue.

And then he did it too. A barely-there flicker of his tongue over his own lip, almost like mimicry, almost like instinct. Like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. Like he was imagining something else entirely.

You swallowed.

"—the enticing laughter that makes my own heart beat fast."

He hummed, low, deep, thoughtful.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I bet it does."

And you didn’t know if he meant the poem or something else entirely.

Soldier Boy let the silence sit there for a beat.

Then he snorted.

"Christ on a cross," he muttered, shaking his head, taking a slow sip of his beer. "This what passes for romance these days?"

You blinked, coming back into yourself.

"Excuse me?"

He leaned back in his chair like this was nothing. Like you hadn’t just let him into something soft, something intimate, something you didn’t share with people like him.

"I mean, c’mon. A girl’s got a guy sittin’ next to her, all close, hangin’ on her every word, and she’s gettin’ worked up over poetry?" He scoffed, head tilting. "What’s wrong with kids these days? You ever actually been with a man, sweetheart, or you just get off on recitin’ pretty words about ‘em?"

Heat flared up your spine, spreading fast—anger, humiliation, something else.

"That’s not—" You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, snapping the book shut with more force than necessary.

But he was still watching you, still too relaxed, too knowing.

"C’mon," he continued, still smirking, still delighted by this. "You’re tellin’ me you’d rather have some guy whisperin’ poetry in your ear than puttin’ his hands on you?"

Your breath caught.

His eyes sharpened, locking onto you like he could see it. Like he could hear the way your pulse had just picked up.

He chuckled, voice low and syrup-thick.

"Jesus. You would, wouldn’t you?"

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, crawling down your neck, shameful, unwanted.

"You have no idea what you’re talking about," you muttered, forcing your gaze away, forcing yourself to focus on anything but him.

"No?" He mused, voice mocking, curious.

And then, he leaned in. Slow. Deliberate. One forearm braced on the table, body shifting just enough to make sure you felt it—the weight of his presence, the heat of him, the sheer size of him.

He was crowding you.

And you were letting him.

"Bet you get real sweet for the right kinda guy, though," he murmured, his tone just toeing the line of filthy. "Bet you got all sorts of pretty little noises bottled up in there. Probably never even heard yourself make ‘em."

Your stomach tightened.

This was humiliation. This was infuriating. This was working. You were leaning in. You were hanging off his words.

And he knew it.

That smirk deepened.

"What’s it like, sweetheart?" He pressed, eating this up. "Being so goddamn innocent in a world that’s just waitin’ to fuck you over?"

It snapped something in you. The chair scraped hard against the floor as you stood too fast, breath uneven, pulse hammering.

"I’m heading to bed," you announced, voice clipped, too rushed, too affected.

And the worst part?

He laughed. Low, smug, completely victorious.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I bet you are."

The days passed in a blur of avoidance.

You spent most of your time glued to Hughie’s side when he was around, soaking up whatever small slivers of normalcy still existed. When he wasn’t, you gravitated toward Kimiko—because at least she wasn’t a raging asshole like everyone else in this godforsaken safe house.

Butcher, though? He had a way of ruining peace on sight.

That morning, you had been sitting with Hughie, Frenchie, and Kimiko at the rickety kitchen table, sipping coffee, listening to Frenchie ramble about some film you had never heard of, when Butcher came storming in like a goddamn hurricane. MM trailed behind him, looking just as pissed off and impatient.

"Alright, you lot, move your arses. We got business to attend to."

Just like that, the energy shifted.

Hughie shot you a look over his shoulder as he scrambled to follow the rest of them, a look that said "stay away from Soldier Boy."

You waved him off. You didn’t need to be told.

You would happily stay away from that smug, antiquated dog.

So, with the house suddenly quieter, emptier, safer, you made yourself a cup of coffee, grabbed another poetry book from the small stack you had left in the corner, and settled into your chair. The fabric of your white dress pooled around your thighs, soft against your skin. Your bare feet pressed against the cool wooden floor where you had kicked off your chucks, leaving them discarded beside your chair.

For the first time in days, you exhaled.

And then—like he sensed it—he walked in.

Soldier Boy.

You didn’t look up, but you felt him. That heavy, unavoidable presence, the scent of whiskey and musk and something uniquely him curling in the air.

He was comfortable, casual—sweats again, another jersey stretched over that ridiculous frame.

And this time? A cigar.

You kept your gaze locked on the page in front of you, willing yourself into complete indifference. You heard the flick of his lighter before you smelled it. A moment later, the thick curl of smoke drifted into the air—in your direction.

Your lips pressed into a tight line.

Ignore him.

You turned the page of your book with deliberate patience. Another drag. Another slow exhale. More smoke, rolling straight into your space.

You finally sighed. "Do you mind?"

"Nah."

That smirk was in his voice. You didn’t even need to look to know it was there.

Slowly, so slowly, you dragged your gaze up to him. He was leaning against the counter, big and lazy and completely entertained by his own bullshit. The cigar was perched between his fingers, burning red.

"Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?" He drawled, lifting it to his lips again, blowing another purposefully slow stream of smoke in your direction.

You didn’t even blink. "Aside from being in the same room as you?"

That amused him. Of course it did.

"Atta girl," he muttered around the cigar, like your bite was endearing.

He pushed off the counter, strolling toward you, slow and unhurried, a king in his own little kingdom.

"You always this cranky, or just ‘cause you need to get laid?"

Your brows shot up.

"Excuse me?"

Smug asshole.

He gestured loosely with his cigar, motioning toward your book, the way your fingers gripped the pages a little too tightly.

"I mean, c’mon. First, it was Sappy, or whatever bullshit you called it. Now it’s somethin’ else. What is it this time, huh? Another little daydream about some poor bastard who’s got you so fuckin’ worked up you can’t think straight?"

You wanted to kill him. You wanted to leave. You wanted to stay.

You inhaled, slow and measured.

"It was Sappho. And it's poetry, not a ‘daydream,’" you corrected, voice calm, even, unaffected.

His smirk deepened.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He took another slow drag, watching you through the haze of smoke.

"That’s what they all say."

You frowned at him, eyes flicking pointedly to the cigar between his fingers. He noticed. Of course he did.

"What?" He drawled, tilting his head like he wasn’t blowing thick curls of smoke into your space on purpose.

You shook your head, gaze lingering on the burning cherry-red tip.

His smirk deepened.

"Lemme guess. You never smoked a day in your life."

"No," you admitted, crossing one bare leg over the other, adjusting your dress where it pooled over your thighs.

He hummed, shifting his weight onto one foot like he was actually considering something.

"Wanna try?"

"No."

That made him chuckle.

"Jesus, you’re just full’a nos, huh?" He muttered, shaking his head.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the edges of your book a little too tight.

"What do you want, Soldier Boy?"

He shrugged, looking wholly unbothered, comfortable, amused. Then he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Read to me."

You blinked, brows pulling together. "No."

He scoffed. Mocking. Indulgent.

"C’mon, sweetheart, what else you gotta do? Sit here all night readin’ to yourself?"

You ignored him. Or at least, you tried. But then you looked down at the page, at the very first line of the sonnet you had just landed on—

And your breath caught. Heat flashed up your neck, a sudden, horrible, involuntary blush creeping over your skin. You tried to snap the book shut.

But he was too quick.

His hand landed on top of yours, firm, unyielding, stopping you from turning the page.

"No fuckin’ way," he murmured, watching you now.

Really watching you.

"This one’s got you all flustered, huh?"

You scoffed, shifting under his stare, hating the way your body reacted to the weight of it.

"It’s nothing," you muttered, shaking your head, trying to move past it.

But he wasn’t letting it go.

"Nah, sweetheart. You went red." His lips curled, slow and knowing. "Means it’s gotta be good."

You pressed your lips together, rolling your eyes to hide the fact that your hands had started to tremble.

"It’s just poetry," you deflected, but it was weak.

"Yeah?" He took another slow pull of his cigar, exhaled thick and deliberate.

"C’mon, doll," he drawled, voice soaked in smoke and amusement. "Fuckin’ read it to me."

You shook your head, tucking your hair behind your ear, desperate to find something to busy your hands.

He let the silence sit there for a beat.

Then—the final push.

"I’ll ask real nice if you want me to."

You went even redder. His smirk was criminal. You swallowed, exhaled through your nose, adjusted yourself in your seat—

And he noticed.

He watched.

The way your hands smoothed over your dress, fabric shifting over the soft skin of your thighs. The way you shifted your weight, curling your legs under yourself, tucking your feet beneath you.

You were kneeling in the chair now, spine straight, breath shallow. And he was looking at you like a goddamn predator.

"C’mon, doll. Read it."

His voice was low, insistent, thick with mockery and something else, something darker, something that settled deep in your bones.

You let out a soft, frustrated whine, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling like it might save you.

Bad move.

"Oh, sweetheart," he chuckled, slow and smug, shifting in his chair, elbow resting on the table, eyes locked onto you like a heat-seeking missile. "That little noise you just made? You sure you wanna go makin’ sounds like that ‘round me?"

Your head snapped back down, eyes narrowing at him, face burning.

"God, you’re such an ass," you muttered, gripping the book so tight your knuckles ached.

"Yeah?" His mouth curled. "And you’re still sittin’ here, lettin’ me get you all flustered."

You wanted to argue. Wanted to fight back. But you knew how that would go. So instead, you inhaled sharply, forced your gaze down to the page, and started reading.

"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair."

The words felt heavy on your tongue, slow and deliberate, curling in the air like something sacred and dangerous all at once.

You could feel his stare.

"Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets."

You swallowed, your breath coming just a little too quick.

"Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps."

Your hands tightened around the book.

He wasn’t just watching you. He was consuming you. Every movement, every shift of your body, every tiny tremor of your voice.

"I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the colour of a savage harvest."

Your thighs pressed together.

It wasn’t intentional. Just a tiny movement, a reflex, something almost subconscious. But he noticed.

"Hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

A slow exhale left your lips, shaky and uneven.

The heat of his gaze didn’t let up. If anything, it grew heavier. Like he could see inside you. Like he already knew what was happening, what was unfolding beneath your skin, creeping lower and lower, winding tight.

"I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face."

Your voice wavered. Just barely. Just for a second. And he smirked.

"I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes—"

A shift in your seat. A small one. Barely anything. But it was too much.

The fabric of your dress whispered against your thighs, your knees tucking tighter beneath you, your whole body tense and warm and flushed.

"—and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."

Silence. Thick. Drowning. The kind that made your skin prickle, made your chest tight.

You didn’t dare look up. Didn’t dare move.

Because you already knew. Knew that if you lifted your gaze, he would be watching you like he was starving. Knew that if you moved even the smallest bit, he would catch it.

Because Soldier Boy saw everything. And he knew exactly what was happening to you.

The silence was suffocating. Thick, weighted, pregnant with something unspoken as it stretched between you.

Your skin felt too tight. The heat coiled low in your stomach, twisting around your ribs, crawling up your throat, threatening to betray you.

Then—he broke it.

"A guy or a girl write that?"

His voice was low, rough, amused. Like he already knew the answer. Like he was just toying with you.

You swallowed, licking your lips, forcing your voice to sound steady when you answered.

"Pablo Neruda."

And then, the worst goddamn thing happened. He laughed. A slow, lazy chuckle that dragged through your skin, caught on your ribs.

"Figures."

You gritted your teeth, already knowing something insufferable was coming.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, all careless arrogance, the cigar still balanced between his fingers, exhaling another slow curl of smoke into the air.

"Just sayin’," he mused, voice deep, casual, like he wasn’t fucking with you on purpose. "Even though the guy’s clearly a fuckin’ pussy, that one was a good one."

Your head snapped up.

Pablo Neruda... a fucking pussy?

