filthy-khajiit - Tumblr blog

filthy-khajiit · 11 months ago

Text

— come on and show me

logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

rated e - 5.5k

tags: Logan POV, MMF threesome, jealous!logan, reader is wade's girl, mutual pining/crushes all around, voyeurism, dirty talk, open relationship, oral sex, fingering, Logan doms both of them, 69ing, fucklicking, ball worship, come eating, PiV

a/n: I want them to kiss and I also want them to kiss reader to here this is! 💕

Right now, all he can hear is Wade running his goddamn mouth. Drowning out the sounds you make - so fuckin’ pretty, and the prick is too busy listening to himself to appreciate it.

There’s one thing that Logan knows for sure - and it’s that Wade’s not doing it right. Not like he would.

(or - Logan tries to shut Wade up, and it doesn’t quite go as expected)

Logan can hear Wade from here.

Running that goddamn mouth already, and the sun’s only barely up.

Can hear you, too. The little whimpers that you try bite back. He can imagine the way your teeth sink into your lip - the thought has him shifting in his chair, breakfast forgotten.

So fuckin’ pretty, and the prick is too busy listening to himself to appreciate it.

Knows he could make you even louder, too. It’s almost like he’s at the mansion again, looking at another toy he can’t touch.

What a waste.

The sounds crescendo, the chanting of a name layered with that endless babble that makes his teeth grind, before the sound breaks.

Trying not to look interested when the door opens a few minutes later. Snatching up the newspaper that’s been sitting on the cluttered tabletop for a month now, flicking it open.

Ignoring how Wade strolls out, adjusting the waistband on a pair of grey sweats that are hanging way too low on his hips for comfort.

Rummaging around for a bottle of water, the glow of the fridge illuminating the curve of his ass. The cut of the pants look familiar, Logan's eyes narrowing as he wonders if those are his missing pair-

The edge of the paper flicking up again into place again, just as Wade stretches - bending further, before the bottle is snatched from the back.

Logan huffs.

“Hey roomie,” Wade hums, flicking the cap at him. It sails through the air, disappearing into his forgotten cup of coffee with a little 'plunk', “Don’t let me interrupt that killer Ed Tom Bell impression you’ve got going on, just hydrating for round two.”

“Ooh,” A cock of his hip, as he turns - head tilting as he thinks, “Does that make me Josh Brolin? God, I love him.”

“That’s all?” Logan’s eyebrows lift as he sneers - ignoring another reference he doesn’t understand, “Been going at it for a while.”

As soon as he says it, he regrets it. Opening himself up for an attack. He can already hear the sing-song response at the admittance that he’s been listening.

Screwing the Pavlovian pooch, with the way that he's more than aware that his dick’s half-hard. The result of taking care of himself one too many times - an attempt at getting himself back to sleep, pretending that he isn’t jerking himself off to the beat of the frame that bangs against the walls.

Luckily, Wade zeros in on the exact wrong part. Sputtering, as water drips down his chin, “That’s all? What do you mean, that’s all?”

“You heard me,” The paper crinkles in his fist, “In fact, I’m surprised you even got round one off. Much less that she’s sticking around for another.”

“You wound me, and yet, flatter.” Wade’s hand flattens over his heart, “I never knew you thought about me like that.”

“I haven’t been thinking about you, you ass,” Logan snarls, teeth bared, “I just know that if you’re talking, then you’re not doing it right.”

Wade grins at that, teeth scraping over his lower lip as they stretch wide.

Eyes flicking over his form, assessing in a way that has Logan bristling - voice going syrupy-smooth, “Is that right? You think you can do better, mutton chops?”

The breath he inhales is ragged. That feeling back again - an urge to curl his hand around Wade’s throat, and squeeze.

“Yeah,” Logan growls out, “Yeah, I fucking do.”

The table shakes as Wade plops himself down on the edge, a leg crossing over the other. Interest gleaming in his eyes as his head tilts towards the bedroom door.

“Alright. Bring on the magic tricks, Angier.” His hands splay wide, wiggling, “Gonna show me how to make your fingers disappear?”

Logan glares, his eyes flicking down to where the fleece pulls across his hips.

“Right.” He spits, “Like you’ve got another in you?”

“Hey now, pookums. Marvel Jesus, remember?” Wade’s hand makes a sweeping gesture in front of his crotch, “Just give me three minutes and I’ll have risen.”

“That’s disgusting.” Logan barks, “And get off the table.”

If anything, it makes Wade sit harder. His legs pivoting until he can spread his thighs on either side of the paper, ankles dangling off the edge.

“Disgusting?” His tone pitches up, “Says the man that’s rocking a stiffy. Gonna jerk it at the breakfast table when I leave? You know Blind Al eats there.”

The paper twitches reflexivity in his hands, and Wade’s smile pulls wider as Logan shoots him a death glare, lips curling over teeth.

“Why the fuck would I do something like that?”

Wade hums, “Call it an educated wish.”

“Call it an educated get-the-fuck-out-of-here.” Logan scoffs. His eyes flicking towards the bedroom, the door still shut, “You’re talking like she wants this.”

Wade’s finger presses at the edge of the newspaper he’s hiding behind, and Logan bats his hand away.

He’s still not gotten used to all the skin, he doesn’t know where to look. The slightest shift back in his chair, but he’s already pressed up against the wall.

“Oh please, as if we don’t take turns roleplaying as you,” Wade sighs longingly, “This would be a wet dream come true.”

His eyes narrow then, as his tongue runs across his lip. Voice dropping again, coaxing.

“Look,” Wade says it like he’s leveling with him - talking man-to-man,“If you wanted to fuck her, peanut, all you had to do was ask.”

And for a moment, Logan truly considers it. Not just the fantasy that’s been playing through his head for weeks.

Weirder shit has happened, he supposed.

He’s already been claw-deep into Wade’s guts. A brawl in that shitty van that lasted until morning. Bound tip-to-tip in the void for god knows how long.

Getting walked in on in the bathroom at least twice in the last month. A gleeful “mind if I cut in?”, before Logan’s fist is sending him into the vanity.

The last time it took a full week to get the sink fixed.

Not to mention that Wade apparently seems so certain that his clothes were now their clothes.

So fucking keen on sharing.

So it wasn’t a stretch to think he might want to share you, too.

There’s something caught between his teeth, heavy on his tongue. About to loosen, when the door is opening.

Swallowing them down as you step through, thighs bare under a too-big t-shirt. Arms wrapping around Wade’s shoulders as your lips press against his cheek.

“Thought you were coming back, Red.” You coo. Drawn out by the sound of bickering as you had basked in your afterglow.

“Morning, Logan.” A smile sent his way after, turning sheepish, “You’re up early. Hope we didn’t wake you.”

He grunts in reply. Pretending there wasn’t a little jolt in his stomach at the sound of his name. That he hadn’t been thinking about spreading you across this table, lifting the hem of your shirt up-

If he’d been in your bed, no one would have had to wonder.

The whole damn floor would’ve been woken up.

“He thinks I fuck bad, so I’m gonna prove he’s wrong,” Wade adds in, cheerfully, “That okay with you, gorgeous?”

Logan glares over the top of his paper. A rough clearing in his throat as your eyebrows lift, glancing his way.

He hadn’t really meant to bring you into this, or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself.

That eye contact dropping, as you lean into Wade, your chin propped on his shoulder, “Is that right? How are you going to do that?”

Logan’s answer comes out flat, as he examines an ad in the bottom corner of the page,“I’m not doing anything.”

Wade sighs, his head knocking back against your shoulder.

“Come on, Wolvie. I would love for you to prove me wrong,” He needles, digging deep, “Put your money where my cock should be.”

Logan still doesn’t look up, “Not interested, I’m busy.”

The sigh that pulls from his lungs is long, a near-whine.

“What, with reading?” He exclaims, “Jesus you really are old. The retirement home called, they’re missing a resident.”

Logan’s eyes snap up now, narrowing, “Fuck. Off.”

With a sigh, Wade fucks off. Legs curling, until he’s rolling off the table. Your hand fitting in his, a water bottle tucked under your arm as you head back towards the room.

“The offer still stands!” He calls.

A beat, before you turn.

“Logan?” You call, as he’s helpless - his eyes pulling away. Drawn to you.

A little wink sent his way. Your finger gesturing towards his chest, as you smile.

“Your paper’s upside down.”

Logan’s still not quite sure how he got here. His feet moving on his own, fingers catching the bedroom door just as it starts to close.

Almost backing out when he sees the look of Wade’s face, pleased as fucking punch.

Standing by the edge of the bed now, as you kneel on it in front of him. Fingers slipping across his chest - curious, with the way your eyes flicker over his face. Eager, though you hide it well.

“So what exactly did you tell Wade to get him so worked up?” Your fingers twine around his neck, as his find your hips.

He hums at that - flicking towards his roommate before they find yours again.

“All I said was that if I can hear his mouth running from out there,” Logan’s fingers dent into soft skin, tugging you closer, “He can’t be doing a good job.”

There’s a shift off to the side. Wade sinking down into the beanbag chair he pulled up,“Can you believe that? As if I don’t have a good grade in my oral and my dickabilties.”

“A fucking gold star, babe.” You shoot him a tender smile, before they focus on Logan again. Shoulder lifting, as your grin grows, “I mean, Merc with a Mouth, right? Seems like part of the package.”

He huffs, eyes dropping to your lips.

“You think it’s good,” Logan’s tone is almost pitying, “But it’s only because you haven’t had better.”

That pulls a gasp from your throat, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah, I think you’re trying to emasculate me, but honestly…” Wade’s hand splays wide over his crotch, “Sploosh.”

“Sploosh.” You echo softly, and he can feel you shift closer. Can smell the fresh curl of arousal that heats your skin, as his hands ghost higher. A small smile, as your head tilts, “So you just all talk then, or…”

“No.” Logan scoffs, “No, I’m not.”

He closes the gap, more certain now. Mouth pressing against yours, as you squeak - tense in his arms, until you go liquid.

Soft tits pressed to his chest as his tongue sweeps against your lips. Swallowing a pretty moan as they part for him, his own groan rumbling in his chest as his hands wander.

Slipping down, ghosting against skin. Feeling the goosebumps that rise, as he draws circles against your hip. His name whimpered, and it shoots straight to his cock.

Not even a heartbeat, before the chatter begins.

