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[1/?]
I plan to make a series of this, planning 5 or 6 in total, will be nsfw next art, so idk if I will end up posting here, but all will be on my x and bsky 👀
I threatened to write something for Butchlander week and well... I have written, uh, something. *skulks back into the abyss*
Written to accompany this wonderful art I commissioned from @semains whom I love dearly-- thank you for indulging my requests for setting and exact pose as well! Commission them!
Butchlander Week NSFW Saturday prompt: Roleplay/Roles. Because it might be the role of a lifetime for Butcher, but you know Homelander is having the time of his life pretending he can't escape / pretending it hurts sooo much.
(yeah, double dipping) Cozy Corner Kinktober prompt #5 Buttplug (sort of. I can't explain myself. I have no excuses. It might be disturbing, so apologies in advance. Pure Id, aka wtf).
My header is getting longer than the ficlet, gdi
"Harder." Homelander's tone is haughty and whiny all at once– so grating that Butcher wishes he could deliver on the request. Who'd have thought that this grandiose straightedge little cunt would get so hard having a stranger smack him over and over? Who'd ever guess that this supe celebrity– maybe the world's most famous person, and definitely the darling of the American public– would be into this kind of shit behind closed doors? That he wouldn't be bloody ashamed of himself whisking Butcher off to his bizarrely decorated apartment every single night. Bypassing all of Vought security, so that Vought's public enemy number… if not #1 then at least top 10… could make himself comfortable sitting on his bed. Not all that comfortable, since the bed is a strange upholstered leather number and stiff as hell, but Butcher supposes a supe might not feel the difference between this and a Tempur-Pedic.
He brings him here every night, and every night the script stays largely the same. Homelander plies him with some alcohol, sometimes a glass of whiskey, but more often just a bottle of Heineken. Butcher sits down, Homelander eagerly drapes himself over his lap, pulls and folds his cape underneath him, as if he doesn't trust Butcher enough to spread it out next to him. wiggling his hips, insisting Butcher pull down his pants and spank him. And Butcher obliges every time, even though it's clearly hurting his hands much more than it hurts Homelander– they alternate sides every night but Butcher suspects he already has stress fractures that don't heal because his hands ache all the time and never quite recover between sessions. But despite the pain, and despite the very little to no pain he's actually inflicting on the spoiled brat who always asks to be hit harder, there's just something irresistible about it. About finally being allowed to take out his aggression on the man he hates most in the world. The man he hates most in the world, who also happens to have a surprisingly perky ass that jiggles hypnotically if you hit it hard enough and just right, so Butcher hits him with his full strength not because of the cunt's whiny demands, but because he just wants to see the flesh wobble.
"I said harder!" Homelander's voice cuts through Butcher's thoughts, and Butcher can't help it any longer.
"You want me to hit you harder, you're gonna have to find a paddle."
Homelander's breath hitches and he says nothing in reply. No, this sick cunt clearly craves skin on skin contact to get off, Butcher already knows this, which is why he knew what to threaten him with to get him to shut up.
But he does wish he could hurt him. The achy joints of his hand plead he stop. Butcher stares down at the well defined muscular globes, skin turned a nice blush color where he's been hit but Butcher wishes he could turn it black and blue. Purple and green. He wants the cunt to really feel the intensity he's supposedly asking for, just to prove how wrong he is.
"I'm waiting," Homelander reminds him.
"Just taking a breather, alright? Enjoying the view." Butcher tries to squeeze a handful of flesh, but it's never as soft as it looks. "Look like one of 'em marble statues you got out in your lounge area."
Butcher hears Homelander's breath hitch and sees him take a peek at the mirror above, clearly checking himself out. This is all a game to him. It flatters his vanity that Butcher does this for him. Butcher would like nothing more than to turn this around on him, make it less of a game and more of an actual punishment.