Fuming. Your hands tightened around the book, knuckles white.

"Excuse me?"

He grinned. That slow, knowing grin. Like he’d just pulled the pin from a grenade and was waiting to see what you’d do with it.

"Relax, sweetheart. Didn’t say it was bad, just said the guy sounds like he’s got a real tragic case of the fuckin’ blues."

And that’s when he really looked at you. Not just the way you were glowering at him, but the flush creeping down your neck, burning hot against your collarbones. His smirk deepened.

"Jesus. You got real fuckin' red there, didn’t ya?"

Your stomach dropped.

He leaned in, just slightly, enough to throw off your balance. Enough to let the heat of him settle in your space.

"What’s got you all worked up, huh?"

You hated him. Hated the way he could see everything. Hated the way your body betrayed you before you could even stop it.

"Nothing," you muttered, voice too soft, too tight.

He snorted. "Nothing, huh?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. His eyes dragged over you, slow, deliberate, indulgent. And then—he went for the kill.

"You a virgin or somethin’?"

Your breath hitched. You choked. Literally. Sputtering, heat flashing up your throat, down your chest, creeping under your skin like a live wire.

"What? No—"

His grin sharpened.

"Nah? You sure?"

His voice was soaked in mockery, thick with condescension, teasing but firm.

You clenched your jaw, swallowing down the white-hot mortification clawing its way up your throat.

"I am not a virgin."

It should have come out firm. Confident. A clear, unwavering correction. But instead, it sounded rushed. Flustered.

And he caught it. He fucking caught it.

"Huh."

A sound, low in his throat. Thoughtful. Borderline amused. Then, he tilted his head.

"So what’s got you all shy then, huh?"

His voice had shifted. It wasn’t mocking anymore. It was lower. Thicker. Heavier. Something coiled behind it. Something just as sharp as it was slow.

Your stomach twisted.

You hated the way your body betrayed you. Hated the way his eyes locked onto you like he was drinking in every reaction, every flicker of heat beneath your skin.

And the worst part?

You didn’t have an answer. But he did. And you knew he wasn’t letting this go.

You pushed up from the table too fast. Too sharp. Too obvious. Your body knew before your mind did—you needed to get away. Now. You grabbed your mug, fingers curling tight around the handle, breath unsteady, pulse erratic.

You weren’t looking at him. Couldn’t.

Not after that. Not after he had looked at you like that. Not after your body had betrayed you, your thighs pressing together, your voice getting breathless, your skin turning traitorously warm.

You stepped away, headed for the sink.

And then—his hand caught your wrist.

The world tilted. The air caught in your throat. You stopped, completely. Your chest rose and fell too quick, too shallow. Your lips parted slightly, a soft, silent intake of breath. And when you turned your gaze to him—wide-eyed, startled—

He was already looking at you. Really looking at you. His eyes dragged over your face, scanning every inch, every tremor, every tell.

Your mouth. Your throat. Your blush.

And then, he smirked. Slow. Easy. Like he had just figured something out. Like he had you all mapped out, like he had already won.

His grip wasn’t harsh. Just firm. Deliberate.

"You know," he mused, voice low, thick with something lazy, indulgent, impossible to ignore. "Broads back in my day? They weren’t like this."

Your pulse jumped.

"Like what?"

His smirk widened.

"Like you."

His eyes flicked down your body, slow, taking his time.

"They weren’t like the ones now, either. All teeth and bite, runnin’ around talkin’ about sexual fuckin’ liberation like it’s the best thing since sliced bread."

Your jaw tightened.

He tilted his head, eyes still dragging over you, voice soaked in amusement.

"But you?"

His fingers flexed slightly around your wrist.

"You ain’t like them. Not the ones from back then, not the ones now." He smirked, something mean and smug curling behind it. "You’re somethin’ else entirely, sweetheart."

Your stomach twisted. A hot, tight coil of embarrassment and indignation.

You knew what he was saying. You knew exactly what he was calling you.

"I am sexually liberated," you snapped, too quick, too defensive, too transparent.

And that? That just made him grin. That slow, smug, lazy kind of grin. Like he was saying sure you are.

His lips pulled into a smug, disbelieving frown, chin tilting slightly, eyebrow raising just enough to let you know exactly what he thought of that answer.

"Yeah?"

His grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.

And then—the final move.

He shifted. A slight, easy motion. Subtle. One knee sliding further apart, his weight shifting into a slouch, his shoulders relaxed.

And then—his eyes flicked downward.

Just for a second. To his thigh. It was silent. Unspoken. But the message? It was loud as all hell. A silent suggestion. An offer. A dare.

Sit.

Your body locked up. Every nerve, every muscle, caught in place, frozen in the thick, suffocating weight of silence.

Because he was waiting. He had made his offer. And now, he was watching you decide.

Your breath shook, barely noticeable, but he noticed. Of course he did.

His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, warm and solid, thumb just barely grazing the thin skin there.

You should leave. You should pull away. You should say something sharp, something final, something that would put an end to whatever the hell this was before it started.

But you didn’t.

You lowered yourself down. Slow. Hesitant. Carefully tucking your knees together, shifting to sit sideways, keeping yourself polite.

Like you could still pretend this wasn’t what it was. Like you weren’t settling yourself into the lap of the most dangerous man you’d ever met.

And then—he laughed. Low. Deep. Amused. As if he was thinking of course. Of course, you had sat like that. All prim, all proper, like you weren’t already fucked.

His hands spanned your waist, heat bleeding through the fabric of your dress, grounding, firm, unbearably present.

And then—he moved. Not rough. Not rushed. Just careful. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, slow and deliberate, catching the strands of hair there, dragging them down your back, stroking them into place like it mattered.

Like you mattered.

Your breath hitched. His touch was warm, soothing, steady. And it disarmed you completely.

"Sweet little thing," he murmured, voice low, thick, nearly affectionate.

You shouldn’t have melted. You shouldn’t have let your shoulders soften, let your breath come out in a slow, shuddering exhale. You shouldn’t have let your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks like this was something delicate.

Like this was something soft.

But God help you—

It was.

"Didn’t know they made ‘em like you," he muttered, almost to himself.

Your stomach tightened.

Not in fear. Not in anger. In something else.

"Like what?" You asked, barely more than a breath.

His hand dragged down your spine, slow, reverent, like he was committing the shape of you to memory. His lips brushed your temple, and then—

He started talking. His voice was low, barely more than a murmur, settling against your skin like smoke, like sin, like something inevitable.

His fingers traced absent, lazy paths down your spine, warm through the thin fabric of your dress, gentle in a way that felt almost cruel.

"Soft little thing," he mused, voice almost thoughtful, indulgent. "All wide-eyed and sweet, sittin’ in my lap like it ain’t gonna get you in trouble."

Your breath shook. You weren’t sure if it was from his words or his hands, the slow drag of his palm down the length of your back, the way his fingers curled, just slightly, at your waist.

"Never met a girl like you," he continued, voice warm, thick, honey-slow. "All polite, all careful. All dressed in white like you don’t belong anywhere near a guy like me."

Your stomach tightened.

"You know what they used to say ‘bout girls like you, sweetheart?"

You swallowed. "What?"

His lips brushed your temple, a ghost of a touch, nothing more than a breath of warmth.

"They called ‘em good girls."

The words sent a shiver straight through you.

And he felt it. Of course he did. His grip on your waist tightened, just for a second, like he wanted to test something.

"That what you are, sweetheart?"

You hesitated. It was a simple question. It should’ve been easy. But your breath hitched, caught somewhere between your ribs, and that was enough.

Because he noticed.

"Oh," he murmured, his smirk curling slow against your skin. "That’s cute."

Your hands fisted in your lap, nails digging into your palm as heat crawled up your neck, burned at your cheeks. You felt him shift beneath you, the slow spread of his thighs beneath yours, the way he let his hands slide lower, fingertips teasing at the soft curve of your waist.

"Tell me somethin’," he continued, voice still unbearably soft, unbearably slow. "A girl like you…"

His fingers traced one slow circle against your hipbone, deliberate, measured.

"You ever been touched right?"

Your breath caught.

His smirk deepened.

"That’s a no," he decided for you, low and mocking and so fucking amused.

You bristled. "That’s not—"

But his grip tightened, just for a second, just enough to stop the words in your throat.

"S’alright, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing his lips just beside your ear, barely-there, just enough to make you shudder. "I got time."

His hand slid up, slow and deliberate, fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw before cupping it completely. Warm. Firm. Unyielding. Your breath hitched as he tilted your face toward his, fingers pressing just enough to keep you still.

Just enough to say, stay right there, sweetheart.

Your stomach twisted.

He was so close.

Close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, that you could see the thick fringe of his lashes, the sharp curve of his cheekbone, the slow, heavy drag of his gaze as it flicked between your eyes and your mouth.

"See, darlin'," he murmured, so low, so warm, voice settling deep in your chest. "I got all the time in the fuckin’ world."

A small, embarrassing noise slipped from your throat. A soft, startled squeak.

And he heard it. Of course he did. Because his lips curled, something slow and lazy and so goddamn entertained.

"Hughie told you I was off-limits," you blurted out, desperate for something, anything, to break the moment.

And he laughed. Soft. Rich. A low hum that rolled through you, warm and indulgent, like you had just said something sweet.

"Yeah?"

He tilted his head slightly, thumb stroking just once along the hinge of your jaw.

"Your brother’s a pussy, sweetheart."

Heat flashed up your spine.

"I don’t take orders from kids."

You shook your head slightly, your movement stunted by his grip, by the way he held you in place like you were something fragile.

"I don't imagine you take orders from anyone," you murmured, voice breathless, quieter than you meant it to be.

His eyebrows lifted, just slightly. His head tilted, lips pulling into something slow and considering, like he was actually thinking about it.

Like he was indulging you.

"Now that," he hummed, voice a little lower, rougher, thicker, "That’s true."

And then—he leaned in. Just slightly. Just enough.

"‘Less," he murmured, voice a rasp against your skin, thumb pressing just barely under your chin. "It’s from a sweet little thing tellin’ me exactly how she wants to be touched."

A full-body shiver wrecked through you. And he felt it. Of course he did. Because he was waiting for it. And now? Now, he was smirking again.

You shifted.

Just a tiny movement. A small, instinctive press of your thighs together, an attempt to relieve the tight coil of pressure winding deep in your stomach.

But he felt it. And he let you have your moment. Just long enough for you to think he might let it slide.

Then—

"What’s up, sweetheart?"

Low. Smug. Like he wasn’t already fully aware.

Your breath hitched. "N-nothing," you whispered, the word barely holding its shape.

His fingers curled tighter against your waist.

"No?"

The word sat heavy between you, thick with disbelief, amusement, triumph. And then—he leaned in. Close enough that his lips ghosted over yours, warm and teasing, just a whisper of contact.

"See, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low, dripping in something thick and honeyed. "I think it might have somethin’ to do with the fact that you’re sittin’ in my lap right now, soakin’ through your fuckin’ panties."

Your stomach plummeted. Your fingers fisted in your lap, nails biting into your palms, thighs clenching tighter.

He felt that too. And he grinned.

"That what’s got you all squirmy, sweetheart?" He continued, voice slow, syrup-thick, filthy and knowing. "That what’s got you all breathless, pressin’ your thighs together like it’s gonna help?"

Your eyes fluttered shut.

Because his lips kept brushing against yours. With every word. With every filthy, unrelenting syllable.

"Bet it’s drivin’ you fuckin’ crazy, huh?"

A small, stuttering breath escaped your lips, a quiet, involuntary whimper. And that made him hum in approval.

"Christ, listen to you," he muttered, voice a low, gravelly rasp, drunk on the way you reacted to him. "Bet you’ve never been this fuckin’ wet from just a little talk, huh? Bet you never even knew you could be."

