angelically-yours

[angelically-yours]

Yes yes raw, deep and mean Butcher who fucks your ass like some street whore…

But what about soft lover boy Butcher.

The one who eats you out simply because you had a long day.

The one who holds your hands as you ride him

The one who whispers sweet nothings as he pushes your thighs up and slides his cock into you slow and steady.

“My favorite girl.”

“Dove.”

“Darlin’.”

IM SCREAMING YES YES YES

lover boy butcher who kisses the tears from your cheeks when he’s overstimulating you

lover boy butcher who tells you he loves you whenever he slides his cock in you

lover boy butcher who’s favourite position is missionary so he can kiss you deeply

[angelically-yours]

Happy Birthday, sweet girl 🤍🪽

It’s my darling OCs birthday which also means that it’s been exactly a year since I’ve been in The Boys fandom! Being in that fandom also brought The Walking Dead and Supernatural to me which has changed me for the better.

I have so much to thank this angel for. What started originally as a kind of self insert character to ship with Billy Butcher became something much more. She was there for me at one of the hardest years in my life and helped me discover a lot of things about myself like how to be kinder without being stepped on, how to be soft and yet so strong, and how to stand by your beliefs, even when everyone else doesn’t believe it.

Many years to come, my darling girl 🤍

[angelically-yours]

PLEASE DEAN JUST ONE CHANCE

IM THE SLEEPIEST GIRL

Keep on bein’ mine

Dean Winchester x pillow princess!Reader | SPN

NOTES: just a short little thing <3 this was half written out of inspo from this and half written out of me being a little petty. But that doesn’t matter because I think it came out soooooooo good! I hope yall love it!!

TW: zero plot, all smut, pillow princess-esq reader (she’s not contributing at all to the moment + lowkey begrudgingly offers to let him fuck her), but dean is all in he loves this, breast play, fingering, dean being hot asf + a sweetie pie

You’re trying to be good.

Trying to keep your eyes open, to lift your hips a little, to remember what it is you were offering—but your body’s too soft, too full, too melted from everything Dean’s already done.

He’s laying next to you now, half on his side, palm cupping your thigh like it belongs there. One of your legs is hooked over his, keeping you open for him, and his fingers are between your legs again—slow and easy, dragging through your slick like it’s his favorite way to pass the time.

You whimper. It’s high and thin and needy, and you aren’t even sure what for.

Dean just smiles. Kisses your temple “There’s my girl.”

You try to speak. You do. Your hand curls in the sheets and your lips part like you’re about to say something useful, but all that comes out is—

“I would let you… if you want…”

He stills. Just for a second. Then huffs a laugh so low and sweet it’s almost a moan. “Oh, sweetheart. You would let me what?”

You blink up at him, eyes fluttery and wet. “You know.”

Dean’s grin grows. His fingers never stop moving, slow and slick, drawing lazy shapes against your swollen clit. “You wanna say it for me, baby?”

You shake your head, nose wrinkling like you’re embarrassed. “M’tired. But I would let you fuck me. If you really wanted…”

Dean groans, tilting his head to mouth at your throat. He sucks gently, worshipfully—not like he’s trying to mark you, just remind you that you’re his.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream,” he mumbles into your skin. “Layin’ here all wet and whimperin’, offerin’ your pussy like this isn’t your favorite thing in the world.”

You squirm, barely. It’s pathetic. You make a sound like you might cry if he doesn’t do something, even though you just told him he could have everything.

He shifts over you, hand still moving between your legs, and kisses you. Soft. Deep. Tongue brushing yours like he’s feeding you the very thing you’re begging for.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours and murmurs—

“Sleepy girls don’t get fucked, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches.

Dean kisses you again, then trails his mouth down your neck, across your collarbone, toward your chest.

“They get their tits sucked and their pussy played with while they whine about bein’ too tired to move.”

You whimper. High and gasping and full of ache.

“Uh-huh,” he nods against your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, “that’s what I thought.”

He lavishes you with his mouth—sucking, licking, babying your tits while his fingers keep moving just slow enough to keep you right there, floating and sweet. You’re wet, ruined, and starting to shiver from how gentle it is.

“You’re my little doll right now,” he says, voice hoarse but syrupy. “All soft and fucked-out and makin’ pretty noises.”

You nod without meaning to. You don’t know what you’re agreeing to. Just that it’s true.

Dean kisses the underside of your breast. “You don’t need to do a damn thing for me, baby. I know you prefer when it’s just me playin’ with you like this. You already let me love on you. That’s enough.”

Another kiss. Another slow stroke of his fingers over your clit.

“Just keep on bein’ mine and we’re even.”