“Bet your pussy’s wet already, isn’t it baby?” He coos, “A kiss like that, it’s even got me a little worked up. And I’m just producing this show.”

Logan’s eyes crack open as he glares, “You’re not producing shit, asshole.”

“Ooh, I bet you SO wish you worded that in a different way-”

You huff against his mouth, your touch guiding him back. The thought lingers, curiosity burning. Letting his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, knuckles brushing your thigh.

Tracing around to the curve of your ass, his wide palm splaying out, then squeezing against bare flesh.

“Is he right?” He rasps, his lips brushing against yours. Half-hating that he’s letting Wade get in his head, but the thought-

You gasp again, and his teeth flash with his smirk, “Are you wet for me already, sweetheart?”

“She’s been since she first saw you. Goddamn Niagara Falls,” Wade’s voice has softened - teasing now, “Isn’t that right, gorgeous?”

An amused shake of your head, as something silent passes between them. Logan doesn’t pretend to know how your relationship works - other than the fact that Wade was willing to do anything to save this world for you.

And that there’s something inside him that tightens - a flicker in his belly - whenever he looks at you. Whenever Wade flirts with him. That sharp annoyance from their meeting slowly bleeding out with each day goes by.

Something else taking root, the more time he spends with both of you. He’s not good with his emotions. Doesn’t want to name that ache when he saw you together.

A silent wish, with his shifting daydreams. With the jerk of his fist in the morning. Imaging you in his bed, at first. And then, more - two sets of hands. Two mouths at his cock, and then he’s suddenly coming harder than he has before.

He’s become greedy, the more you both give him.

“Show me.” It’s a command, soft and low.

Logan can feel your thighs press together, that little squirm. Tucking this new discovery away as you lean back, eyes dark with desire.

The briefest hesitance, before your fingers loosen from him. Slipping down, under the hem of your shirt. The nails on your other hand bite into his shoulder as you sigh - two fingers gliding through the wet folds of your pussy.

Pulling them back for him to see. Glistening, your arousal stringing between them. His hand is already curling around your wrist. No resistance as he tugs - guiding your fingers past his lips as they part.

Sucking the sweet taste of you as he groans, deep in his chest. Eyes fixed on yours so he can see the way yours widen, feeling how your fingers flex against the swipe of his tongue.

“Logan.” You sigh his name, and it only makes his moan - eyes shutting as you press down against his tongue. The need slipping into your voice, pleading.

“I wanna feel your mouth. Show me, too,” You sigh, as you slip from him, “Show me what you meant.”

Christ, he’s been aching for this. Eager to drown himself in your pussy, if you’d let him.

There’s a sharp clap that forces his eyes open. Wade’s enthusiasm as he drags the bag closer, chin cradled in his hands.

“Yeah, Logan. You gonna show us your dickabilites, or what?”

He shoots him a withering look. Softening before he turns to you, his chin tipping up.

“Lay back on the bed for me, sweetheart.”

You listen so sweetly, and it makes his cock throb. A quick dart of your eyes over to your boyfriend, who only nods.

“Take that off, baby,” Wade coos, “Show him how pretty you are.”

He’s not sure when he started letting Wade make orders, but for once he’s not wanting to argue about his suggestions.

Because fuck, you are pretty. No arguing with that.

Letting his eyes sweep over every inch that is revealed, as you lift the hem of your shirt. The curve of your hips, your soft tits that he can’t wait to get his mouth on.

Baring yourself, as you lean back against the pillows. His eyes are fixed on your cunt, already fitting himself between your thighs. Fingers reaching - ready to part you open. Taste you himself, bury his tongue inside you.

Your hand reaches out, pushing against his shoulder.

“Wait, you too.” You pout, “Let’s play fair, okay?”

He huffs, lips quirking. Hands catching the hem as he tugs his own shirt off, Wade diving for it as he tossed it towards the floor.

Twin gasps rise, and if he was a much younger man, he may have blushed.

“Fuck.” Wade groans, a hand dropping down his crotch and squeezing.

You’re already leaning forward, a hand flattening against his skin. A soft "wow" slipping from your lips - feeling the way his muscles jump as you slide over his pecs, the thick hair covering them.

A hand hooking around his shoulder - a smirk hidden as you tug him down on top of you.

Soft, beneath him. Those needy whines he loves so much caught between your teeth as he noses at your neck. Teeth nipping at skin, an urge to leave a mark for later.

That cry finally loosened as he moves down. Teeth and tongue biting and soothing at the tight peaks of your nipples. Broad hands cupping and squeezing, liking the way they fit in his palms. The way you moan, arching into his touch.

“Give me more of that,” He murmurs against your skin, "I want to hear you."

Your body tensing beneath his when he settles between your thighs. They have to spread, to fit his shoulders. Opening you up, putting you on display.

Watching how you clench - a throaty chuckle as his thumb presses just shy of your folds. Tugging you open, seeing how your skin glistens with slick already.

“Pretty fucking sight, you know that?” His eyes flip up to yours.

You’re propped up on your elbows. Teeth sinking into your lip, breath held as your eyebrows slant in anticipation. Lips parting with his words, a minute shift of your hips.

“You should see it when it’s stuffed full. Boston cream's got nothing on her."

There’s an embarrassed groan of his name. Logan ignores him - letting his thumb rub against the tight nub of your clit, instead. Your word turning into a sharp, inhaled breath.

Teasing, each circle achingly slow. Aware of the two sets of eyes on him, burning his skin. A low ache in his belly, his glaze fixing on yours, watching as you inhale as his mouth lowers.

A soft lick, tongue lapping against your slit. Tasting you more thoroughly, dragging against soaked skin, as his fingers tease at your entrance.

Focusing on your clit, tight flicks with his tongue. Letting his lips suck on the tight bud, as he sinks down to one knuckle, then another. A second finger slipping in once you get used to him, making room for himself as he scissors you open.

He can hear the soft, wet sound of your cunt, with each plunge of his fingers. Flexing and curling them until he can feel you clamp down.

The quiet sounds you make - soft breaths and gasps - turning louder. Panting now, as you whine. Hips lifting to meet the curl of his tongue, until he pulls back.

“Should be hearing this,” Logan grits out. A quick glance towards Wade as his fingers pound into you, “Not you talking out of your ass.”

There’s silence for a long moment, the words coming out distracted.

“You talk about my ass an awful lot for a man who pretends he's not interested,” Wade manages, slowly, “You change your mind about that, too?”

His breath shallow, as Logan growls in annoyance. Attention returning back to you. Fingers working faster, head dropping again to tongue at your clit.

A leg hooks over his shoulder - a heel digging into his back, tugging him closer. Logan loses himself - growling into your pussy. His own hips pressing down into the bed, as he tugs at his belt and button, reliving some of the too-tight ache of denim.

Feeling how you leak against his palm, tighten around his fingers. Chase that winding pleasure as you arch into his mouth. A hand drifting off the bed, reaching. Grasping.

“Logan.” You’re begging again, pleading. For more, for anything. For him not to stop, and he leans into the way you tug at his hair, guiding him to the right spot.

You come with your fingers entwined with Wade’s. With your thighs clamped against Logan's ears as he rips a cry from you - long and loud - threatening to suffocate him.

Would be the way he’d choose to die, if he could.

The sounds come flooding back, as your thighs loosen. Boneless and languid, your smile wide as your fingers trace his scruff, the sharp curve of his jaw.

Perhaps he was wrong, to think he could silence Wade entirely. Your orgasm has only made him more vocal - complaints about how “fucking hard he is” mixing with rambling praise.

“Wilson.” He finds himself growling. Beckoning with two fingers, as Wade practically springs from the bag.

“Oh my GOD,” Wade is gushing, clambering onto the bed with him, “This is way better than joining the Avengers. Even if they do have Thor.”

“Huge praise.” You smile drunkenly, pushing yourself up to press your mouth against his.

And under his direct instructions, Logan finds that Wade almost listens.

“Get on your back,” He points, as you scooch to make room.

"Ooh, dirty." Wade grins, splaying out on his back, hands tucked under his head.

“No,” Logan makes a frustrated sound - ignoring another comment. A twirl of his finger, “The other way.”

His head is cradled near your hips now, legs stretched out toward the pillows.

Logan’s next words are a growl, “Now, clean her up.”

Wade groans, as he catches up.

“Fuck.” He whines, “Yeah. Come here, baby.”

Hands guiding you into place, your knees framing his head, as you face towards the headboard. Wade’s mouth already tipping up to meet you, a soft moan as his tongue swipes against your slit.

“I don’t want to hear you until she comes.” Logan rasps, and he can see the way Wade’s hips lift.

Just now catching the darkened fabric, where it tents.

Another thing to catalog.

Content for now to let his hands drift as he stands behind you at the edge of the bed, his chest pressing to your back. Sucking a mark in the hollow under your ear, feeling the buzz of your whine against his lips.

Hands cupping your breasts again, feeling their weight. Pinching at the tight peaks, before his thumb is smoothing over them.

Your eyes are blown wide, fingers curling against your thighs. Panting as the overstimulation tips towards pleasure, the feel of the sweet mouth below you soft and familiar.

Shifting as you sit, rocking back to where Logan’s cock presses against your lower back. His hands tugging at the zipper, shoving his jeans down as he works himself free. Kicking them off, after.

You gasp when you see him from over your shoulder, and he can’t help the way he twitches in his hand at the sound. Can’t pretend he isn’t leaking from tasting you, his cock heavy as he lets go to let it hang between his thighs.

“Fuck, that’s not fair.” It’s muffled, and you hum in agreement as Wade lifts you to get a better look, “God didn’t make you perfect enough as-is? Just had to make you proportional, you goddamn stallion.”

A derisive sound as his arm wiggles out from under you, fingers reaching.

“And Jesus H. Christ, look at the girth-”

Logan bats his hand away.

It should annoy him. That Wade isn’t listening. That he’s commenting on his cock - but it doesn’t.

Can’t help but think that in here, in this room, the chatter isn’t so bad. Would never admit that he’s wrong, just that when he’s admiring and not on a dumb-as-fuck tangent, it’s almost - flattering.

Maybe that’s too far. Tolerable, perhaps.

“You want my mouth?” You offer sweetly, breaking into his thoughts. Hungrily.

There’s a flash of white teeth as Logan smiles. A hand pressing gently against your back, until you’re stretched out over Wade.