Your breath hitched. Your fingers trembled. And his lips were still right there.

"M’gonna kiss you now," he murmured, voice low, reverent, completely victorious. "You want that, right, doll?"

And God help you—

You shouldn’t have said yes.

You should have pushed away. Should have climbed off his lap, walked out of the room, out of the house, out of his orbit before you got caught in it completely.

But you didn’t.

Because he was warm. Because his hand was still holding your jaw, still tilting your face up to his, still keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Because his lips were so close, just barely brushing against yours, just enough to make your breath shake.

And then—

He kissed you.

Soft.

Slow.

A careful, deliberate pull, barely even pressure—just heat, just warmth, just something devastatingly careful.

And you melted.

It was instinct, the way your body eased into his, the way your shoulders softened, the way you sighed against his lips like you had been waiting for this, like your body had been craving this.

And that? That was all he needed. Because the second that sigh left your lips—

He took more.

His hands moved fast, sure, effortless. One gripping your waist, pulling you forward, shifting you in his lap like you weighed nothing. And suddenly—

You were straddling him.

Your dress bunched up around your thighs, his sweats pressing warm and solid between your legs, his hands anchoring you against him.

And the kiss?

It was deeper now. Hungrier. His tongue slid against yours, slow, dirty, claiming every inch of your mouth. And then—his teeth. A sharp scrape against your bottom lip, a small, teasing bite that made you whimper into him.

And he felt it. His hand slid up, curling tight around the back of your neck, holding you right the fuck there.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ, sweetheart," he muttered against your lips, breath hot, thick, full of something dark and victorious.

"Listen to you."

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping the fabric of his jersey, trying to ground yourself against the pull of him.

"Bet you didn’t think you’d be sittin’ in my lap like this a week ago, huh?"

His other arm locked tight around your lower back, pressing you down against him, letting you feel everything.

"Look at you now, though," he murmured, teasing, smug, utterly devastating. "Pretty little thing, sittin’ all soft in my lap, lettin’ me kiss her however I fuckin’ want."

Your breath hitched, your body tightening instinctively, thighs squeezing just a little. He noticed. Of course he did.

"Yeah," he hummed, grinning against your mouth, pressing another slow, deep kiss against your lips. "I think you like this."

And Christ wept—

He was right.

He pulled back. Just enough. Just enough to see you. To watch the wreckage, to take in what he had done to you, what he was doing to you, how much further he could still push.

But the second his mouth left yours—

You chased it. Your lips followed his, an instinctive, helpless movement, so soft, so sweet, so fucking desperate.

And God, he loved it.

He grinned. That slow, lazy, insufferably smug grin, like he had been waiting for you to do exactly that.

"Look at you," he muttered, voice thick and warm, all rough velvet, all self-satisfied filth.

A thin line of wetness still connected your bottom lip to his.

Your breath shook, a soft, involuntary whimper slipping out before you could stop it. And that made him groan. Low, deep, pleased.

"Christ, sweetheart."

Then—his hand on your lower back moved. He curled his fingers, gripping tight, grounding himself against the soft curve of you—

And he pulled you down. A slow, firm drag, pressing you flush against the hard heat of his cock, making you feel every inch, every shift, every pressure that you had caused. Hot and heavy and solid.

You gasped. Your fingers tightened against his chest, grasping at his jersey, clinging to anything solid.

"Feels good, don’t it?"

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your lips were parted, breath coming in soft little shudders, eyes hazed over, body so warm, so pliant, so desperate for more.

And he saw all of it.

"Go on, sweetheart," he murmured, low and sweet and completely wrecking. "Take what you need."

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. You moved. A slow, shaky roll of your hips, seeking, testing, pressing down.

And God, the feeling of it. Heat sparked sharp and bright in your stomach, a soft, breathless moan catching just at the back of your throat, barely escaping.

And he felt that too.

"Fuckin’ hell," he groaned, voice lower now, rougher, rasping at the edges.

Then—

Reward.

He kissed you. Slow. Deep. A teasing pull of his lips, a slow slide of his tongue against yours, rewarding you for doing exactly what he wanted.

And Jesus Christ—

You did it again. Another slow, hesitant grind of your hips, another small gasp caught between his teeth, another kiss pressed against your mouth, against your jaw, against your throat.

"There’s a good girl."

His voice broke something in you. Your thighs tensed, fingers gripping tighter, a tiny, instinctive whimper escaping before you could stop it.

And he knew.

"Oh, sweetheart."

His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, coaxing you, praising you.

"See? Told you I had time."

A slow, filthy chuckle, pressed against your cheek, your throat, anywhere he could reach.

"You can take whatever you want from me, doll."

You moved again. Because you needed more. And he gave it to you.

"That’s it, baby."

The words were practically a whisper, all heat, all filth, all praise.

"Look at you. Just needed a little help, huh?"

Your breath shook. Your body was thrumming, your skin burning, and he was still watching, still touching, still giving.

"Knew you were innocent, sweetheart, but fuckin’ hell—"

His hands spread wide, one sliding up to curl around the back of your neck again, keeping you right where he wanted you.

"You really don’t have a clue what to do with yourself, do you?"

Your eyes fluttered shut. Because he was right. And you didn’t even care.

Because it felt so good. Because his voice was breaking you down, piece by piece. Because you had never been touched like this. Because you had never felt wanted like this.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to stop wanting it now.

Something was happening. Something warm and heavy and unbearable. It started low. Deep in your stomach. A slow, building heat, curling tight and restless, stretching through your ribs, wrapping around your spine, crawling lower, lower, lower.

It felt like—

God, you didn’t know what it felt like.

You just knew that it was taking over. That you couldn’t stop moving now, couldn’t stop pressing yourself against him, couldn’t stop gasping into his mouth.

And he knew. Of course he knew.

"Oh, sweetheart." His voice was a slow, knowing drawl, pulling you further, pulling you closer. "You gonna come from this?"

Your breath caught. Your fingers fisted into the fabric of his jersey, trying to hold onto something, anything, but nothing could anchor you now.

Because it was getting sharper. Because it was getting closer. Because you had never felt anything like this before.

And he could tell.

"Fuckin’ adorable," he muttered, low and reverent, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you down harder, letting you grind yourself against him. "Sweet little thing, sittin’ in my lap, never even felt this before, huh?"

You shook your head, barely even aware of it.

Your skin was burning, your breath was shaking, your body was chasing something it had never known before.

"Jesus fuck," he groaned, watching you completely fall apart, completely helpless to it. "S’alright, sweetheart. I got you."

His mouth brushed against yours, hot and filthy and so goddamn smug.

"You wanna come, don’t you?"

A whimper. Soft and helpless.

And he grinned.

"Course you fuckin' do."

His grip tightened, his hips tilted, pressing right there, right where you needed him, right where it felt like you were about to break.

"Go on, baby." A slow, syrup-thick hum, pressed against your jaw, your cheek, your mouth. "Come for me."

You did.

It hit you like a tidal wave. A slow, creeping swell suddenly crashing down, dragging you under, under, under. Your eyes screwed shut, your breath hitched, your entire body tensed—

And then—

A soft, shattered whine broke free against his mouth.

And he groaned. A deep, satisfied sound, his hands locking tight around you, feeling every shudder, every tremble, every helpless, overwhelming aftershock.

"Christ," he muttered, his breath hot and heavy, wrecked and victorious. "That’s my girl."

The high shattered like a glass dropped from too high, like a curtain yanked back too fast, like cold water hitting bare skin.

Awareness crashed into you all at once.

Where you were. What you had done. Who you had done it with.

Your breath stumbled, caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, and before you could even think—

You scrambled off his lap. Too fast. Too shaky. Your legs wobbled slightly, knees still weak, thighs still trembling from the aftershocks. Your fingers brushed over your lips, swollen and sensitive and still tingling from his mouth.

And him?

He was lounging back in his seat. Sprawled out, utterly unbothered, utterly victorious. His gaze dragged over you, slow and indulgent, like he was savouring the sight of you.

The way your lips were red and bitten, the way your dress was rumpled, the way your chest was still rising and falling too quick, like you couldn’t quite catch your breath.

And then—

He stretched his legs out, exhaled slow, adjusted the thick outline in his sweats, and grinned.

"Well, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low and dripping with smug satisfaction. "You better grab your little book and run off to bed before your big brother comes back and sees the state of you."

Your stomach dropped. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Your cheeks flushed, burning, shame and heat and panic tangling up all at once. You nodded, stiff and silent, hurriedly grabbing your book, clutching it tight, spinning on your heel.

You didn’t look at him.

You couldn’t.

But as you darted out of the room, steps quick, heart hammering, the heat of his gaze stayed on you. And then a soft, filthy chuckle followed you down the hall. Low. Satisfied. Like he already knew.

Like he knew you’d be back.

[reveluving]

can i go rabid in your inbox…not a request just imagine billy x reader x kessler…🥴 the contrast of billy being rough but ultimately wanting you to feel good and finish, and kessler being faux sympathetic ‘aww, you poor thing :(((‘ and keeping it just out of reach…hell yeah

- the benny/rick puffing out chests anon (i still go back and read that! 🩵)

me: *sighing, opening the kessler gdoc I already had and scrolling to the bottom because you know damn well I’d elaborate on this. and a girl’s gotta eat too!!*

addict ; billy butcher x reader x joe kessler

includes: s~mut obv (minors DNI!)

a/n: okay but HOLY SHIT, BENNY/RICK CHEST PUFFING ANON??? IT’S BEEN WHAT, TWO YEARS SINCE THAT ASK? bless you, hun! I sincerely hope you’re doing well, please know I giggled and kicked my feet in my bed to this, and the fact that you still come back to the rick series!! 😭❤️

fancy reading something new? check out my full m.list!

smut includes: mm4f, size kink, ‘softer’!dom butcher & slightly meaner!dom kessler are equally nasty, petnames, dirty talking, cunnilingus, edging, overstimulation, sq~uirting, voyeurism & exhibitionism, spanking (once), brief mentions of age gap (legal & consenting!!), bj & unprotected s~ex (p in v), butcher & kessler are absolutely obsessed over you!!

Butcher had an obsession with the way you moaned in his ear as he had you on your back. His large frame concealed yours as his hips moved, his thrusts deep but his pace torturously slow. Like Kessler, he loved how your voice pitched higher each time he bottomed out into you, begging him to let you cum in incoherent murmurs. Seeing his team’s pretty little ace writhing underneath his old buddy was almost as exhilarating as any combined operation he had ever faced. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Butcher cooed condescendingly, tilting your head up by your jaw so Kessler, who was lazily pumping his cock as he sat on the chair he had dragged beside the bed could see your tears. If your eyes weren’t brimming with tears, blocking both your vision and mind, you would’ve tried to avert your gaze from Kessler’s heated ones. 

“Billy, please…” You sobbed. 

Butcher was dying to have you when it all started, and he would’ve had you first but he wanted to drag your orgasm. Make you yearn for release, only to cry out in frustration ever so cutely each time he slowed his pace, and despite what one would believe, he would’ve surrendered to your cries much quicker, giving you what you, or at the very least, teasing you just a little bit longer before giving you what you needed then and there. Offering you sweet kisses and even sweeter reassurance as he kissed your neck. 

But Kessler wanted to put your limitations to the test, and you knew you were in for a wild ride when he suggested it with a playful glint in his eye. 

Even so, he took great consideration for your well-being, immediately asking Butcher for the safeword and both of them reminding you to use it if you ever needed to stop at any point. A calm before the storm, before he pushed you onto the bed and restrained you with his arms on your thighs, then latched his lips onto your sensitive clit. 