TAGLIST @spxideyver @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @lunaleah @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism @cupidzbunny @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @thatg8rl @fratboychrisera @angelically-yours @dina-winchester @maneaterarabella @ralilda @claireyoucandobeddor @ilikw @lupinslibraries @ladykitana90 @kyleighsstuff @deans-yn @k-illdarlings @ohperiodtpoohhh @poisonivy2267 @scrmqwn @sadpods @mochminnie

let me know if you’d like to be added 🤍

[angelically-yours]

Reading later, but I know I’m gonna be feral about it 🤍

Update: I was feral about it

hi hi sweetpea! i have a new request, 'cause i'm obsessed with your writing. how about knight!dean x princess!reader? i have been obsessed with that trope lately. and i would love if you used demon!dean, since he's a knight (somewhat, right?) <3

i never got around to writing this (it’s been sitting in my inbox since april) bc i had to do some research on medieval/fantasy themes and i still don’t think i did it right 😭 i even tried to write it as if someone were narrating it (??) so yeah <3

dean wasn’t always a demon. once, he was the kingdom’s most loyal knight, your father’s right hand, the man who taught you how to hold a sword when you were twelve and your governess wasn’t looking. but that was before the war, before he made a deal to save sam’s life, before his green eyes turned black and his soul was claimed by hell.

your father should have executed him when he returned, something dark and dangerous coursing through his veins. but dean had dropped to one knee in the throne room, placed his sword at the king’s feet, and swore his loyalty hadn’t changed. just his nature.

you’d watched from behind a pillar as your father deliberated. watched as dean’s jaw clenched, waiting for judgment, his new demonic strength barely contained beneath his armor. “i’m still me, your majesty,” he’d said roughly. “still loyal to the crown. to the kingdom.” his eyes had found yours somehow, even hidden as you were.

“to what matters.” your father had eventually agreed, though not without conditions — dean would serve, but from a distance. he’d handle the kingdom’s dirty work, the threats that required a monster to fight monsters. he wouldn’t be allowed near you.

that lasted exactly three weeks. you’d snuck out to the stables one night, restless and seeking your favorite horse for a midnight ride, only to find dean there. he was tending to his own mount, movements careful and controlled. “princess,” he’d said without turning around, and you froze in your tracks.

“bit late for a ride, isn’t it?” when he finally faced you, his eyes were their familiar green, but you could see the darkness lurking beneath. “your father finds out you’re here with me, he’ll have my head. demon or not.” but he was already moving to saddle your horse, hands steady and sure just like they’d always been. some things, apparently, didn’t change.

being around dean now is an exercise in controlled tension. he maintains perfect distance in public — the appropriate three steps behind when escorting you, eyes forward, voice formal. but you catch the way his jaw tightens when visiting nobles get too familiar, the way his hand drifts to his sword when someone’s tone with you is less than respectful.

“careful,” he’d muttered to one particularly pushy duke, and though his voice was calm, you’d seen the brief flash of black in his eyes. the duke had stammered apologies and kept his distance for the rest of his visit. your father pretends not to notice these moments, but you know he’d grateful. better a loyal demon than a treacherous human.

in private, when you manage to steal moments together, dean is different. still protective, still respectful, but there’d a rawness now that wasn’t there before. “you know what the worst part is?” he’d told you once, sitting in the abandoned tower that had become your secret meeting spot. “i can feel everything. every emotion is... amplified. the anger, the hunger, the...” he’d cut himself off, looking away.

“especially around you.” you’d reached for his hand, and he’d let you take it, his skin running warmer than any human’s should. “sometimes i think this curse just made me more myself. stripped away all the delusion i was using to mask how i truly felt.” his thumb had brushed over your knuckles, gentle despite the strength you knew he possessed. “made it harder to pretend i don’t—” but footsteps on the stairs had interrupted, and he’d been gone before the door even opened, leaving only the lingering scent of sulfur and leather.

the court whispers, of course. about the demon knight who shadows the princess, about the unnatural devotion in his eyes. they don’t understand that dean winchester’s loyalty isn’t forced by his demonic nature — if anything, his new instincts should make him rebellious, hungry for power. instead, he channels that darkness into protecting you, turning his curse into a weapon for the crown.

“let ‘em talk,” dean had said when you’d mentioned the rumors. “they fear me, good. means they’ll think twice before moving against you or your father.” he’d paused, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “besides, they’re not wrong. i am devoted to you. demon, human, or anything in between — that doesn’t change.”

the first real test comes when a neighboring kingdom sends assassins. you wake to the sound of fighting, dean’s roar echoing through your chambers as he tears through would-be killers. by the time your guards arrive, it’s over. dean stands among the bodies, blood on his armor, eyes pure black. “princess,” he says, voice rough and inhuman, “are you hurt?” you shake your head, unable to look away from the carnage. this is what your father meant — dean’s protection comes with a price, painted in blood across your royal floors. “don’t look at me like that,” he says, and suddenly he sounds exhausted. “like i’m a monster. i’ve always been capable of this. now i’m just... better at it."

you find him later in the castle’s chapel, of all places. he’s not praying — demons can’t, at least that’s what he'd told you once, churches make his skin crawl. but he sits in the back pew, staring at nothing. “holy ground hurts,” he says when you sit beside him. “burns, actually. constant reminder of what i am.” you want to ask why he’s here then, but you already know. punishment. he once said it was a better way to confess his sins.

