i want to be yours, bb

Side blog where I keep all my fave feral (nsfw) fics. Hit up my ask box / chat if you wanna thirst over Karl Urban together. Click the 3 lines icon for easy access to my tags and Ao3

[beyoursbb]

BeYoursBB MASTERLIST - Updated 7/7/26

€uro Tra$h Series (Sugar Daddy!Billy Butcher) -> 18+ explicit smut!!

Dipped in $ugar: Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

De$$ert: Part 1 || Part 2 (WIP)

Just a Girl — Summary: Although you blend in with the boys on the outside, Butcher knows how to make you feel like a woman when he’s inside. (18+ explicit smut!)

I crosspost on Ao3

[aweirdwriter]

im watching the boys s5 again and i cannot stop drooling over butcher he's such an asshole but he's so fucking sexy and big and buff i need this man to lemme spit on his dick 'n ride him til he cums in me like fuck what does a girl have to do for his dick <\3

[butcheredsaint]

I just woke up and I’m already thinking about Butcher forcing me to suck on his fingers while he’s balls deep. The way he’d pull my hair back to hold my jaw still, and just as I start whimpering a little too loud, he’d shove his fingers in and growl, ‘Shh, keep it down, pet, unless you want the whole house hearin’ you.’

And then he’d just stare right at me while he’s destroying me, taunting, ‘Yeah, that’s it, don’t you dare stop suckin’ on ‘em for me, love. Look at ya, chokin’ on ‘em for yer daddy.’

I am genuinely losing my mind.

[enchantedflameandflower]

18+ only, for sex, piv, mild spanking, smut, billy is obsessed with your arse Billy Butcher cannot keep his big, strong hands off of your ass, basically at all times. When you walk by his desk, his deft hand is reaching out to smack your ass, a devilish grin curving his lips when you squeak or yelp. When you’re cooking dinner, he’s slinking up behind you to grab a handful of one cheek, squeezing playfully and rumbling gruffly in your ear about ‘dessert.’

When you’re walking through the city, his big palm slips down from your lower back, patting the lush twin curves possessively, his expression clearly projecting mine to anyone that dares to look your way, and in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep, he tugs you close, his hand rubbing - comforting, protective, and even more possessive as he calms you back to slumber. Some nights he sneaks in the shower behind you, groaning, “Look at that fuckin’ gorgeous arse…” and wastes no time pressing his already swelling cock against you. All of it has you bending over for him immediately, your core aching for him. And he loves when you ride him reverse cowgirl, his big strong hands squeezing and kneading your ass cheeks. He moans as he pulls your cheeks apart, watching you fuck him, “Takin’ me so well, that perfect tight cunt,” he husks, your slick gushing all over him. Then he slides his big hands up to your waist, encouraging you to move faster so he can watch your ass bounce on his thick cock. Your thighs are starting to ache, but you’re so close to coming, your body on fire, your clit throbbing helplessly. “That’s my good girl,” he rumbles, “don’t stop, love, keep goin’ till I fill you good and full. Come fer me now, doll, but don’t stop bouncin’ till I tell ya.” Then he slaps your ass with a perfect crisp sting and you’re gone.

billy butcher masterlist

[bohemianblasphemy]

need to be facefucked by butcher

As you kneeled in front of him, butcher’s hand has a grip on your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail as he ruts his thick cock in and out of your mouth.

“such a dirty fuckin’ slut aren’t ya? moanin’ while Daddy’s cock is rammin’ that pretty throat of yours huh?” he taunted you, but all you could do was moan with a mouthful of dick.

his thrusts are relentless, hitting the back of your throat with no mercy. Butchers grunts are feral, animalistic- and those sounds he made drove you even crazier. you looked up at him, your vision blurry as your eyes welled with tears.

Butchers intense gaze locking onto yours with an unmistakable hunger as he pulled out of your mouth, giving you time to breathe- his grip on your hair never faltering.

“fuckin hell love… slobberin’ all over my cock an’ balls. just as i want ya…”

your mouth and chin was covered in saliva and salty precum, breathing heavily and moaning from his ruthless thrusts. Looking down at you, Butcher takes his cock, rubbing his tip against your puffy lips.

"open f'me sweetheart… stick ya tongue out." You obeyed, your mouth opening and your silky tongue slipping out from your jaw. Butcher taps his length against your tongue, sliding it along deliciously.

you moaned softly watching him, the thrill of it all sending waves of pleasure through your body.

he began to move faster, pushing his cock back into your mouth- his breath coming out in heavy bursts. his thrusts became sloppy as his neared his high, throwing his head back from feeling your tongue around him.

“God, you look so fuckin’ good doll… gonna make ya swallow all of it…” he groaned, his voice a low rumble that made you ache with desire. As he reached his peak, his groans got louder and his hips snapped harder.

“fuck me babe- daddy’s gonna cum-“ the grip on your head was tighter, keeping your head in place as he came hard down your throat, coating it in his hot seed. "Take it, take my cum."

pulling out of your mouth, he grinned down at you, slowly crouching and grabbing your chin. "Ah, my lovey," he purred, his voice low and husky. "You're so good with that mouth of yours… I think Daddy’s gonna have to do that again soon..."

[butcheredsaint]

omg write more hate fuck diva!!! but make it both sides wants to be dominant one love you<333 female reader if it’s okay with you💋

I am here to deliver 🙂‍↕️

The fight for dominance

MDNI!!

-Warnings:Billy Butcher x female reader,blink and you’ll miss it CNC,power dynamics,rough play,verbal aggression ,strong language,biting,hair pulling,mutual ejaculation.

-Summary: So, the mission went to total hell and you and Butcher are back at the safehouse absolutely fuming at each other. Both of you are trying to call the shots, neither is willing to budge, and the tension is just peaking. It goes from shouting matches to a proper messy power struggle where he finally decides he’s had enough of the back and forth and decides to show you exactly who’s in charge..the hard way.

————

The heavy steel door of the safehouse slammed shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the room. You barely had time to plant your feet before Billy shoved you, his hand a heavy, calloused weight against your shoulder that sent you stumbling back against the wall.

"You were meant to wait for my signal, you daft cow!" he roared, his face a masterpiece of fury and adrenaline. "Did ya leave yer brain back at the compound? You nearly got yerself killed, an’ for what? To play hero?"

"And you were too slow, Billy!" you spat back, stepping right into his space and shoving him in the chest. You didn't care that he towered over you..you twisted your hands into his shirt, bunching the fabric until your knuckles went white. "If I had waited for you, we both would have been killed! Stop acting like I’m some liability you have to babysit."

The air was electric and thick with the scent of ozone and unspent rage. You stood your ground, glaring up into his face with everything you had. He went to pin your wrists to the wall, his massive frame looming over you to box you in, but you twisted out of his grip, grabbing a fistful of his hair instead and yanking his head down hard to your level.

"Think you’re in charge, do you?" you hissed, your voice low and defiant. "Maybe in the field, but not right now, and certainly not with me."

Billy let out a dark, guttural growl, his eyes darkening with a mix of genuine irritation and something much more dangerous. He reached out, his hand clamping around your throat..not to hurt you, but to hold you exactly where he wanted..and his thumb grazed your jawline.

"I am in charge, yeah?" he rasped, his voice dropping to a low threat that vibrated against your skin. "Always. And I’m gonna make sure you don't forget it, no matter how much ya scream. You want to act like a bloody nuisance? I’ll show ya exactly what happens to those who don’t listen."

He lunged, his teeth grazing your neck before he bit down, hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped, a sharp sound of defiance, and immediately countered by sinking your own teeth into the meat of his shoulder, hearing him grunt in surprise. It was frantic and brutal, just two people trying to break each other's resolve.

He wrestled you onto the sofa, his superior weight pinning you down, but you thrashed beneath him, nails digging into his back as you fought to flip him over, to force him underneath you.

"Still fightin', are ya?" Billy breathed against your ear, his hand tangling deep in your hair to pull your head back, forcing you to look at him. "Let’s see how much fight ya got left when I’m actually done with ya, you daft sod."

You glared up at him, breathless and unyielding. "Then quit talkin' and show me, unless you’re all talk, Billy."

His grin twisted into something predatory, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, dark amusement. He didn't answer instead, he grabbed your hips with those massive, scarred hands and hauled you up, flipping you onto your stomach. You hit the sofa hard, your face sinking into the cushions, breath hitching as you tried to scramble up, your nails digging into the fabric to anchor yourself.

"Not so fast, sweetheart," Billy growled, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrated through the sofa. "You wanted to fight, didn't ya? Well, let's see how you like it when I’m properly in charge."

He didn't bother with finesse. With a sharp and violent tug, he shredded the denim of your jeans and yanked your panties down to your knees in one go. You could feel the cool air on your skin, followed instantly by his hot, heavy presence looming over you. You were already slick, your pussy aching and dripping, desperate for the friction you’d been denying yourself all day. Behind you, you heard the metallic clack of his belt buckle and the heavy slide of his zipper.

"Look at ya," he hissed, his hand clamping down on your lower back to hold you flat against the cushions. "Soakin' wet and beggin' for it. You think you're gonna be on top? Think again, love."

He didn't wait. He braced himself against you, his heavy, rock hard cock pressing against your entrance. You tried to shift, to turn your head to glare at him, but he shoved your face back into the cushions with his palm, muffling your gasp.

"Stay still, you stubborn little shite," he commanded, his voice dark and possessive.

He lunged, slamming into you with one deep, brutal thrust. The force of it knocked the air out of your lungs, the sheer size of him stretching you until you felt completely full, completely claimed. You let out a muffled cry into the cushions, your body arching reflexively as he filled you, his touch rough and demanding.

The rhythm of his hips was relentless, a punishing rhythm that drove you deeper into the cushions until your lungs burned. You were kicking your legs back, your heels drumming against his thighs and glutes in a frantic losing battle to regain some shred of control, but every movement only seemed to invite him to hit you harder. He kept his palm firmly pressed against the back of your head, pinning your face into the fabric and muffling your whimpers, effectively stripping away your ability to even protest.

"Still kickin', are ya?" Billy growled, his voice a gravelly rasp against your ear. "Won't do ya any good, love. You’re finished fightin' me. Just take it and be quiet."

As his hand shifted to grip your hip, his thumb digging into your skin, a sudden blinding tension began to coil in your core. You bit down hard on the cushion, forcing yourself to stay silent. You refused to give him the satisfaction of a verbal surrender, even as your body betrayed you. Your walls began to clench around him, twitching in rhythmic, involuntary waves of pleasure that you couldn't hide.

Butcher let out a rough, pleased exhale, the friction between you turning frantic as he felt you tightening around him. "There it is," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, possessive growl. "I can feel ya comin', can't I? Look at ya, tryin' to stay quiet for me..but your body's givin' you away, you little liar. Tell me how good it feels to be properly filled by me, yeah?"

He didn't slow down. Instead, he shoved into you with renewed, savage force, his own breathing hitching as he neared his own peak. He didn't bother pulling out, his movements becoming desperate and heavy as he slammed into you one last, brutal time, pinning you completely against the sofa.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice cracking as he surged deep, his entire weight pressing you down as he emptied himself inside you. "All mine. Fuckin' hell, every bit of that heat is mine."

He stayed braced against your back for a long moment, chest heaving and his breath hot against your neck, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising intensity as he rode out his own climax. When he finally pulled back slightly, his voice was still rough, dripping with the dark, smug satisfaction of a man who had won the war. "Told ya, didn't I? You were always gonna be beggin' for it, and I was always gonna be the one to give it to ya."

———-

I fucking loved writing this! Apologies that it took me a while to publish..I have so many requests I’m working through, lol. Thanks again for all the love!🖤

[beyoursbb]

Just a Girl

Pairing: Billy Butcher x You (Reader) || Rating: Explicit || Word Count: 4k || BeYoursBB FIC MASTERLIST

Summary: Although you blend in with the boys on the outside, Butcher knows how to make you feel like a woman when he’s inside. (Timeline for this work is Season 5, Episode 1)

Author's Note: This is my longest and most self-indulgent piece of writing yet! I just kept wanting to throw in more cuz a masculine presenting straight woman like me still wants to be fucked like a princess hahaha.

Warnings: swearing, oral sex (female receiving), mutual masturbation kind of, spanking (just once lol), unprotected p in v, very light bondage (restrained but not actually tied up), little overstimulation and mention of size difference, creampie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Awake on your bunk, you stared up at the ceiling of the classroom you called your bedroom in the abandoned school that served as the boys’ safe house. It had been five days since Butcher, Annie, and Kimiko rescued you and the guys from Freedom Camp 47 and you were still adjusting. Unlike Hughie and Frenchie, who reconnected immediately with their partners, the person you had been most excited to see had hardly interacted with you besides an initial side hug of reunification. 

The thought of reuniting with Butcher again was often the only thing that drove you forward when you were stuck in that internment camp for a year. You weren’t able to stay endlessly optimistic like Hughie. You didn’t dive into black market trading to keep busy like Frenchie. And you weren’t interested in beating up the other prisoners for entertainment like MM. 

You were tough as nails, strong as a bull, and could fight as well as any one of the boys, but sometimes, you just wanted to be a girl. And a girl was allowed to daydream, even if those daydreams bordered a delusional crush on her older boss who would never, in any universe, reciprocate. On the most basic level, you just weren’t his type. Not that you really knew the women Butcher had been with, but from the ones you’d seen, you concluded at minimum, being gorgeous was a requirement — one that you didn’t physically meet in a traditionally feminine sense. 

From the small mannerisms you developed, to the way you walked, talked, and dressed, your masculine exterior was all that most men saw, and passed on. Most days, the way you presented yourself did not bother you in the slightest; it was how you felt most comfortable in your own skin after all, and a man’s opinion was quite low on the list of things you valued. But on the rare occasion when you wanted someone specific to notice you, you couldn’t help but wish to lean more “girly.” If only you knew how to do a little makeup, or style your hair, or have the patience to paint your nails — maybe then you’d garner the attention you wanted. You looked to your friends, Annie and Kimiko, who were badass women just like you, but still had a feminine charm. You had yet to discover that balance for yourself. 

You let out a huff and threw the blanket off. The only cure you had for restlessness was exercise, so you quietly changed out of your pajamas into a t-shirt and shorts, then tip-toed your way down the hallway to the classroom you used as a gym. It wasn’t the most complete set-up, but contained the essentials and even had an extra large mirror propped up so you could check your weightlifting form. You put down your water bottle, and connected your Bluetooth headphones to your favorite playlist. 

You quickly found a flow state transitioning from your warm up routine to lower body lifts to an ab circuit to finishing with upper body lifts. Midway through, you got so hot you had to shed the shirt to use as a towel. Towards the end of your workout, you were so focused on doing single arm rows bent over on the bench, that you didn’t notice Butcher standing in the doorway until you looked up and saw his reflection in the mirror. You almost didn’t recognize him wearing only a white tank top, gray sweatpants, and…slides?

“Jesus!” You dropped the dumbbell to the floor with a loud thump and pushed your headphones down around your neck. You immediately sat down so your butt wasn’t up towards him anymore. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough to see your form crap out on those rows,” he answered. 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m a little out of practice. Freedom Camp didn’t really have equipment y’know.” 

Butcher sat on the empty bench across from you. His eyes flicked up and down your body, almost imperceptibly. But it was enough to make you self-conscious of your worn out appearance. You removed your headphones, picked up your shirt to wipe yourself off, and left it hanging on one shoulder so it at least partially covered your damp chest. 

“Even without, you’ve maintained your size. Maybe even got bigger.”

You stared at him blankly. He was complimenting you like a guy and internally you were screaming. Truthfully, you had worked very hard to maintain your physique in camp through body weight exercises despite a lack of protein and nutritious meals. If it was anyone else who mentioned this, you would have taken pride in them acknowledging your consistency, but the girl in you wished he hadn’t commented on your body at all. 

“I know it was hard in there, luv,” he said, placing his hand on your knee. His touch sent a shock of electricity through you and you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. “But I knew I didn’t have to worry about ya.”

You nodded, trying not to overthink his statement, when again, he meant well. He obviously had a lot of confidence that you’d be fine and hold your own, which you did. Nevertheless, it made your heart sink a little that he had no idea how much of your strength had come from the simple hope of seeing him again. 

You took a swig from your water bottle. “So, why are you up? Can’t imagine you wanted to join for a quick midnight pump.” 

Butcher raised his eyebrows slightly. “Hard to sleep with all that grunting yer doin’ in here.”

Warmth rushed to your face, remembering his bedroom was right next door, but you tried to play it cool. “My bad,” you answered. “I’m almost done.” 

You stood, picking up the dumbbells to re-rack and replace them with a different weight for your last exercise, incline bench press. 

“Need a spot?” he asked.

You nodded a “sure” and adjusted the bench from laying flat to propped up at a thirty degree angle. Butcher stood behind your head as you sat with both feet flat on the floor and each dumbbell resting on top of your thighs. You hiked up the weights one at a time, letting the momentum bring you back against the bench, then squeezed your shoulder blades together, causing your spine to arch and push your chest out. 

Butcher hovered his hands under each of your elbows, following your movement up and down each rep in case you needed assistance. The first and second set were challenging enough — doable, but not easy. The third set was when you felt your arms start to shake. 

“C’mon, luv, that’s all ya got?” Butcher challenged, refusing to support your arms. “I’ve seen you lift heavier than that.”

You grunted, muscles tense under the strain, until at last, you reached your failure point, unable to extend your arms fully anymore. You carefully lowered the dumbbells onto the floor on either side of you. 

“Man, fuck you,” you panted, lungs heaving. “You’re not even helping.” 

Butcher chuckled. “Got distracted. Was enjoying the view.”

You sat up and focused on his reflection in the mirror, tracking his eyes downcast. At the angle you had been laying back, then his gaze would align right above your…

As your brain connected the dots, Butcher’s hand came under your chin, twisting it to the side enough so you could choose to either maintain eye contact with him in the mirror, or talk to him face to face. He wasn’t harsh with it, yet it felt thrilling. Your boss was an inch away from giving you a hand necklace and that sent a wave of heat straight between your legs. 

“Why’ve you been avoiding me, luv?” Butcher questioned, in a much softer tone than you expected. “Did I really make ya that awkward when we got back? Swear I didn’t see too much when you were changing outta those camp clothes.” 

You stood, grabbing his wrist as you faced him, confusion morphing into defensiveness. “What are you talking about? I haven’t been avoiding—” You paused, processing, then released his forearm. “Wait— you— were checking me out?” 

Butcher’s face contorted into something akin to taking offense. “What? Just ‘cause you got muscles ya think I’m not gonna fancy a peep? I still have eyes.” 

He gave you the same once-over as earlier, but now you could definitely tell his gaze lingered on your breasts. 

“You might borrow from the blokes’ closets, but I know you’re just a girl under alla those clothes.” His mustache gave away the slightest twitch of a smirk.

The nervous pit in your stomach — familiar when in Butcher’s presence — began to dissipate at this new information. You allowed yourself to take the chance to copy him, raking your eyes across his own muscular chest, dark hair peeking out from under the tank top, and down all the way to the faint outline of a bulge through his gray sweatpants. You bit your lip subconsciously, to which Butcher gave a smug grin. 

“Speak ya mind, luv. I take it you like what you see as well?” 

Replacing that dissipating unease was a swell of confidence. You smiled, relaxed, took a step back and crossed your arms in front of your chest. Your biceps flexed naturally, and you felt even more assured knowing that being buff wasn’t a deterrent but actually the baseline of his attraction to you. 

You regarded him carefully, then took another chance. “You’ve seen me shirtless multiple times. It’s your turn to show some skin.” 

Amusement flickered in Butcher’s hazel eyes but he didn’t hesitate, stripping off his tank top to join your shirt in its pile near the benches. “Careful darlin’,” he warned. “You sure this the way you want to get even?” 

In mere seconds, your new-found confidence surged into brazen disregard for your dignity.

“I don’t want to get even. I want to get off.”

Once the words glided off the tip of your tongue, there was no taking them back. You did not have the slightest clue what possessed you to say them in the first place. But you promised to pray later to whatever higher power took hold because the searing kiss that followed was not anything you could have dreamed of. With the intensity Butcher planted his mouth on yours, the heat of desire would have melted you into a puddle had he not been clutching your neck and face in both of his big hands. With each breath he deepened the kiss, his tongue battling for dominance that you were more than willing to give into. You may have started this, but fuck if you knew how to finish it. It was out of your hands, and you were entirely in William Butcher’s.  

“Cheeky little thing,” he muttered, reaching down and encircling your waist. In one fell swoop, he picked you up: one arm supporting your lower back and the other cradling your knees. Naturally, you draped your arms around his neck and immediately felt like a princess. The ease with which he carried you straight out of the gym and ducked you both through the door into his own room while never once breaking from the kiss made your heart flutter. He made you feel light as a feather, and you were still floating when he set you down in front of his bed. 

You both stepped out of your shoes, and Butcher wasted no time yanking your shorts and underwear off, claiming a spot on his mattress in the process.

“C’mere,” he ordered as he laid back, motioning with his fingers. “Sit on my face.”

You scrambled on top of him, leaving a trail of kisses up his torso. You maneuvered yourself into a sixty-nine position, thighs straddling his head, then hesitated, hovering over his mouth. 

“Don’t get shy on me now. You said you wanted something, and I can provide,” Butcher tsked playfully. 

“You told me to speak my mind.”

“And I’m sure fuckin’ glad I did. Now sit.” 

He pulled you down and the instant his tongue hit your entrance felt like fire and ice. Butcher lapped at you firmly and precisely, like he was painting a picture onto your walls, his tongue the brushstroke. His eyes were closed in a look of appreciation, savoring every drop of your essence while you basked in the awe of being his muse. You experimentally shifted your hips, your inner thighs scuffed by his scratchy beard as you grinded down into his face. With one arm holding your waist, he snaked his free hand into his own pants and revealed his swollen member. Without missing a beat, he stroked it in time to your movement.

“Fuck, Butcher,” you sighed in disbelief. 

You always assumed he was big, and to get the front row seat to this delicious sight was unreal. Before you could stop yourself, two of your fingers flew to your clit and you rubbed quickly, a tight coil of pressure beginning to stir in the pit of your stomach. Balancing one hand on his abs, you leaned forward to wrap your lips around his cock, but he held you back with the hand around your midsection, as if to say “No, you just watch.”

So you did. You watched him touch and tease himself, noting how his fingers curled along the vein, deftly tugging at the head of his shaft every time his hand slid to the apex of it. His thumb spread the leaking precum across his tip and it took every ounce of restraint in you to not lick it up yourself. The pressure in your center steadily rose and you could feel a new sheen of sweat start to drip down your neck. Everything together — his display of self-pleasure, your own fingers on your clit, his beard soaked from you, and his dexterous tongue still intently exploring every inch of your slick pussy — threw you into a jolting climax. You came crying incoherent mumblings with the visual of Butcher handling himself at the same time he ate you burned into your memory. Your whole body shook, and your legs weakened, collapsing you, nearly suffocating the man responsible. No one had ever been able to do that before. 

“Fuckin ‘ell, luv,” Butcher steadied you down into the empty space next to him, a single strangled breath escaping him. “You taste fuckin’ exquisite.” 