A strange idea creeps in. Butcher leans back to reach for the Heineken bottle he emptied earlier and put on the nightstand, always on a coaster Homelander insists he use. God forbid he get a water ring on the antique looking furniture, with the creepy little cameo portraits of people who died last century. The beer is mostly just to take the edge off before Homelander lies down over his legs– he and Homelander mutually figured out the session goes better if he's slightly buzzed and maybe just a little numb to the pain in his hand. And they figured this out because Homelander happened to whisk him away right after he stumbled out of a bar on a late Saturday night, after which point Butcher understood that Homelander would come and find him wherever he was– even if he wasn't at home past midnight. It's sexual slavery, is what it is. Butcher would resent it more if he didn't somewhat enjoy getting to beat this cunt on a nightly basis before being dropped off at home.
Homelander shifts, growing impatient while waiting for another round of spanking to start after the breather. "Come on!" he says through gritted teeth, and he sounds angry, and fucking self-righteous, as if he's complaining about customer service he's paid for. It's not Butcher's fault that the cunt only seems to come after he's gotten spanked for minutes straight, at some point his body finally deciding that this is such an enjoyable moment that his hips start grinding forward into Butcher's leg and he comes, the same pathetic little hitched moan escaping his lips every time, the same toe-curling Butcher can see because the cunt does take off his boots to lie on the bed. Thank god he never pulls his pants far down enough, because he never gets any jizz on Butcher's jeans. Homelander seems to think Butcher doesn't notice, or at least they both pretend they haven't. As if Butcher can avoid noticing his leg being humped violently, wondering if this is the night the cunt breaks one of his limbs out of pure excitement. As if it's not clear what just happened from the flushed face and glazed over eyes the supe has when he rises off the bed, finally satisfied. But if no one tells and no one asks, it didn't necessarily happen, and both seem content to keep it at that. Homelander takes a quick shower and suit change before dropping Butcher off at his apartment, without any further ceremony or pleasantries, and by morning Butcher is half in denial about any of it even happening.
"Are you fucking deaf? Why did you stop?" Homelander says and starts to turn his head to look back at him, but Butcher shoves his face back to face forward.
They have an unspoken agreement not to look each other in the eye when they're doing this, ever. Homelander almost broke the agreement, but obediently looks away again after the lightest push.
"Shut your fucking trap already. I heard you the first ten times just fine," Butcher growls under his breath, and his mind is made up about what he was hesitating to do. He forces the neck of the empty bottle into the cunt's tight crack, moving it around, looking for give.
Homelander's back arches, clearly not expecting the sensation. "The fuck are you doing?"
"GIving you something harder, like you were whining for, you spoiled brat." Butcher gives up doing it blindly and pulls one of the cheeks towards him. "Now where's your fucking chocolate starfish? You even have one?" And as if to punctuate that last word, Butcher finds the place and breaks the initial resistance resistance, the bottle neck beginning a slow slide in.
Homelander breathes harder. "I don't like it," he mutters, and his ass flexes in protest.
"You better like it and accept it, or else you're going to end up with a pile of glass shards inside you."
Butcher is skeptical that glass could really do anything to this supe's internal organs, but it seems Homelander wants to avoid the mess anyway, and his muscles relax.
"That's right. Now stop whining and take your punishment."
He tries to push the bottle in even further, feeling more and more protest.
"I don't like it," Homelander repeats, sharply this time, as if it means something.
"You ain't supposed to like it," Butcher says and decides to finally smack him on the ass with his other hand after keeping him waiting. Butcher doesn't anticipate that Homelander's body will convulse, shatter the bottle, grind into him, and come all at once.
"The hell was that?" Butcher asks, pulling back the jagged bottle's bottom half that survived. Homelander's body is still twitching underneath him and he's panting. Maybe this was going to be it. Butcher overstepped the line. Homelander was probably immersed in some unresolved childhood trauma or fantasy or whatever the fuck about having a father figure who would discipline him with a firm but loving hand. This must have ended the illusion for him. Maybe enough that Butcher is about to meet his end– sometimes it's hard to remember that the whimpering quivering pathetic mess draped over his knees is the selfsame terrifying force of nature that can take out an entire army if he ever just chose to do so.