When Kessler had you on your back, flicking his tongue along your lips and grumbling into your pussy, causing your legs to tense and tremble, Butcher sat by your head. Leaning in to kiss wherever his lips could reach, praising you with zero filter while his hands alternated between roaming your luscious body to holding your hands to your head each time Kessler’s tongue had you particularly jumpy. 

“Y'hear that?” Kessler lightly slapped your pussy, his fingers covered in your slick and his saliva the more he patted your sensitive bud. He and Butcher shared a chuckle, and you would’ve attempted to shut your legs if not for Kessler’s adamant grip.

Butcher needed in, so he sat behind you, pulling you onto his lap so he could be with you as physically close as possible. 

With Kessler’s fingers glistening with your juices, he offered his digits to your lips.

“Go on,” Butcher rasped in your ear as brushed his beard along your shoulder, “Taste y’self, so you’ll know why I love tongue fuckin’ you just as much as he does.”

And one thing led to another, after Kessler edged you for a while, topped with the way Butcher squeezed your tits and had the audacity to tell you not to cum just yet, you were already mush in their arms. It wasn't until you looked up at Butcher with your glossy, puppy dog eyes that he convinced Kessler to spare you the torture. 

But with how long they refused your orgasm, you couldn’t control the spurt that had the men who worshipped you the way America did with their golden boy laughing and cheering for your release.

“‘Atta girl,” Kessler praised, swiping and stimulating your sensitive folds to force the very last droplets of your juices into his mouth and chin, “Atta girl.”

You were practically melting in Butcher’s arms, letting him kiss your cheek, jaw and neck before turning your head to press his lips onto yours. 

Kessler’s stubble tickled your thighs and hipbone, his calloused hands slowly sliding up your body before reaching for your hand. You felt his lips against the pads of your fingers before bringing them in between your legs. You felt Butcher smile against your lips when you whined at the embarrassing squelch, but they perked up at the noise.

“Up.” Butcher murmured as soon as he pulled away. You blinked sluggishly, seeing his eyes dart to your fingers. You brought your hand to his face and he immediately wrapped his lips around your fingers, unabashed with the sounds of suckling and groaning that mingled with Kessler’s. You were practically clenching around nothing, and before you could voice out your frustration, Butcher captured your lips with his once more, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Feels nice, right?” Kessler smiled when you practically jerked at his knuckle nudging at your clit. You weren’t even sure if he was asking you or Butcher, “Just gotta tough it out, bud.”

“Shut it.” Butcher scoffed, but God, did he need you and he needed you now.

Butcher shot Kessler a glare when the latter playfully slapped your ass, though they both knew Butcher didn’t mind it one bit. Not when you let out an irresistible yelp, a reaction they hoped to hear more when they switched places, with Butcher already in Kessler’s place, but not before removing his pants while Kessler decided to sit back. As much as he wanted to feel you once more, he didn’t want to miss any of your reactions if he were to ever lose himself in his own pleasure. 

He knew he’d have just as much fun watching you front row seats, plus, he already had more plans for you soon. Whether he was going to have you once Butcher had his fill of you or if he would be impatient enough that he’d stand or kneel next to you so he could feel your perfect lips around his cock was uncertain. 

But with how addictive you were, he and Butcher knew none of them could wait to have you whole.

a/n: I hope y’all enjoyed this little piece of our two hunks. it’s pwp ‘cause do we REALLY need a reason to go to town with them? SHIT I wanna hear more about them or at least kessler 😩 pls don’t forget to leave some sugar! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[muldermuse]

ugh billy butcher bullying his big fat cock into you telling you to take it, atta girl even though you whine and complain it’s too much 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

butcher saying ‘atta girl’ has rewired my brain

hes sliding his cock in you as you come down from a intense orgasm, your walls tensing and pulsing against him

“y’too tight sweet girl, gotta breathe and let me in”

you’re gripping his muscular arms as you try to ride out the final seconds of your orgasm

“take it for me, baby” you nearly scream out as he slips his cock all the way in you, the trimmed hairs at his base rubbing against your sensitive clit

“atta girl baby, there’s my good girl”

[cherryeclipses]

long lost ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

soldier boy x female reader

fluff, angst, reunited lovers, secret lover, lets pretend soldier boy is a good person, implied smut.

summary: butcher is hell bent on finding what killed soldier boy, he went on his own mission to find soldier boy's rumoured mistress for answers

word count: 2,028k

set in season 3, I haven't finished the boys & tbh I will get some things wrong and there's some stuff I straight up made up but its fanfiction so ignore it.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ ᯓ

A strong smell hit your nose as you were dragged down the stairs - the room smelt musty and damp, like you were in someone's basement. The cuffs on your wrists were starting to pinch now, you wished whoever had kidnapped you would hurry up and get to the point so you could get these things off.

"What the fuck Butcher?" you could hear a voice ask in shock as you were being jerked down into a chair before the blindfold was finally ripped off of your eyes. What the fuck kind of name is Butcher, you thought. "Fucking about time." You snarled at the tall man who had brought you here. "Who is this?" The same man who had spoken before asked your kidnapper. He was scrawny and genuinely appeared terrified. "She's someone who can help us find what killed Soldier Boy." Your kidnapper answered, his voice low and raspy. "Is that seriously what this is about?" You spoke up. "You could have just asked instead of dragging me all the way here...unless blindfolds and handcuffs is what gets you off." You look at the two men with one eyebrow raised. "Oh really? So you'd just tell me what poison is strong enough to kill Soldier Boy?" The man you now knew as 'Butcher' crossed his arms over his chest. "I would." You said teasingly. You had had your fair share of men like him and knew he wouldn't hurt you if you had information he wanted. Butcher rolled his eyes, "well go on then." "Cuffs off first." You demand. "Not a chance." "Well guess you'll have to kill me. I'm not telling you shit."

The scrawny man took Butcher aside, poor guy looked so confused, you wondered if he had been kidnapped too. "You can't just take people as hostage because they might know something about Soldier Boy!" "Not might. She definitely knows what happened. You really don't know who she is?" Butcher asked Hughie, keeping one eye on you. Hughie shook his head, allowing him to continue. "That is Y/N. She's a Supe but was never considered powerful enough for Vought. To be honest I don't even know what her powers are. She was rumoured to be Soldier Boy's girlfriend." "Hang on, I thought Soldier Boy was with Crimson Countess." Hughie interrupted. "No, no that was like his stage-wife. This girl was apparently the real deal."

"Hey boys I'm still here and my wrists are killing!" You shook your restrained hands for effect. "Are you sure? She looks way too young." Hughie questioned. Butcher only offered a shrug in reply, as he walked back over to you. "Now sweetheart, if I take these cuffs off, you'll tell me everything you know and continue to help us for as long as we need you. Understand?" Butcher knelt down so he was at your eye level. You breathed in, he smelt like cigarettes and scotch, disgusting. "Fine." You lied through your teeth. Butcher reached around and unlocked the handcuffs, freeing your wrists. "Thank you." Butcher pulled up his own chair across from you. "Now tell us, what you know about Soldier Boy."

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

"He's not dead." You say nonchalantly. "You're lying." "You think there's anything out there strong enough to kill him?" It had always offended you that everyone dismissed Ben's death so quickly. He was invincible, the strongest Supe the world had ever seen and they all thought he was dead. "Then where is he?" Butcher was getting frustrated, he hadn't expected you to be so calm. "You think if I knew, he'd still be there?" You asked, starting to get frustrated yourself. Not a day went by where you didn't think about him, wishing you could bring him back. "For fuck's sake!" Butcher stood up, storming out of the room. You stretched out in your chair, looking around the room for the first time since arriving. "I'm sorry about him - about all of this." Hughie offered. "You could just leave, I'll take the blame, I swear." You laughed, he seemed sweet. Clueless, but sweet. "Thank you, but what does he want to get out of all this anyways?" Hughie looked around the room quickly before answering you "we want to take out Homelander."

And there it is. You hated the Homelander as much as the next sane person but you failed to see how anyone could even come close to hurting that racist, soldier boy wannabe.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

You had given up helping Billy and Hughie on finding Soldier Boy. You gave them all the information you had but it was limited - Ben always kept you at arms length away from his work. Not wanting you to get involved with Vought or his teammates.

You were laying in bed, attempting to sleep off a hangover when your phone buzzed on the bedside table. You tried ignoring it but whoever it was, was persistent. “What’s so important?” You grumbled into the phone. “Good mornin’ to you to sweetheart.” The familiar voice of Billy Butcher rang in your ears. You rolled your eyes, you had thought you were done with him. “What is it Butcher? I told you I can’t help you anymore.” “We found something you ought to see.” He said slyly. “Mhmm. Well it can wait until my brain stops pounding against my skull and -“ “We found him.” Butcher interrupted. You shot up in bed, heart racing “come again?” “You ‘eard me. Now you know where we are, so I’ll see you soon.”

The call dropped and so did your jaw. Was he lying? You had done nothing but help him on his suicide mission. But with that small seed of hope in your heart, you jumped out of bed and got ready as fast as you could. Gulping down painkillers and water and brushing out your hair before racing out of your apartment. Butcher was going to experience a slow, painful death if this was all just a plot to get you there.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

You finally arrived at Billy's, straightening your shirt and taking a deep breath in before banging loudly on the door. You knew Ben had been sold off by his team and deep in your heart you knew he had survived whatever torture they submitted him to but you never had any proof. You hadn't seen or heard anything of him since 1984.

You heard the scuffle of footsteps down the hallway when Hughie answered the door, ushering you in quickly. "Hey, that was fast." He said surprised. You only gave a small smile in return before following him round the corner. Your breath became caught in your chest as you saw him. Soldier Boy. Standing in front of you, looking like he hadn't aged a minute since you last saw him. His hair brushed neatly back, his old uniform fitting him like a glove, contouring his muscular frame. Those beautiful ocean blue eyes, making contact with yours made you weak.

"Y/N?" He asked in shock, taking a step toward you. Your legs were shaking, you didn't know what to say. Was he still the same man you had fallen in love with all those years ago? "H-how? Where have you been?" You managed to get out. Trying to not be too hopeful. "Russia. God you're still as beautiful as ever." "I know you were in Russia but how are you here? How are you still alive?" You question, brushing off his flirtation. "It's a long story. But c'mon you think those Russians could kill me? I would've thought you had more faith than that." "So you're still you? They didn't clone you or something? This isn't some kind of sick joke?" You look pleadingly between Billy and Ben. "No joke sweetheart. It's really your lover boy in the flesh. Original costume and all." Billy teased. Tears welled in your eyes as you embraced Ben in a hug. "I always believed you were still alive." You whispered to him. He pulled back for a moment, taking you in before kissing you passionately. You suddenly felt 25 again. Your hands found his hair and you pulled him closer, never wanting him to be away from you again.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

After briefly reconnecting with Ben you found your self sat at the table with him and Hughie. More specifically sat in Ben's lap, a glass of whiskey in your hand. "Ok I need to ask, how old are you?" Hughie questioned. You narrowed your eyes at him, "how old do I look?" "Not a day over 27, that's why I'm asking." You took the blunt from Ben's mouth, taking a moment to inhale before answering. "Hughie, google is free...but my cells regenerate 100 times faster than human cells, which means I heal almost instantly, it also stopped the aging process when I turned 30. It was a side effect of compound V. I didn't get any of the super powers my parents had hoped for." You returned the blunt to Ben's mouth but not before placing a gentle kiss to his lips first. You didn't care about your blatant public display of affection; you hadn't seen your man in over 30 years, you deserved it. "Holy shit. So you're like immortal or something?" Hughie asked, intrigued. You shrugged "I've made it this long, I guess only time will tell, unless someone tries to kill me." You reply honestly.

