omgbilly

[omgbilly]

☆ all hat & no cattle ☆

𝕚 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕚'𝕞 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 @ 𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤, 𝕤𝕖𝕩𝕪 𝟚𝟘𝟘 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕨𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 *𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕗'𝕤 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤*

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥, 𝕨𝕖𝕥 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞, 𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕖... 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕗𝕗? 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕗𝕗? 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟠𝟟𝟝

Your aching body rested in a bed, a commodity uncommon in your travels, with soft white linen sheets cool against your sun-kissed skin. You sighed as his strong hands roamed your body, a steady hum radiating through your body as he pulled you closer to his warm chest. A tangle of limbs in the faint morning light streaming in through the window. A moan escaped your lips.

You felt a harsh jostle against your leg.

Your partner continued his ministrations, a kiss in the junction of your neck and shoulder as his hand moved across your legs and downward to where you needed his attention the most. His touch was electric and made you crave more of him. You snaked your hand up to grip onto his muscular bicep, running your fingertips delicately across his skin and sighing, “Cooper—”

A saddle bag was hurled from across the room, striking with your head with surprisingly jarring force. The impact shattered the quiet of your dream, pulling you awake in a rush of confusion and frustration as the lingering warmth of your unconscious version of Cooper’s touch quickly evaporated.

Your eyes flew open, heart racing, as you wildly whirled your gaze around the room stopping only when your eyes met your companion, who sat nonchalantly on top of a worn down version of what was once likely a nightstand. He was casually loading his revolver on the other end of the dilapidated space around you.

“God damn it,” you seethed, straightening your jacket and pushing yourself up to your feet, the sudden movement sending a jolt through your still-dazed and half-asleep body, “do you know how long it took me to fall asleep?”

The Ghoul let out an exaggerated huff, his gaze flicking up at you with a lazy, knowing smirk. “Long enough to start havin’ yerself a wet dream,” he drawled, his voice laced with smug amusement as he tilted his head to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

You rolled your eyes, the disappointment bubbling up in your chest. With a sharp, defeated kick, you sent his leather saddlebag skidding back across the worn wooden planks, the dull thud of it bouncing off the floor only added the slightest bit of satisfaction to your childish indignation.

“It was just gettin’ good too.”

“Sounded like it,” he chuckled, a small smirk playing at his chapped lips. “Get your shit packed up. You’re burnin’ daylight.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks as you knelt down. You began rolling your sleeping pad and gathering the few of your belongings you had with you, but you couldn’t stop your mind from racing.

Were you talking in your sleep? Had he heard you? Did he hear that it was his name that had tumbled from your lips?

The echo of loud footsteps and their accompanying jingle of spurs crossing the decaying floorboards pulled you from your thoughts. You busied yourself with the clasps on your pack, fingers fumbling as worn leather boots entered into your frame of vision.

“Get a move on,” he growled, his delicious drawl encircling every word. “Or I’ll leave your ass here.”

“All hat and no cattle,” you mocked quietly, rolling your eyes once more.

He paused briefly before kneeling down in front of you. His eyes raked over you before he reached forward with a gloved hand to grip your chin tightly and force your eyes on him.

“I beg your fuckin’ pardon?”

“I-I, uh…” you gaped at him blankly, lips parted slightly with wide doe eyes as you tried to come up with some excuse for your backhanded comment.

Staring, you took the opportunity to take in his once-human features. He skin was covered in deep, reddened fissures; his high cheekbones hollowed by his decades of exposure to radiation coupled with the most intensely beautiful brown eyes distorted by sunken sockets. His full lips scarred and mouth askew in a permanent grimace. At first glance, his lack of nose and scarred skin is the most obvious clue to who, or rather what, the man before you was: a Ghoul. But beyond that, he was beautiful once, and still is in the darkest of ways; the true embodiment of post-apocalyptic decay.

“Now,” he grinned, his dark smile like a loaded gun in your face. “I’ll tell you what: I done never been one for cows but I sure as hell have always had the hat to back up whatever cattle I’m steerin’, you hear me?”

Despite your best efforts to conceal it, the smallest of smiles turned the corners of your trembling lips upwards—one the Ghoul very quickly caught onto.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” you cleared your throat, “I just can’t take your threats seriously right now.”

“Hm, and why’s that?”

You bit down on your bottom lip as your eyes flitted down to his denim-clad lap, a playful smile plastered across your face. He had most definitely heard the sounds you were making in your sleep. You cocked your head to the side as your eyes raked across his tattered clothes and leather-clad build before meeting his intense gaze once more.

“Because I don’t think I was the only one excited by my wet dream, Cooper.”

[omgbilly]

Oh my god, doggies 🤭🤭🤭

Frickin amazing writing as always he’s SUCH a dog guy….either way you think about it-

thank you so much omg ♡

i am convinced, convinced i tell ya, that if a good screw we can’t fix him, a dog sure could

[omgbilly]

☆ dog days ☆

𝕕𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕤: @lunaridae 

𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕓𝕖 𝕒 𝕕𝕠𝕘 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕗𝕗 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟚𝕜

You let out an exasperated sigh as you stared at your screen, emails pinging your inbox every minute. You rubbed your eyes, pushing your glasses up through your hair to rest on the top of your head. It had felt like the longest week of your life—every department in Vought was coming down from the highs of the holiday season, with taskers and deadlines due at all hours of the day and night.

Pushing your glasses back down, in a desperate attempt to deter another migraine today, you started clicking through the incessant and continuous barrage of emails in front of you.

Trash. Someone else’s problem. Trash. Junk. I’ll work on that next week—

Your eyes instantly lit up when you saw the only email that mattered.

Reading aloud, you muttered the contents of the message to yourself, “Hey, Team Vought! It’s the first Friday of the month, and you know what that means: another morale event courtesy of the men and women on the 82nd floor to thank you all for your hard work and dedication and blah, blah, blah…a local animal shelter will be coming by during lunch to share some puppy love with our team! They’re here now, so swing on by!”

You all but squealed as you stood up abruptly, grabbing your blazer as you ran out of your cubicle, waving through your fellow low-level employees. You didn’t love your job but you did enjoy these little events they managed to swing all the time. You rolled your eyes as you knew it was how they kept the little guys—like yourself—content with the below-industry-average pay and the little job satisfaction that corporate work was notorious for providing. But, puppy snuggles are puppy snuggles—and it got you away from your desk for a couple of hours with no need to clock out.