“No. I’m still gonna fuck you, baby.” He rasps, “Just wanted a little peace and quiet while doing it.”

You moan, thighs inching wider. Head turned so you can watch the way he moves behind you. Adjusting your hips until your ass is in the air, his fingers gripping the base of his cock as he lines himself up.

“Keep going, Wilson.” He grits out, when the man goes still beneath them.

A rough chuckle rattles.

“Not a fucking chance, human tripod. I am SO watching this.”

Fuck it. He lets him.

Letting the tip of his cock press against your entrance. Wade’s arms curling around your thighs, holding you in place as you string tight above him.

“God, it’s even bigger from this angle. Feels like I’m in a goddamn eclipse right now.”

“Why do you sound surprised, babe?” Your voice is strained. Face buried against Wade’s stomach, fingers curled in the sheets, “I thought you guys fucked in the void.”

That fleeting curl of warmth leaves him.

“We what?” Logan growls, leaning back to glare at the peek of dark brown eyes, the top of a bald head he wants to slap.

Teeth bared, as he snarls, “We didn’t fuck. I beat the shit out of him in a goddamn van.”

“All night long.” Wade laughs - and then sighs fondly, “And isn’t that just the same thing?”

Fingers encircle his cock from below before he can retort, squeezing. A tug as he guides him into the tight clench of your pussy, and Logan thinks he really should just shove his claws into Wade’s dick.

But that desire bleeds away, as you stretch around him. The twin groans from beneath him, the sounds blending together.

“Oh,” You moan, clenching around him. Back arching, as he slips in another inch, “Makes sense. Was… was just wondering why it took you so long to join us.”

Logan goes still for a moment, with this new information. A realization that he could have had this the whole time, if he had asked.

That Wade hadn’t been joking before.

He groans, hips snapping forward. A grunt below as your knees squeeze against Wade’s throat, but from the way you squirm, Logan can tell that his mouth is at work again.

Teasing at your clit, as his own hips slowly start to move. Feet planting on the bedroom floor as his hands fit against his waist.

Using the leverage to drive himself deep. Hips flush as his balls slap against your skin, growing sticky with your release.

“This is hot, this is so fucking hot,” Wade groans, babbling as he sucks in a breath, “I’m so going to jerk my dick raw thinking about this later.”

And with the reminder, he supposes he can throw his roommate a bone.

“Come on, baby,” Logan rasps - reaching. A little nudge against your chin, angling your head, “Looks like he needs a little help.”

It’s benevolent. It’s selfish - his fingers biting into skin as you realize what he means. Watching as you tug at the waistband of Wade’s sweatpants, pushing them down.

The man moans, from between your thighs. Sweet nothings mumbled as your hand wraps around his cock, angling it into your waiting mouth.

Watching how the leaking tip presses into your cheek. The buck of his hips as you fist moves, while you suck - your spit slicking up his cock.

It looks like the rest of him. Mottled skin, the tip flushed a deeper shade of red. Long and thick in your hand - Logan’s cock throbbing at the way you swallow him down, how your lips part to make him fit.

His pace picking up. Pounding into your tight, wet cunt as Wade groans against your clit. Tongue lapping and licking, winding you higher as Logan drives you towards a second.

Slowly drifting, as the flicks of his tongue grow longer. The tip pressing against your folds, as you groan around his cock.

Further down. Tasting the tang of your release - the salt of skin where you’re split open, stretched wide.

And then further. Logan jerks, as something wet drags along his shaft.

“Wade.” It comes out as a rough growl. Pitching into a huffing whine when it happens again, flattening against the heavy weight of his balls.

Choking him, as his rhythm stutters. Hips flexing into you as he grinds himself flush, teeth gritting.

“Fuck.” It’s hushed, pulled from his lungs.

Having to find himself again - hold back the urge to come right that second - as you squirm beneath him. Wade’s tongue traveling from your clit to the tight seam of his sack, his hips rocking in your mouth.

Finding a rhythm together, Logan’s head tilting back. The room filled with lewd sounds of their joining, of wet mouths and the rhythmic pounding of the headboard against the wall.

Lucky that Al was out for the morning, or else they’d never hear the end of it.

Your cries pitch up, as his cock drags against the spot his fingers found. Something clenching deep in his guts, eyes dragging down to how you look wrapped around him. The pink peek of tongue beneath, how the combination makes his toes curl.

Imagining another morning. Sharing you in another way, his cock buried in your ass while your lover fills your cunt. Whimpering between them, unable to form words.

The sound you make now are not that different - the cadence of your panting is one he’s coming to recognize.

“You close, sweetheart?” He rasps, arcing over you, “Can feel your pussy clenching around me. So fucking tight, can’t wait to feel you come all over my cock.”

It pulls a moan from you, head lifting from Wade’s cock. Resting against his stomach, as your hand wraps around him. The jerk of your fist messy, off rhythm.

“Yeah, you are.” Logan hums, as his hips rut into you, “Come on, Wilson. Make our girl come.”

There’s a rough groan. Wade listens for once, head tilting to suck at your clit. Logan concentrating on the angle that makes you cry out, a hand fisting in the sheets.

Their names a mumbled mess on your lips, as you’re yanked higher and higher. Your moans pitching up, growing louder.

Just like his dreams. Even better, really.

“Please,” You whine, “I’m, I’m-”

A high-pitched gasp, then, as your face buries against Wade’s hips. As your pussy clamps down around his cock, fluttering with the steady saw of his hips.

“Good fucking girl.” The praise is soft, as his thumbs rub circles against your skin, “That’s it, let him taste how sweet you are.”

Working together, the tight licks against your clit going lazy again. Dipping to your entrance to taste your release against his shaft, Wade’s cock leaking and bobbing against his stomach.

Drawing out your pleasure, until the stars fade from your half-lidded eyes. Until the rushing in your veins ebb, and the pulse around his cock fades.

A low sigh, before Logan’s reaching - his chin tucking against your shoulder. His hand curling around yours, guiding it back to Wade's cock.

“Don’t forget about him.” Another command, but gentle this time. His hand moving with yours, palm mapping your knuckles as he sets a rhythm, “There you go.”

He could let go. You’ve found yourself again, eyes hazy. But he keeps his hand there. Keeps a pace that is so much firmer than your own, his own hips matching the rhythm as he chases his own end.

Wade’s groan replaces yours. A hand leaving your thigh to wrap around his, biting down hard into muscle. It only drives him deeper into you. Logan’s own moan bitten back as the tongue against his dick slips against his sack again.

Then against the thin layer of skin just behind, teasing.

“Fuck.” It’s a rough growl.

His hand works faster, teeth gritting. Feral sounds caught in his throat, as the pressure in his belly grows.

The last thing he sees before he comes is the drips of white against his knuckles. The warmth, a ragged groan against the inside of his thigh. Your mouth closing around to catch the rest, taking Wade’s cock into your throat with a soft sigh.

It robs him of his breath. A shuddering moan, as he grinds himself deep. Spilling into you again and again with each pulse of his cock, blood rushing in his ears.

Legs threatening to give as he empties himself, as his chest presses flush against your back. His face buried in your hair, as your tongue traces his knuckles. Cleaning them, as he did for you.

When he can, Logan eases from you with a grunt. Watching how you gape, then clench, now empty.

A bead of his release welling up, dripping against your skin. You go to move, but Wade’s hands curl around your calves - pulling you flush.

It’s hard to look away, as he licks away Logan’s come. A sharp ache of desire with the sound of a needy groan, as his tongue dipping inside.

Maybe Wade doesn’t have such a bad mouth, after all.

Logan’s arm is numb, but he can’t bring himself to move. Can’t remember a time when he’d let his brain turn off like this. A brief moment of silence, and it’s bliss. His world standing still.

“So that’s how you do it.” You muse quietly, dizzily. Head cradled against his chest - fingers dragging through the hair, gently scratching.

A stirring on his other side, where Wade is using his bicep like a pillow.

“Mm, I don’t think I got it,” Wade counters, but it’s soft - hazy at the edges. “Think I missed a couple steps. Was that round two or three?

"Three," You say - as Logan grunts, "Two."

The fingers on his chest drift down, dipping over his stomach.

“Well, either way...” You hum, snuggling a little closer, “Maybe you oughta show us, one more time.”

Wade flips over then, chin propped in his hand, “At least. Maybe even twice. We’re bad learners, peanut. Dumb as fucking rocks, really.”

“Mhmm,” You sigh, “Really dumb. Can't even count.”

And he can’t stop the twitch of his lips, even with his eyes closed. Had forgotten what it was like to be warm like this.

To be wanted.

And maybe, he even feels… content.

Something he never thought he’d be, again.

thank you so much for reading! it means so much and I am so happt to be dipping my toes into these pairings💖

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filthy-khajiit · 11 months ago

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part one

obsession

series masterlist .. masterlist .. taglist

warnings - mentions and descriptions of violence and gore, mentions of racism (Merle), feelings of paranoia, profanity

idle hands

A man of few words often had little to say, but never had he truly been rendered speechless the way he was when you arrived at the quarry.

It wasn’t your best of days, but you were captivating nonetheless. Even when it was littered with abrasions and bruises, your face was just so perfectly framed by the mess of unkempt hair, and even though your eyes were dressed in dark bags and layers of terror, they were brilliant. Simply put, you were a disaster of the most beautiful kind, and Daryl knew the moment he laid eyes on you that he was wading upstream, knee-deep in shit’s creek.

That was back in the beginning, when walking corpses and unimaginable gore were still new territories for most people. You were shaken up from the events that led you to this new group of people in the first place. Back then, you were more human; still affected so deeply by loss. Watching your family die left you vulnerable, malleable, terrified. With the constant threat of pain and death looming over you, your mind was sharper. Constantly balancing along that thin line between fight or flight.

That day, though — the day you met him — you discovered a new fear response: fawn.

The second your eyes befell him, you froze. Your pupils wide, gulping dryly in the Georgian sun, time came to a stop as you took in the site. There was something unsettling about him. He didn’t just see you, he studied you. You could practically feel him soaking you in, memorizing every detail. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about him that made you squirm. Maybe it was his narrow slits where his eyes should have been, tracking your movements, or his large frame reminding you just how weak you really were in a man-eat-man world.

Luckily for you, he didn’t spend much time around camp. He was a hunter — fitting, you thought — and he was usually off in the trees somewhere.