He held you with both hands as he pressed kisses and bites along your neck and collarbone, his hot, hard length tucked into his clothes again, forming a tent. You breathed deeply, inhaling his manly scent, then helped yourself to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your sweet tanginess. When you pulled away after catching your breath, Butcher had a smirk plastered across his handsome mug. 

“We haven’t even done your cardio yet, darlin’. I need ta know how gorgeous you look bouncin’ on my cock.”

You smiled at this suggestion, eagerly straddling his hips once he removed his bottom layers. Together you guided him into you, a relieved groan slipping from both your throats when his tip first breached your wet cunt. You took your time easing onto his girth, until he was buried in you to the hilt. Butcher relished in watching each inch disappear into you, his hazel eyes drinking you in. 

“Let me see those beautiful tits,” he commanded, sitting up.

You whipped off your sports bra, tossing it behind you. Butcher cupped each tit, kneading the soft flesh, then followed with his mouth sucking each nipple to a hardened peak, prompting an arch in your back as you began grinding at a comfortable, even rhythm. The stretch to accommodate his size felt incredible, and you were at the perfect angle for your clit to rub against his pelvic bone.

“Butcher, you feel amazing,” you moaned. 

“Just Billy, sweetheart,” he grunted. “Say the same for you—fuck—you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

Placing your arms around his neck kept him caged to your frontside. His mouth worked overtime to pepper you with hickies across your boobs while his rough hands glided up and down your spine causing goosebumps to rise over the sensitive skin. You threw your head back in blissful stimulation and quickened your pace, the tension in your core building again. 

“You like this, don’t ya?” he asked. “You might fit in with the boys, but at the end of the day, you just want a real man to take care of ya.” 

You nodded. “Please,” you exhaled, “Please, Billy, I need you.” 

“How bad?” 

You felt his hands drop to your waist with a sudden downward force, holding you still on top of his throbbing cock. 

“How bad d’you need me?” he repeated. He leaned back, taking in the view of your growing desperation as you squirmed for friction, and peered up with a mischievous glint. “How long you been waitin’ to be split open on this cock?” 

Without warning, he lifted and slammed you back down on his length, the sheer force from his pelvis meeting yours driving your whole body forward. You yelped and grabbed at his shoulders to hang on, digging your nails into his freckled skin as he set a punishing pace. Each thrust hit that spot deep inside that you could never quite reach yourself, the spot that made your eyes roll back into your skull and melted your brain to mush. Words escaped you, and forming sentences was unfathomable.

“Still pretendin’ you're shy?” Butcher smacked his palm against the thick of your ass, forcing a vulgar noise out of you. Your eyes snapped open to meet his, which were darkening with lust every passing minute. The way he was bucking into you was mind-numbing — rough, passionate, like he was racing himself to witness you come undone for him.

“Billy,” you whined, barely able to hear yourself over the obscene sounds of slapping skin. The unbearable heat emanating from your core felt like it would combust, and your body tensed.

“Good, just like that,” Butcher encouraged. “Don’t put on a front with me. I got ya, pretty girl.”

You emitted a pathetic whimper at his coaxing. Butcher studied your every reaction like a hawk. He slowed down enough to pull you into a greedy kiss, as if you weren’t already totally consumed by all of him. As his tongue danced with yours, he focused his ministrations on your swollen clit, his fingers gently teetering you on the edge of ecstasy while relinquishing his control of the tempo to your own grinding hips. 

“Shit—” you cursed. “Billy, I—I’m so close.”

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Just let go.” 

His voice was milder now, not as demanding. As the tension rose to its peak, you caught his eyes again, still dark with an intense hunger, but also with a flicker of something deeper in them.

You quickly grasped the word: yearning. Yes, that’s what it was, had to be. He yearned for this moment as much and as fiercely as you. Your body, mind, and heart settled for a moment realizing this; then his next words arrived like an invitation.

“Let me feel you come on this cock.”

With a gasp, shockwaves coursed through your body up to the crown of your head all the way down to your curled toes, making you shudder as your walls clenched around him. Butcher was so deep, you could have sworn he rearranged an organ or two. Your juices coated him thoroughly, seeping out and slicking his balls. 

“Tha’s it, tha’s it, pretty girl. You feel so fuckin’ good—Give it to me,” Billy groaned, his words steering you through your roller coaster of pleasure while he enjoyed every sight and sound of you falling apart for him all over again. 

You planted your hands firmly on his chest to stabilize yourself as you continued riding out your high. Exhaustion from your previous two hour workout was finally catching up to you. Your lower body was sore, especially your quads, and your arms slowly turned to jelly, to the point where by the time your movement stilled, you were laying almost flat against the wide expanse of Butcher’s torso, fingers entwined in his thick hair, your lungs struggling for oxygen. You felt so fucked out, it didn’t even register that Billy flipped you over to your back until your wrists were pinned above your head in one of his big hands and his weight was pushing you into the mattress.  

He smirked, looking down at the wet, wheezing mess he made of you. His eyes seemed to glow with a renewed, enlivened thirst. You realized he still had not finished, and instead had pulled out, trailing his heavy, rock-hard member through your damp folds. He leaned down to nip at your exposed biceps and you trembled from the new sensation. 

“Yer so strong, luv,” he cooed. “How’s it feel to be so small for once?” 

On cue, you tested yourself and strained against his grasp. As expected, he didn’t budge. You couldn’t help but giggle. “Feels nice, Billy.” 

Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he pressed down even harder, simultaneously plunging into you with one harsh thrust. You were given no time to adjust before Butcher was back to fucking you like a madman, and honestly, you could hardly blame him at this point. He had been edging himself all night for you to get yours first; you were ready for him to devour all that was left of you for his. 

“Fuck!” you screamed. “You’re so fuckin’ big, Billy, I can’t—”  

“You can take it, luv,” he rasped, one hand on your waist while the other still anchored your wrists above which would surely show bruises tomorrow. “I ain’t gonna break ya. Just need a little more.”

At the current angle, with your feet in the air, your face practically between your knees, and his dick assaulting both your g-spot and clit, your whole body was twitching with overstimulation.  

“Billy, please,” you begged, close to tears. “I need you to come inside me, now.”

“One more time, gorgeous, and I’ll fill you up. Wan’ta feel your pretty cunt come one more time.”

With all the strength you had left, you wrapped your ankles around his neck, your calves digging into his shoulders and forcing his head down towards yours, close enough for you to kiss him. The surprise attack loosened his grip on you, and you slipped both hands out from under him, one tugging the hair on the back of his head as you made out, the other landing on your sensitive clit. Sparks flew instantly at your touch and for the second time, your pussy trapped Butcher’s aching cock in a vice. The pounding of his hips synched with the pounding of your heartbeat echoing in your ears, which drowned out the growl he released as he broke away from your lips. With furrowed concentration, he held you down as he kept his promise and filled you with streak after streak of his warm sticky cum. 

Completely dazed and speechless, your whole body spasmed with after shocks as Butcher pulsed inside you until softening. Carefully, he untangled your bodies, rolling you onto your stomach. Propping himself up on an elbow, he used his other hand to massage your tired muscles, starting at your shoulders, and working his way down your back, to your glutes, and hamstrings. 

“Not sure how we’ll top that, luv,” Butcher admitted after a few minutes. “But it was a long pent up year for me. I ain’t gonna wait anymore when it comes to you.”

You side-eyed him quizzically, brows tilted. “You saying you missed me?”

“Just ‘cause I wasn’t worried about you, doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinkin’ about ya. Felt fuckin’ sick when I heard you got picked up with the others. ‘M sorry I didn’t break ya out sooner.”

You couldn’t help smiling. “I missed you too. Had no idea I was your type though.”

Butcher scoffed. “What type did you think I liked? I ain’t tryna fuck a fairy.” 

He leaned down, the bed frame creaking as it shifted under his body and you could feel his overbearing weight on top of you again. He grabbed the back of your neck as he kissed your temple, then stayed next to your ear. 

“But if you ever try another fuckin’ jiu jitsu move on me, I promise I’ll throw you in a position yer never gettin’ out of.”

[butcheredsaint]

TMI but idgaf, I’m ovulating and all I can think about is Butcher eating me out, his hairy arms tickling my thighs while his massive hands hold my legs open and just feeling his stubble against my clit. goddd, SOMEBODY SEDATE ME. All the while he’s murmuring, 'That’s it, yeah? Look at ya, drippin' for me. You’re mine, and don't ya ever forget it”

He’s got a sixth sense for exactly when I’m getting this needy, too. Sends me fucking taunting pics like this just to make sure I’m absolutely feral for him while he’s away. Knowing damn well I’m sat here losing my mind just waiting for him to finally get his hands on me. 😮‍💨

RAHHHHHHHH 🦅

[butcheredsaint]

spanking with butcher? i feel like he’d be talking soooo sweet while you’re in his lap tearing up at the sting

The reminder 

MDNI!! 

-Warnings: Spanking, crying/tearing up,pet names, female reader,dominant Billy Butcher,possessive language,sexual control,manual stimulation,safe house setting. 

-Summary: Butcher enters the bedroom andtakes control, giving you a sharp, uncompromising lesson in obedience. Caught between the sting of his hand and the overwhelming sensations he forces upon you, you are left with no choice but to acknowledge exactly who you belong to 

---------------------------- 

The safe house was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the old refrigerator and the distant sound of the city. You hadn’t expected things to go this way, but Billy hadn’t given you much choice. The bedroom door groaned as it swung wide, hitting the stop with a sharp thwack. He had marched into the room, caught the look in your eyes, and decided you needed a lesson in who you belonged to. 

The heavy, measured thud of boots hitting the carpet filled the room. You were already laid out on your stomach across the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs the second you felt the mattress dip under his weight. 

Billy didn’t say a word. He just settled onto the edge of the bed, his presence instantly dominating the space. With a grip that was firm and brook no argument, he reached out, hooking his hands under your waist to haul you across his lap, You didn’t have the strength to fight it, and he knew it. With efficient practised movements, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your leggings and pulled them down just enough, exposing your skin to the cool air of the room. 

The first sting was sharp,sudden, and deliberate. You let out a startled, broken gasp , your fingers digging deep into the fabric of his jeans as the bite of the slap registered. 

“Oh,pet,” Billy rumbled, his voice a low vibration against your hip. He didn’t sound angry..he sounded terrifyingly calm. “Look at you. Startin’ to cry already? You’re such a soft, sweet little thing, aren’t ya?” 

He paused, his palm resting heavy and warm against your cheek, keeping you firmly pinned. You were already whimpering, the tears streaming down your face as you pressed your forehead into his muscular thigh. 

“Why are you cryin’,eh?” he whispered, his voice dropping to that sweet, patronising cadence that was worse than any shouting. He delivered another sting, sharper this time and you sobbed, your body jerking against his restraint. “Does it sting? Good. That’s just a reminder. I told you what would happen if you kept actin’ like ya didn’t know who exactly owns you.” 

He shifted his hand, his thumb moving lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before dipping down to find you. He began to rub, his thumb working in a slow rhythmic circle against your clit, a stark and wet contrast to the sting of his palm. You gasped, your breath hitching into a ragged sob. 

“P-please,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his leg as the sensation threatened to shatter your remaining composure. “Billy, please, i cant... it’s too much.” 

He chuckled low in his throat, not stopping the movement. “It’s just enough, love. Tell me..who do you belong to?” 

You were a mess, your breath hitching in ragged, wet whimpers, your body completely at his mercy. “I...i belong to you,” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking. 

“That’s my good girl” he purred, his hand quickening its pace. “See? Was that so hard? Now, stop that whimpering pet and look at me. We’ve got plenty of time to make sure you don’t forget it again.” 

-------------

Thank you so much for the request! i really enjoyed writing this (I’m a sucker for spanking with Butcher) I’m currently working through the requests in my inbox, so please bear with me while i get to them! Thanks for all the love, guys!🖤

[butcheredsaint]

Hellooo it’s so fun to read some fresh ideas from a new blog! I would like to request a threesome female reader with Butcher and Frenchie. I was thinking reader and Frenchie are good friends / established FWBs, so when reader mentions she’s interested in Butcher (maybe while Frenchie and her are already getting it on and Butcher arrives to the safe house) it’s easy to include him. Double penetration would also be great if you’re ok with that but if you want to take the scenario in a different direction, that’s fine too, whatever is easiest for you to write! I would just love smut with both of them hehe. Thank you!!

So uh I had way too much fun writing this 👀

MDNI!!

Shared interests

-Warnings: Threesome, Billy Butcher x Frenchie Female Reader, intense sexual acts, double penetration, manual stimulation, possessive language, sexual control, biting/marking, creampie/breeding theme, safe house setting.

-Summary: While spending some intimate time with Frenchie at the safe house, a whispered confession about your desire for Butcher leads to an unexpected turn when he arrives. What begins with Frenchie observing your reaction quickly escalates into an intense, possessive, and raw encounter where both men claim you together.

—————

The air in the room was thick with the scent of skin and friction. Frenchie was thorough, his hands roaming over your body with a deliberate, focus that made your breath hitch. He wasn't just moving..he was savoring every response, his brow furrowed in that intense, concentrated way he had, even when it was just the two of you.

"Focus on me, ma chérie”he murmured, his voice a low, raspy velvet against your ear as he shifted your hips to deepen the angle. "You are drifting away again".

You bit your lip, the embarrassment making your cheeks burn, but you couldn't help the confession that tumbled out. "I'm sorry, it's just... I keep thinking about Butcher. I know it's stupid, but he's been on my mind all day".

Frenchie paused, his thumb tracing the racing pulse at your throat. He didn't pull awayy instead, he leaned back just enough to look at your face, his expression curious and warm. "Stupid? Non.I have seen the way he watches you when he thinks no one is looking. The way his eyes linger on your neck, the way he catches glimpses of you when you walk by..he wants this as much as you do".

Just as he spoke, the unmistakable, heavy thud of combat boots hit the hallway floorboards. The rhythm of your breathing stuttered. You knew that stride anywhere. It was purposeful, heavy, and undeniably Butcher.

Frenchie let out a soft, knowing laugh, reaching for his phone on the nightstand while keeping his other hand firmly on your waist. "You don't have to be embarrassed, mon petit”he whispered, his thumbs flying over the screen. "I will send him a message. Let him come to us".

He locked the phone and set it aside, his eyes locked on yours. "Now, relax. Just let yourself feel, yes? He will be here soon"

The bedroom door didn't just open, it groaned as it swung wide, hitting the stop with a sharp thwack. You didn't need to look to know who it was. The heavy, measured thud of boots hitting the carpet confirmed it before you even smelled the stale smoke and ozone that always trailed him like a shadow.

Butcher didn't say a word at first. He just leaned against the doorframe, those cold, hazel eyes raking over the scene. He looked like he’d been dragged through hell and back, his jacket stained with fresh grime, but that gaze? It was predatory, focused entirely on the way you were arched against the bed , completely undone.

"You two havin' a good time?" Butcher’s voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress. He pushed off the doorframe, crossing the room in three long, heavy strides. He didn't waste time on pleasantries. He reached down, grabbing a handful of your hair to yank your head back so he could see your face, his expression dark and hungry. "Frenchie tellin' me you were thinkin' about me?"

You couldn't breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I—"

"Don't stutter," he hissed, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. He glanced over at Frenchie, a flicker of something possessive passing between them. "Move, Frenchie. You've had your turn".

Frenchie chuckled, pulling back slowly but keeping his hands on your waist, his eyes bright with excitement. "Always a pleasure to share, Billy. She is yours".

Butcher didn't wait for a second invitation. He shoved Frenchie aside just enough to wedge himself in, his knees hitting the mattress with a heavy thud. He was all raw aggression, his rough hands clamping onto your hips with a grip that left no room for argument.

"You lookin' at me like you’re beggin' for it," Butcher growled, his face inches from yours. He looked down at the way you were already flushed and ready, his eyes darkening further. "Frenchie’s good, I’ll give him that. But he’s soft. You want to see what happens when I take charge?"

He didn't give you a chance to answer before he dragged you up, his movements forceful and demanding. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice raw. "I want you lookin' at me when I fuck you".

Following Butcher’s command, Frenchie maneuvered with a nimble and practiced ease. He slid down, settling flat against the mattress on his back, and pulled you back against his chest so you were straddling him, your back pressed firmly against his torso. His hands immediately found your hips, guiding you to drop down onto his cock, his thrusts from behind meeting your internal wetness with a wet, squelching slap.

You gasped, the sensation of Frenchie filling you from behind already overwhelming, but it was only the beginning. Butcher loomed over you, his shadow swallowing the light, and shoved his way between your legs. He didn't bother with small talk, driving into you from the front with a harsh, punishing thrust that forced a broken, whimpery cry from your lips.

"Look at you," Butcher growled, his voice a gravelly rasp as he clamped his heavy hands onto your shoulders, pinning you between them. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing the skin before he sank them in hard enough to leave a mark. "Stuffed full, aren't ya? You’re so fucking tight, I can barely move in here".

You were being stretched to your absolute limit. The feeling of both of them hitting you from opposite sides made your head spin, your body slick and drowning in heat. You were so wet that your juices were literally dripping down Frenchie's thighs, turning the sheets beneath him into a sodden mess, and the constant friction was coating Butcher’s balls in your slick.

"Look at her, Frenchie," Butcher commanded, his eyes locked onto yours, dilated and dark with possession. "She’s takin' both of us like a champ. Look at how that pretty little cunt of hers is rippin' around us".

Frenchie, his breathing erratic and sharp, kissed the mark Butcher had left on your neck, his hands clutching your waist to keep you anchored to him. "It is exquisite, non?" Frenchie groaned, his hips slamming into yours from behind to hit a spot that made your vision blur. "She is so incredibly tight, Billy. She was made for this".

You were a mess of whimpers and gasps, your nails digging into Butcher's shoulders as you hit the edge. "I—I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum!" you whimpered with flushed cheeks.

"Me too," Frenchie gasped, his thrusts turning frantic and deep.

Butcher let out a low, guttural laugh, his hips slamming into yours with a force that rattled your teeth. He pinned you against him, his eyes burning into yours with a look of pure, unadulterated claim. "That's it, pet," he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous, possessive whisper. "You gonna let us both fill you up? Let us paint the inside of that pretty little cunt of yours? I want to see you leak us everywhere".

You couldn't even answer, just let out a shattered sob as the pleasure ripped through you. Butcher followed you over the edge, his body tensing as he surged into you, growling your name into your skin as he and Frenchie both found their release deep inside you.

As the tremors finally began to subside, Butcher grunted and withdrew sliding out with a thick, wet sound, followed immediately by Frenchie pulling out from behind. You stayed slumped against Frenchie’s chest, breathless and shattered. Butcher didn't move away, though..he reached out, his calloused fingers diving deep into your slick, leaking pussy, ruthlessly scooping and pushing the mixture of cum back inside you.

"Don't you dare waste any of it," Butcher growled, his eyes dark as he watched his hand work. "You’re keepin' every drop of us, sweetheart."

———

Thank you for the wonderful request! I’m currently drafting and working through the other requests in my inbox, so please bear with me! Thanks for all the love, guys!

🖤

[butcheredsaint]

Helllllooo! I’m back with some more smut ;) Apologies for being so quiet yesterday..I won’t lie, I had major writer’s block, lol.

Blood and Breath

MDNI!!

-Warnings:Dominant Billy Butcher, public risk, parking lot setting, blood, intense sexual acts, manual stimulation, possessive language, sexual control, size difference,slight fluff/comfort,pet names (Pet,love,sweetheart),creampie/breeding theme,female reader.

-Summary: The heist was a success, but the fear hasn't left you yet. Billy pulls into the darkest corner of the parking garage to help you calm down, turning your lingering terror into something much more demanding

—————

The Vought parking garage was a maze of cold concrete and shadows, the low hum of the ventilation system doing nothing to settle your nerves. Your hands were still shaking, your heart rabbitfast against your ribs, and your clothes were stained with streaks of someone else’s blood from the scuffle upstairs. Billy, his knuckles split and bleeding, didn’t look bothered by the carnage. He gunned the engine of the sedan, the tires screeching as he ripped through the levels until he found a dark, secluded corner.

He killed the lights and turned to you, the sudden silence of the car feeling heavy. You were staring out the window, your breath hitched, trying to process the adrenaline and the violence you'd just witnessed.

"It’s okay sweetheart” Billy’s voice was uncharacteristically low stripping away his usual bluster. He reached over, his large, calloused hand cupping your jaw, his thumb gently wiping a smear of blood off your cheek.

“Look at me, love. You’re safe now. I told ya, I wouldn't let ‘em touch ya." You couldn't stop the tremors so he pulled you into his space, tucking your head against his chest. He smelled of grime, blood, and cheap tobacco..a scent that usually spelled trouble, but now, it felt like the only anchor you had. He held you firm, his hand stroking your hair in a way that was almost tender. "I know, I know it was a lot," he murmured ,his breath fanning against your hair. "Just breathe. You’re with me, yeah? No one’s gettin’ anywhere near you."

You stayed there for a long moment, the fear slowly giving way to a different kind of sensation..the heat of him, the steady beat of his heart under your ear. As you calmed down, you realized just how close you were, and the fear began to morph into a sharp, undeniable ache. You felt the dampness spreading between your thighs, your body reacting instinctively to his proximity.

Billy sensed the shift immediately. His hand dropped from your hair to your waist, his fingers digging in firmly. He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his gaze dark, predatory, and entirely focused on you. "Still shakin', are ya?" he rasped, his voice dropping to a gravelly hum. "Only this time... it ain't just fear anymore, is it, pet’?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He shoved the driver’s door open and hauled you out, ushering you into the back seat. He pulled you down onto his lap his eyes locking onto yours with a predator’s focus. He fumbled with the buckle of his belt, the metallic clack loud in the confined space, and he shoved his trousers down. With a rough, efficient motion, he grabbed the waistband of your trousers and panties, sliding them down your legs and kicking them aside so you were completely open to him. He reached between your legs, his fingers immediately finding just how ready you were.

"Bloody hell," he growled, his voice thick with hunger. "You’re absolutely soaked for me, aren't ya?"

He gripped your hips with those massive, scarred hands, forcing you down onto him. You let out a gasp that turned into a broken whimper when he filled you completely.

"That's it, love. Take it," he grunted, his head falling back against the headrest. His hands left your hips to claw at your hair, pulling you down until you were forced to meet his intense, heated gaze. "You think you were scared? I'm gonna make you forget every single thing that happened up there. You're mine now, yeah?"

He pushed up into you, his rhythm becoming a relentless and demanding force. He was controlling every inch of you, his hands roaming your body to leave his marks wherever he pleased. The friction was dizzying, and as the pressure built, you couldn't take the intensity of his gaze anymore. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, your breath coming in sharp, desperate hitches.

"I'm... I'm gonna cum," you whispered, the words barely a soft gasp against his skin.

Billy let out a rough, guttural sound, his movements speeding up until he was driving into you hard. "Yeah? Good. 'Cause I'm right there with ya, pet'." He gripped your hips even tighter, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl against your ear. "You take all of it, yeah? You take every drop inside that tight, pretty pussy of yours. Make sure you feel it."