You rounded the corner to the elevator and eagerly pressed the descend button. You tapped your foot impatiently, watching the floors count down above the elevator. As the doors opened, you found yourself face to face with the familiar blue suit and star-spangled cape of Vought’s very own poster boy, The Homelander. His stoic face immediately put on that familiar I’m trying too hard smile when you stepped inside.

“Good morning, Homelander!” you chirped, heels clicking on the tiled floor of the elevator.

“Good morning,” he returned politely, a red glove reaching to the panel of buttons in front of him. “Floor?” 

“Oh, um, ground floor,” you smiled, wringing your hands before adding a small “please.”

“Of course,” he nodded, pressing the button. The elevator’s doors closed and began its descent with a small rock. “Heading to lunch?”

You laughed, “No, sir, but I get the next best thing.”

His piercing bright blue eyes fluttered to you, turning curiously to face you with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Which is?”

“Dogs! There’s this morale building thing 82 put together for some of the employees,” your smile and excitement radiating from you as your babbling continued, “a local animal shelter is bringing some dogs by during lunch for cuddles!”

He nodded, watching you intently as you brought your manicured hand to your lips to bite nervously at one of your nails. His presence was unnerving, larger-than-life. You’d, of course, seen him around the building but this was your first interaction with the super-abled commercialized celebrity who seemed more brand than person—especially in such close proximity.

“Um,” you continued, proceeding cautiously to fill the awkward silence, “do you like dogs, sir?”

“For the most part,” he answered nonchalantly and equally noncommittally, pleasantly surprised in your genuine interest in him. “It definitely seems like you do. Do you have any at home?”

You hummed, pleased with his response. “I wish…it’s not something I can afford right now but I’ll be satisfied with some snuggles during my lunch break.”

The silence was, yet again, apparent but Homelander was the one to continue the conversation this time. He took a step towards you, hoping to close some of the distance between you before the elevator’s descent concluded.

“What kind of dogs do you like?”

“Oh, easily the big scary-looking ones,” you laughed aloud, curiosity in his interest spurring you on. “German Shepherds, Dobermans, Rottweilers, you know the ones. I’ve found they’re usually the biggest love bugs.”

He wasn’t sure why he cared at all or why he relished in the attention from someone as insignificant as a bottom-rung employee as you but he was intrigued. You weren’t fawning over him and you didn’t appear to be overtly intimidated by him either and that, that, was what got under his skin. For someone so far beneath him, so small, the more he watched you, the more he found himself wanting.

He was about to ask you more about you when the elevator gently lurched to a stop with a small chime, alerting you both that you had reached Vought Tower’s lobby. You exited the elevator with Homelander following closely behind, his broad shoulders cutting through the light, airy corridor of the lobby with the calculated grace of a predator stalking its prey.

“Thanks for letting me talk your ear off,” you laughed, extending your hand. His reached out to shake your hand with a gentle grasp, letting his gloved fingertips linger longer than he knew he should have.

“Any time, but I’ll be joining you. It’s my eleven o’clock appointment, after all."

You walked up the few flights of stairs towards your apartment, pausing briefly to take your heels off and stretch out your aching toes. Long strands of dog hair were sprinkled across your skirt, a small smile finding its way to your lips as you continued up the flight of stairs and through the door, remembering your time with the shelter dogs and Homelander over lunch.

Following a brief photo-op and his signature crock of “you’re the real heroes” spiel, Homelander had stood off to the side watching insignificant people play with equally insignificant creatures but there was something about the way you interacted with the dogs that was…unexpected.

You had eagerly kicked off your high heels and moved quickly to rid yourself of your jacket and blouse to kneel down next to a large German Shepherd—exactly as you had mentioned, this dog was well-over one hundred pounds and looked like a mean old thing. You had effortlessly gained its trust with the dog rolled over on its back for you in a matter of minutes.You leaned over to give vigorous belly rubs. Homelander’s head tilted slightly to watch as your form-fitting skirt rode farther and farther up the back of your thighs. A predatory grin twitched at the corner of his mouth despite his attempts to conceal it.

You turned around quickly, eyes searching for his, with a stupidly large smile on your face, gesturing for him to join you on the floor to which he reluctantly complied.

"Look at that face," you said softly, your voice laced with affection as you nudged Homelander with your elbow, coaxing him into the moment. "Seriously, just look at that face. Come on, give him some pets.”

Homelander let out a soft, amused laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he glanced at you, then at the dog, still nestled comfortably in your lap. After a moment of feigned hesitation, he gave in, his hand reaching down to ruffle the dog’s fur, his touch light and almost tentative. The warmth of a reluctant smile spread across his face as he gave the dog a few quick, affectionate pats on the head, his usual cool demeanor momentarily softened by the scene.

"Good boy," you cooed with a proud smile, your voice dripping with affection as you leaned in to press a flurry of loud, playful kisses to the dog's cheek. "Who's a good boy, huh?”

Homelander’s breath caught in his throat, a quiet, breathy sigh escaping him as he shifted slightly. His face flushed a deep shade of red, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to regain some composure, his usually confident demeanor faltering for just a moment under the weight of your praise.

You looked up, the weight of Homelander’s unblinking, steely blue gaze settling on you like a tangible presence. The air around you felt charged as your gaze drifted to his lips for just a heartbeat, the barest flicker of a thought passing through your mind before you caught yourself. They were so close, so tempting in their sharpness and quiet authority. You could feel the tension building, the subtle shift in the air that made everything feel heightened—like the space between you and him was shrinking with each passing second. Homelander didn’t pull away nor did he close the gap between you. His expression remained unreadable, yet there was a flicker of something behind his cold exterior.

“You’re good with him,” Homelander noted, breaking the silence and turning his head away, clearing his throat again in attempt to recover from his previous shift in demeanor.

Biting your lip at the thought of him so close, you rounded the corner of the hallway within your small apartment building, the familiar hum of the city fading into the background. As you neared your door, something caught your eye—a piece of paper taped haphazardly to the surface. Your steps slowed, and your brow furrowed as you approached, a small knot of curiosity tightening in your chest.

Reaching up, you peeled the note free from the old, weathered wood. It was a cheap piece of paper, hastily torn from what looked like a notebook, and your name was scribbled across it in thick, bold all-caps, written with an almost aggressive stroke of black marker. You couldn’t help but feel a small shiver run down your spine, an unsettling but familiar sensation. The handwriting was unmistakable.

Turning the note over, you unfolded the creased paper with fingers that seemed to fumble despite your best efforts. The ink seemed fresh, the words blunt and clear.