dean’s still trying to be good, even with hell running through his veins. “those men tonight,” he continues, “i didn’t just kill them. i enjoyed it. enjoyed protecting you, but also... enjoyed the violence.” his hands clench and unclench. “that’s the real curse. not the strength or the immortality. it’s that i like what i’ve become, and i hate myself for it.”

the breaking point comes during the harvest festival. a visiting prince gets too bold, too drunk, too aggressive with his advances. you handle it with royal grace until he corners you on a balcony, and then dean is there. not violent, not yet, but the promise of it radiates from every line of his body. “the lady said no,” dean says simply. the prince makes the mistake of pulling rank, of reminding dean that he’s just a cursed knight, a pet monster on the king’s leash.

dean smiles, and it’s all teeth. “you’re right. i am a monster. which means i’ve got nothing to lose if i throw you off this balcony.” the prince pales, flees, and dean turns to you with eyes flickering between green and black. “this is why your father wanted me to stay away. because i’d burn this whole kingdom down to keep you safe, and i wouldn’t lose a minute of sleep over it.”

things change after the harvest festival. your father summons both of you, and you expect exile for dean, or worse. instead, the king looks tired. “i’ve been foolish,” he says. “trying to separate you two, pretending that distance would change what’s obvious to anyone with eyes.” he turns to dean. “you’ve proven your loyalty a dozen times over. demon or not, you’re still the man i trusted with my daughter’s sword lessons.”

then to you: “and you, my dear, have been sneaking out to meet him anyway. the stable boys sure do love to gossip.” you flush, but your father waves it off. “i’m lifting the restrictions. if a demon’s devotion is what keeps my daughter safe in these dark times, so be it.”

the new arrangement takes adjustment. dean is officially assigned as your personal guard, no more pretense. the court adapts, as courts do, especially when dean’s presence means no one dares plot against you.

“doesn’t feel real,” dean admits one evening, standing on your balcony — the same one from the festival, now with very different memories. “keep waiting for someone to remember what i am, to take this away.” you step closer, close enough to feel the unnatural heat that radiates from him. “you’re dean winchester,” you tell him firmly. “knight of the realm, protector of the crown, world’s most stubborn man who literally went to hell and back. the demon part is just a little… seasoning.”

he laughs, a real one that makes his eyes crinkle. “seasoning? i corrupt everything i touch, princess.” you take his hand deliberately, lacing your fingers through his. “you’ve been touching me for months. still feel pretty uncorrupted.” his grip tightens carefully, like he’s holding something precious.

the truth is, you make an effective pair. dean’s demonic abilities make him the perfect protector, while your influence keeps him grounded, human enough. he teaches you to fight with the brutality of a demon but the strategy of a knight. you teach him that darkness doesn’t mean evil, that choice matters more than nature. “you know what i think?” you tell him one night, after he’s saved you from yet another threat. “i think you were always this protective, this devoted. the demon just took off the filter.” he considers this, absently playing with a strand of your hair.

“maybe. or maybe you just make me want to be better than what i am.” you lean into him, feeling safe despite — or perhaps because of — the monster at your side. “you already are,” you whisper, and for once, dean winchester doesn’t argue. he just holds you closer, this demon knight who would tear apart heaven and hell for his princess, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[angelically-yours]

Sooo this was actually written about me yeah

please please do a Sam x dumb reader. that man is a genius and I feel like he would have fun with a partner that has to pull out the calculator to make sure that 2+2 is really 4 and their mind isn't tricking on them (that could be me lol)

₊˚⊹♡ beauty and the braincell,

summary. math is not your forte. you know it. sam knows it. he doesn't love you any less because of it.

pairing. sam winchester x dumb!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 451

notes / warnings. soft!dumb!reader (affectionately dumb, okay?), math confusion, teasing, gentle banter, sam being the patient, loving nerd king he is, cuddles, and mutual adoration despite drastically different brain wiring

You stare at the screen of your phone like it just told you your dog ran away. Then, slowly, you open the calculator app and punch in the numbers again.

2 + 2 = 4

You blink.

“…Are you sure though?” you mutter under your breath, chewing the tip of your pinky and staring like the answer might change if you blink fast enough.

Across the motel room, Sam glances up from his book—something thick and menacing with a Latin title you can’t even pronounce. He watches you suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You just asked your calculator if it was sure.”

You sigh dramatically and flop back onto the bed. “I thought the answer was four. But I didn’t trust myself. What if my brain was lying? What if it’s not four? What if we’ve all just been told it’s four our whole lives and it’s actually, like… five? Or three and a half?”

Sam closes his book, very gently, like he’s afraid he’ll break you if he’s too loud. “You think the government is gaslighting us about basic addition?”

“Not intentionally,” you mumble.

He walks over, towering over the bed, looking down at you like you’re both the cutest thing he’s ever seen and possibly a walking red flag. “Baby.”

You groan. “I know, I know! I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I googled what a preposition was yesterday and the definition made me cry.”

He smiles. Not mocking, not smug. That soft little Sam smile he gets when he’s holding back a laugh but also deeply, irrevocably in love. “Okay, sure, maybe you’re not built for academia—”

“Rude—”

“—but you’re brilliant in other ways.”