As you shattered against him, he thrust into you one last time, pinning you against his chest as he followed you over the edge. Both of you collapsed into the backseat, the adrenaline finally, completely, giving way to pure, exhausted bliss.

He didn't let you pull away, his arms locking around you, holding you firm against his heartbeat. "That's it Love'," he whispered into your hair, his voice once again that dangerous, gravelly rumble. "You’re good for me. You’re so fucking good."

———-

My requests are still open for any smut or fluff scenarios you’d like me to write!

[butcheredsaint]

Request from @little-wicked10

Sooo it’s my birthday and I was wondering if you could write a lil something for me pretty please🩷

Maybe butcher making me squirt for the first time for my bday🫣💦

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!🥳 I hope you like it!~

MDNI!!

-Warnings: Dominant Billy Butcher, female reader, explicit sexual acts, manual stimulation, mentions of sex toys, fingering, squirting, cum/fluid tasting, possessive language, heavy sexual control, size difference.

-Summary: Kimiko and Frenchie think a new toy is the secret to your birthday satisfaction, but Butcher has other plans. He isn’t about to let a piece of plastic show you what you're capable of. He takes control to prove that he’s the only one who can push you over the edge, turning your birthday into a raw, instructional lesson on just how much pleasure you can handle.

———————

The evening sun was casting a golden hue across the living area of the safehouse and it was officially your birthday. You were sitting on the couch when Kimiko and Frenchie walked in, grinning like conspirators. Kimiko dropped a small, sleekly wrapped box into your lap, her eyes dancing with excitement.

"Happy birthday, ma chérie!”Frenchie chirped, beaming.

You tore the paper away to reveal a high end, discreet vibrator. The packaging was bold with a vibrant, tongue in cheek graphic and a tagline printed in big, confident letters: Guaranteed to make you squirt.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks instantly, turning your face a deep shade of crimson as you caught sight of Butcher leaning against the doorway. He was nursing a drink, his eyes dark and unreadable as they flickered from the box in your hands to your flustered expression.

"Well, now," he drawled, his voice a gravelly rumble. He pushed off the doorframe and stalked toward you. "Seems like a hell of a birthday present."

Frenchie and Kimiko quickly made themselves scarce, leaving you alone with him. He sat down next to you on the couch, his gaze heavy and possessive. "Never thought you were the type to need batteries to get off, love," he murmured, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You looked down at the toy, your voice barely a whisper. "I don't... I mean, I've never actually squirted before, Billy. Never even came close."

Butcher let out a low ,rough laugh, the sound vibrating in his chest. He reached over, plucked the box from your fingers, and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Ya don't need a bloody toy to do that. You just need someone who knows exactly how to push you over the edge."

He stood up, pulling you toward the bedroom. He didn't waste a second, his hands working with a rough practiced efficiency as he grabbed the waistband of your trousers and your panties, dragging them down your legs in one fluid motion. He kicked them aside and pushed you back onto the bed, his weight immediately settling over you. When he slid his hand between your thighs, he found you absolutely drenched.

"Happy birthday, love," he growled.

He drove two fingers deep into you, his rhythm agonizingly slow and deliberate. He grunted low in his throat, his eyes darkening. "Fack, you're tight," he rasped. "Drenchin' me like this... you've no idea what you're doin' to me, have ya?"

The sensation was overwhelming, a sharp, building pressure that felt like a dam ready to burst. You started to panic, your hips bucking against his hand. "Billy, stop…stop, I think I’m gonna pee, please…”

He let out a dark knowing chuckle, and just as you felt that desperate need to let go, he pulled his fingers out. He brought them to his mouth, tasting the slickness from your body with a deliberate, hungry slow motion action. He looked back at you, his eyes locking onto yours with a possessive, wicked glint. "Tastes like heaven," he murmured, his voice a low, gravel-ridden purr. "Don't you worry about a thing. You're not gonna pee.. you're just learnin' how much you can take for me."

He plunged his fingers back inside you in one heavy and deep stroke, hitting your spot with even more precision. With his free hand, he reached up and pressed firmly against your lower stomach, the pressure authoritative and grounding.

"That's it, push into it," he commanded. "Let go for me, love. Give it all to me."

You couldn't hold it back. You cried out, your body convulsing as you started to flood his hand, soaking his fingers and palm. He stayed right there anchoring you, his thumb circling your clit while he held your stomach firm, letting you spill over until you were trembling.

"See?" he purred, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "Told ya you didn't need a toy, love. Just needed me to show you how it's done."

———————-

Thank you so much for this request and happy birthday! My requests are still open, so if there’s something else you’d like to see, I’m all ears. Also, I’m really interested in seeing if you guys think Butcher would be into a certain thing or kink, and I’ll let you know if I agree with a short snippet! 🙂‍↕️

[butcheredsaint]

Request from @little-wicked10

Butcher fucking you in front of your shit ex😳

Like beats the dude up, ties him to a chair, and makes him watch as he has you seeing all the stars in heaven🫣⭐️

Holy shit this was so hot to write!! MDNI!!

——-

Mine to ruin

-Warnings: Possessive/dominant Billy Butcher, female reader, non-consensual/forced audience, violence/blood play, humiliation, heavy dirty talk, explicit sexual acts, manual stimulation, intense friction, size difference, praise kink,creampie/breeding themes.

Summary: After violently subduing your ex and forcing him to watch, Butcher claims you on a grimy basement sofa. He makes sure your ex witnesses every second of your intense, submissive surrender, using the moment to prove his absolute ownership and dominance over you.

———————-

The basement was suffocatingly dark, the only light a flickering bulb that cut through the gloom. Your ex was babbling, trying to scramble backward but Butcher was on him in a heartbeat. He swung a heavy, calloused fist that connected with a sickening crack against your ex’s jaw. The man stumbled, dazed, collapsing into the rickety wooden chair Butcher had prepared. Before he could find his footing, Butcher had the zip ties out, lashing him to the wood with efficient brutal force. Your ex groaned, his head lolling forward..blood dripping steadily from his split lip onto his chest.

“Don't you dare look away, you pathetic cunt," Butcher snarled, leaning into the man's space until your ex could smell the stale smoke and sweat on him. "You’re gonna sit there, you’re gonna be quiet, and you’re gonna watch me handle my girl. You’re nothing, mate. Just a front row seat to the woman who’s always belonged to me, the one you never had a prayer of keeping."

Butcher turned to you on the old stained sofa, his entire demeanor shifting from murderous rage to a possessive, consuming heat. He loomed over you like a shadow, his eyes dark and heavy.

“That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a gravelly tender purr that stood in stark contrast to his earlier violence. “Just relax for me. You’re safe here love.”

He guided you back onto the cushions, his hands warm and familiar. He didn't hesitate, sliding your pants and panties away in one smooth motion. He braced himself over you, his large frame acting like a cage. He shoved two thick, rough fingers deep inside you, and you gasped, your face flushing as you buried it against his neck.

“Already clamping down so hard on my fingers, aren't ya, love?" he growled, his voice vibrating against your ear as he worked you ,his thumb circling your clit with a rhythm that was both punishing and divine.

“Look at you, just begging for me. You’re so tight... tighter than you ever were for this prick, aren't ya?"

He pulled his fingers out, holding his glistening hand up directly in the ex's line of sight, a cruel and mocking glint in his eyes. "See this, mate?" he sneered, gesturing toward his wet fingers. "She’s drippin’ for me. She’s been beggin’ for me to fill her up all night. You couldn't make her this wet if you spent a lifetime trying."

He freed himself, his cock heavy,throbbing, and leaking pre cum. He dragged the length of it across your folds, coating you in his scent and slickness before he forced his way inside. You whimpered a broken sound, as he filled you completely.

“Billy, please," you breathed out, clutching at his back as your ex let out a pained, wet groan from the corner.

“Yeah, that’s it, love," he grunted, slamming into you with a rhythmic, possessive violence. "Keep saying my name. Let him hear it."

He reached down, his large, rough hand softly but firmly grabbing your jaw, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to face your ex. "Tell me, sweetheart," he growled, his voice dipping into a taunting drawl as he thrust deep into you, "did he ever fuck you like this? Did he ever make ya feel this good? Doesn't matter anyway, does it? 'Cause you're mine now, my girl. Always have been, always will be."

He kept up a brutal perfect missionary rhythm, his body pinning you into the sofa. You were reaching your limit, your hips bucking to meet his. "Billy, I—I'm gonna, I need to—"

“Do it then," he commanded, his voice a guttural, dark growl. He reached down, his fingers cupping your jaw and turning your face firmly toward the ex. "Finish for me, right in front of him. I want him to see every second of you losin’ ya mind for me."

As you finally broke, crying out his name, Butcher growled in triumph, pumping into you with one last possessive surge. He held you pinned beneath him as his releases leaked from your entrance.His chest heaving, his eyes locked on your ex’s bloodied, defeated face to make sure he didn't miss a single, filthy second of your release.

————

Thank you so much for the brilliant request! Sorry for the delay in getting this up but my inbox is officially open for more smut and imagines. I’m also really looking for your Butcher Scenarios..if you’ve ever wondered, 'Would Billy be into this?' just ask! Send me your idea/question, and if I think it fits his character, I’ll write a short snippet to go with it! Also I’d love to write for any other characters from the boys!

[bohemianblasphemy]

i would like to hear your thoughts about butcher noticing you get antsy when he’s being mean to you after you didn’t listen on a mission and then being mean to you while fucking you because he now knows it gets you off 😮‍💨😮‍💨

As soon as Billy notices your squirming in your seat after he snaps at you for making a poor decision, his brain starts to turn with ideas on how to deal with you when you both got home.

Even when it was quiet between you and him, the scowl on his face was enough to make you cross and squeeze your thighs together- aleviating some of the throb that pulsed between your hips.

But it couldn’t satisfy what you really wanted from him, and it was for him to be mean- and boy did he show you.

There was no delay in what was to come when you both stepped foot into the apartment.

He was quick the crowd you to the wall, pressing himself against you with a hand on your throat - talking about how stupid that stunt you pulled tonight was.

“Gonna fuck that brain of yours into gear, maybe then you’ll make some better choices when ya life is on line, won’t ya lovey?”

He wouldn’t give you a beat to answer, before he tugged you towards the bedroom- ripping each garment off of you body, seeing the extent of his affect on you when he saw how wet you were for him.

“Billy please-“

“Shut it, not another fuckin’ word from that mouth.”

He was rutheless, roughness taking over him when he basically threw you on the bed- using his belt as wrist restraints to the bedframe, propping you on your knees for him as he spanks your ass red. Billy would make you count them, making remarks to how smart you were now when his cock is involved.

He’d hearing your sobs of pleasure as he drives himself into you- thrusts that pressed your cervix and his balls slapping against your swollen clit.

“You’re gonna fucking use your mind next time, get that? Only time you get to be fuckin’ dumb is when I’m fucking you with my cock. Understand?”

You couldn’t even respond, only whining and pressing yourself back against him when he stopped.

“Answer me.” He snapped lowly, another palm striking down your ass cheek, making you yelp.

“Y-yes I-i understand.” You muttered quickly, wanting him to continue pounding your pussy.

He shoved your head back down, your cheek pressed into the pillow as he resumed his actions - fucking you until he felt that the message was across, and you were both fucked out.

[butcheredsaint]

Daddy's good girl.

(I may have written this for myself lolol)  

-Warnings: Possessive/dominant Butcher, female reader, daddy kink, pet names, heavy dirty talk,intense friction,explicit sexual acts, biting/marking, size difference,finger sucking,praise heavy, missionary position, creampie/breeding themes.  

Summary: Butcher isn’t interested in being gentle tonight. He’s in a mood to remind you who’s in charge, and he’s not stopping until you’re a complete whimpering mess, begging him to fill you up and calling him exactly what he wants to hear.  

-----------------------------  

The bed frame groaned under the weight of him, a rhythmic violent thud against the wall that matched the frantic pounding of your heart. Billy was like a force of nature, his large calloused hands gripping your hips, forcing your legs wide apart as he dominated you from between them. His frame was a wall of muscle and heat, his body a heavy and immovable weight pressing you deeper into the mattress.  

He didn't just fuck you, he was dismantling you with every thrust and groan.  

Every time you felt yourself starting to spiral and squirm, he felt the internal clenching and shifted, his hips grinding in a slow torturous circle. He angled the head of his cock hard against your G spot, aiming for it with each thrust that made you loose your mind. Each time he pulled back, the sound of his balls slapping wetly against your soft skin filled the room, a primal cadence.  

“Look at me, pet.” he growled, his voice a low gravelly rumble that vibrated right through your chest. “Don't ya dare close them eyes. I wanna see you loose it for Daddy.”  

You forced your eyes open meeting his intense, dark gaze. He smirked and his expression was sharp and possessive. “That’s it, look at ya,” he hissed, his cock stretching you until you felt completely full. “You’re so fuckin’ small, aren’t ya? Tiny little thing, so tight and wet..it’s like you were made to take me, pet. You're just a messy, filthy little thing when Daddy’s inside ya.”  

All you could do was whimper in reply and he took that as a challenge, slowing his pace just to tease the edge of your climax. “Strugglin’ are ya?” he murmured with a wicked glint in his eyes. “I can feel you twitchin’ baby. You want me to finish you off, don’t ya? Be a good girl and tell me who owns this sweet, tight pussy.”  

He paused, his hand moving to your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He slid two of his fingers past your lips, commanding, “Suck ‘em.Let Daddy see how good you can be when you’re told.”  

You were desperate, your body aching for release, and you didn’t think, you just gasped out, “Billy, please.. I can’t take it.”  

Butcher’s eyes darkened instantly. He yanked his fingers out, his expression turning lethal. He didn’t hesitate, his hand darting up to clamp firmly around your throat, just enough to hold you in place, while he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.  

“Don't you ever call me that again,pet.” he hissed with possessive rage. “I ain’t Billy in here. You call me Daddy. You only ever call me Daddy, understand?”  

“D-Daddy..” You whimpered.  

“That’s a good girl,” he purred, the shift from rage to praise so sudden made your head spin. He plunged back into you, heavy and deep, his hips driving against yours with such force it knocked the wind from your lungs. “C’mon. Don't you dare go quiet on me now. I wanna hear every filthy sound ya make while im buried deep inside ya. Open your mouth and tell Daddy how much you need this, you little slut.”  

A half sob escaped your lips as you could feel your legs beginning to shake.  

He drove into you, his movements thick and all consuming, his hand moving down to firmly massage your clit. “Yeah, just like that,” he cooed, his voice thick with lust. “You’re so fuckin’ needy, ain’t ya? Daddy loves hearin’ you mewl like a little kitten.”  

You were clawing at his back, completely unravelled, your voice cracking as you sobbed, “Daddy, please..please, i need you to finish, just give it to me, fill me up!”  

Butcher let out a harsh satisfied laugh, his hips slamming into yours with renewed, punishing force, “You want Daddy’s cum, don’t ya? You want me to fill you up so much you’re leakin’ all over my sheets?”  

“Yes,please,Daddy i want it all!” you screamed, your body seizing under him.  

“Then give it to me,” his voice dropping into a guttural, possessive growl as he felt you tightening around him. “Cum for Daddy, right now pet. Let go for me.”  

You shattered, a loud, ragged sob tearing from your throat as your body bucked into his. He didn’t waste a second, his grip on your hips bruising as he let out a low groan “Good girl” he growled, his voice a breathless command. “Daddy’s gonna cum, take it all, pet. Every drop. That’s it.. Fillin' you up so everyone knows exactly who you belong to.”  

He gave one final violent shove, his body locking against yours as he erupted inside you, pumping himself deep and hard until there was nothing left to give, pinning you to the mattress and claiming you completely...

-----------------

Loveddddd writing this! If you have any requests for more Daddy butcher (Or anything else!) feel free to send them over!! Also open to talk about you may think he's into :3

[bobabilbil]

Something’s wet and it’s not from my sweat🤭

[cumkissed]

❛ 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘’𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝐁𝐄𝐍’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌 ❜

01 . ⠀⠀ ˚ ﹒ ૮ ⠀⠀⠀━╋⠀⠀𖤝 summary ::⠀⠀everyone knows you’re billy butcher’s girl, especially ben. what starts as ben flirting just to piss billy off turns into something much filthier when billy realizes you enjoy the attention more than you’ll admit. || 21k

02 . ⠀⠀ ˚ ﹒ ૮ ⠀⠀⠀━╋⠀⠀𖤝 content warnings ::⠀⠀billy butcher x fem!reader x ben . established relationship with billy . jealousy . possessive billy . ben being a menace . rough sex . manhandling . degradation . praise . daddy/dada . choking / breath play . face slapping . tit slapping . nipple play . spit . oral sex . balls sucking . messy blowjobs . double penetration . creampie . cum eating . cum feeding . taking pictures during sex . exhibitionism / being watched . dirty talk . overstimulation . humiliation .

navigation . kofi

EVERYONE KNOWS YOU'RE Billy Butcher’s girl, and the funny thing is that Billy acts like he hasn’t spent months making sure of it. He doesn’t announce it with flowers or pretty words, because that isn’t Billy and it never has been.

He announces it with his hand at the small of your back whenever someone steps too close, with the way he passes you his glass without asking because he already knows you’ll steal a sip, with the way his eyes track you across every room like losing sight of you is personally offensive.

He isn’t soft by nature, not in a way most people recognize, but you know the shape of his tenderness better than anyone. It looks like him making sure you’ve eaten before a mission, even when he claims he only ordered too much by accident.

It looks like him keeping your side of the bed warm when you come home late, even though he pretends he fell asleep there because the sofa was uncomfortable. It looks like him getting irritated when you thank him, as if being seen for the gentler parts of himself is worse than being shot at.

You tease him for it constantly, because teasing Billy is one of your favorite dangerous hobbies. He grumbles, calls you a pain in his arse, and still leans into you every time you touch him. That’s love, with Billy, rough around the edges and stubborn enough to survive anything.

Your relationship has never been easy, but easy has never been what you’ve wanted from him. Billy argues like he’s breathing, and half the time he seems to pick fights just so he can have a reason to pull you close afterward.

He’s made you furious more times than you can count, usually by shutting down the second something matters too much. You’ve thrown cushions at his head, slammed doors, stolen his coat out of spite, and told him he’s impossible while he stood there with that awful little smile that said he already knew you weren’t leaving.

He’s called you trouble so many times the word has started to sound like a pet name. You’ve called him a bastard in five different tones, and he knows exactly which one means you’re actually angry and which one means you want him closer.

That’s the thing about Billy, he listens badly until he doesn’t. He misses the obvious emotional conversation, then remembers the tiniest detail about how you take your tea. He can be brutal, careless, sharp, and maddening, but with you, he tries. It isn’t always pretty, but it’s real.

Most people think Billy is the possessive one because he’s louder about it, but you’ve got your own habits too. You notice when he’s too quiet, when his jokes get crueler because something’s dug under his skin, when his shoulders sit higher than usual under his coat. You know when to push and when to wait him out.

You know how to touch his wrist when he’s spiraling without making him feel trapped. You know when his anger is anger and when it’s fear wearing boots. He hates how easily you read him, but he trusts you with it too, and that matters more than any pretty confession could.

Sometimes, when the room is crowded and awful and loud, Billy looks at you once and something in him settles. You’ve seen it happen too many times to pretend it doesn’t. You’re his soft place to land, even if he’d rather chew glass than say it in front of anyone. He’s yours too, though you usually tell him that in quieter ways.

Ben had noticed all of it almost immediately, because Ben noticed things people wished he wouldn’t. He’d seen Billy’s hand curl around the back of your neck during an argument with Frenchie, not tight enough to hurt, just firm enough to remind everyone where you stood.

He’d seen the way you leaned into Billy without thinking, as natural as breathing, like your body trusted him before your mind had to check. He’d seen Billy pass you food from his own plate and pretend it was because you were hovering. He’d seen you roll your eyes and steal another bite anyway.

Ben had watched that strange little domestic ritual with open amusement, his gaze moving between the two of you like he’d found something worth poking. At first, you’d assumed he was only interested because Billy hated being studied.

That made sense, since Ben seemed to live for making Billy’s jaw tick. Then he’d looked at you a little too long, smiled like he’d caught you at something, and called you sweetheart. That was when the problem had started.

Your relationship with Ben had never become friendship in any normal, respectable sense of the word. It was more like tolerance with sharp edges, the kind of arrangement that only worked because neither of you admitted it worked at all.

He was loud, smug, old-fashioned in all the worst ways, and so certain of himself that it made your teeth itch. He walked into rooms like he owned the floorboards, the air, and everyone’s attention by default. He made comments that earned him immediate death stares, drank from bottles that weren’t his, and had the nerve to look entertained when people snapped at him.

You’d told him to shut up before breakfast more than once. He’d told you that you were cute when you were bossy, which had almost gotten him stabbed with a butter knife.

You’d called him a walking midlife crisis with super strength. He’d laughed like that was the nicest thing anyone had said to him all week. Somehow, against all good sense, that had become a rhythm.

The awful thing was that Ben didn’t treat your irritation like rejection. He treated it like conversation. If you snapped at him, he leaned in with that grin, pleased you’d given him something to work with. If you ignored him, he made it his personal mission to become impossible to ignore.

If you rolled your eyes, he watched your mouth like he was waiting for the smile you were trying to bury. He liked getting a reaction out of you, and you knew that, but you also knew there were different kinds of attention.

Sometimes he was only winding you up because Billy was nearby and easy to provoke. Sometimes his eyes stayed on you even after Billy had left the room. Sometimes he asked what you thought before anyone else did, then pretended he didn’t care about the answer. Sometimes he remembered things you’d said days before and used them later, casually, like he hadn’t been listening at all. That was harder to dismiss.

You’d enjoyed it, though you’d rather have swallowed a live grenade than admit that to anyone. You liked being able to get under Ben’s skin, especially because he acted like nothing touched him. You liked that his grin faltered for half a second when you hit back with the right words.

You liked the little spark of victory when he laughed despite himself, like you’d dragged the sound out of him against his will. You liked that he looked at you as if you weren’t just Billy’s girl, not just the soft thing standing beside a dangerous man, but someone dangerous in your own right.

It did something to you, being seen that way. It made you feel sharper, brighter, less easy to place in the neat little box people kept trying to put you in. You told yourself it was harmless because you’d never crossed a line. You told yourself it was only attention, and attention didn’t have to mean anything. The problem was that Billy had noticed long before you’d finished convincing yourself.

Billy had started watching in that quiet way that always meant trouble. He hadn’t exploded, which made you more nervous than if he had. Billy had a temper like a lit match in a petrol station, so when he chose silence, it meant he was gathering information. He saw the way your shoulders squared whenever Ben entered a room.

He saw the way your voice changed, not softer, not sweeter, but quicker and more alive. He saw the way your mouth twitched when Ben said something stupid enough to be funny. He saw the way you looked away when you were close to laughing, like denying Ben the satisfaction mattered more than the laugh itself.

He saw the way Ben noticed too, and that made something dark and interested move behind Billy’s eyes. He didn’t like Ben, not in any simple sense, but Billy wasn’t simple either. There was jealousy there, yes, but there was also curiosity.