"Enjoy the promotion. I like dark roast coffee. Don’t be late. — H”

A chill danced over your skin. You couldn’t quite place the mix of surprise and unease that washed over you. You blinked slowly, standing still for a moment as you processed the note. H—there was no need for clarification. You already knew who it was. The way his presence lingered in your mind after today felt almost like a shadow.

Shaking off the feeling, you fumbled for your keys, your mind still partially caught up in the cryptic message. Your fingers brushed against the cold metal before finally unlocking the door with a small click. You pushed it open and stepped into your apartment, but the scene before you made your heart skip a beat.

There, in the middle of your living room, was the same German Shepherd from earlier that day. His sleek coat glistened in the soft light of your apartment, the deep brown and black fur shimmering with every subtle shift of movement. His tongue lolled out in a relaxed pant, and with every breath, his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His tail thumped eagerly against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment like a steady drumbeat, as if he’d been waiting for you.

As the dog jumped down from the couch to greet you, nuzzling your thigh, the realization hit you that you were being drawn deeper into something far more complicated than you’d expected. You looked at the sweet dog before looking back down at Homelander’s note, running your fingers over the paper again. His mark was unmistakable—each line in his handwriting bold and deliberate. The simple black ink now carrying more weight than it had just moments ago.

[omgbilly]

I don't have an answer for this one yall LMAO

[omgbilly]

m a s t e r l i s t

requests? always! send one over

like my work? feel free to send a ko-fi ( /)w(\✿)

divider credit to the amazing @cafekitsune ♡

the boys

dog days (homelander x reader) no peeking (billy butcher x reader) cruel (billy butcher x reader) [nsfw/mdni] pure (homelander x reader) [nsfw/mdni] part i. | ii.

fallout

all hat & no cattle (the ghoul x reader) [nsfw/mdni]

x-men

coming soon!

sky's the limit homelander x reader

pure part iii. [nsfw/mdni]

life's too short for bad beer logan howlett/wolverine x reader

[omgbilly]

yessssssssss pure is so purrrrrrrrrrrrrrer

ahhh, thank you! ( /)w(\✿)

I love writing this little fic and am so blown away by all of the support! I’m hoping to get the third (and maybe final, who knows) chapter posted this weekend. ♡

[omgbilly]

PLEASEEEEE CONTINUE “PURE” MY BRAIN IS GOING FERAL FOR CASUAL COFFEE SHOP HOMIE

ANYTHING FOR YOU 'NONY!

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤: 𝒾. 𝒾𝒾.

[omgbilly]

☆ pure ☆ ii.

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤: 𝒾. 𝒾𝒾. 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕤: red & blue divider @sister-lucifer

𝟙𝟠+

𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟'𝕥 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘. 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕥, 𝕝𝕖𝕥'𝕤 𝕓𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝: 𝕀 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝕞𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕩𝕚𝕔 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕟𝕤.

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥, 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕣, 𝕝𝕚𝕝 𝕓𝕚𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟚.𝟙𝕜

It had been a whole week since he had met you, and Homelander hadn’t stopped thinking about it, about you. 

At first, he tried to push it out of his mind and leave your run-in as an insignificant encounter among the millions of insignificant people in this city but it lingered, nagging and insistent. You had absolutely consumed his every thought.  You should’ve been just another face in the crowd; a pretty one, but just another one nonetheless.

And yet, he was overwhelmed by the presence of you in his mind. He had continuously replayed the few minutes he had spent with you in that alley; the image of you crashing into him, the feeling of your hands brushing against his chest, the sight of you on your knees in front of him with pleading eyes on him. He could practically feel your gentle, careful touch against him. He bit his lip, letting out a soft exhale as his hand moved down to palm the tight blue fabric of his suit over his cock as it swelled at the thought of you in such a position. 

You were so innocent. So pure. So unaware of the effect you had on him. The feeling of your warmth still lingered on his skin and the sound of your heart fluttering at his touch was in his ears. He leaned back against the cold, hard metal of the Tower’s elevator as it descended. People don’t touch him. No one just willingly hands him the sensation that he craves with no strings attached, with no fear.

But you did.

You left him behind in that alley without a second thought. You just turned around and walked away, despite the heat, the spark, the connection between the two of you. He should feel angry. He should be furious that someone could dismiss him so easily, but there was something deeper at play. Was it curiosity? Fascination? Obsession?

Homelander’s jaw clenched tightly as his eyes closed, desperate to conjure up more of you behind his eyelids. He imagines you under him. Your body trembling, wanting more of his touch. You’re soft and malleable in his hands, your will breaking as he forces you to submit to him—to need him. The thought stirred something dark and possessive in him. 

The elevator lurched to a stop as the bell sounded softly, prompting him out of his thoughts. He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as the rush of desire coursed through him, darkening his stormy blue gaze. His body thrummed with need—an almost unbearable urge to make you ache for him the way he ached for you. The intensity of the thought pulsed through him, heavy and raw. Homelander stepped out of the elevator and into the dim halls of Vought’s crime analytics department, his mind still reeling from the overwhelming pull of his craving.

It hadn’t taken long to find you. A nervous analyst had quickly run Vought’s proprietary facial recognition software, pulling your name and home address with trembling fingers. She’d fumbled through a few more clicks before pulling up your image—captured in grainy black-and-white from the security camera of the coffee shop you’d visited earlier that week. He stared at the screen, transfixed, watching the way your lips curled into that carefree, dazzling smile as you placed your order. His heart tightened at the thought of you smiling at him like that again. No more distance. Just you, looking at him like he was the only person in the room.

The analyst printed the report, turning to hand it over—but Homelander was already there. His gloved fingers closed around the paper, yanking it from her hand with unsettling precision. He turned on his heel and left, the sharp click of the door closing behind him echoing through the dark, computer-screen lit room.

Your smile, so effortless, so damn innocent, seared itself into his mind, like a brand that wouldn’t fade. The image of you grinned back at him from the dark corners of his thoughts, too bright, too human. It gnawed at him, pulling at something deep and primal.

He needed you again. Not later. Not when it was convenient.

Now.

It was early in the morning when your phone rang loudly. You shot up out of bed, scrambling out of your bed sheets to answer it, hopeful it was regarding one of your interviews.

You cleared your throat, “Hello?”

“Hi! I was just calling to follow-up on your interview! Unfortunately, we’re unable to offer you the position as we are prioritizing candidates that can start as soon as possible—” the cheerful HR representative chirped.

“B-But I can! I can start today! Please,” you interrupted, pleading desperately, your voice quieting to a mere whisper in the face of yet another rejection. “I really need this job.”

“I’m so sorry, I’ve really got to go!” she said again, painfully upbeat. “Please consider applying again in the near future!”

Click.