But the cunt won't even pick his head up. He's buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Is he fucking crying? Butcher wonders for a second if it's possible that he's actually fucking done it. Actually hurt him. Maybe a plug of C4 won't kill him but maybe it'll make him feel the hurt? A whole assortment of images races through Butcher's mind. He wants to try everything now. His crowbar, a bat studded with rusty nails, maybe the same bottle but a Molotov cocktail this time. Payback for thinking he can just force Butcher to indulge him, to make every night about getting him off. This opens up a whole new world of possibilities.
But Homelander stirs and starts to sit up, and Butcher winces and his teeth are set on edge when he can hear the crunching sound of glass grinding against glass, and tiny green shards start dropping out of him as Homelander tilts to sit back on his heels.
"That was— amazing…" Homelander whispers, breathless. His hands are folded demurely in his lap as if he didn't just orgasm to being diddled with a bottle of Heineken. "You want another beer?"
"No!" Butcher says, sounding more emphatic and more disturbed than he intendedto let on. "No, you sick fuck."
"Does your hand hurt?" Homelander asks, and it's without any impatience in his tone, maybe even a note of real sympathy, completely ignoring the insult just lobbed at him. Before Butcher knows what's happening, Homelander leans down and licks the hand that had just been spanking him. Butcher jerks it away defensively, but Homelander follows it licking it, laving each finger with his tongue before leaning into it with his brow ridge, then his nose, rubbing himself into it. It feels soothing and takes away some of the sore feeling, Butcher is loath to admit.
But he needs to regain what little control he has in this arrangement. "You want me to pet ya? Then lie back where you belong," he says. It's gratifying to see the supe cunt immediately obey him. He stretches himself back into his former position, and Butcher kneads the flesh of his ass.
"We can do the bottle again if your hands hurt," Homelander says, sighing contentedly and breaking the rule– looking back at Butcher with a look that is disturbingly similar to fondness.
"We can," Butcher agrees, trying to ignore the glass that's spilled out on the sheets and forget the crunching sound the bottle made when it snapped in half at the neck.
on company time and company dime, as god intended, I'm sharing with you a commission by @semains that has been in the making for some time (and well worth it). inspired by this fic by @visceravalentines
I commissioned semains for this glorious smutty scene from my favourite chapter from my Mshenko Tattoo Parlour/Flower Shop AU fic, The Stars and Infinity on High, and it turned out so damn good! Look at all the details and everything!
Had to crop because of Tumblr guidelines, but full *spicy* version is here and the non-tattooed version is here!
You can read the fic on Ao3 here! The full pic is there too, but you'll have to get to Chapter 7 to see it ;)
Negan Smith/ Carl Grimes, Daryl Dixon
Febuwhump 2024
Day 2: Solitary Confinement
solitary confinement, eavesdropping, power dynamics, power imbalance, coercion, kidnapping, emotional whump, psychological trauma, implied/ referenced rape/ non-con, getting together, but nothing sexual happens, febuwhump 2024
It’s days later - probably - maybe weeks, maybe another month, and Daryl’s nearly passed out again, eyes drooping, head dropping and nothing about easy street kicking in to startle him back awake when he hears it –
“Negan,” a voice says, just on the other side of the wall - it’s quiet enough that he could’ve missed it but for Daryl, it’s fucking unmistakable.
The kid's still alive.
OR: Daryl hears more than he'd like through the wall of his cell.
“I could—nnghh—I could break out of these any time I wanted—“
It was a game the two of them played, every so often. Billy Butcher and Homelander famously loathed each other; it wasn’t an act, either. Every week, at least once, sometimes more than that, the two enemies would rendezvous in secret, taking their aggression out on each other in the forms of punches, kicks, and heat-laser eyes. In most scenarios, it ended with one of them on the ground, bruised and broken, with the other enjoying his proverbial ‘spoils of war.’ This time, it was Homelander splayed out on his stomach, one of Butcher’s hands in his hair, the other wrapped around his cape as he fucked the most powerful man alive into complete submission.