Butcher calls for Hughie from the next room, leaving you alone with Soldier Boy. "I've missed you so much." You whisper to Ben, turning around in his lap to face him. "No need to miss me anymore. I'm here and this time there's no way to get in our way." You rest your forehead against his, "I haven't had a chance to show you how much I've missed you yet." "Oh really?" He runs a hand through your hair. "Mhmm" You nod. "You should come see my apartment tonight, it's a lot nicer than the last place I had." He chuckled at that, remembering your last home; it was styled straight out of a 70s magazine. Brown patterned wallpaper with deep burgundy shag rugs and an orange couch that always faintly smelled of cigarettes. You had both made it a goal to have sex on every surface of that house. You kissed Ben's cheek lightly, bringing him back to reality. "Why wait until tonight?" He asked teasingly.

When Hughie and Butcher returned to the kitchen you and Ben were long gone.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

It was the middle of the night, Ben was fast asleep in your bed, but you couldn't sleep. The excitement of the day keeping you up - you were almost afraid if you went to sleep Ben would disappear again. You brushed a strand of hair back off of his face, he looked so peaceful as he slept. It reminded you of when you first met.

He was a soldier in World War 2, you were a nurse. It was a typical love story. He was your favourite patient. You were tasked with treating those soldiers who were undergoing the compound V trials. Watching over them and keeping an eye on any unusal side effects. "Is everything ok?" You had rushed to Ben's bed after he was heard crying out for help. "No, it's my heart I think." "What's wrong?" "It's breaking because you won't go out on a date with me." He said with a smile. "Benjamin! You have to stop that." your cheeks flushed pink "I have people in real pain." "This is real pain, only you can fix it." You rolled your eyes with a smile. "Goodnight Benjamin." After the war he came straight to you, kissing you out of pure joy and begging you again to go out with him.

"Stop staring, it's creepy." Ben mumbled, pulling you out of your memories. "Sorry, it's not everyday your boyfriend comes back from the dead." You tease, resting your head on his chest. "What were you thinking about?" "Us. In those early days. You remember before you became Soldier Boy." "Of course I remember. I could never forget you in that sexy nurses uniform." He kissed the top of your head.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

I hope this was okay! Im just a casual fan of the show so hopefully it wasn't too ooc.

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Nine: Billy Butcher + Stripping/Lacatation

Your belly made it hard to see things as you walked or even just sat down on the couch. Your feet completly covered by the round belly proturding out. At this point you were seven months in to your first pregnancy with Billy.

He loved you unconditional, and you loved him that same way. With every error, or hard thing that might have happened to your relationship you were always there for each other.

The idea child came after at your suggest you did years of fostering. Many child had come and lived with the two of you and as those years went on you saw a rather wonderful, caring side of Billy that you were very excited to see. It wasn't something he didn't show you, just the caring, kind side of him made your heart melt and get you all giddy.

Regardless you were in your third trimenster, and everything hurt you were hot all the fucking time. You had been reading almost every single book about the third trimester. Unlike what they said your sex drive hadn't fallen.

Your sex drive had only increased. You yearned for Billy's rough callused handsto drag down your skin. Yearning for the feeling of Billy slipping right back into your pussy. That thoughts had been running through your head for the past few days. You hadn't seen Billy something about needing to go on business.

But now you as you heard the garage door open, the car drive in and the key jingle in the lock. Your thighs rubbed together with antipiaction.

"Hello love." Billy voice slurred in. He was drunk, not to far gone for you to launch yourself on him. You waited, really you weren't able to move. That's why you waited. "Babe, where are at?" He yelled, "Living room." You yelled back.

Heavy boots landed on the hardwoods floors, and the hooded eyes that landed on you. Black eye that are all consuming. You opted that night for a loose white robe and unaware of Billy drunkness you wore nothing underneath it.

"Well Fuck aren't you such a beaut." Billy muttered. I watched as he clusimly tried to untie his boots, and take off his jacket. Sure he smelt of bourbon, but I didn't really care. "You look so good laying there." Billy muttered as he sat down next to you. You giggle and lbushed at his words.

Even though your ankles were swollen, and you were mostly unkept. You let Billy's words go to your head. Then his callused hands were on your hot body. Cold in contrast to your hot body. Not only were you overly hot all of the time, but you were also very sensitive.

When Billy's lips touched your jaw shivers went down your body. It didn't take long for Billy's hand to come raking up your body, and shift you so fast you felt so pressure on your body. Within a matter of seconds you were on your hands and knees facing away from Billy.

"Fuck, and no panties. What a fuckin' dirty girl." He mutters agasint your skin, and then the sound of his trouser zipper falling down. The seconds the tip of his cock hits your wet pussy moans come falling out of your mouth. You hadn't felt his cock in such a long time. "So fuckin' tight love." Billy groaned out as he thursted harder into your pussy. The harder Billy thursted the more he needed to hold on to you.

He grabbed your tits, hard and with the motion of squeezing and tugging. You weren't even thinking, not until Billy was groaning and laughing behind you. "Look down baby girl." He commanded you, and when you did your cheeks went red with lust, and embrassement.

"Look at you leaking all over the couch, makin' such a mess for me." Billy groaned out as his thursts began to get harder. "So tight whenever I tug on your tits like this. Fuck I bet I can fuck another baby into ya." Billy accent was sending ripples down your body. Finally his words, and thurst started to slow.

The slap of skin, groaning, and moaning was all that filled the room. Finally the edge came like the end of a waterfall. Everything all at once felt like heaven, and you were floating on cloud nine.

Billy made sure not to put all his weight on you, and he brought you up and into his lap.

Hot, sticky, and over filled with contentment.

Completed on: 06/27/23

Posted on: 10/09/23

Kinktober 23- @lanad3lreyscokewhor3 @homelanderscumdump @hummusxx@chvnsdimple @vvitzvafflezvv @lokisivy @claud-blood0703 @iliketoreads-stuff @all-that-glitters-is-treasure@clearscissorsbonkgiant-blog @lxonix--ac @piecesofx @mortallyswimmingpainter @playwithfire99 @fucak @everythingneytiri @lovetheos @xxxxxoseungxoooo @durazopato @hotpead42069 @oddseabiscuit @capoda @witching-hour @viviwows @lover103 @alexlovesfiction @katiecat10 @electricfans @jianasmind @max-505 @powerbun21o @the-horny-simp @missy420-0 @jaq-dav @arescosplays

The Boys Master List // The Anti-Hero Master List // Kinktober '23

[izzydracula]

MDNI!!

Note: there are descriptions of afab genitalia. This is my VERY FIRST SMUT. Also I don't know what that ending is I'm sorry

Literally the same scenario has been running through my head for WEEKS.

Picture this, being in a poly relationship with Logan Howlett and Billy Butcher. We all know that they're both dominant as fuck. They would absolutely control your orgasms.

Anyway, Billy is walking upstairs to the apartment you all share after a long day of chasing supes (ironic innit?). Once he gets to the top of the stairs he hears your voice. Though muffled, it's still sweet and melodic to his ears, making his heart rate rise even more. As he gets closer to the door, the clearer your voice became. It was whiny, the volume of it increasing with every passing second.

He knew what you were up to behind that closed door, and he wasn't happy. You could have whatever your heart desired, whenever you wanted it. He made sure of that and Logan did too. Their only rule was they had to provide you with that sweet release by any means necessary. Even though he could feel the frustration build within him over the fact that you disobeyed both of them, he couldn't help the straining in his pants as he turned the doorknob. Relishing the state he would find you in when he caught you red handed.

As he walks into the apartment, he spies the couch that faces away from him, only being able to see the top of your head. But he's more interested in the symphony of wet squelching accompanying your now breathy moans. He can only imagine how deep your fingers are reaching, how fast you're fucking yourself with them to make such delectable noises.

Logan isn't with you, as far as he can tell because the your living space is far to quiet, save for the sounds your wet hole is making. Logan is feral when it came to you. He's not ashamed that he loses all control too.

"Alrigh' Daddy's home and he ain't too hap-" he begins in a strict tone, as he comes to face the side of the couch. Mesmerized by the view before him. There you are, legs pressed against your chest, with Logan's mouth suctioned to your clit, fucking you with his fingers at a brutal pace. He could feel his cock start to throb by now.

You lull your head to look at him and Logan does his best to turn to the sound of his voice, but you've got a death grip on what you've deemed Logan's 'kitty ears' to keep him in place. And even from that angle Billy can see how black Logan's eyes have become. Blown pupils blown out with lust.

"Well, poppet, what 'ave we here?" His infamous smirk adorning his face. He cradles yours and runs a thumb across your bottom lip.

"How'd you get Wolvie 'ere to keep 'is trap shut? Can never stop growlin' and groanin' when he's buried face first in that sweet cunt." After he says this Logan finally is able to get you to let up in his scalp, breaking free of your grasp just for a moment.

"I could hear you coming up the stairs. We wanted you riled up, ain't that right bub?" Logan asks you, your juices visible on his lips and chin.

"Fuckin' supes."

"

[burntsaltsblog]

Abandoned Masterlist

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₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊

After a passionate night together, Butcher abandons Jo without a single word. For months, she and the rest of The Boys do their best to find him but always come up empty-handed. After Butcher is presumed dead, he finally reappears as if nothing ever happened. but Jo never forgot.

Takes place at the beginning of season two🖤

content warning: explicit language, violence, gore, and nsfw material

MDNI, 18+

₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

[chvoswxtch]

on the eighth day of slutmas, court gave to me...

orgasm denial with billy butcher

“God, you’re such a dick.”

“Now now, luv. Is that anyway to talk to the man who’s ‘bout to send ya to the stars?”

Butcher had been fucking you for over an hour, but everytime he could feel that you were about to come, he slowed down, or he abruptly stopped. That line between pleasure and pain was getting blurred as he edged you for the fifth time tonight. You needed to come so badly that it almost hurt, and tears of frustration built along your bottom lash line.

Your wrists were bound above your head securely, rendering you completely at his mercy, rubbed raw and sore from your incessant tugging. He was making you beg for it, and the fucker was enjoying it.

“Billy.”

A choked sob of his name tore from your chest, a prayer mixed with a plea. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. He was intentionally not pressing his hips against yours as he fucked you with slow, deep strokes, so that his pubic bone wouldn’t rub against your clit, depriving you of that stimulation. 

His coarse beard brushed against your neck as he pressed a kiss to the column of your throat, squeezing your thigh in his calloused hand, his accent even thicker and husky with lust.

“Ya need it bad, don’cha? Need me to make ya come?”

He knew how stubborn you were. He knew you hated begging, just as much as he did. But he wanted to hear it. He didn’t just want the satisfaction of getting you to submit. That small sliver of his heart that hadn’t been turned to frosted steel with trauma and grief needed to know you needed him as much as he needed you, but he didn’t know how to say that, or admit it. And you weren’t exactly good with words or feelings either.

“Yes…yes…”

The eager nodding and breathless moans weren’t enough for him. He dug his blunt nails into the soft skin of your thigh, and grazed his teeth along your pulse point, nipping at your flesh in a way that made you jolt before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Say it.”

His deep voice was a mixture of a command tinged with a faint plea of his own. Butcher wanted words. He wanted to hear you say it. He finally pressed his hips flush against your own and pulled your leg around his waist, grinding against you in a way that gave your needy clit a hint of the relief you so desperately needed to coax you out of your stubborn pride and into submission.

“C’mon luv, say it, and I’ll give ya anythin’ ya want. Promise.”

You were at your limit, and you both knew it. 

“I need it…I need you…God, Billy…please-oh!”

A sharp moan slipped past your parted lips and your back arched off the mattress when Billy started to grind against you harder. Your body was wound up so tightly from his delectable torture that it didn’t take long for you to finally orgasm, and you came hard. Butcher watched your face intently as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and his eyes lit up at the way you writhed beneath him, a devious smirk stretching across his mouth.