What turned Billy on more than he wanted to admit was the contradiction of you. You acted so sweet with everyone else, all gentle hands, warm looks, and careful words. You remembered who took sugar in their tea, checked wounds without making a fuss, and softened your voice when someone needed kindness more than sarcasm.

Then Ben opened his mouth, and suddenly there you were with teeth. You didn’t melt under his attention, at least not where anyone could see. You snapped back, challenged him, made him work for every little reaction he got from you.

Billy saw the flicker under all that sweetness, the part of you that enjoyed being provoked because it gave you permission to stop pretending you were harmless. It did something to him, knowing you weren’t as innocent as you looked.

It made his blood heat in a way he didn’t fully trust. It made him want to press on that hidden part of you and see what else came out.

He’d confronted you about it once, though Billy’s version of confrontation had started with him standing too close and pretending it was casual. It had been late, after Ben had left the flat with that smug grin still sitting on his face.

You’d been at the sink, rinsing mugs and muttering about men who couldn’t take a hint. Billy had leaned beside you, quiet enough that you knew he was about to say something unbearable. You’d looked at him from the corner of your eye and asked,

“What?” He’d lifted his brows like he was innocence itself, which was ridiculous on his face. “What, what?” he’d said, voice rough with amusement. You’d set the mug down slowly, because you already hated where this was going. “You’ve got that look,” you’d told him. Billy had smiled, and that was when you knew you were doomed.

He hadn’t rushed the point, because Billy enjoyed making you squirm when he knew he was right. He’d picked up the towel you’d abandoned, dried one of the mugs with unnecessary care, and let the silence stretch until you wanted to throw something at him.

“You enjoy it,” he’d said eventually, so calm it made your stomach dip. You’d turned toward him too quickly, and he’d caught that too. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you’d said, which had been the worst possible answer because it sounded guilty even to your own ears. Billy had hummed like a man who’d just been handed proof.

“Course you don’t,” he’d replied, setting the mug down. He’d stepped closer then, not crowding you exactly, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“You act all sweet,” he’d said, his voice low and knowing, “then that smug bastard gives you a bit of attention, and suddenly you’re all lit up.” You’d hated how your face warmed before you could stop it.

You’d tried to argue, because of course you had. “Ben is annoying,” you’d said, folding your arms like that settled anything. Billy had nodded immediately, too agreeable to be trusted. “He is,” he’d said, like he was doing you the courtesy of confirming a weather report. That had made you narrow your eyes.

“He’s arrogant,” you’d added, needing the list to be longer, needing it to become a defense. Billy had dried his hands, slow and patient, before he looked back at you. “Very,” he’d agreed.

You’d felt cornered by his calm more than you would’ve by anger. “He’s unbearable,” you’d insisted, and Billy’s mouth had twitched. “Doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy puttin’ him in his place, love.”

That had stayed with you because he hadn’t sounded angry. He’d sounded amused, yes, but beneath that amusement had been something rougher, something that made your pulse trip even though you hadn’t wanted it to.

Billy had looked at you like he was seeing the part of you that you usually kept tucked away beneath kindness and composure. “You like it,” he’d said, moving close enough that his voice belonged only to you. “You like that he gives you something to bite.”

You’d told him to stop being smug, because that was easier than answering. He’d caught your chin lightly, not forcing you to look at him, just giving you the chance to refuse. You hadn’t refused, which he’d noticed.

“My sweet girl,” he’d murmured, and the words had sounded darker than they should’ve. “Not half as innocent as you act, are you?” You’d hated him a little for saying it, and you’d hated yourself more for liking that he knew.

After that, you’d tried harder to ignore Ben. That had lasted roughly twenty minutes. The next day, Ben had appeared in the kitchen while you were making coffee, all broad shoulders and smug timing, as if he’d been summoned by your worst instincts.

He’d reached over your head for a mug he could’ve taken from a lower shelf, and you’d stiffened on principle. “Relax,” he’d said, his voice too amused already. “I’m just getting coffee.” You’d turned your head enough to glare at him and told him, “Your arms broken?”

He’d looked down at you, close enough that you could smell smoke and soap on him. “Nope,” he’d replied, like he enjoyed making the word as unhelpful as possible. You’d shifted aside with a sharp little breath through your nose. “Then reach somewhere else,” you’d told him. Ben had grinned as if you’d just made his morning.

Billy had been at the table that day, pretending to read the paper. He hadn’t looked up immediately, and that was how you knew he was listening to every word. Ben had leaned against the counter, mug in hand, watching you pour coffee with a smile that should’ve been illegal.

“You always this bossy before noon?” he’d asked, voice warm with provocation. You hadn’t given him the satisfaction of turning around fully. “Only with men who need constant correction,” you’d said. Ben had laughed, low and delighted, and the sound had landed somewhere you’d refused to name.

“There she is,” he’d said, like he’d missed you. You’d told him to find a hobby that wasn’t bothering you. From the table, Billy had turned one page of the paper with slow precision. He hadn’t needed to look up for you to feel him noticing.

Those small moments had kept piling up, each one harmless on its own and impossible to ignore together. Ben had complimented your aim after a messy fight, and you’d told him even a broken clock was right twice a day.

He’d called you vicious, and you’d told him he sounded impressed. He’d said maybe he was, and you’d looked away too quickly. Billy had seen that. Another time, Ben had held a door open for you with exaggerated politeness, and you’d told him not to strain himself pretending to have manners.

He’d leaned closer as you passed and said he could be very well-mannered when he wanted to be. You’d scoffed, but your smile had betrayed you for half a second. Billy had been across the room, watching with his arms folded. Later, he’d kissed your temple and said nothing at all.

The fact that Billy said nothing became its own kind of pressure. You started noticing him noticing you, which only made every interaction with Ben feel more charged than it had any right to be. If Ben called you sweetheart, you heard Billy’s silence behind it. If you snapped back, you wondered whether Billy was amused or jealous or both.

If Ben made you smile, you buried it too late and felt Billy’s gaze catch the evidence. The strangest part was that Billy never pulled you away. He never told Ben to stop, not seriously, not in the way he could’ve if he’d truly wanted it over.

Sometimes he even looked as if he was waiting to see how far you’d go on your own. That made you nervous in a way you didn’t know what to do with. Billy was keeping something in his mind, turning it over, letting it become an idea. You knew him too well not to recognize that.

Tonight is supposed to be free from all of that. No missions, no blood drying under fingernails, no Ben lounging around like an arrogant ghost of bad decisions. It’s meant to be just you and Billy, the kind of night you’ve both been promising each other for days and nearly losing to chaos every time.

The flat is warm, and the outside world sits muffled beyond the windows, softened by rain against the glass. Billy stands in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, unpacking takeaway containers like the whole thing requires strategy.

You watch him from the doorway, wearing one of his shirts because you know exactly what it does to his concentration. He glances up once, eyes dragging over you before he pretends to focus on the food again.

“You’re distractin’ me,” he says, voice rough with false irritation. You lean against the frame and smile because you know he can hear it before he sees it. “You’re opening containers, Billy, not defusing a bomb.”

He gives you a look over his shoulder, and it’s so fond under the annoyance that it makes your chest ache. “Everything’s a bomb if you’re stupid enough,” he says. You walk closer, peering at the bags on the counter because you already suspect him of hiding the naan.

Billy shifts his body just slightly, blocking one bag with his hip, and that’s all the proof you need. “You’re gatekeeping bread,” you tell him.

He doesn’t even blink. “I’m preserving order.” You reach around him, and he catches your wrist with a speed that makes you laugh. “Thief,” he says, though his thumb rubs once over the inside of your wrist.

You tilt your head up at him, letting your voice go sweet on purpose. “I thought what’s yours is mine.” His eyes darken slightly, and his grip softens without letting go.

Billy looks at you for a beat too long, and the air changes the way it always does when he forgets to pretend he’s unaffected. “You’re trouble,” he says quietly. You smile because that word means more from him than most declarations would from anyone else.

“You keep me around anyway.” “Bad habit,” he replies, but his hand has already found your waist. You let him pull you a little closer, just enough that your shoulder brushes his chest. For a moment, everything is exactly what you wanted it to be.

There’s food on the counter, rain at the window, music playing low from the other room, and Billy warm beside you in the kitchen. His thumb rests at your waist through the loose fabric of his shirt, and his mouth hovers near your temple like he’s considering a kiss.

You’re about to tease him for being romantic against his will when someone knocks at the door. The sound cuts through the room hard enough to make you freeze.

Billy doesn’t freeze. That’s the first thing you notice, and it sends suspicion through you before the second knock even lands. He barely glances toward the door before reaching for his glass, too calm, too casual, too Billy when he’s already done something he knows you’ll complain about.

You pull back enough to look at him properly. “Were you expecting someone?” you ask. He takes a slow sip, eyes on you over the rim. “Might’ve been.” Your expression goes flat immediately. “Billy.” He lowers the glass, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile and losing.

“Yes, love?” You point toward the door without looking away from him. “Who is that?” The knock comes again, heavier this time, impatient in a way your stomach recognizes before your mind does.

A familiar voice carries through the door, muffled but unmistakably smug. “You two dead in there, or should I kick it in?” Your stomach drops, then twists into something you refuse to examine. Billy watches your face so closely that you know he sees both reactions.

“No,” you say at once, because there’s no other word available. His smile finally appears, small and private and infuriatingly pleased. “You don’t even know who it is.”

“I heard him, Billy.” From the other side of the door, Ben knocks again, like patience is a disease he refuses to catch. “Sweetheart,” he calls, dragging the name out because he knows exactly what it does to the room. “Tell Butcher to stop being a rude son of a bitch.”

You turn back to Billy slowly, and he has the nerve to look comfortable. “You invited him,” you say, not asking because the answer is already written all over his face. Billy lifts one shoulder as if this is a normal thing to do on your quiet night in. “I did.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him. The rain taps against the windows, the music keeps playing, and your dinner sits open on the counter like this isn’t a betrayal of sacred takeaway privacy. “You invited Ben,” you repeat, slower this time, giving him the chance to hear how insane it sounds.

Billy’s gaze flicks briefly to the door, then returns to you with that dark, knowing warmth that’s been haunting you for days. “Thought we could use some company.” You laugh once, sharp and disbelieving. “You hate company.”

Ben knocks again before Billy can answer, and you hear his muffled sigh through the door like he’s being personally victimized by your locked flat. “I can still hear you arguing about me,” he calls. “Very flattering, by the way.”

You close your eyes for a moment because if you look at Billy, you might actually throw the naan at his head. Behind you, Billy steps closer, not enough to touch this time, but enough that you feel him.

“Open the door, love,” he says, voice low and far too calm. You turn your head, giving him the most murderous look you can manage. “I’m going to kill you.”

His mouth curves. “Get in line.” Ben’s voice cuts through again, amused and impatient. “If you’re done threatening each other, some of us are hungry.”

You yank the door open before either man can make this worse, though you suspect that’s exactly what Billy wants. Ben stands in the hallway with one hand braced against the frame, jacket damp from the rain and grin already settled like he’s never regretted anything in his life.

His eyes go to your face first, then lower to Billy’s shirt hanging loose on your body, then back up with a slow kind of satisfaction that makes your spine straighten. “Well,” he says, voice warm with trouble. “Don’t you look comfortable?” You tighten your hand around the edge of the door and refuse to step aside.

“Why are you here, Ben?” He looks past you toward the kitchen, and his grin widens when he spots Billy behind you. “Ask your boyfriend.” You glance over your shoulder, and Billy lifts his glass in a lazy little toast.

That private look is back on his face, the one that says he’s been planning this longer than you realized. You look between them, heart beating faster, and understand that Ben’s arrival isn’t an interruption at all. It’s exactly what Billy’s been waiting for.

Ben doesn’t wait for a second invitation, because of course he doesn’t. He steps over the threshold like the flat already owes him a drink, broad shoulders brushing past you with just enough nearness to make your breath hitch despite yourself. You close the door behind him, and the latch clicks into place with a sound that feels much louder than it should.

The hallway disappears behind the wood, the rain turns muffled again, and suddenly the room is just you, Billy, and the man Billy invited without warning you. Billy doesn’t move from the kitchen doorway, because he’s apparently decided that watching this unfold is far more entertaining than explaining himself.

He just stands there with his glass in hand, wearing that calm, infuriating little look that says he knows exactly what he’s done. Ben’s boots hit the floor with slow, heavy confidence as he glances around the flat like he’s taking inventory.

His gaze comes back to you almost immediately, and you feel it before it fully lands. It’s warm, shameless, and deliberate enough to make your stomach twist. Then you remember, with a sharp little rush of heat, that you’re wearing nothing but Billy’s shirt.

It had felt perfectly normal five minutes ago, when you’d thought the night belonged to you and Billy alone. It had felt private, comfortable, and familiar, the kind of thing you wore when it was only meant to be takeaway, rain, bad television, and Billy’s hands on you because he couldn’t help himself.

Now the shirt feels much thinner than it had in the kitchen, like the fabric has somehow turned traitor under Ben’s eyes. The hem sits high on your thighs, loose around your body, and suddenly you’re aware of every bare inch beneath it. You’re aware of your legs, your feet against the floor, the way the fabric shifts when you move, and the terrifying truth that there’s nothing underneath it.

You hadn’t put anything else on because you’d thought you were safe inside your own night. A hot rush of embarrassment climbs your throat, but beneath it, something else sparks before you can stamp it out.

You’re underdressed, exposed in a way that isn’t quite indecent but definitely isn’t innocent. The worst part is that you don’t hate it nearly as much as you should. Maybe Billy had been right, and maybe you really do enjoy the attention.

Ben notices the shirt before he notices anything else, because Ben would notice a weakness in a locked room with the lights off. His eyes flick down, not rushed, not subtle, and not apologetic in the slightest. They trace the open collar, the loose sleeves, the bare line of your thighs beneath the hem, then crawl back to your face with a slow, knowing amusement that makes you want to shove him back out into the rain.

You fold your arms because you need something to do with your hands, and because the movement gives you the illusion of covering yourself. It doesn’t work, not really, because Billy’s shirt shifts higher on one side and your stomach drops when Ben’s gaze catches it.

“Eyes up, Ben,” you say, trying for sharp and landing closer to breathless than you like. He does lift his eyes, but the grin he gives you says he’s already seen enough to annoy you with later. He takes his time before answering, his voice lazy and American and far too pleased with itself.

“I’m lookin’ at your face, sweetheart,” he says, and the pause after it feels deliberate enough to count as a crime. “You’re the one standin’ there like you forgot I’ve got eyes.”

Billy makes a low sound from the kitchen, not quite a laugh and not quite a warning. It pulls your attention over your shoulder, and you catch him watching Ben with dark amusement instead of the anger you’d been expecting.

That’s new enough to unsettle you, because Billy’s jealousy usually comes fast, loud, and mean when Ben pushes too close. Tonight, though, it sits behind his eyes like a secret he’s enjoying too much to share yet.

“Careful,” Billy says, but his voice doesn’t carry the bite it should. Ben looks past you at him, grin still in place, and reaches into the inside of his jacket with a casual kind of confidence.

For one brief, absurd second, your body tenses like he’s about to pull a weapon. Instead, he produces a bottle of expensive whiskey with a smug little flourish, holding it out like he’s just solved world peace. “Brought a peace offering,” he says, though nothing about his face looks peaceful. Billy’s brows lift when he sees the label, and even he can’t hide the flicker of reluctant approval.

Ben follows Billy into the kitchen like he belongs there, and you hate how naturally the room seems to adjust around him. “Bought it,” Ben says, sounding offended in the laziest possible way as Billy takes the bottle from him. He leans one hip against the counter, still watching you in quick, stolen glances that don’t feel stolen at all.

“Don’t look so shocked, Butcher, I’ve got class,” he adds, and the way he says it makes you want to laugh and roll your eyes at the same time. Billy turns the bottle in his hand, studying it with the kind of respect he rarely shows people. “You’ve got a pensioner’s ego and a porn star’s jacket,” he says, voice dry as dust. “Wouldn’t call that class.”

Ben laughs under his breath, and the sound settles too easily into the warmth of the kitchen. His gaze flicks back to you as if he’s checking whether you’re still standing there in Billy’s shirt, still pretending not to feel seen. “She looks like she’s got class,” Ben says, nodding toward you with that grin that always means trouble.

Billy’s eyes slide to you, and there’s something possessive in them that pins you in place. “She’s got more class than either of us,” he says, before his mouth curves slightly. “And a lot less innocence than she sells.”

Your face heats instantly, because Billy knows exactly where to put the knife and how slowly to twist it. “Billy,” you warn, but your voice doesn’t have the force you need it to have. Ben’s grin sharpens like he’s just been handed something shiny and told he can keep it. He looks between you and Billy, taking in your expression, Billy’s calm, and the fact that no one has told him to leave yet.

“That right?” he asks, his voice lowering into that rough, cocky drawl that makes everything he says sound like a dare. “Little Miss Sweetheart’s got a mean streak?” You glare at him because glaring feels safer than reacting.

“You’ve been here for two minutes,” you say, and you hate how aware you are of Billy watching your mouth around every word. “Don’t start diagnosing me.”

Ben lifts both hands like he’s innocent, though nothing about him has looked innocent for a second in his life. “I’m just askin’ questions,” he says, and Billy sets two glasses down with a heavy little clink. “You’re breathin’, so you’re startin’ somethin’.”

The whiskey opens with a rich, sharp scent that cuts through the takeaway and rain. Billy pours for himself first, a generous helping that catches amber under the kitchen light and makes Ben nod in clear approval. He pours one for Ben next, just as heavy, because apparently this is the kind of night where restraint has been left outside with the weather.

Ben watches the pour with his arms folded, expression smug like bringing good whiskey makes him less of a menace. “Now that’s hospitality,” he says, lifting his glass once Billy pushes it over. Billy gives him a sideways look, his own glass already in hand.

“Don’t get used to it.” Then Billy reaches for the vodka, and you know exactly what he’s doing before he even asks. He takes your glass from the cupboard, adds vodka, then lemonade, measuring by memory rather than sight because he knows your drink as well as he knows your moods.

The familiarity of it does something stupidly tender to you despite everything else happening around it. Ben notices that too, because of course he does, and his mouth softens into something almost thoughtful before the smugness comes back.

Billy slides the glass toward you when you finally make yourself walk back into the kitchen. “There you go, love,” he says, his voice quieter when he speaks to you, rough around the edges but softened in the middle. His fingers brush yours as you take it, and the contact steadies you for half a second.

You hate that you need steadying. You hate that Ben is watching you be steadied. “Thank you,” you say, softer than you mean to, and Billy’s eyes drop once to the shirt hanging off your shoulders. His expression shifts just enough to tell you he’s thinking something he has no intention of keeping to himself forever.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. That shouldn’t make your stomach tighten, but it does. Ben picks up his whiskey and lifts it slightly in your direction. “To quiet nights,” he says, like he hasn’t just ruined one by existing.

You stare at him over the rim of your glass, feeling the fizz of lemonade on your tongue before you answer. “You weren’t invited to my quiet night.”

Ben takes a sip and smiles like the whiskey tastes even better because he’s annoying you. “Sure I was, doll,” he says, and the easy confidence in his voice makes your fingers tighten around your glass. He lets his gaze flick to Billy before returning to you, as if the reminder is part of the game. “Just not by you.”

Billy doesn’t correct him, and that makes the room feel strange again, charged in a way that crawls over your skin slowly instead of striking all at once. You turn to Billy, waiting for him to explain himself properly, but he only gestures toward the living room with his glass. “Come on,” he says, already moving like this is settled.

You follow because apparently curiosity is stronger than irritation tonight, but you don’t let him get away without hearing you. “That’s your explanation?” you ask, bare feet quiet against the floor as you trail behind him. Billy looks back at you, eyes too dark and too amused. “Didn’t realize I was on trial, love.”

“You invited Ben into our flat while I’m dressed like this,” you say, and the words come out sharper because saying them makes the situation feel even more real. Billy stops near the living room for half a second, just long enough for his gaze to travel over you without even pretending not to.

He takes in the shirt, the bare legs, the way you’re trying to stand like you aren’t painfully aware of both men looking. There’s no shame in his eyes, only possession and something darker that makes heat crawl under your skin.

“I know what you’re dressed like,” he says, voice low enough that it feels less like an answer and more like a promise. Behind him, Ben lets out a low laugh that makes your shoulders tense.

“Hell, don’t we all,” he says, and the amusement in his tone makes you want to smack him with a cushion. You nearly turn around just to do it, but Billy’s hand finds the small of your back before you can decide.

It’s a brief touch, guiding and possessive, but his fingers press through the shirt like he’s reminding you whose it is. You swallow, because somehow that makes the whole thing worse and better at the same time.

The living room is warm and low-lit, the lamps casting gold across the old couch, the coffee table, and the scattered evidence of the night you were supposed to have. Billy sets the whiskey bottle down beside the food and drops onto the couch with casual confidence.

For one second, you expect him to leave the other side open for you, same as always. He doesn’t. He sits close enough to the middle that there’s space beside him, then looks at Ben like this has already been decided. Ben takes the invitation without asking, because asking has never been his style.

He lowers himself onto the couch next to Billy, not touching him, but close enough that the space between them feels intentional. There’s still a gap, a small one, but your mind catches on it anyway. You stand there with your glass in hand, suddenly aware that the only place that makes sense is Billy’s lap.

Billy knows it too, and the bastard doesn’t even try to hide his smile. “Well?” he says, patting his thigh once like he’s calling you home and setting a trap at the same time.

Ben makes himself comfortable in a way that’s almost offensive. He leans back into the couch, whiskey in hand, shoulders spread, one arm stretched along the back cushion like he’s claiming the room by posture alone.

Then his legs ease apart, slow and careless, and your gaze drops before you can stop it. It’s only a second, less than a second, but it’s enough. You see the spread of him, the relaxed confidence, the sheer arrogance of a man who knows exactly what his body does to a room. Your eyes snap away so quickly it almost hurts.

Heat rushes to your face, and your fingers tighten around your glass hard enough that the cold bites your palm. Billy catches it, because Billy catches everything when it comes to you. You know he catches it because his eyes are already waiting when you look at him. Ben catches it too, and his grin turns unbearable.

“Well, now,” Ben says, his voice low, amused, and far too pleased with himself. He doesn’t lean forward or chase the moment, because that would make it too easy to accuse him of something. Instead, he lets the moment sit there like smoke, thick and impossible to wave away.

“Didn’t mean to distract you, sweetheart,” he says, and the lie is so obvious it’s almost impressive. You lift your chin, refusing to let him have the full reaction even though your pulse is already betraying you.

“You didn’t,” you say, too quickly to sound convincing. Ben’s eyebrows rise, and he takes another slow sip of whiskey before answering. “Sure,” he says, dragging the word until it feels like a hand under your chin. “That why you looked away like you touched a hot stove?”

Billy’s hand finds your wrist before you can snap back, not stopping you, just grounding you enough to make his involvement impossible to ignore. “Careful, Ben,” Billy says, but there’s a smile tucked under his voice. “She bites when she’s embarrassed.”

Ben’s eyes glitter at that, and he looks at you like Billy has just confirmed something he’d been hoping was true. “Good,” he says, his voice rough with amusement. “I like a girl with teeth.” Your thighs press together before you can think better of it, and the movement is small enough that you almost convince yourself no one notices.