Though, despite him being out of sight, he rarely left your mind at ease. His eyes left a lingering impression on your flesh. You could always feel the chill of his cool gaze tracing over you. As you worked around camp or tried to keep cool from the sun, you constantly glanced over at the forest in any direction. You felt as if he’d be standing there, watching you. You never saw him there at the edge of the woods like you anticipated, but you always wondered if he was still there, lurking deeper in the in the shadows, beyond your line of sight.

He quickly instilled a sense of paranoia in you. You always watched for him, always hoping he’d be there despite the sense of danger his presence alone caused you.

The others around the quarry began to worry for you. They noticed the way you’d shrink away when he walked past, they felt you physically recoil. The Dixons had a reputation. Whether it be back home where they wreaked havoc on the locals, or there at the quarry where those they terrified relied on them too much to get rid of them. They worried for someone like you, very clearly and quickly becoming the target of the younger, quieter Dixon.

You supposed it could have been worse — right? At least it wasn’t the asshole cop with a fetish for widows, or the older Dixon spouting racist idiocy at the drop of a hat. All things considered, you were fed, clothed, and you even had your own tent. Comparatively speaking, you were probably better off than most people in Georgia, or, maybe even the entire USA. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Y/N.” Shane interrupted your thoughts. “Ya got an extra pair of hands you could lend to the girls down by the water?”

You glanced down at the hands in question, folded idly on your lap as you rested for the first time in days. Since your arrival at camp, Shane had been very clear about having another mouth to feed, and how you needed to earn your keep. So, every day, you crawled out of your tent, stretched your aching muscles, and found a new task to occupy your time. Yesterday, it was sewing the holes in everyone’s clothes. The day before, it was repairing fishing lines. Before that, gathering wood and boiling water. You had hoped today would be the day you got to take a break, just like everyone else got a day to rest every now and then. Hell, even the Dixons didn’t hunt every single day.

“I guess.” You shrugged, groaning as you pushed yourself up to your feet and brushed the dust from your jeans.

“Guesswork ain’t puttin’ food in your belly.” Shane retorted. “Go on now.” He concluded with a pat on your shoulder. You clenched your jaw as his hand made contact with your shirt, struggling to contain the scowl that begged to show.

Down by the water, the ladies were chatting casually, dunking garments in and out of the water as they did. All of the women were there, save for Lori, who conveniently managed to evade laundry duty every time. You wondered if it had anything to do with the previously mentioned asshole cop and his fetish for widows.

“Shane sent you down?” Carol wondered, squinting up at you as she wiped sweat from her face.

“I told him we had it covered.” Andrea added.

“It’s okay.” You shrugged, sitting down on your knees at the edge of the water. “I had an extra pair of hands.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s instrument.” Jacqui said as she wrung out the shirt she had just washed.

“That is what they say.” Carol agreed.

“Please.” Andrea snorted. “That’s just a saying some old men made up so we wouldn’t play with ourselves.”

Everyone paused and looked at her then. She glanced around at everyone and shrugged.

“What?” She asked defensively. “It only takes a few minutes to realize we’re better off doing it ourselves.”

You all snickered at that, finding little reason to argue.

“That goes for a lot of things.” Jacqui said.

“Yup. Laundry, dishes, dinner… If you want it done right, you do it yourself.” Carol commented.

As the ladies carried on with their domestic complaints of men being useless in just about every job description that doesn’t include brute strength, your mind wandered elsewhere. Your eyes scanned over the water as you mindlessly scrubbed smelly jeans. Their voices became distant and distorted. Images of rotting teeth displayed behind your eyelids every time you blinked — tearing into your sister’s flesh, ripping her apart, eating her alive. If you listened closely, you could hear her scream. You could see your dad reach out for her, arm stretching into the horde of death. You could see them grab him too. You could feel their cold fingers wrap around his arm and pull him in. You could smell their blood.

“Y/N?” Amy snapped her fingers in front of your face. You blinked, realizing all five of them were watching you with worry. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Yeah, just… Tired.” You assured them.

“Well, no wonder.” Carol mumbled. “Been here eight days and haven’t taken not one break. You need rest.”

“Shane wants me to earn my keep.” You reminded her.

“You’ve been earning it just fine.” She argued. “You do more around here than he does for Pete’s sake. Just cause what we do doesn’t look hard doesn’t mean it’s not hard work.”

“Preaching to the choir.” Jacqui scoffed. “Women have been saying that since the beginning of time. The men protect and hunt, we do everything else. Everything.”

Between the six of you — Carol, Jacqui, Amy, Andrea, Mrs.Morales, and you — the laundry only took about an hour. None of you were complaining, as you’d all seen it take a full day before with less hands on deck. For a small camp of people who had to leave behind everything they’d ever worked toward, you all sure knew how to rack up some dirty laundry. Then again, with this heat, maybe you were glad that hygiene was still a priority.

You skipped lunch that day, as the pickings were slim as it was already and you figured the kids needed it more. You instead decided to retire to your tent for a quick nap before Shane came around again with some obscure task for you to complete.

Surprisingly, nobody bothered to wake you that afternoon, or that night. By the time you woke, most people were asleep. Someone had left you a tin can full of stew from dinner that night outside your tent. You figured it was Carol, as she was the most likely to care enough to do so. You scarfed down the cold leftovers viciously before you stumbled down to the quarry to wash up.

A lot of the women tended to bathe at the same time, as a way to look out for each other, but you’d overslept so you’d just have to make it quick.

Your clothes clung to your wet skin as you redressed yourself. You squeezed excess water out of your hair as you wandered back to camp. The night was quiet, except for Ed’s snoring. You wondered how the walkers hadn’t found you all here yet. You were sure his snores echoed all the way down to the city.

You took a seat on the steps of the RV, folding your hands together in your lap as you stared at the remaining embers of the campfire. It was a rule to keep flames low, even when it was cold. You sort of didn’t mind. The glowing ashes resembled twinkling stars if you squinted hard enough.

Your thoughts began to take over as they often did while you remained fixated on the remnants of a dead fire. A distant rustling caught your ear. You struggled to adjust your eyes to the dark, scanning in the direction of the noise until two figures emerged from the trees. Quickly you realized it was Daryl, sneaking off into the woods in the middle of the night. You weren’t sure if he noticed you there.

You wondered what he could have been doing. Surely hunting in the dark was no easy feat, so what was he up to? You glanced back down at your lap, where your hands sat idly, folded together.

“Idle hands are the devil’s instrument.” You whispered to yourself as you fingers twitched. You had a choice or make that night. Funny how those old sayings often rendered true. Had you not been sitting there with nothing else to do, maybe you wouldn’t have made the decision you made. Maybe things would have been different.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway @ophelialaufey @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfsalltheway

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filthy-khajiit · 11 months ago

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I would love a fic of this where the reader is so sweet and he is trying to hold back, try his hardest not to seem like he is into her. He has to go jerk off to release steam. Perhaps she catches him on accident but offers a little help 😏😙

butcher jerks off to the thought of how sweet and nice you are. it turns him on so bad seeing what a sunshune you are, no negative thoughts clouding your mind. he imagines letting his stress out on you in bed, corrupting you and making you cock drunk, drool spilling out of your mouth while he bruises you and marks you snd ruins you for any other man

#fanfic #butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys #william butcher #billy butcher smut

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filthy-khajiit · 11 months ago

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filthy-khajiit · 11 months ago

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Interruptions

Billy Butcher x fem!reader

Warnings: alcohol, weed, smoking, sexual tension

Just finished the boys and Billy Butcher has taken my brain hostage. Enjoy this crap that I wrote at 2 am.

The atmosphere was light and everyone was laughing. Everyone except Billy Butcher. He sat in the corner of the makeshift little living room in a leather recliner that had seen its better days.

You narrow your eyes as you see his flat expression. You step away from Hughie, “Hold on.” He scoffs, “It’s almost our turn!” He complains, having been waiting for our turn on a Just Dance. Kimiko saw it on a shelf and we just HAD to give it a try. You roll your eyes at his words, “You’ll do great. I promise.” You walk over to Butcher and nudge his shoulder. “You’re quiet tonight.”

He glanced over at you, a light smile now playing on his lips, "Yeah, well, just got some things on the mind is all.” He said, leaning back in the chair.

You take a seat on the arm of the chair, “Like what?”

Butcher paused for a moment, contemplating whether to tell you or not. He exhaled deeply, "Just about the Supe cunts, mainly Homelander."

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re always so wrapped up in that. Take a break. Even MM is having fun.” You gesture to MM who has now taken your place in the game, both with drunken smiles.

Butcher raised an eyebrow at your comment, not amused. "Yeah? Well, it makes sense that I'm wrapped up in it, it’s my damn life.” He said, sounding frustrated.

“I know you do, and you will,” You say with a confident smile on your lips. “But for just one night. Would you stop being all grumpy?”

Butcher sighed, looking over at you and the others having fun. He found himself relaxing a bit, a slight smirk appearing on his face. He looked back at you. "Fine, just for you. But only for tonight, got it?"

You smile, “that’s all I ask.” You get up getting Butcher a beer. You open the top and pass it to him, “Now get up, and live a little.”

He takes the beer from you, his smirk growing into a faint smile. He stands up, stretching his legs before taking a swig of the beer. "Alright, I'll bite. What did you have in mind?"

“Well, Hughie and MM did just finish their game of just dance. I’ll even let you pick the song.” You bat my lashes at him in the hope of him agreeing.

Butcher rolls his eyes, sighing in feigned annoyance, but a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"You're so damn cheeky, you know that?" He chides, taking a step closer to you. “You love it.” Butcher smirks, a rare, genuine one. He steps even closer, his dark eyes meeting yours. "You're lucky you're cute."

You smile at him, “You think I’m cute?” You tease him. Butcher laughs lightly, his expression becoming more mischievous. He steps even closer. "Oh, you know damn well you're cute. And irritatingly cheeky. It's a dangerous combination."

He’s always like this. So flirty with no real promise of affection. You hate feeling yourself fall for him more and more every day. You raise your brows having an idea. “Do you wanna go smoke some of Frenchie’s stash?”

Butcher leans back against the nearest table, taking a swig of beer. He studied your face for a moment before grinning. "Why not? Might as well let loose a little tonight." He agreed, knowing damn well that smoking with you won't do anything good for him.