You slammed your phone down against your bed in frustration. You slumped against the pilling fabric of your headboard, wanting to cry. It had been months of searching for a real career; something to get you out of the lousy job you currently had and into an apartment that didn’t have leaky plumbing and a rat problem.

You found your thoughts wandering off to John. Again. You wondered what he did for a living, where he lived; if he was thinking about you as often as you were thinking about him. It had been a whole week since you had met John, and you hadn’t stopped thinking about him even after your busy week of rescheduled interviews and continued job hunting despite the rejection.

You sighed, pushing the tangled sheets off your body as you move to stand. The soft hum of the city outside your window blended with the quiet, mundane routine of your morning. Your apartment was small—barely enough room for the essentials. The cool air from the open window brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as your bare feet padded lightly across the worn wooden floor. 

You made your way to your cluttered bathroom, familiar in its disorder. There’s a brush on the counter, toothpaste squeezed too far, makeup strewn across the counter, a towel draped haphazardly over the edge of the shower. You splashed cold water on your face in an attempt to remove the last bit of sleepiness from your system.

John was so effortlessly perfect. He had such a small town charm to him but he was striking, easily commanding attention without even trying. 

You absently moved through the motions of your routine, brushing your teeth, adjusting your hair, applying makeup—the works—before moving to your tiny closet to get dressed. You weren’t sure what you were planning on doing today, you just knew you couldn’t sit around in your lonely, isolated apartment.

You weren’t sure if you were misremembering the encounter but he seemed just as interested in you—ugh, why didn’t you just get the guy’s damn number?

You scooped up your purse from the floor, your fingers grazing the screen of your phone as you slipped it into your pocket. The coffee stain on your coat was impossible to miss—right where you’d spilled it earlier during your literal run-in with John. You sigh, debating whether your first stop should be the dry cleaners.

You grabbed your keys and locked the door behind you, the soft click of the lock feeling louder than usual in the quiet of the apartment.

As you descended the flights of stairs, the weight of your thoughts dragged behind you. His eyes. His voice— You shake your head, trying to push him out, but it’s no use. His presence lingers like a shadow, threading through every part of you. You chuckled a bit, trying to chalk up your newfound obsession with the stranger to the fact you just hadn’t been on a date in months. 

Ugh, you are not that desperate. Relax.

You paused briefly in the building’s lobby. It’s small, old—barely enough space for the worn-out couches and the clattering mail slots. You can’t stop thinking about him: that smile, the way he’d made you feel like you were the only person in the city worth taking up his time.

You bit your lip, remembering how his finger had trailed across your chest, the way his hands had wrapped around your arms with that quiet, almost possessive force. Your pulse quickens at the thought, and you pull your coat tighter around you, trying to shake off the heat building in your chest and between your thighs.

You pushed through the lobby doors and step onto the sidewalk, the crisp air barely enough to cool your flustered thoughts. Your fingers rifled through your purse, searching for your wallet, but your mind was elsewhere. The collision came out of nowhere, sudden and sharp—a splash of hot coffee spilling across your chest. You teetered backwards, a startled gasp catching in your throat as the warmth spreads, when you felt two strong hands pull you closer, stabilizing you. You looked up to meet those familiar piercing blue eyes, locking onto yours with that same, unsettling gravity.

John.

His lips curl into that signature, predatory grin. "We really need to stop meeting like this," he teased, voice low and almost velvety, his eyes tracing the mess on your coat with the smallest flicker of amusement at his own orchestration of last week’s encounter.

You laugh—genuinely, a little breathlessly. “Well, that's one way to start the day,” you grinned, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now I know how you felt.”

Homelander’s gaze sharpened at the sound of your laugh, and for a second, you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He liked this, liked the way you reacted to him.

“Are you always distracted, or do I just have that effect on you?”

You step back, raising your hands in a mock surrender, though you can’t quite hide the gleam in your eyes. “Guess I’m just clumsy these days. You, good sir, are lucky I was already headed to the dry cleaners.” Your fingers gently tugged at your coat, light-heartedly exasperated, but the truth is—you were too busy thinking about the feeling of him pressed against you. It had been a spark, and now it’s starting to feel like a slow burn.

Homelander’s laugh is soft and rich, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Lucky for me, then,” he murmurs, his eyes lingering on you longer than necessary. You felt a pink flush spread across your cheeks at intensity of his gaze.

Before you could respond, he raised his hand to caress your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, wiping away a droplet of coffee. You froze, heart skipping a beat at the ardor of his touch. It’s soft, almost intimate, and the way he looked at you—like he knew the effect of his actions—had you breathless. You tilted your head slightly, almost instinctively leaning into his touch, your skin tingling beneath his fingertips. His hand lingers a moment longer than you expect, and your lips part slightly as your pulse thrummed in your chest.

He pulled back only when he was sure he had left you positively flustered.

“Okay,” you giggled, ou tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, biting your lip to hide the smile. “I guess I could let you off the hook. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry. Again.”

His grin widened, that teasing glint never leaving his eyes as he adjusted the dark blue baseball cap on his head as if he were savoring this moment. “No harm done,” he said, dismissing your apology with a casual wave. “Besides, what’s a little mess between friends?” His gaze flickered to your lips for just a moment, sending a thrilling wave of electricity straight through you.

You cleared your throat, feeling the heated flush across your face spread as you tried to steady your voice. It came out breathier than you expected, almost too soft. “I, uh... I’m going to have to go upstairs and change now.”

You paused, just long enough to let the silence hang between you, then added with a playful lilt,“But if you’re not in a rush…I can make you another, probably better, coffee in my apartment.”

The words lingered in the air—lighthearted, but carrying something beneath the surface. Those same pleading eyes searched his face, holding his hungry gaze hostage, the unspoken message clear: This isn’t just about the coffee.

Homelander’s eyes widen in a brief flash of surprise before he took a small step forward. His smile slowed, deliberate, darkening with intent. He leaned in just enough to close the space between you once more, his voice dropping an octave, smooth as velvet. 

“I think I could be persuaded.”

[omgbilly]

just binged fallout and why is the ghoul so fine—I need therapy

[omgbilly]

☆ cruel ☆

𝟙𝟠+

𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕪 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕀 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕟'𝕥 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕦𝕪. 𝕞𝕕𝕟𝕚

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕦𝕟𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕡 𝕚𝕟 𝕧, 𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕝, 𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕥, 𝕕𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕪 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜, 𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕩, 𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕒𝕘𝕖 (𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣, 𝕠𝕓𝕧𝕤) 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟚.𝟝𝕜

“He’s a child,” you seethed, slamming the door to the ragtag group’s shared space wide open as you burst inside. “Butcher, you had absolutely no right.”