You’re not wet, not yet, and the distinction matters because you cling to it like proof that you still have some control. But there’s a low throb at your clit, small and insistent, the kind of pulse that makes you hate your own body for answering before you’ve agreed to anything.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, and Billy’s attention drops immediately. His expression changes, subtle but devastating, because he knows. He knows you aren’t as unaffected as you’re pretending to be. He knows Ben’s attention has landed exactly where he suspected it would.

Worse than that, he likes knowing. It turns him on, the proof that your sweetness has edges, that you can stand there in his shirt and still enjoy being looked at by someone who shouldn’t be looking at you at all.

Billy pats his thigh again, slower this time, with a menace that makes your stomach twist. “Come here,” he says, and there’s no impatience in his voice because he already knows you will. You stare at him for half a heartbeat, very aware of Ben watching from the other side of the couch.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, though you’re already moving. Billy’s smile is all teeth and patience. “You keep sayin’ that,” he says, like he loves hearing the accusation because he knows it’s true. You step closer, and the shirt shifts around your thighs with every movement.

Ben’s gaze follows the hem openly, not enough to be crude by his standards, but definitely enough to make your skin prickle. When you lower yourself onto Billy’s lap, you do it carefully, trying not to let the shirt ride higher than it already has.

Billy’s arm comes around your waist the second you settle. His other hand lands on your thigh, warm and firm, thumb resting just below the hem like he’s found exactly where he wants to start causing trouble.

The contact is familiar enough to calm you and deliberate enough to make you tense again. Billy’s palm spreads over your bare skin like he’s reminding you and Ben at the same time that you’re his. He doesn’t push the shirt higher at first, and somehow that restraint feels like its own kind of threat.

Ben’s gaze drops to Billy’s hand on your thigh, then lifts back to your face with a smile that says he’s enjoying the view far too much. “Cozy,” Ben says, voice dipped in that smug warmth of his. You glare at him from Billy’s lap, trying to look composed when you feel anything but.

“Jealous?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Billy’s fingers tighten once, clearly pleased by the bite in your voice. Ben laughs, low and rough, as if the question has delighted him instead of landing.

“Of Butcher?” he asks, spreading his free hand like the idea is ridiculous. “Nah, sweetheart, I’m just wonderin’ if you always sit that pretty when you’re mad.”

Billy’s chest moves against your back before you hear his quiet laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. He sounds entertained, not threatened, and that’s somehow more dangerous than any jealous outburst would’ve been.

“She does,” Billy says, his voice close to your ear. His hand slides a fraction higher on your thigh, not high enough to fully expose you, but high enough to make your breath catch. Then, because he’s a menace and apparently committed to proving it, his fingers pinch the hem of the shirt and tug it upward by a slow inch.

Your hand flies down to catch his wrist, more instinct than decision. “Billy,” you hiss, glancing at Ben before you can stop yourself. Billy’s mouth brushes near your ear, and you can feel his smile there. “What?” he asks, all false innocence and rough amusement. “Just gettin’ comfortable, love.”

Ben watches the whole thing with shameless interest, whiskey paused halfway to his mouth. He doesn’t say anything for a second, which is almost worse than if he did. The silence lets you feel the position you’re in, perched on Billy’s lap, his arm locked around your waist, his fingers holding the hem of his shirt slightly higher on your thighs while Ben looks on from the other side of the couch.

You’re still covered, barely, but the shift is enough to make every nerve under your skin wake up. You’re not wet, you remind yourself again, but the throb between your legs pulses harder at being made so aware of yourself. Billy knows it too, because he’s evil and observant and far too pleased with himself.

His thumb strokes along your thigh, slow and lazy, while his fingertips keep the shirt from sliding back down. “You’re making a scene,” you mutter, though your voice doesn’t sound nearly as offended as it should.

Billy’s lips hover near your ear as he answers, low enough to make it feel private even though it isn’t. “No, love,” he says, “I’m lettin’ him see the scene you’re makin’ all on your own.”

Ben lets out a quiet laugh, and the sound scrapes right over your nerves. “Damn,” he says, settling back again with that infuriating confidence, legs still spread like he hasn’t got a single polite bone in his body. “Didn’t know date night came with a floor show.”

You turn your glare on him because it’s easier than looking at Billy right now. “You’re one comment away from being kicked back into the rain.” Ben smiles over the rim of his glass, not even slightly worried. “You gonna do it yourself, sweetheart?” he asks. “Dressed like that?”

You feel Billy’s fingers tighten against your thigh, not in warning, but in approval, like he likes the way Ben keeps pushing and the way you keep pushing back.

“Careful,” Billy says again, but this time his voice is darker, more amused than protective. Ben’s eyes flick to him, then back to you, and his grin turns slow. “I’m bein’ careful,” he says. “If I wasn’t, she’d know.”

Your breath catches before you can stop it, and Billy feels it because you’re sitting right against him. His hand slides another inch along your thigh, then curls around the fabric again, nudging the shirt higher in a way that looks casual only if someone is being generous. No one in the room is feeling generous.

You grip your glass tighter, trying to keep your face steady while your body betrays you in tiny, humiliating ways. Billy’s voice drops close to your ear, warm and rough. “Still not enjoyin’ yourself?” he asks, and the words settle low in your stomach. You twist slightly to look at him, scandalized and flustered and furious that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I hate you,” you say, because it’s the only safe lie you can find. Billy’s eyes drop to your mouth, and his smile turns fond in the meanest possible way. “No, you don’t.” Ben’s voice comes from beside him, dry and amused. “She really doesn’t.”

“Don’t start agreeing with him,” you snap, turning back toward Ben because at least irritation gives you something to hold on to. Ben lifts his glass in surrender, though his grin doesn’t move. “I’m just callin’ it like I see it.”

His eyes drop once more, not to your face this time, but to Billy’s hand where it’s still holding the shirt higher against your thigh. “And I’m seein’ plenty.” Your face burns so fast it almost makes you dizzy. Billy laughs softly, and his arm tightens around your waist to keep you steady on his lap.

“There she is,” Billy murmurs. “All mouth until someone looks too close.” You want to deny it. You want to tell him he’s wrong, that Ben’s attention doesn’t affect you, that Billy’s hands on your thighs in front of him don’t make your pulse trip. But your clit throbs again, insistent and traitorous, and the words refuse to come clean.

The three of you sit there in a silence that isn’t really silence at all. The rain fills the windows, the low music hums beneath it, and the clink of Ben’s glass against his ring sounds too loud when he shifts. Billy holds you in his lap like he’s got every right to, because he does, and because he wants Ben to see that he does.

His hand stays on your thigh, thumb tracing slow, maddening arcs while his fingers keep playing with the hem of the shirt, lifting it just enough to make you tense before letting it fall back a little. It’s a small game, a cruel one, and the worst part is that he’s barely doing anything. Ben doesn’t look away from you for long, even when he speaks to Billy.

“So,” he says, stretching the word with lazy amusement. “This how you two do date night?” You look at him over your glass, trying not to feel every inch of Billy beneath you and every inch of Ben’s attention beside you. “Usually there’s less of you involved,” you say.

Ben grins like you’ve complimented him, and Billy’s mouth brushes your ear as his fingers tug the shirt higher one more time. “Yeah,” Billy murmurs, dark and pleased, “but she’s doin’ just fine with the extra attention.”

Billy’s mouth finds your neck before you’ve fully recovered from Ben’s last comment. It starts like a kiss, slow and warm under your ear, but there’s nothing gentle about the way his hand tightens at your waist. His lips press against your skin with the kind of confidence that says he knows exactly how quickly you’ll soften for him.

You feel his beard scrape, then his teeth graze lightly enough to make your breath catch. The sound you make is small, almost swallowed, but both men hear it. Billy’s chest shifts against your back, his quiet laugh sinking straight through you.

Ben’s gaze sharpens from the other side of the couch, whiskey forgotten in his hand. He doesn’t look amused now, not only amused anyway. He looks hungry. The room seems to shrink around the three of you.

Billy kisses lower, dragging his mouth down the side of your throat while his hands start moving with purpose. One stays firm at your waist, holding you in place against him, while the other hooks under your thigh and shifts you like you weigh nothing.

You gasp when he manhandles you sideways on his lap, your back pressed tighter to his chest, your knees forced apart by the way he rearranges you. It happens smoothly, confidently, like he’s been thinking about this exact position since Ben walked through the door.

Your shirt rides up higher, bunching at your hips, and cool air hits the bare skin between your thighs. For one stunned second, you don’t move. Then embarrassment slams into you so hard that your hands drop instinctively, trying to pull the fabric down.

Billy catches one wrist with a low, rough sound against your neck. “Ah, ah,” he murmurs, lips still brushing your skin. “Don’t go shy on me now, love.”

You try to close your legs anyway. It’s not because you don’t want it, and that’s the humiliating part. It’s because Ben is right there, close enough to see everything, close enough that his breathing has gone deeper and his whiskey sits untouched against his thigh.

Your knees shift inward, but Billy’s hand slides down and stops you with maddening ease. He tuts against your throat, the sound low and scolding, and it makes your stomach flip. “Now, what did I just say?” he asks, voice soft enough to be intimate and mean enough to make your pulse jump.

You turn your head like you might argue, but his mouth presses under your jaw before you can form the words. His hand smooths along your thigh, then pushes it open again, slower this time, making sure you feel every inch of being spread.

Ben watches your legs part, his jaw tightening as his eyes drop. His free hand flexes once against his own thigh, like he’s stopping himself from reaching too soon.

Billy notices that too, because Billy is watching everything. “You seein’ this, Ben?” he asks, voice rough and amused, like he’s showing off something priceless and dangerous. His hand stays heavy on your thigh, fingers splayed wide over your skin, keeping you open without hurting you.

Ben’s eyes lift to Billy’s face for a second, then fall back to you like he can’t help himself. “Yeah,” he says, and the word comes out lower than before, stripped of some of that usual cocky polish. His throat works when he swallows. “I’m seein’ her.”

You feel yourself clench at the sound of it, at the weight in his voice, at how different he sounds when he isn’t just teasing. Billy’s lips curve against your neck. “Pretty fuckin’ sight, ain’t she?” Ben exhales through his nose, slow and heavy. “Prettier than she’s got any right to be.”

The praise hits you somewhere low and vulnerable. A whimper slips out before you can trap it, soft and embarrassed and impossible to take back. Your hand flies to your mouth like that will erase it, but Billy catches your wrist again and pulls it down.

“No hidin’ that either,” he says, voice warm with satisfaction. The hard line of his cock presses beneath you, unmistakable now, thickening against your ass through his trousers. You feel the change happen in real time, feel how much this turns him on, and your whole body goes hot with the knowledge.

Billy is hard because you’re exposed on his lap. Billy is hard because Ben is staring. Billy is hard because you tried to act sweet and embarrassed, but your body keeps betraying you. That realization should make you want to disappear. Instead, your clit throbs harder, pulsing between your open thighs like it wants to answer for you.

Ben sees the way you shiver. He sees the way your mouth parts, the way your fingers curl uselessly against Billy’s wrist, the way you can’t decide whether to hide or lean into it. His own body betrays him just as badly. His legs are still spread, but now there’s tension beneath the careless posture, a thick, obvious hardness pressing against the front of his pants.

He shifts once, jaw flexing like the friction isn’t enough and too much at the same time. Your gaze drops before you can stop it, catching the shape of him straining under the fabric. He notices instantly, because of course he does.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” he says, echoing you from earlier with a grin that’s gone darker around the edges. His voice is rougher now, less teasing, more affected than he probably wants to admit. “Unless you’re finally done pretendin’ you’re not lookin’.”

Billy laughs low against your skin, and the sound vibrates through your back. “She’s done pretendin’,” he says, his hand sliding from your wrist to your stomach, holding you still against him. You shake your head once, but it’s weak and everyone knows it.

Billy’s mouth returns to your neck, kissing and biting lightly, each touch making you sink heavier against his chest. His other hand drags over your thigh, then pinches the hem of the shirt again.

This time, he doesn’t only lift it a little. He pushes it higher, bunching the fabric above your hips, until there’s nothing left to hide behind. Your pussy is on display between your parted thighs, bare and exposed under the warm lamplight.

You hear Ben’s breath catch, a quiet, rough sound that makes shame and arousal twist together inside you. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, and for once, there’s no joke tucked behind it.

You try to close your legs again on instinct, but Ben moves this time. His hands land on your thighs before your knees can come together, big palms warm and firm against your skin. He doesn’t shove them open violently, doesn’t hurt you, but he stops you with the same sure confidence Billy has been using all night.

The contact makes you jolt, and the whimper that falls from your mouth is even worse than the first one. It sounds needy. It sounds like surrender. Your face burns so hot that your eyes sting. Ben’s hands tighten slightly, not enough to bruise, just enough to let you feel the size and strength of them.

“Easy,” he says, voice low and rough, his accent thickening around the word. “Ain’t gonna bite unless you ask real nice.” Billy’s mouth pauses at your neck, and you can feel his grin before he speaks. “Careful, mate. She might.”

The words make you squirm, and both men react at once. Billy’s cock presses harder beneath you when you shift, and his breath catches against your skin before he buries it in another kiss. Ben’s fingers flex on your thighs, and his eyes drop again, helplessly drawn back to the slick heat you’re trying so badly not to acknowledge.

You’re wet now, no matter how much you want to deny it. The slow throb has turned into a warm ache, and your pussy glistens under their attention, soft and flushed and embarrassingly open from the way they’re holding you.

Ben looks at you like the sight has knocked some of the arrogance out of him, at least for a second. His mouth parts slightly, his thumb brushing an absent circle against your inner thigh.

“You’ve been sittin’ there actin’ all offended,” he says, voice quieter now, more dangerous for it. “And look at you.” Your breath shakes. Billy’s hand slides up your stomach, holding you tighter. “Told you she liked bein’ looked at.”

You want to snap back. You want to be sharp and clever and difficult, because that has always been safer than admitting the truth. But Billy’s mouth is hot against your neck, Ben’s hands are on your thighs, and the weight of both their attention makes words feel impossible.

Your hips twitch once, barely there, but enough for Billy to feel it. He groans softly, a rough little sound that slips out before he can make it cruel. That sound undoes something in you. Billy’s control has always been a challenge, and hearing it fracture because of you, because of this, makes your whole body go loose and feverish.

Ben sees your expression change and goes very still. His grin fades into something darker, more focused. The room has shifted again, past teasing now, past little power plays and clever lines. You can feel the moment waiting for you to choose.

So you do. Your hand moves before your pride can stop it, trembling slightly as it settles over Ben’s wrist. His eyes snap to yours immediately, and for the first time tonight, he doesn’t say anything. He waits. That almost ruins you more than the flirting had.

Billy goes still behind you too, his lips pressed to the side of your throat, his breathing rough against your skin. You swallow, fingers tightening around Ben’s wrist, and guide his hand higher along your thigh. Ben lets you move him, his palm sliding over warm skin in slow, careful inches.

His thumb brushes dangerously close, and your hips lift without meaning to. Billy’s arm locks tighter around your waist. “There you go,” Billy murmurs, voice thick with approval. “Show him what you want, love.”

Your face burns at the praise, but you keep moving Ben’s hand anyway. You guide him higher until his fingers are right there, close enough that the heat of him makes your thighs tremble. Ben’s breath leaves him in a slow, rough exhale, and his hard-on strains visibly when your hand presses his closer.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the word dragged low and almost reverent. “You sure about that, sweetheart?” The question is rough, but it’s still a question, and it makes something inside you loosen. You nod, but Billy’s teeth graze your neck in warning.

“Words,” he says. Your voice comes out small, but it comes out. “Yes.” Ben’s eyes darken. Billy’s cock twitches beneath you. The single word drops into the room like a lit match.

Ben’s fingers finally touch you. It’s not much at first, just the slow press of his fingertips against your slick folds, but your whole body jolts like he’s done more. Billy catches you easily, holding you against his chest as your head tips back against his shoulder. Ben’s hand stills for a second, watching your face with that hungry, startled intensity.

“Sensitive little thing,” he says, and there’s awe underneath the smugness now, like he didn’t expect you to react so beautifully. Billy’s hand slides down to your thigh again, pushing you open wider for him.

“Don’t tease her too much,” he says, even though his voice makes it obvious he wants exactly that. Ben’s mouth curves, but his eyes stay fixed on where he’s touching you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” His fingers move again, parting you slowly, and your breath breaks.

When Ben spreads you open, the sound he makes is almost ruined. Your pussy is slick and swollen under his fingers, flushed from arousal, your folds shiny where he parts them for a better look. Your clit is hard and exposed, twitching at the cool air and the unbearable attention.

Billy sees it over your shoulder and groans against your neck, his control slipping another inch. Ben stares like he’s forgotten how to make a joke. His thumb holds you open with careful pressure, and his other fingers spread your folds just enough to show exactly how wet you’ve gotten from being watched, handled, and teased.

“Damn,” Ben says, voice low and rough as gravel. “All that mouth, and she’s this fuckin’ pretty when she gives in.” Your thighs tremble against his hands. Billy’s palm strokes your thigh like he’s proud of the reaction. “That’s my girl,” he says, and the possessive warmth in it makes you clench around nothing.

Ben sees that too, and his expression turns feral for half a second. “Oh, she likes that,” he says, looking from your pussy to Billy’s face with a grin that’s almost disbelieving. “You say that, and she just about melts.” Billy’s hand comes up to your jaw, turning your face enough that he can see your eyes. His mouth is close, his smile dark and intimate.

“Yeah?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know. “You like him seein’ how well you listen to me?” You whimper again, smaller this time, because the truth is too heavy in your mouth. Billy kisses the corner of your lips, almost sweet if not for the way his cock is hard beneath you and Ben’s fingers are holding your pussy open.

“Look at that,” Billy murmurs. “All embarrassed, but you’re not tellin’ him to stop.” Ben’s thumb shifts closer to your clit, not touching yet, just making you feel the promise of it. “She doesn’t wanna stop,” he says. “Do you, sweetheart?”

You shake your head before you can make yourself hesitate. Billy’s laugh is soft and mean, full of satisfaction. Ben smiles like you’ve just handed him something dangerous and told him to be careful with it. His thumb finally brushes your clit, barely a touch, but your whole body jerks against Billy’s lap.

The movement grinds you down against the hard length beneath you, and Billy curses under his breath, his fingers biting into your thigh. Ben watches both reactions, yours and Billy’s, and the sight makes his own hips shift slightly against nothing.

He’s painfully hard now, the front of his pants tight enough that there’s no hiding it, but he doesn’t reach for himself. He looks too focused on you, too caught on the way your pussy shines under his hand, too pleased by the little sounds Billy keeps pulling from your throat. “That’s it,” Ben says, voice low and rough. “Knew you had it in you.”

Billy’s mouth finds your neck again, but now every kiss feels like a claim. His hand stays at your jaw, keeping your head tilted enough for him to reach your skin, while his other hand holds your thigh open for Ben. The position is obscene, overwhelming, and so intimate it makes your chest ache in the middle of all the heat.

You feel Billy’s heartbeat against your back, too fast to match his smug voice. You feel Ben’s hands steady on your thighs, one still touching you, the other holding you open like he can’t bear for you to hide again. You feel your own body giving in by degrees, embarrassment turning molten, want spreading through you until it’s harder to remember why you’d been pretending.

Billy speaks against your neck, voice rough with arousal and pride. “Still my sweet girl,” he murmurs. “Just not as innocent as you wanted him to think.” Ben’s thumb circles your clit once, slow and deliberate, and his grin comes back when you gasp. “Good,” he says. “Innocent’s overrated anyway.”

Billy and Ben keep you on your knees between them like they’ve decided the rug is the only place you’re allowed to exist for now. Billy’s hand stays buried in your hair, keeping your head tipped back, while Ben stands close enough that his cock brushes your cheek every time he shifts.

Both of them are hard, breathing rough, belts open and trousers shoved just low enough to make the whole scene feel filthy and unfinished. You’re naked beneath them, shirt discarded somewhere beside your knees, nipples tight in the cool air while your pussy throbs uselessly between your spread thighs.

Billy looks down at you like he’s proud of the mess he’s made, and Ben looks like he’s fighting not to lose what little patience he has left. “Look at you,” Billy mutters, voice low and cruelly fond, as his thumb drags over your wet bottom lip.

“All that mouth on you, and now you’re finally quiet.” You try to answer, but Ben taps the head of his cock against your cheek before you can get anything out. The slick, warm contact makes your eyes flutter, and his grin turns dark at the way you don’t pull away.

“She’s quiet because she’s got better things to do,” Ben says, rough and smug, his hand closing around himself. Billy laughs under his breath, tugging your hair just enough to make your throat stretch. “Then she’d better get on with it.”

Billy takes your mouth first again, and he doesn’t ease you into it this time. He pushes the thick head of his cock past your lips with one firm roll of his hips, groaning when your mouth stretches around him. He’s not long enough to make you panic, but he’s so thick that your jaw aches almost immediately, and the burn makes your thighs tremble.

You wrap one hand around the base of him, slicking him with spit as he uses your mouth in short, rough thrusts. Ben stands beside him, watching with his jaw tight, one hand stroking himself slowly while the other comes down to your face. He taps his cock against your cheek, then drags it along your skin until your face is smeared with him while Billy is still inside your mouth.

“Damn,” Ben mutters, his voice rougher than before, “she looks good with her mouth stuffed.” Billy’s fingers tighten in your hair, and his hips jerk at the praise even though he acts like it doesn’t get to him. “Course she does,” he says, looking down at you with a sharp, possessive smile.

“She’s been gaggin’ for it since you walked in.” You moan around Billy, and both men hear how much you like being spoken about like you’re not fully innocent. Ben’s cock twitches against your cheek, and his grin comes back meaner. “Yeah, she likes that.”

Billy pulls out just enough to let you gasp, but he keeps the head of his cock resting against your lips. Spit trails from your mouth to him, shiny and messy, and Ben’s eyes track it like it’s the best thing he’s seen all night.

You’re breathing hard, lips swollen, cheeks hot from the slaps and the humiliation and the way your body keeps saying yes before your mouth can. Billy slaps your cheek lightly with his fingers, a quick sting that snaps your attention back to him.

“Eyes here, love,” he says, voice rough with warning. You look up at him immediately, and his expression darkens with satisfaction. Ben laughs softly from beside him, clearly enjoying how quickly you obey even while your hand is still reaching for him. You wrap your fingers around Ben’s cock again, stroking him while Billy keeps your mouth close.

Ben’s breath catches, his hips pushing into your hand before he can pretend he’s in control. “That’s it,” Ben says, his grin turning strained, “don’t leave me out just because Butcher’s got you trained.” Billy’s mouth twists at that, jealousy flashing hot in his eyes. “She’s trained because she likes bein’ useful,” he says, pressing his thumb against your tongue until your mouth opens wider.

Ben takes over with a rough hand at your jaw, guiding your face toward him before Billy can push back in. His cock slides over your parted lips, heavy and hot, and you open because you’ve already stopped pretending you won’t. He groans the second your mouth closes around the head, fingers sinking into your hair as if he’s been trying not to grab you too hard.