You squint up at him, suspicious. “Like what? Say something hot.”

Sam leans down, presses a kiss to your temple, then lays beside you on the bed. “You can read people better than anyone I know. You pick up on moods and feelings like magic. You remember exactly how someone takes their coffee even if you only met them once. You’re hilarious. You’re kind. And when I forget to take care of myself, you do it for me.”

You blink, a little stunned. “…Okay, that was hot.”

He chuckles, brushing your hair back from your face. “You think I care that you need a calculator for basic math? I’d still choose you over every genius I’ve ever met.”

You pout. “Even over yourself?”

“Especially over myself.”

You nuzzle into his chest, warm and glowing now.

And somewhere, your calculator app is still open—confirming, once again, that 2 + 2 really is 4.

Sam doesn’t care. He already did the math.

You + him = everything.

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[angelically-yours]

@moviefreakproduction my wife ♥

Every unhinged fic writer needs an equally unhinged friend who "yes ands" their ideas and encourages them to write all their most far fetched and insane stories.

[angelically-yours]

♥ Welcome, Cherubs ♥ ♥ Layla or Angel ♥ 28 ♥ FL, USA ♥ She/They ♥

Hi hi! Welcome to my own personal haven for being thirsty over fictional men old enough to be my father ♥

♥ The Boys ♥ Supernatural ♥ Marvel ♥ DC ♥ World of Warcraft ♥ Star Trek ♥ The Walking Dead ♥ Dexter ♥

🤍 Layla Draws - My digital art 🌼 Layla Writes - All of my work 🤍 Layla's Recs - Recommended reads 🌼 Archangel - All posts about my OC

🤍 Requests are open!

♥ Billy Butcher

- Disease: Post S4!Billy x Reader Oneshot

Stay Tuned! ♥

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[angelically-yours]

Disease | Billy Butcher x Female Reader Oneshot | 18+ SMUT MDNI!!!

Plot: After the disaster with Neuman and the supe-killing virus, you find yourself trailing alongside Butcher on whatever road trip he’s taking you on. Where? He won’t say but the car ride is long and silent. You’re terrified of him, for obvious reasons, after seeing what he was capable of, but you both still can’t help but feel the tension from before, despite his new powers.

Warnings: Porn with some plot, Reader uses fem pronouns/fem anatomy, mentions of blood and canon violence, NO use of y/n, smoking, DUBCON(???), Butcher is meaaaan and manipulative/slightly ooc uses his tentacles to stimulate you but no penetration, teasing, nipple play, Unprotected PinV (don’t be dumb, plz wrap it), doggy position, nicknames (Pup, Dove, Love, etc.), swearing, downright filthy I’m so sorry-

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: It’s here!! I wasn’t expecting so much love and enthusiasm for this prompt so I can’t thank you guys enough for this! ❤️ please enjoy! I’m so sorry this took so long 😭

A disease, as defined by Merriam-Webster, refers to a condition that disrupts the normal operations of a living organism or its components. This condition is typically marked by specific signs and symptoms. Merriam-Webster also defies a disease as a disordered state of the mind or intellect, or a corrupt state of morals in society.

There is no better way to describe William Butcher than that.

You were currently stopped at a gas station in Bumfuck, Nowhere. Somewhere just on the border of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Billy was pumping gas as you came out with a slushy in hand. Cherry mixed with Coke, of course. You tossed the plastic bag full of snacks into the passenger seat through the window, gazing up over the hood of the black Cadillac to him.  It had only been over an hour since what happened with Neuman, the memory surging through your veins and swirling in your stomach.  You saw it all. You were right there next to Hughie discussing with the rest of the team on how to use the virus and Victoria against Homelander. Her daughter was right there. Butcher went MIA after passing out in a bar days ago, so imagine your surprise when he showed up, looking like when you first met. The color in his skin was back, the menacing light in his eyes returned. You knew that look. You remember the gross black tendrils that ripped through his chest towards Victoria. The sound of blood splattering on the pavement was engraved, on a broken record, ringing through your ears. Butcher’s large hand engulfing your bicep took you out of your daze of deep red, meeting his icy blue stare. His voice was a low rumble. “Yer with me, luv’.”  He called out to the rest of the team who was just in as much shock as you. “Oh, by the way…” “You’re all fuckin’ welcome.”

The next thing you knew, you were here, as if waking up from a nightmare. Only the nightmare was real. “Where are we even going, Butcher?” You asked over the hood. His nose scrunched up a little, annoyed by the question you’ve been asking for the last hour. “Come off it, luv… do I need to remind ya of what happened? Could jog yer memory…” He threatened with a low timbre. This wasn’t the Butcher you worked with over 5 years ago. This was some other monster and you hated him. Without another word, you got back into the car with him and he began to drive again. The only sound was the soft drone of the wet and dark road under the tires. The soft glow of street lights as they passed illuminated his face. Your eyes drifted down to where his jaw met his neck. A small, black, worm-like creature under his skin snaked its way up his jaw towards his ear, making goosebumps form on your arms. You quickly looked away, looking back to the road.

A couple minutes later, his voice cut through the silence harshly.