This scene is so familiar. Butcher and you under the makeshift shelter the team put together on the roof of the current safe house. Passing a joint back and forth as you sit and make conversation.

Butcher inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs before slowly exhaling. He passed the joint to you, his hand lingering on yours for a moment. He observed you as you took a hit, admiring your delicate hands holding the joint and the way you exhaled the smoke.

You laugh remembering earlier. “I got a video of Hughie singing Mama Mia.” Butcher grins widely at that, taking the joint from you and having another drag. "That's bloody brilliant. I need to see that." He says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He passes the joint back to you.

You pull your phone out showing him the video. Hughie sings loudly in the bathroom mirror. “Mama Mia. Here I go again.” He dances before he takes notice of you. “HEY!” He screams before running after you. You laugh as you rewatch it. Your back hits Butcher's chest as he watches over your shoulder.

Butcher watches the video intently, his chest rumbling as he chuckles at Hughie's ridiculous attempt at singing. As you lean back into his chest, he adjusts his position, bringing his arm around your waist to keep you close.

"Cunt sounds terrible. Bloody hell." He laughs. He glances down at you, his hand resting on your hip.

You gulp feeling the pressure of his hand on your hip. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your shoulder blade. You take another drag of the joint, attempting the calm your nerves. You didn’t have anything to say…. You didn’t know what to say….

Butcher studied you silently, his gaze fixed on your profile. He noticed the way you gulped, your small intake of breath as he placed his hand on your hip. He could feel the heat emanating from your body against his chest and the way your back fit snuggly against him. He took the joint from you, their fingers brushing gently as he did so. He exhaled the smoke quietly, breaking the silence.

"You're quiet." He commented, his voice low.

You look over your shoulder to see him peering down at you. You couldn’t help to look down at his lips, just for a second. “I’m just… relaxed. That’s all.” You meet his eyes again.

Butcher was keenly aware of the way your eyes momentarily darted to his lips, and he smirked, noticing your not-so-subtle reaction. He tightened his hold on your hip, bringing you close to him. "Just relaxed, huh?" He teased, his voice a low rumble. You lean against him. Your hand travels to his jaw, tracing it. “perfectly relaxed.”

Butcher's breath hitches in his throat as your hand touches his jaw, tracing its sharpness. His heart rate quickens, his body responding to your touch instinctively. He leans in slightly, his breath hot against your ear, "Is that right?" He murmurs, his voice lower than usual. His hand on your hip tightens even more.

“How do you feel? Not so grumpy anymore I hope.” You smirk continuing to trace his features.

Butcher's response was a sly smile, his gaze still fixed on you. Your continued tracing of him was slowly but surely driving him insane, and he found himself enjoying it more than he'd like to admit. "I guess you could say I'm feeling a bit more….relaxed, thanks to you." He said, his voice slightly strained. His hand on your hip moved downward, resting just above your thigh.

The pull of a magnet had you both inches away, lips breathing on the other, almost kissing. The heat between you was becoming palpable. The air was charged and the tension between you nearly visible. Butcher's eyes darkened as he felt your hot breath on his lips, and his hand on your hip inched even downward, his fingers gently tracing the soft skin of your thigh.

"You're driving me crazy." He whispered, his lips barely touching yours. You hum, “Feelings mutual, Butcher.”

His name sounded like a sinful prayer leaving your lips, and it sent a shiver down his spine. His grip on your hip tightened even more, and he pushed you back against the wall, trapping you between his body and the cool surface.

"Keep saying my name like that, and I'm going to lose my damn mind." He warned, his voice a low growl.

Only centimeters away, and just as our lips were about to connect, the fucking door to the roof bursts open. Frenchie bursts in. “You two! Stealing from friends now?”

Butcher peels away from you and you jump away from him. Butcher shoots Frenchie a glare, irritation, and frustration evident in his expression. The moment between him and you was abruptly interrupted.

"It's called borrowing, you twat." He snaps, his voice gruff. He's internally seething. I try to take a hit from the joint but it has long gone out. Frenchie shakes his head, “Wasteful you two!”

Butcher's annoyance only grows as Frenchie criticizes. He shoves his hands into his pockets, the urge to strangle the Frenchman growing by the second. "Shove off, Frenchie. It's none of your business what we do up here." He grumbles, his eyes hard.

Hughie appears behind Frenchie, his brows heightened. “What do you two do up here?” He teases. Butcher turns his glare on Hughie, his irritation reaching its peak. He's not in the mood for their jokes and teasing, especially after the moment he was having with you was interrupted. He takes a step closer to Hughie, his voice cold. He fires with a smirk, “We don’t sing fucking Mama Mia. I’ll tell you that.”

Hughie raises his hands in surrender, a sheepish look on his face. It's clear he's embarrassed about his earlier shenanigans in the bathroom. "Hey, I am drunk. I have no control over my actions." He defends himself, trying to play it down.

Butcher rolls his eyes and glances at you, his irritation starting to subside now that the mood has lightened somewhat

Sadly you and Butcher didn’t have another chance to see where that moment would’ve gone. The night ended with a very drunk Hughie and you having to babysit him all night.

Butcher spent the rest of the night in his thoughts. His mind kept wandering back to the moment he had with you. The feel of your breath on his lips, the way your hand traced his jaw. He occasionally glanced in your direction, watching as you helped a very drunk Hughie. His mind filled with various thoughts regarding the almost-kiss that was interrupted, and the way your body felt against his.

You were up early the next morning, hair a mess, sleep still in your eyes. You make the coffee and pour a very large cup. Standing still in the middle of the kitchen trying to wake up.

Butcher stumbled into the kitchen, hair disheveled and eyes still heavy with sleep. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, and he made his way toward the counter where you were standing, still mostly asleep. He took a moment to look at you, taking in your messy hair and the groggy expression on your face. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Mornin' " He greets, his voice gravelly from sleep. You raise your head greeting Butcher with a small smile. “Morning,” you mumbled.

Something so domestic, so comfortable was growing. However nice it was, it was even more complicated and confusing for both you and Butcher.

Butcher takes a long sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving your face. The comfortable familiarity of the moment was not lost on him, and he found himself both enjoying it and feeling conflicted about it. He leaned against the counter, his gaze intense. “You still half asleep?" He asks, studying your sleepy expression with a hint of amusement.

You nod rubbing your eyes and letting one more yawn escape. “Fucking Hughie started crying about Annie at 2 in the morning. Something over a fucking popsicle. How he had the last one and she got mad.”

Butcher laughs at your comment, his mood lifting slightly. He shakes his head in disbelief, “Son’s a mess. Crying over a popsicle at 2 in the morning?" He muses, unable to suppress his laughter. He looks at you, a slight smirk on his face. “You held his hand and sang him a lullaby to help him sleep, didn't you?”

You laugh, the first genuine smile staining your face this morning. “What else was I supposed to do?”

You bend down to reach inside the refrigerator, retrieving a variety of ingredients to make breakfast. “Are you hungry, Butcher?” You ask, head still inside the refrigerator.

Butcher leans against the counter, his eyes roaming over your figure as you bend down. A small smirk played on his lips as he observed you in your morning wear, looking domestic and lovely at the same time.

"Yeah, I could eat." He replies, his eyes following you as you move around the kitchen. He pauses for a moment, watching you prepare the food, his mind briefly wandering to the almost-kiss from last night.

You could feel his eyes following your every move. A small smirk makes its way to my lips. “Do me a favor?” You look over your shoulder at him. “Get the sugar for me? It's in the top cabinet right here above me.”

In such a familiar way of bringing back the previous night's position. Butcher stood with his chest pressed on my back. His hand planted firmly on my hips. You weren’t dumb, you’d never forget the sugar.

Butcher's breath hitched in his throat at the feeling of your body against his. His hands gripped your hips possessively, and he pressed himself closer to you, his chest firm against your back. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, and he couldn't help but relish in the closeness between you. He leaned his head down, his lips hovering close to your ear, “You play dirty, you know that?" He teased, his voice low and rough.

You look behind, mimicking the previous night's movements almost perfectly. Traceing his jaw, leaning back into him. “Baby, that’s the only what to play.”

Butcher's heartbeat quickens as you trace his jaw, the feel of your fingers on his skin sending heat through him. Your proximity was both intoxicating and maddening, and he found himself wanting to pull you even closer to him.

"You're trouble, you know that?" He murmured, his voice slightly shaky. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively

“If I wasn’t would I be here?” Your nose trails on his neck as you whisper. Butcher's throat goes immediately dry as your nose trails along his neck, his pulse quickening in response to your touch.

"You got me there." He manages to croak out. His hands on your hips shift, pulling you even closer to him. Once again in such proximity, our lips could touch. Nothing stopping us.

Butcher's gaze flicks down to your lips, barely an inch away from his own. The urge to kiss you is stronger than ever, and he can practically taste you already just standing so close. His breath is ragged, his heart hammering in his chest, as he fights against the overwhelming need to just lean in and press his lips to yours.

"You're... driving me crazy.." He mutters, his voice thick with desire.

“Oh, waffles!” Hughie mumbles happily as he stumbles into the kitchen. Butcher pulls away again. The moment lost AGAIN. You could feel the frustration brewing in your chest. We had to get away from these boys for an hour at least.

Butcher mentally flails as Hughie once again interrupts the moment between you. Frustration and irritation seethe through Butcher as he steps away from you.

Hughie, oblivious to the tension in the air, bounds over to the counter, eyeing the food you are preparing. "Morning!" He greets, his voice annoyingly cheerful.

“So you’re a happy hungover person,” You state with a slight laugh. Butcher stays leaning against the counter next to your frame.

Hughie laughs nonchalantly as if the night before hadn't even happened. He grabs a waffle from the stack you'd already made and takes a bite. "Yeah, I guess I am. Except for the killer headache." He grimaces, rubbing his forehead.

Butcher's patience is at a new low. He stands silently beside you, arms crossed over his chest, barely controlling his frustration. You weren’t the boys fucking mother.

“Tylenol and Advil are in the cabinet to the left.” Hughie nods appreciatively at your mention of the painkillers, moving towards the cabinet by the wall to retrieve a bottle of Advil.

You look at Butcher with a smirk. You’re just as frustrated, but seeing the man so torn up was a fun sight.

Butcher catches your smirk and gives you a pointed look, still seething from the interruptions. He leans against the counter and mutters under his breath. "He has the worst timing in history."