Ben is longer, and every inch you take feels like a challenge he’s daring you to meet. He doesn’t shove all the way in, but he controls the rhythm with enough force to make your eyes water. Billy stands close on your other side, stroking himself while he watches you work, his expression tight and hungry.

“Look at you takin’ him,” Billy says, voice darker than before, like he hates it and loves it at the same time. The words make your pussy clench so hard you nearly lose your rhythm. Ben feels the way you moan around him and curses, his hips twitching forward.

“Christ, she’s filthy,” he says, brushing wet hair away from your face with a hand that’s too rough to be tender. “Mouth full and still actin’ like she wants to be praised for it.” Billy reaches down and slaps your cheek again, not hard enough to scare you, but enough to make the sting bloom bright. “Don’t encourage her,” he says, even though his voice sounds like he wants exactly that.

You don’t wait for an order before lowering your mouth from Ben’s cock to his balls. The shift makes him freeze for half a second, his hand tightening hard in your hair as your lips brush lower. His balls are heavy and warm against your tongue, and the first slow suck makes a rough sound break out of him that doesn’t sound smug at all.

Ben’s head drops forward, eyes fixed on you like he can’t decide whether to mock you or praise you. “Well, hell,” he breathes, voice gone low and wrecked, “didn’t know you were this eager.” Billy’s hand comes to the back of your neck, steadying you as you suck Ben messily, spit slicking your lips and chin.

You look up through wet lashes, and the sight of Ben losing that clean, cruel composure makes your stomach burn with pride. Billy doesn’t let you enjoy it too long, because his cock is still hard in his hand and his patience is a very temporary thing. He grips your hair and pulls you back just enough to make you gasp.

“My turn,” he says, rough and possessive, and the words land like a command your body already knows. You let Ben slip from your mouth with a wet sound, and his breath comes out sharp when you leave him shining. Billy tilts your face toward himself, his grin mean as he adds, “Don’t look disappointed, love, you’ve got plenty to choke on.”

You take Billy back into your mouth, and the thickness of him forces your lips wide again. Your hand wraps around what you can’t fit, stroking him while your tongue presses along the underside of his cock. He’s rougher now, hips snapping in short thrusts that make your throat work and your eyes sting.

One of his hands stays in your hair, and the other cups your cheek in a way that would be sweet if his fingers weren’t pressing possessively into your skin. “That’s it,” Billy mutters, breathing hard as he watches your mouth stretch around him. “Knew you were a greedy little thing under all that sweetness.”

Ben steps in close again, his cock brushing the side of your face while you’re full of Billy. He taps himself against your cheek, then drags the wet head over your temple and down toward your mouth, smearing himself over your skin like he’s marking what he hasn’t fully gotten to keep.

“She’s got two hands, Butcher,” Ben says, voice rough with impatience. “Don’t hog the whole damn girl.” Billy pulls your hair just enough to make you look up at him with watery eyes. “She’s not a girl,” he says, voice low and possessive. “She’s my filthy little woman.”

The words make you moan around him, and Billy’s hips stutter at the vibration. Ben catches the reaction and laughs, but it’s breathless enough to expose him too. You reach for Ben again, hand sliding up and down his cock while your mouth stays full of Billy.

His skin is hot under your palm, slick where you’ve already made a mess of him, and you tighten your grip the way he’d demanded earlier. Ben’s groan sounds almost angry, his hand coming down to the back of your head as if he needs to touch something or he’ll come apart too soon.

“Attagirl,” he says, rough and mocking, though there’s real strain under it. “Knew you could handle a little work.” Billy pulls out of your mouth with a wet sound, then slaps your cheek with the heavy head of his cock instead of his hand. The contact makes you gasp, and your tongue flicks out instinctively, tasting him from your own skin.

Billy’s eyes go almost black at that. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, gripping your jaw. “You’re worse than I thought.” Ben grins down at you, stroking himself through your fist. “No, she’s exactly as bad as you hoped.”

Billy shoves you toward Ben again, rough enough that you have to catch yourself with both hands on Ben’s thighs. Ben doesn’t complain, and the way his muscles tense under your palms makes you feel powerful for one brief, dangerous second. Then his hand closes around the back of your head and guides your mouth back onto him, taking that illusion away as quickly as it came.

You suck him messily, letting your tongue flatten along his shaft before taking him deeper, and his cock drags heavy over your tongue. Billy stands at your side, stroking himself with one hand while the other keeps slipping down to your face, your jaw, your throat, wherever he can feel you working.

“Don’t get soft on her,” Billy says to Ben, voice rough and taunting. “She likes it when you’re mean.” You whimper around Ben because Billy’s right, and the sound makes Ben’s fingers tighten. “That right, sweetheart?”

Ben asks, pulling your head back just enough for you to gasp around the tip. “You like bein’ talked to like a dirty little thing?” Your eyes lift to his, dazed and wet, and the answer is written all over your face. Ben’s grin turns savage. “Yeah, thought so.”

You slide lower on Ben again, dragging your tongue down his length before taking one of his balls into your mouth. His whole body reacts this time, hips jerking, chest rising hard, his hand snapping tighter in your hair. The sound he makes is raw, deep, and so unlike his usual smug voice that Billy laughs under his breath.

“Careful, mate,” Billy says, stroking himself slower now while he watches. “She’ll have you embarrassin’ yourself.” Ben shoots him a look, but it loses half its bite when your tongue moves again. “Shut your mouth,” Ben says, but his voice breaks slightly on the last word. Billy smirks, stepping closer until his cock rests against your cheek while you suck Ben’s balls.

“Busy mouth,” Billy says, tapping your face with himself again. “Look at her, though, all eager to keep both of us happy.” You moan around Ben, and your pussy throbs so hard it hurts. You’re soaked, slick on your thighs, knees aching from the rug, and still you don’t want them to stop.

Ben’s free hand drops to your shoulder, gripping hard enough to hold you in place as he breathes through the pleasure. “Fuck, she’s good,” he mutters, like admitting it annoys him. Billy’s smile widens. “Told you she had hidden talents.”

They drag you back and forth between them after that, rougher now that the softness has burned away. One of them is always in your mouth or against your face, while the other uses your hands, your cheeks, your tongue, anything he can reach. Billy pulls you to him by your hair, makes you take his thickness until spit runs down your chin, then pushes you low enough for your mouth to work over his balls too.

The second your lips close around him there, his control fractures in a way that makes your whole body flare with heat. His head tips back, throat working, his free hand pressing hard against the back of your head. “Fuck, love,” he breathes, and there’s a crack in the roughness that makes your chest feel tight.

Ben watches, stroking himself slowly, his grin smug but his eyes fixed and hungry. “That shut you up,” Ben says, and Billy’s glare would be more convincing if his breath weren’t wrecked. You suck Billy messily, tongue and lips wet, feeling the weight of him against your mouth while his cock presses hot against your cheek.

Billy looks down at you with a kind of pride that makes you clench around nothing. “That’s my girl,” he says, voice low and ruined. Ben’s cock twitches visibly at the phrase. “Yeah,” Ben mutters, stepping closer, “share some of that loyalty over here.”

Ben gets impatient and pulls you back by the hair before Billy can answer. The motion is rough enough to make you gasp, and Billy lets him do it with a dark little smile because this is apparently the game now. Ben guides you up to his cock again, tapping the head against your swollen lips until you open.

“Don’t make me ask twice,” he says, voice low and mean. You take him in with a soft, wrecked sound, and his hips push forward, slow but forceful, making you feel the length of him. Billy’s hand comes down across your cheek again, the sting landing while Ben is in your mouth. The combination makes you moan so hard Ben curses above you.

“She likes that too much,” Ben says, voice tight, though he doesn’t pull away. Billy crouches slightly beside you, catching your face in one hand so he can see your eyes. “Course she does,” Billy says, thumb smearing spit across your cheek.

“She’s just been waitin’ for someone to stop treatin’ her like she’s delicate.” You tremble at that, because it hits too close and both men know it. Ben’s fingers stroke through your hair once, then tighten again. “Then we won’t,” he says.

They make you try both again, and this time it’s nastier because you’re already messy enough that everything slides too easily. Billy presses his thick tip to one side of your mouth, and Ben presses his to the other, both of them watching as you open wide with swollen lips and glassy eyes.

You can’t take them both, not properly, and they know that. You can only manage the heads, your tongue trapped between them, spit slicking over both cocks as your jaw aches around the impossible stretch. Billy groans first, low and vicious, his fingers digging into your hair hard enough to make your scalp sting. Ben’s breath leaves him in a rough laugh that almost sounds like disbelief.

“Look at that,” Ben says, voice thick with arousal. “She’s actually tryin’.” Billy’s eyes stay on your mouth, his control hanging by a thread. “Greedy little mouth,” he mutters. “Doesn’t know when to stop.”

You whimper around both of them, and the vibration makes them curse nearly at the same time. Ben pulls back first, jaw tight, and drags his cock over your cheek instead. “Not yet,” he mutters, like he’s reminding himself more than you. “Not done with this mouth yet.”

Billy takes advantage of Ben pulling back and pushes into your mouth again, claiming the space immediately. His thrusts are rougher now, shallow but demanding, making your eyes water while your hands brace against his thighs. Ben moves behind your shoulder, stroking himself while watching your lips stretch around Billy’s girth, his own expression caught between hunger and frustration.

“You’re hoggin’ her again,” Ben says, but his voice sounds too wrecked to be properly annoyed. Billy glances at him, breathing hard, and pulls your hair enough to make you look up while still full of him. “She can handle it,” Billy says. His eyes drop back to you, and his smile turns cruel.

“Can’t you, love?” You nod as well as you can, and Billy groans because the motion drags your mouth around him. Ben’s hand reaches down to cup your face, his thumb pressing into the spit at the corner of your lips.

“Jesus, she’s a mess,” he says, sounding like he wants to ruin you further just to see how far it goes. You reach blindly for him, stroking him again, and his stomach tightens under your hand. “Yeah,” Ben mutters, “keep doin’ that.”

By the time they switch again, your mouth is swollen, your cheeks are wet, and your thighs are trembling from the ache of being left untouched. Ben takes your mouth with a rough hand in your hair, and Billy moves down your side with his eyes, watching your tits, your shaking legs, your soaked pussy, the way your body keeps begging even while your mouth is busy.

“Look at her,” Billy says, voice low and degrading, almost conversational. “Cunt’s drippin’, and we haven’t even touched it in ages.” Ben grunts as your tongue presses under his cock, his hips rolling forward before he checks himself. “She doesn’t need it yet,” he says, though his voice is strained.

“She’s got her mouth full.” Your pussy clenches hard at that, wetness slipping down your inner thigh. Billy notices and gives a rough laugh, then slaps your cheek again, softer this time but no less humiliating. “Dirty thing,” he says, and his hand slides briefly over your throat, feeling the movement as you take Ben.

Ben pulls out enough to let you breathe, then taps his cock against your lips. “Tell him,” Ben says, voice dark. “Tell Butcher you like bein’ used like this.” You gasp for air, eyes flicking between them, and the only thing you manage is a broken, “I like it.”

That confession nearly unravels both of them, though neither cums. Billy’s hand tightens around his cock, his jaw locking as he stares down at you like you’ve just given him the best and worst gift of his life. Ben’s grin fades for half a second, replaced by something hungrier and more serious, before he grips your jaw and pulls your mouth back to him.

“Damn right you do,” he says, and the praise sounds like degradation from his mouth. You take him again, then Billy, then Ben’s balls, then Billy’s, until the rhythm turns sloppy and instinctive. They keep you moving with hands in your hair, hands on your jaw, hands at your throat and shoulders, never letting you forget there are two of them and only one of you.

They slap your cheeks when your attention drifts, tap their cocks over your face when your mouth is full, and tell you exactly what you look like kneeling there naked and ruined. Your body burns with it, clit throbbing, pussy soaked, nipples aching, jaw sore, and every filthy word makes you wetter. Billy keeps calling you his, even when Ben’s in your mouth. Ben keeps calling you greedy, even when he’s the one pushing for more.

Neither of them lets themselves finish, not yet, though you can feel how close the edge keeps getting. When Billy finally pulls you off Ben and back toward him, his thumb strokes over your wet cheek with cruel tenderness. “Still with us, love?” he asks, voice rougher than before. You nod, dazed and desperate, and Ben laughs low beside him. “Good,” Ben says, cock still hard against your cheek. “Because we’re nowhere near done.”

Billy’s hand tightens in your hair one last time before he pulls you off Ben, and the sudden emptiness makes you gasp like you’ve been dragged up from underwater. Your mouth is wet, swollen, and aching, your cheeks marked with heat from their hands and the messy smear of both of them.

Ben is breathing hard above you, cock still in hand, jaw clenched like he’s fighting the urge to shove right back between your lips. Billy looks at him, then down at you, and that same silent agreement passes between them again, quick and wordless and cruel. It makes your stomach drop before either of them touches you.

You’re still on your knees, naked, soaked, trembling, and both of them are looking at you like they’ve decided your mouth was only the warm-up. Billy crouches first, catching your jaw in his hand and making you look at him properly. His thumb drags over your bottom lip, smearing spit across it as his eyes search yours beneath all that mean amusement.

“Still with us, love?” he asks, voice rough enough to scrape. You nod too quickly, dazed and aching and desperate enough that shame barely has room to breathe. Billy’s eyes narrow, not satisfied with that, and his fingers press harder into your jaw. “Words.” Your throat feels ruined from taking them, but you manage it anyway. “Yes.”

Ben’s breath shifts behind him, heavier, like hearing you say it does something filthy to him. Billy smiles then, slow and dark, before his hand slips from your jaw to your throat. “Good girl,” he says first, almost sweetly, and then his mouth twists. “Good little slut.”

The words make your pussy clench so hard your thighs shake, and both men see it. Ben laughs under his breath, stepping closer until the heat of him crowds your side. “Hell,” he says, voice rough and smug, “she likes that.” Billy doesn’t look away from your face as his thumb strokes along the front of your throat. “Course she does.”

His grip closes, controlled but firm, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch and your eyes flutter. Your lashes roll back before you can stop them, pleasure and pressure making the room blur at the edges.

Billy watches it happen like it’s the prettiest confession you’ve given him all night. “Look at that,” he mutters, and his voice drops into something crueler. “Gets called what she is, and she damn near melts.”

Ben’s hand comes under your arm, and Billy catches the other, and between them, they haul you up from the rug like they’ve run out of patience for letting you move yourself. Your legs feel weak, knees sore, thighs sticky with your own slick, and you barely get your balance before Billy turns you toward the couch.

Ben moves behind you with too much ease, crowding your back, his cock hot against your ass for a second as he leans in near your ear. “Told you we weren’t done,” he says, voice low, smug, and rough around the edges. You shiver, and he laughs like he feels it all the way through you.

Billy sees the reaction and grabs your chin, pulling your attention back to him before Ben can keep it. “Eyes on me when he’s talkin’,” he says, his voice sharp enough to make your pulse jump. His hand slides down your throat again, claiming the line of it while Ben’s fingers bite into your hip.

“Greedy thing’s got two men on her and still doesn’t know where to look.” Ben’s hand smooths over your stomach from behind, dragging slowly upward until his palm cups one of your boobs.

His fingers find your nipple and pinch lightly, rolling the hard peak until your breath breaks. “She knows exactly where to look,” Ben says. “She just likes actin’ too dumb to choose.”

They move you like you’re something to be arranged exactly how they want. Billy sits back on the couch first, thighs spread, cock hard and flushed against his stomach, one hand already reaching to drag you over him. Ben stays behind you, big hands on your waist, guiding and forcing at the same time until your knees are on either side of Billy’s hips.

You end up straddling Billy, hovering over his lap, your hands braced on his shoulders while Ben stands at your back. The position leaves you open between them, exposed, your pussy slick and swollen under both their stares. Billy looks down between your bodies and gives a rough little laugh.

“Fuckin’ look at her,” he says, not to you, but to Ben. “Mouth full two minutes ago, and she’s still drippin’ like a proper little cum dump.” The phrase hits you so hard you almost fold forward, but Ben’s arm locks around your middle and keeps you upright.

His other hand slides to your chest again, fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple until you whine. “She likes bein’ called that,” Ben says, almost pleased. “Bet she’s been waitin’ all night to hear it.”

You whimper because they’re talking over you like you’re not there, like your body is evidence they’re both examining. It makes your face burn, but your pussy clenches in full view of Billy, and his eyes snap down to it immediately. He laughs again, meaner this time, while one hand settles at your thigh and pushes it wider.

“There it is,” he mutters. “Can’t even pretend she hates it.” Ben leans over your shoulder, his chest brushing your back, and you feel his cock slide hot between your ass and his stomach as he looks down too. “You hear that, sweetheart?” he asks, though he still sounds like he’s talking to Billy more than to you.

“Your cunt’s givin’ you away.” You try to lower your head, but Billy’s hand comes up to your jaw and keeps you exposed to him. “No hidin’.” His thumb presses into your cheek, making your lips part as he studies you. “Not after you got on your knees and sucked us like a desperate little slut.”

Billy spits on his fingers first, shameless and filthy, then brings them down between your thighs. The wet heat of it makes you jolt before he even touches your clit. He drags his slick fingers through your folds, spreading you open with slow, possessive strokes while Ben watches over your shoulder.

You’re already soaked, but Billy still looks pleased with the mess, like it belongs to him because he made you admit it. Then Ben’s hand appears beside his, rougher and broader, his fingers pressing your folds apart so both men can see you clearly. “Pretty little pussy,” Ben says, voice low, and the praise sounds almost mean because he says it while spreading you open.

Then he spits too, directly onto your pussy, the warmth landing against your clit and sliding down into Billy’s fingers. Your whole body jerks. Billy groans at the sight, cock twitching under you. “Christ,” he mutters. “She likes that.” Ben’s fingers roll your nipple harder from behind, and your back arches against his chest. “Yeah,” he says, breath hot at your ear. “She’s nasty as hell.”

You do like it, and they know it. Your hips twitch downward, chasing anything, friction, pressure, relief, but Billy’s grip on your thigh stops you from taking too much too soon. Ben’s hand comes down against your ass with a sharp smack, not enough to break the rhythm, just enough to make you cry out and arch.

“Don’t get impatient,” Ben says, his voice rough with amusement. “You’ll get what you can handle.” Billy looks past your shoulder at him, one brow lifting, his hand still working spit and slick through your folds. “And what makes you think she can handle both of us?”

Ben’s mouth brushes the side of your neck, his grin felt more than seen. “Look at her.” He pinches both nipples now, cruel little rolls that make your chest shake with every breath. “She’s already actin’ like a slut who wants to be split open.”

Your breath shakes because he’s right, and because Billy’s face says he knows it too. Billy’s eyes come back to yours, and the dark satisfaction there makes your thighs tremble. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She will.”

Billy guides himself beneath you, thick head pressing against your slick entrance. Even after everything, the first push makes your mouth fall open. He’s not the longest, but he’s so thick that the stretch steals the air out of your lungs, forcing you to sink down slowly while his hands clamp around your hips.

“Easy,” he says, though his voice sounds anything but calm. You try to take him too fast, desperate and shaking, and he jerks you back with a rough grip. “Don’t be stupid, love.” His thumb digs into your hip as he holds you above him, letting only the head stretch you open.

Ben watches from behind, one hand still at your chest, the other wrapped around himself. “She’s tryin’ to swallow you whole,” he says, breathless and smug. Billy’s jaw tightens.

“She always gets greedy when she’s embarrassed.” His hand moves back to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes go glassy again. “Ain’t that right?”

You sink lower, inch by inch, until Billy is seated inside you, thick and deep enough to make your thighs shake around his hips. The stretch is familiar and still overwhelming, made worse by Ben standing behind you, waiting and touching you like patience is running out of his body.

Billy’s head falls back against the couch for one second before he forces his eyes open again, unwilling to miss your face. “Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s it.” His hands move to your ass, spreading you, holding you open as Ben steps closer behind you.

You feel Ben’s cock slide against your slick folds, nudging where Billy already fills you, and panic flares with arousal so hard your fingers dig into Billy’s shoulders. “Billy,” you gasp, not sure if it’s a warning or a plea.

Billy’s hand comes up to your throat again, grounding you, making you look at him. “You said yes,” he reminds you, voice rough but focused beneath all the filth. “You still mean it?” You nod, frantic, and force the word out. “Yes.”

Ben groans behind you, and the sound is almost too much before he even pushes in. He spits into his palm, slicks himself with rough, impatient strokes, then spits again over the place where Billy is already buried inside you. The sensation makes you clench around Billy, and he curses, hips jerking up once before he controls himself.

“Fuckin’ hell, don’t do that,” Billy growls, even though his hands pull you down harder. Ben laughs under his breath, but it’s strained, his usual arrogance cracking under the pressure of what he’s about to do. “She can’t help it,” he says. “Poor thing’s full and still beggin’.” His tip presses against your entrance alongside Billy, and the stretch goes from intense to impossible.

Your whole body locks up, breath punching out of you in a broken whine. Billy’s hand tightens around your throat, not cutting off all your air, just taking enough control that your eyes roll back again. “Breathe,” he orders, and the command comes out like a threat and a promise at once.

Slow feels like a joke, because there’s nothing gentle about being opened around both of them. Ben pushes in by brutal little increments, forcing your body to make room while Billy holds you down on his cock. The pressure is obscene, hot and splitting, every nerve in your pussy screaming as both of them fill you at once.

You choke on a sound, forehead dropping toward Billy’s shoulder, but he catches your hair and pulls your head back. “No,” he says, voice low and cruel. “Let him see your face.” Ben stills behind you, breathing hard against your neck, his cock only halfway in and already making you feel like you’re being ruined from the inside out.

“Jesus Christ,” Ben mutters, and for once he sounds genuinely shaken. “She’s tight as hell.” Billy’s mouth curves, but his eyes are blown dark. “Told you,” he says, talking like you’re a thing being proved right in front of him. “Pretty little cunt’s spoiled, but she’s still got to work for it.” Ben’s hand slides from your hip to your stomach, pressing low. “Shit,” he says, voice dropping. “You can feel us right here.”

Your gaze follows his hand down, and the sight nearly wrecks you. There’s a subtle bulge low in your tummy where both of them are stretching you full, a faint, obscene pressure under Ben’s palm that makes your breath stutter when he presses on it. Billy sees it at the same time you do, and his entire body goes tense beneath you.

“Fuck,” Billy says, voice rough with disbelief and possession. “Look at that.” Ben’s palm stays there, rubbing slowly over the small swell like he’s memorizing what they’re doing to you. “We’re makin’ room where there wasn’t any,” Ben says, and his voice is so filthy and fascinated that your pussy clenches around them both.

Billy’s hand snaps back to your throat, squeezing as his hips jerk up under you. Your eyes roll back again, pleasure and pressure and humiliation crashing together until your mouth falls open.

Ben’s other hand pinches your nipple hard, and your whole body trembles between them. “Dirty little cum dump,” Billy says, almost panting now. “Look what happens when we fill you up proper.” Ben huffs a wrecked laugh against your shoulder. “She likes the proof.”

They start moving in tiny, cruel shifts at first. Billy rolls his hips up while Ben pulls back just enough to push in again, and the combined drag makes your vision blur.