“Fuck off, mate…”

It startled you a little, making your shoulder move up in a soft jump. You’ve heard him mumble to himself before, but he was more confident with it now. You recall a memory…

MM had just kicked Butcher out of TruthCon. Butcher was rightfully pissed. You decided to follow shortly after getting a talking to from MM after he nearly knocked out Billy and by the time you approached…

“Oi, fuck off…” Butcher’s voice carried through the empty backlot, as did the sound of one of his recent coughing fits.

Did he spot you? You grew closer and he turned, his reddened eyes meeting yours. He looked pale, sickly.

“Sorry… I’m just trying to understand why you have been acting this way.” you prodded.

He let out that stupid signature smirk followed by a scoff.

“Don’t know what ya mean, luv… I’m just tryin’ to get shit done around ‘ere. Got no time to sit around jerkin’ these fuckwits off and doin’ fuck all while Sage is in there.” As he rambled, his eyes went back behind him. You could see the look of confusion as if he was… looking for someone.

“Hey, I’m not done yelling at you.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood and get him back to your eyes. When his steel eyes met yours again, he shook his head softly, parting his lips to speak again. There was a silence, a moment of understanding as he looked at you.

“Come on then… Boys’ll need us…”

You settled onto the slightly damp sheets of the cheap motel. The only sound was the drone of the rickety air conditioning unit. It was ungodly humid so you went to crack the front door open, just to be stopped by a large hand snaking from behind you. Butcher’s warmth radiated from his coat through your flannel shirt and jeans. Too close. “It’s humid.” you spoke sternly. “You’ll live.” He replied shortly before securing the gold latch above your hand. You didn’t even give him a chance to sit before finally hitting that breaking point. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?” You placed your hands on your hips, like a disgruntled parent.  He looked at you incredulously, raising an eyebrow and letting out a short laugh through his nose. “Don’t know what ya mean, luv.” He replied, taking off his trench coat. Your eyes couldn’t help but dart to his arms, those same arms that you wished would wrap around your head and- Nope. Not right now. Push that thought away.

“How about we start with you disappearing for three days straight and then coming back all of a sudden looking like you didn’t have cancer?” You asked, your tone sharp.

Butcher looked at you, pausing in his steps momentarily. Like you were actually getting through to him…

“You took V. And you didn’t tell me.” You spat once more, standing taller. Braver.

“And don’t even get me started on all this secrecy, me not knowing where we’re going, why you dragged me into this without asking me?”

“But you came along anyway, didn’ ya? Obedient pup, you are…” he mumbled, his smile challenging. That damn smirk…

In a way, he was right. You didn’t have to follow, but you did. You didn’t ignore the flutter in your stomach at that name either.

‘Pup’.

“I promised I was in this with you until the end didn’t I? After TruthCon? After what happened with Ezekiel?” You reminded him, your voice gentler. You moved your hands to cross your arms.

He looked at you, studied you. Like he was looking at a ghost. But he went back to his duffle, his tone low.

“Yeah… ya did. Guess that’s why I picked ya…” he replied, a rasp to his voice.

The room fell silent suddenly and you took the opportunity to take a shower after a long day.

The water wasn’t hot, but warm enough. The shampoo dried out your hair and the conditioner was useless. With a sigh, you used the small bar of soap to rinse off the grime of the day, your eyes landing on a drop of blood in your arm.

Nueman’s blood…

You scrubbed at it until your skin was raw, the warm water from the shower only making things worse. But you didn’t care. No matter how hard you scrubbed, it was still there. Under the surface, spreading like a fungus to your hammering heart.

Just breathe. It’s over, You tell yourself. It’s all over…

When you exited the shower, you were alone. Each bed empty and the door outside to the balcony propped open with the safety latch. Wrapping the stiff towel around you, you padded across the damp feeling carpet towards the front door, peeking through the crack.

Billy was outside, smoking a cigarette. The cherry red end lit up his lower half, catching the shine of some grey hairs that stuck to his dark beard. You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs at the sight, your argument long forgotten.

“Havin’ a nice look, aye?” He muttered, his whiskey smooth tone sounding stuffy past the white stem of the cigarette between his lips.

“Can ‘ear your heart from here, luv…”

His broad shoulders turned to get a look at you, both of his elbows resting against the railing as he tilted his head. His tacky palm leaf shirt was buttoned low. He was watching you carefully. His eyes were black, dangerous, as they raked down your body.

You swallowed and took a step back, noticing his shadow moving with you under the door. The artificial light behind him cast a figure in the doorway, making him appear menacing. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar warmth spreading just under your stomach. You watch as he tilts his head yet again, slowly.

A low rumble escapes his throat, a laugh.

“You always ‘ad such an interestin’ flutter to your heart, pup… ‘eard it when I took that Temp V… can ‘ear it now…” He spoke lowly, so full of bass it nearly shook your chest. He took a couple steps forward, heavy boots against carpet, before closing the door.

And suddenly, you felt trapped. Not that you were complaining.

“I know you’ve noticed me talkin’ to somethin’… somethin’ that ain’t there…” he smirked.