“There we go, s’better, innit?”

He fucked you through it, his hips relentlessly jerking, intent on sending you barreling toward a second climax in an unspoken apology for, well, everything. He’d deprived you five times, and he was determined to make it up to you.

tags: @itwasthereaminuteago @bless-my-demons @phoenixe3 @fxckahs-blog @dreadfulxives18 @daisyxchains @ferns-fics @bpdnymph @lucienofthelakes @raysmayhem-72 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

12 days of slutmas masterlist / naughty list sign up

[cheynovak]

Tale as old as time  

Reader x Soldier Boy 

Warnings:  Well, it’s soldier boy. Where to start... Smut, Fluff, Drugs, Cursing, Voilence, ...  

Side note: English isn’t my first language.  

Words: 6003 😮  

POV: Y/N is Soldier Boys first girlfriend who turned into a supe not long after Soldier boy with compound V. Vought made her out to be his enemy, so he had no choice but killing her. But years later the boys discover she is still alive and maybe the only supe on this planet to take down Soldier boy and homelander. 

Side note: Cursive text are memories 

Have fun!

 

----------------------- 

Pennsylvania: 1939 

 

“Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going? Wait up!” Ben yelled at her trying to follow her but the crowd in at the fair made it difficult. Y/N ran towards the Ferris wheel, she looked back but didn’t see Ben following. “Got you!” He said while lifting her up turning around. ”BEN!” she screeched laughing. When he got her steady on the ground, she lifted her hands towards his neck kissing him on his cheek. “I need to go.” Ben said. “Can’t we at least have one last ride in the wheel?” She asked with big deer eyes. Defeated by her charm he nodded.  

 

“Do you really have to go?” She asked with a soft voice. “It’s the only way to make my old man proud, sweetheart.” he said pulling her in his arms. “I don’t think this is the answer Ben, you could get hurt, or worse!” She really is worried about him he thought. “What? Afraid I find a new best girl?” He joked trying to lift the mood. She poked his ribs “Not funny! I serious Benjamin!” The wheel stopped and the two young love bird got out. As a true gentleman Ben brought Y/N home. They shared a kiss, the last one for a long time Ben thought. “Ben?” She looked up is his green eyes asking to follow her so she took his hand and leaded him behind the house towards the shed where her parents couldn’t see them. “You know I'm yours, right?” He nodded. “Will you make yours tonight?” She asked clearly looking shy. Ben’s eyes grew big. “Are, are you sure?” He asked. She kissed him passionately in response. “Just, just take it slow, ok?”  

Y/N woke up startled, looking over at Patrick, her fiancé. Who was still deep asleep. So, she quietly got out of bed and got to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Why the hell did that memory sneaked up in her dreams. Probably the nerves for the wedding she thought. No one has seen Ben in ages, he is probably gone or much like herself had found love and settled down. But she couldn’t help herself got to the spare bedroom and pull up the old shoe box with pictures and other memories. There was one picture of Ben, fully dressed in his “Soldier boy” costume. God, she hated that helmet, made it impossible to see those cute freckles. After looking at his eyes for who knows how long she got herself back in bed. Lifting Patrick’s arm and hugging him. He mumbled something unrecognisable and pulled her closer.  

The next morning Y/N was extremely tired, she didn’t get any sleep anymore last night. “Good morning beautiful.” Patrick kissed her on her cheek as he did every morning. They had breakfast, he kissed her before he got to work. Patrick was a lawyer he made enough money to take care for the two of them. So, when they officially began dating, he asked Y/N to be a housewife. He meant well, he knew her backstory and thought she deserved some peace. She agreed, but after last night she had this hinge that maybe she wasn’t born to be a housewife.  

But the dream couldn’t stop the daily tasks. Y/N grabbed her purse and drove to the grocery store. When she came back, she noticed someone was inside her house. She quickly grabbed the gun from the glove box and went inside the house via the back door. Her house was a mess, cabinets open, shelfs empty... One of the skinnier men came down. “Oh god! Oh god. Please don’t shoot! BUTCHER, she is home!” He yelled before Y/N knock him out with the gun. The other two man came running down both holding a gun. “Listen I don’t know what you two idiots think you’re doing, but you picked the wrong house buddy!” Y/N said. “Now drop the gun!”  

“Oi, were not looking for any trouble princess.” He said lowering his gun.” Or should I say Ms. Y/N Frances Wilson.” He smirked saying your name, your true birth name, you haven’t heard in years. “How do you...know?” she looked shocked. Butcher and MM started to explain they were looking for something to kill Homelander and possibly Soldier Boy. And that Annie found secret records at Vought that stated that you were the only person who ever won a fight against Soldier boy.  

“Wait, wait you’re telling me Ben is still alive?” You looked at Hughie since he was the only person in the room you seemed to trust a little. “Oh, we’re on first name basis?” The annoying British fella said. Y/N gave him a dead stare side eye. “Listen buddy, if you have my records, you know that “Soldier boy” and I go way back. Y/n said pissed.  

“Oh my god! What happened here! Y/N are you ok?” Patrick walked through the door. “Who are you?!” he looked over at the men. “Honey, it’s ok these are... who are you again?”  

Hughie explained everything to Patrick who looked at him with fear in his eyes. “Baby, If these supes really are that dangerous, we need to help them.” “Pat, I promised you I would never, ever enter that life again.” She looked at MM “I will tell you all I know on Soldier boy. But that’s it. I’m no supe anymore” - “Well, that’s just utter bull shit isn’t. The 1st badge of fucking Russian compound V is running through your veins.” Butcher said. “No, no, no, you are coming with us princess. If we know where to find you so will Homelander.” “Let him come, I doubt that, that clown in a cape is much worth.”  

“Against you, maybe.” MM said. “But what with Patrick?” With a heavy heart you agreed to go with the boys. In the car her thoughts drifted away.  

WW2 ended, Ben was coming home, the town made sure he would get a parade. Y/N was nervous it had been a few years. Sure, he did send her letters every now and then, but as time moved on, she received less and less until the communication stopped completely. In one of the first letters, he had sent a picture of him fitting his costume. He looked proud, with a great smile. It had her fall in love all over again. Y/N stood at the back of the sidewalk, watched as Ben drove by waving at the people. He saw her, she knew, he grinned but made sure the other people there wouldn’t notice. Y/N went home after the parade, while she was painting her nails her mom called her. “Sweetheart, get dressed, Benjamin called, he is picking you up for dinner with his folks.” Your heart pounded, he didn’t forget you. You mother thought you were a madwoman not to date nice decent men while he was gone. She wanted her daughter to get married and start a family, like any other parent wanted in those times. And not to wait on a “superhero” who once liked her daughter, who now probably could have any woman.  

Y/N chose a beautiful green dress that matched her curves, it was fitting but not tacky, her nails were boudoir red as were her lips and heels. Perfect contrast with her dress. The doorbell rang. Her father answered the door before she could came down the stairs. Ben was still wearing his costume, probably to impress your folks but thank God, he didn’t wear the helmet. He watched you come down the stairs. “Wow.” he said “breathtaking.” clearly impressed. He held your hand and helped you with the last steps. He kissed you soft on the lips. You were a little stunned by that move, because this was something he would have never done before he got to the army. Your parents were old school he knew that.  

You got into the car, surprisingly he had a driver now. “My lady.” he said holding the door. At first the ride was silent. You stared at him. “Like what you’re seeing, sweetheart?” he grinned looking you up and down, it made you blush. “It’s just, you have changed so much and yet you haven’t.” “So have you.” The dinner wasn’t really a cosy gathering, Ben told his parents and you every detail.  His dad wasn’t impressed with what his son had achieved.” You took a short cut. There were normal man fighting, those are hero’s not some pumped up boy who hasn’t achieved anything in this life.”  

You could see Ben’s lip twitch. “Ben? I think it’s time for me to go home.” Y/N said to help him get out of the house. Once outside “Unbelievable, I did everything I could for that man and I’m still not good enough.” He kept rambling. “Ben, STOP!” He looked at you. “Stop with caring what your father thinks of you.” you said while taking his hand. “He doesn’t know you, not the way I do.”  

 

“Hi, soldier boy.” Two girls giggled from a crossed the street waving at him. Ben answered their flirtations with an over-the-top grin and nod while he checked them out just a little to long for your liking. He turned back to you and saw your expression. “He kissed your cheek, don’t worry sweetheart you’re the one for me.” The car ride was silent once again you almost reach your parents house. “Can you pull over, right here? And give us a minute?” You asked the driver.  

Ben looked at you, the second the driver got out of the car did Ben pull you closer to him and kissed you. Not a soft kiss, no, a passioned kiss his tongue aggressively asking for permission. His hands travelling from your neck over your breast kneading them. “Ben, is this really the best place?” Y/N asked while pulling back. Ben didn’t move back but moved his lips from your mouth to your neck. “You have a better idea sweetheart, was the shed a better place?” He asked out of breath, clearly aroused. You didn’t feel comfortable with his roughness. “Ben stop, please.” - “Oh, come on baby, don’t tell me you’ve didn’t dream of me. That you didn’t think of that night while you touch yourself.”  

That was the line he crossed. “BENJAMIN STOP IT! Get off me! You yelled while slapping his face. Y/N got out of the car Ben shorty following her. “Y/N... Y/N! Stop I’m sorry.” he grabbed her arm. “Look at me sweetheart.” You turned around with tears in your eyes. “Oh baby, I'm sorry, it just, I just, it’s been a while.” You look at him shocked by his words. “You’ve changed Ben. You’re a brute. Maybe if you, I don’t know at least had a normal conversation with me before you started groping me.” - “What I, can’t touch my own girl?” - “Of course, you can, it’s the way you do it Ben, any other man...” But he didn’t let you finish. “Other man? Is there another man Y/N? Did you get the tasted of it after I left. Did you turn to someone else for pleasure.”  

“I can’t believe you! I wanted to say: any other man would at least consider HER feelings.” He dropped his head understanding what she meant. “Goodnight Ben.” She said leaving him in the street. The next day he had to leave for another parade in a different city but not before he went to see Y/N.  

Y/N’s dad answers the door “She doesn’t want to see you kid.” You hear him say. “Please Sir, I need to speak to her.” Ben sounded devastated. “Y/N! I know you’re here. Y/N I’m sorry! Please come talk to me.” - “Boy you are testing my patients, go away, I don’t know what happened last night, but she doesn't want to see you. - “Bullshit!” You heard Ben’s voice turn into anger. He pushed your old man aside an ran up the stairs. Y/N met him halfway standing taller than him. “Baby, please.” He said while hugging you, his head against your stomach. “I want you to go Ben.” Y/N said between her tears. “I don’t know what they did to you, but you are not the same man anymore. I want you to leave.”  

‘Y/N no, you don’t mean it. Y/N please!  

Y/N .... Y/N....’ 

Y/N!!!! Butchers voice leaps you out of the memory. “We’re here” Hughie smiled softy seemingly scared. Y/N didn’t know what it was but this kid, she liked him. He had something pure in his eyes. Once inside Y/N and Patrick meet the other members. They all seemed on edge.  

 

“What the fuck is she doing here?” That voice... you slowly turned around. Ben was standing there in baseball shirt and sweatpants “Oh, god!” But before you could say more, he stormed towards you lifting you up by your neck. “I’ll ask again, what, is she, doing here?” Y/N wanted to answer but couldn’t without air. Ben looked for a second at Patrick, clearly not impressed by him. Y/N kicked Ben to his knee he let her go. But not without trying to hitting her. She luckily could avoid it and pushed him away. “I had no idea you would be here!” She said lifting her hands in the air. “You are the fucking commie that made me a lab rat!” - “Ben that’s not true! I tried to fucking save you from your so-called girlfriend!” - “Bullshit you helped them!”  