Hughie and MM followed you inside with Butcher trailing in just moments behind. Kimiko, who had already made it inside before you threw the door open and moved through the threshold with the same intensity as an electrical storm, left Frenchie’s side to grab your arms in a firm but gentle manner. Her wide eyes searched your face, before looking over to MM and Hughie, for any unspoken explanation as to what had transpired in the minutes she had been away. MM made a gesture of bickering and yapping with his hands before pointing to you, and tilting his head back towards Butcher as he followed. 

Hearing the heavy fall of his boots, you whirled around, pulling yourself from Kimiko’s hold on you. Your fists clenched at your sides, anger swelling in your chest, as you stared down the source of your wrath before you stormed away, down the hallway and out of sight. 

A tense and uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. Butcher sighed heavily, his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed as he brought a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose before he turned on his heel and followed you. Kimiko worriedly began to follow but MM intercepted, grabbing her arm and shaking his head, silently cautioning to give you the space that you needed right now.

You turned into one of the few empty rooms in the office space of the historic triangular-shaped Flatiron building. The gritty, utilitarian condition of the room left a lot to be desired as you glared out a set of dusty glass panes to one of the many arched windows in the back room, shoulders tight and arms crossed firmly over your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his dark trench coat clad figure approaching. He stopped a few feet away from you.

“Alrigh’, let’s ‘ave it,” he grumbled, his voice tired and low as he shut the door behind him, “get it off your chest—”

“How can you be so fucking cruel? You are all that kid has, and y-you couldn’t even show him an ounce of kindness,” you interrupted him, your gaze at the bustling city outside unwavering. You felt your jaw clench as your anger refused to subside. The tightness in your chest didn’t falter but you felt a lump in your throat as tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You didn’t know Ryan well but his heart was so gentle and kind, and to see the way Butcher’s words cut him down so much broke something inside you today.

You continued, your words laced with venom, “You don’t treat anyone like we’re all in this together. Everyone, to include your Boys, is just a…a means to end with you, you Machiavellian bastard. You’re a ruthless, cruel bastard.”

“Cruel?” Butcher growled, his volume and tone caught you off guard, making you flinch and begin turn towards him. His long strides closed the distance between you in seconds. His large hands grabbed you with such force, you let out a startled cry as he spun you around to face him fully. 

You squirmed in his grasp. You slammed your hands against his broad chest, attempting to push him away to no avail. Butcher grabbed your wrists, his hold on you tightening like a vice grip. You cried out in pain, “Butcher, you’re hurting me—”

“Stop pissin’ about and tell me again how cruel I am.”

“You’re an asshole,” you breathed, trying in vain to pull away from him. You drew in a sharp breath when you felt your back press against the window. The cold from the glass seeped through your sweater, another reminder of the transitioning autumn air outside.

“Takes one to know one,” Butcher chuckled, moving a hand to grab your jaw. “There’s the reason yer still around, innit?

His large hand tightened around your face, making you feel even smaller in his presence. You stared at him blankly as he squeezed your cheeks tightly in his hand; unsure of what to say, prompting him to continue. Your fists clenched at your sides.

“If I was so bloody cruel, what does that say about you? I’ve seen the way yer eyes light up like a right fuckin’ Christmas tree when we torture them cunts—it’s fuckin’ diabolical. You want to prance around like some holier-than-thou little princess when you’re up to your tight little arse in mud just like me. I shouldn’t ‘ave yelled at the kid, I get it, but don’t fancy yerself to be better than me because yer just as vile as the rest of us. Just as cruel as me. Go on, bird, whadya got to say to that?”

You couldn’t contain your rage any longer. You threw your clenched fist against his jaw as hard as you could. He stumbled backwards, releasing his grip on your face. Refusing to lose your momentum over him, you raised your fist to strike him once more but he had all-too-quickly recovered, his hand reaching to grab your wrist with all-too-painful a grip. Your hardened gaze met his, a trail of blood seeping from his mouth, as he looked at you with a fire that wasn’t there a moment ago.

He leaned in closer to you, his lips parted, but you braced your hands against his broad chest and shoved him away.

“Not even if you were the last fucking person on Earth.”

He grabbed you once more, pulling you closer, unwilling to give you the option to retreat again. He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Trust me when I say I’m the only one who can fuck you the way you need to be fucked.”

His words sent shivers down your spine. The feeling of his breath against your ear and neck made your body erupt in goose bumps. You were painfully aware of the throbbing ache in between your legs. It had been far too long since you had been thoroughly used and abused and your body had no trouble reminded you of that fact. Butcher had pulled away from you, a stupid, knowing smirk plastered across his face.

“Then shut up and fuck me, Butch—”

Butcher wasted no time as hungrily swallowed his name as it left your lips, groaning deeply against the soft feeling of your mouth on his. His hands feverishly pawed at your sweater, his lips fervently moving along with yours as if he were a starved man finally feasting on a forbidden meal. The metallic taste of his bloody lips enveloped your mouth. Backing you against the wall once more, his mouth moved from your lips to leave sloppy bites along your jawline, trailing to your neck. His beard scraped against your delicate skin as he went, leaving the most delectable burn.

Your fingers gripped the leather collar of his black trench coat, helping to remove the bulky article from his broad shoulders. It fell to the floor below with a thud while he continuing his vicious assault against your neck. You kicked off your boots to join his discarded coat. He wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing tightly. You let out a choked groan, earning a devious grin from Butcher against your goosebump-enveloped skin. His free hand moved south to your hip to roughly pull your lower half against him. A moan escaped your lips when you felt his hardening length straining against his jeans.

Your fingers trembled as they fumbled with his belt, desperate to touch him, to feel him. He let out a hearty chuckle as he pulled your sweater over your head, throwing it to the ground to join his discarded outerwear.

“Nah, love, you haven’t earned it yet,” his voice dripped with desire, his eyes half-lidded and predatory as they took in your aroused desperation. He made quick work of your pants and underwear before tearing away at your bra. There was vague sound of the clasps snapping at the back as he removed the garment left your body completely bare in front of him.

Still fully clothed, Butcher knelt down in front of you, taking in the sight before him. He grabbed your hips to stabilize you against the wall, prompting you to hook your right leg over his shoulder. His warm breath against your inner thigh sent a shiver coursing throughout your entire body as he pushed himself further between your legs. He traced the seam of your pussy with his tongue before moving to circle your clit. Your head lolled back against the wall behind you, your fingers tangled once again in Butcher’s hair as he thrust two of his fingers inside you.