“And it says a lot about you…”

You couldn’t help the tremble in your voice.

“W-What about me?” You prodded, the back of your legs hitting the edge of the closest bed.

“How it absolutely wants to take you and ravish you ‘til you’re gaspin’ and pleadin’ us to stop.” He spoke so matter-of-factly. As if it was destined to happen eventually.

And maybe it was.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Your towel was long forgotten in the floor, thighs parted as he eyed at you like artwork. He was rudely still clothed, unable to get enough of the sight. Your hair was still wet against the pillowcases, spreading out in a fan.

“Just let ‘im play with your pretty tits, yeah? Won’t ’urt you, promise…” he spoke smoothly against your ear, his beard scratching as he kissed just below it. Your skin prickled as his breath fanned over you, the heat feeling almost too much.

There was a squelching sound, familiar to you from before. And then you felt it.

Sticky, but not uncomfortable as it slithered up your abdomen towards your breasts. Heavy and hot. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“B-Billy, I don’t know-” you stuttered out, but he cut you off.

“S’alright, pup, let ‘im play…” he crooned, deep and threatening.

The tentacle flicked over your hardened nipples, resulting in a whimper from your throat. Your hips rolled up against this beefy thigh that sat between your legs.

“Look at you, luv… pretty as a fuckin’ paintin’ you are…” he hums, his lips moving down your collarbone.

Another squelch came from his chest, quiet and ominous as it wrapped around your thigh, parting it for him. Another tentacle wrapped around your other thigh, parting it as well. Billy finally pulled up and you could have smacked that stupid grin off his face if he wasn’t so hot.

“My girl… all spread and drippin’ for me, eh?” He chuckled. His thumb found your clit, swirling the digit around and making you whine. Your thighs struggled against his tentacles.

“B-Billy, wait-”

“Nah. Waited too fuckin’ long.” He interrupted, his finger not slowing despite you pulling against the current

The tentacle that once sat pretty on your chest slithered down, leaving a slimy black trail behind that left you both thrilled and disgusted. It flicked over your clit, replacing his hand as his fingers brushed against your weeping cunt.

“Already so fuckin’ messy, huh pup?”

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you, your hips writhing as he inserted a finger, curling it upwards against your gummy walls. You muttered his name, low and sweet as your lashes fluttered.

“Look at you, good fuckin’ girl just can’t help herself… s’alright, poppet…” he teased rudely. So mean.

“Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy, yeah? She’s beggin’ me, she is…”

The way he spoke to you was enough to result another whimper from your lips.

He inserted another finger, moving them in a scissoring motion for you. You groaned his name, your hips bucking up against his hand as his tentacles kept their strict position on your thighs. Butcher let out a low and mocking hum, kissing your temple and letting his beard scratch at your jaw.

He teased you relentlessly, mocked you, made you feel used… and you liked it. The way your skin prickled under his breath, his fingers scissoring you open… it was all so delicious and yet felt so wrong.

“Bet this is why I took you with me… for my use. When this fucked up lil’ life gets t’much…”

“Listen to her squelch, pup, s’fuckin’ needy…”

“Bet you like this, huh? Bein’ my good little doll, all for me… m’so lucky, sweethear’…”

You felt so hot and sticky, not only from the tentacles holding onto your trembling, plush thighs, but from how close he was. A small sheen of sweat was seen on his chest just under the tuft of hair on his pectorals. Your lips found the hollow of his throat which resulted in a deep growl that rumbled your chest.

“P-Please, Billy… too much…” you managed to stutter. Butcher tutted at your pitiful sob, but in his eyes, you’ve never been more beautiful. You looked absolutely broken, glossy eyes and swollen lips from his rough kisses that led to this moment in the crisp white sheets. The rise and fall of your chest with each gasping breath and pornographic moan. Soft and supple skin slick with sweat, thighs covered in your arousal.

He had enough.

In a swift motion, he had you on your stomach, bare ass high in the air and face smooshed into the cheap pillowcase. His tentacles were tight around your thighs still, another one emerging to press on your back to keep you down as he unbuckled his belt. The sound of metal was piercing to your ears.

“Billy, wait, we don’t have a condom-!” You protested, despite feeling the emptiness with his fingers now gone.

“No, no, dove, I’ll pull out. Swear on m’life.”

You didn’t even have to look at him to know that was a lie. You could hear the smile on his face.

You feel him slide against your soaked folds, gliding upwards towards the forbidden (for now) area of your puckered hole. He was searing, hot and heavy against your sensitive skin, not huge in length, but girthy and thick. Your skin was so slick that you couldn’t tell what part of his tentacles were touching you and what were his hands. But you felt him spread you apart to get a good look at every inch he could.

“Fuck me… been hidin’ this all along, havent ya? Look at ‘er…” he grumbled, more to himself than anything.

He leaned down, grabbing the nape of your neck in one large hand while whispering.

“Now just hang tight and let me feel ya, luv…”

It was slow, so painstakingly slow. Deep. A stretch that left you gasping for air.