It isn’t fast yet, but it’s already too much, every movement forcing you to feel both of them separately and together. Billy keeps one hand on your throat, squeezing in little pulses that make your lashes flutter and your body go loose for him.

Ben’s hand stays at your stomach, pressing over the bulge, while his other hand keeps playing with your nipples from behind. He pinches, rolls, and tugs until your chest aches and every little shock runs straight between your legs.

“She’s shaking,” Ben says, almost conversational, like you aren’t trembling between them. Billy looks down at your body, then back at Ben with a cruel little smirk. “She does that when she’s gettin’ treated like the slut she is.”

Your nails dig into Billy’s shoulders as another broken sound slips out of you. Ben thrusts shallowly, and your whole body jolts. “Yeah?” he says near your ear. “This what you wanted, sweetheart? Both of us makin’ a cum dump outta that pretty pussy?”

You can’t answer right away, and Billy doesn’t like that. His hand leaves your throat long enough to slap your cheek lightly, sharp enough to snap your focus back to him. “Answer him,” he says, voice rough and dark.

Your lips part, but the next slow grind of Ben’s cock alongside Billy’s turns the words into a gasp. Billy smiles like that’s answer enough, but he still waits because he’s a bastard. “Yes,” you finally manage, voice shaking apart.

“I wanted it.” Ben groans behind you, his forehead almost touching your shoulder for a second before he straightens again. “There she is,” he mutters. “Knew she’d say it if we stretched her enough.” Billy laughs, but it breaks into a curse when your pussy clenches around both of them.

“Fuck, love,” he hisses. “Keep squeezin’ like that and we’re not gonna last.” Ben’s hand presses lower on your stomach, making you feel the bulge and fullness all over again. “Then she’d better learn to take it.”

The rhythm builds slowly because it has to, because there’s too much of them and only so much of you. They don’t stop talking over you, about you, like your whimpers are just another part of the room. Billy says your pussy’s taking them better than he expected, voice rough with pride and disbelief.

Ben says you were made for trouble, that all that sweet little attitude was hiding this, a woman who’d end up split open between them and still try to act shy. You hear every word through the haze, and each one makes your clit pulse harder. Billy’s thumb finds it again, slick and spit-smeared, and starts rubbing slow, mean circles while Ben holds your hips open from behind.

The pressure of both cocks inside you, Billy’s thumb on your clit, Ben’s fingers abusing your nipples, and his palm pressing your lower stomach is enough to make your thighs shake violently. You cry out, and Ben’s arm clamps across your chest, pinning you back against him while his fingers keep twisting one hard nipple.

“There you go,” he says, breathing hot against your ear. “Let Butcher hear how much you like bein’ shared.” Billy’s mouth crashes against yours, rough and possessive, and his hips snap up harder. “She’s not bein’ shared,” he growls against your lips. “She’s bein’ shown off.”

That makes you break into a sobbing moan, because Billy can make possession sound filthier than sharing ever could. Ben laughs against your shoulder, but his thrust stutters like the words hit him too. “Yeah?” he says, voice ragged. “Then show her off right.” Billy’s eyes flash, and suddenly his hands are on your hips again, lifting and dragging you down with a strength that makes your breath vanish.

Ben matches him from behind, timing his shallow thrusts to Billy’s movement until you’re caught in a rough, coordinated rhythm that leaves you helpless between them.

Your pussy is stretched so full that every thrust feels like it’s taking you apart and putting you back wrong. You can feel Billy’s thickness grinding against one side, Ben’s length pressing from the other, both of them slick with spit and your own wetness.

Your head falls back against Ben’s shoulder, and Billy immediately grabs your throat to keep your face visible. His fingers squeeze, your eyes roll, and he groans at the sight like it’s going to ruin him. “No hidin’ from me,” he says. Ben’s mouth brushes your ear, his voice dark with amusement. “Or me.”

They keep you there, pinned between them, while the quiet night Billy promised turns into something ruinous and loud with breathing, skin, and filthy praise disguised as insult. You’re trembling so hard now that they have to hold you up, Billy from beneath you and Ben from behind, both of them using that to move you exactly how they want.

They spit on their fingers again, on your clit, on where you’re stretched around them, making the whole thing wetter, messier, more obscene. Billy talks about how sweet you looked in his shirt and how much better you look with it gone, split open on his cock and Ben’s like you’d been waiting for it.

Ben says he knew you were trouble the first time you glared at him, says he should’ve known your mouth wasn’t the only greedy thing about you. You whimper through it, trying to keep hold of Billy’s shoulders while Ben’s hands bruise your hips and squeeze your tits from behind. Neither of them lets you disappear into the pleasure quietly.

Every time your eyes close, Billy snaps your name. Every time your head drops, Ben pulls it back. Every time your body clenches, they both groan like you’re testing them on purpose. And through all of it, they keep talking like you aren’t in the room, like you’re something they’re using and admiring and ruining between them. You hate how much it turns you on, and you hate even more that they both know.

Billy feels you start to come apart before you manage to say it. Your thighs clamp uselessly around his hips, your nails dig into his shoulders, and your whole body starts shaking between them like you’ve been wound too tight for too long. Ben feels it too, pressed behind you, his hand still at your stomach where that obscene fullness shows beneath his palm.

He lets out a rough, almost disbelieving laugh when your pussy starts fluttering around them both, tight little pulses dragging a curse out of Billy and a sharp groan out of him. Billy’s thumb keeps working your clit in slow, cruel circles, not letting up even when you jerk against him.

“There she is,” Billy says, voice wrecked and mean, his eyes fixed on your face. “There’s our filthy little slut.” Ben’s hand slides up from your stomach to your throat, replacing Billy’s grip with his own, fingers firm and controlled around the front of your neck.

The pressure makes your lashes flutter, your breath catching in a broken whimper that only gets worse when Billy’s hand drops to your tits.

He slaps one, sharp and filthy, then the other, watching your nipples bounce and harden under the sting. “Cum for us,” Billy growls. “Go on, love. Show him what my girl looks like when she’s ruined.”

Your orgasm hits so hard that it nearly takes your voice with it. For a second, you can’t do anything but shake, mouth open, eyes rolling as Ben’s hand holds your throat and Billy’s cock grinds up into you from beneath.

Then the sound breaks out of you, loud and helpless, both their names spilling from your mouth in a ruined, sobbing rush. “Billy,” you gasp first, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. “Ben.” Ben groans against your ear when you say his name, his hips snapping forward harder, forcing another cry out of you.

Billy’s hand comes down against your tit again, the sting melting straight into the pleasure tearing through your body. You don’t even know when the words change, only that your head is gone and your body is too full and too sensitive and too desperate to stay proud.

“Daddy,” you whimper at Billy, and the look that takes over his face is almost dangerous. Then your head falls back against Ben’s shoulder, and the name slips out for him too, softer and needier.

“Dada, please.” Ben’s grip tightens at your throat for one controlled second, just enough to make you gasp around the word. “Fuck,” he snarls. “Say that again.”

Billy’s whole body goes tense beneath you, jealousy and arousal twisting together in his face. He slaps your tit again, rougher this time, and the sting makes your pussy clamp down around both of them so hard that Ben swears into your neck.

“Little cum dump’s got names for both of us now,” Billy says, voice harsh, but his hips buck up into you like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Ben laughs, breathless and mean, his hand still at your throat while the other arm locks around your waist to hold you steady. “She sounds good beggin’ like that,” he says, thrusting shallow and hard, making you feel every inch of him alongside Billy.

“Bet she’d sound even better askin’ for what she really wants.” Your orgasm is still rolling through you, still making your thighs tremble, but the words drag another desperate ache out of your body. Billy’s thumb presses against your clit again, and you sob. “Please,” you choke out, voice thin under Ben’s hand.

Billy’s eyes narrow, his mouth wet and parted as he watches you struggle to speak. “Please what?” he asks. Ben’s mouth brushes your ear, cruel and hot. “Use your words, sweetheart. Tell us what you want us to do to that pretty little cunt.”

You barely get the sentence out. It comes out broken, filthy, and desperate, torn apart by the way they keep moving inside you. “Cum in me,” you beg, voice shaking so badly the words nearly blur. Billy’s hips stutter beneath you, and Ben goes still for half a second like you’ve punched the air out of him.

Then you say it again because their reaction makes you reckless. “Please cum in me.” Billy’s face twists with something possessive and ruined, his hands grabbing your hips hard enough to pull you down against him. “Hear that?” he says to Ben, like you’re not there, like you’re just a soaked, trembling thing split open between them. “She’s beggin’ for it now.”

Ben’s hand flexes around your throat, his thumb stroking once along your jaw when your breath catches. “Yeah,” Ben says, voice rougher than it’s been all night. “Wants to be filled up like a good little cum dump.” Your pussy clenches again, and both men groan at once. “Please,” you whimper, turning your face toward Billy, then back toward Ben as much as his grip allows. “Please, Daddy. Please, Dada. I want it.”

That breaks whatever restraint they’ve been pretending to have. Billy’s hands become bruising on your hips, lifting and dragging you down onto him in rough, grinding thrusts that make your whole body jolt. Ben matches him from behind, his hips snapping forward in short, punishing strokes, keeping you pinned between his chest and Billy’s body.

They aren’t soft now, not even a little. Their words get nastier, their rhythm harsher, their hands less patient as your body turns loose and trembling between them. Billy calls you a greedy slut for asking so sweetly after pretending you were shy. Ben calls you a perfect little cum dump against your ear, his voice shaking with how close he is.

Billy keeps slapping your tits, alternating between the sharp sting of his palm and the rough squeeze of his fingers around your nipples. Ben’s hand stays at your throat, firm and grounding, controlling just enough air to make every sensation blur into something dizzy and desperate.

Your eyes roll again, and Billy groans when he sees it. “Fuckin’ look at her,” he pants. “Gone stupid on our cocks.” Ben bites out a laugh, thrusting harder. “Good. That’s how she should be.”

Billy cums first, because the way you’re clenching around both of them is too much even for him. His whole body locks beneath you, shoulders tense, jaw clenched, hands dragging you down so hard you feel him buried as deep as he can get. “Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking around the word. “Take it, love.”

Then he spills inside you, hot and thick, his cock pulsing hard as cum fills you from beneath. You feel every twitch of him, every hot rush, and the sensation makes you sob because Ben is still moving behind you, grinding his cock alongside Billy’s while Billy empties into you.

“There you go,” Ben mutters, voice ragged at your ear. “Daddy’s fillin’ you up.” The words make you clench so hard Billy curses through his own orgasm.

Ben’s grip on your throat tightens for one last dizzying second before he lets it ease, his other hand pressing low on your stomach as if he can feel Billy’s cum inside you. “My turn,” Ben says, and his voice is no longer teasing. It’s wrecked.

Ben follows with a harsh groan, hips driving forward and holding there as deep as your body can take him. His hand leaves your throat to clamp around your waist, pulling you back against him while Billy holds you down from the front. “Fuck, sweetheart,” Ben grits out, his voice cracking into something raw. “Take mine too.”

Then he cums inside you, hot and heavy, pulsing into the same stretched, soaked space Billy has already filled. The feeling is overwhelming, too much heat, too much fullness, too much wetness as both of them stay buried and twitching inside you. You can feel their cum mixing deep in your pussy, slick and warm, making the stretch wetter and messier with every tiny aftershock.

Billy’s breathing is rough against your chest, his forehead briefly pressing to your collarbone like even he needs a second. Ben groans into the back of your shoulder, his body trembling once behind you.

You’re still shaking from your own orgasm, still clenching weakly around them both, and every pulse makes cum shift inside you. “Good girl,” Billy murmurs, voice hoarse and wrecked. “That’s it. Take all of it.” Ben kisses the side of your neck, messier and rougher than tender. “Looks like she loves it.”

For a moment, no one moves properly. You’re pinned between them, full of both of their cum, your body limp and trembling, your tits sore from Billy’s hands and your throat still tingling from Ben’s grip. Billy’s fingers stroke over your hip, almost absent, while Ben’s palm spreads across your lower stomach one more time.

“Hell of a thing,” Ben mutters, still breathing hard, and there’s a rough satisfaction in his voice when he feels how full you are. Billy looks down between your bodies, eyes dark and hungry even through the exhaustion. “Want to see it,” he says, and the words make your stomach twist again despite how ruined you already feel.

Ben pulls out first, slowly, and the loss makes you whimper. A wet sound follows, obscene and soft, and Ben curses when he sees the first slick spill of cum start to slip out around Billy’s cock. Billy grabs your hips and lifts you off him next, careful enough not to hurt you but still rough enough to make your thighs shake.

His cock slides free, and the combined cum immediately starts dripping back down onto him from your pussy, thick and white, mixed with your slick as it trails over his shaft and lower stomach. Billy stares at it like it’s a claim made visible. Ben lets out a low laugh behind you. “Jesus,” he says. “Look at that mess.”

Billy doesn’t let you hide from it. He keeps you lifted just enough, one arm strong around your waist, while his other hand dips between your thighs. His fingers scoop through the cum dripping from you, gathering the messy mix before it can slide too far.

Your face burns when he brings it up toward your mouth, but you open before he has to tell you. Billy’s eyes go dark at the obedience. “That’s my girl,” he says, pushing his fingers between your lips. The taste of cum hits your tongue, salty and warm and filthy, mixed with you, mixed with both of them, and you moan around his fingers because you love it.

Ben moves in too, his hand following Billy’s, fingers sliding through the mess still leaking from your swollen pussy. “Greedy even after all that,” he says, amused and breathless. He brings his fingers to your mouth next, and Billy pulls his free just enough to let Ben feed you too.

You suck Ben’s fingers clean without hesitation, eyes half-lidded, body still trembling between them. Ben’s grin turns wrecked and satisfied. “Damn,” he murmurs. “She really does love bein’ our cum dump.”

Billy’s hand comes back to your jaw, not harsh this time, but still possessive enough to make you look at him while Ben’s fingers slip from your mouth. “Swallow,” he says, voice low and ruined. You do, because there’s no part of you left pretending you don’t want every filthy piece of what they give you.

Billy watches your throat move, and something soft and dangerous flickers under all the degradation. Ben’s hand slides over your hip, squeezing once, while his mouth brushes your shoulder. “Good girl,” Ben says, and the praise sounds almost obscene after everything else.

Cum is still dripping from you, slow and sticky, sliding down your thighs and onto Billy where he sits beneath you. Billy notices, of course he does, and his thumb strokes over your swollen lower lip. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Full of us, fed from us, and still lookin’ like you’d ask for more.”

Your laugh comes out broken and breathless, half a whimper. You lean into his hand because you can’t help it. “Maybe I would,” you whisper. Billy’s smile turns dark again, and Ben’s laugh rumbles against your back. “Course you would,” Billy says. “You’re ours now, love. No point lyin’ about it.”

You pout up at them before you can stop yourself, lips still swollen, eyes glassy, body trembling in that loose, ruined way that makes Billy’s gaze sharpen all over again. It isn’t even a practiced pout, not something you mean to do to get your way, just the natural little downturn of your mouth when Billy’s hand leaves your jaw and Ben’s warmth shifts away from your back.

You feel too empty already, too exposed, too full of them and somehow still needy enough to hate the distance. Billy notices instantly, because Billy notices every pathetic little thing you try to hide from him. His hand tightens around your waist, and for one stupid second you think he’s going to pull you back onto his lap.

Instead, he lifts you with a rough little grunt, making your thighs shake as cum slips hot and sticky between your legs. “Look at that face,” he mutters, voice hoarse and mean around the edges. “Still fuckin’ poutin’ after all that.”

You try to answer, but the sound that comes out is just a soft, embarrassed whine. Ben laughs under his breath, stepping closer like he can’t help wanting to see what Billy’s done to you from every possible angle.

Billy sets you down on the chair beside him, rough enough that you gasp when your bare skin meets the cool seat. The chair creaks beneath you, and your hands fly to the arms of it, fingers curling hard as your body tries to remember how to sit normally.

There’s nothing normal about it, not with your thighs slick, your pussy sore and swollen, cum still leaking out of you in slow, humiliating little drips. Billy doesn’t let you close your legs. His hand catches your knee immediately and shoves it back open with a dark look, like he’s offended you’d even try to hide now.

“No,” he says, simple and sharp. “Don’t get shy after beggin’ for us to fill you.” Your breath catches, and Ben makes a low sound from where he stands in front of you, still half-dressed, still looking unfairly smug and wrecked at the same time. “She’s tryin’ to look innocent again,” Ben says, voice rough with amusement. “Cute.”

You glare at him, or at least you try to. It comes out weak, ruined by the way your body keeps shaking and the way your lips are still parted like you’re waiting for someone to give you another command. Ben sees that too, because Ben has become dangerously good at reading all the little cracks in your pride.

His eyes drop between your spread thighs, and his grin fades into something darker when he sees the mess they’ve left behind. Billy’s cum and Ben’s cum keep slipping out of you, thick and white against your flushed, swollen pussy, trailing down toward the chair in slow, obscene streaks.

You feel it and shiver, half embarrassed and half turned on all over again. Billy sees the shiver and reaches over, fingers digging into the soft inside of your thigh. “Still twitchin’,” he says, like he’s talking to Ben more than you.

“Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself now.” Ben steps closer, one hand coming down to grip the back of the chair above your shoulder. “Sure she does,” he says. “She’s sittin’ there waitin’ to be told.”

The words make your stomach dip, and Billy’s fingers flex like he feels the reaction through your thigh. “That true, love?” he asks, leaning back on the couch like he isn’t still hardening again at the sight of you ruined beside him.

You swallow, throat tender from Ben’s grip and Billy’s commands, and your voice comes out smaller than you expect. “Maybe.” Billy’s mouth curves, slow and wicked, and Ben’s brows lift like your answer has delighted him. “Maybe,” Billy repeats, dragging the word out like it’s something filthy. “That’s not what you sounded like five minutes ago.”

Your face burns hot, but you don’t look away fast enough. Billy reaches over and catches your chin before you can try. His thumb presses into your lower lip, smearing what’s left of the wetness there. “You had plenty to say when you wanted our cum in you.”

Ben makes a low sound at that, like the reminder gets under his skin too. He crouches in front of you, not kneeling fully, just lowering enough that his face is closer to your open thighs. The position makes your breath go thin, especially when his hands settle on your knees and push them wider for himself.

“Christ,” he mutters, looking at the way cum keeps leaking from you. “She really did take it all.” Billy’s eyes are on you, not between your legs, watching your face twist with embarrassment. “She loved takin’ it,” he says. “Didn’t you?”

You bite your lip, and Billy’s hand comes down on your thigh, a sharp slap that makes you jolt. “Don’t bite that lip unless I tell you to.” Your eyes fly to his, and your voice shakes when you answer. “I loved it.” Ben’s grin comes back, slower this time, rougher around the edges. “Yeah,” he says. “I know you did.”

Ben’s gaze drops again, and this time he doesn’t just look. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out his phone with a calmness that makes your whole body tense. Billy’s eyes flick to the phone first, then to your face, his expression sharpening with warning and interest all at once.

Ben notices that too, because he isn’t stupid, just infuriating. “Relax,” he says, though his voice stays dark and hungry. “I’m askin’.” Your breath catches as he tilts the phone in his hand, not lifting it fully yet, giving you the chance to say no. Billy’s hand stays on your thigh, warm and grounding despite how rough he’s been with you.

“You want that, love?” Billy asks, and his voice drops softer beneath the filth. “Want him keepin’ a picture of what we did to you?” The idea hits you so hard your pussy clenches, pushing more cum out in a slow, humiliating trickle. Ben sees it happen, and his jaw tightens. “Shit,” he mutters. “That’s an answer if I’ve ever seen one.”

You still force yourself to speak, because Billy’s eyes demand it and Ben’s phone stays lowered until you do. “Yes,” you whisper, cheeks burning so hot you feel dizzy. Ben’s grin turns dark, satisfied, and almost reverent in the worst possible way.

“Yeah?” he asks, thumb hovering over the screen as he shifts closer. “You want me takin’ pictures of this pretty ruined pussy?” Your thighs twitch, but Billy’s hand keeps them open. “Say it proper,” Billy murmurs, thumb stroking once along your inner thigh. Your voice shakes, but the want in it is embarrassingly clear.

“I want him to take them.” Ben exhales slowly, like the words have knocked something loose in him. “Good girl,” he says, and the praise sounds obscene coming from his mouth. “Knew you had a little exhibitionist streak in there.” Billy huffs a rough laugh beside you. “Little?”

The first picture makes you flinch even though you asked for it. Ben angles the phone down between your thighs, capturing the spread of your legs, the swollen shine of your pussy, the thick cum dripping out of you and smearing against the chair.

The soft click feels louder than it should, sharp enough to send a pulse straight through your clit. You cover your face on instinct, but Billy catches your wrists before your hands can hide you. “No,” he says, dragging your arms down and pinning them against the chair.

“You wanted it, so let him see your face too.” Ben’s eyes lift to yours over the phone, his grin crooked and filthy. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says. “Don’t hide now.” He takes another picture, this one wider, catching your ruined expression, your bare chest, your open thighs, and Billy’s hand holding you in place.

Your stomach twists with shame and pleasure at once. “Fuck,” Ben says softly, looking at the screen. “That’s one hell of a souvenir.”

Billy leans over enough to look, his shoulder brushing yours while Ben turns the screen slightly toward him. The sight of them both looking at the picture while you’re sitting right there makes your whole body burn. Billy’s mouth curls like he’s proud and possessive and half tempted to ruin you all over again.

“Look at her,” he mutters, voice rough. “Looks like she’s been thoroughly used.” Ben’s thumb swipes once, checking the picture, and his eyes flick back to you with something hungry and pleased. “She looks like she needs to be looked at again,” he says.

You make a small sound, and Billy’s hand slides from your wrist to your throat, not squeezing yet, just resting there like a reminder. “You hear that, love?” Billy asks. “He’s already plannin’ what he’s doin’ with those.”

Ben lifts the phone again, angling for another shot of your pussy leaking over the chair. “Damn right I am,” he says, voice low. “I’m keepin’ these.”

Your breath catches harder than you expect. “Keeping them?” you whisper, even though you already know the answer. Ben’s gaze rises to yours, bold and shameless, but there is still that pause, that tiny space for you to take it back if you need to.

You don’t. You sit there with Billy holding your throat and Ben crouched between your thighs, and the thought of him leaving with proof of you like this makes you throb. Ben sees it in your face before you can say anything.

“I’m gonna stroke myself to them when I get home,” he says, rough and deliberate, watching your reaction like it’s the real prize. “Gonna look at that pretty little cum-filled pussy and remember exactly how you sounded beggin’ for us.”

A whimper slips out of you, helpless and immediate. Billy’s fingers tighten slightly at your throat, his smile darkening as he feels you melt under the words. “Fuckin’ knew it,” Billy murmurs. “You like that.”

Ben takes another picture while Billy says it, capturing your face mid-whimper, lips parted, eyes glassy, throat held in Billy’s hand. The humiliation of it makes your pulse thunder, but you don’t ask him to stop.

You can’t. You love the attention too much, love the idea of being kept like this, love knowing Ben will have to look at you later and remember what it felt like to ruin you with Billy.

“You’re sick,” you whisper, but there is no bite in it. Ben laughs, low and pleased, lowering the phone just enough to meet your eyes properly. “Maybe,” he says. “But you’re the one spreadin’ your legs wider every time I point this thing at you.”