“Fuck, Butcher,” you moaned, pulling his hair tightly, earning a moan from the man below you. His moan vibrated against your clit as he continued sloppily licking and sucking your most delicate parts.

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten when you looked down to see him watching you writhe at the pleasure he was giving you—that only he could give you. It was enough to make you completely come undone. He slipped a third finger inside you, stretching you wider. Your hips bucked against his face, desperate for more, and he knew you were getting closer to your release. He increased his pace, sucking painfully on your clit until you couldn’t bear it any longer.

“C’mon, dove, give it to Daddy,” he murmured against you. His words were enough in and of themselves to push you over the edge as you felt that familiar white hot heat course through your veins, your orgasm shuddering through you.

He shrugged off your leg, standing to undo his belt. He pulled out his cock, already rock hard and leaking from his own arousal. “On yer knees,” he growled, stroking himself at sight of the panting, shivering mess of you. “Put that loud gob of yers to good use.”

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher, before I—”

“Before y’what? Finish that fuckin’ sentence.”

“Before I leave. I already got what I needed. I could give two fucks about you finishing.”

He grabbed your shoulders and forced you to your knees. The feeling of the hardwood floors beneath you was the least bit comfortable but you knew this time, it wasn’t about your pleasure. This was all his. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, giving your hair a sharp tug. You winced, opening your mouth to protest when he shoved his thick, trembling cock inside. Butcher immediately began thrusting himself into your mouth, taking full advantage of your inability to bitch at him for it. Your tongue circled around his shaft as he fucked your mouth relentlessly. His dark hazel eyes looked down at you, watching you intently, as he forced himself as deep as he could down your throat; committing the sight of you gagging on the length of him with tears welling in your eyes to memory.

Butcher groaned loudly as pulled his cock out of your mouth, leaving you coughing and breathing heavily. He continued stroking the length of himself, his own chest heaving just as much. It took all he had in him to not coat your throat with his sticky, hot release. 

“What is it?” you growled, trying desperately to not show him just how much you enjoyed yourself, “Age catching up with you?”

He let out a loud breathy chuckle as he kneeled down to be eye level with you. He gripped your face with both hands and pulled you in for an angry kiss, teeth clashing in a fury of your tongues battling for dominance. He pushed you backwards; his weight driving you backwards as the back of your head crashed against the cold, hardwood floor below. You winced at both the pain and the cool feeling against your bare body. 

“Think that’s why ya get yerself so riled up,” he muttered between his rough kisses,  “yer desperate f’me to put ya back in yer place; desperate for Daddy to fuck ya senseless.”

You groaned as he pushed your knees apart abruptly, positioning his cock at the entrance of your aching pussy. You brought your legs up higher around his waist; the coarse fabric of his old jeans rubbing against your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt him press against your drenched folds.

“Get on with it,” you growled as your fists balled up the fabric of his ribbed black sweater, his muscles tensing at your touch.

“Say it,” he grinned, his hand slipping down to tease his cock against you.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy,” you groaned through clenched teeth, desire overwhelming your anger and shame in your pathetic mewling. “Please fuck me, Daddy.”

Butcher wasted no time as he rammed his thick cock inside you. You winced at the sensation, letting out a loud moan as he rutted into you thoroughly. His rough hands grabbed your hips tightly for additional leverage, leaving bruises in their wake, as he continued pumping into you—offering no adjustment period to the sheer size of him. The sound of skin against skin and the obscene squelching sound of his cock thrusting in and out of you in a fast-paced rhythm filled the air.

“Fuck, love, quite the tight cunt ya’ve got,” he whispered into your ear, sweat beading on his forehead. A few strands of his dark, tousled locks fell in his face, clinging to his furrowed brow.

You could only moan in response, the tightening coil in your stomach threatening to unravel you once more. Your hands found the back of his head and you pulled sharply, earning an approving groan from the back of Butcher’s throat. It was like music to your ears. You nuzzled your face into his neck, biting him sharply when he angled his hips to stroke an especially sensitive spot inside you. His hand found its way around your throat once more, squeezing until your vision blurred and your head felt fuzzy, adding another layer of sensation to the overwhelming feeling of having him inside of you and on top of you.

In a blur of body parts grasping about, your fingers clawed at his back to leave deep pink wounds to accompany the scars littered across his broad and toned frame. It was all too much for you to bear, and in a moment you were overcome by your climax, catching even yourself off-guard as you were left shaking and breathless. 

Butcher’s own release wasn’t long after; the feeling of your cunt clenching tightly around his cock sent him over the edge as he spilled his cum inside of you. He let out a deep moan as he fucked his way through his orgasm. He rolled over to lie next to you on the cold floor, sighing as he pulled out of your warmth.

The two of you laid there for a moment, chests rising and falling in unison as you both let your heartbeats settle, coming down from your respective highs.

“Your hatred,” you panted, “is going to be the end of you, you know.”

“Yea, either that,” he agreed, finally, “or you.”

[omgbilly]

☆ pure ☆

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤: 𝒾. 𝒾𝒾.

𝟙𝟠+

ɪ 𝕒𝕞 𝕤𝕠 𝕠𝕓𝕤𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 ԝ𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕦𝕪. ɪ 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕒 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚-𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕥. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

ԝ𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕠ԝ𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 ԝ𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥, 𝕝𝕠𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥, 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕤 *𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕗𝕤 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤* ԝ𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟙.𝟞𝕜

You glanced down at your watch, nervously watching the seconds go by as you waited desperately for your coffee order. You had three job interviews lined up today and traffic had already pushed you far later into the morning than you had wanted, despite waking up so much earlier than your set alarm. You had scrambled out of bed, gotten yourself dressed and ready in your most professional attire, and bolted out of your cheap apartment in a terrible part of the city all the way across town into one of New York’s many corporate pockets. 

However, that didn’t stop you from running into a small coffee shop. Your friends were always joking that you had an uncanny ability to make yourself late for—quite literally—the dumbest reasons; and today, that was your legal but annoying addiction to a good cup of coffee. 

The sound of the bell on the counter pulled you away from your intense staring at your watch. You looked up to see the barista glance at you with an apologetic smile as she threw her head towards the paper cup on the counter, signaling you that it was, in fact, your order that was ready. You gave her a small understanding smile amid the bustling cafe and rushed up to the counter. You dug in the pockets of your coat to grab a couple of crinkled up singles to drop in the tip jar before hurriedly grabbing the paper cup.

“Thank you!” you throw over your shoulder before turning on your heel to rush through the door as quickly as you had entered.