Everyone filed in one by one taking their share of breakfast foods. “This is amazing,” MM says as he nods at his full plate. “You better not fuck this up, man.” He whispers to Butcher as he walks by. A simple joke at best, but so much truth hidden behind those words.

Butcher shoots MM a glare as he passes by with his plate, but doesn’t say anything. His irritation has only heightened with the presence of the other Boys. They’d never have a chance at a moment alone. He takes a seat at the table with his own plate, his gaze flickering towards you every now and then.

Out on a mission you encountered The Deep. His eyes meet yours in the crowd. You look away instantly. “Guys, The fucking Deep saw me,” you say into the radio com.

Butcher's voice responds immediately, an urgency in his tone “Where are you at?"

“In the middle of the fucking crowd!” You move through the venue but The Deep trails behind you steadily. “Oh my god. He’s fucking following me.” You say rolling your eyes.

Butcher's voice comes again on the radio, irritation clear in his words "You try and lose him. Whatever you do, don't let him talk to you."

Just against his wishes The Deep stops in front of you and gives you a smug smile, completely oblivious to who you are. He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on your figure a little too long.

"Well, hey there. I don't think I've seen you around here before." He says, his voice low and smooth. “Oh, I’m just doing media coverage. Nothing big. Just some Instagram posts and stories for the new aquarium. Little highlights of the night.” The Deep's eyes light up at your comment, a smirk appearing on his face.

"Instagram, huh? I love Instagram." He says, leaning closer to you. His gaze roams over you once more. "You looking for an interview? I can give you a good one." He offers.

You smile at him. “Gosh, that’d be so great, but I’m just about to head out. I’ve got all my coverage.” The Deep pouts dramatically, his smile faltering slightly. "Oh, really? That's a shame." He says, the disappointment clear in his voice. He takes a step closer to you, his eyes still focused on your face. “You sure you don't have time for just one quick interview? It'll be easy, I swear."

Butcher's voice comes through your earpiece, his tone gruff and warning. "Don't do it."

The Deep takes a step closer and you step back. “My ride is waiting so…”

The Deep's eyes are still fixated on you, and he steps forward again, closing the distance between you, "Your ride can wait a little longer, right? I'm sure they wouldn't mind." He says with a charming smile, a hint of persuasion in his voice.

Before you could disagree, The Deep's grip on your upper arm is firm and insistent. He leads you through the crowd, his stride confident and assured. We enter a small section, only a few stragglers moving about, not paying us any mind.

The Deep releases your arm and strikes a pose, his charming smile in full effect. He's clearly enjoying the moment, thinking he's landed himself a good interview. "So, you wanted to ask some questions? Go ahead." He says, gesturing for you to start the interview.

You scramble my camera out and begin recording, asking the most ridiculous fake questions about marine life. The Deep responds to your questions with a mixture of overconfidence and cringy concern, clearly enjoying being in the spotlight.

He talks about marine life and their dating habits, even managing to slip in a few self-congratulatory remarks about how heroic he is.

At the end of the interview, he grabs your phone. Insisting on taking a selfie. You smile trying to contain the laughter at this complete idiot. The Deep holds your phone up, a wide grin plastered on his face "Say starfish!" He chirps, before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close to him.

“Wow.” You let a laugh slip. “Thanks so much. I’ll remember this.”

The Deep misses your sarcasm entirely, mistaking it for genuine gratitude. He laughs in a self-satisfied way, patting you on the shoulder. "Hey, anytime. I always love meeting a fan." He says, his ego inflated by your supposed admiration.

He leaves and you quickly make your exit and walk 15 minutes to the meeting point. You walk in and burst into laughter. “That fucking idiot just wanted an interview.”

Butcher watches you walk in, a mix of relief and irritation on his face. The thought of The Deep talking to you sends a pang of jealousy through him, but your burst of laughter puts him at ease.

"You didn't let him say anything stupid, did you?" He asks, his tone gruff. I smirk and lift my phone “just some dumbass selfie.” Butcher crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at your phone.

"Well don’t you two look all chummy." He mutters, a hint of jealousy in his voice. You stare at him, the joke suddenly sour. “What?”

Butcher's eyes meet yours as he sees the change in your expression. His jealousy is obvious, although he tries to hide it. "What do you mean 'what'? You were all smiles with The Deep, giggling and taking pictures." He retorts, his voice growing slightly harsher.

“What was I supposed to do? Dip out of there? Run away? That would be even more suspicious. I wasn’t enjoying my time.”

Butcher lets out a frustrated sigh, "No, you're right. Running would have been worse. Don’t change the fact that he touched you, took your bloody phone, and then wanted a picture with you." He mutters, the jealousy in his voice growing stronger. Butcher's eyes flicker around the room, seeing the others watching the two of you. Never alone you two are.

"Damnit." He mutters under his breath, his irritation growing at the presence of the other Boys.

You look over to the room down the hall. You grab Butcher's wrist and drag him inside, closing the door. “What is your problem?”

His expression was a mix of frustration and bewilderment, “What do you mean 'what's my problem'? You were giggling and taking pictures with that fish idiot, and now you want to know what my problem is?" He snaps back, his voice rising slightly

Realization hit and you smirk at him, “You’re jealous.”

Butcher's eyes widen at your comment, surprised by your bluntness. He stands, his arms folded across his chest

"Jealous? Oh, come off it." *He says, trying to brush off your statement, but his scowl and flustered tone give him away.

“Oh, so you would mind if I just called him? He asked me out?” You tease Butcher with the fake scandal to push his buttons. His eyes narrow at your words, a flare of jealousy igniting in his gaze

"You...what?!" He splutters, taken aback by your revelation. The thought of The Deep asking you out makes his blood boil, and he clenches his fists in frustration.

“Well I mean, if you’re not jealous, then what’s the point, might as well say yes to the Deep, right?” I push further.

"Fuckin hell, is this some kinda test?" He mutters, his tone gruff. He steps closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours.

“Bingo genius”

Butcher glowers down at you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "It’s just all a game to you, huh? Just trying to rile me up?" His voice is tight, frustration and anger evident in his tone. He steps closer, his body just a few inches from yours.

“I just think it’d be nice to hear you say it,” you smirk, relishing this moment. Butcher grits his teeth, the tension between the two of you almost palpable.

"Say what? That I'm jealous? That the thought of The Deep touching you, laughing with you and having the bloody nerve to ask you out makes me furious? Is that what you want to hear?" He practically growls, his voice laced with frustration.

You lean into his frame, placing your hand on his chest. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Butcher's breath catches at the feeling of your hand on his chest. The tension in the room is thick, and his eyes lock onto yours.

"You know damn well I'm jealous. The thought of that idiot even looking at you, let alone touching you, drives me insane." He admits through gritted teeth, the anger and possessiveness clear in his voice.

“Well then, why don’t you just… fucking kiss me already.”

Butcher's eyes widen at your words, surprise and desire mixing in his gaze. He grabs your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"You want me to kiss you? Right now? Here, in this room, with the others just outside?" He mutters, his voice husky and low. His heart is racing, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

You shrug, the smile thick. “I mean if you don’t want to, that’s fine.” You go to back away from Butcher, but his grip tightens on your waist, preventing you from moving away. He pulls you even closer, his body pressing against yours.

"Oh no, you don't." *He murmurs, his voice rough. His eyes rake over your face, his desire for you nearly overwhelming him.

Butcher lets out a low growl as your arms wrap around him, his fingers digging into your hips. His gaze roams over your face, taking in every detail before his eyes flit down to your lips

"Every damn time I see you, I just want to push you up against a wall...and show you just how much I-"

The quick knock and opening of the door had me fuming. You turn towards it, “what?” You glare. All four other members of the Boys stand outside with sheepish expressions. “we gotta go, now.” urgency in MM’s voice.

The night had fallen quiet. All members of the team had returned safely after being tracked. You were sitting in your room changing into night clothes when a sharp knock on the door came.

Butcher stands outside your room, his mind replaying the events of the night. He had finally had you in his arms, but that damn interruption had ruined everything. Now he was standing outside your door, summoning the courage to knock again. Taking a deep breath, he raps his knuckles against the wood and waits for a response.

You open the door seeing Butcher, “Hey, I thought you went to bed.”

Butcher stands in the doorway, his eyes raking over your nightclothes. He tries to keep his composure, but the sight of you like this makes his blood run hot. "Nah. Couldn't sleep." *

He mutters, his eyes roaming over your curves unabashedly.

You smirk knowingly. You couldn’t sleep either if you tried. “Wonder why.” You open the door wider. Butcher steps into the room, his eyes locking onto yours as the door closes behind him. The air between the two of you is charged, thick with tension and desire.

"You're a damn tease, you know that?" He mutters, crossing the room to stand in front of you. “Isn’t that what you like about me though?”

Butcher steps closer, his body almost touching yours. His eyes rake over your body, taking in every inch of you in the dim light

"You drive me absolutely crazy, and you know it." He mutters, his voice low and hoarse. His hands reach out, skimming the material of your nightclothes before resting on your hips.

“I think we’ve wasted enough time. Don’t you, Butcher?”

Butcher's chest rumbles with a low growl as he stares down at you. His eyes blaze with desire, every part of him aching for you. He pulls you closer, his hands sliding over your curves until they rest on the small of your back

"Too much time being interrupted," *He whispers, his voice thick with need. You cling to him with haste. Wrapping around him. Butcher lets out a guttural groan as your body wraps around him. His arms envelop you, holding you tight against him. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent like a man starving for air.

"Fuck," He groans, his voice muffled against your skin. Butcher's lips crash against yours with a fierce hunger. His hands roam over your body, desperate to feel every inch of you as he kisses you deeply. He lets out a low moan, his tongue brushing against yours in a frenzied exploration.

A knock on the door pulls us apart, but you shake your head pulling him back. “I locked the door. They can fuck off.” You mumbled against his lips

Butcher smirks against your lips, pleased that you've locked the door and aren’t letting his team break this moment. His hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you impossibly closer to him

"Good. Because no force on this goddamn planet can pull me away from you right now."