Your gaze drops because he’s right, and Billy’s thumb strokes along your throat like he’s rewarding the honesty your body keeps giving away. “She can’t help herself,” Billy says. “Likes knowin’ she’ll be kept.” Ben’s smile turns slower. “Oh, she’s bein’ kept all right.”

Billy’s hand moves from your throat to your jaw, turning your face toward him while Ben takes another photo from the side. This one catches Billy’s fingers on your face, your ruined mouth, the bruised flush in your cheeks, and the cum still leaking between your open thighs.

Billy kisses you after the click, rough and possessive, his mouth swallowing the soft moan you give him. Ben makes a quiet sound behind the phone, and when Billy pulls away, you see the way Ben is staring at the screen like he’s already imagining later. “That one,” Ben says, voice rougher. “That one’s gettin’ used a lot.”

You shiver, and Billy laughs against your mouth. “Dirty little thing,” he says, not unkindly, but still mean enough to make your stomach twist. “You hear him talk about jerkin’ off to you and you damn near shake.”

Ben shifts closer, phone still in hand, and his free fingers slide along your inner thigh, smearing through the mess there. “Can’t blame me,” he says. “Look at her.”

You try to pout again, partly because you’re overwhelmed and partly because you know they both react to it. Billy sees it first and clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing. “There’s that face again.” Ben immediately lifts the phone, like he has been waiting for exactly that.

“Hold that,” he says, voice turning sharp with command. You freeze, lips parted in that soft little pout, thighs still spread by Billy’s hand. The picture captures it, the ruined softness of your expression paired with the filthy evidence between your legs.

Ben looks at the screen and lets out a rough laugh. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re gonna be a problem.” Your voice comes out breathy, almost shy despite everything. “For who?” Ben’s eyes lift slowly from the phone to your face.

“For my right hand,” he says, and Billy laughs so hard under his breath that you feel it through his hand on your thigh. “Romantic bastard, ain’t he?” Billy says.

Ben stands again, still looking down at you like he’s not finished deciding what he wants to remember. He takes one more picture from above, getting the whole wrecked shape of you in the chair, legs open, chest bare, throat marked faintly from their hands, mouth swollen from them both.

Billy keeps you in place through it, one hand on your thigh, the other at your chin, forcing you to look up instead of away. The click lands, and you feel it everywhere. Ben studies the screen for a long second, his expression almost stripped of humor now. “Yeah,” he says softly, more to himself than either of you. “I’m definitely keepin’ that one.”

Billy looks up at him, possessive amusement cutting through his exhaustion. “Don’t wear it out.” Ben grins, finally sliding the phone away. “No promises.”

Your thighs tremble, and another slow drip of cum slips out of you. Both men look down at the same time, and Ben’s grin turns wicked again. “Might need one more.” Billy squeezes your thigh, holding you open as he murmurs, “Smile for him, love.”

© CUMKISSED ♡ | EST. JUNE 2026 ˎˊ˗ all original content found here belongs to me. canon material belongs to its respective owners. don't repost it, don't feed it to ai, don't translate it, don't archive it elsewhere, and definitely don't pretend you wrote it. ♡

[bobabilbil]

Never been so hot and bothered like this wtf🥵😳

[beyoursbb]

This quite literally took YEARS OFF MY LIFE😭🥵

[enchantedflameandflower]

So, um.

Something spicy with Billy Butcher and a kitchen counter with reader?

Thanks 🫣😳

Billy x you x the kitchen counter!

After a mission gone wrong, Butcher takes it upon himself to take care of you, but almost losing you has him seeing through a different lens.

18+ for sex, female reader, no warnings

@konartiste I am so so sorry this ended up taking me so long! It was a ridiculous year. But I loved this idea and I loved writing it and I loved getting to create a little glasses!Billy 🔥 Thank you so so much for the ask and I really hope you enjoy! I can’t wait to get back to reading more of your writing ❤️

A large part of your career, regrettably, had been spent working for Vought. Of course you’d heard the water cooler gossip, but at first you just didn’t want to believe it. The few times you’d crossed paths with Stillwell, Queen Maeve, even Homelander, they’d always been polite. You’d thought you were making a difference.

But the Mayor’s plane going down, the second plane crash and then finding out what V really was had changed it all. The evidence was irrefutable. You would never forget figuring out the truth then spending the rest of the day vomiting in the bathroom.

And then Billy Butcher had found you. At first you’d thought it was coincidence but of course now you knew better. He was an asshole.

Still, you hadn’t hesitated to work with him (well not more than a second), and you didn’t regret it. How many years had you been a part of one of the vilest corporations in history? You had a lot to make up for.

And assholes had never scared you. It didn’t hurt he was so easy on the eyes and so fucking sexy you’d spent many pleasant hours fantasizing about him taking you every which way your imagination could conjure. And then somehow over time the two of you had grown…well almost close.

But this job was about righting your wrongs. Every evil you had been complicit to for far too long.

You tried your best to remind yourself of this, of what you owed, as a bullet tore through your flesh while you tried to duck behind a black Bentley Bentayga in a grimy underground garage in upper Manhattan.

Your brain shut off as you gasped for air, pain searing through your nervous system, so intense it made the world go hazy around you. Looking down you saw your jeans now soaked with blood and time seemed to switch into ultra-slow motion as you froze in shock.

Vaguely you heard M.M. shouting in the distance and the sound of tires squealing. Then you were lifting off the ground. Butcher. Butcher was carrying you.

You gritted your teeth, trying to force yourself to get it together. “No hospital,” you demanded grabbing a fistful of his dark blue Hawaiian shirt, but it only came out as a broken whisper.

Ignoring you, Butcher carried you into the back of the van and ripped your pant leg wide open without hesitation, tearing the material apart with his bare hands. He was frantic and in the back of your fuzzy mind you thought, with a bit of awe, that you’d never quite seen him like this before. Somehow you were able to focus on his face…the furrow in his brow, the tense frown, and was that real emotion in his eyes?

“Aye, just a scratch,” he breathed with relief. “Clean across the top of her thigh ‘ere…”

He must’ve been talking to M.M. but all you could see was him. A new burning surge of pain coursed through you and you closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against the floor of the van. It certainly didn’t feel like just a scratch. It felt like half your leg had been sheared off. But you weren’t going to say that because, fuck, you hated doctors so much.

You forced your eyes open and M.M. came into your view and then you made a strained sound to get his attention. “No hospital,” you ground out between clenched teeth. “Please…”

M.M. glared at you as you felt him wrapping something tight around your thigh. Billy was still hovering over you and you could feel him grab your hand tightly in his, big and warm. Was he…worried? When had he started to care about you?

“I’ll try,” M.M. finally answered, his voice low.

You breathed a sigh of relief and then everything went black.

*~*~*

M.M was able to get you fixed up with a few stitches and miraculously kept you from losing too much blood. Billy had taken you home and popped you into bed with a pain pill and a glass of water near by. You slept for nearly 12 hours and you dreamt about him - tall, dark and dangerous - and you woke up the next day feeling far better than you were expecting. There was still a dull ache from your wound but nothing unbearable. You’d even managed to wrap it with some plastic and take a quick shower, thinking about Butcher, and that look on his face, the whole time.

After that you were planning on going back to bed but a knock on your door and then hearing someone come in had you freezing in place.

“Oi, oi. Afternoon, sunshine.”

Billy suddenly appeared in the doorway of your bedroom and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. Though the words ‘Billy’ and ‘bedroom’ in the same sentence made your stomach flutter in a funny way.

“What do you want?” It came out harsher than you intended but you left it. “And how did you get into my apartment?”

“Alright, don’t get yer knickers in a twist now. I’m just checkin’ up on ya.”

“I’m not wearing any,” you replied obstinately, crossing your arms and frowning, which earned a low chuckle from Billy. Yeah, you knew you were trying to hide how much he flustered you by being defensive but then you just kept thinking he had actually came to check on you.

Butcher tsked, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Well, get some on and throw a few things in a bag. Ya can’t stay ‘ere.”

Your body tensed, and a flare of pain shot up your leg. “What do you mean I can’t stay here? It’s my apartment.”

Billy’s eyes went serious as he watched you for a moment, and then you knew whatever it was, it was bad.

“Yer burned, love. They know who ya are. I’m sorry.”

“Shit…” you breathed, slumping to the bed and burying your face in your hands. Your leg gave another painful throb and you groaned. “But you aren't? Or M.M.?” you asked, looking up at him hopefully.

“No,” he shook his head. “We ain’t.”

“At least there’s that. Fuck.” You picked up your phone and started just aimlessly scrolling through your contacts. What the fuck were you going to do?

“C’mon,” Butcher finally interrupted you, his voice gruff. “Let’s get a leg on. It ain’t safe.”

You gave a heavy sigh. “Is it really that bad, though? I don’t have anywhere to go, Butcher.”

“Aye, you can come to mine.”

Fuck.

~*~*~*

As soon as you got to Butcher’s he insisted that you rest. You had to admit that the rushed packing and the drive had worn you down and you just knew he could see it on your face.

But additionally, he insisted you rest in his bed. And all with that look on his face like you meant something to him. That seeing you hurt had shaken something loose in him.

You tried to argue that you liked the couch but you really didn’t have it in you to fight so of course he won easily. You changed into a soft, worn t-shirt and pajama shorts and within 10 minutes you were wrapped up in his blankets, burying your face into his pillow. And, damn, but it smelled like him. Not how you might’ve guessed, but something masculine and spicy and warm and wonderful and your heart, in utter betrayal, gave a little flutter. You were sound asleep within minutes.

It was very dark when you woke up again and you knew at once you were alone in the room. In his bed, you reminded yourself. You stretched for a moment before your stomach growled and you realized how hungry you were. There was no way Butcher had real food…you sighed to yourself. But you supposed you should check.

“Oi, if it ain’t sleeping beauty,” Butcher smirked as he stood from the couch where he’d been watching tv as you came out of his room.

You rolled your eyes. “You told me I had to rest.”

“Aye,” he grinned, “but I didn’t expect ya to obey so willingly.”

Oh. Ohhhhh.

“Um,” you took a breath. “I’m hungry.”

His dark eyes glittered with something mischievous, although he answered seriously. “I got a few sandwiches. Ain’t much but it’ll ’ave to do for now.”

Your stomach gave an answering rumble and as he brushed past you on the way to the refrigerator, you caught his scent, the same one as on his pillows, and something inside you shook loose too.

He pulled the food out of the fridge, you picked a sandwich and ate happily, sitting on a stool at his counter while he got you a glass of water. The lighting in the room was soft and a little dim, just a few lamps on in the living room and all of it felt extremely intimate and domestic in some weird, warm, wanting way.

Billy placed the glass of ice water in front of you with a gentle clink, his gaze meeting yours.

In that moment, there was something in the air, a quiet tension that felt charged with unspoken emotions. He sat down across from you, watching you eat, and your brain fumbled around trying to think of something to say.

“Thanks,” you murmured. “For all this…for everything.”

Billy nodded his head. “Don’t mention it,” he replied, his voice gruff but sincere. After a moment he added, “You’d do the same for me.”

A little smile came to your lips. You would. You would in a heartbeat. When had this happened? When had he become so important to you?

Billy must have seen the shift in your expression, his eyes searching your face quizzically. “Alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” you shook away the thought. “The sandwich is good…” You didn’t think you were ready to face these new feelings.

Billy nodded but his gaze lingered on your face before he looked away. He was always so scarily good at reading people.

You took another bite, and silence fell once again, though it was a more comfortable silence now.

As soon as you finished your sandwich, you stood to go wash the plate, but Billy reached out and grabbed the plate from you.

“I got it,” he said bluntly, his gruff voice leaving no room for argument.

He put the dish in the sink and turned to you again, his gaze traveling over your frame, assessing you. “I need to check your stitches and those bandages. Hop up on the counter there,” he gestured where he wanted you. “I’ll be right back with me med kit,” he added in a teasing tone as he shot you a grin, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement. You both knew damn well who was in charge here.

“Don’t wander off too far,” he added, before disappearing into another room, leaving you to wait on the counter.

Of course you waited patiently on the counter, but you sighed to yourself. He was making it impossible to not completely fall head over heels for him right now.

Little did you know it was about to get worse.

After a minute, Butcher walked back into the kitchen with bandages, a small medical kit…and wearing a pair of reading glasses you’d never seen on him before. They were dark-rimmed, perfectly shaped, just a little thick, and devastating. He looked like some sexy, intellectually lethal university professor or a strikingly handsome, sharp, single dad picking up his kid from school. Your heart dropped out of your chest. “Oh fuck me.”

He smirked at your reaction. “Problem?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he had no idea how goddamn attractive he was.

“Uh. No. I didn’t know you had glasses.”

Billy chuckled at your flustered response. He moved forward, closing the distance between you as he set the med kit down on the counter, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Oi,” he replied. “Don’t look so shocked. I use ’em for readin’ an’ stuff. Ya fancy ‘em?” he asked, his tone slightly cocky.

“I mean…” you struggled, trying to keep yourself from spontaneously combusting. “I guess I like them if you’re going for that insanely sexy DILF vibe…”

Billy’s grin widened as his eyes locked onto your face. He knew damn well what you were thinking and it only fueled his cocky attitude.

“Just…” you waved your hand around in the air, “...finish playing doctor and I can go…rest again…or whatever…”

Billy chuckled again. He could see he was getting a rise out of you, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it.

“Alright, if you insist.” He picked up the med kit, opening it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the cupboard behind you while Billy started carefully unwrapping your current bandage. He had to slide his big, huge hand beneath your knee to lift your leg to do it.

The touch of his calloused hand on your skin sent shivers down your spine, the intimate proximity of his touch making your breath catch in your throat. He continued to unwrap the bandage, his eyes fixed on the task at hand, but you knew he couldn’t be completely oblivious to the effect he was having on you.

He leaned close after he set the bandage aside, leaning over your lap as he took a closer look at the stitches and the wound beneath it. You swore you could feel his breath on your skin.

Billy’s eyes were fixed on his work, his expression concentrated as he examined it closely. The intimacy of the moment was unnerving. But he was so composed you couldn’t tell if he felt it too or not.

You, on the other hand, were a mess of jumbled nerves.

As usual, you decided to try and dismiss it with humor. “What’s the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna make it?”

Billy raised an eyebrow, his focus shifting from the wound to your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well,” he started, his deep voice holding a hint of amusement, “accordin’ to me expert observations, yer gonna be just fine, smartass. No need for a funeral just yet.”

He started putting the new bandage on, and you tried to hold your breath. You couldn’t help wriggling a little where you sat on the counter as his deft fingers started taping down the gauze on your bare thigh. His fingertips inadvertently brushed over the sensitive skin on the inside of your leg, and a sweet shiver rippled through your body.

“Try to hold still,” he grumbled, before focusing on his work again.

You gave a huffy sigh. He was making it impossible. His hands were so fucking sexy. And those fucking glasses he had put on to carefully check your stitches were making you think things that were probably illegal in most states.

Billy just gave a quiet laugh at your huffing and continued working. “Yer a squirmy little thing, y’know that?” he teased as he finished up.

“Still fuckin’ hurts,” you mumbled, trying to hide your growing arousal.

Then he glanced up at you, with those stupid, sexy glasses on and the devilish Butcher smirk in full effect. You froze, caught in his stare. When he finally spoke, his voice was a gruff rumble. “Need me to kiss it better?”

You almost moaned out loud and before you could think better of it, you were nodding yes and he was obliging. He dipped his head and brushed his lips just over the bandage. The sound that escaped you in response was a helpless, breathy whimper that made your face flush.

He noticed. His smirk deepened and he continued on, kissing a slow path up your thigh, each brush of his mouth hotter than the last.

“Oh fuck…” you groaned.

His teasing, feather-light kisses continued on, breathy sighs escaping your lips each time, your body responding to his every touch.

“Careful,” he murmured, looking up at you with a smug smile, then straightening, planting his hands on either side of you on the counter. “You keep makin’ those sounds, I’ll start thinkin’ you’re enjoyin’ this.”

“Umm,” you swallowed. You couldn’t think. Your mind was long past turning to mush.

Billy leaned in closer, effectively trapping you between his muscular arms. His presence was overwhelming as he towered over you, his body close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

His gaze searched your face as he smirked down at you, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of roguishness and desire. “No witty retort? No sassy comeback?”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what to do with all this tension and emotion between you suddenly, so though you wanted him desperately, you pushed at his chest even if it had no effect on him at all. “Stop teasing, let me off…”

Billy’s smirk only grew wider as you feebly pushed at his chest, his amused gaze fixed on your flustered expression.

“Teasing?” he drawled, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “Me? Never.” He took a step closer, his body pressing closer, making your attempt to push him off useless.

“Billy…” you breathed. He was so close. You searched his dark eyes. You needed to know he felt something too before you gave in to him, something real.

His expression softened as you spoke his name and when you met his gaze, searching for something deeper. His voice dropped to a gruff, intimate whisper. “Ya want the truth?”

“Yes,” you breathed, leaning closer unconsciously as if you were inextricably drawn to him.

His gaze softened even more, his voice a low rumble as he spoke, “The truth is, I’ve wanted ya for a damn long time…”

Your heart thudded so hard you swore he would be able to see it in your chest.

“When I thought I lost ya -”

You couldn’t stop yourself. You reached for him and pulled his mouth to yours.

Billy returned the kiss instantly. His strong hands slid around your hips, pulling you against him. His mouth moved fiercely against yours, the intensity of his need for you evident in the way he claimed your mouth.

It was as if a dam had broken. Months of suppressed desire, of holding back, was suddenly released in this one moment. Billy urged you closer, molding you body to his, his touch commanding.

His lips moved from your mouth down your jaw, finding the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping and kissing with a new hunger.

You instinctively parted your legs a little more for him to get closer and his hands slid to your thighs.

“If ya want me to stop, tell me now, love…”

You paused for one moment then shook your head. “No,” you whispered. “Don’t stop…”

Suddenly, Billy sank to his knees, tossing his glasses to the counter. He slid his hands down your thighs and pushed them further apart, then nipped the inside of your leg.

Biting your lip, you let your eyes flutter closed and tried to keep yourself from completely falling apart. Leaning back a little on one hand, you slid the other into his dark hair. The feel of his mouth against your skin sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, and when he rumbled against your inner thigh, the vibrations only heightened the sensation.

He left a trail of hot, wet kisses along your leg, working his way upwards, closer and closer to where you needed him. His grip on your thighs was possessive, as if he was claiming you, and he left a path of little love bites that made you shift your hips impatiently.

His hazel eyes went dark at your reaction, and his fingers moved immediately to the waistband of your shorts. Eagerly, you moved, pressing up with your hands against the counter so he could tug them off.

He drew them down your legs slowly, letting his knuckles stroke along every inch. “No knickers again,” he tsked, the glint in his eyes hot.

As soon as your shorts were off and tossed aside, his attention was fully focused on your body. He ran his rough hands back up your legs, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps as they went.

“Ya ‘ave no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. There was a raw intensity that went straight to your core. Then he met your eyes. “Get rid o’ the shirt, love…”

You obeyed without hesitation, reaching for the hem and pulling it up and over your head, tossing it on the floor.

His gaze roamed over you slowly, head to toe, lingering on your breasts with an unabashed hunger; the intensity of it made you tremble. As he drew your knees apart again you knew he could see how slick you were already.

“Look at ya,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “All eager for me. You’ve no idea what ya do to me, do ya, love?”

“Me…?” you squeaked, trying not to squirm impatiently on the cool counter.

Billy chuckled at your squeak, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Yeah, you, love.”

He slid his hands back up your thighs, his touch measured and teasing, and he tugged your hips to the very edge of the counter. All you could do was make a soft needy sound while you ached impatiently for his touch.

Billy knew damn well what you wanted but he kept drawing it out just a little bit longer. “That’s it, love,” he rumbled. “Moan for me.”

You moaned again immediately, your center throbbing. You could feel his breath fluttering over your core as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, so unashamedly it made you blush.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice a gravelly husk. Then he rewarded you with the brush of his fingertips dipping into your folds.

You gasped as he found your entrance with one deliberate move and then he teased you with a gentle push of his fingers. His touch was light but intentional, designed to drive you crazy. “So wet and ready for me,” he rumbled, his voice thick with barely restrained desire.

His ministrations were torturously slow, the feel of his teasing fingers causing your back to arch involuntarily while you clung to the edge of the counter. You could feel your desire growing stronger with each tantalizing caress.

“Alright, love?” he asked gruffly, his gaze fixed on your face, watching every reaction as he continued to tease you with his fingertips.

All you could manage was a nod and a whimper, and then finally, without warning, he replaced his fingers with his exquisite tongue.

He delved into your center, lapping, teasing, and exploring with an expertise that left you gasping. As sensation overwhelmed you, your head thudded back against the cabinet and you tangled your fingers in his dark hair again, moaning helplessly.

A deep, primal rumble came from Billy as you came undone under his mouth. “Tha’s it, love,” he murmured, low and rough.

When his tongue flicked over your sensitive bundle of nerves with a firm, deliberate stroke, the cry that escaped your lips made him groan.

"Please.." your fingers tightened in his hair as you whimpered with pleasure.

Billy paused for a moment, and you almost whined in protest but then two thick fingers sank into you and his tongue returned.

Very quickly he brought you the edge of sheer bliss, your body flooded with heat and pleasure and things you’d never felt before, not like this. You could feel the warmth of the blush that was spreading down your neck, to your chest.

As Billy brought you closer and closer to the precipice, your body trembled and fluttered with pleasure that was almost too much to bear.

"Yer so close, love," he muttered gruffly, nipping the inside of your thigh again. "I can feel it. Let go for me.”

His tongue returned to your center, flicking and circling and stroking and he pumped his fingers in rhythm and suddenly you were crashing down for him, sobbing in pleasure as your body tensed then released. Your thighs trembled as he continued, holding them apart, driving you through your climax with an intensity that left you breathless.

After a minute, you tugged on his hair, making him groan in return, but he took the cue and showed mercy, sitting back on his heels, to look up at you, where you were still shaking with aftershocks.

"Bloody gorgeous," he murmured gruffly as he stood, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, then slid his arm around your waist, drawing you against his chest. He was warm and solid and you let him hold you as you caught your breath, his broad palm rubbing soothingly over your back.

"But we're not done yet, love. Not by a long shot."

"Oh,” you whimpered against his chest, your body giving a little shudder of renewed interest.

With a quick, effortless movement, Billy snagged you off the counter and into his arms, lifting you against his chest like you weighed nothing more than a doll. He was careful not to jostle your injury, but he was still him.

Your body tingled, but you were still shaking from the first orgasm he gave you, weak in his arms. “I don’t know if I can handle any more,” you murmured. You were only half joking.

But as he carried you toward his bedroom, his grin only grew wider. "Oh, love, you're not goin’ to be walkin’ straight tomorrow mornin’. I'll make bloody sure of that."

~*~

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment or a reblog!

If you sent an ask in please know I will 1000% answer it as soon as I’m able! (I have about a dozen right now but feel free to send more!) I will also be working on the next chapter of Glimmer next! ❤️

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