Butcher responded to his arrogant assertion with a brutal thrust of his hips and Homelander’s voice caught in his throat, the strangled words transposing into a languid moan. “But ya won’t,” Butcher rasped in retort, twisting his hand in the stars and stripes of the Supe’s cape. “I dare ya—do it, right now. Escape.” He pulled hard on his partner’s close-cut, blonde hair, lifting his head from the bed by an inch or two so he could slam it back down against the mattress. Temp V was pretty useful.
The vigilante fucked harder into his nemesis; Homelander didn’t answer him, nor did he break free from the cuffs. Butcher smirked, yanking the blonde’s head back by his hair, stilling the fervent staccato of his hips. He swayed from side to side, his cockhead grinding back and forth on the Supe’s prostate and drawing a choked scream from his throat. “Well, well, well…” Butcher growled, gleefully resuming his bruising pace into Homelander, “…seems like you can barely speak, much less get away. Bet ya can’t even think straight, can ya?”
“F-fuck you.” Despite the punishing grip Butcher had on his hair, Homelander turned his head to look over his shoulder, glaring at the temporary supe with malice and hatred. Billy had a hard time taking the expression seriously with tears pricking in the corner of the man’s eyes, the blood smeared across his face from his busted lip.
He gave another forceful thrust, Homelander’s jaw going slack and his eyes growing vacant as his archenemy made him see stars once again. “‘M already doin’ that, love,” he retorted. “Who’da thought America’s sweetheart was such a bitch, eh?” he taunted. “That he lays there and takes it like a little whore.” Homelander tried to turn his head away from Butcher’s piercing gaze, but the latter held him still. “Think they’d still love you if they knew?”
Homelander flinched at those words, his face cycling through a hundred different expressions of pain. Butcher drank in the sight like a man dying of thirst; no physical blow levied against the supe had been so effective, and the realization made his cock twitch with excitement. “So that’s what gets under your indestructible skin,” Butcher purred. “You want to be loved, that it? ‘S that why you’re taking my cock so well, even though you could get away? Because it makes you feel loved?”
The blonde whimpered as Butcher picked up his pace, biting his lip where it was busted and making the blood flow freely. “B-Billy—“
Another particularly deep thrust made Butcher groan and Homelander yelp. Butcher could feel his climax creeping closer the longer he stared at the pathetic, wanton expression on his enemy’s face. “That’s right, bitch,” he hissed, “say my name again.”
The hand in Homelander’s hair wrenched his head backwards, forcing his spine to arch and curve; if Butcher had been fucking anyone else, the force behind this act would have left them paralyzed, if not dead. But Homelander was built to take a hit in multiple interpretations of the phrase. He was resistant to obeying Butcher’s command—that changed when the Brit relinquished his grip on the cape and wound his hand around the front of his hips, gripping Homelander’s cock and giving it a few strong jerks. “B-Billy!” he stammered, “D-don’t—“
Butcher groaned, the even, frantic pace of his thrusts stuttering, growing irregular. He gave a demented growl as he pulled Homelander back onto his cock, going deeper than he had the entire time, just so his hips could stammer to a stop and he could fall over the edge. It drove the supe mad, too; he spilled himself in Butcher’s hand.
For a second, the two of them remained in that position, breathing heavily and gathering their bearings. Butcher rose first, shaking the excess cum from his hand before cleaning it up with Homelander’s cape as though it were a dish towel. The supe’s knees buckled and he finally slumped fully forward onto the ground. “Well, that was lovely,” Butcher commented with a roll of his eyes as he shimmied his pants up. He paid no heed to Homelander as he finished dressing, wordlessly escorting himself from the building.
Homelander snapped the cuffs and sat up, laughing. He’d get him back for his comments next time.
I am back with more art!! Sorry I have been absent for a while, some stuff happened irl and was more fully working on my commissions, I finally finished my batch of them, and I will open some slots in a few days ❤
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janainaart
gummygunk
kianamaiart
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