“She is telling the truth, according to Voughts records did Noir and Countess quit the number on her. They left her a massive scar on her back. Before they shipped her back of to Russia, where you were held, a cargo she escaped.” Hughie said.

“It’s true Ben, when I heard what they did to you in '84, I tried to find you, I swear!” He got closer, grabbing her neck looking intensely at her. But Y/N pulled back looking over at Patrick. Ben followed her eyes. “Who is he?” - “My fiancé. Patrick”  

“Your Fian...” He couldn’t finish that sentence. ”Why? Did he got you pregnant?” He laughs looking at you. Even though he meant is a joke he glanced at your tummy. “No Ben, we love each other. Besides you know supes don’t have the best track record on getting pregnant.” You said walking over to Patrick. “No, but we sure loved to try.” He winked at you making Patrick uncomfortable. 

Butcher, MM and Annie were going through your files. Annie glanced over at Y/N and asked “Hey, it stated here you weren’t a supe until after 1949? But they never clarified what happened.  

 

 Y/N was walking to her job, when a van pulled over. Two men who didn’t spoke English pulled her in. A week later she woke up in some sort of a hospital. Couple of needles in her arms. The man said in broken English that this might hurt, but that she would become the most powerful humans on the planet, the perfect weapon. And who else can hurt Soldier boy better than his first love. 

Y/N tolt the team what tests they did after they pumped her full of compound V. “Or at least the Russian version of it.” She said. “After that...” She fell silent.  

“After that they erased her memories. Trained her to be a fucking assassin. And sent her after me.” Ben said quietly from a crossed the room not even looking up from the tv. 

“He is right. I trailed him all crossed the country to kill him. And I remember every second of it. I just couldn’t stop myself.”  

Ben woke up in a fancy hotel room, he looked over his bed, smirking when he realised there were still 3 women in his bed from last night. He got up, put on a rope, snored a line and drank the rest of the whiskey he had last night. He heard a noise coming from the hallway. Before he could take a look, the door broke down. An assassin dressed in black attack him. The women screamed when Ben was holding the intruder against the wall. “Run you fucking stupid sluts!” He yelled at them before they ran away behind Ben. “Now who are you?” Ben took of the intruder's mask. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Y/N???” That moment of hesitation was enough for her to escape his hands.  

After more than an hour going back and forward, Ben hit her she felt out of the window 5 floors down. He looked but she didn’t move. Every now and then their pads crossed. They fight no one wins, one of them got hurt and they would meet again. It became an obsession with finding each other. Vought even named her a super villain. Until one day Y/N had found him again on vacation in Rome. Ben got tired of the constant fighting he wanted answers. He had her tied down and tried to find answers. But no matter what she didn’t talk. He got so frustrated he hit her in de head with his shield. She went unconscious but when she woke up. Ben was still sitting in front of her. “Ben? Oh god Ben!” she started to cry.  

 

Ben had hit her so hard so many times that for some reason the trauma had brought her back. At first he didn’t trust her. But after a while he released her. She told him everything that happened to her. “You should go. Celebrate new year” he said. “N-New year?” she looked shocked. “Sweetheart it’s 31 December.” - “What year?” - “1959”  

“Ten years...” she mumbled under her breath. “You have a place to go?” - “No, not really.” He nodded. Ben thought for a second then invited you to his party.  

Ben knuckled when thinking back at that night.  

 

It was an over-the-top party with world leaders, porn stars and drugs. Old Y/N would have been traumatized, supe you well, let’s say that this was a new beginning. Ben sat on the sofa with 2 girls almost fighting to get on his lap and he clearly enjoyed the attention, until he sees Y/N flirting with a guest. He was clearly trying to get into her pants. And she didn’t seem to mind. This got Ben furious, he got up without saying anything to the girls and walked towards them. You both looked at him. “Out” He said. “Out... EVERYBODY GET THE FUCK OUT!” Y/N tried to walk away with the crowd.  

Ben grabbed Y/N's arm. “Oh, not you sweetheart.” Y/N looked at his hand around her arm and got closer. “What’s the problem Ben? Are you the only one who is allowed fuck on this evening?”  

“Baby... where did you learn to talk like that!” He grinned “But no, no you are allowed to get fucked as well sweetheart. If I’m the one doing it.”  

 

For some reason that made Y/N’s panties soaking wet. She pushed Ben against the wall ripping his shirt in the process. His hand found their way to the back of her knees lifting her up throwing her on the bed. Y/N took off her dress, showing the red lingerie, slowly moving her hands all over her body before moving one hand down her panties, while sitting on her knees. Ben walked towards her pumping his hard cock,

“Fuck that’s hot sweetheart. Show me how wet you are.” She lifted her fingers in the air. Ben grabbed her wrist slowly licking her fingers clean. “Hm, so sweet.” He pushed he on her back taking of her panties. “I’ve missed this pussy, I’ve been wanting to fuck it, worship it ever since I came back from the war.” Y/N got inpatient. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ben are you going to talk me to sleep or are you going to fuck me?  

Ben licked a long stripe against Y/N heated sex. ‘Oh yesss!” She moaned letting her head fall back. Ben ate her like a man starved, then he entered a finger into her cunt, he could feel her enjoying it by the way she squeezed around it. “Fuck sweetheart, how long has it been since someone took care of you?” - Y/N had trouble finding words she could already feel the heat in her boiling. “Huh? Tell me, did you find a man back home? Someone to fuck you when your needy? Or did you take care of yourself?” Ben added another finger while licking your clit. You came so hard on his fingers that the wet sound of him going in and out of you would have normally made you embarrassed. After she screamed his name like a prayer she admitted. “Ben, there was no one. No one but you!” She said a little ashamed knowing he probably fucked half of USA by now. “You really are my girl...” Ben said while kissing her. Letting her take a breath before round 2, 3, 4 and 5 of that night. 

 

“Great fucking night.” He said looking at Y/N and Starlight grinning.  

 

“Why did he say that you were the reason for... you know.” Hughie asked. “Well, in 1970 was payback created. Up until then Ben and I lived together." “Wait, you never told me this.” Patrick said. “I knew he was your first boyfriend and that you fought in the 50s. Why didn’t you tell me? “ Y/N opened her mouth, but Ben was first. ��Probably because she didn’t like to tell that after a decade of fighting came a decade of making up... sex.” Patrick closed his eyes, clearly disgusted by soldier boy.  

“As I was saying, 70s, payback, crimson countess.” You say irritated looking at Ben. “Those days, they made it hard on us. Vought didn’t like the idea of the number one hero being in a relationship with the person they called the number one villain. So, we had to keep our relationship a secret. Vought though it would be a great idea to promote Countess and Soldier boy as the it couple. Ben agreed, saying it was all just publicity. “ Ben, looked away. Y/N felt silent. “So, he cheated? “ Hughie asked. 

 

“NEVER! Ben got up this time, I never ever cheated, not on her!” He almost stood toe to toe with him. “Ben... Benjamin!” Y/N yelled standing up trying to defend Hughie who almost shit his pants. Ben looked at Y/N “I swear.” - “I know, but Crimson and Vought did find a way to separate us. They made false evidence that I would be recruited again by Russian spies to bring down Vought. "

I had no idea so when I asked Ben to let go of the suit.” - “He thought you wanted him to be on your side as a communist.” Annie finished your story. “Yes” Y/N said looking at Ben. “All I wanted was a normal life, no more fighting, no more Vought. The life I dreamed of since 1939” - “Well, seems like you finally get what you want sweetheart.” Ben said looking defeated.  

“Well, that’s enough bedtime stories, we need to go and get some supply's before hunting down your boysband.” Butcher said grinning at Ben. “Y/N you mind watching Ben for me? Since you are the only one who probably would actually stop him is he wanted to leave.” - “What about the rest of you?” Y/N asked meaning what about Patrick. “I need everyone, some things I can’t buy in a normal store because I'm wanted. Patrick is a nobody, perfect for the job.”  

In the car MM gave Patrick a phone. “I don’t know if you want it. But Frenchie and I placed a shitload of cameras in that place.  

Everyone left to do their job. Ben was sitting again, in front of the tv. But when Y/n got up to get something out of the kitchen he followed her. “Does he make you happy?” - “What?” - “Patrick, does he make you happy.” He asked again only this time standing so close to you, you could feel his breath against your neck. Y/N closed her eyes. “Yes, I guess so. I have the life I wanted.” She turned to face him locking eyes “I said yes, I'm getting married soon.” Ben breathed heavy while looking at her. He lifted a hand on her neck again, sliding his fingers through her hair toughing his forehead with hers.  

“God, Y/N please don’t.” Patrick said waiting in the car, looking at the camera footage.  

 

“Ben, please... don’t.” She closed her eyes afraid to look in his. “I learned my lesson sweetheart. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to.” He sighted but didn’t move back. “Does he satisfy you?”  

“BEN! That, that is none of your business!” She angry opened her eyes looking in his. She placed a hand on his chest to push him away, but couldn’t, instead she slowly moved her hand up to his cheek. Ben leaned into it. “I’ve missed those soft hands.”  

Y/N smiled slightly. “This beard, it suits you.” - “You like it?” he was surprised. “Very mature. Maybe even a little sexy.” Those worlds made Ben crazy. He lifted you up and placed you on the counter making him stand between your legs, kissing you like a madman, his hands all over Y/N, touching Y/N’s breast making her pull back out of the kiss and moan his name.  

Patrick didn’t want to watch anymore but couldn’t close it. He kept hoping Y/N would fight back. Tell Soldier boy that she loved him, that he had to let her go. Instead, he watched the two of them heading for the bedroom. “No no no no noooo.” Patrick switched camera. Thank got that MM placed one in Soldier boy’s room. “You can still say no baby.” Patrick said under his breath.  

“Fuck, say it again.” Ben said. “I want you, Ben” Y/N moaned while he was sucking her neck and ear. Ben lifted her up and took her to his room closing the door with his foot. He dropped Y/N onto the bed. “Clothes off!” He commanded “I would love to spend the next 48 hours just making love to you, reclaiming your body.” He said. “Ben we don’t have time for that.” Y/N said while pulling his sweatpants and boxers down. She placed herself on the bed. Pulling of her panties while Ben was still looking at her. Y/N opened her legs. “Are you going to stand there watching me pleasuring myself, or are you going to make me scream your name?” Y/N didn’t have to say that twice.  

Ben took his cock in his hands and started to push himself inside her. “Fuck! Your still so tight.” He said while being balls deep in her. He started to trust slow but deep and hard. Y/N lifted her legs over his shoulders so he could go even deeper. “Oh Ben! I forgot how big you were!” Y/N could feel that Ben with every trust hit the G spot inside her. “You were made for me sweetheart, your pussy was made for me to fuck.” Ben felt that he wouldn’t last long if he kept going like this. “Turn around baby. All four.” He said while pulling out of her. He harshly trusted back in her making her moan almost screaming his name. “That’s it baby, say my name.” He said while rubbing her clit. “Oh Ben, ... Don’t stop!” She moaned. Y/N could feel her orgasm building and so could Ben by the way she squeezed him.  

 

“Does he fuck you like this? Does he know how to make you scream his name? By the tightness of you pussy I would say you didn’t get fucked properly in a while.” Y/N loved the way Ben talked dirty.  “Maybe we should invite him, let him see how a real man fucks his lady.” Y/N’s pussy tightened. “Oh, you like that huh. You want him to see how I fuck you, how I know every little inch of your body.” Y/N couldn’t hold it anymore and started to shake into her orgasm screaming Ben’s name.  It didn’t take long before Ben’s trusts started to get sloppy. Y/N turned around and took his cock in her mouth bobbing her head, touching the tip of his cock with her tongue just the way he liked it. Ben leaned back holding her hair while releasing in her mouth.  