You looked around, feeling even smaller amid the skyscrapers surrounding you. You took a deep breath to center yourself, calm your nerves, and get your bearings. You pulled up the address of your first interview on your phone, seeing that there was a shortcut through one of the city’s many alleys. You took a quick gulp of your fresh coffee before heading that way.

Rounding the corner from the cafe, you glanced down at your watch again. You breathed a quick sigh of relief as the walking route would get you to your first interview on time. It wasn’t until you had started to look up from your watch that it was too late.

You collided into the chest of man who was so firm in his stance, you may as well have walked directly into brick wall. Your paper coffee cup was crushed flat between the two of you, exploding your hot coffee all over both of you. You let out a startled gasp as you felt the heat of the liquid seep through your clothes and meet your skin. Almost immediately though, your eyes widened in a panic as you remembered you ran into someone, your jumbled apology pouring from your glossed lips.

“Sir, oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry,” you blurted, dropping your crinkled and empty cup to the dirty concrete below you. You let your purse fall to the ground before you shrugged off your wool and cotton blend overcoat, using it as the closest thing you had to a napkin. You assessed the damage to the man’s clothes before you knelt down, ignoring the feeling of concrete on your bare knees. Your skirt bunched up even higher, exposing the suppleness of your thighs. You balled the fabric up in your fist, dragging it all over the man’s orange shirt in a desperate attempt to salvage the fabric. You noticed how carefully coordinated and curated his outfit was to his muscular stature, as if it were custom tailored for him. You looked up with pleading eyes, searching to meet the stranger’s gaze that was nestled away underneath his ball cap. “That coffee was way too hot, are you okay?”

Homelander’s brief annoyance evaporated almost as quickly as it had come as you stared up at him, your face flushed to a stunning pink with embarrassment and your voice filled with concern for him. Your silky white blouse had taken the brunt of the damage but you had almost completely disregarded it as you knelt to take care of the cheap rags he had thrown on before he had left the Tower. The realization dawned on him that you had no idea who he was. He was a perfect stranger, nothing more than another one of the millions of powerless cockroaches on the street that he often gazed down upon with disdain. This realization stirred something deep inside him; a feeling new and uncharted.

“Oh,” he rolled his eyes, adding a shrug for good measure. Of course a cup of coffee, no matter how hot, could never hurt him. “Don’t worry about that. I’m fine. Your blouse on the other hand…” he gestured down, his hand raising briefly to point out the coffee stain that had trailed down your chest. Your cream-colored blouse, freshly wet, offered the tiniest glimpse of the outline of your black bra. He felt his tongue dart out briefly to wet his lips unconsciously. You exuded innocence, and he could tell you hadn’t been fucked into oblivion, to ruins, in a long time—if at all. You were pure. His cock twitched at the thought.

You looked down, your face falling at the sight. You let out a sad chuckle, hoping to lighten your own mood, “Damn…so much for those interviews today, huh?”

Homelander knelt down to your level, overwhelmed with the unfamiliar urge to comfort you. His hands extending to gently caress your upper arms. You shuddered pleasantly at his touch, unaware of the sheer strength beneath it. He felt the gentle warmth of you in his ungloved hands, your gently perfumed scent intoxicating to his inhuman senses.

“Coffee or not, you still look great,” he smiled, his sharp canines an attractive feature of his smile despite the unnoticed, underlying predatory intention. 

He reached out to touch where your chest was exposed from where you had stopped buttoning up your blouse. It was an interesting choice…to stop buttoning your clothes so low, where your cleavage could so easily be seen. He couldn’t help but feel as if it were all for him. Using his finger, he pulled the fabric to the side, stopping just barely above your upper breast. Your breath hitched in your throat as he took in the exposed skin, bright red from your spilt coffee. He heard your heart beat thrum in your chest, a small smile crept in when he realized you had such a physical reaction to his touch. Good.

“I think the better question is are you okay?”

You gawked at him, dumbfounded, at his concern for you—the klutz who just splashed coffee all over him. Him kneeling before you offered the perfect vantage point to finally get a decent look at his face. His strong jawline and high cheekbones looked as if they were sculpted from marble but possessed subtle signs of aging with small wrinkles framing his alluring blue eyes that gave him an almost boyish charm. You could see even under his ball cap that he was very much so blonde, the sides of his hair cut short above his ears. There was something about him that was oddly familiar but you truly couldn’t put your finger on it. 

“I, uh, I-I’m okay,” you fumbled, the heat of attraction replacing the embarrassed flush on your face. “I just feel awful about starting your morning off like this. Please tell me you weren’t on your way to work because I’d just die right here, right now.”

“Well, if you died,” he laughed, his finger releasing its hook in your blouse, “I think that’d be a far greater tragedy. But, no, I was just meeting with a colleague.”

“Thank God,” you laughed in return, grabbing his hand in its retreat. You gave it a brief reassured squeeze, letting your hand linger longer than you intended. His hands were much larger than yours, and soft to the touch. Your eyes met his again, biting your lip as terribly inappropriate thoughts of how his hands would feel in your hair, on your throat, in between your legs began circling your mind.

You cleared your throat, letting your grip on his hand go and rising to stand. You smoothed out the wrinkles in your skirt. “Um, well, I should probably get going. I’ll need to go back and change before I try to beg for a job. It was really nice to meet you—”

Homelander rose with you, his eyes never once leaving yours. He realized you were waiting for him to give you his name. He wasn’t ready for you to know who he was yet; wasn’t ready for the likely reality of having you tremble in fawning, or worse fear, of The Homelander. For once, he liked being just someone else on the street, having an insignificant interaction with a beautiful woman.

“Uh, John,” he gave you a tight-lipped smile when he offered that name.

“John,” you hummed sweetly before turning to leave, offering a warm smile over your shoulder and small wave of your hand. “It was nice to meet you, John.”

As he watched you walk back down the alley and around the corner, he couldn’t help but replay the last few minutes over and over in his mind. The way his name had sounded on your lips was delicious but it did nothing to satiate his growing hunger for you. Homelander recollected Sister Sage’s words from their earlier conversation. He had gone to Sage for her immense knowledge, to offer her a spot on The Seven, but it was his desire to understand his utter lack of happiness that ultimately drove him to her door. What if you could change that? What if you were what could make him happy? 

His own little Roman Empire.