120 notes · View notes

filthy-khajiit · 11 months ago

Text

you're the risk, i'm gonna take it

about: reader has a huge crush on billy, eventually he finds out! oh em gee!

pairing: billy butcher x female reader (non-supe)

word count: 4.4k 🫢

warnings: usage of pet nickname but otherwise none (yet)... this is just like the build-up to the smut 😜part two will contain all that fun stuff (assuming people read this LOLSIES!)

notes: omgomg im so scared 2 post this,, i haven't written since march and i cannot stop comparing myself 2 other writers but ahh whatevs ! posting it anyways because why not. hope u enjoy...! also like barely proofread at all there could be plot holes idk im tired !! ill check later and see if anything needs tidying up

also title is a reference to Risk by Gracie Abrams

You knew it was wrong—so very wrong. He was technically still married, and on top of that, he was your boss. The power imbalance between you two was glaringly unhealthy. Despite all these red flags, you couldn't suppress the attraction you felt towards him. It tugged at you in ways you couldn't fully understand or control. You kept this secret buried deep inside, knowing full well that the Boys would never let you hear the end of it. Especially Hughie, who (bless his soul) couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he tried. So, you maintained a steady facade, or so you thought, hoping that your feelings would eventually fade away. But every stolen glance, every brief touch, only intensified your desire. The rational part of you knew better, but your heart, or maybe it was something else.. left you confused and needy for him.

"Oi, pay attention!" Butcher barked, clapping his hands sharply to yank you out of your daydream. "We’ve got to nail these bloody cunts, yeah? Get yer head outta la-la land and bloody focus."

You nodded, muttering a quick apology as you tried to zero in on his lecture—or at least make a show of it. But, predictably, your mind wandered again, slipping back into its familiar lust-driven daze.

Instead of absorbing his orders, your eyes were drawn to his big, rough hands waving emphatically. You couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to slip your own smaller hand into his, to feel the strength of his grip. Or maybe the sensation of his large, calloused fingers wrapped around your throat. It was terrible. It was filthy. But you couldn't shake it.

When your gaze wasn't fixed on his hands, it drifted to the scar that marred his otherwise ruggedly handsome face. You were fascinated by it, wanting to trace its jagged path with your fingers, to press your lips against it. Each time you caught yourself, you scolded your perverted mind for the inappropriate thoughts, but they persisted, intruding upon your focus like an unwelcome guest.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath and try to concentrate, but the tug of your desire was relentless. It was a constant battle between your duty and your yearning, each side vying for control. And as he continued to speak, oblivious to your inner turmoil, you wondered how much longer you could keep up the charade. Was it worth the embarrassment to just admit it and have some peace of mind? You weren’t quite sure.

Once he finished explaining the plan, you discreetly pulled Kimiko aside. "Can you text me the gist of it?" you asked, admitting with a sheepish smile that you had a hard time paying attention.

Kimiko gave you a concerned look, her eyes searching yours as she signed, "Are you alright?"

You nodded, trying to flash a reassuring smile, though it felt hollow even to you. "Just didn't sleep well last night. I think I'm getting my period soon; the cramps are killer," you lied. It was easier than admitting the real reason for your distraction: you had a school-girl crush on your asshole boss.. or friend, or teacher.. it was a bit hard to put your relationship into words.

Kimiko nodded understandingly, her expression softening into a sympathetic smile. "No worries. I'll text you," she signed back.

As she walked away, you felt a pang of guilt for lying, but you weren’t ready to admit the truth. The reality of your feelings was embarrassing, and you weren’t sure how it’d go over with everyone. Nobody’s crossed that line here, and you didn’t plan on being the first to make things awkward. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself and refocus on the task at hand, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his intense gaze, felt the imaginary weight of his hands. You shook your head, as if that would clear the thoughts away, but they clung stubbornly despite your best efforts.

You glanced over at Kimiko, who was now texting you the details of the plan. You envied her ability to stay focused, to compartmentalize her emotions. But you couldn't help it; every time he was near, your mind became a whirlwind of forbidden thoughts and unspoken desires.

The mission was a success, naturally. Sure, his ideas were usually a bit unethical, and rather gruesome, but they always worked out in the end. Even if a few people got caught on the crossfire.

You all filed downstairs and back to the basement, eager to change your clothes and wash the blood off your sticky, heat-licked skin. "Dibs on the shower!" you called out, watching Frenchie make a beeline for the bathroom. He stopped, turned around, gave you the finger, and muttered something you could only assume was a string of curses under his breath in French. He plopped onto the couch, and you flashed him a triumphant grin as you made your way toward the restroom.

Just before you crossed the threshold from the main area to the bathroom, you felt a tug on your arm. "Frenchie, I won't take that lo—" you began, turning around. But the words died in your throat when you saw who was holding your arm. "Oh."

Butcher stood there, his face and body speckled with blood splatters. You should have been disgusted, but somehow it only made him look more striking, in a dark and dangerous way. Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how compellingly attractive he looked in that moment. "Jesus, please get your head out of the gutter," you thought to yourself.

You knew getting romantically involved with him would be a disaster. Seeing him lose control on missions only reinforced just how true it would be. But you couldn't help yourself; your eyes betrayed you, glancing up and down his rugged form before darting back to meet his intense gaze. "Yeah?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but the blush creeping up your cheeks gave you away.

Butcher's grip on your arm loosened, his eyes narrowing as he took in your flushed face. "You can fight me for the shower, love," he said, flashing his signature smirk and dropping your arm to move past you. "But I'm gettin' in there first."

If it were anyone else, you would’ve stood your ground and barged in first. But something about him made you turn into complete jelly. Suddenly, you found yourself utterly obedient, a sensation that was both foreign and thrilling.

"Be quick, asshole," you said, turning to him with an exaggerated eye roll and a mischievous smile.

"Wasn’t plannin’ on giving meself a timer, love. If you’ve a problem with how long I take, feel free to join me. Much more efficient, yeah?" He winked, closing the door behind him.

He was joking. It was obviously a joke. He was like this with everyone. And yet, the moment the words left his lips, your mind was consumed with thoughts of how much you would absolutely love to take him up on that offer. The idea lingered, a possibility that sent shivers down your spine. Imagining his body coated with the warm spray of water, the way his muscles would ripple as he washed his hair..it was all too much.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, the sound of water running on the other side only fueling your imagination. With a deep breath, you forced yourself to turn away and retreat to your room.

Finally reaching your bed, you collapsed onto it, burying your face in the pillows in a futile attempt to clear your thoughts. But his words echoed in your mind, and the image of his teasing smile was impossible to shake.You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to wish away the fluttering in your chest. Every fiber of your being wanted to storm back to that door, to knock and join him. But you knew better. Or at least you thought you did.

Sighing, you grabbed your diary from your nightstand, hoping to distract yourself. You kept a lot of things to yourself; this was no different. Atleast writing it down would get it off your chest, even if nobody else would see it but yourself. You begin to jot everything down, from how absolutely gorgeous you find him, what you want him to do to you, the works. It was embarrassing, and it was beyond filthy, but it was yours. Nobody would see it anyways.

Clutching your diary tightly, you got up to grab a drink. It felt safer to bring it with you than to leave it out in the open on your bed. As you walked, you fumbled with the lock, desperately trying to get it shut. In your futile attempts, you failed to pay attention to where you were going and suddenly felt a thud as you accidentally walked into Hughie, causing you to drop your diary.

"Oh my god, that's embarrassing. Sorry, Hugh," you giggled. "Clearly, I wasn't paying any attention, huh?"

He shook his head, laughing with you. "And apparently, I wasn't either. You, uh," he crouched down and picked up the diary. "..dropped this. Hey, what book is this? It's got a cool cover," he remarked. "Oh, uh—!" you began, reaching for the diary, but it was too late. It was already open, and you watched his eyes flicker through the pages. You could tell exactly when his eyes reached your latest entry because his smile vanished.

"Oh. Oh!" he said sheepishly. "Sorry. Oh my god. Sorry, that, uhm… I didn't see that. Sorry." He quickly shoved the diary back into your hands, smiling apologetically before walking away briskly. You practically feel the embarrassment wafting off of him, but it couldn’t have been any worse than yours.

Standing there, your heart pounded as a mix of emotions surged through you—embarrassment, panic, and maybe even a bit of relief because you’d finally gotten it off your chest somewhat, even if this wasn’t how you intended for it to happen. You clutched the diary to your chest, replaying the moment in your mind. The way his expression changed, the awkwardness in his voice—it all made you cringe inwardly. These feelings were quickly replaced with panic once more, as it dawned on you Hughie was practically attached to Butcher at the hip. Fucked. That’s the word you’d used to describe what you are right now— completely and utterly fucked. Hughie was going to tell him as soon as he got out of the shower, he couldn’t help himself. He likes to think he’s helping.. but he really isn’t.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself. You glanced around to make sure no one else had witnessed the mishap and then made your way to the kitchen. As you poured yourself a drink, the cool liquid did little to calm your racing thoughts. "Fuck it," you thought. You opened the fridge, grabbing yourself a beer, desperately in need of something stronger. Wandering back to your room, beer and diary TIGHTLY clutched in your hands, you put your belongings on the bedside table before plopping onto the bed with your head clutched in your hands. "Shit."

The next day, you found yourself lounging on the couch, engrossed in friendly banter with M.M. and Frenchie. Hughie, Annie, and Kimiko had gone out to investigate a warehouse, following Butcher’s orders. You were in the middle of recounting your latest ordeal.

"Yeah, it was rough. But ohmygosh, the worst part was—"

You were abruptly cut off by the sensation of two firm hands settling on your shoulders from behind the couch. Startled, you turned your head to find Butcher standing there, his hands resting on your shoulders. The unexpected contact sent a jolt through you, and you couldn't help but notice how intoxicating his scent was—a mix of smoke and the cinnamon body wash you had picked out, now somehow lingering on him.

"What we havin’ a chat about over ‘ere, mm?" he said, his voice dripping with mock indignation. "Nobody invited me."

His tone was mocking, but you could sense the underlying curiosity. He leaned in a bit closer, his breath warm against your ear, which made it even harder to concentrate. You tried to regain your composure, shifting slightly under his touch.

"Just discussing the usual," you managed, trying to sound casual despite the way his presence had thrown you off balance. "Nothing too riveting. Just, you know, the usual."

M.M. and Frenchie exchanged amused yet confused glances, clearly entertained by Butcher’s effect on you. What you didn’t know was pretty much all of The Boys had caught onto your little crush, besides Hughie until yesterday and previously Butcher.. but to your complete lack of surprise, it seemed like Hughie blabbed about his findings to him.