Patrick couldn’t believe what he had seen. He tried to find a way to make things better. It was pure sexual, yes that’s it. She doesn’t love him, she, they fucked it wasn’t making love. He tried to convince himself.  

Y/N laid back down on the bed. Ben did the same thing “Fuck that felt good.” He said looking at her on his side with his head in his hand. “Come here.” Ben said while pulling her in his arms Y/N’s head was locket under his chin and against his chest. Ben started to stroke his fingertips over her arms, up her back coming back to the front over her breast, holding one in his warm hand. “So fucking beautiful.” He whispered.  

It was quiet for a moment, now that Y/N was back to her senses she could only think of Patrick, what did she do to him. Patrick was a nice respectable man, he didn’t deserve this. But being here in Ben’s arms felt so right, so safe like coming home.  

“Leave him.” Ben said after a while to break the silence. “What?” Y/N got up looking shocked at him. “Leave him, run away with me.” He said with a straight face. “Ben you, no, I can’t. I’m getting married soon.” Y/N said but not with confidence. Ben got up and sat against the headboard of the bed. “Why? Because he gives you a home? A house with a white picket fence?” He asked while pulling Y/N into his lap, her knees on each side of his thighs. His lip started to slowly kiss the top of her breast before laying his head against her. His hands steady on her back.  

Ben could now feel her scars for the first time his fingers moved over them. “I should have never left you.” He whispered. “Well, I'm sure countess would have found a way.” Y/N said while her lips and cheek were touching his hair. “No, back in 1939, I should have married you, I should have been the man you wanted, deserved. Instead of joining the army.”  

He moved his head to look up at her. “I should have married you, made love to you every night until you were pregnant. Watch our kids grow up. Dance with you in the kitchen. Hell I would even take you to fucking Elvis Presley concerts if that is what you wanted.” That made Y/N laugh but tear up at the same time. “Ben...” Y/N sighted. He kissed her lips again only now he took his time. This kiss was one to make sure she felt loved. Ben pulled her closer, Y/N’s hands on the back of Ben’s head.  

Y/N felt Ben's cock getting half hard again. Both of them started to move their bodies in sync without even knowing. Ben pulled sightly back. “Y/N, I’ll give up the suit, I’ll won’t kill payback, I’ll even stop the booze and drugs. I’ll do anything for you as long as you promise you're mine again.” Y/N looked at his face, looked in his green eyes. “I’ve always been yours Ben.”  

MM got back in the car “Man, are you ok?” He looked at Patrick holding the phone. He rewind the last part and showed MM before the rest of the crew came back. “Y/N, I’ll give up the suit, I’ll won’t kill payback, I’ll even stop the booze and drugs. I’ll do anything for you as long as you promise you're mine again.” -  “I’ve always been yours Ben.”  

“Shit, I'm sorry man.” MM said Patrick didn’t react. Butcher and the rest came back and drove back to the house.  

Y/N took a quick shower, Ben was walking around in the room putting on his sweatpants while all of the sudden he saw a little black dot on the top corner of the dresser. “Son of a...” He pulled it out. “A fucking camera.” Without saying anything to Y/N he walked around the house and found 3 more cameras. Ben stood in the kitchen when Butcher, MM, Hughie and Patrick walked in. “YOU ENGLISH FUCKER!” Ben yelled. This made Y/N suspicious, so she quickly got out of the shower and then heard a rumble. When she got dressed, she ran towards the sound. The kitchen table was upside down on the other end of the room. Ben held MM against the wall.  “What the hell is going on?” Y/N asked.  

“These fuckers thought it would be a great idea to record me, and everything I do in this house.” Ben said pissed not looking at her. “Ben let go of him.” He didn’t respond. Y/N touched Ben’s shoulder. “Ben, please let go of him.”  

Butcher and Hughie looked at each other not knowing what was going on. “Oi, can someone explain what the fuck is going on. A bloody hour ago you” he pointed at Ben “Wanted to fucking kill her. And know she is taming you? And you two ” He pointed at MM and Frenchie “thought it would be good idea to spy on the oldest fucking supe out there, you‘re really that horny and pathetic you want to see him fuck grannies...” While Butcher said that Hughie got the bigger picture. “He didn’t sleep with grannies...” - “Y/N” Patrick finished Hughie's sentence, tearing up. “But then again, you were always his, weren’t you?”  

Y/N started to cry “Patrick, I-I'm sorry.” - “It’s ok, I get it, you wanted a house, a husband, a family but not with me, not really. So, I’m going home, I'm going to box up everything you own. And when you are ready, you can come pick it up.” Y/N stood there watching him walking through the door. 

“So on with the plan ay. How to kill Homelander.” Butcher broke the awkward silence. “No” Ben said walking up to Y/N holding her. “I’m done.” - “No, you’re not.” Y/N said “I still want payback on payback. But Homelander is your problem, Butcher.”  

1 year later.  

Y/N stood at the kitchen counter making breakfast. *Can’t help falling in love* playing in the background. Ben wrapped his arms around her waist. His head on her shoulder swaying left to right. Y/N turned around kissing him. And when she looked in his eyes, she could see the sparkle she hasn’t seen since that day at the fair. Ben, he smiled softly at her. And for the first time in God knows how long, she finally saw a glimpse of the young man she fell in love with. Knowing even though they are both fucked up, they belong together. “Look, we’re dancing. To fucking Presley, Sinatra I would get, but Elvis, why?” He said with a disgusted look on his face. Y/N laughed “Amazing voice, great hips!” She said biting her lip, knowing he wouldn’t like that answer. “Oh, I'll show you great hips.” Ben said lifting her up on the kitchen table. Y/N giggled like a teenager. “I love you.” Ben said looking in her eyes.  

“I love you too.”  

--

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

[nobitchs-world]

When you want to read fanfic on a older character and it’s full of that character x reader that’s half their age I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE does it physically hurt you to make the reader close in age?!

I can’t take being a controversially young girlfriend anymore 😫😫 I want to be a milf or gilf please 😫🙏🏽

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

colour!reader series

eight hearts. eight hues. eight stories told in colour. every version is different—firelit or moonsoaked, honey-tongued or thunder-born. they fall for her anyway. sometimes softly. sometimes ruinously.

a love story, refracted. a spectrum of desire, devotion, and duality.

welcome to the colour!reader universe.

meet the girls:

❤︎ red ❤︎

❤︎ orange ❤︎

❤︎ yellow ❤︎

❤︎ green ❤︎

❤︎ blue ❤︎

❤︎ indigo ❤︎

❤︎ violet ❤︎

❤︎ pink ❤︎

this idea came to me like a spark after i wrapped up a recent fic—sudden, sweet, and impossible to ignore. i kept thinking about colour as feeling. colour as girls. colour as people. and somewhere along the way, this little universe started to bloom.

i don’t know how original the concept is, but i haven’t seen anyone dive into a colour!reader series before—so i let myself run wild with it. now here we are: eight girls, each painted in their own palette, each stitched together with mood and magic and mess.

i’ve made very brief “meet the girls” posts for each of them—i'll link each to their colour so you can get to know them before the stories begin. if one catches your eye, follow the thread. see where it leads!!

each of these girls is paired with one of four men: dean, sam, ben (soldier boy), and butcher. two girls each. one to compliment them. one to challenge them. because love doesn’t always come easy—and it sure as hell doesn’t always come soft.

last but not least—my biggest thank you to my sweetpea @losers-clvb for being the gentle nudge, the loud cheer, and the little light that told me this idea was worth sharing. you are, as i've said countless times, actual sunshine. <3

lustre!reader series

if the colour!reader girls were flesh and flame, the lustre!readers are the afterglow. they are god-touched. born of stardust and stories. they don’t walk into rooms—they shift the axis. gold. rosegold. silver. iridescent. pearlescent. they are not human. they are not trying to be. they are what comes after belief—when devotion turns to worship.

and they do not fall in love. they choose.

meet the girls:

❤︎ gold!reader ❤︎

❤︎ rosegold!reader ❤︎

❤︎ silver!reader ❤︎

❤ iridescent!reader ❤

❤︎ pearlescent!reader ❤

and because i genuinely couldn't help myself... i have come up with five more girls. and one of them is 100% going to be paired with cas.

i'll link their little "meet the girl" sections to their colour.

[soldierboysbeard]

V Against the Wall

Pairing: Billy Butcher x black!female!reader

Content: reader is a supe, age gap(legally), sex standing up, use of “dark” but in a non racist way, p in v (wrap it up people), Butcher is a yapper, Butcher talks you through it, mean Butcher if you squint, breeding without the pregnant talk, porn w/o plot.

Word count: 605

Authors note!: This is my first time writing, trying my best. Couldn’t find anything with Butcher and black reader so I wrote it myself. Sorry if it’s bad.

—————————

Butcher hated Supe’s, despised them, even. But for some reason he couldn’t get you off his mind. He tried to stay away from you, telling himself that getting involved with a supe could only end one way; badly. But maybe, just maybe, he could get away with it this time.

And thats how you both ended up here.

Your back flush against the wall, your clothes already torn off, and your knees hooked over Butchers muscly arms keeping you folded in half and your feet dangling off the floor as he lifted you effortlessly while his fat tip bullying its way into your tight heat standing up.

“Who woula’ thought dark cunny would wound up bein’ so delicious.” Butcher muttered with his eyes locked between your bodies watching your cunt slowly stretch to take him in.

You would’ve slapped him for the comment if you weren’t so drunk on the feeling of Butcher bullying his cock into you inch by inch until he finally buried inside to the hilt, your pelvis’s pressed together and you mumbled with a heavy breath, “Your such an asshole-“

You cut yourself off with a moan as he quickly built up a strong pace, his hips snapping into yours meanly and the veins of his forearms bulge with every movement he makes.

“Oh fuck-“ You whimper especially loud when he angles his hips up and hits your special spot, “That’s it huh, luv?” He sneered, smirking.

One of his hands reach down to grab onto one of your hips like love handles as an anchor, holding you still to deliver even harder and nastier thrusts.

“Atta girl, fuckin’ feel it,” he rasps, taking hold of your hips, his fingers digging into your plush dark skin, to pull you down onto him as he powers into you at the same time, squirming as he drags along the end of you in the most tantalizing way.

You can feel the thick length of him dragging through your slick walls in a delicious way that has you reaching down for your clit with one hand and scratching at his forearm with the other.

The room fills with the lewd slicking sounds of your cunt, his grunts, and your whimpers and moans.

You’d be surprised if Butcher even knows the color of your eyes with how they’re constantly cheating back into your skull with his unapologetic poundings.

“Fuuuuuck, Butch-“ You scrubbed furiously at your clit, breathing labored, Butcher groaned at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue deliciously. Leaning down and biting into your shoulder making you gasp and let out a whimper, Butcher chuckled dryly, “I can feel ya sweet cunny flutterin’ around me when I do tha’ luv.”

A beats of a man, as obsessed with pleasing women as he is taking pleasure from her. “That’s right sweetheart, lay there ‘nd take what ‘ol Billy gives you.” He grunted in your ear in a strained tone feeling your warm walls tighten up around him.

With a loud high pitched moan and your nails digging into his shoulders you gushed all over his cock chanting his name before you quickly chanted “Inside Butch, inside-“ and that’s all it took for Butcher to spill his warm seed deep into your pussy.

“Fuckk, ther’ we go, sweetheart, let it all out…” Butcher slowed down his pace, lazily rolling his hips into yours now, riding you both through the aftershock before he finally came to a halt and he pulled out. Looking between your bodies, eyes glued on his warm spent leaking out of your hole.

“Maybe not all supe’s are bad, huh luv?”

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