“Eaaaasy, girl, easy… should see how she’s takin’ me, fuccck…”

His hiss caused a whimper and a hum of approval out of you. Something you never thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, here you are, ass up feeling him pulsing into you.

His tentacles wiggled gently like a snake around your limbs and left inky trails. His large hand tightened around your neck as if to keep him grounded. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered that this was very real.

His thrusts were even and deep, so deep. You were so drunk on the feeling, you didn’t even notice the drool pooling onto the pillow as a groan escaped past your lips.

“Poor girl, droolin’ like the right pup you are… Ohhh… that’s a good girl.”

He let up his grip on your neck as his hands clawed down your back to dig into your hips. Just before you could adjust to breathing again, you feel a tentacle wrap around your neck as it tightens a bit. You could feel it… the shit eating grin on his face as him and his little helpers took you this way.

“Oh, if only you could fuckin’ see what a fuckin’ lovely mess you are, poppet…” he whispered in your ear, harsh through his smiling teeth. He picked up the pace, groaning deeply with each thrust to the hilt.

Hot tears streaked down your flushed cheeks and soaked the pillows. Skin slapped against skin, filling you to the brim of him. The scent of cheap cigarettes and whiskey from him, his throbbing cock in your wet heat, his large hands at your hips as he watched. You were so ruined, you couldn’t even pay attention to the words he was saying. He was so filthy.

The slimy tendrils suddenly tightened, including the one around your throat as he lifted you against his chest. The coarse hairs stung at your back. His pace never stopped, pulling out and slamming back into you like in a desperate effort. Like you were the only thing that could cure his hunger. His rough beard scraped against your jaw and his teeth, found your neck, biting into you like an animal pinning its mate.

“Gonna cum in this pretty cunt, yeah? ‘S all I want, luv, please?” He asked in that mockingly sweet tone. You were too fucked out to answer, too focused on the feeling of him all around you. In your fluttering pussy and on your arms and throat, all so sticky and wet with a sweet mix of sweat, arousal and inky slime.

“P-Please, Billy… need it so bad…” you managed to rasp out past a whimper. He smiles at that as your ass slams against his thighs.

“Gonna cum… please make me cum…”

“I got ya, cum on my fat cock, pup…” he cooed with a kiss to your temple. His tongue sliding over your salty skin was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

In a white hot wave to your senses, you let out a loud and whiny moan. He curses under his breath, muttering absolutely nothing into your ear as his cock twitches in you, spitting white ropes that coated your used walls in warmth. Time stood still for a moment as you both caught your breath.

Your skin stuck to each other, separating only when he pulls out and his tendrils retract back into the gaping black mass on his chest. You were left boneless against the sheets, limbs loose. The shuffling of sheets was the only thing keeping you in this reality of what just happened as he got a rag to clean you with. The towel was cold against your heated skin as he swiped off your mixed release.

The next thing you knew, your breath was knocked from you when he pulled you against his bare skin, big arms engulfing you. A soft kiss was pressed to your temple past his scratchy mustache.

“M’sorry for all of it… letting you see that… dragging you with me after it all. Deserve better than me…” he muttered, nuzzling into your hair and taking a breath.

“I… I don’t think so.” You finally confessed past a soft voice.

He chuckled at that, low and mighty.

“Yeah well… you’re stuck with me now, darlin’.”

A/N: Holy shit gang, we got here. Nearly six months later! Thank you to those who have been so patient with me. I really have my best friend to thank as well as she helped me write some lines (real queens help write smut)

Thank you SO much and let me know what you think! Banners: @fic-dumpster & @cafekitsune

[angelically-yours]

IM WRITING DISEASE, WE’RE SO BACK

Enjoy this little excerpt 👀

I’m so excited to have this finished hopefully within the next two nights!!

I’m so sorry for those who may have been waiting 😭❤️

[angelically-yours]

Oh my god BEE ILYSM YOUR BRAIN 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Oh my god I had a high thought 😮‍💨

Soldier Boy in the phone with Homelander said “I beat my meat into a cup” in reference to how Homelander was created…

Now hear me out, bee

What if reader was the nurse that helped him with that 👀

hi layla, this was a surprisingly great idea that i had fun bringing to life! hope you like it ㅤᵕ̈

cw: smut.ᐟ cocky!ben.ᐟ nurse!reader.ᐟ handjob.ᐟ inappropriate workplace behavior.ᐟ power imbalance.ᐟ praise & degradation.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, doll] 18+

“you’re tellin’ me this is how you fuckin’ science freaks make rugrats now?”

ben leans back against the examination table, thighs spread wide, cock already heavy in his fist. smug and relaxed like it’s just another casual tuesday.

you’re trying to be professional. clipboard in hand, gloves on, eyes strictly trained anywhere but between his legs.

but ben’s not making your job any easier.

“got me beatin’ off into a damn cup like a zoo animal,” he huffs, jerking slow and deliberate. “least you could do is help a guy out. you are a nurse, right?”

you shift awkwardly, stammer something about ‘protocol’, but he just chuckles condescendingly.

he strokes lazily, knuckles brushing the base. “you want it in the cup or in that pretty little hand?”

the way he says it— like it’s your idea, like you should be grateful he’s even offering.

like you’re not already squeezing your thighs together under that starch-white uniform.

you glance at the sample cup, then at him, then back again.