[omgbilly]

frenchie through the seasons (s2 is my favorite if you couldn't tell)

[omgbilly]

[omgbilly]

[omgbilly]

☆ no peeking ☆

18+ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ʟɪʟ ғʟᴜғғ ᴀɴɢsᴛ ᴍᴀsʜ-ᴜᴘ. ᴄʜᴇᴇʀs, xᴏ. ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ɴᴜᴅɪᴛʏ (ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴇ, ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ). ᴅɪsᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴀᴅᴠɪsᴇᴅ 'ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛs. ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.3ᴋ

It was finally quiet, save for the sound of the shower running in this outdated, dirty bathroom. You peeled the sticky, blood-soaked clothing off your body—piece by piece. The heavy iron stench of the crimson substance would’ve made you wretch just months ago, had this not become your new normal. You stood in front of the vanity in the tiny basement bathroom, hands braced on the sink for the support you so desperately needed in this moment, as you gazed at the stranger returning your solemn look in the mirror. Sure, you were covered in someone’s blood and your hair was a tangled mess, but it was more than that. Your cheeks had sunken in slightly; the bags under your eyes had bags, and you had that thousand-yard stare that you had only ever seen described in novels.

It’s days like today when you miss who you were; before the Boys, before this whole “take down Vought and burn everything to the ground in the process” initiative that they were after. That Butcher was after. Butcher was…something else entirely, a true enigma—in your humble opinion. Every time you thought you had him figured out, he pulled a 180. He was good looking, incredibly attractive, but you never saw him entertain any potential love interests. You had, however, caught the isolated glance your way once or twice. The occasional brushing of hands that lingered longer than that should have…

A gentle knock sounded at the door, prompting you away from your thoughts before they went too far down the forbidden path that is Billy Butcher. You were brought back to the current moment in time; one in which you looked like a feral animal, blood splattered across your face. You were too quickly reminded of the harshness of your reality, and it sent you into a vicious spiral.

“Yeah?” you sniffled, trying your best to conceal the sound of your hyperventilating. It wasn’t like it would be weird that you were on the verge of a complete and total breakdown. Virtually every one of you has had a full-fledged “they’re coming to take me away” moment or two. And it’s honestly expected given your newfound line of work in…what’d you tell that cute guy at the bar the other day? Extermination? Waste management? 

“It’s, uh, it’s Hughie,” a soft voice emanated from the other side of the cheap, thin door. “We’re going to grab something to eat. Need us to bring some food back?”

You instinctively placed your grimy hand on your bare stomach. You hadn’t eaten a proper meal in what felt like weeks, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could reasonably keep this up. Your hand moved towards your chest, resting firmly above your heart in an attempt to settle down. Breathing deeply and clearing your throat, you replied, “um, yes, actually. Thank you, Hughie, I’m…famished, honestly.”

You could almost hear the relief in his voice as he gave you a brief farewell before you finally built up the strength to move towards the shower. You gently stepped over the wall of the yellowed porcelain tub, instantly enveloped in the hot water. Under any other circumstance, the heat of the water would have been too much to bear but you knew only water from the depths of the fiery inferno that is your hellish life would be able to fully cleanse your body of today’s events.

After what felt like hours, and the struggle of bringing yourself to actively wash your hair, face, and body instead of just lying on the floor of the shower and crying, you turned off the stream of water and stepped out of the shower. You grabbed the nearest towel, scratchy and worn, and wrapped yourself in it. Your feet slowly padded towards the door, pulling it open. Somehow thinking about nothing and everything all at once, you were in your own world as you rounded the corner out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel when you collided into the chest of a much larger person. You let out a startled yelp, hands raised to push against the wall of a human that you had, quite literally, run into.

“‘Ello, dove,” Butcher grinned, his eyes shimmering with amusement as he wrapped his arms around you to keep you from toppling over. 

“W-what are you doing here? I thought, I mean, Hughie said that you guys were…” you stuttered, fumbling over what to say.

“You thought you had this whole place to yerself and could parade that pretty arse around like y’owned the damn place?” he chuckled, hands migrating lower down your back before pulling you closer to press firmly against him. 

His accent was absolutely delectable and it, coupled with the sensation of his large, rough hands on your bare skin, sent shivers down your spine. Your body had a surprisingly visceral reaction to both with goosebumps erupting all over your body. Staring up at him, you couldn’t help admiring his rugged features. You had always thought his deep-set eyes were black, but up-close they were a beautiful dark brown that housed his trademark intensity. He had small scars, barely noticeable, peppered across his prominent cheekbones. His thick dark hair was longer than you typically would prefer in a man but the slightly tousled appearance only added to his tough, masculine exterior. You felt your arousal stirring deep in your belly, yearning with a desperate, uncomfortable desire for him to move his hands to another part of you. You weren’t sure if it was his touch or the sudden chill you felt that had your whole body on edge.

“Bit nippy in here, yea?”

You tensed, becoming keenly aware of the feeling of his clothes against your naked figure. You looked down in horror, mortified, to see the tattered excuse of a towel you once donned was in a heap on the floor. You instantly felt heat spread rapidly across your face, undoubtedly apparent to the rugged Brit before you. Your heart was beating out of your chest. God, strike you down now—save you from the embarrassment.

“Butcher, oh my God, I—”

“Relax, love, I ain’t looking. Here,” he interrupted, removing his hands from the small of your back agonizingly slow. The gentle trace of his fingertips as he pulled away left a trail of fire in their wake. He didn’t break contact with your pleading doe eyes, as he waved one hand and placed it over his eyes as a show of good faith and took a—small—step back. 

You cleared your throat, expectantly. “You better not peek.”

He let out his low grumble of a laugh, acknowledging your unspoken request with a small shake of his head and a breathy sigh before turning around. You immediately bent down, scooping up your towel and scrambling to wrap it around you as quickly as you could. Your trembling fingers eventually were able to secure it around your bust after dropping the corner twice, exposing your breasts. You glanced up, thanking the big fella upstairs that Butcher was turned around and unable to see you pathetically take a full minute to hide your shivering body.

“You’re fine, Butcher, I’ve got my towel,” you voice quietly, stepping to the side as you begin to scurry past him to your room. 

I’m never gonna hear the end of this, you think to yourself, your face still flushed. You all but sprinted the few remaining feet of the small, cramped space when you caught a glint of light in a large vanity mirror hung on the wall at the end of the hallway. You stopped in your tracks. The mirror offered a perfect view of the hallway but more, specifically, the exact spot of where you previously stood, naked and fumbling with your towel. In the same mirror, you saw Butcher’s devilish smile appear from the shadow of his dark beard accompanied by a mischievous wink before turning on his heel of his boot and disappearing around the corner of the opposite end of the hall.

[omgbilly]

guys we should talk more about his unbuttoned shirt