"Ah, right," he said, squeezing your shoulders gently before stepping around to sit on the arm of the couch next to you. "Thought I’d see what my favorite team o’ cunts was up to while the others are off playin’ detective f’me."

He leaned back, making himself comfortable as if he knew the effect he had on you. The warmth of his body so close to you was new and surprising. You’d never been so near to him, and you certainly weren’t complaining! Your arm brushed lightly against his jean-clad thigh, making it absolutely impossible to focus on anything else.

"Come on, don’t stop on lil ol’ mes account, yeah? Keep going, love. What was the worst part, now?" he insisted, smirking at the three of you. He kept his line of sight on you especially long, though. Or were you just being delusional? That’s also pretty likely.

"Right. Uh, where was I.."

Little "incidents" like that began to occur more often. You’d be pouring yourself a glass of water in the makeshift kitchen, and then you’d feel a sudden pressure against your back as Butcher slid past you with nonchalance. "Scuse me, luv," he would mutter, his voice low and rough, but there was something in his tone that said he wasn’t really sorry at all. It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing and reveled in it. Fucker. Irrestible fucker.

His tendency to stroll around wrapped in nothing but a towel became more frequent, too. He claimed it was because he was just "so overheated" from the shower and the steam. This was to everyone's dismay but yours, of course. Annie didn’t veil her disgust. This time, she told him to "get clothes on, you slut." You giggled, but you, on the other hand, found yourself secretly wishing that towel might just slip. Oops. The thought would cross your mind more often than you cared to admit. His body was an art in itself, what could you say? He was big and bulky, a stark contrast compared to your frame. His chest was littered with dark, black hair. His happy trail was just the same. You found yourself constantly having to pull your eyes back to his face, or anywhere else, really, to stop imagining the sight that lay just beneath the thin veil of cotton.

Each time he walked through the room, towel swaying with every step, you could feel your composure waver. You’d catch yourself staring just a fraction too long, only to snap out of it with a hastily concealed flush. It was maddening how such a simple thing could completely disrupt your thoughts and make your heart race. You’d gulp, looking down to the floor, and Butcher would make sure you knew this didn’t go unnoticed. "Yous alright ova there?" he’d ask mockingly. "Oh, yeah! I'm..cool!" you’d reply in faux-nonchalance. Cool was probably the last word you’d use to describe yourself. Horny? Absolutely. Desperate? Bingo!

After weeks of games from him, you realized two things. One, you couldn’t go on like this. And two, you had to confront Butcher about it. Clearly he knew what he was doing, and clearly he knew it was working. You needed peace of mind.

The following day, you approached him as he sat at the table, nursing a glass of whiskey while lost in his thoughts. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows that danced across his face, accentuating the rugged lines and his scar. Your heart raced as you hesitated for a moment, gathering your courage.

"Hey," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "Can we talk, Butcher?"

He looked up at you, his small, cocky grin widening as he took a long, deliberate gulp of his drink. "’Course, love. Sit," he replied, tilting his head toward the chair next to him with an air of dominance.

You slid into the chair, the sound of the lightbulb above you both buzzing the only noise for a moment. "Did, uh," you started, trying to phrase your question without giving too much up, "Did Hughie mention anything about me? Within the last few weeks, anyway?" You scanned his face intently, hoping to catch any sign of recognition.

He shook his head slowly, his expression morphing into one of exaggerated innocence, as though he was genuinely puzzled. "No, can’t say I recall anything of the sort. Lad talks a lot, dun’ he? Not much of value there, tho. What, he catch you in the middle of a wank? Princess been caught in the act?"

His joking tone did nothing to help the growing tension within you. You felt a flush creeping up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and frustration, and maybe something else you would really rather not embrace in this moment. You couldn’t help the way his voice stirred you up— you’d always had a thing for accents, sure, but something about his voice was different. The way any words or perverted jokes could drip off of his tongue like smooth honey simply entranced you. Even when he was being obscene (which you very much enjoyed.) "Ah, never mind. It’s nothing," you said, pushing your chair back and rising to leave. It must’ve been in your head.

As you turned to walk away, Butcher’s voice stopped you in your tracks. "Ya know, I’d imagine I’d have a niceee firm grip. Real tiny, it would be, compared to these mitts."

You paused, blinking at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?" you murmured, turning back to face him, your curiosity piqued.

"Well," he drawled, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, "ya mentioned wonderin' how my hands might feel around yer pretty little neck. That’s my guess, anyway."

His words hung in the air, laced with a mix of challenge and cockiness that made your heart pound even harder. So he did know. He was just toying with you, trying to make you tick. Well, it worked. The way he spoke, so casually yet with a hint of something darker, left you feeling a bit.. hot. You stared at him, struggling to process his unexpected comment.

"Butcher," you started, your voice shaking slightly, "I didn't—"

"Easy now, pet." Billy drawled, a sly grin spreading across his rough features, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just havin' a bit of a laugh, yeah?" He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, the wood creaking under his weight. "Seein' as you've been eye-fuckin' me like that diary's got state secrets, I figured I'd take a peek myself." The words rolled off his tongue honey, and despite how mortified you were, you were also undeniably entranced. "Can't say I was surprised by what I found." He chuckled darkly, his gaze raking over you. "Filthy little thing, ain't ya? But, I gots to admit, it's a bit of a turn-on, knowin' you've been imagining me all… dirty-like." He winked, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. "So, don't go gettin' all bent outta shape. I'm flattered, really."

You felt your heart stuttering in your chest as Billy's words hung heavy in the air, your eyes widening at his remarks. You could feel the blood rushing to their cheeks, turning them into a rosy shade. Your stomach was a mess of knots, twisting and turning with every beat of their racing heart. You’d had been caught - and in the worst way possible, no doubt. There was no hiding it now. All those late nights, pouring your feelings onto the pages of that diary, thinking nobody would ever find out. And here he was, not only knowing but reveling in it.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, you forced yourself to nod, managing a smile that was tight and clearly embarrassed. "Right. Right. Uh, thanks for the, um, chat." With those words, you turned on your heel, desperate to escape the situation. You felt a strong urge to sink into the floor beneath you, to disappear entirely from this excruciating moment.

As you began to walk away, Butcher’s voice called out again, halting you in your tracks. "Why d'ya keep doin' that, love? We're just 'avin' a little chat, ain't we? I ain't quite finished yet. Sit."

His voice carried a mix of playful taunting and something darker, and the smug grin on his face made it clear he was relishing the discomfort he was causing you. He was toying with you, just for his own amusement.

"No, I’d rather not," you blurted, trying to control the trembling in your voice. "It’s really embarrassing, and I’m humiliated. Honestly, you were never supposed to see that and I swear, I never would’ve acted on anything and—"

He snapped his fingers, cutting off your nervous ramblings. The look he gave you was a mix of impatience and a clear "I don’t want to hear it" expression. His finger pointed insistently at the chair next to him, his gaze firm as he leaned back and finished the remainder of his whiskey.

"Sit," he said once more, his voice rough and affirmative.

Despite yourself, you found your legs leading you towards him, obeying almost instinctively. You walked back to the chair, sinking into it with a mixture of reluctance and humiliation. How much longer would this torture go on? Butcher’s sudden display of dominance should have been intimidating, and should have made you feel nervous and on edge. Instead, it only fueled the heat beginning to linger in your lower stomach. You could swear your underwear felt a bit damper than before.

You sat there, feeling the weight of his gaze as he studied you with a casual, almost amused expression. His nonchalant demeanor only deepened your discomfort, and you found yourself unable to meet his eyes, focusing instead on the floor.

Butcher took his time, savoring the moment, his gaze lingering on you with amusement and something else you couldn’t quite grasp. You could almost hear the gears turning in his mind, as if he was enjoying every second of your struggle. At last, he opened his mouth, tilting his head as he began to address you.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout it meself, pet. How a little thing like you'd feel squirming underneath me. Don't reckon it'd take much effort on my part, do ya? Could easily pin ya against that wall over there and have ya just where I wantcha. Real snug like, ain't that right?" He purred, leaning on the table as he spoke.

Your heart began pounding as his words sunk in. You looked at him, a flash of recognition gleaming in your eyes. So, he’d felt the same as you did? The realization was almost too much to process. You started to gnaw on your lip, the weight of the moment making it impossible to maintain his unwavering gaze. "Butcher," you began, your voice trembling with a mixture of uncertainty and hope. "Are you messing with me?" The question came out as a whisper, delicate and full of longing. Every fiber of your being was praying he was sincere, that he meant every word he said. That he’d just up and take you, right here and right now before the others got back.

"Cross me bloody heart and hope to die, love. Ain't pullin' yer leg 'ere. I’ve been waitin’ to pounce.. and now that I got a whiff of what you're thinkin', there ain't no reason to hold back, is there?"

He stood up from his chair, placing the glass on the table with a light thud. With deliberate, measured steps, he closed the distance between you until he was mere inches away. Now, he was all you could see, think, and smell. The heady mix of cinnamon and smoke filled your nostrils, a scent uniquely his. Your eyes roamed over his rugged face, every line and scar a testament to his hard-lived life, and you found yourself admiring him more deeply than ever. You couldn’t believe this was truly happening, a scenario that only existed in your daydreams. However, one thing was clear: you wouldn’t let this opportunity slip away.

"The, uh," you began, trying to give off the illusion of confidence in your voice. "The others will probably be gone for another 45 minutes or so. We’re alone until then, so…" Your words trailed off, your wide doe eyes meeting his, praying he’d make a move and take advantage of the moment like you’d dreamt about since the day you met him.

"Well, well, look who's’ all eager." Billy sneered, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he ran his tongue over his lips. "Forty-five bloody minutes. That's more than enough time for what I've got planned for ya, pet." His voice was gravelly and thick with amusement and something darker that caused a knot to form in your lower stomach. He didn't even bother easing into it before he lunged forward, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that sent sparks down your spine. You could taste the whiskey on his breath, feel the stubble scrape against your skin, and it only made you want him more. Your hands tangled roughly in his hair, pulling him closer, surrendering to all your deepest desires. He reciprocated with a growl, his own hands roaming possessively over your body, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched. This wasn't going to be a gentle dance - it was going to be a brutal, exhilarating ride, and you couldn't fucking wait.

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