“that’s what i thought,” he hums, voice confident and rich. “c’mon doll, help a hero out.”

you clear your throat, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, trying to blink the heat from your face.

“i’m just here to collect the sample, sir,” you murmur, clutching the clipboard to your chest like it’ll shield you from the size of him, the smug grin on his mouth.

or the fact he’s squeezing the base of his cock to keep it hard for the ‘procedure’.

“that right?” ben drawls, brow lifting like he doesn’t believe a word. “not gonna even gimme a little tease under those scrubs, doll?”

ben’s voice was thick with condescension. “not even a lil’ peek to help america’s greatest soldier finish the job?”

you’re already flustered— giddy, even. in the dumb way you hate to be around men like him, with his level of cockiness, but ben’s just drinking it in.

he shifts on the exam table, spreads his legs wider, invitingly. his dog tags clink faintly against his chest when he leans in, smirking.

“c’mon now, ‘s just a sample,” he says, like he’s being generous. that somehow he’s doing you the favour by being there in the first place.

“you nurses get hands-on all the time, right? what’s one little handjob between patriots? now c’mere,” he says. ben doesn’t ask politely anymore, his voice was a quiet command.

“you’re already lookin’. might as well put those pretty fingers to use.”

“soldier boy i— i really shouldn’t” your breath catches but your thighs squeeze tighter.

“but you want to, yea?” ben cuts in smoothly, a flicker of something dangerous in his grin.

“let me guess, y’always had a thing for supes, huh? big strong war hero like me. bet you touched yourself once or twice thinkin’ about it.”

and your cheeks burn because the self-indulged asshole was right.

when he finally replaces his hand with yours. hot and heavy against your palm, cleavage spilling in his face.

he chuckles, slow and mean. “don’t worry, doll. we’ll call it your patriotic duty.”

tags: @tinas111 @fancyhideoutpeach @kimxwinchester @soldiersgirl @lanasgirlfr @unfortunate-brat @bruisedfig @angelically-yours @winchestersbgirl @spnaquakindgdom @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @pieandflannel @bejeweledinterludes @deanstubble @sunnyteume @titsout4jackles @sunnyfuffly @deansbeer @littlesoulshine @beforeroachfalls

[angelically-yours]

You're my playground love

[angelically-yours]

virtual angel ₊˚⊹♡

[angelically-yours]

If he kissed my forehead like that after a one night stand, he would have a hard time getting rid of me

Frank "triple forehead kiss a one night stand" Castle

[angelically-yours]

gods & monsters - lana del rey

[angelically-yours]

Need more Crowley fics

Specifically BDSM/Dom fics of Crowley because I want to be his little mob wife 😭

Maybe I should just write them myself I guess 👀

[angelically-yours]

His character is so important to me

I know we make fun a lot of the sigma male edits for Homelander where he's all menacing and badass, when in reality he has ten mental breakdowns stacked on top of each other just when he wakes up every morning, but I feel the same way about Butcher.

Look, Butcher is a hardened man with rough edges, I am not denying the truth here. But Butcher is also one of the characters on this show who consistently cries over things. He's so consistently pathetic outside of The AtrocitiesTM.

Pathetic meow meow Homelander? Nay. Here's pathetic wheek wheek Butcher.

Butcher, in pain and sobbing on a bathroom floor because his eyes won't stop glowing. (Also, Grace, what the fuck, why do you raise Ryan in this environment, why is it THIS dirty??)

Butcher, shaking like a leaf because he's absolutely terrified of dying despite telling everyone and their mother that he doesn't care at all and will go out with a bang.

Butcher, saving a bunny rabbit because it vaguely reminded him of himself.

Butcher, who - whenever things look bad - immediately and without fail calls his friends and says a tearful goodbye (he does this, like, thrice throughout the show).

Butcher, trauma-bonding with the eight-year-old he just five seconds ago wanted to pummel to death with a crowbar. (Also, how tiny was this child, what the fuuuck??)

Butcher, who professes his hate of supes every chance he gets, but still kisses a supe baby on the head and tells him to be good instead of... literally just killing him, it would have been easy, that's a newborn.

Butcher, goofily calling his own bad impulses a 'wanker' (and getting kicked in the balls for his efforts).

Butcher, crying over the weight of his actions.

That's not your badass alpha male. I caught him sitting in his car in the parking lot of a 7/11, listening to the Spice Girls and yearning.

[angelically-yours]

I need to cover his neck in kisses

Reblog with your favorite gif of Billy Butcher/Karl!!!

Hate to see him leave, but man do I love to watch him go… 🫠

(Imagine this is your view after he’s ravished you alllllll night…)

(also happy tumblr anniversary to @kus-babygirl!!! and Éomer hugs for @konartiste ❤️) @jynx15 @karlurbanism @cassiopeia-grimm @mrsbonesmccoy @violent-darkness @dumpy-little-nobody @monoconfused @angelically-yours